Chapter Five
April brought the much-needed Easter holiday. Aimee went home for the entire two weeks. Keith met me at noon and we feasted on crepes and tea before taking a walk in Regents Park. Spring was everywhere. The cherry trees were in bloom and the bare branches of other trees had light green buds protruding. We settled along a grassy knoll beside the canal. Keith played his guitar while I sketched a mother goose corralling two babies. They reminded me of clockwork toys flitting about in the water.
“So what is it with you and that guitar?” I asked as I took out a green pastel crayon to capture the color of the grass. “You always have it with you.”
“I learned to play on this guitar. It belonged to my friend, Ian Covington. He’s the one who worked in the guitar shop on Denmark Street –- the one whose idea it was to start a band. I hope some day I play as good as him.”
I sensed Ian wasn’t around any more. I set down my sketches and faced him. “What happened to Ian?”
That sad expression I’d seen on Denmark Street returned. He stopped playing. “He OD’d nearly two years ago. He was lead guitarist, and I was rhythm guitar. Even then Ryan managed us. He was the clever one. When we heard the devastating news about Ian, we couldn’t replace him, so continued as a trio and I became lead guitarist.”
“I couldn’t bear it if you overdosed.”
“Ian was a big drug user. He had a worse home life than me.”
“Did he introduce you to drugs?”
Keith nodded. “None of us knew how much Ian was using ‘til it was too late.” He wrapped his free arm around me, began caressing me and his hand crept up my skirt.
I slapped his hand away. “Not here, you twit.”
“Why? I want the world to know I’m in love with you.”
“Snogging is one thing. Going further in public is quite another.”
With a devilish gleam, he stood up, guitar in one hand. “Hey, everybody, I’m in love with the most gorgeous girl in the world!”
People looked our way. “Stop that!” I reached up, trying to yank him down, but he managed instead to pull me to my feet.
“Not until you kiss me,” he threatened.
“That’s blackmail!”
“This is her!” he shouted louder. “The most gorgeous . . .”
I pulled him down to my level, engaging him in a long, passionate lip lock. Then with his guitar in his right hand, he wrapped his left arm around me as we meandered back to the street where the Healey awaited, zipping us off to a night of passion.
When school resumed, I was so busy preparing my paintings and sculptures for my first year presentations, I spent long hours at the academy. Keith and I would often meet mid day just to spend time together, then it was back to the academy.
At last summer arrived. I had finished my first year of art school. Keith met me that afternoon, claiming he had a surprise. We drove to Chelsea, ending up in a small courtyard surrounded by quaint buildings with flower boxes adorning bay windows.
He took my hand and we walked up to the big green door, put a key in, shoved it open, then up a flight of stairs and into a huge flat. We entered a large main room with wood floors and floor to ceiling windows. It was very posh. The windows even arched at the top.
He grinned like a little boy on Christmas. “It’s my new flat. I leased it today.”
“How can you afford . . . Oh, you used your trust fund.”
“Yes, I have a new place big enough for us both. Better yet, my dad doesn’t know.” He shut the heavy wooden door, leading me further inside, down a short hallway. “Look,” he pointed. “We have this big bedroom to ourselves. I even got a double mattress.”
The only items in the room were some empty beer bottles, his acoustic guitar leaning in one corner, and the mattress sans sheets in the center. Before I could say anything, he pulled me into the room and began kissing me. I kissed him back, before pushing him away. “You’re spending that trust fund like water. Chelsea Cloisters is subsidized for students. Why did you move?”
Keith flopped onto the mattress with his feet on the floor. “I’ve dropped out to devote all my time to the band. I don’t want to be a pianist. I’ll live off my trust fund until the band makes money.”
“Does your father know?”
“Fuck no. He and my mum are moving to Grimsby. Good riddance.” He picked up his guitar and began picking at it.
I snuggled next to him, running my hand inside of his leg. “I won’t feel differently about you if you tell me what happened. It wasn’t your fault. You were just a child.”
“I know that now, but back then I was convinced something was wrong with me. My parents hated me. It wasn’t until Frank and Louisa took me in that I knew what love was. I consider them my parents. But my real parents decided I wasn’t entitled to a happy childhood and the asinine judge, who was probably bribed by my dad, sent me back to hell.”
“There were conditions, right? Louisa said your mother had to get psychiatric treatment and your dad had to stay home.”
“But the damage was done. I kept running away until my dad said he’d have me thrown in a juvenile center.”
“Okay, I’m beginning to understand why you resent him.”
