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Old 01-20-2016, 07:53 AM   #1
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New Fic: Innocent Experience - Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is not true. I do not own Bono, Edge, Larry or Adam or anyone related to their world. Hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 1
Could You Be the One?”


Every single thing you do is magic, baby,
Every little thing that you do is cool,
Every little thing you do is fashionably hip,
Even when you’re mixing greens with blues.


"I love New York," Florence whispered, looking through the twelve-foot nickel and bronze windows of the apartment. All her life she had lived in Miami, but one day she realized Miami wasn't enough. So one day she booked the first flight to New York, and she left behind everything and took hope with her.


Now she was in her friend's apartment, standing before the window, with the city of New York at her feet. She didn't care for the apartment's avant-garde stone walls and stark floors. It looked too somber. What she did like was the sun terrace with its view of Central Park.


"I just phoned my Dad," said Jordan. Florence turned to face her friend. "He'll be here in a few minutes."


The girl offered Florence a glass of orange juice. And they both sat.


"Thanks."


"You like the place?" Jordan asked.


Florence didn't want to lie. She wasn't fond of the style. She didn't know why rich people were attracted by these luxury corporate-style buildings. To her, they were just fancy prisons. She nodded, sipping at her drink, and quickly changed the subject.


"Jordan," she asked, "I've been looking everywhere for my drawings. Have you seen them?"


"You mean the sketches? I showed them to my father. Want another glass of orange juice?" Jordan asked, trying to avoid the subject, but it was too late. Flo's flushed face said everything.


"What?! You know I don't want to show my work to anyone!"




"You have potential, Flo. And... I have big news for you," Jordan said in a nervous voice.


"Come on! What now?"


"You want me to tell you or no?"


"Okay," she sipped at her drink.


"A few days ago I heard my dad and he was upset that this guy on the phone didn't understand what he wanted."


"I don't mean to sound rude…" Florence interrupted her.


"Would you let me finish for Christ’s sake?" Jordan was losing her patience.


"Sorry."


"My father's band's about to release a new album. I can't say much, but there will be a world tour. And my dad wants something different to promote it. So, I showed him your designs..."


"I knew I didn't leave them on the train!" Florence clucked her tongue and downed the rest of the drink.


Sorry, I should've told you."


"Yes, you should've. Anyways, I'm not sure what you want me to do."


"Just talk to him. He loves your drawings, and he is willing to pay a lot of money for them."


"I-- Jordan, I..." she didn't know what to say. Her back was to the wall. It wasn't her idea to use her skill to promote a concert tour, but she couldn't say no to her friend. After all, Jordan Hewson was the only one who had helped her when she was new in town and had had no job at all. And she also needed the money. She had just moved in with Brian, but she didn't want to be completely dependent on her boyfriend. And although the money she made working as tutor of English and painting wasn't bad, it wasn't enough.


"Please, Flo. I want the best for my dad. I really want to give him a hand."


"Your dad has it all Jordan."


"Well, almost. You're what he is looking for..." she said.


"Jo, please. I can't do this. I'm supposed to meet Brian for lunch. It's..."


"Your boyfriend will understand, Flo. Just text him. Tell him you'll be there ASAP."


Florence had to think about it, but time was running out. She could say sorry and run, or stay and miss her and Brian's first anniversary.


The moment she stood up, they heard the lock turn.


"I'm home!" said a voice from the front door.


"We’re in here!" Jordan's voice led his father to the living room. He was in a leather jacket and old bleached jeans. A pair of light blue sunglasses hid his eyes. His lips wore a smile Jordan recognized.


"Hello gorgeous," Bono said, and kissed his daughter's forehead.


"Hi, Da! That grin again?"


"You know what they say, ‘Grin and bear it!’"


"Whatever it is can't be that bad. You guys are doing what you love."


"You know Lardence, he can be a pain in the arse. I don't know how the heck he..."


"Okay, dad!" Jordan stopped him a little bit ashamed. "Enough of Uncle Larry. Meet Florence, my friend."


