“Thanks mate. So, what’s been happening with you guys?”
“Not a lot really. Just gigging, recording and doing promo stuff. You know how it is.”
“You all still in London?”
“Yeah. Me and Joe are flat sharing and, erm…” Badger stopped momentarily to see if Simon was listening in, “Simon’s still at home.”
Jonny stifled a snigger. Rubbing the stubble on his chin to stop his mouth from opening wide and emitting a loud and cackling laugh. Joe and Badger took large swigs from their glasses to halt them from doing the same. Simon’s unimpressed look not faltering, pretended nothing was wrong.
Jonny regained his poise. “Look, I’m coming to London soon. How about we meet up?”
“Yeah that sounds great.” Badger nodded eagerly.
“Sound. I’ll get Jim Bob to arrange something. You remember him don’t you? He’s our manager now.” Jonny pointing his thumb back towards the Karma Life entourage who continued to take centre stage. Industry moguls all clucking around them, hoping for a piece of their success.
Simon tutted and looked away, draining his beer and wandering off to put the empty bottle on a table, so he didn’t have to get involved in the farewells.
“I’d better get back to Eliza and the band. See you soon.”
“Yeah, look forward to it mate.” Joe and Badger shook hands with Jonny again.
Jonny sauntered back to Eliza with the smug satisfaction that he had made the conciliatory move and that there was a chance to meet up with his old time friends when he was back in London. He wasn’t one to bear grudges and anyway he had the upper hand. If anything, they had done him a favour dumping him. He was in a much better place now.
But Simon still living at home? What was he now? Twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven? Nobody Jonny knew of that age still lived at home. Everyone moved out pretty much as soon as they got their first pay packet. What a loser!
“What are you smirking at?” Eliza asked.
“Nothing Angel. Something just amused me.”
“Do you want to dance?” She pulled on his jacket lapel.
“Sure.”
Jonny placed his hands on her swaying hips, following her onto the dance floor as the DJ mixed in “Mr Jones” by Counting Crows. She grinded down his leg, pulling her hands up into her hair, exposing the back of her neck to him.
He could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on them, but he didn’t care. If anything it was their natural place to be. In the spotlight and the centre of attention. They were having a good time and he seriously didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about that.
After an hour of dancing, drinking and laughing, Jonny and Eliza agreed it was time to leave. Kurt and Leesa were ready to go too.
They looked around for Dirk. He was only just getting into his stride and there was no way he was going now. He would most certainly be last man standing.
His arm candy for the night, Tammy, was collapsed in a drunken heap on a sofa. Trying to keep up with Dirk’s superhuman party-stamina was a tall order for most, never mind a young female student. A plastic straw poking out of a bottle of alco-pop, still in the corner of her mouth.
“I’m just going to the mens’ room before we leave.” Jonny told Eliza.
“Okay, I’ll see if Jim Bob can sort out a lift home for Tammy. He’ll probably have to ride with her though. She’s completely gone.”
“Don’t think he will be too happy about that. He looks like he’s really enjoying himself.” Pointing at Jim Bob who was dancing like a maniac to “No Good (Start the Dance)” by The Prodigy. In his grey three-piece suit, complete with flapping silk handkerchief.
“Haha. Hilarious!” Eliza grabbed Leesa and the pair went to join him. Pumping their fists in the air and pogo-ing alongside him.
Jonny was still shaking his head with amusement when he reached the mens’ room door. Holding it open for the person whose footsteps he heard quicken up behind him.
“Hi Jonny. Long time no see.”
Jonny looked around and homing in on the press pass badge dangling around the guy’s neck.
“Sorry mate, do I know you?”
“Yeah. I’m Kevin Thompson from the London Recorder. We did a piece on you at Glastonbury.”
Jonny squinted at him, trying to unsuccessfully recall his face or name. “Oh yeah? Which year?”
“1991.”
“Don’t think so mate. Glasto wasn’t on that year.”
