Playing Along (27 page)

“Yes, we will,” says Lexi, turning to Russell and nodding reassuringly.

GEORGE
13
^th
February, 2010
Primrose Hill, London

George walks briskly up the hill. It’s a crisp night and a cold breeze snaps around his ears. This is one of his favourite spots in London. When he reaches the top he can stand and survey the skyline—the tip of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The neon arc of the London Eye. The iconic post office tower—a futuristic anomaly erected in the 1960s. In the summer, this park is heaving with picnickers and kids kicking footballs, and dogs frolicking around the trees, but on a winter’s night it is a quiet haven. The old fashioned street lamps illuminating the pathways remind George of Sherlock Holmes. Men with capes and pipes behind all the lit windows of the surrounding houses. Mysteries being solved. Hot pots of tea being drunk. George often comes here to write. Now at the top of the hill, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and blows a chilly curl of mist from between his lips. When he was a boy he used to pretend that he was Sherlock Holmes, scouring the woods with a plastic magnifying glass for clues, teaming up with an unlikely Luke Skywalker when Watson had a head cold or had overslept.

A man bundled up in a North Face jacket walks by with an oversized poodle and nods at George. It’s a relief. George knows the difference between an “I know who you are!” stare and an average “You’re just another bloke in the park” one. These days he enjoys feeling like just another bloke in the park. The headlights of a plane glide noiselessly above him, reminding him that Lexi is on her way. He suddenly feels very small. How did it happen that he’s had to concoct such an elaborate fantasy about one woman he barely even knows, in order to believe that there is hope for his love life—hope for his heart? In a few days he might be right back where he started from. Disillusioned. Downtrodden. Depressed. A whole dictionary of ‘d’ words.

His phone vibrates in his back pocket. He pulls it out. Fanny again. He’s had two missed calls from her in the last week and now a text. “Call me Georgie boy. I need to see you.” He can’t face fending her off at the moment. She’s most likely following the macabre orders of Sebastian, her dead lover, who has instructed her to not give up her pursuit. Fanny and all of her ghosts will have to wait. He’ll be seeing her at the Brits on Tuesday and can come up with some excuse then. Right now he has far more important matters to attend to.

LEXI
February 14
^th
, 2010
BA Flight 282, somewhere high above Canada

Lexi is too excited to sleep. She’s eaten five small packets of chili flavored pretzels and drunk a mini bottle of cheap red wine. She’s also played poker, scoops and hangman on her iPhone and has watched
School of Rock
and
The Titanic
. Russell is breathing heavily next to her, wearing a purple silk eye mask and sheepskin slippers, which he had sneakily produced from a side compartment of his backpack declaring, “It always helps to bring home comforts when you travel.” Lexi had half expected him to pull Boris out of the other pocket.

She has now found an infuriatingly obsessive moving map on her screen and has been gazing intently at the teeny weeny little airplane crawling its way over Canada, currently hovering just above some place called Goose Bay. Only five more hours to go, which wouldn’t be too awful if every hour didn’t feel like three. Lexi can’t wait to see London! She only wishes she had more time to sightsee. As it is, the business has had so much interest in the last month that she and Russell have discussed hiring another employee when they return. They might even have to consider expanding to a small office space because conditions are getting rather cramped in Russell’s house. The first deposit has come through from Thesis for the design work they’ve begun on the product line and the business is beginning to build some capital. The business is actually a business now, no longer a grandiose idea floating aimlessly in Russell’s eccentric brain. It has legs and feet and a body, just as she had first envisioned. It has room to grow and Lexi knows she has played a direct role in making that happen. It feels really satisfying.

Lexi lies back in her seat and closes her eyes. Russell is making soft whistling noises as his head flops forward and then snaps up again. Lexi’s mind wanders forty-eight hours back to her first sleepover with Lance. It had been very… nice. He had been extremely… attentive. But just as things were hotting up, George Bryce had appeared. Uninvited. On stage. Singing. Staring. Sitting. Turning to smile. She had tried to push his blue eyes and black floppy hair out of her mind and concentrate on Lance’s smooth and toned chest. But George hadn’t left. In the end, Lexi had no choice but to allow him to stay, and the lovemaking had gone from being nice, to being really, really nice. She’d often read that fantasizing about another man when having sex was completely normal. But did that include the first time you have sex with someone? Lexi opens her eyes again and checks the moving map. The plane is beginning its journey over the Atlantic. She’s positive George’s cameo appearance in the bedroom was just a minor setback. She’ll see him this week and be reminded that he’s completely untouchable, unlike Lance, who is definitely access all areas.

