THE CUP BEARER

By DJ

CHAPTER THIRTY

When it was time for the band to go back on stage, Shana was the last to leave except for Gypsy whose appearance was to be delayed till the second number, Shana’s solo spot, was over. He was standing in front of the dresser adjusting the red cummerbund over his tight fitting, black shirt. He smoothed down the pin tucks from shoulder to waist and checked his earrings were clipped firmly into place, then turned from the dresser and caught Shana staring at him. She looked away and Gypsy sensed she was wishing things could be different. It wasn’t the first row he and Brian had had and Shana had always tried to act as peacemaker. But that was not all she wanted to be, he was sure of that. Gypsy almost smiled at the idea; him and Shana? Now that really would stir things up.

She loved watching him dance, and their voices blended so well together, and she wanted to do more than mother him. Not that he needed mothering from someone like her. She was six years older than him with a gorgeous figure and a dazzling smile, but he liked her hair the best; blue black like his own, and falling about her shoulders in long waves that bounced as she walked. How could a dish like this be involved with a creep like Brian? She came to Gypsy now and took hold of his hands. “About what happened earlier, you have to learn how to handle Brian. He likes to be consulted first when we do things, after all he is the boss.”

“Even when he’s wrong?”

“Yes, even then.”

Gypsy shook his head and lowered his eyes to their hands, and he wondered how the band would react if he succeeded in pinching her off Brian. Her hands were small but gripped strongly. He squeezed them in return. “I can’t let the band suffer, Shana. I’m surprised Brian’s got this far. He doesn’t have the instinct to size up his audience and know what they really want.” He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “I know I’m still only a kid to these guys but I already I have that instinct. I used it for the sake of the band, not just for me. Brian would sing heavy metal in a church.” He sighed. “His uncle warned me he’d try to cramp my style. I should have listened to him.”

Shana nodded her agreement. “I’d be sorry to see you leave.”

Gypsy’s chin lifted defiantly. “Who said anything about leaving? I need the experience, so I’ll use him as long as I have to. It’ll be tough but I’ll stay till he boots me out or I can ditch him.”

“Good!” Shana smiled and suddenly placed a kiss on his lips. “Is it true what the boys are saying about you and a beach full of girls?”

“It was only a bit of fun. Does it bother you?”

She gave him a little shrug. “There’s my cue, I’d better be going.” She moved quickly to the door, leaving Gypsy staring after her and feeling that maybe the crazy notion about lifting Brian’s treasure right from under his nose might not be so hard after all. He watched the tight red dress shimmer round her legs as she left the room. Out in the main room, wolf whistles greeted her arrival, and Gypsy listened as the applause accompanied her progress to the stage, the band already playing the intro to “Bei Mir Bst Du Schon.”

He sighed again, wishing he were on stage to sing it with her. Shana could sing it fine on her own but it sounded so much better in its original form as a duet; one of Brian’s quirks was to have them rehearse a number together for weeks then split them up at the last minute. Brian was getting on Shana’s nerves and on more than one occasion had heard her mutter. “Boyfriend or not, he’s due for a piece of my mind or something heavier.” With another sigh, Gypsy grabbed his hat, set it on his head and stood behind the door with his arms folded while he sang her song with her for his own enjoyment.

The number went well enough and got a good reception, and then all too quickly the band started playing his personally arranged version of “El Bolero”. He waited at the door till the lights were lowered and a spotlight shone picked out a group of four tables which had been cleared and pushed together at Gypsy’s request during the interval. He tested his ankle, rubbed with anaesthetising ointment then firmly strapped, and made straight for the tables. Vaulting lightly onto them and, hoping his ankle would not let him down, he struck an arrogant pose. Slowly he began to move, sensuously at first, and with the blatant conceit of a true Flamenco dancer as he interpreted Ravel’s classical piece as a spectacle of slowly increasing passion. At first he had thought that combining The Bolero with a Flamenco dance would not work, but after years of honing his routine, he realised he had made the right choice.. The club members began to clap their hands in time to the fiery rhythm and it was hard to keep his face straight as he stamped and pirouetted on his improvised stage. The only thing that could have enhanced his performance would have been to have Maria dance it with him. The tables were old and solidly built but still they trembled and many hands reached forward to hold them steady; an emotional bond created between audience and dancer. In return, Gypsy strived for the ultimate in perfection, determined to give his best for these people who believed in him, just as much as he wanted to show Brian he was not easily beaten.

