In her fit of anxiety she accepted his apology. It now seemed to be empty, heavy handed. This would be on account of the conversation that sat before them now. It was a few days ago that Jimmy had given his omission of guilt. Things had progressed to be so much worse. It was like a snowball, rolling down a hill after an avalanche. It was picking up speed quickly, moving at an alarming rate. It was spiraling out of control and everyone in its path was in danger of getting hurt.
-
"Good morning!" She sang as she entered the doorway. She was greeted with an abnormal sight. Bonzo was already at the table, talking to Robert and Jonesy.
"Good morning." Robert mirrored her sing-song voice. He was always prepared for a musical.
"Robert left his mouthpiece in the hotel room, Jim. How about we start that tradition, eh?" Bonzo smiled and clapped him on the back. Jimmy looked pained hearing that comment. He knew he should say something but didn't want to make things hostile or awkward.
This was a regular occurrence. Bonzo would say something offhand and Jimmy would brush it off, prompting Gwen to do the same.
"He's just like that. You have to toughen up." He would say as he primped his hair in preparation for a show. She wore the same look she would always give him, one of disgust and muddled anger. She didn't like being the source of negativity and certainly didn't want to cause any problems with the band. So she did what he told her and ignored it. She shoved the feeling down and sat for her breakfast.
Jonesy was telling the group about the walk he went on last night. He recounted all of the details, the sights, sounds, and people. He went for a rare walk in the city, usually, he tried to find a quiet place in nature. It was beautiful to see the cityscape all lit up and lively. It was nice to see the noise but not be a part of it, just like on stage.
When this conversation split off, Robert talking over Jonesy, is when things went South. Jonesy turned to her and asked about the Sabbath show. He was very interested in her endeavors, seeing it as a poignant topic of conversation.
"I thought you were here to shoot us. If you're not shooting us, what are you doing here?" Another jab in her side. His lips curled around his sharpened teeth, canines like daggers and his tongue dripped with snark.
She just rolled her eyes and continued talking. "It was great. They really generate so much energy. It makes me excited about taking these photos! I can feel their passion and it really shows in the shots. William sent me a demo of some of the photos from the first shoot and they turned out awesome!"
"They can't be that good." His goal was to poke holes in her joy. He was a liquid poured over her glee, drying to make her into a porous and brittle figure.
"Bonzo." Robert gave him a quiet scold.
"What? We're all thinking it! How can you be here for us but shoot them?"
"Bonzo, stop," Robert started, "You've been picking at her all week. You've created this arbitrary feud and won't let up. Now you're the only one continuing it, she's clearly had enough."
"She's the one who started it!"
"And now you should end it. We're all sick of hearing it. If you have a problem with her, talk it out. Otherwise, please shut up."
"Fine."
It was ironic how small he could look. To millions of people, he was larger than life, a musical giant. Now he was tiny as a child, stomping, and sulking. He could be so immature. She couldn't believe his actions.
He walked away, looking petulant and angry. Gwen looked at Robert with gratitude. Malaise hung in the air for a moment. She knew this was not settled. They'd won the battle but the war raged on. "If I'd known he'd be so agreeable I would have said something earlier." Robert joked. Gwen gave a small laugh and continued with their previous conversation.
The group felt peace for another hour. Bonzo was sulking in his room and the rest of them were playing together in relative quiet. It was never stagnant with the Zeppelin crew. What aided in the silence was a brooding Jimmy. He was acting like Bonzo, groveling in pity in the corner. He had a tendency to do this, pout when upset. Gwen hadn't caught onto his mood and it was only making him more troubled.
Robert was keen on all of Jimmy's quirks and knew immediately what had happened. He must've crossed a line, or perhaps someone had made a joke he didn't like. It wasn't easy to play guessing games with him. His mind was a steel fortress, not a temple to be easily infiltrated. He looked to Jimmy, hoping that if he stared long enough the problem would reveal itself. But it never did and they continued their game regardless.
"Well, I'm beat. I'm gonna call it a day."
"You fold?" Gwen asked.
"Yes," Robert said, standing up.
"Right when I'm about to win? What, you're afraid to lose all of a sudden?" Robert shrugged, his lips pushed together, and simply nodded in Jimmy's direction. When Gwen turned to look at him, he was sitting with his body against the wall. He was looking down below at all of the cars. She took immediate notice of his cool appearance, gleaning his level of frustration.
"All right, I'll see you later." She sighed.
She had to practically strangle the information out of him. He was an iron wall at this moment, completely shutting her out. She cursed herself, wondering if this was what it was like for him. She could see all the walls between them and had no idea how to knock them down. He'd given himself so wantingly before now, never making her guess or wonder how he felt. Particularly about her and her actions.
"Please, Jimmy, I don't want to play these games. What is bothering you? I know you're upset."
"Fine," He finally turned to her, "It's Robert." Her face twisted in confusion. "Robert? What did he do?"
"What he said to Bonzo."
"Jimmy, dear god, please just speak a full sentence!" Her patience was already worn thin, quickly becoming ragged with his third-degree.
"Robert has been flirting with you since he met you. And now he's sticking up for you, playing card games, comforting you, sharing your clothes. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were on tour with him and he was your boyfriend."
