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indriSUMMARY: Giles and Ethan, the electric Kool-Aid funky Satan groove year, in the early seventies. Rated M. Spoilers to Band Candy. Acknowledgements and disclaimers.
28.
Ripper still felt pretty trippy at noon the next day. He'd stayed up too late, drank too much, had too strong a joint, and underneath all that he was still half-convinced he could fly like a bird.
He was deeply unconvinced that this would improve his chances at the audition.
Plus, at some point in the wee hours he had actually considered leaning over and kissing Ethan, which, well, should he count the reasons why not? One: In front of other people. Two: Adrienne. Three: He wasn't even sure yet if he liked the man.
All this was very distracting, as was Adrienne, who had mercifully agreed to drive him to the audition. She was in her rock-chick drag, which this time consisted of a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut top. A very low-cut top. Ripper eyed her from the passenger seat.
"Are you still drunk?" she asked him.
"Or stoned," he said, "I'm really not sure."
"Are you going to be able to hold it together?"
"I suppose we'll find out." He peered at her. "You're very chirpy."
"I had a fantastic night's sleep," she said. "You were all very considerate and quiet after midnight."
"We were being owls," he said.
The audition was being held in a Working Men's Institute near Ladbroke Grove. It had been advertised in the paper. The Grins were still unsigned as a band, but they had a good reputation on the pub circuit: Ripper had been to one of their shows and had come away impressed. But rumour had it that their lead singer and guitarist was now on permanent holiday in Spain after an incident involving half a pound of TNT and an Islington hotel. Why an Islington hotel, Ripper didn't know.
There was a small crowd outside the Institute, if eight people could be considered a small crowd, which Ripper thought they could. One of them was Gary. Gary! He could barely play bass, let alone lead guitar. What was he doing here?
Gary came up to talk with them. "He's looking a little under the weather," he said to Adrienne.
"Who's 'he'?" demanded Ripper. "The cat's mother?"
The audition was supposed to start at twelve-thirty, but the doors were still locked. People started to mill around, looking for another entrance. Gary went back to his car to check the time in the paper.
At quarter to one, a van pulled up in a sidestreet. Out stepped the four remaining UK-resident members of The Grins. They were long-haired, skinny, and lanky. It was perhaps his imagination, but he thought they looked rather hungover too. They unlocked the front door and waved people in.
Ripper was very interested to see what kinds of guitars his competition had brought. There seemed to be quite a mix. Unfortunately, a few had ones much more expensive than his. "Don't you worry," he said to his guitar.
Adrienne whispered, "You know that you're saying that quite loudly?"
The Grins asked everyone to take turns playing a favourite song. Everyone's favourite song seemed to include a solo by Eric Clapton, except that, well, Eric Clapton was not in the room. Indeed, Eric Clapton did not appear to be sharing the same continent with many of these people.
Now it was Ripper's turn. Adrienne gave him an encouraging pat on the thigh. He went to the front of the hall, hung his guitar over his shoulder, and took a seat on a wooden stool. He decided to play a song that he used to practice quite a bit back in Oxford. He felt relaxed and peaceable, and as if he were back in his rooms during a term break, when his room-mate was on holiday, and only the porters were likely to complain about the sound.
When he stopped, there was a scattering of applause. Ripper couldn't remember if the earlier entrants' music had been applauded.
Then it was someone else's turn. While the next entrant sang, Ripper went to sit back with Adrienne. The Grins' drummer came up and handed him a beer.
"Can you play bass?" asked the drummer, "even a little?"
"Why?" asked Ripper.
"Because our bass guitarist wants to play lead sometimes."
The Grins' bass guitarist waved at Ripper from across the hall.
"Ah, yes, I can," said Ripper. "I can play bass."
"Can you play it when you're drunk?"
"Drunk or sober," said Ripper.
"Good, 'cos Tim can play when he's sober, but he's shit when he's drunk." Then the drummer got distracted by Adrienne's breasts.
"So?" prompted Ripper.
"We've got to pack up here, but we'll see you in the pub over the road in fifteen, yeah? Three gig trial, to see if we can stand you when you're not playing guitar."
"Great," said Ripper.
The drummer went back to sit with the rest of The Grins.
"Well, congrats," said Adrienne.
"Yes," said Ripper, wondering when it would sink in.
"I can't stay for the pub though," said Adrienne. "I've got things to do. If I take the car back, will you be OK to get home?"
Gary said, in a loud stage whisper, "Shhhh!"
