Playing Along

by Rory Samantha Green

  Meg had forgiven her for being in the same room as George Bryce and was newly invigorated by the appearance of Lance. “I told you it was all going to happen for you if you opened yourself up to it. The universe was listening.”

  “Maybe you were right,” Lexi had said, “but don’t marry me off just yet. It’s only been one kiss.” Actually she thinks it was far more than one, but the problem is, Lexi doesn’t actually recall all the details of their night together because of the lethal green drinks the elves were passing around like lemonade. She’s already called Andrew to see if he can fill in the picture, but he’s not picking up. She’ll just have to wait for him to get home. She checks her phone again now. Russell has texted, “May the joy of the season rejuvenate you as you recycle love around the planet.” He has attached a picture of him and Mildred ladling out soup at a local homeless shelter. Russell really is an inspiration. Lexi, on the other hand, has spent the day embracing consumerism and now feels hugely guilty for it. She should have given her father homemade jam instead of cashmere socks. What kind of role model for the company is she? She’s definitely going to make some steely New Year’s resolutions and stick to them, but for the time being she makes herself a mint tea and settles down with her laptop.

  GEORGE

  25th December, 2009

  Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire

  It’s after midnight and the run-in with Amelia has left George edgy. He decides to get a glass of water then maybe sit in the garden for a little while and stargaze, something he can’t do much of in London. As George passes Polly’s bedroom he hears muffled noises from inside. He opens the door slowly, hoping to find Duncan awake so they can plan their getaway the next day. Instead, he finds Amelia Hoffman crouched on the floor between Duncan’s legs, determined to prove one of her well-earned credentials. Duncan has Bob the Builder stuffed in his mouth. When he sees George, Bob drops and Duncan grins. Amelia is still on task.

  “Busy, mate.”

  “I can see that!” says George, slamming the door a little too loudly as Amelia bolts upright. He’s now stupidly woken his mum, who rushes out of her bedroom bleary eyed.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Mum, great, everything’s okay. Duncan was just having a nightmare,” says George herding his mother towards the kitchen and shutting the door. Wait until Duncan hears who Amelia Hoffman actually is. An original grapefruit girl. Then the nightmare will be real. George hopes that Amelia will finish up pronto and slip out quietly. If his mother finds out, all of her worst fears about the band’s depraved lifestyle will be confirmed. And on her best John Lewis sheets.

  “Tea, Mum?”

  “That would be nice, George, thank you.”

  “Happy Christmas,” he says, filling the kettle. His mum’s maroon toweling dressing gown reminds him of when he was a very little boy. Hiding in the folds of her long skirts. Holding on tight to the tie around her waist.

  “Happy Christmas to you too, George. We’re all glad you came. It’s good to see you in person and not just read about you in the newspapers.” In the past, George might have heard that as an accusation, but tonight he can see in his mother’s eyes that maybe she actually means it.

  “I’m sorry I can’t get here more often, Mum. Our life is so busy, it’s just hard…” George’s voice trails off.

  “You used to dream about this, didn’t you? I’ll never forget all the piano lessons and that guitar from the charity shop falling to pieces. It was all you wanted.”

  George thinks of Stardust, stashed carefully away in his empty flat. “I still have that guitar, Mum.”

  “I told your father you were talented. He just didn’t want me to encourage it because he was so worried about your future.” George reckons that his mum has had to spend her entire marriage making excuses for his father.

  “I know, Mum, I know,” he hears the front door close with a barely perceptible click and hands his mother the mug of hot tea.

  LEXI

  December 25th, 2009

  West Hollywood, Los Angeles

  The Thesis website appears on the screen. Lexi’s been researching their current product line this week, in preparation for the introduction of the new ‘green’ items. Everything is moving forward now. Carl and Johnnie have drawn up the contract and Thesis Ltd have agreed to all the terms and conditions and signed. Gabe and Russell have spoken a few more times since, and made a plan for Russell and Lexi to make a trip to London in February. London in February?! So exciting! She’s never even left the States.

