#eric stewart x fem!oc

[frootyrooties]

chances

CH 5: CHEAP THRILLS

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she's presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I'm Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn't know is how much trouble she's about to get herself into with the group's beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: Eric Stewart, distressed about a girl (oh boy), fluff fest!, girl talk, rockstar children, cheeky, playful, cross dressing, consumption of alcohol, cigarettes and cocaine, pain and agony associated with a close encounter with…death

a/n: In life, our actions can sometimes have consequences. Most times, these consequences do not cause any long-term damage but other times they can, unfortunately, be dire and cause serious ramifications.

“Oh, Kevin..this is too much for me..he doesn’t deserve this..he is too young..too young..”

“Could you give a background on your photography experience..er..Miss?”

“Leah?” Eric gazes at me with his wondrous brown doe eyes, smiling at me meekly.

I am still in a trance given that I am seated next to, dare I say, one of the most enigmatic people known to mankind.

“Are you alright, Leah?” Eric reels me into him gently as he hooks me with his arm, squeezing my shoulder ever so prudently.

“What?” I manage to bring myself back to the present and meeting Eric’s eyes, I peer into them. Something about his eyes, and the way he looks at me somehow exonerate me from all my worries and fears. I would even go as far as saying that they provide me what one would describe as, divine solace. 

“Paul’s asked you a question.” Eric smiles at me timidly.

“Oh. Right. Um..well first off, I am greatly honored to meet you, Sir Paul..or do you just go by Paul these days?” I feel a lump going down my throat. I do my best to act natural. But gosh, it’s not everyday you get to sit and have a friendly chat with Paul McCartney of The Beatles.

“Paul is fine, love.” he declares casually.

  “Alright, Paul.” I smile sheepishly as my eyes travel from Eric then back to Paul. I carry on providing a brief statement about my repertoire.   

“I graduated photography school in New York City. It was a four-year program. My parents weren’t too happy about it as they had wanted me to go into law school but, they were supportive of my decision and now here I am today doing..” I take a quick pause. I notice how Eric hasn’t peeled his gaze since I’ve begun talking. I smile at him briefly then turn my attention back to Paul, “..the one thing I am so passionate about.” 

The two sit quietly, seemingly eager to listen to my saga. I carry on.

“Anyway, I’ve been doing professional photography for about five years now. Mainly taking photos of local musicians and groups. However, I have worked with a handful of big names in my experience.” I spit out that last sentence with gentle pride as I briefly reminisce on that moment of my life. I smile at the thought.  

“Wow…” Eric murmurs, raising an eyebrow subtly.

“That’s wonderful, Leah. You know Linda, my wife, she does photography professionally as well. She’s taken a long hiatus from it, though. You know..ever since she started touring with me..our group, Wings.” He takes a puff from his cigarette, then blows a cloud of smoke away from our faces, “..then came the babies, of course.” He chuckles, leaning into Eric playfully.

“Geez Paul, it seems poor Linda’s been popping them out like nobody’s business!” Eric shakes his head jokingly, then resumes peering into my eyes. I find myself mimicking his rather dainty smile.

I let out a faint gasp as he brings his hand next to my face and sweeps a lock of my hair behind my ear. He leans into me and mutters, “we have unfinished business.”

He speaks cryptically. Understandably so, given our recent short stint with…a strawberry, the forbidden fruit. 

I notice the subtle, devious smirk on his face as he peels away from me, and it takes me a brief moment to mentally process his subliminal remark. I raise an eyebrow at him to silently acknowledge him. The mind games with him are becoming second nature to me. Muscle memory, so it seems.

“Well you know we’ve been thinking about having two more, Eric.” Paul asserts.

“Are you really? That sounds lovely.” Eric returns his attention to Paul, smiling at him boyishly.

“What about you, Eric? Do you plan on giving Dieta a brother or sister?”

Eric immediately darts his head towards me. “I don’t know. What do you think, Leah?”

My eyes widen in a deer-in-headlights sort of way. A lump forms in my throat. I tensely clear my windpipe. My face feels slightly flushed. Why the hell would he ask me this? I glance at him from the corner of my eye.

“Well that’s not up to me, Eric.” I mutter to him.

We are suddenly approached by a woman with strawberry blonde hair accompanied by a very young girl with jet black hair. Her eyes, with hues of dark blue and green, perfectly complement her gorgeous youthful face.

“Oh good you found him, you know we’ve been looking all over for you, silly!” the woman gives Paul a quick peck on the cheek, “Mary and I got you fried plantains, as a treat.”

“Here you go, daddy!” the young girl presents Paul with a brown paper bag.

“Oh sweetheart, bless you.” Paul plants a gentle kiss on the girl’s forehead and brushes her hair with ease.

“Eric..” the blonde woman walks over to Eric and embraces him, gently patting him on his back. 

“Lind..oh, I’ve missed you both dearly. How have you been?” Eric smiles meekly through his sentence, enclosing his arms around her.

“Well I should ask you that question! What have you been up to lately, champ?” the woman exclaims matter-of-factly.

They strip away from each other, exchanging delighted expressions.

“Oh you know, busy as usual.” Eric states nonchalantly. It is evident that he and this woman are close acquaintances.

I have to admire his modesty despite all, what I imagine, he has accomplished as a professional.

“I see that. All that hard work has finally paid off, hasn’t it Mr. Gold?” she nudges him playfully.” 

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without Graham, Lol and Kev.” Eric says humbly.

He shifts his head towards me, his charming doe eyes glinting against the interior lighting.

“Anyway Linda, I’d like you to meet Leah. A fellow photographer. She’s American as well.” He turns to me, his aura bright and exuberant. “Leah, meet my dear friend and Paul’s sweetheart, the great Linda McCartney.”

THE Linda McCartney?!  I’ll be damned, who else am I going to meet today, Diane Keaton?!

She scurries over towards me briskly and scoops me in her arms, taking me aback slightly.

“Oh thank heavens you exist! I thought I was never going meet a fellow Yank in these parts!” she exclaims with sheer enthusiasm, her mild southern drawl sneaking through.

 “Well, I’m here.” I shrug, smiling at her timidly. “Such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McCartney. I am a huge fan of your work.”

I give her a gentle pat on the back.  We peel away from each other and carry on with introductions.

“Pleasure is mine. I love inspiring young, bright-eyed and bushy tailed photographers. Trust me, I’ve been where you are.”

“It’s not always easy, let me tell you.” I confess matter-of-factly.

“Well that’s with any job, sweetheart. But of course if you love what you do, the whole experience won’t even feel like a job to you.” The most comforting words that I wish my own mother would say to me.

“Alright. We’ll let you girls get acquainted. Eric, would you like to go for a stroll with Mary and I?” Paul hoists himself up from his seat. He seems adamant about giving Linda and I some girl time.

Eric glances at me then cranes his head back to Paul. He tenses his jaw.

“Sounds lovely, Paul. Let’s give these girls some time to themselves, hm?”

I take note of how Mary leans her head against Paul’s hip, biting her nails anxiously as she gazes at me. I smile at her timidly, and she immediately scurries behind her father. She pokes her head out a smidge and maintains her gaze on me. I wave at her daintily, which makes her grin bashfully. She nestles her face against Paul’s shirt and I am reminded of little Dieta. Speaking of which, I wonder how she and the guys are doing?

Eric gets up from his seat and standing in front of me, he closes the gap between us. He clasps my hand delicately, then brings it up to his face and plants a gentle kiss on my knuckle, a sweet gesture of his that I have grown accustomed to. He returns my hand.

“Don’t get lost please.” he utters playfully.

“And if I do, what are you going to do about it, hm?” I mirror his humor. I protrude my chin at him teasingly.

Our eyes stay fixed on each other. His faint smile complements his juvenile profile. “Well I wouldn’t have earned the nickname, Sherlock Holmes if I wasn’t so brilliant at finding things that have been lost. I’d wear that hat for the day, if that ever happened. You know, because it would concern, you.”  

“Aren’t you being a bit dramatic, Eric?”  chuckle, rolling my eyes at him jokingly.

“Why do you always roll your eyes at me?”

“Because you are always so dramatic!” I scoff.   

“Eric?” Paul calls out, raising an eyebrow.

“Right. Er...Lind? Look after her, please? She’s not from around here.” Eric sounds seemingly concerned.

“Eric, relax. She is in good hands with me.” Linda’s tone is reassuring.

Paul gently tugs Eric by the arm, breaking our hold.

“We’ll see you back at the studio!” Paul yells out, raking Eric into his arm while gently grasping Mary’s hand on his opposite side. “Come, Mary darling.”

“Where are we going, daddy?” the child gazes up at her father with wonder.

“You, me and your Uncle Eric are going to go for a walk now. Is that alright?”

Mary looks to her mother then back to Paul.

“Mummy’s not coming with us then, is she?” she furrows her brows.

“Mummy’s going to spend time with her friend now. We’ll see her a bit later, alright?” Paul’s tone is reassuring enough for the girl.

“Mmm, okay..” Mary smiles at him cheekily.

Eric shifts his head over to face Linda and I. He gazes at me with deep concern, then carries on facing forward. We watch as the lot of them disappear amidst the hordes of people in the market.

“That’s my husband for ya, always so bossy...” Linda states jokingly. “Anyway, shall we ladies go for a little stroll ourselves?”

 “Okay, sure.”

I hoist myself up from my seat and wave goodbye to Pietro. My eyes widen at the empty plate before me. I hadn’t been paying much attention at how well Eric devoured that plate of spaghetti. Goodness gracious, the guy must’ve been starving!

“Pietro, graze on behalf of Eric and I. Your food was mighty delicious!”

I only half-heartedly participated in feasting on that plate, but I was lucky enough to have a taste. Authentically Italian.

 “Of course. You and Ferrari, come anytime. Ciao, bella.” he states adoringly.

“Ciao.” I wave goodbye and just before I walk away, I notice the bag of strawberries on the counter. I clutch it quickly, then proceed to march off with Linda.

 We slowly make our way through the bustling aisles, heading towards the exit.

“What’s in the bag, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh this!” I snicker, “um..just strawberries Eric bought from one of the stands earlier. He wanted me to try one. Made such as big fuss about it.”  

We stroll along in silence for a brief moment, then she decides to initiate small talk.

“So whereabouts in the States do you live, Leah?” 

“New York City. Brooklyn. Born and raised.  

She darts her head towards me, her ocean blue eyes expanding.

“Well isn’t this world just getting smaller?! I was born and raised in New York myself! Boy, do I have some fond memories running around the streets of Brooklyn,” she reminisces, “what’s Brooklyn like these days?”

“Crazy. I mean, you’ve been there. Streets are always jammed, people have no manners. Everyone seems to go about their day mindlessly. Honestly, it was getting a bit too much for me, so I’m glad I took this job for the summer. I like Stockport. It’s so…quiet here. It’s refreshing, really.” I smile at her sheepishly.

“New York hasn’t changed one bit from the sound of it, has it? You know, Stockport’s become one of mine and Paul’s favorite little towns. We come up here occasionally on the weekends when Paul has himself booked to work at Strawberry. A little more peace and quiet for him, you know?

“Yeah, I’ll say.” I concur.

She smiles at me gleefully. We walk in silence for a brief moment, then she decides to break the ice.

“Alright, let’s just cut to the chase.” she declares.

My eyes shoot towards her, my brows furrowing in bewilderment.

“What do you mean, Mrs. McCartney?”

“Oh please. Call me Linda.”

“Okay…Linda.” A tiny smile spreads across my face.

“What do you think about Eric? I saw the way you looked at each other…there was definitely something there.” she smiles at me adoringly. Her bright aura provides solace.

“Um…” I let out a nervous laugh. I feel my face growing warm.

“Come on, we’re both girls here. We can tell each other anything. This would just be between you and I, Leah. Promise.” She has such a way with words.

“Do you mean from a photographer’s point of vi—”

“No Leah, what do you think of him?” Her tone is different this time. She is searching for a confession.

My face feels flushed. I cup my hand against my cheek and evidently, I feel the temperature on my face rising. I clear my throat and fix myself.

“Eric is quite the charmer, isn’t he?” I gaze at the blonde eagerly.

We approach the exit and reach the main quarter of town. We ignore the bustling crowd as we continue our banter, walking aimlessly.

“Yes. He certainly is. You know, Paul and I have been trying to get him to come out more and meet new people. This past year especially, he’s been a hermit working at that gosh darn studio. He almost never takes a day off. We think he needs a woman’s attention for a change.” She is straight to the point, and does not beat around the bush. I appreciate this woman’s audacity.

“And is that supposed to magically fix his problems?” I chortle with amusement.

“No, absolutely not, “ she darts her eyes towards me, “you know..I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this but, he’s talked awfully lot about you. He’s very fond of you, I can tell.” 

I shoot my gaze towards her, gaping at her with eager eyes.

“What has he said about me?...if you wouldn’t mind sharing, of course.” This has piqued my interest.

“Well he and Paul talk almost everyday. Those two are inseparable, like two peas in a pod. They tell each other everything.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Is that right?” I prod her to disclose further.

“This past week especially, we’ve noticed that Eric has been…beside himself. It’s one of the reasons Paul and I decided to come up here this weekend. But now, I see why he’s been acting a bit strange.” She beams at me, pursing her lips.

“I beg your pardon Linda but, I would still like to know what he has said about me.”

She comes to a halt, prompting me to do the same. She shifts her gaze from one side of the street to another, then peers into my eyes.

“Come with me.”

She clasps my hand gently and drags me towards a quiet street corner. I am eager to know what she has to say.

“Leah..I think Eric has very strong feelings for you.” She smiles at me brightly.

I widen my gaze at her. I feel another lump traveling down my throat. My jaw tenses.

“How do you mean, Linda?”

“I mean the guy hasn’t stopped talking about you! Lately, all he’s ever spoken to us about is how he hasn’t stopped thinking about a certain girl. He says this girl is simply wonderful and organic and was adamant about us meeting her. And today we are fortunate to finally be acquainted with this lovely young lady.”

She shovels me into her with one arm, gently patting me on the shoulder. I am at a loss for words. My mind has gone a bit fuzzy.

“..we are just so happy he’s found you,” she resumes, “we haven’t seen him this happy since, you know…before the divorce.”

There’s that word again. Divorce.

“Leah? Are you alright?” She furrows her brows, gazing at me with concern.

 “I’m sorry, Linda. I just…I’m trying to take this all in.” I blink at her nervously.

