Pop Tarts: Omnibus Edition (4 page)

The girls and
the illusive Rhino (who had pretty much kept out of all the drama)
quickly disappeared into obscurity, while Felix’s futile attempt at
a solo career in the early 90s was ridiculed by a music press that
had clearly not forgiven him either:

“A collection
of songs so muted, they should be.” Smash Hits.

“Lyrically dire
and piss poor humdrum from pop’s blatant spectacle.” Number One
magazine.

“If anyone buys
this record, society is doomed and hellfire will surely rain down
on earth.” Record Mirror.

270 people did
and it didn’t, but Felix’s career was effectively over anyway… and
then someone pressed the FFWD button to present day.

That’s what
happens in life. One minute you’re 20 something and feeling
immortal, the next you’re 40+ and everything’s stiff other than the
one thing you want to be.

Felix wiped the
mud mask off his face along with plenty of self-remorse and
observed himself in the mirror, now suddenly looking a gazillion
dollars.

He brushed his
teeth and they glistened. He had a new steely determination about
himself to succeed. No more wallowing in his own self-pity and
mire.

Tonight was his
big chance to hit the big time again and he was going to do
everything in his power to ensure that happened.

Felix had
butterflies and his confidence was waning. The vigour he’d
channelled to propel him to the venue was in decline and he was
starting to doubt himself again. The crowd at Rainbow nightclub
were expecting a Tequila Sun reunion and his agent Max Jacks would
be less than pleased if Felix hadn’t lied that the band had gotten
back together. Good job Max was out of the country, tanning his
jelly wobblers in sunny Spain.

Felix peered
out from behind the red velvet curtain. The room was filling up in
eager expectation. The crowd looked scary, but then they usually
do. There were the obsessed fans (the no lifers as Felix called
them) stood at the front in their home made Tequila Sun t shirts.
Very creative but also very scary.

Felix wasn’t
sure which ones scared him the most, the fans stood on their own or
those who had blackmailed their half disinterested partners to come
along. How some of them managed to get/retain a partner in the
first place, Felix had no idea. He figured the disinterested had
been blackmailed to be with the crazy ones to start with, which
just made them even scarier.

Then there were
the casuals. The middle of the hall crowd who either didn’t have
anything better to do or were tricked into entering by the pushy
ticket touts. They looked even more bored and Felix always thought
only boring people got bored. Furthermore boring people scared
Felix as well.

And don’t even
get him started on the drunken creatures. We know, we know. Drunken
creatures scare Felix too.

He was
beginning to wonder what he was doing there, why he was even
putting himself through this shit again. He always got stage
fright, but the buzz he felt getting past it was like autoerotic
asphyxiation.

As long as
no-one in the audience had tomatoes or rotten eggs or rope, he
would be fine, he thought.

He’d already
checked to make sure all alcohol was being served in plastic
glasses. Oh and that vodka was being watered down, to tame ‘the
creatures’.

He took some
deep breaths and tried to go over the lyrics to some of the set he
was going to be singing. It was only going to be a short show to
reintroduce him to the scary GBP and he’d chosen Tequila Sun’s
three biggest hits, the new song he had written especially for his
comeback and a cover of a current day pop hit, just in case old
wasn’t completely gold.

His outfit was
flamboyant but modern and he certainly looked the part. He checked
his arse out again in the mirror just to make sure he still had it.
Not his arse, but the sex appeal. He thought so anyway.

“5 minutes to
show time,” the drag queen compere Ms Ruby Slippers shouted as she
played another crap song from the 90s you only hear in gay bars.
Some Irish girl band rubbish with a French chorus, but Felix
couldn’t remember their name. He was too busy thinking about how
much the drag queen scared him as well.

But there was
no going back now, he thought, knocking back a tray of shots and
snorting a line of coke for a bit of Dutch courage.

Felix imagined
how his whole life could change from this point on. He could take
back the life he had always wanted. He could be a star again. He
could make it big in America and buy a mansion on the Hollywood
hills with an infinity pool overlooking Beverly Hills and DTLA.

