with no reservations and no one to blame, blame, blame, no one to blame
find your own reasons, sculpt your own dreams,
I’m at a table for one, you’re not what you seem…
The piano mounts to a rousing crescendo and urges Lexi on. She’s annoyed by the appearance of another runner approaching her in the opposite direction. It’s as if he’s interrupted something intimate, a private space she doesn’t want trespassed. As he passes her by, their eyes meet for barely a second and she thinks two things: God—he must be hot in that wool hat, and I wonder if he saw me crying?
GEORGE
20th November, 2009
Hollywood, Los Angeles
As predicted, the last few days have disappeared in a flurry of arrangements, musical and otherwise. With the show on the horizon, the Thesis machine has kicked into seriously high gear and George has watched Gabe skippering a team of many, including instrument techs, roadies, publicists, and lighting engineers.
In rehearsals George has been feeling completely in sync with the rest of the boys. There are times when he sits down at the piano, fingers poised, when he wishes he could stop time and preserve the moment, so exquisitely full of anticipation. But then he starts playing, and he opens his mouth to sing, and it’s as if his ability to control anything evaporates, and he is overcome with the inevitable. Overcome with the music surging through him and out of him. Overcome with the invisible threads of sound linking him to each band member, each instrument, each note. George has heard it said before, but he’s felt it himself, in those moments he is merely a vessel, and the feeling is all at once humbling and exhilarating.
It’s the day before the show and they have just completed a final sound check. George sits on the edge of the stage dangling his legs over the side like a boy balanced on a bridge about to skim stones in a river. He looks out at the room full of empty seats and feels surprisingly peaceful. He remembers the first time they played Glastonbury, how his gut twisted before they went on stage at the prospect of being faced with a sea of writhing bodies and faces. He wondered in that moment how he could please a field of thousands if he couldn’t meet the expectations of two? But it was only after they made it on the stage and began their set, that he allowed himself to be elevated by the massive crowd who, unlike his parents, would love him because of his music. It was that simple. The crowd wanted him to succeed. He sang from his core that night and experimented with being completely uninhibited on stage, bounding around and letting his voice lead his body wherever it chose to go. Their debut at Glastonbury was legendary. Fans still reminisced about it today.
Gabe appears and sits down next to George. “Sounding superb.”
“You’re biased.”
“Well, what else do you pay me for?”
“Got me there.”
“We’ve just released the tickets on the website—your adoring fans will be going ape shit.”
“Excellent. I should take a look online.”
“So, my friend, we’re almost there. One more run through tomorrow.”
“Nope. I’ve talked about it with the lads. We don’t want to over rehearse. It might take something away from it.”
“Expect the unexpected and go with it then.”
“Something like that.” George fishes a pen out of his back pocket and writes go with it on the palm of his hand. “So what do you think, Gabe—you think we can keep this up until we’re old men?”
“Well, there are many who have paved the way.”
“Yeah, but what if I—”
“You won’t.”
George understands that neither of them knows exactly what he was going to say, but the specifics are irrelevant. What does matter to George is that Gabe is his anchor. The dependable voice of reassurance that went missing inside his own head a long time ago.
LEXI
November 20th, 2009
The 10 Freeway East, Los Angeles
Lexi is driving home exhausted. Looking back she considers the night of the blind date and the morning after to have been a blessing, disguised in beige loafers and a loud shirt, but a blessing nonetheless. Running around the neighborhood the next morning, Thesis resonating around her head, she’d had somewhat of an epiphany. It was as if George Bryce was speaking directly to her, telling her to find her own reasons and sculpt her own dreams. It all made sense now—she had spent most of her life relying on other people to determine her happiness—her parents, Meg, Andrew. She had absorbed their perceptions of her like invisible fumes seeping into her pores, becoming the person they thought she should be—popular, positive, pretty. But even that hadn’t worked and she had lost Lexi along the way—lost the woman she wanted to become. She had also lost her edge, which she is determined to regain at this juncture in her life.
