Serena Vox
ONE love, blood, life
Here is chapter two.
Big thank you to dianepm for beng my lovely beta/muse once again.
Disclaimer: Don't own U2, don't make money off this, never happened.
---
Grace sighed, looking back at the horizon, finding that the sun was beginning to go down already, having completely forgotten that it was only springtime and the hours were still adjusting. With a sigh, she pulled the sunglasses off long enough to wipe her eyes and pushed them back over her nose, turning towards the streets again. She went down the hill, following into the bustle of pedestrian commuters leaving work, or going to it, depending on the shift and heads in the general direction of home. She got many strange glances and looked at her attire, differing from the morning hours and just smiled.
Once she set foot onto the front porch, she pulled the expensive looking blue glasses off her face, folding them up and shoving them into the jacket pocket. With that out of the way, she went into the front room and through the living room, ignoring her father’s odd look at the unfamiliar jacket he hadn’t seen her with previously. She began to climb the stairs when a sudden clear of the throat is heard, making her stop in her tracks and peer over the rail.
“Where did that come from?” He asked.
“Where did what come from?” She mimicked, playing stupid. Probably not one of her better ideas by far.
“Come down here,” He said, standing up and putting on his glasses as she stepped back down, walking to the center of the living room. “That jacket. Did you have a jacket like that? It looks right expensive...you don’t make that much money, do you?” he tugged at the lapels, finding it was made of leather.
“Hey come on, don’t put your hands all over it.”
“Where’d you get it?” He asked, inhaling deeply. The faint smell of tobacco wafting up his nose. “...have you been smoking?” More of an accusation than a question.
“What the? Oh come on, you know I don’t smoke,” She said, swallowing hard in hopes that it wouldn’t earn too many more questions. “This jacket came from a friend I saw out earlier ‘cause I spilled coffee on myself.”
Gonna insult how accident prone I am yet?
“Does she smoke? This looks like a man’s jacket.”
“It...is,” She replied hesitantly, handing him the newspaper that she’d stuffed into the jacket. “I picked this up on the way home.”
“Man’s jacket huh?”
Her father took the newspaper from her hand without thanking her and went back to his chair, sitting down with it. Apparently, he had nothing further to say. She knew what he was thinking and rolled her eyes skyward as she went back up the stairs. Yes, because I’m totally sleeping with a man I just met, who happens to be a celebrity. She sighed and stepped into her room, closing the door behind her, dropping her bag by her dresser. She stepped in front of her mirror, admiring the expensive looking jacket she now wore. It was a deep, navy blue colour, pockets on both lapels and a red star of some sort fashioned on the left pocket. She ran her fingers over it, the material bumpy and rigid to the touch. Suddenly, she rolled her eyes up as far as possible, banging her head against the dresser with a groan. Reality suddenly kicking in.
“You have got to be shitting me,” She muttered, shaking her head against the wood. “It’s all some silly, silly dream. I’m sure. You’ll wake up tomorrow and this’ll be gone. No big deal. Oh great...now I’m talking to myself. Well, I’m only crazy if I answer myself, right? Nevermind.”
She straightened up, pulling the smooth material towards her and inhaling the fresh scent still hidden away within the fibers. The same smells from earlier wafted right up her nose; cologne, cigarettes and that one fragrance that couldn't be named by any other word - a man. A very, very sexy man, no less. She shoved the jacket back down to her chest and looked down at herself, the coffee stain long dried. “Well fuck. I could use a good shower.”
The young woman quickly pulled the jacket off, tossing it onto the bed carefully and stripping off her plain, cotton tee shirt as well. She turned to face the mirror, looking at the white, now partially caramel coloured bra covering her breasts. She shook her head and unhooked it, throwing it down to the floor with her shirt and reaching into her closet for a robe. She discarded the rest of her clothes, wrapping herself into the pink, fluffy bathrobe and gathered the day’s clothing up. She carried it into the bathroom and threw the pile into the hamper. Reaching into the shower, she turned on the spray as hot as it would go and shuffled back into her room, pulling a night gown out of her dresser and a pair of panties. She took them into the bathroom, laying them on the towel shelf for when she was done cleaning up. Turning to the mirror, she stopped briefly, seeing her hair a wind-beaten mess and her eyes heavy. Lovely. She sighed, pushing the stray hairs that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ears and pulled off the scrunchie, letting her hair flow out freely against her back.
