George and Gabe had both been incredibly enthusiastic. George had even gone as far as to say, “Look, it’s likely that you’ll both need to come to London at some stage to check out at our studio and meet the rest of the team. We can’t really go forward with something like this without the consent of all the band. We’re very egalitarian.”
“Yes, of course,” Lexi had agreed, holding one hand firmly on the edge of her chair, to prevent herself from jumping in the air like a ten-year-old.
“Let’s not forget the carbon emissions generated by one transatlantic flight,” Russell had been far too quick to point out. “We could do a video conference.”
Lexi had restrained herself from punching him.
“Oh, right,” George had replied, looking stumped.
“Or you could walk,” said Gabe, “but I forgot—you don’t do that in LA, do you?!” Russell had chuckled and with the impasse temporarily deflected, the meeting drew to a natural conclusion in a flurry of handshakes and thank yous. When George shook Lexi’s hand again he had looked squarely into her eyes. “Really, really good to meet you, Lexi.”
She had paused before saying, “Likewise,” wondering if she should read anything into the two reallys?
But back in her parents’ kitchen, today, the two reallys hover in her mind as if she had never heard them. As if the whole incident was just some warped fabrication concocted in her overactive imagination.
“The crew. Yes, Dad, everyone should be here in a minute. Mom, you better lock the mutt away if you don’t want Jack trying to squeeze her in his pocket or Annabelle attempting to put lipstick on her.”
“First the dog!” exclaims Al, “Now Meg’s crazy kids. Then your ex-boyfriend and his lover. Let the wild rumpus start!” Al grabs hold of Lexi’s hands and begins to dance her around the kitchen. She slips off her shoes and climbs onto the tops of his loafers, balancing on his feet while he sidesteps around the island, avoiding St. Tropez, who has begun to bark furiously again.
“Will you two never grow up?” says Jeanette, stirring the cranberry sauce, pretending to sound irritated.
“Working on it, Mom,” says Lexi, aware that she feels truly hopeful for the first time in a long while. Could it be to do with George Bryce? She has been floating in some kind of weird and wonderful netherworld since walking out of his hotel suite. Or could it be her realization that finally becoming a grown-up means embracing the child she once was, rather than leaving her behind? Either way. She feels full of smiles and that’s all that matters. The doorbell rings.
“Brace yourself,” says Lexi, sliding off her dad’s feet and heading for the hallway. “They have arrived!”
GEORGE
26th November, 2009
Virgin flight VS024, Heathrow Airport, London
On the move again. As the plane shudders to a halt on the slick runway, George watches the raindrops drive against the dirty windows. He exhales. It’s been less than two weeks since they left London but he feels altered. His crash course collision into Fanny’s bed. The sudden rip of the band turning on him. Or could it be that they were turning to him? He’s still trying to work that one out. The acoustic show and finding Lexi.
Finding Lexi.
Every hour of the plane journey he had committed a different detail of their meeting to memory, until he had a collage of fragments—her tanned ankle bone; the melting tone of her voice; the arch of her left eyebrow; the way she spoke with her hands as if shaping an invisible sculpture. George wants to see her again. He wants to put the pieces together and decipher the whole picture. She must have shown up in that third row for a reason. Now he just needs to find out why?
LEXI
November 26th, 2009
Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles
Three hours into Thanksgiving festivities and Jack and Annabelle are under the dining table with three American dolls, two Transformers, a can of Miracle Whip and Jeanette’s half deflated core ball. St. Tropez is passed out in the corner having managed to devour a hefty portion of pecan pie and countless greasy roast potatoes, surreptitiously dropped by the children. Andrew, Carl, and Russell are ensconced in conversation about the merits of varying brands of aluminum-free deodorant, while Tim and Jeanette are in the kitchen embarking on loading the dishwasher. Al is asleep—sprawled on the couch with his reading glasses halfway down the bridge of his nose and his hands resting comfortably on his expanding belly.
Lexi is sitting next to him, stuffed to the eyeballs. Stuffed on top of stuffed. The sun is still shining and shafts of late afternoon light decorate the carpet with luminous stripes. She is contemplating helping Tim and her mother with the dishes.
