Bed of Roses

Chapter 11

ACT TWO - NIGHT

"Everything is more intense at night."

Chapter 11

You were in the barn with Roger, a recording machine set on the side of his Alfa Romeo.

"Now, Y/N", he said, and you pressed the gas pedal with your bare feet. You heard the engine roar, but the car wasn't moving; the brake was pulled. Roger was recording the sound of the engine of his Alfa Romeo for the kinky car song - as you now called it.

He asked for your help because none of the guys were taking his request to have the engine sound on the song seriously, so he took you off from playing catch with the farm dog by the side of the pond.

It was a beautiful, almost warm spring day, and you hoped to swim on the pond later as they recorded - there's only so much time you can spend locked in a small room listening to the four boys argue over minutia you didn't really understand. So you excused yourself and played with the dog.

Roger admired you for a bit before interrupting you. He took in the view - you, barefoot on the grass, your silhouette almost angelic as your flowy yellow dress moved around you to the wind.

But he asked for your help, and even though you were scared to melt the inside of his car's engine, you pressed your foot against the gas pedal. "A bit more, babe", he told you, and so you did. "Okay, that's fine for now, I guess", he said, and you left the car.

He moved inside and adjusted the seat to his height. "Come inside. I'll take you on another tour of rural England", he said, jokingly, but you got inside anyway. Just like you loved to watch him drum, you loved watching him drive. He looked so confident doing it, the wind coming through the windows blowing his hair everywhere, his big hands around the steering wheel.

He drove out of the barn, and you looked at the studio as you moved away from it. "Shouldn't we tell the boys we're leaving?", you asked him, and he nodded. "I guess I should. But I need a break from them and this place for a bit", he turned to see your response, and you just smiled. "Always the rebel", you said, and it was his turn to laugh, putting his hand on your knee.

You turned your head, the fresh wind on your face, and admired the countryside. You always thought of yourself as more of an urban person, but these long drives across green fields took you back to the beginning of your relationship with Roger - the distant shows, you always drowning in papers for school, trying to finish them as he would stop in gas stations. Now school took way less of your time, since you were working part time in a minor museum in London, and you really didn't miss those early school days.

Or maybe perhaps you did. The afternoons Roger would try to get you to explain one of your papers to him, and you did, cramming years of history in a few minutes, and he'd just stare at you in awe. He said you did the same thing when you watched him write a song. You were now more used to each other, which was good in a few ways, but took away some of the mystique of being together.

You sometimes wondered if it was better that Roger had to spend time away, since it kept your relationship a bit more fresh. But even trying to imagine a Roger that wasn't in a band, always touring and doing press and composing was impossible. It wouldn't even be Roger.

"What are you thinking about?" Roger's voice interrupted your mental monologue, his fingers brushing against your thigh, and you gave him a shy smile. You didn't want to admit that you were being a tad pessimistic, so you shrugged and said "Nothing, really. How about you?".

He smirked as he answered "Barbarella. More specifically, you dressed up as her", and you laughed. He had a huge crush on Jane Fonda, especially in her white Barbarella costume, and he wouldn't stop trying to convince you to go as her to Freddie's Halloween party last year.