Reggo
Blue Crack Addict
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2007
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I know I said 20 would be the last chapter. Well, thank your lucky stars cause it's not.
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened, not nearly as good as Ali's latest chapter, but oh well!
Sorry if it's too long. I probably could've split it up, but I decided not to. Extra points to whomever spots the John Cleese reference!
-----
I told Adam and everyone else that I got out of rehab a night later than I actually do. I'm lying again. I'm lying because I have to go back to Adam, and I have to say good-bye to Larry. Because my therapists and counsellors have convinced me that it's the only way to see Stacie again. I'm dreading it, but I have to. So when I call Larry and tell him I want to meet him at a hotel room in London, I'm sure he's got other plans in his head, but I have to be strong, and not give in to something I dearly want to give in to.
He knocks on the door at quarter past seven, and I've ordered room service for a candlelit supper. I answer the door in a favourite blue dress of mine, and he hands me a bunch of white daisies. "For the fifteen years we've been together," Larry kisses my cheek. He had to do something thing sweet, didn't he? I put the daisies in a vase and he puts his hands on my waist, sliding them around to the small of my back and pulling me into a kiss. "I love you, Lucy," he says, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'm so proud of you."
"Thank you," I reply. I want to kiss him again. I want to feel his lips on mine and let my tongue explore his mouth and see what I can decipher about his day just by tasting him. Adam, Lucy. We're going back to Adam. I gently take his hands off me and sit down at the table.
"I love your hair. The ginger suits you better than blonde. You look gorgeous tonight," he smiles, sitting with me. Did he have to say that? really? Did he have to say my hideous orange hair looks 'gorgeous'? Why is this so hard? I'm supposed to love Adam. But the way he looks at me--. "You okay? You look like you need to cry, honey."
I sigh. "I'm fine." No, I'm not. I fell in love with you, Larry. I have to tell you good-bye and I fell in love with you. How can I do this? How can I hurt you? I pick up my fork and tuck into the vegetarian lasagne I ordered. He wasn't the least bit bothered that I only ordered bottled water to drink.
"It's better anyway. I rode the Harley here." I choke on a carrot. The Harley! I take a drink of water. "Are you okay?" He stands up, ready to help if I need it. I nod and drink some more water. The Harley? I love that motorbike. Larry, you certainly know how to break a girl's heart. "I thought we might go for a ride later," he grins and sits back down. He takes another bite. "This is really good."
"Yeah," I say, taking in the sight of him. I'm giving this up? Can't I have both my daughter and the man I love?
"How long has it been since we had a real date, huh?" He thinks back.
"Before PopMart, I think," I shrug.
"No! It hasn't been that long. I took you out around when we were given the Freedom of Dublin City. I remember that," Larry chews on a breadstick and thinks.
"And there was that time we had to duck out of a restaurant because Edge and Morleigh showed up. Your hair was long then," I say. "Right after you got back from New Orleans."
"Wow. That was a while ago. Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'll have to start treating you more often." We eat dinner in silence, then Larry lays on the bed, watching me tidy up the plates and silver. "I wish we could do this more often," he says, looking at his fingernails. I nod. "And I wish you would talk to me tonight." I'm not sure I won't cry if I speak. I look over at him and his blue eyes look so warm and inviting. He curls one side of his mouth into a small half-smile. I work more diligently on clearing the table. "Lucy, come here. Come sit with me. Talk to me about why you're not talking to me," and the other corner of his mouth smiles. Why do you have to be so wonderful? I sit on the bed and he strokes my back. "Socraigh. It's just me. And I promise I don't bite. Well, not that hard," he chuckles.
"I just want to lay here with you. For a while," I say and curl up next to him. He props himself up on his left elbow and puts his right arm around my waist. I stare into his eyes, eyes that haven't changed a singe lash since the day I met him in Dublin, drunk and ranting over a drum machine. They speak volumes, even when he doesn't. And right now, they're telling me that he loves me as much as, I'm trying to deny it, but, I love him. But I have to be strong. I'm going back to Adam. I start to cry.
"Lucy, Lucy. Baby, what's wrong?" He hugs me tight. "Shh, don't cry. Talk to me. Get it out. Don't let it build up inside of you."
"I love you," I say. I've never told him so before. Still, he holds me. "I love you, Larry, but this is our last night together."
"No," he whispers. He tightens his grip on me.
"It's the only way I can see Stacie again. And when I go back, we can't keep doing this," it's killing me to say this. "So we have to end it tonight." I sob into his shoulder. "I don't want to. I don't want to anymore. Adam says he loves me but I really doubt it sometimes. I love my daughter though. And I don't want to separate her from her father, either."
"What about her stepfather?" he kisses me.
"Who?" I wipe my eyes.
"Me. I could be her stepfather. I love that little girl, too, and Dublin is a great place for her to grow up in. And when she lived with us, I finally felt like we really were a family. Think about it, love, you'd be happy, Adam wouldn't have to constantly be paranoid that every trip you make out of the house is to see me, and Stacie would still have a father figure around when she's with us," Larry smiles. "It would work, Luce. everybody would be happy."