“You, my dear, are crazy,” Grace said to herself in the mirror, blowing an air kiss at her reflection sarcastically.
She pulls the robe off and climbed into the shower, taking care to clean herself thoroughly from the sticky, caffeinated drink that she’d ended up wearing as an add-on to her clothing earlier in the afternoon as well as the day’s stress and worries. After a long moment of soaking under the hot spray, she comes back out, dries off quickly and gets comfortable in her night clothes.
“You out of the shower yet?” Her father’s voice called up from the living room.
“Yeah, why?” She replied, standing at the top of the stairs.
“I think I heard your phone ring! Maybe that nice boy you like so much called?” He asked, making the woman roll her eyes up at the ceiling. “By the way, if you want anything to eat, I ordered pizza.”
“No thanks, I’m not hungry. I’ll check my messages. Do you need anything? If not, I’m going to bed.”
“Good night.”
She shook her head and went back into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She straightened out her belongings slightly and crawled onto the bed, leaning over enough to hang it onto the back of the chair by her dresser and slipped underneath the covers, curling up comfortably and falling fast asleep.
***
The sun had been up for quite a few hours now, it was a clear summer morning, birds tweeting, people bustling, the world spinning, aware to even the littlest and frail of minds, one such as the little girl peering out the window at the four men lined up at the front door. She watched with curious eyes as her father invites them in to sit wherever they like to discuss matters she would never understand or even begin to fathom until adulthood. She scampers down off the in table at her father’s request and starts to play with some of the blocks laying around on the hardwood floor. All of the young men taking turns at looking and admiring the little girl. The men and her father carry on with their business.
The girl looks up and started singing aimlessly, random, indistinct babbles or words that make no sense strung together in an adorable, almost soothing tune that rang throughout the living area. Her father stopped briefly, watching one of the men look at the little girl with a decided interest. Yet still they all carry on. She turned to face the men once more, wanting to show off in front of company as she always typically would, but knew she would be scolded by her father for doing so. Instead, she opts to be fairly quiet, save for the random clatter of her toys and the occasional belting of words.
“Grace, I’ll be right back. Don’t aggravate our guests,” Her father finally said, getting her attention, then walked out of the room.
“Okie dokie.” She doesn’t even look at him, she just continued to make a tower with the wooden blocks.
One of the men get up and kneel down next to her. He wore a plain, black, turtleneck sweater and jeans, his hair an unruly dark mop. He smiled, picking up one of the blocks and handing it to her. Her small hand grabbed for it, her fingers curling around it and grasping his index finger. She looked into his blue eyes, grinning at him and set the block down, nudging the stack with her elbow and the rest tumble over onto the floor. With a frustrated groan, she slapped her hand against the floor and the man reached for her, rustling her hair with his hand.
“What’s yer name?” He asked, more out of trying to bond than seeking an answer, since he already knew.
“Grace,” She replied, not batting an eye to him, her curly, blonde locks falling into her face.
“My name’s Paul,” The man said, “But I call myself Bono.”
“Bah-no,” She pronounced, bursting into giggles. “Bono!”
“Yes, that’s right.” He smiled, watching her build another tower with the blocks scattered across the floor. He picked some of them up, handing them to her one by one, watching as she takes each one gratefully, a grin formed on her face. She continued to pile them up and stopped, setting the last block down onto the floor, scooting around on her rear to face the young man with her hands out, palms facing him. He looked at her, confusion written all over his face until he realizes and slaps his palms against hers gently, earning another hearty, child’s laugh from the little girl.
“It’s about time for your nap, Grace,” Her father said, coming back out into the living area to see one of his guests knelt down by the girl, making her laugh and smile.
“I’m not tired.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, it’s nap time. Now get up there on the couch and stretch out.”
The girl let out another annoyed grunt and lifted to her feet, kicking them along the floor in doing so. She looked up at her new friend and gave a pouty look to him. He simply smiled, patting her on the head. “Do what yer pop says.” At his request, she clambered onto the couch, sprawling out and he decided to lend a hand, pulling the blanket down from the top and draping it over her. Without another word, he walked away, sitting back down with the circle of his friends and her father. After a few moments of listening to the group talk, she fell fast asleep.
