That trip to England was proving more exciting than usual, if in a few days everything and more had happened, who knows what would have happened in the remaining days. Diane didn't say a word to the drummer for the first 24 hours after it happened, then she had a switch, which not even she understood what caused it, and she went back to joking with her friend as if it was 1995 again. In her head there was so much confusion, confusion that went beyond the one of her room in Encino, worse than any dressing room of hers at a three-day festival. After the accident from last time, she learned how to dose her rations well so that she didn't need anyone to help her, also because she had sworn to Taylor that it would be the last time and well, the others, obviously, they knew nothing about it. One rainy afternoon, like so many others in the London, Garbage met in the singer's room to discuss some changes to be made to the lineup: the first concert went great, but they certainly couldn't propose the same and identical setlist to another public in the same place. Of course Butch took care of everything, Diane always repeated that without him they would be lost, always earning a more than pleased smile as a response from the drummer. Their reunion-like meeting was interrupted by Nate who, kindly as always, asked them if they would like anything from the hotel kitchens. "A big bag of weed, can you?" Eric, the other bass player in the room, put his hands to his face before bursting out laughing along with Duke and Butch. Nate shook his head and giggled "Dave and Taylor have already started the dance there, I recommend you go and have a look." The musicians were preparing to leave the room of the singer who, feigning shock, looked at the bass player, raising her arms in surrender. "Do you need something D?" The redhead shook her head smiling and thanking him before he closed the door of her suite, leaving her alone with her notebook where she was jotting down sentences. She always began to develop her creative process in this way, first with scattered words as if it was a brainstorm, then she tried to form sentences with complete meaning and then she tried to fit them together, perhaps finding a common thread between them. Even though it seemed like the hardest thing in the world at the time, since she had Doll Parts from the Hole in her head, she still tried to jot down a few sentences she could work on later. There was only one thing that Butch couldn't do and that was write songs.
That evening they all decided to have dinner together as a big family which, in the end, they were becoming one. Diane's only problem at that moment was having Taylor always on her heels and she certainly didn't want to be grumpy with him, she would just confuse him further. So, the only way to be left alone, at least for a lil time, was to lie to him and say that she would call Los Angeles, Joan or Izzy. And so she did that evening, only after accepting the drummer's invite to go to the Troubadour in Old Brompton Rd, curious to see if it was so different from the one in West Hollywood. Diane didn't care too much about her clothing, regardless of her she would be decently dressed as Pat had become one hundred percent her trusted stylist. "I'm glad you and Taylor cleared up." The guitarist announced as he was adjusting her purple jacket over her teal shirt. "Oh stop it. We're both mature people, aren't we?" Pat gritted his teeth, sucking in his mouth and arching his eyebrows before bursting out laughing. "Of course, what a ripe vintage '72 was!"
"So, Taylor, what it's like to be a rock star?" Diane asked as she brought the straw of the gin and tonic to her lips. He looked away, shaking his head with a small smile on his lips. "Fuck you, Diane. I'm not a rock star." He took a sip of his beer and looked back into her eyes, making the redhead feel a huge hole in her stomach. "And what would you be?" She retorted trying to ignore the feeling of discomfort that his gaze caused her. "A musician, a simple musician." The redhead nodded before bursting out laughing, followed by the blond who leaned more towards the table, placing both hands on it. "How's Joan doing?" He then asked after a few seconds, while bringing his hands to the the girl's ones who immediately intertwined her fingers with his, letting the blond caress her back. "Until two days ago everything was ok, now I don't know... have I ever introduced you?" She tried to sidetrack the conversation, receiving a shake from the blond's the head. "I thought it was her on the phone." Diane sighed, now shaking her head and trying to keep her gaze fixed on his eyes. "Have you already told him...?" - "No, T. This need to stay between us, right?" The drummer nodded, observing the worried look on the redhead's face as she shook her hand. "I like you Taylor, I really mean it. I like having you in my life. But I can't do this to Izzy." The blond looked away still maintaining physical contact with her before rolling his eyes and sighing heavily. "You're my fucking soul mate, Cherry. When you figure it out, it'll never be too late." Diane smiled at the new nickname given to her by the drummer, rising from her seat to approach him and, taking his face with her hand, she pressed a light kiss on his lips which he instantly reciprocated, encircling her hips with his hands and pulling her slightly to himself when he felt her go away. The redhead continued to smile at him before turning away from him and heading for the bathroom, leaving him frustrated and confused sitting at their table. The Troubadour was not so bad, it could be considered very similar to the one that is in Los Angeles.
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KISS THE RING ☆ Taylor Hawkins
Фанфик"She's a red headed woman with a cigarette and evil in her eyes, she's a red headed woman with a cigarette that's her clever disguise." - Samson, Regina Spektor. LA, mid 90s. Diane Larkin is the lead singer of Garbage who, after a rather eventful li...
