GiMW chapter 4
Jan. 15th, 2004 02:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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bottom_dracoI'm really flattered by the responses, but I'm sad to say that there are only 5 chapters in the story, this chapter 4, Dining & Dying, and the next one. I'm not sure if I'll write a sequel, but it's likely. I'll shut up now, though. Without further ado...........
Chapter 4: Dining and Dying
“So, Draco, you’re moving on up in the world. Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. You’re a bit like Anna Nicole Smith, I suppose.” Max mused.
“Never say that again.” Draco replied absently as he flicked through his closet. “I need a whole new wardrobe.” He said with a sigh.
“Why don’t you wear that black sweater with the sheer and the lace ribbing?”
“You mean the shirt I borrowed from Lucinda about three years ago? No way, it makes me look gay.”
“You are gay.”
“Yes, well, that doesn’t mean I have to wear it like a bloody sash and tiara. What ever happened to my green silk button-down?”
“Xev threw it out when she came ‘round to clean out our wardrobes. She said it made you look like you’d just wandered out of a Doors concert.”
“She threw it out? That was Dolce and Gabbana; it was one hundred and eighty-five dollars.” Max shrugged.
“I tried to tell her that, but she said bad fashion knows no price tag.”
“Fine, okay. How about the navy blue sweater with the white stitching?”
“It’s a bit I’m-going-to-a-polo-match. Don’t you want to go for a hipster sort of vibe?”
“Okay, then how about……..the orange sweater with the navy blue bordering, my black Ralph Lauren cargos, and my Chuck Taylors?”
“Orange is sort of a dangerous color, but if you think you can wear it, that sounds great.”
“Why? Do you not think I can wear it?”
“Well orange can make people look a bit yellow sometimes. But I’m sure you can pull it off…but yellow itself I would avoid if I were you.”
“Max?”
“What?”
“I’ve only just sort of forgiven you, so I suggest you shut up now.”
****************************************************
“I’ve never been more nervous in all my life.” Draco stated calmly, flicking the ash from his cigarette over the railing of their balcony. “I think I need a drink.”
“Mimosa?” Lance asked from the ground. They were sitting on the balcony waiting for Max to get back from the corner drugstore. It was ten minutes past seven. Lance was working a remix of ‘Stupid Girl’ on his laptop and chewing gum as loud as humanly possible (or so it seemed to Draco).
“Something a bit stronger, maybe?” Draco asked hopefully. (Ever since Greg Marsters, the lead singer of a Trifecta band called The Blinding Ruins (and Xev’s ex), had died in a drunk driving accident, it was an unspoken rule that no one on the scene drank anything stronger that champagne.) “I’m sure Xev won’t mind. Unless she finds out, of course, in which case, she’ll kill me.”
“I think I saw a bottle of vodka in the vegetable bin—shall I get us some, then?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
Draco glanced at his watch as Lance disappeared into the flat. It was twelve minutes past seven.
“I think I bought this stuff.” Lance said, handing him a glass full of vodka. “Careful,” He said as Draco took a sip. “It goes down pretty hard.” He watched as Draco coughed and gasped. “Alright?” He asked. At Draco’s nod, he turned back to his laptop for a moment before looking at him again. “How much is the rent on this flat?”
“Eight hundred pounds a month. Why?”
“Could you pay that all on your own?”
“Not when I don’t have a bloody job.” He replied with a snort. “Why?”
“No reason, I just...” He looked around. “Look, don’t tell Max I told you this, but I’ve sort of been thinking of asking him to move into my flat with me. I figure, you know, things are going well and I—“
“That’s exactly why he shouldn’t move in with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lance, your flat is a mess and you do nothing but lay around, fucking with things on your laptop all day. Max is a hyper-efficient anal-retentive neat freak. Do you really think the two of you could live together for more than six hours without gruesome homicide occurring?” Lance frowned at him.
“I don’t really think little details like that matter when you’re in our situation.”
“And what ‘situation’ would that be?”
“Being young and in love.”
“Oh, so you’re in love now? Look Lance, you might have Max fooled with this whole reformed act, but I remember all the things you did to him and the way you treated him, like he meant nothing to you, so if you think you can just pull a complete one-eighty, you’re sadly mistaken. I suggest you be careful with how you handle the ‘situation’, because if you do anything to him—“
“Do anything to whom?” Max asked from where he stood in the balcony doorway, holding a paper bag and looking bemused.
“Someone I met on a chat room.” Lance answered smoothly. “I hacked into his account and got his address. No need to look so alarmed, love. We’re just having a bit of a laugh.” He turned to Draco, his eyes dark and vaguely dangerous and vaguely pleading at the same time. “Right?”
“Yeah, just a laugh.” Draco said, turning to Max. “Have you got the time?” Max glanced at his watch.
“It’s twenty past. Getting nervous?” He asked with a grin.
“Just a bit.”
“I got some vegemite, two packs of fags, cheese, ham, and a some chewing gum. Let’s see if we can’t scrounge up a light appetizer or something.” Max said, heading towards the kitchen.
Just then, the doorbell rang. In seconds, the three of them were clustered around the front door. Draco looked at them each in turn, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
“Hi.” Harry said. “I’m a bit early, aren’t I? Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready, just let me get my…uh…..”
“Coat?” Lance said with a smirk.
“Yes, that’s the one.” Draco said, taking his coat off the coat rack next to the front door. As they went down the hall to the elevator, Harry said,
“Why were all your mates gathered round the door?”
“Oh, you know, just a bit, you know, curious, I suppose. They’ve been teasing me mercilessly. Called me Anna Nicole Smith.”
“Ouch. Why?”
“Oh, making the usual lewd insinuations.”
“Do they think we’re on a date, then? That’s not so lewd. Not so hard to believe either, really.” Harry said lightly.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know, because we both—I mean, I assume—“
“That I’m gay? Whatever would make you think that?” Draco asked dryly. The conversation lulled as Harry hailed a taxi. They were silent on the way to the restaurant, but after they were seated and waiting to be served, Harry said,
“You are, right?”
“Yes, yes, I was only having a bit of a laugh with you, Potter.”
“Oh…..I am as well, you know. That’s why I said it wasn’t so unlikely.” The waiter brought them menus and as they studied them, Harry said,
“I had a bit of a crush on you when we were at school, actually.” Draco choked on his water.
“Really?”
“Yes, in our sixth year. I sort of forced myself to forget about it though, because I assumed it wouldn’t have ever gone anywhere anyway.” He laughed. “Suppose we had gotten together at school? How we might’ve ended up.”
Draco’s throat was closed and his palms were sweaty. This was unbelievable; they hadn’t even gotten their drinks yet and he was already completely freaked out.
“Are you all right?” Harry asked. “You look a bit peaky.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I just have to go to the loo for a moment.” Draco said stiffly, getting out of his chair.
In the bathroom, he took out his mobile and dialed Xev’s number.
“Hello, Habermann/Knowles residence.”
“Xev, I’m in the loo at some restaurant and I need your help.”
“Is this like on that episode of Friends where Ross can’t get out of his leather trousers?” Draco let out a frustrated sigh.
“Xev, get real, I don’t even own a pair of leather trousers.”
“What is it then?”
“He said he was gay.”
“Harry? Yes, and?”
“And that he had liked me when we were at school. What am I supposed to make of that?”
“What you are supposed to make of that is that I am a genius. I told you he would fall desperately in love with you. He’s trying to indicate that he’s interested. Now you tell him that you liked him at school as well. But don’t let on that you were scarily obsessed with him. No one likes a stalker, love.”
“It’s not as simple as all that, Xev.”
“Because you won’t let it be. You are two gay blokes who like each other. It is not so difficult to understand. Now hang up the phone and go get your man. I’ll expect painfully explicit details first thing, all right?” The line went dead.
“Bloody lot of good you are.” Draco mumbled. He wound between the tables until he got back to his seat.
“Waiter come yet?” He asked coolly.
“No. So,” Harry said, leaning back in his seat. “How are things with the band?”
“We got into a bit of a fight, but we’ve more or less patched up. How are your mates?”
“Er, Ron doesn’t quite know what to make of your mate, Simon. He, uh, comes on a bit strong, you know?”
“Yes, I think he’s fallen in love. Probably the hair; Simon likes things that are bright.”
“Ron’s not gay, you know.”
“Yes, I know, and I’ve tried to tell Simon that, but he won’t hear a word of it. Don’t suppose it matters, he’s got about forty-seven brothers anyway, one of them must be gay.” Harry snorted.
“Bit more than one, mate. And I ought to know.” Draco cocked his head to the side.
“How’s your love life then, Potter? Bet you must have people after you all the time, considering.” Harry looked down almost shyly.
“Oh, you know, a few good goes, but nothing ever seems to pan out properly. Most recently, I tried it on with Seamus, but it was a nightmare. He’s not my type at all. How about you?”
“God, it’s been one long string of bad decisions for me. I never seem to learn my lesson.”
“What lesson would that be?”
