Untouchable - Chapter 11

A rock 'n' roll romcom — Lucy attends a Pirate concert for the first time and gives lead singer Jack her uncensored feedback, to the consternation of Pirate guitarist and 'boyfriend' Keith

Photo by Chris Slupski on Unsplash

Note to readers: This is a story set in the outrageous world of 80s rock ’n’ roll — meaning it’s adult content.

It’s a full-length novel focused on our two romcom protagonists, Jack and Lucy, and the chapters published to date are available here.

You might want to read previous chapters to catch up with what’s going on.

Or here’s a quick recap of the plot points in case you prefer to jump right in.

A guide to the characters is available at the bottom of the post.

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The story so far

Lucy has been recruited by Dolos Discs A&R executive Barry Bartholomew to pose as a groupie and spy on his secretive and difficult client, the English rock band Pirate, for the last six concerts of their big US tour. In exchange, he’s promised her a recording contract, but only if she reports back every single day and the band doesn’t find out why she’s there.

Meanwhile, Pirate manager Dunk MacGregor and lead singer Jack St James have finally captured a guy who keeps following the band and sneaking into off-limits backstage areas. Using groupie ‘persuasion,’ they discover that he’s Barry’s nephew sent to spy on the band, and they insist that he and the two groupies, Suze and Carly, remain for the rest of the tour as ‘honored guests.’

Flying out to the band’s next location in Albuquerque, Lucy wangles her way into the arena to meet the band, but finds herself confined to the hospitality room by a weird Cockney “merch guy” named Vic, who unbeknownst to her is actually lead singer Jack. She doesn’t recognize him out of his Pirate costume and makeup (a la KISS). Lucy shares her Guide to the Rock Stars with the prim-and-proper arena chef, Alison, and succeeds in meeting and making a secret pact with Pirate’s disgruntled lead guitarist, Keith. Jack’s concerns about this groupie running amok (Lucy) are dismissed by band manager Dunk, only to prove true when her meddling causes a blowup in the band.

Lucy has proudly reported to Barry that she’s now embedded in the band as the lead guitarist’s girlfriend. But Jack has convinced Dunk to give her the boot — right after she gets to attend that night’s concert and see how great he is.

In today’s post, Lucy attends the concert, but Jack thinks she skipped out because he can’t see her in the VIP section. When he gets to the hospitality room afterwards, there she is, and she doesn’t hold back in giving him her feedback, to the consternation of her ‘boyfriend’ Keith.

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Fasten your seatbelts. Things are starting to speed up. And here we go!

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Chapter 11

Lucy

Is there anything more exciting than when the lights go down at the beginning of a rock concert by one of your favorite bands? You know you’re in for a great time with some of the best rock musicians on the planet.

I’d never heard of Pirate before Barry sent me out here, but the arena is packed to the rafters, and it’s not just dudes. There are plenty of girls too. That’s a good sign.

I’m sure I’ll like at least a few of their songs. At least the ballads.

Besides, I’m getting to hear a popular band for free. No way could I afford one of their tickets, let alone the best seating in the arena.

I grab Alison’s hand and give it a squeeze.

She leans toward me. “Get ready for a wild ride.”

Not exactly sure what she means by that. She’s seen Pirate both in concert and on MTV. I remember Magnus’s concerts being a total blast, especially from the side of the stage. Magnus gave Mick Jagger a run for his money in the running-around-the-stage-and-being-flamboyant department.

“Oh, I’m more than ready,” I reply.

The next second I jump as the sound of a screaming guitar rips through the darkened auditorium like a cannon being fired, accompanied by a flashing light and smoke coming from the front and sides of the stage. The audience scream with shock and delight, and goose bumps burst up and down my arms.

The cannon shots repeat over and over, getting louder and brighter and faster, until one last volley lights up the auditorium with flashing lights and rapid-fire guitar licks.

A spotlight picks out a man with a long black beard standing alone onstage.

“Jack St James,” Alison murmurs to me.