GEORGE
14
^th
February, 2010
Camden, London, 2:00 p.m.

This is it. The womb. The pulse of transformation. The simultaneous beating hearts of frustration and fruition. George is addicted to the recording studio. Whenever he begins to question his career path, he only has to return to the studio to be reminded that he was born to make music. It is not a choice anymore, but an imperative. He needs to be here. The creative process is his class ‘A’ drug. It lures him in every time. Taunts him with a curved tail and venomous tongue and then wraps him up in an endless embrace, pumping him full of the most delicious elixir.

They are here today laying down the first track of “Third Row.” He has managed to coax Simon away from Stacey a few times over the last two weeks. Along with Mark and Duncan, together they have delicately shaped George’s lyrics into a quiet but lush love song, with murmured verses and a bold chorus dipping and soaring in unexpected moments. George is slowly becoming accustomed to the new world order.

“It’s a beaut, isn’t it?” says Duncan.

“What’s the inspiration?” asks Mark, cradling his bass guitar as if it were a sleeping baby.

“Just a thought… you know… about what if…”

“So it’s not based on a true story?”

“A bit of both, I guess. Fact and fairytale blended into one.”

“She’s not real then, mate? This chick in the third row?” Duncan brushes his cymbals.

George hesitates. Is she real? Of course Lexi is a real person, but is the Lexi of his imagination actually just a fictional character?

Before he can answer his own question, Gabe throws open the door.

“I’m loving this, boys. Loving it. By the way, reminder that Russell and Lexi from Let The Green Times Roll will be arriving today. I’ve scheduled them to come and meet with us and tour the studio tomorrow, and then they’re joining us at The Brits on Tuesday.”

Well, there’s his answer. He’ll find out soon enough. He just has to figure out how he is going to get Lexi on her own over the next couple of days. The Brits are always madness. If he can just have an hour with her. A conversation. A connection. Surely then his intuition will be confirmed or not and he’ll know if this is fate or fabrication.

“That bloke Russell’s a beast,” says Duncan. “Can’t wait to meet him and his hottie eco sidekick in the flesh.”

“Grow up, Duncan. Don’t embarrass us, for God’s sake,” says Simon.

“Oh, what are you, Mr. Mature all of a sudden now you’ve got a ball and chain?”

“No,” says Simon calmly, “I just think it’s not cool to talk about women so derogatively.”

“Excuse me—that’s a big vocab word for you, Gingernuts. Did Racy Stacey teach you how to pronounce that one?”

“Fuck off!” says Simon.

“Get used to it,” says Mark. “He’s been talking shit about Anna for years.”

Duncan shrugs. “Only my opinion, but I reckon hitching yourself to one piece of arse when there’s a stadium of tight buttocks to choose from is a big mistake.” George is beginning to feel claustrophobic. He wants the music. Only the music. In a few weeks they’ll bring in a producer to start working with them on the new material. Right now he needs his lips pressed closed to the microphone, the notes cascading in his ears, the chorus cleansing this discord away.

“Let’s get back to work, boys,” volunteers George. “It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. We’re lovers, not fighters, right?”

“Yeah, about that,” says Simon hesitantly. “I was going to wait, but I wanted you lot to know before anyone else. I mean, Duncan has completely ruined the moment, but that’s not exactly unusual.”

“Let me guess!” says Duncan, “You’ve discovered a rare variety of relish, a tantalizing pick-me-up for any bland baguette?”

“Very amusing. You missed your calling, Dunc.” He pauses dramatically. “I’m going to propose to Stacey tonight. I’m gonna get married!”

George deflates. Damn it. Stacey is not right for Simon. She’s possessive and insecure. A mate with no soul. What can he say?

“Congratulations, Sim.” He walks over and pulls his best friend in for a hug. He doesn’t want to let go.

“Good on you, Simon,” says Mark, nudging George out of the way, “Anna will be chuffed. She’ll have someone to complain with.”