“To never date, ever.” The waiter came to take their orders. Draco glanced at the menu, but all the words blurred together. He ordered fettuccini alfredo; after all, it was an Italian restaurant. “Don’t know, though.” He continued after the waiter had gone. “Don’t think it’ll matter much longer, as our label will probably be pushing us to go off to some God-forsaken country to record for a bit, then it’ll be on the nightmare tours, bit of press with some local rags and radio shows, etc. Won’t have much time for thinking about my non-existent love life.”
“It’s a bit hard to think that you haven’t got a bloody truckload of people panting after you.”
“Well, everyone knows me. They know how much bloody work I am. I did almost get married, though, about seven months ago. Fell apart two weeks before the wedding.”
“Why?”
“Suffice it to say he was a bit of a polygamist.” Harry winced.
“Rough bit of luck, that.” Draco snorted.
“Sometimes it seems like my whole life has just been a bit of rough luck.”
“Suppose I would, too, had all of what happened to you happened to me.” Draco waved a hand at him dismissively.
“Don’t feel too bad; you’ve had your own bit of rough luck.” Harry put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“So what is the honest likelihood that we can sway you back? Not permanently, mind you, if you don’t want, but only every now and then.” Draco sighed and took a sip of the wine they had ordered.
“Honestly? Not very.”
“But don’t you miss it, even the slightest bit?” He asked earnestly. “The magic, the flying—“
“The stupid politics and civil wars? It doesn’t hold many good memories for me, Potter. Especially considering the note I left on.”
“The Ministry’s under new administration now. Things are a good bit different than they were when you left.” Draco leaned forward with a sigh.
“What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Just, you know, maybe go to a quidditch match, write something for one of the bloody papers, just remind people that you’re alive, that you can come back home again!” Draco laughed, but there was no humor behind the sound.
“But that’s just it, Potter! You can’t come back home again! Not after something like that.” He leaned in even closer, his eyes burning intensely. “Do you know what it’s like to sacrifice everything, Potter, and still have people look down on you just because of who you happen to be related to? Do you know what it’s like to be humiliated like that and get no sympathy just because of your last name?”
“I—“
“No, you don’t. But that’s why I can’t go back; because no one wants me back.”
“I—Draco, I know that there’s nothing that can be done to make any of that any better, but it’s different now. People are different. Haven’t you been following things at all? There was a big sort of almost holocaust thing, then this huge backlash, and—things are just completely different now. You wouldn’t even recognize it as the world you grew up in.” He bit his lip and looked at Draco.
“One quidditch match, and I’ll come with you.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Draco sighed.
“One match, Potter.” Harry let out a relieved sigh. He gave him a small smile.
“I thought I’d lost you for a second. Seamus will be glad; he’s desperate to speak to you, he thinks some song of yours about prozzies is the best song ever written. Er, maybe—he also said something about The Cure, I think, but Seamus talks so bloody fast, I miss half of everything he says.”
“Why didn’t things work out with the two of you?” Draco asked. His pulse was throbbing in his ears; he felt cold and just the slightest bit nauseous. He hated to talk about what had happened before he left. His throat was dry; if he concentrated, he could remember the exact words of the Ministry official—he had definitely mentioned something about reprehensible behavior on everyone part, something about willingness and physical evidence—.
“Draco? Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Sorry,” Draco said. He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. “What was that?”
“I was telling you why Seamus and I broke up. You know, he was just a bit too—busy for my tastes. He’s a clubber, and I’d rather stay at home. He likes Top of the Pops, I like E.R.; we were just mismatched. Ended pretty amicably, though. We both sort of knew it was bound to happen.”
“You know, I had a bit of a crush on you as well, in seventh year.” Draco said. Harry gave him an unreadable look.
“Imagine that.”
********************************************************
“Shall I walk you up?” Harry asked in the taxi in front of his building. Draco shook his head.
“I’ll be all right. Max and Lance are home.”
“All right. So I’ll call you then?” Draco nodded. “All right.” He smiled. “We really ought to do this again, eh? No reason we can’t be mates now, right?” He said cautiously.
“Right. Cheers.” Draco replied, and climbed out of the taxi.
On the way to floor seven in the elevator, he thought about the night. He was fairly certain it had gone well. He opened the door to the flat. It was dark inside except for the television. He passed the couch on his way to his room and caught a brief flash of a half-naked Lance and Max entwined on it. (He’d have to remember never to sit on the couch again.)
“Oh, Draco!” Max called breathlessly as Draco went into his room. “How was dinner?”
“Fine.” Draco called back, and shut his door. He fell back on the bed with a sigh.
What a bloody night.
*************************************************
Simon called the next morning at eight, near tears.
“You were right.” He whispered miserably.
“Simon?”
“Of course it’s Simon, who else would it be? You were right.” He repeated.
“About what?”
“About Ron. He’s straight. But he says we can be—“ His voice cracked a bit. “Mates.”
“Simon, you knew he was straight, I told you he was straight.”
“Yes, but I—I thought we had a special connection.”
“Simon.”
“I know, I know. But I really liked him, you know? And he was perfect for me, you know he was.”
“He was, actually.” Draco agreed, because it was eight in the morning and it was a hell of a lot easier to just agree with Simon than to argue with him so early in the morning. And because it was a bit true.
“He said he’s got brothers, five of them, and two are gay. A, uh, Fred and a Charlie. And one maybe named Percy. With a name like Percy, he must be queer, I’d say. He said Fred is rather tall and that Charlie is a dragon tamer, which is very sexy, don’t you think? He said he’d bring them to a Mystery of Avalon show and introduce us. Maybe I could snag another Weasley, do you think? Draco? Draco?” Draco, who had fallen half asleep, jerked back awake.
“What? Yes, Weasleys, absolutely. Why you’d want to date a Weasley, I don’t know, though.”
“How was your date last night?”
“It wasn’t a date and nothing happened. Things got a bit heavy. He talked me into going to a stupid quidditch match with him. He told me he had a crush on me when we were at school.”
“Really?! That is excellent! So did you tell him that you liked him as well?”
“Yes. He said, ‘Imagine that.’” Simon snorted.
“Rather ambiguous, that one is. Are you and the band playing together tonight?”
“Yes. You and Myst of Av are on as well, right?”
“Yes. Have you spoken to Xev yet today? She called me last night at around one-bloody-AM banging on about something. I had a hard time making sense of it, but the words ‘tour’, ‘proposal’, ‘Martha Stewart’, and ‘paper mache’ were mentioned. Any clue?”
“Haven’t the faintest.”
“I’ll let you go now. Nice not to have to go to work?”
“Got to go and find a new one today.”
“Right. Cheers, love.”
“Cheers.”
***********************************************************
After a quick shower and some breakfast, Draco sat down and made a list of prospective jobs.
Draco’s Prospective Jobs
1) Bookmark One
(Bookmark One was the bookshop down the street from Last Ditch Efforts. Working there would mean working with Max, and Draco was fairly certain they saw e-bloody-nough of each other.)
2) The Velvet Box
(Unfortunately, Lucinda was most likely going to stick firm to her decision that he couldn’t work there. Probably because he couldn’t sew. But it wasn’t like the only thing one could do in a dressmaker’s shop was…er…make dresses.)
3) Breadstick and Saucer
(Breadstick and Saucer was a café on the opposite side of town; it was also about one block away from Christian’s flat. Draco had often gone there for breakfast on his way to work after a long night at Christian’s.)
4) The Dungeon
(The Dungeon was the record store where Christian worked. The pay was horrible, but they got a 50% discount and they hardly ever did any work anyway.)
5) The Manacle
(The Manacle was a dance club/S&M sex club a few streets away from The Roxy Villa, the club where they had all their shows. Max had worked there until he had found out that it was not a spank-you-a-bit, call-you-a-naughty-puppy sort of place. The Manacle was pretty hardcore; they had a health clinic built in for wounds and you had to sign a waiver before you could have a session. The Manacle was a last resort.)
6) Sobre El Mundo Shipping Co.
(This was the Ramirez family business. This was also a last resort.)
As he was finishing up, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Draco, I’ve got the most electrifying news ever.”
“Does it involve eels?”
“What?”
“Never mind. What’s happened?”
“We spoke with Brian at Post-Vodka. We’re going to Iceland to record on January fourth. We’ll be gone for a month.” Draco mentally crossed The Velvet Box off his list. “And then they’re pushing for us to go on tour; a proper tour, too, none of that five cities across Europe, ride on a coach sort of thing.”
“That’s great.”
“Yes, I know, you don’t care, but I’m getting to the part that is interesting to you; you’re coming with us.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re shipping you off to Japan again to see if they can recreate I Lost My Head In Tokyo. They think it’ll break your Writer’s Block. So a few days after January, you’re off to Japan for a month or two, and we’re off to Iceland, then we’re going on tour! They mentioned Mystery of Avalon and Cashmerac as well, but I wasn’t paying much attention by that point. The only fly in the ointment is that Cinda will have to close down The Velvet Box for a while. And by that time, you’ll be shagging Harry Potter on a regular basis, and then you’ll have to part ways for a bit. Anyway, they’re going to be pushing us hard on the states, so we might actually make it across the pond this time around. We’ll get to meet—whom do we want to meet in the states? Oh, yes, I can finally meet Cher. I’ve always wanted to, you know. Oh, and Halle Berry, and Ewan MacGregor, and Tim Burton, and Lucy Lui, and Linkin Park, and—oh, I can finally meet Melissa Ethridge! Draco, do you—Draco, are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, I’m listening.” Draco said absently, flicking through a three month old copy of Hello!. “Melissa Ethridge, Cher, etc. You know, they say we’re going to make it to the states every time we go on tour.”