***
Bono lights a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke into the crisp, evening air as he wandered the semi-busy New York streets. Not a single person paid him any mind at all, celebrities roaming the streets were never any big deal to the natives. He squinted a little, watching the sun kissing the horizon, the sky beginning to glitter with stars. With another draw off the cigarette, he sighed, the smoke billowing past his face as he walked along the sidewalk, cars passing by swiftly, people walking around him to avoid walking into him. He kept thinking back to the beginnings of his career, to the little girl, making comparisons to the beautiful young woman who by no mistake, was that same small child.
With a sigh, he dropped the cigarette onto the ground, stepping on it to douse the flame. A familiar voice sounds from behind him, prompting him to turn around, interrupting his thoughts. His band mate, Dave - or as he was better known, The Edge, ran towards him, stopping just short of knocking the two over. The lead man raised his eyebrow, wondering what would be going on this time of evening.
“I was looking for you,” He huffed, sucking precious air into his lungs.
“What for?”
“Just checking on you.”
“Just...checking on me? For God’s sakes, Reg. I am not some five year old child.”
“Well, no! But you do get yourself into trouble an awful lot, Bono!”
“Did Adam get his panties in a bunch again?” The singer asked.
Edge sighed, leaning against the lamp post and shook his head. “Look, I was kidding. We’re playing cards tonight and having drinks. Larry and Adam asked me to see if you were in.”
“So you ran out all this way to ask me?” Bono laughed, “got nothin’ better to do.” He slid his hand into his pocket again, pulling out another cigarette and slipping it between his lips. His other hand fished around for his lighter and he grumbled a little, having placed it into the wrong pocket. With an ‘ah’ of satisfaction, he ducked his head down into his cupped hands, lighting the cigarette and shoving the lighter back into his pocket. He took a long, slow inhale of the smoke and blew it back out, looking at the patient guitarist. “Right then, shall we?”
The two of them hailed down a cab fairly quickly and departed for the famous San Remo, where the lead man had purchased a rather pricey and lavish apartment not so long ago that he used whenever he was in New York. Bono waves at one of the ladies at the front desk as he passed by. He heads up in the elevator with his friend in tow, rummaging his every pocket for his keys. His band mate looked at him rather oddly, noticing that not only was he lacking his trademark sunglasses, but his jacket too.
“Did you happen to lose your sunglasses again?”
“What? No. I just...put them up.”
“Where?”
“Are you writing a feckin’ book? It’s not important,” The singer grumbled, clearly frustrated at the apparent disappearance of his keys. With a sigh, he pulled his hand back out of one of the pockets to his pants, turning it inside out and his keys hit the elevator floor with a startling jingle. He leaned over to pick them up and cup them into his hand, striding out of the elevator ahead of the guitarist.
“Well, ya know, I was just asking since you bitch every time you lose something,” Edge finally supplies, passing him up swiftly and waiting by the door for Bono to unlock it. The lead man approaches the door, fiddling with the keys until he finds the proper one and swings the door open with a mock bow of ‘after you’.
“I don’t always bitch.”
“Yes you do.”
“Shut up, Reg.”
The loyal band mate went over to the couch, flopping down with ease. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, dialing out on it. The singer dropped the keys onto the table, closed the door and went straight for the kitchen, blatantly ignoring the phone conversation taking place in the lounging room and reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and took a few long gulps of the refreshing water. Setting the partially drained bottle onto the counter, the cap next to it, he poked his head back into the living area as Edge shoved the phone back into his pocket.
“They’re on their way.”
Bono nodded, picking the bottled water back up, walking into the living room and taking a seat in the recliner across from the coffee table. He kicked his thick soled, black shoes up onto the edge of the table and the guitarist eyed him strangely, shaking his head. The older man took another swig of water, letting it swish in his mouth before swallowing it with an ‘ah’. “Hey Reg, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He sat back into the couch, getting comfortable.
“Ya ever look at someone and swear you’ve seen them before?”
“Oh no, what skirt are we chasing this time?”
“I’m not chasing any skirts! I was asking an honest question,” He argued, taking another drink.
“You and chasing skirts go hand in hand. Anyway, it's deja vu. Fairly common. Even if you seriously think you’ve experienced the said occasion before, chances are that you have not,” Edge reasoned, lifting his foot to the table and crossing the opposite leg over it. He sighed, throwing his arm across the back of the couch while they waited for their other two band mates to arrive at the apartment.
