The old barn was the perfect place for the band to practise. With no neighbours around to complain about the noise, the four members of heavy metal band Fatal Machine could turn up their amps to the max with impunity. They were having a blast, belting out their favourite song “Death and Me” with gusto. Lead singer Tim Porritt, his long dark hair flicking drops of sweat about the stage, took a deep breath, and launched into the final verse, screaming into the microphone:
“MY FINAL ... BREATH ...
ON MY LIPS ... LINGERS ...
NOW I SEE ... DEATH ...
WITH GRASPING ... FINGERS ...”
He broke off, coughing, then attacked the chorus:
“MAKE ME STRONG,
MAKE ME FREE,
WE ARE ONE,
DEATH AND ME.”
Justin Ericson, the blond-haired lead guitarist, now went from pounding out the main riff to hurtling through a frenzied guitar solo, while paunchy Howie Barlow continued repeating the riff on his bass, and goth chick Beth Moran, the band’s only female member, threw in a few bits of flashy drum work to build up to a climax. With a few final chords, the song ended, and the band members whooped and cheered.
“Nice going guys!” said Justin, the creative mind behind the band. “That was perfect!”
Then all of them fell silent as the sound of slow hand-clapping was heard from the other end of the barn. Tim squinted into the semi-darkness. “Who’s there?” he asked.
A figure began to make its way toward the temporary stage. As it entered the area lit by the various angle-poise lamps lining the stage, the band saw that it was a young woman. She looked about twenty-five years old – five years older than any of the band members – and she was wearing jeans and a dark green sweater. Her blond hair was long enough to reach her shoulder-blades, and she had a roundly pretty face.
“You’re not bad with your instruments,” she said, “but your songs are shit.”
“Hey!” said Justin, annoyed. “Who the hell are you? Get out of here!”
The woman seemed unperturbed. She sat down on a straw bale, clutching a sheaf of papers in her hand. “You’ll never make the big time with songs like that,” she said. “Tim, your voice isn’t suited to that Death Metal style – I’ve heard you sing properly and you’ve actually got quite a nice voice. You should capitalize on that. Justin, your solo theatrics are all very well, but they need discipline – forget the improvisation, you’re not very good at it. Focus on learning some complex instrumental breaks that actually have form and structure. Howie, your bass line is dull as hell – wouldn’t you like to have a little more to do? And Beth – you can do better than pound out the same rhythm over and over again. A drum kit is an instrument in itself, not just a crutch for the guitars.”
“Who the hell are you?” repeated Justin, mystified. “How do you know us?”
“My name’s Jemma,” said the woman. “I’m the person who can turn you into a decent band.”
“We are a decent band!” said Tim peevishly.
The woman shook her head. “You can be,” she said. “But at the moment you’re just a bunch of kids in a barn who aren’t going anywhere. Now put away your injured pride, and take a look at this.” She got to her feet and handed a booklet to Tim. She gave similar items to Justin, Beth and Howie, then she turned to go. “Learn that,” she said. “Learn it well, and I’ll meet you here in a week’s time.” Without another word, she sauntered towards the far end of the barn and was soon lost from sight.
“Well ... I ... never,” said Tim. “What do you make of that, Justin?”
Justin’s face was flushed with anger. He threw away his booklet. “I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is,” he said, “but I don’t need some chick coming in here and telling me how to run my band!”
Howie was thumbing through his booklet. It was sheet music – a song entitled ‘Prayer for the Immortals’. “Hey, this is pretty complicated,” he said. “But she’s done her homework – there’s a part here for each of us.”
“Looks like she wrote it,” observed Beth from behind her drum kit. “It says ‘by Jemma S’. I wonder what the ‘S’ stands for.”
“Who cares?” said Justin in annoyance.
But Tim was looking through his own copy. “Whew!” he said. “Complicated is right! I’m not sure there’s a single repeated phrase in here.”
Despite himself, Justin picked up the copy he had cast aside. “No verses or choruses!” he exclaimed in disgust. “What kind of a song is this?”
But the others were absorbed in trying to figure out their own parts. “These are pretty cool lyrics,” remarked Tim.
“I’ll never be able to learn this part!” said Justin. “It’s impossible!”
“I’ve never seen a drum part like this,” said Beth. “It’s amazing – I can’t wait to learn it!”
“I vote we try to learn it,” said Howie. “Come on Justin – give it a go. You’re a good guitarist – I’m sure you’ll pull this off. What have we got to lose?”
Justin said nothing for a moment, still poring over his part. “All right all right,” he said grudgingly. “I do like the lyrics, at any rate. Let’s give it a go.”
They packed their instruments away in an uncharacteristically subdued mood, then went their separate ways. Over the next few days, they practised their own parts in isolation. Tim rehearsed his vocals in his bedroom, and for a change resisted the temptation to scream them.
“I watch the passage of the south-flying flocks,
As I stand on the edge of the wall,
Below me the sea thunders on to the rocks,
Those waters will bear me away when I fall...
My eyes weep red tears, looking back at my dreams,
And the clock tower’s hands reach out to me;
The surrender of...”
He broke off as his mother entered the room. “Mum!” he said plaintively.
“Sorry dear, I just thought you might like a cup of tea,” she said with a smile. “That’s a nice song, dear – I much prefer it to your usual stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” he said. “Some girl crashed our practice session on Sunday and suggested we learn this. She wrote it I think. I’m not sure if she wants to join the band or what, but she reckons she can improve our chances of success, or something.”
“That’s nice, dear,” said his mother. “Would you like a biscuit?”
“No thanks,” said Tim.
Friday evening came around, and the band re-grouped in the old barn on Howie’s dad’s farm. Having set up their instruments, Justin nodded to Howie, who kicked off the song with a soft bass intro accompanied by Beth on drums. After a few bars, Tim, his brow furrowed from counting drum beats, began to sing. At the end of the second line, he jumped as Justin’s guitar roared into life. He began to sing the third line, but something was wrong – Justin’s guitar was discording horribly with the tune of the vocals.
“Woah, woah, woah!” he shouted. The guitars and drums fell silent. “What happened?”
“Justin came in a bar too soon,” said Howie.
“I did not!” said Justin indignantly.
“Yeah, you did,” said Beth. “You need to come in on the fifth beat of my kick-drum – you didn’t even wait for the kick-drum to start.”
Justin’s face turned red. “Well I was following the bass line,” he said. “It’s very hard to follow, you know.” The others remained politely silent, and finally Justin heaved a sigh. “Let’s go again then.”
It sounded better this time, until Howie got confused halfway down page 3 and threw up his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I had it down just fine in my basement, but the lead guitar part gives me nothing obvious to cue off. I almost have to try and ignore all of you just to keep my part straight.”
“I’m sure it will be better once we’re familiar with how it all sounds when put together,” said Beth.
For the next two hours they tried again and again. But none of them knew their parts well enough to hold them throughout the song, and it still sounded terribly messy. A few tempers were getting pretty frayed.
“Okay let’s call it a night,” said Justin finally. “We’ll meet back here tomorrow night and try again. I think I understand my part a little better now, so I’ll be able to practise more intelligently.”
“Tomorrow night?” said Tim. “But there’s a match on...”
As he looked around at his fellow band members he saw little sympathy in their eyes.
“Oh all right,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
The next night’s practice went a little better. It still sounded messy, but the spirit of the song was coming through, and they could all tell that this was far classier material than they had ever played before. Nobody suggested dropping it in favour of a return to Justin’s songs.
“Good session,” said Justin approvingly at the end of the evening. “Tomorrow’s little chat with that Jemma chick should be interesting.”
Sunday rolled around, and the band gathered at seven o’clock for the weekend’s final session. Jemma was not there, so they started without her, running through the song a couple more times until they had it sounding pretty good. Or so they thought.
“No no no!” said Jemma, striding down the length of the barn towards them. “Justin, you need to learn some things about light and shade, and you’re missing beats left, right and centre. Howie, you’re losing the rhythm on the fourth page and not regaining it until the seventh. Beth, you’re all over the place – you need to concentrate on how your part integrates with Howie’s bass line, though I appreciate that this isn’t easy when Howie’s out of sync himself. Tim – good job, but you need to sing from your belly more. You have a good voice, but at the moment you’re whining way too much.”
The band were stunned. “But...” began Justin.
Jemma took a seat on her favoured straw bale and cut Justin off. “From the beginning, guys,” she said. “You’ve done well in just a week but there’s a long way to go.”
Howie shrugged and began to play. Beth hastily joined in, and Tim, though rather disconcerted, opened his mouth to sing. Then, remembering Jemma’s advice, he straightened up, took a deeper breath, and launched into the first line.
“Better!” said Jemma.
Justin came in with his guitar, but soon Jemma was waving her arms and yelling for them to stop. “I see what’s going wrong here,” she said. “Howie, I think you’re getting confused by the intro of Beth’s floor tom. You need to pay attention to what Tim’s doing – hold your F for three beats after the word ‘fold’ so that you come in with your C on the second syllable of ‘confused’.”
“Oh!” said Howie, frowning at the sheet music.
For the next couple of hours, Jemma continued to coach them. Finally she said “Okay, good job guys – that’s enough for one evening. Keep practising – by this time next week you should be perfect.” She turned to leave.
“Wait,” said Justin, jumping down from the stage. “How can we get hold of you if we need you?”
“Here’s my number,” said Jemma, taking out a pen and paper and scribbling for a moment.
“Have you written any other songs?” he asked then. “Or should we consider this a one-hit wonder?”
Jemma flashed him a fleeting smile. “I’ve written a whole album’s worth,” she said. “It’s all ready and waiting for you.”
Justin’s jaw dropped. “So ... do you want to be in the band?” he asked.
“I’m taking piano lessons,” she replied. “I’m not good enough yet. But I’d like to play keyboards on your second album.”
Justin grinned. “Sure. Oh, by the way...”
“Yes?”
“What’s your last name?” asked Justin.
Jemma sighed. “Don’t laugh, okay?”
“Why should I laugh?”
“It’s ‘Stone’,” Jemma said defiantly.
“Jemma Stone,” Justin said thoughtfully. “Hey Tim! What if we rename the band The Gemstones?”
“That’s retarded,” Tim replied bluntly.
“How about just Gemstone?” said Howie quietly.
“Now that I like,” said Tim.
Jemma laughed. “See you next week,” she said.
That week the band practised longer and harder, both separately and together, than they ever had before. Determined to get the song right, they stayed up until the small hours of Sunday morning, when tiredness finally got the better of their playing.