“Don’t bring me down, love. Anyway, they’ll be calling you soon as well, I expect. I’ve gotta go, all right? I’m a slave to this stupid paper mache project. Cheers, see you on CD: UK.” She hung up.
Draco considered. It was the eighteenth, and if they left on, say, the fifth of January, that left him about a month a half to sort things out. Could Xev be right? Could he be shagging Harry Potter by the new year? Or would he be spending another year alone in front of the fire?
*************************************************
The Dungeon was dark and there was incense in the air; Radiohead was playing over the PA system.
“Draco,” Georgia, the girl at the counter, said, in a lazy, purring sort of way. “What brings you round?”
“I was wondering if Christian could take a break.” He looked pointedly around the deserted store. “I know you’re so very busy.” Georgia just smiled in a come-hither sort of way.
“He’s in the back.”
The backroom of The Dungeon was furnished entirely in shag carpeting and bean bag chairs: going back there, one always felt like one had wandered into the sixties.
Christian was sprawled across one of the bean bags, half-asleep. He half-opened his eyes at the sound of the door.
“You look like a cat.” Draco said with a grin. Christian sat up with a groan.
“What are you doing here?” Draco sank into one of the chairs.
“I was wondering if you might have some openings here.”
“At The Dungeon? You must be really desperate if you want to work here. Why don’t you just go to Bookmark One?”
“Er, I think I see enough of Max at home without having to see him at work all day as well.” Christian laughed.
“That’s a very diplomatic way to put it. Anyway, I suppose we could take you on. Don’t reckon anyone would notice; after all, it’s not as though we ever have any bloody customers. Do you want to start today or tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I suppose. That was awfully easy. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” Christian hummed and lay back down.
“Are you coming to practice tonight?”
“Yeah, I suppose. Have we got a set list yet?”
“No. Draco, do you remember that time when you and I got into that really big fight with Max and Christopher and we went out and got pissed and then stumbled into the studio at about two-thirty in the morning?”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely. That was a nightmare.” Christian shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable.
“We had sex, right?” Draco snorted.
“Oh, yeah, trust me, I remember, I must have had the imprint of the sound board in my back for about a fucking month.”
“Was it—I mean, was it any—“
“Good?” Draco shrugged. “The details are a bit hazy, but yeah, I believe so.”
“Have you ever thought at the fact that we’ve all broken the rule about no inter-band dating that we made when we first got together? I mean, you and I, you and Max, Max and Lance, Max and me…isn’t that unprofessional?” Draco gave him a pointed look.
“Have we ever been professional, Christian?”
“No, I guess not.” They were both silent for a few minutes, but it was a comfortable quiet. “Do you ever, you know, think about it?”
“Not really. I always thought you had forgotten all about it. Why, do you?”
“Oh, you know,” Christian said uncomfortably. “Sometimes. Really, I just wonder what might have happened had we not been completely pissed when it happened.”
“We could be Max and Lance, part two.” They shared a look.
“Scary thought.”
****************************************************
Predictably, the rest of the band was just as excited as Xev had been when he let spill the news about the alleged tour. “God, we could finally be on Top of the Pops!” Christian said happily.
“That’s what we always say! This is going to be failed tour number—what, six?”
“Draco, don’t be a killjoy.” Max said dismissively. “Man, we could finally meet Susan Sarandon—we could maybe even convince her to record that re-make of ‘Creature of the Night’ we’ve been trying to make for so bloody long.” Draco rolled his eyes. After all six disastrous tours, they still hadn’t learned their lessons.
Tour #1 had been when they’d first signed with Post-Vodka. They had sent them to Canada with The Slivs to play twelve shows in the hopes that they’d generate some buzz. This was the tour where they had nearly crashed their van into a flock of geese.
Tour #2 had been when their first record had come out and done well locally, so the label had sent them on a tour of France with Mystery of Avalon. This was the tour where Draco had almost been arrested for prostitution. (Again, long story.)
Tour #3 had been when they were about to release their second record and had been sent to play five shows in New York City with Cashmerac. This was the tour where Max had gotten a bit too enthusiastic and swung his guitar and broke two of Draco’s ribs.
Tours #4-6 had been more of the same. Drug possession, lewd misconduct, and somehow managing to get lost on the way to the venue and winding up at a convent instead.
But he seemed to be the only one who remembered any of this.
“I wonder if Tokyo will be as good for us as they think?” Christian asked, looking out the window. Christopher had yet to arrive.
“I wrote a song on Wednesday and sent it to the label. It’s not bad. It’s called ‘Dog New Tricks’.”
“Is it about anal sex?” Christian asked promptly.
“No, but I’ll try and get one about that, just for you.”
“Bet we’d be number one on the charts. Everyone loves anal sex, after all.”
“What are you lot on about, then?” Christopher asked curtly, tossing his coat on the sofa.
“Didn’t hear you come in.” Christian said. “We were just having a laugh, you know how it is.” Christopher smirked.
“Yes, of course. Are we going to hang around all day or are we going to practice?”
“You’re rather brisk tonight.” Max said, plugging in his guitar.
“Just trying to be a bit professional for once.” Christopher answered coolly. “How about a quick run-through of ‘End It On This’?” He asked, and started strumming the bass line to the song without waiting for a reply.
They ran through a few songs. The tension was thick, but Draco forced himself to ignore it. Why should he be uncomfortable? He hadn’t been wrong.
“Reckon we ought to plan to go up to the studio before Christmas? Get a spot of recording done?” Christian suggested as they climbed into the van.
“You sing me the lyrics to ‘Dog New Tricks’ and I’ll try and lay some music to it, eh?” Lance said.
“Sounds good.”
“What do you think, Christopher? Which studio is best? The one in Denmark or the one in Scotland?”
“Neither. I really don’t want to be stuck in the studio with any of you for a week’s time.” Christopher replied icily.
Christian opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, looking hurt.
Max and Lance were blissfully oblivious, of course, and continued to whisper and kiss in the back seat, much to Draco’s aggravation. Happy people were so fucking annoying.
The club was packed with the usual crowd. Draco noticed with no small amount of disdain that Christopher detached from them and made an immediate beeline for Michael.
“Something up with Christopher?” Lance asked cheerfully in the dressing room.
“He’s German, that’s what’s up.” Tim said decisively from where he was sprawled in a chair in the corner. “He’s channeling Hitler.” Max laughed in that lazy, completely jubilant way that only people in love could. Xev came in wearing black slacks, stilettos, and a Cure t-shirt that looked like it had been recently worn by a mugging/drowning victim. Her hair was electric blue.
“You guys are second on the bill.” She said, tugging her earring. “So which one of you is going to come to mine this weekend and help me finish my paper mache slave master.”
“Is it so bad?” Max asked with a grin.
“When I started it, I figured it was water, paste, newspaper, and paint. How much bloody work can it be? But I was wrong apparently because Lucinda told me if I just kept going until it was the appropriate size, it’d weigh about seventy tons, so I have to do bloody framework on it and remember that the kiddie pool is made of rubber and the slant to the roof, and blah-di-blah-di-blah. It’s like taking bloody physics! I just wanted to push things off a roof! And now Lucinda’s hacked off with me for agreeing that Shirley could spend the hols with us again, so…” She trailed off with a sigh. With classic lack of tact, Lance said,
“Well, why shouldn’t she be? I’d be hacked off, too, if my lover’s ex was coming to stay with us.” Draco smirked.
“I guess now isn’t the time to tell you Quincy’s coming to stay with us, then?” Max gave him a look to kill while Lance looked at him incredulously.
“Excuse me?” He said. “Max, I think we need to discuss something. Would you please come out to the fire escape with me?” He said stiffly. As they left, Max threw Draco a dirty look.
Whitechapel Window Front was blaring from the stage. Xev sloped out of the dressing room, along with Christian, and then it was just Tim and Draco. The door closed, shutting out most of the noise.
Tim gave him a lazy smile.
“Heard about the tour yet? Well, alleged tour, anyway.” Draco laughed.
“Thank you! And here I thought I was just being as horrible pessimist.”
“I don’t see why they’re all so excited. We’ve barely ever made it past Scotland; why would it be any different this time?”
“That’s precisely what I said. You and I, Tim, we’re the only voices of reason around here.” They laughed. “Tim,” Draco said, turning around to inspect himself in the mirror. “You remember the other night when you were talking about something you said to me in the alley at a party or something. What was it?”
“Oh, you know……..” Tim said uncomfortably. “Just things.” He looked down for a moment. “How was your date? Xev told me about it.”
“It was—it was not bad. It was okay, I mean. How’s Katarina?” Draco asked, careful to keep the dry disdain out of his voice. Katarina was Tim’s horrible, slutty Russian girlfriend.
“Oh, Katarina and I broke up a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even know.”
“I didn’t really mention it to anyone. It’s not a big deal or anything. She wasn’t a big deal.”
