Small Talk with Sully (Chapter 2 draft)

This took me much longer than I expected, and turned out being about 3000 words longer than I hoped for. Consider it incomplete since it is still a first draft :)




Cole split apart the off-white curtains to the window of his hotel room, and the rings scraped against the metal rail. The morning sun rose behind New York and framed each skyscraper with a bright yellow outline.  Dust specks floated and turned white when the light hit them, and Cole began to waft his hand back and forth to disperse them. He shook his head. How horrid to have paid so much for a room, and the curtains are so filthy. Anthony, Cole’s son, would be sprouting red blotches on his neck by now.

Cole stood in a white T shirt, blue and white striped pajama pants, and white socks. He put his hands on his hips and he studied the dots below that began to roam the sidewalks. He then glanced at his watch, which he always wore to bed, and read the time. Five-thirty. He put his hand back on his hip.

Then, again, Cole raised his wrist to read the time. Five-thirty.

For the past week, Jareth and Cole had been pin-balling throughout New York to hit each radio interview, or pre-recorded interview, or live interview that Cole had scheduled for them. For today’s schedule, they would do the Morning Moira, a journalist’s interview at lunch, and Small Talk with Sully in the evening. The lads- Jareth’s band members- wouldn’t be needed until Sullivan’s show, so they were given the luxury of sleeping in.

Cole made his way to the bathroom and flicked on the light. The cream tile was cold under his socks, and then plush as he reached the dark red shag carpet in front of the sink. The walls were paneled with mustard yellow planks which matched the mustard yellow porcelain of the tub. The ceiling was done in dark mahogany, and the shower curtain was dark brown.

Cole slipped off his wrist watch and placed it on the counter, face up. He then removed his clothing, folded them on top of the toilet seat, then showered for ten minutes. The dark brown curtain drew open after the water stopped and Cole wrapped a towel around his waist. He then tightened the leather of his watch back onto his wrist. 

He shaved his face, first going with the grain, then he shaved again against the grain. When he finished, he went back to the bedroom where today’s suit and pants waited for him at the side of the bed. The night prior, Cole folded each article of clothing and placed them in order of how he would put them on. On his nightstand sat his thin leather wallet with a gold button in the center, which he would always put in his pocket immediately after dressing.

He slipped on his boxer briefs, his socks, his under shirt, his button up, his pants, and his tie before slipping on his suit coat. Lastly, he wore a pair of steam pressed white gloves that had three darts from his knuckles to his wrists. He stood in front of a full length mirror and smoothed the front of his coat with his palms. He then turned and eyed his side body profile.

He studied his own figure briefly, and when Cole raised his wrist to check the time again, it was six. It was time to wake up Jareth.

Cole knocked three times on the door that divided his room with Jareth’s. 

“Jareth,” he said.  Jareth did not answer.

He pressed the door open and stepped into the dim room, then closed the door behind him. The room was still dark, except for a white strip that split the room from the slit in the curtains. It ran across the bed, where a lumb lay hidden underneath. Cole crossed the room to the curtains and drew them back. He squinted as white blinded him. The sun was much more prominent now, and the city below was active. Dots moved in flocks and masses below, and cars honked. 

Once again, Cole waved away the specks of dust with his gloved hand and cleared his throat.

“Honestly,” he said. Then, he turned and approached the bed. “Come on, up you get.”

Jareth had turned from the window and wrapped himself in the thick orange comforter with plaid patterns. He did not move.

“Come on,” Cole said, and checked his watch. “You’ve lost three minutes already, we haven’t got time for you to lay around.”

For a very long time, Jareth did not move. He lay very still under the covers, and for just a moment Cole pictured a news article titled:  Jareth Found Dead in New York Hotel. Then, slowly, Jareth began to rise and the sheets pooled on his lap. He rubbed his face with his hands, then dropped them and sighed through his nose. His brown hair was not tangled, but it was certainly not brushed. He wore a silk night shirt with floral print, and in the night it had turned so the buttons were one way and his collar was to the other.

“I’d like to get breakfast before Moria’s show,” Cole said, and placed his hands on his hips. “If we don’t we won’t have any food till lunch, and I’ll have myself a headache.”

Jareth did not reply. He sat with closed eyes and breathed very slowly.