"Adam paid for my rehab treatment, he's paying for this hotel room tonight--."
"Adam threw you out three times in under a year. He threw you out in Eze, at HQ, and in his Dublin flat. He threw you onto the streets where you got tangled up in drugs in the first place, then slapped restraining orders in your face when you needed him the most. And unfortunately, one of those applied to me and I couldn't be there for you when I wanted to. He is always going to try to cage you in and control you. You're strong, and you'll be able to fight it for a while, but eventually, he'll break your spirit and you'll give in, and that free, wild, high-spirited Lucy that I love so much will disappear. Everything has to be on his terms, Lucy. He doesn't compromise. And he doesn't love you."
"How do you know?" I pull away from him.
"I heard him tell Edge that come hell or high water, you two are getting married in Hawaii on the tour. And if you don't have another baby the first year you're married, he's divorcing you anyway. Does that sound like he loves you? Or does that sound like someone who still wants to control every little aspect of your life?" Larry creases his brow. "I love you, Lucy. I've loved you for fifteen years. I've loved you through fights, through the times we've been separated by tours, albums, Ann, Adam, whatever. Through miscarriages when you were so mad at yourself, Mother Nature, God, whoever, but you took it out on me, pounding on me with your fists, kicking and screaming and throwing things and crying. I know what a miracle Stacie is for you, I do. I understand that maybe you want to stay with Adam because you think only he can give you the family you've always dreamed of. But we've never really tried to have our own baby. Maybe if we try other things, medication or in vitro or something. Lucy, I will give you the world. I'll pay Adam back for Narconon, if that's what you're worried about. Don't end it tonight. Don't end fifteen years with me like this. Not when you don't want to. Not when I don't want to. Not when after fifteen fucking years, you finally can tell me you love me."
"I left him once and he started drinking again--"
"How the hell is that your problem? If he doesn't have the willpower to stay away from it, then maybe he needs rehab, too." Larry kisses my chest and puts his right hand on my waist. "Lucy, we make sense. He thinks it's ridiculous that you still go to church most Sundays and go confess when you've done something wrong. How often does he take off your rosary when he wants to be close to you?"
"Every time. He hates it when I speak Gaelic around Stacie and try to teach her it. He's always reminding me to get my hair done because my roots grow out so quickly. And I must be platinum blonde and I have to hide my Irish accent around his parents, and when I was losing weight last year from all the drinking before he booted me out the last time, he said I was finally starting to look good again after having Stacie. I still had some baby weight I needed to get rid of, apparently.'
"What size were you in?" Larry looks down at me with concern.
"I had a 30-inch waist before we went to Sundance. I remember from Ali measuring me for a design she was working on for Edun. He said, 'Well, you can stand to lose a couple of those, can't you?' So, I started trying to. When I checked into rehab, they said I barely weighed 40 kilograms."
"Jesus, Lucy. That's too much, love. I hate to say it, but you'll never be perfect enough for him. There'll always be little things he'll want to pick at you for. I've never once done that. If I do, I'm only teasing. Doesn't sound much to me like Adam loves you."
"Larry, if I leave him for you, it'll put too much stress on the band. I don't want to be the reason U2 breaks up."
"You won't be. I promise you, I won't let you be the bad guy in this. Baby girl, I love you. I want to save you from everything bad in the world. And most of all, I want to save you from a lifetime of misery with Adam. Now, what about Stacie?"
"She's perfect. She came from him," I say.
"Yeah, but she's still half-Irish. D'you think he'll let her forget that?"
"Adam's sounding like more and more of an arsehole," I half-smile.
"Adam's been acting like more and more of an arsehole. So why are you going back to him?" Larry stares into my eyes. I shake my head. "You're not?" I shake my head again and smile. Larry rolls over on his back and lifts me in the air above him. "Good girl! You're coming to the gig tomorrow night, right?"
"Yeah, and Adam wants me there looking and acting perfect. You should see the dress he gave me to wear," I roll my eyes as Larry lets me down. I roll off the bed and walk over to the closet and pull out a mint-green dress he designed for me and had Ali put together. I've already tried it on once and it fits perfectly and I feel amazing when I put it on. I guess I feel like Adam really does love me after all, to take the time out to do something kind like this. Adam does love me.
"Wow," Larry says loudly. "You're going to look gorgeous in that. Put it on. I want a little preview."
"Alright," I shrug. I go in the bathroom and take off my blue dress and put on Adam's. I step out of the bathroom and Larry's jaw drops. "He's got a good eye, doesn't he?"
Larry stumbles through syllables for a comprehensible word and ends up with, "Wow," and giggles.
"Alright, stop your drooling. I don't want to ruin it before tomorrow night," I say, but he takes my hand and pulls me back to the bed. "Larry, I really do like this dress and I don't want anything to happen to it."
"Nothing will happen to it. I just want to enjoy you in it a little longer," Larry smiles and I lay next to him. "I bought a flat in London for when we have custody of Stacie. And when we don't, I've bought a house in Dublin."
"You've thought of everything," I say, smiling.
"Of course I do," he kisses me and I snuggle into the bed with him.
"I love you," I kiss his cheek.
