Bzzzzt-
‘… and that was The Marauders, with their new single “Romeo and Juliet” – it’s really good, isn’t it, Rita?’
‘Sure, Gilderoy; we must remind the people at home that it just broke through the top ten here in the UK – and it also popped up in charts elsewhere, namely Germany and Czechoslovakia. This underground band has really taken off lately…’
‘That it did. Conversely, they have just released their third studio album; they’ve already come out with Dire Straits in seventy-eight and Communiqué just last year. Their story is that of sacrifice, and they’ve been claimed to capture the “dirty essence” of London, as it were. Leader and main guitar, James Potter, has been highly praised for his ability to paint convincing urban portraits, and in fact that may be the reason behind their latest title, Making Movies, a tantalizing attempt at portraying underground spaces-’
Bzzzzt.
James Potter, in a slight gesture of annoyance, shuts the devilishly device down. Despite everything, he does not have an easy time dealing with the sudden fame. He told Sirius Black so, but the friend claimed that they had been working toward that goal. But James is not so sure; he guesses he does not mind success, but the idea of fame still throws him off…
Without worrying about indicating left, he turns in the large avenue that is not really the best route to take, but that had become his favorite detour over summer. Thoughts of “Romeo and Juliet” and singles, also bring him there. His cherry red Ford Escort – dirty, for neither he nor Sirius ever bother to clean it – comes to a halt soon enough, given the traffic typically found there. The air outside is frigid, but James doesn’t mind as he wiggles the car window down and lazily lights up a fag. Some cars honk somewhere in front of him, but it’s the usual noise, and he barely notices.
He's thinking whether he should stop off and buy something for dinner. After all, it’s late, and by the time he comes home they should all be hungry. Sirius and Peter didn’t intend on leaving their flat at all that day, and he knows Remus is getting home later, because he has class with his pupils and they are practicing the Christmas concert for their local parish – the guys don’t understand Remus’ closeness to the Church, but their bassist has always been involved in religious life, and he just ignores their comments about it. Truth be told, they’ve also agreed to participate in the Christmas concert at the parish; but James still does not know what they should play, because their songs are neither religious nor spiritual. He is neither religious nor spiritual.
Irritated by the thoughts, he dumps the halfway-smoked cigarette on the ground, and in a moment’s resolution, he pulls up in the small parking lot before a dinky Grocer’s with a mustard yellow sign which always catches his eye whenever he drives past it. He does not think to indicate, and the car behind him honks angrily, and they are right, and he knows it, but he ignores it and he roughly parks his car near the entrance.
He should really only get a bit of pasta, and some kind of sauce to go with. Sirius would appreciate some cheese, but then he’d get a grated or sliced cheese packet, and Remus would complain because it makes him nauseous. Considering that he also enjoys cheese and thinks Remus should no longer feel nauseous because of cheese at twenty-five, he dumps the packet in his shopping basket. Adding some random things here and there (foods not worth splurging on, but he was on the radio, and he is a musician, so fuck it), he finally makes his way toward the cash register.
The cashier is a small thing, who can’t be much younger than he is, with cottoned blonde hair which she keeps in a short bob. Her face is doused in a lumpy sort of powder, and her eyelids are covered with a thick paste of a bright blue color. She is noisily chewing a piece of gum, and looks as if she’d rather be anywhere else right now. James looks around, at the dusty furniture and at the dying lights, and he finds that he can agree with her. He wonders what her name might be, and what dreams she might be pursuing in the city that force her to stay tucked away in that old Grocer’s to earn a bit of money…
That’s when he sees her. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have, but the cashier looks up and yells, in a thick Brummie accent, ‘Bye Lily-Flower, are you leaving?’
He hears a soft laugh somewhere on his right, and from the corner of his eye, he spots a figure walking bristly toward them. ‘Yes, Em, I told you – recitals tonight. Sev’s picking me up in five’, and then she produces a fag indicatively, and the cashier Em snorts, but she is working, and so she lets the co-worker exit as she lazily piles up James’ groceries in a thin plastic bag.