With a scoff, the singer twirled the cap back onto the now nearly empty bottle of water and leaned over to set it down on the table. He doesn’t look at his friend even once, instead he just sat back into the cozy chair and put his arms behind his head. His cell phone jingled in his pocket, prompting him to pull it out and check the caller ID. He recognized the number to be some woman who’d been talking to him for a while and switched the phone off, letting it go directly to his voice mail as a cough sounded from the door. His band mate eyed him suspiciously before turning his attention to the front doorway.
“We miss anything good?” Adam asked, striding into the living room with Larry trailing a ways behind him.
“Oh, just that Bono’s skirt chasing again,” The guitarist said flatly, purposely riling the singer up.
“I said I wasn’t!”
“Oh bollocks...” Larry supplied, closing the door behind him. He leaned up against the wall by the door frame, crossing his arms and one leg over the other, his face looking rather blank but a touch more on the aggravated side for God knows why. Moments where he adopts this sort of look, are those that make his mates joke about him being the band’s bodyguard.
“Fine, fine. Say what you want,” Bono pouted, leaning back into the chair.
“We know how ya are, B,” The drummer countered, his look threatening to break into a smile.
The bassist walked across the carpeted floor and eased down onto the other end of the couch, across from Edge. He lifted one leg up and crossed it over the other, digging around his pockets. His eyes looked down at the ashtray, seeing it littered with cigarette butts and half smoked cigars. He rolled his eyes in distaste and lifted a pack of gum out of his pocket, having replaced his smoking habit with something much easier. “Gum?” He offered to all of them, but most particularly Bono, who was re-lighting the cigarette he’d put out when the cab that brought them to the building had shown up.
“Nah,” The lead man shrugged, pulling his feet off the table to lean forward and flick any stray ashes into the glass ashtray.
“Mm, suit yourself,” Adam replied, shoving a stick of gum into his mouth.
“So...did you see her?” Larry suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes at the singer. Edge furrowed his brow and switched his gaze between the two of his mates in question. Thoughts raced through his mind at first. He hoped that they weren’t talking about her.
Big thank you to dianepm for beng my lovely beta/muse once again.
Disclaimer: Don't own U2, don't make money off this, never happened.
---
Grace sighed, looking back at the horizon, finding that the sun was beginning to go down already, having completely forgotten that it was only springtime and the hours were still adjusting. With a sigh, she pulled the sunglasses off long enough to wipe her eyes and pushed them back over her nose, turning towards the streets again. She went down the hill, following into the bustle of pedestrian commuters leaving work, or going to it, depending on the shift and heads in the general direction of home. She got many strange glances and looked at her attire, differing from the morning hours and just smiled.
Once she set foot onto the front porch, she pulled the expensive looking blue glasses off her face, folding them up and shoving them into the jacket pocket. With that out of the way, she went into the front room and through the living room, ignoring her father’s odd look at the unfamiliar jacket he hadn’t seen her with previously. She began to climb the stairs when a sudden clear of the throat is heard, making her stop in her tracks and peer over the rail.
“Where did that come from?” He asked.
“Where did what come from?” She mimicked, playing stupid. Probably not one of her better ideas by far.
“Come down here,” He said, standing up and putting on his glasses as she stepped back down, walking to the center of the living room. “That jacket. Did you have a jacket like that? It looks right expensive...you don’t make that much money, do you?” he tugged at the lapels, finding it was made of leather.
“Hey come on, don’t put your hands all over it.”
“Where’d you get it?” He asked, inhaling deeply. The faint smell of tobacco wafting up his nose. “...have you been smoking?” More of an accusation than a question.
“What the? Oh come on, you know I don’t smoke,” She said, swallowing hard in hopes that it wouldn’t earn too many more questions. “This jacket came from a friend I saw out earlier ‘cause I spilled coffee on myself.”
Gonna insult how accident prone I am yet?
“Does she smoke? This looks like a man’s jacket.”
“It...is,” She replied hesitantly, handing him the newspaper that she’d stuffed into the jacket. “I picked this up on the way home.”
“Man’s jacket huh?”