He could hobnob
with the true elite, the rich and famous; people of his own class
and stature; and would only have to deal with such middle class
riff raff in the crowd on nights such as this.

No more getting
the bus and sitting next to a fat kid eating a pasty. He’d have his
own Lamborghini and drive through puddles drowning said pasty
eating fat kids at bus stops, as his payback to society.

Not that you
get puddles in LA, but he’d make special trips back to England just
for that, he thought.

He’d have
holiday homes everywhere, just in case he got bored with the 24-7
Californian sunshine; a chalet in the Swiss Alps for when he wanted
to be snowed in; a cabin by an Italian lake; Felix closed his eyes
and he was already there.

He could feel
the warmth of the Mediterranean sun shining down on his face and
the crisp, fresh mountainous air tasted delizioso.

He put his
hands in his pockets and they were stuffed with cash and credit
cards. He was absolutely loaded. The more he emptied them, the more
came out, like seemingly endless pockets of gold.

Birds tweeted
and grass hoppers hopped. The sound of the water rippling in the
light breeze was so serene and enchanting, Felix never felt more
relaxed in his entire life.

When he opened
his eyes again he was suddenly on stage, in front of about 200
screaming, scary, common people… and he took one final deep breath
before his backing track started and he launched into his opening
song, one of Tequila Sun’s most famous pop hits.

The trolleyed
trolls at the front lapped it up, staring into his eyes with such
deep penetration he felt like he was being mind-fucked into
oblivion.

Even so, so far
so good, he thought.

But then he
heard a small chant start quietly from further aback:

“We want
Holly!

We want
Holly!”

Felix tried to
ignore it and started his second song, the self-penned ‘Supermarket
Checkout Operator’.

This probably
wasn’t the best decision he’d ever made - choosing a new song when
the crowd was already growing restless - but he’d already set the
backing track order and it was too late to change it now.

In-between
lines Felix could hear more chants for Holly – getting louder - as
well as “Old is Gold!” He even swore he heard someone asking for
Cherry Fontaine.

“This is it,”
he thought, as the crowd started to boo and hiss, and he waited for
the first rotten egg or hand grenade to be thrown.

The audience
continued to snarl like a jackal baying at the moon. They started
throwing small objects at Felix as he fumbled his way through the
second song in his 5-song set list.

There were no
rotten fruit, but when a used tampon almost hit him in the eye, he
was just about ready to ninja kick all the common pasty-eating
bastards to kingdom come.

Instead he
finished the second verse and launched straight into the chorus,
only this time he heard a backing vocal:

“Supermarket
Checkout Operator,

Please be my
sexual navigator,

Check me
through, I’ll be good for you,

Supermarket
Checkout Operator.”

He turned
around to see Rhino Zagreb walking onto the stage, pushing a
shopping trolley containing Cherry Fontaine; and they were both
singing along.

The audience’s
boos turned to cheers and the raptures - along with Felix’s smile -
only intensified when Holly Wood joined them, looking so hot Felix
could swear there was smoke coming off of her.

Holly, Rhino
and Cherry swayed beside Felix as he sang the middle eight:

“I still go
there for my bi-daily fix,

Overstocking on
Baked Beans and Weetabix,

But I know I’ll
never forget just how I really feel,

I won’t risk
the fantasy for a 2-for-1 deal,

Oh-oh…”

This time the
audience joined in with the chorus to fade. They were jumping up
and down and clapping and cheering and Felix simply thought he’d
died and gone to heaven.

He was home
where he belonged again. On the stage and in common scrubber’s
hearts.

Tequila Sun
were back together and a hit by all accounts. They concluded the
remaining songs in their set list, with the audience eating cream
out of the palm of their hands.

Old certainly
is gold it seems.

Everything just
seemed almost perfect.

But then the
show ended, they left the stage to a rapturous support and the shit
really hit the fan.

