London Calling

Chapter One

Tim’s cell phone went off at precisely the same moment the cashier told him what he owed for his coffee. How much? he asked, trying to fish his wallet out of his pocket and answer his phone at the same time.

Two twenty-five, she said, giving an annoyed glance at the growing line behind him.

Sorry, one second. He balanced his phone between his ear and shoulder. Yes, hello.

Hey, got your message. The band manager’s gruff voice sounded extra gravelly. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I’ve got some bad news. Everything’s been canceled.

What do you mean ‘canceled’? Are you fucking kidding me? He fumbled through the row of British pounds until he got to the stack of green American bills and handed the girl one with a twenty on it.

I mean it’s not gonna happen. The lead singer crashed his bike. He’ll be laid up in the hospital for at least four weeks. The tour is off and the recording sessions are on hold indefinitely. Look, we can help you change your return flight, cover the cost if that helps.

He struggled not to drop the phone as he took the mix of bills and coins she handed back and shoved it all in his pocket. He grabbed the coffee and stepped aside, looking for someplace to put it down.

No, it doesn’t help. I did a flat swap, someone else has moved into my place and I’m at his for two bloody months. I can’t believe this. A couple got up from the small corner table so Tim set down his cup and propped his guitar case against the brick wall.

Sorry, man. Nothing I can do about that.

Well, have you got studio work then?

He heard a heavy sigh from the other side of the line. I’ll see what I can find for you. Hang tight. I’ll be in touch.

Hang tight. Bloody hell. He dropped his backpack and slumped into the chair, raking both hands through his hair. Fuck.

He’d been awake for well over twenty-four hours. The plane ride from London to New York had been eternal, with delays on both ends and a seatmate who was in desperate need of breath mints and a lecture on personal boundaries. By the time he’d gotten a taxi and managed to get the keys from the super, he’d barely had time to grab a shower before he’d needed to head to the studio.

The stop for coffee was an attempt to stay awake during the first recording session. No longer an issue. Apparently he could sleep all day if he felt like, except that now he also needed to find a job. Bugger. He took a sip of coffee and felt it spiral down into his empty stomach. He drew in a deep breath and the rich aroma of breakfast cooking made him realize he was starving. May as well eat since I’m no longer in a hurry.

The line had dwindled. He checked his watch. Nine a.m. Most people are at work now. He stood and stretched then headed to the counter, keeping an eye on his stuff. The same girl popped up to take his order. Her auburn hair was slicked back into a ponytail but a few unruly strands broke free, framing her face. Her eyes were bright and sparkly. Something wrong with the coffee? she asked.

Uh, no. Can I get a ham and egg sandwich, please?

Cheese?

Sure.

American, swiss, cheddar, Monterey Jack?

Swiss.

Bagel, hard roll, croissant, wrap?

Hard roll.

Toasted, grilled or plain?

Had he realized there was this much of an interrogation involved he’d have just ordered a muffin. Toasted? His brain felt sluggish and he wished he’d headed back to the apartment and gone to bed.

That’ll be $5.15.

He sorted through the folded bills and found a five then sifted in his pocket for the change he’d gotten from the coffee, pulling out a handful of unfamiliar coins.

She reached over and plucked out two of the smaller silver ones. Fifteen, she said, dropping them into the register and closing the drawer. You’re all set. I’ll call you when your order’s up.

He felt like an idiot. Thanks. No sooner did he sit down than his phone vibrated. A text from his best mate.

Making sure you’re not sleeping through your first American gig. WAKE UP.

Tim snorted as he turned the phone sideways to reply.

Nothing to sleep through. Whole gig canceled. Totally fucked.

His phone rang before he even set it down. He rubbed his eyes as he listened to Gavin’s barrage of questions. Ever since they’d been kids, Gavin had been a fast talker, and it had only gotten worse with age.

Tim filled him in on his situation.

Ham and egg. He looked up to see his sandwich on the edge of the counter. When he stood to get it the connection started to cut out.

Tim set the plate down next to his coffee and twisted to the side, jamming a finger in his ear. You’re breaking up.

Gavin’s voice became clear again. What? Phillip and I are not breaking up.

Not you and Phillip. The call. The line was breaking up. Never mind. I hear you now. He scooted his chair in so the cute counter girl could clear the table next to his. She bent forward as she gathered the mugs and wiped it clean, affording him an extraordinary view of her curvy bum. He remained mesmerized until he heard Gavin screeching like a howler monkey. What now?

I just got an email, the adoption has finally been approved.

That’s fantastic. Tim was still enjoying his view, but this news was big enough to make him focus on Gavin. You’ll be brilliant parents. You and Phillip will both be father of the year. He chuckled until he noticed Counter Girl smirking. Oh great. Now she probably thinks I’m a poof. His cell connection started fading again. Gav, the call’s dropping. Can’t hear you. Congrats and all that.

The static got louder as he heard Gavin yelling, What? You still there?

I said congrats. The line went dead and Tim closed the phone.

Reception’s always better on that side of the café. Counter Girl pointed toward the window.

So she was listening. Oh. Thanks. Friend in London, just adopted a baby.

Yes, she smiled. I heard. Gavin and Phil. Sorry, you were talking kinda loud, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

Well, he couldn’t hear.

I know, bad signal. Call him back from over there. She tucked her rag into her apron string and pushed the hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist. Her skin was flawless, like porcelain tinged with pink.

No worries. I’m sure we’ll speak later. None of this is making me sound any less gay. We’ve been mates since birth, our mums were best friends. He and his, uh, partner have been trying to adopt for two years so this is big news. He keeps saying I need to find a nice girl and settle down. That ought to clarify a bit. I hope.

