this is what you get when you mess with us
I suppose I should be taking suggestions for a title, since this seems to be turning into a series. I can't call it Doubledecker Bus forever, haha. So! Suggestions!
1 :: 2
AK gets a call at 6 in the morning from Conor McNicholas. "Kendall," Conor says, voice tight. "Be here now."
AK stumbles into Conor's office a half an hour later, hung over, unwashed and wearing last nights clothes. Conor is sitting at his desk, hands nervously playing with each other. Imran Ahmed stands by his side like a lithe indie bodyguard. AK puts his hands in his pockets and resists the urge to stare at his shoes. This isn't primary school.
"You left the door unlocked," Conor says finally. AK nods. No use in denying the obvious. "Sorry."
Conor slides the key and camera across the desk. "The NME is not a playground, Kendall."
"Yes sir."
"I did not lend you that key for shagging."
"Yes sir, I know."
"Now," Conor folds his hands on the desk and his baby face contorts with the effort of not laughing. AK relaxes- Conor can never be serious for long. Conor continues as Imran shifts uncomfortably behind him.
"Who's tie is it?"
"Mine."
"Don't lie, you didn't shag yourself."
"I would never shag someone in your office, sir."
"Bollocks, I found a condom in my rubbish bin this morning."
AK knows he's fucked now, so he picks up the camera and key. "I'm sorry sir, I won't let it happen again. I'll get last night's Libertine photos to you later today, yeah?"
Imran coughs, Conor grins and AK turns to leave.
"Kendall."
"Yes?"
"You forgot your tie."
It's only 7:30 am but AK goes to Carl's flat anyway. He rings the doorbell and Pete opens it red-eyed, rumpled and weak.
"AK, what are you doing here?"
"Is Carl home?" AK says, feeling stupid as he holds Carl's tie in his hand. Pete eyes it, and AK is painfully aware of the way Pete's body keeps twitching as Pete holds himself up with the door frame.
"No, he never came home last night," says Pete. "Did you see him last night?"
"Saw him in a pub," says AK. "He got a little loose, left his tie with me."
"Oh," says Pete, voice catching on the word. "I'll tell him you came by."
AK hands him the tie. "Can you give this to him?"
"Oh," says Pete again. "Yes, of course."
He shuts the door in AK's face. AK walks down the stairwell slowly. He doesn't like these new cool libertines, the glorified NME drug addicts who live life by their teeth. AK hates the myth they've begun living and he misses the good old libertines, who would call him up at dawn, reciting Oscar Wilde and asking him for a bit of their soul back. AK spent many a memorable evening with those likely lads, before Pete went to jail and everything changed.
"Psst, mate what are you doing here?"
It's Carl, hiding in the stairwell, folded into a corner of the landing, an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips.
"Returning your tie."
"Is Pete home?"
"Yes."
Carl grabs AK's wrist as AK starts to leave. "Would you like to come up?"
"Pete didn't look well, I don't think I should."
"Can I meet you later," says Carl and for a moment, AK wonders if even libertines crave a bit of sanity sometimes.
"Yeah, sure."
The rest of the day isn't nearly as exciting. He sorts his gig photos and there are quite a few Conor will like. One of the last pictures is of Carl on the double-decker buss and AK prints that along with the other, proper gig pictures. It's a good picture, the kind artists like and normal people hate. Windswept and blurry and 12 different kinds of pornographic. He likes it and for a moment imagines it on his wall. It'd be perfect on that blank spot right above the fireplace- but he can't. Putting up that picture would mean explaining how, why and where he took such a picture of Carlos Barat, Rock Star.
Barry calls in the evening, wanting to know if they're going out tonight. AK shakes his head as the question is asked, even though Barry can't see him. He just wants a quiet night at home alone, with no rock stars, no hacks and no alcohol. Possibly some tea.
"If you're sure," says Barry and AK says yes.
Of course it's never that easy. What kind of life would AK lead if it were that easy? There's a knock on the door the minute he's just found that position on the couch that looks awkward and feels great, all wrapped up in a blanket like a mummy and his feet in the air. He considers ignoring the door, then feels bad when there's a shout.
"Come on, I know you're in there!"
He pulls himself to his feet, dumps the blanket on the floor in the most manly way he can think of and lets Carl in.
"Eastenders? Brilliant." Carl jumps on to his couch and pulls the blanket up to his chin. "Can I stay here tonight AK? Pete's making me mad."
Carl's very jittery and AK doesn't like it. He falls into a chair across from Carl. "I suppose so."
"Cheers." And there's a moment of silence for all involved. AK can't stand it. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No, thank you, though I would fancy going out with someone tonight. I know a lovely place where the stars collide."
Poetry pulls AK more then Carl's hands and he finds himself on a bench in a park with muddy-grey skies all around him and the lights of the city blinking laughter at him. He's never felt so weird in his life.
"Look," Carl points from where he lies on the grass. AK looks up just in time to miss it. "What?"
"Come here, next to me," Carl pats the grass. "See it? He's smiling at us."
"How do you know it's a boy?"
"I just do."
