A voice beside him startled Niccolo and soon he was surrounded by other band members. “Wow, Niccolo, what a young beauty! Is this your sister?”
Niccolo studied the photograph, extending the awkward silence, and then turned it over and read again the number for the hundredth time. “No!”
The depth of emotion in the simple word surprised the young men encircling Niccolo. “Then who is she?” the suspense grew as they waited for Niccolo’s answer.
Niccolo pulled in a long breath and sighed. “She... is my madre, I suspect.”
A sudden booming voice bellowed over the venue's internal intercom and drew Niccolo’s attention away from the photograph.
“Niccolo, you’re required in the sound booth, please!”
Niccolo glanced up at the slender darkened room attached to the rear wall, but couldn’t see into the structure. He lifted his hand and waved, acknowledging the voice, then tucked the revered photograph back into his pocket, struggled up to his feet and jumped down from the stage. Watching Niccolo picking his way through the empty seats and disappear through the lower auditorium doors piqued the band's curiosity, but in the absence of another distraction they ambled back to their instruments and began to indiscriminately jam, hoping to gain enthusiasm for the approaching performance.
The clanging, jarring instruments dropped into silence once again as the band members watched Niccolo re-enter the auditorium’s vast lower arena and haul himself up onto the stage, grasping a package and smiling as if he’d been invited on television to tell his life story. With a gesture to follow him, Niccolo strode for the band restroom, the remaining members anxiously trailing. Pushing the door open, Niccolo dropped the package to the table irreverently and waited for the chattering musicians to catch up. Once the six were in a secretive huddle and the door was tightly closed against prying eyes and ears, Niccolo ripped open the package and feasted his attention on a note and began to read out loud.
“Your new song, Niccolo and Sticky Lizards. Please follow the easy instructions deliberately and enjoy the sound. The chords have been designed to resonate with the developing brain patterns of young people and interact positively with the high level of hormones found in maturing brain matter, releasing huge amounts of dopamine into the brain's pleasure sensors and ensuring you have another hit. Music to their ears. Robere has instructed me to leave you another encouragement package. Regards, Maestro.”
Another bulging envelope stuffed like a pillow sat on top of the music sheets, drawing expectant drooling stares from band members. “Open it, Niccolo! Let’s see how much we got!”
An excited ripple urged Niccolo on, leaving no doubt the band had accepted the new sponsor's terms. Niccolo placed bundles of 1,000 euro in 100 euro bills onto the tabletop, counting as he went.
“One hundred and twenty thousand euro!” he finally announced.
“Let’s see that music, Niccolo!” Roberto excitedly declared, grasping the pages from the tabletop and hearing the chords in his mind as he read. With a pleased smile, Roberto grinned back at Niccolo. “Hey, this is good! Let’s give it a try on the instruments.”
Before long, the auditorium was rocking along with an enthusiastic melodic beat reverberating with powerful tones and drawing stage hands from every part of the building to listen. As the instruments combined into a crescendo of crashing noise and then abruptly dropped off to background fill, Niccolo’s screech entered the fray, repeating over and over, “Sfidare Dissenso," and drawing hypnotised adoration from around the venue until the instruments once again maxed out, deliberately taking mesmerised minds to the edge of sanity and the verge of hysteria.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 30
With an official staff ID card dangling from a fabric necklace, Ryan stared in awe at the band practising on the Auditorium Stravinski stage not more than fifty metres away, fully engrossed in their emotional music but waiting reverently for their practice to finish before switching on the backpack vacuum cleaner strapped to his back. Transfixed by an apparent new song and bringing the vast auditorium complex to a standstill, the enchanting rehearsal riveted its audience into worshipful silence, listening intently and hoping the moment would last forever. The chords wavered and tingled, striking the eardrum at precisely the right resonance, mingling with sharply erratic brain signals then smoothing and coaxing the rough electric pulsing patterns into a flowing and energetic emotional curve, opening up a doorway into the hypnotised listener’s psyche by the singer’s words and graffiting just a faint hint of suggestion onto the unsuspecting spectator’s heart.
