Carol Bedford, Excerpts 5,6,7,8

[larainefan]

5. (Carol has a new job, and she and George have lost touch for several months. The following is probably one of the most bizarre telephone conversations ever)

I put George through on the reception desk phone. I sat on the floor in front of the desk. Most unbecoming, I know...I simply felt I'd have less of a distance to crash-land when I inevitably fell over.

"Hello?" I asked the receiver.

"Hello?" I heard back. I didn't say anything, so he continued, "Is this Carol? Carol from Texas?"

"Yes. George?"

"Yes, I'm George. George from Esher. Do you remember me?"

I couldn't believe this. "Yes, Harrison, isn't it?" I whispered. After all, I was sitting in the middle of a record company reception.

"Yes," he said firmly. "How are you?"

"Fine," I said. "How are you?"

"Fine," he reciprocated. Silence. Then he said with added emphasis, "How ARE you, really?"

"I'm really fine," I said. "And you?"

"Yes, I'm fine, too," he said.

This was heady stuff. Whatever nerves I did have, I now no longer had. Silence. Pause.

He coughed and, yes, you guessed it, asked, "So you're fine, are you?"

At this point, I laughed and said, "George, this is ridiculous. You've asked me three times how I am and i've said fine. We've got to branch out or we'll both go to sleep!"

He laughed and said "I agree. I just don't know what to say. I mean I wasn't sure what my reception would be."

"I know. I give you points for bravery, but I can't bite you over the phone."

"Yes, you can," he laughed.

"Well then, I won't," I laughed.

"I'd like to see you," he said softly.

Now I knew I was dreaming. "Oh?" I said. It was all I could think of at the time.

"Yes," he said firmly and loudly.

"Where, when?" I asked. A date with George? Unheard of.

"I'm recording at present, at Apple. You remember where it is?"

"Vaguely," I replied.

"Could you come to the studio tonight?"

I thought a minute and said, "George, I don't wait out anymore, for anyone."

"Oh, I know. I don't mean wait outside. I'd like you to come and see me. Come straight into the studio. It's down the basement stairs. Tell the security guard to get me out of the session."

"I'd hardly interrupt your recording, George. All I meant was I wouldn't wait out all night to say 'goodnight' and see you drive off. I'll come and wait in reception for you."

"Great!" he said with real feeling. "What time?" he asked.

"is sixish okay?" I asked, thinking I might be a little late leaving work.

6. We went through a narrow passage. I hadn't a clue where I was supposed to go, so I stopped. George moved around me and led the way to a door at the far end of the passage. He opened the door and let me pass into the room.

It wasn't a large room. It wasn't exactly tiny either."Cosy' is the word to describe it, maybe due to the orange paint and subdued lighting. There were musical instruments all over the place. There were microphones and amplifiers. On the wall beside the door we had just entered was the control room. It was on a floor above us and had a glass panel so people in each room could see the people in the other. This was a recording studio all right.

George motioned for me to sit down. There were two chairs beside the piano. I sat down, and George sat beside me.

Mal came in and said "Carol, it's so good to see you again. It's been a long time."

"Thank you, Mal," I smiled.

George looked at Mal and snapped, "Mal---teas!"

Mal winked at me and left the room. Well, if George wanted to see me alone, we were certainly alone now. I waited.

George coughed and asked, "So, how are you?"

I thought, "oh no, not this conversation again" but I said "well, a lot's happened since I saw you last. I work at A&M now, as you know. And I've been back to Dallas."

"To see your folks? How are they?"

"They're fine. Billy loved All Things."

"How is Billy?" George asked.

"He's fine. He finished his degree in psychology. He's doing a doctorate now, on the mental state of Charles Manson."

"That should keep him busy," George laughed.

"Yes, it's got everything Billy's interested in: mass murder, sex, violence and witchcraft."

"he's interested in witchcraft?" George looked amazed.

"Yes. He found a black kitten and named in Diablo, another name for the devil."

"My God," George said quietly. Then he brightened and asked, "And how's Dallas?"

"Oh, I enjoyed it. I even saw Kent," I laughed.

"Kent?"

"yes, my first..." I hesitated and then thought, what the hell, I finished my sentence, "My first lover."

"Oh!" George shouted at me. "Superman!"

I interpreted his comment as anger or jealousy. "No just a person who understands me," I snapped back.