"I love you," Larry replies, sliding his hand under me and unzipping the dress, but the zipper snags. "Fuck," he tugs on it.
"Larry, stop. I like this, okay? Don't ruin it."
"Who bought it?"
"Well, Adam, but--."
"Well, then," Larry rips the zipper out of the back of the dress. He shows it to me, smiling to himself, then throws it over his shoulder and kisses my neck. I am horrified he didn't listen to me.
"That's a new dress you owe me," I snap and he looks up at me.
He grins, "Then I guess that's one good fuck you owe me."
"I suppose it is," I grin.
When I wake up the next morning, Larry's up, picking at a breakfast tray he ordered. To my disdain, he's put his jeans back on. He's singing to himself, "A Little Less Conversation," if I'm not mistaken, and, I almost don't believe it, but, dancing.
"Come on, baby, I'm tired of talkin'. Grab your coat and let's start walkin'," imitating Elvis' baritone.
"Morning," I say loudly. He startles and looks at me.
"Hello," he straightens up and tries not to blush. "You've been awake how long?"
"Since you did the moonwalk in front of the bathroom door," I grin.
"Right," he blushes bright red. "Hungry?" he clears his throat. I nod and climb out of bed. I pick up his shirt off the floor and pull it over my head and do up a few more buttons than he did last night. "That shirt looks weird buttoned that much."
"Maybe I should teach you how to button it one day," I fight a smile.
"Cailín, I've never been happier than I am this morning," he lifts me above his head.
"What about when your kids were born?" I ask, unamused.
"Okay. Those were good," he sets me back on my feet. "I should have them meet their stepmother."
I hug him. "Shouldn't you be with the boys, rehearsing or something?"
"Not till later. I owe you a dress and a daughter. So, let's eat and get our errands done before tea. I plan on shagging you during tea time before the concert," he holds me in his lap and we feed each other breakfast. His white shirt is not fully white anymore after that experiment. He squeezed my left breast when I kissed him and forgot his fingers were dirty. "Shit. This is my only shirt."
"Erm, no, it's not." I walk over to the closet and pull out a light blue silk shirt. "I borrowed this ages ago. I don't think Adam knew I had it, but I used to wear it sometimes when I missed you." I blush.
"Will you ever cease to amaze me, Luce?" he smiles.
I lay the shirt on the bed. "I need a shower. Don't know if you do, but if we shower together, we'll never leave. So, you should go first."
"Me? Why?" Larry points to himself.
"Cause if I step out of the bathroom dripping wet before you've had yours, you'll attack and we'll make love anyway. Again, we'll never leave," I fold my arms.
"You act like that's a bad thing," Larry takes off his pants. "But if you insist," he sighs. He walks in the bathroom and turns the shower on. After a few minutes, he shouts, "Luce, there's no soap! Grab me a bar, will you?" And I fall for it. I go in the bathroom and get a bar of soap off the counter and hand it to him. He grabs my wrist and pulls me in the shower with him. He cackles, takes his shirt off of me, and kisses me.
"You prat," I say and he lifts one my knees to his hip. "We really shouldn't."
"No, I really think we should," Larry presses me to the shower wall and kisses me.
"No, we're not." I get away from him and walk out of the bathroom.
"Droch-bhean!" he calls after me. Evil woman! He gets out of the shower and I pass him going in, avoiding any physical contact. I lock the door behind me, not trusting him to behave himself. I get dressed in the bathroom and put my hair up while it dries. I'm wearing the same halter top and jeans I wore to a club at Sundance a couple of years ago. When I walk out, Larry's laying in bed, naked. "You have your clothes on!"
"Dress shopping, your barrister's, the gig. We have a busy day today. We can still have sex during tea time, but we need to get a move on to get all that stuff done before tea."
"Alright, fine," he gets out of bed and gets dressed, then we walk out of the hotel together, not expecting photographers, but not surprised they're there. I put on my sunglasses and Larry hands over the valet ticket to his Harley to one of the kids standing around out front. "Ride it and I kill you," Larry growls. The kid gets one of his friends to come with him and they scramble off to the carpark for Larry's Harley. I'm wearing a leather jacket that hasn't seen sunlight in ages. Probably the last time I rode the Harley. "Babe, are there any sunglasses in your jacket?"
I reach in the inside pocket and, sure enough, find a pair. He's watching the kids with his Harley and doesn't see me pull them out. Eventually, I have to tap him with them. "Babe."
He turns briefly, long enough to snatch them away from me. "My Ray-Bans! I haven't seen these since before...Bob Hewson died," Larry's voice drops. The valets push the Harley onto the driveway of the hotel and hand Larry the key. He takes it, tips the kids £100 each, then lifts me up and puts me on the back of it. He gets out our helmets and put mine on my head. It's been stretched too big and it falls over my eyes. "Sorry, love. Edge borrowed it." He adjusts the straps for me, puts on his helmet, then swings his left leg over the motorbike. He starts it with a thunderous rumble. "Hang on."
