Playing Along

by Rory Samantha Green

“Huh?”

  “Before the wobbles.”

  “Got it. Sorry.”

  “Forgiven. Proud parents? That’s another conversation. My family is strange.” Lexi notes his reference to another conversation. He’s already anticipating more.

  “Oh God—my parents are strange too…”

  “What about the rest of you? Any brothers or sisters?” asks George.

  “Nope—only me.”

  “Might be a lucky escape. I have a sister, but she’s always hated me.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone hating you.”

  “You’re too kind, but really, she does. She thinks I’m pompous, which I probably am.”

  “Maybe she’s jealous—I mean it can’t be the easiest thing in the world having a brother who gets so much attention.”

  “Have you been e-mailing her?”

  “No! I’m just imagining what it might be like being her. My parents were a bit too obsessed with me. I would have loved a brother… or a sister.”

  “Ahhh—I’m getting sad. Did you have a pet at least? One that you liked?”

  “My mom has one now—a yappy little dog called St. Tropez. That’s how weird she is.”

  “A hint of irony perhaps?”

  “No irony. She honestly thinks it’s a chic name to call a dog.” Lexi notices a girl wearing headphones and a wooly hat look over her shoulder as she passes George.

  “It might be the way of the future. You should get a goldfish and call it Liverpool.” George hopes the girl who just walked past isn’t going to backtrack and try to talk to him. He doesn’t want this rhythm ruined. He doesn’t want this to end.

  “I could do that,” says Lexi, feeling suddenly like the world is effortless.

  “Yes, you could. I could get one too and call it San Diego. They could be pen pals, or Facebook friends I guess.”

  “How would they write to one another?”

  “They wouldn’t. They’d just transmit silent messages through the water. Like dolphins.”

  They both walk for a little while without talking—transmitting some of their own silent messages.

  “We should probably get back,” says Lexi, admitting to herself that this is exactly the opposite of what she would really like to do.

  “Probably,” says George, as they turn around. “Although there are still lots of animals we haven’t talked about yet.” Lexi loves his quirky sense of humor. How easily he makes her laugh without even trying.

  George wants to kiss her. He should just kiss her. Here. Now. Or else he might never find the moment again. Why do the bloody films make it look so easy?

  “Thanks for the fresh air,” says Lexi, needing to savor the sweetness between them. Knowing that anything more is surely unfathomable.

  “You’re welcome. How are you feeling now?”

  “Better.”

  They are almost back at the studio entrance—a nondescript black door with no indication of what lies behind.

  George takes a deep breath. This is it, do it! Don’t talk, just lean forward and kiss her.

  They both stop in the street and Lexi looks up at George. He has grown a beard since the last time she saw him and his hair is a bit longer. He looks like a nervous teenager, not a famous rock star.

  I’m doing it right now, he tells himself.

  Get back inside, she tells herself.

  He pitches forward slightly.

  She tilts her chin.

  Don’t kiss me, she thinks. Please kiss me, she thinks.

  The space between them momentarily closes and their lips are on the verge of touching, when the door flies open.

  They both jump backwards. Quickly.

  Gabe and Russell are standing in the doorway.

  “We were just checking up on the situation,” says Gabe, looking quizzically at George, who has started to cough.

  “Are you okay, Lexi? Or am I asking the wrong person?”

  Lexi pats George on the back. “I’m okay but I think George might be choking on his gum. He was just showing me some of the sights of Camden town.”

  George holds up his hand. “I’ll survive,” he says, darting back into the studio. He can’t believe he’s fucked that up. Fate has been so good to him, delivering Lexi into his eye line on three different occasions, and now he can’t even manage to kiss her.

  Lexi composes herself and smiles at Gabe and Russell.

  “Making progress?” she asks, trying to sound interested.

  “Lots,” says Russell, “why don’t we fill you in?”

