Never Going Home: A Novel
by Brian Barton
T-F-CTrade Paperback
"You'd definitely know their name, but they wouldn't have had the same success. U2's career was made that one day in London, and it's all because Bono saved the girl," Matt says.
"What do you mean, 'Bono saved the girl?'
"You know, he saved her," Matt says.
"Saved her how? Physically? Spiritually?" I ask. The JFK ground crew is wrapping up and the tug driver has attached the claw to the nose wheel. "You know what? Forget it."
"Why are your panties in a bunch, sir?"
"You know why."
"No, I don't, sir. Why?"
"No more monologues. Not now, Matt. Please," I say.
"Sir, seventy thousand people showed up on that one day in London -- that's enough people to fill 140 triple-sevens. Live Aid was the most ambitious musical event in history and it was broadcast to over two billion people around the globe."
"Matt, contact the ramp for pushback."
"Let me paint the picture. It's a warm July afternoon and the crowd has been baking in the sun all day. And, sir, these people want to rock."
"Ramp control," I say.
"Right away, sir. So this four-piece combo takes the stage a little before 5:00 P.M. The front man is this scrawny little thing in a Bolero jacket, and a mullet lies taxidermied on his head. Frankly, sir, Bono looks like a bellboy from Hotel Nowhere. But you have to understand the moment, sir. It's Wembley Stadium, the Carnegie Hall of rock and roll."
"We're not doing this. Not today. They closed the cargo door and we're ready to push. Parking brake released at 17:22 to mark departure. Call the ramp for clearance," I say.
"Right away, sir. So Bono steps up to the mic and says, 'We're an Irish band. We come from Dublin City, Ireland. Like all cities, it has its good. It has its bad. This is a song called 'Bad.'"
I scowl, so Matt clicks his mic and sighs, then runs a hand through his hair and switches to COMM 1.
"Ground control, RASH three-five-eight, ready to push gate one-five," Matt says. The radio squawks with static and ground control is in our ears.
"RASH three-five-eight, clear to push gate one-five."
"Clear gate one-five. RASH three-five-eight," Matt says, and looks at me. "Happy?"
"Overjoyed."
"U2 launch into 'Bad' and it's like this invisible force surges into the band from the crowd. The audience is showing their love for the lads and the band is buoyed by the spirit. Sir, the hearts of the audience are now beating outside their bodies and it's a palpable feeling that wasn't there even a moment before. Musical history is about to be written, but nobody knows it. Not the crowd and definitely not the band."
"But this was one of U2's early shows," I say.
"Nothing will ever be the same in rock and roll after this night -- and it's all because Bono saved the girl."
Matt navigates through a stack on his screen as his hair bristles in the air vent overhead. Sunlight streams through the cockpit windows, illuminating him in silhouette like a rock star on stage.
"Reach out to the tug on the comms to coordinate the push," I say.
"The Edge's Stratocaster has only one sound, sir: truth. His soundscape echoes through the stadium like a melodic call to arms. Meanwhile, Larry and Adam are tight in the backbeat driving the locomotion with Adam on stage left. Each cymbal crash is like an exclamation point on the melody while the bass lines stir the soul."
"We want an on-time departure, Matt." I shoot him another look.
"This will only take another minute, sir. You've never seen an audience so electrified." He returns to his cockpit screen but seems lost in thought. "And that's when Bono saves the girl."
"Stop saying that! What do you mean, 'Bono saves the girl?'" I say.
"Everything starts off OK. Bono's belting out the lyrics as a few Irish flags and banners stir the sky down in front. But halfway through the song, he drops the mic and bolts from the stage like a prison escapee. He jumps down to the press platform below -- the crowd erupts. He's waving his arms in the air like a man on a sinking ship. Maybe he's waving to some girls to come and join him, right? Meanwhile, these security dudes in yellow windbreakers are trying to defend the stage from the crush of the crowd."
"Frankly, sir, stadium security is clueless and they don't know what the fuck Bono's doing. Their job is to make sure seventy thousand screaming fans don't overrun the stage, but then they figure it out. He wants them to pull a girl standing a few hundred feet away out of the crowd. Security does their best to reach her, but it's like that arcade game with the claw and the plastic cube full of toys. You use the claw like a pair of forceps to extract the best toy, but you never get what you want."
"Anyway, security can't reach the girl and Bono isn't having it. Meanwhile, the band plays on in hopes their lead singer will return. That's when he moves to the edge of the stage and dangles off the side. He drops down to crowd level and the stadium erupts. I'm talking bananas, sir. Dozens of press and security rush him. Now he's deep in the melee. What the fuck, right? Meanwhile, his antics are being shown live to everyone at the stadium on a giant video screen, as well as being broadcast to billions of people around the globe," Matt says.
"Shit."
"Right? So security finally gets to the girl and they hoist her over the barricade. Her legs and arms are in the air, she lands on the performers' side of the barrier, and rushes into Bono's arms. The two of them slow dance to 'Bad' and the crowd loses its shit. I'm talking double bananas," Matt says.
"But--"
- - - - - - - - - -
About NEVER GOING HOME:
CLAY SONNERLING KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
He's a commercial airline pilot at a busy international carrier who enjoys the pilot's lifestyle -- including the sexual interludes that go along with the career.
Sonnerling's life is on an upswing until an incident lands him in career crisis and he wanders into the crosshairs of a group who want him out of the picture. But Sonnerling can't stop thinking about his career - and sex - until a series of events turn him from a pleasure seeker into a man of dramatic action. NEVER GOING HOME is about one man's search for truth.
BRIAN BARTON is the author of Brooklyn Girls Don't Cuddle and Words with Steve Jobs. His work has been featured in USA Today, The London Times, and Esquire. Barton is originally from Los Angeles but now calls New York City home.
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