I barely have enough time to lock my arms around his waist before he peels out of the Claridges' driveway, tires screeching, announcing his exit in a big way. He zips through traffic, sometimes driving on the sidewalk to avoid slowing down for any reason. He parks in front of Browns, less than a block away on Molton Street, and climbs off his Harley, then helps me down from it.
"You look a little rattled," he smiles at me as I take my helmet off.
I shake my head. "I'm okay," I put my helmet away with his and we go in the shop. I'm immediately surrounded by incredible clothes.
"See anything you like?" Larry asks, his hands on my hips as he follows me around. I shrug. Nothing's caught my eye yet. Until I come across a mint-green dress by Fendi that looks almost exactly like the one Adam made for me.
I rush over to it, faster than Larry can keep up with and I look it over. "Oh, my God! I love it, Larry! It's gorgeous."
He looks at the price tag. "It's £1300. But I agree. It's very pretty." A saleslady, recognizing Larry Mullen Jnr, practically skips across the shop to assist us.
"Are you being served, Mrs Mullen?" she asks.
I blush wildly. No one's called me that before. Larry laughs out loud, "We aren't, actually. I'd like to purchase this dress and..." he looks around, "that jacket for Mrs Mullen."
I turn an even brighter shade of red, I'm sure. "Éirigh as!" Stop it!
"Would you like to try them on, ma'am?" the saleswoman asks.
"Yes, she would," Larry answers for me.
The saleslady gets the dress, as well as the mint-green waisted coat, for me and I go back to a fitting room. I put on the dress and walk out to where Larry is sitting, waiting for me.
"Jesus," he whispers, standing up.
"Do I look alright?" I feel a bit self-conscious.
"Jesus," he repeats and kisses me. "We'll take them," he hands the saleslady his charge card and she goes off to ring up my dress. Larry holds me close. "I have to leave this for a gig tonight? It's not fair."
"And for the tour," I add.
"And for the tour. Goddamn it," Larry chuckles. "You should come with us."
"Who will watch Anastacia?" I stare into his eyes.
"Sindy, Cecilia, Serena, somebody. God, now we can be together and I have to leave. It's so unfair."
"You're a hopeless romantic, Lardence," I say. He scowls at his nickname. "I should go change out of this."
"Yeah," he lets me go and I walk back into the fitting room. I change back into my jeans and halter top and Larry is arranging to have the dress and coat delivered to my hotel room. "Come on, then. Off to the barrister's." He takes my hand as we leave the shops and get back on the Harley. We zip through London to the band's barrister's office in the East End.
"So you want to sue your ex-boyfriend for custody of your daughter, who just so happens to also be one of my clients?" His barrister, Archibald Leach, asks us. "You do realise I cannot represent both sides in this matter."
"Archie, Adam's got a restraining order against her requiring her to stay at least 50 yards away from her own daughter," Larry says.
"I know that! I helped him file the bloody thing last year. He said you were a drug addict and posed a danger to her. I can't really see that now," Leach admits.
"I was a drug addict and I probably did pose a danger to her. But I have successfully completed a rehabilitation program. I have a place to live," I glance at Larry, "a man who loves me and her, and--"
"Very well. I'll put something together for you. Do you want a Shared Residence or a Sole Order?" Leach's mind is working.
"Shared is fine for now. I need this as soon as possible, Mr Leach," I say. "I'm meeting Adam tonight."
"Alright. Consider it done," Leach sees us out and Larry takes me back to the hotel. Big Ben chimes three o'clock. Tea time. Larry wastes no time removing my halter top and his shirt. We lay in bed together and he kisses me.
"I want to make love to you, but in a way, I don't. The two of us here like this is just perfect."
I take off my jeans and straddle his knees.
"Obviously, you want to make love. And who am I to deny you?" He unzips his jeans and I pull them off. "But I have to meet Bono at 3:30," Larry smiles sheepishly at me.
"I hate your life sometimes," I say. We make love, then he gets up and starts getting dressed. I sit up in bed.
He giggles, "Sex hair."
"Oh, shut up." I roll my eyes. He blows a raspberry at me. "Thanks for everything."
"Anything for my Lucy." He sits on the bed to put his shoes on and I put my arms around his neck and kiss him. "I have to go," he's looking at his watch. "I have to go be a rock star."
"I'll see you soon, love." He hugs me then he leaves. My coat, dress, and papers from Archie Leach arrive soon and I curl my hair and take out the blue contacts. My eyes feel a lot better without them. I unceremoniously flush them down the toilet, then I do my make-up, put on the dress and coat, gather the papers and go downstairs. There's a limo waiting for me, and I put on my sunglasses before getting in. I hate photographers. When I get to the gig, John, Bono's bodyguard (one of them, anyway), is running security for the artists' entrance.
"Hello," he says, not recognizing me.
"Hey, John," I smile.
"Oh, my God, Lucy. When did you dye your hair red?" He asks.
"Oh, a few weeks ago," I shrug. "Got a pass for me?" I grin.
"Hmm, there's no Lucinda Clayton or MacEachran on here..." John is playing with me.
"Well, try Máire Mullen. Larry was in a mood today," I roll my eyes.
"Top of the list, I'll be damned. Here you go, love," he hands my pass over, then I kiss him on the cheek. "See you in there."