Holly refused
to speak to Cherry, and Cherry refused to speak to Holly. Until
Rhino tried to intervene.

“She tried to
kill me,” squealed Holly. “And she fucked my boyfriend up the
arse!”

“It was an
accident,” lamented Cherry. “She ruined my life!”

Felix was still
too in awe of his own stage phenomenon to notice the catastrophic
fallout going on around him.

“You guys!” he
yelled above volume. “We did it! They loved us! Does it really
matter if we hate each other?”

He kind of had
a point.

The girls
agreed to disagree and Rhino seemed quite happy to play go-between.
This was definitely a different Rhino to 80s Rhino, who really was
just a cardboard cut-out in life and on stage.

Rhino and
Cherry left in a taxi together and Felix followed Holly into her
dressing room, which was pretty much just a refurbished broom
cupboard with a mirror, light and chair.

“How come you
came?” he asked, unable to stop staring at her tits, like a dirty
dog in heat.

“Rhino came to
see me. And that fossilised ferret too I believe. He made a few
good points,” Holly said, brushing her hair and tying it back into
a ponytail.

She looked
sublime. The years had certainly been kind to her. Clearly an
easier paper round than most, Felix thought.

“Such as?” he
then enquired.

Rhino
had
gone to see the girls. He’d pleaded Felix’s case, having
seen how much it meant to him. He also pointed out how much of a
money spinner it could be.

“I hated my
job. Rhino said we could make some money,” Holly lied.

It had nothing
to do with what Holly overheard at the waxwork museum then.

Yeah right.

Felix felt a
bit put out that effectively a stranger could convince her into
doing something he couldn’t.

“Thanks
anyway,” he said, moving in to kiss her on the forehead.

As he pulled
away their eyes locked in a passionate, longing embrace. 25 years
long!

He stared deep
into her soul, and for a moment could sense that she wanted to
ravish him too. He moved in to kiss her properly. She was surely
tempted. But just as they were about to lock lips, she pulled away,
leaving Felix with the rotten egg on his face he’d managed to avoid
on stage.

No such luck
off it, it seems.

“I have to go,
I’ll see you later,” Holly said, making a swift exit.

As Felix went
to follow her he was swarmed by his adoring fans. Both of them.

There were a
couple of middle aged school-run mums, and they pushed him back
into the dressing room. One of them wanted her breast signed and
lifted her top up.

While Felix was
signing it, the other mum got down on her knees and started undoing
his zipper. They then took it in turns. Neither was anything
special to look at, but he’d done a lot worse.

As he was
ejaculating over both sets of sagging titties, Holly suddenly
returned, having forgotten something and walked straight in on
them.

Felix didn’t
notice, but one of the mums did. She smiled as Holly shook her head
in utter disgust and quickly left.

“Same old
Felix,” she sighed, and went outside to hail a taxi.

When Felix woke
up he had to pinch himself. Everything just seemed too good to be
true. The reunion gig actually happened and had been a massive
success. Tequila Sun were back together and everyone was at least
pretending to get along, some better than others.

Felix was
positively on cloud nine.

Holly was
speaking to him again for the first time in over twenty years.
Rhino was speaking for the first time ever. Even Cherry wasn’t
being her usual sour self.

Max Jacks
skyped Felix from his Spanish villa to congratulate him.

“Well done
Felix,” he said, as he sipped another cocktail by the pool. He was
certainly living the high life and Felix was most envious.

He finished his
cocktail and a bikini clad totty in high heels brought him
another.

Felix was less
glamorously sat on his couch in his underpants, looking like
something the cat had dragged in. He’d had a drink to celebrate
after the show, on his own, in his lonely old apartment.

Max was a
wanker but Felix aspired to be him.

“So what’s
next?” Felix asked, in eager anticipation.

A million pound
record deal? A world tour? Maybe even his own eau de toilette?
Felix had often thought about that. He was going to call it Juice
du Hunk.

“You need to
get a Twitter account,” said Max.