“Hmph, well at least that’s off my chest. What do you say we head back to the studio? Hopefully we’ll catch Mary and the boys in the nick of time.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

*********************************************************

“It’s called a gizmotron. Gizmo for short. ” Lol plays a simple note to demonstrate the function of the device.

I struggle to conceal my laughter. He, Graham and Kevin are all back at the studio and are now dressed in women’s clothes. I study the clever application of blue eyeshadow and light foundation on Lol’s face. His hoop earrings shine against the interior lighting as he allows them to dangle with every head moment.

“I’m sorry, Lol but I have to say..you look absolutely fabulous in your attire.” I peer at him with a toothy grin.

“Mm..Thank. You.” He chirps in his impressive falsetto, batting his eyelashes at me.

“Get a hold of yourself..” Graham sneers disdainfully, nudging Lol with his elbow.

I hear the sound of the front door opening.

“The troop has landed!” Paul’s voice echoes across the room.

“Honey, we’re hoomee..” Eric’s sing-songy, mancunian brogue channels through the studio.

“Daddy?” Dieta gasps, her eyes widening.

“Dieta?” Mary’s wanders deeper into the studio. Her hazel eyes look on to Dieta wondrously.

“Mary!” Dieta gasps as her gaze meets Mary’s.

The girls run towards each other ecstatically, colliding into a massive embrace.

“Alright, slow down girls.” Paul warns.

He and Eric step into the studio carrying bouquets of flowers.

“You will come downstairs to the studio with me, won’t you Mary?” Dieta gazes at Mary eagerly.

“Why yes of course!” Mary sounds elated.

“Come! Come! I want to show you something.” Dieta begins to walk towards the staircase leading down to the basement and Mary follows behind her.

“And just where do you two think you are going?” Eric follows the girls, raising an eyebrow at them.

“I wanted Mary to have a listen to my song daddy, is that alright?” Dieta gazes up at Eric.

“Yes, but please remember to be careful of the controls.” He gently reminds the girls.

Dieta’s jaw drops to the floor as she ogles at the lovely bouquet of peonies her father is holding.

“Are those for me, daddy?” the girl gazes up at Eric with a bright affect.

Eric doesn’t say a word and instead, he winks at his daughter.

“Oohhh…” Dieta giggles. “..right, we’ll be downstairs then.”

“Be. Careful.” Eric warns Dieta once more.

The girl sticks her little tongue out at Eric playfully. Her mischievous giggle becomes more faint as she travels further down the steps with Mary.

Eric laughs coolly, shaking his head. He turns his head to face me, and our eyes meet. He takes the short leisure stride towards me, maintaining his gaze on mine. 

“Hello again.” His tender voice tickles my eardrums.

“Again? Have we met before?” I smile at him cheekily.

“No. This would be the first time.” He plays along. His smile is infectious. “Anyway, these are for you.”

He hands me the bouquet of peonies and I accept them despite the slight pang of hesitation in me.

“Eric, you shouldn’t have…”

My eyes shift from the flowers then back to him. I reach over and plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you. These are beautiful.”

“You mean, like you?” he gives me a smug look.

“I can tell they gave you a nice rehearsal befo—”

“Hmph..” Graham walks up to Eric and I with a scornful expression.

Eric’s takes one good look at Graham’s attire and the impressive cosmetic work on his face, then immediately bursts into laughter.

“Eh, what happened to you?! Why are you dressed in drag?” Eric exclaims, gathering himself.

“We lost a bet to a nine year old.” Graham maintains his glare on Eric. “And you happen to be that nine year old’s father so I am holding you responsible.”

Kevin waltzes his way towards us and loiters next to Graham.

“Personally, I think this look suits us. Graham doesn’t know what he��s talking about.” He shakes his thick, luscious curls before us pompously, then takes a quick hit from his cigarette, and blows a steady stream of smoke.

“Did Dee put you on to this then?” Eric chuckles, barely hiding his amusement.

“It was our fault, really. We shouldn’t have made a bet with a nine year old. That was our first mistake.”

“Mind if I join this little communion?” Paul enters the circle. “What happened to the lot of you?” He cranes his head from Graham then towards Kevin.

“I was just asking them that.” Eric cackle.

“Would you wipe that silly grin off your face, Stewart?” Graham blurts out scornfully.

“Aw sweetheart…if it makes you feel any better, you look beautiful in my eyes.” Eric peers into Graham’s eyes with pure adoration.

“You little menace...” 

Graham tackles Eric then the two proceed to wrestle playfully.

“Graham. No. Please. Stop. I don’t hit women.” Eric teases, struggling to break free from Graham’s chokehold.

“Alright, go on. What other smart comments have you got in you, Stewart?! Why don’t you just fight me like a man?”

“Boys…boys…listen,” Paul announces, “Next train to Manchester leaves in about 30.”

Eric and Graham peel away from each other, both exchanging baffled looks.

“What’s he on about?” Eric mutters to Graham.

“Not a clue.”

“Eric? Remember what we talked about earlier?” Paul raises at eyebrow at Eric.

“Oh. Right. Er…everyone, Paul and I were wondering if any of you would be interested in going out clubbing in Manchester tonight.”

“Oh yeah, I’m in.” Lol creeps in, resting his hands on his hips.

“Well hello, m’lady.” Eric chirps, ogling Lol from head to toe.

Paul wolf whistles with unrestrained exuberance, delighted by the sight of the beautiful piece of art standing before him named Lol Creme.

“Do you boys fancy my hoop earrings?” Lol exclaims in his trademark falsetto, moving his head side to side to dangle his jewelry.

Eric and Paul clap jovially in unison. They take turns whistling and shouting praises at Lol. The guy is such a sport for playing along. I stand quietly as I observe the way this whole circus act plays out.

It’s not long before the group disperses and Eric and I are once again left to our own devices. I marvel at this stunning bouquet of peonies I have been cradling since Eric bestowed it upon me.

“Thank you again for these flowers, Eric. They look wonderful.” I beam at him graciously.

“My pleasure, love.” His feeble smile instills warm energy in my core.

“Anyway, would you like to come out with us? I would love it if you came along.” He begs with his eyes.

“Well..it is getting a bit late, and I’ve got a session booked for tomorrow morning.”

“Come onn…please? One night won’t hurt, will it? Can’t you reschedule the session? You will have a good time. I promise.” He carries on pleading, trying his hand at everything to convince me.

I ponder the feasibility of joining tonight’s festivities, and the consequences of canceling tomorrow’s session. Come to think of it, I can always ask my apprentice to cover for me. I could use a little fun on a Friday night, I suppose.

“I’ll think about it..but if I am going out, I had better find something more suitable to wear.”

Eric examines my attire from head to toe then meets my eyes again, smirking.

“I think whatever you’ve got on is fine.”

“Please, I insist. Would you swing by my place in an hour? I’ll have a decision by then.” I am straight to the point.  

“Right, okay. Your place. In an hour. Sounds like a plan.” He sounds elated.

*********************************************************

We find ourselves at this versatile nightclub called Fagin’s right in the heart of Manchester. An hour into our rendezvous and already, our adrenaline is picking up. We are joined by the wives of Kevin, Lol and Graham. Our guests of honor are of course, The McCartneys. There is perpetual chatter all around me, and the music is blaring in the background. To say that I am a bit overwhelmed is an understatement.

Eric is on his third line, but his behavior has become quickly erratic. My gut tells me that he might have done a few more lines prior to us coming here. He wipes the white powder residue from his nose with the back of his thumb. He looks at me with a smug expression. The sunamagun looks so proud of himself, I ought to slap him.

“Leah. Leah. Leah. Leah..it’s your turn, my darling. Your turn. Make me proud. Just do it. Do it please.” He slurs his speech, and it’s only getting worse. I begin to worry about him. 

“Eric...I don’t think this is a good idea—”

“Just one line. That’s all I’m asking, my love.” He leans into my ear and murmurs, “it’s going to change your life…”

He nuzzles his nose against my face. He smells of bourbon, cigarettes and aftershave.

“Mmm..would do you it for me please, beautiful? And we can go dancing after if you want.” I can feel him smiling against my face. He feels warm to touch.

I examine the line of white powder sitting before me. I decide to go for it, but just before I do, I take a swig of whiskey from my shot glass. I take a deep breath in, then out. Here goes nothing..I lean closer to the glass table then proceed to inhale the white power swiftly, closing one nostril with my finger, then I sit back up. I am immediately hit with a rush of adrenaline, my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. I feel every pulsation against my head and neck. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins. My mood is uplifted, and my body is craving movement. The effects of cocaine are hitting me harder than I thought.                

“How do you feel?” Eric searches for my eyes, grinning like a chesire cat.

“I thought you said we were going dancing?” I raise my brow at him, tilting my head to the side playfully.

“Well why didn’t you say something sooner, madame? Come along then.”         

He stands erect, then snatches my hand and we march towards a staircase leading down to the basement. The music grows increasingly louder as we traverse deeper down this dark structure. I notice every pulsation thumping against my temples with each beat that collides my eardrums. My heart is knocking against my chest. I walk to match Eric’s stride to distract myself from thinking about every sensation.

Eric leans his elbow against the bar counter with undeniable suave. He fixes his gaze on me, his smirk is criminal.

“Can I get you a drink?” His smirk darkens.

“Whiskey. On the rocks. Please and thank you.” I mirror his sultry expression without peeling my gaze off him.

Eric makes eye contact with the bartender and responds to cue. He marches towards us.

“Two whiskeys on the rocks please.” Eric declares to the man.

“Coming right up, sir.” The bartender nods and scuttles towards the liquor display.

Eric narrows the gap between us, and I watch as the bartender effortlessly prepares our drinks. He returns with our beverages and places the glasses gently on the counter.

“Two whiskeys on the rocks. Enjoy.” He smiles at us cunningly.

We each take a glass and, as if muscle memory, we clink our glasses gently.

“Cheers, Walker.” His dark smirk broadens.

“Cheers to you, Stewart. Here’s to…your award.” I complement his smirk.

“Why thank you. I appreciate that.” He twists his lips into a smile.   

On the train ride to Manchester tonight, Eric finally shared with me how he and the group won a gold disc for their most recent album titled “The Original Soundtrack.” He had given me a copy of the vinyl earlier and I am looking forward to listening to it. If it won gold, it must be really good.

Suddenly, a familiar tune comes on. One would immediately recognize it from the first few seconds. It takes me a brief moment to remember the song title. Like a clairvoyant, Eric provides an answer.

“Lady Marmalade. La Belle. Shall we dance, m’lady?” He inquires politely, carefully snaking his long, skinny fingers through mine.

“It would be an honor.” I smile caressingly at him.

We take a massive gulp of our beverage, then head on to our mission. He leads me onto the dance floor where everyone and their mother is gathered. I watch as three women with beautiful, healthy afros wearing silver sequin dresses move to the groove. Their harmonies are absolutely stunning. I allow my body to move to the rhythm of the song, and Eric attempts to match my movements.

“I didn’t know you were quite the dancer, Walker. I’m impressed.” He chuckles, swaying from side to the side, seemingly invigorated.

“I can say the same about you.” I smile at him gingerly.

He closes the gap between us. This man is like a furnace but in human form, the way he emits an incredible amount of heat. We step into each other, one foot opposite the other’s. Then suddenly, Eric begins to lose his balance.

“Why I feel so fun..my chest..hurting..” His speech is barely comprehensible. He clutches onto his chest, wincing.

He falls into me and I catch him in my arms in the nick of time. His entire body feels limp. I lower him carefully onto the floor.

“Eric? Eric?!! Are you okay?! Eric Stewart!…” I shout over the music.

I kneel adjacent to his comatose body, hovering over him with a concern expression on my face.

“Eric! Wake up!” I shout once again, and I begin to get choked up as grim thoughts settle in my mind.  

I give his shoulder several hard taps, but he is not responding. I shake him around vigorously and still, no response. His chest is not moving, and my worst fear dawns on me when I check the pulse in his neck and I feel nothing. My adrenaline immediately kicks in. I quickly rip his white button down shirt open to expose his bare chest, and immediately resuscitate him.

“Help! Please! Oh dear God please, someone help me! My husband is not waking up!” I yell out to the crowd who now have their eyes on me as I struggle to resuscitate.

“Eric..come on, baby. Stay with me.” I am almost choking through my words as tears begin to trick down my cheeks.

“Ma’am, the paramedics are here!” A young man calls out.

Despite the tears streaming down my face, I maintain my gaze on Eric and continue to compress his chest purposefully. His face is growing paler, the rosy appearance of his cheeks is gradually dwindling away. His lips, what were once a vibrant pink, have now turned a touch purple. I maintain compressions as my tears fall onto his chest.

Suddenly, by the grace of heaven, the paramedics roll in in an orderly fashion. They have brought with them their emergency equipment.

A female paramedic taps me on the shoulder.

 “Ma’am, excellent job on compressions! But we’ll need you to step aside. We’ll take over from here.” She states matter-of-factly.

I follow their direction, and hoist myself up then stand back. I allow the squadron to perform their duties. I watch as one of the personnel delivers compressions and the other prepares to shock him. I observe another staff attempt to insert, what appears to be, an intravenous line in his hand.

“All clear please!” the female paramedic calls out.

The squad clears the space as the woman delivers a shock. Eric’s body jolts as she delivers the shock. I peel away from the scene as I cannot bear to watch another second of it.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!” Kevin’s eyes widen as he watches this atrocious scene unfold.

The rest of the crew begin to trickle in and watch in horror.

“Oh, Kevin..this is too much for me..he doesn’t deserve this..he is too young..too young..” I throw myself onto him, soaking his shirt with my tears.

“There, there now...Eric will be alright, darling. He is one of the strongest people I know..” His voice fades as he stares off into the distance, brushing my hair gently with his fingers.

Lol attempts to run towards the scene, but is reeled back by Graham.

“That’s my brother! Save him..save him, please! I beg you! Eric, Wake up! Wake up! Please..please…please…” Lol yells out, his voice squeaking as he sobs hysterically. There is pain and agony in his tone, it is disheartening. He buries his face into Graham’s chest.

Graham does his best to console Lol, who has gone hysterical. I notice the tears begin to trickle down his face.

“Eric will be okay. Eric will be okay. He’s a strong lad.” Graham chokes through his words as tears stream down his handsome face, gently caressing Lol’s back.

“We’ve got a pulse and a normal rhythm!” the female paramedic calls out.

The room has gone completely silent. No music to be heard. The only sound that can be heard is the quiet the chatter amongst the medical crew.