“Yes, well, now that you’re broken up, I can comfortably say that I hated her anyway.” Tim laughed.
“I know, I know. The USSR, mate, what can I say?”
“Indeed, the USSR.” The conversation lulled; they smiled at each other comfortably in the silence.
“Well,” Draco said after a moment. “I had better go and warm up or something. I’ll see you later, Tim.”
“Later.” Tim sighed, sinking back against the chair.
Mystery of Avalon was being announced on the stage. Draco peered out from between the curtains for a moment. The crowd looked a bit bored; they needed a new band or something. New blood for the crowds. He mixed himself a Mimosa at the snack table, lit a cigarette, and sat down in the nearest chair.
The other bands were milling around, preparing for their own sets. Through the crowd, Draco could see Christopher and Michael talking and laughing. Michael had his hand on Christopher’s arm. Draco rolled his eyes in disgust. They both suddenly glanced over at him. Michael gestured emphatically and Christopher bit his lip, looking down.
“God, what is this?” Draco grumbled under his breath. “Band sabotage?” He got up to get another drink. By the time they were introduced and went out to the stage, he had had five, and he was feeling it, too.
“Good evening, everyone.” He said as they were getting set up. “How’s everyone doing tonight? Got someone to go home to, or just sleeping with your cat once more?” Sparse laughter. “Oh, come on, have a laugh with me. We’re gonna put on a fantastic show for you.”
“Draco,” Max whispered from beside him. “Shut up and introduce ‘Queer’.”
“All right, all right. Now we’re going to play a song for you called ‘Queer’. But we still only like woman.” Bit more laughing there.
They played the whole set with little or no problems, but Draco could feel Christopher rolling his eyes at him rather frequently.
Cashmerac, Michael’s band, was on after them, and as they passed them on the way to the dressing room, Michael caught Christopher’s arm and whispered something in his ear.
The dressing room was deserted and the sound of the door closing behind Christopher was strangely ominous. He cleared his throat.
“I need to speak with all of you.”
They all sat down before Christopher, shooting each other apprehensive looks.
“How’s that, then, Christopher?” Christian asked politely. Christopher took a deep breath.
“I don’t know if any of you have noticed this, but I haven’t been particularly happy in this band as of late. I’m aware that we are going into the studio soon, and then possibly on to a tour, and while I hate to leave you high and dry like this, I don’t feel as though I can go on performing my role in this band any longer.” There was a long pause.
“Are you saying you quit the band?” Max asked finally.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“After all that rubbish about commitment and tenacity and professionalism, you have the bloody nerve to quit?” Christian said incredulously.
“Yes, well, I-“
“Does this have something to do with Michael?” Lance asked suddenly. “Because you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. Did he convince you to leave?”
“No, he didn’t bloody convince me to leave.” Christopher said indignantly. “He simply pointed out that I was unhappy and asked why I was still in it.”
“Yeah, right,” Christian snorted. “Michael never simply ‘points out’ anything.”
“Well, he did, okay?”
“I suppose you’re joining Cashmerac, then?” Max asked with a sneer.
“No, actually.” Christopher snapped. “We are forming a new band.” Max got out of his chair and shook Christopher’s hand.
“Well, congratu-fucking-lations. Have a good time, you complete wanker.”
“Max, I-“
“I don’t care, all right? Go to your new dressing room with your new best mate, Michael.” Christopher sighed and left. “Well, this is fucking great! What the bloody hell are we supposed to do now?” Max exclaimed.
“Reckon we’ll have to get a new bassist.” Christian sighed. “Mass auditions or something.”
“We don’t have time for mass auditions! We have a show to do the day after tomorrow!”
“We could get Robbie to sit in on bass for us for a while, until we find a permanent replacement.”
“Yes, well, I suppose that’s what we’ll have to do, innit?” Max snapped.
“Look,” Christian said soothingly. “We’ll go home and calm down, and then we’ll start thinking about replacements tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
“It’ll have to be, won’t it?”
******************************************
Work the next day at The Dungeon was hardly any different from staying at home, unemployed. No one seemed to come into the shop, ever, and they generally sat around watching Monty Python and listening to Radiohead the whole time.
When Draco got home, there was a message from Freddie Manson, president of Post-Vodka records, a message from Ryan Tyrne, their manager, and a message from Harry.
Forcing himself to remember his priorities, he resisted the urge to erase the first two and skip to Harry’s. He hit the ‘Play All’ button.
“Hey, lads, it’s Freddie…listen, I just got a rather disturbing message from Christopher saying that he quit the band. I’m praying to God’s clean knickers this isn’t true, so call me and put me out of my misery.” Draco winced.
“’Lo, mates, it’s Ryan calling. I’ve had some talks with Freddie at the label as well as with Christopher and I think we all need to have a chat about finding at least a session bassist as soon as possible, as well as discuss some other things, like Japan or D.C. Ring me ASAP.”
“D.C.?” Draco said aloud. “What the bloody hell’s in D.C.?”
“Hi, Draco, it’s Harry. I wanted to know is the twenty-ninth good for going to a match? It’s Puddlemere versus the Cannons and Seamus will probably be there because he’s dying to talk to you. Call me back when you can. Cheers.” Draco grinned giddily to himself. It was like a date. A lousy date, but a date nonetheless. And it’d be cold—maybe they’d have to share body heat…………
“What are you on?” Max asked testily, coming out of his room and rudely waking Draco from his half-formed fantasy.
“Max,” He blinked. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Yes, well, I am, aren’t I? I spoke to Robbie during my lunch break today and he said he’d be glad to sit in on bass for us for a few weeks, so we’re covered for a bit. Who was on the machine?”
“Freddie and Ryan.”
“What’d they say?”
“Want us to call them about finding a new bassist and going recording.”
“Fantastic.” Max scoffed. “Clear off then, I’ll handle it.” He said. “Oh, and by the way, that was really crap of you to tell Lance about Quincy like that.” Draco rolled his eyes.
“You’d have had to tell him eventually.”
“I was waiting for the right moment! Lance and Quincy despise each other! You have to be delicate about it, and then you just go tossing it out like that! He’s completely hacked off with me now, you know.”
“I’ve no doubt in mind that he shall get over it.”
******************************************
“It’s sussed. They’ll find us a replacement and we leave for a month’s recording time in early January to either Washington, D.C. or Japan.” Max said, slouching into his room an hour later.
“Why? What’s in D.C.?” Max shrugged.
“What’s in Japan? Also, Rick from Cashmerac called and he said he’s sussed out when and where Michael and Christopher are playing their first show. Their new band’s called Dramatic Automatic, and they’re an electroclash-slash-punk band. Apparently, they had to change it from The Cunt Brigade and Very Fucking Dramatics before MisoMiso would sign them. Figures they’d sign with Post-Vodka’s one rival, wouldn’t it? He wants us to go and jeer at them with him and the rest of Michael’s band mates scorned. Anyway…written anything good lately?”
“No. Haven’t really tried. You?”
“Yeah, yeah, I wrote something called ‘Soldier Through This’. Care to do some minor tweaking?”
“Sure, let me see it.”
****************************************
The next day, all Draco could think of was what was in D.C.? He knew that it held some sort of meaning, and he recalled having mentioned it to people several times. As he was flipping through the new shipment of Bright Eyes records, he asked aloud,
“What’s in D.C.?”
“D.C.’s finest, according to you.” Christian replied. “That’s where Good Charlotte’s from.”
“Yes, you’re right! That’s exactly it!” He remembered now having gone through a period of Good Charlotte obsession and pointing out every picture of them he saw and stating that they were, in fact, D.C.’s finest.
“But never mind American pop-punk. Who do you think the label is going to choose as our new bassist? Better be someone good. I don’t want to be in the studio for a month with a complete bastard. Then again, no matter who they get, Lance’ll still be there, so I suppose there’s no avoiding that.”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t Xev play bass anyway?”
“She does, but not very well. I don’t know what we’ll do. Lance plays bass, but if he started, we’d need a whole new sound person, and no one would work as well as Lance. Anyway, I suppose it might now even matter much longer. Our contract’s up after this record. They may just be biding their time before they drop us. I wouldn’t blame them if they did. We’re a lot more trouble than we’re worth.”
Draco hummed non-commitally. On his lunch break, he left Harry a message to say that the twenty-ninth was fine for a quidditch match, though he was still a bit apprehensive about the whole idea.
But what he didn’t know as he shelved Manic Street Preacher records on that wet November afternoon was that that quidditch match was to be quite the catalyst for some very interesting later events. Very interesting, indeed.
Chapter 4: Dining and Dying
“So, Draco, you’re moving on up in the world. Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. You’re a bit like Anna Nicole Smith, I suppose.” Max mused.
“Never say that again.” Draco replied absently as he flicked through his closet. “I need a whole new wardrobe.” He said with a sigh.
“Why don’t you wear that black sweater with the sheer and the lace ribbing?”
“You mean the shirt I borrowed from Lucinda about three years ago? No way, it makes me look gay.”
“You are gay.”
“Yes, well, that doesn’t mean I have to wear it like a bloody sash and tiara. What ever happened to my green silk button-down?”
