‘OK, have a shot but if nothing’s doing, screw ’em.’
‘They’ll agree, I guarantee it.’
The lead singer was named Matt Wilde (sic). He had acquired the mandatory mid-Atlantic drawl for rock stars. Plus, he scratched a lot. Mick found them rehearsing in a warehouse at the Elephant. He listened to their set and thought, Christ, they’re bad.
Matt called a break and signalled to Mick. Being summoned by a nineteen-year-old pup was energising. The star was scratching his neck, asked, ‘What’s yer bag man?’
‘I’d like you to reconsider doing the Law ’n’ Order party gig.’
‘No can do man, never gonna happen. It hasn’t got, like, cred. You hear what I’m saying?’
Mick shrugged, asked, ‘Do any Vince Gill?’
‘What?’
‘You have a mobile?’
‘Course.’
‘Tell you what, give Kate a buzz.’
‘Kate?’
‘Is there an echo in here? …Yeah, Kate, yer model girlfriend.’
Matt was less sure of himself, took up his mobile and, as required, dialled. ‘Kate?’
‘Matthew, hi.’
Mick said, ‘Ask her if there’s a blue Datsun parked outside.’
He asked … waited, then, ‘There is … OK.’
Mick nodded, said, ‘There’s a bloke sitting here, he’s got an acid container … need I paint a picture.’
Matt jumped at him and got an almighty blow to the solar plexus. The band members murmured but didn’t move.
Mick said, ‘Copyright infringement but we’ve got it sorted … haven’t we, Matt?’
Matt, still on his knees said, ‘I’ll go to the cops.’
Mick hunkered down beside him, said, ‘That would be very silly. Where would Kate get a new face, eh? You have a little think about it.’
Mick stood up, patted Mart’s head, said, ‘I think coffee break’s over.’
‘There’s no such thing as unconditional love. You just find a person with the same set of conditions as yourself.’ (Mark Kennedy)
Falls wasn’t sure what to wear. She had been through her wardrobe, rejected it all. He’d said, ‘Let’s have a drink, see how we go?’
Out loud she said, ‘Meaning, if I don’t bore the arse offa him, we’ll move to level two.’ And instantly chided herself.
If she was to get out of the mire, she’d need to change her attitude. Decided to go down-home-folks, pulled on tight worn 501’s and a UCLA sweatshirt. Pair of red baseball shoes and she was Miss Selfridge.
‘What do I call you?’ she’d asked.
He thought about it, then, ‘Ryan.’
‘Like Ryan O’Neal?’
He smiled, ‘Not really.’
They’d arranged to meet at The Cricketers. When she arrived he got out of a car, said, ‘You’re on time.’
‘Oh, was it a test?’
He stopped, said, ‘You’ve some mouth on you.’ But he was smiling so she let it slide.
Inside, the pub was hopping and he explained, ‘Darts night.’
‘Oh.’
She’d made a commitment that come what may, she’d tell the truth. Even if he asked what she did. Most times, say you’re a cop, they’d say, ‘You’re never!’
What hung there was not a woman being a cop but a bogey, a
Okay.
He asked, ‘To drink?’
‘Bacardi and coke.’
Got a table away from the dart players. He came with the drinks, scotch and water chaser, said, ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers, Ryan.’
A tight smile as his drink hit, then he asked, ‘What do I call you?’
‘Yvette.’
First lie.
‘Nice, I like it.’
‘Do you work?’
‘Customer services.’
Second lie.
She crossed her fingers, a third lie was outright wicked so she asked, ‘Are you married?’
‘That’s fairly direct, does it matter?’
‘If we’re planning an engagement.’
He traced his finger on the rim of the glass, said, ‘I’m married with two kids, I’m not planning on leaving her.’
Falls was taken aback. At the very least, he could have whinged that his wife didn’t understand him.
She said, ‘Yet…
‘What?’
‘You’re not planning on leaving her
He gave an uncertain smile and she added, ‘Give a girl a bit of hope.’
‘Oh.’
Jeez, she thought, is he going to be as thick as two planks.
Then he said, ‘I don’t like lying.’
‘You must have an amazing wife … shit, I mean life.’
He finished his drink, grimaced, then: ‘I said I don’t like it, not that I don’t do it.’
The music got louder and Falls asked, ‘Like this?’
‘Yeah, I do, but I don’t know it.’
‘It’s Ocean Colour Scene.’
‘I believe you.’
‘Called “Beautiful Thing” with PP Arnold on there.’
‘You like music?’
‘C’mon Ryan, what colour am I?’
‘Sorry … look Yvette, could you cut me some slack here. I’m nervous and it cuts my banter into shit.’
She felt her heart jump, touched his hand, said, ‘Nervous is good.’
Later, they drove up the Edgware Road for bagels and lox. You have to know someone real well or not at all. Plus, it helps if they like lox. She did.
That night, after they’d made loud, sweaty, exhilarating love, she said, ‘Is it just me, or does lox sound slightly obscene?’
Crying time
