Emmy and the boys were ready and waiting for the van that showed up at one o’clock to take them to the venue. Angela and I opted not to go with them- hours and hours of sound checks and sitting around backstage held no appeal for either of us anymore. The opening act was scheduled for eight, so that gave us the afternoon to kill while Emmy and the boys attended to the unpretty aspects of their work.
“Let’s go to the apartment,” Angela suggested after the van carrying The Downfall left. “I want to see it again, and take a whole lot more pictures this time. Maybe we can check out the area a little bit, too?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, taking her hand.
Angela squeezed my hand and gave me a smile. “You are so good to me,” she said.
Using the codes that the building sales guy had given us for the elevator and penthouse entry door with no problems, Angela led the way into the penthouse and soon enough we were once again admiring the view from the giant windows in the main room.
“I had a thought last night,” Angela said, resting her hands flat on the glass as she gazed down at the streets and river below. “Is this apartment a mistake? I mean, I saw you talking to those old guys at the party, and that townhouse, it was owned by somebody like them, right? I guess what I mean is that old, established money here in London isn’t going to buy an apartment like this. It’s too… I’m not sure how to say it in English.”
“I think I understand what you mean. Old-school moneyed types here are going to look down on owners of places like this because only Russian oligarchs and Middle-Eastern oil sheiks would buy an apartment in a tower like this, right? Anybody with any real class would buy a Marylebone townhouse, genteel and understated?” I suggested.
“Yes, exactly,” Angela said, turning away from the view. “Does this mark us as… There’s a racist phrase in Colombia, and I hate to even repeat it, but it captures the attitude: ‘Indios con plata’. Literally, it means ‘Indians with silver’, but what it means to say is people who think they belong in the upper class but will never be accepted.”
“Does it matter?” I asked, turning Angela around to face the view again, wrapping her in my arms. “Real old upper-class people might never accept us because we’re American or Colombian or French to start with, right? Emmy is famous for being a rock star, too, so that’s not a thing ‘serious’ people do, either, never mind her family has been royalty ten times longer than the Windsors have ruled England. But do we even care?”
“I hate myself a little bit for even caring as much as I do,” Angela said with a sigh, leaning back against me. “I wish I didn’t.”
“You know there’s a certain amount of that in New York, too, right? Blue-bloods with summer homes in the Hamptons and winter homes down in Palm Beach would look at us as upstarts, too,” I said.
“I guess,” Angela admitted. “Even if they accept you, with your blonde hair and American accent, people like that will always look at me as some sort of mail-order bride because of my Castellano accent- never mind that my ancestors came to the New World before theirs did.”
“Well, that and you’re just way too beautiful to be from their weird inbred world,” I said.
I could feel Angela’s body move with a little chuckle. “In ten years,” she said after a long moment. “Our little girls will be in third grade. At the rate we’re buying houses, we’ll probably have one in Maui, one in Monaco and another in Seattle, or something like that. Our girls will live true jet-setter lifestyles. They’ll talk to their friends about their favorite ski runs at Zermatt, or restaurants in New York.”
“I hope not,” I said. “I hope that when our girls are in third grade they talk about whatever boy band is big at the time, or what Jimmy did in class that day. I want ‘em to grow up normal, concerned with normal things.”
Angela leaned her head back against my shoulder and sighed. “I’m not sure they will ever be just like other kids,” she said. “Too much money, too much fame.”
I kissed Angela’s hair and held her for a while, the two of us looking out at what had turned out to be a pretty day. “You’re probably right,” I finally admitted.
We had an early dinner at a decent Italian bistro near the apartment that we’d found while wandering the area. I’m not sure the place was great enough to ever really be a destination stop for us when we were in residence, but it was convenient and the food and service were fine, so it was worth keeping on the mental list.
After dinner, we took a cab to the arena, which took a lot longer than I expected. Sure, it wasn’t far as the crow flies, but Friday evening traffic was murder. We probably would have been better waiting until later. Traffic might have eased, and in any case, it was early, but we wanted to see Emmy before the band went onstage.
Our all-access passes did the job and soon enough a stout bald guy in an orange vest led us through various checkpoints and down into the fairly grim backstage area. The walls were plain concrete, undecorated except for the graffiti written in marker by the many performers there over the years.
The band’s dressing room was nice enough, but fairly crowded with quite a number of extra people packed in. Not wanting to add to the problem, we kissed Emmy and wished her well before leaving to find our seats.
The arena was strange in that it was just the center part of a giant shallow dome. The area under the dome around the actual venue was a sort of circular shopping mall that we’d had to walk through to get to where the concert was going to be held.
“I saw a boba tea place on the way in,” Angela said as we crossed the arena’s floor seating area. “I’d kinda like to get a smoothie, if they have them.”
“Is this one of those pregnancy cravings I’ve heard so much about?” I teased, but her expression turned thoughtful.
“Maybe? I don’t know,” she said. “I just suddenly thought a mango smoothie would be really good right about now.”
“Babe, if you want a mango smoothie, we’ll get you a mango smoothie,” I said, giving her a smile. “It doesn’t matter why you want it.” I took her hand and led her through the increasingly crowded aisles. At the entrance, a security guy saw us wanting to leave, against the flow of the crowd.
