Sad_Girl
Blue Crack Supplier
Another short chapter I'm afraid. Reall life keeps butting into my fun writing time. 
but, I figured a short chapter was better than no chapter at all. 
**The following is a work of fiction. No offense intended to anyone, it’s all meant in good fun. Oh, and if you’re offended by strong language, you may not like the dialogue in this story
Chapter Nine
“What is it you don’t like about writers, journalists?” Alyx asked Larry when he called. She had answered the phone with the prerequisite ”Hello?” and as soon as he’d revealed himself as the caller, she had asked him. It was something which had been gnawing away at her thoughts all day. She listened to the silence on the other end of the line as Larry considered her abrupt question.
She listened so hard that she could hear the soft, regular sound of his breathing. He must’ve been sitting perfectly still as he thought of an answer. Maybe he was screwing his lips up in a sign of confusion or deep thought, as she had witnessed him doing more than once. She heard a shuffling sound as he reached up and rubbed his nose, an action which never seemed to destroy the itch which had compelled it. Not for long, anyway, because he would soon be rubbing at his poor nose again.
She wondered if he’d ever realized that he was doing damage to the little thin piece of cartilage at the tip of his nose. There was a fine crease, just above the tip of his nose which many people who suffered from allergies had. Just a nearly invisible little line, but one which told anyone who knew enough to look a thing or two about the person attached to that nose.
“I don’t understand why they want to know the things they ask.” He finally replied. “I hit things for a living. I get up on stage and I beat the piss out of the drums, and people like the way it sounds. Why does someone who doesn’t know me and would never cross paths with me give a flying fuck about whether or not I have a girlfriend or a dog or if I like Italian food? It doesn’t make the music sound any different, if they know that I’m named after me father.”
Alyx smiled. It was a good answer. An honest answer.
“If you don’t want people to know your name, you should give it up now. Put your talent to use in a studio, playing backing for some glorified wanker who wants the spotlight to stay on him and never on the invisible band behind him. Write, produce, edit.” She suggested, smiling because she could practically hear the vexation her words caused him.
“Why should I have to do that? If I don’t want everyone in the whole God-damned world to know what color me shorts are, I have to trade off to a different job?” He grumbled.
“Larry, you climb up on that stage with your mates and you take control of the world. You are the center of the universe for that hour or two while you’re up there. You’re the sun, the moon, and the stars. Everything else is dust and rubbish. People want to know everything they can about this force of nature which has just taken over their senses, inspired and moved them.
“Music is like the air, you breathe it in and it gets in your blood and your muscles and bones. It becomes as much a part of the person as their hair or skin. It makes them feel.”
“You sound like Edge and Bono.” He chuckled, and Alyx smiled to herself. Coming from Larry, that was an ultimate compliment. Sometimes he got fed up with their artful views of everything. Mostly, he was just amazed by it.
“You touch each of their lives. They just want to know something about yours.”
“It feels like a very one sided sort of relationship, though. Unsettling; the thought of people reading an article or interview and knowing things about me when I don’t have a fucking clue they’re even alive.”
“But you do have a clue.” She laughed. “You see them, hear them; you feel their presence in the crowd. It’s sort of like being half deaf and blind. You’re aware they’re nearby even though you don’t necessarily know the specifics about them, or even how many there are.”
Larry sat with this for a moment and digested it, rolled the idea around in his mind and looked at it from every angle. It was sort of like the difference between black and white and Technicolor. That was what Alyx was like for him. He was black and white, well defined lines, sharp and unyielding. She was a myriad of colors, all blending into one another to create a million more.
“I see what you’re saying.” He finally agreed. This was a victory, when it came to Larry. He didn’t have to like it, or even agree with it, but he could see the point she was trying to make. “So, have you made up your mind? About doing the book?” He asked, and she could hear his clothes rustle as he moved around, probably shifting from a leaning position to sit down.
“When would we have to leave?” She asked, trying to play it cool. She knew what she wanted, what she would do if it were possible. She would toss everything away and run off on this little adventure without consideration of where it would lead. She couldn’t give up control like that, though. She was the most controlled, restrained artist she had ever heard of. Sometimes, she thought she was the only one of her kind.
“We leave London on the eleventh, our first gig is in Albany New York on the thirteenth.” He told her. She imagined the way his lips curled comically as he waited for her to respond. This made her pause an extra few seconds, just to enjoy the mental picture.
“Short notice.” She told him with a sigh. “We’d be back in a few weeks, though? So the landlady doesn’t toss me on me arse while we’re gone?”