That night, in front of Jemma, they played the song almost perfectly, and Jemma treated them to a rare smile. “Good!” she said. “Now, here’s the second song.” She handed out more sheet music, and the band’s faces fell. “Don’t look so glum,” she said. “I’ve got you a gig. Archie’s Tavern. Small venue, but I’ve managed to persuade someone who works at the Marquee – yes, the Marquee – to come and have a listen. He’s expecting to hear a three-song set, though, so you need to get cracking.”
“When’s the gig?” asked Tim.
“May the twenty-seventh,” she replied. “So you’ve got just under five weeks. That’s two weeks per song, and an extra week for polishing – you should be able to manage that.”
“Hey!” said Justin, annoyed. “You can’t just go booking us on gigs without asking us! What if we can’t make it that day?”
“Oh,” said Jemma. “Should I cancel?”
“No!” said Beth, Howie and Tim together.
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll see you on Friday.”
“Friday?” echoed Tim.
“Yes,” said Jemma. “This one’s a little trickier – it will require some extra coaching I think.”
“Great,” said Justin, rolling his eyes. Tim glared at him.
When Jemma had left, Justin sighed as he took off his guitar. “Remember when being in this band was fun?” he said.
“It’s more fun now than it’s ever been!” said Howie. “Kind of, anyway. I never knew I could put my bass to such use.”
“Same here,” said Beth. “This new drumming style is weird, but it works really well – and it’s far more interesting to play than what I was doing before.”
“And I’m getting to sing better lyrics now,” said Tim. “And a really cool tune. No offence, mate.”
“None taken,” said Justin with a sigh. “I know it’s a great song, guys, and it’s really good to be making great music – I just miss the days when there wasn’t all this pressure to be ... well, good.”
“I guess,” said Beth, “you need to ask yourself the question: do I really want to be in a successful metal band?”
“What’s it to be, mate?” said Tim. “Fame and money, along with all its pressures? Or mediocrity, a dull job in a small town, and jamming on the weekends?”
Justin did not have to think for long. “All right guys,” he said. “I’m kind of afraid of the road ahead, but let’s jump in with both feet. We can do this!”
The other three cheered, and they parted company in good spirits.
The next few weeks were busy. All of them were fired up with visions of success, of playing to packed arenas, of cutting albums and singles, of making videos, and (in Tim’s case) of groupies. They started getting together on Tuesdays and Wednesdays as well as the weekends, though Jemma still only joined them on Fridays and Sundays. In four weeks, they had learned all three songs by heart, and Jemma pronounced them ready for their gig.
Saturday 27th dawned, and they loaded their gear into the minibus that Jemma had hired for the occasion. It was a tight squeeze, but somehow they all managed to fit inside. They arrived at Archie’s in the late afternoon with plenty of time to kill, but they found they could not set up yet – they were not the first act on the bill. They would have to wait outside with their equipment for a few hours, which galled them – they had been hoping to be able to practice at the venue.
Jemma took Beth aside. “Here, put this on,” she said, handing Beth a blue garment.
Beth unfolded the item sceptically. “A dress?” she said. “You’re kidding, right?”
“The goth look is old, Beth,” said Jemma. “This is going to be a tough gig. The crowd don’t know your band, and they won’t be used to this style of music. You, however, are a pretty girl, and they’ll be able to relate to that if nothing else. So put this on, and lose the ripped nylons.”
Beth frowned. “Is that what I’m in this band for? Eye candy?”
“Hell no,” said Jemma. “You’re the most talented member of the band. But you guys currently have very little sex appeal, and that’s something that will hold you back. Sad but true. With this dress, on the other hand, you’ll have the crowd cheering you even before you strike up a note. They’ll therefore be more receptive, and you can then wow them with your musicianship.”
Beth nodded. “Okay,” she said. She climbed into the minibus, took off her denim shorts, her t-shirt and her tights, and donned the dress. It did not even come down to her mid-thigh. As she stepped out of the minibus, feeling very self-conscious, she said to Jemma, “This is no good. When I’m playing drums I sit with my knees way apart. People will see my panties!”
Jemma patted her shoulder. “Beth, it’s entirely possible that Tim will forget the lyrics to one of the songs. Or that Justin will mess up the instrumental break in ‘Mapping the Back of My Hand’. Or that Howie will lose his place in ‘Prayer for the Immortals’. If that happens, then the only thing that rescues your performance might just be your panties.” When Beth still looked troubled, Jemma said, “So the guys in the audience are going to lust after you! So what? They can’t have you!”
“All right,” conceded Beth.
Darkness fell, and they ordered pizzas while they waited. Shortly after nine o’clock, a man’s head popped out of the tavern’s back door. “You’re on!” he said.
“We need roadies,” Tim complained as they lugged their amps indoors.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” muttered Jemma. “Voice in good shape?”
Tim nodded.
It took them fifteen minutes to set up, and after a quick sound check, they were off. Beth felt very exposed as she sat there with her legs apart, her white panties brilliantly on display under the glare of the stage lights, but she soon forgot about that as she was forced to concentrate on getting her drumming right. She hoped very much that she would not let the band down.
As it happened, she did not, but Tim did. Out at the front of the stage with everyone staring at him, he got a bad case of stage fright and even fluffed the first verse of ‘Prayer for the Immortals’. Somehow he managed to get through that song, but he dried up in the middle of the second, too. The band did not wait for him, however, and ploughed on until they reached a part that Tim remembered. Justin and Howie were exchanging worried looks, but Beth made herself focus on her own part and not worry about Tim.
At the end of the second song, someone at the front of the audience shouted to Tim, “Here, have a shot of this – looks like you need it!” Laughter resounded as a bottle was thrown to Tim, who caught it in a shaking hand. He tipped it to his lips, and downed at least half of it.
“That’s better,” he said into the microphone. “Thank you. This next song is called ‘Mapping the Back of My Hand’.”
This was the flashiest of the three, and fortunately Tim remembered all the words. When it drew to its dramatic close, the audience whooped and cheered. Beth sagged in her seat, relieved it was all over, and glad that she had not messed up.
“Thank you, thank you,” said Tim. “We’re called Gemstone and we’re new in town. Thank you for giving us such a warm welcome.” His voice was now more assured, almost casual, and as the applause continued, he decided he should say more. “My name is Tim Porritt. On lead guitar over here is my very good friend Justin Ericson. On the bass guitar is Howie Barlow ... and behind the drum kit are Beth Moran and her panties.” The cheers and wolf whistles doubled in volume at the last introduction, and Beth, feeling very embarrassed, got to her feet and waved.
The applause was still continuing, and Tim looked down uncertainly at Jemma, who was sitting near the front. She was mouthing something to him. His brow furrowed for a moment, then he realized she was saying “encore”. Instantly he said into the microphone, “I’m afraid my nerves got the better of me earlier, but I think I can now remember the words to the first song. How about giving us another shot at it?” Cheers rose up, so he nodded to Howie, and so began a second rendition of ‘Praying for the Immortals’.
This time it went off without a hitch, and the crowd cheered and clapped appreciatively. Tim sensed it was time to go now, and said “Thank you, Archie’s Tavern!” Then he and the rest of the band began to haul their gear off the back of the stage. Outside, Jemma met up with them.
“Excellent job, guys,” she said. “I’ve just spoken with the man from the Marquee and he says he’d be glad to see you perform there!”
Tim and Justin whooped and hugged each other. Howie punched the air and grinned from ear to ear. Beth smiled happily as Jemma came over to talk to her.
“You were fabulous,” said Jemma. “You didn’t put a foot wrong. How did you feel?”
“Terrified,” admitted Beth, “at least at first. Once I got into it, it wasn’t bad though.”
“Having your underwear on show didn’t put you off?”
“That was a little scary,” said Beth, “but I think hardly anyone in the audience could actually see them behind all the drums.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Jemma with a smile. “In that case, then, I’d like to put you in the same dress for the Marquee gig. Your gothic eye make-up kind of makes for an interesting juxtaposition with your sexy little dress.”
“You think so?” said Beth. “I was worried you’d make me get rid of the make-up.”
“No, it suits you,” said Jemma. “Of course, we can play around with your look in the future, but while we’re establishing the band, why fix what isn’t broken?”
Beth smiled and nodded, and the two of them helped to load up the minibus. On the way home they sang their songs lustily, riding on a wave of euphoria. Back in his house, Tim poured out his account of the evening’s events to his mother, who listened with interest.
“That’s nice, dear,” she said when he had finished. “So you’re going to be a rock star, are you? Well well. Now be a dear and take this cup of tea up to your father, will you?”
More weeks passed, and more songs were learned. Jemma booked a gig for them at the Marquee, and managed to wrangle a five-song set for them. By the time the great day came, they could play all the songs that Jemma had written, and knew backwards the five that they were going to play in London. They drove to the club in the afternoon, set up their equipment, and rehearsed. This was the first time any of them had been in such a large venue, and Tim began to get very nervous. He had a few drinks to steady his nerves, and before the others knew what had happened, he was completely legless.
“What the hell?” demanded Jemma when she saw him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was drinking so much, or I would have stopped him,” said Justin.
“Well the gig starts in an hour,” said Jemma, frowning. “And he’s in no state to perform. Justin, you know the words – can you sing and play at the same time?”
Justin shook his head vigorously. “Not a chance,” he said.
“How about you?” Beth asked Jemma.
“Me?” said Jemma in surprise. Then she shook her head. “I’m a lousy singer,” she said.
“We’re all lousy singers,” said Howie lugubriously. “Apart from Tim.”
“Okay then, let’s get him as sober as is humanly possible,” said Jemma briskly.
“Couldn’t we just get our gig rescheduled?” inquired Beth.
Jemma shook her head. “A young upstart band like yours can’t afford to muck around with the Marquee’s schedule. They’d laugh in our faces and you’d never get to play here. No, the show must go on.”
They spent the next hour forcing water down Tim’s throat, and then they all (minus Jemma) piled on to the stage when they were announced. Tim struggled up to the microphone. Leaning heavily on the stand, he spoke indistinctly into the mike with his head on one side. “We’re Gemstone, ladies’n’gents,” he slurred. “This is ‘Prayers for the Immortals’.”
Beth, her white panties once again shining brightly under the lights, began to accompany Howie’s bass intro. She had wanted to wear some darker underwear – something that would not show up so much – but Jemma had talked her round. There was no point in having her panties on display, Jemma insisted, if they were so dark that they could not be seen properly. In any case, once the song was underway she soon forgot about them.
Tim’s vocals were terrible. He was rather badly out of tune, and although he managed to remember all the words, they came out so muffled that nobody in the audience could have told what they were. He kept swaying on the spot, and he staggered once or twice. Fortunately, the instrumentals were perfect, and it was the musicianship rather than the vocals that the audience were cheering by the end of the set. They did not play an encore.
