WEB13

Part 17

With each day that passed during the recording process, the atmosphere became much more relaxed, yet still focused on finishing the job. In addition, we were coming closer and closer together � instead of coming to the studio every morning, completing our tasks for the day and then going home, we hung out together afterwards to wind down. Or, in a few instances, to terrorize Sydney. The stunts that were pulled in bars and nightclubs turned into running gags, and as we learned more about one another, the jokes increased. I felt like they�d accepted me into their �exclusive clique� of theirs, despite the fact they hadn�t known me as long as they�d known each other. They welcomed Tez and I into their circle with open arms, and after a while I began to change how I�d thought of them upon the first meeting at the Metro. One major thing I disliked about myself was the way I was too quick to judge and sometimes dismiss people based on nothing but first impressions.

The final day in the studio was like a 24-hour party. Once loose ends were tied in the morning, the remainder of the day was spent jamming and making a complete mess of the studio. We knew we�d be responsible for the cleaning duties afterwards, but for that day at least, the care factor was minimal. Throughout the recording process, Tez and Jason had put a large blackboard against one wall and divided it into two halves. One half had a countdown to the final day, and the other half became a message board for the group to write jokes, reminders, addresses and phone numbers. The assorted scrawling included:

..."Shopping List: Eyeliner, deodorant, guitar pick, prostitute."...
..."I've ducked out for five minutes to have a fag...and then to have a cigarette."...
..."Are we done yet?"...
..."Pizza Hut � 13 11 66. For Christ�s sake, no anchovies."...
..."Why do they call hurricanes chicks� names? - They�re wet and wild when they come and take the house when they go!"...
..."Hey, boys, bring us back some souvenirs from Bali, eh? And don�t drink the water! I speak from experience!"

Our celebrations were still going strong by the time we locked up the studio. Paul�s house became the venue for our wrap party, and by 11pm everyone, except Paul and I, was heavily into the alcohol we�d bought on our way home. The two of us were in high spirits and wanted to celebrate, but also wanted to spare ourselves from hangovers as we�d booked our flight to Bali the following day. However, we allowed ourselves two or three bottles of beer, which wouldn�t affect us very much, and laughed as our friends made spectacles of themselves. Tez was the main casualty of the gathering, already draped over the shoulder of his boyfriend. As with everything Tez did in his life, he always did it in excess.

As Austin swaggered to the tune of the Beach Boys� �I Get Around�, Paul heard his phone ringing and took the cordless phone into the kitchen. I climbed on top of a table and sat cross-legged while those who could still walk and talk at the same time started a human train that wound around the room. It made its way towards me with Luke in the lead, and as he saw me he winked and pressed something into my palm. I looked down at it and sighed. Drugs. I wasn�t surprised but definitely disappointed. Drugs and alcohol were a lethal mix � I thought they would at least have the brains not to have any at all, let alone combine the two. As much as I didn�t want to give the impression of a party-pooper, if I kept quiet about it I could possibly find myself staring at a dead body in the morning. Didn�t these guys have any self-control? They�d proven to me throughout the day that they didn�t need the drugs to have a good time.

I slid off the table and left the room in search of Paul, the drugs still in my hand. Nobody asked me where I was going, but I felt a hand brushing my arse as I left. I didn�t bother looking at the owner of the hand. As I walked down the corridor I saw Paul�s shadow on the wall of the kitchen, sitting motionlessly, and entered without knocking.

"Babe, we need to talk about something," I began, but I stopped when I saw Paul. He was sitting at the kitchen bench, staring at the wall with his cordless phone underneath his chin. I heard the lonely sound of the dial tone as I stepped closer.

"Is anything wrong?" I asked, touching his shoulder. He broke his stare away from the wall and took a long, deep sigh.

"Wil�s dead."

"What?" My jaw dropped, and I shook my head in disbelief. "How?"

"He hung himself."

Paul�s face showed no expression of sadness, but his eyes were widened and his face looked a little pale. Though I�d hated Wil, I was shocked at the news, and so too was Paul. I struggled for words to say, opening and closing my mouth.

Finally I managed to ask, "Whoever told you...did they say why he did it?"

Paul nodded but didn�t say anything, toying with the phone in his hands. His answer was in his silence: Though he�d treated him badly in the past, Wil wanted Paul so much he was prepared to die if he couldn�t have him. That evening at the studio was when he realised that he�d lost his chance with him.

I was prepared for Paul to cry, but I wasn�t prepared for his reaction that came about a minute of silence later. He put the phone on the bench, stood up and muttered, "So stupid."

"Huh?"

"Wil. Going off and hanging himself like that. Doing it over me. He�s an idiot." He busied himself by taking clean, dry dishes from their rack and putting them back into their cupboards. "Not only stupid, but incredibly selfish."

I could sense that he was close to breaking point but didn�t want to get there, not after the way he�d dismissed Wil that evening. He was trying hard to maintain composure, but his voice was wavering and he spoke as though he was trying to convince himself of what he was saying.