They’ve got Eric on oxygen and hooked up to all sorts of wires. The female paramedic walks up to me briskly.

“Erm..ma’am? Are you this man’s wife?” her question takes me aback slightly, but I must cater to how grave the situation is.

“Yes. Yes I am.” I say without hesitation, raising my head from Kevin’s chest.

Graham, Lol and Kevin seem unphased that I’ve just declared myself as Eric’s wife. Understandably, they are still a bit shaken up from everything that just happened. They stand dumbfounded.

“What is your husband’s name?” the woman inquires.

“Eric. Eric Stewart.” I say monotonously. I am truly at a loss for words.

“Mrs. Stewart, I’m sorry but we’re going to have to take Mr. Stewart to intensive care for observation. We need you to accompany him.”

Intensive care? What?

Lol and Graham rush towards us.  

“Can we come as well?” Lol is almost begging.

“Sorry sir, only immediate family members are allowed for now. You may ask to see him tomorrow.”

“We are his family, you know.” Lol chokes through words.

“Is Eric going to be alright?” Graham’s voice is shaking.

“Like I’ve said. We will have to take him to intensive care and monitor him for the night. For now, his vital signs are looking alright. We will take him to the nearest hospital. He will be in good hands.” The woman reassures the group.

Next thing I know, I am getting whisked away with Eric and the rest of the medical team in the ambulance. Once inside the vehicle, the grasp Eric’s clammy hand and caress it with my thumb. As soon as everyone’s settled in, we drive off immediately. I hear the siren going off.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Eric. We’re getting you sorted out. Everything’s going to be alright, everything’s going to be alright.” I murmur this mantra to him, sobbing as I give his hand a gentle squeeze.

The most important person in Eric’s life comes to mind at this moment.

“We have a nine year old daughter. She can’t afford to lose her father..it would crush her. I declare to the crew. “Oh please save my sweet darling Eric.” I sob hopelessly.

———————————————————————————

<<previous chapter

please visit my masterlist if you would like to see some of my other work :)

[frootyrooties]

so anyway, a sneak peak at chapter 6 😏

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new chapter of chances, yeah?

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for those of you who read chapter 4, pt. II of my fic chances, please keep in mind the spicy “strawberry scene” involving our beloved pairing eric and leah. the fruit will continue to make multiple comebacks in later chapters

[frootyrooties]

a little sneak peek at ch 4, pt. 2

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today i had to look up how regulated drug laws were in the 1970s for something like cocaine bc this information may or may not help paul mccartney get away scott free from a cocaine drug bust (and possible murder of a 10cc member)

[frootyrooties]

okay i am sharing this (mainly for science) bc in chapter 5 of “chances” i introduce the scene of Eric, Leah, Kevin, Lol, Graham, Paul and Linda McCartney sniffing “that white stuff” at the back of the club while this song is playing

[frootyrooties]

chances

CH 3: TIT-FOR-TAT

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: moody eric, eric’s love for food :3, feisty leah, venting, consoling, first mention of eric’s divorce, first date!, whole lotta fluff

a/n: After spending one month in Europe, I finally found inspiration to write this chapter. I had the pleasure of visiting Mr. Stewart’s pride and joy, Strawberry Recording Studios. I was over the moon! I am still in disbelief that I went. But enough about that, everything I’ve written so far is almost historically accurate based on interviewing a few individuals who know the boys personally (so grateful for that opportunity). Spending a few weeks in England, including one week in Stockport where this lovely tale takes place really brought on some much needed inspiration into writing this chapter. I’ve also been cooped up in my feelings lately so I really poured my heart out into this one. Cheers!

“You know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left the studio that night.”

It is morning. The past couple days have been such a whirlwind, I haven’t got a clue what time or day it is. The telephone on the nightstand rings unmercifully loud, waking me from my deep slumber. My eyes feel heavy, and I can only manage to open them halfway as I struggle to sit up to answer this call. I turn to my side and lean on my elbow as my other hand reaches for the phone. I bring the device up to my ear.

“H-hello?” my voice is soft, with undertones of confusion and anxiety as I await to identify the caller.

“Hi. It’s Eric.” the man on the other line is curt. I sense tension in his voice.

Understandably, given the amount of people I’ve encountered these past couple days, I struggle to remember who this “Eric” is.

“Eric? Oh dear..I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong num—“

“I am speaking to Miss Leah Walker, yeah?” The man interjects, his tone now growing slightly irritable. It suddenly hits me like a freight train. A wave of embarrassment crashes into me the moment I realize who it is. It’s Eric Stewart of 10cc.

“Oh, Eric! Hello..I..Christ, I am so sorry I didn’t recog—“

“That’s alright, no need to explain yourself.” He says this matter-of-factly. He sounds aggravated. But, what about?

I sit dumbfounded in silence and wait for him to supplement his response.

“Right. Anyway, I’m calling because a young man hand delivered your pictures to me last night just before I left the studio and I thought I’d give you a call this morning to talk about some thoughts I have about them.” Oh dear..am I in trouble?

He now has my full attention and I am properly awake. I finally manage to sit up against my pillow, clutching onto the phone. I twirl the cord around my finger to ease my anxiety as I mentally develop a response.

“Of course, absolutely..I’m all ears.”

“Hmph. Well, I thought I’d let you know how atrocious these pictures turned out. There’s too much exposure in most of them, you can hardly see our faces! We look like the bloody ghosts of Christmas past! And for fuck’s sake, do you even know how to get your point of interest in frame?! I’ve done photography for years, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how to get your focal point in center view. You know, for someone who claims to be a seasoned photographer, you’ve made some very amateur mistakes here. Perhaps, it would behoove you to take a refresher course.”

I can feel my blood boiling. I don’t think I have ever met anyone so irreverent, so condescending, so..unnerving.     

You little arrogant son-of-a-bitch! Just who the hell do you think you are, talking down on me like I’m an imbecile?!

At this point, my temper has reached its peak and I decide to give him a piece of my mind. I struggle to maintain composure.

“Eric. Mr. Stewart. Perhaps it would behoove you to give those photos another look. My work has not faltered me, and I am confident that I captured your group’s pictures with great finesse. If I am wrong, feel free to reach out to me again and I will rectify my mistakes. Oh, and might I suggest that you be a little less rash towards people who are doing you a favor? Then perhaps people wouldn’t find you so unlikeable.”

I said the word unlikeable through almost gritted my teeth. I slam the phone down with such force, I can feel the nightstand tremble.

I am fuming, absolutely livid. That might’ve been the very first proper insult I have ever received from a client. I suppose I’ve been spoiled with how mild Americans are with their insults compared to these Brits, but I was not expecting this degree of aloofness from anyone I would meet here. And especially not from someone like Eric Stewart.

God, where is a cigarette when I need one? After only recently having smoked one cigarette for the first time in my life, I am already finding myself craving for another. I should bear in mind the addicting properties that cigarettes have. Most people in my family smoke, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise just how easily people get addicted. I feel my anger beginning to subside as I preoccupy myself with this random thought. It is too early in the day to be stressed, to be flustered, to be worked up about a man who otherwise seems..just..so wonderful, so wonderful. I ought to call him, Mr. Wonderful.

I roll my eyes and sneer at this utterly ridiculous deviation in my thoughts. He’s probably got a girlfriend..or worse, a wife even! Stay out of other people’s turf, Leah. You’re here to work with clients, not sleep with them. I give myself a gentle reminder that I shouldn’t meddle with what belongs to other people.

I jerk slightly as I hear the phone blaring once again. Hmph. It must be that bloody arrogant bastard again..I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as I make a presumption about who is calling. I let the phone ring a few more times before answering. You’re going to have to wait for me to pick up, your highness. What an annoying little thing this Eric is.

I finally decide to reward him for his patience.

“Hello, this is Leah Walk—”

“Hi.” A familiar voice interjects.

“Hi..erm..may I ask who is speaking?” Playing possum. A smirk breaks across my face.

“Oi, have you forgotten all about me already?” Eric stifles a laugh at my response.

Oh why do you have to be so gosh darn adorable? Makes it hard to stay mad at you.

“Oh it’s just you..” I speak sarcastically American.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah..it’s me, your favorite person.” Eric says with such overinflated confidence. The nerve. The audacity. After relentlessly insulting me, he hits me with ‘it’s me, your favorite person.’

“How can I help you?” I am curt with him. My tone quickly switches to one that is rather business-like. I am not here to play games with you, Eric.

“Leah, listen..I—” he pauses briefly and I hear him sigh deeply on the other line, “I am sorry to disturb you again but I just wanted to apologize for how irrational I was on the previous phone call.” Oh? It’s impressive how quickly an epiphany can occur to someone.

I listen quietly as I await for him to finish his soliloquy.

“Erm..I know you’ve just met me but..I have just been so desperate for some form of consolation from anyone, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this but..I feel like I can comfortably express my feelings to you without fear of judgement. I feel that I can trust you enough to keep this conversation between us. Have you got a free second? May I vent a little?”

My heart sinks at his willingness to be vulnerable to me. Our working relationship is only in its embryonic stage, but that certainly doesn’t mean that I cannot sympathize with him. I refuse to be cold-hearted. It makes people feel uneasy around you when you’re cold. It makes me feel uneasy at even just the thought of being cold. I devote to giving him my full, undivided attention at this very moment. I sense pain in his voice. I want to know more about you, Eric Stewart.

“Well carry on, I’m listening.” I sound a bit whimsical, I hope I am not coming off aloof.

Just for this moment, I would like to forget about our professional relationship and be a friend to him with open and patient ears..to be a shoulder to cry on.

“Right. Erm..where do I even start?” he lets out a nervous laugh. There are undertones of frustration in his voice. A damsel-in-distress

“Start wherever you feel comfortable, Eric.”

“Right. Okay, thank you..” he sighs deeply then continues his monologue, “I’m just one man, Leah. Yet people that I work with, the same people that use the studio that I’ve put my blood, sweat and tears in feel that it’s alright to toy me around. They expect me to function as if I’m made up of five people. If I could clone multiples of myself, I would. To keep these people happy. They all know very well how hard I work at recording and producing music, and they’ve used that to their advantage. And even after all my efforts and all that I’ve done for them, I’m still not good enough. Not a single ounce of acknowledgement from any of them. Pity, isn’t it?”

I sense bitterness in his voice. I attempt to process all that he’s said to me so far. That angry feeling I had for him has now been lifted. Or perhaps he’s just trying to gain my sympathy so I can forget about how upset he made me this morning. Eric, whatever you’re doing it’s working.

“Are you still listening to me, love? Or am I boring you to death?” he lets out a soft laugh. Am I allowed to swoon a little?

“Yes Eric, continue. Please.”

“Well no, I don’t think you understand how this works. You see, I speak my mind then you’re supposed to validate my feelings.”

“Oh, is that right? So you’ve called me up just to get a free counseling session? You know I oughta charge you extra for this.” Again, sarcastically American.

“You best believe I will pay you however much quid you wa—”

“Eric, you know I’m joking, right?” I chuckle as I interrupt him, “okay, so let me get this straight..it sounds to me that you’re not getting along with your band mates, yeah?”

“Sure seems that way.”

“Right so, I don’t know if I am the right person to be giving you advice on how you can rectify your situation as I am not a licensed psychologist, however do you think it would benefit you and the rest of the group to talk it out?”

“Well you see, that’s what we’re struggle with at the moment. All four us—myself, Graham, Lol and Kev usually have these ‘truth sessions’ throughout the day while working in the studio. These are opportunities for us to take a break from songwriting and recording and talk about our strengths and weaknesses as musicians. What we like and don’t like about our progress on a record, for example. But lately, it seems that these sessions have become less..frequent. I don’t understand it, I mean why the sudden change in routine?”

“I see. Well in that case, have you tried to initiate these sessions?”

“No. I don’t know if I want to. I’m just—”

“Afraid of rejection?

He remains silent for a brief moment then produces a response.

“Yes.”

“Tell you what. From what I observed during our initial encounter, you seem very competent in your musical abilities, Eric. Do you agree?”

“Yes, but—”

“Hm. See? There’s the problem. You’re full of doubt. The word but says to me that you are doubtful about your abilities to create initiative. Not even as the leader of the group, but just as an equal member.”

He is mute on the other line.

“Eric? You see, the way this works is that I give you my two cents, and you give me yours. Tit-for-tat.”

“Tit-for-tat.” He chuckles.

“So..?”

“What are you doing right now? Are you free?” Funny how he changes the subject.

“Well let’s see..it’s 8:30 in the morning and you’re lucky you’ve caught me during my day off so to answer your question, yes I am free. Why do you ask?”

“Erm..I was just thinking..would you mind if we carried on this conversation in person? I’m not really fond of long telephone calls, you see?”

My goodness, bossy AND primadonna.

“It’s gonna cost ya.”

“I’ll pay for breakfast. Please say yes?” He’s ignoring my sarcasm this time. Begging, are we?

“Fine. You’re only getting an hour and a half out of me. Two hours if you’re well behaved.” I smile through my words.

“Hm..I promise to be on my best behavior.” The bastard’s probably smirking right now. Bet you’re proud of yourself. Jerk. He’s lucky he’s cute.  

“I’ll believe it when I see it. I’m about one block away from your studio. 11 Alberta Street. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know Alberta Street. Give me 10?”

“Great. See you in 10.”

“Fantastic. See you soon. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” I hang up and I don’t quite know what to do with myself at the moment. I feel happy, giddy even. A date? With Eric Stewart of 10cc? However, I do not consider this a date as I am just helping to console an emotionally distressed client.

For some strange reason, I feel I am doing something wrong agreeing to go out with a client. However, this man seems like he is in peril and is in need of a friend to comfort him.

“Gosh, what do I even wear?” I mutter to myself as I get myself sorted.

It seems as though we will blessed with lovely weather again today so I settle for something more casual and weather appropriate. I dig through my closet to find my yellow sleeveless sundress and scoop it out. I stride over to the mirror and lean the dress against myself, mentally critiquing whether this will be a good fit. I smile as I gander at the mirror, picturing myself with the dress on. This should do.

I slip the dress on and flatten out any wrinkles with my hands. I take another look in the mirror and not meaning to toot my own horn, but this dress looks rather fetching on me. What will he think of it?

