Sirens, page 14
shoulder. ' see that ething you understand, Frenchman, uh? I am not
tmderstand the need of the Palestinian people to establish homeland."
Emouleur nodded. ' French hold no love Israelis.' ,' El-Kalaam said.
"And why should you?' He put a ger against his lips, looking thoughtful.
His finger and his head cocked in that peculiar way of his. I at once
his knife was in his hand and he was cutting gh the young man's ankle
bonds. ' think you can do ore gooa this way than tied up.' He kept his
hand on leur's shoulder. ' just talk to these people, my friend. to them
of the revolution and of freedom. The Jews,' id. ' Jews -? es, yes, yes,
El-Kalaam,' Rachel said. ' all see how it is. ' all you can do: feed on
the hate -that's inside everyone. Jew knows what it's like to have all
hands turned t him. This is no different. Nothing ever changes.' aranoia
was always a strong Jewish trait,' El-Kalaarn said.
you're no exception.' I think you're confusing paranoia with
persecution,' Rachel I-Kalaam waved a hand, dismissing her words. ',
take. women into the kitchen so they can fix us something to Fessi, take
the, uhm, the young American and the English- Let them take down the
bathroom door and then we will -up the hot box, uh?' 122 123 As Heather
and Susan went towards the kitchen, Rachel reached out a hand, put it on
Heather's arm. ',' she said. Malaguez jerked her away. ' words,'
El-Kalaarn said. Rita prodded Heather in the small of the back with her
machine pistol. ',' she said. ' he'll put you in the hot box. And you
don't want that.' Daina was adrift on the night, as if she were floating
over the rooftops of the city - the one long sprawling far-flung suburb.
If I were in New York, she thought, I would scale the heights, ascend at
the speed of sound to the top of the World Trade Center and there peer
out over the twinkling lights as far away almost as stars, west across
the Hudson to the New Jersey countryside, north past the highrises to
the smouldering tenements of Harlem. She could not go back to that empty
house that did not even smell like her any more.
Rubens was in Palm Springs on business and, though he had told Maria to
let Daina in, she had no desire to rumble around the house by herself.
Automatically she went west in the silver Merc, along the brightlight
Freeways - Foothill then Ventura - to Los Felix, Western, until she came
on to Sunget four blocks east of the Huntington Hartford Theatre.
Without thinking, she made a left on to La Cienega, fou ' herself
outside Las Palmas Soundcorders where Chris and the band were recording
the new album. She blinked several times as if waking from a dream and,
once realizing where she was, got out. She could not, of course, gain
entrance. The Heartbeats' whereabouts were always kept secret although
it did not seem to matter. Leaks abounded and the need for security was
legitimate. The heavily muscled black man who barred the door was only
the first of several human barriers the band put up. He would not let
her through or even send a message back to Chris. In fact he denied that
the band was even there at all. His shaven skull shone blue in the
buzzing fluorescent lights of the entrance. He wore a flame-red shirt
and a chocolatebrown suit. Around his bull neck hung a silver coke spoon
124 double-edged razor also in silver. He pushed his wide ',palms at
her, the paws of a beast, seemingly oblivious to rbal protestations. She
was about to give it up when she caught a glimpse of I walking by behind
his bulk. ey, Nigel' she shouted, jumping up so she could be seen. 1!
It's me, Daina!' e black man moved her out. ' now.' His voice was but
menacing. ''t you hear what I tol' you, mama? -yo'self out old on
Gerry.' Nigel shouldered his way past the black 0'Hey it is you!' He
turned. Wokay. She's okay.' black man shrugged, stepped aside. He made
no gy. Nigel took her by the band, leading her down a flight of carpeted
stairs. Immediately the lighting d and softened, the pastel walls
curving away in the ows. stopped by a soft-drinks machine. ''s been a
while, He dug some change out of his jeans pocket, rolled ers into a
slot. ' a Coke?' o thanks.' ome here t'see Chris?' half turned, peering
at her over the rim of the waxed cup. He sniffed, slurped greedily at
the soda. She saw his left shoulder, a half-shadowed figure.
It had the of a bulldog with impossibly wide shoulders. It moved tly and
the face came into a dim patch of lemon light. It properly craggy but
curiously lackifig in ferocity. The grey eyes seemed to regard
everything with the same ied detachment. The first time he looked at
her, Daina quite certain that those flat grey discs were lenses and had
she touched his stomach with the end of her finger, our Polaroid would
have been delivered to her out of the iling slit of his mouth. igel
stiffed, seeing the direction of her gaze. ''only Silka,' id softly.
"Protects us from everyone.' He danced a little, if throwing off excess
energy, and the carved ivory-and- onyx fetish around his neck jigged
aaginst his collarbone an audible jingle-jangle. 125 Daina shifted her
gaze back to Nigel. ' hadn't seen everyone in a while - you know we're
all so busy -' He poked at her with a bony forefinger as if she were a
doll. ' becomin'a star, darlin', you are.' '- knew you were doing the
album here so I ' that!' Nigel crunched down on the crushed ice grinding
his teeth from side, up and down. '.' He swallowed. ''re goin' on th'
road in a week. That's where you oughta see us, yeahp He spread his legs
like a legendary gunfighter, hands at his narrow hips as if to draw a
pair of six-shooters. ' stage! Zowl Super tour. We haven't been on th'
road in, uhmm, almost year an' a half.' He swayed back and forth like a
cobra being charmed by a melody only he could hear. ''s like war - yeah,
combat y'see. Y'get trained for killin' for bein' there on th' front
line hearin' all th' poppop-pop of th' gunfire all round like it was th'
air itself, a new kinda, y'know, atmosphere.