“Up you get now, come on,” Cole said. He raised his wrist to look at his watch, but he did not read the time. Then, he reached down and peeled the sheets back to Jareth’s ankles.

“It’s cold,” Jareth said. He then turned his legs and scooted to sit at the edge of the bed. He then his face in his hands again. 

While Jareth showered, Cole sat at the edge of the bed adjusting his cuffs and bouncing his leg. As he waited, he twisted the gold wedding ring on his finger in increments of three. Three turns to the left, three turns to the right. The ceiling fan spun lazily above him and the clock on the nightstand ticked.

“Jareth,” Cole called.

Jareth had been showering for the past half hour. Cole and Jareth were meant to arrive at Moira’s morning show at eight, then be on stage at nine. Cole pictured sitting in the back of a taxi behind a fleet of still cars, all honking. He imagined arriving to the set with Jareth, hungry, then immediately rushing him out from the wings. He imagined one of the cameras following him as he jogged back into the wings, and the audience giggling.

The shower still ran from behind the bathroom door. Cole stood up and walked to the red wood door to knock on it twice.

“You’ve taken plenty of time Jareth, there's no reason for a shower to be this absurdly long,” he said.

Jareth did not reply.

“You’ve only got twenty minutes now to shave and dress.”

Still, there was no reply, but the white noise from the shower head silenced and the sliding shower door rumbled. Cole leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms.

When Jareth emerged he was shaved and had a towel wrapped around his body. Warm fog wafted from the open bathroom doorway, and Jareth crossed the room to the pile of clothing beside his suitcase. His clothing consisted of antique frills, colorful patterned fabrics, and puffed sleeves of a queer nature. All of which cost a fortune, and were now being spread on the carpet which Cole imagined was just as poorly dusted as the curtains. 

Cole checked his watch.

“I’ll be just outside,” he said.

After another ten minutes, Jareth joined him in the hallway. He turned and locked the hotel door three times.

By the time Jareth and Cole were coming down the green carpeted steps to the breakfast hall, it was ten minutes past seven. They had fifty minutes to eat and fetch a cab to Moira’s morning show.

“Five minutes for breakfast. We could’ve had longer,” Cole said and eyed Jareth.

“I’m not hungry,” Jareth replied.

As they passed another hotel guest her head turned to follow Jareth’s face. Jareth had chosen to wear rounded Lennon sunglasses, a white ruffled shirt tucked into turquoise and orange striped slacks, and a fur coat.

“Well you won’t be getting any food at all until lunch, so you’d better get something now,” Cole said. They walked swiftly past the plum purple lounge chairs and rounded tables, and Jareth did not reply.

Both men found themselves with plates at the long table that served breakfast to the hotel guests each morning. There were shelled boiled eggs, baskets of bagels and croissants, sliced bread on a wood cutting board, glass jars of red jams, a variety of fruits cut and mixed in a bowl, bacon strips, and two very large pitchers with orange juice and iced lemon water. Cole scoffed.

“Red meat and carbs, always,” Cole muttered and shook his head. “Why in God's name would they mingle the fruit all together?”

Jareth stood holding an empty plate, and he skimmed the breakfast table with his eyes. 

“If you don’t get something now you’ll be hungry until lunch.”

“I’d like to wait, really,” Jareth said, and he placed his plate back on the stack.

Cole’s brows furrowed at Jareth.

“Morning,” said someone from the entrance of the dining area.

A blonde man with a very light voice walked towards them. His nose was like the beak on a hawk, and his hair was chopped straight much like the straw hair on a scarecrow. It was shaped into a mop top, except for two tassels that hung in front of each ear to mimic sideburns. He was Jareth’s bass player, solo guitarist, rhythm guitarist, strings player, brass player, and- when other band members were absent- he was also Jareth’s percussionist. This was Vinnie, and he was skilled with nineteen types of instruments, and currently learning two.

“Morning,” Cole replied shortly.

“Is there something scheduled?” Vinnie asked.

“No- not for you. Not until this evening. At six.” 

“Alright. Morning Jareth,” Vinnie said.

“Morning,” Jareth replied.

Vinnie took a plate and began to eye the table. Jareth put his hands in his pockets and stood to watch him. And then, they began to talk.