“No re-entry,” he warned us.
I flashed my all access pass and said, “There is for us.”
He looked at it, then up at me. “So there is,” he agreed, and let us though.
“Is it… shallow of me that I like that we get special treatment?” Angela asked when we found ourselves in the less crowded concourse.
“I guess it depends,” I said, looking for the bubble tea place Angela had seen earlier. “Do you like it because you enjoy being able to do what you want, or is it because you enjoy having something that others don’t?”
“Mostly the first one, but a little bit of the second,” Angela admitted.
“Then it’s only a little bit shallow,” I replied, giving her hand a squeeze.
Angela laughed and squeezed my hand back to show that she knew I was teasing her. “It’s over there,” she said, pointing up ahead. “On the left.”
As we sat at the lime green cafe table in the tea place enjoying our mango smoothies (with boba pearls), I asked Angela if she was tired of watching The Downfall play yet.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“You’ve seen every show in the tour, plus the warm-up show in Anaheim,” I said.
“Whozzat?” asked one of the young guys wearing Downfall T shirts sitting at the small table near ours, who had overheard my question. “You’ve seen every single show in this tour?” he demanded.
“I haven’t,” I said, “But she has.”
“Fuck me,” the guy said. “Berlin?” When Angela nodded yes, he asked, “Moscow?”
“All of them,” she said.
He turned back to his pals, shaking his head in disbelief.
“So, like I was asking, have you gotten tired of it yet?” I repeated.
“No, not yet, but I’m not sure I’m going to go on the Asia leg of the tour, and maybe not all of the stops in the Americas, either,” she said. “I might skip some.”
The young guy turned back around when he heard that, a disbelieving look on his face. “Yer having me on, right?”
“I’m Emmy’s wife,” Angela said with a shrug.
“Oh, well fuck,” the guy said, throwing up his hands while one of his pals shoved him in the shoulder and laughed.
Amused by the encounter, Angela and I followed the crowd back into the arena, letting the ushers guide us to section 106.
“There you guys are,” Jen said as we found our designated seats smack dab in the center of the long row, next to her and Sherry, Jackson’s current girlfriend. “Where have you guys even been all this time? I haven’t seen you at all since we got off the train from Paris. I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me and Lee or something.”
“Just doing our thing,” I said. “You know, sightseeing, buying penthouse apartments, stuff like that.”
“Yeah, I know how it is,” Jen agreed with a nod. “So when is the housewarming party?”
“Not for a long time,” Angela said, fishing her phone out of her pocket to show Jen the pictures she’d taken. Pretty soon the two had their heads together, peering at the small screen and talking about bedrooms, family rooms, Emmy’s home studio… I stopped paying attention pretty quickly.
The opening act was a four piece combo, with a singer, a drummer, a synth player and a guy on bass, but no guitar player. Their stuff was a bit poppy, but catchy enough. Watching them, I pondered the reality of opening acts. It was a chance at much wider exposure, sure, but only about half the seats were filled when they took the stage. That meant that plenty of Downfall fans couldn’t be bothered to even watch these guys even though they were pouring their hearts into their performance.
Of course Jen and Angela hardly paid any attention at all to the music, talking with their heads down and close to each other so they could hear. Looking around, I saw that was pretty common- groups of friends were more concerned with socializing than with the opening band’s music.
To be fair, I had seen a few people in the audience mouthing the words as they sang along and they did get a solid ovation when they finished, so maybe it wasn’t totally wasted effort on their part.
Jackson must have won the game of rock, paper, scissors backstage, since he was the first to step out into the lights after the house lights dimmed right at nine. He bowed to the crowd as the audience cheered wildly, then stepped over to his stand-up bass. Nestling it against his body like a cello player, he pulled a bow off a stand and began to play a tune that was sort of jazzy, but kind of bluesy, too, if that made any sense. It reminded me of classic Disney movies, like it could be the signature music of a cartoon bear, or maybe an elephant in a circus or something.
After a few minutes of that, Emmy joined Jackson onstage, selecting the hollow-bodied guitar she’d bought back in high school from her rack of waiting instruments. She picked up on what Jackson was doing and played a jazz guitar melody, not imitating what Jackson was doing, but somehow complementary to it. The rhythm was in counterpoint, but exactly in time. Again, the Disney imagery came to mind. Now we had a bear and his friend the young boy, dancing to the music of the jungle.
I was so fascinated by how unusual the music was for The Downfall that I hardly noticed when Lee slipped behind the drum kit and joined in with his brushes on the snare and very light footwork on the hi hat.
As out of character as the music was, the audience there in the arena didn’t seem to mind. They were pretty much all as swept up in the unusual interplay as I was.
Gradually the music morphed into something less playful, and familiar chords started to make themselves known as the band flowed into ‘She’s Got (What I want)’ to start their set.
“That was crazy!” Jen shouted to me after the improvised intro. “I’ve never seen 'em do anything like that before!”
I held up my hands in a shrug. I’d never seen anything like it, either, but by this point I knew there was no way of predicting how the shows would start.