“Right.” He assured her, having gone through the schedule with her thoroughly the night before. She heard a commotion in the background and wondered where Larry was phoning from and who was there. Suddenly, the answer was shouted in her ear.
“Bono, I swear if you don’t piss off I’m going to…” his words drifted off and there was a clatter that hurt her ears as the phone was either yanked away from Larry or thrown. She was leaning towards the idea of it being pulled away, rather than given up willingly. Especially when she heard the laughter of two or three others in the background.
“ – ‘lo?” she heard a new voice ask. One which was filled with mischief and fueled, no doubt, by Guinness and good spirits.
“Bono.” She replied. “Celebrating the end of a successful first leg?”
“Celebrating ourselves into blissful oblivion.” He agreed, and she could hear Larry muttering obscenities as he tried to wrestle the phone out of Bono’s meaty paws. “I hear you’re thinking of hiring on with us?” He asked, grunting and gasping as he fought Larry off.
“Did you, now?” she replied with a laugh.
“I did.” Bono slurred. “And I hope you do. We’ve lost the last three baby-sitters we’ve hired for him, and I think Larry needs himself a good spanking.” He informed her, making her cover her mouth to muffle the laughter which escaped her lips.
There was another clatter as the phone was once again set loose and unmanned, and the sound of a scuffle, punctuated with obscenities followed for a long moment. Eventually the line went dead, and all she could do was hang up and wait for Larry to call back. She began to worry about Bono’s welfare when five minutes had passed, and was growing more nervous by the minute by the time the phone buzzed again.
“Sorry about that.” Larry told her, even before she said ’hello.
“Did Bono survive?” She asked, earning a throaty chuckle. His laughter was warm and soft. She wanted to drink it in like Brandy.
“He’ll be recovered by the time we leave.” He replied.
“I hope so. I’d hate to have decided to take the job only to have you turn around and cancel the tour on the same night.” She informed him.
“So you’re coming?” He asked, a hint of hope in his voice piercing her heart.
“I may think better of it once we get underway, but yes.” She said, feeling like she had just taken a step out into the darkness without a torch. She didn’t have a clue as to where it would lead, but she was excited, nervous and anxious to move forward.
*********************************************************************
Holly was anxious to see them again. She had said goodbye to them on the morning of the fifth, and then flown home for a brief vacation. She had to meet them in Albany on the eleventh, but there was nothing for her to do in England for the seven days in between. She had not wanted to go home, but there hadn’t been much choice.
One week had passed and she felt as if it had been years. She missed them, missed the lifestyle of the tour. She missed Adam, and she also missed Edge. She’d been missing him, though. He swore up and down that he wasn’t the least bit upset that she and Adam had shared a bed. She had never gotten the courage up to ask Adam if it meant anything. They had never defined their relationship as ‘friends’ or boyfriend-girlfriend’. The most she had managed to figure out was that they were ‘having fun’. Whatever the hell that really meant.
On her first day back in California, her best friend from high school had shown up at her door with a million questions. It was funny, going to the places they used to spend their time. Everything seemed so different, now. She knew, of course, that nothing was different except for her.
Trisha had squealed at the photos Holly had to show, swooning over Larry and asking a million questions about all of them. She seemed so much younger, now. Holly humored her, told her some stories about her job and the band, but she didn’t feel like she could confide in her. She wanted to talk to Edge, she realized. He listened so well and he gave thoughtful advice. There was something soothing about just being with him.
She also missed the excitement of Adam. She loved the way he made her heart race, the way she came alive, body and soul, whenever he was around. He was intoxicating to her. She knew she wanted more of him; doubted she would ever get enough. By the end of the week, she realized what she felt for him came dangerously close to need. Wanting him was fun; it was like a game. Needing him, she was certain, would be an entirely different experience.
Her belly was alive with a million wriggling, squirming worms as she strode into the hotel in Albany and checked in with the clerk. She would be with him again soon. She wondered what room he was in as she waited for the elevator, her thoughts taking her somewhere else entirely as she stepped into the elevator car and pressed the button for the fifth floor.
“Hold the lift, please!” She heard someone calling, and she stuck her hand out just before it closed, the bones in her hand spreading under the force as it was pinched between the door and the wall. Finally, the door slid open again and Holly shook her hand to alleviate the sting.
“Thank you!” She heard the girls voice again as she hurried into the elevator with her, dragging a cart full of luggage behind her. Holly recognized her from several of the concerts and wondered if her presence could possibly be a coincidence.