Florence stood up and extended her hand to shake his. Surprisingly, he approached her and gave her a peck on the cheek.


Florence Lewis,” she said.


"Nice to meet you Florence," he smiled at the confidence in her amber eyes. She had dark chestnut hair done in a ponytail. It was a different kind of smile this time. He sensed she wasn't affected by his presence. Was she nervous? No, it didn't seem like it.


"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Hewson," Flo's voice remained as steady as her nerves.


"Oh! It's been a long time since anyone's called me that. You can call me Bono, love. Actually, you can call me whatever you like except Sr. or Mr. Hewson. Please, let's sit, I'm knackered."


The black couch felt like heaven for Bono: he who had spent the night in the studio recording with the band. He took his sunglasses off and set them on the coffee table. The whole room seemed to spin around him. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms against them until he started seeing spots. Maybe it was too much. He had the last note of one of their new songs stuck on his head. A song that kept taking him back to a place he was uncomfortable visiting. The album was taking its toll on him and the band. They would either finish it or Bono would throw himself through the window.


They were pouring their lives into these songs. Yet they feared U2 might no longer be relevant. They wanted to avoid the aging rocker trap; pulling in tons of money on tour but putting out new work no one cared about. That was almost right; some no longer cared about U2's records, but Bono wasn't a man to give up easily on things he held dear.


The seconds his eyes remained closed felt like hours.


"Dad, are you alright?"


"Uh?" he opened his eyes. Things still looked fuzzy.


"You alright?" Jordan asked again.


"Yes, I'm just tired. We didn't get much sleep."


"I can come back when you feel better," Florence said, wishing she could get to her date on time.


"No, please. I don't mind talking to you, love. In fact, I need something to keep my mind off the record."


Jordan saw the look on her friend's face in response to her father's affectionate pet expression. It wasn't obvious to Bono, but she could see that Florence felt uncomfortable.


Uh... Dad, she's an American. They don't go around calling people 'love'.”


I'm sorry, love,” he told Florence. “It's just the way we talk across the pond.”


No problem, I've heard the Beatles use the term in old movies,” she answered, “I am just not used to it.”


Bono raised an eyebrow. Frowning, he shut his mouth. Jordan tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t help chuckling.


"Anyway,” Florence continued, “talking about my drawings won't help at all if what you want is to keep your mind off the record, Mr. Hewson.".


"I’m sorry?" he said, looking into her amber eyes. Something had her worried.


"Jordan said something about a tour."


"You're right. Then, I guess I shall pluck up my courage and face my destiny," he said, mimicking a posh British accent à la Mr. MacPhisto that made Jordan burst out laughing. Florence looked at her with a poker face. “Rich people are crazy,” she thought.


"Well, unfortunately I have to go," Jordan stood up, "I've got a lot of work to catch up on. And this is certainly not my business. See you, Florence."


"Are you leaving, Jo?" her father asked with concern, "I had plans for the two of us."


"I'll be back before dinner. I promise."


"Don't leave your old man waiting. I just turned down dinner with the president to spend some time with you," he winked at his daughter.


His comment made Jordan smile.


"I won't Dad. See you around seven, okay?" she hugged him and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Bye, Flo."


Florence nodded and waved a quick goodbye to her friend.


"I'll pick you up!" Bono said as she disappeared.


"No need to," she called out before leaving.


As soon as Bono heard the door slam, he went to the bar and poured himself a Jameson, and asked her if she wanted some whiskey too.


"No, thanks, I just had orange juice," she raised the empty glass.


"Well, back to where we left it," he said in a casual tone as he walked over. He sat again in front of her, "I had a look at your work last night. I really liked it."


Florence leaned forward and stared at Bono as he kept talking. His lips were very thin. He shot words at the speed of light like bullets, making only short pauses to reload. His blue eyes must have been like neon lights when he was younger. A wild spirit, she thought. They still held a spark within, but the color was slowly fading. Flo was not a fan of U2’s or Bono’s. Actually, she had never paid any attention to them before; she had just seen random pictures of him on the Internet. He was shorter than she imagined he would be. The lines on his face were deeper than the photoshoped pictures of him in the magazines showed. She was enchanted by his voice, though. It was fluent and convincing; he was born for speaking. He enjoyed holding all her attention.