"Here's the tea," Mal boomed from behind us. He had heard the disagreement.

George coughed nervously, and said he'd be back in a minute. He wanted to make a phone call.

When he left, Mal sat down and laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked him.

"You and George. For two people who like each other so much, you two can really upset one another."

I laughed too. Mal's insight summed up our relationship.

"I thought I should tell you who he's phoning," Mal said.

"That's none of my business," I said.

"Oh, but it is," Mal smiled. "Pattie phoned earlier to ask if George would attend some modeling show of hers tonight. He said he couldn't make it and thought that would be the end of it. But Pattie said she'd drop by to see him. he's phoning her now to tell her not to."

"Why ever not?" I was astounded.

"Because you're here. Pattie wouldn't like that," Mal said softly.

George came back in. He was smiling. I assumed that his mood over Kent had passed, as well as any nervousness he might have felt from expecting Pattie any minute.

I sipped my tea and lit a cigarette. George looked at me with a shocked expression. Then I realized he had never seen me smoke.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked.

"Oh, since I got upset about something. Instead of commiting suicide outright, I thought I'd die by degrees."

"It's a killer all right," George said. "You shouldn't smoke," he added.

"Look who's calling the kettle black," I laughed.

George looked at me in surprise. "Why do you say that?"

"Oh, George, come on. You smoke, drink and take drugs."

"I don't now," he said.

I stared at him, so he explained. "Krishna teaches a person to purify his body and thoughts, so I'm trying to live up to his teachings. I've given up sex."

I looked astonished. This was a guy who would fish-tail across four lanes of highway to offer a ride to an attractive blonde. He continued, "Yes, I have. Six months now I've been celibate. I no longer drink or take drugs. I only drink three cups of tea a day. Tea contains Drugs too, you know. And I only smoke three cigarettes a day."

"He's driving us all nuts!" Mal laughed.

"I'm trying anyway," George said, sounding hurt.

"Yes, George, I can see that," I said quietly. "But six months of such strictness could be followed by two years of wild binges to make up for the lost time. You could go wild!"

George laughed at this, but I persisted.

"Aristotle said moderation was best in all things. Why don't you try that? It's easier, more realistic and therefor, might last longer. You know you could manage that, like the three teas instead of no tea at all. That way of life could become permanent.

George had listened attentively. He even nodded once or twice to indicate that he understood what I was saying. But I doubted that I was making an impression.

This was confirmed when he said, "I get up at 4am to shower. Then I meditate for two hours. I take another shower after. I'm up to three showers a day."

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness?" I asked.

"Krishna said we should be clean in mind, soul and body."

"I see." I didn't, but why hurt him by saying so. I had already told him what I thought.

I felt the chasm between us had grown. Only now it was not the distance between pop star and fan, but the distance between religious fanaticism and disbelief. This gap we would never close.

7. A couple of days later, I came out of the bath to find there was a telephone call for me. One of the boys from downstairs was holding the receiver. he said, "a call for you. It's a guy."

I said 'hello' in the phone and heard Mal's voice.

"Oh, Mal!" I said, surprised.

"Yes. Were you expecting someone else?" he asked.

Well, obviously, I was hoping it was George, but I didn't want to hurt Mal's feelings so I said, "Of course now. It's nice to hear from you. And you're welcome for the present."

He laughed and said "Yes, I did call to thank you. George was jealous of my gift."

"Was he? I didn't mean to cause jealousy. It's just that he said he didn't drink. I'd hate to tempt the righteous," I laughed.

"Well, ah...Can we come over?" he abruptly changed the subject.

George and Mal come over? I nearly died while holding the phone. "Of course," I mumbled.

"We'll be there in half an hour," he said and hung up.

I raced up the stairs to my room. How did Mal get the phone number? I had only recently moved. I guessed that if he had the phone number, he somehow had the address. But how? Maybe Margo gave it to him.

Once in my room, I threw clothes in the wardrobe, vacuumed in seconds flat, opened the windows to get the smoke out, and sprayed myself with perfume. Then I noticed I still only had a towel around me, as I had just come from the bath. What could I wear? I flung the wardrobe doors open.

"Nothing to wear," I mumbled, staring at a wardrobe full of clothes. "Dress casual," I thought. "After all, you're at home." I put on jeans and a blouse, I ended up changing the blouse for a sweater and then back to the blouse again.

