How Not To Be A Groupie

Chapter Four: Backstage

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Losin' a pet's rough, ya' know?"

Don't I fucking know it...

Bon picked at a loose thread from a burgeoning hole in his ludicrously tight jeans. My fingernails tapped against the beer can. I felt like I should have been helping drive the conversation. Coming up with new topics, asking him questions. I had the opportunity of a lifetime. Bon Scott sitting right next to me; I could ask questions that only he would know the answer to, answers to questions biographers have attempted to answer despite never having spoken a word to Bon Scott or any of the band. 

And the only thing I could do was twiddle my thumbs. 

You idiot! Say something!

Luckily Bon was always on top of things. "What do you do for fun?" he asked. "Ya' like goin' out or what?"

"Eh..." It was time for me to face just how boring I really was. Going out and socializing was never my thing. I much preferred staying at home and keeping to myself like the hermit I am. So if I didn't go out, what did I do? "I write a bit...." I shrugged.

"You write?" he asked sitting up. "No kiddin', what do ya' write?"

I froze. What was I supposed to say, that I write fanfictions about the band on 抖阴社区? I couldn't possibly say that, or even make any allusions to the future. What if screwing that up got me sent home? I wasn't done yet! Quickly I came up with an answer.

"I write about bands," I said. Yeah, that worked. Not a lie, I did write about bands. Bon nodded, thinking it over.

"So you're like a journalist, yeah?" I wish I were a music journalist.

"Kind of," I answered. If I could just keep my answers vague enough....

"What magazine do ya' write for?" I could have popped the beer can in my hands from squeezing it, a fountain of beer splashing me in the face. It would have been the cherry on top to my fumbling, bumbling fib.

"It's freelance," I said quickly. 

"Any interviews?"

"Not yet," I said. Even the coldness of the can couldn't stop my palms from sweating. Surely Bon would figure it out. He knew I wasn't a music journalist, he knew I wasn't a backstage regular, he knew I was a fraud, he knew-

"Well, this can be your first," he said smiling. He nudged me again. "Go on, ask me somethin'."

My heart pounded. My thoughts raced. I was coming up blank and Bon was waiting for me to speak. Patiently. How did interviewers do this? How did they get handed a few facts about a band, listen to three or four songs, and come up with a list of questions to fill time on their show? Time, I needed time!

"Uh...." I searched frantically around the room. "What...do you think you would have done...if you hadn't been in a band?" Bon stared at me as he thought it over, me suddenly feeling very shy. 

Angus had come over with four empty cups in his hand and threw them away. "This your new friend, Bon?" he asked. 

I was now ten times as shy.

"Yeah, this is Hannah Ruth," he said nodding at me. "Where would you be if you weren't in a band, Ang?" Angus crossed his arms and sniffed. 

"An artist, why?" he said glancing at me. I looked away, trying hard not to giggle like a love-struck schoolgirl. 

"We're conductin' an interview," Bon said. "I'm tryin' to think..." Angus sat on the other side of me. I could have pinched myself. But I had to stay cool. I had to remain calm. Groupies don't freak out. They remain calm and collected as they charm band members into inviting them on their tours. They're smooth talking, fashionable women who are good at making friends. 

Well....I was fashionable, anyway....

"Ya' know," Bon said. "I think I'd jus' live somewhere off in the country, or somethin'. Be a lot quieter, ya' know?" I'll admit, I didn't expect that kind of answer. Where was a pen and paper when you needed one?

Angus stood up and fetched a small pile of clothes from some kind of cubby. He threw on his t-shirt and started peeling his shorts off.

I kept my eyes straight ahead.

"What about you?" Bon asked, nudging me. "If you weren't doin' all this, where would you be?" Honestly? I had no idea. 

And that scared me.

This was all I had. I clung to my passions desperately because if I lost them, I'd be lost. But Bon was expecting an answer so....

"An author?" I said as more of an estimation than a certainty. Bon smiled and chugged his drink. 

"If ya' ever write a book one day, give me a ring an' I'll read it," he said. "Angus will too."

"Huh?" he said looking at us. He was putting on a sock. Bon wrapped an arm around me and smiled. 

"Never mind," Bon said. His arm stayed right where it was and I felt ready to explode from happy disbelief. This couldn't possibly be happening right now, not to me! 

It felt like we had been there a long time before people started clearing out. The weight of a ton of bricks landed right in the pit of my stomach as logic and reasoning pushed their way into my dazzled little brain. 

Where the fuck was I going to stay? 

I only had so much money, and as low as prices were in the seventies, my chump change was nowhere near booking me a hotel room for the night. It couldn't buy me a park fucking bench. As I was choking on panic, Bon leaned in close to my ear. "Why don't you come with me?" he asked so only I could hear. "Back to the hotel, I mean."

Doth mine ears deceive me....

Well....if he insists...

Can you blame me? I had no other options! And who's gonna pass up the chance to have a little sleepover with the Bonnest of Scotts? 

I will say....I didn't expect any of the band to take an interest in me...let alone Bon. I'm not about to put him in a box or anything by insinuating he has a type...but I'm definitely not his type. For several reasons.

"Sure," was all I said. 

"Unless you have somewhere else to be," he added quickly.

"No! No, I don't." He accepted that answer and stood up, taking me with him. I quickly set my unopened beer can down on a random chair. I could feel a few pairs of eyes on me but I didn't bother checking whose they were. I mean, anybody would watch the handsome rockstar take off with a woman on his arm, wouldn't they? 

He took me out a backdoor to where a giant tour bus was parked. Nothing about it screamed AC/DC, it was just a regular green and white bus used to carry the band and crew. My eyes widened when I remembered I didn't have any motion sickness medicine on me. And it was always worse at night when I couldn't see the road in front of me.

Yeah. Some groupie I was.

Bon found a couple of seats in the middle of the bus, letting me have the window, bless him. It was warm enough outside where I guess Bon decided he didn't need a jacket. 

Or a shirt.

Little by little more and more people piled onto the bus. Angus got on with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of Coke. Malcolm was the last to get on along with a few other women with cameras and lanyards. 

To think how many backstage doors I could get into by simply wearing a camera around my neck...I'd have to consider that next time a magical wind blows me into the seventies.

After a few minutes the doors closed and the bus set off into the night towards the hotel. Little did I know my adventure was just beginning.