Cole stood and stared at Jareth, and his brows furrowed down which made a thin crease between his eyebrows. With no sense of urgency, Jareth stood and discussed how he had slept, and then listened as Vinnie returned the favor. Vinnie gathered bread, an egg, and poured orange juice while he listened. Cole eyed his watch again and read the time. If they really wanted to arrive at eight then he would have to eat in the cab, and he certainly couldn’t take the plate out from the dining area. He looked up from his watch.

A distant bell in the lobby dinged, people muttered quietly at their tables, and Vinnie’s plate clanked when he accidentally hit it against one of the jam jars.

Suddenly, and without saying anything, Cole put his cup of water down on the counter and turned to the trash bin at the end of the table. He tipped his plate and allowed the egg, strawberries, and bread to tumble in. He then scraped the remaining fruit, and placed the plate back on the table.

Both Vinnie and Jareth had gone quiet to stare at him.

Cole pressed the cold fabric of his glove against his forehead and squeezed. The New York sidewalks slid by the car window as the taxi driver rounded a right turn. A man stood at a stand selling macaroni with hotdog slices, groups weaved around one another in sleek business shoes or heels, and steam rose from the grates in the sidewalk from the subway station beneath. Beside Cole, Jareth sat on the taxi's black leather seats and gazed out the window. Both men held cigarettes between two fingers which had lightly fogged the back seat of the car.

The heavy set driver had the radio playing, and he frequently reached up to scratch the side of his head. He was careful not to disrupt the seven strands he had slicked back with gel. After the man coughed into his palm for the second time, Cole leaned forward and slid shut the glass divider.

Cole’s heart beat firmly against his sternum as he studied the day and checked his watch. Ten minutes into the drive he slid his pocket calendar from his coat and opened it to ensure his memorization of locations and timing. He opened the glass divider again to say;

“How much longer will it be until we arrive?”

“‘Bout fifteen minutes, give or take,” the driver replied.

Cole shut the door.

The studio for Moira’s Morning Show was on the corner of the street with a round mint colored sign that better fit a florists shop than a live tape studio. The show’s name was done in white lettering, and at night it glowed. On this particular morning, the entire corner was hoarded with women who stood  at the door in a single field line until the velvet rope ended. Then, they formed into a mass. Three poster tarps of Jareth had been rolled out and hung on each of the windows beside the entrance, and a man with a camera was collecting money to take women’s pictures in front of them.

The collective buzzing from the crowd neared and passed as the taxi drove by and went down the street to turn into the back entrance. The taxi slowed and stopped in the middle of the concrete lot, where the only sign of a studio lay past two open doors that were being held open with two large rocks. Unfinished sets were by the entrance, and in the dumpster was an old ragged sofa tipped on its side. 

Cole opened the car door and stepped out, then turned to the driver's window to begin digging for his wallet.

“And how much-” he said, then waited for the man to crank down his window. “How much will that be?”

“Twenty dollars,” the man said, and Cole looked up.

“Twenty dollars? Really?”

The man nodded.

“Oh! Hold on, we’ve got that covered!” said a woman, who came jogging out from the open doors in  her heels. “We pay for all of our guests' cabs,” she said. 

When Jareth and Cole entered the building, they were escorted through a pink hallway by the same woman in a pencil skirt with her hair done in an out-of-fashion beehive. On the walls  hung a line of framed photographs of Moira standing next to various celebrities, often young and male. Cole turned to look at Jareth.

“You won’t be needing those,” he said, and opened his palm for Jareth’s sunglasses. Jareth took them off and folded the arms, then placed them in Cole’s hand.

“Moira is just getting ready, you boys were a little early.” said the assistant.

“If you could show us to the dressing room that would be just fine,” said Cole

“Oh, Moira wanted to show off the studio,” she said, then turned at the end of the hall to the stage area. 

The stage was compact and dressed like a living room from a decade ago.  The carpet and walls were pink, the couches were white, and the couch pillows were embroidered with flowers. Three cameras were set at the front of the scene, all of which had their ‘live’ sign dead. Hefty wires snaked from camera to camera and to the walls, all bound together in a thick tube with electric tape. Cole could hear Jareth’s shoe hit on top of one as they walked. Two workers were seated in the audience chairs having breakfast, and one was up a ladder and toying with a vent. 