He sleeps in AK's bed that night and leaves before AK wakes up. No note, no clothing left behind, just a dent on the pillow next to him and an empty bottle of gin in the sink.
1 :: 2
AK gets a call at 6 in the morning from Conor McNicholas. "Kendall," Conor says, voice tight. "Be here now."
AK stumbles into Conor's office a half an hour later, hung over, unwashed and wearing last nights clothes. Conor is sitting at his desk, hands nervously playing with each other. Imran Ahmed stands by his side like a lithe indie bodyguard. AK puts his hands in his pockets and resists the urge to stare at his shoes. This isn't primary school.
"You left the door unlocked," Conor says finally. AK nods. No use in denying the obvious. "Sorry."
Conor slides the key and camera across the desk. "The NME is not a playground, Kendall."
"Yes sir."
"I did not lend you that key for shagging."
"Yes sir, I know."
"Now," Conor folds his hands on the desk and his baby face contorts with the effort of not laughing. AK relaxes- Conor can never be serious for long. Conor continues as Imran shifts uncomfortably behind him.
"Who's tie is it?"
"Mine."
"Don't lie, you didn't shag yourself."
"I would never shag someone in your office, sir."
"Bollocks, I found a condom in my rubbish bin this morning."
AK knows he's fucked now, so he picks up the camera and key. "I'm sorry sir, I won't let it happen again. I'll get last night's Libertine photos to you later today, yeah?"
Imran coughs, Conor grins and AK turns to leave.
"Kendall."
"Yes?"
"You forgot your tie."
It's only 7:30 am but AK goes to Carl's flat anyway. He rings the doorbell and Pete opens it red-eyed, rumpled and weak.
"AK, what are you doing here?"
"Is Carl home?" AK says, feeling stupid as he holds Carl's tie in his hand. Pete eyes it, and AK is painfully aware of the way Pete's body keeps twitching as Pete holds himself up with the door frame.
"No, he never came home last night," says Pete. "Did you see him last night?"
"Saw him in a pub," says AK. "He got a little loose, left his tie with me."
"Oh," says Pete, voice catching on the word. "I'll tell him you came by."
AK hands him the tie. "Can you give this to him?"
"Oh," says Pete again. "Yes, of course."
He shuts the door in AK's face. AK walks down the stairwell slowly. He doesn't like these new cool libertines, the glorified NME drug addicts who live life by their teeth. AK hates the myth they've begun living and he misses the good old libertines, who would call him up at dawn, reciting Oscar Wilde and asking him for a bit of their soul back. AK spent many a memorable evening with those likely lads, before Pete went to jail and everything changed.
"Psst, mate what are you doing here?"
It's Carl, hiding in the stairwell, folded into a corner of the landing, an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips.
"Returning your tie."
"Is Pete home?"
"Yes."
Carl grabs AK's wrist as AK starts to leave. "Would you like to come up?"
"Pete didn't look well, I don't think I should."
"Can I meet you later," says Carl and for a moment, AK wonders if even libertines crave a bit of sanity sometimes.
"Yeah, sure."
The rest of the day isn't nearly as exciting. He sorts his gig photos and there are quite a few Conor will like. One of the last pictures is of Carl on the double-decker buss and AK prints that along with the other, proper gig pictures. It's a good picture, the kind artists like and normal people hate. Windswept and blurry and 12 different kinds of pornographic. He likes it and for a moment imagines it on his wall. It'd be perfect on that blank spot right above the fireplace- but he can't. Putting up that picture would mean explaining how, why and where he took such a picture of Carlos Barat, Rock Star.
Barry calls in the evening, wanting to know if they're going out tonight. AK shakes his head as the question is asked, even though Barry can't see him. He just wants a quiet night at home alone, with no rock stars, no hacks and no alcohol. Possibly some tea.
"If you're sure," says Barry and AK says yes.
Of course it's never that easy. What kind of life would AK lead if it were that easy? There's a knock on the door the minute he's just found that position on the couch that looks awkward and feels great, all wrapped up in a blanket like a mummy and his feet in the air. He considers ignoring the door, then feels bad when there's a shout.
"Come on, I know you're in there!"
He pulls himself to his feet, dumps the blanket on the floor in the most manly way he can think of and lets Carl in.
"Eastenders? Brilliant." Carl jumps on to his couch and pulls the blanket up to his chin. "Can I stay here tonight AK? Pete's making me mad."
Carl's very jittery and AK doesn't like it. He falls into a chair across from Carl. "I suppose so."
"Cheers." And there's a moment of silence for all involved. AK can't stand it. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No, thank you, though I would fancy going out with someone tonight. I know a lovely place where the stars collide."
Poetry pulls AK more then Carl's hands and he finds himself on a bench in a park with muddy-grey skies all around him and the lights of the city blinking laughter at him. He's never felt so weird in his life.
"Look," Carl points from where he lies on the grass. AK looks up just in time to miss it. "What?"
"Come here, next to me," Carl pats the grass. "See it? He's smiling at us."
"How do you know it's a boy?"
"I just do."
He sleeps in AK's bed that night and leaves before AK wakes up. No note, no clothing left behind, just a dent on the pillow next to him and an empty bottle of gin in the sink.