It's A Hit

Prologue:
“I think we should move in a more conceptual direction,” Roger asserted, looking into his tea cup as if it contained some augury.

“You always say that,” David countered, with equal fervor.

“Yes but, I really believe it’s the only way for us to go, especially if I’m the one to be writing all the lyrics.”

“You said you wanted to write all the lyrics.”

A cloud of smoke and faint rancor hung over Nick’s kitchen table. He stared out the French doors which led to the garden and wondered why he let Roger talk him into having everyone over for a meeting.

“But what would it be about?” Rick asked.

“It’s got to be about people, y’know? The things we all go through. Like an empathetic theme,” Roger replied.

“And what do you go through? You’re a musician. There’s already too many songs about that.” David said in a dismissive fashion.

“It doesn’t have to be so specific. It can be about more nebulous things, I mean, we worked out a theme on the life cycle, it can be like that.”

Roger was referring to their past-performed, but never recorded, work entitled “The Man and The Journey,” which was an attempt to musically conceptualize the passage from birth to death.

“So then, birth to death.”

“Well death is a good one. But no, the things we all think about. Like money.”

David paused, a cup of tea halfway to his mouth. “Hmm.”

“And how people feel about things like death, and getting older. Injustice.”

“All the injustices of life,” Rick said softly. Roger and David exchanged a glance, a private reference regarding the delicate flower of their ensemble.

“I’ve been thinking about it, the pressure, how it can. . .well, drive people crazy.”

At the last word out of Roger’s mouth they all grew silent, looking in different directions. David lit the cigarette he had been toying with for nearly half an hour, a sure sign he was feeling uncomfortable.

The fire went out of the debate at that moment, with David sighing and assenting that it was at least a start. He and Roger began talking football and Rick asked Nick if he had any interior paint left over in his shed, as Juliette had worked herself into a redecorating frenzy of late.

After they said their good-byes, David stopped Roger on the street just short of his car, making certain they were out of possible earshot.

“Is that what you think happened?”

It wasn’t necessary for Roger to inquire as to the subject. David found the look in his eyes to be strange.

“I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. How it happens. And why.”

“It’s not our fault,” David insisted.

“Maybe not. But I wonder all the same.”

They looked at one another for reassurance, but their mutual guilt didn’t alleviate any of the burden they carried out of a sense of desperate duty to a forfeit past.


I: impossible tasks
David played the backing track for Dick over tea.

“So here –“ he indicated, stopping the tape so he could replay a particular passage, “- is where we want your solo. Like the cartoon I was telling you about.”

Dick grimaced, setting down his cup and saucer. “Uh, are you sure it goes there?”

“Yeah, first instrumental break,” David replied, tilting his head to the right and giving his friend a peculiar smile, almost this side of sardonic.

“In 7/8.”

“Right.”

Dick sighed, picked up his cup and took a slow sip.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just –“ He set the cup back down, trying to figure out how he was going to explain to someone who did not play saxophone the difficulties of soloing in strange time signatures.

“What?” David asked again, his voice rising to an almost childlike modulation. He was willing himself not to laugh, knowing he was asking something very challenging of his friend.

“Well, I usually play on the beat, is all.”

David put his hand on Dick’s arm, gave it a squeeze.

Oh there he goes with the unconscious seduction, Dick thought, though he also speculated that David was fully aware of his powers of attraction, even to the most moral and upright of men. Looking into those shining blue eyes must surely be akin to a pair of oncoming headlights for a small animal in the dark.

“I’ve got faith in you, mate.”

Dick let out a breathy chuckle. “Of course you do. You’re not the one who has to play the bloody solo!”


“Right then, ladies,” Alan intoned over the talkback mic, “let’s take it from the top then, please.”

The “girls,” however, had an attack of the giggles and weren’t readily willing to cooperate with the engineer they delighted in teasing for his youthful appearance.

“Here, let me try,” Roger offered. “Miss Doris,” he said in his best gentlemanly manner, “what seems to be the matter, love?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Roger,” she said, purposefully drawling, “but when that child there tries to give us orders I just can’t be serious.”

They fell onto one another then, peals of laughter echoing around the live room.

“We’re trying to do right by the lad, you see,” he continued, his earnest manner causing everyone in the control room, including the target of his lampooning, to laugh as hard as the women in the vocal booth. “Giving him a proper job and all.”

“A philanthropist, you are,” Nick interjected. He and Rick raised their cups in tribute.

“Oh let’s not start the beatification just yet,” David retorted. He leaned into the mic. “Now girls, much as we love to have you around every moment of the day, we’ve got to get this done, alright?”

“Okay Mr. David!” they answered in union.

“See?” he said, adorably smug, “I know how to motivate people.”

Roger muttered something unintelligible as he motioned for Peter to cue the prompt.

“What’s that?”

“I said, ‘Of course you do, pretty boy.’”

“Are you accusing me of trading on my looks?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘trading’ but whatever you like.”

“We’re ready now!” Barry called out.

“Uh yes, task at hand and all that,” Alan said.

“Are you still here?” Roger asked, “I thought for sure the bobbies had already come to take you back to school.”

It took another twenty minutes before everyone had stopped laughing long enough to attempt another take.