Chapter Nine: We Never Want Our Friends to Be Too Happy

Usually Lynette would have been fed up that another female had joined the band but instead she was too distracted by her blossoming relationship with Joost. She had colour in her cheeks and her enthusiasm was being reciprocated. Joost was energetic. He told her she was beautiful. He listened to her stories rather than hiding his face behind a wall of newsprint.
‘Is this Miss Ellen girl pretty?’ Lynette asked, blowing out a thin stream of cigarette smoke.
‘Why is that important?’ I asked.
‘I’m just curious what kind of girl she is.’
‘She’s a great singer type of girl,’ I replied.
Joost ran up behind Lynette and put his gorilla hands over Lynette’s eyes.
‘Who is this?’ she said giggling.
‘JOOST!’ Lynette shouted, grinning like a chimp.
Joost kissed Lynette several times and stroked her hair. He whispered something. Lynette laughed. Lynette said something back. He laughed. It’s only natural when a friend starts a new relationship that you start to re-evaluate your own. Was it wrong that Carl and I didn’t have fun all the time? Why were we so reliant on watching crappy films and eating stodgy food? What would happen if we sat in a café together rather than watching ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ for the thousandth time and cramming cheese puffs down our throats? I hated feeling jealous. My relationship with Carl was fine. Everyone felt this way in the beginning. Before you witnessed the nose picking. Or the way they pulled bits of yellow skin off their feet and flicked it behind the TV whilst you were watching films you’d already seen before. Joost sat down and Lynette sat astride him, clamping her mouth onto the side of his neck. I thought how Carl and I had spent much of the morning discussing whether to have cauliflower cheese for dinner or cabbage. We talked a lot about ideal vegetable accompaniments these days. They started to tongue kiss. A few people from adjacent tables stared. It’s a myth that people in Amsterdam walk around topless with joints hanging out of their mouths. It’s not Studio 54. The majority of people like chunky knitwear, taking vitamins and slacks made from quality materials that wear well over time.
‘Sorry Lola. Forgot you were there,’ Joost said pulling away.
‘Don’t mind me but I think you’ve got a bit of an audience. And what about Pete? Does Pete even know you two guys are seeing one another?’
‘What does he care?’ Lynette said, ‘I’m teaching him a lesson- he might finally notice that I am someone worth caring about’.
‘So you’re just using me are you?’ Joost said leaning over and reaching for a cigarette from her handbag.
I stared. At this point I really wanted to see warts behind his ears or hear some comment about his lopsided genitals. What I didn’t want was more heated flirting between the two of them and the realisation that Joost didn’t have any readily identifiable faults aside from hands that were the size of dinner plates. I hoped he made a really annoying face when he orgasmed. I hoped he leapt out of bed and went to run his penis under the tap as soon as it was over.
‘Joost said he’ll direct our video,’ Lynette said shifting on Joost’s lap so she was facing back in my direction.
There was lipstick smeared down her cheek. I leant forward and rubbed at it with my finger. What was wrong with me? I wanted Lynette to be happy. There was a side of my character which was really hateful and I needed to root out this side and hurl it under the wheels of a tram. After all it wasn’t as if there was only a finite amount of happiness to go round. And Carl and I were happy enough. We were at the ‘hamster stage’ of our relationship. We enjoyed filling our nest with bits of sawdust and sitting with munched up food in our cheeks. These two were at the ‘Benobo’ stage where they just wanted to shag, take a nap and then shag again. They would become hamsters soon.

Joost reached into a folder and bought out a contact sheet of black and white photos. My stomach did a dive. I hoped that the shoot had gone better than I thought. I hoped it wasn’t the re-emergence of the lisping primary school creep. I gestured to the waitress to bring me another beer.
‘Does anyone else want a drink?’ I said but Lynette and Joost had their head buried in the photos.
‘They are FANTASTIC!’ Lynette shouted.
‘Show me!’ I said in a slightly embarrassing way.
I was really hoping that some miracle had happened and I looked FANTASTIC too.
‘Wait a minute,’ Lynette said looking through the next page.
‘Show me! Show me!’ I pleaded like some horrible, bitter, Pageant Princess.
The photos were dropped on the table. Joost and Lynette were snogging again. I wondered why Pete wasn’t with me now. Was it because he had headphones permanently glued to his ears these days? Was it because the music was more important? Or was it because I hadn’t even asked him? The drinks arrived and they stopped kissing. I picked up the photographs. I looked at them with the rim of the beer glass attached to my mouth.