"I just can't believe Jordan took my drawings without even telling me."


"Guilty, your honor," he said in a mischievous tone. "She told me about your work and said it'd be a good idea for me to see it, but that you probably wouldn't want to lend me your portfolio."


"So, how did it end up here?"


"I asked her to... borrow it," he murmured.


"I see."


For a moment she wondered whether she should trust him.


"Again, I am terribly sorry. I don't go around asking people to steal things for me. But don’t worry, your portfolio is in my safe."


Was he being ironic? Florence didn't like to mince words. It was something people usually complained about. She couldn't care less about it, though. They both looked at each other.


"Are you mocking me?” she said. “I'm afraid you are being ironic and very rude, Mr. Hewson. Why should I trust you?"


Bono was taken aback. He leaned back and rubbed his chin, staring at her in amusement, his baby blues piercing her eyes. Her words sounded so true and pure he thought it was almost surreal. For a minute, he forgot about the album, the upcoming tour, and all those little details that made him immortal among mortal men. He only cared now about not giving the wrong impression. A touch of sincerity was what he had been needing.


What? Not at all. Why would you think that?”


All your comments and your behavior. It makes me think you are just making fun of me and my work.”


Of course I’m not. I’m sorry. I gave the wrong impression.”


There were a few seconds of silence. She avoided his eyes. He looked for hers. She could not explain why; he was really just a stranger. But for some reason he made her feel at home. She shook her head. The thought lingered half a moment and then vanished.


"I feel sorry for Jordan, but I really can't do this."


"Why? Is it the money? We'll pay. You'll have copyright in everything you create."


"Mr. Hewson, I--"


"Bono, please."


"Mr. Hewson," Florence emphasized, and continued talking, "I have a job to keep, a rent to pay and I only draw for fun. I don't want drawing to become an obligation because I will hate it. Art is supposed to be fun."


"Let's have fun, then! We know how to have a real blast. Don't you believe me?" he shot a volley of words in just seconds. "We're recording at the Electric Lady and you’re invited to one of our sessions. Full stop."


"Excuse me?"


"You come to the studio and we'll talk about your drawings again. Don't let me down, please. I really, really want to work with you."


Florence hesitated about giving the first answer that crossed her mind. She had to be sure before taking any steps precipitously. Agreeing on working for a famous rock band meant she had to be ready for anything. Late night working, busy days, paying less attention to her relationship...


"Brian!" she jumped on her seat remembering her date. She was late.


"Who?"


"Brian's my boyfriend. I really have to go. I was supposed to meet him for lunch an hour ago."


"Do you need a ride?"


"No, no. I'll take a taxi."


She stood up and walked to the door. Bono followed her and made sure to kiss her hand before she left. Being charming had always worked for him before. He smiled at the thought of the Graceland Tour guide girl’s blush as he hugged her trying to sell her on the idea of letting Larry sit on that hell of a Harley. He closed the door once he had lost sight of the dark haired girl.


He sat at the dining table with his laptop. He had plenty of emails to reply to, including one from his wife. Ali was back in Dublin. She was helping her mother to take care of her father who hadn't been feeling well in the past few days. For her, work always had to wait when it came to her family. He was glad to hear from her.


In the email she told him about the kids –they were almost men now. Bono refused to think that John, at age 13, was taller than he was. John loved to play rugby, and he didn't care about breaking his nose and having several lesser injuries in a match, as long as his team won. Elijah was the eldest and he was the man of the house when Bono was away.


Ali said her father's condition was stable but she'd rather stay longer in Dublin, just in case. Sometimes Bono thought she felt better when he was not around. One less kid to chase after. He wasn’t even sure if she really missed him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had made love to her without it being just going through the motions. They loved each other, or their marriage wouldn’t have worked through the years. She had accepted his free soul and eager spirit from the beginning, and she loved his sharp mind. Ali was the only angel in his life, the only one who dug him out whenever he was face down in the mud. She had reached out to him every time he felt his world was falling apart, and it had been that way since they had met in 1974. But sometimes he didn’t want to be saved. He felt the urge to be the savior.