“I’ve not had one bit of luck on this trip so far, I wasn’t expecting you to actually catch the door for me.” She admitted with a shy, self conscious smile.
“Travelling can be a real bitch.” Holly agreed. “Are you here because of the band?” She asked, and the slightly older woman blinked at her in surprise.
“Yes, I am. How… are you with them, as well?” She asked and Holly smiled and nodded.
“With the road crew.” She informed her, although she felt guilty saying that when she hadn’t been there to help them get the equipment from there to here. She wondered if the fact that they’d told her not to worry about it was a signal that they didn’t like the way she worked, or if it had simply been a nice gesture to a girl they assumed would be homesick.
“Alyx McKinny.” The woman introduced herself.
“Holly Black.”
“Nice to meet you, Holly. I was supposed to fly over with the band, but it was such short notice that I had to get a separate, later flight. Then, of course, the car which was supposed to bring me here was late… and I think I was the first person with an Irish accent any of the people I’ve had to deal with had ever met. I’m going to be so bloody glad to see my nice, quiet hotel room.” Alyx sighed.
“It’s all a bit overwhelming at first.” Holly chuckled. “What is it you’re going to be doing with the band?”
“I believe Paul gave me the title of ‘Staff photographer and Public Relations specialist’.” Alyx replied. “Basically, I get to work on putting together a photo-biography of sorts. I also get to deal with any other reporters, if I understand it correctly.”
“Sounds like a good job to me.” Holly replied with a smile as they stepped out of the elevator together on the forth floor. “Do you need any help with your things?” She asked, realizing now that the reason for the extra baggage was that half of it was camera equipment.
“No, thank you. I think I can manage.” She replied, struggling awkwardly with the cart as the door on the elevator tried to close, hit the cart and then opened again.
“Here, let me. It’s what I’m here for, after all.” Holly laughed, getting back in the elevator and giving the cart a push, kicking the castors on the bottom until they face the correct direction. “What room?”
“424.” Alyx replied, grateful for the help after all.
“424?” Holly asked, the cart jerking to a halt as she stopped and dug the key out of her pocket.
“Right. Why?”
“Looks like we’re roomies.” She replied, holding up her own key to room 424 and wondering why Natalie had decided to get rid of her. It was probably nothing personal, she told herself. She most likely just wanted her privacy.
but, I figured a short chapter was better than no chapter at all. **The following is a work of fiction. No offense intended to anyone, it’s all meant in good fun. Oh, and if you’re offended by strong language, you may not like the dialogue in this story
Chapter Nine
“What is it you don’t like about writers, journalists?” Alyx asked Larry when he called. She had answered the phone with the prerequisite ”Hello?” and as soon as he’d revealed himself as the caller, she had asked him. It was something which had been gnawing away at her thoughts all day. She listened to the silence on the other end of the line as Larry considered her abrupt question.
She listened so hard that she could hear the soft, regular sound of his breathing. He must’ve been sitting perfectly still as he thought of an answer. Maybe he was screwing his lips up in a sign of confusion or deep thought, as she had witnessed him doing more than once. She heard a shuffling sound as he reached up and rubbed his nose, an action which never seemed to destroy the itch which had compelled it. Not for long, anyway, because he would soon be rubbing at his poor nose again.
She wondered if he’d ever realized that he was doing damage to the little thin piece of cartilage at the tip of his nose. There was a fine crease, just above the tip of his nose which many people who suffered from allergies had. Just a nearly invisible little line, but one which told anyone who knew enough to look a thing or two about the person attached to that nose.
“I don’t understand why they want to know the things they ask.” He finally replied. “I hit things for a living. I get up on stage and I beat the piss out of the drums, and people like the way it sounds. Why does someone who doesn’t know me and would never cross paths with me give a flying fuck about whether or not I have a girlfriend or a dog or if I like Italian food? It doesn’t make the music sound any different, if they know that I’m named after me father.”
Alyx smiled. It was a good answer. An honest answer.
“If you don’t want people to know your name, you should give it up now. Put your talent to use in a studio, playing backing for some glorified wanker who wants the spotlight to stay on him and never on the invisible band behind him. Write, produce, edit.” She suggested, smiling because she could practically hear the vexation her words caused him.
“Why should I have to do that? If I don’t want everyone in the whole God-damned world to know what color me shorts are, I have to trade off to a different job?” He grumbled.
“Larry, you climb up on that stage with your mates and you take control of the world. You are the center of the universe for that hour or two while you’re up there. You’re the sun, the moon, and the stars. Everything else is dust and rubbish. People want to know everything they can about this force of nature which has just taken over their senses, inspired and moved them.
