Page 101 of Musical Games
‘No! Don’t tell me.’
Brad held his palm up and braced his body as if holding back a tidal wave from breaking. He looked at Esther and closed his eyes.
‘I see a glacier, tall pines, rocks.’
He took a big breath and gritted his teeth as if straining on the toilet.
‘A leather bag with silver coins. Swords in the snow. Ice, fire, scales, death.’
Sam gripped Esther’s arm as she felt her sister trying to move away.
Brad opened his eyes wide. ‘You’re a model, second generation, and you have a Northern Inuit dog called Luna.’
‘Er… I’m a neurosurgeon.’
Brad thumped the end of his trident on the poolside as if splitting the earth.
‘Hot damn!’ He stared at Esther, his mouth open.
‘Crystal!’
His assistant materialised by his side, holding her phone to his mouth. ‘It’s recording.’
Brad’s eyes glazed over. ‘Game of ThronesmeetsRain Man. Possible EU grant through Irish co-pro. Speak to Birgir in Iceland re filming at Silfra. And we’ve gotta get mermaids in this one.’
He shivered as if waking from a trance and Crystal moved away.
‘So, you actually look inside people’s heads?’ he asked Esther. ‘Like, literally?’
‘Well, er, I operate on the central and peripheral nervous systems, not just the brain.’
‘Fascinating.’ Brad hooked his arm around Esther’s, pulling her away from Sam. ‘I’m just going to borrow her for a moment.’
‘But—’
Esther looked like she was at the apex of a rollercoaster, oscillating between terror and excitement.
‘It’s fine,’ said Sam. ‘You go!’
She watched them leave with a grin, then turned to wander through the groups of beautiful people, seeing if there was anyone she recognised. Barbara, Rory's mum – now Lady Bauer – was on the terrace, holding court as people fawned over her. Eyes flicked over Sam, making judgements as to her importance within a millisecond before deciding she wasn’t worth it. Here she was nobody special. She was just another nobody trying to be a somebody. The glitz and the glamour was fun, but only if the experience could be shared.
‘Hi, want a drink?’
A man was smiling at her. His face was tanned, his blond hair sun-bleached. He looked like a surf god. He held out his hand.
‘I’m Bryce.’
‘Sam.’
‘Not from round these parts either?’ His Australian accent was almost hidden under a Californian drawl.
‘No, I’m from the UK.’
‘Whatya doing here? You a friend of Brad? I saw you talking to him.’
‘I’m working on a project with him and I also wro— co-wrote three songs that are going to be inBraveheart 2.’
‘No way! Awesome. What do you play?’
