Playing Along

by Rory Samantha Green

  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

  14th 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 14th, 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 de
ar, 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.”

  “It’s the earth that is awesome, Becca,” says Russell, sweeping his hand in the air. “We are merely attempting to protect that awesomeness and hoping everyone else will do the same.”

  “Cool, well, I’m on board, Russell,” says Becca, revealing a silver stud in her tongue when she smiles.

  Lexi wonders how close Becca is to George? He’s obviously surrounded by witty, trendy girls like her. How silly was she imagining that he might have been gazing at her during his concert? Crazy really. She’s relieved to have moved on from that puerile scenario and can safely say she feels almost nothing at all when she thinks about him now. Almost.

  GEORGE

  15th February, 2010

  Camden, London

  LEXI

  February 15th, 2010

  Camden, London

  There are at least eight people in the room and everyone’s talking. Even so, every time George so much as glances at Lexi, it’s as if the world goes quiet.

  Lexi has never experienced anything like this ever. She only has to glimpse the back of his head and her stomach tightens. The word ‘butterflies’ has taken on a whole new meaning. She has them. Not just a handful, but a forest of translucent, colorful creatures fluttering against her rib cage and rising up into her throat.

  He has to curb an impulse to walk towards to her. To take her hand. To lead her out of the room. He keeps telling himself there is nothing more that could happen to confirm to him that this connection is real.

  She has to stop herself from turning around and running out of the door. She wants to gulp cold air into her lungs and freeze this melting feeling. This is not convenient. This should not be happening.

  He needs to see her alone.

  She needs to be sure that she is never alone with him.

  “Lexi, what are your thoughts on the subject?” Russell is talking to her. Everyone in the room has stopped to look at her, except George. He is looking at his feet. They have just finished walking around the recording studio and now they are meeting with Gary, the band’s tour manager, to discuss the potential to carbon neutralize the upcoming “Under the Radar” tour.

  “Solar energy panels,” Russell continues, “I was saying how we are advising all of our clients that solar panels are the way of the future, isn’t that right, Lexi?”

  “Yes, yes,” says Lexi, endeavoring to recover. “Harness the resources we do have rather than exploit those already depleting. The sun is—” George looks up from his shoes and catches her eye. Oh dear God. This is torture. She can’t think straight.

  “The sun is…”

  “Hot,” offers Duncan. “Like you.”

  Shit! thinks George. Duncan’s getting started. He needs to stop him.

  “What?” says Lexi.

  “Duncan says you look a little hot. Maybe you need some fresh air?” George walks over to her and takes her arm.

  “No, I’m fine. Just the jet lag, I think.” Lexi can feel his fingers lightly resting on her sweater. Her cheeks feel like they’re burning.

  George is close enough to smell her and thankfully there isn’t even a hint of grapefruit. Rose petals. She smells like rose petals.

  “Some air might be a good idea,” says Gabe, getting in on the action. “The journey this direction can really knock you out.”

  Russell nods in agreement, “Don’t concern yourself, Lexi. We’ll save the important parts until your return.”

  Before she can resist again, which would undoubtedly call even more attention to herself, George is leading her out of the room and into the corridor. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s exhausted. When she and Russell finally made it up to their rooms, Lexi had opened her door to find practically a garden full of long stemmed red roses. There must have been a hundred of them. A small white card was propped against one of the vases. Happy Valentines Day Sexy Lady, from your not so secret admirer xoxoxoxoxo.

  Lexi wasn’t sure whether to feel elated or smothered. She had spent the night lying awake, until she could no longer bear the smell of the petals and thought she might gag.

  George opens the door of the studio and leads Lexi outside. The street is teeming with people. In LA you would only ever see this many people in a shopping mall or at the airport. There is a biting breeze and the sky looks like thick grey felt.

  “Sorry about Duncan,” says George, beginning to walk. Lexi falls into step next to him, starting to breathe, finding it easier to concentrate now that they are outside. So much for avoiding being alone with him.

  “It’s fine, he’s very entertaining. I don’t know what’s wrong with me… the jet lag must be fogging my brain.”

  “Yep—that can do it,” says George, trying to work out what’s next. He can’t just say to her, I hardly even know you but something out of our control is bringing us together. Or could he? What he really wants to do is kiss her. That’s what he should do. Just kiss her. But that could backfire. She might think he was some sex-crazed rock star and be disgusted. How is he ever going to get this right? The one thing he does know is that he can’t let her leave London without something happening between them. Something concrete, rather than this intense chemistry driving him to distraction.

  “Your studio is great,” says Lexi, trying to hold onto a coherent thought.

  “We like it,” says George, noticing that Lexi is about two inches shorter than he is. Perfect kissing height. “So is this your first trip to London?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Cool. It’s the best city ever—in my humble opinion. I mean LA is good too but—what have you got planned while you’re here?”

  “Other than business? I don’t know, I thought maybe Russell and I could take one of those buses t
hat drive around Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament—try and really embrace the whole obnoxious American tourist thing.”

  George laughs. “Go for it. You should get to Abbey Road studios and take a picture of both of you on the zebra crossing—that would be hilarious.”

  Lexi notes the word hilarious and how when it leaves his lips, it doesn’t bother her at all.

  “Maybe we will.”

  “How long have you and Russell been together anyway?”

  “I’ve been working with him since last year, but I’m positive he’s been campaigning for the environment since birth. We’re not together though, I mean like a couple together—if that’s what you mean? I wasn’t sure…” Lexi trails off embarrassedly. Of course that wasn’t what he meant.

  “Together together? No—I didn’t mean that but… good. I mean good that Russell is so passionate about his cause. I love that.” This is going well.

  “I know. He really is inspiring. And passionate about lots of things. Especially his cat.” Lexi is beginning to feel as if she can say anything to George.

  “Really? I don’t like cats,” says George, pushing his hands into his pockets to prevent them from trying to hold hers. “My parents used to have one when I was a kid. They give me the collywobbles.”

  “The whatie wobbles?”

  “The collywobbles—you know—like the creeps.”

  “Or the heebie jeebies?”

  “Or the heebie jeebies.”

  “Collywobbles—I like it. I’ll have to use that one when I get home.”

  “You do that. Let me know how it works.”

  Lexi laughs, “Will do. So let me see, you don’t like cats but you have parents. The picture is widening. I bet the parents must be very proud, even if their cat gave you the wobbles.”

  “You forgot the colly.”