He had almost finished answering Ali’s email when he realized he hadn't given Florence his number. He wondered if he should have. He rolled his chair back. Without another thought, he threw the front door open and ran after her, hoping she hadn't taken a taxi yet. But there was no trace of her. He had to wait until dinner time. Jordan would probably give him her number.




After two years living in the city, New York still amazed Florence. If she hadn’t been in a hurry, she would have been gawking like a tourist. She liked to enjoy every step she took. She couldn’t get enough of it.


When she had first arrived in New York in 2012 she enrolled in a poetry course. There she had met Jordan. They had become friends soon after. Jordan thought it was a relief that her new friend didn't give a damn about who her father was. They were both interested in languages and poetry and they completely banned all U2-related themes. Florence didn't know much about the band. Sure she knew they existed, but who didn't? Yet, she'd only heard two of their songs in her entire life. Celebrity wasn't something she cared about.


Jordan knew Florence was desperate to get a job. Since she knew her friend was good with kids, she suggested Florence work as a tutor in English and painting. Jordan eventually introduced Flo to her father’s friends. One of those friends was the famous and wealthy Henry Hammond, a businessman. He had two children: 34-year-old Henry Hammond, Jr. and 20 year-old Hayley Hammond. Jordan heard her father's comment on how the girl wanted to learn painting, and she immediately thought of Florence.


Florence met Brian one day when she was at Mr. Hammond' house. She was just about to leave when it started to pour rain. Mrs. Hammond wouldn’t let the girl go out in such a storm. That was when her eldest son and one of his friends entered the house.


"You're soaked!" Mrs. Hammond yelled, running to the bathroom to grab two towels.


"We're fine, Mrs. Hammond," Florence heard a powerful voice say from the other room.


And then she heard Mrs. Hammond.


"Florence, dear, would you mind helping me a second?"


"No problem,” she said, as she stood up and followed the voice.


On her way she crossed the living room. She giggled as she heard the nanny yelling at Mrs. Hammond’ eldest son and his friend.


Boys, don’t you step one soggy foot off that welcome mat or I’ll beat you back into yesterday!”


Florence met Mrs. Hammond at the bathroom. She was complaining as she grabbed some towels.


It's always the same with Brian and Henry. When they get together they behave like they’re still kids.”


Florence chuckled.


Could you bring these towels while I make some hot chocolate for the brats?”


Sure.”


She found them rooted to their spots. She knew Henry enough to know he didn’t dare disobey their nanny. He and his friend shivered with cold.


Your mom’s making some hot chocolate,” she handed them the towels.


Thanks,” they both said at the same time.


She glanced at Brian. His wet shirt clinging to his torso enhanced his figure. He looked like an underwear model. In the lamplight his green eyes shone like a cat’s in the dark.


Oh, Brian, this is Florence,” Henry said, “my sister’s painting tutor.”


Nice to meet you, Florence,” he smiled.


You too.”


Florence, would you show him where the bathroom is?” Henry said and turned to his friend, “I'll see if I can find you some clothes.”


Brian followed her to the bathroom. He looked at her hips swinging. She wore a pencil skirt and black high heels.


Florence thought how odd it was that she had to show him the bathroom. According to what Mrs. Hammond said, they had known each other for a long time. How come he didn't know where the bathroom was?


Exactly as I remembered it,” she heard his voice behind her, “it's been a long time.”


How long have you known the Hammonds?” she slowed down her steps. He joined her in a heartbeat.


I was a kid. Henry and I were best friends. What about you?”


I started working here last year.”


Mrs. Hammond loves you, I can see.”


They’re really nice to me. Hayley is very smart,” she stopped reaching the bathroom door.


You can hand me your wet shirt. Henry will bring you something else.”


Do you have plans for tomorrow night?” he asked.


No. Why?”


I have two tickets to watch a movie. Would you like to go with me?”


