Nico by James Young Read Free Book Online Page B

promoters quickly consulted each other. The girl ran after Nico.
    The guys introduced themselves. ‘Benedetto.’ ‘Pasquale … and that is Titz, as everyone call her.’
    Echo MC’d for us.
    â€˜Is there no one more?’ Pasquale asked.
    â€˜He’s following on a bit later,’ said Echo.
    I whispered to Raincoat, ‘Don’t you think we should wait?’ He pretended not to hear.
    â€˜We also need ter “freshen up”,’ suggested Echo.
    â€˜Nico … she’s blonde, no?’ asked Pasquale as we sat in Milan’s thrombosis of traffic.
    â€˜Nah,’ said Echo, ‘yer thinkin’ of the Beach Boys.’
    â€˜In the photos, she’s blonde,’ insisted Pasquale.
    â€˜What photos?’ asked Echo.
    â€˜In the Factory weeeth Andee Waaarhol and Velvette Onnergroun’.’
    â€˜Now I’m with yer … yer thinkin’ of Nico from the Velvet Underground. Bit of a mix-up … we’ve brought yer Narco from the London Underground.’
    Raincoat tried to friendly things up in a weird Esperanto all his own. ‘Ah, La Bella Italia … Cappuccino … La Dolce Vita …’ He racked his brain.
    Benedetto picked up on the latter. ‘Eh, La Dolce Vita … Federico Fellini … Nico participo in quel film.’
    â€˜Nico – yeh,’ continued Raincoat, keeping up the cunnilingua. ‘Nico populario in Italia?’
    â€˜Boh!’ Benedetto shrugged.
    â€˜ Pensavo che fosse bionda ,’ said Pasquale to his pal, still preoccupied with Nico’s hair colour.
    â€˜ Anch’io ,’ said Benedetto.
    Back at the hotel, the boys ripped open the pick-up plate on Echo’s guitar and carved out the smack.
    I fled to my room and laid out my pyjamas.
    Demetrius installed himself in the Bridal Suite. Nico was aghast: ‘Does he think someone will ma-a-ary him? The way he was on the plane … like a looonatic.’
    I was scared. How many times had I been on stage? I counted, on one hand … two Barmitzvahs and a free-jazz jerk in Leeds. Nico was due to play a club in the north of Milan called Odyssea. Echo explained that the further out of town the venue, the uglier it is. I never went to clubs. Too loud. Too many people. A sea of piss in the gents. Echo and Toby reassured me that this was normal – people who played music rarely went to hear the stuff.
    Then there were the songs. I still couldn’t remember how they went and we only had to do seven. Toby said he’d nod to me every time I had to change chords. ‘That’ll impress the music critic of the Milan Bugle,’ said Echo.
    The tour bus tumbril picked us up at the hotel. Pasquale was at the wheel. The show was seven hours away but already I felt the game was up.
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ said Echo. ‘You don’t count, they’re only interested in Nico, they want ter touch Death in drag.’
    Demetrius sat in the front passenger seat. He loved the big screen. He had to devour everything. He’d showered himself in bonhomie and the hotel’s complimentary aftershave.
    â€˜Jesus, you smell like a hooker’s haaandbag!’ shouted Nico, pinching her nose.
    Pasquale jerked the bus to a stop.
    â€˜I say, steady on there, driver!’ shouted Raincoat, unloading the last squirt of a shot into his naked buttock.
    Pasquale helped me carry my keyboard into the club:
    â€˜Nico, ees a boy’s name, no?’
    â€˜Yes, I think she’d like to be one … the boots, the bad manners …’
    Raincoat, carrying Nico’s shoulder bag, interrupted. ‘Not fergettin’ those teensy weensy temper tantrums … Like a geezer? No chance. No matter’ow’ard she tries, she’ll never be able ter sing like Barry White or piss’er initials in the snow.’ He rummaged in her bag for any stray crumbs of dope or money.
    Pasquale introduced Raincoat to the sound