I quickly apply some mascara and a little cherry red lipstick for good measure. My hair has maintained its curls from the day before so I decide to leave it be. And just as I am finishing up with the beauty works, the doorbell rings. My heart begins to pound. I snatch my purse then make my way downstairs and open the front door slightly at first to make sure it is who I think it is. I proceed to open the door all the way to ogle at the Adonis that’s standing right before me. I scan him from head to toe—black button down shirt, a navy blue suit jacket, denim bell bottoms and a pair of light brown platforms. He could be doubling as a runway model!

“Hi, Eric.” A teethy grin spreads across my face as I look at him in his eyes.

He examines me from head to toe, his eyes pausing briefly at my bust (eyes up here, pal!), then our eyes collide.

“Hello, Leah.” His voice is soft. It’s so comforting. “You look really lovely.”  

“Why thank you sir, you don’t look too bad yourself.” We both stand in silence for a brief moment, then simultaneously chuckle at our unspoken banter.

“So are we just going to stand here, then? I’m a hungry boy. I need fuel.” He rests his hands on his stomach, indicating his need for food.

“Well show us the way then, sir!” I chirp.

“Aren’t you going lock your door?” he looks at me with a boyish smile.

“Oh, you’re right. Where’s my mind?” It’s all your fault for being so uncanningly attractive. It’s so distracting.

“Would you like me to lock it for you? After all, you’ve done more than enough for me thus far this morning. It’s the least I can do.”

“Erm..if you insist, go right ahead.” I smile as I hand him the house keys.

“Right..er..” he swipes the keys from my hand and somehow correctly selects the key to the front door. He proceeds to close and lock, then hands me back the keys.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” I curtsy in front of him.

“Pleasure is mine, my fair lady.” He bows, then just before he straightens up, he takes my hand and plants a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

“Shall we, love?” He stands erect, smirking at me.

“Please, lead the way.” I gesture to the open road in front of us.

“Yes, madame.” He links his arm with mine and we proceed to stroll towards the alley way leading to the main road.

The smell of his cologne lingers against my nose. It’s gentle to the sensitive nose—a fresh clean linen scent, so it appears. I pat his upper arm gently as we continue to pace.

“So where are we going?” I smile up at him.

“The Red Bull. It’s this pub just around the corner from the studio. Me and the guys usually go there for lunch but I like to go there for breakfast as well on the days I’m working in the studio. Their full english breakfast is to die for!” he says those last words with such enthusiasm.

“So I take it breakfast food is your favorite kind of food?”

“Well I don’t discriminate when it comes to food, love. Breakfast, lunch and dinner food all sound appealing to me. I’ll have you know, I’m a bit of a foodie. Food makes me happy.”

I giggle at his vivacity in discussing food.

“Well then you wouldn’t have any second thoughts about finishing my leftovers? In case I don’t finish my meal this morning?” I raise an eyebrow at him, a girlish smile broadening across my face.  

“Say no more, love!” he widens his gaze at me, leaning his face into me.

I chuckle at his playfulness. I admire his quirky tendencies. I take note of how he hasn’t peeled his gaze off me. I feel my face growing warm. I look at him from the corner of my eye then tilt my head slightly as I gaze up at him.

“Eric, why do you keep looking at me like that?”

We take a brief pause in our walk. He looks at me earnestly.

“Like what? Like you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen today?” he lets out a tiny smile, maintaining his gaze on me.

I gaze up at him dumbfounded, my mouth ajar.

“Erm..” I can only manage to let out a nervous laugh as I am at a loss for words. I feel my face growing warmer.

We lock eyes with each other, not saying a word. He smiles at me meekly.   

“You know, I was once asked how I would define the word ‘beauty’ and I simply said ‘woman.’ So pardon me for saying this but, I think you’re the most beautiful woman I have seen in a long time. And believe me, I’ve seen plenty in my lifetime. I think I’m entitled to that opinion.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too early for this kind of talk?” I bite my lower lip as I attempt to stifle my smile.

“Right. We’re stalling and I’m hungry. You must be hungry, too.”

“Not as hungry as you, Mr. foodie.”

“Well let’s quit larking about and get a move on!”

We quicken our pace through the alley way, then he grabs my hand as we turn right and make our way towards the crosswalk. We both look left and right to gander at oncoming cars, and clasping his hand with mine, we run across the street. Just from that short excursion, we’re both now filled with exhilaration and adrenaline.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he catches his breath.

“You alright?” I look at him a bit perturbed.

“Yes..” He responds breathlessly, “I’m..just..out of shape.”

“Ah, that means less food, more exercise for you, young man.” I tease him.

“Oi, keep it up you’ll see what happens.”

“What are you going to do to me, hm?” I smile at him girlishly.

“I don’t think you want to know my answer to that.” He smirks.

I playfully smack his arm. “Eric!”

“Oi! What was that for? You ask a guy a question like that, you will get a guy answer.” He says matter-of-factly.

I shake my head at him, chuckling. “Unbelievable..”

I begin to walk ahead of him, leaving him behind.

“Hey! Where are you going?!” he runs up behind me.

“I thought you were hungry? I’m growing hungry myself with all this stalling we’re doing.”

“Ah, we’ve got to feed the girl then. Come on.” He snakes his fingers through mine and he leads the way to the pub.

We climb the steps that lead to the front door and enter the abode. From first glance, I only see a couple sitting in the corner and eating their meal in silence.

“There he is! The man of the hour!” A voice echoes through the pub in that sing-songy Mancunian accent. A woman with long, flowy strawberry blonde hair gracefully walks towards Eric and I.

“It is I indeed and today I have company.” Eric snakes his arm across my shoulders and pulls me closer to him, smiling at me.

“Ellie, this is Leah our talented photographer. Leah, this is my good friend Ellie. She runs the pub and the kitchen. Power woman, she is.”

“Oh, you stop it.” she giggles at Eric’s remark and extends a handshake to me. “Lovely to meet you, Leah.”  

“Lovely to meet you as well, Ellie.” I shake her hand, a tiny smile breaking across my face.

She smiles at me briefly then turns her attention back to Eric.

“Table for two, is it Stewart?”

“Right on, El.”

“Well go on, you know where to sit. Are we doing the usual brekkie, Stewart?”

Judging by the way this woman talks, she knows Eric like the back of her hand. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a history together. I want to roll my eyes at the thought.

“For me, yes. And for the lady..” Eric turns to me, prompting me to respond with my food order.

“You mentioned you were getting the full english breakfast, yeah?”

“Yes, madame.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have. Please and thank you.” I turn to Ellie, smiling meekly.

“Right. Eric knows where to sit. Make yourselves at home. I will bring you your breakfast shortly.”

“Cheers, El!” Eric chirps.

He weaves his fingers into mine and leads us to an isolated corner booth adjacent to the window.

“After you, madame.” He gestures for me to sit in the booth.

I slide into the booth and he follows suit. He rests his arm over my shoulder then gazes at me with admiration.

“What do you think?”

“Of this place?” I take a second to glance at my surroundings. “I like it. It’s quite cozy, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. One of the reasons me and the guys love coming here. And the workers here are all just lovely.”

“Hmph..I bet they are.” You don’t say. You seem to get on well with little miss blonde there.

“You alright, then? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

I gaze up at him and study his eyes. “Eric, can I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask me anything. It seems I’ve been doing most of the talking this morning, I think it’s time I hear from you.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

He chuckles. “Is that what’s got you worried? No, love. I’m single. Divorced.”

What? Divorced?

He leans into my ear, seeing the deer-in-headlight look on my face. “That may be a story for another time. Today, I just want to get to know you more and to pick up where we left off in our conversation from earlier.”

“Okay. Sure.” I smile at him modestly.

“As I was saying earlier—”

“Eric, listen. You’ve got to stand up for yourself and show that you’re more than just a man with all these tricks up his sleeves. People will continue to take advantage of your good work ethic and kind heart. Sometimes, it’s good to let people know what’s on your mind so they understand you better.”  

He gazes at me with a demure smile. “Now where have you been all my life? Where were you when I was at my lowest?”

I lean into him. “Quit doubting yourself.”

“Right, you two. Make way for brekkie. Leah, I made this just the way Eric loves it. I think you’re going to love it as well.” Ellie deftly slides our breakfast platters in front of us. I can see our food steaming. Now I’m hungry.

“Thank you, Ellie. So lovely of you to do that!” I smile at her broadly.

“Cheers! Right, drinks. Eric, would you like your Guinness this morning?”

“No, thanks. I would like to take it easy today. Thanks, El. Perhaps Leah would like one?”

“Oh no, thank you. This is too early for beer. A glass of water would be nice.”

“Make that two, El.” Eric adds.

“On it!” Ellie scurries off into the pub then quickly comes back with a couple glasses of water and places them in front of us.

“Are you sorted now, then?” Ellie inquires.

“Sorted. Cheers, El!” Eric proclaims.

“Cheers! Enjoy breakfast, you two.” Ellie smiles at us both briefly then hurries back into the kitchen.

I take a gander at my plate and decide where to start. Everything looks delicious. Two hearty looking sausages, over easy fried eggs, baked beans, juicy red tomatoes, fried mushrooms, two slices of wheat toast and two dark patties that I’m assuming are what the English call ‘black pudding.’ I take a tiny scoop of the baked beans and nibble on them. Perfect. Just the right amount of flavor in the sauce. I proceed to slice into a sausage and take a bite. Mm..delightful. I turn to Eric who’s almost halfway finished with his meal.

He looks at me. Face stuffed with food like a chipmunk. Brilliant.

“Wait. Don’t move.” I snatch my smaller back up camera from my purse then snap a picture of him, giggling.

“Oi!” he groans through his food. He swallows his food quickly. “I’m going to get you for that one!”

“Your face..it looked cute. I couldn’t help it."

“You just can’t help yourself sometimes, can you?” His smile is demure again. He examines my face. His drops his silverware onto his plate then proceeds to caress my face, tracing my jawline his thumb.

“You know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left the studio that night.” His tone has become more gentle, more vulnerable. Not aggravated, and rash like he was over the phone earlier.

“Is that right?” I’m imploring.

“Listen, Leah. The main reason I called you again was to apologize for being so harsh on you earlier. I went on a deep dive with my emotions this morning for you to understand why I may have acted the way I did. I’ve just had so much shit to deal with lately and not enough guidance. Regardless, it was not right of me to act that way towards you. Please, forgive me.” He’s genuine in his apology I can tell. But there’s more here that I don’t know about. I will let him decide when he feels comfortable to open himself up to me. When he’s ready. For now like he said, we should just try to get to know each other.

“Eric, I’ve already forgotten all about what happened this morning. Please, eat up. I love watching you eat. The joy on your face..it’s priceless. The delight of my day.” I place my hand against his rosy red cheek and I feel the full weight of his head as he rests his head against the palm of my hand. He plants a kiss on my palm then turns to me with a boyish smile.

“May I ask a favor from you?”

“Hm? And what does this favor entail?”

“Will you come to the studio again and do another photoshoot of me and the guys? I’m not going to tell King about it. It’s just for us as a group. For keepsake. I am willing to pay ext—”

“On one condition.” I interject.

“Eh? condition? what condition?”

“I get front row seating to one of your upcoming shows. I want to see you and the guys perform.”

He grins broadly at me. “Well that’s easy enough, love. Consider it done! We will be in London next week. We’d love to have you there. Me especially, I would love to see you again. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

A sudden wave of excitement and elation crashes into me. “Eric, you’re kidding! You mean you’re serious?! I can come to one of your shows?!”

“Am I bluffing, love?” he smirks.

Without hesitation, I scoop him into me, embracing him like he’s a lover of mine who’s been away far too long. And without hesitation on his part he returns the favor, embracing and almost melting into me. It quickly occurs to me that this may have been a very bold move on my part so I peel away from his hold.

“Eh? You alright, love?” he sounds concerned.

“Yes..er..I hope that wasn’t too forward. I’m just so ecstatic to be seeing you all in concert. This may be one of the few I will have gone to since seeing the Beach Boys back in my teens.”

He chuckles. “Well not to burst your bubble, love, but we’re nothing like The Beach Boys. A few of our songs may have that sort of sound, but overall it’s like apples to oranges.”  

“Sadly, I do not listen to The Beach Boys as much as I used to. I’m all grown up now and it’s the 70’s. The music is hip, and bands these days are all just far out!”

“Far out!” he says mockingly in his best midwestern American accent. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?”

“You know you could pass for an American with that accent. It’s pretty darn good!”

“Well you see, that’s the way we do it out here in good ‘ole midwestern America.” he says maintaining his pseudoamerican accent.

I fail to stifle a giggle at his little commentary. “Talented. Mr. Stewart. It’s as simple as that.”

“Eh, I was really enjoying our hug. May I have another one?”

My smile is demure this time and without hesitation, I scoop him into my arms again. We sit in this silent embrace. Feeling each other’s warmth. In this booth. In this pub. In this glorious place called Stockport. Life can’t get any better.

———————————————————————————

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“I glance over at Graham who appears to be hyperfocused on tuning his bass. He proceeds to finagle with several complex chords repeatedly, seemingly attempting to perfect a certain bass riff. I am by no means a professional musician, but whatever Graham is getting at is working out in his favor.

I stride over towards him and beam at him girlishly.

"Hi, Mr. Gouldman." I sound almost flirtatious.

Graham pauses mid-riff and peers at me, sneering at my greeting.

"Ough.Mr. Gouldman. Do I really look that old to you?" he retorts with a sarcastic undertone, raising his hands on either side of him.

I let out a soft chuckle and gape at him sheepishly. "Well you're no spring chicken either, lance corporal."”

—excerpt from Chances, Chapter 4: Spark pt. 1

[frootyrooties]

chances

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: slow build, romance, grief, doubts about love, resentments, illicit drug use, discussions about divorce/parenthood, questionable future of the group, anticipated nsfw.

a/n: My attempt at writing smut about the sensational and one of a kind man, Eric Stewart. The first of its kind, perhaps. Feel free to leave some feedback to let me know what you think, or how I can improve! Enjoy :)

CHAPTERS

CH 1 Vacation

CH 2 Vogue Pt. I, Vogue Pt. II

CH 3 Tit-for-tat

CH 4 Spark Pt. I, Spark Pt. II

CH 5 Cheap Thrills

[frootyrooties]

chances

CH 2: VOGUE PT. I

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: playfulness, hothead Stewart, insinuating rivalry between group members, flirting, some fluff

a/n: I am dividing this chapter in two parts, with the latter being where most of the action happens. I've decided to do this because honestly, I've been going through severe writer's block and running out of tasty ideas. Not to worry, they'll come to me in part two.

