“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll have to redeem myself at dinner.”
“Just don’t order anything with gooseberries in it.”
“Lexi, you really were a star today. I mean you were so professional and with no notice at all. To be perfectly honest, I was shocked.” That’s more like it, thought Lexi. Pile it on. I need some love.
“Russell, I just did what had to be done. It should have been you, but like I said before, it’s almost certain that no one saw it.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. Mildred tells me they get very good ratings at that hour. I wouldn’t be surprised if we heard from some small local businesses today. We could be off, off and away…”
Walking back to the house, Lexi wonders now if Russell might be right. How exciting if her appearance has sparked some interest. Just remembering being on camera makes her tingle. She hasn’t had nearly enough spontaneity in her life. She opens the door to find Russell sitting at the kitchen counter with Boris on his lap, looking puzzled.
“What’s up, Russell?” asks Lexi, handing him his alfalfa wrap.
“I’ve just had a rather odd phone call.”
“Explain odd?”
“A gentleman called saying he wants to set up a meeting tomorrow morning to discuss our services.”
“That’s fantastic!” says Lexi, “So?”
“Well, that’s just it… so nothing. He said he didn’t want to give away too much information and would explain more tomorrow.”
“Mysterious!” says Lexi. “Did he mention seeing me on TV?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. I arranged to meet him tomorrow morning at The Sunset Marquis Hotel at ten a.m.”
“Ooh, that’s right by my apartment. How cool is this, Russell? Your prediction might have been spot on—maybe this is our first client?”
“Maybe. Oh, Lexi, it’s all rather fast, don’t you think? I don’t want to run before I can walk.”
“Believe me, you’ll be great tomorrow! You just had a bit of a setback this morning and it’s knocked your confidence.”
“I suppose,” says Russell. “I mustn’t let a gooseberry get in my way—not when the Climate Conference in Copenhagen is just around the corner. There are changes to be made. Global emissions to be cut, and meetings to be had! We have to start somewhere!”
“That’s better!” says Lexi.
“You will come with me though?” asks Russell, looking concerned.
“To the meeting? Do you really think you need me there?”
“I’d like you to be there, Lexi,” says Russell, letting Boris nibble an alfalfa sprout.
“Okay,” says Lexi, enjoying the way this day is progressing. “I’d like to be there too.”
GEORGE
25th November, 2009
West Hollywood, CA
LEXI
November 25th, 2009
West Hollywood, CA
George is nervous. More nervous than he’s ever been. More nervous than when he’s about to go on stage with fifty thousand people waiting to hear him sing. He even thought about what he was going to wear that morning. He tried on two different pairs of jeans and four T-shirts. He brushed his teeth three times. He’s never felt the force of fate quite so strongly. He knows this is meant to be. The question is—meant to be what?
Lexi is curious. She has arranged to meet Russell outside the hotel at 9:50 a.m. She wonders why the phone guy was so secretive. The whole thing might end up to be a big anticlimax. She’s wearing her Theory suit trousers with a white shirt and black flats, and she feels suitably polished. Last night Thesis had been on The Tonight Show and she had innocently watched it with Andrew and Carl.
“He’s a hottie,” Carl had volunteered, as George threw himself into “I Knew It,” her second favorite song on the album.
Lexi had shrugged, “Yeah, he’s not bad.” She was working hard on deflating her crush. Fate had other destinations to take her to.
George has suggested to Gabe that the initial meeting be with just the two of them and then, if they’re interested, they can approach the others with the ideas. Gabe is not trying to hide the fact that he has no intention of taking this any further.
“I promise you, George, we’re doing fine. The tour buses all run on diesel. I’ll put energy saving light bulbs in the studio. Buy home grown apples. What are they going to tell us that we don’t already know?”
“Something,” says George emphatically.
There is a knock at the door. George’s heart starts to beat as fast as it did when he was running. Gabe walks across the room to open it, and from where he is standing, George sees a thin man with a long scrawny ponytail and red trousers. What? The man extends his hand to Gabe.