“Xev threw it out when she came ‘round to clean out our wardrobes. She said it made you look like you’d just wandered out of a Doors concert.”
“She threw it out? That was Dolce and Gabbana; it was one hundred and eighty-five dollars.” Max shrugged.
“I tried to tell her that, but she said bad fashion knows no price tag.”
“Fine, okay. How about the navy blue sweater with the white stitching?”
“It’s a bit I’m-going-to-a-polo-match. Don’t you want to go for a hipster sort of vibe?”
“Okay, then how about……..the orange sweater with the navy blue bordering, my black Ralph Lauren cargos, and my Chuck Taylors?”
“Orange is sort of a dangerous color, but if you think you can wear it, that sounds great.”
“Why? Do you not think I can wear it?”
“Well orange can make people look a bit yellow sometimes. But I’m sure you can pull it off…but yellow itself I would avoid if I were you.”
“Max?”
“What?”
“I’ve only just sort of forgiven you, so I suggest you shut up now.”
****************************************************
“I’ve never been more nervous in all my life.” Draco stated calmly, flicking the ash from his cigarette over the railing of their balcony. “I think I need a drink.”
“Mimosa?” Lance asked from the ground. They were sitting on the balcony waiting for Max to get back from the corner drugstore. It was ten minutes past seven. Lance was working a remix of ‘Stupid Girl’ on his laptop and chewing gum as loud as humanly possible (or so it seemed to Draco).
“Something a bit stronger, maybe?” Draco asked hopefully. (Ever since Greg Marsters, the lead singer of a Trifecta band called The Blinding Ruins (and Xev’s ex), had died in a drunk driving accident, it was an unspoken rule that no one on the scene drank anything stronger that champagne.) “I’m sure Xev won’t mind. Unless she finds out, of course, in which case, she’ll kill me.”
“I think I saw a bottle of vodka in the vegetable bin—shall I get us some, then?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
Draco glanced at his watch as Lance disappeared into the flat. It was twelve minutes past seven.
“I think I bought this stuff.” Lance said, handing him a glass full of vodka. “Careful,” He said as Draco took a sip. “It goes down pretty hard.” He watched as Draco coughed and gasped. “Alright?” He asked. At Draco’s nod, he turned back to his laptop for a moment before looking at him again. “How much is the rent on this flat?”
“Eight hundred pounds a month. Why?”
“Could you pay that all on your own?”
“Not when I don’t have a bloody job.” He replied with a snort. “Why?”
“No reason, I just...” He looked around. “Look, don’t tell Max I told you this, but I’ve sort of been thinking of asking him to move into my flat with me. I figure, you know, things are going well and I—“
“That’s exactly why he shouldn’t move in with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lance, your flat is a mess and you do nothing but lay around, fucking with things on your laptop all day. Max is a hyper-efficient anal-retentive neat freak. Do you really think the two of you could live together for more than six hours without gruesome homicide occurring?” Lance frowned at him.
“I don’t really think little details like that matter when you’re in our situation.”
“And what ‘situation’ would that be?”
“Being young and in love.”
“Oh, so you’re in love now? Look Lance, you might have Max fooled with this whole reformed act, but I remember all the things you did to him and the way you treated him, like he meant nothing to you, so if you think you can just pull a complete one-eighty, you’re sadly mistaken. I suggest you be careful with how you handle the ‘situation’, because if you do anything to him—“
“Do anything to whom?” Max asked from where he stood in the balcony doorway, holding a paper bag and looking bemused.
“Someone I met on a chat room.” Lance answered smoothly. “I hacked into his account and got his address. No need to look so alarmed, love. We’re just having a bit of a laugh.” He turned to Draco, his eyes dark and vaguely dangerous and vaguely pleading at the same time. “Right?”
“Yeah, just a laugh.” Draco said, turning to Max. “Have you got the time?” Max glanced at his watch.
“It’s twenty past. Getting nervous?” He asked with a grin.
“Just a bit.”
“I got some vegemite, two packs of fags, cheese, ham, and a some chewing gum. Let’s see if we can’t scrounge up a light appetizer or something.” Max said, heading towards the kitchen.
Just then, the doorbell rang. In seconds, the three of them were clustered around the front door. Draco looked at them each in turn, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
“Hi.” Harry said. “I’m a bit early, aren’t I? Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready, just let me get my…uh…..”
“Coat?” Lance said with a smirk.
“Yes, that’s the one.” Draco said, taking his coat off the coat rack next to the front door. As they went down the hall to the elevator, Harry said,
“Why were all your mates gathered round the door?”
“Oh, you know, just a bit, you know, curious, I suppose. They’ve been teasing me mercilessly. Called me Anna Nicole Smith.”
“Ouch. Why?”
“Oh, making the usual lewd insinuations.”
“Do they think we’re on a date, then? That’s not so lewd. Not so hard to believe either, really.” Harry said lightly.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know, because we both—I mean, I assume—“
“That I’m gay? Whatever would make you think that?” Draco asked dryly. The conversation lulled as Harry hailed a taxi. They were silent on the way to the restaurant, but after they were seated and waiting to be served, Harry said,
“You are, right?”
“Yes, yes, I was only having a bit of a laugh with you, Potter.”
“Oh…..I am as well, you know. That’s why I said it wasn’t so unlikely.” The waiter brought them menus and as they studied them, Harry said,
“I had a bit of a crush on you when we were at school, actually.” Draco choked on his water.
“Really?”
“Yes, in our sixth year. I sort of forced myself to forget about it though, because I assumed it wouldn’t have ever gone anywhere anyway.” He laughed. “Suppose we had gotten together at school? How we might’ve ended up.”
Draco’s throat was closed and his palms were sweaty. This was unbelievable; they hadn’t even gotten their drinks yet and he was already completely freaked out.
“Are you all right?” Harry asked. “You look a bit peaky.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I just have to go to the loo for a moment.” Draco said stiffly, getting out of his chair.
In the bathroom, he took out his mobile and dialed Xev’s number.
“Hello, Habermann/Knowles residence.”
“Xev, I’m in the loo at some restaurant and I need your help.”
“Is this like on that episode of Friends where Ross can’t get out of his leather trousers?” Draco let out a frustrated sigh.
“Xev, get real, I don’t even own a pair of leather trousers.”
“What is it then?”
“He said he was gay.”
“Harry? Yes, and?”
“And that he had liked me when we were at school. What am I supposed to make of that?”
“What you are supposed to make of that is that I am a genius. I told you he would fall desperately in love with you. He’s trying to indicate that he’s interested. Now you tell him that you liked him at school as well. But don’t let on that you were scarily obsessed with him. No one likes a stalker, love.”
“It’s not as simple as all that, Xev.”
“Because you won’t let it be. You are two gay blokes who like each other. It is not so difficult to understand. Now hang up the phone and go get your man. I’ll expect painfully explicit details first thing, all right?” The line went dead.
“Bloody lot of good you are.” Draco mumbled. He wound between the tables until he got back to his seat.
“Waiter come yet?” He asked coolly.
“No. So,” Harry said, leaning back in his seat. “How are things with the band?”
“We got into a bit of a fight, but we’ve more or less patched up. How are your mates?”
“Er, Ron doesn’t quite know what to make of your mate, Simon. He, uh, comes on a bit strong, you know?”
“Yes, I think he’s fallen in love. Probably the hair; Simon likes things that are bright.”
“Ron’s not gay, you know.”
“Yes, I know, and I’ve tried to tell Simon that, but he won’t hear a word of it. Don’t suppose it matters, he’s got about forty-seven brothers anyway, one of them must be gay.” Harry snorted.
“Bit more than one, mate. And I ought to know.” Draco cocked his head to the side.
“How’s your love life then, Potter? Bet you must have people after you all the time, considering.” Harry looked down almost shyly.
“Oh, you know, a few good goes, but nothing ever seems to pan out properly. Most recently, I tried it on with Seamus, but it was a nightmare. He’s not my type at all. How about you?”
“God, it’s been one long string of bad decisions for me. I never seem to learn my lesson.”
“What lesson would that be?”
“To never date, ever.” The waiter came to take their orders. Draco glanced at the menu, but all the words blurred together. He ordered fettuccini alfredo; after all, it was an Italian restaurant. “Don’t know, though.” He continued after the waiter had gone. “Don’t think it’ll matter much longer, as our label will probably be pushing us to go off to some God-forsaken country to record for a bit, then it’ll be on the nightmare tours, bit of press with some local rags and radio shows, etc. Won’t have much time for thinking about my non-existent love life.”
“It’s a bit hard to think that you haven’t got a bloody truckload of people panting after you.”
“Well, everyone knows me. They know how much bloody work I am. I did almost get married, though, about seven months ago. Fell apart two weeks before the wedding.”
“Why?”
“Suffice it to say he was a bit of a polygamist.” Harry winced.
“Rough bit of luck, that.” Draco snorted.
“Sometimes it seems like my whole life has just been a bit of rough luck.”
“Suppose I would, too, had all of what happened to you happened to me.” Draco waved a hand at him dismissively.
“Don’t feel too bad; you’ve had your own bit of rough luck.” Harry put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“So what is the honest likelihood that we can sway you back? Not permanently, mind you, if you don’t want, but only every now and then.” Draco sighed and took a sip of the wine they had ordered.