  Since the video conference, Lexi has been stubbornly pushing thoughts of George Bryce into the background and concentrating instead on the thrill of developing the business. He has returned to where he belongs; a face on a video screen; an image on an album cover; an unattainable boy whose world she could never fit into. Just today, Meg had thrust last month’s Star magazine under Lexi’s nose, opened to a picture of George and that weird singer, Fanny Arundel, stumbling out of an after party the night of their concert. George is hanging his head, while Fanny is holding up two fingers to the camera. Lance, on the other hand, is a real person. Maybe even a prospect for her. Just like Russell had said—it’s about being open to possibility. It would help if she knew what his profession was, but with those clothes and those glasses, he wasn’t going to be a musician, was he?

  Without warning, the Thesis home page begins to play. It’s the acoustic concert. Her concert. For a moment she is transported to the third row. Hearing George’s voice sends shivers down her spine but then she imagines going on a date with Lance. A quiet dinner by the beach. Maybe a moonlit walk afterwards. Hmm… Perhaps juggling work and a relationship is not so unthinkable after all?

  GEORGE

  25th December, 2009

  Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire

  George is ready to leave. They have consumed one extremely large, extremely dry turkey and pulled twenty Christmas crackers. They are currently all seated by the tree again, wearing crumpled paper crowns, while the three boys play “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” on their instruments of choice. He had only agreed to stay after lunch because of Trevor.

  “Uncle George, you have to wait and see me rock out,” Trevor had pleaded, waving his tambourine and jumping up and down excitedly.

  “Okay, I’ll wait,” George had said, stuffing his Christmas presents into his duffle bag—a grey striped tie from his parents (“Your mother and I thought you might need to look respectable sometimes”) and Michael Jackson’s unauthorized biography from Polly and Martyn (“We still can’t believe he’s gone!”).

  He’d broken the news to Duncan about Amelia that morning, when Duncan had slunk into George’s bedroom looking sheepish.

  “Fuckin’ hell! A Grapefruit Girl? Why didn’t you tell me before? That’s legendary, man.”

  “Do you have no discretion?” George had asked, “you did know she was my sister’s married best friend?”

  Duncan had looked unfazed. “Discretion? Never heard of it, mate.”

  George had shook his head. Really, who can blame Duncan for wanting to rebel in such a suffocating environment?

  And now the two of them are perched on the edge of the beige chintz settee listening to the cacophony that is the boys’ performance. It might be worth it for the smile on Trevor’s face though. Archie and Padstow look mostly bored.

  When the song comes to an end, Duncan stands up, clapping and hollering. His red paper crown flutters off his head and lands on the floor.

  “You aced it, dudes! I knew you were going to put us out of business.” The three boys beam and Polly looks over at George, and for a second she actually appears a bit vulnerable. Her usual smug expression is replaced with a searching stare, as if she’s asking for his approval. George continues the applause, “Future X Factor winners. Simon Cowell better watch out,” he says.

  “That’s just what I told Martyn,” exclaims Polly, back to her familiar self-satisfied tone.

  Later i
n the afternoon, George and Duncan throw their bags in the boot of the car and say their goodbyes. Trevor has glued himself to George’s side. Before he closes the car door, George leans down and says, “Hey Trev, maybe when you’re a bit older, I’ll get your mum and dad to bring you and your brothers to one of our shows?” Trevor’s eyes widen, “When I’m five?”

  “Yes, when you’re five.”

  “Yessss!” says Trevor punching the air with a grubby fist.

  As George drives away, Polly and the boys waving them off, he turns to Duncan. “So…” says George, “Amelia tells me she gives the best blow jobs north of Banbury.”

  “I’ve had better,” says Duncan with a straight face, “south of Banbury.”

  The two friends laugh as the car accelerates and his parents’ cottage shrinks in his rearview mirror.