Afterwards, Jemma met the band backstage. “It could have been worse,” she said. “Well done to all of you ... except Tim.” She glanced over contemptuously at the sleeping form of Tim Porritt. “I have good news, and bad. I just met with someone who wants to manage the band. Unfortunately he’ll only do it if we replace our lead singer.”
“But you’re doing a great job of managing us,” said Justin. “What do we need another manager for?”
“I’m not connected in the business,” said Jemma. “If you want a recording contract, if you want to sign to a label, you need proper management. If you want bigger gigs, you’ll need proper management. If you want to actually earn a living at this, you need proper management. I can only take you so far.”
“Then it’s simple,” said Howie quietly. “We’ll have to get another singer.”
“Hey!” said Justin. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Tim! He needs our support, not our ... rejection!”
“He’s not cut out for this,” said Jemma. “He almost ruined our last gig for us, and he jolly nearly ruined this one too. Do you really want to be walking that knife-edge all the time?”
Justin was stubbornly silent, but Beth was thinking the same as Howie.
“Let’s compromise,” said Jemma after a moment. “I’ll book you another gig. If he screws up again, he’s out. If he shapes up ... well, I’ll tell our prospective manager we’ve got our singer back under control.”
“Sounds fair,” said Howie, and Justin nodded grudgingly.
It was a subdued journey back to their home town. Tim, huddled in a corner, was beginning to realize the enormity of his folly, and the others were not speaking much, either to him or to each other.
“Keep practising,” Jemma said to them as they parted company. “I’ll book another gig as soon as I can. I’ll be in touch.”
Tim swayed up his garden path and entered his house. His mother was emerging from the kitchen, dressed in her nightgown and carrying a glass of milk. “Hello dear,” she said. “My my, don’t you think it’s a little soon in your musical career to be playing the hellraiser?”
“I can’t do it, Mum!” said Tim, and he started sobbing as he sank to the floor. “I get such awful stage fright.”
“There there,” said his mother, coming over and patting his head. “I’m sure it can’t be as bad as all that.”
Tim shook his head. “No Mum, it’s over. Tomorrow I’m quitting the band. They’ll be better off without me.”
A couple of days later, Jemma met with the band in the old barn. “It’s official,” she said. “Tim’s quit. We need to find ourselves another singer.”
Justin scowled, but Howie and Beth merely looked at each other, both thinking that this was for the best.
“It’s a shame, though,” said Jemma. “He was a big hit. Look at this – we made the N.M.E.”
Justin jumped to his feet and snatched the musical journal from Jemma’s hands. He found the relevant article and read aloud. “Perhaps the most interesting part of the evening was the debut appearance of prog. metal band Gemstone, whose complex instrumentals were for me the highlight of the evening. Their stage act was uninspired, but the singer had a magnetic charisma that more than made up for the woodenness of the guitarists. His angst-ridden, almost unintelligible vocals evoked Thom Yorke on valium, and he swayed around his mike stand as if constantly about to fall over. A memorable performance from a band that I am sure we will be hearing more of in the future. Cute drummer, too.” He looked up, somewhat aggrieved. “Wooden?”
“Hey, don’t complain,” said Jemma. “For a new band to get such a good review is wonderful news. It’s almost a shame Tim’s decided to leave.”
“Almost,” muttered Howie.
“But this guy thinks that Tim’s drunken performance was intentional!” said Justin. “What happens when we play another gig, and we have a different singer, singing normally?”
“With any luck,” said Jemma, “we’ll get even better reviews. Don’t you think you deserve them?”
Justin paused, then nodded. “So what’s the plan?”
“I’ll advertise,” said Jemma. “There are plenty of wannabe rock stars out there – we’ll get plenty of applicants I’m sure.”
And so it proved. Two weeks later they held their first auditions. All three remaining band members plus Jemma sat in the town’s youth club hall, which they had hired for the afternoon. The first applicant, to the band’s surprise, was an eighteen-year-old woman dressed in jeans and a Metallica t-shirt.
“The ad didn’t state it had to be a guy?” Justin whispered to Jemma.
Jemma shook her head. “Why does it have to be a guy?” she whispered back. “None of the songs are gender-specific.”
Justin frowned but said nothing.
“Hi, my name’s Catherine Evans, but my friends call me Cal,” said the girl.
“Hello Cal,” said Jemma. “What are you singing for us?”
“I’m singing ‘One’, by Metallica,” said Cal.
“Good choice,” whispered Howie to Beth.
The girl started singing, and Jemma took notes. After a minute, she motioned for the girl to stop. “Thanks Cal, that’s fine. We’ll let you know. What’s your number?”
Cal gave them her phone number, and then left. Jemma turned to the others. “What did you think?”
“No good,” said Howie.
“She was all right,” said Justin grudgingly. “No kind of replacement for Tim, though.”
“She could sing in tune, at least,” said Beth.
“She could,” agreed Jemma. “But her voice was too thin and reedy – not nearly powerful enough. Justin’s right – she doesn’t have big enough feet to fill Tim’s shoes.”
Justin looked vaguely gratified at this.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. They saw twenty-two singers, and listened carefully to each one. Sometimes they asked for a repeat performance, or for a different song, and Jemma took reams of notes. Finally, when the last singer had left the room, Jemma turned to the band. “Any favourites?” she asked.
“Douglas was good,” said Justin immediately. “Sounded quite like Tim, actually.”
“Oh, I didn’t like him,” said Beth. “Seemed really arrogant to me.”
“Wasn’t keen on his voice,” said Howie. “Nasal. Much preferred Ken.”
“Ken.” Jemma consulted her notes. “Hmm, good voice, but couldn’t keep in tune. What did you all think of Melanie?”
“Too fat,” said Justin.
“Too strident,” said Howie.
“She was okay,” said Beth.
Just then, the door of the hall burst open, and a young woman entered. “Sorry I’m late. Am I too late? I had to run here from choir practice.” she said as she hurried up on to the stage. She was an attractive brunette, with dark eyes, shoulder length hair, and a generous chest which her loose cream-coloured blouse failed to significantly diminish. She looked around nineteen or twenty years old.
Jemma shrugged. “Go ahead,” she said. “What are you singing for us?”
“‘The Queen of the Night’, from Mozart’s ‘The Magic Flute’,” said the woman.
“Opera!” whispered Justin in disgust.
“What’s your name?” asked Jemma.
“Tara Williams. Shall I begin?”
Jemma nodded, and Tara sang. All their jaws dropped – she was good. As she trilled and bounced among impossibly high notes, and utilized the vibrato technique like a professional opera singer, Howie and Beth stared at each other in disbelief. Eventually Jemma waved her hand, and Tara stopped.
“You obviously know you’re a fantastic singer,” said Jemma. “Why on earth do you want to be in a heavy metal band?”
“I love heavy metal!” said Tara. “And I saw you at the Marquee. You were great – I just loved your instrumental stuff.”
“You were at the Marquee?” said Justin in astonishment.
Tara nodded. “I go there quite a lot. It’s a good place to check out new bands.”
Justin frowned. “You don’t seem like the type that would like heavy metal.”
“Well I’d have worn something more appropriate, only I had to come straight from choir,” said Tara.
Jemma cleared her throat. “What would your family think about you joining a rock band?”
“My mum would be fine with it – she’s pretty cool.”
“And your dad?” inquired Justin.
“He passed away three years ago,” said Tara.
Justin looked guilty. “Sorry,” he said.
“What choir do you belong to at the moment?” asked Jemma. “Would you be happy to leave it?”
“It’s the local church choir,” said Tara. “Now they would be pretty shocked by this...” She chuckled. “But that’s okay – they’re driving me nuts anyway. Most of them can’t sing a note.”
“You’ve had opera training?” said Howie.
Tara nodded. “Well, kind of,” she said. “I’ve taken Grade Eight singing and attended an open class at the Royal College of Music, but the vibrato is something I pretty much taught myself.”
“One final thing, then,” said Jemma. “How would you feel about wearing skimpy outfits on stage?”
“How skimpy?” asked Tara, a little warily. “I was envisioning black leathers, ripped jeans, that kind of thing.”
“Well the thing is,” said Jemma, “you’re a gorgeous girl. It’s my opinion that musical quality only goes so far – to really make it big our band has got to have stacks of visual appeal. Now we’ve already got a very sexy drummer, but she’s stuck behind the drum kit and will only get so much attention. The singer, on the other hand, is the main focus of the band. You have a wonderful voice and that’s great – but I’d like to make use of all your assets.”
Tara was a little taken aback. “Hmm,” she said. “I’m not sure how sexy I can be. I’m no good at dancing and gyrating like Madonna or Kylie or people like that.”
“That’s fine,” said Jemma. “We’re not a dance band. We’ll work with whatever you’ve got. I just want to make sure you aren’t going to get shy on us. The whole ‘church choir’ thing is a little disconcerting, you know.”
Justin nudged Jemma and whispered, “What are you doing? You’ll scare her off!”
“I guess I don’t mind ... depending on the outfit,” said Tara dubiously.
“Okay.” Jemma turned to the others. “Are we all in agreement?” Howie, Beth and Justin nodded. “Well you’re far and away the best we’ve heard today,” said Jemma. “If you really want this, you’ve got it.”
Tara beamed and clapped her hands. “Thank you, thank you!” she said. “I won’t let you down!”
She and Jemma exchanged contact details, and the five of them parted company. The next day, they got together in the old barn for a rehearsal. Tara was late.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said when she arrived. “I got lost and couldn’t find the place.”
“That’s all right,” said Jemma. “How did you get on with the songs?”
“Fine, I think,” said Tara. “I don’t have them memorized yet though.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Jemma took a seat. “Shall we kick off with Timber Genocide?”
This was one of the new songs they had learned for the Marquee gig. It was also Beth’s favourite, for she got to start and finish the song on her own. She started tapping softly at a tom tom in imitation of falling raindrops, and then brought in the floor tom and kick drum as Howie thrummed a single deep note on his bass. Tara’s voice now crept in, a delicate whisper which rose through the course of the first verse into a mournful wail. Tim had done this in a kind of agonized groan, which had fit the tone of the song, but the purity of Tara’s voice was heart-wrenching. She did not hit a false note through the entire song, and as Beth’s final drum solo came to a crashing close, Jemma whooped from her bale.
“That was brilliant!” she exclaimed. “Good work guys, and especially Tara – interesting interpretation!”
Justin grudgingly agreed. “Pretty good, Tara,” he said.
“That’s going to sound phenomenal with some decent production values behind it,” remarked Howie.
