Playing Along (36 page)
Authors: Rory Samantha Green
Tags: #contemporary fiction, #looking for love, #music and lyrics, #music scene, #indie music, #romantic comedy, #love story, #quirky romance, #his and hers, #British fiction, #London, #women�s fiction, #Los Angeles, #teenage dreams, #eco job, #new adult, #meant to be, #chick lit, #sensitive soul
“Unlikely,” says George, hesitant to be bombarded by the overflow of enthusiasts and so-called Hollywood actors who come to the LA shows, most of whom he doesn’t recognize. He’s about to excuse himself from Stacey, when he sees Gabe heading towards him followed by Russell and a tall woman with a silver bob and long black dress. He peers beyond them hopefully.
“George—look who I found dancing in the aisles,” says Gabe, subtly shaking his head, indicating to George that, no, Lexi is not with them.
George clasps Russell’s hand, “Russell—what a pleasure, mate. We’re so glad you could come along.”
Russell looks flustered, “I told Gabriel that we didn’t need to bother you, George, but he insisted. The concert was tremendous. Can I take a moment to introduce you to my lovely wife, Mildred.”
“Of course,” says George, turning to Mildred, “great to meet you.”
“Delighted, George. Russell speaks glowingly,” says Mildred, shaking his hand and gazing at him intently. “I believe you are looking for someone?”
George is confused. He’s never met this woman before but she’s staring right into him, as if she knows his deepest thoughts.
“Looking for someone?” he repeats.
“In the third row?”
George falters, “Do you mean? Is she?”
“Still there? Yes. But maybe not for long so I suggest you—” before Mildred can complete her sentence, George has disappeared.
LEXI and GEORGE
September 4
th
, 2010, 4
th
September, 2010
Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles
Lexi sits watching a gang of burly roadies pack up the equipment, hauling amplifiers and long coils of electrical wire noisily off the stage. When the concert had finished and the audience were filing out, Mildred and Russell had both turned to her expectantly. “You’re coming backstage with us, my dear,” instructed Mildred, sounding like an officious school teacher. “Don’t even think about walking away.”
Lexi hadn’t known what to think. The song had peeled back another layer and she had instantly lost her nerve. George
had
seen her the night of the concert. She hadn’t invented it. He must have recognized her on the TV segment and that’s how Thesis had ended up as clients. They have both been holding onto the idea of each other for the same amount of time. The thought is overwhelming.
“Mildred. I can’t. I won’t know what to say.”
“If his song is anything to go by, dear girl, you won’t have to do much talking.”
“Mildred, my darling,” said Russell, tugging insistently on the sleeve of her caftan. “I understand you are trying to help, but while George seems a very decent young man, it came to our attention in London that he is somewhat of a philanderer…”
“Nobody’s perfect, Russell. Lexi knows that. Do we want her to wait as long as we did, or shall we encourage her to have a crack at true love now?”
“I see your point,” said Russell. “Of course.”
“The boy is obviously besotted by her. Let’s give him the chance to discover that his fantasy is not so far off from the real thing.”
But Lexi had remained cemented to her seat, incapable of complying, terrified that both of their fantasies would never compare. What was she to do? Run backstage and fall into his arms? It was never that simple. She knew that now.
Mildred and Russell had stood over her expectantly, until Mildred, accustomed to dealing with production glitches on a daily basis, had kicked into plan B.
“Okay, Lexi, have it your way. Stay here. In fact go and sit right there,” she had pointed towards the front of the bowl and her finger landed on the third row. “Russell and I are going backstage!” Before Lexi could protest, Russell and Mildred had joined the last remnants of the crowd jostling their way to the exits. She spotted Mildred talking to one of the security guards and pointing in her direction. She’d stood then, knees like elastic, and headed to the third row.
Lexi hangs her head back and stares up at the starry sky, breathing in the immenseness of the moment. It seems that while she’s been busy trying to organize her life, some kind of mystical serendipity has been at work, orchestrating alternate plans. Messier ones. She’s remembering her clothes from The Brits discarded in a pile on the floor, crumpled and twisted. She doesn’t notice George appear from the side of the stage. She doesn’t even see as he swings himself down from the front, dismounting his usual pedestal and landing with two feet on the ground.