  LEXI

  December 31st, 2009

  West Hollywood, Los Angeles

  New Year’s Eve. The most overrated night of the entire year. It never improves. Even in her heyday, when Lexi was the most sought-after girl in school, New Year’s Eve was always a disappointment. Andrew inevitably got so drunk he could hardly talk and midnight came and went with a ridiculously wet kiss, which felt more like a lick from a basset hound. Not that she’d ever been licked by a basset hound, but she’d always had a good imagination. She’s already decided to do absolutely nothing tonight. No parties. No champagne. No sequins. No Dick Clark. She’s going to get into bed at 10:30 and wake up ready to face the new year. New job. Possibly a new man. New Year’s resolutions (cut out sugar, only use reuseable water bottles, cardio three times a week, read more)—perhaps she should even think about moving? Wasn’t it time to separate from Andrew again? Lexi ponders all of this as she sits in a café in West Hollywood with Andrew and Carl, eating eggs over easy and hash browns. Her phone vibrates in her purse and she dives to find it.

  “Must be lover boy for the third time in the last half hour,” says Carl. “Obviously he just can’t get enough of you, Ms. Jacobs!” Lexi smiles. The day after Christmas, Lance had left for a trip to San Francisco to visit his parents with Johnnie. He’s not due back until tomorrow, but he’s been texting daily and called once. They’d only talked for a few minutes, but he’d been extremely charming and persuaded Lexi that they should go out on a date the night he returned. She hadn’t needed much persuading. His latest text says “Very much looking forward to the new year. Especially tomorrow night…”

  “What’s he saying now?” asks Carl, who is already like part of the family. Lexi holds her phone protectively to her chest, “None of your business.”

  “Come on, don’t be so coy. We know he wants your body.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m still not telling you.”

  “Oh, I just love the first few weeks of a new romance,” says Andrew nostalgically.

  “That was us only like a month ago,” says Carl, scooping a spoonful of scrambled egg from Andrew’s plate.

  “Was it only a month? It feels like a lifetime.” Carl hits him playfully with his napkin. “A lifetime of love which I wouldn’t trade for the world,” says Andrew, leaning in and kissing Carl’s cheek.

  “Get a room, will you?” says Lexi, realizing that both Andrew and Russell seem to have met their soul mates on the very same night, while she’s spent the past month as a voyeur of two of the sweetest budding romances. It was enough to make anyone ill. No wonder she had resorted to believing that George Bryce had locked eyes with her. Desperate tactics in desperate times. But now everything was going to change.

  Carl had filled in a lot of the blanks about Lance. He was a structural engineer. Thirty-five years old. Never been married.

  “I don’t know what you did that night, Lexi, but Johnnie says Lance is completely smitten by you.”

  “Smitten!” exclaims Andrew. “Who wouldn’t love a man who uses the word smitten?”

  Lexi isn’t sure what she did either, thanks to the cocktails coloring the entire evening in a misty green stupor, but she’s sure she was fabulous and all arrows are pointing to Lance being fabulous too. Who cares about being alone on New Year’s Eve? She is transitioning into a capable, independent career woman, who just might have met a very suitable, mature, self-assured man. Alone is the new together. It’s her own choice. For the first time in a while, she feels completely on top of things.

  GEORGE

  31st December, 2009

  Soho, London

  New Year’s Eve. The most overrated night of the entire year. It never improves. Endless kissless midnights as a teenager. It really shouldn’t be allowed. One night imbued with the expectations of a thousand birthdays. Someone should make it illegal. The band are performing on the Jules Holland special tonight and George is hoping to play straight through from one year to the next. Bring it on. Where can Thesis go this year? Every year he reckons the dream can’t get any bigger, but it always does. Thinking about the band’s success is mind-boggling. It’s like not only buying a winning lottery ticket once, but then buying one again and again and again. Only to find yourself surrounded by cash and wondering why you still feel needy.

  George is sitting in a bar in Soho with Simon and Stacey and Mark and Anna. Is there such thing as a fifth wheel? If there is—he’s feeling it. Stacey has been suctioned to Simon ever since they got together in Vegas. He was never worried about the Yoko effect with Anna, she sits back and lets the boys do their thing, but Stacey could be a problem. George picks up his beer. It’s 5:00 p.m. and the party’s started early.