“Music is like the air, you breathe it in and it gets in your blood and your muscles and bones. It becomes as much a part of the person as their hair or skin. It makes them feel.”
“You sound like Edge and Bono.” He chuckled, and Alyx smiled to herself. Coming from Larry, that was an ultimate compliment. Sometimes he got fed up with their artful views of everything. Mostly, he was just amazed by it.
“You touch each of their lives. They just want to know something about yours.”
“It feels like a very one sided sort of relationship, though. Unsettling; the thought of people reading an article or interview and knowing things about me when I don’t have a fucking clue they’re even alive.”
“But you do have a clue.” She laughed. “You see them, hear them; you feel their presence in the crowd. It’s sort of like being half deaf and blind. You’re aware they’re nearby even though you don’t necessarily know the specifics about them, or even how many there are.”
Larry sat with this for a moment and digested it, rolled the idea around in his mind and looked at it from every angle. It was sort of like the difference between black and white and Technicolor. That was what Alyx was like for him. He was black and white, well defined lines, sharp and unyielding. She was a myriad of colors, all blending into one another to create a million more.
“I see what you’re saying.” He finally agreed. This was a victory, when it came to Larry. He didn’t have to like it, or even agree with it, but he could see the point she was trying to make. “So, have you made up your mind? About doing the book?” He asked, and she could hear his clothes rustle as he moved around, probably shifting from a leaning position to sit down.
“When would we have to leave?” She asked, trying to play it cool. She knew what she wanted, what she would do if it were possible. She would toss everything away and run off on this little adventure without consideration of where it would lead. She couldn’t give up control like that, though. She was the most controlled, restrained artist she had ever heard of. Sometimes, she thought she was the only one of her kind.
“We leave London on the eleventh, our first gig is in Albany New York on the thirteenth.” He told her. She imagined the way his lips curled comically as he waited for her to respond. This made her pause an extra few seconds, just to enjoy the mental picture.
“Short notice.” She told him with a sigh. “We’d be back in a few weeks, though? So the landlady doesn’t toss me on me arse while we’re gone?”
“Right.” He assured her, having gone through the schedule with her thoroughly the night before. She heard a commotion in the background and wondered where Larry was phoning from and who was there. Suddenly, the answer was shouted in her ear.
“Bono, I swear if you don’t piss off I’m going to…” his words drifted off and there was a clatter that hurt her ears as the phone was either yanked away from Larry or thrown. She was leaning towards the idea of it being pulled away, rather than given up willingly. Especially when she heard the laughter of two or three others in the background.
“ – ‘lo?” she heard a new voice ask. One which was filled with mischief and fueled, no doubt, by Guinness and good spirits.
“Bono.” She replied. “Celebrating the end of a successful first leg?”
“Celebrating ourselves into blissful oblivion.” He agreed, and she could hear Larry muttering obscenities as he tried to wrestle the phone out of Bono’s meaty paws. “I hear you’re thinking of hiring on with us?” He asked, grunting and gasping as he fought Larry off.
“Did you, now?” she replied with a laugh.
“I did.” Bono slurred. “And I hope you do. We’ve lost the last three baby-sitters we’ve hired for him, and I think Larry needs himself a good spanking.” He informed her, making her cover her mouth to muffle the laughter which escaped her lips.
There was another clatter as the phone was once again set loose and unmanned, and the sound of a scuffle, punctuated with obscenities followed for a long moment. Eventually the line went dead, and all she could do was hang up and wait for Larry to call back. She began to worry about Bono’s welfare when five minutes had passed, and was growing more nervous by the minute by the time the phone buzzed again.
“Sorry about that.” Larry told her, even before she said ’hello.
“Did Bono survive?” She asked, earning a throaty chuckle. His laughter was warm and soft. She wanted to drink it in like Brandy.
“He’ll be recovered by the time we leave.” He replied.
“I hope so. I’d hate to have decided to take the job only to have you turn around and cancel the tour on the same night.” She informed him.
“So you’re coming?” He asked, a hint of hope in his voice piercing her heart.
“I may think better of it once we get underway, but yes.” She said, feeling like she had just taken a step out into the darkness without a torch. She didn’t have a clue as to where it would lead, but she was excited, nervous and anxious to move forward.
*********************************************************************
Holly was anxious to see them again. She had said goodbye to them on the morning of the fifth, and then flown home for a brief vacation. She had to meet them in Albany on the eleventh, but there was nothing for her to do in England for the seven days in between. She had not wanted to go home, but there hadn’t been much choice.