The first two pages were all Lynette. There wasn’t a bad photograph and Joost had put white pencil circles around every single one. I rifled through to page three and then this other person started cropping up. It was like a medical document showing the consequences of really bad posture.
‘Why can’t I ever take a nice photo?’ I said.
‘This one is really nice,’ Joost said, pulling the sheet from my hand and pointing to one where I looked like a donkey after a hard day carrying hefty tourists on its back.
There was no point being resentful. At least one of us was photogenic. I was happy to be the one relegated to play keyboards and standing in the shadows. I loved Lynette. I was happy for her and her new relationship and the fact that she was having good luck had no bearing on whether I got some of it or not. As I cycled home, head a little blurry from the four beers, I thought about all the positives- the fact that I was actually cycling right now rather than pushing the bike on the pavement, the fact that I had a boyfriend and the fact that I knew I had green beans as my vegetable accompaniment this evening.

* * * *

Forest lived on the top floor of a slightly grotty purpose built block in the Pijp. Inside the flat was minimalist and ruthlessly clean. He only owned one glass. Everyone else drank from plastic cups. He didn’t seem to get many visitors. He leapt up and fetched a coaster whenever you put your cup down.

We were going to play a gig at the Paradiso in a couple of weeks. We also had a video to shoot for the first single ‘I Call Upon’. At this stage none of this seemed incredible. I guess the photo shoot had knocked the wind out of my sails and ensured I still remained perfectly conscious of who I really was. Joost walked in. His whole body had sagged and his knuckles were almost scrapping against the floor. Perhaps my posture was contagious.
Carl offered his hand. Joost smiled weakly.
‘I’m a huge fan. I’ve seen ‘Scribe’ in concert many times,’ he said.
‘Thanks. They’ve turned into a bit of a joke now,’ Carl said.
Joost’s hands shook ever so slightly as he lit a cigarette and collapsed into the sofa. Forest twitched nervously as a small lump of ash dropped on the floor. I could tell he wanted to go and get a cloth and tidy it up but this wasn’t the rock and roll behaviour of a manager of the next big Dutch dance act. Joost looked drained- like he’d been giving blood. Lynette’s skin was luminescent and the whites of her eyes were bright and clear.
‘Have you seen the photos?’ she said perching on the corner of the sofa arm.
Forest coughed and probably wondered whether her pointy heels would leave scratches on the floorboards. Carl shook his head. I hadn’t really spoken about the photos. I hoped perhaps we could do some new photos. I hoped these new photos would involve someone else who was more photogenic than me.

Forest walked in carrying a large wooden tray with paper plates with small cubes of cheese on top and some nuts. It looked like he’d counted out an equal amount of peanuts for each person. I wondered how he coped with all the chaos that generally sounds musicians- did he go into the bathroom and fold toilet paper into perfect triangle shapes?
‘Have you met Lynette?’ Carl asked looking up.
Forest licked his teeth several times.
‘Delighted,’ he said, setting the tray down and proffering his hand.
The buzzer went.
‘That’ll be the bloke,’ Eddie said.
He was leafing through one of Forest’s Helmut Newton books which were stacked on top of the coffee table.
‘You mean Miss Ellen,’ I said.
Charles was sitting smoking on the balcony. He looked very small and vulnerable now he’d been removed from his natural environment and made to socialise in the real world. He stared out listlessly at the neighbourhood avoiding eye contact.
‘Hiya guys. I am pooped. So excited though. So excited,’ Miss Ellen said.
There was something liberating about seeing her. Like you could finally undo your trousers and shove peanuts down your throat. It wasn’t because she was big. But there was just something unapologetic about her personality. She didn’t perch on furniture. She didn’t giggle whenever a man said something. Lynette looked relieved to finally meet her and relieved that she was still the thinnest person in the band.