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened, not nearly as good as Ali's latest chapter, but oh well!
Sorry if it's too long. I probably could've split it up, but I decided not to. Extra points to whomever spots the John Cleese reference!-----
I told Adam and everyone else that I got out of rehab a night later than I actually do. I'm lying again. I'm lying because I have to go back to Adam, and I have to say good-bye to Larry. Because my therapists and counsellors have convinced me that it's the only way to see Stacie again. I'm dreading it, but I have to. So when I call Larry and tell him I want to meet him at a hotel room in London, I'm sure he's got other plans in his head, but I have to be strong, and not give in to something I dearly want to give in to.
He knocks on the door at quarter past seven, and I've ordered room service for a candlelit supper. I answer the door in a favourite blue dress of mine, and he hands me a bunch of white daisies. "For the fifteen years we've been together," Larry kisses my cheek. He had to do something thing sweet, didn't he? I put the daisies in a vase and he puts his hands on my waist, sliding them around to the small of my back and pulling me into a kiss. "I love you, Lucy," he says, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'm so proud of you."
"Thank you," I reply. I want to kiss him again. I want to feel his lips on mine and let my tongue explore his mouth and see what I can decipher about his day just by tasting him. Adam, Lucy. We're going back to Adam. I gently take his hands off me and sit down at the table.
"I love your hair. The ginger suits you better than blonde. You look gorgeous tonight," he smiles, sitting with me. Did he have to say that? really? Did he have to say my hideous orange hair looks 'gorgeous'? Why is this so hard? I'm supposed to love Adam. But the way he looks at me--. "You okay? You look like you need to cry, honey."
I sigh. "I'm fine." No, I'm not. I fell in love with you, Larry. I have to tell you good-bye and I fell in love with you. How can I do this? How can I hurt you? I pick up my fork and tuck into the vegetarian lasagne I ordered. He wasn't the least bit bothered that I only ordered bottled water to drink.
"It's better anyway. I rode the Harley here." I choke on a carrot. The Harley! I take a drink of water. "Are you okay?" He stands up, ready to help if I need it. I nod and drink some more water. The Harley? I love that motorbike. Larry, you certainly know how to break a girl's heart. "I thought we might go for a ride later," he grins and sits back down. He takes another bite. "This is really good."
"Yeah," I say, taking in the sight of him. I'm giving this up? Can't I have both my daughter and the man I love?
"How long has it been since we had a real date, huh?" He thinks back.
"Before PopMart, I think," I shrug.
"No! It hasn't been that long. I took you out around when we were given the Freedom of Dublin City. I remember that," Larry chews on a breadstick and thinks.
"And there was that time we had to duck out of a restaurant because Edge and Morleigh showed up. Your hair was long then," I say. "Right after you got back from New Orleans."
"Wow. That was a while ago. Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'll have to start treating you more often." We eat dinner in silence, then Larry lays on the bed, watching me tidy up the plates and silver. "I wish we could do this more often," he says, looking at his fingernails. I nod. "And I wish you would talk to me tonight." I'm not sure I won't cry if I speak. I look over at him and his blue eyes look so warm and inviting. He curls one side of his mouth into a small half-smile. I work more diligently on clearing the table. "Lucy, come here. Come sit with me. Talk to me about why you're not talking to me," and the other corner of his mouth smiles. Why do you have to be so wonderful? I sit on the bed and he strokes my back. "Socraigh. It's just me. And I promise I don't bite. Well, not that hard," he chuckles.
"I just want to lay here with you. For a while," I say and curl up next to him. He props himself up on his left elbow and puts his right arm around my waist. I stare into his eyes, eyes that haven't changed a singe lash since the day I met him in Dublin, drunk and ranting over a drum machine. They speak volumes, even when he doesn't. And right now, they're telling me that he loves me as much as, I'm trying to deny it, but, I love him. But I have to be strong. I'm going back to Adam. I start to cry.
"Lucy, Lucy. Baby, what's wrong?" He hugs me tight. "Shh, don't cry. Talk to me. Get it out. Don't let it build up inside of you."
"I love you," I say. I've never told him so before. Still, he holds me. "I love you, Larry, but this is our last night together."
"No," he whispers. He tightens his grip on me.
"It's the only way I can see Stacie again. And when I go back, we can't keep doing this," it's killing me to say this. "So we have to end it tonight." I sob into his shoulder. "I don't want to. I don't want to anymore. Adam says he loves me but I really doubt it sometimes. I love my daughter though. And I don't want to separate her from her father, either."
"What about her stepfather?" he kisses me.
"Who?" I wipe my eyes.
"Me. I could be her stepfather. I love that little girl, too, and Dublin is a great place for her to grow up in. And when she lived with us, I finally felt like we really were a family. Think about it, love, you'd be happy, Adam wouldn't have to constantly be paranoid that every trip you make out of the house is to see me, and Stacie would still have a father figure around when she's with us," Larry smiles. "It would work, Luce. everybody would be happy."
"Adam paid for my rehab treatment, he's paying for this hotel room tonight--."