“It’s a real privilege meeting you, by the way,” the woman said.

Jareth said nothing.

After she showed them the set  and the bathrooms, she led them back down the hall to a door with a light pink star painted in the center of it. On the star written in stickers was Jareth’s full name. Jareth Gublenn.

“And I’ll have Moira come say hi to you boys a little before show time, alright?”

For forty minutes, Jareth and Cole waited in the dressing room. There was a single vanity mirror lined with lightbulbs and a wardrobe selection which was hung on a rack.  Jareth sat back in a swivel chair and turned it back and forth while he picked at his nails. A complimentary breakfast was splayed out across the table in front of the couch, and Cole had taken it upon himself to dine some up for both him and Jareth.

 “I would have liked to eat at the hotel,” he commented, and dabbed his stache with a napkin. “They hadn’t mentioned a breakfast whatsoever.”

Cole checked his watch, and drew circles on his knee, and cleared his throat. And after a while he stood so he could walk to the door and open it to peer out. He then closed it and turned with his hands on his hips.

Jareth stared at him from the swivel chair. He was sunken back into his coat.

“We’re nearly ten minutes before show and we haven’t even met the woman,” Cole said.

Jareth reached up to scratch the corner of his eye.

“I haven’t any idea if they’re even letting people in yet.”

It was then, while standing just in front of the door, that there came two knocks. Then, the door pressed open and Cole stepped to the side.

The same woman from before stood at the door, now with a walkie talkie in the pocket of her blouse and a clipboard in hand.

“We’re ready for you Jareth,” she said.

Jareth stretched his arm to put his cigarette out on the ashtray sitting atop the vanity desk, then he began to stand from the chair.

“Now?” Cole asked.

“We still have a couple minutes but we just want Jareth backstage and ready,” she replied.

“Hah,” Cole put his arms up, then dropped them at his sides. “Well, alright then, sure.”

She- the stage manager- walked down the pink hallway to the backstage that was behind the fake living room set. Jaraeth followed behind her, and Cole behind him. Warm stage lights shone in through the cracks in the fake doorway they stopped in front of. Just beyond the set, a crowd was murmuring, and giggling, and sometimes squealing. 

“Alright,” she said in a whisper. “We’re just gonna have Moira introduce the show, give some background on you, and then she’ll call you out and all you have to do is open up this door and sit down on the couch. We’ve got three cameras, uhm- you know what to do,” she said to Jareth. Then she smiled.

“You’ve got your coat crooked,” Cole said.

Jareth rolled his shoulders forward and pulled his coat.His pearl drop earrings jingled quietly.

The woman watched him, smiling, and then she flipped open the first page on her clipboard. Meekly, she turned it to Jareth.

“Would you? Uhm,” she asked. “I’ve been listening to you since I was in highschool.”

Cole watched her face.

Suddenly to Cole, she was very  young. She wore red lipstick that made her teeth look white, but all Americans had straight, white teeth. She had a nose speckled with freckles, and while smiling at Jareth she had a dimple on one side of her face. When Jareth plucked the pen from the top of the keyboard, she bit her lip and watched him. The pen scratched on the paper quietly while the crowd mingled beyond the set.

When Jareth placed the pen down and looked up at her, she stared back.

Cole watched them.

“Thank you, alright,” she said and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Have a good show,” she said.

Her heels clicked as she walked away, and Cole shook his head. 

“How terribly unprofessional. In fact, this entire show has been unorthodoxed, I’d never seen a show run like this.”

“I rather like the set,” Jareth said.

“What?” 

“I rather like-”

“Oh yes, yes it's fine, but we haven’t even met the bloody show host yet. After all that time waiting she couldn’t come greet us?”

Jareth nodded. Then, neither of them had anything else to say.

Cole peered through the crack in the door.  He could only see a vertical strip of the crowd. The majority of audience members were women from fifteen to fifty. Only one camera was in Cole’s direct view with a camera man seated behind it wearing a hefty headset and holding a cola bottle. Cole brought his hands together, and through the cloth of his white glove he mindlessly twisted his wedding ring. Three times to the left then three times to the right.

The lights over the crowd dimmed, and the camera man leaned forward to take hold of the camera. The red light on the side of it flicked on, and he raised a hand to someone. Over speakers at the very back of the auditorium started Moira’s Morning show jingle, and Cole stepped away from the door.

