music for the neck downwards

battle of wits

He joined her once the record was switched to blues, laying down and basking in her warmth. It was not enough, though, and he moved to rest on her chest. Both bored, Angie began to read from a poetry book Marianne had gotten her, and Keith listened willingly. Upon reflection many years later, Angie would pick this moment as the last time Keith ever felt truly hers.

"How are you doing, doll?" Mick smiled at her, a certain smile he knew that won him anything he asked for. His hands moved to squeeze Angie's knee, and what was considered a polite gesture to anyone else had Angie panicked; she cowered from his touch as if he was anything scary.

"Very well," Angie replied, watching as Keith worked ahead in the studio. It was September, and while most people would be returning to school, Angie was doing nothing instead, "How's Marianne?"

A battle of wits, it was between them. Mick used the fact that Keith had his back turned to lean into her ear, "She's very well, also. You're showing me it's really true that you glow while pregnant, by the way."

"It's sweat," She told him, dryly, through pursed lips, "The lights in here are blinding."

"Are you sure you're not just nervous to be near me?" Oh, Angie thought, Mick and that stupid, stupid, stupid beautiful smile of his. She continued staring straight ahead, watching anything but the sly singer beside her.

"Positive. You don't scare me one bit."

Mick then stood up, standing and bending down in front of her so she'd have no choice but to look into his dangerously convincing eyes, "I think we both know that's a lie."

It had been Brian she first fell in love with. His beautiful, neat hair fell over his head like a halo then; in a magazine she had read, they called him Mr. Shampoo. She could see why, especially for the first time she ever saw him in person, below him at that concert in 1965.

She stood by the backstage entrance, unsure of why. This was a different time, and 'groupie' was not quite coined yet, even though she had shared an interesting night already with Paul McCartney over a bottle of wine and shots of whiskey. There was a passion twirling in her stomach, so force-driving that she snuck in the door and past the security guard before she even registered this decision. Her friend, Donna, walked with her; the both of them straightened up and tried to look as though they belonged in the hustle and bustle that backstage was.

"Excuse me girls, may I see your passes?" A man stopped them; he was dressed in plain clothes, not in any security uniform, but Angie assumed this was one of those undercover ones.

"Of course," Donna blinked long and slow and batted her eyelashes, "We're just getting them from Mick, should we find you once we do?" Good old Donna, always thinking on her feet.

The man rolled his eyes playfully, "Oh, of course you guys are here for Mick! No, you don't need to find me, have a good day ladies." He walked away, and Donna and Angie allowed them a moment to recollect themselves before walking along with a sure swagger that was purely estimated.

They stood outside the door marked 'dressing room', unsure of what to do next. They couldn't just barge into the dressing room, now could they? Donna pulled out two cigarettes; they smoked them, and thought.

"Hey, are you guys one of the dancers? 'Cuz I think you're supposed to be on stage now?" A man interrupted them; they recognized him instantly, of course. Bill Wyman awkwardly regarded them, with the illusive figure behind him, struggling with his jacket. Their faces, still marked with condensation, were red with triumph.

"No, we're not dancers! What do you mean by that?" Donna scoffed, faking-mad, giving Bill a soft push. Angie stayed silent, thinking how she wished she wore different shoes; she had a pair better at home that would've fit more with her skirt.

"Oh, just thought you were beautiful enough to be." Bill replied, attempting to hide the fact that he was looking at Donna's shirt, which was lower than any other girls' at the time. Donna smirked, "I'm Donna, this is Angie."

Bill looked at Angie as if he just noticed she was there, "I'm Bill, this is Keith." The figure behind him finally righted himself in the suit jacket, in time to look up and receive Angie's gaze. She did not know how invasive her eyes felt, but Keith would tell her later and always, the way they felt like she had seen all of him that day.

"Well, aren't you going to invite us inside, Bill?" Donna gestured towards the dressing room door, still with the bedroom eyes. If Angie cared enough, she would've felt bad for this blatant usage of Bill's liberties just for Donna to have a go at her beloved Mick, but she didn't.

"What do you think, Keith? Are we gonna invite them inside?" Bill looked over his shoulder, trying to look sly and cool. Keith just shrugged and mumbled underneath his breath, "Uh, I dunno."

Inside the dressing room, Brian was strumming on his guitar. Angie lost her breath seeing him in person, and lost it again seeing him writing letters to his girlfriend. That was the end of that, and that particular memory brought her back to 1967 with an uncomfortable jump. Regardless, she promised she was going to call Donna- she hadn't in awhile.