It was Vince that he remembered. Playing at being captain, Vince had his blond head thrown back as he surveyed the sky for signs of trouble. Thin shoulders held firmly back so the weight of command would rest fully upon them, Vince was in charge.
The young Vince was a medium sized bag of skin and bones when they first met. Loneliness was the glue which bound their friendship together. For some reason H.M. never quite understood, Vincent felt as left out of things at university as he did.
Vince could have associated with those of the same social strata as himself, but didn't for some unknown reason. Being the loners in the group, they drifted together. He finally was beginning to understand Vincent a little better, now that it was too late to put the knowledge to use.
Eventually, Vince took up weight training. H.M. thought at the time it was because Vince hated to see the looks the girls gave his own broad shoulders and brawny arms. Work filled out H.M.'s upper torso, not weight lifting.
He supplemented his mum's small salary from the day he was twelve. A large unruly twelve year old, he easily passed for sixteen and took odd jobs whenever they presented themselves. Those sorts of jobs almost always involved heavy lifting. H.M. chuckled. Vince hadn't known all about his childhood. There were a few things he held back. Vince was an odd, but firm friend in the beginning.
The first hint of trouble appeared with Vince's booze problem. Slaughter when pissed, spouted off at the mouth like a teakettle someone had forgotten to shut off. Alcohol brought out the latent anger which always lurked beneath the surface of Vincent's personality.
It was too bad Vince wouldn't have the time to work it all out. Sooner or later he would have fallen flat on his face by his own design. That might have straightened him out. His Mum always said there was nothing like life to knock some sense into a senseless head. H.M. heard the murmur of voices and realized Lori was returning.
Turning back to the sculpture, he wondered what the artist had originally thought to depict. Was it a shark perhaps? It could be, he supposed. He glanced at the price tag, not too dear. He wanted this one. Someday it would rest on their mantelpiece. It would remind him of the good times he and Vince shared in the early days.
The taxi driver was oblivious to his passengers as he tried to change lanes and was cut off. Cursing under his breath, he leaned on the horn and concentrated on moving over.
"I think she might take some of my work. What would you think about that?" Lori looked at him from the corner of her eye.
H.M. realized what she was asking. "No, I willna mind if ye have tae come tae tha U.S. occasionally for ah show. I can part with ye for ah wee while, but nae for long periods of time. Later, I may even come along with, if I have nae commitments. Once this is over an we are safely back home, I dinnae think I want to go anywhere for ah while. I just want tae find ah house for us an stay in it for ah bit."
"There is the album to finish." Lori turned and was watching him carefully.
"Aye, that's true. I will be very busy until it is finished. However, I dinna anticipate tha album taking more than ah few weeks tae record. All is worked out in my head. I know what I want, an I know how tae get it. There is sufficient material with a couple of extra songs just in case something goes sour. I take it ye want to be working during tha sessions as well?"
She nodded. "Right. I would rather be painting than sitting in a control booth doing nothing. I will need a studio of course. I intend to get the lot out of storage that is sitting in London. You recall the things I did while in my down phase?"
"Och, I remember yur 'OhMyGodIReallyGotMarried' depression all tae well. I thought tha divorce was imminent." With a lift of his eyebrow, H.M. grinned at her.
Lori frowned. "Aren't you being a little dramatic? Surely it can't have been nearly that bad?"
Slipping an arm around her waist, Hamish pulled her closer. "Dramatic? I felt as if I was livin in ah Greek tragedy. Ye were inconsolable for several weeks. Oh, an ye tried tae put on such ah brave face. Stiff upper lip an all tha English shite. I wouldnae been surprised if ye slunk away in tha night, vanishing, never tae return."
Remembering, he shook his head. "Tha painting had jagged, sharp blocks of angry color. I had only seen that much pain an anger one time before. I must say, ye frightened me."
"I hadn't realized you saw any of my work then." Her head to one side, Lori regarded him quizzically.
