Beni Bands

Beni Bands - Chapter Six

In my head I was trying to work out the best way to relay this story to other people. I was trying to fix together the tangled strands of chance that somehow led to Justin and me standing backstage with the Arctic Monkeys without it sounding like sheer fabrication. Even I was struggling to believe that it wasn't some elaborate fantasy. I didn’t really know how to convince other people it really happened when I could hardly fathom it myself. And yet we were there. All because I tied a fake band around my wrist. Madness.

“Can I get you two beer?” Alex had made a straight-lined entrance to the mini-fridge and was already handing out bottles to Matt, Jamie and Nick. He lifted his head up from his stance over the fridge to pose us the question. And only then did it occur to me that some form of answer is expected of us.

It was easier on the stage. I didn’t have to say anything. My role was clearly laid out. Hold the comb. Pass it to Alex when commanded. Take the comb back from Alex. Return to holding the comb. And repeat. Our only form of communication was eye contact. And that was easy. He is very easy on the eye. But suddenly I was actually expected to communicate with everyone. I was expected to give him an answer to his question.

I should have said yes. That much was obvious. If Alex Turner offers you something, yes should be your immediate response. No matter what he is offering. Even if his offer is to go into business with a grizzly bear or kung fu fight on roller skates; just say yes. But with the cheap beers from the train, and the heat of the arena and the sheer elation of standing on stage I was feeling a bit dizzy. As it was, I didn't think my constitution could take another beer.

Justin had already leapt to the correct response without as much as a pause. And I was suddenly very envious of the casual, ‘no-big-deal’ manner in which he had accepted a beverage from Alex Turner.

“I’d love one thanks,” he said. Not even stumbling over his words as he stepped further into the room to receive the rewards of his calm, composed manner. Immediately a cold beer was whipped out of the mini fridge and into his hands. I watched dumbfounded as Matt offered him a bottle opener and like that my friend was sharing a drink with the Arctic Monkeys. He had integrated himself seamlessly. He was one of them now.

That left Alex’s eyes trailing on me. Waiting for some form of response. And I could hear an internal monologue getting increasingly exasperated with me. The voice in the back of my mind was on full volume demanding I just accept the fucking beer. But the thought of having that vile tasting liquid sitting heavy and bloated in my stomach was making my response reluctant. I couldn’t pretend to be laid back and completely at ease socialising in those circumstances and suffer the pretence of enjoying a drink that made me want to grimace with every sip. They would have thought I had a nervous twitch or something.

I suppose that would be better than having everyone think you’re mute. Which is what they must have thought considering I hadn't spoken in what was dangerously close to a minute. And he was just staring at me. Those intense brown eyes delving into mine trying to find some sort of answer. The tension inside me was twisting and curling and wrapping itself around every breath making it hard to breathe. For a moment I thought I might be sick. And suddenly I was most concerned with the thought of  having to explain to other people why I chundered all over Alex Turner.

I was moments from completely ruining whatever this was when Justin stepped in to diffuse the situation.

“I’m actually in the mood for some margaritas.” He gave me a surreptitious nod in response to my less than subtle look of sheer gratification. Matt, mid sip from the bottle, snapped his fingers in consensus to Justin’s suggestion meaning the matter was settled. And I could finally clamber out of the hole of my conundrum.

“Who’s up for margaritas?” Alex asked. “One, two, three, four…” he counted, first pointing at himself and then to his bandmates. I raised my hand capitalising on the chance to make some sort of contribution to the conversation and his counting point landed on me. “Five…” Justin quickly followed suit. “Six…”

“Can I have one?” Someone, presumably a technician or some other form of backstage work had popped his head through the door to request a drink. Alex didn’t seem to notice.

“Just six?”

“Al, can I have one please?” The technician repeated. There was a slight edge to his tone. Something told me he was used to that sort of rejection.

“Six it is,” Alex persisted.

“You’re a fucking cunt.” The response of the technician seemingly came from nowhere. An optimistic request melted into slight tension and then collapsed into full on animosity. He gave Alex a really scathing glare of utter resentment before slamming the door shut and leaving a trail of expletives following him into the distance. Alex remained unfazed. He got out the shaker and was already lining up the ingredients nodding his head in time to the buzz of music audible from somewhere else in the building.

“Six margaritas,” he sang in a drawl while pottering about with the preparation.

“You should put some more tequila in this time,” Jamie suggested. But it was quickly shot down.

“I’m actually trying to concentrate here mate. This takes concentration.” Alex had now leant over the table in deep attentiveness as he squeezed the lime with a specially made contraption. I decided to settle myself on the couch next to Justin at the other end of the room to give Alex more space for his creative process. Nick offered the two of us a weak smile; clearly a little embarrassed at his bandmate’s antics.

“He just gets very protective over his margaritas,” he explained. Quietly. Although Alex was too wrapped up in the shaking of his masterpiece to spare the rest of the room a blind bit of notice. I took a quick glance and spotted a bit of a hip wriggle going on with the motion of the shaking. Cocktail making was obviously something well practiced judging by the confident display.

“I’m sorry we shouldn’t have asked…” Justin quickly apologised at the growing embarrassment from everyone else. Still Alex had not noticed the atmosphere in the room. He was shaking away in a world of his own; humming along with the music in the background.

“Actually it is a little strange he agreed to make them for you.” Nick leaned in slightly. Even though it was very clear there was absolutely no need to hide things from the oblivious Alex.

“Usually he’s a right maungy git about it.” Jamie didn’t share the same restraint as Nick. He spoke freely at a normal volume before taking another swig from his beer.

“He must like them,” Matt added with a shrug.

And it was hard to hide the slight curling of a smile into the side of my cheek. Alex Turner was making me a margarita. And apparently that was a special honour. That was something to be proud of… even if he was being a complete dick about it.