Her father took the newspaper from her hand without thanking her and went back to his chair, sitting down with it. Apparently, he had nothing further to say. She knew what he was thinking and rolled her eyes skyward as she went back up the stairs. Yes, because I’m totally sleeping with a man I just met, who happens to be a celebrity. She sighed and stepped into her room, closing the door behind her, dropping her bag by her dresser. She stepped in front of her mirror, admiring the expensive looking jacket she now wore. It was a deep, navy blue colour, pockets on both lapels and a red star of some sort fashioned on the left pocket. She ran her fingers over it, the material bumpy and rigid to the touch. Suddenly, she rolled her eyes up as far as possible, banging her head against the dresser with a groan. Reality suddenly kicking in.
“You have got to be shitting me,” She muttered, shaking her head against the wood. “It’s all some silly, silly dream. I’m sure. You’ll wake up tomorrow and this’ll be gone. No big deal. Oh great...now I’m talking to myself. Well, I’m only crazy if I answer myself, right? Nevermind.”
She straightened up, pulling the smooth material towards her and inhaling the fresh scent still hidden away within the fibers. The same smells from earlier wafted right up her nose; cologne, cigarettes and that one fragrance that couldn't be named by any other word - a man. A very, very sexy man, no less. She shoved the jacket back down to her chest and looked down at herself, the coffee stain long dried. “Well fuck. I could use a good shower.”
The young woman quickly pulled the jacket off, tossing it onto the bed carefully and stripping off her plain, cotton tee shirt as well. She turned to face the mirror, looking at the white, now partially caramel coloured bra covering her breasts. She shook her head and unhooked it, throwing it down to the floor with her shirt and reaching into her closet for a robe. She discarded the rest of her clothes, wrapping herself into the pink, fluffy bathrobe and gathered the day’s clothing up. She carried it into the bathroom and threw the pile into the hamper. Reaching into the shower, she turned on the spray as hot as it would go and shuffled back into her room, pulling a night gown out of her dresser and a pair of panties. She took them into the bathroom, laying them on the towel shelf for when she was done cleaning up. Turning to the mirror, she stopped briefly, seeing her hair a wind-beaten mess and her eyes heavy. Lovely. She sighed, pushing the stray hairs that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ears and pulled off the scrunchie, letting her hair flow out freely against her back.
“You, my dear, are crazy,” Grace said to herself in the mirror, blowing an air kiss at her reflection sarcastically.
She pulls the robe off and climbed into the shower, taking care to clean herself thoroughly from the sticky, caffeinated drink that she’d ended up wearing as an add-on to her clothing earlier in the afternoon as well as the day’s stress and worries. After a long moment of soaking under the hot spray, she comes back out, dries off quickly and gets comfortable in her night clothes.
“You out of the shower yet?” Her father’s voice called up from the living room.
“Yeah, why?” She replied, standing at the top of the stairs.
“I think I heard your phone ring! Maybe that nice boy you like so much called?” He asked, making the woman roll her eyes up at the ceiling. “By the way, if you want anything to eat, I ordered pizza.”
“No thanks, I’m not hungry. I’ll check my messages. Do you need anything? If not, I’m going to bed.”
“Good night.”
She shook her head and went back into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She straightened out her belongings slightly and crawled onto the bed, leaning over enough to hang it onto the back of the chair by her dresser and slipped underneath the covers, curling up comfortably and falling fast asleep.
***
The sun had been up for quite a few hours now, it was a clear summer morning, birds tweeting, people bustling, the world spinning, aware to even the littlest and frail of minds, one such as the little girl peering out the window at the four men lined up at the front door. She watched with curious eyes as her father invites them in to sit wherever they like to discuss matters she would never understand or even begin to fathom until adulthood. She scampers down off the in table at her father’s request and starts to play with some of the blocks laying around on the hardwood floor. All of the young men taking turns at looking and admiring the little girl. The men and her father carry on with their business.
The girl looks up and started singing aimlessly, random, indistinct babbles or words that make no sense strung together in an adorable, almost soothing tune that rang throughout the living area. Her father stopped briefly, watching one of the men look at the little girl with a decided interest. Yet still they all carry on. She turned to face the men once more, wanting to show off in front of company as she always typically would, but knew she would be scolded by her father for doing so. Instead, she opts to be fairly quiet, save for the random clatter of her toys and the occasional belting of words.