When she eventually looks up, he pulls a scrap of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and pretends to be examining it. Lexi feels a rush of blood to her head seeing him this close again.
“Third row, right? If I’m not mistaken, that’s the seat I’m supposed to be in.” George gestures to the chair beside her.
“You’d better sit down then. They’ll be on soon,” says Lexi, feigning indifference and crossing her legs. She can hear her heart buffeting.
George makes his way to the third row and settles in next to her, turning his head to take in an overview of the empty stadium. To think of all the hours he has wasted in the months since he was last in LA allowing his imagination to hijack reality. Looking back, he had barely spoken to Lexi for more than ten minutes combined before he had already mapped out their future. He had mistaken coincidence for destiny. Life was never quite so eloquent. But now that he is sitting next to her again, there is no mistaking the unspoken chemistry between them—the inexplicable charge and curiosity that had first fused inside him the day he ran by her.
“You seen these guys before?” he says nonchalantly. “They any good?”
“Yeah—they’re not bad. I’ve seen them once before. I was dragged by a friend. The lead singer’s kinda sexy, in a British sort of way.”
George laughs, “You think? I’ve heard he’s a right moody bugger.”
“Probably that too—no doubt a full-fledged narcissist. You know how musicians can be?” says Lexi, turning to look at his profile for the first time. He has a slight bump on the bridge of his nose that she hasn’t noticed before. A lot has changed since they last saw each other, but not her urge to reach out to him. To touch him.
“Absolutely. Best to steer well clear of them,” says George.
“I guess he was really disappointed when he found out that one of his best friends was sleeping with his girlfriend. You must have read about it?” asks Lexi conspiratorially. “It turns out the baby wasn’t even his.”
“I did hear something about that,” says George, playing along, “but maybe we were reading different articles. I read that she
wasn’t
his girlfriend. She never had been. The big disappointment came when he discovered the woman he was falling in love with was actually planning to get married to another man, but had conveniently neglected to tell him. I heard the poor sod didn’t eat for weeks.”
Lexi swallows hard so she can keep speaking. “Juicy! But you must have missed the second instalment. That woman was never engaged.”
“She wasn’t?”
“She was asked. But she said no.”
George reaches over and takes Lexi’s hand. He laces his fingers into hers.
“She said no?” he says with a smile in his voice.
“Yes, she did. She was falling in love with the lead singer as well.” Just hearing herself speak the words fills her with nervous anticipation.
“Other people’s lives, huh?” says George, finally turning to Lexi. He lifts her hand and presses the back of it to his lips, planting a cluster of delicate kisses all the way to her wrist, sending a ripple of shivers down her spine. Her skin is smooth against his mouth. Without letting go of her hand he leans in and touches his lips to hers and the memory of their first kiss is eclipsed within seconds. This second kiss, under the stars, all the more precious because both of them had imagined it might never happen again, is sweet and warm and urgent. George cups his free hand to Lexi’s cheek and when they separate, they immediately are drawn back together again, kissing each other with a slowness and passion that is an entirely new sensation for them both.
One of the roadies on the stage wolf whistles and Lexi and George pull apart laughing. George waves.
“What d’ya reckon?” he says. “These idiots have kept us waiting long enough. Shall we go and get a drink? I think we could do with getting to know each other. Properly.” He holds tightly to Lexi’s hand. This time around he has no intention of allowing her to slip away.
“I think you might be right,” says Lexi, who is more than prepared to live with the mess, and with the sparkling spirals, leaping back to life above her head. “I can catch their show another time.”
“Don’t bother,” says George, pulling her up from the seat and towards him. “I bet they’re totally overrated.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” says Lexi, quietly confident that her verdict is already in.
RORY SAMANTHA GREEN has lived in both London and Los Angeles. She likes to think she has a split personality—British and American. Rory is a published author, trained psychotherapist and creator of Write To Be You, Reflective Writing Workshops.
You can read her weekly blog at
and visit her on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/RorySamanthaGreen
RORY SAMANTHA GREEN has lived in both London and Los Angeles. She likes to think she has a split personality—British and American. Rory is a published author, trained psychotherapist and creator of Write To Be You, Reflective Writing Workshops.
You can read her weekly blog at
and visit her on Facebook at