edge's girl
Acrobat
okay, here's my attempt at a fan fic i figgured i'd try writing one after reading everyone elses. it's supposed to take place durring the elevation tour.
Discalmer: fiction (obviously)
I lean back against the seat of the taxi trying to look at everything at once, which is of course, impossible.
“Keep it up and you’ll injure your neck, Beth, then what would we do for a manager,” Daryl jokes from behind me.
“Shut up,” I retort.
“Yeah, D,” Alex chimes in. “After all it’s only like her life’s goal to come to Dublin and meet U2.”
“It is not,” I mutter.
“Always with the denial,” Alex tells me and I contemplate slapping him.
“Believe me when I say this was never a planned part of my life.”
“No but we are just to irresistible for you to pass up,” Daryl says with a wink.
I roll my eyes wondering if all front men are equally obnoxious. He’s right about me never planning this, though. I’m probably the last person that you’d think would be a manager of a rock band, I went to university and got a doctorate in science and had been working in research. Then Jake had brought his little brothers band, Troubled Offspring, to my attention. Apparently they had really good music but didn’t have a recording contract because they had no business skills. I took pity on them and became their manager, and believe me it was never meant to become permanent, but less then a year later they had a record deal and they wouldn’t sign without me. So I quit my day job doing genetics research and ended up on tour, now they’re opening for U2 so we’re in Dublin to meet U2 before the tour kick off in a couple weeks.
We’re dropped off in front of the Clarence where we’re meeting them for lunch and I spot Paul McGuiness almost immediately.
“Ahh, you must be Beth Vickers,” he says holding out his hand to shake.
“Yep,” I reply. “And these are the guys, Daryl, Alex, Seb and Ryan…Ryan get out of the bloody street, you’re going to get hit by a car.”
“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic grin. “I was looking at something.”
“Drummers,” I mutter.
Paul laughs and leads us inside. We’re lead to a privet room at the back of the restaurant where U2 is already waiting for us. There’s introductions all round before we settle down to order lunch. I spend most of lunch discussing tour itinerary with Paul – hey it’s my job after all – while the guys joke around with U2 at the other end of the table.
Near the end of lunch there’s a pause in my conversation with Paul and I hear Daryl say, “No idea, you’d have to ask the doctor.”
I stifle a groan at my inescapable nickname.
“Who’d the doctor?” Bono asks.
“Me,” I reply.
“Why?”
“Because I have a PhD in Biology.” Well, I think, look on the bright side, at least that’s over with.
“Really?” says Edge at the same time as Bono asks, “Then what are you doing managing a rock band?”
“One bloody question at a time,” I tell them. “Yes really, and I’m only managing them because I originally agreed to help them out and now they wont let me leave.”
“Wouldn’t you be better off being a doctor?” Adam asks.
“I have a PhD, not an MD,” I reply. “Meaning I’m not a doctor you’d go see, I’m involved in research.”
“What kind of research?” Edge asks.
What is this, I wonder, a million questions for the manager? “Genetics research. I was involved in a section of the human genome project before these guys kidnapped me.”
“But we’re much more interesting,” Daryl grins. “So it worked out better for you.”
“I’d say a lot less interesting,” I fired back. “And definitely a lot less important.”
“Why?” he demands.
Edge actually answers for me. “Because if it wasn’t for DNA then none of us would be here or function the way we do. So in order to understand how humans work first we must understand the our genetic make up.”
“Finally someone who understands,” I exclaim.
“Well we all know that Edge takes sexual pleasure from the collection of scientific data,” says Bono. “So it appears you’ll both get along just fine.”
I can feel my face heating up and I pray that I haven’t turned a violent shade of red, figures that Bono completely innocently has to remind me of my teenage crush on Edge.
* * * * *
so what do you guys think, should i continue?
Discalmer: fiction (obviously)
I lean back against the seat of the taxi trying to look at everything at once, which is of course, impossible.
“Keep it up and you’ll injure your neck, Beth, then what would we do for a manager,” Daryl jokes from behind me.
“Shut up,” I retort.
“Yeah, D,” Alex chimes in. “After all it’s only like her life’s goal to come to Dublin and meet U2.”
“It is not,” I mutter.
“Always with the denial,” Alex tells me and I contemplate slapping him.
“Believe me when I say this was never a planned part of my life.”
“No but we are just to irresistible for you to pass up,” Daryl says with a wink.
I roll my eyes wondering if all front men are equally obnoxious. He’s right about me never planning this, though. I’m probably the last person that you’d think would be a manager of a rock band, I went to university and got a doctorate in science and had been working in research. Then Jake had brought his little brothers band, Troubled Offspring, to my attention. Apparently they had really good music but didn’t have a recording contract because they had no business skills. I took pity on them and became their manager, and believe me it was never meant to become permanent, but less then a year later they had a record deal and they wouldn’t sign without me. So I quit my day job doing genetics research and ended up on tour, now they’re opening for U2 so we’re in Dublin to meet U2 before the tour kick off in a couple weeks.
We’re dropped off in front of the Clarence where we’re meeting them for lunch and I spot Paul McGuiness almost immediately.
“Ahh, you must be Beth Vickers,” he says holding out his hand to shake.
“Yep,” I reply. “And these are the guys, Daryl, Alex, Seb and Ryan…Ryan get out of the bloody street, you’re going to get hit by a car.”
“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic grin. “I was looking at something.”
“Drummers,” I mutter.
Paul laughs and leads us inside. We’re lead to a privet room at the back of the restaurant where U2 is already waiting for us. There’s introductions all round before we settle down to order lunch. I spend most of lunch discussing tour itinerary with Paul – hey it’s my job after all – while the guys joke around with U2 at the other end of the table.
Near the end of lunch there’s a pause in my conversation with Paul and I hear Daryl say, “No idea, you’d have to ask the doctor.”
I stifle a groan at my inescapable nickname.
“Who’d the doctor?” Bono asks.
“Me,” I reply.
“Why?”
“Because I have a PhD in Biology.” Well, I think, look on the bright side, at least that’s over with.
“Really?” says Edge at the same time as Bono asks, “Then what are you doing managing a rock band?”
“One bloody question at a time,” I tell them. “Yes really, and I’m only managing them because I originally agreed to help them out and now they wont let me leave.”
“Wouldn’t you be better off being a doctor?” Adam asks.
“I have a PhD, not an MD,” I reply. “Meaning I’m not a doctor you’d go see, I’m involved in research.”
“What kind of research?” Edge asks.
What is this, I wonder, a million questions for the manager? “Genetics research. I was involved in a section of the human genome project before these guys kidnapped me.”
“But we’re much more interesting,” Daryl grins. “So it worked out better for you.”
“I’d say a lot less interesting,” I fired back. “And definitely a lot less important.”
“Why?” he demands.
Edge actually answers for me. “Because if it wasn’t for DNA then none of us would be here or function the way we do. So in order to understand how humans work first we must understand the our genetic make up.”
“Finally someone who understands,” I exclaim.
“Well we all know that Edge takes sexual pleasure from the collection of scientific data,” says Bono. “So it appears you’ll both get along just fine.”
I can feel my face heating up and I pray that I haven’t turned a violent shade of red, figures that Bono completely innocently has to remind me of my teenage crush on Edge.
* * * * *
so what do you guys think, should i continue?