“King of these seas, that’s who I am,” he belts out without accompaniment. “Blackbeard to you, death to the Man.”

The crowd goes crazy again, so loud I wish I could turn down the volume on their noise. Geez, I want to hear him. Get a grip, girls. These guys aren’t the Beatles, for heaven’s sake.

The lead singer is dressed in knee-high black boots and a long sapphire blue coat over jet black clothing. His fingers are sparkling—he has rings on most of them—and dangling sapphire earrings shimmer in his long blue-black hair. The pièce de résistance is his hat, which is lit up from within and makes his ornately painted face look spooky.

This is one scary pirate. And sexy too, with his long, lean legs and a belted shirt open to the navel, revealing a chest to rival that of Robert Plant. The bare chest of Led Zeppelin’s frontman has never failed to make me hyperventilate.

This guy is getting me all hot and bothered too. If I were a wench back in pirate times, there’s no doubt, not only would I not be able to resist him, but I’d actually be begging him “Please, Mister Blackbeard, please. Choose me to ravish.” I’d be shameless in the face of… that.

It seems the girls in the audience agree.

He steps forward, the spotlight following him, and reveals Randy at the helm of what looks to be a ship. He puts his hand on Randy’s shoulder, and Randy joins in with his keyboards.

“My rule is law, my world this ship,” Jack continues singing. “Obey me do, I’ll make you rich.”

As he finishes the phrase, he looks at the audience and indicates Randy. “Allow me to introduce the Gentleman Pirate Stede Bonnet, onboard this ship as my guest.”

Dressed in a white nightshirt and breeches and sporting a fake blond mustache, Randy brings a smile to my face. He is so darned cute. Alison made the right decision in choosing him over George, and I’m proud I helped her to seal the deal with him.

Randy breaks into a brief solo, banging the ivories up and down his keyboard.

The audience goes wild again. I hope they’re not hysterical like this the entire concert. I want to hear the music.

One spotlight stays on Randy as he keeps the melody going, while another follows Jack as he climbs around the stage. Or what I should say is around the ship, as that’s what the stage is: a big pirate ship. Jack reveals each member of the band in turn, singing a phrase with them, announcing them to the audience, and letting them do a brief solo.

The last band member he introduces is Keith, my “boyfriend.” Keith is dressed in a bright calico coat over orange togs and knee-high brown boots. His long hair hangs loose and covers his face as he plays his doubleneck guitar like a man possessed.

I should be proud that my “boyfriend” is a guitar virtuoso. And I should probably keep my attention on Keith to maintain my public persona as his girlfriend. But I find that I can’t keep my eyes off that lead singer.

As the concert goes on, I realize what sets Jack apart from the others. He’s got the same charisma as all the big-name rock ’n’ roll stars—Elvis, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie, Freddie Mercury.

He runs here and climbs there, all over the ship, like an out-of-control Ozzy Osbourne. Like Magnus used to do.

Now and then, when one of the others takes the vocal lead, Jack picks up a guitar and sings harmony. Even then I can’t take my eyes off him.

But it isn’t long before I get sucked into the story, because this is no typical rock ’n’ roll concert. This is a rock opera on a par with The Who’s Tommy, or Pink Floyd’s The Wall, or David Bowie’s The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust. Every song is part of a story about the pirate “family,” and each member of the band gets to sing songs about their pirate exploits, their loves and hates, and their wins and failures. It’s like watching the spectacle of a rock concert combined with the storytelling of a musical.

It’s so brilliant, I don’t want it to end.

I’ve been on my feet swaying back and forth with everyone else when Keith sings the final ballad called “Your Eyes,” and I lose it. I have to sit down and get a tissue out of my purse, because the tears are streaming down my face.

The song is about him missing his love, bonny Ann, and not knowing if he will ever see her again “in this godforsaken world, caring naught about our hearts.” Jack joins in harmony with him, and together they sing “tell the child not my exploits, but of my true love for you.” It’s a hauntingly beautiful song about love and loss. A simple but elegant song that as a musician I can only dream of writing. A perfect song. A song that cracks my heart in two.