By this time the door bell sounded, I was exhausted. I knew George would be embarrassed if someone else answered the door, so I raced down the stairs. One of the boys from the ground floor flat was on his way to the door.

"Wait!" I screamed. "I'll get it."

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Don't tell me you do have a boyfriend," he laughed. When I didn't answer, he took the hint and disappeared back into his room.

I opened the door, and Mal, only Mal, was standing there. No George.I was surprised. If it was just Mal coming, why didn't he say so?

"It's just me, I'm afraid," he smiled.

He had lied, using George's name to make sure he would be welcome. That was silly. The trick only succeeded in making me cross. But I tried to feel sympathetic to his doubts.

"Come in," I said brightly.

I led the way to my room. Mal sat in the chair by the bay window. I made him a cup of tea and sat on the bed across the room.

"George wants you to move to Los Angeles," he said without any warm up conversation. "he has an apartment there you could have."

"Why?" I asked.

"He can't take you out places here. You know, he'd like to take you out to restaurants and places, but he's married. Reporters are everywhere."

"He could come here," I said pointedly.

Mal retorted. "he's afraid someone will see him coming here."

"That's ridiculous!" I said.

After all, he had come to visit me in my last bedsit, which was practically next door to the studio. No one would expect him in West Hampstead, where I lived now.

To illustrate my point, and because I was still angry with Mal for his lie, I walked to the windows. I had not drawn the curtains, so I looked out into the street and said, "I don't see any BBC cameras out there."

Mal stuck to his story. "George can't get a divorce right now, so he doesn't want to be seen with some other girl."

"Why now right now? What's he waiting for, the great flood?"

"He doesn't want to lose the house. If she petitions him, the house goes to her," Mal explained.

That made sense. The house in Henley had assumed an unusual importance to George. It used to be a monastery. The light switches were friar's faces. There were underground tunnels and even an altar in one room. The man who had owned the house originally was called Sir Frankie Crisp. On George's album he had done a song for old Sir Frankie. He even claimed Sir Frank gave him messages.

"Why doesn't he sue her then?" I asked.

Mal chose not to answer.

"I'm no one's mistress, Mal, not even George's," I said. I was furious. I didn't know if George had made this offer through Mal or Mal was testing me in some way. Whichever it was, I was mad.

"Tell him to go to hell," I said. "And perhaps you'd better leave."

Mal looked pleased by my outburst. "Come over here," he said.

When I moved over to his chair, he pulled me into his lap! I was shocked and tried to get up. But Mal was a big man. He started kissing me. I tried to push against him to get distance between us, but he held me tightly.

"Sounds like you're not so crazy over George anymore. Good. That leaves room for me," he said.

"No!" I screamed.

Mal looked at me in surprise. He had dropped his grip, so I was able to get up. I went to the door and opened it. I screamed "Get out!"

Mal objected, but while I was screaming, the four boys from downstairs had come up to my room.

I'm sure Mal was large enough to fight them off, but he chose to go quietly.

I was so upset after he left. Cuddly, teddy-bear Mal had just tried to force himself on me. Had he made up the suggestion of the Los Angeles flat or did George send him to make the offer, just as George had got him to call me one other time?

It if was George's idea, then I was shattered. I mean, where was Krishna while that offer was being made? Did he think so little of me to suggest such a thing? He'd keep his sanctimonious marriage in England and his mistress (or mistresses) in the States? Would he think more of me since i said no, since I could not be bought for the price of an apartment?

I was never to find out if George asked Mal to come, or if Mal did so off his own bat. I would see George again, but not to speak to. I would also receive a note from him, but it concerned something else. So this mystery remains unsolved.

8. I entered the art department. No one was in the outer office. It was late, so they must have gone home. Fabio's office door was open and the office was well lit. I saw Fabio and, when I moved to the right side of the door, I saw George.

He looked well. He was wearing jeans and a lovely orange and blue silk jacket that only reached his hip. He didn't see me; he was busy studying artwork. It would have been so easy just to step inside the office and say hello to him. I knew he would have responded kindly. He probably knew nothing about Mal's visit to me. Even if he did, he would not mention it.

It would have been so easy. Maybe that's why I didn't do it. I stood looking at him and wondered why this person had assumed such an unnatural importance in my life. He looked so normal, frail even, his head bent down over the desk. I savoured these moments, just looking at him without his knowing it.