The Marionette Adrift by Stephen O. Boyo.
Category: Fiction
Paperback: 256 pages
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1849233934
ISBN-13: 978-1849233934

"Rio de Janeiro. November, 1974. The Maracana Stadium was filled to capacity with thousands of fans that had flooded in from all parts of Brazil, to worship at the altar of the X-Cult. The mammoth crowd included everyone from local Cariocas to stringy-haired Ipanema blonds from the south and expatriate Gringos.

The atmosphere was hot with anticipation for the stars to appear and not even the sonic boom of the powerful stadium speakers could drown out the crowd, as they chanted along to the medley of old and new X-Cult hits...Pearl Skies, Swallow My Capsule of Love, Prima Donna.... Because of Sierra, all delivered in feverish expectation of the real thing. At eight prompt, presenter, Giles Vargas, sauntered on stage to introduce the X-Cult. A massive tremor shook the Maracana to its foundations as a hundred thousand voices erupted in unison to welcome the world’s most famous rock band. They were lowered on to the lime-lit stage in a mock space capsule, to an ecstatic welcome from the frenzied crowds.

Lars Brunner loved the electric atmosphere of the stadium. "This is what it’s all about, this is my life," Lars told himself as he gyrated to the rhythm of Bang my Piston, thrusting his pelvis back and forth as he fired his lungs to a frenzied pitch.

The lights followed Brunner to the scaffolding, where he hurled his giant frame in a wild climb to the top. Up there, Lars belted out the X-Cult’s latest mammoth hit Because of Sierra, while simulating lovemaking. The crowds went ballistic; they couldn’t get enough of Lars. They couldn’t get enough of their six foot four blond idol, fucking the scaffolding right before their eyes. They had seen it a million times on television, but this time it was for real, and many girls and some boys fainted. Lars sang his lungs out, bumped and ground the pole to a climax, before slipping down-to-earth, brushing back strands of hair and the tropical sweat that threatened to blind him from the sight of his orgasmic fans.

Lars felt loved and wanted by the crowd, and he loved them back with equal gusto - with his voice, body and soul. By the end of it all, Lars felt overwhelmed by a tingling sensation of pride, joy and satisfaction, his eyes and those of the four other band members, blinded by the falling glitter. They smashed their guitars and thanked the crowd, taking their bows as the curtains drew a close to the band’s gruelling South American tour.

Lars struggled to wake up the next morning, laying at the edge of his bed, semi-conscious, with his head feeling like it had been piled high with slabs of concrete. "A glorified hangover", he sighed, as he tried to summon enough courage to get up. It was a desperate fight between sleep and the dawn of a glorious post-tour day.

Finally, as Lars drifted fully into consciousness, he could hear Voices coming from the outer room of his hotel suite. It was Mikey Slaney, the X-Cult’s manager, and someone else talking animatedly in Brazilian Portuguese while the gilded clock on the wall of Lars’ room ticked away. Lars disengaged from the voices in the outer room, and allowed his weary eyes to settle on the golden wall clock. It was a gold-gilded mock Aztec sun clock, which looked out of place in the quirky hotel room. He couldn’t understand the Brazilian craze for mixing old with new and the absurd. His gaze moved from the wall clock, to the window, as velvet curtains automatically parted, to let in a flood of strong tropical sunshine. "Jeez" Lars sighed, trying to shield his eyes from the sun’s blinding rays. Then he rolled over from the edge of the bed to face the presence of something soft and silky. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He almost shouted at the nude woman, still fast asleep in his bed. She said nothing but simply turned, muttered something in Portuguese, and tried curling up to him in sweet slumber.

Lars wondered how she’d found her way into his bed, and panicked at what might have happened between them overnight. He turned away from the woman, leapt of out of bed, picked up his dressing gown and stormed out of the room. In the outer suite, Mikey Slaney’s animated conversation with the other person had reached such an unbearable pitch that Lars felt like hitting out at them, just like he wished he could do to the Carioca in his bed. "Obrigada" was all he understood of their conversation, because he had learnt to use that word repeatedly during the Brazilian arm of the X-Cult’s tour.

"Get that bitch out of my bed quick!" Lars ordered angrily, and crashed on to a couch nearby. The two men smiled at each other and then at Lars’ blanched face, before quickly switching their conversation back to English."