When at last he brought his routine to a dramatic finish, the ecstatic audience marooned him on the tables while they clapped and cheered him, and demanded that he sing some songs with a Spanish flavour. He looked towards the stage and shrugged his shoulders at Brian, who stared back at him, wooden faced. One enthusiastic punter hurried to the stage and lifted Gypsy’s acoustic guitar from its cradle, carrying it in triumph to the tables. Brian’s expression turned dark and Shana was shaking his head at him, but how could he disappoint these good people. He raised his hands, palms upwards, in defeat and pleaded for Brain to understand it wasn’t his choice.  Dave and Glen had their heads together and were frowning, but Les, Joe and Archie were grinning at him. That alone made his mind up for him. A bar stool was lifted up and set on the tables and once he was perched comfortably he played his guitar the way his father had taught him in the short time they had together, and he sang songs in Spanish as they were meant to be sung. No one understood the words but they liked what they heard, and rocked to the various rhythms. He had them in his pocket and he was going to keep them there. Even when he later belted out the songs Brian wanted him to sing, their applause seemed to be for him alone and Brian knew it. They loved ‘The Gypsy’, they loved Shana, and by the end of the show they loved the band as well and yelled for more. They wanted the band to come back the following weekend and if the band wouldn’t come, they wanted The Gypsy to come back on his own and bring the girl with him.

In the dressing room, Shana, Archie and Joe hugged him with open delight and even Glen shook his hand and said, “Well done, kid,” but Brian pulled him from them and pushed him down into a chair, then stood over him with a face full of fury. “I don’t know what your game is but just you remember; you turn a gig into a one man show like that again and you’re out; finished.”

Big mistake, Brian! Gypsy was on his feet almost before Brian had finished his tirade, his Latin blood boiling. “Listen, Cabbage Head, I worked hard tonight to stop us all being thrown out into the street.” For the first time that night he was aware of a throbbing pain building up in his ankle and he knew he shouldn’t have danced, but he was not going to mention it and have Brian accuse him of looking for sympathy. Instead he gritted out, “I talked to the club secretary during the interval. They didn’t like the last band that played here and the equipment was in pieces when they left. That is never going to happen to me, anywhere. And just you remember, I don‘t sing for you or myself; I sing for the people who pay us to perform and have the right to decide what they want to hear.”

“You know it all, don’t you?” Brian sneered back. “You think you can do anything you like. Well I’m telling you, no one does that in my band. You toe the line or you are out.”

Shana stepped between them. “For heaven’s sake, stop this, they can hear you out there. Brian leave him alone, he did his best to save all our necks.”

His fury on full throttle, Gypsy pushed her out of the way a little too roughly and sent her into Les’s arms. “I don’t need anyone to speak for me; I can do my own talking.” Almost spitting the words, he snarled at Brian, “No-one does what he wants in your band because Mr. Big Brian MacCaffrey wants all the glory for himself. He thinks he’s so big he keeps everyone else under his stinking feet.”

“Is that so? Well let me tell you - “

“No, let me tell you. Glen is a brilliant trumpet player, but you won’t let him have a solo spot because you’re scared he’ll make it and you won’t. You told him he’s not ready and he believed you. You try a trick like that on me and I swear I’ll make you pay. I’m out front and that is where I am going to stay, and as far as the contracts are concerned you can burn mine.” Let Brian sack him, he didn’t care anymore. He had said his piece and he just hoped the rest of the band had listened and realised how Brian was out to wring them dry before he dumped them. His ankle hurt like the devil and all he wanted to do was get back to the flat they had rented and get some sleep.

Brian’s eyes were dangerous slits. “You can’t talk to me like that; you can’t just walk out on me.”

“Oh can’t I?” Gypsy looked round at the others and saw they were hanging onto every word. “I have news for you guys. I can do anything I like, and so can you. We still have until the thirty-first of the month to cancel the contracts; not that they’re worth anything. My guardian is a barrister and his brother is a solicitor. I had them check mine out. I don’t suppose any of you have read your contracts properly yet. The way they’re worded, if Brian drops us, we can’t claim a penny, but you walk out on him and you’re in trouble!”

