He was staying at an international student hostel on the Lower East Side, paying a dollar a night. He spent a week exploring New York, walking everywhere to save cash. Then he went back to see Mrs. Salzman, taking with him a single rose. And she gave him a job.
It was very menial. He was a clerk-typist on a local radio station, his task to listen to the radio all day and log everything that happened: which advertisements were aired, which records were played, who was interviewed, the length of the news bulletins and the weather forecasts and the traffic reports. Jasper did not care. He had got a foot in the door. He was working in America.
The personnel office, the radio station, and the This Day studio were all in the same skyscraper, and Jasper hoped he might get to know the people on This Day socially, but it never happened. They were an elite group who kept themselves separate.
One morning Jasper found himself in the elevator with Herb Gould, editor of This Day, a man of about forty with the permanent shadow of a blue-black beard. Jasper introduced himself and said: "I'm a great admirer of your show."
"Thank you," Gould said politely.
"It's my ambition to work for you," Jasper went on.
"We don't need anyone right now," Gould said.
"One day if you have time I'd like to show you my articles for British national newspapers." The elevator came to a halt. Desperately, Jasper kept going. "I've written--"
Gould held up a hand to silence him and stepped out of the lift. "Thanks all the same," he said, and he walked away.
A few days later, Jasper was at his typewriter with his headphones on and heard the mellifluous voice of Chris Gardner, the host of the midmorning show, say: "The British group Plum Nellie are in the city today for a show tonight with the All-Star Touring Beat Revue." Jasper pricked up his ears. "We were hoping to bring you an interview with these guys, who are being called the new Beatles, but the promoter said they wouldn't have time. Here instead is their latest hit, written by Dave and Walli: 'Good-bye London Town.'"
As the record began, Jasper tore off his headphones, jumped up from his desk--in a little booth in the corridor--and went into the studio. "I can get an interview with Plum Nellie," he said.
On air, Gardner sounded like the kind of movie star who always played the romantic lead, but in fact he was a homely-looking man with dandruff on the shoulders of his cardigan. "How would you manage that, Jasper?" he said with mild skepticism.
"I know the group. I grew up with Dave Williams. My mother and his are best friends."
"Can you get the group to come into the studio?"
Jasper probably could, but that was not what he wanted. "No," he said. "But if you give me a microphone and a tape recorder I'll guarantee to interview them in their dressing room."
There was a certain amount of bureaucratic fuss--the station manager was reluctant to let an expensive tape recorder leave the building--but at six that evening Jasper was backstage at the theater with the group.
Chris Gardner wanted no more than a few minutes of bland remarks from the group: how they liked the United States, what they thought about girls screaming at their concerts, whether they felt homesick. But Jasper hoped to give the radio station more than that. He intended this interview to be his passport to a real job in television. It had to be a sensation that rocked America.
First he interviewed them all together, doing the vanilla questions, talking about the early days back in London, getting them relaxed. He told them the station wanted to show them as fully rounded human beings: this was journalists' code for intrusive personal questions, but they were too young and inexperienced to know that. They were open with him, except for Dave, who was guarded, perhaps remembering the fuss caused by Jasper's article about Evie and Hank Remington. The others trusted him. Something else they had yet to learn was that no journalist could be trusted.
Then he asked them for individual interviews. He did Dave first, knowing that he was the leader. He gave Dave an easy ride, avoiding probing questions, not challenging any of the answers. Dave returned to the dressing room looking tranquil, and that gave the others confidence.
Jasper interviewed Walli last.
Walli was the one with a real story to tell. But would he open up? All Jasper's preparations were aimed at that result.
Jasper placed their chairs close together, and spoke to Walli in a low voice, to create the illusion of privacy, even though their words would be heard by millions. He put an ashtray next to Walli's chair to encourage him to smoke, guessing that a cigarette would make him feel more at ease. Walli lit up.
"What kind of child were you?" Jasper said, smiling as if this was just a lighthearted conversation. "Well-behaved, or naughty?"
Walli grinned. "Naughty," he said, and laughed.
They were off to a good start.
Walli talked about his childhood in Berlin after the war and his early interest in music, then about going to the Minnesanger club, where he came second in the contest. This brought Karolin into the conversation in a natural way, as she and Walli had paired up that night. Walli became passionate as he spoke about the two of them as a musical duo, their choice of material and the way they performed together, and it was clear how much he loved her, even though he did not say it.
This was great stuff, a lot better than the average pop star interview, but still not enough for Jasper.
"You were enjoying yourselves, you were making good music, and you were pleasing audiences," Jasper said. "What went wrong?"
"We sang 'If I Had a Hammer.'"
"Explain to me why that was a mistake."
"The police didn't like it. Karolin's father was afraid he would lose his job because of us, so he made her quit."
"So, in the end, the only place you could play your music was the West."
"Yes," Walli said briefly.
Jasper sensed that Walli was trying to dam the flow of passion.
Sure enough, after a moment's hesitation Walli added: "I don't want to say too much about Karolin--it could get her into trouble."
"I don't think the East German secret police listen to our radio station," Jasper said with a smile.
"No, but still . . ."