“Russell Hazleton, very good of you to contact me,” Gabe quickly glances back at George as if to say—I told you so. Meanwhile, Russell seems to have a firm hold on Gabe’s hand and is still vigorously shaking away.
“Hi Russell, thanks for coming at such short notice,” says Gabe, opening the door wider and extricating his arm.
“And this is my partner,” says Russell, moving aside, “Lexi Jacobs,” and like an apparition, she appears, behind the red trousers. The third row. You had my heart and you didn’t even know.
George moves forward to shake the real Russell’s hand, which he lets go of very hastily and then he is there. Right in front of her. Skin touching skin. She has long elegant fingers. He can see the freckles scattered on her nose like confetti. He already has an urge to kiss them.
“Hello, Lexi, I’m George Bryce.”
Recognition registers on her face and she looks startled. “I know,” she says, “I mean, hello. Hello, nice to meet you, George.” Gabe obviously didn’t tell them beforehand who the meeting was with.
“Shall we sit then? Can I order you some tea, coffee, juice?” says Gabe, gesturing to a round table in the far corner of the suite with four chairs surrounding it.
Lexi is speechless. Literally. She can’t speak. This isn’t happening. How can this be happening? Of all the things she has imagined about the mystery meeting—this was certainly not one of them. Was she just shaking his hand? She feels lightheaded, as if any second now she might have one of those surreal out of body experiences and float above the table, observing the scene from the ceiling. Russell and her sitting at a table with George Bryce. Her George. The George. No. This isn’t happening.
“I wouldn’t mind some roibush tea, if it’s on offer,” says Russell, who she can see is blissfully ignorant of the curve ball that has just levelled her.
“Roy what?” says Gabe, “I don’t know what that is. Is it an American thing? You might have noticed already that we’re Brits.”
“Actually,” explains Russell, “It’s South African—from a plant grown in Capetown. Very rich in vitamin C.”
“Sounds good, maybe I’ll try some. Lexi, would you like some tea? It is Lexi isn’t it?”
Oh shit thinks Lexi, I’m supposed to answer that. I need to say something.
“No, I mean, yes, it’s Lexi, but no, I don’t want any roibush tea.” So much for yesterday’s confidence peak. Right now she sounds like a bumbling idiot.
“Me neither, Gabe. I don’t want any roibush tea either, so looks like we already agree on something,” says George, looking over at Lexi and smiling, hoping to make the situation less weird. He feels awful that he’s responsible for putting her in this clearly uncomfortable position. He can’t help but notice her neck. The small crevice where the collar bone dips inwards.
Lexi needs to pull herself together. Right now. She needs to behave like the adult woman she is. He’s smiling at her. She wants to slide under the table. She tries to smile back but her mouth feels like it’s made of air-dried clay.
Gabe picks up the phone and orders the tea and two large bottles of water. George wonders why the interviewer called Lexi “Russell” on the television? He’s not certain where to put his hands.
“Well, what do you know, Russell, they
had your roibush. Americans seem to be able to deliver on everything.”
“Some of the time,” says Russell.
“So down to business,” says Gabe, “you’re probably wondering why we asked you to meet with us today. George here is in a band. Quite a well known band called Thesis. You might have heard of them?”
“I think so,” says Russell, tentatively. “Although I’m ashamed to say I’m not really that up to date on current music. I’m quite loyal to Neil Diamond.”
“Forever in Blue Jeans,” says George. “The Diamond’s a legend!” Russell looks elated. Lexi notes how easily he has put Russell at ease. She is very slowly beginning to reoccupy her body and allows her eyes to rest on George’s face, but just for a second. He’s lovelier this close up. He has a day’s stubble and alarmingly blue eyes. Oh my God, thinks Lexi, eat your heart out Radar3Girl.
Gabe continues, “Well, I’m their manager, you see, and George seems to think that we might be able to use your consultancy service to give us some tips on how we could improve our commitment to the environment.”