The crowd clapped as Moira entered the stage, and waved, and smiled, and then sat down. She began to introduce the show in her southern drawl while holding a handheld microphone. And at some point she said

“And we have a very special someone joining us this morning,”

  Which amused the crowd greatly.

Jareth reached for the door handle and laid his finger atop. 

“Not yet,” Cole said.

Jareth kept his hand on the door and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the wood which made the door wobble. Cole’s eyes widened and he reached out to hold Jareth's shoulder and straighten him up.

“Why don’t you come on out and join us Jareth,” 

Before Jareth moved, the audience began to cheer again. He pressed the door open and the white light hit  Jareth’s face, which made him glow and his earrings twinkle.  Jareth smiled with a closed mouth and stepped forward, then closed the door behind him. 

Behind the set, it was black again. Cole sighed through his nose and closed his eyes.

The cheering drew out for a long while, and after some time Moira began to speak with Jareth.

“Wow, wow it is so nice seeing your face, isn't it ladies?”

The crowd responded in mingles.

“The travel must’ve been eternal,” she said.

“No, uhm, only eight hours,” Jareth said, sounding very far from the microphone.

“Oh- you’ve got your own microphone sweetheart.”

The audience began to giggle, and Cole shook his head.

“Are you a little nervous this morning?” Moira asked.

“Uhm, no,” Jareth replied. His muttery voice was much louder now. 

“Are you liking New York?”

“No,” he said. “I’d rather like to go home, really.”

“Oh!” Moira said, and the audience laughed. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, it's uhm… terribly loud.”

“It certainly is,”

Behind the set, Cole stood and listened. Moira asked Jareth questions, he muttered, and the audience would respond in amusement or endearment. And when Moira had exhausted her questions, she said:

“Well I think we have a few questions for you in the audience,  Jareth.”

The audience buzzed, and Cole pictured young women in their pearls and makeup raising their hands and  smiling down at the set. He shifted and peered through the crack in the doorway again to look at the strip of distant audience members. He then pictured Jareth’s blank face, staring back at them. 

“We’ve got someone over here, hi sweety,” Moira said.

“Hi,” said a young girl over the speakers.

The audience awwed.

“How are you this morning?” Moira asked.

“Good,” she responded, shyly. 

“Do you have anything to ask Jareth?”

“Yes,” she said. “Are you- Do you have any uhm…” she went silent.

“I think she’s a little nervous,” Moira said, and the audience giggled.

“Do you have any pets?” the girl asked.

Jareth shifted on the couch which came through the microphone.

“Yes, I’ve got two otters,” he said.

“What are their names?” she asked.

“Barneby and Abeline.” 

“Now how did you manage to get otters?” Moira asked.

“I pay for their care at a zoo in London.”

Moira came into Cole’s view through the door. She wore a plaid pantsuit and had a silver haired bob cut. She placed her hand on the shoulder of a young woman, and she stood.

“Hello Jareth,” she said, with a shaky voice.

“Hello,” he said.

“I wanted to know if you were seeing anyone,” she said.

Cole shook his head, and the audience buzzed.

“Not much, really,” Jareth said. “The lights are rather, uhm…. Bright.”

The audience laughed. Cole placed his hands on his hips and looked up to the ceiling. He let out a sigh through his lips and shook his head.

Mindlessly, Cole opened his coat and slid his hand inside to check his inner pocket for his hand held calendar. He then checked his other inner pocket for his checkbook. Then a terrible thought came to mind. Cole imagined his thin leather wallet with the golden button sitting on the nightstand of his hotel room. He put his hand on his left pant pocket, and he felt no barrier between his hand and his skin. A weight dropped in his chest.

They were meant to meet with a journalist for lunch, and the journalist- surely a poor man- would have to pay.

“Oh,” the woman said in an exhale of air. “I meant- are you dating?”

“No, uhm… not at the moment,” Jareth replied.

“Well maybe we can have you two meet after the show,” Moira said.

The audienced buzzed again, and Cole began taking off his coat to thoroughly check the pockets for his wallet.

