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11:37 AM, Dec. 8th, 2001 - Manhattan, NY.
Julian yawned widely, his dark eyes not quite open yet. His hair was mussed and wild, falling in a tangled wave over his neck. "Mmmh." he moaned, stretching luxuriously and rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. It was nearly afternoon on Sunday, and for once in an excruciatingly long time, Julian had nothing to do.
A giddy feeling made his usually solemn face break into a mischievous grin. A whole day to himself, to do absolutely nothing at all with his ample time, and maybe read a little, sleep some more, or even -
The phone in the living room shrilled harshly. Mood now broken, Julian cursed and kicked off the covers. Before he, Albert, Fab, Nick, and Nikolai had hit it big, a ringing phone hadn't meant much. But now that the five of them were all over the world, Ryan* contacted them almost exclusively by way of telephone.
Julian fumbled momentarily with the receiver, then held it to his ear and leaned against the wall. "Hello?" His voice came out more like a croak than a greeting, and he cringed. He sounded like a fifty-year smoker.
"Jules?"
Nick's sleepy, somewhat shrill voice yanked Julian out of his bitchy self-reproach. "Nicky!"
"Hey! You sound like shit."
Julian laughed despite the fact that this was true.
"Do you have a throat thing or something? 'Cause if you do, I gotta call Ryan and cancel Tuesday's gig." Nick sounded concerned, though Julian wondered momentarily whether the concern was for the Tuesday night gig or Julian himself.
"Nah, I'll be fine. It's just a morning thing," Julian reassured him (though it had stopped being morning two hours ago). Nick paused to consider this for a moment before plowing ahead.
"All right. But if it gets any worse, you gotta tell someone, 'cause Tuesday night is important!" Nick's voice was indignant, almost like a child. Julian pictured the skinny kid in his mind's eye: sprawled out on the couch in the apartment he and Fab shared, the phone cord stretched from its receiver's place on the wall and twined around Nick's slender fingers.
"It's important?" Julian asked distractedly, yawning and stretching again.
"Sure, sure it is." Nick laughed nervously and cleared his throat. "ANYWAY, so you wanna do something today?"
"Mmm." Julian mulled this over, thinking how nice it would be just to sleep a little longer. Then he weighed that against a possible free lunch with his best friend. "All right.What'd you have in mind?"
"I dunno, I thought maybe we could just go downtown and piss around like we used to."
Like we used to. Julian's heart twisted a little. After Nick graduated from high school and dropped out of college to work on the Strokes, he and Julian would both hang around Times Square and watch the amateur guitarists and magicians and scantily clad women and men. Nearly all the shop owners had known them by name, and not because their faces had been in all the major music news magazines. Either way, Nick's words brought back a flood of fond memories. The scantily clad people quotient was likely to be pretty low, considering it was December, but Julian was eager to go.
"Yeah, man, I miss those days."
Nick laughed, though slightly wistfully. "When can you be there?"
"An hour. I'll meet you at Seattle's, okay?" Just like they used to in the old days.
"All right, punk. See you there." There was a click, and a little bit of the joy Julian felt dissipated with Nick's voice. Julian quickly regained composure and nearly tossed the phone back into its cradle as he sprinted into the bathroom, shucked his clothes, and turned on the shower. He had forgotten how much he missed time to himself, even it was with someone else. It was someone he loved.
- - - - - -
"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we hadn't hit it big?" Nick asked, his long guitarists' fingers wrapped around his coffee cup.
"Well, there's not much to wonder about, is there? It would just be the same as before we were famous." Julian grinned widely, staring out the broad window overlooking his and Nick's table. There was a light dusting of grayish snow on the sidewalks and on the awnings of a few shops but despite the fact that it was the beginning of December, this was the first snow Julian had seen.
Nick stuck his lower jaw out and rolled his eyes. "No, that's not what I mean. We weren't exactly getting rich by putting on shows four days a week every week."
Julian interrupted: "It's what we liked to do!"
"But we couldn't have done it our whole fucking lives," Nick argued, his tone a little harsh. "Julian, it's not a way to live. What happens when we wanna settle down or something? What happens when we just don't wanna do it anymore?"
