Hypnotised

Chapter 3

“What’s this? Where the fuck are our instruments? We got songs to record people. We’re two days behind schedule! ” I exclaimed fairly miffed when I saw a big round table with chairs in what was supposed to be the room we were recording some tunes in today.

“We got a meeting first. With our publicist, manager or whatever ye prefer to call ‘im.” Matt said in a matter-of-fact tone while walking in and taking a seat.

Nobody seemed to be the least surprised. Nick flashed me a sort of pity smile while passing me by- that moment I knew what this reunion was going to be about. I hated how things had been going lately with them, my lifelong friends. I felt that they were getting increasingly tired of me and I couldn’t do anything about it.

I can’t afford to lose them, though. They’re the only people I’ve ever felt sort of normal around.

“Gents” A short tanned man walked in wearing probably one of the finest suits I had ever seen.

“Richard” Everyone except for me greeted. 

“So…this is gonna be real quick, let’s sit down, we just need to set some things straight: Alex, you are not selling, hush let me finish [the fucker pointed his index finger at me]. I’ve come up with the perfect scheme to efficiently boost your profile [I like it as it is now, thanks]. Alexa Chung: she’s a single top model that’s now working as an interviewer too…on mtv, ain’t that perfect? [define perfect]  Well, I’ve already exchanged some words with her manager and he told me she would be willing to date you for the flashes, as she put it [oh what a lucky bastard I am!]. It’d be just for a couple of months then we arrange a break up and…boom! Sales of the new cd by the band that poor heartbroken Alex sings in rocket.”

“Let me just think a…no!. I don’t give a shit about my image Richard… how can you not get it already? All I care about is music, making quality rock music. It’s really simple: I don’t aim to become a praised popular ‘rock god’; fame on a grand scale appalls me. I enjoy the low-profile life I lead. I wouldn’t trade my freedom for anything and that includes being able to be free to date whoever the fuck I want to, okay? Can you understand that?”

“Well, then, I guess it’s time you quit the band altogether. I’m sorry to break it to you like this but I have conducted a poll and it turns out that the majority of your bandmates [they’re 3, for god’s sake] agree that if you don’t accept to do this you’re out. That’s just the situation right now [who needs enemy with friends like them, huh?]  The success of your oncoming album is directly proportional to your popularity, Turner...you’re on the very brink of becoming a popular band in the States and when you achieve that, worldwide fame is assured. All you need is a little publicity push. Look, I’m not even asking you to actually date her. We just need paparazzi taking pictures of you together in parties and public places. She would do the rest by occasionally mentioning in her tv show how amazing you are both as a lover and a musician [empty lies for empty eyes…that’s the people we’ll draw to our band, cool]. It’s implicit, I believe, that you absolutely cannot be photographed with anyone else during that period [I’m not a social butterfly, you know] so any romantic activity you wish to have during that time must be behind closed doors. No more snapshots of you in underground gay clubs [what!?]. That’s denting horribly your reputation. You can’t afford being gay right now so save it for when you can buy a bloody island if you want to. Then you can go fuck a whale for all I care, am I clear Alex?” He waved his hand in a very grandiose and melodramatic manner, like he were the one and only king in all England and I his filthy, unworthy slave.

Richard you’re a totally delusional dwarf, I’m afraid.

“Oh please give me a break, would you!? I’ve only gone two gay clubs and it was out of curiosity. All I did was sit and glance around while scribbling down some thoughts. I can’t fathom how any picture of me writing would be compromising in any fooking way. Be sensible man!”