Life & Times of Robert Pattinson (Chapter 3)
All right! This should be the last of the "introductory" chapters to this story. After this one, its all friendships and personal stuff between all major parties (Rob, Delaney, Louise, Lindsay, and Thalia).
Before we'd begin, I'd like to state some things for the record:: 1) Joe Firstman is awesome. I actually met him once when he was touring with Jewel, and he was the coolest guy! He autographed a copy of his album for me (The War of Women--check it out!), and told me some jokes. Great guy. 2) The "Hugh" I keep mentioning is, yes, Hugh Laurie, from "House, M.D.". Haha. He's such an awesome Brit; I absolutely had to include him. He'll be making several appearances throughout this story, as well as some other celebrities we all know and love. 3) "Break" is not an actual Rob Pattinson song, so if it seems out of sorts from his usual lyrics, that's because he didn't write it! I wrote it for my band a while back, but we never ended up putting music to it and its just been gathering dust, so I gave it to Rob!
And, all always, leave lots of nummy feedback, please?!
"It all went to hell when you got your pictures, because you finally believed me when I said that you were so pretty."
Thalia poured shots with one hand and played invisible piano keys with the other, keeping in tune with the music that was floating from the stage. It was Saturday, Concert Night, and the second featured musician was on his fourth and final song-it would be over soon, and the third musician would take the stage. She tried not to think about him, though, because the uninvited musings over what he would sound like clouded her focus-something she was not accustom to. Curiosity was a familiar feeling for her, but it wasn’t usually so persistent. The side door swung open and, silhouetted in the street light that poured through, a familiar figure approached.
"Lindsay," Thalia tilted her head in acknowledgement, "The usual?"
The blonde woman shook her head, "I’ll actually have a beer. Bottle, not tap." She settled into a barstool and turned in it to see the stage, raising her eyebrows approvingly to the music. "Who’s this guy?"
Thalia popped the top on a Guinness, "It’s, uh," she slid the bottle across the bar and began wiping up a small spill-spot. The door opened again, but she didn’t look up this time. "Joe Firstman."
Without warning, Delaney plopped down on one of the stools with a heavy sigh, her purse hitting the counter with a loud thwack. "Can you make me a daiquiri?" She wondered with wide, wishful eyes, tone giving away her exasperation, "And double-no, triple-up on the rum?" Thalia nodded and began filling the bar blender with ice while Delaney, too, turned her eyes to the performer. "I know him," she stated suddenly, a small smile appearing on her face. "I met him when I was writing jokes for the ‘late night shows’ circuit-not my proudest hour, I’ll admit-and he was bandleader on Last Call. Nice guy," she shrugged as she finished and turned back to Lindsay, pointing at her. "Hey, weren’t you here last week?"
Lindsay glanced at her, fingers tracing over the letters on her beer bottle. "Um, yeah, actually, I was. I performed before you on Open-Mic night. I’m Lindsay Colvin."
"Delaney Callaghan." They shook hands and Delaney took a few pretzels from a bowl on the counter and popped one into her mouth. "So," she smirked as she chewed, "Did you come back to see Robert Pattinson?"
Lindsay, who’d just taken a drink, coughed and sputtered around the liquid. It took her a moment to regain her composure, and she croaked, "What? No. I mean, not directly-I just came to hear some good bands." She gestured helplessly toward the stage, desperate to get the other woman’s eyes off of her.
"Right. What about you?" Delaney asked as Thalia returned, handing her an ice-cold strawberry daiquiri that reeked of Captain Morgan. "Did you come back for Robert?"
Thalia blinked at her. "I work here."
"Mhm," she hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of her drink. "And you?" She asked, drawing the other two women’s’ attentions to a fourth person they hadn’t accounted for. She’d slipped into a seat at the end of the bar so quietly and inconspicuously that they hadn’t even noticed. It was the shy, dark-haired girl who’d surprised them all with her song last week.
As she was addressed, the young woman started slightly, eyes flying wide and mouth opening soundlessly. She looked around for a second, as if searching for some kind of physical escape from conversation, but found nothing. So she simply repeated, in a quiet, mousy way, "Me?"
"Are you here just to see Robert?"
"Oh! Um, no. No. I just-no."
"Ah." There was a long beat of silence as Joe Firstman continued to sing in the background.