Jonny proceeded to the urinals. He didn’t want to be rude, but he needed a piss and surely there was some rule at journalism school that read, “if you want a good quote never interrupt an interviewee when they need a slash”.
The reporter unperturbed followed him. His cassette recorder poised.
“Sorry I meant ’92. Any chance of an exclusive Jonny?”
“No. Can’t you see I’m busy. See my PR agent.” Throwing one hand up in the air, as if to signal his dismissal.
The journalist turned on his heels.
Jonny caught sight of Simon in the mirror leaving one of the stalls and going straight out of the exit.
Simon didn’t acknowledge Jonny, instead he caught up with the disgruntled journalist. Grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and pulling him back.
Out of Jonny’s earshot he promised, “Hey. If you’re interested I can give you something on Jonny Harrison.”
“Ger off.” The reporter shrugged his shoulder free of Simon’s grasp. Turning around he faced him with an angry snarl on his face. “Who the hell are you anyway?” Stiffly pushing on this chest and strutting back into the party.
Chapter Six
“Three countries in three days.” Jonny stated the obvious to Eliza as the landing gear rattled free of its casing underneath them. The clunking noise making her flinch.
“You would think we were globe trotters or something. But really we only seem to go to the same three places. Ibiza, Amsterdam and London.”
“Yeah, it would be nice to go somewhere new soon though.”
“To have a little adventure. Check out some different culture. Kick back a little.”
“Now there’s a thought. It has been full on for the last few months. Where do you wanna go?”
“Somewhere warm and with some culture.”
“I could go with that. Somewhere tropical.”
“How about we stop off in the Caribbean when we’ve finished the US tour?”
“Caribbean. I’ve always wanted to go there. Yep, that sounds like a plan. Which island though? There’s a lot of them. Antigua? St. Lucia? Barbados? Bermuda? Cuba? Or shall we go to every one.” He sounded like a kid in a sweet shop. “Ooh, what about Jamaica. Yes, Jamaica. What do you think?”
“Yes Jamaica sounds perfect.” She smiled at him. Loving the knowledge he had about most things. Especially considering his experience was pretty limited. The only places he’d been outside of the United Kingdom where with her.
“We’ll have to start looking at flights from America, maybe get Jim Bob on the case to look at places to stay and…”
Eliza put a finger to his lips. “How about we just turn up and go with the flow. Like we used to before anyone knew us. Before we had Jim Bob. Just you and me.”
He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, his nose turning up at the lavender she had rolled on her inner wrist to help keep her calm during the flight.
“Eliza, I do love you. Yeah, let’s go with the flow.”
She nodded but shut her eyes. There was no talking to her when their plane was landing. Placing her other hand over his, digging five fingernails into the back of his hand as the plane bounced and then skidded along the runway. Wheels screeching to a stop at what seemed like the very last inch of the runway.
Their escort was waiting to take them through the VIP security area and whisk them out passed all the everyday travellers to their waiting private ride.
“Where we staying?” Jonny asked Eliza, turning the dial down on the air conditioning in the back of the car.
“Claridges.”
“Claridges?” His eyes widening. “Did you choose it?”
“Well yes, just for a few nights. And only because your mother has arranged for us to have afternoon tea there today. Thought it would be easier. We’ve got a suite with a large roof terrace. Why is it a problem?”
“No not at all, just a bit upmarket for us.”
“We are upmarket Jonny,” she replied, pretending to be serious.
“Ha! You might be, but me I’m a Cockney,” he said in an exaggerated accent.
“Cockney? Don’t you have to have been born somewhere specific in London for that?”
“Yeah within the sound of the Bow bells, but I don’t subscribe to that. I’m a working class Londoner, so in my book that makes me a Cockney.”
“Yeah right. Working class and in a limo on the way to Claridges.”
He stuck his tongue out at her. “Not my choice! Anyway, I don’t have to do the afternoon tea thing do I? Not sure I could cope with the stuffiness of it. Sticking my little finger out, whilst drinking Earl Grey tea from a little china cup, ain’t really my thing.”