  They all head back indoors.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Lexi’s whole body is churning up with desire and confusion. She wants to giggle and cry at the same time. She attempts to steady her thoughts and her heart, both swirling around in ecstatic, jet-lagged euphoria, while a bossy voice inside of her begins to transmit loud and clear, Hello missy! He’s not a happiness option. He’s a famous singer, who lives across the world from you, dating a slutty pop idol. Get with the program, honey. Lexi knows this is true but somewhere in the background she can hear another voice. A relaxed, chilled out voice. The voice of a girl sitting cross-legged in the grass, threading a daisy chain. Or write a new program, this girl says, pulling one delicate green stalk carefully through another. He’s completely lovely. It’s all up to you…

  GEORGE

  16th February, 2010

  Maida Vale, London

  Somehow The Brit Awards seem to have receded into the background overshadowed by Lexi landing, but George wakes up knowing today is the day. This is the third year they have been nominated. The first year they were up, they won ‘British breakthrough act’ and the second year they won ‘British single’. Tonight there’s a chance they might get the album award. The band are performing “Under the Radar” and George has calculated that despite yesterday going horribly awry, Lexi is in London for the next forty-eight hours and he’ll be sure not to miss another opportunity. Surely she’d be inclined to kiss him after seeing him perform in front of thousands of people? He needs to stop thinking and start acting.

  After they went back inside yesterday to continue the meeting, he had caught Lexi’s eye a couple of times. She didn’t look away immediately. That had to be a good sign. He shook her hand when they all said goodbye. He made sure to not let go too soon. Gabe had scheduled a magazine interview that afternoon and then there was a dinner with a new producer they were considering using for the latest album.

  The journalist from NME was a pretty Asian girl with a Scottish accent.

  Halfway through the interview she asked, “You’ve been linked recently to Fanny Arundel. You’re both making a big impact internationally. Do you think you might ever perform together?”

  “Unlikely,” George had replied cagily. “She’s a friend. Our directions are extremely different. I’m not sure Fanny’s looking to break new ground right now—she seems to be great just where she’s at.”

  “And Thesis do want to break new ground?” She had raised a provocative eyebrow.

  “Well—we want to explore uncharted territories with this new album. Not a concept album exactly, but more like a book of short stories. Most importantly we don’t want to disappoint our fans.”

  “It seems your fans are rarely disappointed. Rumour has it that you’re quite a perfectionist during the recording process.”

  George had chuckled. “Is that a polite way of saying control freak?”

  “You tell me.”

  “It’s hard to know when a song is ready to fly. I suppose it’s a bit like being a parent who doesn’t want to let their kid go to nursery school, so they keep calling it back to tie their laces just one more time.”

  “So you’re saying that your songs are like your babies?”

  “Of course. I get attached. I think a lot of artists do.”

  The journalist had clicked off her recorder at that point.

  “Brill. I’ve got some good stuff here and your manager is giving me the hand signals. Thanks
, George, and best of luck at the Brits tomorrow.”

  They both stood up.

  “You and Fanny just friends, huh?” she had said, sliding her recorder back into her bag. “Are you looking for any more friends?”

  George had paused for a second. She was pretty fit. Seemed intelligent. She was in the industry, but not too far in. He should have taken her number. Any normal bloke in his position would have.

  “We’ve got a Facebook page,” he’d said jokingly, remembering how Lexi’s soft palm had fit neatly in his hand.

  “I get it. Well, if you change your mind, here’s where to find me.” She’d pulled a card from her bag and handed it to him.

  George looks at the card now and tosses it into an empty kitchen drawer. He rinses out his Oscar the Grouch mug and boils the kettle. The band are being collected at one p.m. and being taken to Earls Court for a final sound check and run-through before tonight’s ceremony. This morning he’s told Gabe he wants to join him to meet with Russell and Lexi at the graphic designer’s office in Paddington. Gabe wants all designs signed off before they go to production and he wants last minute input from Let The Green Times Roll. Having been initially so reluctant, he has now embraced the ethos wholeheartedly.

  “Do you think it’s unprofessional if I ask Lexi out?” Gabe had asked George yesterday after the meeting. “She’s not with Russell. I checked. I don’t know why you thought that.”

