Page 49 of Charm City Rocks
Quite the journey Mar has been on of late. Sweet at first—that little concert with the amateurs in the pub. The look on her face as she drummed was like some surgical deep dive into Lawson’s long-term memory. Brow furrowed, jaw clenched. And, of course, that hair falling across those eyes.
“Well, look at you, Mar,” he whispered the first time he watched it; then, again, the twentieth time he watched it. This was back in London. The production forCar Chasehadn’t shifted to L.A. yet.Yes, the movie is calledCar Chase,because they didn’t even try coming up with a proper title for this floating turd.
It’s not as if Margot hasn’t come up from time to time over the years, what with them sharing a child and her being one of the most celebrated drummers of her era. He’ll hear a Burnt Flowerssong on the radio or playing in some posh shop. He watched her alongside Nikki and the other two on that Netflix documentary a fortnight ago. He sees her frowny face in his record collection back in the London flat. These new videos, though, have affected him more than that old rubbish. The reason, he supposes, is that this is therealMar, not some past version. And, well, real Margot Hammer looks quite fit.
He glances over Tanya’s shoulder at the messy set—green screens, a carved-out shell of a Porsche. What would Margie think of all this buffoonery?
Didn’t you used to do Shakespeare?
Easy, love. A few for the studio, then a few for me. That’s the game.
Sounds like a dumb game.
“Close your eyes for me a sec,” says Tanya.
Lawson does, and she powders his eyelids. “As long as I’m asking questions.” He holds his phone out. There’s a shot fromHypeReportof Margot and Billy at an outdoor restaurant. They’re holding hands at the middle of the table, talking. “What do you think of this bloke? Honest opinion.”
Tanya tilts her head, more gum chewing. “Oh yeah, I saw this one. They’re cute.”
“Cute?”
“They work, you know,” says Tanya. “They’re a good couple.”
Lawson holds his phone closer to his face. Mar is smiling, and he very much doesn’t like that, because Margot Hammer doesn’t bloody smile. “What do you think ofhim,though? Mr. Pasty Face here?”
Tanya sets her brushes down, gives his phone a good look.
“Go on then,” says Lawson. “Suspense is killing me, love.”
“Well, he’s not handsome. Nothandsomehandsome. But he has an appeal.”
“An appeal?”
“Ithink so,” she says. “Good for her, if you ask me. Honestly, I’m rooting for them.”
“Like a football club?” His eyes are open again, and he sees that Tanya is blushing. “Shall I have Harry get you a Team Margot shirt?”
“Don’t tease.” She touches his arm. Lawson is secretly mad at her now, though, so he doesn’t allow himself to enjoy it. Falling out of love with crew members is even easier than falling in love with them, he’s found.
“He seems like a nice person,” Tanya says. “And…”
“And?”
“She looks happy.”
Lawson has been thinking about the Grammys lately. You see a picture of yourself a million times on telly and in magazines and it sticks with you. He can still feel the weight of Mar slung over his shoulder. He remembers the way she slapped at the back of his head while the cameras popped off like machine-gun fire. He didn’t see her actual smile until later when the photograph went everywhere. He could somehow feel it, though, the warmth of her happiness radiating down from above.
“Put me down, you dickhead!” She was laughing, though, her face a burst of bloody sunshine. He couldn’t believe some twat fromUs Weeklylast week had the nerve to put their photo—thephoto—next to a new one of her with…him. This Billy something-or-other.
Life is a series of fuckups. When you’re rich and famous, the lion’s share of those fuckups simply evaporate into the ether—forgiven, forgotten, replaced by public triumphs and shrewd management. Some fuckups linger, though, like the dog’s breakfast that he made of his marriage to Margie.
“Have you always categorized your divorce as a fuckup, Lawson,or is this a new realization? As in, new since your former wife’s reemergence?”
His therapist, Dr. Winston, asked him this yesterday in a video telesession.
Whatever, mate, the chronology is moot as far as he’s concerned. Call him old-fashioned, but Lawson is a firm believer in epiphanies, and nothing crystallizes regret like seeing someone you made so miserable look so happy.
He checks himself in the mirror mounted to Tanya’s cart. “All right, enough about all that,” he says. “How do I look? Sorted?”