Adrienne took Ripper's arm and took him outside to sit on the steps. She gave him a cigarette and lit up one for herself. Ripper took a swig of his beer.
"That went all right," he said. "I wonder when our first gig is."
"Not next weekend, I hope," said Adrienne. "I'm going to be away."
"Away?"
"It's my mum's birthday. I'm going to go home for the party."
"Oh," said Ripper. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No," she said.
Ripper looked at her, thinking she was going to say, "No, not yet," or "No, it's too soon," or even "No, my parents hate all my boyfriends." But she didn't, she just said, "No," without modifier or explanation. No, Ripper was not going to meet her parents, now or anytime soon.
"All right," he said. He stared into the bottleneck of his beer for a while. When he next dared to glance over, she was looking cool and unconcerned. She stubbed out her cigarette onto a concrete step.
"I'll see you at home," she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
He could hear the auditions finishing inside. He swallowed the last of his drink and then walked over the road to the pub. He spent the afternoon celebrating with his new bandmates and getting very, very drunk.
29.
Randall was lying on his back on the stairs, blocking the way down. Because of the angle and the dim hallway light Ethan couldn't see his eyes, couldn't tell whether Randall was awake or asleep. It was late at night, so he ought to have been asleep. His position looked uncomfortable, but Randall could sleep anywhere, on chairs, under tables, curled up on pebbled beaches, even on one occasion standing up against the fridge. Ethan would probably be able to just roll him to one side of the stairs without waking him at all.
"What do you think," Randall then said, at once making it clear that he was awake and had heard Ethan, "I should paint next?"
"Not the ceiling," said Ethan. "You won't sell your work that way."
"I don't paint for money," Randall said.
"What about recognition?"
"Not that either," said Randall.
"The joy of sharing your art with others?"
"I think," said Randall, "I do it because I like to paint."
"Then paint the bloody ceiling," Ethan said, mildly, "but let me get downstairs."
Randall shifted himself to one side, but as Ethan walked past, he seized one of Ethan's ankles. "I want to paint something about magic, about what it means to us, how it links us together and to everything else in the world. I want to paint that."
"It's good to have an ambition," Ethan said.
Randall starting stroking his ankle, in that same sexless way he had with Diedre. Ethan really rather Randall didn't, and pulled his foot free.
"If I paint it with magical symbols, in some kind of pattern, like the warding sigils, only, I don't know, more powerful..."
Against his better judgement, Ethan sat down on a stair next to Randall. He looked up at the smooth, white-washed boards that Randall had cleaned up more than a year ago. "You want to paint a painting about magic that's also magic in itself."
"Yeah," said Randall.
"Do you think that's technically possible, Ripper?" Ethan asked. Ripper had appeared on the lower landing and was now stepping very carefully onto the first stair. He was carrying his guitar and looked very, very drunk.
"Hm?" asked Ripper.
"Hey, congratulations," said Randall. "I heard you got into the band."
Ripper tottered visibly on the step. Ethan and Randall stood up and went to help him, supporting him on either side until they got him upstairs and into his room. Randall took his guitar from him and helped him off with his jacket. Then they got him to lie down onto the mattress. Randall went downstairs to fetch water while Ethan untied Ripper's boots.
"However did you get home on the Tube in this condition?" Ethan asked him.
"Didn't," Ripper said. "Had a few more drinks with Stan when I got home."
Ethan pulled off Ripper's socks. He liked Ripper's feet, actually. He started to idly massage the ball of one foot with his thumb. When he looked up, Ripper either hadn't noticed or was pretending not to. Then Ripper made a sudden lunge over towards his jacket, groping in the pockets. Ethan leant over to help, brushing against him. In the pocket was a packet of cigarettes, so Ethan lit one up for him. Ripper lay back on the mattress with the cigarette between his lips.
He was just in his jeans and t-shirt now, stretched out long in front of Ethan. Ethan ran his hand along the inside of one leg, up to the thigh, and Ripper kept on pretending not to notice, just looking up at the ceiling and smoking his cigarette. The pretence at once amused and annoyed Ethan.
What a pity Ripper was too drunk to be of any real use right now.
Randall came back into the room with a tray. He'd brought a jug of water, a glass, four painkillers, and a tiny bottle of vodka. Randall could be a very thoughtful man.
"We'll leave you to it," said Ethan.
Randall went back to lying on the stairs. Ethan had intended to spend the evening working through the next spell in Spivak, but he doubted he'd be able to concentrate now. He decided to go out instead.