“Grace, I’ll be right back. Don’t aggravate our guests,” Her father finally said, getting her attention, then walked out of the room.
“Okie dokie.” She doesn’t even look at him, she just continued to make a tower with the wooden blocks.
One of the men get up and kneel down next to her. He wore a plain, black, turtleneck sweater and jeans, his hair an unruly dark mop. He smiled, picking up one of the blocks and handing it to her. Her small hand grabbed for it, her fingers curling around it and grasping his index finger. She looked into his blue eyes, grinning at him and set the block down, nudging the stack with her elbow and the rest tumble over onto the floor. With a frustrated groan, she slapped her hand against the floor and the man reached for her, rustling her hair with his hand.
“What’s yer name?” He asked, more out of trying to bond than seeking an answer, since he already knew.
“Grace,” She replied, not batting an eye to him, her curly, blonde locks falling into her face.
“My name’s Paul,” The man said, “But I call myself Bono.”
“Bah-no,” She pronounced, bursting into giggles. “Bono!”
“Yes, that’s right.” He smiled, watching her build another tower with the blocks scattered across the floor. He picked some of them up, handing them to her one by one, watching as she takes each one gratefully, a grin formed on her face. She continued to pile them up and stopped, setting the last block down onto the floor, scooting around on her rear to face the young man with her hands out, palms facing him. He looked at her, confusion written all over his face until he realizes and slaps his palms against hers gently, earning another hearty, child’s laugh from the little girl.
“It’s about time for your nap, Grace,” Her father said, coming back out into the living area to see one of his guests knelt down by the girl, making her laugh and smile.
“I’m not tired.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, it’s nap time. Now get up there on the couch and stretch out.”
The girl let out another annoyed grunt and lifted to her feet, kicking them along the floor in doing so. She looked up at her new friend and gave a pouty look to him. He simply smiled, patting her on the head. “Do what yer pop says.” At his request, she clambered onto the couch, sprawling out and he decided to lend a hand, pulling the blanket down from the top and draping it over her. Without another word, he walked away, sitting back down with the circle of his friends and her father. After a few moments of listening to the group talk, she fell fast asleep.
***
Bono lights a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke into the crisp, evening air as he wandered the semi-busy New York streets. Not a single person paid him any mind at all, celebrities roaming the streets were never any big deal to the natives. He squinted a little, watching the sun kissing the horizon, the sky beginning to glitter with stars. With another draw off the cigarette, he sighed, the smoke billowing past his face as he walked along the sidewalk, cars passing by swiftly, people walking around him to avoid walking into him. He kept thinking back to the beginnings of his career, to the little girl, making comparisons to the beautiful young woman who by no mistake, was that same small child.
With a sigh, he dropped the cigarette onto the ground, stepping on it to douse the flame. A familiar voice sounds from behind him, prompting him to turn around, interrupting his thoughts. His band mate, Dave - or as he was better known, The Edge, ran towards him, stopping just short of knocking the two over. The lead man raised his eyebrow, wondering what would be going on this time of evening.
“I was looking for you,” He huffed, sucking precious air into his lungs.
“What for?”
“Just checking on you.”
“Just...checking on me? For God’s sakes, Reg. I am not some five year old child.”
“Well, no! But you do get yourself into trouble an awful lot, Bono!”
“Did Adam get his panties in a bunch again?” The singer asked.
Edge sighed, leaning against the lamp post and shook his head. “Look, I was kidding. We’re playing cards tonight and having drinks. Larry and Adam asked me to see if you were in.”
“So you ran out all this way to ask me?” Bono laughed, “got nothin’ better to do.” He slid his hand into his pocket again, pulling out another cigarette and slipping it between his lips. His other hand fished around for his lighter and he grumbled a little, having placed it into the wrong pocket. With an ‘ah’ of satisfaction, he ducked his head down into his cupped hands, lighting the cigarette and shoving the lighter back into his pocket. He took a long, slow inhale of the smoke and blew it back out, looking at the patient guitarist. “Right then, shall we?”
The two of them hailed down a cab fairly quickly and departed for the famous San Remo, where the lead man had purchased a rather pricey and lavish apartment not so long ago that he used whenever he was in New York. Bono waves at one of the ladies at the front desk as he passed by. He heads up in the elevator with his friend in tow, rummaging his every pocket for his keys. His band mate looked at him rather oddly, noticing that not only was he lacking his trademark sunglasses, but his jacket too.