“No, not if you don’t want to. I suppose you’ve got plenty of time to see your family.”
“Yeah, I’ll maybe go for a run or something.”
“A run.” She rolled her eyes. “You can go for a run anytime. Why don’t you do something fun instead. Like… see if Joe or Badger are around? Didn’t you say you were going to catch up with them? Failing that there is the Fumoir at Claridges.”
“What’s the Fumoir?”
“The cigar bar.”
“Cigar bar? Never heard of such a thing. Might check that out tonight. Think I would need a cognac or whiskey to go with a cigar and not sure it’s an afternoon affair. I’ll go with your suggestion of seeing if the boys are around. I’m sure Jim Bob has sent me their contact numbers.”
Jonny thought it dangerous to have a cigar. He’d stopped smoking for a few months now and it could quite easily set his habit off again. Also drinking the hard stuff in an afternoon on his own? No. Definitely not. Reminded him of when Eliza left him. He drank to forget. Anything he could get his hands on, at any time of the day. The stronger the better. Lyrics from Ozzy Osbourne’s “Suicide Solution” drifted into his head. Yep, that whole episode in his life was summed up in that song.
“What are we doing this morning?” He lightened his thoughts with the present moment.
“Shopping?”
“Okayyy,” he said, unconvincingly. “Anything in particular?”
“Clothes of course.”
“Oh silly me, of course.” His turn to roll his eyes. “What Oxford St?” The best and worst place to shop in his opinion. Great shops. Horrible crowds.
“No, thinking more like some of the boutiques on the Kings Road or Covent Garden. Maybe Carnaby Street.”
“Ah okay. In that case that’s fine.”
She laughed at him. Typical man, horrified at the thought of department stores and traipsing around their endless floors.
He started searching through his mobile phone for Joe and Badger’s contact details. Texts sent, he relaxed back onto the car seat, looking through the dark tinted panes to the familiar street scenes of London. White Portland stone and stucco clad buildings. Wide pavements, red buses, black Hackney cabs. All symbols of home to Jonny.
He reached his hand across the luxury cream leather, entwining his fingers into hers. “Are you sure about finding a home here?”
“Yes I am and I’m looking forward to an update from your mother on the house hunting.” She blew a kiss across to him.
A receptionist was poised outside Claridges. On their arrival, she nodded to one of the doorman, who stepped forward and opened the car door, offering his hand to help Eliza out.
The receptionist approached them. “Good morning Miss Van den Berg; Mr Harrison. Welcome to Claridges. It’s a pleasure to have you stay with us this week. I’ll take you up to your suite and the porters will follow shortly with your luggage.”
She chatted to them politely whilst waiting for the lift asking about their flight and their plans whilst in London. Very reserved, thought Jonny. No prying or comment. Talking to them like they were dignified VIP’s or royalty.
It was nice.
We do nice very well in England, he thought.
He was glad of Eliza’s choice for a home. He wanted her to have a nice home full of nice things and in a nice neighbourhood. He laughed inwardly at himself. A rock star wanting to do nice.
They marvelled at their suite before deliberating over what to wear to go out on the streets of London. Jonny and Eliza had a distinctive style and were recognised quite readily. They had fun once before, dressing up as an elderly couple, complete with walking sticks, but today decided to go with the standard head gear and sunglasses.
Eliza punched her hat back into shape after being squished in her suitcase. It was seriously floppy and covered most of her long hair, which she had twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She matched it with black sunglasses à la Audrey Hepburn; peering over the top of them to check out her look in the mirror.
Jonny went for a sportier outfit. Fila baseball cap, cargo pants and Airwalk trainers.
“Don’t think we’ll fool anyone.” Eliza looking at Jonny who was eyeing her up and down in return.
“Well at least I can run away if we get mobbed. No chance of you doing that in those boots.”