“You asked if I’ve gotten tired of seeing them in concert? How can I, when they keep doing amazing new things?” Angela asked, leaning in close.
The playlist included a few of the same songs they’d played in Paris, but it was mostly different. The banter was different, too, and not just because it was all in English. As Angela pointed out, it was a completely different show from what they’d performed not even a week before.
They didn’t play ‘Born to Die’, to my relief, but they did play most of the band’s other big hits. Finishing up the show with Led Zeppelin’s ‘Going To California’ was a stroke of genius on the band’s part, since the crowd there in London went absolutely crazy when they recognized the picked guitar intro from that rock classic.
After the house lights came on and the Downfall took their bow, the crowd was buzzing with enthusiasm as they all filed towards the exits. I overheard a lot of comments about how it was the best show ever, how their mates couldn’t get tickets but were watching the livestream, and so on.
Jen, Sherry, Angela and I had a tough time making our way against the current, but eventually we found ourselves backstage.
“Babe, you were incredible!” Angela gushed as she took a sweaty Emmy into her arms.
“It was a great show tonight,” I agreed.
“I wish I could go back to the hotel and rest,” Emmy moaned, toweling herself off. “But Stephanie will kill me if I do not attend the afterparty.”
“Yeh, I remember her, um, monologue,” I agreed.
“You two do not need to go to the party, if you do not wish,” she said. “I will try to stay for as little time as possible.”
“O.K., we’ll see you back at the hotel,” I said. “Keep Tiny close at all times,” I said. “His whole point is to be very visibly a bodyguard.”
“I appreciate your concern, I truly do, but I understand,” Emmy said, giving me a kiss. “I will have Tiny near me, and Grant wandering around close by,” she promised.
“You know I worry when I’m not with you,” I said.
“I know,” she replied with a smile. “And I love that about you.”
Relaxing in the tub back at the hotel, I asked Angela if she was going to continue the European tour with Emmy.
“Yes, I think so,” she said, twining her fingers in mine and wrapping herself in my arms. “I miss home, but like you said, she needs someone to… to make sure she takes care of herself. What I said about maybe skipping the Asia stops? I’m not sure what to do.”
I nuzzled her thick, dark hair and gave her a kiss on her ear. “I missed you guys a lot back in LA, but I’m happy you’ve been with her on tour, since I couldn’t be. But I want, and I’m sure Emmy does too, we both want you to do what’s best for you. Another couple of months and you’ll really be showing,” I said, stroking her belly. “And maybe the road isn’t the right place for someone in their second trimester… Whatever you choose, do it because it’s right for you, not because you feel guilty about abandoning Emmy, or because I miss you.”
Sighing, Angela pulled my arms tighter around herself. “Another month, and then we’re back in the US. The band has a break scheduled, so maybe that’s when the three of us can talk about it,” she said.
“That sounds very reasonable,” I said, giving her another kiss.
Emmy didn’t wake me when she came back to the hotel and slipped silently into bed with us. I only realized she was there when I woke for my morning run and saw her sleeping peacefully next to Angela.
I ran down to the river again, pleased that it was a bit warmer and completely dry. There were more people in the parks, too, but that may well have been because it was a Saturday morning and not a weekday.
Letting my mind drift as I ran, I thought about Angela’s concern about the nouveau riche apartment holding us back socially, and what London society would we even fit into, anyway?
I also thought about the test results that were due later that day, and Angela’s pregnancy. Although I hadn’t said it out loud, I was a bit worried on that score. We were in completely uncharted territory, and we’d gambled so much of our hopes on a science experiment… I desperately wanted everything to come back positive, and didn’t want to dwell on what we would do if it didn’t.
Running past Kensington Palace, I thought about Angela staying in Los Angeles with me and leaving Emmy to fend for herself for the rest of the tour. I’d trusted Jen to keep an eye on Emmy in the past, to make sure that she ate properly and got her rest, but Jen could never be as attentive as Angela would be. I obviously wasn’t concerned about Angela being there for Emmy’s security, just her health and well-being. Maybe I could hire somebody?
Angela and Emmy were awake but still in bed when I got back to the room, cuddling and talking to each other in quiet voices. It might sound strange, but every time I caught them like that, I felt a rush of love for both of them. They seemed to have a secret connection that I wasn’t really part of, a relationship with each other that was separate and very distinct from the way either ever interacted with me. Instead of making me feel jealous of what they had together, I reveled in it, knowing that we were all three our own people, and had our own way of expressing our love to different members of our household of three.
“Did you have a good run?” Emmy asked as I leaned down to give them kisses.
“I did,” I said. “The weather is a little bit nicer today.”
“Em and me, we were just talking about what to do today since she doesn’t have to be at the arena until six thirty,” Angela said.
“How about we do nothing in particular?” I suggested, kicking off my shoes and stripping out of my running gear. I slid into bed, my cold skin making Angela let out a little shriek.
“You’re too cold!” she protested, pushing me away.
Laughing, I grabbed her and flipped her over me, so I was in the middle. “I’ll be nice and warm in just a minute,” I said, putting my cold feet against her warm legs.
This started a three-way play wrestling match, and before too long I was plenty warmed up.