"Adam threw you out three times in under a year. He threw you out in Eze, at HQ, and in his Dublin flat. He threw you onto the streets where you got tangled up in drugs in the first place, then slapped restraining orders in your face when you needed him the most. And unfortunately, one of those applied to me and I couldn't be there for you when I wanted to. He is always going to try to cage you in and control you. You're strong, and you'll be able to fight it for a while, but eventually, he'll break your spirit and you'll give in, and that free, wild, high-spirited Lucy that I love so much will disappear. Everything has to be on his terms, Lucy. He doesn't compromise. And he doesn't love you."
"How do you know?" I pull away from him.
"I heard him tell Edge that come hell or high water, you two are getting married in Hawaii on the tour. And if you don't have another baby the first year you're married, he's divorcing you anyway. Does that sound like he loves you? Or does that sound like someone who still wants to control every little aspect of your life?" Larry creases his brow. "I love you, Lucy. I've loved you for fifteen years. I've loved you through fights, through the times we've been separated by tours, albums, Ann, Adam, whatever. Through miscarriages when you were so mad at yourself, Mother Nature, God, whoever, but you took it out on me, pounding on me with your fists, kicking and screaming and throwing things and crying. I know what a miracle Stacie is for you, I do. I understand that maybe you want to stay with Adam because you think only he can give you the family you've always dreamed of. But we've never really tried to have our own baby. Maybe if we try other things, medication or in vitro or something. Lucy, I will give you the world. I'll pay Adam back for Narconon, if that's what you're worried about. Don't end it tonight. Don't end fifteen years with me like this. Not when you don't want to. Not when I don't want to. Not when after fifteen fucking years, you finally can tell me you love me."
"I left him once and he started drinking again--"
"How the hell is that your problem? If he doesn't have the willpower to stay away from it, then maybe he needs rehab, too." Larry kisses my chest and puts his right hand on my waist. "Lucy, we make sense. He thinks it's ridiculous that you still go to church most Sundays and go confess when you've done something wrong. How often does he take off your rosary when he wants to be close to you?"
"Every time. He hates it when I speak Gaelic around Stacie and try to teach her it. He's always reminding me to get my hair done because my roots grow out so quickly. And I must be platinum blonde and I have to hide my Irish accent around his parents, and when I was losing weight last year from all the drinking before he booted me out the last time, he said I was finally starting to look good again after having Stacie. I still had some baby weight I needed to get rid of, apparently.'
"What size were you in?" Larry looks down at me with concern.
"I had a 30-inch waist before we went to Sundance. I remember from Ali measuring me for a design she was working on for Edun. He said, 'Well, you can stand to lose a couple of those, can't you?' So, I started trying to. When I checked into rehab, they said I barely weighed 40 kilograms."
"Jesus, Lucy. That's too much, love. I hate to say it, but you'll never be perfect enough for him. There'll always be little things he'll want to pick at you for. I've never once done that. If I do, I'm only teasing. Doesn't sound much to me like Adam loves you."
"Larry, if I leave him for you, it'll put too much stress on the band. I don't want to be the reason U2 breaks up."
"You won't be. I promise you, I won't let you be the bad guy in this. Baby girl, I love you. I want to save you from everything bad in the world. And most of all, I want to save you from a lifetime of misery with Adam. Now, what about Stacie?"
"She's perfect. She came from him," I say.
"Yeah, but she's still half-Irish. D'you think he'll let her forget that?"
"Adam's sounding like more and more of an arsehole," I half-smile.
"Adam's been acting like more and more of an arsehole. So why are you going back to him?" Larry stares into my eyes. I shake my head. "You're not?" I shake my head again and smile. Larry rolls over on his back and lifts me in the air above him. "Good girl! You're coming to the gig tomorrow night, right?"
"Yeah, and Adam wants me there looking and acting perfect. You should see the dress he gave me to wear," I roll my eyes as Larry lets me down. I roll off the bed and walk over to the closet and pull out a mint-green dress he designed for me and had Ali put together. I've already tried it on once and it fits perfectly and I feel amazing when I put it on. I guess I feel like Adam really does love me after all, to take the time out to do something kind like this. Adam does love me.
"Wow," Larry says loudly. "You're going to look gorgeous in that. Put it on. I want a little preview."
"Alright," I shrug. I go in the bathroom and take off my blue dress and put on Adam's. I step out of the bathroom and Larry's jaw drops. "He's got a good eye, doesn't he?"
Larry stumbles through syllables for a comprehensible word and ends up with, "Wow," and giggles.
"Alright, stop your drooling. I don't want to ruin it before tomorrow night," I say, but he takes my hand and pulls me back to the bed. "Larry, I really do like this dress and I don't want anything to happen to it."
"Nothing will happen to it. I just want to enjoy you in it a little longer," Larry smiles and I lay next to him. "I bought a flat in London for when we have custody of Stacie. And when we don't, I've bought a house in Dublin."
"You've thought of everything," I say, smiling.
"Of course I do," he kisses me and I snuggle into the bed with him.
"I love you," I kiss his cheek.
"I love you," Larry replies, sliding his hand under me and unzipping the dress, but the zipper snags. "Fuck," he tugs on it.