Lexi had called Russell after the run and said she wasn’t feeling well enough to work. She had spent most of the day crying, something she hadn’t allowed herself to do since she was a very little girl. Somewhere along the line she had taken her mother’s mantra, “Tears won’t help, my beauty, let’s look on the bright side” to be an indisputable truth, embedded into their family constitution. But tears had helped. They had flushed out something toxic swirling under the surface of her skin, and Lexi had woken up the next day with a renewed outlook. It was time to shed everyone else’s wishes for her and discover her own.
Quite how she was going to do this was still a bit fuzzy, but she knew Russell and the development of the business played a crucial role. She had to channel all of her energy into expanding Let The Green Times Roll. She wanted to make an impact in the world—to hear the bouncing echo of her shout rather than the hushed breath left behind by a whisper. Now was not the time for a relationship. No way. This was Lexi time. Even thinking about finding a man would derail her. I’m at a table for one. And she was going to choose whatever she wanted from life’s menu, instead of relying on someone else to do the ordering.
She’d spent the last two days in overdrive. Russell didn’t know what had hit him when she got back to work.
“I was convinced you’d be livid about the television interview,” he had said while brewing her an echinacea tea, “I told Boris to be on his best behavior.” But Lexi had returned with a flame at her heels and assured Russell they could make it happen by next Tuesday. He will be ready to go in front of the cameras, and behind the scenes, she will be ready for business.
“And I’m very much looking forward to meeting Mildred Cotton,” she had declared magnanimously, hoping to eclipse some of the bitterness she had initially felt.
“Yes, yes!” Russell had replied, blushing nervously, “Me too. I’m sure you’ll find her as engaging as I did.”
Now, two days later, stuck in Friday night traffic on the 10 freeway, Lexi is feeling entirely spent. She wasn’t actually sick before, but today she can feel a sharp scratch at the base of her throat and when her phone rings and she sees it’s Meg, she decides not to answer. They usually speak at least once a day, but she has avoided talking to her since Wednesday morning, purposefully trying to put some needed distance between them.
When Meg has texted, Lexi has replied only to say, “all’s well just super busy at work.” But two minutes later it rings again. Lexi feels a swift rush of guilt, what if something has happened to one of the children? She reaches for the phone.
GEORGE
20th November, 2009
West Hollywood, Los Angeles
“How the fuck did this happen?” The band are all together in Gabe’s room and George is staring at the laptop screen completely dumfounded.
“I don’t know, George, you must have lost your notebook.” Gabe has had the unfortunate job of delivering the news that the lyrics for “Over Time” have been leaked on the Internet.
“I didn’t lose my notebook. I’ve got my notebook. It’s not even a song yet. The only person who’s seen the lyrics is Simon.”
“What are you implying?” says Simon indignantly. “You thi
nk I took our lyrics and sold them to a friggin blogger? Why would I do that?”
“Of course, you wouldn’t—I don’t know, but how the hell did they get here,” says George, pointing angrily at the computer screen. “Did you show them to Stacey?”
“No! I didn’t show them to Stacey. I didn’t even have them. They’re in your bloody book.”
“Lighten up, guys,” says Duncan, putting his feet up on the desk. “It’s not like some kind of mainland security has been breached. So what if the lyrics are out. You can still write the fucking song…”
“Dunc is actually talking sense for once, George,” says Mark. “Let it go—” George can’t understand why they don’t get it. He feels violated. Those are his words, his thoughts. Fresh. Barely born. The formation of songs for a new album is a painstaking process and it can take months, even years for the vision to articulate. He knew this song was integral but it’s been hijacked now—thrown into the glare of scrutiny way too early. He will have to let it go—all of it.
“Anyway,” says Mark, fiddling with his wedding ring, “I do mean to change the subject here, because I’d like to know why Duncan and I hadn’t even seen the song yet.”
“It was too early,” defends George, “you know we don’t show you things until they’re in better shape.”
“Why?” asks Mark.
