How Not To Be A Groupie

Chapter Four: Backstage

I was more of a William Miller myself.

Before I could think of something clever or witty, I blurted out "Hannah Ruth."

"Hannah Ruth...hm. I'm Bon, if ya' didn't know."

Oh, I know, alright.

He held his hand out for me to shake and I accepted it. His hand was warm and a bit bigger than mine. But probably not as sweaty. He took a long drink out of his bottle while the rest of the band talked away. I couldn't focus on any one conversation as they all blended together. Malcolm spoke with one man while Angus spoke with another. 

I needed a whole chapter dedicated to him...

Phil spoke with a couple women who couldn't take their eyes off him and Cliff had tossed aside the tape pieces and stood up to go somewhere. I felt Bon nudge me again. "How old are you?" he asked.

Did I really look that young? "Twenty four," I said. He nodded. 

"What am I now, thirty eight?" he said searching the air above him. My heart twisted in my chest even as I laughed. "Nah, probably about thirty two or somethin'..."

Keep it together...one...two...three...

"That's young," I said. 

"Should see Angus. He's..." Bon paused. "What, twenty one? Or....twenty, he's twenty." I nodded.

So we're playing that game....

For the longest time everyone pretended Angus was three years younger than he really was to sell the schoolboy image. Rather than being born in 1955, he was apparently born in 1958. But I knew better. I decided to play along. 

"So...what brings you out here in Australia?" he asked setting his empty bottle down and grabbing another one. "You're an American, right?" I nodded. "Thought so," he grinned.

"I...came out to see my favorite band," I said. The time travel story could wait another time. They'd have me booted out of here so fast...

"That'd be us?"

"No, the Bee Gees," I said. He snorted out a laugh and cracked open the bottle. 

"I see. And did the Bee Gees live up to your expectations?"

"Yeah," I smiled. He took another long drink and I wondered if he'd still be standing by the end of the night.

"Bet you were really confused when the drunkard with the busby on his head came runnin' out." He swung his fist. "Knocked that Barry Gibb guy off the stage."

"Was that you?" I asked. He waved me off.

"Nah, that was some other bloke," he said. "Some ugly guy."

I sat there holding my can, my hands getting cold and wet. Glancing up at the rest of the band I saw Cliff returned but Malcolm was gone. Angus had three empty cups laying under his feet and a fourth in his hand. Before he could see me looking I turned away, hoping my silly crush wasn't written across my forehead in neon lights.

"So what do ya' do?" Bon asked leaning back against the wall. "Job wise, I mean."

I sat up a bit straighter. "I'm a dog sitter," I said. His eyes lit up and he nodded. 

"Really...how many you got?" I counted in my head.

"I've got three right now," I said thinking. "But I've had several others before that died."

"Aw, that's rough," Bon said. He furrowed his brow. "Man, I didn't even think of that...were they jus' old?"

"One got really sick," I said. "He was one of my favorites." Bon patted me on the shoulder and crossed one leg over the other.