Sure.”


Well, I'll need your number,” he smiled.




Florence saw the same smile when she spotted Brian near the entrance of his father’s restaurant, The Gemstone, from across the street. He waved at her as she crossed the street.




Brian Stone had never gotten along very well with his father, Donald. His old man had always blamed him for his mother’s death at his birth. Brian left home when he was 18 years old. He was determined to earn a living by doing what he liked: photography. He used part of his savings to buy a good camera. The rest was enough to rent a small apartment. Brian took every job he could, living from paycheck to paycheck for the next few years.


Anton Corbjin was Brian’s hero. He had discovered the photographer’s work at the age of fifteen and it had truly amazed him. For Brian, the simplicity of his shots conveyed every intended emotion, and provided him with a calmness he hadn’t experienced in his life. Always natural, Anton’s prevailing black and white work showed him colors he had never seen before. He tried hard to find his own style, yet it was something he would have to struggle with for a long time.


Once he thought he had everything sorted out, his life turned upside down. He couldn't find jobs as easily as he used to. And the money didn’t last forever. He eventually had to leave his apartment. He got a job as a waiter, and rent an even smaller place. One night he went out with a couple of friends, and he smoked pot for the first time. One time would do no harm, he thought. But one time a week became three times a day, and pot became hash. In the blink of an eye Brian was craving for drugs in the morning, and high as a kite for the rest of the day. He dated a girl for a few weeks, but he ended up stealing money from her to feed his addiction. Eventually, he got fired and couldn't pay the rent anymore. The streets of New York became his new home.


He was in bad shape when his best friend from childhood bumped into him in the street. His thin lips were barely visible, covered by the long beard that had grown. Henry could see Brian's tiredness from the bags under his eyes, which he could barely keep open. The stench of his clothes said he hadn't bathed in a long time. His shirt was torn and there were holes all over his trousers. His arms and face were full of scratches. It looked more like he had been fighting with a tiger –if not a monkey on his back. He was deathly pale and feverishly muttered unintelligible words.


Henry didn't think twice. He grabbed Brian and took a taxi heading New York Presbyterian Hospital, where he was diagnosed with pneumonia. The fact that he was high as a kite had hidden the pain from a broken arm. Henry told the hospital to spare no expenses until his friend was out of danger.


Henry Hammond Jr. resided on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. He was born to Henry Hammond Sr., a real-estate mogul and Heather Hammond, the editor-in-chief of one of the most successful music magazines in the U.S. He met Brian when they attended Stuyvesant High School and soon they became best friends. But when Brian left home and Henry went to Yale to major in Law, they lost all contact. It was in 2005 when Brian was conscious again after spending two weeks in the hospital that they talked to each other for the first time in nine years. Brian agreed to go to rehab and his friend paid the bill yet again. One year later, on his 28th birthday, he came out of rehab. He was clean.


Henry picked him up and took him to his favorite restaurant in Manhattan. It wasn't easy for Brian to open up and tell his friend about everything he had gone through. But he made sure to omit certain parts of his story. He told Henry about the way he had left home when he was eighteen, unable to put up with his father's behavior. And how he'd tried to contact his elder brother, Joe. But all he got was a cold answer, then the number was changed without an announcement. When he no longer could find a job, the miseries of unemployment overwhelmed him. He sold his camera to pay for food, but the money ran out eventually. Without second thoughts, he blamed his addictions on the girl he had dated.


"I wasted every single penny I made in casual jobs on drugs," he told Henry. "And my life went like that till you found me."


Henry was wounded by his friend's story. He promised to help him on condition that he would not drink or take drugs ever again. When all was said and done, Henry talked to his mother about hiring Brian to work occasionally for the magazine.



That way, he settled down and his life went back to normal. And then, he met Florence.


She was wild and independent. And they both loved art. She could draw and paint better than any professional painter he had ever met. Not to mention her photographs. That was exactly what made Brian feel he was in a quandary. He liked to be with Florence. She was his ticket to a settled-down life. She loved him and trusted him so much she would do whatever he asked. But deep down he couldn’t stand her superiority. She was everything he had ever wanted to be. It was easy to deal with it, though. Brian used Florence’s self-confidence as his best ally. Just a shrug or a timely comment was enough to shatter it. However, he tried hard to ignore the feeling.