"I made it my business tae look. Of course, since I was under threat of death if I so much as peeked, I had tae reconnoiter while ye were asleep. I didna want tae lose ye, darlin. I had tae know what was wrong. Your work gave me ah hint of tha problem. After seeing ye had an outlet for tha feelings that were bothering ye, I was able tae ride out tha storm."
"The storm. Yes, it was a storm wasn't it. I was terribly frightened you might become a 'husband' and I would lose the first real friend I ever had!" She snuggled against him.
"Never! You might have tae drive me away with ah pallet knife or throw me out bodily, but you cannae lose me. I'm tae smart for ye tae lose me. Like an old dog, I'll always find my way home."
The taxi finally stopped in front of the restaurant. They clambered out with a feeling of relief. The traffic was heavy, and the ride stressful. Lori paid the driver who immediately sped off.
Their meal was a quiet affair. They discussed their requirements in a home and where they intended to start looking. The ultimate layout of the studio became the main topic of discussion. Their desires dovetailed when it came to southern exposure and lots of windows. Since good lighting was one of Lori's major needs, they agreed Hamish would set his equipment up near the back walls, while she would take the area in front of the windows. Now they needed to find a place to fit the bill. When dinner was finished, they took a cab back to the hotel.
No one noticed them when they entered the lobby and went directly to the bank of elevators. H.M. decided to call down for messages. That way he stood less chance of giving away his identity and new look to the press. They entered the room and Lori went into the bedroom to change. H.M. called the desk.
There was a message from Ed, who had left a number. H.M. tried to return the call, but there was no answer. He decided to try again later in the evening. Lori called out to him to come to bed and watch TV with her. H.M. happily obliged.
Around midnight, Lori fell asleep. She was curled up on her side with one hand on his arm. H.M. eased himself from the bed.
Making his way quietly into the living room, he tried Ed's number again. There was still no answer. Hamish got out his headphones and keyboard. Taking out the power supply, he plugged it in near the couch. After a few warm-up exercises, he started playing some of the new tunes slated for the album.
Not really aware of the passage of time, when his hand began to tire, MacGrough took a glance at his watch. It was nearing two in the morning. He was tired, but not sleepy. Pushing the little keyboard to one side, head back against the back of the couch, he closed his eyes for a moment.
A snippet of lyrics flitted into his consciousness. Repeating them to himself, H.M. went in search of a notebook and a pencil. These were good enough to keep. It wasn't a whole song, a chorus perhaps. Finding the notebook, he wrote the words down.
Why is it always too late when we learn to share?
Why do we wait too long to say we care?
As he read the words aloud, it was easy to see where they came from. It was true, he had cared about Vince. But, Vince walled himself away from everyone. Vincent did not want anyone to care about him. He might have had to give something back.
Giving something of himself to another was the one thing Slaughter wasn't prepared to do. He might have been hurt. H.M. put away the notebook and the pencil, unplugged the keyboard and returned it and the headphones to their case. He went back into the bedroom where he slipped beneath the covers.
Reaching over, he gently felt for Lori. She turned over in her sleep, murmured something unintelligible and was quiet again. H.M. tried counting sheep. That d
id no good. He tried to empty his mind and relax with deep breathing exercises. Eventually, he drifted into the limbo that meant sleep would come, if nothing disturbed him.
Lori could tell when she woke that it had been a long night for her husband as the case for the keyboard had been moved into the living room. She closed the door to the bedroom before putting on her jeans and tee shirt.
For a moment she considered going down for tea and toast, but decided against it. She didn't want to be set upon by the media. They could well be prowling around the lobby. They certainly weren't supposed to be, but the hotel staff couldn't always keep them out. Lori called room service instead. She placed an order, making sure she specified they were to be very quiet upon arrival. Once she made the call, Lori disconnected the phone. H.M. needed his sleep.
Sitting quietly on the couch, she asked herself what was she going to do with the time she had available, while waiting for H.M. to wake. She had a book she could read. Reading didn't appeal.