“Honestly? Not very.”
“But don’t you miss it, even the slightest bit?” He asked earnestly. “The magic, the flying—“
“The stupid politics and civil wars? It doesn’t hold many good memories for me, Potter. Especially considering the note I left on.”
“The Ministry’s under new administration now. Things are a good bit different than they were when you left.” Draco leaned forward with a sigh.
“What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Just, you know, maybe go to a quidditch match, write something for one of the bloody papers, just remind people that you’re alive, that you can come back home again!” Draco laughed, but there was no humor behind the sound.
“But that’s just it, Potter! You can’t come back home again! Not after something like that.” He leaned in even closer, his eyes burning intensely. “Do you know what it’s like to sacrifice everything, Potter, and still have people look down on you just because of who you happen to be related to? Do you know what it’s like to be humiliated like that and get no sympathy just because of your last name?”
“I—“
“No, you don’t. But that’s why I can’t go back; because no one wants me back.”
“I—Draco, I know that there’s nothing that can be done to make any of that any better, but it’s different now. People are different. Haven’t you been following things at all? There was a big sort of almost holocaust thing, then this huge backlash, and—things are just completely different now. You wouldn’t even recognize it as the world you grew up in.” He bit his lip and looked at Draco.
“One quidditch match, and I’ll come with you.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Draco sighed.
“One match, Potter.” Harry let out a relieved sigh. He gave him a small smile.
“I thought I’d lost you for a second. Seamus will be glad; he’s desperate to speak to you, he thinks some song of yours about prozzies is the best song ever written. Er, maybe—he also said something about The Cure, I think, but Seamus talks so bloody fast, I miss half of everything he says.”
“Why didn’t things work out with the two of you?” Draco asked. His pulse was throbbing in his ears; he felt cold and just the slightest bit nauseous. He hated to talk about what had happened before he left. His throat was dry; if he concentrated, he could remember the exact words of the Ministry official—he had definitely mentioned something about reprehensible behavior on everyone part, something about willingness and physical evidence—.
“Draco? Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Sorry,” Draco said. He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. “What was that?”
“I was telling you why Seamus and I broke up. You know, he was just a bit too—busy for my tastes. He’s a clubber, and I’d rather stay at home. He likes Top of the Pops, I like E.R.; we were just mismatched. Ended pretty amicably, though. We both sort of knew it was bound to happen.”
“You know, I had a bit of a crush on you as well, in seventh year.” Draco said. Harry gave him an unreadable look.
“Imagine that.”
********************************************************
“Shall I walk you up?” Harry asked in the taxi in front of his building. Draco shook his head.
“I’ll be all right. Max and Lance are home.”
“All right. So I’ll call you then?” Draco nodded. “All right.” He smiled. “We really ought to do this again, eh? No reason we can’t be mates now, right?” He said cautiously.
“Right. Cheers.” Draco replied, and climbed out of the taxi.
On the way to floor seven in the elevator, he thought about the night. He was fairly certain it had gone well. He opened the door to the flat. It was dark inside except for the television. He passed the couch on his way to his room and caught a brief flash of a half-naked Lance and Max entwined on it. (He’d have to remember never to sit on the couch again.)
“Oh, Draco!” Max called breathlessly as Draco went into his room. “How was dinner?”
“Fine.” Draco called back, and shut his door. He fell back on the bed with a sigh.
What a bloody night.
*************************************************
Simon called the next morning at eight, near tears.
“You were right.” He whispered miserably.
“Simon?”
“Of course it’s Simon, who else would it be? You were right.” He repeated.
“About what?”
“About Ron. He’s straight. But he says we can be—“ His voice cracked a bit. “Mates.”
“Simon, you knew he was straight, I told you he was straight.”
“Yes, but I—I thought we had a special connection.”
“Simon.”
“I know, I know. But I really liked him, you know? And he was perfect for me, you know he was.”
“He was, actually.” Draco agreed, because it was eight in the morning and it was a hell of a lot easier to just agree with Simon than to argue with him so early in the morning. And because it was a bit true.
“He said he’s got brothers, five of them, and two are gay. A, uh, Fred and a Charlie. And one maybe named Percy. With a name like Percy, he must be queer, I’d say. He said Fred is rather tall and that Charlie is a dragon tamer, which is very sexy, don’t you think? He said he’d bring them to a Mystery of Avalon show and introduce us. Maybe I could snag another Weasley, do you think? Draco? Draco?” Draco, who had fallen half asleep, jerked back awake.
“What? Yes, Weasleys, absolutely. Why you’d want to date a Weasley, I don’t know, though.”
“How was your date last night?”
“It wasn’t a date and nothing happened. Things got a bit heavy. He talked me into going to a stupid quidditch match with him. He told me he had a crush on me when we were at school.”
“Really?! That is excellent! So did you tell him that you liked him as well?”
“Yes. He said, ‘Imagine that.’” Simon snorted.
“Rather ambiguous, that one is. Are you and the band playing together tonight?”
“Yes. You and Myst of Av are on as well, right?”
“Yes. Have you spoken to Xev yet today? She called me last night at around one-bloody-AM banging on about something. I had a hard time making sense of it, but the words ‘tour’, ‘proposal’, ‘Martha Stewart’, and ‘paper mache’ were mentioned. Any clue?”
“Haven’t the faintest.”
“I’ll let you go now. Nice not to have to go to work?”
“Got to go and find a new one today.”
“Right. Cheers, love.”
“Cheers.”
***********************************************************
After a quick shower and some breakfast, Draco sat down and made a list of prospective jobs.
Draco’s Prospective Jobs
1) Bookmark One
(Bookmark One was the bookshop down the street from Last Ditch Efforts. Working there would mean working with Max, and Draco was fairly certain they saw e-bloody-nough of each other.)
2) The Velvet Box
(Unfortunately, Lucinda was most likely going to stick firm to her decision that he couldn’t work there. Probably because he couldn’t sew. But it wasn’t like the only thing one could do in a dressmaker’s shop was…er…make dresses.)
3) Breadstick and Saucer
(Breadstick and Saucer was a café on the opposite side of town; it was also about one block away from Christian’s flat. Draco had often gone there for breakfast on his way to work after a long night at Christian’s.)
4) The Dungeon
(The Dungeon was the record store where Christian worked. The pay was horrible, but they got a 50% discount and they hardly ever did any work anyway.)
5) The Manacle
(The Manacle was a dance club/S&M sex club a few streets away from The Roxy Villa, the club where they had all their shows. Max had worked there until he had found out that it was not a spank-you-a-bit, call-you-a-naughty-puppy sort of place. The Manacle was pretty hardcore; they had a health clinic built in for wounds and you had to sign a waiver before you could have a session. The Manacle was a last resort.)
6) Sobre El Mundo Shipping Co.
(This was the Ramirez family business. This was also a last resort.)
As he was finishing up, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Draco, I’ve got the most electrifying news ever.”
“Does it involve eels?”
“What?”
“Never mind. What’s happened?”
“We spoke with Brian at Post-Vodka. We’re going to Iceland to record on January fourth. We’ll be gone for a month.” Draco mentally crossed The Velvet Box off his list. “And then they’re pushing for us to go on tour; a proper tour, too, none of that five cities across Europe, ride on a coach sort of thing.”
“That’s great.”
“Yes, I know, you don’t care, but I’m getting to the part that is interesting to you; you’re coming with us.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re shipping you off to Japan again to see if they can recreate I Lost My Head In Tokyo. They think it’ll break your Writer’s Block. So a few days after January, you’re off to Japan for a month or two, and we’re off to Iceland, then we’re going on tour! They mentioned Mystery of Avalon and Cashmerac as well, but I wasn’t paying much attention by that point. The only fly in the ointment is that Cinda will have to close down The Velvet Box for a while. And by that time, you’ll be shagging Harry Potter on a regular basis, and then you’ll have to part ways for a bit. Anyway, they’re going to be pushing us hard on the states, so we might actually make it across the pond this time around. We’ll get to meet—whom do we want to meet in the states? Oh, yes, I can finally meet Cher. I’ve always wanted to, you know. Oh, and Halle Berry, and Ewan MacGregor, and Tim Burton, and Lucy Lui, and Linkin Park, and—oh, I can finally meet Melissa Ethridge! Draco, do you—Draco, are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, I’m listening.” Draco said absently, flicking through a three month old copy of Hello!. “Melissa Ethridge, Cher, etc. You know, they say we’re going to make it to the states every time we go on tour.”
“Don’t bring me down, love. Anyway, they’ll be calling you soon as well, I expect. I’ve gotta go, all right? I’m a slave to this stupid paper mache project. Cheers, see you on CD: UK.” She hung up.
Draco considered. It was the eighteenth, and if they left on, say, the fifth of January, that left him about a month a half to sort things out. Could Xev be right? Could he be shagging Harry Potter by the new year? Or would he be spending another year alone in front of the fire?
*************************************************
The Dungeon was dark and there was incense in the air; Radiohead was playing over the PA system.
“Draco,” Georgia, the girl at the counter, said, in a lazy, purring sort of way. “What brings you round?”