Brian saw her approach. She looked great in black Capri pants. She compensated for her middling height by wearing wedges. She loved them. The white V-neck blouse she wore stressed the thin line of her neck. He wished he could capture that image with his camera. There was a time when he toyed with the idea of being a great photographer. But now, when he looked at Florence, he knew that was far from possible. He was good, yes. Otherwise he wouldn’t be working for one of the best music magazines in the world. But he would bet his bottom dollar that he would be replaced if they saw Florence’s work. Nevertheless, he refused to accept what he already knew.


I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. I was kidnapped,” she kissed him on the lips.


Don't worry. I was kidnapped too. Heather called me to her office when I was almost leaving,” he said pulling a thin layer of black satin fabric from his pocket.


What's that? Don’t tell me you’re now into ‘50 Shades’, it’d be gross,” she wrinkled her nose.


Allow me,” slowly he turned her around. Gently, he used the fabric as a blindfold, “hold on to my arm.”


She couldn't say how much she walked. There had been some stairs. They were going up. Then a hallway and more stairs. Why no taking the elevator? Occasionally, Brian would kiss her. But they kept walking. Finally, they stopped. She felt the wind caressed her as she waited for him to take the blindfold off her face. She liked the scent hanging in the air. It was something different she couldn't quite recognize.


Keep your eyes closed,” he said kissing the tip of her nose.


When she felt the thin fabric grazing her skin no more, she heard him speak again.


Now you can open them.”


She obliged. The landscape surprised her. They were on the rooftop of a building. She could see most of the city... again. She loved it. Florence turned to Brian and kissed him.


You haven’t seen anything yet, honey,” he grabbed her by the hand.


They took a few steps. Florence recognized then the four men standing on the opposite side of the rooftop. They carried their instruments. There was a blanket laying on the ground and on top of it, a bottle of Florence’s favorite Château Cheval-Blanc.


What…?” she asked with a dazed expression.


Shh,” he brushed a lock of hair from her face and planted a small kiss on the corner of her lips.


She looked again. And again. How on earth did he manage to bring the band Stereophonics to a rooftop? Kelly Jones waved at her with a happy smile. She tried to speak. Something came out this time.


How did you bring them here?”


Happy anniversary, Florence,” his face was shining with content.


When the band played the first notes of “Could You Be the One?” she watched him kneel in front of her. This was the first song they had ever danced to. Was this really happening? They had discussed the issue before. She never thought Brian was serious about it. His hand searched in his jacket pocket. He had thought about it a thousand times before he decided to carry it out. The velvet box brushed the back of his hand as he held it to pull it out.


Could you be the one for me, Florence Lewis?” his voice was clear. Her eyes were locked on his. Was this too much? Was she ready to take this huge step? She was thirty-three. It was about time, she thought. She loved Brian like she had never loved anyone else before. Having a few bad experiences in her past relationships, she was sure this was the right moment. She stared at him. One word. Three letters. That was all it would take. How come she had come across two big decisions on the same day? And both scared her to death. She took a deep breath. Her gaze wouldn't leave Brian. Someone else’s face crossed her mind for a fraction of a second. She closed her eyes to wash away the picture. Her lips let it escape. One word. Three letters.


Yes.”
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Old 01-24-2016, 02:20 PM   #2
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should i post the next one?
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Old 01-24-2016, 03:01 PM   #3
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Absolutely. I like what you've written so far and I would love to read more.

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Old 01-24-2016, 03:33 PM   #4
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Absolutely. I like what you've written so far and I would love to read more.
I thought everybody was meh about it. Glad you like it
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Old 01-25-2016, 05:37 AM   #5
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yes!! i would love to read the next chapter!!
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Old 01-27-2016, 09:38 AM   #6
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yes!! i would love to read the next chapter!!
I just posted it!
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