“Hi..you alright, beautiful?”

“Should we get on with it, then?” Eric poses the question to the group, exchanging dazed looks with his mates fishing  for a response. 

“What’s that?” Lol sounds oblivious, furrowing his brows at Eric.

“Are you daft, Laurence?! The photoshoot, man!” Eric responds matter-of-factly, sounding slightly irritable. 

“Just asking a simple question, Stewart. No need to be ornery..Christ. And stop calling me Laurence! You know I don’t like being called that!” Lol exclaims in an aggravated tone. He rolls his eyes in dismay at Eric’s sarcastic remark.      

Eric glares at Lol, his face turning a slight serosanguineous color. “You know what, I’ve got a good mind to thum-” 

There is increased tension in Eric’s tone. I find myself growing slightly aggravated at this somewhat hostile interaction. I decide to interject. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” My command is solid and firm, “why don’t we just get this over with? We’re wasting valuable time and I’d hate to keep you all here longer than you need to. You can reconcile your differences once we’re through here.” 

The four men crane their heads toward me, gaping at me and seemingly flabbergasted by my audacity. We all stand in momentary silence, exchanging dumbfounded looks. I glare at each of them, feeling some convection of heat in my face.  I’m feeling irritable at the moment. I will NOT be babysitting a bunch of grown men.       

Eric takes a stride towards me with swagger, something I have been keenly observing. He smirks at me, his eyes adhered to mine. A little deviant. This one’s going to be trouble, I can tell already.    

I stand with my arms crossed and head turned to the side, avoiding his gaze to my aggravation. Eric is standing just inches away from my face. I take in his body heat as he firmly clasps his hands on my shoulders. He places a finger under my chin, gently shifting my head to face him. He searches my eyes with his and succeeds. 

“Hi..you alright, beautiful?” His boyish smile instantly remedies my temper. A lump travels down my throat as I shudder under his gaze. 

Beautiful? Oh he’s funny..he thinks he can just sweet talk his way out of this. However, I’d be lying if I said this term of endearment coming from him didn’t have an effect on me. 

“Yes. I’m fine, Eric. Now can we please get started?” My voice cracks as I attempt to control the mild fluttering in my stomach. Tension leaves my face as I meet his gaze. 

“There, there now..this is just how the lads and I talk to each other sometimes. Sorry, did we frighten you?” His tone is reassuring. Like a clairvoyant with a keen ability to tap into human emotion, it seems as though he can read this tense feeling I’m having at the moment. He remedies my affliction by gently rubbing my upper arms, and as he does this I feel tension gradually exiting every inch of my body. His touch is soothing, and I’m finding it difficult to resist sinking into his arms yet I somehow manage to maintain integrity.       

I peel away from Eric’s hold. I strive to maintain composure. I shut my eyes momentarily, running my fingers through my hair. I inhale deeply and exhale–one slowed, controlled, meaningful breath. I bring my hands together and smile broadly at the men as I collect my thoughts.

“Now, are we ready for some nice pictures, fellas?” I glance at Eric. He smiles at me timidly, like a school-aged child who’s just received a wholehearted compliment from his teacher for the first time. 

“Absolutely!” 

“I was born ready!” 

“I didn’t dress to kill today for no reason now, did I?

“I have been looking forward to this all day.” 

They strike me with their commentaries in a rapid-fire fashion. Listening to them rave about the photoshoot with such enthusiasm overwhelms me with joy. My mood is uplifted, considering how irritable I was just moments ago. I smile at the men gleefully as I listen to their banter about how one is perhaps the best dressed for the occasion–an amusing interaction to say the least. 

“Oi, lads! Before we get started, I suppose we should get better acquainted with our lovely photographer. After all, she still is very much a stranger to us.” Lol says this matter-of-factly, darting his head towards me. His face brightens as he grins at me widely.  

“An interrogation.” Eric shoots a glance at me from the corner of his eye, smirking. 

An interrogation?! Well I certainly did not sign up for this..

“Lol’s right you know. I think it’s only fair that we get to know a bit more about..you. If that’s alright with you, of course.” Eric places emphasis on the word you.  I feel as though he’s prodding me on purpose, and he’s found the perfect opportunity for me to be vulnerable and be an open book to them..to him. I certainly could be overanalyzing his intentions, and my thought process may even be a bit delusional, but a girl can only speculate. What baffles me most is why these men seem invested in scrutinizing my rather uneventful life story. Whatever the reason is beyond me, but I feel obligated to feed their curiosity now that they’ve opened up this portal. 

“Very well then. Shall we take this discussion somewhere more..private, if you will? I prefer that my personal business be discussed just amongst us and not with the rest of the world.” I demand an accommodation since they’ve so graciously requested to know the details about my parody of a life. 

“Of course, of course! Anything for you, love.” Eric glances at me, he is beaming with boyish allure that’s gradually growing on me. Charming. 

“Right this way, come with me.” He leads the way into a small, secluded section in the rehearsal room. The rest of us follow him like a parade of baby geese following their mother. 

I quickly study the area. From first glance, the area looks neat, organized and free of clutter–surprising, considering this is practically a playground for young musicians that presumably indulge in some raucous behavior in their spare time. Oddly enough, I feel proud of them for keeping this place in pristine condition. Minimal furniture present–I note the bright red, horseshoe-shaped sectional and the large black round coffee table stationed in the middle. I turn my attention to the two clear ashtrays, a couple half empty bottles of scotch, the open box of Winstons and four diamond-cut whiskey glasses sitting on top. Rockstars by trade. 

“Please have a seat.” Eric pulls up the hem of his denim jeans before sinking into the sofa. The three others follow suit and sit to his right. 

I want to maintain professional boundaries. They sit on one end of the sofa while I settle myself on the opposite end. With the coffee table separating me and the men, I feel that this is a comfortable distance. For some odd reason, I feel like I’m at a job interview–this is almost reminiscent to the day I sat to interview with Dan for this job 5 years ago. Only difference was we were seated in the two suede love seats he had in his office–I should say has because he still has them things in there. 

“Lovely studio, by the way. It’s nice to know you crazy kids are able to keep this place up despite all your antics.” I say this jokingly of course. The American in me all too often resorts to sarcasm as a way to break tension–at times a strength, other times a weakness. 

Graham chuckles, glancing at me with sleepy eyes. A tiny smile interrupts his blunted expression. I am just now noticing his lengthy eyelashes. They complement those dreamy, dark brown eyes of his. Oh he’s gorgeous. His dreamy eyes, his slick, black curls, his slim figure, his nonchalant demeanor–he is every photographer’s dream, I think he’d do well as a fashion model in my honest opinion. 

“Mm..yes. Eric and I are keen on orderliness and unfortunately, we’ve had to constantly keep up with the mess that these two lunatics make.” Graham is matter-of-fact, glaring at Kevin and Lol. 

“Right. And we’re not going to repeat the story of how they left this place in shambles last week after play fighting with string cheese and meat pies. Looked like a tornado tore this place apart..empty beer bottles, meat pie remnants, traces of cheese and shaving cream all over the damn floor. Man was it a sight! You just had to be there.” Eric tuts. He narrows his eyes at Kevin and Lol, shaking his head in dismay, “Graham and I are always babysitting these two fools.” 

“Oi! We did too clean up after ourselves, Eric!” Lol sounds like an exasperated young child who’s just been scolded by his mother for misbehaving. 

“We were tired and we were bored out of our minds so we wanted to have a bit of fun. Lol and I had our thrill, but I can assure everyone here that we enjoyed responsibly by cleaning up our own mess, otherwise we wouldn’t have heard the end of it from Susie Day over here.” Kevin rolls his eyes at Eric. 

“Sod off, Godley! You’re not any better than Lol and you know it! In fact, you’re far worse sometimes!” Eric scoffs at Kevin’s tongue-in-cheek remark. 

Eric swipes the box of Winstons from the coffee table. He slides a cigarette out from the box and a lighter from his jean pocket, then anchors the cigarettes between his lips. He quickly produces a tiny flame with one effortless flick of the sparkwheel with his expert thumb. He leans his head into the flame to burn the tobacco. He takes a puff from the cigarette, then exhales a steady stream of smoke into the studio air. 

Eric leans his cigarette against an ash tray and presents me the small carton, smirking at me. “Would you like one?”

He rises from the sofa and takes a stroll towards me and introduces the small carton of pure nicotine to me. I stare into the box mindlessly. Cancer sticks. I have never had a single cigarette in my life, but today I’m feeling bold.

“I would love one, thank you Mr. Eric.” 

I withdraw a cigarette from the box and he ignites a flame with his lighter once again. I lean my cigarette into it, locking eyes with him. He smiles at me timidly. I study his eyes–they’re a gorgeous light brown color. I take note of how they glisten when the light hits them from the perfect angle. His partially disheveled hair suits him well–it enhances his attractiveness. His curtain bangs fall perfectly over the corners of his eyes, just enough that I can still catch a glimpse of them. The subtle rose color that blush his cheeks is becoming more prominent as he takes in the mild heat from my cigarette. He is breathtakingly gorgeous and undeniably photogenic. He is a model client, and one that photographers would absolutely rave about. Rare beauty as we like to call it. 

As a photographer, the skill of ascertaining beauty in certain individuals makes me sound superficial and perhaps even biased, but indeed it is a skill that is core to the profession and one that requires a lot of time and patience to master. Of note, there’s a kind of beauty that appeals to me. The ability to identify this type of beauty is a skill I’ve acquired as a novice photographer–most consider me seasoned at this point in my career, but frankly speaking, I consider myself a novice. I have much to learn still. 

I take a hit off my cigarette then crane my head up to face Eric. I expel a cloud of smoke into his face, smirking at him. I feel like playing a little game with you, Mr. Stewart. His face grows more smug as the traveling smolder gently collides into his face. 

“Rookie.” He raises an eyebrow at me, maintaining his smug expression. He looks rather sultry. 

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Mr. Stewart?” I gaze up at him, smiling broadly,  “you may choose to answer that only after everyone else is through with their questions. Now, would you please be seated? I believe you and your mates had some inquiries about me?” My tone is direct. Of course, this is not my first rodeo and providing redirection is an art that I seem to have acquired naturally as a photographer.  

Giving direction is a constant struggle for us photographers, especially when working with unhinged rockstars. I’m still trying to gauge these ones, however. I can’t quite tell just yet whether or not they’ll be trouble, the lot of them. 

“So bossy..” Eric playfully rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He turns around to tread back over to the sofa and sinks into the cushioned furnishing. 

Eric takes his partially burned cigarette then anchors it between his fingers. He takes a hit off it then leans it back against the ashtray. He leans over the coffee table, sliding over one of the whiskey glasses closer to him. He proceeds to swipe the bottle of scotch and unscrews the top then pours some of the liquor into his glass, about a shot’s worth so it appears. After pouring his desired amount of beverage, he glances at me from the corner of his eye. The look he keeps giving me is rather alluring, if I didn’t have any self-control I’d be swooning. 

“Care for some scotch, hm?” Eric raises an eyebrow at me, his tone seemingly coaxing me to agree to the offer. 

“Oh that sounds lovely. I would love some, please.” My smile is demure. He and the rest of the group have been more than accommodating to me thus far, it’s overwhelming to say the least. 

Eric pours a shot’s worth of liquor into a whiskey glass and delivers the glass to me. 

I look up at him with an infectious smile. 

“A gentleman and a scholar.” I lean my cigarette against the ashtray and proceed to steal the glass from him, then raise it as if making a congratulatory toast. I take a sip of the alcohol. 

He slides back into the sofa. Raising his glass, he smiles broadly at me.

“And a woman with class.” he winks at me as he takes a sip of his beverage. 

That fluttering sensation in my stomach is back. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I feel the temperature in my cheeks rise gradually. 

“Well, lads? Questions? For the lady?” Lol inquires the group, raising his brows as he glances at his peers. 

“Where in America are you from, exactly?” Graham bravely initiates the query. 

“Brooklyn. New York.”

“Is that right? I heard only the best tasting pizza in the world comes from New York.” Eric is quick with his remark. 

“Why’s it always about food with you, Stewart?” Kevin scoffs, rolling his eyes at Eric. 

“Do you always have to be so-” 

“Next question, please!” I interject before any bickering ensues. 

“Oh yes, do you have a favor-” 

“What makes you happy?” Eric interjects Lol, locking eyes with me. 

A lump travels down my throat. I drag my hand across the sofa deliberately, feeling its soft, velvety texture to ease my nerves. I take another sip of liquor. I smile at him genially. 

“My family. My work family. My friends. Photography..my clients. They make me happy. I get to capture people’s most candid moments. And what I see in them..I see passion, devotion and at times even frustration. But that right there is the very thing that lured me into photography. People allow me to capture their most vulnerable moments. That’s what I love most about my profession and to see that side of people is what makes me happy.” That was perhaps a little more than what needed to be said but it was a well thought out response, in my opinion. 

“That sounds lovely.” Eric gives me a boyish smile. He has not peeled his gaze off me. 

“And what about you, Mr. Stewart? What makes you happy?” 

He sits in silence for a moment while he takes a sip of liquor. 

“Well I do fancy what I do around here in the studio and being in the company of these three hooligans. There’s never a dull moment.” Eric playfully nudges Lol. 

I chuckle at Eric’s response. He maintains a fixed gaze on me as he takes another sip of liquor. It seems as though this entire interaction has grossly been about us, with the other three men being our fervent audience. 

“Now, what’s all this about?” Jonathan appears unexpectedly. His tone is scornful. 

“Jonathan darlin’, we were just wanting to get to know the girl! She’s been such a delight to have around.” Lol grins brightly at Jonathan. 

“Fraternizing with the photographer, eh?” Jonathan shoots his eyes at me, giving me a smoldering look, “might I suggest that you youngsters continue this little hubbub after you’re through with the shoot? It’s getting a bit late, lads.” Jonathan shifts to a more father-like tone. 

The men collectively sigh and grumble indistinctly, seemingly disapproving of Jonathan’s suggestion. 

Eric cranes his head towards me, ogling me from head to toe, “I suppose.” 

“Alright fellas, who’s ready for some candid shots?” 

“Me! Me! Me!” Kevin and Lol frantically wave an arm up in the air like school-aged children desperate to answer the teacher’s question. 

“Ma’am, I am ready for my beauty shots.” Eric proclaims, striking multiple ridiculous poses. 

I giggle at his playfulness. “Fine. Let’s get on with this finally, shall we?” 