Simon laughs, “I know it’s quick and everything but Stacey’s incredible. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

“Thank God,” says Duncan.

“Duncan, mate, I don’t expect you to understand, but just don’t dis her, please.”

The moment has gone. George can’t possibly lose himself in his lyrics now. What’s the point anyway, writing songs that trick people into believing in love at first sight? Think of all the poor, pathetic girls who will hear this and fantasize that it might have been written about them, while George meanwhile will probably still be sitting alone in his flat eating Crunchies and holding a grudge against Amelia Hoffman. Isn’t he simply perpetuating the vicious cycle? Prepping thousands of unsuspecting teenagers for ultimate heartbreak? Are Simon and Stacey really in love? Or has she just targeted him like a parasitic tick attaching itself to a dog. It’s obvious to George that she has an agenda.

“Look, mate,” says Duncan, “I’d love to be dancing in the hallways over this, but I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled. What’s happening here? Before long we’re all going to be changing nappies and shit like that. We’re not even thirty yet.”

“Ease off, Dunc. It doesn’t have to affect the band, does it?” says George, knowing this is his own wishful thinking.

“Can we stop talking like I’ve just been handed a death sentence?” says Simon, picking up his guitar. “I’m getting married and I’m friggin’ happy about it. Now let’s finish laying down this bloody love song.”

LEXI
February 14
^th
, 2010
Hyde Park Corner, London, 2:00 p.m.

Russell grabs Lexi’s wrist as the driver accelerates in a sea of swerving cars, taxis and big red buses, all seemingly merging into the same two narrow lanes.

“Good gracious. I don’t remember so many cars the last time I was here,” he gasps.

Lexi is alert with curiosity. She doesn’t feel tired at all. She is still struck by how weird it is to be driving on the other side of the road with the steering wheel where the passenger seat should be. It’s as if she’s been transported into an opposite universe, where everything is unexpected.

“You’ve been to London before?” asks Lexi, surprised. “You never said.”

“Well, it was many moons ago in 1975. I hitchhiked across America then hopped on a cargo ship from New York. I spent a very memorable summer in this fine city working.”

“What were you doing?” asked Lexi, realizing she knows almost nothing about Russell’s previous incarnations.

“Well, my dear, you might find it hard to believe, but I was a model for a brief stint of time.”

“A fashion model?” asks Lexi, amazed.

“No—an artist’s model for a life drawing class in Soho. I stayed in a youth hostel and Don McLean played a free concert in Hyde Park. I was in the front row. Look,” he says, pointing out the window, “that’s where the concert was!”

Lexi looks out over a massive expanse of green in the middle of such a bustling metropolis. It’s a wondrous sight and helps to clear the image of a naked Russell being sketched by a room full of English hippies.

“Here we are,” says their driver, pulling up outside a modern glass and concrete block, harbored among statuesque buildings clearly hundreds of years old. A doorman dressed in a tailored black coat opens the door of the car and offers his hand to Lexi. She accepts, feeling horribly underdressed in Gap jeans, Uggs and a comfortable cardigan.

“Welcome to The Metropolitan, madam. I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

Lexi is enchanted. Everyone is so polite. “Why yes, thank you,” she says, hoping to sound suitably genteel.

Once inside the lobby, they are greeted by a short girl wearing purple jeans with thigh-high boots. She has spiky black hair and glasses, “Hi, I’m Becca. You must be Russell and Lexi. I work with Gabe and the band.”

Lexi shakes her hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“How was the flight?”

“Long!”

“Yeah. What’s up with that? Someone needs to move LA closer to London, right?”

Lexi laughs. Becca doesn’t look more than twenty, but she is just one of those uber-cool girls who make you question what the secret is.

“So, I don’t want to overwhelm you before you’ve even unpacked, but this is your itinerary. It’s kind of bonkers, lots to fit in, but the lads are all chuffed that you’re here.”

Lexi takes the envelope.

“Most kind of you,” says Russell.

“You must be knackered. Why don’t you check in and get settled and we’ll have a car here to pick you up first thing.”

“Great. Thanks,” says Lexi, beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“And by the way, George has told me about your plans for the website and everything, and I think it’s awesome.”