He expected Brian to hit him but he didn’t. He just smiled and said quietly, “Well, well! You are a bastard, aren’t you, in more ways than one?”

Gypsy had never thought about his status in life before; up to now it had never bothered him all that much. The room dissolved as the words echoed round his brain and their full meaning hit home. It hurt like a knife twisting deep inside his guts. When his vision cleared he found his right hand throbbing and Brian picking himself up off the floor. Gypsy groped unsteadily for a chair and swept away the hands that reached out to help him. No one offered to help Brian.

The holiday flat Brian had found was roughly in the centre of the area where the week’s gigs were being performed, no gig being further than a one-hour journey. The flat sported two rooms with the use of an extra toilet along the landing. One room had two double beds in it and an en-suite shower and toilet in the corner. The main room had cooking facilities, a large table, six chairs, a double bed and two singles. Brian naturally claimed the double in the main room for him and Shana. A pointless gesture, Gypsy thought, as the accommodation offered little privacy. He had grabbed one of the singles and Archie the other, leaving the rest of the band to fight over the beds in the other room. Gypsy could hear them arguing about it now as he sat at the top of the stairs outside the flat. He had refused to go into the flat after Les and Archie had helped him upstairs, and they had left him on the top step to be alone in his misery. He longed to get to bed but was determined not to move till Brian was asleep. He didn’t have to put up with that moron glaring at him all the time, so he sat and listened to the muted voices above the clatter of dishes and cutlery being laid on the table ready for supper. Yet again, Shana was acting as an unpaid kitchen maid. “Where’s Diaz?” he heard her ask.

“Sulking downstairs,” came Brian’s voice, “he can stay there all night for all I care.”

“He’s out on the landing.” Archie corrected him.

“Well someone ought to bring him in,” Shana replied. “That ankle needs seeing to and he ought to be in bed.”

“Are you, he’s mother, or something? If he wants to behave like a spoilt brat, let him!”

“You’ve never liked him, have you?”

“I don’t have to like everyone I have in my band. While he’s good I’ll use him.”

Gypsy bit his lips in pain and anger. Stuff you Brian! Nobody uses me, not any more.

“Oh, you do admit he’s good, then?” he heard Joe declare. “Wonders will never cease.”

“Of course I admit it, even if he is a bastard.”

Gypsy wanted to dive into the flat and shut Brian’s mouth for him but he knew he wouldn’t get halfway before his ankle gave way. He heard Joe say quietly, “Okay, Brian, I’ve kept my trap shut till now, so now it’s my turn to say something. If what the kid says about our contracts is true, you can tear mine up and use it to wipe your backside with. He’s pulled us out of a bad scene tonight and you should be grateful to him. The kid’s good. He knows what he’s doing which is more than can be said for some of us. If he goes, I go.”

“Okay, okay! Go. Leave the band. See if I care. I don’t want anyone in my band who’d rather listen to an arrogant little faggot.”

Gypsy heard the scuffle then Archie’s usually lazy gravelly voice raised half an angry octave saying. “Listen Pinhead, that kid was performing on a duff ankle tonight, only you wear your blinkers too tight to notice things like that.”

“How awful! He only has to prick his finger and he’s in hospital.”

Archie wasn’t finished. “Anyone else would have cried off, but the kid carried on. And as for him being a faggot? I couldn’t care less if he’s a raving queen. He’s more professional than all of us put together, and that’s what counts. In any case, I don’t listen to malicious tittle-tattle like you do. You want my contract too? You can burn it with the kid’s.”

Seconds later Gypsy heard Les and Dave chorus, “And mine,” followed by Glen saying. “Mine too,” which gave Gypsy a jolt of surprise.

When Brian spoke again he sounded really mad. “What about yours? Do you want to burn yours too?”

Shana’s voice was low and dry. “Sorry, Brian, you seem you have forgotten; you took me so much for granted you didn’t even bother to give me one. Go see a solicitor before it’s too late, boys. He’ll show you what a good contract is.” There was a short silence apart from the rattle of cutlery then Shana said, “Don’t you touch me, MacCaffrey! I’ve had just about enough of your moods and tantrums. If you think I’m sleeping in your bed tonight you’ve got your brains in a twist.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that.”

