Wildfire ~ George Harrison

Chapter 18: In the limelight

After a show and while on the road, the band would usually stay in hotels either close to the day's show or near the town they would play the day after. George had once told me that the hotels were the best and worst part of touring. Because of that it was no wonder why all of them had decided they were staying at their own home for their one show in London.

'You ready to go?' George asked me when he'd barely dried off the sweat he'd accumulated during the performance. The dressing room was still booming with business, crowded with people and buzzing with noise. It didn't look like anyone else was ready to leave.

'Already?' I asked confused. It didn't really make sense to me. Didn't he want to stay any longer? Maybe I wanted to stay any longer?

'Yeah, there's no place for you in the van so I thought we'd go home together? Drink some of that lovely wine in your cupboard?' he offered with a cheeky smile and he took my hand in his.

For a second my thoughts were occupied by the sparks that flew between our touching skin, by the way his calloused finger tips felt in the palm of my hand. It was hypnotising me in an infuriating way. It took me a couple of deep breaths and a lot of willpower to drag my mind away from our intertwined hands and back to the man the hand belonged to.

'You mean the French one?' I asked, though I knew that was exactly what he meant. The last time I'd been over at his place, the day after he came back from Sweden, we had drunk a bottle and a half of the white Matthew had brought back from France when he'd been there over Summer. He'd fallen in love with it and had imported a huge quantity to get me – and now George too – hooked on it.

'Absolutely I do,' he confirmed and then he handed me my coat, which had been hung up by the door. 'Here, let's go now or the tossers might be home too.'

Three things became very clear to me. A. by tossers he meant his bandmates, B. I was going home with him, C. he was very keen on getting me home before anyone else was there. These three things could ultimately only mean he wanted to end tonight the same way as I did.

As I put on my coat, I noticed George look over to Brian who was standing with Paul in the corner. There seemed a quick and silent conversation between the two of them, even if they were standing on either side of a big and busy room. It was over before I fully realised it happened and then George put his hand on my back and steered me out of the door as if it didn't even happen.

However, there was something in his demeanour that had changed in that dialogue. Where he had taken my hand in his not even five minutes ago, convincing me to go home with him, his hand was now only lightly on my back, barely making contact.

I wanted to tell him that I didn't mind the contact, because I didn't. Before I could say something about it, he'd taken his hand off me and grabbed hold of mine, pulling me along the winding corridors.

There was that same electricity between us I felt earlier, but now I didn't have anything else to focus on. I could analyse every single callous and crevice in his hand, I could feel the way his hand felt against mine, where there was pressure and where there wasn't. My hand was fully enclosed in his, but it didn't feel odd.

I had no clue how we managed it, but we got into the waiting car without much trouble. There weren't many girls waiting at the stage door and those who were, had little to no time to look at George as he nearly ran to the car. The way he so expertly manoeuvred through the crowd, head down and blending in, rather than standing out. It was clear he did this on a daily basis.

It looked like it was the same car that had gotten me here. Though the driver gave no sign of recognising me, I recognised him. He didn't seem surprised that I was now with one of the members of the band, rather than on my own and if he was, he didn't let it on. He just nodded and confirmed the address, after which he drove away and didn't say a single word.