Lori went in search of the hold-all containing her sketchpad and pencils. There was one sketch she wanted to finish before Hamish woke. With a smile she took the smaller sketchbook from beneath the larger one in her holdall. Hamish did not know she kept the smaller one sandwiched between two pieces of heavy cardboard backing in the bottom of the bag.
Opening the sketchbook she smiled at the drawing on the first page. Hamish as he had looked sitting in the sun on the day she kissed him in Glasgow. In the next sketch, he was standing next to his motorcycle. Legs apart, hands on his hips, Hamish was waiting for her. He had not been impatient, he was simply waiting on her.
Lori turned the page. Hair slicked back, drops of water still in his long hair and beard, Hamish was reclining on the deck of the ship they had been married on. The man had no idea how beautiful he really was. His shoulders were broad, his arms corded with muscle.
The next page always caused her to want to go find him and kiss him senseless. That day she teased him unmercifully. At first, he had drawn out the foreplay until she was almost in pain. Lori decided to make him pay.
The things she did to Hamish still made her cheeks burn. Each time he reached for her, she denied him. Finally they had come together. She watched him climax. The look on his face burned itself into her brain. She had to draw it. Lori blushed again as she looked at the drawing.
Now she was working on another sketch. Hamish was smiling. His eyes were closed as he played the keyboard. He was wearing headphones. She peaked at him the night before, but had crept back to bed rather than disturb him. The look of pleasure on his face was so amazing she had to finish it before he woke up.
This was her private collection. Lori had no intention of ever showing anyone these sketches. Putting the last stroke on, she closed the sketch pad then returned it to its hiding place.
Now she would get back to work. After her conversation with the gallery owner, she had a couple of ideas which needed roughing out. There was a good chance the paintings from her connubial depression period might just sell if placed there.
There were so many things she wanted to work on. Sometimes, she felt almost split into segments. Lori knew she needed a studio so she could have the freedom to work on things as the spirit moved her. Hamish also needed his own place.
She was glad Bushmaster was finally over. For two years the band ruled their lives. Nothing, not one decision could be made without taking into account practice, or gigs, or strategies to avoid an increasingly difficult Vincent. It had taken its toll. Now perhaps she and Hamish could get on with doing things for their good instead of having to cater to the good of the whole.
Last night some new ideas had come to her. Bold ideas. Shapes that were almost the shape of animals. Monsters perhaps. Things half seen in the firelight. Shadows on the wall. Nightmares from a caveman's dream. Rapidly, she drew on the paper. The colors wouldn't be particularly bright. She wanted the sense of menace darker colors would give.
A gentle tapping on the door broke her train of thought. With a measure of impatience, Lori threw down the pad and went to answer the door. Taking the cart from the startled bellboy, she threw a bill from her pants pocket in his general direction before jerking the cart into the room. Hurriedly, she poured a cup of tea. The toast lay forgotten under its cover as she went back to work.
She didn't want any of her usual subtle shadings here. Power, fear and uncertainty were what she wanted to portray. The shapes seemed to glide out of her mind onto the page. Sometime later, she laid out five pages of the sketchbook side by side on the coffee table. A voice came from somewhere over her right shoulder.
"That's a departure from yur usual style."
"Oh!" She jerked upward, startled. "Damn it Hamish! Don't frighten me like that. You know how I am when I'm working."
"Sorry. I though ye might have heard me. I did call tae ye from tha bedroom." His hand closed on her shoulder. "Nae, I suppose you didna hear me. Whose nightmare might that be?"
She turned to him eagerly. "You do feel it then, the unease?"
"Fear is more like it. Do ye think people will pay tae be frightened out of their wits in tha safety of their own homes?" He went over to the cart. "Did they bring two cups?"
"Here." Lori pushed her cup at him. "Take mine. Of course they will buy them. Why not? People want to be shocked. You of all people should understand the premise." She started on another sketch.
H.M. picked up the phone. "Bloody thing's dead. 'Suppose I will have tae go down stairs."
"Humm..oh, no. Disconnected." Lori mumbled. He plugged the phone in to place another order with room service. "Want anything?"