  “Extremely unprofessional,” George had responded quickly. “Don’t even consider it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right,” Gabe had said, looking downtrodden.

  George pours his tea reassuring himself that he should not feel guilty for deterring Gabe. He’s not trying to mislead his friend, but occasionally destiny goes a little off track. George is merely assisting in its redirection.

  LEXI

  February 16th, 2010

  The Metropolitan Hotel, London

  Lexi is spinning. The combination of the electricity of a new city, the adrenaline of working and the memory of being very nearly kissed by George Bryce, has left her on a permanent high. She has spoken once to Lance and thanked him for the roses but tried not to linger on the phone, suddenly feeling like she needs a bit of space. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Lexi Jacobs.” Well, she can’t stop thinking about George Bryce. It’s not that she has any illusion that something of any substance might possibly happen between them, but the thought that something could, something might, is making her crazy. Lexi gave in and called Meg last night after coming in from a delicious dinner with Russell at a restaurant next to the Thames. Not being able to talk about it with anyone was becoming agony.

  “Are you flippin’ kidding?!” Meg had screamed down the phone. “George Bryce tried to kiss you? I’m freaking out right now!”

  “Please remain calm. I need you to be calm and think about me for a second. Just breathe. You can do this.”

  “Okay. Focus. Focus!” Meg had shouted. “Are you absolutely sure he was going to kiss you?”

  “Yes. I’m sure. At least I think I’m sure.”

  “And were you going to kiss him back?”

  “I don’t know! I didn’t have time to think about it. It just kind of happened, or actually didn’t happen.”

  “Okay, Lex,” Meg had said, sounding less hysterical, “I mean you know I would be the first person to say jump his bones, despite being absolutely consumed with envy, but you’ve got Lance now.”

  “I’ve got Lance now and he’s wonderful. But maybe I don’t feel as strongly for him as I should?” Lexi had glanced around the room at the wilting roses, making a mental note to call housekeeping and have them removed.

  “Lance is a total catch, Lex… you’re just being swayed by the allure of a skinny English rocker with a sexy new beard and a beautiful mind. Who wouldn’t be? But he’s a player, right? He has to be! He’ll probably give you chlamydia and you’ll feel disgusted with yourself afterwards. And you’re working with him. And you’ve got a boyfriend now who is a total sweetie and you don’t want to jeopardize that. I want to say go for it, I really do. But I just can’t. I’m team Lance all the way. You can’t do anything.”

  Lexi knew Meg had a point. Not just one point, but many. She’d stayed silent on the other end of the phone. The daisy chain was wilting.

  “Sweetie, you’ll just be a disposable item to a guy like George Bryce. Don’t forget what your business is there. It’s all about preservation, not throwing things away.”

  Meg can be astoundingly lucid and insightful when the situation calls for it, and Lexi hangs onto those wise words as she gets dressed for this morning’s meetings. She had ducked into Selfridges department store yesterday and picked up a cute black skirt and a pair of ankle boots to wear to the awards ceremony tonight, along with Meg’s purple leather jacket. Lexi already loves London. All the women look so stylish, but not in a plastic, overpriced way. She could imagine living here. Renting a small flat. Walking through the park to work every day. Taking the tube. Wearing knitted hats and gloves in the winter.

  Luckily the meeting this morning is only with Russell and Gabe and the graphic designer. That’s fine with her. She needs to stay well out of temptation’s way. George will be so busy tonight, he’s bound to hardly notice her at all.

  GEORGE

  16th February, 2010

  Paddington, London, 10:00 a.m.

  LEXI

  February 16th, 2010

  Paddington, London, 10:00 a.m.

  There are about ten of them packed into the lift. George had been standing right next to Lexi but a group of businessmen crowded on at the second floor and he was jostled into the opposite corner. The suits are debriefing a meeting they must have just had and Russell is explaining to Gabe the perils of petroleum. George can’t even catch Lexi’s eye.

