All the Small Things (part 30)
Monday, lunchtime
The boys stood outside the restaurant, two checking out the menu, the third scuffing his feet on the pavement a couple of paces away.
“I'm not sure. Can I just skip it? I'll eat this evening, I promise.”
“It's up to you, we're not going to force you.”
“Good if it works, though, eh? Not hungry and tired all the time…”
“At least look.”
The third boy shuffled over, squinted at the menu board. “What did you say I could eat?”
“Grilled meat, soup, salad, bread, veggies, fruit - all good. Nothing fatty, so no fried stuff, no cheese, no cream, go easy on salad dressing and mayo.”
“Chicken salad roll?”
“Perfect.”
“Mr. Jones? Mr. Jones!”
“She means you, Bolton.”
“Oh, right.” Danny trotted over to the studio's receptionist. “Sorry, not used to that. I'm Danny.” He smiled and held out his hand.
“Message for you,” she said, and held up a slip of yellow paper
Danny looked back at the others, winked and grinned. He turned to her.
“Is your number on it?”
She turned her hand. Her engagement ring sparkled under Danny's nose.
“Crash,” Harry said, and raised his hand.
“He's twenty-three,” she said, “and he's a captain in the Marines.”
“And burn.” Doug raised his. They high-fived.
Danny took the note. “He's lucky. Hope he knows it.”
He turned, and plodded back to the others. The receptionist watched him, her eyes twinkling.
“From Tom. Sorry, I'm stuck here until after lunch. Fletch and I will meet you at the hotel. Do as much as you can. See you.”
He handed the note to Harry as they headed for the door, looked back and waved. “Funny,” he said, “I think I know her from somewhere.”
Monday, early afternoon
“How's the stomach?” Danny pulled the door shut and settled into his seat as the taxi pulled away.
Doug looked out the window, gave the tiniest of shrugs.
“Prince Royal Hotel, isn't it?” The driver spoke through the grille in the window. He was white-haired, with a voice that came straight out of Eastenders. “Some kind of awards thing there, isn't there?”
“Yup.” Danny grinned at the reflection in the mirror.
“You're those 5 Colours in Her Hair boys, aren't you. You won something?”
“Yes, and no.” Harry leaned forward a little. “It's not actually been released yet, so we're not eligible. Our management said we should go anyway, get seen.”
“Well, maybe next time. It's a good song. Great riff.”
“Do you play anything?” Danny asked.
Harry sat back in the middle seat, slipped his arms behind the shoulders of his band mates. Doug slid a little closer to him and shut his eyes.
“Bit of piano. Just a couple of pub bands. Nothing big.”
“Wicked! I love that.” Danny leaned forward. “What sort of stuff do you play?”
“Blues. Jelly Roll Morton, W C Handy… You ever heard of them?”
“You're kidding. Beale Street Blues, St Louis… Friendless Blues, you play that?”
Harry turned his head and whispered in Doug's ear. “Here we go again.”
Fletch studied the blond boy sitting next to him as the cab waited at the lights.
“Tom,” he said at last, “what's wrong?”
Tom's face turned towards him, calm and relaxed. He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
Fletch smiled. “Very smooth. You could teach my kids a thing or two - I guess that's what stage school does for you.”
Tom bit his lip and glanced out the window. The lights changed, and the cab rumbled and jounced with the rest of the traffic.
“OK. Let's see. The copyright stuff is pretty well sorted, you handled yourself very well this morning, by the way. Recording all this week, so that means half the songs aren't even close to being finished yet. Am I right?”
Tom's cheeks turned very red.
Fletch chuckled. “Danny had a close escape, and I'm sure they've set their sights on Harry too. That must be a worry. So what's wrong with Dougie?”
Tom coughed. “How did you know?”
“Father's instinct.”
Tom huffed gently, his lip curled into a half-smile for a moment then sank back down. He sighed.
“Thursday. You remember I called? Well, it wasn't flu, exactly…”
⇐ Part 29 - Part 31 ⇒