Capricorn Season - Jimmy Page

Chapter 20

"Gwen!" His arms were extended by his side, his brows raised in surprise. And he was wearing that stupid smile. The same one that I previously had fallen for. But now that I had more wisdom and greater self-esteem, it was no longer charming. It was like being pricked by a pin. The sun ripped through the clouds, beaming brightly, and warmed his dark skin, being absorbed by its color. His curly hair was short to his scalp and bleached blond. This was a new look. To my chagrin, I had to admit that it did suit him. "Hi." I smiled tersely, pulling my lips into a barely suitable shape. 

"How have you been? How long has it been? What, three years?"

"Something like that." I didn't answer his question fully. Before he could ask anything else Jimmy found us, saving me in the process. "I've got it, thankfully. Wouldn't want to be there all day. Oh, hello, who's this?" I could see the gears in his head working as his eyes grazed past Dom. "This is Dominic Stephens, I've told you about him before."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you have. I'm Jimmy, Gwen's boyfriend." He extended a hand, being the ever-present English gentleman. They exchanged hand sweat, then pulled away shortly after colliding. "So what have you been up to? I see you're with a... new crowd."

"Oh, yes, a new crowd. I-"

"We're actually on tour. It's been lovely, I think. Guinevere is our photographer." He cut me off, his eyes slanting into an intense stare. I've seen him do this when being interviewed or having his photo taken when he doesn't want it. "Tour? What kind of tour?" His voice was falsely inquisitive, he just wanted to dig for more information. "A musical tour."

"Oh, like Broadway? You don't look like the dancing type." I cracked a smile, pressing my knuckle to my lips to stop a laugh from coming forth. "You'll have to forgive his ignorance. Dominic is more of the... studious type. He didn't know who The Beatles were until 1967."

"I play guitar for a group called Led Zeppelin."

"Really? I think I've heard of y'all. Some say you're pretty good. Heard you played well at some pop festivals."

"Oh, yes, we quite like playing those. Always a good time." Now Jimmy was wearing his awkward smile, the thin-lipped excuse he wears when he's finished talking to someone. "How are you, Gwen?" He asked, turning his attention back to me. "I'm doing well. I've got a real photography job, thankfully." I held up my camera, giving a smile.

"Oh, no more small galleries for you!" His jab at our breakup hit me right where it hurt. The pink and tender fleshy wound was scratched, threatening to open back up. Seeing him again ripped the band-aid right off, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. He could see this and used it to his advantage. He always had an uncanny ability to see when I was down and assess just how to kick me. "Nope, I'm in the big leagues now. I have a manager and everything." I parried his attempt at a dig. "Well isn't that great? Jimmy, have you been to any of her shows?"

"Well, no, actually she hasn't had any shows. I think she's working more freelance these days. Been the subject plenty of times, though."

"Awe, isn't that nice? I recall nights in my dorm, spent taking polaroids. Good times, truly."

"Yes, I suppose so." They were acting like animals. Specifically Jimmy. I thought little of Dom and had seen firsthand just how low he was willing to stoop. But Jimmy was more civilized, or so I thought. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. It was great to see you, and great to meet you. Hope I run into you again soon." I nodded, wanting this painful and slow torture to finally end. Just when I thought the moment was over, he had to get one last jab in. "Oh, and Gwen, tell your mother I said hello." He then turned on his heel and made his way in the opposite direction, taking all of the breath from my chest with him.

It was silent for a moment as I tried my best to regain normal breathing. Jimmy broke the tranquility first. "What a gobby sod." A chortle rumbled in my throat, tickling its way up to my mouth. "What? He is."

"Of course, he is," I continued to laugh, "but you weren't much better. Awe, I'm the guitarist for Led Zeppelin. Look at me, I'm so famous and cool." I mocked his silky lilt. "I thought I was at least less shameless than him. Bringing up dorm room photoshoots, like that holds a candle to what we have. That man, that boy, is obsessed with you. Why else would he try so hard to muck me about and cut you down?"

"He's just a dick. That's what he does. Whether you were Mohandas Gandhi or a construction worker, he'd try his best to put you down. It's what he's best at."