“Yeah, why?” adds Duncan. “What’s up with that? I thought we’d talked about bringing us in on the process sooner?” There had been some conversation about this after Sounds As if was released, but nothing had really come of it. George and Simon had always drawn the outline and then Mark and Duncan helped colour it in. The terms of their union were entirely equitable, all song royalties split four ways. If it wasn’t broken—why fix it?
“I don’t know why—it’s just what’s worked in the past. Hasn’t it, Sim?” George looks to Simon to back him up. Gabe is staying conspicuously quiet.
“Yeah mate, but it’s like it all rests upon you,” says Simon, finding it difficult to look George in the eye. “Maybe Mark and Dunc need to get more of a look in. You know, show up from the start instead of being brought in somewhere in the middle.”
“I’ve got some lyrics, George,” says Mark, quietly. “I mean, not up to your standard, but Simon’s seen them and he thinks they’re pretty good. I was going to wait to mention it, but now that it’s come up, I was thinking I could contribute to a song on this next album.” George slowly closes the lid of the laptop and stands up. He feels shaky. Not only because of the stolen lyrics but this completely unexpected mutiny on top of it. Was this the beginning of the chasm he had always dreaded?
“You should have said something,” says George to Mark, unsure of what else to say. He doesn’t have a history of knowing how to repair ruptures in relationships. He would never have guessed that the rest of them felt so undermined or considered him to be so domineering.
“I just did,” says Mark.
“Come on, boys,” says Gabe, the absent anchor, suddenly speaking up. “It’s the big night tomorrow. We’ve all been looking forward to this and you’ve worked bloody hard. It’s crap timing that the lyrics were let loose today, but the show must go on, right? I’m sure you all just need a bit of space to think about what’s been said. We can pick the conversation back up in London.”
“Gabe’s right,” says Duncan, “I vote we all go grab a brew and get pissed.”
“Sorry, lads. Stacey’s waiting for me,” says Simon, looking eager to leave. George can sense him pulling away and the sensation is visceral, like a muscle weakening, withering from lack of use. How long have they all felt like this and why is he the last to hear about it?
“I’ll come,” says Mark, “Anna’s shopping anyway.” He turns to George. “You joining?”
George wants to try to sound normal. Wants to act as if nothing has changed, but his fear is that everything has. “Not right now,” he says, hoping that he’s the only one who can hear the tremor in his voice.
LEXI
November 20th, 2009
West Hollywood, Los Angeles
Lexi had attempted to answer Meg’s call, but just as she was reaching for her phone she had noticed a police car a few lanes to the left. Using a hand-held in the car incurred a hefty fine and she wasn’t going to risk it. She’d switched her phone off and turned up the stereo, reassuring herself that there was probably nothing wrong and she’d check her messages later.
She’s barely walked through the front door when her home phone rings. Andrew is with Carl, the apartment is peaceful, and Lexi is preparing to go to bed for the entire weekend with 1000 mgs of vitamin C, a stack of trashy magazines and a packet of Red Vines.
“Hi there,” says Lexi, hoping to sound as normal as possible. “Everything okay?”
“OH MY GOD!” says Meg in her most dramatic voice, “More than okay. I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour—can you talk?”
“I’m not feeling a hundred percent,” says Lexi, “but I guess I can, for a minute or two.”
“Okay, okay. Soooo—remember when I entered that lottery to win the Thesis tickets for Tim’s birthday?”
“I remember,” says Lexi.
“Well, they’ve sent me an e-mail and I won! These tickets are like gold dust, I mean all the Facebook fans were desperate to get their hands on them and I can’t even believe it, but I actually got them!” Her voice is getting higher by the second.
Lexi wishes she’d never answered the phone. The last things she needs to hear right now is Meg gushing about Thesis. Lexi’s finally working on being a grown-up—following her eco learnings—finding her own passions. She doesn’t need to get sucked into Meg’s delirium. Although… she must admit that she has felt an uncanny connection between herself and George Bryce since seeing the video and listening continually to his music. She knows it’s so silly, but it’s as if the lyrics are speaking to her—guiding her in her new direction. Anyway. Whatever. Let Meg have the girlish crush on the twenty-something Brit boy. Lexi has more important things to concentrate on.