"Larry, stop. I like this, okay? Don't ruin it."
"Who bought it?"
"Well, Adam, but--."
"Well, then," Larry rips the zipper out of the back of the dress. He shows it to me, smiling to himself, then throws it over his shoulder and kisses my neck. I am horrified he didn't listen to me.
"That's a new dress you owe me," I snap and he looks up at me.
He grins, "Then I guess that's one good fuck you owe me."
"I suppose it is," I grin.
When I wake up the next morning, Larry's up, picking at a breakfast tray he ordered. To my disdain, he's put his jeans back on. He's singing to himself, "A Little Less Conversation," if I'm not mistaken, and, I almost don't believe it, but, dancing.
"Come on, baby, I'm tired of talkin'. Grab your coat and let's start walkin'," imitating Elvis' baritone.
"Morning," I say loudly. He startles and looks at me.
"Hello," he straightens up and tries not to blush. "You've been awake how long?"
"Since you did the moonwalk in front of the bathroom door," I grin.
"Right," he blushes bright red. "Hungry?" he clears his throat. I nod and climb out of bed. I pick up his shirt off the floor and pull it over my head and do up a few more buttons than he did last night. "That shirt looks weird buttoned that much."
"Maybe I should teach you how to button it one day," I fight a smile.
"Cailín, I've never been happier than I am this morning," he lifts me above his head.
"What about when your kids were born?" I ask, unamused.
"Okay. Those were good," he sets me back on my feet. "I should have them meet their stepmother."
I hug him. "Shouldn't you be with the boys, rehearsing or something?"
"Not till later. I owe you a dress and a daughter. So, let's eat and get our errands done before tea. I plan on shagging you during tea time before the concert," he holds me in his lap and we feed each other breakfast. His white shirt is not fully white anymore after that experiment. He squeezed my left breast when I kissed him and forgot his fingers were dirty. "Shit. This is my only shirt."
"Erm, no, it's not." I walk over to the closet and pull out a light blue silk shirt. "I borrowed this ages ago. I don't think Adam knew I had it, but I used to wear it sometimes when I missed you." I blush.
"Will you ever cease to amaze me, Luce?" he smiles.
I lay the shirt on the bed. "I need a shower. Don't know if you do, but if we shower together, we'll never leave. So, you should go first."
"Me? Why?" Larry points to himself.
"Cause if I step out of the bathroom dripping wet before you've had yours, you'll attack and we'll make love anyway. Again, we'll never leave," I fold my arms.
"You act like that's a bad thing," Larry takes off his pants. "But if you insist," he sighs. He walks in the bathroom and turns the shower on. After a few minutes, he shouts, "Luce, there's no soap! Grab me a bar, will you?" And I fall for it. I go in the bathroom and get a bar of soap off the counter and hand it to him. He grabs my wrist and pulls me in the shower with him. He cackles, takes his shirt off of me, and kisses me.
"You prat," I say and he lifts one my knees to his hip. "We really shouldn't."
"No, I really think we should," Larry presses me to the shower wall and kisses me.
"No, we're not." I get away from him and walk out of the bathroom.
"Droch-bhean!" he calls after me. Evil woman! He gets out of the shower and I pass him going in, avoiding any physical contact. I lock the door behind me, not trusting him to behave himself. I get dressed in the bathroom and put my hair up while it dries. I'm wearing the same halter top and jeans I wore to a club at Sundance a couple of years ago. When I walk out, Larry's laying in bed, naked. "You have your clothes on!"
"Dress shopping, your barrister's, the gig. We have a busy day today. We can still have sex during tea time, but we need to get a move on to get all that stuff done before tea."
"Alright, fine," he gets out of bed and gets dressed, then we walk out of the hotel together, not expecting photographers, but not surprised they're there. I put on my sunglasses and Larry hands over the valet ticket to his Harley to one of the kids standing around out front. "Ride it and I kill you," Larry growls. The kid gets one of his friends to come with him and they scramble off to the carpark for Larry's Harley. I'm wearing a leather jacket that hasn't seen sunlight in ages. Probably the last time I rode the Harley. "Babe, are there any sunglasses in your jacket?"
I reach in the inside pocket and, sure enough, find a pair. He's watching the kids with his Harley and doesn't see me pull them out. Eventually, I have to tap him with them. "Babe."
He turns briefly, long enough to snatch them away from me. "My Ray-Bans! I haven't seen these since before...Bob Hewson died," Larry's voice drops. The valets push the Harley onto the driveway of the hotel and hand Larry the key. He takes it, tips the kids £100 each, then lifts me up and puts me on the back of it. He gets out our helmets and put mine on my head. It's been stretched too big and it falls over my eyes. "Sorry, love. Edge borrowed it." He adjusts the straps for me, puts on his helmet, then swings his left leg over the motorbike. He starts it with a thunderous rumble. "Hang on."
I barely have enough time to lock my arms around his waist before he peels out of the Claridges' driveway, tires screeching, announcing his exit in a big way. He zips through traffic, sometimes driving on the sidewalk to avoid slowing down for any reason. He parks in front of Browns, less than a block away on Molton Street, and climbs off his Harley, then helps me down from it.
