Checkmate
"So, are you intending to do that every night?" Howard noticed that Mark emphasized the word "that" awkwardly, but he was still high on adrenaline and in a playful mode and so simply answered "Audience loved it, Markie!" Mark snorted. “Almost forgot me cue, mate, you should've told me you were up for something like that!” The “that” again with a special kind of emphasis that Howard couldn't quite classify.
“Sorry, mate.” An excuse, but no “it won't happen again”, Mark noticed. Instead Howard was still grinning and humming a song to himself and looking very smug. And Mark understood. Watching them doing their dance-off tonight it had finally struck him like lightning: this wasn't a battle – this was a courtship dance. And, blimey, it was hot! So hot in fact, that for a little while time seemed to stand still, long enough to nearly make Mark miss his cue. It had send Mark through a dozen different feelings: a wild rollercoaster-ride of gasping in awe, to green with envy, to all warm inside with love, to deeply insecure for feeling inferior amongst all the talent on that stage, and back to gasping in awe again. For a moment he felt ridiculously self-conscious in his hoodie, clinging on to dear life to his stick, watching the two world-class entertainers high up on their chairs and the two world-class dancers on the chess board and wondering what the hell he was doing there. But then he pulled himself together and started the neverending fight of forcing his thoughts away from the bad feelings into a positive direction. Forcing his thoughts to pick up on all the happy energy around him. Forcing himself to remember that he was the one who had written most of this song, that he didn't sing lead on this one for no reason, that throughout most of this performance all eyes were on him. - He would still have a word with Howard later.
No one had ever said that being the cute one amongst the crooners and the athletes was easy.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?” Robbie sniggered while playfully punching Howard in the gut.
“Most definitely, audience loved it!” (Perfectly alright to use a good argument twice, right?)
Rob slipped into his famous singsong-modus “The audience, my friend,” he swayed his hips a little, “the audience was waiting for a kiss. And so was I, my friend.”
“Rob, it's simply dancing, you know? We've always done this.”
“And it never was hotter, Dougie, no no never.” Still serenading him with his face all mischief. “Seriously, now I know why you insisted on the MC-Hammer-trousers, you clever bastard! How else could you possibly cover...”
“Oh, grow up, Rob!” Howard interrupted and left. Rob shook his head – when would they ever understand?
No one had ever said that being an omniscient amongst the ignorant was easy.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?” Howard noticed that Gaz was oddly stony-faced.
“Audience loved it.” (Did it start sounding hollow third time around?)
“Are you sure?” Gary was unable to hide his disapproval. Howard started stroking his chin thoughtfully. If there was one band-member that could really make him feel insecure, it was Gary. Gary was the one he couldn't compete with, and Gary was the only one he couldn't ever offer advice to. Gary just was above him. Which usually wasn't a problem, coz he loved Gaz way too much to mind. They were mates, fullstop. Still, when Gary criticised something it had double the effect on Howard than everyone else's criticism and usually left him speechless and feeling small. Tonight, though, after one hell of a show and probably due to the endorphins, he felt he needed to stand in for himself. “The audience loves it, Gaz – use that chair you're sitting on, swing it around and watch the people enjoying it!”
Had he been too harsh? Gary didn't say anything, but during the next nights he took a look around. And he saw that Howard was right – the audience loved it. All Gary saw was an ocean of awestruck faces, slacked jaws, and giddy smiles – pure delight.
No one had ever said that being the prude one amongst the cheeky chappies was easy.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?” Her voice was a little bit higher-pitched than usual. Howard sighed and muttered “Audience loved it.” (Regardless whether this was a déjà vu or a strange time loop – it was beginning to freak Howard out.)
“Ah, great, of course! If the audience loved it!” Howard couldn't decide what he hated more: the pouting or the passive aggressiveness. Probably the mixture.
“It's my job, you better get used to it. I don't know what's the big deal anyway?”
She snapped. “You don't know what the fucking big deal is?” She didn't expect an answer, because even in her anger she knew there wasn't a correct answer anyway. Locked away in the bathroom she started exploring her emotions. Why did it upset her so much? Was she really jealous of a guy? She'd watched what happened from the VIP-booth and couldn't believe what she saw. For months she had carefully marked her territory, following Howard everywhere – video shoots, night clubs, promo tours. Just to make sure everyone knew she was the girlfriend. Hands off my man, ladies! And tonight she'd realized it was all in vain. She could travel the world with him until the end of time, but she could never be with him on stage. And she could never say “Hands off my man, Jason!”
No one had ever said that being Howard Donald's girlfriend was easy.
Howard's had enough. There's only one place left to go and he's more than thankful that some things never change. He flops down on the lounger next to Jason. “Can't sleep?”
“Dunno, mate, haven't tried yet. It's just such a beautiful night, isn't it? Didn't want to waste it, y'know?”
“Yeah.”
They sit and watch the stars and the sky and sometimes secretly each other's profile. It's calm, it's peaceful, it's perfect. They fix themselves that way - Jason from recalling every little mistake he's made during the show over and over again, Howard from not understanding Mark, not properly coping with Rob, disappointing Gary and upsetting his girlfriend. Up here on the roof terrace, under the stars, there's only the two of them, Howard and Jason, Jason and Howard. No judging, no competing, no misunderstanding.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?”
For the first time tonight Howard is looking forward to answering that question, a slightly mean grin playing around his lips.
“Audience loved it.” (What was an excuse four times before is now a teasing.)
Howard loves that, even though he can't see it, he knows that Jason's tongue's right now nervously licking his upper lip. He loves that he knows him that well. He even knows what he's going to say...