Then all at once smellin' th' stench of burnin' flesh an' blood an'
havin' th' feel of that weapon always in your hands warm'n'close.
Becomes a way o' life.' He crumpled the empty cup, threw it carelessly
away. Silka never took his eyes off them. '' so then y'get sent home -
R&R, some bleedin' shit like that, y'know, an' what happens? Too
bleedin' quiet for you t' sleep, is what. Lie there in th' -crumpled bed
wide awake just waitin' for th' sound o' the bullets screamin' past your
head; solid thump o' th' mortar fire; an' th' house it smells too clean,
sweet - gentle! An' you begin tunderstand. It's your bleedin' hands
innit. They're empty an' without that weight in them they begin t'sweat
an' y'can't make ' stop, wipe ' down your thighs, along your ribs, heat
', chill ', nuffin helps ...' At first she had found Nigel's
preoccupation with war extremely discomforting even though Chris had
given her ample warning before their first meeting. Nigel had, he had
told her, one of the largest collections of World War II military
paraphernalia in the world. His gun collection was monstrous. And since
then he had begun to pick up here and there the deadly hardware of
Vietnam because, he had said, they were far more sophisticated. Nigel's
deep-set eyes burned with an intense inner fire as he her. ' that's what
it's like when were off th' road. R&R. Mollycoddled at home. Don't know
' er bastards but makin' records's boring as hell for eedin' four walls
start t'close in on me y'know; sooner it over with, better I like it.
Wanna go out there, y'know? th' night where th'
lights'n'th'mikes'n'thhigh stage there all by itself with just us on
top'n'those kids, of ', screamin' their guts out for us, waitin', stam-
cryw out, makin' that last rush at th' encore just to the middle of th'
set I go out t' th' lip o' th' stage an' I th' first two rows.
They're all standin', y'know - I mean ' - wavin' their arms, carryin'
roses. I kneel down an' go crazy an' even '' th' photographers' pit I cn
it - th' dopen'th' beer'n'somethin' else I can't describe, in' that even
after all these years still has that effect on ",.It's th' smell of -
youth: a yearnin' towards what we've e up there on that stage ' we've
transcended our ess, y'know, we're no longer, y'know, Nigel'n'Chris'n'-
' were th' Heartbeats, '' that reek of sex that across is so strong that
I know, I know if I just touch fi'll come @- all those massed
exhalations like a wind at me from some dark doorway.
cn look down an' see those faces shinin' in the light d off our follow
spots. An' y'know what it's like?' His spread wide. ' great mirror
reflectin' th' music back Those faces shine like suns with an unearthly
light. re transfigured, yeah, in a state of grace an' then I feel ",I en
reach out an' when I touch ' I cn rearrange ' any shape I please just as
if th' fieshn'th' bones've been to putty. that's what's important. Not
th' bleedin' bread - th' is only good for spendin' y'know. But this -
bleedin' this's what makes th' world go. An' my instrument's like bloody
M-16. When I take th' mobile keyboard during gh Trade Nites" an' go
roamin' I'm a grunt in the in' jungle just lookin' for th' enemy so's I
c'n blow his s out.' aina watched him as he spoke.
He had the kind of face, 126 127 she thought, that would seem odd in
anyone who was not a performer. Like the excesses of a silent screen
performance, Nigel's features, on close inspection, were overdone. There
Was too much of everything, as if two faces had mistakenly been crammed
into one. His face was all angles, highcheekboned, limned in makeup more
theatrical than cosmetic so that when he used eyeliner it did not make
him seern effeminate so much as sinister. And it was precisely this
imagethat early on in the Heartbeats' career he had latched on to and
carefully nurtured. Anyway, demonology was never far from his lyrics,
skulking there, a permanent shadow as his songs stalked the seamy side
of life. Blackhearted women, drug-induced euphoria, phantasmagorical
street fights where the open switchblade shimmered the air, the ultimate
punctuation, and the unfettered release of teenage aggression made up
the gist of the tunes the Heartbeats were most famous for. And it was
primarily this dark edge, perfectly honed, that had kept them current in
an industry notorious for instant burnouts. No one - not even the most
radical of the raw New Wavers coming out of England - thought to
disparage the band as they regularly did the ' Old Farts' - the other
supergroups - who had been around for years. Nigel had always reminded
Daina of a caged animal, restless at his core, impatient and dispirited
by turns, as up and down as a yo-yo. He was certainly manic, she
thought, in a way that was perfectly acceptable in a performer.
