Untouchable - Chapters 7-9

A rock 'n' roll romcom — Jack's concerns about Lucy bear fruit as her meddling causes a blowup in the band

Photo by Matthew Moloney 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, and the chapters published to date are available here.

You probably need to read previous chapters to get what’s going on. So it’s recommended to start at the beginning.

In today’s chapters, Jack’s concerns about Lucy are dismissed by band manager Dunk, only to prove true when her meddling causes a blowup in the band.

Hope you enjoy this diversion from reality and thanks for reading!

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Chapter 7

Jack

“There’s a groupie loose in the building,” I say as Dunk and I head for the hospitality room.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“What do you mean you heard? Has she caused trouble already?”

“Don’t be a dobber. When has a groupie ever caused trouble, except that poor lass who dared to criticize your lyrics?”

“She criticized our music. I couldn’t be having that. It sets a bad example for the boys. And if we ignored it, then what? She’s rewriting our effin’ music for us?”

“Relax, this isn’t just any run-of-the-mill groupie. Her name is Lucy, and she’s an old friend of Jigsy, the assistant manager. He vouched for her.”

“Meaning he’s shagging her.”

“He said he’s not shagging her. He’s a family man with a wife and kid now.”

“As if that stopped anyone.”

Dunk sighs. “She was with Magnus for most of his Magical Maximus tour. Jigs was on crew.”

“So? That doesn’t mean he knew her.”

“He said everyone knew her.”

I stop abruptly and put my hands on my hips. Dunk takes a few more steps before realizing I’ve stopped, and turns back toward me.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” I say. “Are we talking about Lucy L’amour, the super-groupie? That Lucy?”

“You’ve heard of her?”

“You don’t remember? The guys in Netherlude making jokes about her?”

“Now why would I listen to those knobheads?”

I walk in a circle in the narrow corridor, pawing at my head. “Russell said she was a major pain in the arse, following them around and sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. They had to call Magnus to come get her. Couldn’t wait to get rid of her. And then she wouldn’t leave. They had to carry her out screaming and dump her in the limo.”

“So if she turns out to be a pain in the arse, I get rid of her. Tell Jigsy to ban her from the arena. Problem solved. Don’t get your knickers in a bloody twist. You’ll live longer.”

“Fine,” I say as we resume walking. “Damn groupies. Scourge of rock ’n’ roll. The world would be a better place without them.”

“You know what would really make the world a better place? If you got shagged and stopped being so bleeding tense all the time.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m serious. You’re as tightly wound as a virgin in a strip club, and as much fun too. You need some action before you drive us all to distraction.”

“Eff off. I’m the only thing standing between this band and annihilation by groupies, spies, and an overly lax band manager. And besides, why in the world would I want to get involved with a woman? They lie and scheme and use successful men like us to get ahead. Groupies like this Lucy L’amour being the perfect case-in-point.”

“That’s it,” he says as he strides ahead of me down the corridor. “I’m calling the rock ’n’ roll police on you.”

“For what?”

“Impersonating a rock star.”

“And you for impersonating a manager. We’ve been down this corridor before. You’ve got us lost again.”

“Bloody arena,” he shouts as he smacks the cinderblock wall.

I can’t blame him. This arena is a maze. Who knows how many spies and groupies are running amok back here?

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Chapter 8

Lucy

After giving Alison his order, Keith had left me at the food table and went over to sit with the guys. They’re loudly arguing about some problem with the bassline in soundcheck.

He hadn’t given me a second thought. Typical self-involved rock star, even if I do find him charming and great fun.

Alison is preparing the food while I serve the drinks. No one is paying us any attention except George, who keeps sneaking looks over here—keeping an eye on Alison, interspersed with undressing me with his eyes.

No, he’s not the one for her. Not a Charlie Watts, that’s for sure.

Alison serves George, Rob, and Sam their burgers and Keith his steak, and now she’s warming up a lobster plate for Randy.

“Vic asked me who ordered the lobster tail,” Alison says, “like I make up the menu or something. I had to go look, and sure enough, it was right there in the band’s backstage rider. Lobster tail on both days.”

“That guy’s not even in charge,” I say. “What’s his big, fat problem?”

“Too good-looking for his own good. Thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind.”

“He’s not that good-looking.” Although, actually, he is. If I didn’t despise him so much for making things difficult for me, I’d be fantasizing about him. But I refuse to have any pleasant thoughts about someone as annoying and full-of-himself as Mister Wanker.

Alison takes Randy’s lobster, baked potato, and broccoli out of the microwave. I watch as she cuts open the potato and adds butter and sour cream. She puts a small container of melted butter on the plate, and adds some decorative garnishes. Going all out to win the grand prize—her very own Charlie Watts-style rock star.

“Excuse me,” she says as she ekes past Rob and places Randy’s plate on the table in front of him. “Can I get you anything else?” She puts her hand on Randy’s shoulder and gives him a big smile.

That a girl.

He mumbles “No, thanks” without looking up.

