Part 3
There was no rest for us when the tour ended. The moment our feet hit home turf, we were bombarded with TV appearances, writing sessions, grand opening, photo shoots etc. As corny as it sounds, having Rich kept my spirits up. We came up with some of our best material around this time.
Despite our enthusiasm, we needed a break every now and then. On this particular occasion, we decided to go to a gig that Noiseworks were doing.
'Immanuel Kant was a real pissant who was very rarely stable
Heideggar, Heideggar, was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table
David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya 'bout the raising of the wrist
Socrates himself was permanently pissed...'
The three of us let out footy-team cheers and kept singing loudly as we walked through the back entrance of the local club, each of us holding alcohol in our hands. While Rich and I weren't even tipsy just yet, Tim had already consumed countless bottles of alcohol and was stumbling behind us, giggling drunkenly.
"Tim, the night is young and already you're pissed!" Rich laughed as he outstretched a hand, helping Tim to straighten up.
"I'm not as think as you drunk I am!" Tim joked. He threw his arm over my shoulder and took another swig of alcohol as we walked through the corridors towards the side of the stage. Rich looked sideways at me and gave me a look which meant, 'What is he doing?'
I let Tim fall back into a chair, concealed by the curtains adorning the side of the stage, and turned to Rich, placing my hands on his waist.
"Relax - he's drunk, he didn't mean anything by it," I reassured him. He looked at me with uncertainty.
"I don't know - I didn't want to say anything, but I often find him catching glances at you when you aren't looking, or talking about you to other people. Things like that. And I don't know what to make of it."
"Rich, he knows the score. He doesn't stand a chance. While you're in my life, there isn't and won't be anyone else."
He smiled and hugged me, and we stood silently for a while, holding each-other in our arms, while Tim guzzled and giggled behind us. Even though we were in a crowded arena and had people rushing back and forth, for that moment we were completely oblivious to everything taking place around us. Then the lights went out onstage, the audience went wild and 'Love Somebody' began to play. I felt someone playfully thumping me on the arm.
"Get a room!" Stuart Fraser, Noiseworks' guitarist, shouted to us over the noise of the audience as he waited for his cue to walk onstage. Still holding onto Rich, I kicked him in the shin and laughed as he stepped back, rubbing his shin in pain. Before he could take revenge, his cue came, and he pointed to us as if to say 'behave ourselves' as he ran onstage to be greeted by the screams of the audience.
An hour into the show, Tim had disappeared, and only Rich and I remained sidestage, observing Noiseworks' concert. Listening to their songs on the radio were nothing compared to seeing them live - the audience responded wonderfully. In a small way, they were like our audiences.
"Where's Rich?" I asked loudly in Rich's ear. He shrugged, and I continued, "Well, I need to go to the John, i'll be back in a tick."
Locating the men's bathroom was like making my way through a maze - at times it was almost like I was walking around in circles. Finally I gave up and asked for directions. I was pointed to a door a few metres down the hall. As I walked up to the door and pushed it open, I was greeted with Tim splashing cold water on his face, with one hand gripping the sink as his legs were almost like jelly.
"Are you okay, mate?" I asked, approaching him. He looked up and nodded, turning off the tap.
"Yeah, I just didn't feel too good for a while there," he replied.
"Have you been sick?"
"Nah. I'll be fine. I've got a strong stomach." As he said so, his legs gave way under him, and he fell to the floor.
"Meanwhile you've got not-so-strong legs, my boy," I smiled, crouching and helping him straighten up against the wall. I saw a half-empty bottle of VB on the tiled floor near the sink and put it in the garbage bin. When I turned back to face him, he was watching me. After a moment he outstretched his hand to me.
"I can walk, don't worry. Help me up, though."
I knew that as soon as he tried to walk he'd be kissing the tiles again, but I didn't say anything as I gently yanked him onto his feet.
The moment he was upright, he grabbed a handful of my shirt and pinned me against the wall. He stood frighteningly close to me, beaming down at me, his breath reeking of alcohol.
"You want this as bad as I do," he whispered, almost biting my ear. He clutched my wrists in his hands, squeezing them so much that it hurt.
"Tim-" I started to say before his lips pressed into mine, his tongue probing roughly into my mouth, giving me a bitter taste of alcohol. He pushed himself against me, ignoring my squirms beneath his heavy body.
When I twisted my arms so much that my hands were free, I pushed him away with full force, sending him stumbling to the wall on the opposite side of the room. He collapsed to the floor again. I spat the taste of his mouth out o me and gave him a look of pure disgust. He simply grinned up at me victoriously and contently, like the cat that ate the canary.
At that moment I could sense someone's presence at the door. I turned my head and saw Richard staring at us, his eyes widened, his jaw dropped open and his body momentarily paralyzed by the shock of what he'd just seen. Oh my God.
Before I could say anything, he turned and ran down the corridor.
Part 4