“It would look bad if I turned them down.”
“Your willingness to give up our time to go off and jam with people makes me realize I’m not as important as your music.”
“Come on, luv, be fair. Other musicians are noticing us. It’s an honor to be asked to jam with them. I’d love you to come this time.”
“Oh, bully! I could have gone to art galleries today, but knew you wouldn’t and I wanted to spend the day with you, but you won’t show me the same consideration.”
“Going to art galleries won’t make or break your career.”
“How do you know? Maybe I’ll see something inspiring or find someone to take my work on commission.”
“If someone saw you painting here and asked to see more of your work to sell somewhere, I wouldn’t be upset at all.”
“You just don’t get it.”
We reached the hotel and traipsed across the lobby to the lift. “Look, my career is really taking off and I have to grab any opportunity.”
“Have your little jam session. Don’t think of what the night would have been if we were together.”
The lift landed at our floor and I stomped down the hall towards our room. Upon entering, I immediately shed my clothes.
Keith broke into a broad grin and wrapped me in his arms. “You know, we have time for a quick one.”
I broke free. “You made your choice tonight and it wasn’t me. Go off with your new mates, then. But I’m leaving here tomorrow around ten. You better not oversleep either because we can’t afford a third night.”
I slipped into my negligee.
“I wish you wouldn’t be so cross with me,” Keith said.
“You’re making that hard,” was all I could say. “Just go. You can’t keep your new mates waiting, can you?”
I went to sleep alone again.
With the obnoxious ringing of a ten a.m. alarm, I opened one eye before waking all the way. Keith was passed out beside me, again fully clothed except for his shoes. I was tempted to leave him and take the train back alone, but it was our money paying the hotel.
I showered, dressed, did my hair and makeup. Keith hadn’t stirred.
I gave him a good shove. “Get up! We need to check out in less than an hour.”
Keith groaned. “Bloody hell!”
“You have yourself to blame. You obviously were drinking all night.”
He sat up, momentarily burying his head in his hands. “I feel bloody awful.”
“I guess you don’t need colds or flue. You give yourself the same with hangovers. Take a cold shower.”
He went to the bathroom while I packed. He emerged still looking like he hadn’t slept.
I glared at him. “So much for an extended honeymoon. You spent the last part getting drunk and now you’re hung over and as conversational as a house plant.”
“I’m not hung over. We were jamming most the night is all.”
“And how many beers did you consume during this jamming session?”
“Fuck if I know, but I don’t have a fucking drinking problem. I don’t get drunk.”
“No, you just pass out and wake up with a hang over. You can’t control it.”
Keith lit a cigarette as we gathered our things and headed out. “I have control and don’t need anyone telling me how to live.”
I shook my head. My words were futile.
He slept all the way back and I had to shake him awake as we pulled into the station.
“I can’t wait to get some uninterrupted sleep,” he grumbled as he lit yet another cigarette and we wound our way to the Tube.
We finally arrived at the flat. It was dusty –- and stifling hot. I opened a couple windows as Keith collapsed onto the sofa. “I’m picking up the post and buying some groceries,” I said. “I assume you won’t come.”
“Fuck no. I need more sleep. I promise I’ll be better company tonight.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
I popped down to the landlady’s flat to collect the post.
“Hello, dear,” the landlady said, opening the door. “Come in. You’re in time for tea.”
Not wanting to seem rude, I took her up on her offer. “I mustn’t stay long,” I said. “I just came for our post.”
She made me sit at her table, which was adorned with a lacy white tablecloth and fine china. “Tell me, dear, how was your trip and how is married life?” She poured me a cup and passed the cream and sugar.
“It was an adventure.” I scooped a spoonful of sugar into my tea and added cream.
She foisted some biscuits at me. “I just baked them. Your timing is perfect.”
She continued asking me endless questions of where we’d been and laughed heartily when I told her of Keith’s encounter with the ghost.