They played a few more songs, and spent a while concentrating on those they had not yet polished to performance standard.
“Okay,” said Jemma, “let’s call it a night. Before you all depart, however, I have a bit of news. I spoke to Derek Range again last night – the guy who wants to manage the band. I told him we had an awesome new singer, and he wants to come to our next gig.”
“Do we have a next gig yet?” inquired Justin.
“We do. It’s a club in south London – they showcase a lot of new metal bands. Bit of a rougher crowd than the Marquee, but I’m sure they’ll love you.”
“When’s the gig?” asked Howie.
“A week on Saturday,” said Jemma. “I trust you can all make it?” She looked at Tara with a slightly challenging air.
“No problem,” said Tara.
“Good! Then I’ll see you all again on Tuesday.”
The next two weeks dragged for Beth. Practising every day in Howie’s barn (the two of them had known each other since childhood), she had by now learned all Jemma’s songs by heart. She was anxious to get to the gig and make a good impression on Derek Range. She could feel that they were close, very close, to getting a contract and recording an album ... and more than anything she wanted to see her face on a CD in the major record stores. She very much hoped she would get a say in the album’s cover art.
“Well Dad,” she said to her father on the morning of the gig, “I’m off.”
Patrick Moran, a short, balding man in his late forties, grinned at her. “Knock ‘em dead, Beth,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks Dad,” she said, and gave him a hug.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” he asked. “I’d really love to, you know.”
“I know Dad,” she said, “but I’d be a little nervous performing in front of you. And this gig is really important – I have to keep focused.”
He nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Well, have fun!”
The minibus was waiting outside, and Beth hopped in and sat next to Howie. They collected Justin and Tara, and set off for the venue. Arriving with a couple of hours to spare, they found that they actually had a room to themselves in which to store their things and await their turn on stage.
Jemma opened a suitcase that she had brought, and pulled out a folded plastic dress cover with two clothes hangers poking out of the hole in the top. She unzipped the cover and extricated two dresses. “I bought these especially for you two,” she said. “It’s a good thing we’re going to get proper management soon, because all these expenses are beginning to put a strain on my finances.”
She handed a red minidress to Beth, who took it without comment. This would certainly not have been her preferred garment, but she was beginning to get used to the idea of having her panties on display throughout their performances. In any case, all eyes would probably now be on Tara, judging by the look of the other dress.
Tara was evidently having similar thoughts. She looked somewhat stricken at the sight of the backless and almost sideless dark blue number that Jemma had given her. It was shorter than anything she had ever worn before. Looking rather worried, she stripped out of her jeans and t-shirt, and put on the dress. It was an off-the-
shoulder dress, and clung tightly to her every curve. It was also very low-cut.
“Are you sure about this?” she hissed to Jemma.
“You said you were okay with...”
“I know what I said! I guess I just ... wasn’t prepared for it,” admitted Tara.
“You’ll have to take off your bra,” said Jemma. “Can’t have the straps showing like that.”
“I wish you’d told me beforehand,” muttered Tara as she removed her bra from beneath the dress. “I’d have worn a strapless bra.”
“Don’t worry,” said Beth reassuringly to her. “Once you’re out there, performing, you’ll forget about what you’re wearing.”
“Easy for you to say, tucked behind your drum kit,” snapped Tara, but she regretted it immediately and added, “Thanks though.”
They were all relieved when the waiting was finally over and their call came. As the band made its way on to the stage, Jemma called out “Good luck! Try not to be wooden, boys!”
They had structured their set a little more intelligently this time. Again they were to play five songs, but they were not playing the same five as they had at the Marquee. They kicked off with ‘Cold Flames’, a number that would properly showcase Tara’s vocal talents – and the strategy worked a treat. The crowd loved Tara, and in response the young woman loosened up and began to work the stage more. Striding back and forth, singing to different segments of the audience, she did not even notice that her dress was steadily creeping up until her pale pink lace panties were partially exposed. This realization, halfway through the second verse, almost threw her off her stride, but she managed to regain her composure and, to her credit, waited until the next instrumental section before tugging the hem of her dress back into place.
Beth watched with some amusement as, during the next four songs, Tara fought an ongoing battle with her hemline. Beth’s own panties were on show all the time, so she had little sympathy with the goody-two-shoes church girl’s predicament. Still, she was impressed – Tara was being a real trooper and was singing fantastically. The girl’s range was incredible, and she could do some really cool things with her voice.
After the show, Jemma met them backstage. “You guys were awesome!” she said. “That was the best gig yet!”
Beth expected Tara to be exploding with rage on account of her dress, but all the singer said was, “I had a little trouble with my dress, but I think I got away with it.”
Jemma laughed. “Oh believe me, Tara, you were a sensation! The crowd loved you!”
Tara somehow managed to look mortified and pleased at the same time.
“Hello?” said a male voice. All five of them turned to see a portly, thirty-ish, dark-haired man wearing a leather jacket. He smiled at them. “Ah, great gig,” he said.
“This is Derek Range,” said Jemma, walking over to shake the man’s hand. “Derek, allow me to introduce my band. This is Justin, our most excellent lead guitarist. This is Beth, our enormously talented drummer. This is Howie, our bass player of few words, and, last but not least, here’s our new vocalist, Tara Williams.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you all. Having seen your set tonight, I can confidently predict that I’ll have you signed to a major label in next to no time. You guys are fantastic. I expect you’ll be hoping to earn a little money from your craft, yes? I mean, rather more than the pocket money you’ve been getting so far from these gigs.”
Everyone nodded fervently, and Derek chuckled. “Well, if you’ll stop by my office tomorrow, I’ll have a contract ready for you all to sign. Now have no fear – I’m pretty well-connected in this business, and I’ll get you the best gigs and the best recording deal that you could hope for. Stick with me, and you’ll go far, I promise you. You have my card already, Jemma – I’ll see you tomorrow!” He smiled again, and left.
The band members cheered and laughed. This felt like a dream come true. On a euphoric high, they packed their stuff away and then checked into a local hotel. As the man behind the desk swiped Jemma’s credit card, however, he said, “I’m sorry, Miss, this card has been rejected.”
Jemma’s face fell. She fished out another card and muttered, “Try this one.”
But this was rejected too. Tara, who was standing nearby, pulled out one of her own cards. “Here,” she said.
“That’ll do nicely,” said the receptionist as her card was cleared. “Here are your keys.”
“Thanks,” said Jemma to Tara as they carted their things towards the lifts.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were running out of money?” demanded Justin. “You’ve been spending cash left, right and centre on this band. I always thought you were rich!”
“No such luck,” said Jemma. “I’ve been pinning my hopes on getting a contract for you guys so that someone else can spend the money for a change.”
“You could have said something,” said Beth. “We’d have chipped in.”
“Thanks guys, but it’s academic now. Hopefully this is the last major expense we’ll have to foot ourselves. Tara, I’ll pay you back in a few days, okay?”
“Nonsense,” said Tara. “I can easily afford this and I consider it money well spent. Come on, let’s get upstairs and get some champagne brought to our rooms. On me, okay?”
The next morning, they duly turned up at Derek Range’s office, and the five of them sat down on one side of his desk while he sat on the other. Jemma read the contract through several times, and then she cleared her throat. “There are just a couple of amendments I’d like made to this contract,” she said.
“Amendments?” said Derek politely.
“Yes. I want the band to have control over their costumes. Specifically, I want creative control over the band’s attire.”
“I see,” said Derek. “That’s very ... interesting. I assure you, I have a lot more experience in dressing bands than you, my dear, and...”
“That’s the deal,” said Jemma coolly. “I’ll be happy to take your advice, but I want that control.”
Justin was glaring at Jemma, but she did not notice, or chose not to.
Derek licked his lips. “I appreciate what you’ve done with the ... ladies of the band,” he said, “but the boys are very poorly dressed and I am not confident in your abilities to pick outfits for them.”
“True, I have rather neglected Howie and Justin,” said Jemma. “But we’ve only been playing in small clubs, populated mostly by men, who could not care less what our boys wear. I am perfectly capable of dressing the boys, as you will find, but like I said, I’ll be happy to take your suggestions.”
Derek frowned. Then he shrugged. “I’ll add a clause,” he muttered. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes,” said Jemma. “Your cut seems a little ... excessive.”
Justin’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “I assure you it is not! Don’t forget your position, young lady – your band at the moment is a bunch of nobodies...”
“Fine,” said Jemma. “If you think we’re a bunch of nobodies, we’ll take our insignificant little arses to a manager who thinks a little more highly of us. I don’t mind telling you we’ve heard a very good pitch from another agency...”
Justin, looking very angry, opened his mouth to speak, but Beth prodded him so hard in the ribs that he closed his mouth again.
“Let’s not be hasty,” said Derek quickly. “Perhaps you’re right – your band is clearly destined for good things. I’m sure we can negotiate a little regarding my cut. Was that all?”
“Not quite,” said Jemma. “We’d like a clause which releases us from the contract if you fail to sign us up with a label in two months. Plus, hiring and firing decisions are up to the band.”
Derek nodded. “That’s fine.” He grinned ruefully. “You seem to have done your homework,” he said.
Jemma quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve been in a band before,” she said. “I do know a little about this business.”
The other four stared at her in surprise, and when Derek took the contract away to be amended, Justin said, “I didn’t know you’d been in a band!”
“Oh hush,” said Jemma. “I haven’t. But there’s no harm in keeping him on his toes.”
“I have a question,” said Howie. “What are you planning to dress us in?”
“Yeah,” said Justin. “What do you have in mind for our costumes? Can I have a Spiderman suit?”
Howie looked at him. “You are kidding,” he said.
“We’ll talk about costumes later,” said Jemma. “How would you two feel about putting in some time at the gym? You could stand to lose a bit of weight, Howie, and those arms of yours, Justin, could use a bit of toning up.”
Justin’s face coloured. “With all the practising you’ve got us doing, I’m not sure I have time to...”
“Hey,” said Jemma. “We’re about to sign a contract. Soon you’ll be making a real living out of performing gigs. Doesn’t that mean you’ll be quitting your day job?” When Justin nodded, Jemma said, “Well you’ll have a lot more time to work out a bit, then. Howie, are you okay with that plan?”
Howie nodded and patted his paunch with a grin. “It’s about time I got a bit of exercise,” he said.
“What about me?” said Beth. “Do I get to work out too?”
Jemma chuckled. “If you want to, Beth, but I think you’re going to have plenty of fans as you are.”
It was some time later when Derek returned with the amended contract. Jemma looked it over, and nodded. She signed it, and the rest of the band followed suit.