Meg appears from under the table where she has managed to extract the can of Miracle Whip from her delinquent children, a curl of white foam still hanging from the nozzle.
“I’m not on a short list for the good parenting award,” she says, wiping the remaining cream away with her fingertip and licking it clean.
“Well, you should be,” says Lexi, “you allow your kids to be kids, not robots. That’s got to be worth something.”
“Your mom’s a saint letting us create chaos every year,” says Meg, flopping down on the couch next to Lexi.
“She loves it. She’s not getting one of these from me anytime soon, so your two are most welcome.”
“Do you think that’s why she got the dog, as a replacement grandchild?”
“Don’t start, Meg!” says Lexi, feeling rather immune to Meg’s judgements today. Who cares what she thinks. She hasn’t told her yet about what happened yesterday. Part of her wants to protect it forever. Keep it close so it can’t get contaminated by Meg’s envy or hysteria. Meg would completely flip out and try and own George or something, as if he had belonged to her first. Isn’t that what most fans feel? A sense of possession over the object of their desire? Isn’t that what she felt only forty-eight hours ago? Except that now that she’s met him, George isn’t just George Bryce anymore—lead singer of Thesis—super cute English boy. He’s become dimensional. More real. She knows how he sits with his feet slightly fidgety, crossed at the ankle. She’s seen the paisley shaped chocolate-colored birthmark that appeared unexpectedly underneath his watch strap when it slid ever so slightly down his wrist.
“Don’t worry, since Mr. Hilarious, I’ve vowed not to interfere in your love life again. I’m trusting the universe will give you what you need without my well intentioned meddling.” Lexi is a bit taken aback by Meg’s uncharacteristic hands-off approach.
“You are?”
“Yes I am. By the way—Russell’s a hoot. I like his ponytail. So what’s this impending announcement he was talking about at lunch? I’m very intrigued.”
Lexi is tempted to tell Meg about Thesis right now. Her expression would be priceless, but she had agreed with Russell that it was best to keep all details under wraps until they had signed on the dotted line. She’s going to have to tell her soon though, because when Meg eventually finds out, she’ll never forgive Lexi for holding back.
“I can’t say just yet, Meggy. Boss’s orders. But trust me—it’s worth waiting for.”
Earlier at lunch, Russell had stood up to make a toast, ostensibly very much at ease in the midst of such an eclectic group. “Firstly I’d like to thank Jeanette and Al for welcoming me into their family on such a special day.”
“Mi casa es su casa,” piped up Jeanette, already a bit tipsy.
“I am very thankful for the arrival of your spirited and intelligent daughter on my doorstep only a matter of weeks ago.”
“Hear, hear…” said Andrew, taking his turn to interrupt.
“It is because of Lexi that the green times are finally rolling and we might have an exciting announcement to make in a few weeks’ time.”
“Are you going to marry Auntie Lex Lex?” said Annabelle, carefully scraping train tracks into her yams with a fork. She was promptly shushed very loudly by Meg. Even the two-year-old wants me married off Lexi had thought, amused
.
Russell was undeterred, “No, no, but it is quite a treat to meet everyone here and may I take the liberty of suggesting we join in raising our glasses to the greatest mother of all—mother earth—in hopes that we continue to allow her to heal…”
At which point, Al had leaned over to Lexi and whispered, “Is that guy gay too?”
GEORGE
26th November, 2009
Maida Vale
George usually enjoys coming home. Relishes sleeping in his own bed. Drinking juice straight from the carton. Ordering a curry from his local Indian and eating all the papadoms without having to share. His flat is an antidote to his real life, which doesn’t actually feel real at all. Video shoots. Recording sessions. Radio stations. Concerts. People surrounding him all day long asking him questions, checking up on him, looking after him. Yes—returning to his flat makes him feel normal again—at least while he’s inside with the door closed. Except not today. Today when he walked in, he felt like he had stumbled upon an IKEA showroom. His own flat suddenly feels as impersonal as a hotel room. The grey sofa looks rigid and new. The walls are bare, because when is there ever time to get anything framed? The TV is oversized. The dark wooden floors are too shiny. His bedroom is sparse. A blue striped duvet cover and a pile of comic books on a bedside table. Something in George feels desperate. What’s gone wrong? Hadn’t everything he had ever wished for and was convinced would never happen come true? Almost everything.
