Dance On Fire - Chapter 07

Once the tour was over, Suzy stayed with Pete - in his London hotel room - for another three days, and - of course - the nights. She was eager to go out on the town to all the hip clubs, fashionable restaurants and other such places, to go to all the places where people go to be seen. She wanted to do all the celebrity stuff that Pete hated and always avoided doing.

He went along with her for the first two evenings they were back in London, but that was about all he could stand. He had hoped that she too would soon tire of it. However, it disappointed him to see that the more of it she had the more she wanted.

On the third evening, Pete was lying on the sofa in front of the TV. He muted the sound before saying that he didn't fancy going out yet again.

‘You're just too dull, boring and… old!’ Suzy yelled. She sat down and glowered at him like a sulky teenager.

Pete sat for a moment, watching the smoke rise from his spliff. He tried to rise to Suzy's taunt, but the more he watched the smoke, the more he agreed with her. More to the point, though, he realised that what he had been looking forward to all through the tour was a nice quiet night in. He wanted to be at home, his home, the 'cottage' on the Gower coast, far from the crowds, the noise, and the tedious dull celebrity circuit.

‘What is the point of being rich and famous, if you never use it?’ Suzy said. ‘If I had all you had, I'd be out there every night.’

Pete sat up and stubbed out the spliff. He turned to look at Suzy. He was silent for a moment, before speaking. ‘Why?’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Because… because…. I want good times: parties, fun, laughter, mates, drink, good drugs.’

‘And that is your definition of a good time is it… getting so far out of your head that it takes most of the next day for you to crawl back into it?’

‘Bloody hell!’ Suzy said. ‘I can't believe your hypocrisy. You've made a fucking career out of being out of your head and chasing the good times, and the good-time girls. You have no right to criticise anyone else, or is it a case of 'do as I say, not do as I do'? Which…which would be even more hypocritical considering how often you’ve criticised politicians and their sort for doing just that!’ She stood up and walked around the room. She found her handbag, got her cigarettes from it, lit one and then threw the bag down onto a table. She stared at Pete for a moment.

‘Or is all that just media hype? Are you just another spoilt rich middle-aged bloke pretending to be a bad boy?’

‘No, no,’ Pete said. He shook his head slowly. ‘I used to believe it… some of it. The rock 'n' roll stuff… not the celebrity stuff, anyway. I never wanted to be a 'star', just live a more… more… real… authentic, life.’ He looked around the hotel room for a moment. ‘I just realised, recently… honestly… that I was chasing a… well, not even a dream…. A chimera, almost.’

‘Don't try to bullshit me with fancy words, Pete. I'm not your typical stupid tart, you know.’

‘I'm not trying to… to bullshit you. I'm trying to explain….’

‘Well, don't bother. I'm not interested. You used to be out on the town all the time, but now you've got too old… too old and now you want to stop everyone else, everyone who is still young… younger than you from having a good time. That's all.’

Pete shook his head again. ‘No, that is not it at all. Listen, Please. I'm beginning to think that this may be important, at least to me, if not to you.’

‘Oh, please, not the benefit of your years… your experience. I had enough of that from my parents.’

‘No… no. Nothing like that,’ Pete tried hard to control the anger he could feel rising inside him. ‘Well… maybe a little.’

‘Jesus bloody Christ! I knew it!’ Suzy angrily stubbed out the cigarette and grabbed her bag from the table. ‘You want to tell me what to do, just like they always tried to.’ She stood, legs apart, in front of Pete, her bag clutched tight in both hands. ‘You know I used to see them, on my way out at night, sitting side by side on the sofa in the dark, watching the television. I swore to myself then that I would never get so sad, never give up so easily on life.’

‘Why?’ Pete said softly.

‘Why? Why! I just don't bloody believe you at all. What kind of life… if you can call it life… is that?’

‘Just one of many, I suppose.’ Pete shrugged. ‘Were they happy?’

‘Happy?’ Suzy was silent for a moment. ‘I suppose so… in their way. What has that got to do with it?’

‘Well, are you happy?’

‘Yes, well, I was last night… at that club, dancing, drinking… a little snort of coke and then back here with you, the candles, the wine, the grass. That was nice. I was happy then….’ She sighed. ‘I wanted to be as happy tonight. But it seems it won't be with you. Will it?’ She looked at Pete.

He could detect something there, in her look - a hopefulness. ‘No,’ he said, looking away from her.

‘So, is this it then? The end?’ Suzy said.

Pete turned to look back at her. ‘I suppose so. But, Suzy… listen, please. I do think it is important.’

‘Pah. You know you do sound like my Dad, sometimes…. Or is that the thrill with you?’

‘What?’

‘After all, you are old enough, more or less.’

‘What the fuck are you talki…. Oh Christ, you can't really be serious! Do you think…?’ Pete couldn't contain it any longer. He fell sideways on the sofa, laughing.

‘What? What!’

‘If there is one thing, one thing I never thought of you as. Well, that would have to be the one thing. I could never imagine having a child, a daughter, and especially not one like you! God… that would be too much!’ Pete grabbed the wine bottle and took a long drink.

‘You bastard!’ Suzy said, slapping the wine bottle from his hand. The wine sprayed over Pete, the sofa and the wall.

‘I think that this might have been more your fantasy, rather than mine,’ Pete said, watching the bottle roll to a halt against the wall. He half expected the slap, but it still hurt when it came.

He did not respond, or look up as he heard Suzy's frantic scrabbling about in the other rooms as she hastily got her stuff together.

Pete was half-expecting a grand farewell speech. Instead, there was just silence. When he looked up, Suzy was just standing there; her overnight bag across her shoulder, her handbag held - almost modestly - in front of her and her coat draped over her left arm. The tape recorder was in her left hand.

Suzy smiled, humourlessly. ‘Bastard,’ she said simply.

Pete nodded without getting up. ‘It has - I'm afraid - been said many times before.’

‘Proud of it, are you?’

‘No….’ Pete shook his head. ‘If I ever was before, then I'm not now.’

‘Because of me? Aw, come on! More fucking bullshit!’ Suzy gripped her bag even tighter. ‘I bet you've done this scene hundreds, thousands, of times. I suppose I should count myself lucky that you remember my name.’

Pete stood up and followed her out into the hallway. ‘No, Suzy. I'll never forget you.’

She turned, standing in the open doorway and smiled again. ‘Oh, I know that. I'll make sure of that.’ She waved the tape recorder in front of his face.

‘What do you mean?’ But he only spoke to the back of the closed door.

He stood for a while and then shrugged, before turning back into the flat. The TV was still playing silently to an empty room. He remembered how much he’d hated that when he was young, Suzy's age, coming into an empty room to find the TV still on. Sometimes, in his parents' house, it had seemed as though the TV was the main resident and the family, his family, had been there, in the house, as its guests.

He picked up the empty wine bottle and made a desultory stab at rubbing out the stain on the carpet with his foot. It seemed to have no effect.

He glanced at the label on the bottle and thought about getting another one, doing the traditional thing, the expected thing and to mourn the loss of Suzy by getting very, very drunk and smoking far too much dope. But his throat already felt too sore and he could feel the throb of a headache beginning, so he just sat down in front of the TV, smiling faintly as he turned the sound up again.