“Congratulations,” said Derek. “I’ll be in touch with details of your next few gigs, and I’ll start making inquiries among my contacts at the studios. We’ll need to get you some press exposure, too, so if I hear of any music journalists attending small events, I’ll make those a priority.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Jemma. They all shook hands with Derek, and then left his office.
“How do you know so much about the business?” asked Beth of Jemma.
“Like Derek said, I do my homework,” said Jemma. Then she added, “Plus, it’s really just common sense. You just need to think about what you want ahead of time.”
Still on Cloud Nine, the band returned home. The following morning, Justin handed in his notice at work. Howie did the same. Beth, who was of a slightly more cautious bent, did not. The issue did not arise for Tara, who was not currently in employment.
Tuesday brought news from their new manager. He had gigs lined up for them on both Friday and Saturday night of that week. Saturday’s was at the Marquee again, and he was confident that he could persuade an executive from Capitol records to come and listen to them. The rest of the week was spent in feverish practice. Beth managed to take some time off work, and the band spent the whole of Thursday rehearsing.
On Friday night they found themselves playing to a crowd from King’s College, London University. The KCL students were drunk and rowdy, but soon got behind the band in a major way. They particularly appreciated Tara’s dress, which Jemma had somehow persuaded Tara to wear again. This time, though, having learned from her last experience, Tara wore white hotpants beneath it. Jemma was not pleased.
“I preferred the lace panties, Tara,” she remarked after the gig.
“I’m sure you did,” said Tara. “But if you insist that I wear a dress which I can’t possibly stop from riding up around my hips, I think I deserve to choose what underwear I show to everyone.”
Jemma regarded her stonily for a moment, then said, “Hotpants beneath a minidress kind of negate the point of the minidress. Perhaps we could go shopping for underwear together and find a suitable compromise?”
“That sounds fair,” agreed Tara.
And so the next day found the two young women shopping for panties in various clothes stores in the centre of London. Tara initially went for full-cut panties, but Jemma discounted these immediately. “Do you want to look like a grandmother?” she asked.
“Hey, these are what I normally wear!” said Tara indignantly.
Jemma gave her a long look. “A rock concert stage is not a church choir stall,” she said. “There’s a time and a place for everything.” She picked up a white thong from a nearby stand. “Now this, on the other hand...”
“No!” said Tara firmly.
“All right, all right,” said Jemma with a sigh.
“What about these?” asked Tara, picking up a pair of blue cotton briefs.
“Better,” said Jemma, “but that colour won’t show up very well.”
“I don’t want it to show up well!” said Tara.
“If your panties are going to be visible,” said Jemma firmly, “you might as well make a statement of it instead of seeming like your ashamed of them. I loved your pink lace panties – those were fantastic.”
“Too see-through, though,” Tara grumbled.
“What about these?” asked Jemma, picking up a pair of white low-cut bikini briefs.
“They’re rather skimpy,” said Tara doubtfully. “But I suppose I could wear them...”
“Perfect,” said Jemma, and bought ten pairs with a credit card that Derek Range had given her, strictly for band business use of course.
The following day, they played the Marquee again. Jemma had bought new outfits for the whole band, and they felt a surge of confidence as they marched out on to the stage. Howie was wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans with a flowing black robes over the top. This not only served to de-emphasize his girth, it also lent him a certain air of mystery which appealed to him greatly. Justin wore baggy denim shorts with a black t-shirt and a baseball cap. Tara was wearing a form-fitting green dress which, unsurprisingly, was very short and had a low-cut neckline. Beth, for a change, was kitted out in a denim miniskirt and a yellow crop-top. She was rather unhappy about this – not because her panties were once again on view, but because she was uncomfortable with the way her midriff looked. It needed toning. She would definitely have to work out with Howie and Justin, she reflected.
The set went well, and at its end the band met up with Jemma backstage. “Good performance,” said Jemma. “You all played very well. We need to work on your stage act though. Tara, your singing was fantastic but we need to get you doing more than walking back and forth across the stage. Justin and Howie, you’re beginning to throw some nice shapes but we need more energy from you – particularly from Justin. But never mind that for the moment – I’m sure you impressed the guy from Capitol, if he was here.”
“How are your piano lessons coming along?” asked Justin.
“Fine,” said Jemma, a little taken aback. “I’ll be taking my Grade Five exam next Tuesday. I don’t want to join the band until I’ve taken at least Grade Seven, though. And that will be several months at the rate I’m going.”
Justin nodded. “Just asking,” he said.
They returned home, and awaited news from Derek Range. It came the following Monday. Jemma stopped by Beth’s house to give her the news.
“I’ve told the others,” she said as she sat down in Beth’s living room. “But I was in your neighbourhood so I thought I’d pay you a visit. Oh hello!”
Beth’s father had entered the room. “Dad,” said Beth, “this is Jemma. Jemma, my dad.”
“So you’re the creative genius!” said Patrick. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Jemma.”
Jemma smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “But your daughter’s far more talented than I am – she’s a wizard with those drums.”
Patrick positively glowed with pride. “I understand you’re hoping to sign up to a label soon,” he said.
“Yes – actually that’s what I came to talk to Beth about,” said Jemma. “I just heard from our manager, Derek Range – he says the exec from Capitol was indeed there on Saturday night, and he liked the band very much. He wants to sign us!”
Beth whooped ecstatically and hugged first Jemma and then her beaming father.
“There’s just one minor problem,” said Jemma. “We can’t use the name Gemstone.”
“Oh?” said Beth. “Why not?”
“It’s been used already – there’s already a band with that name,” said Jemma with a sigh. “Funnily enough, Derek suggested ‘The Gemstones’ – apparently that would be okay – but I told him we’d already discounted that. He came up with a few other suggestions, which I’ll discuss with all of you tomorrow night. If you think of anything good in the meantime, you can bring it up then.”
“Bummer,” said Beth, crestfallen. “We must have quite a following now who know us as Gemstone.”
Jemma nodded. “Still,” she said, “these are early days. Best we change our name now than a few months down the line. Now, on another matter, I wonder if I could discuss with you an idea I had regarding your stage outfit?”
Beth’s cheeks coloured. “Oh yes?” she said a little nervously, acutely aware that her father would be less than happy about her stage ‘look’.
“Well, I’d like to show you something I found on the internet – perhaps I could show you on your computer?”
Rather relieved, Beth said, “Sure, why don’t you come up to my room?”
Upstairs, they shut themselves in Beth’s room, and Beth switched on her computer. When it had booted up, she started Internet Explorer and handed over to Jemma.
“I found this site quite by accident,” said Jemma, typing ‘www.the-bikini.com’ into the address box, “but it’s pretty cool. They sell thongs, and I was thinking maybe you could wear one.”
Beth shrugged. “What for? It’s not like people are going to see it from the back.”
“No,” conceded Jemma, “but I could not help noticing that your panties are quite ... generously cut. So even though they’re visible when you’re sitting at your drums, they are really quite modest. I was hoping you could try wearing something that’s a little ... narrower ... at the front...?”
Beth frowned. “I thought I was being incredibly daring,” she said.
“Oh you are, you are,” Jemma reassured her. “But it’s like I was saying to Tara – if you’re going to be showing your underwear, would you not rather they were sexy underwear rather than something your grandmother might wear?”
“These are not granny underwear!” said Beth hotly.
“Of course not, of course not,” said Jemma soothingly. “I’m sorry – it was just a figure of speech and it applied more to Tara than it does to you. Nevertheless, your panties could be sexier, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” said Beth. “Let’s see then – what do you have in mind?”
Jemma smiled. “That’s the spirit!” she said. “Well, the site sells thongs in a variety of sizes. There’s the full-cut thong, the mini, the mini-mini, the micro, and the mini-micro. That’s in descending order of area covered. There are a couple of other styles too, but these are the main ones.”
“Which size do you have in mind for me?” asked Beth. “Or is that a silly question?”
Jemma chuckled. “I’d like you to wear the smallest one you feel comfortable with,” she said.
“Figures,” said Beth sardonically. Her curiosity was aroused, however. “Let’s start with the mini,” she said.
Jemma clicked on the appropriate gallery, and a bunch of thumbnailed images appeared. She clicked on one of them, and a window containing the enlarged picture popped up. She maximized it.
Beth considered it. Its coverage, she decided, was adequate. She would have to shave a bit more, but... “Sure, why not?” she said.
Jemma closed the picture and backed up to the main menu. Selecting the ‘mini-mini’ gallery, she pulled up another picture. “This one’s the same width as the mini,” she said, “but it’s lower cut.”
“Holy cow!” breathed Beth. “I’ll say!”
“So how would you feel about this one?” inquired Jemma.
“I don’t know,” said Beth. “I’d have to shave a lot more off than I normally do...” Then she shook herself. “Jemma, I’d better stick with the mini. I’ve got my dad to think about. He keeps wanting to come to our gigs and I keep putting him off. He’s going to flip when he sees what I wear. He’ll flip even more if my underwear are that ... racy.”
Jemma smiled. “Why not sound him out on the subject? I don’t want to be a cause of any strife between you and your dad. Would you like me to talk to him? I can be quite ... persuasive, sometimes.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Beth, rolling her eyes. “Okay, if you like. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Jemma nodded, then trotted downstairs. “Mr. Moran?” she said.
“Ah, Jemma,” said Patrick. “Please call me Patrick.”
“Patrick, then,” said Jemma with a smile. “I’d like to talk to you about why Beth has been reluctant for you to come to our gigs.”
“Oh?” said Patrick in surprise. “I thought she was just nervous about playing in front of me.”
Jemma shook her head. “There’s more to it than that, but she’s too embarrassed to tell you herself. You see, when I found this band they were just a bunch of kids playing in a barn with a few pub gigs under their belts. They weren’t really going anywhere. I, on the other hand, was a song-writer with a vision and no band. I saw them play at the Fox and Hounds and decided they were sufficiently talented to take me where I want to go. I’m quite ambitious, you see.”
“I see,” said Patrick, raising an eyebrow.
“Now,” continued Jemma, “I’m completely in love with Beth’s drumming – I think she’s fantastic. Howie’s pretty good on bass, and Justin’s got real talent with his guitar. And Tara, our new singer – she’s just phenomenal. I really believe that with this line-up, the band could go all the way to the top.”
“That’s great!” said Patrick. “But I sense a ‘but’ coming...”
Jemma nodded. “Playing good songs very well is only half the battle,” she said. “I knew from the beginning that it was important to catch the public’s attention with a little, shall we say, ‘eye candy’. To begin with, Beth was the only female member of the band, so I knew that she had to be the focus of attention for the male audience. To that end, I have been dressing her in miniskirts and minidresses for our gigs.”