28.
Ripper still felt pretty trippy at noon the next day. He'd stayed up too late, drank too much, had too strong a joint, and underneath all that he was still half-convinced he could fly like a bird.
He was deeply unconvinced that this would improve his chances at the audition.
Plus, at some point in the wee hours he had actually considered leaning over and kissing Ethan, which, well, should he count the reasons why not? One: In front of other people. Two: Adrienne. Three: He wasn't even sure yet if he liked the man.
All this was very distracting, as was Adrienne, who had mercifully agreed to drive him to the audition. She was in her rock-chick drag, which this time consisted of a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut top. A very low-cut top. Ripper eyed her from the passenger seat.
"Are you still drunk?" she asked him.
"Or stoned," he said, "I'm really not sure."
"Are you going to be able to hold it together?"
"I suppose we'll find out." He peered at her. "You're very chirpy."
"I had a fantastic night's sleep," she said. "You were all very considerate and quiet after midnight."
"We were being owls," he said.
The audition was being held in a Working Men's Institute near Ladbroke Grove. It had been advertised in the paper. The Grins were still unsigned as a band, but they had a good reputation on the pub circuit: Ripper had been to one of their shows and had come away impressed. But rumour had it that their lead singer and guitarist was now on permanent holiday in Spain after an incident involving half a pound of TNT and an Islington hotel. Why an Islington hotel, Ripper didn't know.
There was a small crowd outside the Institute, if eight people could be considered a small crowd, which Ripper thought they could. One of them was Gary. Gary! He could barely play bass, let alone lead guitar. What was he doing here?
Gary came up to talk with them. "He's looking a little under the weather," he said to Adrienne.
"Who's 'he'?" demanded Ripper. "The cat's mother?"
The audition was supposed to start at twelve-thirty, but the doors were still locked. People started to mill around, looking for another entrance. Gary went back to his car to check the time in the paper.
At quarter to one, a van pulled up in a sidestreet. Out stepped the four remaining UK-resident members of The Grins. They were long-haired, skinny, and lanky. It was perhaps his imagination, but he thought they looked rather hungover too. They unlocked the front door and waved people in.
Ripper was very interested to see what kinds of guitars his competition had brought. There seemed to be quite a mix. Unfortunately, a few had ones much more expensive than his. "Don't you worry," he said to his guitar.
Adrienne whispered, "You know that you're saying that quite loudly?"
The Grins asked everyone to take turns playing a favourite song. Everyone's favourite song seemed to include a solo by Eric Clapton, except that, well, Eric Clapton was not in the room. Indeed, Eric Clapton did not appear to be sharing the same continent with many of these people.
Now it was Ripper's turn. Adrienne gave him an encouraging pat on the thigh. He went to the front of the hall, hung his guitar over his shoulder, and took a seat on a wooden stool. He decided to play a song that he used to practice quite a bit back in Oxford. He felt relaxed and peaceable, and as if he were back in his rooms during a term break, when his room-mate was on holiday, and only the porters were likely to complain about the sound.
When he stopped, there was a scattering of applause. Ripper couldn't remember if the earlier entrants' music had been applauded.
Then it was someone else's turn. While the next entrant sang, Ripper went to sit back with Adrienne. The Grins' drummer came up and handed him a beer.
"Can you play bass?" asked the drummer, "even a little?"
"Why?" asked Ripper.
"Because our bass guitarist wants to play lead sometimes."
The Grins' bass guitarist waved at Ripper from across the hall.
"Ah, yes, I can," said Ripper. "I can play bass."
"Can you play it when you're drunk?"
"Drunk or sober," said Ripper.
"Good, 'cos Tim can play when he's sober, but he's shit when he's drunk." Then the drummer got distracted by Adrienne's breasts.
"So?" prompted Ripper.
"We've got to pack up here, but we'll see you in the pub over the road in fifteen, yeah? Three gig trial, to see if we can stand you when you're not playing guitar."
"Great," said Ripper.
The drummer went back to sit with the rest of The Grins.
"Well, congrats," said Adrienne.
"Yes," said Ripper, wondering when it would sink in.
"I can't stay for the pub though," said Adrienne. "I've got things to do. If I take the car back, will you be OK to get home?"
Gary said, in a loud stage whisper, "Shhhh!"
Adrienne took Ripper's arm and took him outside to sit on the steps. She gave him a cigarette and lit up one for herself. Ripper took a swig of his beer.
