Bed of Roses

Chapter 12

And it was easier to be around them and not think about pessimistic stuff; yesterday night, after you and Roger got back from the woods and went swimming naked on the pond - immediately regretting it when you had to walk back in the cold wind completely soaked - you both showered and went back to the studio, where Roger and Freddie tried to emulate the sounds of an orchestra with their voices for a song called Seaside Rendezvous. You were all outside of the recording booth, laughing as Roger did his best to sound like a kazoo. Usually, you loved to watch Rog as he did a high note or one of his famous falsettos; his control over his voice was always impressive. But now, he sounded like a cat screeching. "It's a work in progress, dear. You know how it is", Freddie told you while you laughed non-stop with Brian on the couch.

You got back to reading the book for a while, and as you read "I think of Neal Cassady, I think of Neal Cassady", you realized you just finished reading Roger's favourite book. You were both always trying out things the other one liked, like it would help you get a better insight to each other. A writer you liked once said that there are questions that haunt every relationship, sooner or later: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?

You always thought about how dramatic that sounded, but it actually made sense to you after being with Roger for three years now. What's the point of a relationship if not trying to figure each other out and say, with certainty, "I choose you before anyone else in my life"? Belonging. Relationships are always about trying to belong with someone else, you thought.

The bus stopped and you grabbed your duffel bag. You moved to through the station and found your way to the underground, and you looked at your watch as you found a place to sit on the tub. It was a thirty minute ride to your work from where you were, and you were supposed to be in a meeting with an international researcher alongside your boss in ten minutes. "Fucking hell", you said to yourself, and an old lady looked at you, pursing her lips.

You looked like a teenager, in a button up skirt, a loose Fleetwood Mac shirt tucked in and yellow Chuck Taylors. You definitely didn't look like a respectful historian about to have a serious meeting.

You got to the museum, accidentally hitting one of the interns with your duffel bag as you went to the locker to store it and brush your hair. You said sorry, but you could still hear her talk to someone else outside the bathroom. "She's already twenty minutes late. I don't know how she keeps the job", the other intern says. "Well, she's a groupie. This is just her part time job. I doubt she's ever late to suck Roger Taylor's dick if he tells her to do so", the one you hit with your bag says. "I know I wouldn't. It must be nice to know you don't have to work, just look cute and have your legs spread open every night and boom, your life is easy. That's why she doesn't care if she's twenty minutes late. She has her boyfriend to pay for anything she wants", the first one answered.

You wanted to punch them in the face until your knuckles were bruised just to relieve the stress. At that moment, they represented everything you hated about your life; your stupid architecture museum job and the people that will never take you seriously because you're Roger Taylor's girlfriend.

But you had a meeting to attend, so you breathed in, looked at your visibly tired face - you wish you had some makeup on - and tied your hair up, so it would look less messy. You went outside, saying excuse me to the girls, and walked to the room the meeting was being held in.

When you opened the door, you saw your boss, a look of annoyance in his face, but you were soon distracted by the man across his office desk. He had really short hair, even shorter on the sides - that was a bit of a shock to you, used to seeing guys with long hair - and icy blue eyes. He was wearing a plain maroon sweater, his shoulders filling it perfectly, and fitting dark jeans. He also looked older than you - he was probably in his thirties. His smell filled the room and hit you - he smelled like cologne. Drakkar. It was a perfume you haven't smelled ever since you moved from New York.

"This is my Greek history specialist, Y/N. She's usually on time", your boss said, and you shot him a shy smile. "Sorry, I had a bit of a problem with my commute today", you explained, and you felt the two men analyzing you; your boss was not approving your look for the meeting, and the man was just mysterious. "Y/N, this is the researcher I told you. He works at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. His name is William Antigonos Argyros", he said, and that caught your attention. Antigonos and Argyros are greek names.

"Or, you know, you could just call me Will. But it's up to you", he said, and you had to hold a laugh. But something else caught your attention. He had an accent you knew very well, even though you only heard it from your own lips, nowadays. He had a Manhattan accent. "Sorry for asking, but are you from New York?", you said, and he shook his head in agreement. "Born and raised. But my parents are greek immigrants, so that's the reason for the weird names. William was chosen so I could fit in more nicely", he said with a smirk. You laughed a bit.

"You sound like you're from New York, as well. Odd to meet another fellow new yorker in London while talking about neoclassical architecture. But I guess Ancient History was never Manhattan's strongest suit", he said, and you agreed. "Where did you study?", you asked, and he answered. "I actually studied in Greece. It was easier, knowing the language and such", he shrugged his shoulders. You were admired.

"Mr Argyros is here for his research on Ancient Greece's influence in architecture. It's for a new exposition at The Metropolitan" your boss said, and you and Will corrected him at the same time. "The Met", you said, and looked at him when you realized the coincidence. This could be interesting, you thought to yourself. You really needed a friend - just a friend, you reminded yourself. Just one friend that was actually like you.