I keep tearing up right through the remaining songs: a final battle song when the ship engages in firefight like it had at the beginning; a fight on the deck involving flintlock pistols, cutlasses and swords; and a death scene in which Blackbeard sings about dying too young and wondering if he would ever be remembered by anyone.

When the concert is over, the audience gives the band a standing ovation that seems to go on forever. I stay in my seat, wiping the tears from my cheeks as Alison stands next to me cheering and punching the air, and occasionally reaching down to pat my back.

What can I say? We Sabatinis are big fat criers.

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Jack

I look over at the dimly visible VIP section. There’s Alison, clapping and jumping up and down. Howie is there too, with Carly and Suze. But no Lucy to be seen.

Groupies. You give them the best seat in the house and what do they do? Treat it like dirt. Instead of respecting and appreciating the incredible amount of hard work that goes into creating music and putting on a concert, they expect to take advantage of it. To enjoy the fruits without putting in the labor. To exchange a night of wild sex for something many fans would kill for—access to their favorite rock star.

I was right, wasn’t I? She’s just like all the rest. Someone who trades on her beauty and sexual favors. Someone who doesn’t truly appreciate the music.

Someone who doesn’t appreciate my music. And to think that I put everything I had into this show, pulled out all the stops. I’m wrung completely dry. There’s nothing more I could give.

I just wanted her to enjoy it before she left, since we’re kicking her out and it might hurt her feelings. That’s all. What kind of idiot am I, doing that for a self-serving and insensitive groupie? What the hell was I thinking?

Oh well, at least the fans seem extremely happy with tonight’s show. That’s something.

I swallow the bitter taste of disappointment—my old companion, disappointment. I sometimes wonder why I even try. What’s the point? All the effort never seems to give me what I really want, never seems to lead anywhere worthwhile. Except to more work, more problems to solve, more demands on my time, and more worries about money.

We might not even have a contract after this tour, not to mention owing our corrupt record label even more money with all their fancy accounting tricks.

Jack St James. Profession, rock star. What an effin’ joke.

We take our final bows. I leave the stage, followed by the others. I need to get back to the hotel and strip off this costume and makeup. It makes me look ridiculous, like a clown. I’m a grown man, and yet I’m still behaving like a schoolboy acting in amateur dramatics. Will I never grow up?

Everyone is smiling at me and congratulating me on a great show. It’s lucky I have the makeup on. I can smile and no one knows I don’t mean it. That I’m being overwhelmed by dark thoughts again. That I need to find Dunk and get back to the hotel.

I hurry to my dressing room and stuff everything into my carryall. Although I hate disorder, I want to get out of here. I want to get back to my hotel room and take a shower and lick my wounds. I’ll sort it all out later. I don’t want to even take the time to wipe off my sweat. So I’m sweaty and smell? So what?

I rush down the hall, looking into rooms as I pass. Dunk is probably in the hospitality room stuffing his face and congratulating the boys.

As I approach that room, I hear a female voice sobbing and other voices comforting her. This isn’t like sad sobbing, when someone is upset or grieving a loss. This seems more like an excited sob, if that’s even possible.

I stand at the side of the door, out of sight, listening. Omigod, it’s her. Lucy.

“I can’t get over it,” she says. “That was… beyond words. That was one of the best concerts I’ve ever heard. As good as Magnus. No, no, it was better than Magnus. It was absolute heaven. I can’t get over how good it was. I will never, never, ever forget it.”

Relief and joy and terror cycle through me all at the same time. Of course, the fans love our music, but I’ve never heard anyone react with such effusiveness. I’m rather touched.

“Who wrote that song ‘Your Eyes’? Who wrote that song?” she continues in a teary voice. “I don’t even have words for that song.”

“Well, uh, that would be Jack,” Randy says. “Yeah, it’s a brilliant song, isn’t it? He writes all the songs, does Jack.”

“Brilliant doesn’t do that song justice,” she says. “It was… sublime.”

