City of Angels (H.S.)

Chapter 3

In the 15 minute lapse between crossing the hotel room threshold and setting up interview equipment, I regretted every decision I'd made since coming to California, but none more so than getting to Rolling Stone. It had taken so much leveraging, from begging Kay's boyfriend's roommate to pull some strings with a girl he knew in the ad department to working for virtually nothing.

 But the worst part by far was the way Harry Styles just looked at me. It was a combination of pity and mistrust, and it was not good. 

Dave sliced into the thick silence that threatened to make things even more awkward than they already were by breaking into the most artificial smalltalk I'd ever heard. I knew high school journalists with better interview skills, and Dave was a one-time great I actually used to admire. Now, it was like watching someone's balding dad trying to communicate with his kid's cool teenagers. The boys on the couch turned on the charm, though. I could see how manufactured it was, but only barely.

 They way they played off of each other was giddying on its own; it was evident the roles they played within the band. Niall, clearly the token goofball, kept interrupting the canned answers served by the others with raunchy interjections and anecdotes, making their replies seem less like cookie cutter retellings and more like fun banter between friends. Liam's the big brother, I thought to myself as I quietly studied the way he wrapped his muscular arm around the spine of the couch and gave somewhat serious replies, though he occasionally shot big grins to Zayn who sat next to him, fairly quiet but absolutely smoldering. Louis seemed downright mischievous--it was probably management's decision to keep him on the opposite side of the couch from Niall. 

It was only Harry that I couldn't quite nail down, and I--as a journalist--considered herself a decent reader of people. One minute he was totally silent, tugging at his full bottom lip with with a fingers stacked with thick silver rings. The next, he was laddish and playing around ten times harder than the others. And the next, he was giving thoughtful answers about his process and the early years of his career. He spoke slower, and deeper, than I imagined, but the seriousness in his voice was the most unexpected thing of all to me. 

"I want to know about that first day," Dave said, resting his chin on an open palm as he leaned forward towards the couch of boys. "The first day you really realized, 'Hey, I'm famous."

The couch was quiet. Zayn, the quieter one, spoke first. "We love our fans," he began slowly, blinking his thick lashes in time with his syllables.

"Best fans in the world," Niall was quick to agree. (OMG SORRY I HAD TO :))

"But it was truly terrifying," Zayn finished. "Beyond."

There was solemn nodding down the line as Liam launched into the story of the mob scene that waited outside the X-Factor studios. Only Harry sat silent, one eyebrow cocked as he stared at the cream-and-gold patterned rug while the others talked. 

The next few hours went by with relative speed and ease. Dave was only scratching the service of what made the band tick, I thought. But I was also aware of the fact that trust from stars only came after weeks of conversation. I knew I'd be on 1D detail for a very long time and I wasn't happy about it. 

"Alright, boys, I think that's about it for this afternoon." Dave rose and extended his hand for the band to shake. I took this as my cue to start packing up, which I did in silence again. 

"So you'll be at the show tonight then?" Liam asked uncertainly. Dave nodded his head. "Yeah. You guys are in Pasadena all week right?"

"Right!" Paul said, coming up behind Liam and clapping him on the shoulder. "And we'll see you tonight."

Dave motioned for me to follow him out of the room. I scurried after my boss, not even daring to steal a look back behind her shoulder. We left the hotel in silence and it wasn't until we were out in the parking lot that he turned to me. He patted his jeans pocket. "I left my pen."

I just blinked at him. "Your...pen?"

"Yes, Patty, my pen. You know, that long thing you write with?"

I felt like she'd just been slapped. "I can go get it," I offered meekly. 

"Very good, Patty. Thank you."

I shuffled back to the hotel's giant double doors and informed the concierge of my intentions. I was once again greeted by security at the penthouse and was soon allowed back inside the cream-colored room in which I'd been trapped for the better part of the afternoon. Harry was sitting where Dave was just minutes before. Fuck. 

He said nothing to me, but raised one eyebrow quizzically. 

"Hi--" I started.

"Hiiiiiiii," Harry cut her off. Was he mocking me? I sighed.

"My editor left his pen, and apparently an important pen so I need to get it," I said.

"An important pen, hm?" he asked with mock serious and just the hint of a smile. 

"Yeah, so it would seem. Can I please just look?"

Without replying, Harry shifted his weight to one hip and dipped in hand into the crack between the chair arm and cushion, fishing the pen out. "Here you go." He held it out to me. I took it carefully, not failing to notice how much larger his hands were than mine. 

"Thanks," I said, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. 

He paused for a second and asked, "You have to come with him too tonight night?"

I nodded, not wanting to get in trouble for talking to the talent more than I had to.

He didn't say anything else, and I took it as my cue to leave. As I reached the door, I heard a deep voice call out to me again. I turned to look at Harry, still sitting on the chair.

"I like your skirt."

I spun the gold doorknob and walked back out into the hall without saying a word.