four-star daydream

David had a headache and the fucking phone would not stop ringing. They had only just returned from the press party in the Puncheon Room at 21, where everyone had drank too much and had to endure stupid questions while all the time the Capitol executives kept smiling and nodding and there wasn’t enough drink in the world to deal with all that rubbish. He snatched the receiver from the cradle.

“Hello!”

“Christ Dave, wot’s the trouble?”

“My head is going to explode, I think.”

“Come down here and we’ll sort it out, hmm?”

“Why are you being so pleasant then, Georgie?”

“I need something to get the taste of sycophantery out of my mouth.”

“Amen to that.”

This time the band had opted for digs a little more refined, the Chelsea was fascinating, albeit rather seedy. David knew they were somewhere in midtown, but damned if he could remember exactly. Save a trip to Manny’s he had no desire to see anything other than his pillow for the next day.

Well, there might be one other thing...the pale skin of a certain bass player, for example.

Roger opened the door with his mouth full of something, chewing noisily.

“Still hungry? That’s normally what you accuse me of being.”

“Capitol sent ‘round this basket full of goodies, come have some.”

“Ugh, not in the mood.”

“No? Well I’ll just have to kill it meself then.”

“Have you anything for a headache?”

“The chemist is just ‘round the corner.”

“I doubt they’re open now.”

“One of the journos passed me something he said was Valium.”

“Is it?”

”It’s not as if I’ve that much experience with the stuff. It certainly looks like it.”

Roger pointed to his plaid carry-on bag and continued to rummage around in a large wicker basket with a green ribbon tied around the handle. “Oooh, Brie!”

“You’ll make yourself sick.”

“Nah, I didn’t eat any of the supper.”

“No? It was rather good.”

“I was too busy talking to ever take a bite. Bloody reporters.”

David took out a small glass vial and examined the pills inside. “Yeah, that’s what it is. I’m taking one.”

“Take ‘em all. . .well, leave me one in case I can’t sleep.”

“I can help with that.”

“You’ve a headache, darling.”

“After this I’ll be raring and randy. Well, I’m randy any road.”

“Of course you are,” Roger quipped. “I should have known nothing would get in the way of that, you slattern.”

“And you’re a right glutton, aren’t you? Oh, is that caviar?”

“Yeah,” Roger answered, examining the label. “Iranian.”

“Pass it here.”

“Really?” Roger handed David the tin. “I’ve never developed a taste for it.”

“You’ve never had the good stuff. And this is the good stuff, Rog.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because I’ve a taste for the finer things, which you continually mock me for.”

“So tell me, Monsieur Gourmand, what is so wonderful about caviar?”

“It’s like nothing else.”

“It’s salt is what it is.”

David rolled his eyes and joined Roger on the bed, assuming the same cross-legged pose on the other side of the basket. “It’s briny, yes, but not merely salty. You can taste other things too, if you allow your palate to appreciate them. Is there something to open this with?”

“There’s a key on the bottom of the tin.”

“Ah.” David peeled away the metal. “And a spoon?”

Roger dug to the bottom of the basket. “Oh yes, they included all sorts of cutlery in here! But this spoon is rather wee.”

“It’s supposed to be, give it here.”

“Manners, prat.”

“Please, Rog.”

David sampled a minute amount from the spoon. “Mmm.”

“Are you going to share?”

“Drink some water first. After that cheese it might taste odd.”

Roger poured himself some water from the carafe on the bedside table and after drinking opened his mouth as if he wanted to be fed. David obliged, with roughly the same amount of roe. He watched as Roger let it sit on his tongue, watched his expression as he considered the taste.

“You’re right, Dave, it does taste of other things.”

“You like it?” David took another spoonful.

“Well, I will say that without your specific education I wouldn’t have ever known.”

“How so?”

“What does this remind you of?”

“Caviar can taste like any number of things. This has sort of a nutty quality to it, but it’s mostly briny, I s'pose. We should order up some vodka.”

“That’s not what I taste.”

“And what do you taste?”

“C’mon prat, what’s the saltiest thing you’ve ever tasted, hmm?”

Roger widened his saucer eyes until David finally understood what he meant. He burst out laughing, then coughed, wiping his mouth.

“Oi, that’s a stretch, Georgie!”

“P'haps I’m wrong, but I won’t know till I’ve had the experience again.”

David raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite a dish you’re asking for, you know.”

“Well I need to educate my palate, don’t I?”

“Mmm, never let it be said I stood in the way of that.”

They kissed, their salty tongues melding together.

“We must remember to thank the label for this,” Roger said, as he placed the basket on the floor and pulled David on top of him.

“Yes, p’haps if they’re inspired by the song they’ll give us cars next.”

“Sod that, buy me Arsenal!”

David laughed as he began kissing and caressing Roger, the two of them preparing to devour their favorite dish...each other.