George opens his fridge and is greeted by three bottles of beer, a tub of mouldy cream cheese and a wrinkled tomato. Luckily he was resourceful enough to have left a mint Aero bar in the bottom drawer, which he unwraps eagerly now. He collapses onto the sofa and begrudgingly decides to call his parents, whom he hasn’t spoken to in almost a month. His dad picks up the phone.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Well, hello there, son, we haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“I’ve been in the States.”
“Oh. Well, it’s been raining here.”
“Really.”
“Is it there?”
“What?”
“Raining. Is it raining in London?”
“It was but not right now. But I guess it might, again.”
“Been busy, have you?”
“Yes. We just got back from LA. We’re working on material for the next album and we’ve got the second leg of the tour coming up, it’s been—”
“George, your mother’s motioning for the phone, son. She’s on her way out. See you at Christmas then.” George wills himself to toughen up and not be affected by his dad’s lack of interest. It’s not as if he’s not used to it.
“Yeah. Christmas, Dad. Bye.” He listens to a muffled exchange between his parents as the phone is handed over.
“Hello, George. Dorothy from the post office saw a photograph of you in the newspaper the other day. She said she thought your hair looked like it needed a cut. I said I wouldn’t know, because it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“Hello, Mum.”
“Are you coming for Christmas then?”
“Yes, of course. Look, I hope it’s okay if Duncan comes with me. His family’s in Australia and he’s not going back this year. I invited him to join.” George had felt sorry for Duncan in a weak moment. Now he was regretting the idea.
“I suppose that’s okay. As long as it’s just the two of you.” He can hear the reluctance in his mother’s voice and guesses she is imagining him and Duncan pitching up on Christmas Eve with a gaggle of groupies at their heels and a wheelbarrow full of cocaine. Not that he could put anything past Duncan these days. Perhaps he should invite Fanny to join, who would likely arrive in a Christmas pudding bra. That would go down well.
“Yes, Mum. Just the two of us.”
“Have you heard from your sister? She was going to give you some ideas of what to get the boys as presents.”
“She can’t control everything,” says George, noticing the familiar clench of resentment constricting his jaw when Polly and the triplets are mentioned. “I’ll get them whatever I want.”
“But last year you gave them bubblegum machines when we were all quite certain you knew of their allergy to e-numbers.”
“I didn’t know. They’re kids. Kids like bubblegum. What does she want me to get them, brussels sprouts?”
His mother sighs, “Archie bounced so hard on his bed, George, he made a hole in the ceiling. Your father spent two days re-plastering. Maybe an educational game?”
“Maybe. Look, I’ve got to go, Mum, that’s my doorbell. I’ll see you on Christmas Eve, okay?”
“Okay, dear. Goodbye then.”
“Bye, Mum.”
George hangs up the phone and breathes in the silence. His mind wanders to the band. His other family. The one he had fooled himself into believing wasn’t dysfunctional. Was everyone sitting around now talking behind his back? His family gossiping about his puffed up self-importance? The boys complaining about his obsessive control? If so, George is ready to stop playing the victim and see, for once, if he can begin to prove them all wrong.
LEXI
December 5th, 2009
Franklin Canyon, Los Angeles
Unable to contain herself for much longer, Lexi has decided to tell Meg about the meeting. Tim is staying with the kids while Lexi and Meg hike up Franklin Canyon. Lexi thinks it might be easier to break the news while they are walking, instead of sitting face to face. Meg has been her closest confidante for so many years of her life, but best friendships come with all sorts of baggage—neat little make-up pouches with lots of fun lipsticks and eye shadows, and big bulky suitcases filled with unwashed laundry. She’s pretty certain this revelation might unearth some dirty clothes.
“So you know the big mystery client of ours?” she begins, already feeling her heart rate building as they start the incline.