“Okay...” said Patrick slowly, then his brow furrowed. “Wait ... but she’s a drummer. Wouldn’t that mean...”
“Precisely,” said Jemma. “It’s not easy to see past the drum kit if you’re in the audience at a rock concert, but those lucky enough to do so have been treated to a view of Beth’s undies.”
“Good lord!” said Patrick, rather taken aback.
“Now, Beth’s become used to this, and her panties are now something of a trademark for the band, but she’s been terrified that you would freak out about it.”
“Um, well...” began Patrick.
“Now I’ve seen the two of you together – you obviously have an excellent father-daughter relationship,” said Jemma. “I’m envious, actually – my own father’s a rather cold and distant man. So I’m not quite sure why Beth would expect you to react so badly. If you could have a talk with her, then I’m sure you’ll ease her mind and she’ll be happy for you to come to our next gig.”
“Right,” said Patrick. Then he frowned. “But, you know, I’m not sure I’m happy about Beth showing her underwear...”
“That’s perfectly understandable – you’re her father,” said Jemma, nodding. “But she’s very much in need of your approval right now, so if you could try to fake it, for her sake... She needs to feel that you trust her, and that her decisions have your full support.”
Patrick nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll go and have a chat with her.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Jemma. “Oh, there’s one other thing...”
“Yes?” said Patrick.
“Because of her fears that you would be angry, she’s been wearing some rather grandmotherly panties up until now,” said Jemma. “I’ve asked her to wear something a little more glamorous, but she’s worried about your reaction. I’m not sure where these fears come from, but if you could tell her that it’s okay to be sexy, then she’ll be able to stop agonizing over it and get back to concentrating on the music.”
Patrick climbed the stairs and knocked on Beth’s bedroom door. She invited him in, and he sat down on the bed next to her. “Jemma tells me you’re worried about what I might think about your outfits,” he said.
Beth bit her lip, and nodded.
“Well I can’t say I like the idea of you showing your underwear to your audience,” Patrick continued. “But you’re a grown woman now, and old enough to make your own decisions. I trust you, and I want you to know that I support you.”
Beth threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Thanks Dad,” she said. “I needed to hear that.”
Patrick smiled happily. “Now, can I come to your next gig or what?”
“Of course!” said Beth, beaming. “I can’t wait for you to hear us!”
“Good,” said her father. “I shall look forward to that very much.” He got up and walked to the door, but then he turned and said, “Oh, and you’d better take Jemma’s advice on your choice of underwear – she seems like she knows what she’s doing.”
Beth’s eyes widened, but she merely said, “Okay!”
Patrick left the room, and Jemma re-entered. “Did it go well?” she said.
Beth nodded. “He was a lot more understanding about it than I would have guessed. Whatever you said, it obviously worked.” She brought up the Internet Explorer session again. “Perhaps I could try this mini-mini…”
Jemma grinned. “Are you at all interested in checking out the micro or the mini-micro?”
Beth pursed her lips for a moment, then said, “Sure, why not?” She opened up the gallery for the micro thong, and maximized one of the pictures. “Woah!” she said. “And there’s a size smaller than this??”
“Yup,” said Jemma. “Is there any chance I could persuade you to wear this one?”
“I’d have to pretty much shave myself completely smooth,” said Beth. “I don’t know – I think I’ll just stick with the mini-mini.”
“I could always buy both, and let you try them on,” said Jemma. “You could decide then.”
Beth nodded. “That sounds fair,” she said. Then, out of curiosity, she opened up the thumbnail gallery for the mini-micro. “Now that’s just silly!” she said, staring at the pictures. “Her pussy isn’t even covered! Not even slightly!”
Jemma grinned. “You’re right, it’s a ridiculous garment,” she said. “But it does look kind of fun.”
“I had no idea such a garment existed,” said Beth. “There’s no way I’d wear something like that!”
Jemma smiled. “Well, I won’t get one of those for you, then.” She looked at her watch. “I should get going,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”
Beth nodded, and got up to see Jemma to the door.
The next evening, after they had run through all of their songs, they discussed possible names for the band. “Derek had the following suggestions,” said Jemma. “How about ‘Opaline’?”
“Too feminine,” said Justin shortly.
“Hey, don’t forget we’re a female-fronted band now,” said Beth, but Justin merely stared stonily back at her.
“That’s okay,” said Jemma. “It’ll have to be something that we can all agree upon. How about ‘Emerald’?”
“There isn’t an Emerald already?” inquired Tara.
“Apparently not. Do you like it?” asked Jemma.
“Not really,” said Justin. “How about ‘Jemstone’, with a ‘J’? If it’s spelled differently, surely we can get away with it. Bands are always spelling words wrongly on purpose. And in our case, we actually have a good reason to do so.”
Everyone pondered this for a moment, then Howie said, “Sounds cool. Can we do that Jemma?”
Jemma shrugged. “I’m not sure. I can ask. Would that be your choice, then? Does everyone agree?” There was a general murmur of assent. “Well, that was easy enough. I’ll let you know what Derek says.”
Derek, it turned out, was quite happy with the name Jemstone. He also had more news about Capitol – he had set up a meeting for them to meet the studio exec who had seen them perform at the Marquee. His name was Brian Goddard, and he wanted them in London on Saturday morning. This was convenient, as Derek had arranged for them to perform at University College, London, that evening.
The following morning, Beth finally quit her job, and from then on she and the others focused their attention completely on the band. Howie, Beth and Justin got together every morning to work out in the gym, and Tara took up dancing lessons in order to improve her stage moves.
On Saturday morning, they met with Brian Goddard and signed a three-album deal with Capitol. That evening, they went to University College, where Jemma presented Beth with her outfit for the evening. It consisted of a short, flower-patterned summer dress, and a white micro-thong. “Or you could wear the mini-mini,” she said. “I have both here.”
Beth took the micro-thong between finger and thumb and stared at it. “I’ll try it,” she said reluctantly. She changed into the dress and pulled up the thong. She had shaved her pussy bald in preparation for wearing skimpy thongs, but she was shocked at how tiny this item was. It was too narrow to fully hide her pussy lips, and it tapered to a string frighteningly quickly. Experimentally she sat down with her legs apart, and bent over to look at her crotch from the front. Her pussy was bulging slightly either side of the tiny white triangle of material. Sure, it covered her slit, but could she really wear it on stage?
Then it occurred to her that, sitting as she was behind the drum kit, anyone who actually managed to see her crotch would probably not have a good enough view to see more than a flash of white – they would not be able to tell that there was a bit of pussy flesh showing either side of that white patch. With that rationale, therefore, she decided there was no real harm in wearing this thing.
The gig went pretty well, though Tara stumbled and almost fell while trying one of her new moves. On the whole, however, she was becoming a more interesting performer, and the many students who caught glimpses of her panties as her dress rode up certainly appreciated her antics. Beth soon forgot about her underwear, and she figured afterwards that any horny males in the audience would have no doubt been focusing on Tara’s panties rather than hers.
Howie and Justin were moving about a bit more, too. Justin had adopted a peculiar move wherein he danced on the spot with a rapid shuffling of his feet. It looked harder than it was, and was quite amusing to boot. Fortunately he saved this for the lighter-hearted songs.
As the set finished, Beth happened to glance down at her crotch, and saw to her horror that the narrow front of her thong had slipped between her pussy lips, which had almost closed together on top of it, leaving only a thin white line visible in the cleft between her fully exposed labia. She hurriedly pulled the garment out and replaced it so that it covered as much as possible, before standing up and taking her bow. She hoped nobody had seen what had happened.
Her father met her backstage, but he obviously had not noticed her indecency, for he seemed very cheerful and complimentary about their performance. He said he was very proud of Beth, and Beth simply glowed at his praises.
The following Monday evening (the band was now getting together every night), Jemma brought more news. The band had been invited to support up-and-coming rap-metal band Grenade on their first tour of the country. Jemma wanted to know if the band was happy with the idea of going on tour.
“Of course!” said Beth. “This is a huge opportunity, surely – we can build a fan base prior to the release of our first album.”
“Exactly,” said Jemma. “Is anyone not in favour of going on tour?”
“Could we not go on our own tour?” grumbled Justin. “We’re good enough – can’t the label promote us a bit?”
“Until we’re well known,” said Jemma, “the venues would never sell enough tickets. People won’t come unless they know us already.”
Despite Justin’s mutterings, he was looking forward to touring, and nobody objected to Jemma’s suggestion that she contact Derek the next day with their acceptance. Beth returned home a little later and gave her father the news that she would soon be touring the country with the band. He was thrilled for her, but a little worried.
“I know what goes on on these tours,” he said. “Groupies, drugs, choking on vomit, and so on. I do hope you’ll be sensible about what you do.”
“Of course I will, Dad,” she said with an affectionate laugh. “You know me – I’m not the wild and crazy type.”
The tour dates were fixed, and off they went, playing all the universities and clubs on their way up through Birmingham, Manchester, and on into Scotland. All the while, Beth continued to wear micro-thongs, and she eventually became quite used to them. Sure, they regularly disappeared between her pussy lips, but nobody ever seemed to notice. At least, nobody commented. After a while she stopped bothering to pull them out when she noticed they were no longer providing any kind of coverage.
Tara’s outfits seemed to be getting smaller all the time. This soon became a bone of contention between her and Jemma. “Look,” she said before a gig in Edinburgh. “This dress doesn’t even cover my buttocks completely at the back! What kind of a stunt is this to pull? I’m not wearing it, do you hear?”
“Tara,” said Jemma, “you’ve been running around dozens of stages now with your hemline up around your hips and your knickers on display to your audience – why baulk at this now?”
“But those dresses at least started out decent!” said Tara. “This one doesn’t even pretend to be a proper dress!”
“Ah,” said Jemma, “but those other dresses were made of Lycra and kept riding up, so that you had to keep pulling them down. This one’s cotton and will not ride up – it will stay at the same level throughout the gig. You won’t have to keep fidgeting with it, but it will show off exactly the same amount of your panties as you normally show.”
Tara opened her mouth, but could not think of an adequate response to this. “Well, don’t let them get any shorter than this!” she managed eventually, before stalking off in a huff.
“Oh – Tara?” said Jemma, and Tara stopped in her tracks just in the doorway. “Tara, would you please come back here a moment?”
Tara hesitated, then turned and marched back. “What now?” she said in an exasperated tone.
“Your panties for this evening,” said Jemma, handing them to Tara.
Tara opened them out and raised an eyebrow. “Good grief, Jemma, they seem to be getting smaller all the time! Are you sure this doesn’t count as a thong?”