--------------------------------------------------------------

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please visit my masterlist if you would like to see some of my other work :))

[frootyrooties]

chances

CH 1: VACATION

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: excited girl, sleepy girl, the new girl in town!

“We’re glad to have you here.”

June 27, 1975. The time is 9:30 am.

“Good morning passengers, this is your pilot speaking. We will be landing in London’s Heathrow Airport shortly. Please be sure to fasten your seatbelts as we may experience some mild turbulence while landing. Thank you.”

The pilot’s soft, gentle voice awakens me from my deep slumber. There’s always something comforting about hearing the English speak, I can’t help but admire that about them. I squint at my surroundings as I attempt to reorient myself in the conscious world. I turn to my right and peer out the small window next to me. The city below me is gradually becoming more visible as the plane careens through clusters of thin clouds scattered throughout the firmament we have made our journey on.

I gaze at the vastness of the city below me and amuse myself as I take note of the little details that outline each section of land. Everything just seems miniscule from up here, and things appear to be moving as if time is suppressed–cars are sluggishly making their way through the busy highways, trains appear to be moving in the same manner, and cargo ships seem to be moving through deep blue English waters at idle speed. My eyes follow where the ships are headed and from a distance, I take note of a familiar landmark. Two gigantic pillars crowned with four steeples, and each pillar is separated by a few bridge-like structures–two horizontal walkways up above, and below it is a much lengthier bridge, connecting one part of the city to another, and is separated by two central bascules to allow large ships to pass.I bite my lower lip as a tiny smile breaks across my face and I find myself cupping a hand over my mouth, slightly self-conscious about being seen smiling like a lunatic by fellow passengers adjacent to me. Tower Bridge, I think to myself.

 As we soar over the Tower Bridge, my mouth breaks ajar upon realizing just how massive this great piece of architecture is. We continue to traverse the skies, eventually reaching another familiar landmark–a golden colored clock tower with an off-blue steeple nestled on top, and is sitting adjacent to this wide gothic-like building. Both structures are well camouflaged, given their congruent color schemes. 

“Good heavens, this must be Big Ben.” I mutter under my breath.

 I feel my lips break into a teasing smile from the corner of my mouth as the location finally dawns on me.

 London, England. A city I have longed to visit since childhood, and I am in complete disbelief that today I am finally putting that longing to rest. This is a business trip of course, so London will not be my first destination, but I will certainly be visiting at some point during my travels. After all, I will be here for the remainder of summer so I will have plenty of time for excursions. I begin to experience a complex brew of emotions as our arrival to this remarkable city becomes more imminent.

 In my ten years working as a professional photographer, never once have I traveled outside of The United States of America for work and for this very reason, I consider this a significant milestone in my career. My wonderful supervisor Dan graciously offered me this opportunity, and I cannot thank him enough for coordinating a deal with our company’s UK headquarters to make this all happen for me. Oh, God Bless his little soul. I owe him so much.

“Attention passengers, this is your flight attendant speaking. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened and that all large belongings are stowed away either in the overhead bins or the space underneath your seats. Thank you, we will begin our descent shortly.” A female voice trills through the overhead speakers. I can hear her smiling through her voice.

We gain more visibility of the land below us as the plane gradually descends from this firmament. I watch as the plane careens through a sea of clouds, a mere collection of thick, white precipitate which appears to be distributed evenly throughout this heavenly concourse.

I sink back into my seat and rest my hands gently on my lap. I close my eyes and recite a short mantra in my head. Almost there..everything will be fine..almost there..everything will be fine..

I feel the plane trembling in a way that instills some degree of discomfort in me. With my eyes still shut, I grow slightly more aware of every sensation happening in my body. My heart is now accelerating, and I can almost hear every beat pulsating through my ears. I feel a thin layer of sweat saturating through my palm. I inhale deeply, then exhale slowly, steadily. Anxiety..anxiety..anxiety..anx-

The plane makes a graceful landing, barely making any impact. I open my eyes quickly for some reassurance. The aircraft has now in fact met the ground and is darting swiftly through the runway.

 We gradually slow down in speed as we prepare for disembarkment. I look over to the elderly couple sitting next to me. Just before our plane’s departure, I managed to strike up a conversation with the husband named Dave, who is sitting right next to me, his lovely wife Wendy sitting immediately to his left. Dave briefly shared that he and his wife live in New Jersey and are visiting a nephew in London who will be having a wedding in two days. A wedding, how lovely..I wonder what that’s like..

Dave looks at me with a huge grin, his ocean blue eyes twinkling. There is evidence of aging on his face as seen through the gentle creases of wrinkles on his forehead, and the crow’s feet that show faintly at each corner of his eyes. He displays some degree of youthful radiance despite his advanced age.

 “We finally made it, hm? Wasn’t so bad, was it?” he says to me softly, some gentle reassurance in his tone.

I twist my lips into a tiny smile as I give him a gentle nod. 

“Mhm, very much so.”

 My head travels to Wendy’s direction and her entire face brightens as our eyes meet. It’s astonishing how she’s maintained her silver hair tied in a neat ponytail through our long journey. Her cherry red lipstick has barely faded.

I grin at her widely. “Wendy, you holdin’ up okay over there?”

“Just fine, dear. And how about you?” her face breaks into a smile.

“Oh you know, just peachy!”

The plane comes to a complete halt. I quickly turn my head to look out the window to see that our aircraft is now stationed and ready for disembarkment.

 “Passengers, we would like to welcome you to London’s Heathrow Airport. The current time is 10:30 am, which is a bit earlier than our scheduled time of arrival of 10:45 am. Please gather all your belongings and carefully check your surroundings before leaving the aircraft to be sure you haven’t left anything behind.” The flight attendant announces overhead with such genuine enthusiasm.

“Hey listen, it was a pleasure meeting ya kid, and good luck on your picture taking gig!” Dave exclaims as he and Wendy rise from their seats, belongings in hand, and prepare to make an exit. The couple both wave at me goodbye, giving me big, teethy smiles as they navigate their way through the foyer.

 “Thank you.” I mouth, beaming at them with a huge grin as I wave back at the two of them.

 I remain seated and wait for all other passengers to exit the plane. I don’t have much to carry as I only have two carry-on items. My favorite brown corduroy backpack, which contains all my clothes and some personal items I will need on this trip. I packed light and since I brought a good amount of cash with me, I figured I’d go clothes shopping on my days off if I need more clothes on this trip. This backpack has begun to show some wear, its brown color has slightly faded. It’s been through so much with me since high school, so some wear is expected. My other carry-on is a large dark green duffle bag which contains the most essential set of items I will be utilizing on this trip, my photography equipment.

“After you, miss.” A soft, gentle voice greets me.

I look up to see this tall, thin framed blonde fella towering over me and my eyes soften the moment they meet his. Such gorgeous, piercing blue eyes.     

I break away from his gaze before this young man regards me strangely for staring at him longer than intended.

“Oh, um-”

“It’s just us two left on the plane, but you look like you’ve been waiting a while to get off this plane. Please, go ahead of me,” the young man interjects, smiling and not taking his gaze off me.

I feel the temperature in my face begin to rise. I snatch my belongings, sliding a backpack strap onto my shoulder as I arise from my seat.

Just before walking away, I smile at him with pursed lips as I gaze into his eyes.

 “Thank you. Have a good one, dear.” I say to him in a rather caressing tone.

I stride along the narrow foyer, anxious to finally be off this aircraft. We’ve reached the conclusion to our journey and I can hardly contain my excitement. I attempt to maintain my composure and reorient myself to my priorities. I glance at my watch to check the time.

“Shit! It’s 10:45. The train leaves at 12:30. Fuck, I better get my ass in gear!” I mutter under my breath as I increase my pace.

I reach the plane’s exit door and stand briefly on the apex of the airstair sitting just outside the doorway. I inhale deeply, catching a whiff of sweet English summer.     

“I’m here..I’m finally here.” I whisper to myself as I cautiously make my way down the airstair, clinging onto my belongings. I reach the stair’s base and pace myself as I make my way into the airport’s terminal.

 Inside the terminal, my eyes immediately find the sign pointing towards the direction of taxis and buses. I follow suit and bolt through the exit door, frantically scanning my surroundings for the next available taxi.

I glance at my watch again and see that it’s ten to eleven. Crap, I only have an hour and a half to get to the train station.

 A feeling of relief courses through me as a taxi cab pulls in right in front of me. The driver, as if on cue, almost immediately rolls down his window. I stoop down to be at eye level with the driver.

 “Euston station, please,” I say to the driver curtly, my voice slightly quivering.

The driver simply nods at me with a blunted expression on his face without saying a word. I swiftly open the cab door and slide right in while clutching my bags. I situate myself into my seat as the driver begins to pull away.

 I swing my backpack over to my lap and gently place my duffle bag next to me. I look out the window to get my first glimpses of the city. We leave the airport’s vicinity and enter the outskirts of the city. I watch as we trek through London traffic. I find it a little bizarre being driven in a right-handed car. Everything is on the wrong side of the road! I amuse myself with this thought. The driver turns into a quieter, less tumultuous street. People left and right are out and about. Bright contagious smiles plastered on everyone’s faces. I feel a tiny smile break across my face as I make further observations about my surroundings.

“Do you mind if I ask where you’re headed today, love?” the cab driver breaks the silence, sniffing as he wiggles his mustache. His thick, cockney accent takes me aback. Accents. Something I’ll have to get used to hearing while I’m on English turf. I notice him glancing at me through his rearview mirror. 

 “Hm? oh, here for work actually.” I respond, a hint of bashfulness in my voice.

 “Is that right? What do you do for work then?” he follows up, piquing with curiosity.

 “I’m a photographer. I’m one of several in a group of freelance photographers back in The States.”

  “An American photographer, eh? How lovely. Well, welcome to England. Is this your first time visiting?       

“Yes.”

 “Great. Well I’m sure you’ll have a fantastic time here.” 

 I don’t respond, but I smile at him through his rearview mirror.

 “Do you like it then? Taking pictures and such?” he inquires, trying to maintain continuity in the conversation.

  “Oh yes! As a matter of fact, I dreamt of being a photographer when I was younger. I enjoy doing it very much and find it to be a rewarding career.”

“Well I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to take some fantastic shots of people and things while you make your way through England.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

  We continue to navigate our way through these quaint London suburbs. I notice cars parked on side streets, something that one might expect to see in any major city. We pass through several locally owned shops adorned with whatever it is they are trying to sell–flowers, trinkets, home decor, and some other things I can’t quite make out because we’re moving so fast. We pass by this big, beautiful white church where a small gathering is currently taking place just outside of it. A couple just got through their wedding so it appears. Bright smiles on everyone’s faces, it’s such a beautiful thing to see.

I take my camera out of my duffle bag and check to make sure I have a new roll of film in it. I snap a few photos of my surroundings and I bite my lower lip while a tiny smile breaks across my face. Beautiful London town..I wish I had more time to take a tour of London today, but I’ll have to save that for when I have the day off.           

The driver veers off to his right and gets onto the highway and we’re off for a bit. I stow my camera back into my bag and zip the bag back up. I sink back into my seat and sigh deeply. I lean my head against the headrest and gander at my surroundings while the vehicle maintains momentum on this long, and what feels like an endless road. My eyes begin to feel heavy, and I feel light as a feather as tension gradually leaves every part of my body. I feel so tranquil..I just need to close my eyes for a second, just for a second..

“Oi! no sense of wasting the day away in a deep slumber..we’re in Euston, love!” The driver’s voice startles me awake from my slumber. I narrow my eyes as I attempt to reorient myself at my surroundings.

 I check my watch for the time. It’s 11:45 am. Crap, I’d better hustle!

I compensate the driver a total of 15 pounds in cash, which includes a 5 pound tip and bid him farewell, belongings in hand. I take my wallet out of my denim jacket and search for my train ticket. I snatch the ticket and quickly tease out which platform my train is leaving from. Platform 11-Stockport.

You’re gonna love Stockport. I smile as Dan’s words echo in my mind.

 I begin to pace myself as I make my way towards the platform. My anxiety begins to escalate and ignites some extra energy in me that I begin to run..faster..faster..passing each platform swiftly. 5..6..7..8..9..10..then finally, 11.

 I reach the platform and cling onto my bags like my life depended on it. I made it. There’s a woman ahead of me and I inhale deeply then exhale to help calm my nerves as I watch her hand her ticket to the conductor. I’m next in line.

 “Ticket, love?” the conductor asks me sweetly, a tiny smile spreads across his face as he awaits my response.

I smile at him as I step up and hand him my ticket, taking note of the shiny emblem of the UK flag adorned on his navy blue lapel. He peruses my ticket then nods, and gestures for me to enter the train. I grin at him as I step onto the train.

 “You may sit wherever you’d like, dear,” he exclaims, leaning in close to me before I proceed to find a seat.      

  I give him a gentle nod then turn towards the direction of the main cabin. Surprisingly, the train feels barren, given the small amount of passengers on board. I find an empty booth just two rows down from the exit and slide into a seat. I set my backpack next to me and place my duffle bag on the floor. I breathe a sigh of relief as I mentally commend myself for getting here on time.

I settle myself as I hear the train operator make an announcement overhead. More announcements!

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome aboard! We will be departing momentarily. Today, we are traveling northbound for Stockport in Manchester. This will be a three and a half hour journey so please feel free to move about the cabins as you wish. Select snacks and beverages will be available for purchase at our canteens located in a few sections of the train. Thank you and we hope you have an enjoyable experience with us,” the operator declares in a monotone voice, his odd-sounding English accent piquing my interest. It almost sounds halfway between a Scottish and an Irish accent, and not as posh sounding as the cockney accent. This must be how they talk in Manchester.

The train begins to pull away from the platform and I peer out the window to observe the world outside of this vehicle. There’s nothing to see at this moment, except a lengthy row of trees as we move further away from the station.

It’s time to start thinking about work, and I have to remind myself that this is a business trip. I search my backpack for the letter that was sent to Dan from a Jonathan King in Stockport. Dan reassured me that the letter will serve as general expectations as I delve into my first task of the week. I pull the letter out of my bag, unfold it and begin to read. I notice that it’s all typewritten:

Greetings Daniel,

I am thrilled to hear that you are able to send one of your talented photographers to take beauty shots of my favourite clients, 10cc. I want to assure you that these are four very delightful young men and they are quite elated to be having this photoshoot. We agreed on June 27th at 16:00 as the day and time that the photoshoot will take place. I anticipate that the lads will be through with rehearsals around that time and are well aware that the session will take place at approximately 16:00. Please remind your staff member to be mindful of the time and arrive promptly as these boys have a strict schedule. I have indicated the address to the studio down below. We are very much looking forward to meeting you and we appreciate your services.