“I do,” says George, sensing that Lexi has relaxed slightly. He’s already thinking about how he can see her again. No wedding ring. They’re leaving in a matter of hours. “I saw you on the telly yesterday talking about the business—it sounds really interesting.”
He saw me on the telly? thinks Lexi. Telly sounds so sweet! He thought I was interesting? This is too strange. From henceforth I will worship at the altar of the gooseberry…
“I’ve explained to George, Russell, that we’re already doing quite a lot but—”
Russell interrupts Gabe, “Do you go on tour?”
“Uh, yes,” says Gabe, “I mean Thesis are up there, Russell, maybe not with Neil Diamond, but with the likes of Coldplay and Green Day. Our tours are big productions. We travel all over the world.”
“How many people on the tour?” asks Russell, producing a notepad and pen from his hemp bag.
“Maybe a hundred.”
“And what would you say, Gabe, that you are currently doing to support your green commitment?”
“Uh, well… we endorse Fair Trade chocolate. Some of the tour buses run on diesel. We uh, recycle…”
“What?”
“Paper… plastic bottles. That sort of thing…”
George and Lexi look at each other for a moment. He smiles. This time she manages to smile back. Does he remember her from the concert? Of course not! This is all just some huge inexplicable coincidence. Meg is going to pee in her pants when she hears about this. Lexi is just relieved that she hasn’t done the same.
George is imagining the release of “Third Row.” Maybe it will go straight to number one? Doesn’t every woman want a song written about her? Hopefully he and Lexi will be going out by then. If she’ll have him, that is. She might have a boyfriend. For God’s sake, she might not even like him. Plus going out with a musician is a nightmare. Always on tour. Mostly moody buggers. Why would she subject herself to that?
Russell is coming alive with enthusiasm. Lexi can see he’s gearing up into action. Here we go, she thinks, does this mean what I think it could mean?
“Gabe, now please don’t take offense, but ‘that sort of thing’ for a band in your position is just not good enough. You need to be reducing your carbon footprint, or in the least offsetting it. You need to be examining every aspect of the tour for energy efficiency. There are alternatives to diesel now—vegetable-based bio fuels. You need to ban all disposables at your concert venues and encourage fans to bring their own cups and drinks. Why not design a Thesis concert cup made from salvaged car tires, which you can sell on your website, while donating a percentage of the proceeds to Saving the Rainforest?” Gabe is beginning to look like he’s being swiftly converted. There is a knock at the door. He stands up.
“Hold that thought, Russ, while I get your tea.” Gabe sprints to the door and lets the waiter in with a tray of drinks.
George turns to Russell and Lexi, “You’re full of ideas, Russell. I really respect what you two are up to,” that came out a bit wrong. He didn’t mean to imply that the two of them were up to anything together. But what if they were? Was Russell Lexi’s boyfriend? No. No, he couldn’t be.
“Thank you, George,” says Russell.
“I hope you consider letting us advise you,” says Lexi, experiencing a sudden burst of bravery. Surely this has happened for a reason? The concert. The gooseberry.
“I would love to let you,” replies George, thinking that sounded a bit clumsy as well. Clumsy but true. He would love to let her.
Lexi is looking directly at George, trying her hardest not to concentrate on the few stray hairs curling irresistibly out of the top of his T-shirt. In person there is something more timid about him, very different than how he is on stage. She wonders where his ego is hiding.
“Here’s your tea, Russell. South African, huh? Who knew?” Gabe sits back down at the table. “Where were we?”
“Recycled cups,” says Russell, “but that’s just an ice chip from the tip of a glacier. There’s so much more you could do. Each and every one of us is responsible for climate change, fellas.” Is Russell starting to get a bit of a British twang? Lexi wonders if he’s going to leave here sounding like Noel Gallagher. Her courage is building by the second.
“Remember, being in the position you are,” she says with authority, “you have a massive influence over a large demographic, many of them younger. Your music speaks to the hearts and souls of your fans, so why not let your decisive actions do the same?”