"Now you’re gorgeous-now you’re gone. Love you better since you’re sleepin’ around. And now you’re priceless, and I am so very poor-now you’re gorgeous and I’m drinking alone."
Finally, Delaney finished another long gulp and smacked her lips together. "Yep, I’m here for Robert too."
"Ugh, same here!" Lindsay cried, disgusted with herself.
"Yeah, me too." The other woman, Louise, tentatively slid two stools over so she was among the group. Three pair of eyes turned to the bartender slowly, probing.
Thalia blinked again, now aggravated. "I still work here." They continued to stare and she sighed, "Fine," she grumbled, "I am not…averse to finding out how skilled of a musician he is." The three others laughed at her annoyed expression, then they all joined in clapping as Joe stood and took a bow onstage. As he exited, Roger stepped up to the mic and laughed joyfully.
"Wow," he stated, "That was just fantastic, wasn’t it? I love how L.A. is just bustling with-" Thalia mixed some club soda with strawberry syrup and slid it to the ever-silent Louise, who looked at it curiously before taking a sip. She gave the bartender a small grin of thanks. Thalia nodded back and poured herself a quick shot, gulping it down while everyones’ eyes were on the club owner. "Tally," Roger said suddenly onstage, causing her to look up and find his disapproving eyes, "You’d better have just had a shot of water, young lady." The story they used at Antrim was that Thalia was a recovering alcoholic, but in reality, she was still two years from the drinking age.
Delaney snickered quietly. "Yeah, Tally-you can’t be getting’ drunk on the job."
"I’m sorry-do you happen to have an off-button?"
"I used to, but unfortunately, I think someone’s shoved it up your ass." They stared at each other for a beat-while Lindsay and Louise looked between them nervously, trying to decide if they should attempt to defuse this fight before it began-before both women began growing matching grins across their faces and chuckled quietly. All in good fun, the words didn’t need to be spoken to be true. Satisfied with that, all four women turned their attentions back to Roger.
"And now I am proud to announce-in his first performance ever at Antrim-Robert Pattinson!" As the name tripped from the Irishman’s lips, the air in the room seemed to still. Lindsay sat up ramrod straight, Thalia set down the glass she’d been wiping, Louise took in a deep breath, and Delany whispered a very quiet, "Here we go."
--
Rob paced back and forth backstage, guitar slung over his back, rubbing his hands together and hopping every now and again, as if trying to psych himself up. It was curious, how he still managed to get so nervous before his performances. Usually, he’d get a good drink or…four…in him before taking the stage, but Hugh-a fellow musician-had suggested he try it completely sober. He told him the feeling was like no other; the rush was startling. "It’s much more impressive when you can remember all the details," Hugh had laughed as they parted ways that morning after shooting a scene, "None of that fog to obstruct the memory of the moment."
"What moment?" Rob had inquired curiously.
Hugh had shrugged at this-a simple rise and fall of the shoulders. "That moment. You know. The one that makes you realize why you love the music. The one that makes you aware of how important it all is to you." Then he’d clapped him on the back in a paternal way and walked off, leaving a stunned and thoughtful Rob behind.
So he was going out sober tonight. Completely. Not even cough syrup in his system. He wanted to experience this "moment" Hugh had spoken of; he wanted to see if it truly existed. He wanted to know if it would somehow change him-deepen his connection to the music everyone else seemed to connect with so quickly and so profoundly.
The musician before him-Joe Firstman-finished up his set and breezed over to stage left, where Rob was standing. He bumped him on the shoulder distractedly and told him how good he’d been, but his focus was on Roger, who was giving a brief commentary of Joe’s performance. He rambled on in his thick Irish accent-even for Rob, who was a UK man himself, it was hard to follow at some parts-but cut short abruptly, eyes fasted somewhere in the crowd. "Tally, you’d better have just had a shot of water, young lady." The musician peeked around the curtain and into the audience, following the owner’s gaze. It led him to the bar, where four familiar figures were standing.