"Paul..." I moved to his side. He refused to look me in the eye, because I could see they were filling with tears, and he was fighting to keep them under control.

"But I�m not going to let it ruin my evening," he continued, almost throwing a plate on top of its pile. "He and I finished with each-other a long time ago. I�ve just finished an album, I�m here with my good friends, I�ve got you, we�re going to Bali tomorrow, I�m finally doing what I�ve always wanted to do...Why let something like this get me down, right?"

"Paul..." I repeated, grabbing his arm as he moved to put a coffee mug on its appropriate rack. He twisted it out of my grasp and stared into the empty sink, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I�m fine," he insisted, but he knew I didn�t believe him. As I gently pulled him closer and wrapped my arms around him, he let himself go and began to sob softly, burying his head into my shoulder. While the party a few rooms down the hall was in full swing, the kitchen was almost silent, words seeming inappropriate. Though he no longer cared about Wil romantically, the feeling of responsibility for his suicide must have been overwhelming. I let him cry as much as he felt he needed to, hugging him comfortingly, before he pulled back and reached for a tissue.

"Fuck, I�ve saturated your shirt," he said apologetically, wiping his eyes and sniffling.

"It�s okay..." I held him by the shoulders. "You don�t have to apologise. Cry as much or as little as you want, Paul...Will he be having a funeral?"

Paul nodded. "In two days."

"Well, tell you what � tomorrow morning I�ll call Qantas and cancel our booking."

"No, don�t! I mean, I don�t really want to go to the funeral. I want to get out of here, I don�t want to think about him."

"Are you sure?"

Paul nodded. "Yeah, I�m sure."

I sighed and gave him another hug, pecking his cheek. "Okay. I won�t cancel. But I�ll completely understand if you want to come home, alright?"

"I won�t come home. I want to be with you," he whispered.

We stood silently for another minute or so, and then I asked, "Will you be okay?"

"I�ll be fine. I just need distractions." He dabbed at his face with the tissue once more before putting it in his pocket and holding me by the waist. "Let�s get back to the party. Please? I don�t want to think about Wil."

"Of course, whatever you want. Are you going to tell the others what happened?"

As we walked together into the corridor, he considered this before attempting a laugh. "Nah. They�d just forget about it two minutes after I tell them. I�ll leave them a note tomorrow morning, before we leave."

We entered the room where our friends were gathered, and I found them in an even worse state than how I�d left them a few minutes earlier. Most of them were bowling with a pile of empty beer bottles and an apple while the others had draped themselves onto the couches. As they saw us coming in, they slurred their greetings and gave them an �up-nod�, their way to acknowledge someone when they were either tired or drunk. Paul put on a friendly smile and sat with me on top of the table.

"Aaay, let�s play somethin�!" Luke shouted, reaching for his guitar that he had placed, along with everyone else�s instruments, in a corner of the room.

"What do you wanna play?" Steve asked, sitting on Tez�s lap.

"Hell, I don�t know." Luke did his best to position the guitar and pluck a few strings, but gave up quickly when he realised he was too drunk to play properly.

"Ah, crap. Here, you take the bloody thing," he said as he held it out to me. "You play, right?"

"Um, yeah, but I haven�t played in a while," I replied, sitting the guitar in my lap. Paul sat back a little and rested his chin on my shoulder. "I don�t know many songs either."

"Well, play what you do know," Jason said, crouching on the floor in front of me.

The room was now silent as everyone stared at me with anticipation. I turned my head and looked at Paul, and he nodded and patted my arm in encouragement. I mentally went through the various songs I could play back when I played the guitar more often, settled on one and began to play the intro, fumbling in a few parts but continuing regardless. Paul recognised the song and sang along.

"Imagine there�s no heaven, it�s easy if you try..." As the others realised what song it was, they smiled and cheered teasingly as they tried to grab our legs. They went quiet again after a moment and let us continue the song. "No hell below us, above us only sky...Imagine all the people living for today..."

By the time we reached the chorus, the entire room was singing, although some could do nothing but slur. The music provided the distraction that Paul was seeking, but even without his saying so, I knew that when we stopped Wil would quickly return to mind. Though we didn�t think very highly of him while he was alive, the news of his death still came as a shock. It made me think: While some may treat someone close to them badly, does it necessarily mean that they don�t really love them deep down inside? What if that person just doesn�t know how to express their love? And if this was true, did Paul�s dad really care about him at all, and just made a very bad mistake that he�d have to live with for the rest of his life? Perhaps some have more trouble showing their love than others and become frustrated with themselves, so it becomes anger or violence.

As we came to the end of the song and I strummed one final note, Paul reached around and softly kissed my neck. We both hoped that our trip to Bali tomorrow would give us even more distraction, a time when we didn�t have to think about our lives back at home. Some time together, away from our duties and our troubles here, would not only be relieving, but it could bring us closer together.

CONTINUING SOON...


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