Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
We start a gentle breast stroke and continue to talk. “She had a cap and glasses on. She was trying not to be recognized.”
“Wow,” he says.
I glance at the trees around us, the expanse of sky above us. It’s actually beautiful here in London. Surrounded by green and a bright blue sky. Maybe I’m missing out by not being here for longer. It’s nice to do this—something I’ve never done before—with Jacob. Maybe I’m missing out on all sorts of things because I’m always planning the next trip. Who knows, I might have even put together a business plan for the company I’ve been thinking about for years.
“Did you speak to her?”
“Yeah. She’s nice. Guarded obviously. I just think it must be weird to have to hide out all the time.”
“She’s probably used to it,” he replies. “And anyway, the advantages will outweigh the disadvantages, I’m sure.” It was such a Jacob reply. Measured. Sensible. Logical. “I’m going to do some crawl or lose my bollocks in the cold.”
“Swimming is definitely the most logical choice out of those two options,” I reply.
He dives under then starts a forward crawl and I follow him. After I figure out my breathing, I find the swimming, the cold, the fresh air meditative and soothing. It’s almost as if I’m sloughing away the stuff that needs to be left behind and polishing the important things to a glimmering shine, so they can’t be missed.
I focus in on Vivian and how much she misses out on the everyday stuff because she’s famous, and how maybe I’ve been a bit like that. I’ve been traveling the globe, searching for the next thing, so I don’t miss out. But maybe I’m missing out anyway, just in a way I didn’t expect.
SIX
Vivian
For the first time in over a week, I switch on my US phone and sling it on the counter by the mixing desk. I try and ignore the voicemail notifications and the ping of the messages that follow each other relentlessly. I know without looking the vast majority of the messages and voicemails will be from Tommy, my manager. He’s managed me since I was sixteen. He saw something in me, even back then, and I know he’ll be hurt I’ve frozen him out.
It’s not personal. I just needed some space. Some time.
It’s not that I’m done, or that I’m ready to let the world in. It’s just…I want to stop running. And down here in the basement recording studio of Chester Terrace, I feel safe. Protected.
I ignore the phone and take a seat at the baby grand in the live room, behind the glass. I’ve not even thought about writing since the stuff with Matt happened, but the melody I’ve had circling my brain for the last few days is tugging on my hand and asking for attention. I’m not ready to give it life. Not yet.
I put my fingers on the keys. I take a breath and start to play. Bach. Prelude Number 1 in C Major. I’ve been playing it since I was six years old and it feels like a cozy blanket on a rainy day.
My dad is a singer and a far better piano player than me. Even now, he still has a slot at a hotel bar in Chicago on Friday nights, playing jazz standards. My mom was a piano teacher, and their shared love of music seeped into my soul. They taught me everything I know.
I switch into the start of “Green Dolphin Street”. I need to call my dad. My parents know I’m okay, but I haven’t told them where I am. Not because I think they’ll knowingly betray me, it’s just easy for them to get caught out. Before I know it, someone in the grocery store will have asked Mom what I’m up to and within the hour, Page Six will know I’m in London. My mom will feel like hell and I’ll have to move on. It’s just easier if they don’t know.
The messages ping in one after another.
A recording studio in the basement of the Chester Terrace house serves two purposes. First, I can hide from the housekeeper when she comes three times a week to clean and leave food in my refrigerator. She makes the best lasagna. She doesn’t know it’s me living here and I’m careful not to leave any clues out that would let her guess. I always make sure I’m down here, but today is the first time I haven’t just laid on the sofa and watched movies or scrolled my phone. Today is the first time I’ve used the instruments down here.
I start singing the melody I’ve come up with and add some chords on the piano. I can’t help but smile. It sounds nice. Happy.
My British stranger, my newfound something.