  “George, are you listening to me?” asks Stacey. She has a loud nasal voice.

  “Sorry, Stacey, what was it you were saying?” George is pretending not to hear her. “Loud in here, isn’t it?”

  She rolls her eyes, “Like you’re not used to noise!”

  “What?” he cups his hand to his ear innocently.

  “I was saying that I’ve been telling Simon my ideas for styling you guys. I mean you’re not college kids anymore, you could be totally updating your look.” George turns to Simon, who instead of jumping in and defending the unpretentious ethos of the band, is staring at Stacey with an idiotic grin. His usually unkempt red hair has been slathered in gel and looks like an ice sculpture.

  “Have you been styling Simon?” he asks sarcastically.

  Stacey strokes the underside of Simon’s chin, which is beginning to show a thatch of red stubble. “As a matter of fact I have. We’re working on a goatee, aren’t we, babe?”

  “Yes, we are,” says Simon compliantly.

  “Mate, it looks like you have a swan on your head, and a ginger fucking swan at that.”

  “Oh, you’re funny, George,” says Stacey bitchily as she turns to Simon and kisses his nose. As loud as it is in the bar, George swears he hears her say, “No wonder he can’t get a girlfriend. He’s so uptight.”

  It never fails to astound him how quickly the feelings come rushing back. One damn comment, a sideways glance, a tone of voice, and it’s like some bloody trapdoor opens and he’s sliding down into the thorny abyss, fifteen years old, feeling like shit. How much more successful does he have to get in order to keep that door padlocked shut? Why does he care what a girl like Stacey thinks of him?

  George stands up and leaves the table. He has that urge again to be in open space, to run away. Simon follows after him and grabs his arm. “Come on, George, ease up. She’s just trying to be helpful.” They push through a crowd of young Londoners, drinking early, every one of them wanting to put something behind them and start afresh. Some of them recognize George and Simon and nudge their friends, or do a double take, or just outright stare. George keeps moving through the crowd until they are outside. The early evening air feels sharp and cold. He leans against a brick wall to avoid the throng of people coming in and out.

  “I’m fine, mate, you didn’t have to follow me. Just needed some space is all.” George knows that he and Simon are overdue a conversation since LA, but now is not the time.

 
“George, it’s me you’re talking to. I know you’re not fine.” George isn’t sure how to respond.

  “Sim, honestly. It’s all good. You know, New Year’s Eve—it’s never been my favourite time of year. I should be writing. I’ve got a lot in my head.”

  “George, look, I get it. Stacey and I have been talking about it. It must be very difficult for you having to see me with her.”

  “What do you mean?” George is incredulous. Is Simon joking?

  “Look, mate—it’s okay. She told me about what happened in the make-up trailer in Las Vegas. She’s cool with it now, but she just wants you to be too.” George’s head is swirling. What happened? She was the one who kept positioning her tits so they were right in front of his face. She told him he had eyelashes like Brandon Flowers. He just smiled.

  “Nothing happened!”

  “Yeah, but she says it was obvious you were into her. I mean let’s face it, who wouldn’t be—she’s awesome. But she chose me and now you’re struggling with that. Clearly.”

  “I’m not struggling.”

  “You know me better than anyone, right?”

  “I thought I did.”

  “Well, I think this is it, George. I know it’s only been a few weeks but I think Stace is the woman for me.”

  “THE woman?” George is appalled. This is catastrophic. Stacey could destroy them if she had her way. “I thought you said you didn’t believe in that stuff?”

  “I didn’t. Until I met her,” says Simon, starry-eyed. “I’m done with spending my time on sandwiches. Us, you and me, the band, we’ll always be everything but I need more.”

  George is trying to take it all in. Isn’t this what he’s been wanting as well? Why else has he been weaving a future in his imagination with Lexi? So why does he feel so angry with Simon? So abandoned? As aggravating as Stacey might be, at least she’s here. Lexi is still really just a figment in his mind. A projection of what he hopes for. In reality she might end up being as irritating as Stacey. She might have bad breath. She might laugh like a horse.