“Bastard.”
Howard doesn't need to have the last word - this isn't about winning.
And no one would ever deny that being Jason Orange sometimes was simply absolutely fucking brilliant.
“Sorry, mate.” An excuse, but no “it won't happen again”, Mark noticed. Instead Howard was still grinning and humming a song to himself and looking very smug. And Mark understood. Watching them doing their dance-off tonight it had finally struck him like lightning: this wasn't a battle – this was a courtship dance. And, blimey, it was hot! So hot in fact, that for a little while time seemed to stand still, long enough to nearly make Mark miss his cue. It had send Mark through a dozen different feelings: a wild rollercoaster-ride of gasping in awe, to green with envy, to all warm inside with love, to deeply insecure for feeling inferior amongst all the talent on that stage, and back to gasping in awe again. For a moment he felt ridiculously self-conscious in his hoodie, clinging on to dear life to his stick, watching the two world-class entertainers high up on their chairs and the two world-class dancers on the chess board and wondering what the hell he was doing there. But then he pulled himself together and started the neverending fight of forcing his thoughts away from the bad feelings into a positive direction. Forcing his thoughts to pick up on all the happy energy around him. Forcing himself to remember that he was the one who had written most of this song, that he didn't sing lead on this one for no reason, that throughout most of this performance all eyes were on him. - He would still have a word with Howard later.
No one had ever said that being the cute one amongst the crooners and the athletes was easy.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?” Robbie sniggered while playfully punching Howard in the gut.
“Most definitely, audience loved it!” (Perfectly alright to use a good argument twice, right?)
Rob slipped into his famous singsong-modus “The audience, my friend,” he swayed his hips a little, “the audience was waiting for a kiss. And so was I, my friend.”
“Rob, it's simply dancing, you know? We've always done this.”
“And it never was hotter, Dougie, no no never.” Still serenading him with his face all mischief. “Seriously, now I know why you insisted on the MC-Hammer-trousers, you clever bastard! How else could you possibly cover...”
“Oh, grow up, Rob!” Howard interrupted and left. Rob shook his head – when would they ever understand?
No one had ever said that being an omniscient amongst the ignorant was easy.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?” Howard noticed that Gaz was oddly stony-faced.
“Audience loved it.” (Did it start sounding hollow third time around?)
“Are you sure?” Gary was unable to hide his disapproval. Howard started stroking his chin thoughtfully. If there was one band-member that could really make him feel insecure, it was Gary. Gary was the one he couldn't compete with, and Gary was the only one he couldn't ever offer advice to. Gary just was above him. Which usually wasn't a problem, coz he loved Gaz way too much to mind. They were mates, fullstop. Still, when Gary criticised something it had double the effect on Howard than everyone else's criticism and usually left him speechless and feeling small. Tonight, though, after one hell of a show and probably due to the endorphins, he felt he needed to stand in for himself. “The audience loves it, Gaz – use that chair you're sitting on, swing it around and watch the people enjoying it!”
Had he been too harsh? Gary didn't say anything, but during the next nights he took a look around. And he saw that Howard was right – the audience loved it. All Gary saw was an ocean of awestruck faces, slacked jaws, and giddy smiles – pure delight.
No one had ever said that being the prude one amongst the cheeky chappies was easy.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?” Her voice was a little bit higher-pitched than usual. Howard sighed and muttered “Audience loved it.” (Regardless whether this was a déjà vu or a strange time loop – it was beginning to freak Howard out.)
“Ah, great, of course! If the audience loved it!” Howard couldn't decide what he hated more: the pouting or the passive aggressiveness. Probably the mixture.
“It's my job, you better get used to it. I don't know what's the big deal anyway?”
She snapped. “You don't know what the fucking big deal is?” She didn't expect an answer, because even in her anger she knew there wasn't a correct answer anyway. Locked away in the bathroom she started exploring her emotions. Why did it upset her so much? Was she really jealous of a guy? She'd watched what happened from the VIP-booth and couldn't believe what she saw. For months she had carefully marked her territory, following Howard everywhere – video shoots, night clubs, promo tours. Just to make sure everyone knew she was the girlfriend. Hands off my man, ladies! And tonight she'd realized it was all in vain. She could travel the world with him until the end of time, but she could never be with him on stage. And she could never say “Hands off my man, Jason!”
No one had ever said that being Howard Donald's girlfriend was easy.
Howard's had enough. There's only one place left to go and he's more than thankful that some things never change. He flops down on the lounger next to Jason. “Can't sleep?”
“Dunno, mate, haven't tried yet. It's just such a beautiful night, isn't it? Didn't want to waste it, y'know?”
“Yeah.”
They sit and watch the stars and the sky and sometimes secretly each other's profile. It's calm, it's peaceful, it's perfect. They fix themselves that way - Jason from recalling every little mistake he's made during the show over and over again, Howard from not understanding Mark, not properly coping with Rob, disappointing Gary and upsetting his girlfriend. Up here on the roof terrace, under the stars, there's only the two of them, Howard and Jason, Jason and Howard. No judging, no competing, no misunderstanding.
“So, are you intending to do that every night?”
For the first time tonight Howard is looking forward to answering that question, a slightly mean grin playing around his lips.
“Audience loved it.” (What was an excuse four times before is now a teasing.)
Howard loves that, even though he can't see it, he knows that Jason's tongue's right now nervously licking his upper lip. He loves that he knows him that well. He even knows what he's going to say...
“Bastard.”
Howard doesn't need to have the last word - this isn't about winning.
And no one would ever deny that being Jason Orange sometimes was simply absolutely fucking brilliant.