The meeting was long. I felt like I had nothing to contribute. Everyone else seemed to have ideas. Joost had a ‘concept’ for the video which would involve us all going to the seaside and filming at night. We would also rent a studio for a day. Forest was excited by the idea of using brain machines. Lynette wanted us to wear glittery dresses with matching rucksacks.
‘I’m not sure about the dresses,’ Miss Ellen said, ‘I prefer to wear my own clothes if that’s okay- you know stuff that actually suits me.’
‘But then you won’t fit in with Lola and me.’
‘Well I have my own style. I’m not really into glitter and all that jazz.’
‘Joost- do you think that’ll work with the video? Don’t you think it’d be better if all the girls wore the same thing?’
Joost didn’t answer. He was too tired to answer. Perhaps he wished that the hamster phase would kick in quick so he could get some rest.
‘I’m not sure about the brain machine idea’ Eddie asked, ‘Don’t they just cover up most of your face? I mean they look a bit stupid.’
‘Have you ever actually tried one?’ Forest said rushing out of the room and coming back with a pair of sunglasses that had tiny lights on the inside. He plugged the glasses in and gestured for Eddie to come over. Eddie put the glasses on and settled down on the floor with his legs bent. He looked like he was wearing sunglasses that were plugged into the mains. It wasn’t quite what I’d expected.
‘Do you feel anything?’ Carl shouted as lights shone out the side of the glasses and Eddie moved his head from side to side.
‘Not really,’ Eddie said, ‘It’s just like when you push your eyeballs with your fingers.’
‘You’ll be entering into a different state of consciousness- just give it time.’
‘I don’t feel any different.’
Forest looked disappointed. Perhaps he got a bit carried away living here on his own. He needed someone to tell him that you didn’t have to count the nuts and brain machines were just a giant rip off.
‘We haven’t even discussed the best thing- the name!’ Forest said changing the subject. He bent down and teased a bit of fluff out from between the floorboards and shoved it in his pocket. Everyone looked at Carl because he was the visionary- the one with all the musical experience, the one who’d come up with the name - ‘Secret Scribe’. Then Carl turned to me. Perhaps he realised I was demoralised by the photographs, perhaps he worried that now Miss Ellen had joined, my role was rapidly being diminished, perhaps it was just an example of something sweet that your partner does when you get past the incessant need to fondle.
‘You come up with a name,’ he said.
‘Well you’ve kind of put me on the spot.’
‘Come on. You must be able to think of something,’ Eddie said pulling the glasses off, ‘I feel absolutely nothing. How much did you pay for these?’
‘What about ‘Sweet Pie,’ Lynette said.
‘That’s just dreadful,’ I said.
‘I think it’s cute,’ Joost said.
‘We need a name that really brings to life the ‘big stuff’,’ Carl said, ‘You know why we’re here. How we’re always striving to find out what’s out there- the feeling you get in a club when everyone understands.’
‘Isn’t that being stoned?’ I said.
‘How about ‘The Horny Brigade of the Lord’?’ Eddie said, ‘It sounds a bit like something the KLF would say.’
Forest took the brain machine and put it on his eyes. He seemed worried. He really liked that machine and thought it did something special.
‘Too copycat,’ Miss Ellen said.
‘What about Cyberia?’ I said.
Everyone went quiet.
‘You know it’s a cross between Cyborg and Siberia,’.
‘And the significance of that is?’ Lynette said.
She was cross because I didn’t like ‘Sweet Pie’.
‘I think till we have any better suggestions we’ll stick with that,’ Forest said nodding his head as the lights sprang out the side of his glasses.
If I’d had a brain machine and it actually worked, I would have got it to come up with a better name than Cyberia but at the time it just made sense. Charles dawdled into the room. His face was blank.
‘It’s actually really nice to breathe fresh air,’ he said.