“I said leave me alone.”

“Do as you’re told. Brian.” Archie’s voice was dangerously soft.

“You keep out of this. Now you black bitch -.”

Gypsy heard the sound of someone’s face being slapped followed by Archie’s soft chuckle. “Serve’s you right Pin Head, she did warn you.”

The flat went quiet, and soon after the lights went out though the door had been left open. Gypsy stared down the darkened stairwell lit only by a dim safety light, and felt more depressed than ever. He had caused a rift among the band and an augment between Shana and Brian. Suddenly the professional world he was trying to build for himself was crumbling about his ears. Granted he wanted to lure Shana away from the creep, but not this way. Why did everything have to keep on going wrong?

There was a movement behind him. He looked up and found Shana standing in the flat doorway in her bathrobe. She came over and sat down beside him. “Don’t let Brian get to you; the boys and I are all on your side.”

“So I heard. Thanks.” He rested his head on the nearest banister upright and stared down into the dark once more.

“Then what’s the matter?”

Gypsy sighed and closed his eyes. “They say the truth hurts. I never realised just how much.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“You heard what Brian called me.”

“Yes, but we all know Guido’s not your father.”

“I never thought much about it till just now.”

“He adopted you, didn’t he?”

“No.”

“Oh, I see. But you’ve found your real father now, so what’s the problem?”

“I’m still a bastard and always will be. Nothing will change that.”

“That’s nothing these days, lots of parents aren’t married. Tell me about your real father, what does he looks like?”

“You’re looking at him.”

“Really!” Shana’s eyes gleamed in the dimness and he loved her for her interest. He wondered why he had never told any of the band members about Manuel. He told her now, and she seemed genuinely interested. “Well, a lucky find like that should have you over the moon. Do you see much of him?”

Gypsy shook his head. “He’s too busy at the moment. Just when I need him, he’s suddenly found fame, and he’s flying all over the world doing concerts and stuff; maybe not for too long though. Maestro Claude is getting too old for touring and wants to get back to what he loves most, teaching. It’s too bad Mum and Manuel didn’t get together before we went to Tamarigo; I would never have had Guido ruin my life.”

Shana’s hand covered his. “And you wouldn’t have become such a wonderful dancer or a singer either. Out of ugliness shalt thou find beauty, out of cruelty shalt thou find gentleness; out of hate shalt thou find love. I read that in a book of poetry of my grandmother’s.”

Gypsy didn’t feel so philosophical. “I’ll bet it also says out of life shalt thou find a living hell.”

Shana squeezed his hand again. “Now you’re being silly.”

“Am I? I don’t think so. I’ve managed to ruin every friendship I’ve ever made, and made more enemies than I care to count. I’m a Scorpio; I have a sting in my tail. I sting my enemies but in stinging others I sting myself even more. I take so much out of people without meaning to. I take and take, and I seem to drain people of their very souls. People who get too close to me end up getting hurt. Stay away from me, Shana or I’ll sting you too.”

Shana rose to her feet. “Now you’re being really silly. I don’t believe in star signs and you can’t get rid of Shana Royle that easily. Come on, on your feet, it’s time you were in bed.” He was glad of her arm to lean on as he hobbled into the flat. There was one dim light left on over the double bed and in the gloom they found that Brian had taken over Gypsy’s bed. Only the double was vacant.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll sleep in one of the chairs.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Shana closed the door behind them. “Just get undressed and get into bed.”

Gypsy glared at her and hissed. “I can’t get into bed with you.”

Shana flapped her hands and hissed back. “We run round a dressing room with next to nothing on, what’s the difference?”

“A dressing room is not a bed!”

“Okay, we’ll just stand here all night and talk about the weather.” Shana walked round to the far side of the bed, slipped off her robe to reveal a very modest sleeveless T-shirt and cropped cotton shorts, and slid into bed. “Do what you want, I’m tired.”  She reached for the light pull and plunged the room into darkness. Gypsy stripped down to his briefs and groped his way into bed, and settled down as far away from Shana as possible. Okay, what next, he thought.

*  *

To be continued