James is not really paying attention, however. He recognized Lily-Flower. He knows exactly who Lily-Flower is, and he didn’t know her face is so pretty, and her voice so sweet, and he has to tell her! He just has to.
He doesn’t catch if the total is four, fourteen or forty pounds; he produces whatever note he has which is the highest, and he throws it at the cashier Em while mumbling something about keeping the change. He suspects Em will not trouble herself with trying to hand him his change back anyway.
In seconds, he’s out the door, and Lily-Flower is right there outside, fag in hand, and she is standing under the sooty shop awning, because it’s drizzling now. He stops in his steps, because he has to tell her, really, but he doesn’t know how to!
His thinking is not too bright either, really, because Lily-Flower can’t help but notice that he has stopped right there beside her. She cocks her brow up questioningly, and asks politely if she might help him.
James Potter forgets quite easily that he is good-looking, and in fact he blames that on Sirius, who’s handsomer, and so he does not catch that Lily-Flower is nearly flirting with him right now. ‘No – well, actually yes; I mean, I don’t need help, but I wanted-’, he stops, for how is he supposed to tell her that he wrote a song about her? He can’t simply tell her, “I wrote a song about you”.
‘- I wanted to let you know that I wrote a song about you’. Fucking hell.
Lily-Flower laughs, and her tone is bright and crystalline, and James understands that she totally thinks he’s joking. ‘I’m- I’m serious!’, he gags. ‘You come here often to skate, don’t you? I’ve seen you on the avenue-’
The girl pauses, and she looks as if she’s pondering his words more seriously. ‘Yes’, she says in the end, ‘it’s true. Me and my friends skate in the park down there in summer. Well, some skate – I rollerblade, to be exact’.
James nods. ‘I know’.
Before he can see her reaction, he gestures for her to stay there (she snorts – as if she would go anywhere else!), and he runs to his Ford Escort, rummaging through the back seats. When he finally produces what he’s been looking for, he jogs back to where she is.
‘I’m not lying’, he says, and he hands her a CD. ‘You’re there – track three’.
Lily-Flower accepts the CD, and he waits anxiously to see what her reaction might be. ‘Tunnel of Love… I’ve heard that song before’, she pronounces at last.
James smiles. ‘Yes, they’ve been running it on the radio! Yours is also a single, but they haven’t given it much attention, it barely ever runs-’
Her eyes are back focusing on the track list at the back of the CD. ‘I am Skateaway, then?’
He nods approvingly. ‘Exactly. You should listen to it’, he offered. ‘I mean – you might find it’s not about you at all, my imagination sort of takes over and then I end up thinking the opposite of nothing, but you’re the inspiration behind it, that’s solid’.
She smiles, and her smile is bright and her teeth surprisingly white and her eyes – he gags – her eyes are the most incredible shade of green. ‘That’s incredible!’, she says, because she didn’t think her skating around over summer would get her noticed by a musician with CDs, and she would open the CD up to see the lyric sheet, when an angry honk makes the both of them look up.
A battered Hillman Imp is standing right in the middle of the small parking space. The driver’s window is lowered, and a head of stringy black hair is popped outside, staring at them darkly. The car honks yet again. ‘Lily, we’ve got to be going’, says a masculine voice, threaded with irritation.
Lily-Flower flinches, and James feels a surge of anger toward that rude fellow, but it’s not like he can do much, and then Lily turns to face him, and she wants him to shake her hand, and so he does, and her grip is strong and he is pleased. ‘This is Lily’, she says, and she smiles again. ‘I really have to go now, but thanks for the song! It’s- it’s never happened to me before’.
He concedes that this is very possible, and he wants to say something else, to be clever about it, but she anticipates him: ‘I work here every weekend’, she says. ‘If you ever happen to stop by, I’d love to tell you what I think about it’. She winks.
James beams. ‘I… uhm… will be back next week’, he manages to say at last. ‘And – uh, this is James. James Potter’.
