Nick's Girl

10 | good evening, beautiful people!

"This will be alright," I whisper into Nick's ear. "You can't assume the worst all the time. Who knows? You might be pleasantly surprised..."

Nick and I stand on the precipice of The Green Dragon pub, in Camden. I won't lie, the look of the place is a little off-putting. It sits in a narrow ally, and seems to attract some fairly shifty bald men, who are sitting, nursing translucent pints at a dusty bar. Not quite The Ritz, shall we say. Nevertheless, this is where Nick has agreed to meet with the Archie Anderson. And, with a bit of luck, this could be the start of the big break Nick deserves. 

"You're right, you're right," Nick relents. He hugs his elbows uncomfortably, and takes a few steps back. He knows I am right, but our surroundings don't inspire much confidence. "This place is depressing, is it not?" he says, addressing the elephant in the room (or the elephant in the dingy alleyway).

"It's not completely marvellous..." I agree.

"Reminds me of my father. He would just love it her," Nick mutters, sardonically.

I frown at him. 

"Let's not talk about parents," I decide, knowing that this topic can get profound and dark very quickly. "Why don't we go in and see if he's arrived?"

Nick is not keen, but has no legitimate reason to argue.

"I suppose we could... just stick right by me and don't look up from the floor, alright?" he says. 

"You don't have to ask me twice..." I say, clutching hold of his arm. Even if Nick is nervous, I can certainly rely on him for protection. "And if this doesn't work out, then we can catch a film after, okay?"

I'm not used to being the one in the relationship rationalising and comforting, but I'm relieved to see that Nick seems to have calmed down slightly. 

Thankfully, our fears are faithfully restored at the sight of a breezy-aired, hippy-haired bloke, sporting the same brown leather coat and tight jeans from the day at the park. Archie. He is siting in a booth across from another man: a shorter, straight-laced-looking guy with a neat comb-over haircut. He looks around in an irritated fashion. He has a square jaw and large, steely eyes.

"Nick! I was starting to think you wouldn't come," Archie laughs gently, striding over to us with not a care in the world. Still untrusting of both his surroundings and his sketchy ideas of Archie's plans, Nick sniffs the air, and nods uncourteously. I, embarrassed by his lack of decorum, give Nick a little nudge. This prompts him to mumble: "Yeah, well, here we are..."

"And I'm Eva," I jump in, holding out my hand. "I'm with Nick."

"Ah, yes, of course. I remember you from the park. Lovely to properly meet you," Archie beams, accepting my handshake. I decide in that moment that I like Archie.

"That guy over there with the sour face is Bill, my mate. Don't be put off by his expression, he's a softie at heart. We're the ones who are to blame, you could say, for this whole thing."

Nick does not laugh. 

"Why don't we sit down?" Archie offers, detecting Nick's frostiness. 

The gist of the meeting is this: Archie and Bill ("Bill Stokes, the drummer"), have booked a summer-long contract to play as the support act for a rock group. Bill (who I am now going to call Blunt Bill) put it forward very matter-of-factly.

"Basically, we entertain the crowd while the real musicians get ready," he says. "So, there's not a huge amount of pressure. If we mess up, or do a bad show, no-one will care, because we're only the support act." He then rolls his eyes and slouches down into his chair.

"That's one way to put it..." Archie mercifully steps in. Talk about musical integrity. "But it's more than that. It's a chance to get recognised, so we can - hopefully - book more gigs, and make more money."

"So, it pays well then?" Nick asks. 

"Well..." Archie pauses. "It's better than your average summer job," he says, with his eyebrows raised. 

Nick looks at me, and I notice he is warming to the idea. 

"Can Eva come? You know, if we go on tour. Can she come with me?"

Bill rolls his eyes, clearly appalled at this hint of romantic affection. Archie ignores him, and nods. 

"Yeah, of course. That is, if she wants to. Life on the road isn't exactly glamourous. One of the other guys, Ezra, he's bringing his girlfriend. But, if you want to, Eva, you're more than welcome."

Nick plays it cool for the rest of the meeting. It's the money that clinches it for him; but it's the kindness of Archie that has my trust in the whole thing. I could just tell that Nick was in; that he was jazzed. For the sake of appearances (and his pride) he plays off the hype. But, once it's over and we walk outside together, his excitement explodes between us. 

"This is it, Eva!" he yells, lifting me up and spinning me around. I'm so happy that I don't feel even embarrassed. "Just imagine - me and you together for three months! No family, just freedom! Money, and music, and freedom!"

"And you..." I say, as he puts me down. "You can pursue your dream. At last." 

Nick kisses me, passionately, unexpectedly. It's beautiful. When he breaks away, his arms snake around my waist and he embraces me tightly. This is it. 

*

"Good evening, beautiful people!" 

A slender, black-haired man in a magenta suit and white boots swings open the door. Nick and I stand there in the hallway, breathless, at this stunning specimen of a man. 

"You must be Ezra Jamison?" Nick guesses, with an impressed smile. 

"Ezra Jamison was my dad. You, my fellow, can call me Ezra. Or Lord High Majesty, if you prefer," he says, striking a Greek-statuesque pose. The two of us look at each other and laugh, enraptured. "Lead singer. Utterly honoured to be touring with you in 3 weeks."

"I'm Nick - Hammersmith," says Nick, timidly. This is the first time I've ever seen him visibly shy to meet somebody. "Lead guitarist. And this is Eva--" 

"I've heard all about you two from Archie! The sweetest couple since Elizabeth and Phillip, by all accounts."

"Oh really?" I giggle, stepping inside the flat, at the bequest of Ezra's motioning arm. 

"Oh yes, Miss Jones. Now, come in, and make yourself at home. This is my... boudoir."

Nick, with his hand lightly on the small of my back, follows me in to a smoke-filled apartment filled with passionate discussion and the gentle twang of psychedelic music. The artsy home of Ezra Jamison, the band's lead singer. 

I have never seen a thing like this before in my life. This morning, I was in my Avon uniform, selling eyeshadow to pensioners; now, I'm wandering into a crowd of bohemian debaters. Wherever I look, there is long hair, and chic clothing, and swaying bodies. Since Nick agreed to form the band with Archie and Bill two weeks ago, I feel my life slowly morphing in to one I never thought I would lead.

"You must meet Marianne," the slightly slurred, grandiose voice of Ezra declares into my ear. 

"Who's that?" I say. 

Instead of a response, Ezra simply decides to yell "Marianne!" over the crowd of strangers. Like Tinkerbell answering the call of Peter Pan, a gorgeous fairylike woman bounds from the crowd. With stunningly short, red hair, and large green eyes, I feel like I am being greeted by a cartoon character. 

"Marianne," Nick says, returning to my question, "Is the vivacious, gorgeous - cheeky! - light of my life."

"Oh Ezra, really..." Marianne giggles, pulling an embarrassed - but smitten - face. I smile. 

"Yes, really! Now, this is Eva Jones. I have a funny feeling you two are going to be friends. Call it a hunch!" Ezra says with gusto, and suddenly bows away into the crowd. 

"Well, Miss Jones..." Marianne clutches my arm and leads me over to a velvet sofa in the corner of the room, "I want to know all about you!"