The Autograph Hound Read Online Free Page A

higher
    Higher
    Higher
    Higher …”
    She does her sidestep. She’s bucking. The strobe lights start to click. Tina turns silver. You have to squint to see her. A cloud of smoke bursts from the floor.
    â€œTINA TURNER! TINA TURNER! TINA TURNER! TINA TURNER! TINA TURNER! TINA TURNER!”
    When the voice stops, the smoke has cleared.
    Tina has vanished.
    â€œOuttasight,” says Moonstone.
    The audience’s standing on their seats, yelling for Tina, asking for more.
    This is the way it should be with the stars. You should see them. Then they should disappear.
    Moonstone’s on home ground. He knows a shortcut. He leads me through a small room by the side of the stage and onto the street.
    I can see Ike and Tina’s bus. The crowd presses close to it. One man stands on the bus’s fender, holding onto the rear-view mirror for balance.
    We angle in toward the stage door. Moonstone’s good at running interference. He talks right into people’s faces. “Did you see Bob Dylan? On the corner. Bob Fucking Dylan.”
    People turn, standing on tiptoes to get a look.
    We slip closer to the door.
    The Fillmore stage door doesn’t have your bronze Broadway polish or the lettering. It’s black and rusting. The Fillmore door slides open, the Broadway stage doors open out. It’s more dramatic. You see the iron staircases. You hear the vibrations of the stars hurrying down on their way to Sardi’s. The doorman’s at his table—the bulletin board with telegrams saying BREAK A LEG is right under your nose. The Fillmore’s a letdown. There’s nothing to see backstage—no sets, no stars. The stage managers are as hairy as the musicians. Sometimes the door slides open and a familiar face peeps out. The crowd pushes forward. The face disappears. Rock stars spend too much time in recording studios, they don’t know how to treat their public.
    Moonstone puts his head against the door and talks through a small crack. “A cat here wants Tina to do a riff on his pad for auld lang syne.”
    â€œTina’s not seeing anybody.”
    â€œShe brought him down here. His maiden voyage. Noonan sent me.”
    Moonstone waves me close. He takes my pen and pad and pushes it through the door. “Benny Walsh.”
    â€œIs he a relation?”
    Moonstone starts to tell a lie. I stop him.
    â€œJust sing this to her—Kill me. Thrill me. Chill me with your sweet love …”
    The door clamps shut.
    â€œTell her to say ‘To Benny.’”
    The bolt thumps down on the latch.
    â€œDidn’t you want one, Moonstone?”
    â€œI’m on vacation.”
    After a few minutes, the door opens again.
    â€œMake way.” A Hell’s Angel type waves the people back. He’s got my pen and pad in his hand. Moonstone grabs them back. He’s learning fast.
    Suddenly, a whole wedge of bodies, a human wall, rushes out of the door. Ike and Tina are in the middle. “Clear the way!”
    The people won’t budge. They fight to keep their places. It’s hard to get a look. I see a hand reach out over the guards’ leather jackets and grab at Ike’s tie. There seems to be a fight. Somebody’s hooting, waving Tina’s scarf in the air. He shoves it into his blue jeans.
    â€œSypher has green fringe from Little Richard’s bolero jacket. He’s a hot shit.”
    â€œGet wise, Moonstone. That stuff’s worthless. I mean you can’t prove it’s his.”
    The lights on the bus go on. The engine turns over. The man on the front fender won’t get off. He’s staring right over the windshield wipers at Tina. His pants slap against the flat front of the bus. He’s leading the crowd. They yell, “WE WANT TINA.” The crowd rocks the bus. The driver honks his horn until the man jumps off the fender. The bus creeps down the street.
    They follow it.
    Both of us hear the scream. “ My book!