‘I’ll remember to look for you on the radio then, James Potter’, she replies easily. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’
He lets her get to that old car, and watches silently as it leaves. He is thunderstruck. He’s never avowed to strangers that he has dedicated a song to them…
He does not have to wait a week before he sees her next.
They are playing at the pub near their flat, an unassuming place in Islington, but Sirius claims they need to do gigs if they don’t want to lose their form. Remus and Peter are not so happy, because they need to wake up early in the morning – Remus still works shifts in the record shop across their building and Peter works as a clerk in a shipping company near Camden.
James doesn’t mind though, because he does not have any early mornings anymore. Before their debut album, he was a teacher, and balancing that morning profession with late-night performances had been a struggle. Now, he is a journalist, and runs a music column on the South London News: he covers up-and-coming bands, discusses musical theory, and novel playing techniques. He is expected to write three articles a week, and while he has to hand them down in-person, he can write them virtually everywhere and he loves the job. He’s grown close with the staff at the editorial office, too, and he occasionally invites them to his gigs.
Which is why he’s pleased to see that Amos Diggory, photo editor, and Arthur Weasley, junior editor, have come to see them perform. Two beers at hand, the two come over as soon as they take their first break. It’s not easy, reaching the stage, because the pub is packed and they’ve been told by the owner that it’s because of them, that they sell, and that he must have them there some other time.
‘James, m’boy, good work there!’, mumbles Diggory, clearly tipsy. James nods, and gestures for them to follow him near the side of the little stage, for Sirius has already been surrounded by wannabe groupies, and he wishes to avoid them. Remus comes with him, and Peter is not there – he’s probably gone to the loo.
‘Thanks Amos’, he replies sleekly, for he is more confident when he plays. The young barista comes over and hands him and Remus some clear drink with foam on top. They thank her, and James notices a phone number written on the brink of his glass. He looks up, and the barista smirks at him suggestively. He toasts to her and gulps down much of the drink. He startles – it’s really strong.
‘It will be a nice event, really, I tried telling James to promote it on his column, but he did not seem too sure…’, Remus is talking to Amos right now, and James knows it’s about that awful Christmas concert at the parish. Choosing to focus his attention on Weasley, he notices that the redhead seems eager to tell him something.
‘I brought my woman with me today! Molly, she’s over there; she brought some pals, friends from the theatre. One of them told me she knows you…’, and he points at some indefinite area in front of them. He turns around, and shouts the name “Molly”, seemingly expecting his girlfriend to come over.
James also looks up, and he’s at an advantage, because he’s already tall, and then he’s on a small stage. What he sees, totally surprises him. Molly is a woman slightly older than them, short and stout, with a generous chest and heavily freckled skin. She is leading a small party of four their way, but James can only see the girl beside her, whose wrist Molly is holding in her secure grip as she basically drags her along.
James feels his throat go dry. She’s left her auburn hair down tonight, and it’s wavy and beautiful. She is sporting a pair of low-rise denim and a light pink camisole, which show off her body, and it’s an incredibly nice body. He gulps, but he has to put on his best smile because they have just joined them.
‘Arty-pants!’, Molly speaks first, elbowing past her boyfriend to come and shake James’ and Remus’ hands. ‘Nice meeting you two, Arty has mentioned you a lot lately, what with your new album – so which one’s James?’
James smiles a bit awkwardly, to let her know it’s him, but his gaze slips over to her left, where Lily is standing. Her cheeks color ever-so-slightly, and he understands why she wears baby pink, because her complexion is now verging exactly on that color…
Molly is acute, and understands immediately. ‘These are my girls from the company – Donna, Hestia, and this is Lily, obviously’, she adds cheekily. ‘But she’s told us just earlier that you’ve already met…’
‘Of course’. He can feel Remus’ (and possibly also Sirius’) gaze burning on his head, and he knows what the two friends must be thinking – Lily is really gorgeous.
Suddenly remembering he’s the lead guitar, that he’s on a stage, and that he’s just been handed a phone number on the brink of his drink, he gathers the confidence to squat down in front of her and he smiles at her happily.