"Hey, catch this.' He dug out a rolled-up polythene bag from inside the
waistband of his jeans. ' o' mine just flew this in himself. Th'
bastard's wall-eyedn'crazy as a bedbug but I gotta admit he has th' best
shit goin'.' He dipped a thumb and forefinger in, rolled a flaky
substance as dark brown as chocolate. ' y'don't know, darlin'. This's
pure Cambleedin'-bodian buds. Tol' you this guy's looney. But I should
worry. He gets in, gets out. No one knows, right? Here - try some. Blow
your mind it will.' But instead of stuffing it into a pipe, he tried to
stuff it into her mouth. She turned her head away, put up her hands.
"Hey, no, Nigel. Not this time.' d, grinned, popped it into his mouth
and began wonder ' you sometimes.' But he seemed to be about something
else altogether. t you smoke it?' '. ' no, darlin'. This here shit's too
good Veat it, man. Only way. Wait'n'see.
S'no lie. Ah He rolled some quarters into the slot, got another Coke,
off the lid while he chewed on some more buds. , this's th' express.
Geesmethrough this boring shit.' Howed, gulped at the soda, put the buds
away. ' e, diddlin' with th' computer. I always split for that. he takes
this recordin' shit too seriously, y'know. We y in sixty-four when we
had two soddin' tracks instead sixty-four we got now. Bloody hell!
What we gonna do sixtv-four bleedin' tracks, use the Berlin
Philharmonic? a @lecdin' rock'n'roll band not some arty-farty bunch o' .
Hell, we been through all that shit, come an' gone in ight - I mean who
cared, yknow? We went along with t Pcpper an' all - Chris an' Lennon
bein' such buddies e days an' all. But screw that - was a long bleedin'
time y'know? It's not our kinda music, not rock'n'roll. Our s's blowin'
th' top o' your skull off. In th' streets, man. des bristlin' with
hardware. We're th' bleedin' gutter, I c'n tell you, not th' campus.
Eyes all glazzy afta one y'know? Ears buzzin'. Rockin'n'reeling it is.
That's it What life's all about, innit, thl gutter?' e sound of the
studio door being opened gave him e. A blast of recorded music blatted,
at their ears, abruptly to silence, and the garble of the tape being
rewound. could hear Chris' voice: '.' And the music starting gain at
precisely the same spot as the door whooshed shut a kind of pneumatic
finality. ey, Tie,' he said, smiling. woman stood regarding them, her
back to the door. She of medium height, as slim-hipped almost as Nigel.
She with one hip jutting out, a pose that in anyone else Id have been
characterized as sleazy. But in Tie one saw the darkest of overtones,
some deep and abiding chill. e had a failed face, the countenance of a
fallen angel: 128 129 striking and triangular, the wide European mouth,
the hi cheekbones, the stiletto@thin nose. Magnificent would have been
the first word to come to ' had it not been for her eyes. Black as coal,
they defeated the whole, placed wrong on that face or, perhaps, just a
little bit too small. She wore a strapless waist-cincer that thrust her
breasts up and out lasciviously, and a black raw-silk skirt, slit to the
thigh on both sides, revealing a deliberate glimpse of satin garter
belt. They all called her Tie but her real name was Thals. She came
towards them, her odd, stony eyes on Daina. ' was wondering where you
were so long, darling.' She did not look at Nigel though her words were
obviously for him. ' remember Daina, don't you?' Nigel said.
"Chris'n'Maggie's friend.' ' could I forget?' Her heavy lips curled
upward in a smile that did not reach her eyes. ''d she come? You know we
never allow -' ', c'mon. Hey.' He put his arm through hers, close to her
side so that the back of his hand pressed against the bulge of her
breast. ''s a friend, Tie. Come all th' way down here, huh?' He winked
at Daina: ' her butt off all day, comes down here for a bit of a lark.
Hey. Hey.' He danced a little, linked with Tic. ''m going to the ladies'
room,' she said. Now her baleful gaze swept past Daina, focused on him.
' to come along?' Her voice was deep and husky. It was obvious she had
had theatrical training even if Daina. had not known her European screen
origins. He grinned at her. '. Yeh. Always ready.' With an effort he
broke away from her stare, turned to Daina.
"You go on in, if y'want. Chris an' th' guys'd be glad t'see you. Ha!
Rollie's got pic o' you on th' inside o' his kit. That right, Tie? Ha
ha!' She pulled at him and, together, they disappeared around a slow
turning in the tunnel-like corridor. Inside the door, the studio was all
blond-wood planking laid obliquely along the walls and lacquered so it
shone, interspersed with pale blue soft trapezoidal acoustic panels.
three steps down, at the verge of the control its outsized bank of
dials, switches, faders - sixty- one for each track - and patch-in
terminals, all er-controlled. nd the double glass panels, she could see
the studio filled with the band's massive amps with their glowing
lights, various instruments, yards of thick snaking boom mikes. In one
comer was a small acoustically ed booth with a window for vocal
recording. Against ck wall a concert grand piano stood, a padded khaki
-cloth over its top and sides. A couple of young lanky ing assistants
were on their knees working at a cable preparatory to recording the last
of the album's instruoverdubs. I in the shadows of the doorway, Daina
