Simmer Dim

Matthew is getting more and more comfortable about the idea of Kamal, about the idea of being around him and being with him and not driving himself into panicky fits at the very thought of him. When he dresses for this dinner, he makes sure his bottle of Valium is in the pocket of his suit, but he only takes one ahead of time and he doesn't drink any beer or even smoke one of his cigarettes (he's trying to keep the smell off his clothes).

He manages to tame his hair somewhat, and straightens his tie obsessively, but by seven o'clock he's at the agreed-upon restaurant, even wearing cufflinks, looking exceptionally respectable and only a little nervous. The nervousness, though, is half-eclipsed by the brilliance of his smile.

True to his word, Matthew shows up at the coffee shop the next day to meet Kamal there. This time it only takes one Xanax, and no beer at all, and he even makes sure the cigarette smell is cleaned off him before he arrives. Admittedly he didn't sleep last night, and had a bit of a panic attack at David, but by noon he's presentable and his heart rate is only a quarter again what it should be instead of twice.

He looks around hopefully, a bit of a half-smile on his lips.

It takes about half a pack of his American Spirits, one or two of the Xanax the doctor in Edinburgh prescribes him, and a bottle of some reasonably inoffencive microbrew, but eventually Matthew works himself up to the point where he can pick up the card Kamal gave him and dial the number into his mobile.

The worst Kamal can do is say no, he reminds himself, reciting David; although as far as he's concerned this is an outright lie.

Even David eventually gets to a point where he needs downtime, and he's spending the Tuesday afternoon sprawled on the bed in the room he shares with Matthew, with a battered book of crosswords for company. That, of course, and the phone. Theoretically this is for the purpose of coordinating the movements of six people; actually it's mostly in case Eden calls him.

Matthew assures himself repeatedly that Kamal did not seem like the kind of guy to say he'd show up and then cancel, but he still breathes short until he can pick Kamal out of the crowd in the pub. After the performances he hurries in between the people, elbowing them aside while looking as inconspicuous as possible.

"Hey! Hey, you made it! Come backstage, I want you to talk to Greig. What did you think? Did you like the show?"

Andy is aware that he is losing Daphne's interest somewhat, but she is certainly not losing his, mainly as she still has not slept with him. To this end he has decided upon a new strategy to put things back on the course he is hoping for.

So on Sunday morning, fighting his hangover, he calls her to invite her to lunch with his family. Then he informs the others that he's having a girl over to meet them, and endures the somewhat suspicious looks this rather unprecedented act earns him. He calls down to room service for a decent lunch to be brought up, and even bothers to put on something not what he passed out in the night before.

And at twelve-thirty he is ready and waiting for her in the lobby of the hotel.

Matthew is, for once, feeling almost all right; talking to Claire helps in a way he can't quite express, fills a little of the feeling of emptiness and loneliness that's always following him. He slept well last night, and in the morning, instead of holing himself up in his hotel room with two packs of American Spirits and a carafe of coffee, he decides to try going out.

It takes some work, some difficulty with subway maps, several trips to several Starbucks, one anxiety attack that leaves him shivering in an alleyway, and a nice Indian couple with a corner grocery, but finally he manages to get Central Park, with a caramel latte and his messenger bag full of notebook pages and crackly old books of celtic lyrics.

Once he's sure that he's in the right place he finds a bench off the beaten path and settles down there, crosslegged, balancing his drink on one knee and papers strewn across his lap. To-day might actually be a good day.

Claire is practicing, barefoot in the middle of her room.

"'Why wear a blue kerchief, maiden, I said. Because the blue color is not one to fade..."

Eden has the day off, but even on her days off she tends to visit the aquarium (in her private fantasies she owns the aquarium and she has to check on her exhibits to make sure the tropical fish, seahorses, and gorgeous jellies are doing okay). Thom always lets her get in without paying, since it does make that big of a difference anyway.

It's about three, and she's finally breaking for lunch. Usually that means getting something to do and walking down the street where all the nightclubs and venues are, checking the marquees to see whether any of the bands sound worth going to. She has a salad in a plastic box, and she's studying the two-inch high letters announcing Simmer Dim. It is, in her opinion, not the most enticing name she has ever heard.

Matthew is firmly ensconced in his hotel room--he doesn't mind when they're just in the city, but the occasional venue outside of Manhattan triggers all his nervous centres, and he's doing his best to pretend that nothing else exists besides him and his pages of notes. He's not writing his own lyrics for the time being, just rearranging traditionals into a form he likes better, which is less stressful overall.

He is chain-smoking, something he only does when he's writing. There are two empty packs on the table already, the ashtray is overflowing, and he has another one between his fingers as he frowns at the paper, tapping a rhythm on his knee.

He hasn't been outside in over twelve hours, nor has he stopped to eat, but that's normal. He doesn't really think anyone is going to bother him over that. Not really.