Dunk comes up behind me and bellows, “What’re you doing standing here? You must be famished.”

He waits for me to enter the room. There’s nothing for it. I have to face her.

I walk into the room, Dunk behind me, and stop inside the doorway.

Dunk moves past me to the food table, as usual oblivious to anything but throwing some food down his gullet. He does work extremely hard, and has the insatiable appetite of a blue whale to show for it.

I stare at Lucy and she turns toward me.

When she catches sight of me, her expression changes from teary excitement to—there’s no other word for it, is there?—exuberant joy.

Like a wild animal caught in the headlights, I stand stock-still as she runs over, puts her arms about my neck, pulls me against her, and squeezes me tight again and again, going on and on in my ear about “that song,” and kissing my neck here and there in her excitement.

My sweaty, smelly, makeup-streaked neck. She doesn’t seem to mind.

I’m in shock at what she’s doing, unable to move a muscle, but not from the repulsion or pain that normally happens when someone touches me. It’s just the surprise of it. It actually doesn’t feel bad. No, to be honest, it feels good. I like it. I maybe even really like it.

She finally lets me go, and I can’t take in exactly what she’s saying, but she keeps holding my hand and crying and raving about the show and “that song.” The one thing I do hear her say: that she will never forget that song as long as she lives.

A piece of music pops into my head in that moment, a piece of music for her. The essence of her.

I keep staring at her beautiful face as she talks. I’m still not hearing a word she’s saying. Her words are like a warm ocean wave washing over me and engulfing me in pleasure. No, I’m in my head composing her song, Lucy’s song.

Dunk’s face comes into view, concern across his features.

“Luce, I need to have a word.”

“No, you can’t have a word.” Was that my voice? “No, no words.”

Dunk and I look at one another and he nods. “OK, no words.”

I have to get a hold of myself. I have to say something.

“I… I… I’m writing another song. This is the beginning.”

I sing what just popped into my head. No lyrics yet, only notes. But a beautiful combination of notes.

She stares back at me and tears up again. I think she likes it.

“I must apologize for being rude,” I hear myself say, “but I have to go.”

Rushing out of the room, I hum the beginning of the song several times in a row, until I have it memorized.

I can’t let that song escape. It’s her. The essence of her.

“Scuse me, folks,” I hear Dunk say as he follows me out of the room.

“You OK?” he says.

“I have this song.”

Dunk takes me to the hotel suite, has my keyboard and acoustic guitar delivered, and by morning I have a complete song. Her song.

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Lucy

“Um, Luce, you touched him,” Randy says to me after Jack and Dunk rush out of the room.

I’ve stopped crying, but I know my face is still red and tear-stained. I rub the moisture from my cheeks.

“I know. I got a little carried away, didn’t I?”

I’m not sure what to make of Jack St James. He didn’t seem to mind me throwing myself at him in my excitement, and he just stared at me while I babbled on and on about the concert and that song. Then, all of a sudden, he shares a new song he’s writing and sings some of it to me. Darned if it didn’t sound as amazing as “Your Eyes.”

Jack is clearly a masterful songwriter, and as mesmerizing in person as he is onstage. He reminds me of someone, but my brain is too tired to figure out who that is. The gorgeous David Bowie? Simon Le Bon maybe? Harrison Ford? Hard to tell with all the makeup he’s wearing.

My Pirate meal ticket and boyfriend appears in the doorway.

“I could eat a giraffe,” Keith announces before striding into the room.

He hasn’t changed or showered yet, his clothes soaked with sweat and his makeup smeared. He reeks of male sweat. They all reek of male sweat. It takes me right back to my days with Magnus.

“Tell her, Keith,” says Randy.

“Tell her what?” he says.

“About Jack and his … you know.”

Keith looks over at Alison standing next to Randy. “Now then, Ali, can I get some pizza and chips, you don’t mind?” He grins. “Y’know, what you Yankee doodle dandies like to call frenchy fries.”