Sincerely,

Jonathan King

Record Producer

Strawberry Studios

3 Waterloo Rd, Stockport SK1 3AZ

10cc? Are they some sort of a band, I wonder? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of them. And what a strange name for a band..I allow these thoughts to brew in my mind for a moment but I’m only baffling myself further the more I think deeply about all this. If they are musicians, I hope they are pleasant and not pompous like some..

I feel my eyelids getting heavy again. I’m struggling to get past the jet-lag, and I’m finding it difficult to stay awake for long periods of time. I succumb to another slumber session. I lean my temple against the window and watch as the train speeds through the tracks. I look back at the city, which is now becoming  indistinguishable as we grow more distant from it.    

 We finally move past the city and we reach a long stretch of rural land. We speed through multiple acres of fertilized land, the perfect medium to grow all types of crops on. There are certain sections of land with a small population of cows grazing on grass. I feel as if I’m being lulled to sleep just watching the world move so briskly before me. My eyelids are getting heavier now..that tranquil feeling is back. Tension is gradually leaving each muscle group in this body of mine and at this very moment, I feel light as a feather. So delicate, so fragile, so..

“Passengers, we have arrived in Stockport! This is our final destination. Please be sure to check surrounding areas carefully to ensure you have gathered all belongings and nothing is left behind. Thank you and we hope we provided you with an enjoyable travel experience. Have a lovely day and safe travels, everyone!” The operator chirps overhead and I immediately awaken. I narrow my eyes as I try to scan and process my surroundings. I look out the window and see a huge sign on the platform that reads Stockport.

“Finally,” I mutter under my breath. A tiny smile spreads across my face as I come to realize that what was once just a fantasy is now becoming reality.

  I swing my backpack over my shoulder and clutch my duffle bag. I happily march off the train and conveniently, my eyes land on the sign giving directions to the nearest passenger pickup area. Almost immediately, a taxi cab pulls up right next to me. The driver rolls down his window.

“Where to ma’am?” the driver beams at me with a huge grin, I can’t help but notice how prominent his dimples are. 

“Right..um..Alberta Street, please and thank you.” I smile brightly at him as I slide into cab while clutching my bags.

The driver pulls away and once again I lose inhibition as I watch us navigate our way through these busy English streets…

“‘ere we are, Alberta Street.” the driver looks back at me, smirking.

“Hey now, thanks. Take it easy.” I grin at him as I hand him some cash and I exit the car swiftly.

He rolls down his window just before taking off.

“Take care, miss.” he says while giving me a gentle nod.

“You as well.” I respond, a tiny smile creasing my face.

I watch as he drives away then turn to examine my surroundings. The neighborhood here is reminiscent to the suburbs near home, in Brooklyn. Most of the dwellings I’ve seen so far on this trip are made of brick. They remind me so much of the townhomes back home in Brooklyn, most of which are made of brick as well.

I hear Dan’s voice echoing in my head: 11 Alberta Street. It’s about a 3 minute walk to the studio. And try not to party too hard while you’re over there, kid. I smile at the thought.

Dan was kind enough to let me stay in his family’s Stockport flat while I’m here on business. I’ve only been with the company for 5 years yet I feel that I’ve built a pretty solid rapport and a sense of camaraderie with the people I work with..something I truly take pride in.

I march along the lot to search for building #11 and to my surprise, my eyes quickly find it. I snatch the keys to the flat from the front compartment of my backpack and unlock the front door. I’m immediately greeted with a nice floral scent wafting across the foyer.

I shut the door and make my way to the living room area and find this mustard yellow armchair to set my bags on. I run my hand along the chair, its texture appears to be made of velvet. I take a few minutes to assess my temporary living space. I walk over to the fireplace and notice just how impeccable it looks. It looks as though it’s barely been used judging from the mint condition of the furnace, and the three small logs stacked on top of it that appear freshly chopped. I run my fingers across the mantelpiece and pause as my eyes land on this small, oak brown pendulum clock that’s sitting right on top of it. I trace the exterior of the clock and notice that the numbers are written in roman numerals. The clock shows that it is now 3:30 pm. The shoot is at 4 pm. CRAP!

Right above the mantelpiece is this gigantic mirror. I check to make sure I look presentable, professional. I do my best to conduct myself in this manner, especially in terms of work. To my astonishment, my hair isn’t as disheveled as I thought it would be after all this traveling, and I am impressed that my eyeliner has not smeared. I take my wallet out of my denim jacket and throw it in my duffle bag with all my photography equipment and I bolt through the door, locking it before heading to the studio.

Dan’s words echo in my head once again: Easy to get to. If you walk straight through the alley way across the street from the flat, you’ll end up right on Waterloo Road. Look for Strawberry Studios. I follow this path and it doesn't take me long to get to the end of the alley. Across the street, I see the huge sign that Dan was talking about and written in silver italic lettering are the words Strawberry Studios, an image of a strawberry buried right in between those letters. I glance at both sides of the street and decide whether to chance it. I take a deep inhale and breathe out slowly, and clutching my duffle bag, I sprint across the street. Heart pounding, body temperature rising and I feel a serotonin boost as I fill my lungs with the warm summer air. So exhilarating. I reach the opposite street and I control my breathing before carrying on forward. And just from that little excursion, I can already feel a tiny bead of sweat trickle down my temple so I wipe it off with the back of my hand.

I march forward and pause in front of the studio. I look up and marvel at the words Strawberry Studios which appear magnified now that I am up close.  I’m here..this is it. Another one for the books! I bite my lower lip to try and stifle a smile as I take a moment to process all of this. I step onto the doorstep and take one more deep breath before ringing the doorbell. I press the doorbell gently and I hear a low buzzing sound coming from inside the studio. I run my fingers through my hair with one hand while clinging onto my duffle bag with the other.

The door swings open halfway and standing right in front of me is a young, petite blonde with piercing blue eyes. She’s wearing a black-and-white striped blouse and black trousers.

“Hello. May I help you, dear?” Her face immediately brightens with a smile. Her apple cheeks give her a rather youthful glow.

I clear my throat before speaking. “Um..yes. I’m Leah. Leah Walker. Here to take pictures?” I feel as if making an inquiry rather than providing a substantial introduction.

“Ah, there she is! I- WE have been expecting you, Ms. Walker.” A man’s voice resonates from behind the young woman.

A tall, slim looking fella appears from behind her. His brunette hair is cut about mid-length, and his shaggy bangs are slightly tousled across his forehead. He ogles me from head to toe through his rectangular specs. A tiny smirk interrupts the blunted expression on his face as he meets my gaze.

“Oh Jonathan! this is-” the young woman pauses as the man carefully brushes past her to get close to me.

“Well don’t be shy! Come on in, Ms. Walker.” Without asking, he takes my duffle bag and takes me by the hand as we enter the studio’s premises.

“Kathy, would you kindly tell the boys to meet us here for some brief introductions?” The man raises his eyebrows at Kathy.

“Oh yes, right away, sir!” Kathy grins at him before scurrying off into the rehearsal room.

“I apologize, this is so much to take in right now. Mind if I ask, but are you Jonathan King?” I feel some warmth in my face as gazes at me with his dark brown eyes.

“Mhm, you are absolutely correct, madame.” He smirks at me.

“Well it is my pleasure to meet you, Mr. King.” I wipe the sweat off my palms against my jeans and shake his hand. I glance at my duffle bag which he’s been clinging onto this entire time, and I’m beginning to feel embarrassed about his wholehearted accommodations thus far.

“Mr. King-”

“Please. Jonathan.” He continues to smirk at me.

“Um, Jonathan. My bag. I can-” I’m interrupted by the sudden presence of a shoulder brushing past me swiftly.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-” the young fella starts to give a genuine apology, but pauses as he locks his eyes with mine.

He gazes at me with his light brown doe eyes. His dark brown hair is just above shoulder length. His bangs are neatly styled in a curtain fringe. I turn to the other young man who is accompanying him. He looks about the same age, and appears to have a similar hairstyle, though this one is slightly shorter in stature and husky in frame. I turn my attention back to the fella who bumped into me. He has not taken his gaze off me. I peel my gaze away from him as I feel my face getting warmer.

“Eric! Lol! You came in at just the right time! I want you to meet the photographer, Leah.” Jonathan gives me a look of concern. There is some degree of uncertainty in his tone, “if you’re alright with being called that, of course.”

I clear my throat. “Oh yes of course! Just Leah is fine.” I smile at Jonathan, then peel my gaze, feeling bashful about being surrounded by all these men.

I stiffen up as I look everywhere but him. From the corner of my eye, I notice how he has kept his gaze on me. I tense my jaw and I feel a tiny lump travel down my throat as my anxiety kicks in. Stop looking at me..stop looking at me..stop look—

“Leah..” the young man whispers my name in a slightly melodic tone.

“Yes?” I turn quickly to face him.

“Hi..” he walks up to me slowly with a bit of swagger in his gait. I look past him to avoid locking eyes with him as he gets close to me.

“Look at me, Leah. I don’t bite..I promise.” He says caressingly, giving me a child-like grin. I sense a bit of sarcasm in his tone. He smells strongly of pot and aftershave. He’s higher than a kite.

I look into his tantalizing, light brown eyes. They have a slight tinge of pink in them, which validates my suspicion that he’s under the influence. Despite this, I can’t help but notice how his eyes slightly twinkle, like two shiny stars in the night sky, just when the light hits them in the perfect spot. Whether it’s due to substance or this is simply their norm, the reasoning seems, at this point, quite convoluted for why his eyes are so mesmerizing. I stand dumbfounded as he maintains his gaze on me. He’s so..stunning.

“I’m Er—”

The other young man suddenly brushes past him and I am taken aback when he steals my hand and gives me a long, vigorous handshake.          

“Well what’s a pretty young lady such as yourself doing in these parts, eh?! Anyways, welcome, welcome to the state-of-the-art Strawberry Studios! I am your host for today, Lol Creme, and this right here is my partner-in-crime, Eric Stewart!” Lol gives a long-winded, whimsical introduction as he maintains our handshake. I’m beginning to feel some discomfort in my arm.

Eric breaks the handshake as he brushes past Lol and he stands before me once again.

“Eric..” I mutter under my breath.

“Yes?” Eric piques with curiosity.

“So they call you Eric, huh?” I respond rather coolly.

“Mhm. And they call you, Leah, yeah?” He smirks at me. His response seems particularly suave.

“Yes.” I respond curtly without taking my gaze off him.

He doesn’t respond, and we’re both now standing here studying each other’s gaze. I feel a fluttering sensation in my stomach. I bite my lower lip softly to stifle a smile.

“Hang on a minute. Now where have you two been lurking? I’ve been looking all over for you!” Jonathan breaks the momentary silence.

“We were just taking a break in the loo, Jonathan.” Lol exclaims matter-of-factly, tutting his tongue and giving Jonathan a disgruntled look.

“Right. We’re not children, Jonathan. We can take breaks whenever we wish.” Eric chuckles, rolling his eyes at Jonathan.

Jonathan takes a stroll towards Eric. He stands close to him, their noses almost touching. He cocks his head to the side.

“And you expect me to believe that the two of you weren’t doing any funny business while you were on break hm, Stewart?” he narrows his eyes at Eric, his lips twisting into a smile off the corner of his mouth, “I wasn’t born yesterday, I know what you two were doing. You two have been smoking pot again, haven’t you? What have I told you about that?!”

“Sod off, King! Mind your business.” Eric scoffs, shaking his head.

Eric places his hand on my back and smiles broadly at me. It baffles me how he can look so young and mature at the same time.

“Sorry about that, love. Come. Let’s say hello to the others.” He leads me into the rehearsal room, Lol and Jonathan following behind us.

As we make our way into the rehearsal room, we are met by two other young men. They could almost pass as twins with their thick, black curls and similar facial features, though one of them is taller and has a much thinner frame.

“Eh! Kev and I were just about to come out and look for you.” The young man states matter-of-factly to Eric.

“Oh well that’s alright then. We’re all here, yeah?” Eric chuckles, “Graham. Kev. This is Leah. Leah, meet Graham and Kev.”

Graham extends a hand, and I firmly shake it. 

“Pleasure. Graham Gouldman. Bass guitar.” Graham says curtly. He looks at me with sleepy eyes, his lips twisting into a smile.

“And I’m Kevin Godley. The local jester. Most people call me Kevin, but you may call me the jester.” Kevin twirls his finger in a circular motion as he bows his head slightly.

I giggle at Kevin’s little commentary. “Well I gotta say gentlemen, you are quite an amusing bunch from what I can tell so far.” I glance at Eric whose face brightens the moment I meet his gaze.

“We’re glad to have you here.” Eric says in a soft, almost celestial tone. I notice some tension leaving his facial muscles.

“And I’m glad..very glad to be here.”

“Alright children, let’s get to work!” Jonathan exclaims, sounding business-like. He storms into the rehearsal room with my equipment.

Oh, right. Work. I forgot about that…

———————————————————————————

next chapter>>

please visit my masterlist if you would like to see some of my other work :))

[frootyrooties]

spoiler #2 🤭

[frootyrooties]

“Just before I pluck up the courage to knock on the door, it swings open, startling me slightly. And right before me stands the man that has been living in my head this past week. He gives me his usual, pretty boy smirk as we lock eyes. His facial expression rubs off on me as I find myself staring back at him with a smug expression on my face.

I examine his attire from top to bottom. Mildly unkempt shoulder-length hair, curtain bangs guarding the sides of his eyes, a black button down shirt partway unbuttoned, revealing a small patch of chest hair, and a beige suit jacket cloaking the button down. I notice how he has his shirt tucked into his denim bell bottom jeans, and a dark brown leather belt to secure the jeans in place. His navy blue platforms are the cherry on top. How impressive, the way he dolled up as I did. He must have gotten the same memo. Not bad, Stewart, not bad. What do you think about my outfit then, hm?”