It was probably half an hour before I said I had important errands and really must be off and could I have my post. She handed me a stack of envelopes, made me promise I’d visit again soon, before relinquishing me from her cozy flat. I sat on the steps, sifting through the post before coming upon an envelope with my father’s handwriting. I opened it and out fell a check. A letter from both my parents expressed their sorrow my visit ended badly. They hoped I was enjoying myself, as they hadn’t heard from me. They concluded that they still didn’t accept my decision to marry so young, but didn’t want that jeopardizing my education. This check should sustain me through summer and another would follow in the fall.
I felt like crying and screaming with joy. I would call them today to tell them I received the check and survived the tour. I dropped the rest of the post in our flat. Keith was passed out on the sofa. I shrugged it off and took the Tube to Aimee’s. I emerged into the bright sunshine and walked to the old bedsit, climbed the stairs that squeaked and moaned, and knocked on the door.
Aimee unbolted the door and jumped up and down screaming. “Brigitte, you’re back!” She grabbed me for a huge hug. “I worried when I didn’t hear. I got your postcards.”
“There wasn’t time to call anyone,” I explained. “We arrived in each city with barely time to eat before going to the show and didn’t get back until three or four in the morning. Then we had to get up early for the next gig. We leave for Denmark tomorrow.” “I thought you were back yesterday. I tried calling but got no answer. Your parents said they hadn’t heard anything either.
“Oh, that was romantic.”
I shrugged. I wouldn’t mention Keith was home sleeping off yet another hangover. I filled her in on the fun parts of the tour and added the parts about Ryan and how I didn’t feel like selling any more.
“I don’t blame you,” Aimee agreed. “I’m surprised Ryan acted that way. He always seemed nice and was there for your wedding.”
“It surprised me too. Keith says he got stressed, what with it being their first ever tour. As long as Keith doesn’t keep spending his trust fund like water, we’ll survive.”
“We should celebrate you being back,” Aimee insisted.
“We will after I’m back from Roskilde. I’m not sure I want to go. None of my favorites are playing this year.”
“You get in touch the minute you’re back. And call your parents. They’re worried.”
I felt much better after visiting my best friend, but when I returned home Keith was gone. There was no note either. Where is he? He promised the evening would be ours. I doubt anyone invited him to a jam session. Perhaps he’s with Ryan.
I put away the groceries, gathered our clothes to do the washing, and scribbled a note for Keith. It was more than he deserved.
An hour and a half later, I dragged the laundry upstairs, stumbled through the door, and found Keith in the kitchen.
“Oh, there you are,” he said with a grin. “I figured since you were doing the washing, I’d fix dinner. Sit down. It’s ready to serve.”
I glared at him. “Where were you?”
“Getting my car at Frank and Louisa’s. We have to be there so bloody early tomorrow, the Tube isn’t even running.”
“You might of left a note,” I said, cringing at the thought of getting up so early.
Keith shrugged as he put two steaming plates on the table. “Here you are. Grilled halibut breaded in seasoned crumbs and parmesan and a green salad. Unfortunately there’s only water to drink. A bottle of chardonnay would have done nicely.”
“I figured you’d had enough alcohol in the last twenty four hours.”
He gave me a disgruntled look, but said nothing more.
“If you’ll do the washing up, I’ll put away the laundry,” I offered.
“As you wish.” He gave a quick bow, making me laugh.
It wasn’t five minutes when Keith snuck in, grabbing me in the ribs, making me jump out of my skin.
“You twat! You never tire of that, do you?”
Keith laughed. “I don’t and you are oozing so much sex appeal I sensed it from the kitchen. I had to take advantage. He ran his hands up my blouse.
“I don’t know why I can’t resist you. I should make you suffer for last night.”
He began kissing my neck, causing me to giggle. “This is what I hoped for last night when you unmercifully abandoned me.”
“Duty called. When I’m famous, we’ll bang each other whenever the mood strikes.”
I unzipped his Levis and began my own massaging.
“Now you’ve reached the point of no return,” Keith said with a smirk as we scrambled out of our clothes and crash landed onto the bed.
“Don’t forget the condoms,” I said between kisses. “We dodged a few bullets last month and can’t take any more chances.”
“Bloody hell! They’re in my bag. I don’t know where that is.”