  The big guy behind Lexi keeps jabbing her with his elbow as he gesticulates to his colleague. His cologne is overbearing and every time he inadvertently touches her, she tenses up. It’s not as if she isn’t tense already since coming face to face with George in the lobby, who was not scheduled to be at this meeting. His hair was slightly damp and it took everything in her power to stop herself from imagining him in the shower.

  George follows the numbers moving up. Their appointment is on the fifteenth floor and the businessmen have pressed 14. One of them suddenly says, “Crikey, forgot I was supposed to deliver the portfolio to Morton. I need to get off at 10.” Lexi is standing near the front. When the doors of the tenth floor open, she steps out to let the man through. Another woman squeezes on.

  Lexi is plotting various strategies in her head to avoid being too close to George. She must not sit next to him in the meeting. She must direct all of her attention to Gabe. It is a relief when they arrive on the tenth floor and she has to step off the elevator for a moment to let the guy out. Another woman darts in front of her and the doors start to close. Lexi presses the button on the wall, but the doors keep closing. “I’ll see you up there,” she calls through the gap, quite content not to squash back into the airless space.

  It happens so fast that he doesn’t even think about it. It’s as if something instinctual propels him forward just as the lift doors are closing. George pushes his way through the narrowing gap, like fleeing the jaws of a snapping crocodile, he gets out just in time. Lexi is looking at him with her mouth partially open and a questioning look in her eyes. He clears his throat, “Couldn’t stay… get claustrophobic…”

  Lexi is stupefied. How has this happened again? Running from temptation has never been so impossible. Usually she just shoves the chocolate chunk cookies into the cupboard behind the pasta strainer. George is tenacious. He must be one of those types that need a challenge. He can challenge himself elsewhere. She is not going to be his disposable paper bag.

  “Couldn’t stay… get claustrophobic…” he says comically, and she tries not to smile.

  “I don’t need an escort, you know.”

  George nods, “
Honestly, that bloke’s aftershave was killing me.”

  “Old Spice?” She really shouldn’t even be engaging him in banter, in fact she should just tell him right now that she has a boyfriend.

  “Very Old Spice,” he responds. Lexi presses the button to call the elevator again. The two of them stand next to each other in the windowless hallway. This is it, George tells himself, You probably have one minute. One minute to finish what you started. One minute, Third Row, Destination in the Middle—the songs for the new album are lining themselves up one after another and it’s as if everything is crystallizing in this single moment. He stops thinking. He moves towards her. Here it is. His kiss.

  He’s getting closer. She could move away. She should move away, but every cell in her body is tingling, anticipating his lips. When their mouths finally touch, the kiss is soft and tender and deliciously deliberate. He tastes like mint and his beard is slightly scratchy against her chin. His hand slides around her lower back and she forsakes every resolution she has ever made. Ever.

  It is so freeing not to be thinking and just to be kissing. At last. This kiss is like his music translated into action. For all the love songs he has ever written—he himself has felt so little love. For all the hearts he is responsible for making throb—his own heart has stayed so still. Until now. George could kiss Lexi forever. And ever.

  Neither of them can say who pulls away first. Lexi feels completely unbuttoned, despite remaining fully clothed. George smiles triumphantly, “I’ve been meaning to do that for a long time,” he says, still close, almost whispering.

  “You have? How long?” She flashes back to the concert at the Avid. Remembers him on stage. Staring.

  “Really, really long,” he says, and this time Lexi knows she can read something into the two reallys.

  GEORGE

  16th February, 2010

  Earls Court, London, 4:00 p.m.

  George is sure that tonight’s performance will be a standout one. The venue is crawling with people setting up and preparing for the most high-profile music awards ceremony in the UK. Adrian Carter, one of the event organizers, seems surprisingly cool and collected as he shows the band to their dressing area. “You’re on for your final rehearsal in thirty minutes. In the meantime, please do let us know if there is anything you need.” What could George possibly need, now that he has the memory of kissing Lexi to carry everywhere with him like a secret charm?