SF. Pt.13g. Cohabitation.

Simon went to the OZ trial at the Old Bailey partly out of a sense of solidarity but mainly to see who else turned up. The active elements of the underground were well represented in the spectators gallery and revolution was in the air. He turned down an offer from Felix Dennis to participate in a planned disruption of the David Frost Show. It’s effect on the system, he decided, would probably be minimal and it isn’t the kind of publicity he needs at this stage anyway.

The editor’s job at Tin Pan Times is working out nicely. Simon now has his own office and he quite enjoys the power that goes with it. New young writers are being hired and Simon is the one who interviews them. He has a major say on cover design. The book about Rod Stewart…just a collection of photographs really, Rod in a kilt, Rod kicking a ball, Rod having his hair done, Rod in a Celtic shirt, Rod in compromising situations taken with a Polaroid camera by Rod himself (not used in the book), all interspersed with gossipy stuff about Rod, Rod’s clothes, what Rod has for breakfast, Rod’s favourite colour and so on…is selling like hotcakes. Similar books about the Small Faces and the Who are being rushed out and Monty has an idea for a magazine or two aimed at teenage girls. Good money in it he thinks. So all in all Simon is feeling pretty flush.

But he quickly realizes that his job at Tin Pan Times depends largely on his relationship with Samantha. Nobody ever says so in as many words but it is mutually understood. He likes Samantha of course but opportunities for infidelity are everywhere, which means he has to be careful. One weekend he takes Sam to meet his parents. While she is chatting with his mother in the kitchen Simon mentions his problem to his father who says, ‘What you need is a little bolt-hole. A pied-a-terre. Why not buy a little flat somewhere. I’ll lend you the money. I may even get a tax claim on it?’
‘Sounds great dad.’
‘One thing though…keep it under your hat OK? Don’t tell your mother and I certainly wouldn’t mention it to Samantha. She’s not pregnant is she?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Right. Only reason I ask is because sometimes life makes decisions for us.’
Simon files this thought away for later.

On the drive back to London he raises the subject of birth control. Samantha asks why does he ask. Oh, no reason, just thinking.

The more he thinks about dad’s idea the more he likes it. He could probably use a bigger place anyway. His wardrobe seems to have grown considerably since Sam came into his life. It was Samantha who got him started on the unisex clothes. Velvet, satin, that kind of thing. He has accumulated quite a selection. It’s the androgynous look as popularized by Anita Pallenberg whose authority in matters of fashion goes unquestioned. Anything Anita wears is OK with the beautiful people. Simon likes most of it but he draws the line at trailing scarves and Jimmy Page trousers. Sam chides him for being straight. He says he feels like a twerp. She has even tried to interest him in lipstick and a dab of kohl. It’s all good-natured domestic banter. There has been talk of Simon and Samantha getting a place together.

At the moment we find Simon in the process of getting ready for an expedition to the Speakeasy. He is seriously considering a bright red paisley jacket made out of some kind of upholstery fabric, recently inherited, he can’t quite remember how, from Brian Jones. It’s trippy but perhaps a little flamboyant. He looks at a denim jacket but it’s a bit on the scruffy side. He settles eventually for a lacy white shirt, navy-blue frock coat and military trousers.

How do I look he asks the girl on the bed who is not Samantha. “You look fab.” She says pausing momentarily in the search for her underwear.

Fab!! Did she say FAB? And without a hint of irony? She’ll have to go.