‘I was going to come tomorrow’, he says, and he means it; he’s been looking forward to that.
Lily beams. ‘When Molly asked us if we wanted to come, that her lad’s colleague from work was playing, I didn’t expect that it’d be you!’
In an accustomed gesture he’s never been able to defeat, James’ hand runs through his unruly raven hair. ‘Well, Arthur is my co-worker. What did you think about the song?’, he asks next, and he does not want her to tell him it’s good, he wants to know if he’s interpreted her well.
‘Loved it! I don’t think I would’ve guessed it was me if I heard it casually’, she replies. ‘But you’re a poet, did you know that? You say beautiful things’.
He blushes, because that is kind of a big compliment, and he would never dare referring to himself as a poet. He has one last question to satisfy his curiosity: ‘And how do you know Molly and Arthur?’
‘I’ve never seen Arthur before tonight. But Molly’s a seamstress, and she works with the company. If you have time after you’re done, I’ll explain more in detail’, she adds with a wink.
At that, he can’t help smiling, but really she’s right, they’ve already lost enough times as is, Peter’s come back from the bathroom, and Sirius needs any excuse to send the aggressive groupies away. James quickly greets her off and jogs back to his position on the stage. He settles his guitar-strap back over his shoulder, and he decides in that moment that they should really play some Making Movies, that their producer’s request to wait until they could organize paid concerts is silly, that the pub is already paying them some money for the night, and that really, he must.
He takes the microphone with both hands, and before any member can talk over him, he announces what they’re playing next. ‘There’s this song I want to dedicate to someone in the crowd. A rollergirl, to be exact’.
And before Peter can interrupt, or Remus intervene, his guitar is already playing. Sirius swiftly imitates him – he’s actually quite certain that the friend must enjoy this carelessness toward the contract rules – and the rest of the band has no other option than falling into tune with them.
James searches through the pub for a specific pair of eyes. When he finds them, he locks his in with hers, and doesn’t break contact until the end of the gig.
When they’re done, the crowd’s cheers are explosive, and James can’t help thinking that their new music really has done the trick, and that they shouldn’t have been so daft about not playing it. He’s sure the others would disagree, especially Remus, who understands business better than most and who would also be down to the concept of exclusivity more than them. But James only works on principles, and commercial music is not what he does. He’s an artist, and he does not care about being famous or a rock star.
Their routine post-gig has also drastically changed: before, they were lucky if some by-standers noticed they were done, and they’d quickly pack up to be in bed not before long. Now, not only do they receive proper cheers, but they can also enjoy the night past their duties. Clearly, that’s not Remus’ nor Peter’s case, and the two inform James that they’re getting home now with Pete’s car, and that they’re leaving the door open.
Remus does not even try to start the usual “you shouldn’t wander around irresponsibly” talk, because he’s understood James has something going on, and after his recent delusions, he wants the friend to get loose and have some well-deserved fun. As they’re leaving, he shakes Amos’ and Arthur’s and Molly’s and even Lily’s hands, and he smiles at the girl as if to inform her of his approval.
Then they’re off, and Sirius is soon called by a small group of coquettish girls with several consumed glasses on their table who dare him to join them. The guitarist does not have to be begged, and he soon gets away from the small group.
James, who has packed their expensive guitars and equipment in his own car, wants to go over to Lily again, but he can’t quite reach her, for a some people stop him to request autographs. He’s not used to it, because really, his signature is crap, and then again he’s not sure it’s worth anything. But some people request it, and many others, seeing him sign random t-shirts or hats or papers, request it too.
He’s doing is mechanically, hoping he can soon be done and join Arthur and the others quickly, when he’s handed something he had not been handed yet: a copy of their latest CD, red with the blue stripe. The arm holding it is thin and pale and slightly freckled, and he looks up and his heart misses a beat: that’s Lily standing in front of him, requesting an autograph.
‘My signature is really bad, I have to tell you’, he says, but she laughs, and he signs.