"I won't broadcast anything risky, I guarantee."
It was a worthless promise, but Walli accepted it. "Thanks," he said.
Jasper moved on quickly. "I believe the only thing you took with you, when you left, was your guitar."
"That's right. It was a sudden decision."
"You stole a vehicle."
"I was roadying for the bandleader. I used his van."
Jasper knew that this story, although big in the German press, had not been widely reported in the United States. "You drove to the checkpoint . . ."
"And smashed through the wooden barrier."
"And the guards shot at you."
Walli just nodded.
Jasper lowered his voice. "And the van hit a guard."
Walli nodded again. Jasper wanted to yell at him: This is radio--stop nodding! Instead he said: "And . . ."
"I killed him," Walli said at last. "I killed the guy."
"But he was trying to kill you."
Walli shook his head, as if Jasper were missing the point. "He was my age," Walli said. "I read about him in the newspapers later. He had a girlfriend."
"And that's important to you . . ."
Walli nodded again.
Jasper said: "What does that signify?"
"He was similar to me," Walli said. "Except that I liked guitars and he liked guns."
"But he was working for the regime that imprisoned you in East Germany."
"We were just two boys. I escaped because I had to. He shot me because he had to. It's the Wall that is evil."
That was such a great quote that Jasper had to suppress his elation. In his head he was already writing the article he would offer to the tabloid New York Post. He could see the headline: Secret Anguish of Pop Star Walli
But he wanted yet more. "Karolin didn
't leave with you."
"She didn't show up. I had no idea why. I was so disappointed, and I couldn't understand it. So I escaped anyway." In the pain of remembering, Walli had lost sight of the need to be cautious.
Jasper prompted him again. "But you went back for her."
"I met some people who were digging a tunnel for escapers. I had to know why she had not shown up. So I went through the tunnel the wrong way, into the East."
"That was dangerous."
"If I had been caught, yes."
"And you met up with Karolin, then . . ."
"She told me she was pregnant."
"And she didn't want to escape with you."
"She was afraid for the baby."
"Alicia."
"Her name is Alice. I changed it in the song. For the rhyme, you know?"
"I understand. And what is your situation now, Walli?"
Walli choked up. "Karolin can't get permission to leave East Germany, not even for a short visit; and I can't go back."
"So you are a family split in two by the Berlin Wall."
"Yes." Walli let out a sob. "I may never see Alice."
Jasper thought: Gotcha.
*
Dave Williams had not seen Beep Dewar since her visit to London four years ago. He was eager to meet her again.
The last date of the Beat Revue tour was in San Francisco, where Beep lived. Dave had got the Dewars' address from his mother, and had sent them four tickets and a note inviting them to come backstage afterward. They had not been able to reply, for he was in a different city every day, so he did not know whether they were going to turn up.
He was no longer sleeping with Mandy Love--much to his regret. She had taught him a lot, including oral sex. But she had never really felt comfortable walking around with a white British boyfriend, and she had now gone back to her long-term lover, a piano player. They would probably get married when the tour was over, Dave thought.
Since then Dave had had no one.
By now Dave knew what kinds of sex he did and did not like. In bed girls could be intense, or slutty, or soulful, or sweetly submissive, or briskly practical. Dave was happiest when they were playful.
He had a feeling Beep would be playful.
He wondered what would happen if Beep showed up tonight.
He recalled her at thirteen, smoking Chesterfield cigarettes in the garden in Great Peter Street. She had been pretty and petite, and sexier than anyone had a right to be at that age. To Dave at thirteen, hypersensitized by adolescent hormones, she had been impossibly alluring. He had been flat crazy for her. However, although they had got on well, she had not been interested in him romantically. To his immense frustration, she had preferred the older Jasper Murray.
His thoughts drifted to Jasper. Walli had been upset when the interview was broadcast on the radio. Even worse had been the story in the New York Post, headlined: "I May Never See My Kid"--Pop Star Dad
by Jasper Murray
Walli was afraid the publicity might cause trouble for Karolin in East Germany. Dave recalled Jasper's interview with Evie, and made a mental note never to trust a word Jasper said.
He wondered how much Beep might have changed in four years. She might be taller, or she might have grown fat. Would he still find her overwhelmingly desirable? Would she be more interested in him now that he was older?
She might have a boyfriend, of course. She might go out with that guy tonight instead of coming to the gig.
Before the show, Plum Nellie had a couple of hours to look around. They quickly realized that San Francisco was the coolest city of them all. It was full of young people in radically stylish clothes. Miniskirts were out. The girls wore dresses that trailed the floor, flowers in their hair, and tiny bells that tinkled as they moved. The men's hair was longer here than anywhere else, even London. Some of the young black men and women had grown it into a huge fuzzy cloud that looked amazing.
Walli in particular loved the town. He said he felt as if he could do anything here. It was at the opposite end of the universe from East Berlin.
There were twelve acts in the Beat Revue. Most of them played two or three songs, then went off. The top-of-the-bill act had twenty minutes at the end. Plum Nellie were big enough stars to close the first half with fifteen minutes, during which they played five short songs. No amplifiers were carried on tour: they played through whatever was available at the venue, often primitive speakers designed for sports announcements. The audience, almost all teenage girls, screamed loudly all the way through, so that the group could not hear themselves. It hardly mattered: no one was listening.