“It’s on the floor by the bed. Now get one or I’m not playing.”
Grudgingly, Keith dug one out. “This is the next to last one.”
“Perfect. We have one for Denmark, then I’ll get back on the pill when we return.” I pulled him towards me and we started snogging. Keith put on the condom and we soon created as much heat inside as was wafting through our open window. All was right with the world again. I would have to call my parents from Denmark because now I was having too much fun –- enjoying the euphoria enveloping my every fiber.
When the bliss was over, Keith kissed me. “I can’t seem to wind down. I haven’t played piano for days anyway.”
“Because you slept all day,” I reminded him. “I’m glad there’s no beer in the house.”
He kissed me again before putting on the Levis he’d shed. I felt guilty I hadn’t called my parents. But they’d still be there when I returned.
The five a.m. alarm came way too soon. I groaned, punching the button to shut off the obnoxious buzzing.
Keith fixed breakfast while I got our things ready, then ventured into the kitchen for scrambled eggs and kippers.
“We’ll do the washing up when we get back,” Keith said. “We’re late and Ryan’ll be pissed off.”
“Ryan’s always pissed off,” I replied.
Frank drove us to the airport in the van, so I sat on Keith’s lap to make room.
“You’re a brave young lady traipsing off with these lads again,” Frank said. “You make sure they treat you right.”
I didn’t mention his son was the one not treating me right.
Ryan fetched a trolley and we loaded our bags –- four electric guitars, one stand-up bass, a boxed up drum kit and a box of 500 tapes.
Billy’s Mohawk, now bright orange, attracted several gawks. As we awaited our flight, a boy of five or six, pointed out Billy’s hair to his mother. Said mother seemed focused elsewhere.
“Do you wanta touch it?” Billy asked him.
The little boy approached, but before he got close, his mother yanked him back, horrified. “Don’t go near him!” she admonished, hastening him away.
“Blimey, lady, it’s not poisonous,” Billy yelled after her. The rest of us laughed.
Our flight was called and we took our places in the queue. Billy had an aisle seat across from Keith and me. As fate would have it, he sat next to some elderly woman who looked a bit frightened of him. Two other elderly women got caught in the queue and stopped to stare at him. Billy made kissy faces at them and they looked shocked.
“Why would anyone do that to themselves,” one said as if Billy couldn’t hear.
Keith leaned over. “He had cancer. All his hair fell out and that’s how it grew back.”
It took all my strength not to laugh.
The women looked taken aback, quickly took their seats, saying nothing more.
A couple hours later, we arrived in Copenhagen, then rushed to the other end of the airport, barely catching the connecting flight to Roskilde. This plane was small with propellers. I tried not being nervous as it soared above some body of water.
We finally landed, but my relief was short lived. We had to get through customs. The agents didn’t look friendly. They questioned why I had a French passport, but a London address. I explained I was a student in London but just married and hadn’t changed my permanent residence yet. The woman interviewing me raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question me further. I breathed a sigh of relief when she stamped my passport. As one by one we got through customs, it reminded me of the three billy goats getting over the bridge. Billy was interrogated longer than anyone. They thoroughly searched his bag and seemed disappointed when they found nothing. Surely they must be used to musicians of different ilk wandering through for the festival. I sighed with relief when we got through without being locked in a dark room with a single bulb.
We headed to baggage claim, snatched our things, piling them on a trolley.
Keith grabbed his new guitar when it came around. “I don’t see the other electric,” he said. “That’s Ian’s guitar. Where’s Ian’s guitar?
“Don’t panic yet,” Ryan said. “It’ll turn up.”
We kept eyeing the carousel while Keith grew more panicked. “Where the fuck is it?”
“I think there’s still new stuff coming around. Give it time,” Ryan kept reassuring.
“If they harmed or lost that guitar . . .”
I’d forgotten that guitar had been Ian’s. Still, Keith’s reaction surprised me.
At long last the coveted instrument came rolling past. Keith immediately grabbed it. “What have they fucking done?” he screamed. “The case is all dented.” He undid the clasps and with great trepidation, peeked inside.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