Tally, he assumed, was the bartender, Thalia, who was fiddling with an empty shotglass guiltily. Circled around her were the other three women he’d met so briefly-but so meaningfully-just a few days before. Delaney was sitting in the centre, leaning back against the counter in dark denims and a Clash t-shirt. She smirked and turned to say something to the bartender, who quickly snapped something back. The other two women tensed. On Delaney’s left, Rob recognized his short-lived makeup artist, Lindsay. She was slightly less casual, in khaki-coloured skinny jeans and a fleece, v-necked red shirt that matched the undertones of her hair perfectly. On Delaney’s right, the student-Louise-was tensed looking at the other women, looking like she was deliberating between helping and running away. Her dark hair was pulled up in a long ponytail and her green skirt fell lazily to her ankles, fluttering as she jiggled her foot anxiously. Finally, something seemed to break the tension and all the girls were smiling. Then, suddenly, they were turned back to the stage. It wasn’t until that moment that Rob realized…Roger had just said his name.
Glaring against the spotlight and trying to shake the uneasy feeling sobriety unleashed on him at the stillness of the room, he stepped to centre stage and twisted his guitar around until it rested against his chest. "Ahem," he cleared his throat into the microphone and desperately willed his fingers to stop trembling. "I wrote this one a while back. I hope you enjoy it-it’s called ‘Stray Dog.’"
--
Four women crowded a corner of the bar, all as different as could be. One held a beer, one a daiquiri, one an Italian soda, and one a ginger ale. One was light, but with a fair streak of rebellion, one was blunt and lively, one was shy and green, and one was antisocial and collected. In most circumstances, nothing would draw these four together-there would be no commonalities. Except in this circumstance; the one that left their drinks forgotten, their differences unapparent, as they stared at the performer on stage. From the moment he’s slender fingers started plucking expertly at guitar strings, they’d all been mesmerized, and kept very, very still, as if any movement would disrupt the atmosphere and the trance would be broken.
"Staring at the same old view." As soon as he started singing, any hazy attention in the room immediately focused. The perfectly raspy, somewhat sultry voice wafted over the crowd, settling in, sending a consensus of shivers through almost everyone. It was the perfect blues voice-the kind you didn’t hear too often anymore. "Held on fast-it became old news, and I…I’ll be gone ‘fore long. Oh, at least I’m going. Hallelujah for that-now you know what you’ve lost."
From the group at the bar, it was a surprise when Louise was the one to breathe, "Holy shit." Had they not been so distracted, the other three probably would have teased her for her "naughty language." Instead, however, they all nodded infinitesimally in agreement. Holy shit was right.
"Now you are the thieves that you pardon-searching for need that will never come. Hallelujah for that-there’s more for their own now. It’s time for me to forget; I need a reason."
A customer approached the bar and attempted to get Thalia attention. She ignored him.
"So, so long…stray dog. You’re only a joker, no-joker no more."
A man slid into the seat next to Lindsay and started whispering cheesy pick-up lines at her. She waved him off with a hiss.
"Oh, to each their own when you can call on your mind; just crying to hold back the tears sometimes."
A woman stepped in front of Delaney, obscuring her view. She brought her thick construction-worker-booted heel down on her toe and nudged her aside.
"Wasted, wasted, all before you forget what you came here for."
They all held their breath.
"You need to see the signs, and you need to stop wasting time, and selling the same damn story-story that you heard before. And I waited for you, but you’re long gone. Stray dog."
By the time the song came to a close, all four women-as well as many other people in the crowded club-were pink-cheeked and breathing unsteadily. It was amazing. Godly. It was what they all imagined the Sirens from Greek myth to sound like-so entrancing and irresistible. Rob grinned at the enthusiastic applause he received, took a drink from the bottle of water Roger handed him, and immediately started in on his second song. Then a third. And a fourth. With each new tune, the four women at the bar became more and more involved, leaning forward and twisting their heads so their ears were closer to the stage, eyes closed, bodies still and soundless.
Before his fifth song, he took a longer gulp of water and cleared his throat again, nervous. "Um, so this one," he started retuning his guitar. "It’s, uh, very new. I’ve never played it for anyone, so this will be a first-its debut, I guess. So you’ll have to let me know what you think, yeah?" He laughed a little at the scattered applause and whoops and hollers that went through the crowd. "All right, then. Well, it’s called ‘Break.’" His fingers began strumming harsh, angry chords, soon followed by vocals of the same variety-they women could see his jaw clench around the words.
"Explain this to me: Why you’re tearing yourself apart-why you’re ripping yourself away-so desperate to disconnect. Well, you’re about to break. Is your life really that bad? Are you really so alone? Idiot-open your eyes."
The tempo picked up at the chorus as his fingers crashed into the chords. "How can you stand there and say that you don’t care? If you think it, it must be true-there’s nothing left here for you. Are you really that blind? Maybe you deserve to break."