“They’re not boots, they’re sandals. Roman style sandals.”
“But they go all the way up your leg?” It didn’t take much when it came to ladies’ fashion to confuse Jonny. It either looked sexy or it didn’t. As far he was concerned Eliza always did sexy. And they were sexy boots.
“Here.” She passed him his wraparound sunglasses. “Let’s do this.”
They sauntered across town to the Kings Road. Eliza looking through the window displays to the interior of a bo-ho boutique. The overhead door bell clanging loudly as they entered. Fortunately, it wasn’t very busy on a week day; most shoppers waiting until the weekend to do the sort of browsing she was indulging in today.
“Oooh, look at this.” Eliza held out another white vintage lace dress.
“It’s nice and will suit you.” Jonny replied formulaically. He lost count of how many dresses she had of a similar colour and style.
“I could buy everything in here.” Flitting around the glass cabinets displaying an eclectic mix of accessories and flicking through racks of second hand dresses. “I would have a shop like this if I wasn’t a singer. All these lovely little trinkets too.” Picking up a crystal antique perfume bottle; admiring the way the cuts in it caught the light.
Jonny nodded, thankful she was a singer.
With nothing to show for the last hour of perusing and with cash burning a hole in their pocket they headed towards the tube station.
Jonny lamented about the shutting of his favourite clothing shop, “The Emperor of Wyoming.” “You could get imported American denims there. The 501’s are much better quality than the UK version. Probably the only clothes shopping I could be bothered with.”
“Hmmm.” Eliza placed a finger to the dimple at the side of her mouth. “It would be a real shame… only if we never went to America. Remind me… when are we next there?”
“Okay, little Miss Clever Clogs.” Putting his hands on either side of her waist and giving her tickle that she had to wriggle away from.
They entered the cool dampness of the tube station. Jonny scooting around the many groups of lost tourists, confident about which escalator they should head down.
Away from the labyrinth of corridors, they popped out on to the platform. Eliza halted a few feet away from Jonny; a tactic they often employed when there where people stood around. People eyeing up their fellow passengers, engaging in the sport of people watching; more chance of recognising them if they were together.
Jonny and Eliza. Eliza and Jonny. Never just Eliza. Or just Jo
nny. On stage. On posters. On album covers. On the front page of a magazine, or a newspaper. Always a couple.
He watched her, partly to make sure she was safe, but also to see how other guys looked at her. It was a turn on. No guy, young or old, could walk passed her without looking and smiling. Even wearing her disguise, she was striking to look at. Always stood out in a crowd. His beautiful Angel.
They boarded at opposite ends of the carriage, synchronised in their movements. Both standing at the opposite doorway, leaning up against metal poles, their bodies swaying rhythmically as the tube slinked its way through the underground tunnels.
He looked at her; she looked back at him. The full carriage of people in between them of no consequence.
It was just the two of them.
Always, just the two of them.
The voyeuristic nature of their fifteen minute journey was seductive. No chance to talk, just watch.
It felt to Jonny like it did when he viewed her on stage. Her in the centre, doing her thing, and him to the side watching on.
A couple. Sharing passive communication on a higher level. Shared minds. Shared love.
Simultaneously they alighted at the Covent Garden stop and travelled up through the subterranean in to the sunshine.
The markets were in full swing. Traders shouting their wares and unmissable offers at full belt. Stalls stuffed with leather bags; flowers of all varieties; canvases hung behind the artist painting the bustling scene. Tantalising savouriness of street food wafting in clouds in the air towards them.
Jonny stopped to buy some chips. Eliza turned her nose up at the soggy, flabby, vinegar dosed, potatoes.
“They’re nothing like fries. Disgusting!” Standing next to one of the flower sellers so the sweet scent of magnolia’s and lilies masked the smell of Jonny’s snack.
Licking his fingers, he leaned in to give her a greasy kiss.
“Ughh. Go away,” she jested, handing him a tissue from her bag.
Loving his ANGEL Page 4
