in which Brian, try as he might, can't stop himself from emotionally tying himself to women he meets on tour--he knows it's wrong but can't seem to stop himself
in which Katie, an unintentional groupie, becomes hopelessly entangled in the life of a...
The ride to the bar wasn't quite what Katie hoped it'd be. After clamoring in behind everyone else, she found herself sandwiched between Roger and a new face––their bassist, John Deacon, introduced to her as "Deaky". Stuck in the backseat, she was much too far away from Brian to justify an attempt at conversation. He and Freddie sat together near the front, shoulders hunched over what looked to be a paper full of scribbles. Their serious, muffled voices floated back to her now and again as she did her best to focus on the conversation she was having with Roger and Deaky.
After getting the chance to talk to Roger more candidly, she felt embarrassed at her original inclination to typecast him as the seductive-troublemaker. He seemed to be a genuinely kind, thoughtful person––after mentioning her post-graduate work with a local newspaper, he surprised her with a very strong and well-based argument for his opinion on unpaid-internships. In addition, his sense of humor revealed itself to be absurdly great. He conducted a running commentary on the sights of the quaint city through the van window that had both Katie and Deaky in hysterics. Deaky, albeit much more reserved, also warmed up to her during the ride. Their first exchange was comprised of brief pleasantries, but by the time they reached their destination, Katie succeeded in making him giggle a handful of times at her comedically astute observations about the East Coast.
As their van pulled into a parking spot, she admired the building's modest exterior. The walls were composed with faded beige brickwork, its two adjacent sides meeting at a point on the corner of the block. A copper-green, heavy-set door garnished the junction elegantly, giving the entire thing an air of antique, unspoken beauty. Although Katie grew up near Waterbury and spent the majority of her life there, she'd only been to the White Parrot once before. It wasn't your average weekend pub––simply walking past it on her way to work made her thin wallet weep.
"You coming?" Katie blinked, stirred from her thoughts by Deaky's question. He stood a few steps ahead, brandishing a friendly smile and motioning for her to follow him. Nodding, she caught up with him as the last of the Mott members disappeared through the door. She'd lost track of Brian in the commotion of exiting the van, but she still held onto the tiny thread of hope that he might be interested in––at the very least––talking to her. Roger held the door open for them as they approached, his platinum blonde hair glinting handsomely in the amber glow of the sunset. "After you, madam," he joked. Deciding to play along, Katie took the hem of her dress in both hands and mock-curtsied as she entered the building.
The atmosphere that greeted her was much more extravagant than she recalled. In front of her was the bar, which stretched across an impressive length of the room. Bartenders were bustling back and forth with cocktail shakers and shot glasses, attending to customers with impressive speed. Behind them glittered the vast wall of alcohol in all its glory, the three shelves teeming with magnificently-cut glass bottles––Katie didn't dare guess how expensive the liquid inside them might be. Toward the end of the bar she could almost make out the faint glow of the red exit sign.
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