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January, 1997
The press release was brief, direct.
"After more than two decades as Duran Duran’s bassist, John Taylor has decided to step away from the band to focus on his personal life and new projects. The band respects his decision and wishes him the best in the future."
The words were there, printed in black and white, but for John, the reality of his departure didn’t feel quite real yet. He woke up that morning feeling like he was floating, as if life was about to start over without a set script.
It didn’t take long for the phone to ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, I’m Valerie.”
Oh, the butterflies.
"Hello, Valerie."
"Hi, John."
Her voice was softer than he remembered, but it still had that familiar warmth. They didn’t sound like two people who hadn’t spoken in months—they sounded like they had just called each other yesterday.
"How are you?" she asked.
John ran a hand over his face, looking at the city through his apartment window.
"Strange. But okay."
"I read the announcement."
"So I guess it’s official now."
“I-I thought you guys were already recording a new album. Nicky told me.”
“Yeah, I recorded a few songs, but I’m taking control of my fears, not the other way around and I’m making changes in my life. I needed to do this.”
Valerie smiled, though he couldn’t see her.
"Would you like to go out? Catch up?"
"I’d love to."
—
The restaurant was quiet, intimate. Valerie sat across from John, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine glass. He glanced at her, then down at his menu, then back at her.