The thrill of working in the USA was wearing off. The group were getting bored, and looking forward to going back to London, where they were due to record a new album.
After the performance they returned backstage. The venue was a theater, so their dressing room was large enough, and the toilet was clean--quite different from the beat clubs in London and Hamburg. The only refreshment available was the free Dr Pepper from the sponsor, but the doorman was usually willing to send out for beer.
Dave told the group that friends of his parents might come backstage, so they had to behave. They all groaned: that meant no drugs and no fumbling with groupies until the old people had gone.
During the second half, Dave saw the doorman at the artists' entrance and made sure he had the names of the guests: Mr. Woody Dewar, Mrs. Bella Dewar, Mr. Cameron Dewar, and Miss Ursula "Beep" Dewar.
Fifteen minutes after the end of the show, they appeared in the doorway of his dressing room.
Beep had hardly changed at all, Dave saw with delight. She was still petite, no taller than she had been at thirteen, although she was curvier. Her jeans were tight around her hips but flared below the knee, the latest fashion, and she wore a closely fitting sweater with broad blue and white stripes.
Had she dressed up for Dave? Not necessarily. What teenage girl would not dress up to go backstage at a pop concert?
He shook hands with all four visitors and introduced them to the rest of the group. He was afraid the other guys might disgrace him, but in fact they were on their best behavior. They all invited family guests occasionally, and each appreciated the others being restrained in the presence of older relatives and friends of their parents.
Dave had to force himself to stop staring at Beep. She still had that look in her eye. Mandy Love had it, too. People called it sex appeal or je ne sais quoi or just "It." Beep had an impish grin, a sway in her walk, and an air of lively curiosity. Dave was as consumed with desperate desire as he had been when he was a thirteen-year-old virgin.
He tried to talk to Cameron, who was two years older than Beep and already studying at the University of California at Berkeley, just outside San Francisco. But Cam was difficult. He was in favor of the Vietnam War, he thought civil rights should progress more gradually, and he felt it was right that homosexual acts should be crimes. He also preferred jazz.
Dave gave the Dewars fifteen minutes, then said: "This is the last night of our tour. There's a farewell get-together at the hotel starting in a few minutes. Beep and Cam, would you like to come?"
"Not me," said Cameron immediately. "Thanks all the same."
"Shame," said Dave with polite insincerity. "What about you, Beep?"
"I'd love to come," said Beep, and looked at her mother.
"In by midnight," said Bella.
Woody said: "Use our taxi service to get home, please."
"I'll make sure of it," Dave reassured them.
The parents and Cameron left, and the musicians got on the bus with their guests for the short ride to the hotel.
The party was in the hotel bar, but in the lobby Dave murmured in Beep's ear: "Have you ever tried smoking marijuana?"
"You mean pot?" she said. "You bet!"
"Not so loud--it's against the law!"
"Have you got some?"
"Yes. We should probably smoke it in my room. Then we can join the party."
> "Okay."
They went to his room. Dave rolled a joint while Beep found a rock station on the radio. They sat on the bed, passing the roach back and forth. Mellowing out, Dave smiled and said: "When you came to London . . ."
"What?"
"You weren't interested in me."
"I liked you, but you were too young."
"You were too young, for the things I wanted to do to you."
She grinned mischievously. "What did you want to do to me?"
"There was a long list."
"What came first?"
"First?" Dave was not going to tell her. Then he thought: Why not? So he said: "I wanted to see your tits."
She handed him the joint, then pulled the striped sweater over her head with a swift movement. She had nothing on underneath it.
Dave was astounded and overjoyed. He got a hard-on just looking. "They're so beautiful," he said.
"Yes, they are," she said dreamily. "So pretty I sometimes have to touch them myself."
"Oh, my God," Dave groaned.
"On your list," Beep said, "what was second?"
*
Dave changed his flight to a week later and stayed on at the hotel. He saw Beep after school every weekday and all day Saturday and Sunday. They went to movies, they shopped for cool clothes, and they walked around the zoo. They made love two or three times a day, always using condoms.
One evening while he was undressing she said: "Take off your jeans."
He looked at her, lying on the hotel bed wearing just her panties and a denim cap. "What are you talking about?"
"Tonight you're my slave. Do as you're told. Take off your jeans."
He was already taking them off, and he was about to say so when he realized that this was a fantasy. The thought amused him, and he decided to play along. He pretended to be reluctant, and said: "Aw, do I have to?"
"You have to do everything I say, because you belong to me," she said. "Take off your goddamn jeans."
"Yes, ma'am," Dave said.
She sat upright, watching him. He saw the mischievous lust in her faint smile. "Very good," she said.
Dave said: "What should I do next?"
Dave knew why he had fallen so hard for Beep, both when he was thirteen and again a few days ago. She was full of fun, ready to try anything, hungry for new experiences. With some girls, Dave had been bored after two fucks. He felt he could never get bored with Beep.