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The Last Whimsy	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 791 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Pink Floyd. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Last Whimsy
- 1
Roger kept demanding the heat be turned up, old men did get cold, after all.

Fussy? James could admit to being the same, insisting he be allowed to use his preferred monitors and Roger at least supported him in that gambit. James was nothing if not resilient, and seemingly required.

“James, bring me your magic ears, you know, give it that classic sheen. Shore doesn’t know a thing about rock music.”

His work was eminently familiar, of course, especially since the Lord of the Rings trilogy had made him a household name in his field. And one did not complain about being the ringer when answering the call of duty from the Corporation.

New York City was vacillating between bitter chill and balmy sunshine, it was strange for James to be anywhere in Winter which didn’t require three layers and a parka to venture outside. He took off his sweater again with a sigh and cursed all the bloody echo they kept picking up on the mics. Regal was a facility normally used for orchestral recording so the rooms were huge and all the wood kept resounding when he didn’t want it to, requiring more and more makeshift dampening strategies. Roger didn’t even have a proper vocal booth, the techs put one together with some dividers and blankets. He was ready to just DI everything but of course one couldn’t do that, exactly.

To his credit, Shore was positively enamored with Roger and therefore largely content to allow them to get on with it, though James had felt his brain going numb when Shore took over an hour to explain how the theme which was being used for the song related to the overall narrative structure and then how it should fit into the song, going through every page. The conversations were largely between the two, James sat in the middle – his customary place, after all – listening to them go back and forth about more here, less there, leitmotifs and all that rubbish.

It’s a bloody song that’s going to play during the credits, just leave it at that.

Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t do his best to make it sound perfect, for that was his job.

And then there was the camera. He thought he was used to being filmed, but this was every minute of the goddamn day and every time Roger became aware of the camera he looked right into it, which normally brought the proceedings to a screeching halt. James did his best to ignore it altogether even as he wished he were anywhere but this cold and cavernous fucking echo chamber.

As if all that weren’t bad enough, David had somehow gotten wind of the sessions and kept sending him silly text messages all of which he responded to with SHUT UP.

One read TRAITOR. Another read HIRED HAND. He was ready to chuck his phone into the trash and be done with it. He couldn’t bring himself to shut it off because Joel might need him for something. Anything. One could hope, at the very least.

Then there was the song. The melody was nice enough, a touch brooding but still pretty and had great possibilities for layering with the orchestral theme, but the lyrics, they were. . .well, decorum would never allow for unabashed honesty in regards to the author. But he did think Roger was pandering, and of all the things James could have accused him of in the nearly thirty years he’d known him, pandering was not one of them.

When he was told the proposed title he raised his eyebrows.

“You know there’s a rather well-known –“

“I told Bob I’d never heard that bloody song. This is about communication, saying the most essential things to one another for the sake of a relationship. And there’s nothing more fitting than that title.”

Roger nodded his head in stubborn affirmation and James stared off into space lest he roll his eyes. Roger’s communiqués always had a note of finality about them, which might be ironic, considering the circumstances.

By the fourth day James had managed to get rid of the echo well enough for his purposes and was finally happy with the way the takes were beginning to sound, and Roger had stopped complaining about the temperature. Though now he fancied himself a composer so he and Shore went on and on about scoring. The day before they’d listened to the run-through with the full orchestra and it was thrilling, as always, to hear music that way. Yet it was important to let the song be the song and not merely an extension of the score. James had plans for the arrangement and he hoped Roger was too busy with his delusions of grandeur to pay attention until he’d done a rough mix.

Returning from the restroom he was aghast to hear his Blackberry buzzing upon the table behind the console, as Roger gave him a wry grin.

“In demand, are we?” he gibed.

The display read WANKER and James had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“It’s just Joel, checking in.”

“Y’didn’t chain the kid to the console or anythin’ did ya?”

James gave Roger a sardonic scowl. “His girlfriend makes certain he isn’t abused.” He then quickly typed GO AWAY and pressed “connect.” They began discussing ambience as the instrument trembled yet again, reading TALK2ME.

NOT NOW

2NIGHT?

YES

How in the world could he still be jealous? James wondered, though he knew it was a foolish question, as David tended to be peevish about anything which made James unavailable when he wanted to talk about nothing, merely to hear the sound of the other’s voice. Hyomin, one of the engineers, turned to him expectantly.

“Did you need me to get any sound effects?”

James smiled. Boffins loved any excuse to make noise.

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll have you know I’m very upset.”

“Of course you are,” James said, picking at the remnants of his room service meal. “Because you don’t have anything else to think about, do you?”

“But you didn’t even tell me ‘bout this, I had to learn secondhand.”