"That went all right," he said. "I wonder when our first gig is."
"Not next weekend, I hope," said Adrienne. "I'm going to be away."
"Away?"
"It's my mum's birthday. I'm going to go home for the party."
"Oh," said Ripper. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No," she said.
Ripper looked at her, thinking she was going to say, "No, not yet," or "No, it's too soon," or even "No, my parents hate all my boyfriends." But she didn't, she just said, "No," without modifier or explanation. No, Ripper was not going to meet her parents, now or anytime soon.
"All right," he said. He stared into the bottleneck of his beer for a while. When he next dared to glance over, she was looking cool and unconcerned. She stubbed out her cigarette onto a concrete step.
"I'll see you at home," she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
He could hear the auditions finishing inside. He swallowed the last of his drink and then walked over the road to the pub. He spent the afternoon celebrating with his new bandmates and getting very, very drunk.
29.
Randall was lying on his back on the stairs, blocking the way down. Because of the angle and the dim hallway light Ethan couldn't see his eyes, couldn't tell whether Randall was awake or asleep. It was late at night, so he ought to have been asleep. His position looked uncomfortable, but Randall could sleep anywhere, on chairs, under tables, curled up on pebbled beaches, even on one occasion standing up against the fridge. Ethan would probably be able to just roll him to one side of the stairs without waking him at all.
"What do you think," Randall then said, at once making it clear that he was awake and had heard Ethan, "I should paint next?"
"Not the ceiling," said Ethan. "You won't sell your work that way."
"I don't paint for money," Randall said.
"What about recognition?"
"Not that either," said Randall.
"The joy of sharing your art with others?"
"I think," said Randall, "I do it because I like to paint."
"Then paint the bloody ceiling," Ethan said, mildly, "but let me get downstairs."
Randall shifted himself to one side, but as Ethan walked past, he seized one of Ethan's ankles. "I want to paint something about magic, about what it means to us, how it links us together and to everything else in the world. I want to paint that."
"It's good to have an ambition," Ethan said.
Randall starting stroking his ankle, in that same sexless way he had with Diedre. Ethan really rather Randall didn't, and pulled his foot free.
"If I paint it with magical symbols, in some kind of pattern, like the warding sigils, only, I don't know, more powerful..."
Against his better judgement, Ethan sat down on a stair next to Randall. He looked up at the smooth, white-washed boards that Randall had cleaned up more than a year ago. "You want to paint a painting about magic that's also magic in itself."
"Yeah," said Randall.
"Do you think that's technically possible, Ripper?" Ethan asked. Ripper had appeared on the lower landing and was now stepping very carefully onto the first stair. He was carrying his guitar and looked very, very drunk.
"Hm?" asked Ripper.
"Hey, congratulations," said Randall. "I heard you got into the band."
Ripper tottered visibly on the step. Ethan and Randall stood up and went to help him, supporting him on either side until they got him upstairs and into his room. Randall took his guitar from him and helped him off with his jacket. Then they got him to lie down onto the mattress. Randall went downstairs to fetch water while Ethan untied Ripper's boots.
"However did you get home on the Tube in this condition?" Ethan asked him.
"Didn't," Ripper said. "Had a few more drinks with Stan when I got home."
Ethan pulled off Ripper's socks. He liked Ripper's feet, actually. He started to idly massage the ball of one foot with his thumb. When he looked up, Ripper either hadn't noticed or was pretending not to. Then Ripper made a sudden lunge over towards his jacket, groping in the pockets. Ethan leant over to help, brushing against him. In the pocket was a packet of cigarettes, so Ethan lit one up for him. Ripper lay back on the mattress with the cigarette between his lips.
He was just in his jeans and t-shirt now, stretched out long in front of Ethan. Ethan ran his hand along the inside of one leg, up to the thigh, and Ripper kept on pretending not to notice, just looking up at the ceiling and smoking his cigarette. The pretence at once amused and annoyed Ethan.
What a pity Ripper was too drunk to be of any real use right now.
Randall came back into the room with a tray. He'd brought a jug of water, a glass, four painkillers, and a tiny bottle of vodka. Randall could be a very thoughtful man.
"We'll leave you to it," said Ethan.
Randall went back to lying on the stairs. Ethan had intended to spend the evening working through the next spell in Spivak, but he doubted he'd be able to concentrate now. He decided to go out instead.
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Date: 2011-04-01 07:18 pm (UTC)