Defeated by time, the group drifted into the final moments of rehearsal and all too soon they called a wrap, abruptly pulling the plug on their audience's emotional ride and sending disappointed workers scurrying back to their work yet leaving the pleasing rhythmic throb continuing to tease distracted minds. Ryan sighed heavily, still dazed by the music and eager to hear more of the group that had so quickly made the number one spot on his top forty.
Watching his heroes desert the stage, Ryan reached behind his back to the chrome cylinder, searching for the switch to begin the arduous task of cleaning the vast music complex. Finding the protruding key, he swatted the toggle and the cleaner burst into life, drowning out every other recognisable sound. Over 2,000 seats in two levels crammed the expansive hall and it would take him every bit of the allotted ninety minutes to vacuum around the sprawling amphitheatre’s capacity. The time allowed had been strategically calculated by a boardroom brainstorming session, so Ryan couldn’t afford to stop or slow down. Paying crowds would be entering to see the Sticky Lizards’ performance soon and a dirty auditorium would result in Ryan’s immediate dismissal. The 800 seat upper mezzanine bulged out from the back wall, acting as an umbrella to the entry hall of the lower floor, seemingly protecting it from an imagined rainstorm that would never come. The upper mezzanine, small in comparison to the sprawling scene underneath, commanded an impressive view of the stage, performers and the 1,200 seat spaces less than ten metres below.
A snaking electrical cord just long enough to reach from the only wall plug on the mezzanine to its furthest corner tangled around seat frames, constantly pulling the plug and cutting the power, forcing Ryan to remove the pack from his back, walk the distance to the plug and reconnect the power. Being extremely careful not to miss anything, he worked each row meticulously, vacuuming around individual seats and concentrating hard. But he found the constant struggle dividing his attention between the dirty floor and the tangling cord to be a nail-biting challenge and frustrating his efforts to keep up with the cracking pace expected of him. Costing him vital minutes and pushing him ever closer to the looming deadline.
The honey coloured cherrywood floor made it easy to identify areas requiring the vacuum’s attention, but it also made it easy for a prowling manager to audit his progress and pinpoint an area he’d inadvertently missed, bringing about a stiff reprimand; or if the authority figure felt less benevolent, send him home for his misdemeanour. Developing a fail-safe mechanism in an attempt to avert the feared situation and as Ryan finished a row of chairs, he lifted the toggling seat bases into the raised position, giving him a tangible picture of where he had cleaned and an easy reference point to glance over his work, checking for anything unseen.
Reaching the forward extremity of the mezzanine, Ryan briefly glanced down over the safety railing, pondering the unattended band equipment and focusing on the flashy electric guitars as an ill-timed daydream unwisely settled across his mind. He wondered what it would be like to feel the sleek lustre of the flashy guitar, blending the highly polished instrument with his own magnetic fleshy fingers and coaxing the machine to sing within his semi-experienced grasp. Ryan could almost feel the spotlight burning down on top of his head whilst the guitar flashed and reflected, mesmerising his audience. With a solo looming, the guitar’s voice reached for the stars, vibrating and warbling with electric hysteria, drawing the crowd into roaring euphoric adoration
and chanting, "Ryan...! Ryan...! Ryan!"
“They’re good, aren’t they?!” a voice beside Ryan bawled above the vacuum's noise, evaporating the daydream in a swirling mist of imagination and making him jump with fright as a teenager about Ryan’s age drew alongside and tried to engage him in a conversation.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you!” Ryan shouted above the vacuum.
The teenager made a gesture with his finger over his oesophagus as if he was cutting his own throat. Ryan cottoned on and shut down the machine.
“I can’t stop! If I’m caught talking I’ll lose my job!”
The stranger smiled. “I won’t keep you. It’s Ryan, isn’t it?”
Ryan began to feel uncomfortable. “How did you know?”
The stranger smirked and pointed to Ryan’s ID and then backwards to the sound booth. “The techs watch you come in and then copy every move the Sticky Lizards make. They’re good aren’t they, the Sticky Lizards, that is?”