Randy grimaces at him. “Um, Keith, well, she’s actually… her name is Alison, not Ali. And well, she’s not working here anymore, so she can’t get your pizza and chips, can she?”

Alison smiles at Randy and strokes his arm.

Keith looks as if he can’t compute what he’s hearing. “What?”

“She’s with me now, and um, I said Alison, why don’t you come with me. And she said—”

“Oh, for eff’s sake,” Keith interrupts. “I don’t care if she follows you around the bloody world. Me stomach thinks me throat’s cut and me mouth superglued shut. I’ve been playing me nuts off and—”

“I’ll get your pizza and fries,” I interject before he can get all riled up. I want this Randy and Alison thing to work out and don’t want to give Keith any opportunity to mess it up, and I also need to keep Keith sweet on me. “It’s the least I can do as your girlfriend, right?”

“Right,” Keith says, looking a bit sheepish. Our secret arrangement clearly slipped his mind. He rushes to cover up. “Get a move on there, woman, and fetch me me tea.”

“Of course, loverboy,” I say as I smile at him and step behind the food table.

Keith grins and plops into a chair at one of the tables, while Randy and Alison take seats opposite him. The microwave dings and I set Keith’s plate in front of him, along with a bottle of Budweiser.

Keith shoves a handful of fries in his mouth.

“She hugged and kissed Jack,” Randy says to Keith.

“What?” Keith says, talking with his mouth full. “You’re having me on.”

“No, no. I wasn’t cheating on you,” I say, giving Keith a meaningful look. “I was expressing my excitement about ‘Your Eyes.’”

“Oh, yeah?” Keith says. “You liked it?”

“She hugged and kissed him,” Randy repeats.

“You wanna hear me tunes?” Keith asks me. “I can play ’em for you tomorrow on the bus.” He takes a glug of beer.

“Jack never lets anyone touch him,” Randy says to Alison. “And he let Lucy touch and kiss him for ages.”

“Yes, I’d love that,” I say to Keith, hoping he ignores Randy and his obsession with my behavior toward Jack.

“I saw,” Alison replies. “He seemed to… really enjoy it.”

Keith pulls back. “Wait, what?” He points his pizza slice at me. “You stay away from that guy. He’s a bona fidey freak.”

“Well, of course I’m going to stay away from him. I’m with you.” I give Keith another meaningful look. Why does he keep forgetting our deal?

“And that Vic. You stay away from him too.” Keith gets up from the table. “OK, I’m done.”

He starts walking toward the door.

“Um, didn’t you forget something?”

Keith gives me a blank look. Jeez, this guy.

I grab my things from a chair. “Rock stars,” I say to Randy and Alison as I follow Keith out of the room.

To be continued next week…

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Our two protagonists:

Jack St James / Vic - co-founder and lead singer of English rock band Pirate, pretends to be a Cockney crew member named Vic when he’s not in his costume and makeup

Lucy Sabatini - singer-songwriter, head of the music program at the Spirits Rising ashram, and a former supergroupie known as Lucy L’amour

Members of rock band Pirate:

Dunk - band manager

Manny - tour manager

George - drummer

Keith - lead/rhythm guitarist

Randy - keyboardist and Rob’s twin

Rob - bass guitarist and Randy’s twin

Sam - lead/rhythm guitarist

Others:

Alison - arena chef who becomes Randy’s girlfriend

Barry Bartholomew - A&R executive for Dolos Discs

Carly - avid Pirate groupie and friend of Suze, ‘assigned’ to Howie

Cindy - Lucy’s best friend since childhood and her second-in-command at the ashram

Howie - Barry’s nephew, an ‘honored guest’ of the band after caught spying

Magnus - the rock superstar Lucy previously toured with as a supergroupie

Mandy the Snake - admin manager for the ashram

Mister Wanker - Lucy’s nickname for Vic

Rhonda - Barry Bartholomew’s executive secretary

Russell Hammond - drummer for rock band Netherlude

Suze - avid Pirate groupie and friend of Carly, ‘assigned’ to Howie

Swami - the head of the ashram