“I was wondering if Christian could take a break.” He looked pointedly around the deserted store. “I know you’re so very busy.” Georgia just smiled in a come-hither sort of way.
“He’s in the back.”
The backroom of The Dungeon was furnished entirely in shag carpeting and bean bag chairs: going back there, one always felt like one had wandered into the sixties.
Christian was sprawled across one of the bean bags, half-asleep. He half-opened his eyes at the sound of the door.
“You look like a cat.” Draco said with a grin. Christian sat up with a groan.
“What are you doing here?” Draco sank into one of the chairs.
“I was wondering if you might have some openings here.”
“At The Dungeon? You must be really desperate if you want to work here. Why don’t you just go to Bookmark One?”
“Er, I think I see enough of Max at home without having to see him at work all day as well.” Christian laughed.
“That’s a very diplomatic way to put it. Anyway, I suppose we could take you on. Don’t reckon anyone would notice; after all, it’s not as though we ever have any bloody customers. Do you want to start today or tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I suppose. That was awfully easy. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” Christian hummed and lay back down.
“Are you coming to practice tonight?”
“Yeah, I suppose. Have we got a set list yet?”
“No. Draco, do you remember that time when you and I got into that really big fight with Max and Christopher and we went out and got pissed and then stumbled into the studio at about two-thirty in the morning?”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely. That was a nightmare.” Christian shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable.
“We had sex, right?” Draco snorted.
“Oh, yeah, trust me, I remember, I must have had the imprint of the sound board in my back for about a fucking month.”
“Was it—I mean, was it any—“
“Good?” Draco shrugged. “The details are a bit hazy, but yeah, I believe so.”
“Have you ever thought at the fact that we’ve all broken the rule about no inter-band dating that we made when we first got together? I mean, you and I, you and Max, Max and Lance, Max and me…isn’t that unprofessional?” Draco gave him a pointed look.
“Have we ever been professional, Christian?”
“No, I guess not.” They were both silent for a few minutes, but it was a comfortable quiet. “Do you ever, you know, think about it?”
“Not really. I always thought you had forgotten all about it. Why, do you?”
“Oh, you know,” Christian said uncomfortably. “Sometimes. Really, I just wonder what might have happened had we not been completely pissed when it happened.”
“We could be Max and Lance, part two.” They shared a look.
“Scary thought.”
****************************************************
Predictably, the rest of the band was just as excited as Xev had been when he let spill the news about the alleged tour. “God, we could finally be on Top of the Pops!” Christian said happily.
“That’s what we always say! This is going to be failed tour number—what, six?”
“Draco, don’t be a killjoy.” Max said dismissively. “Man, we could finally meet Susan Sarandon—we could maybe even convince her to record that re-make of ‘Creature of the Night’ we’ve been trying to make for so bloody long.” Draco rolled his eyes. After all six disastrous tours, they still hadn’t learned their lessons.
Tour #1 had been when they’d first signed with Post-Vodka. They had sent them to Canada with The Slivs to play twelve shows in the hopes that they’d generate some buzz. This was the tour where they had nearly crashed their van into a flock of geese.
Tour #2 had been when their first record had come out and done well locally, so the label had sent them on a tour of France with Mystery of Avalon. This was the tour where Draco had almost been arrested for prostitution. (Again, long story.)
Tour #3 had been when they were about to release their second record and had been sent to play five shows in New York City with Cashmerac. This was the tour where Max had gotten a bit too enthusiastic and swung his guitar and broke two of Draco’s ribs.
Tours #4-6 had been more of the same. Drug possession, lewd misconduct, and somehow managing to get lost on the way to the venue and winding up at a convent instead.
But he seemed to be the only one who remembered any of this.
“I wonder if Tokyo will be as good for us as they think?” Christian asked, looking out the window. Christopher had yet to arrive.
“I wrote a song on Wednesday and sent it to the label. It’s not bad. It’s called ‘Dog New Tricks’.”
“Is it about anal sex?” Christian asked promptly.
“No, but I’ll try and get one about that, just for you.”
“Bet we’d be number one on the charts. Everyone loves anal sex, after all.”
“What are you lot on about, then?” Christopher asked curtly, tossing his coat on the sofa.
“Didn’t hear you come in.” Christian said. “We were just having a laugh, you know how it is.” Christopher smirked.
“Yes, of course. Are we going to hang around all day or are we going to practice?”
“You’re rather brisk tonight.” Max said, plugging in his guitar.
“Just trying to be a bit professional for once.” Christopher answered coolly. “How about a quick run-through of ‘End It On This’?” He asked, and started strumming the bass line to the song without waiting for a reply.
They ran through a few songs. The tension was thick, but Draco forced himself to ignore it. Why should he be uncomfortable? He hadn’t been wrong.
“Reckon we ought to plan to go up to the studio before Christmas? Get a spot of recording done?” Christian suggested as they climbed into the van.
“You sing me the lyrics to ‘Dog New Tricks’ and I’ll try and lay some music to it, eh?” Lance said.
“Sounds good.”
“What do you think, Christopher? Which studio is best? The one in Denmark or the one in Scotland?”
“Neither. I really don’t want to be stuck in the studio with any of you for a week’s time.” Christopher replied icily.
Christian opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, looking hurt.
Max and Lance were blissfully oblivious, of course, and continued to whisper and kiss in the back seat, much to Draco’s aggravation. Happy people were so fucking annoying.
The club was packed with the usual crowd. Draco noticed with no small amount of disdain that Christopher detached from them and made an immediate beeline for Michael.
“Something up with Christopher?” Lance asked cheerfully in the dressing room.
“He’s German, that’s what’s up.” Tim said decisively from where he was sprawled in a chair in the corner. “He’s channeling Hitler.” Max laughed in that lazy, completely jubilant way that only people in love could. Xev came in wearing black slacks, stilettos, and a Cure t-shirt that looked like it had been recently worn by a mugging/drowning victim. Her hair was electric blue.
“You guys are second on the bill.” She said, tugging her earring. “So which one of you is going to come to mine this weekend and help me finish my paper mache slave master.”
“Is it so bad?” Max asked with a grin.
“When I started it, I figured it was water, paste, newspaper, and paint. How much bloody work can it be? But I was wrong apparently because Lucinda told me if I just kept going until it was the appropriate size, it’d weigh about seventy tons, so I have to do bloody framework on it and remember that the kiddie pool is made of rubber and the slant to the roof, and blah-di-blah-di-blah. It’s like taking bloody physics! I just wanted to push things off a roof! And now Lucinda’s hacked off with me for agreeing that Shirley could spend the hols with us again, so…” She trailed off with a sigh. With classic lack of tact, Lance said,
“Well, why shouldn’t she be? I’d be hacked off, too, if my lover’s ex was coming to stay with us.” Draco smirked.
“I guess now isn’t the time to tell you Quincy’s coming to stay with us, then?” Max gave him a look to kill while Lance looked at him incredulously.
“Excuse me?” He said. “Max, I think we need to discuss something. Would you please come out to the fire escape with me?” He said stiffly. As they left, Max threw Draco a dirty look.
Whitechapel Window Front was blaring from the stage. Xev sloped out of the dressing room, along with Christian, and then it was just Tim and Draco. The door closed, shutting out most of the noise.
Tim gave him a lazy smile.
“Heard about the tour yet? Well, alleged tour, anyway.” Draco laughed.
“Thank you! And here I thought I was just being as horrible pessimist.”
“I don’t see why they’re all so excited. We’ve barely ever made it past Scotland; why would it be any different this time?”
“That’s precisely what I said. You and I, Tim, we’re the only voices of reason around here.” They laughed. “Tim,” Draco said, turning around to inspect himself in the mirror. “You remember the other night when you were talking about something you said to me in the alley at a party or something. What was it?”
“Oh, you know……..” Tim said uncomfortably. “Just things.” He looked down for a moment. “How was your date? Xev told me about it.”
“It was—it was not bad. It was okay, I mean. How’s Katarina?” Draco asked, careful to keep the dry disdain out of his voice. Katarina was Tim’s horrible, slutty Russian girlfriend.
“Oh, Katarina and I broke up a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even know.”
“I didn’t really mention it to anyone. It’s not a big deal or anything. She wasn’t a big deal.”
“Yes, well, now that you’re broken up, I can comfortably say that I hated her anyway.” Tim laughed.
“I know, I know. The USSR, mate, what can I say?”
“Indeed, the USSR.” The conversation lulled; they smiled at each other comfortably in the silence.
“Well,” Draco said after a moment. “I had better go and warm up or something. I’ll see you later, Tim.”
“Later.” Tim sighed, sinking back against the chair.
Mystery of Avalon was being announced on the stage. Draco peered out from between the curtains for a moment. The crowd looked a bit bored; they needed a new band or something. New blood for the crowds. He mixed himself a Mimosa at the snack table, lit a cigarette, and sat down in the nearest chair.
The other bands were milling around, preparing for their own sets. Through the crowd, Draco could see Christopher and Michael talking and laughing. Michael had his hand on Christopher’s arm. Draco rolled his eyes in disgust. They both suddenly glanced over at him. Michael gestured emphatically and Christopher bit his lip, looking down.