Ryan, keen to fob off the stranger and get back to work, stared at the teen, contemplating how to rid himself of the intruder but he couldn’t help bubbling over in adoration for his musical idols. “Way... way... cool! I wish I could play like that!” Ryan’s eyes sparkled.
“Can you play?” the stranger prodded.
“Yeah, but I’m not in their league,” Ryan admitted.
“They call me the Maestro, Ryan, and I’m sensing that God has a plan for you in music.”
“God?!” Ryan reacted as if he had been stung and surprised to hear the comment from someone so young.
The stranger held Ryan’s gaze momentarily, making Ryan feel uncomfortable. “It’s not so inconceivable that the master musician should have a plan for you. After all, these guys you idolise were taken from the streets as unknowns and now look at them,” the smirk reappeared across the stranger's face, but he remained undeterred by Ryan’s disbelief. “I’m kinda like the Sticky Lizards' unofficial advisor. Would you like to meet the band and maybe jam along with a couple of the guitarists?”
“WOULD I?!” Ryan almost jumped out of his skin and the sudden exclamation drew surprised gapes from the sound booth.
“Leave it with me and I’ll arrange it. Meet you back here this time tomorrow and bring your guitar."
Ryan coughed. “I... I don’t have a guitar. The one I had belonged to the school and I had to hand it back when I left recently.”
The teen smirked again. “No problem, Ryan, I’ll arrange one for you, too. See you tomorrow.”
Ryan swallowed hard, watching the teenager ascend the sloping floor to the back wall, push the exit doors open and disappear from view. “Yeah, right, Monsieur God-man! That’ll be the last time I see you, dude!” Ryan admitted bitterly, then turned to face the stage again, drooling over the flashy expensive guitars only metres away and hoped the stranger was able to keep his word. He jolted fully awake from his daydream and felt disturbed, as if he was being watched and switched the vacuum back on quickly before sweeping the auditorium with a guilty gaze and inadvertently locking onto Alex’s questioning glare boring into him from below.
Have you finished yet, Ryan? Alex mimed so Ryan could understand his meaning, but the concern was also conveyed.
Ryan shook his head then deliberately turned away and went about his work with renewed gusto, continually churning over the Sticky Lizards' new song and replaying the teenager's offer with growing dubious doubt, certain he had been scammed, but hopeful the Maestro character would come good with his promise.
*~*~*~*
Pushing the door open into the janitor’s room located at the back of the stage, Ryan hefted the backpack cleaner from his aching torso and placed the machine back in its locker. He glanced up at the clock and smiled; eighty-seven minutes it had taken Ryan to finish the job.
Alex came in seconds later, obviously concerned about Ryan’s unwise break right in full view of lurking managers. “Did you finish it?” Alex’s unease was evident in his sharp question.
Ryan smiled victoriously. “Yep, three minutes to spare.”
“Be careful stopping to talk, Ryan. There are people in authority roaming around searching for that kind of felony but they won’t ask questions. They’ll just send you on your way, regardless whether you’d finished the job in record time or not. All they see is someone not working and that could delay an expensive performance, causing scheduling delays throughout the night. A volunteer cleaner is far more expendable than an opening act... get my drift?”
“Yep, sorry, Alex. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
Alex slapped Ryan on the back affectionately, “Good lad,” then turned for the door to leave.
“Are you heading home, Alex?” Ryan’s voice cut short Alex’s exit.
“No, as a matter-o-fact I was going to find a staff seat at the back of the mezzanine foyer and listen to the Sticky Lizards. Do you wanna join me?”
Ryan nodded vigorously. “Do you mind?”
“Course not; let’s go.”
Just as Alex and Ryan settled into the last remaining seats of a vacant row expressly reserved for staff wanting to listen to performances but out of view of the main auditorium, Ryan’s face contorted with intense concentration and stunned Alex with a jaw-breaking question.
