Expanded Scene: Operation Shed Polo

[chimbleysweep]

19 SEPTEMBER, 1983

Lunch was splendid as lunches always went with the pair of them. They ate at Christopher’s and Avery attempted to get Claire to eat a hamburger (“It’s American! This is an American grill! They know about things like this, so tuck in whilst you can, or I’ll fucking eat the damn thing myself and you’ll feel terrible when I die of a coronary.”) and chips, but the only success truly came in a fizzy drink. With the fizzy drink also came some small talk.

“You know what’s happening next Friday,” Claire said plaintively, fingering an unused knife, running her finger along the blunt edge.

“Date? Period?”

Claire snorted. “No, but thank you for your concern.”

“No date?”

“No. Jack’s got his band a gig.”

Avery burst out laughing (burst out laughing at an appropriate decibel) and stuffed another chip in his mouth. Without waiting to swallow, as this news was far too much… something to wait for, he said, “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Claire shot back, mocking him as she kept pushing and pushing at the knife’s edge.

“Wow, didn’t know they had it in ‘em. I thought they were breaking up or something.”

“They were,” she replied immediately, picking the knife up only to turn it on its other side, then back again. “He kept saying, ‘We need a bass player, we need a bass player!’ And then they got one. And after that it was, ‘Everything’s crap, everything’s crap!’”

“Everything still is crap, I’m certain,” Avery said, chewing his way through three more chips and finding the ketchup on the fourth. “Have you told him how you feel?”

“You ask me that every time I present an issue. You ought to know the answer by now.”

“Okay, okay, so maybe I overestimate his intuition, seeing as how not one girl’s ever complained about him even when he’s a right arsehole.”

“Thank you for that reassuring bit of information, Avery.”

Avery pretended to wince, but it was obvious he felt at least slightly stupid for saying anything. “Sorry. So, what are you going to do? Are you going?”

“To the gig?”

Avery nodded.

“No,” she said, slightly appalled at the idea. “I mean, I so wish to see him sing but listening to his radio morning has become incredibly off-putting when it comes to his musical taste. And he hates mine, except Billy Idol and pictures of Madonna.”

“Bad luck.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know where they’ll be?”

“No clue. I wish I remembered, honestly, because I wanted to know for future reference and I wrote it down but misplaced the paper—stories go round and the like, and I wanted to be certain nothing will go round about Jack.”

“I could go,” Avery suggested, smearing a chip through a blot of ketchup.

“You’d sacrifice yourself for me?”

“’s not a big deal, really. I could take Stephanie and leave straight away. Once the gig’s through, I mean.”

“If you can stay through even half of it.”

“Might not be so bad. He listens to Depeche Mode, doesn’t he? They’re not completely rotten.”

“No, but he also listens to Bauhaus and he’s got Clash and Sex Pistols things about, so it won’t be all good. And then there’s that poster of Blondie, but I don’t reckon he has it because he’s into what she recorded in the 70’s. Though I could be wrong.”

“You’re probably wrong. Bo Derek, remember.”

“I try not to.”

“Right, so I’ll have to get the shite from Jack if you can’t, and if I do, he’ll know I’ll be there and that might interfere with the natural progression of the evening.”

“I could ask him again, or look a bit harder for the paper. He told me over the phone.” Claire set her napkin on the table. “You think you could get away with this?”

“I’ve been to a few shows, you know, and there’s always a wall of people jumping up and down and it’s quite difficult to find people, even if you had a specific place to meet, so I think I can blend in easy enough—and he won’t be looking for me anyway. I’d think any girl with blonde hair would be more susceptible.”

“Oh, right, like he’ll be looking for me.”

“Never know, but he could be paranoid, and that has the negative connotation you were looking for.”

“Thank you. Will you have to buy many things?”

“Nah, I don’t reckon. I’ll just wear my jeans and that jean jacket I spilled paint on last year and I mean, it doesn’t matter. As long as I’m not, y’know, in a pink polo or the like.”

“You look so dashing in that!”

“I know, but it’s a bit too—”

“You have to promise to tell me everything that happens at the gig,” interrupted Claire, leaning forward and pointing her fork directly at Avery’s chest.

“I will, I will!” he half-squeaked, raising his hands up. “Every detail. And I won’t leave until it’s over, either.”

“And you must come to my house straight away, as well,” Claire reminded him.

“I will, I will! You’re so—is this why Jack’s trying to lose you and form a band inst—OW!”

The fork stopped pointing at him and started attacking him.