“It’s not a thong,” Jemma assured her. “It’s quite small at the back, certainly, but not small enough to disappear between your buttocks.”
Tara sighed and stalked off again, clutching the panties in one hand. Beth sidled up to Jemma. “How long before you manage to get her in a thong, do you think?”
Jemma coughed slightly. “A few weeks, with a bit of luck,” she said. “She hates the idea of wearing thongs.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?” inquired Beth.
“Sure,” said Jemma.
“Are you gay?”
Jemma’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Maybe,” she said. “Does that matter?”
“Not in the slightest,” said Beth with a wry grin. “I just wanted to know.”
“Are you?” asked Jemma. “I’ve never heard you mention a boyfriend.”
Now it was Beth’s turn to blush. “I’m not gay,” she said. “Nor do I have a boyfriend at the moment. I have my eye on someone, but I don’t think he’s interested in me.”
Jemma frowned. “Howie?” she asked.
Beth blushed still harder. “Don’t tell him, okay?”
“Well crikey, girl, why not tell him how you feel? Gorgeous girl like you – I’m sure he’d jump at the chance!”
“I’m not sure he would,” said Beth. “And it might make things weird between us. The band might suffer.”
“Oh!” said Jemma, and nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose it might. Well, for all our sakes then, I hope you manage to find someone else. Heck, they’ll be lining up at your door before long.”
“Thanks,” said Beth with a small smile, but she was not much comforted.
The rest of the tour went very well, and afterwards the studio got in touch with them via Derek with plans for cutting an album. “They want a single, too,” said Jemma. “Derek is of the opinion that none of our songs are great single material, and I am inclined to agree, but since the studio is insisting, he reckons ‘Living a Lie’ would be the best choice. I think he’s probably right, but I still worry that it will sell poorly and damage our credibility.
“Maybe we could do a really cool video for the song,” suggested Justin. “Get some airtime on MTV before we release it.”
“I suggested that,” said Jemma, “but the studio isn’t prepared to fork out for a video just yet. We’re still unproven.”
“Oh come on Jemma,” said Justin impatiently. “Since when have you ever taken no for an answer? I’m sure you can talk them round.”
Jemma smiled. “Well thank you for the vote of confidence,” she said. “Perhaps I could make a good case, at that. After all, it would be a pretty sexy video…”
“If you’re going to have cameras zooming in on my thong,” said Beth, then she hesitated. She had been about to say “then I want one with more coverage”, but something made her change her mind. Instead, she finished, “then I want Tara in a thong too!”
Tara gasped. “No way!” she said. “It’s bad enough that I have to wear tiny panties and dresses that don’t completely cover them – I’m not going to humiliate myself by showing off my whole bottom!”
“Why would that be humiliating?” inquired Jemma. “You have a beautiful bottom.”
“It’s … too big,” said Tara shortly.
Beth’s jaw dropped. “No it’s not!” she said at the same time as Jemma, Howie and Justin all said the same thing. “It’s lovely!” added Justin.
Tara blushed. “I…” she said. Then she added, “But…” And finally she said, “All right! But I don’t want one like Beth’s – that’s just obscene. Sorry Beth.”
“Understood, Tara,” said Jemma. “I’ll get you some thongs that give you more than adequate frontal coverage.”
“Okay then!” said Tara, nodding decisively as if she had just won.
“All the same,” added Jemma, “you should probably shave your bikini line a little closer in than usual – thongs tend to be cut a little narrower at the front than regular panties.”
Tara frowned, but nodded again.
“Very well,” said Jemma. “Now that that’s settled, shall we practice?”
With Derek’s reluctant approval, Jemma met with Capitol herself and managed to talk them into making a video for ‘Living a Lie’. In fact, by the time she had finished pitching her concept to them, they were actually excited about the idea. They did insist, however, that the album be recorded first, and to this Jemma was happy to agree.
For the next few weeks the band worked tirelessly in the studio, playing every track over and over until it was perfect. Once Jemma had learned a little more about the recording process, she actually amended some of her songs in order to take advantage of the available technology. Thus Justin found himself accompanying himself in some newly complex instrumental breaks, and Tara harmonized with herself in some of the vocal sections.
Once all the songs were recorded, and all that remained to be done was mixing work, the band met up with a camera crew and played ‘Living a Lie’ several different times in several different places. Part of the shoot was in a flat in East London. Part was out on the Kentish downs, where they set up their entire kit, with amps and everything, on the top of a hill between two old and gnarled oak trees. Part was in a studio with more sophisticated lighting and camera rigs, where Beth could not help noticing that one of the cameras remained fixed on her constantly.
And then there were the ‘story’ scenes. This required Tara and Justin to do some acting, which they were highly nervous about since neither of them had acted before. However, their portrayal of warring lovers was surprisingly convincing, according to Lloyd Russell, the director.
Jemma spent this time getting to know Lloyd. By the end of the shoot she had managed to convince him to let her sit in on the editing process, and agreed that she could make suggestions. Beth, discovering this, dreaded to think how much screen time her micro-thong would get.
Several weeks later, the album – ‘Flying Blind’ – was released. Only now did the band get to see the ‘Living a Lie’ video – when it aired late at night on one of the MTV channels. Beth and Tara sat through it with their mouths agape, for both girls’ thongs were visible through most of the song. (In fact, when Beth watched it later with stopwatch in hand, she worked out that her thong was on screen for two minutes and three seconds out of the video’s five-and-a-half minute length. That was more than a third of the song! Even Tara’s thong had less screen time – it was visible for a mere one minute and fifty seconds. Most of the rest of the song featured the story of Tara and Justin’s failing relationship – a poignant melodrama that would have been corny if it had not been for the insight and intelligence of the lyrics.)
“Can they even show this?” asked Beth in astonishment as she stared at the flesh of her shaven labia bulging either side of her thong.
“This version they can only show after the watershed,” said Jemma. “There’s a more kiddie-friendly version which they’ll show earlier in the day.”
“The critics are going to slaughter this video, you realize,” said Howie gloomily.
“If it becomes controversial,” said Jemma, “then it will get attention. And that has to be good for us.”
“No such thing as bad publicity, eh?” remarked Beth with a faint smirk.
“Quite,” agreed Jemma.
Whether this was true or not, the single generated encouraging, if modest, sales upon its release. A few critics had some harsh words for the gratuitous nature of the video, but in general they praised the song itself. It became the third most requested rock video on the Box channel in the week before its release, and the single reached number seventeen in the charts. The band was disappointed, but Derek assured them that this was better than they should have expected. The album, he told them, would probably fare better.
And it did, but not by much. Though it was critically well-received, it peaked at number fifteen in the album charts a couple of weeks later. Jemma was disheartened – this was the first time things had not gone entirely her way. But she threw herself into her piano lessons and started writing more songs. When the studio suggested a second video, Jemma wrote what she considered a far better screenplay than the one she had hastily penned for ‘Living a Lie’. This song was called ‘Window into the Future’, and had a kind of post-apocalyptic feel. Jemma was pleased with what she had written, and went around to Tara’s house to discuss it with her.
“Tara,” she said when she had sat down with the lead singer in the younger woman’s living room. “How would you feel about doing a little nudity in this video?”
Tara looked horrified. “Nudity?” she exclaimed. “Hell no!”
“It would be a closed set,” said Jemma. “And you’d get paid more.”
“How much more?” asked Tara, and then she shook herself. “No! That’s not the point! The point is my nakedness will be seen by everyone in the country!”
Jemma smiled. “Hardly everyone,” she said. “Although the more people we can get to watch the video, the more people will hear the song and the more people will buy both the single and the album.”
“I don’t care,” said Tara, “I won’t do it. I know I’ve kind of got used to the idea of flashing my panties every gig, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“Where exactly is that line drawn?” asked Jemma. “Perhaps we can compromise.”
Tara thought for a moment. “I don’t mind appearing in my underwear,” she said. “Or maybe topless from the back, if it’s tasteful and doesn’t show my nipples.”
“So you wouldn’t go properly topless, I mean from the front, under any circumstances?” asked Jemma. “Because that would be a shame. You have fabulous breasts and it would be a major selling point for the video.”
“But Jemma,” said Tara urgently, “what if my friends at church were to see the video?”
Jemma shrugged, a puzzled frown on her face. “Would they excommunicate you or something?”
“Well no, of course not, but I certainly wouldn’t be welcome back there.”
“Why not?” said Jemma. “You can go wherever you choose, surely. Anyone who gets judgmental about your career choices isn’t much of a friend, if you ask me. Your true friends will support you, and this, I guess, will tell you who your true friends are.”
Tara sighed. “But my mum… I know I said she’s broad-minded, but I really don’t think she’d approve of me being topless in a video…”
Jemma smiled. “Let me talk to her,” she said.
Two weeks later, Tara found herself taking her clothes off in a bedroom with Lloyd Russell, Jemma, and a camera crew. When she had stripped down to her panties and bra, she looked nervously at Jemma, who smiled encouragingly and gave her a thumbs-up. With a heavy sigh, Tara took off her bra, revealing her large but pleasantly firm breasts. As she climbed on to the bed, Jemma hurried over.
“Tara, those panties won’t do,” she said. “Here.” She handed Tara a white micro-thong.
“I’m not wearing this!” Tara hissed. “It won’t cover all my … hair!”
“Okay, then you’d better pop into the bathroom and shave,” said Jemma. “I thought you might need to, so I brought a Lady-shave and some shaving foam. They’re on the edge of the basin.”
“But,” said Tara desperately.
“Don’t worry,” Jemma reassured her. “We’ll wait for you.”
She ushered Tara into the bathroom, where the young singer sighed and took off her panties. Lathering up her pubic hair, she carefully shaved off everything but a very narrow strip down the middle. Then, on second thoughts, she shaved that off too, leaving her pussy completely bald. She rinsed off the rest of the foam, then found a towel and dried herself. Then she pulled on the micro-thong, and gasped at its lack of coverage. She carefully arranged it so that at least it was central and covered her slit, then she went back through to the bedroom.
“Okay,” said Lloyd, “just lie down on the bed please.”
Tara did so, on her side. But Jemma immediately said, “On your back please Tara.” Grumbling, Tara turned on to her back, so that her breasts were both exposed to the cameras. “Now, you’re sleeping,” said Jemma, “so turn your head to the left, bring your left knee up until the sole of your foot is next to your right knee … no, higher still … that’s it … now put your right arm out a bit … and your left hand up near to your face. That’s excellent.”