"I'll always want to perform. I'll be like Mick Jagger, sixty years old and still rocking the casbah." Julian laughed a little, but Nick just shook his head.
"You're an exhibitionist, Jules. You love attention any way you can get it." Nick rested his chin in his hand, his eyes pinning and trapping Julian's. "But what about the shy ones?"
"Shy ones?" Julian parroted, then understood. "Oh, come on. Fab hides behind his drums all the time, you and Albert and Nikolai don't even raise your heads during shows." Julian was obviously irritated, as this wasn't exactly what he had planned for his first day out with Nick in several months.
"I'm not just talking about shows. I'm talking about everything. The constant lights, the constant demand, the constant image you have to keep. The way the magazines take us so fucking serious, how we can't even joke and then it's turned right back around and thrown in our faces like some big scandal." Nick's voice dropped lower, and he turned his eyes away.
A little alarm started to sound in Julian's head. "What are you saying, Nick?"
"I..." Nick shifted uncomfortably, restlessly running his fingers over the rim of his coffee cup. "We've been working on the Strokes for something close to four years now... It's been our life since the day we met. I love you, Julian, and I love Fab and Nik and Albert... but..." Nick inhaled and studied the scarred tabletop with intense eyes.
"You're quitting?" Julian whispered.
"I'm not quitting!" Nick cut in harshly. "I'm not like that. I'm stepping out of the spotlight."
"Fuck that!" Julian hissed. "Don't fucking sugar coat it and feed it to me, Nick! I'm smarter than that. You are quitting."
Nick flinched a little, and Julian was torn between getting up and walking out - he didn't need those who didn't need him - or dropping to his knees and begging Nick to rethink his decision. So many things were running through Julian's mind, but he couldn't pin down a single train of thought. Nick's leaving would ruin the band. Nick's leaving would ruin Julian. Nick was a vital part of the music they produced. Nick was Julian's best friend. Nick kind of looked like Richey Edwards when he frowned that way.
"Christ... You can't do this!" The last time Julian could remember crying was seven years ago when he got hit in the ribs with an bat, and even then it was only a quick tear or two. But now he felt them stinging at the back of his eyes and his throat tighten, making his voice come out sounding much younger.
Nick looked guilty, but he said firmly, "Julian, I can and I will do this. I'll still be here when you need me, I just won't be a part of the Strokes anymore."
"Why?" Julian asked, his voice breaking. People were turning to look at them, or peering at them discreetly. Julian wiped his wet cheeks quickly, face burning.
"I told you why! I can't take it anymore! I hate fame. I hate all of this stupid recognition. It's just music; I don't understand why they have to hunt us down all the time like an exotic species." Nick shook his head and sighed wearily. "I didn't expect you to understand -"
Julian slammed his palm down on the table, and Nick started. It echoed in the suddenly silent coffee shop.
"Without you, we're nothing." Julian spoke slowly and clearly, though his voice shook with rage and despair. "When we first started, we knew it was gonna get hard - we didn't know how hard, but we were prepared. But fuck that. Everything in life is hard. Nothing comes off free. But we stayed together as a band because we stayed together as friends through all kinds of fucked up shit. We're like some dysfunctional little family. You can't just quit."
Nick opened his mouth with a grievous expression, his dark eyebrows knitted, but Julian kept talking, his eyes locked on Nick's.
"The day we met in high school, we made a commitment to each other. When we thought up the Strokes, we made a commitment to that. Nick, you used to be so determined... you were always like the little brother. You were always the one I could turn to when something was wrong. Now what? Now do I just have to keep going on without you?"
"No! I'll always be here for you! I'll always be Nick. I'll always be your best friend."
"But now you're a quitter, too," Julian murmured bitterly.
"Why can't you respect my decision?" Nick asked, his voice rising a little. "I always thought you were more mature than this."
"I always thought the same of you," Julian spat, then stood up quickly, grabbing his coat, and stalked out.
Talk resumed almost immediately, noise came back with a frantic buzz, and everything began moving again. But it moved without Nick, past him like scenery by a car window. His shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands.
Just as he was building his world, his safe little nest around him, he let his aching heart get the better of him.
If only Julian knew.