She nodded politely, sticking new sugar packets into the square white box on his table.

Not easy when you’re always touring around from place to place. I’m a musician.

She scooted past him to fill the sugar at the next table. That would explain the guitar. It would have taken some effort for her to seem less impressed.

Tim took a swallow of coffee, wishing he could think of a clever retort, but his jet-lagged brain was giving him nothing.

She wiped the last table clean. Just as he was about to say something his phone started ringing again.

She headed back behind the counter, turning back to throw him a quick grin. Tell your friend I said congratulations.

Jenna rested the gray plastic tub of coffee cups and saucers on her hip. She lugged it into the kitchen and slid it across the stainless worktable. Her boss eased a sheet pan into the oven.

I can’t believe we went through so much food this morning. Natalie blew the spiky blonde bangs off her forehead. I’m going to be baking until lunch. She turned the dial on the oven timer.

I’m gonna go straighten the pastry case, Jenna said, heading back to the counter.

Guitar Guy was moving his things to the other side of the café, closer to the window, where she’d told him he’d get better cell reception. He nearly lost his coffee cup and made a somewhat graceful save.

Jenna started consolidating half-empty trays of croissants while Natalie ran steam through the espresso machine and scrubbed it clean with a towel.

Natalie leaned toward her. He’s cute, she said, nodding in Guitar Guy’s direction. Cheat-on-my-husband cute.

Jenna smiled. I don’t think Bruce would be very happy to hear that, but you’re right. Too bad he’s a musician. She studied him for a moment as he dug his hand into his disheveled light-brown hair and frantically wrote in a notebook.

No wedding band.

He told me he’s hoping to find a girl to settle down with. I think he was trying to convince me he isn’t gay.

You talked to him? Natalie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jenna looked down to see she’d wiped the case with a rag that had chocolate on it, smearing the glass. He’s British. His voice is really nice. She remembered his gray-blue eyes and the insanely thick fringe of dark lashes around them.

British and drop-dead gorgeous. Natalie leaned over the case. Mmm. He’s tall too. Look how long his legs are. I think you might need to rethink your no-musicians policy.

The corners of Jenna’s mouth turned down. You’re saying that after the last one?

That was a year ago.

Yeah, and my bank account is still recovering. She shook her head. Every relationship she’d ever had with a musician had ended disastrously—either she’d come home to find him in her bed with another girl or a few hundred bucks would disappear from checking. She generally acted in direct opposition to every piece of advice her father had ever given her, but he’d been right about one thing—stay away from musicians.

There’s always one exception to the rule, Natalie said, leafing through the heap of morning receipts. You should be open to these things. You never know when the right guy will come along.

Somehow I doubt the right guy managed to stumble into the coffee shop this morning.

You’re so cynical for someone your age. You’re supposed to save that for when you’re old, like me.

Jenna swatted her with the towel. Thirty is not old. The timer went off and they both went to the kitchen, empty pastry trays in tow. Remember I have that meeting at Loop Boutique in SoHo, Jenna said, helping transfer hot scones to a cooling rack. I need to leave in a little bit. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?

We’ll be fine. Charlie’s coming in. I’m just excited you finally got that woman to consider your jewelry. You’ve only been trying to get a meeting with her for a year.

I’m nervous. I hope she places a big order. Money is super tight right now.

Natalie furrowed her brow. Roommate issues again?

Yeah. Rachel’s late on rent. She was so responsible when she moved in, but she’s been a total flake since she started hanging out with her new friends. The bell on the café door jingled and Jenna poked her head out of the kitchen. Customer.

Jenna took the order and made a latte, watching Guitar Guy again. He cradled his forehead in his hand as he talked on the phone. Poor guy. Guess today is not his day.

Tim yawned and stretched, rubbing his face against the pillow as he awoke. The room was dark except for a bit of light filtering in from the street lamps. For a moment he had no idea where he was. He squinted at the bedside clock, wondering why it was still so dark at ten o’clock, then he realized it was ten p.m.—he was in his new flat in New York City. His stomach sank as he remembered his day.

After breakfast he’d managed to walk around a bit, pick up a few newspapers and make some calls. He’d lined up an audition at a piano bar for the following afternoon and the band manager had called with some hopeful news regarding a studio session or two with another band. By three p.m., he’d felt himself fading and decided to lie down just to close his eyes for a minute.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, raking it back off his face. There was no obvious switch on the bedside lamp so he got up and wandered into the lounge, flipping the switch on the wall. The overhead lights were on a dimmer, and gave the room a soft glow. He walked to the window and looked out. The streets still had a decent amount of people wandering around. City that never sleeps. That’ll be handy tonight.

He shoved his wallet into his pocket and grabbed the keys off the couch, then headed into the cool autumn air. A light breeze had picked up and he wished he’d worn a jacket. He kept his hands in his pockets as he strolled down the street. Several stores on St. Marks Place were still open. He browsed used clothing and vintage record albums, trying to remember if the apartment had a turntable. Most people didn’t these days, but Tim still enjoyed listening to things on vinyl when he could.

His stomach rumbled as he picked up the whiff of pizza so he stopped and got a slice. The crust was thin and crispy with just the right amount of stringy cheese. He ordered a second and took it to go, walking a few blocks down First Avenue before deciding to turn back in the direction of home.

As he neared his street, he noticed the café he’d stopped in that morning was still open. Thinking a cup of tea might help him relax, he went inside. There was no one behind the counter and he wondered if they’d closed for the night. He was about to turn and leave when a thin