"You look a little rattled," he smiles at me as I take my helmet off.
I shake my head. "I'm okay," I put my helmet away with his and we go in the shop. I'm immediately surrounded by incredible clothes.
"See anything you like?" Larry asks, his hands on my hips as he follows me around. I shrug. Nothing's caught my eye yet. Until I come across a mint-green dress by Fendi that looks almost exactly like the one Adam made for me.
I rush over to it, faster than Larry can keep up with and I look it over. "Oh, my God! I love it, Larry! It's gorgeous."
He looks at the price tag. "It's £1300. But I agree. It's very pretty." A saleslady, recognizing Larry Mullen Jnr, practically skips across the shop to assist us.
"Are you being served, Mrs Mullen?" she asks.
I blush wildly. No one's called me that before. Larry laughs out loud, "We aren't, actually. I'd like to purchase this dress and..." he looks around, "that jacket for Mrs Mullen."
I turn an even brighter shade of red, I'm sure. "Éirigh as!" Stop it!
"Would you like to try them on, ma'am?" the saleswoman asks.
"Yes, she would," Larry answers for me.
The saleslady gets the dress, as well as the mint-green waisted coat, for me and I go back to a fitting room. I put on the dress and walk out to where Larry is sitting, waiting for me.
"Jesus," he whispers, standing up.
"Do I look alright?" I feel a bit self-conscious.
"Jesus," he repeats and kisses me. "We'll take them," he hands the saleslady his charge card and she goes off to ring up my dress. Larry holds me close. "I have to leave this for a gig tonight? It's not fair."
"And for the tour," I add.
"And for the tour. Goddamn it," Larry chuckles. "You should come with us."
"Who will watch Anastacia?" I stare into his eyes.
"Sindy, Cecilia, Serena, somebody. God, now we can be together and I have to leave. It's so unfair."
"You're a hopeless romantic, Lardence," I say. He scowls at his nickname. "I should go change out of this."
"Yeah," he lets me go and I walk back into the fitting room. I change back into my jeans and halter top and Larry is arranging to have the dress and coat delivered to my hotel room. "Come on, then. Off to the barrister's." He takes my hand as we leave the shops and get back on the Harley. We zip through London to the band's barrister's office in the East End.
"So you want to sue your ex-boyfriend for custody of your daughter, who just so happens to also be one of my clients?" His barrister, Archibald Leach, asks us. "You do realise I cannot represent both sides in this matter."
"Archie, Adam's got a restraining order against her requiring her to stay at least 50 yards away from her own daughter," Larry says.
"I know that! I helped him file the bloody thing last year. He said you were a drug addict and posed a danger to her. I can't really see that now," Leach admits.
"I was a drug addict and I probably did pose a danger to her. But I have successfully completed a rehabilitation program. I have a place to live," I glance at Larry, "a man who loves me and her, and--"
"Very well. I'll put something together for you. Do you want a Shared Residence or a Sole Order?" Leach's mind is working.
"Shared is fine for now. I need this as soon as possible, Mr Leach," I say. "I'm meeting Adam tonight."
"Alright. Consider it done," Leach sees us out and Larry takes me back to the hotel. Big Ben chimes three o'clock. Tea time. Larry wastes no time removing my halter top and his shirt. We lay in bed together and he kisses me.
"I want to make love to you, but in a way, I don't. The two of us here like this is just perfect."
I take off my jeans and straddle his knees.
"Obviously, you want to make love. And who am I to deny you?" He unzips his jeans and I pull them off. "But I have to meet Bono at 3:30," Larry smiles sheepishly at me.
"I hate your life sometimes," I say. We make love, then he gets up and starts getting dressed. I sit up in bed.
He giggles, "Sex hair."
"Oh, shut up." I roll my eyes. He blows a raspberry at me. "Thanks for everything."
"Anything for my Lucy." He sits on the bed to put his shoes on and I put my arms around his neck and kiss him. "I have to go," he's looking at his watch. "I have to go be a rock star."
"I'll see you soon, love." He hugs me then he leaves. My coat, dress, and papers from Archie Leach arrive soon and I curl my hair and take out the blue contacts. My eyes feel a lot better without them. I unceremoniously flush them down the toilet, then I do my make-up, put on the dress and coat, gather the papers and go downstairs. There's a limo waiting for me, and I put on my sunglasses before getting in. I hate photographers. When I get to the gig, John, Bono's bodyguard (one of them, anyway), is running security for the artists' entrance.
"Hello," he says, not recognizing me.
"Hey, John," I smile.
"Oh, my God, Lucy. When did you dye your hair red?" He asks.
"Oh, a few weeks ago," I shrug. "Got a pass for me?" I grin.
"Hmm, there's no Lucinda Clayton or MacEachran on here..." John is playing with me.
"Well, try Máire Mullen. Larry was in a mood today," I roll my eyes.
"Top of the list, I'll be damned. Here you go, love," he hands my pass over, then I kiss him on the cheek. "See you in there."
There must be an unedited version of this chapter...........
Somebody who knows silly 80's movies like me!