“Have you done the deal?” asks Meg, taking a swig of water.
“Not quite, but I couldn’t really keep it from you any longer.”
“So? Tell me already!” It hasn’t rained in months. Clouds of dust are billowing around their feet.
“It’s Thesis.”
“Very funny, Lex. No really—who’s the client?”
“It is, Meg. It’s Thesis. Russell and I went to their hotel. I met George Bryce and his manager.”
“You what?” Meg stops and pulls on Lexi’s arm, attempting to get her to turn around. Lexi resists and keeps walking.
“I met George Bryce and his manager. It’s all been a bit surreal.”
“You met George Bryce. You met George Bryce and you didn’t tell me?”
Lexi can hear the fire in Meg’s voice.
“I am telling you. I wanted to tell you before, it’s only that Russell was concerned about confidentiality and—”
Meg starts walking again, pumping her arms frenziedly. “I can’t actually believe this! You met George? Ever since we went to the concert, I’ve been wondering if he really was looking at me that night. I’ve even imagined what I would say to him if I ever bumped into him. And now—you’ve actually… met him. You! It’s not fair. It’s just like high school—it was always you who got everything!”
Lexi had been expecting this conversation to be weird, but this was even weirder than she could ever have given Meg credit for.
“I can’t believe you’re saying this, Meg. I thought you’d be pleased for me. This could mean that my career is finally taking off. And anyway, you’re forgetting one thing. No, three things! No, four things! We’re not in high school anymore. You’re married. You have two gorgeous kids, for God’s sake. You’re the one who has everything.” Lexi’s heart is pulsating in her throat as she realizes that ‘everything’ is a word even stupider than ‘perfect’. Everything is different for everyone and her definition is rapidly shifting.
“I know I’m married,” says Meg, despairingly, “but I deserve a break from Tim, don’t I? I wasn’t going to leave him for George anyway—I was just
going to have an affair. Being married is not all that it’s cracked up to be.”
“Exactly! Then why are you always trying to persuade me to do it?”
“Because—because… I don’t know. We grew up believing in it—didn’t we? Mr. Darcy? Maria and Captain Von Trapp? Ross and Rachel? You and Andrew…”
“Me and Andrew? Well if that relationship didn’t shatter your illusions, I don’t know what would.”
“I know but at the time it seemed so romantic.”
“At the time.” Lexi’s temples are throbbing. She can feel the sweat dripping down the back of her neck.
“It’s just that George Bryce has been like a secret bar of chocolate I’ve been hiding away. When life gets yucky, I take him out and steal a corner.” What with Lexi’s appetite for fantasy and Meg’s imaginary liaisons, it’s a wonder George still has time to write music.
“I get it, but he’s real, you know. He probably has a girlfriend. He leaves the toilet seat up. He burps.”
“He does? Did he burp in your meeting?!”
“No! But he could have done.”
“What was he like?”
Lexi hesitates before answering. “He seemed nice. I’m not sure yet.”
“Sexy?”
“In a boyish kind of way but this is going to be entirely professional.” She sounds extremely believable, after all she has herself to convince as well.
“Of course. I know I’m acting crazy. I am happy for you, Lex, really I am. It’s an awesome opportunity. Can I meet him?”
Lexi pauses, horrified at the prospect of Meg completely embarrassing both of them in front of George. Any association to an obsessed fan would be disastrous.
“I don’t even know if I’ll see him again. They might not even use us.”
“They will. I know they will.”
But will they? Lexi and Russell have been working overtime all week beginning to compile a PowerPoint for the band, covering all aspects of how to reduce and offset their carbon footprint. Russell has even discovered a manufacturer of guitars sourced from non-endangered wood grown in sustainable forests, as well as proposing a line of recycled products for the Thesis website made from CDs, vinyl and one of a kind personal items from the band. Lexi has been loving every minute, educating herself on renewable energy sources and the most effective methods to offset carbon emissions. Between learning from Russell and putting in her own hours of research, she’s now quite the expert too. They should be finished with the presentation next week, at which point Russell will talk the band through it on iChat. Beyond that? Lexi has no clue and is trying not to speculate.
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