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Phil held out a piece of paper to Chris. “Here. This is a list of the first few dates and where we’ll be stopping. Look it over, then do me a favor and take it to the others, will you?”
Chris nodded and took it. His eyes skimmed it quickly, then stopped and crawled back up the page. “These are huge arenas… There’s no way we’ll fill these. It’s for them, innit?”
‘Them’, of course, being Blur. But seeing as Chris was kind by nature, he spoke with no hostility.
Phil nodded. “But think – the more fans they bring in, the more opportunities you have to build your own fan base.”
Chris didn’t really want to admit it, but Phil was right. And the idea of spending three months with one of the greatest bands in the UK wasn’t objectionable either.
“It’ll be fun, Chris, honestly,” Phil reassured him. “It’s only three months, and after that you’ll never ever have to talk to them again if you don’t want to. I promise I’ll not let this happen again.”
- - - -
Damn stepped off the plane into the damp night air of London. It had been nearly six months since he’d paid London a visit, and though he didn’t love the city, it was like a second home to him. And though he was coming here with apprehensive business ahead, it felt good to be back.
Graham, Alex and Dave pushed past him and clattered down the tiny narrow steps. They were joking and laughing and talking, and Damon noticed with a smirk that Dave was wearing a Coldplay shirt. What a way to break the ice. But then again, the fair-headed drummer had always been kind of a sycophant.
Damon could see the headlights of a limo at the end of the runway. Graham slowed and they fell into step together, his face creased with worry. The two didn’t speak, but they could both feel each other’s nervousness.
Dave pulled open the door to the limo and stepped inside. Alex followed, but Graham and Damon nearly butted heads as they both tried to get in at the same time. Graham elbowed him aside, and finally Damon collapsed in and closed the door behind him.
As soon as all of Blur was assembled inside the car, a rather young- looking man leaned forward and introduced himself as Guy. He shook everyone’s hand and they each said their names in turn. It was all very stuffy and formal, Damon decided.
“My name’s Jonny,” the curly haired one next to Guy said. His smile was kind and intelligent.
“Will,” a stocky man introduced himself in a clipped tone. His face was deep set and he looked a little grim, but as soon as he had shaken hands with everyone, he turned in his seat and began to pester Jonny. Immature, certainly, but rather amusing.
“I’m Chris,” the final man said – he was long-legged, skinny and adorably good-looking. His nervousness showed in his bright blue eyes but his handshake was loose and casual.
“Like your shirt, mate,” Jonny said to Dace, swatting Will aside. Dave grinned and modeled a little for them.
“Where are we going, then?” Graham asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Chris leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Well, Phil – our manager – told us the best thing to do was stay a night in a hotel, then tomorrow we’ll play our first show. After that we’re taking a van over to Manchester, and we’ll play there. Then repeat the process for the next few days.” Despite the rather bleak words, he had a wide, laughing smile on his face.
“Then after that we’re flying down to Paris,” Jonny interjected.
Damon waved a hand. “We know, our manager told us.”
Chris nodded and sat back, and the car was silent for a few moments. Then Damon looked up as the sound of a childish giggle softly broke the quiet. Jonny was leaning over and whispering in Chris’ ear with a tiny smile on his face. When Chris realized everyone in the limousine was staring at him, he covered his mouth with a broad hand to muffle the laughter.
Damon watched him carefully until they pulled up in front of the hotel. The whole time, the four boys of Coldplay joked and play-wrestled on the floor of the limo. They were like children, the best of friends. Everyone once in a while, they’d finish sentences for one another or voice an opinion and they’d all share a knowing look that spoke volumes. Damon remembered the days when Blur had been like that – in the early 90’s when everything had just started and they had no real dreams of fame, before ambition was just a synonym for money. Coldplay was still young and humble, untouched, still in love with each other but not quite in love with themselves yet. Damon’s heart ached to feel that again.
The limo whined to a stop in front of two large double-doors, and Chris immediately vaulted out and stretched. He retrieved his bag from the boot first, then tossed the others to their respective owners. Damon nodded his thanks and turned, with Dave and Alex, to go upstairs. Graham was behind them, talking funk with Guy. The rest of Coldplay crowded around each other, occasionally shouting with laughter or shoving amongst themselves playfully.
Damon threw a glance over his shoulder, studying Chris’ bright eyes and giddy smile. The resentment knotted in his stomach, and he turned away. Bloody nonce – what did they have that Blur didn’t?
Well, they were compatible, for one thing. And Chris didn’t seem the fickle type at all, though Damon couldn’t quite judge that yet. The four of them had a certain harmony of divine friendship that made Damon want to vomit.