“Hello?!! Are you there?” says Meg.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” says Lexi, “I’m just feeling shitty today. That’s awesome about the tickets though. I’m sure you and Tim will love it.”
“Are you losing brain cells, Lex? I’m not taking Tim! After that fiasco on Tuesday—he’s in the dog house—no booty for two weeks and no concert. Girl’s night out. Tomorrow night—Sexy Lexi and Meg the legs!”
Sexy Lexi—she hasn’t heard that one in a while—her nickname in the eighth grade when she had been the first of the two best friends to kiss a boy. His name was Lucas. His lips had tasted of chalk.
“Tomorrow?” repeats Lexi, feeling a swell of delight, “I’m not sure, Meg—I do have a sore throat.” She has this odd sensation that she needs to protect her excitement and not let on how much she would really love to go. Meg is already infatuated with George. In high school, they had always lusted after the same boy.
“Forget your sore throat. I told you I’d make it up to you. You have to come. I’m not giving you a choice. Do you still have your white mini dress—the one you wore to The Spin Doctors at The Greek?”
It’s just a concert, right? She’s permitted to have some fun. She can’t hold a grudge with Meg forever.
“I’m not so sure, but sounds like I better go look for it now.”
“Yay!” says Meg squealing loudly, “it’s going to be just like old times.” And that’s the part that worries Lexi the most.
GEORGE
21st November, 2009
The Avid Theatre, Hollywood
Customarily, an hour before performing, George and the boys shrink their world, close the door of their dressing room and won’t permit anyone in—even Gabe. This hour is sacrosanct. They don’t request gallons of Smirnoff, vats of caviar and cocaine, or pink toilet seats. They normally ask for a small table, three packs of cards, twelve bags of Walkers salt and vinegar crisps, a case of Orangina and two sixp
acks of Corona beer. The band then embarks on rounds of Switch, a card game taught to Simon and Mark by their grandfather when they were eight. It’s a ritual that George can’t do without. They think Simon is reigning champion, but they have lost count along the way, relying on the hour instead to shut out nerves and bind them together. By the time they get on stage, they are like four teenage boys who have been shut in their parents’ basement all afternoon, full of mischief and spark, prepared to make an impact.
Tonight should be no different, even though they will be playing to an audience of two hundred and fifty instead of twenty thousand. But after yesterday’s revelations, George knows that something has been lost. Maybe even irretrievably. Earlier that day, George had asked one of the band’s PAs to run to the English Shop in Santa Monica to buy a large party sized tin of Quality Street—top chocolates. He’d shared them generously as a feeble peace offering. The boys had all laughed and helped themselves, but still, George can’t seem to shake yesterday’s criticisms, roughly unpicking the stitches from an old, neglected wound.
LEXI
November 21st, 2009
The Avid Theatre, Hollywood
Lexi and Meg have third row seats. Center. When they arrived at The Avid theatre and were directed to the front, Lexi thought Meg was going to have a coronary right there and then.
“This is beyond! Just beyond, Lex. Do you realize we’ll be able to smell him from here!”
“Lucky us,” said Lexi sarcastically, but inside she was secretly thrilled. The last concert she went to see was Michael Bolton with her parents. She had sat between them and when he sang “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?” her mother had squeezed her knee.
GEORGE
21st November, 2009
The Avid Theatre, Hollywood
There isn’t a support act tonight. The doors open at 7:00 p.m. and the boys will come on at 8:00. There’s a baby grand piano on stage, and a variety of unusual instruments will make appearances infusing the sound with something special. Andrea Evans, a harpist for the Los Angeles Philharmonic, will join them for “A Suitable Dawn.” In rehearsals she’d sounded hypnotic.
Playing Along Page 10
