Hotel California

"Have you guys NEVER heard of the saying if it's too good to be true it probably is?" Nesmith demanded angrily.

"And have you never heard the one about looking a gift horse in the mouth?" Davey replied crossly. "Honestly man sometimes you be a real drag."

Just then they became aware of commotion downstairs. Hurrying to the balcony rail of the gallery they gazed down as a clutch of servants rushed back and forth setting up tables and dishes. The young woman from reception saw them and called up,

"Tonight we gather for the feast."

"Who gathers?" Mike's voice was brusque.

"Old friends," she whispered with a strange smile. "And you will play for us?"

"There you see," Micky said triumphantly. "That's why they're being so cool. They want us to play at their feast."

"I still think we should check out."

"You can check out any time you want." Her smile was dazzling but it was not enough to distract Mike from the whisper that sounded in his ear, "but you can never leave."

Whirling around he half expected to see Davey or Micky grinning mockingly at him but there was no-one, just the open door of the suite and Peter's silhouette as he wandered from wall to wall brushing his fingers reverently across the rotting faded materials.

"OK. We'll play," he said shortly. "But then we leave."

"Sure," Davey muttered absently heading for the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I want to find out the lovely senorita's name," he grinned. "And whether or not she likes pink champagne."

"Oh no you don't." Micky reached over and deftly plucked the bottle from his friends hands. "The chick you can have, but this," he cradled the bottle lovingly against his cheek, "stays here."

"Fine." Davey was already at the bottom of the wide staircase and the object of his affections favoured Mike with one final gloating smile before offering the young Englishman her arm and leading him back to the polished oak counter of reception.

Peter was entranced by the faded splendour of the hotel. He felt something in the walls when his fingers touched them. A sparkle almost a fizzing shock of emotion that made him yearn for things he had not formerly known existed. Fleeting images, snapshots of time spun through his head as he pictured the glamorous glorious creatures who must have once graced the room and the bright brittle lights of the parties and gatherings they had held there.

Lying back on the velvet covers of one of the beds he stared up at the image in the mirror above him and for a second or two did not recognise the person who stared back. Tentatively he raised one arm extending his hand to the young man who seemed to be imploring him to help; then all at once Mike came crashing moodily into the room and threw himself onto the bed next to him. The spell was broken and Peter began to cough as the clouds of newly disturbed dust caught in his throat. The image in the mirror became himself once more and he felt a small pang of longing for the person he had seen there before.

Pulling off his woollen hat Nesmith flung it angrily at the wall.

"Can NOBODY else hear that?" He demanded.

"The music," Peter smiled and picked up the big acoustic guitar leaning against his band mate's case. Carefully he began to pick out the same faint melody that echoed around the building. Plaintive and simple sounding it was deceptively clever and it took all of the fair haired young man's skills to play. After a few moments he handed the instrument back to Mike who had been watching him open mouthed with wonder.