“Alex, does God have a plan for people’s lives who aren’t Christians?”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 31
A flashlight guided by an austere hand roamed the staff seating area, shining the light into faces and checking staff ID cards. His own face reflected in the straying torchlight beam, pale grey and stern like a train ticket examiner about to uncover a fare evader. As the manager recognised Alex, he smirked, most probably wondering why an older man would subject himself to a rock concert designed for teens and early twenties. Satisfied the row contained only legitimate staff and no one was trying to gate-crash, the manager shut down his flashlight and wandered away, looking for another unsuspecting group to harass.
Ryan redirected his attention away from the escaping authoritarian figure, peering over the safety rail some distance away and down onto the empty stage below. It wouldn’t be long before the band entered, ready to wow the expectant crowd. Ryan stifled a laugh as he imagined a scene, a mind picture he’d grown up with. The lower level of the Stravinski Auditorium resembled a cow shed just prior to milking time, with excited crowds holding expensive tickets, milling around seats and waiting with eager pain to find their allotted placement before the master herder arrived. With an amused grin still evident, Ryan glanced sideways at Alex, wondering whether he had heard his question, yet from the concentrated expression etched across the older man’s face, he felt certain Alex had comprehended and was entertaining some kind of reply.
Distracted by an approaching staff member shoe-horning between the back rests of the next row and seated patrons, Alex shuffled in his seat, turning almost sideways to avoid making knee contact as the excited fan took ownership of the last remaining seat. Once Alex had recovered from the knee gymnastics, he hesitatingly tackled Ryan’s enquiry. “That’s a deep question for someone who has just finished work. Where did this come from?”
Ryan wavered, tussling with Alex’s response and wondered whether he should disclose Maestro’s conversation and his offer, but felt sure to some extent at least Alex had already guessed.
“The teenager who interrupted you while you were vacuuming?” Alex suggested, hoping God had enlisted someone of Ryan’s age to come alongside him and engage with Alex in the battle for Ryan’s soul.
He nodded, holding Alex’s gaze with unmoving eyes.
“Tell me what he said and then I can try to answer you.”
Ryan shyly averted his eyes and stared at the floor, hoping Alex’s reply would give him the ammunition he so desperately wanted to justify a career in music. His troubled thoughts momentarily drifted back to the statue of Freddie Mercury and the tangled emotions just prior to the high school graduation ceremony. The strong pull still had Ryan torn by the
expectations of his parents, pursuing his own encapsulating dream and finding authoritative justification to salve his conscience for the path he’d already chosen.
Ryan mumbled incoherently.
“What was that?” Alex laughed.
Ryan lifted his head from staring at the floor, faced Alex and tried again. “He said he was sensing God had a plan for me in music.”
Alex recognised the typical teenage expression pleading for an affirming answer. However, Ryan’s statement took Alex by surprise, stirring up a guarded thought. Although God does use specific individuals to speak into other lives, He rarely gives a third party such intimate knowledge of His plan for another human being. However, before Alex could attempt a reply, the dim venue lights momentarily blacked out, followed by the blinding coloured flash of spotlights from the stage and then the escalating roar of the crowd.
A crescendo of crashing instruments flooded across the rowdy audience, drowning out the adulation with a solid wall of noise, stretching the auditorium’s capacity to restrain the magnitude-three-earthquake with its epicentre concentrated on the auditorium’s stage. Just as the auditorium’s straining walls quavered and pitched wearily, heaving the load onto faltering shoulders, Niccolo’s impassioned screech belched across the crowd, almost seeming to cripple the structure's will to hold the roof above the floor. With the strange bawling introduction complete, Niccolo and the band bowed, allowing the crowd's adoring praise to wash over highly inflated egos before embarking on more familiar soundtracks.
The Sticky Lizards' impassioned beat, accompanied by Niccolo’s fervent screech, wandered into familiar territory and when the vivacious rhythm of Sfidare il Male drifted across the horde, emotions exploded in a grinding dance and whipped the scene into a cathedral of worship. Surrounded by vastly younger people in a row designed for twenty individuals, Alex was the only body still in his seat. Even Ryan was on his feet waving his hands around animatedly, singing along with the words and copying every move Niccolo made.