I sigh. I don’t know why I try to help girls get rock stars. Maybe all the trouble I’m having getting the recording contract is payback for greasing the wheels for too many girls. So many successful setups, so many romantic disasters. I could be paying that cosmic debt for a long time to come.

Alison comes behind the serving table and whispers. “He’s not even looking at me. What do I do? I don’t want to maul him or anything.”

“Take him something special. Something none of the other guys have, and tell him it’s the last one.”

Alison scans the food table. “Oh, I know. There’s only one crème brûlée left, and he had two of them yesterday. I’ll give him that.”

She puts the pre-prepared dessert in the microwave to heat it up just as George steps up to the serving table. He flashes her a blinding smile and says “hi” in a soft, sexy voice.

In his t-shirt and cargo shorts, George is the very definition of a manly man. He positively oozes sex appeal. I mean, what girl in her right mind could resist the oversized biceps and slick fingers of a professional drummer? They’re the power male on steroids. I certainly couldn’t with Russell Hammond.

George also has the mountain man thing going for him. Unkempt long brown hair and shaggy beard, with mischievous chocolate eyes twinkling at Alison. The girl would have to be made of stern stuff to resist this one’s charms.

“Can I help you?” she replies in a formal voice.

George’s smile disappears. “Uh, yeah. Could I have another burger and fries?”

“Have a seat,” she says as she turns away from him. “I’ll bring it right over.”

He scowls as he returns to the table. Instead of joining the guys’ conversation, he watches Alison transfer the burger and fries from under the food warming lamp onto a plate and bring it over to him.

“Ketchup’s on the table,” she tells him.

He cocks his head and gives her a dismayed look. I don’t think that one is used to striking out. But I also have to wonder why she’s being rude to George. That wasn’t part of the plan.

Alison removes the heated crème brûlée from the microwave and places it on a plate, putting some even fancier decorations and garnishes on the side. She’s really going all out here.

As she ekes past Rob a second time, George watches her every move. He sure wolfed down those burgers and fries. That’s not healthy.

Alison leans down and puts the dessert next to Randy’s plate. “Here’s the last crème brûlée for you, Randy. I know you love it.”

Randy is chomping away on his lobster tail and makes a grunting noise in response.

Alison shoots me a desperate look. Turning back, she rakes her boobs across his shoulder and says, “Just for you.”

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

George lunges across the table and punches Randy in the nose.

Alison screams.

Rob jumps up—he’s sitting across from George—and punches him back.

Keith grabs George and pushes him up against the wall, yelling, “What the fuck!”

At the same time, Sam grabs Rob’s arm and holds him back, telling him to stop.

Rob and George are both trying to break free and go back at it when Vic and this huge guy come barreling into the room.

The big guy shouts, “What in bleedin’ blazes is going on here?”

Mister Wanker takes one look at me and narrows his eyes and crosses his arms.

Good thing I’ve got a boyfriend now, or it looks like I might be out on my behind “tooty sweet.”

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Chapter 9

Jack

Everyone looks at Dunk and starts talking.

“One at a time,” Dunk shouts. “Keith.”

Keith steps away from George and gives him an apologetic look. “So George here lunges for Randy. Wallops him a good one. Rob wallops him back. And that’s about it, really.”

Dunk walks over to George. “What the hell, George?”

Looking down at the floor, frowning, George mumbles something about "me bird.”

“Something about me bird,” Keith says.

Dunk rolls his eyes. “I heard him. So this is about some chick?”

George keeps staring downwards and doesn’t respond. This is so un-George. He never gets into any trouble. Well, other than all the sexual shenanigans he gets up to with groupies. Other than that.

Dunk walks over to Randy. “You awright, kid?”

Randy is using a napkin to pinch his nose shut and stem the blood. Sensitive, considerate, peacemaker Randy. What in the world could cause George to hit him?

Randy looks up at Dunk, his face full of righteous indignation. “I didn’t do anything! He punched me all of a sudden, for no reason at all. I was just minding my own business eating my lobster.”

“Yeah,” says Rob. “What the hell was he thinking? You don’t go around punching people like that.” Rob is Randy’s twin and they’re always quarreling, except when they’re defending one another. Like now.

Dunk scowls. “That’s exactly the point, isn’t it? He wasn’t thinking, and neither were you.” He turns back to Randy. “So you got no idea why George hit you?”

“I think I can tell you.”

Oh no. It’s that Lucy L’amour super-groupie piping up.

I knew it. She’s involved. That girl has trouble written all over her.

Dunk turns toward her and gives her his deadpan glare. Dunk perfected that look back in school—his “don’t piss me off or you will live to regret it” look—and it makes most people freeze and quake in their boots. I know why he’s using it. Women are not allowed to interfere in band business, especially wives, girlfriends, and groupies, and Dunk has to be thinking she’s a run-of-the-mill groupie one of the boys sneaked in for some lunch and a quickie. They do that on occasion when they think we won’t show up. Dunk hasn’t twigged yet that she’s that infamous Lucy L’amour.

“So George was interested in Alison here,” she says, ignoring Dunk’s glare and waving her hand toward Alison.