Lori didn't reply. Hamish shook his head. She was off and away. He had better wait to let the bellboy in. He doubted Lori would hear anything at this point. Once the food arrived, he would take a shower.
When the knock on the door did come, Lori went on with her work. H.M. exchanged carts with the man before going into the bathroom for his shower. The food would still be warm when he came out. Perhaps by then, Lori would be ready to quit.
He was tired, no doubt about it. A shower would help some, tea more so. He wanted to talk with Ed today. As soon as they had eaten, he would call Ed again. The warm water felt good. In several ways short hair was easier to deal with. Just wash and comb it.
Hamish put the massage head on the hard setting, turned his back and stood beneath the heavy stream of water. When his back began to tingle, he changed position so the water would hit the lower part of his spine.
He really needed a long soak in a hot tub. But, there were things he needed to get done today. Ed first, then Thud.
Thud appeared to be avoiding him. The question was why. He sincerely didn't believe Thud had anything to do with Vince's murder, so why was he being so difficult?
Perhaps he would set up a meeting with Ed and then go see Thud. Thud would be easy to catch before two o'clock. He was the late riser in the band. That might be the best plan. H.M. turned the water off, grabbed a towel and dried off. After taking out the shaving kit, he scraped off the evening's growth of beard. With a dry towel wrapped around him, H.M. went back into the living room.
Lori looked up from the drawings spread across the table. "What do you think?"
With a nod of acknowledgment, H.M. surveyed her morning's endeavors. "What colors are ye thinking of using?"
"Dark gray, purple, red and orange for the sparks from the campfire just in that corner, unseen but for the glow. In this one, storm colors. That one up there, is full of fire, with the background dark."
"Humm. I see what ye're aiming at. Promise me ye willnae work on these alone at night. I dinna want tae be woke up out of a sound sleep because my baby has scared herself silly."
Lori made a face at him, turned and gathered up the drawings. She put the pages back into the sketchbook then returned it and the pencils to the hold-all. "Do you want to eat?"
"Need tae is more like it. Be ah luv an fix me ah cuppa, while I try tae reach Ed."
&nb
sp; "Of course. I know you were up late last night." She went over to the cart. Lori looked under the covers to see what he had ordered. "Oh, that was nice of you. I forgot to eat the first batch of toast I ordered."
He dialed the number Ed had left. The phone began to ring. "I noticed. Dish up, luv, if ye would."
Someone answered on the third ring. "Hello. Is Ed there please? Ed, Mac here. I got yur message. Do ye want tae see me? Where can we meet? Lori, take this down please."
H.M. repeated the street address for her. "Is four this afternoon tae late? We could have ah pint somewhere. Good. See ye then, mate."
Hanging up the phone, he sat down on the couch next to Lori. "Smells good. I'm ravenous."
Lori nodded, her mouth too full of scrambled egg to reply. H.M. took a large gulp of his tea before attacking an English muffin. Silently, they concentrated on their breakfast. When his cup was empty, Lori refilled it. Breakfast finished, Hamish picked up his tea and settled back against the couch with a satisfied sigh.
"I suppose, meeting Ed means we will need to get dressed up again?" Lori pushed the plate away from her.
"Aye. If we want tae get away from here unnoticed. I take it ye're tired of being a blonde already."
"Not particularly tired of it, just not quite ready to go to all the trouble. It does require a certain amount of effort on my part. I guess, I might as well get started."
She stood up and nudged his bare foot with her own. "You just have to get dressed. I have to put on make up. Entirely too much trouble to go to."
With a decided glint in his eye, H.M. grabbed her about the waist, pulled her backward over the arm of the couch and into his lap. "Complain, complain. What a naughty bairn! Per'aps I should turn ye over my knee. Would that suit ye?"
She struggled to get away. H.M. took both of her wrists in one hand. "A tickle. Do you need tae laugh ah bit? Loosen up, as ye Yanks say."
Wired For Sound Page 9