“Well it’s worse because I kept running away, always to Ryan’s. Frank and Louisa always took me in. They treated me like their own. I was part of a family with a brother and older sister. But, my dad got a court order to keep them from having contact with me. I guess he figured if I didn’t have them to go to I would quit running away, but I still did.”
“How old were you then?”
“Eleven or twelve. School became my only solace. Sometimes I stashed a sleeping bag in my locker and used a gym mat to sleep on. I’d bring food from home or nick stuff from the school. Sometimes Ryan snuck things to me. Then I overslept one morning and was discovered by the custodian. I was sent to the school shrink, but no one could help. Ryan and I still had contact and still consider each other brothers.”
“Your dad seems to be trying to make amends. He’s been supporting you.”
“It’s more like I’m property to do whatever he wants with. If I don’t go along with it, he threatens to withdraw his support. It’s always money for him.”
“If my parents didn’t adopt me, I might have ended up like you. They may be over protective, but I couldn’t ask for better parents.”
“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Your parents aren’t related to you, but treat you like a princess. My parents conceived and gave birth to me and treated me like shit.” “In a way, you’re adopted too. Frank and Louisa just couldn’t make it official.”
“When they took me in and went to court, I learned there were good people in the world. They directed me to a youth shelter. Ryan and I spent lots of time there. That’s where we met Ian.”
“I still feel there’s part of you I can’t touch –-it’s very dark and scary. Then there’s that part you do share I find irresistible.”
Keith set his guitar down and wrapped me in his arms. “Writing songs and being with you will keep the dark side away. I just want my parents out of my head and my life.”
I sighed. “Do you have plans for summer?” I wanted to change to a lighter subject.
“We’re making a record.”
“Really? When?”
“Hopefully next week.”
“I have a plan, then.” I ran my hand up the inside of his legs.
He gave me a suspicious look.
I laughed. “Don’t give me that look. I’m going to Brittany week after next. Come with me. My parents want to meet you.”
He gave a mock shudder.
I gave him an affectionate punch. “They’ll like you.
He leaned over and kissed me. “Spend the night with me. Our inaugural night in my new flat.”
“Ask me after I’ve eaten.”
He knelt in front of me. “Brigitte Antoine, what is thy bidding?”
I burst out laughing.
We bought crab cakes, salad and a bottle of chardonnay and sat on the wood plank floor of his sitting room. “After we return from Brittany I’m going to look for a summer job,” I said between sips of wine.
Keith stopped eating long enough to look at me as if I’d sprouted another head. “Doing fucking what?”
“I’ll check out postings at the academy. I want something related to art.”
“I hoped we’d spend the summer shagging.” He wrapped me in his arms and we started kissing.
“What do you say we break in our new bed?” Keith suggested.
“Je suis á toi,” I quipped.
Keith shot me a wild grin, took my hands, brought me to my feet, swept me into his arms and carried me to the bed. We somehow shed our clothes before Keith was on top of me, caressing my entire body as I descended into pure euphoric bliss. I was sailing on clouds.
When at last we lay breathless beside each other, Keith rolled over and kissed me. “I’d love to shag you all night, but I have a concert.”
“All good things come to an end,” I sighed.
When we arrived at the club, Ryan intercepted Keith. “Good, you’re here. We start recording on nights we don’t gig. We need to squeeze in evening and weekend sessions since Billy and Jimmy have day jobs.”
The audience began chanting “Piss Ants! Piss Ants!” Billy and Jimmy had since staggered in.
“Looks like you’re going on now,” Ryan said. “Your admirers grow restless.”
The band headed to the stage, and I got as close as I could.
“I’m not sure we’ll play for you lot tonight,” Keith quipped. “You’re not showing near enough enthusiasm.”
The cheers that followed were so loud I was sure my ears would ring for a week. And I wore earplugs.
“All right, if that’s the best you can do, I guess there’s only one thing for it. This one’s called No Connectiion.”
As Keith sang the words,
There’s no connection ‘tween me and you.
I’m not connected to what you do.
The bonds are broken, we can’t renew.
And after what you put me through
No connection! (no more)! No connection! (no more)!”
I got slammed into, jostled about and nearly knocked off my feet. I watched as several kids leaped onto the stage only to fly into the waiting arms of comrades below. The dance floor was packed like a proverbial tin of sardines
After the show, we waited an hour backstage for the crowd to dwindle to avoid the mob scene that was greeting Keith regularly now. “I’d better escort you two out,” Ryan recommended.
I was relieved at Ryan’s offer. He was seventeen, but at six-foot-three –- maybe six-four, and over 200 pounds, plus a body builder with a black belt in karate, we couldn’t ask for a more formidable bodyguard.