In spreading her legs so that she could bring her left knee up, Tara had exposed the entire triangle of white material that covered her pussy. Just before it tapered to a point just over her vagina, it slipped between her labia so that those fleshy lips almost met over the top of the thong. Jemma nodded to Lloyd, who said, “Action!”
The camera zoomed in slowly, flying in low over Tara’s barely-concealed pussy and then pulling upwards to look directly down on her head and upper torso. At a verbal signal from Lloyd, Tara stirred, apparently just waking up, and she rubbed her eyes. Looking over towards the window, she sat up, climbed off the bed, and wandered over to look outside. Then she had to wait there while the camera came around to watch her staring wistfully out of the window.
“And … cut!” said Lloyd. “Good job Tara. Now let’s try a couple more takes.”
Tara climbed back on to the bed and assumed the position she had been lying in before. Jemma noted with interest that her thong had slipped a little more between her labia. She had no intention of saying anything about this, but unfortunately Lloyd spoiled it by saying “Um, Tara, you may want to fix your underwear a bit.”
Jemma instantly leaped to her feet. “I’ve got it, Tara,” she said. “You just stay in that position. I can see better than you how it looks from over here.” She climbed on to the bed and bent down with her face just inches from Tara’s pussy. She pulled the thong out from between Tara’s labia, then dropped it back into place, exactly as it had been. Then she retreated back to her seat, giving Lloyd a warning look as she sat down. He merely shrugged and said, “Okay … action!”
The second take over, Tara returned to the bed for a third. This time, however, she adjusted her thong before lying down, with the result that it was almost decent. Unfortunately, she did not ‘wake up’ nearly as convincingly as in previous takes, and the director asked her to lie down again for a fourth time. Tara forgot to adjust her thong this time, and almost the entire length of its left seam disappeared into her crack, but Lloyd, after a sharp look from Jemma, did not call her on it.
The fourth take went well, and then the crew packed up and returned to the studio with Tara and Jemma. In front of a green screen, they took more footage of Tara, dressed now in a long t-shirt that did not quite cover her thong. In the finished video, she would be walking through a metropolitan wasteland, but the scenery would be added digitally in post-production.
Other scenes were shot over the next couple of days, featuring band performances and various acting roles for all the band members. Justin got to play Tara’s boyfriend, Beth played a suicide victim, and Howie played a charred corpse. It was all very morbid and disturbing, which was exactly what Jemma wanted. Lloyd was thrilled with the final product – he said it was the ‘artiest’ video he had directed.
Once again, there was a daytime-viewing cut and a late-night version. Tara was mortified to see her pussy so exposed in close-up, but it was too late to do anything about it as the video was in the can and about to be released. Jemma had been present in the editing room, and had ensured that the most explicit take of the bedroom scene was used.
This time, the video was a huge success, and the single reached number five in the charts – an astonishing feat for a new progressive metal band. It dropped quickly soon afterwards, but its mark had been made, and album sales soared, pushing ‘Flying Blind’ back up the charts again. This time it made number ten in the charts, which pleased Jemma a great deal.
The studio, however, would not support a headlining tour. They did, however, suggest that the band support alternative metal band Epiphany on their European tour. Epiphany had three albums and a number one single under their belts, and were by now well known across the continent. Jemma was glad of the chance to tour Europe, and agreed to the studio’s suggestion.
Justin, Howie, Beth and Tara were very excited to be going on tour to foreign parts. They were to play twenty-six dates in eleven different countries, and would be visiting some interesting European cities – Naples, Madrid, Hamburg, Stockholm, Paris, Amsterdam and Zurich, to name but a few. Jemma had had some costumes made – for the boys as well as the girls – so that they would look a bit more professional.
Their first gig was in Paris, and Beth looked in surprise at the outfit Jemma had just handed her. It consisted of a shiny silver boob tube and a micro-thong. Then Beth looked at the thong more closely, and gasped – this wasn’t just a micro-thong, it was a mini-micro! “Jemma!” she exclaimed. “What are you trying to pull here? And where’s my skirt?”
“Don’t be cross,” said Jemma, looking a little sheepish. “France is a little more relaxed about skimpy clothing than Britain is, so I thought you might as well dispense with the skirt, seeing as how it doesn’t really cover anything anyway.”
“Exactly!” said Beth. “So I kind of rely on the coverage my thong provides! What the hell is this?” She held up the mini-micro.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” said Jemma apologetically. “You’ve been getting used to the micro for a while, now … I thought you might be ready for this one…”
Beth rolled her eyes. “Jemma, you’re a genius but you’re completely shameless. Or at least, you expect me to be.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Jemma raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What kind of a deal?”
“I’ll wear this,” said Beth, “if you’ll dress as skimpily as Tara and me when you join the band.”
Jemma shifted uncomfortably. “Um, what?”
“I want your word, Jemma,” said Beth firmly. “Your promise. Otherwise, I’ll not wear any more of these stupid little thongs when I’m on stage.”
“But Beth,” Jemma said smoothly, “that isn’t quite fair. I don’t have a nice body like yours and Tara’s. People see you and Tara nearly naked and say ‘Wow!’ If they saw me in similar attire they’d say ‘get some clothes on!’ or something equally cruel.”
“I doubt that,” said Beth. “What’s wrong with your body? It looks fine to me.”
“I’m … a little chubby,” confessed Jemma, “around the tummy and hips and thighs…”
Beth smirked. “Then I imagine you’ll be joining Howie, Justin and me in the gym, won’t you?”
Jemma looked a little panicked. “Please, Beth – I’m very shy about my body. You wouldn’t have agreed to wear these outfits if you hadn’t been prepared to…”
“You talked me into wearing them!” said Beth. “How, I’ll never know, but you did, and against my better judgment. So you’ll take a dose of your own medicine when the time comes, or I’ll refuse here and now to wear any more of these tiny little outfits!”
Jemma sighed heavily. “All right,” she said. “You win. When I join the band, I’ll wear skimpy outfits too.”
“Good!” said Beth with a pleased grin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and change.”
The boob tube, it turned out, barely covered her breasts, and her mini-micro-thong almost instantly vanished between her labia once she was performing on-stage, but Beth considered herself more fortunate than Tara, whom Jemma had persuaded to wear a micro-thong on every date of the tour. Tara was also wearing a tight Lycra microskirt, which at its fullest length did not quite cover her buttocks, and took just one minute of walking around to ride up high enough to completely expose her thong and most of her buttocks. In addition, she was wearing a tight crop-top that rode upwards with every bounce of her unfettered breasts. Though she kept pulling the garment down, her nipples must have put in an appearance at least a hundred times during the gig.
Afterwards, Beth found Tara shaking like a leaf in the dressing room and sobbing. “That was awful!” she wailed. “I showed my breasts to everyone! Loads of times!”
Beth put her arm around the singer. “Tara, listen,” she said. “Listen carefully, because I’ve got something very important to tell you.”
Tara stopped crying and looked up at Beth, curious despite her misery. “What?” she said.
“Tara, I admire you perhaps more than anyone I’ve ever met,” said Beth. “You have an absolutely beautiful, incredible voice, and you could be doing anything with it. Anything you want. You could be a solo pop star and make a fortune, I’ve no doubt of that. You could sing in operas and become famous like … like Maria Callas or … that other one. But you’ve chosen a much harder path. You’ve chosen to be a rock star, and because of that you’re revolutionizing the way people see the heavy metal genre. You’re unique in your field, Tara. You’ll be remembered for that. But that’s not all. Despite your church background, and your innate shyness, you’ve conquered your fears of exposing yourself in public and gone out half naked … almost completely naked in fact … on stage. You’ve even appeared nearly nude in a video which has been shown all over Britain – perhaps even all over Europe. You hate doing it, apparently, yet you do it anyway. Throughout that show you were a paragon of professionalism, even though inwardly you were hurting. That takes guts of steel, Tara, and I am extremely proud of you for doing it. You should be proud of yourself, too. You’re a strong, devilishly sexy woman who has triumphed over her inner demons and forged a unique role for herself. So don’t cry, Tara – you’re the best there is, and your fans love you for it. I’ve seen your fan letters, so don’t try to deny it. Before we’re through, you’re going to be a living legend. I have no doubt of that. I … salute you, Tara. You’re my hero.”
Tara had stared at Beth throughout this entire speech with increasingly wide eyes, her jaw dropping further and further in astonishment, and at its end she burst into fresh tears and hugged Beth close. These, however, were tears of happiness. “Nobody’s ever … said anything so … nice to me before, Beth,” she said between sobs. “Thank you thank you thank you…”
“Don’t mention it,” said Beth, patting Tara’s back. “I meant every word.”
Tara slowly brought her tears under control and pulled away from Beth to dry her eyes. “I shan’t be afraid any more,” she said determinedly. “I was feeling so lost, so unsure of myself, of what I was doing. But thanks to you, it’s all clear now. I won’t worry about what I’m showing any more.”
Beth smiled at her. “That’s the spirit,” she said. Then she added conspiratorially, “Plus, I managed to get even with Jemma. I told her I wouldn’t wear these thongs any more unless she agreed to dress as skimpily as us two when she joins the band. So she did – she had to!”
Tara gasped, then burst out laughing. “Ooh, you clever thing!” she said. “I wish I’d seen her face!”
The two girls were still giggling when Justin and Howie entered the room. “That’s some tiny thong you’ve got on there, Beth,” said Justin appreciatively, eyeing Beth’s cleaved labia. Beth was about to berate him for staring, but then she noticed Howie sneaking a peek and her heart soared. Perhaps he did fancy her, after all!
She managed to corner him later. “Howie…” she said slowly.
“Yes Beth?” He turned to look at her quizzically.
“Howie, I know we’ve been friends for ever so long,” she said, “and you probably don’t even think of me as a woman, just as some little kid who used to play football with you and your brothers…”
Howie shook his head. “Beth, you’re nearly naked. I couldn’t possibly think of you as anything but a woman.”
Beth blushed. “Well, I was just wondering if you found me attractive at all … because, you know, for years I’ve thought very highly of you, and mmmm!”
Her next words were lost as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her passionately. His strong arms encircled her and she happily surrendered to his embrace. “Howie,” she sighed, when they eventually pulled apart.
“I had no idea you were interested,” mumbled Howie as he stroked her hair. “But I’ve loved you for ever so long, Beth.”
They kissed for a while longer, and then a thought occurred to Beth. “Howie, if we go steady … will you be jealous of me showing so much to our fans? Will you want me to cover up more?”
Howie grinned. “Beth, that’s entirely up to you. Personally, I love seeing you sitting at those drums, with your legs wide apart and … well, you know.”
Beth smiled. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep you happy,” she said.