A couple of nights later and we were out at the Milky Way. I was steering clear of the tablets - just taking it easy. Lately I’d been feeling more grumpy than usual and woke each morning feeling like some sort of disaster had occurred for which I was personally responsible.
‘Did you see Bob Van Veen standing at the bar?’ Lynette said, slipping into the booth beside Carl and I. She was on her own. Joost was working on a shoot. And who knew where Pete was? Was he doing something that was actually more interesting than all of us put together?
‘Who’s he?’ I said.
‘The guy practically invented Dutch music,’ she said.
A man in very small denim hot-pants and a white vest stood next to us. I’d never seen a man wearing such small pants before. It kind of made you feel awkward.
‘Hi,’ Lynette said turning to get a better look.
‘I hear you’re getting a band together,’ Bob said.
He had a big, swollen face like he’d been in a boxing match . Carl’s cheeks looked flushed. He seemed to be studying his glass intently.
‘We’ll be playing at the Paradiso in a couple of weeks- we’re called Cyberia,’ I said.
Bob nodded and took a sip of beer. He had a heavy Dutch accent- it was rare to hear an accent because everyone spoke such impeccable English with nothing but a slight American twang now and then.
‘So you must be doing loads of rehearsals?’
This made me slightly anxious as we’d only actually been in the same room once. Were we supposed to have proper rehearsals? Bob smiled. It wasn’t a nice cheery smile. It was the smile of someone who enjoys taking pleasure in other people’s misfortune. He slunk off again. His denim hotpants rode up his backside as he walked.
‘He seemed a bit odd,’ I said.
‘I think he’s cool,’ Lynette said and left to go to the loo.
‘Do you know him?’ I said to Carl.
‘Yes unfortunately I do. He’s changed his image. He used to have long, black hair extensions, grey eye shadow and sleeves that dragged on the floor. He had this band and they were completely based on ‘Scribe’ and had exactly the same look. And people seemed to like it because he got this singer who was hopeless but really pretty. She was actually my girlfriend at the time.’
‘You never told me about that.’
‘I’ve tried to forget about that period of time. It was pretty awful.’
‘But I’m sure people realised his band were just clones.’
‘People don’t have a good bullshit monitor in Holland. Sometimes things that are really un- cool end up being really popular.’
‘Well that happens everywhere.’
‘And now he’s got one of the most successful dance acts in Holland.’
‘I bet they’re pretty crap too.’
‘Come on guys, Zarzar will be on in a minute. Let’s try and get near the front,’ Lynette appeared clutching her tartan purse and rubbing her nose.
‘Where’s Pete?’ I said as we pushed our way into the crowd.
‘He’s staying in. He was tired. I even came home one afternoon with a love bite and he didn’t say anything. Unbelievable.’

The smoke coming from the stage was intense. It was hard to see. Two girls emerged from the smoke and stepped forward. The beat began. It was impossible not to stare because these girls moved in a completely uninhibited way. They weren’t thinking about whether a tampon had fallen out of their handbag or whether their thighs looked too chunky. It wasn’t choreographed or cheesy. And the noise incredible. It was the typical dance act trick of – quiet, more quiet, then LOUD, then quiet, then LOUD but it was hard not to be swept away and soon Lynette and I were dancing and enjoying the show like everyone else in the room and for a moment I felt bad because I had no idea where Carl was (but then again, he always disappeared so perhaps it was just my turn to do the same). Bob stood at the back of the stage behind the keyboard. His shorts were really a bad idea but apart from that you had to hand it to him. I thought about how he’d ripped off Carl’s band and how it was really unfortunate that this band were head and shoulders better than anything I’d seen in Amsterdam before. They were clearly much more talented than Cyberia. Cyberia hadn’t even done a rehearsal yet. And even though there was no singer, there was melody. I didn’t even notice the two other guys behind the keyboards because the dancing was so damned distracting. At some point, Lynette just stared. A small slither of her ego (which had inflated to epic proportions because of all the adoration from Joost) fell to the floor and crawled underneath the stage.

We had competition.