Keith shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette. “If it makes you feel better. ”
“It makes me feel better,” I piped up.
The next morning Keith left for a band meeting. I stayed.
I was tidying up Keith’s flat when I heard a key in the door. Keith and Ryan entered carrying a sofa.
“Hi. luv.” Keith immediately dropped his end of the sofa and greeted me with a kiss.
“Where the hell is this going?” Ryan asked. “I’m not standing here all day holding this bloody sofa.”
“I have good news,” Keith said. “We’re going to Brittany together.”
I gave him a big hug. “I’m so excited!”
“We have to meet with some recording people. I’ll probably be a couple hours.”
We parted with a long embrace and kissed again.
I returned to our bedsit to call my parents. My father answered as my mother picked up the extension. I told them Keith and I would be down for two days only.
“What are this lad’s intentions toward you,” my father asked.
“We’re very committed and very in love.”
“How do you know?” my mother said. “You have not known him long.”
“Because it feels right. When we’re there, be nice. He tends to be shy.”
They promised. I still had doubts.
“What did they say?” Aimee asked as I hung up.
“Same old thing,” I answered. “I hope everything goes well.”
“Good luck,” Aimee sympathized.“
Aimee went with me to the concert that night. The Piss Ants hit the stage like a hurricane. Keith and Billy bounced around like rubber balls without missing a note. By now everyone knew the words to their rewrite of Monty Python’s Philosophers Song and sang along. The place, as always, was packed solid and I got jostled quite a bit from assorted moshers slamming into each other.
When all was over, we loaded the equipment, dropped Aimee off and staggered into Keith’s flat about three a.m.
“What’s in all these boxes?” I asked.
Keith shrugged. “I stored stuff at Frank and Louisa’s. It wasn’t all from my old flat.” He flopped onto the sofa and lit a cigarette. “I threw my guitar strings in one of the boxes and can’t find them.”
It was four in the morning. I was exhausted. I wondered how Keith could stay up so late yet always wake earlier than me in the mornings.
True to form, Keith kissed me awake the next morning.
“What time is it?” I groaned, stirring.
“Almost ten.”
“I’m going to buy a piano. I haven’t played in two days and am having major withdrawal. And you, luv, by your own admission, will whither to nothing if you don’t eat. So what do you fancy?”
“Anything is fine.”
He kissed me again. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
After gobbling down croissants and fruit salad, we spent an hour in Chelsea Piano with Keith giving many instruments a vigorous work out by playing Mozart and Beethoven, even some plunky rock tunes and ragtime. They all sounded alike to me, but Keith went back and forth between three.
“The uprights are less expensive,” I pointed out. “Why are you so stuck on a grand?”
“They’re baby grands,” he corrected. “They sound better.”
I gasped at the price of the one he was playing. “It’s nearly 4,000 pounds. You’re running through that trust fund like water.”
“I haven’t spent a tenth of it,” he defended. “Besides, I need a good piano.”
Keith finally narrowed his choice to a slightly less expensive model and managed to negotiate a lower price. I was impressed.
When we staggered into the club that evening, Ryan announced, “Fantastic news, mate. We got an offer to open at the Roskilde Festival in Denmark.”
Keith couldn’t contain his excitement. “You’re bloody kidding! When?”
“Last of June. I know it’s last minute, but news about us has spread outside of London, and they need to fill a last minute cancellation. We’ll have to record in two weeks. I want to sell the tape at the festival. I’m also trying to get us gigs at the Borderline. Don’t say anything or you’ll jinx it.”
The audience chanted, “Piss Ants! Piss Ants! Piss Ants!”’
Keith stood and embraced me. “Are you braving it out there?”
“Of course. It’s not fun anywhere else.”
Billy and Jimmy went on stage, getting things started.
Keith embraced me and we engaged in a long kiss.
“Quit bloody snogging, you two!” Ryan said. “We’ve got a show to do.”
Billy got the audience yelling “Keith! Keith! Keith,” until Keith finally emerged. Loud cheers emanated.
“It’s so lovely to be wanted,” Keith quipped before ripping into the chords of Down at the Pub.
When the gear was loaded into the band van, it was three a.m. These late nights were killing me. To make matters worse the obnoxious sound of the door buzzer woke us around eight. Keith sat up. “Bloody hell! Who the fuck could that be?”
“I don’t know,” I groaned, “But they’re interrupting my beauty sleep.”
Keith got out of bed and pulled on the Levis he grabbed off the floor, then turned to me with a desperate look. “Maybe my dad found me. Will you ask who it is?”
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