Lily is smart, and she grabs his arm and shoves him away from the annoying crowd. ‘You played your new album tonight – I’d know, I’ve memorized every song. Did you know the third track was inspired by myself?’, she adds teasingly.
James is startled, because he did not expect to be so near her so soon. ‘It’s our first time performing it! I’d say it did pretty well, wouldn’t you?’
She nods, and as she notices that he’s glancing around as if to spot where the others are, she has to inform him: ‘Arthur, his friend and Molly and the girls have gone’, she explains. ‘I told them I wanted to stay and they let me, but only because they knew I’d join you’.
This time, he can tell she’s flirting, and he starts blushing helplessly. ‘I suppose I’ll get a taxi now’, she adds, but she would be miserable if he didn’t interrupt her immediately and offered, “I can drive you home”, and so he does exactly that, and even adds: ‘Sirius will get a taxi – that is, if he ever gets home’.
She snorts, and she closes the gap between them again. James is struggling to breathe, because really, being this attractive should be illegal!
‘There’s a bar across the street-’, he starts, and thankfully he does not have to say more, because she nods and leads him toward the exit. They pick up their jackets, and she compliments his leather one, and says it fits him nicely, and that it is very biker.
James wonders if he should tell her that he is no biker, that he in fact has not owned a motorcycle beside the battered 50cc scooter he’d gotten at sixteen, and that his new wardrobe has been selected by a stylist at his record label, but he decides that that is not very macho, so he lets the subject drop.
They settle on a tucked away booth and James pays for two beers. He is curious to see if Lily should protest, but the girl stays quiet, and he supposes that she might simply not mind the few bucks saved. The bar is not too full, and the clientèle seems much more polished than the one at the pub: the age is slightly older, the outfits more refined, the conversation has an air of importance and dwells on international politics and on the Autumn Budget.
James wonders if he hasn’t chosen the completely wrong spot, but Lily senses his incertitude and affirms that she rather quite likes it. They fall into conversation quite easily after that, and James settles in the best date he thinks he’s ever had.
He wants to know everything about her story: why she’s in London, what is she doing there, who are her friends, and so she complies, and soon enough she’s not a stranger anymore, and James knows everything about her work at the theatre, her studies, her passions and all. She’s from Manchester – well, not exactly Manchester, but a small village near enough that’s very depressing and has an ugly old Power Station where half of the population works, including her mother. Her father is the Reverend (James immediately tells her about Remus, and they share a laugh at the friend’s expense), and her sister has moved near London in an ugly suburban town with her ugly husband who works in a company which makes drills and they are expecting a baby soon.
She’s moved to London, officially, because she’s been accepted at UCL for a nursing course, and she’s a year away from graduating (which means that she must be around twenty-three); but really because she was sick of home and wanted to open up her horizons. She lives with her friend from home, Snape (James understands it’s the bloke who’d come pick her up last Sunday) and two other students in a run-down apartment outside Camden with an excessive rent, but she’s now able to pay it off by herself because she’s recently been taken in the National Theatre as a resident ensemble actress – they were running a recruitment competition, and she won; so now they are practicing The Winter’s Tale, and she is playing a shepherdess, Mopsa, with a grand total of thirteen lines, but she doesn’t mind, and she can watch the actress playing Paulina, who’s exceptional, and she is learning a lot from her. The job at the Grocer’s, she explains, is to round off the salary, but if her acting takes off she might consider dropping it – which she’s sad about, given she and Em, the cashier with the cottoned bob and the jarring eye-shadow, have become good friends.
James is shocked, because he had understood she was into acting, but he hadn’t supposed she would be part of the National Theatre – even as an ensemble actress. He says that she must then be exceptional, and she doesn’t answer, but the flush that pops up on her cheeks confirms that she indeed is very good. He drops a few casual comments on the Winter’s Tale, and she is surprised he knows it at all, so he’s forced to confess that he’s kind of a nerd, too, and that he has graduated in English with a focus on journalism and has taught for two years in a secondary school there in London.