She could see her boyfriend before her, Jimmy page, 26, of Pangbourne, England. But what she heard was not a grown man with a stable career and home. It was a jealous teenager who watched his girlfriend dance with another guy at the homecoming dance. Or he morphed into a child, stamping his foot and insisting on another cookie. She almost laughed. But, she didn't. She instead sighed and shook her head. "Are you jealous of Robert and me?"
"Not jealous."
"Fine, whatever you want to call it. You're upset he stood up for me? Would you rather Bonzo kept bullying me? Lord knows you weren't going to say anything!"
"I would have."
"When? Because you didn't say anything the first time, or last night, or earlier today. It seems you want all of the glory and none of the burden. If I didn't know any better, I would say you don't want to stand up for your girlfriend, so someone else had to do it for you."
He was dumbfounded at her gall. She was blaming this all on him and not her obvious flirting. He thought she was being unreasonable, totally insane. How could he say anything when it would destroy the band? He wasn't going to get involved because it would ruin the music. "So you're embarrassed by me?"
"What? When did I say that?"
"You didn't have to."
"Now you're being ridiculous. You're the one in the wrong. I told you already that I didn't like how you weren't standing up for me. You never said anything about Robert, so your point is null and void."
She was approaching this like a game, like it was some sort of prize, who was wrong and who was right. She was dashing across the finish line, cheering to be correct. This troubled him a great deal. He was seeing a side of her he didn't like. It was a rare glint, a wrong flick of light, to see her flaws. She wasn't a patchwork quilt like him, she wasn't stitched together with the thin tissue of grandness, the majority of her fabric flaws and fissures. She was a whole network of soft and loving fleece, connected and interwoven. She was an ornate strip of gold-laden cloth. But, under this light, he could see all the stray threads and loose stitching.
"You're not even making sense! I'm upset and I came to you first." Now they were both fighting, grabbing at the trophy of who was a victim.
"No, I had to pull it out of you! You were being a baby and not telling me how you felt."
"Welcome to my world! You're always hiding how you feel. It's like you think I'm going to judge you or something, you're like a child."
"I'm like a child? You sulked the entire game, hoping I would catch on. Robert ended our game so we could talk. You know how embarrassing that is?"
"So you are embarrassed by me."
"No, it's embarrassing for yourself. But yeah, I guess I am. I don't have a boyfriend who will stick up for me!" She was yelling now, her voice rising to the height of her frustration.
"Fine. If that's the way you feel." He turned away from her, looking into the expanse of the street below. The room was quiet once more. Their shouts and pleas for connection were replaced by honking and wiring of machinery.
-
She sat on the bed, looking at the back of him. His hair was unkempt and messy, a tangle of curls matting the back of his head. She left the bubble of anger that consumed her and imagined laying him in her lap, brushing out each knot. Her heart melted for a moment. She remembered then how she felt with him, how safe he made her feel. The deep feelings she had for him resurfaced and she remembered how much she loved him.
His eyes never strayed from the window but his mind too wandered. He thought about the first time they'd spent the day at his house. He remembered how sweet she looked while chasing him, the hours they spent in the sun. He thought about how her body looked when it gave way to the hours of activity, weary and heavy. It was the same look that plagued her now.
He wanted to kiss her, to sweep her up and ravage her sadness and anger.
The merit of their argument had dwindled into nothing. Was it really worth all of this? They both thought. In an instant, they were looking at each other again, faced with the tear-stained image of their lover's face. This was a scene neither of them wanted to encounter again, a sight that should remain under lock and key.
It was quiet at first, the tension between them thick. Neither wanted to be the first to break. She simply absorbed him, the look on his face. His lips were parted and his eyes were glossy. His dark hair was curled in frizzy ringlets, illuminated perfectly by the light coming in through the window. He looked so beautiful in that moment. She couldn't believe how impossibly beautiful he was. That was a woman's word, an adjective not to be used on men, but she did anyway. He was delicate and feminine, strong but petite.
He looked at her and couldn't believe the sight before him. She was painted into a smooth portrait of perfection. She was an angelic image, something he could not gather into reality. Her long hair fell down her shoulders, a cascading river of auburn and copper. Her shoulders were dainty, on display under her green tank top. She was a small woman, tender inside. The walls of her heart were mushy and delicate. She was a woman who required great attention, a keen eye. He had to be graceful with her feelings, he had to cradle her heart in his hands, the way one would with a child. This is perhaps what drew him into her, she was like a flower. He had to be careful not to crush the colorful petals when he called on its beauty.
He spoke first. It was an apology and he was on his feet. She apologized, walking closer to him. Now they bridged the space between them and pressed their bodies together. "I'm sorry for not defending you."
"And I'm sorry for saying you're embarrassing. You're not. I'm so happy that you're mine."
The sun seemed to swell around them, the sallow image engulfing them as love returned to their arms. It was a flicker of candlelight, an old friend come to visit, their love. And it was back, it was no longer running and slipping in the sand. It was home at the table, smelling dinner and ready to eat. They were insatiable, slamming their cutlery in haste.
They spoke no words. Not a mention was needed for their reprisal. This was a ceremony best experienced in quiet observation. They drank the sights of each other and loved with open hands, clear minds, and beating hearts.