“God, what is this?” Draco grumbled under his breath. “Band sabotage?” He got up to get another drink. By the time they were introduced and went out to the stage, he had had five, and he was feeling it, too.
“Good evening, everyone.” He said as they were getting set up. “How’s everyone doing tonight? Got someone to go home to, or just sleeping with your cat once more?” Sparse laughter. “Oh, come on, have a laugh with me. We’re gonna put on a fantastic show for you.”
“Draco,” Max whispered from beside him. “Shut up and introduce ‘Queer’.”
“All right, all right. Now we’re going to play a song for you called ‘Queer’. But we still only like woman.” Bit more laughing there.
They played the whole set with little or no problems, but Draco could feel Christopher rolling his eyes at him rather frequently.
Cashmerac, Michael’s band, was on after them, and as they passed them on the way to the dressing room, Michael caught Christopher’s arm and whispered something in his ear.
The dressing room was deserted and the sound of the door closing behind Christopher was strangely ominous. He cleared his throat.
“I need to speak with all of you.”
They all sat down before Christopher, shooting each other apprehensive looks.
“How’s that, then, Christopher?” Christian asked politely. Christopher took a deep breath.
“I don’t know if any of you have noticed this, but I haven’t been particularly happy in this band as of late. I’m aware that we are going into the studio soon, and then possibly on to a tour, and while I hate to leave you high and dry like this, I don’t feel as though I can go on performing my role in this band any longer.” There was a long pause.
“Are you saying you quit the band?” Max asked finally.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“After all that rubbish about commitment and tenacity and professionalism, you have the bloody nerve to quit?” Christian said incredulously.
“Yes, well, I-“
“Does this have something to do with Michael?” Lance asked suddenly. “Because you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. Did he convince you to leave?”
“No, he didn’t bloody convince me to leave.” Christopher said indignantly. “He simply pointed out that I was unhappy and asked why I was still in it.”
“Yeah, right,” Christian snorted. “Michael never simply ‘points out’ anything.”
“Well, he did, okay?”
“I suppose you’re joining Cashmerac, then?” Max asked with a sneer.
“No, actually.” Christopher snapped. “We are forming a new band.” Max got out of his chair and shook Christopher’s hand.
“Well, congratu-fucking-lations. Have a good time, you complete wanker.”
“Max, I-“
“I don’t care, all right? Go to your new dressing room with your new best mate, Michael.” Christopher sighed and left. “Well, this is fucking great! What the bloody hell are we supposed to do now?” Max exclaimed.
“Reckon we’ll have to get a new bassist.” Christian sighed. “Mass auditions or something.”
“We don’t have time for mass auditions! We have a show to do the day after tomorrow!”
“We could get Robbie to sit in on bass for us for a while, until we find a permanent replacement.”
“Yes, well, I suppose that’s what we’ll have to do, innit?” Max snapped.
“Look,” Christian said soothingly. “We’ll go home and calm down, and then we’ll start thinking about replacements tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
“It’ll have to be, won’t it?”
******************************************
Work the next day at The Dungeon was hardly any different from staying at home, unemployed. No one seemed to come into the shop, ever, and they generally sat around watching Monty Python and listening to Radiohead the whole time.
When Draco got home, there was a message from Freddie Manson, president of Post-Vodka records, a message from Ryan Tyrne, their manager, and a message from Harry.
Forcing himself to remember his priorities, he resisted the urge to erase the first two and skip to Harry’s. He hit the ‘Play All’ button.
“Hey, lads, it’s Freddie…listen, I just got a rather disturbing message from Christopher saying that he quit the band. I’m praying to God’s clean knickers this isn’t true, so call me and put me out of my misery.” Draco winced.
“’Lo, mates, it’s Ryan calling. I’ve had some talks with Freddie at the label as well as with Christopher and I think we all need to have a chat about finding at least a session bassist as soon as possible, as well as discuss some other things, like Japan or D.C. Ring me ASAP.”
“D.C.?” Draco said aloud. “What the bloody hell’s in D.C.?”
“Hi, Draco, it’s Harry. I wanted to know is the twenty-ninth good for going to a match? It’s Puddlemere versus the Cannons and Seamus will probably be there because he’s dying to talk to you. Call me back when you can. Cheers.” Draco grinned giddily to himself. It was like a date. A lousy date, but a date nonetheless. And it’d be cold—maybe they’d have to share body heat…………
“What are you on?” Max asked testily, coming out of his room and rudely waking Draco from his half-formed fantasy.
“Max,” He blinked. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Yes, well, I am, aren’t I? I spoke to Robbie during my lunch break today and he said he’d be glad to sit in on bass for us for a few weeks, so we’re covered for a bit. Who was on the machine?”
“Freddie and Ryan.”
“What’d they say?”
“Want us to call them about finding a new bassist and going recording.”
“Fantastic.” Max scoffed. “Clear off then, I’ll handle it.” He said. “Oh, and by the way, that was really crap of you to tell Lance about Quincy like that.” Draco rolled his eyes.
“You’d have had to tell him eventually.”
“I was waiting for the right moment! Lance and Quincy despise each other! You have to be delicate about it, and then you just go tossing it out like that! He’s completely hacked off with me now, you know.”
“I’ve no doubt in mind that he shall get over it.”
******************************************
“It’s sussed. They’ll find us a replacement and we leave for a month’s recording time in early January to either Washington, D.C. or Japan.” Max said, slouching into his room an hour later.
“Why? What’s in D.C.?” Max shrugged.
“What’s in Japan? Also, Rick from Cashmerac called and he said he’s sussed out when and where Michael and Christopher are playing their first show. Their new band’s called Dramatic Automatic, and they’re an electroclash-slash-punk band. Apparently, they had to change it from The Cunt Brigade and Very Fucking Dramatics before MisoMiso would sign them. Figures they’d sign with Post-Vodka’s one rival, wouldn’t it? He wants us to go and jeer at them with him and the rest of Michael’s band mates scorned. Anyway…written anything good lately?”
“No. Haven’t really tried. You?”
“Yeah, yeah, I wrote something called ‘Soldier Through This’. Care to do some minor tweaking?”
“Sure, let me see it.”
****************************************
The next day, all Draco could think of was what was in D.C.? He knew that it held some sort of meaning, and he recalled having mentioned it to people several times. As he was flipping through the new shipment of Bright Eyes records, he asked aloud,
“What’s in D.C.?”
“D.C.’s finest, according to you.” Christian replied. “That’s where Good Charlotte’s from.”
“Yes, you’re right! That’s exactly it!” He remembered now having gone through a period of Good Charlotte obsession and pointing out every picture of them he saw and stating that they were, in fact, D.C.’s finest.
“But never mind American pop-punk. Who do you think the label is going to choose as our new bassist? Better be someone good. I don’t want to be in the studio for a month with a complete bastard. Then again, no matter who they get, Lance’ll still be there, so I suppose there’s no avoiding that.”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t Xev play bass anyway?”
“She does, but not very well. I don’t know what we’ll do. Lance plays bass, but if he started, we’d need a whole new sound person, and no one would work as well as Lance. Anyway, I suppose it might now even matter much longer. Our contract’s up after this record. They may just be biding their time before they drop us. I wouldn’t blame them if they did. We’re a lot more trouble than we’re worth.”
Draco hummed non-commitally. On his lunch break, he left Harry a message to say that the twenty-ninth was fine for a quidditch match, though he was still a bit apprehensive about the whole idea.
But what he didn’t know as he shelved Manic Street Preacher records on that wet November afternoon was that that quidditch match was to be quite the catalyst for some very interesting later events. Very interesting, indeed.
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no subject
Date: 2004-01-15 01:46 pm (UTC)But wow I love this fic. It isn't often someone writes one set in a scene I can relate to. ^-^ (which is funny because, where I come from, the Gay Club scene is so large you'd think someone would write about it.)
Thank you so much for posting, and continuing to post! I love this.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-15 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-15 10:30 pm (UTC)Anyway. I want to show my appreciation for your fic. So I'd like to do some cover art. Maybe Draco on stage singing or some generic glittery Draco or ect... So I have some questions.
What's your image of Draco (style of clothes, hair, make up (did he have pircings or tattoos?), posture, ect...
Your image of the band members? The club, ect.. (if I go with that idea)
Or do you have a specific image in mind you'd like for a cover? It's your story so I really want something that fits it, does it justice. The more details the better!
I hope it'll be done in a few weeks. My scanner is on again off again (currently off again) and school is trying to kill me. But this will be an excelent distraction!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-17 02:43 pm (UTC)In the beginning of the band, Draco went through a very Brian Molko-esque cross-dressing phase, so you could do that. He has white-blonde hair down to his chin and can often be found wearing, of course, glitter eye make-up. He's a bit on the petite side. Max looks like Rivers Cuomo w/a little Elijah Wood, Lance looks like a mix of Jude Law and Ryan Phillipe, Christopher looks like--er. He's really tall and he has dark blonde hair. Christian looks kind of like Ewan MacGregor crossed with Tom Welling, a little.
I hope that helps. Good luck and thanks!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-21 07:14 pm (UTC)