“Did you happen to lose your sunglasses again?”
“What? No. I just...put them up.”
“Where?”
“Are you writing a feckin’ book? It’s not important,” The singer grumbled, clearly frustrated at the apparent disappearance of his keys. With a sigh, he pulled his hand back out of one of the pockets to his pants, turning it inside out and his keys hit the elevator floor with a startling jingle. He leaned over to pick them up and cup them into his hand, striding out of the elevator ahead of the guitarist.
“Well, ya know, I was just asking since you bitch every time you lose something,” Edge finally supplies, passing him up swiftly and waiting by the door for Bono to unlock it. The lead man approaches the door, fiddling with the keys until he finds the proper one and swings the door open with a mock bow of ‘after you’.
“I don’t always bitch.”
“Yes you do.”
“Shut up, Reg.”
The loyal band mate went over to the couch, flopping down with ease. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, dialing out on it. The singer dropped the keys onto the table, closed the door and went straight for the kitchen, blatantly ignoring the phone conversation taking place in the lounging room and reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and took a few long gulps of the refreshing water. Setting the partially drained bottle onto the counter, the cap next to it, he poked his head back into the living area as Edge shoved the phone back into his pocket.
“They’re on their way.”
Bono nodded, picking the bottled water back up, walking into the living room and taking a seat in the recliner across from the coffee table. He kicked his thick soled, black shoes up onto the edge of the table and the guitarist eyed him strangely, shaking his head. The older man took another swig of water, letting it swish in his mouth before swallowing it with an ‘ah’. “Hey Reg, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He sat back into the couch, getting comfortable.
“Ya ever look at someone and swear you’ve seen them before?”
“Oh no, what skirt are we chasing this time?”
“I’m not chasing any skirts! I was asking an honest question,” He argued, taking another drink.
“You and chasing skirts go hand in hand. Anyway, it's deja vu. Fairly common. Even if you seriously think you’ve experienced the said occasion before, chances are that you have not,” Edge reasoned, lifting his foot to the table and crossing the opposite leg over it. He sighed, throwing his arm across the back of the couch while they waited for their other two band mates to arrive at the apartment.
With a scoff, the singer twirled the cap back onto the now nearly empty bottle of water and leaned over to set it down on the table. He doesn’t look at his friend even once, instead he just sat back into the cozy chair and put his arms behind his head. His cell phone jingled in his pocket, prompting him to pull it out and check the caller ID. He recognized the number to be some woman who’d been talking to him for a while and switched the phone off, letting it go directly to his voice mail as a cough sounded from the door. His band mate eyed him suspiciously before turning his attention to the front doorway.
“We miss anything good?” Adam asked, striding into the living room with Larry trailing a ways behind him.
“Oh, just that Bono’s skirt chasing again,” The guitarist said flatly, purposely riling the singer up.
“I said I wasn’t!”
“Oh bollocks...” Larry supplied, closing the door behind him. He leaned up against the wall by the door frame, crossing his arms and one leg over the other, his face looking rather blank but a touch more on the aggravated side for God knows why. Moments where he adopts this sort of look, are those that make his mates joke about him being the band’s bodyguard.
“Fine, fine. Say what you want,” Bono pouted, leaning back into the chair.
“We know how ya are, B,” The drummer countered, his look threatening to break into a smile.
The bassist walked across the carpeted floor and eased down onto the other end of the couch, across from Edge. He lifted one leg up and crossed it over the other, digging around his pockets. His eyes looked down at the ashtray, seeing it littered with cigarette butts and half smoked cigars. He rolled his eyes in distaste and lifted a pack of gum out of his pocket, having replaced his smoking habit with something much easier. “Gum?” He offered to all of them, but most particularly Bono, who was re-lighting the cigarette he’d put out when the cab that brought them to the building had shown up.
“Nah,” The lead man shrugged, pulling his feet off the table to lean forward and flick any stray ashes into the glass ashtray.
“Mm, suit yourself,” Adam replied, shoving a stick of gum into his mouth.
“So...did you see her?” Larry suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes at the singer. Edge furrowed his brow and switched his gaze between the two of his mates in question. Thoughts raced through his mind at first. He hoped that they weren’t talking about her.
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