Alison looks back at Lucy and nods. How does Lucy know this? She just got here, didn’t she?

“And she was interested in him too. I mean, look at him, he’s so sexy.”

Everyone looks over at George. He looks down at the floor with one of those half-smiles. Yeah, I can see it now. George is sexy. If I were a girl… for god’s sake, what am I thinking?

“But George told her he’d never been in a threesome or an orgy,” Lucy continues, “and she didn’t believe him.”

Alison shakes her head. Smart girl.

“And then last night he gave her the ‘I’m so exhausted’ excuse and slept with someone else.”

“You idiot,” says Rob.

No, he’s not an idiot. The guy is a sex maniac. Full stop. And Alison clearly isn’t that kind of girl.

George looks off to the side, sheepish. He doesn’t even look embarrassed, just caught out.

“So she decided she wasn’t interested in George anymore,” Lucy says. “She didn’t want to be with a Sex God type of guy like George.”

What type? Do women put us men into types?

George looks over at Alison, and Alison walks over to him. Jeez, this is like watching a play.

“I’m sorry, George, you are terribly cute, and I think you’re really sweet too. And you’re a great kisser. But I really want to be with a Charlie Watts kind of guy.”

OK, that makes sense. Everyone knows about Charlie Watts and his devotion to his wife Shirley.

George smiles at her. “S’okay.”

Wow, he’s OK with losing Alison to someone else. That’s a first.

Alison walks over to Randy. “So I couldn’t help noticing that Randy is really into fine food, like me. And he always asks me how I’m doing and really listens. And he even cleans up after himself. So I said, I bet he’s a Charlie Watts. He’s really cute too, and, well, I couldn’t help but flirt with him a bit. In front of George. Sorry, George.”

OK, now it all makes sense. I can’t blame her. She wants a Charlie Watts. She’s so right, that’s clearly Randy and not George.

The problem is her flirting with another guy. That would set off any man. What was she thinking? She’s lucky George is so easy-going and is forgiving her so easily. I wouldn’t. I’d want an admission of guilt and a profuse apology. A man has to have his principles.

Rob gives Randy a man-to-man smack of approval on his arm—even though Randy had been totally clueless about Alison’s interest. If Randy doesn’t do something now, with this opportunity landing right in his lap, the kid is hopeless.

Randy stands up and turns to Alison. “I, yes. Yes, I think I am a Charlie Watts. Well, I might be. Um, Jack…”

He turns toward me. Oh no, what is he doing? Is he planning to consult me on his type, like he consults me on everything else? Are you kidding, Randy? And blow my cover as Vic in front of Alison and that Lucy? I glare at him and shake my head very slightly. Hopefully, Alison and Lucy don’t see.

Randy looks startled and turns back to Alison. “Um, Jack… isn’t here.” Phew! The kid got the message. “But he said I’m going to make someone a great husband someday. I mean, not that I’m looking to get married. I’m too young right now, and I have to focus on my career first, he said. But—”

“Get to it, you ninny,” Rob says. “Be the man.”

Thank you, Rob. Otherwise, we’ll be here all night.

“Um, Alison, would you like to see my keyboards?”

“Yes, Randy, I’d love to,” Alison says.

Why do I feel like cheering? Our boy Randy is getting together with Alison, who not two seconds ago dumped George in front of everyone.

“But first, can I get some ice on that bloody nose for you?” Alison says. Randy nods. She takes his hand and leads him out of the room.

I look over at that interfering groupie and she’s swiping tears from her eyes. What did she have to do with this? I’m sure she had some sort of hand in what happened. She seems to be smack dab in the middle of things. Did she orchestrate it?

The tense air in the room dissipates with Alison and Randy’s departure. The rest of the band gather around the spurned George and commiserate with him.

“Tough luck, dude,” Keith says.

“Hey, he’s got the Rickman family charm,” says Rob. ‘What can you do?”

Sam smirks. “How come it skipped you?”

Dunk hits George in the arm. “Ooh, you’re so sexy, Georgie. You’re so cute, Georgie. You’re so sweet, Georgie. You’re such a great kisser, Georgie. We’ll nae hear the end of this, will we?”

Keith tousles George’s hair.

George grins. “Stop.”

That’s when that interfering groupie walks over and inserts herself under Keith’s arm. She sneaks a glance at me. What is this girl playing at?

Dunk turns to her. “I didn’t catch your name. I’m Dunk.”

“Her name’s Lucy,” Keith says, “and she’s me girlfriend.” He pulls her tight against him.

What the…? No way.

“So nice to meet you, Dunk,” Lucy says. “Can I tell you how impressed I am with how you handled that?”

“Is that so?” Dunk smiles down at her. “Go ahead. Tell me more.”

He shouts across the room to me. “You hear that? She thinks I’m a great manager.” And now she has Dunk wrapped around her little finger too.

“Oh, yeah?” I say.

I glare at the little Jezebel. Exactly as I suspected, this woman is going to be trouble with a capital “T”.

Well, little missy, let me tell you, you may not realize it, but you have met your match. Have I got your number, and boy oh boy is it about to be up.