“From Andy, I’ll wager.”

“He’s talked out of turn on me plenty of times, it’s only fair.”

“You are aware my responsibility extends to all of you, as if I could possibly say no. And as you’re all so fond of saying, better the devil you know.”

“If that’s true then why won’t you ever come when I’ve asked you to?”

“I have an irrational fear of English houseboats.”

David began laughing loudly.

“Besides, I couldn’t do that to Andy, that’s his domain now. You don’t see him trying to take over my ship, now do you?”

“That’s another thing, I actually have a boat. The least you could do is buy a bloody submarine!”

It was James’ turn to laugh. “Acoustically it would be a very bad idea. And where would I dock it?”

They giggled at one another for a few minutes, as James wistfully thought that if they did ever work together in close quarters again it would be fun, although with Roger in the States it would likely never come to pass. America had become less of an attractive destination to David ever since that particular turn of events. Roger could be very funny when he chose to be (or with at least half a bottle of wine in him), but he lacked a capacity for silliness for which James harbored a secret fondness. Joel had learned to endure his lapses into puns and the like over the years, shaking his head ruefully at his boss when the hour turned late and the patter more and more absurd.

“So how’s it been, being the handmaiden to egotism?”

“Pays well enough, though I’m forced to stay in ugly hotels and endure constant harassment from the likes of you.”

“I can’t have him filling your head with nonsense ‘bout me, now can I?”

“You are never a topic of conversation.”

“How very boring for you, then.”

James let out a raspberry into the phone and David chuckled again.

“Did you watch the sunrise?” James asked.

“Too overcast. But the kids’ll be up soon.”

“That reminds me, would Rose like one of the Mimzys? It’s the stuffed rabbit from the movie.”

“Oh I s’pose, if you can manage it, dear thing.”

“I’m sure I can.”

“And can you manage to stop ignoring me as well? It’s most distressing.”

“You’re just being spiteful, and it’s very unbecoming for a man of your age. Do you honestly equate producing music with. . .other things?”

“I can’t help but do so, given the way we met, after all.”

“It only reminds me how much easier it is with you. There, now that I’ve confessed you can leave me alone.”

“Sweet thing, how can you say that?”

James knew David was prepared to say something more risqué but then they both heard cries of “Dad!” in the background.

“Duty calls,” James intoned, and smirked at the attendant memories that particular phrase evoked.

“You just watch yourself around that one, lad. I’m not too old to put him in his place.”

“Of course you aren’t,” James murmured. “But you are too old to act like a jealous lover, so why don’t you go do something useful, like tend to your brood, hmm?”

“You used to like my jealous fits.”

“I used to like a lot of things, David, but now I’m old and stubborn.” James scratched the back of his head, now hairless, as seeming punctuation.

“Yes dear, I’m making it now,” James heard David say, and clicked off his phone. As he settled down to sleep, leaving the television on, he wondered if the cats missed him, and how deep the snow would be when he finally returned home.

“I’m not posing with the fucking rabbit.”

Everyone looked around reflexively, although the actress who had played Emma, a charming little girl named Rhiannon, had already departed in the company of her father. But her presence served to bring out Roger’s paternal side, which was very nice to observe, James thought. They had all been encouraging, while Hutton had coached her as to what he wanted for the music video footage, and on the whole it was a fun afternoon. Bob had asked for a photo of Roger with Mimzy, the rabbit in question, to use for the cover of the CD-single packaging, and of course their musical genius had balked, just because he could. The photographer looked stunned, frozen with camera in hand.

“Oh come now, Rog,” James said, waving the toy in his hand. “Mimzy wants to play.”

“Guthrie, I swear I’m going to clock you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt a man holding an adorable rabbit, I know you wouldn’t.” He continued to tease Roger, as he made Mimzy dance upon his shoulder.

David would play along, you grumpy bastard.

Roger posed, in a manner of speaking, and James sat Mimzy on his shoulder proper as the camera clicked and whirred.

“Hurry,” Roger said between clenched teeth.

“You’ll crop me out, won’t you?” James asked. The photographer replied “Uh-huh,” in an abstracted fashion.

“Of course he will,” Roger quipped, “After all, who the hell are you?”

James smirked. “I’m the man who makes you sound wonderful, how’s that for an identity?”

“Sod off, Guthrie.”

“Same to you, Mr. Waters.”

“Are we finished yet?!” Roger cried.

“Yeah, I’m good,” the photographer replied, moving away from the desk.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? What’s that, Mimzy?” James held the rabbit’s face to his ear. “Yes, I’ll be sure to tell him, though I’m surprised at your language, dear thing.”

Roger began snickering and James knew he’d saved the day. Again.
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The Last Whimsy