His voice steadied again. All four women had stopped breathing.
"Little China doll, playing like you’re so damn fragile-why are you living this way? So yearning, yearning to be shattered. Well, you’re about to break." He spit out the chorus again before launching into a quick-paced, acoustic guitar solo that rivaled Ani DiFranco’s insane strumming skills. He brought it back down to a slow melody as the bridge approached. The women all sat wide-eyed in anticipation.
"I won’t feel sorry for you, no matter how much you want me to-you do it enough for the both of us. Yeah, you do that enough for the both of us." The tempo began steadily picking up. "No, I won’t feel sorry for you, no matter how much you want me to-you do it enough for the both of us. Baby, you do that enough for the both of us."
His fingers slammed into the chords once more, briefly, making Lindsay and Louise gasp.
"I think you deserve to break."
He finished, took a few deep breaths, then bowed his head and walked quickly offstage, swinging his guitar back around to rest along his spine. The four women at the bar turned slowly to face each other, each trembling slightly, as if they’d just finished a ten-mile marathon or gone a week without sugar in their diets.
"That was," Lindsay said slowly, her voice breathy and quiet, "Pretty freaking good."
"Amazing," Louise corrected, her voice equally quiet.
Thalia blinked rapidly and shook her head to clear it, "I’m floored," she admitted.
"Hear, hear," Delaney nodded. They took a few minutes to get their breathing back under control and let their sense return before the redhead slapped her hands down on the counter and set her face in a serious expression. "Okay, ladies, it’s time for action; here’s what we’re going to do…"
--
Was that it? That had to be it! Rob was pacing back and forth again backstage, but this time it was more from overwhelming excitement rather that nervousness. He’d felt it; he’d felt that moment. Halfway through "Break," when he’d been coming down off of the first chorus and starting the second verse, when everything was silent and still but the two sounds he knew he could trust-his guitar weaving agreeably with his own voice-and the air was as still as a pond’s surface on a breezeless Spring day, he’d been hit with this rush of…fulfillment. Like it was just completely, utterly right for him to be up there, singing that song, feeling those feelings, connecting with the music on its purest, truest level. And it hadn’t been clouded with scotch or meaningless meanderings-just straight, undiluted beauty. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
"I want that again," he decided quietly to himself as the fourth musician of the night took the stage. He would have to find Roger before he left later, and sign himself up for the next Concert Night. He zipped his guitar up in its cloth case and descended the steps that wrapped around the side of the stage, pushing the door open at the landing. This led him back into the club, and put him face-to-face with four familiar women. His first feeling was one of unease-they’d all been so strangely untypical in their encounters, and he worried briefly that this would damper his newfound emotion-but this was quickly replaced by a dull but sure excitement. He decided that, out of anyone in this club whose company he could have, this was the group he’d prefer. People that wouldn’t lie to him-people that didn’t care who he was, because his "fame" didn’t mean he deserved more respect or idealization than anyone else.
"Mister Pattinson," the blonde woman-Lindsay-said in a formal, English-accented voice, "We have reserved a table on the balcony." She gestured above, but it was impossible to see anything with the spotlight sitting just beyond the railing there. "Care to join us?"
He thought for a moment, shoving his thumb beneath the strap of his guitar case, hitching it further up on his shoulder. Then he smirked crookedly, "All right, then."
Four smiles faced him and the shy girl, Louise, took a small step forward and handed him a glass of amber-coloured liquid. "For you," she said, her voice a little louder than it had been in the classroom just days before, "Scotch neat." He thanked her and watched as Thalia handed her a glass with a slightly pinkish-red liquid in it that fizzed at the top-was it alcoholic? He wondered. Louise didn’t look old enough to drink.
Delaney smiled a wide, toothy smile and nodded toward the stairs, blocked off by a red-velvet rope, that led to the balcony. "Shall we?"
Rob realized all at once how comfortable he felt in the presence of four people he barely knew-much more comfortable than he had since moving to Los Angeles. His friends here were mostly high-profile, having their own lives in the public eye, like him. This kind of comfort was rival to that which he’d felt at home in London, wandering the streets at all hours with his best mates from school, not a care in the world, not having to worry about who would see and what they would say. It was for this reason that he smiled easily and followed the four women up to the balcony.