—Leah Walker, excerpt from Chances, Chapter 4: Spark pt. I

[frootyrooties]

A huge thank you to the incredibly talented @rkee-tmbr for this beautiful drawing of my beloveds Eric and Leah in the cigarette scene from my fic Chances: Ch. 2 pt. I ✨ I’m literally obsessed with this 😭 they’re perfect 💕

I owe you big time for this Lee 🥺💗

[frootyrooties]

chances

CH 2: VOGUE PT. II 

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: a whole lotta fluff 🍦, some flirting, musicians? models? why not both?, a little taste of 10cc talent, curious Eric, concerned Eric, begging, begging, lots of begging, flustered Leah a/n: The much anticipated sequel to Chapter 2 pt. I! The boys finally get their beauty shots in this concluding chapter and I threw in some extra stuff to spice things up.

“I hope you fancy this tune as much as I do.”

The Canon F-1. With its slick black finish, solid body, portability and relatively user-friendly settings, it is the perfect camera for the fastidious photographer. I received this camera as a birthday gift from my father last year, and it has since become my trusted companion. I diligently study the device. Even though I had checked earlier to make sure there is a new roll of film in place, I perform another check for good measure. I unlock the back compartment and gander at the film–it is undamaged, secure and ready for use. I only snapped a few photos earlier, so I should have an adequate amount of film remaining. I proceed to close it then take out my external flash device and mount it on the camera accordingly. I was being proactive the night before departing for this trip and had attached the appropriate lens I intend on using so it would be one less thing for me to worry about. I bring the camera strap over my head and allow it to rest along the back of my neck. For my peace of mind, I check to ensure that the strap is securely fastened to the device itself–with the camera strap attached, I can freely move about without worrying that I will drop the device. I’ve learned this from past mistakes.  

I hoist myself up off the floor, clutching my camera and gracefully marching over to the stage where the men have congregated. I begin to pace along the perimeter of the stage, smiling as I heed their indistinguishable banter. Oh the joys of trying to understand men with silly accents..

I pause along center stage and turn my attention to Lol, who is scrupulously combing Eric’s hair with his fingers. I bring a hand over my mouth to hide my amusement at this fascinating interaction. 

“Ouch! Lol stop it, you’re hurting me!” Eric scowls at Lol, dodging Lol’s grip as he attempts to grab a hold of his hair. 

“Oh Eric Stewart, how could I ever tire of touching your long, silky smooth hair?” Lol speaks in a feminine tone, a seemingly exaggerated imitation of a woman smitten by a charming man. He bats his eyes jokingly at Eric. 

Eric playfully rolls his eyes and chuckles, “you’re mad, Creme.” 

“Mad for you, Eric Stewart.” Lol grins widely at Eric, gently patting his back. 

Eric whispers into Lol’s ear and the two chuckle. Their faces are beaming. Eric smiles timidly, seemingly deep in thought. He brings his head down, his bangs falling gently over the corners of his eyes. Lol follows Eric with his eyes. He smiles genially at him, his dimples growing more prominent. I swiftly turn the flash off the camera and quickly zoom in on their faces and snap a picture. And they barely even noticed..With my impressive muscle memory, my thumb immediately clicks the advancing lever to rotate the film. 

I glance over at Graham and Kevin who appear to be mindlessly fiddling around with their instruments. I stroll casually towards Graham and Kevin’s side of the stage and observe them keenly. 

Graham flawlessly transitions from tuning his bass to fiddling with his instrument, skillfully producing a random tune–a tune I can hardly recognize, but one with a catchy rhythm. I take the opportunity to make small talk with him. 

“Hi. Would you mind playing me something?” My lips twist into a smile off the corner of my mouth as I gaze up at him. This is a little business tactic I’ve acquired from years of doing photography: get them to be comfortable around you then strike while the iron is hot! 

Making small talk with each of them will allow me the chance to familiarize myself with their personalities and establish some sort of rapport with them. I find that this is the best way for me to build a trusting relationship with my clients, no matter how long or short our working relationship is. 

My intention is to make this a comfortable atmosphere for everyone. For Graham, Kevin, Eric and Lol. I want them to be genuine, raw, unashamed and confident around me. I speak from experience when I say that the best candid shots I’ve ever taken are the ones where my clients go about their business without regarding my presence. This is what I hope to achieve with these boys today. 

Graham gives me a smug look as he flips his gorgeous curls, “well what do you want to hear?” 

“Surprise me.” 

“Ok. But you have to tell me the name of the song afterwards.” he chuckles, smirking at me. 

“Fair game.” I retort with confidence. I am by no means a musician. But I’ve been exposed to them enough to be able to recognize certain bass lines and guitar riffs common in today’s popular music. 

Graham begins to pluck away at the opening bass line. I attend with patient ears, while simultaneously being mindful and prepared to capture his best picture perfect moments. At this point in time, I cannot pinpoint which particular song he’s playing the bass line of, but I give him a moment to build up to it. 

I take this opportunity to appreciate Graham’s features once again now that we’re in a more intimate setting. His sleepy eyes are fixed on each fret his expert fingers land on. He plays rather effortlessly yet diligently, ensuring not one chord is missed. He gazes studiously at each fret of his beloved instrument, knowing fully well he could quite possibly hit each chord perfectly without having to gander at his fingers. However, he maintains modesty in displaying his talent–a rather admirable attribute. My eyes fixate on his prominent jawline. I notice the way he clenches his jaw ever so subtly as he focuses on his task–a seemingly typical male mannerism that never fails to instill strong emotions in me. His thick, jet black curls show lustrous against the studio light. I never thought lengthy eyelashes could suit a man, but dear Graham has clearly defied all odds. 

With his eyes planted on his instrument, I take it upon myself to begin capturing his visuals. I turn the flash on this time and zoom in on his face. Gorgeous boy. I snap a photo and quickly move to his right to get him from a different angle. I kneel on one knee and zoom my camera out slightly to capture him and his bass. I snap another image. He’s barely flinched. Impressive. 

My teeth sink into my lower lip to stifle a smile as he glances at me off the corner of his eyes, his lips twisting into a bashful smile. I snap another photo. Perfect. 

It dawns on me suddenly which song this bass line is from, and I somehow find myself singing along to the tune under my breath.

“He got hair down to his knee..got to be a joker he just do what he please.” I chant under my breath, humming the tune in between words. 

Graham pauses suddenly and beams at me. “You’ve got a nice voice.” 

I feel my face growing a bit warm. I chuckle nervously, a feeble smile breaking across my face. 

“Thank you..sorry I..I got carried away.” 

“That’s quite alright, no need to apologize. Your voice..it’s really nice,” he smiles at me boyishly, “so, you know the song then?” 

I roll my eyes playfully at him, twisting my lips into a smile. “Did you have to go with a Beatles song?”

“Mm..you haven’t answered my question. What’s the name of the song?” he raises an eyebrow, giving me a smug look. 

“Do I get anything in return? You know, for identifying the song correctly?” 

“Are we just chopped liver, then?” Eric strolls across the stage with Lol following behind him. He places his elbow over Graham’s shoulder, gazing at me with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh, it’s you again..” There is gross sarcasm in my tone. I playfully roll my eyes at him and peel away from his gaze. I suddenly find myself placing a hand over my mouth to hide my nervous smile.  

“Mhm, it’s me again. Something the matter with that?” Goodness gracious, why is he such a..boy? A pretty boy at that.

Eric strides over towards me and leans his hands against his waist, smirking at me. “Anyways, I thought this was a 10cc photoshoot, not a Graham Gouldman bass extraordinaire photo spree, hm?” 

“Graham Gouldman bass extraordinaire! Eric, have you gone mad?!” Graham cackles boisterously. 

“He’s not just mad, Graham, he’s a bloody lunatic!” Lol chuckles, shooting a glance at Graham and shaking his head in amusement. 

“Shush, enough from the peanut gallery over there.” he cranes his head over towards Lol and Graham, his lips twisting into a boyish smile, then he shifts his head back to face me. 

“Well you seemed a bit busy doing whatever it was you were doing so I figured I’d leave you to it.” I cross my arms, pouting my lips. My eyes are now fixed on his. 

“Oh is that right? Or maybe that’s your poor excuse for wanting me to come to you instead.” he maintains his smug facial expression. 

“Geez Louise, are you always this annoying?” I chuckle nervously, maintaining a fixed gaze on him as I await his response. 

“Ohh..so I’m annoying now? Very well then. I guess I won’t be needed in this photoshoot. Now, if you’ll excuse me–” 

“Would you stop it? Now, why don’t you play me something? Graham did a beautiful rendition of Come Together on his bass. I want to hear from you now, Eric.” 

“Say please?” he pleads with his eyes. 

I march gracefully towards him and crane my head up to face him. My face breaks into a jovial smile as I gaze into his enchanting eyes. 

“Pretty please?” I bat my eyes jokingly at him.  

“I like the sound of that.” he smirks, then proceeds to march towards center stage. 

Eric quickly tunes his guitar and fiddles around with some random chords before immersing himself into a song. 

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes, his face beaming. He proceeds to speak into the microphone to render a speech. 

“Thank you, Strawberry crew. I would like to dedicate this next number to our esteemed guest, the lovely and talented Ms. Leah Walker,” he chuckles, “I hope you fancy this tune as much as I do.” He raises his brows at me then delves into the beginning riff of the song. 

His eyes adhere to his fingers as they skate across the fretboard. I am quick to recognize the tune. There is some familiarity to it–it has a strong punch, it’s powerful, riveting even, yet simple and very catchy. Dad used to beat this song like a dead horse on his good ‘ole rickenbacker back in the day..I was blessed with a musician as a father which made for an interesting childhood. There was never a dull moment in our household growing up. It’s no surprise why I am able to identify songs by riff alone given the wisdom my father has shared with me on music theory. 

“Rumble..” I mutter under my breath. 

I stride towards center stage to get a good glimpse of Eric. I gaze up at him with admiration. His bangs are slightly tousled over his forehead. He charmingly flips his hair as he progresses through the riff. I zoom in on his face with my camera and snap an image. I shift to one corner and kneel on both knees and aim my camera upwards to get him in frame. I zoom my lens out ever so slightly just enough to get him and his guitar in the portrait. I capture another image, smiling at him adoringly. I hoist myself up and march on back over to him. 

“You don’t strike me as someone who fancies a little Link Wray. He’s one of my favorites. My dad used to play this song day in, day out down in our basement.” I am suddenly hit with a quick flashback of my childhood. A tiny smile breaks across my face as I reminisce about those happier, more innocent days. 

Eric pauses his performance. “Your father taught you well then. And you know, it’s rude to interrupt a musician while he’s in the middle of performing an important score.” His tone is facetious. 

“Ohh..right, where are my manners?!” I retort sarcastically, “so anyway, I’m curious to know what you like to do for fun when you’re not making sweet, sweet love to your guitar.” Business tactic. 

“Is that what you think I do?” he snorts audibly. He grins from ear to ear as he tries to further process my statement. 

I quickly snap his image and giggle rather mischievously. “Beautiful..” 

“So this is how you run your sessions? Clever girl..” 

“Are you going to answer my question, Mr. Stewart?” I cock my head to one side. I gaze up at him with arms crossed, raising a brow at him. My lips twist into a cheeky smile as I await his response.

“My God, soo demanding..” he leans his arms over the body of his guitar, then proceeds to construct a response, “well if you must know..when I’m not, as you say, making love to my Gibson, you’ll find me tucked away in the garage doting on my Ferrari collection.” 

“So you’re a car guy, huh?” 

“Oh more than just a car guy..I’m involved.” 

“Now why are we larking about? It is now 6:30 pm and we’re still not through with the shoot. What’s going on here?” Jonathan enters the studio from one of the side doors. He displays some degree of aggravation in his tone. 

“That’s my fault, Mr. King, I’m holding them up. We’re almost finished.” I say this matter-of-factly. I’d rather take the blame for any delays. 

“Gentlemen, one last thing before we conclude this session. Graham, Eric, Lol..I need you fellas to stand right by Kevin. You all seem to be a natural at this so just be yourselves, alright?” 

The guys congregate around Kevin as directed. They fix themselves accordingly. I’ve been so entranced by this group that I’ve barely noticed just how casually dressed they are. The guys are all adorned in a mixture of denim, flannel shirts and casual pullover sweaters. I love how un-rock ‘n’ roll they are. 

We conclude the session with several shots of the guys flocked around Kevin and a few with Lol being the centerpiece.. 

I check my watch and notice that the time is now 7:00 pm. I resist the urge to yawn. 

“You must be tired, lady.” Eric peers into my eyes. His smile is charming. Contagious, even. 

“Mhm..time for me to go.” I give into yawning, “oh boy..what a day..” 

“Um..when will I..I mean, we hear back from you? you know, about the status of our pictures?” 

“Well since you boys have been very accommodating today, I have my ways of expediting the process. I plan on swinging over to the photo lab first thing in the morning so I can get your photos developed hopefully by the end of tomorrow. So, to answer your question Eric, give me a couple days to get it done.” My tone is reassuring. 

“Will you be delivering the pictures to us?” He maintains his gaze on me. His tone is perturbed. 

“Well I’m going to be busy within the next few days. I have a few other shoots to get through this week, but I will do my best to swing by and hand deliver them myself. If not, I have an apprentice working for me who is aware of my plan and will be more than happy to deliver your pictures in case I‘m not available to do it.” 

For a moment, we are covered with a veil of silence as we both try to mentally process the act of parting ways. I want to see you again too, Eric. I think you’re interesting and I want to get to know more about you and your incredible life..

He sighs deeply, almost despairingly, then slips a tiny piece of paper into the palm of my hand while bringing my hand up to his face to plant gentle kiss on my knuckle. Butterflies, again. 

“On behalf of the group and myself, thank you for making this day memorable.” He smiles at me meekly. I cannot seem to comprehend how a grown man could look so pure and innocent yet ripe all at once. “Call the studio if you have any concerns..about anything..anything at all.” 

“Eric..I..today was great. Thank you..for everything.” I gently peel my hand away from his hold. Something in me is compelling me to kiss him on the cheek. No..no..too soon. 

“I really hope to see you again.” He is seemingly pleading.

“Oh you will. I’m sure you will. Goodnight, Eric.” I take one last look at him before heading out the door. 

“Goodnight.” 

I swing my backpack over my shoulder and proceed to exit the studio, resisting the urge to turn around and look back at him. I stagger just outside the studio’s premises. I inhale deeply, then exhale one slowed and controlled breath as I take a moment to process the whole slew of events that occurred today. Where’s a cigarette when I need one? 

I unravel the tiny piece of paper that Eric seamlessly slipped into my hand just before parting ways. I read his writing:

Please call me at Strawberry if you need anything.

01612857303

-Eric

I think I just felt my stomach drop.

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