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As he pressed play, the phone in the kitchen started to ring. Not wanting the shrill tones to taint his enjoyment of ‘Icing Sugar’, he pressed pause and hauled himself up to answer.
“Hey,” said Tim, stirring the kaleidoscope of butterflies in Lawrence’s stomach.
He returned theheyas he slid onto one of the bar stools in the section of the tiny kitchen they liked to refer to as the ‘breakfast bar’. He’d arranged to head off to theSlimelinelater tonight, an underground nightclub that had something for both of them—the dark goth music would keep Lawrence happy, whilst the emerging electro-synth stuff would keep Tim inspired.
But he sensed some hesitation in Tim’s quiet, so prepared himself to be hit with some bad news.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” grumbled Tim. “I think I’m gonna have to take a raincheck tonight. It’s just not been happening today. It’s already four o’clock, and all I’ve written is a stupid four bar loop. I feel pathetic.”
Lawrence’s shoulders deflated. There were so many good DJs playing tonight they were both looking forward to seeing. After a hard week’s grafting in the office, all he wanted to do was to let loose with Tim and enjoy being with him, partying away in the grimy space in the grimiest space in North London.
“Babe, there’s no point forcing it if it’s not happening. Why don’t you just call it a day? It’s almost the weekend,” said Lawrence.
“Yeah, and I’ll have to work the weekend at this rate. I’ve got to get this album finished by the end of the month, but all I’ve managed so far is two tracks. I’m not even one hundred percent happy with either of them. I’ll be honest, I’m really worried, Larry.”
Lawrence frowned at the shortening of his name, even though Tim was the only person in the world allowed to get away with that. He didn’t mention the faux pas, though, because he could hear an inner turmoil making Tim’s voice quake.
He knew how badly Tim wanted this. After having such an enormous break in the music business, scoring a number one single out of nowhere, it was an immense pressure for someone with only one song in their arsenal to create an album to a quite frankly ludicrous deadline. “Look, it’s not doing you any good working yourself up like this, just come out. Your brain needs a rest. I know you’ve been thinking about nothing else but this, and I totally get it, but you’ll send yourself into a negative spiral worrying too much.”
“I know what you’re saying, it’s just that people expect so much from me because of the number one. You know as well as I do, I didn’t expect that to happen.”
“You just wanted to prove a point, I know,” finished Lawrence.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s great and I’m really grateful it happened, but I just need more time to work on the album properly. These guys at the record company seem to think I can bang out any old shite and it’ll sell, but I want it to be of the same standard as my hit, you know?”
“It wasn’tthatgreat,” joked Lawrence.
Tim choked a laugh, which brought a smile to Lawrence. Tim’s laugh was a sound that seemed to make everything alright.
Lawrence knew that he was the only person in the world that would keep Tim sane and grounded. He understood that this life was like none Tim had lived before as a Player. Tim found it especially hard to deal with so much fear resonating around this planet. The imminent threat of nuclear war, the fear of joining the ever-increasing number of the unemployed, but mostly the fear of just holding Lawrence’s hand in public when it came to sexuality.
“Thank you,” whispered Tim.
“For what?”
“For being you and making me smile.”
Warmth spread through Lawrence. He knew that Tim meant it. That he was Tim’s safe place. “Listen, I won’t deny I want to see you tonight, not to mention your cute dimples—desperately—but I get it. Do what you need to do, but if you’re not too tired, please come. I’ll be there from ten-ish,” said Lawrence.
“Okay. Take the mobile, and I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way,” said Tim, seemingly making the decision to turn up at some point.
Lawrence felt a wave of euphoria pass through him, and he eyed the huge new piece of tech, courtesy of Wrap’d records, across the room.
“And don’t lose it, those things are expensive,” warned Tim.
“I won’t. Hey-”
“What?”
“I love you,” said Lawrence.
“I love you too. See you in the future.”
* * *
The music thuddinginto his bones was probably the best Lawrence had heard out for some time. The bass made damp run on the clammy walls of the club, and sweating punks and goths worshipped the DJ, their shouts silenced by the thunderous vocals of Andrew Eldritch.
As Lawrence waded through the sea of bodies on the dancefloor, he managed to squeeze himself through the pogoing crowd to reach the stairwell where a cocktail of the music from both rooms echoed confusingly around it, providing a welcome relief from the fever pitch occurring next door.