James does not really like to talk about himself, but it’s easy with Lily, and so in the end he opens up about his life as well: how he was born in Glasgow, and his mother is from Newcastle and his father is a foreigner, so he used to have the single most ugly accent he’s ever heard, and that he’s forced himself to grow out of it, and that thankfully his low voice has allowed him to do so quite seamlessly. His father is an immigrant, and he used to be a chess champion for Hungary, but then he became an architect and now he works in a firm in Newcastle, where he grew up and where his mother now teaches in a primary school.
She is impressed, and she wants to know more about his father; but he has escaped the Soviet regime in Hungary, and he never really talks about his past as a chess player. James knows his father had been a great opponent of the Russians, and that he’d become a sort of local celebrity in Hungary for a short while – before having to flee the country for fear of being arrested. His father is still a political man (he and Sirius have labeled him a “Marxist agnostic”), but James is never too sure what to think of politics, he’s not sure he agrees with his father, and he does not know what Lily might think, so he steers away from the subject.
In the end, the conversation verges on his friends, namely Sirius: ‘and so yeah, you will never guess it, but he’s Eton-educated’.
Lily has a hard time gulping down her beer. ‘Eton?’
James shrugs his shoulders. ‘Bit of a dysfunctional family, his is. He might have been disowned – which is a shame, for otherwise we’d all be loaded now; but he’s still counting on some weird uncle to mention him in their will. There’s this one he particularly liked, he has an estate somewhere in Kent, I think, but his lifestyle is rather… lavish, and well – he might be a gambler, so I don’t think that’s really going to work out…’
Lily laughs, but she’s incredulous, and she has to ask him why Sirius was disowned, if it isn’t too personal a subject. James replies that he’d rather keep the details to himself, but he assures her that his friend was not too sad about the whole matter, and that he made sure to take him in in his dingy old apartment immediately after Sirius’ rent had been cut off.
Lily tells him that was incredibly considerate of him, and she then asks how they all happened to meet each other; and James explains that he and Sirius met at university in Newcastle, for the friend had tried to minor in philosophy before dropping out; and that Sirius knew Remus through a friend; and that Pete they’d picked up in London after a trashy gig at a trashy pub.
She then wants to know about their name; and James explains that he and Sirius were always scolded at college for “marauding around”. He then reveals that actually, they were meant to be called “Dire Straits”, but Remus had thought it too extreme, and Sirius had said that they couldn’t possibly become successful with a depressing name like that. Lily has to agree, and they’re taking their last gulps of beer, and it’s now late, and it’s better to call it a night.
They walk back to James’ car, and Lily settles naturally on the passenger seat, before stating out the indications to get to her place. The traffic is not a problem at that hour at night, so in ten minutes they’ve arrived, never mind James driving over some traffic lights that were clearly red, and Lily scolding him but giggling at the same time.
When he pulls up to her condo, he can see that she is hesitant to get out, and something deep buried in his stomach hums in pleasure. She’s not anxious to get away!
‘That would be me’, she murmurs, and James does not kiss on first dates, he really doesn’t, but he cannot help himself as he leans over her and gently places a had behind her neck. She apparently cannot help herself either, because her hands fly quickly to his hair and she crashes her lips onto him.
It’s the best kiss he’s ever had, and Lily is the perfect girl and he’s a lucky, lucky lad. When she pulls away, he’s sad, and she’s grinning, and they’re still close, and he desperately wants to say something sensible.
‘I still have one question to ask you’, he breathes finally, and really he cannot fathom that the crazy but totally fantastic and absolutely gorgeous girl he’d spotted by chance over the summer is sitting in his Ford Escort and is kissing him. ‘What kind of music were you listening to when you had those headphones on?’, he has to ask her, because he’s made her the emblem of rock’n’roll, and he’s created a great riff about it, and he doesn’t want to be deceived… ‘I hope not the Fab Four?...’
She smirks. ‘The Stones’.
At that, he breaks into a smile, because really, he’d found the perfect emblem of Making Movies without even knowing. His smile does not last long, however, because she’s terribly close again and before he knows she’s already kissing him senseless.