One week had passed and she felt as if it had been years. She missed them, missed the lifestyle of the tour. She missed Adam, and she also missed Edge. She’d been missing him, though. He swore up and down that he wasn’t the least bit upset that she and Adam had shared a bed. She had never gotten the courage up to ask Adam if it meant anything. They had never defined their relationship as ‘friends’ or boyfriend-girlfriend’. The most she had managed to figure out was that they were ‘having fun’. Whatever the hell that really meant.
On her first day back in California, her best friend from high school had shown up at her door with a million questions. It was funny, going to the places they used to spend their time. Everything seemed so different, now. She knew, of course, that nothing was different except for her.
Trisha had squealed at the photos Holly had to show, swooning over Larry and asking a million questions about all of them. She seemed so much younger, now. Holly humored her, told her some stories about her job and the band, but she didn’t feel like she could confide in her. She wanted to talk to Edge, she realized. He listened so well and he gave thoughtful advice. There was something soothing about just being with him.
She also missed the excitement of Adam. She loved the way he made her heart race, the way she came alive, body and soul, whenever he was around. He was intoxicating to her. She knew she wanted more of him; doubted she would ever get enough. By the end of the week, she realized what she felt for him came dangerously close to need. Wanting him was fun; it was like a game. Needing him, she was certain, would be an entirely different experience.
Her belly was alive with a million wriggling, squirming worms as she strode into the hotel in Albany and checked in with the clerk. She would be with him again soon. She wondered what room he was in as she waited for the elevator, her thoughts taking her somewhere else entirely as she stepped into the elevator car and pressed the button for the fifth floor.
“Hold the lift, please!” She heard someone calling, and she stuck her hand out just before it closed, the bones in her hand spreading under the force as it was pinched between the door and the wall. Finally, the door slid open again and Holly shook her hand to alleviate the sting.
“Thank you!” She heard the girls voice again as she hurried into the elevator with her, dragging a cart full of luggage behind her. Holly recognized her from several of the concerts and wondered if her presence could possibly be a coincidence.
“I’ve not had one bit of luck on this trip so far, I wasn’t expecting you to actually catch the door for me.” She admitted with a shy, self conscious smile.
“Travelling can be a real bitch.” Holly agreed. “Are you here because of the band?” She asked, and the slightly older woman blinked at her in surprise.
“Yes, I am. How… are you with them, as well?” She asked and Holly smiled and nodded.
“With the road crew.” She informed her, although she felt guilty saying that when she hadn’t been there to help them get the equipment from there to here. She wondered if the fact that they’d told her not to worry about it was a signal that they didn’t like the way she worked, or if it had simply been a nice gesture to a girl they assumed would be homesick.
“Alyx McKinny.” The woman introduced herself.
“Holly Black.”
“Nice to meet you, Holly. I was supposed to fly over with the band, but it was such short notice that I had to get a separate, later flight. Then, of course, the car which was supposed to bring me here was late… and I think I was the first person with an Irish accent any of the people I’ve had to deal with had ever met. I’m going to be so bloody glad to see my nice, quiet hotel room.” Alyx sighed.
“It’s all a bit overwhelming at first.” Holly chuckled. “What is it you’re going to be doing with the band?”
“I believe Paul gave me the title of ‘Staff photographer and Public Relations specialist’.” Alyx replied. “Basically, I get to work on putting together a photo-biography of sorts. I also get to deal with any other reporters, if I understand it correctly.”
“Sounds like a good job to me.” Holly replied with a smile as they stepped out of the elevator together on the forth floor. “Do you need any help with your things?” She asked, realizing now that the reason for the extra baggage was that half of it was camera equipment.
“No, thank you. I think I can manage.” She replied, struggling awkwardly with the cart as the door on the elevator tried to close, hit the cart and then opened again.
“Here, let me. It’s what I’m here for, after all.” Holly laughed, getting back in the elevator and giving the cart a push, kicking the castors on the bottom until they face the correct direction. “What room?”
“424.” Alyx replied, grateful for the help after all.
“424?” Holly asked, the cart jerking to a halt as she stopped and dug the key out of her pocket.
“Right. Why?”
“Looks like we’re roomies.” She replied, holding up her own key to room 424 and wondering why Natalie had decided to get rid of her. It was probably nothing personal, she told herself. She most likely just wanted her privacy.
, why would Natalie want a room of her own? 
SG you are still my Fan Fic queen.
Keep up the good work; I'm looking forward to reading more! 