Gabe and George are both nodding their heads. Lexi takes a sip of her water. There is an expectant pause in the proceedings. Can Russell pull this off? Thesis are big time. Forget about running before walking, it would be more like climbing Mount Everest when he’s only ever hiked a short trail.
George is nodding like a fool. He wants her to keep talking. He’s watching her lips as they meet the edge of the glass and imagining the faint imprint they will leave behind. It doesn’t really matter anymore what she is saying, he is way past needing to be convinced.
LEXI
November 26th, 2009
Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles
“Honey, just ignore St. Tropez.”
“How am I supposed to ignore this, Mom?” asks Lexi, who is urgently trying to pry the puppy’s teeth off the hem of her dress, while precariously balancing a pecan pie in the other hand.
Lexi’s Mother grabs a can of Coke and shakes it violently around the puppy’s face. It must be filled with coins or nails because it makes a horrifying racket. The dog ignores her, teeth stubbornly clamped, she continues to shake her head with glee.
“Mom, get her off—she’s going to rip it!” says Lexi, also concerned that the pie might fall and crush the dog, who is not much larger than a rat.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” screeches Jeanette, while lunging at the manic ball of fluff.
“What the hell is going on in there?” shouts Lexi’s dad, Al, from the other room.
“Mom’s training the puppy,” says Lexi sarcastically, managing finally to escape the dog and deliver the pie safely to the kitchen counter.
“Jeanie, why didn’t you tell me our baby doll was home?” asks Al, appearing in the kitchen and engulfing Lexi in a big hug. The kind of hugs best given by dads on Thanksgiving.
“Looks like St. Tropez is her baby doll now. She’s moved on from me, Dad,” says Lexi, letting herself sink into her father’s barrel chest. She inhales his familiar soapy smell and kisses him lovingly on the cheek.
“I told your mother, that dog’s a lunatic. She pissed on the remote control right in the middle of Project Runway. I couldn’t even get a season pass.”
“Oh Puh-leaze Alfred! Lexi, you’d have thought the world was ending! You should have heard him rant. Poor St. Tropez almost died of shame. I’ve never seen such a sad little face…” she coos, scooping the puppy into her arms and nuzzling her wet nose.
“Gross, Mom—I’m not kissing you now.”
“What do you wanna bet, Lex, that the dog gets the turkey today and we get Domino’s delivered?”
They all laugh and Lexi feels a familiar warm sense of affinity. Despite having longed for a sibling when she was younger, to dilute the concentrated quality of her parents’ attention, she wouldn’t trade her family in for any other. Even as a child, when Jeanette and Al argued, they made certain to reassure Lexi afterwards that they were committed to working out the kinks.
“We’re in this for the long haul…” her dad had repeatedly said.
Lexi had watched her friends’ parents’ marriages sliced in two through high school and even college, but Al and Jeanette had somehow managed to stay true to their word. It was a lot to live up to.
“So where’s your crew? Your mom tells me we’re feeding the masses today.”
It occurs to her that her dad is right; she has invited everyone to spend Thanksgiving with them. Meg and Tim and the kids. Andrew and his new man, Carl. Even Russell, who it turns out has no immediate family and usually spends Thanksgiving with his vet. The vet and his wife have recently bought a time-share in Puerto Vallarta, and so Russell and Boris were planning on being alone.
“You must come over to my parents’,” Lexi had offered yesterday, caught up in the moment. “We can celebrate our first client!”
“And give thanks for the blessings mother earth is sending our way,” Russell had added.
“That too!” Lexi had agreed, finding it an effort to slow her accelerated pulse. She still couldn’t believe that she had touched George Bryce’s hand, not once, but twice in the space of an hour.
The meeting had ended with a verbal agreement that Russell and Lexi would come back to Thesis with a proposal on how they could slash the carbon output of the band, complete with ideas on how to promote and educate their fan base to do the same. They would charge a preliminary fee for this document, and if all were in agreement, a consultation contract would then be drawn up.
Playing Along Page 14