For a half hour Cole stood with his arms crossed behind the darkened set of Moira’s show. For a half hour, women asked Jareth about his music, his dating life, and what it was like living in London. Cole’s heels pressed against the bottom of his shoes and became tender. He occasionally attempted to use the light from the door to see the time, but after squinting for a few seconds he dropped his arm. For thirty minutes, he thought about his wallet. He thought about whether or not it was on his nightstand, or on the hotel floor somewhere, or left in the taxi.

If Cole could manage to phone a band member- if any were still at the hotel- then he could have them come to the lunch to hand off the wallet. 

“I’m afraid that's all we have time for Jareth, it was such a pleasure meeting you.” Moira said. “If I had it my way we’d just keep you on the set forever!”

“Oh, no thank you,” Jareth replied, and the audience laughed while the outro music began to play.

Cole straightened himself and stepped away from the door. Jareth’s shadow dipped into the line of light at the bottom, then the door pressed open and the wooden wall wobbled again. He did not look back at the audience and began to close the door.

“Jareth- Jareth you ought to wave,” Cole said.

Jareth turned to look out into the audience again and waved once before closing the door. Cole scoffed.

Cole and Jareth went from the set to the dressing room where Cole recalled a cream colored telephone had been hanging on the wall. Call led them back through the set, down the pink hallway, and to the door with the star.

“Oh- now hold on, I’d like to come and at least say hi,” Moira said from the other side of the hallway.

Cole and Jareth both looked up to see Moira in her plaid yellow pantsuit coming towards them. Her white heels did not click on the soft carpet, but her strings of pearls jingled. Cole’s hand slipped off the door handle, and he slid his palms down his coat to straighten it. Both Moira and Jareths stood slightly taller than him.

“Ah, yes hello,” he said, then he cleared his throat.

He thought of his wallet on the nightstand, or perhaps on the hotel lobby floor somewhere. Then, he thought about Not being able to reach one of the band members, and showing up to the restaurant penniless.

“Jareth, what a real delight it was to meet you, we’d all love to have you again. You were such a polite guest and I must thank you for that.”

Cole looked at Jareth, who was looking down at the carpet.

“Jareth,” Cole said.

“Thank you,” Jareth replied.

“When are you coming to America again?” she asked Jareth.

“I don't know, really,” Jareth said.

“We’ll be back some time next year,” Cole said.

“You must be the manager,” Moira said. She smiled to show Cole her white teeth, and held out a hand for him to shake. “What’s your name?”
 For a moment Cole stared at her, and his brows furrowed just slightly. He then swallowed thickly and took her hand in his own. 

“Cole Gublenn,” he said.

“Oh good heavens I didn’t know it was a family business,” she said. 

“We’re brothers, actually,” Cole said, and placed his hand back on the door handle.

“Well, I would not have known that. You two do not look related at all,”

“Yes, we really must be going now. We’ve got quite the schedule today,” Cole said.

“Oh, well don’t let me stop you. You keep in touch Cole, we’d love to have Jareth on the show again.”

“Certainly,” he said, and he did not share her wide smile.

He looked at Jareth, and Jareth was looking at the carpet again.

Cole stood leaned against the wall, waiting as the phone rang. He had phoned the hotel, who then phoned Nigel- the band's pianist- who did not pick up. Then, they phoned Vinnie’s room, who would also likely be out seeing New York. Perhaps, they had gone out together.

Cole looked down at his watch. They were meant to be at lunch in an hour. The line clicked.

“Hello?” Vinnie said.

“Ah, there you are,” Cole said. “Listen, I’ve left my wallet at the-” There was shuffling on the other line. Cole went silent for just a moment before speaking again. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Vinnie said.

“I've left my wallet in my hotel room, could you go and grab it for me?”

“Now?” Vinnie asked. 

“Yes, I’ll be needing it at Delights dine-in before a journal interview.”

“Okay, uhm,”

Vinnie didn’t say anything for a while. Cole glanced back at Jareth who had returned to the swivel chair with his head back and eyes closed. 

“When?” Vinnie asked.

“Within the next hour, if possible.”

“Okay-”

“If you go down to the lobby I’ve already explained the situation and they’ll give you a key.”

After discussing where the room was and directions to the Delights diner, Cole turned to look back at Jareth again. He was now curled up in the chair with his eyes closed.

“I saw the show,” Vinnie said.

Cole scoffed and leaned against the wall, then switched the phone so the shell cupped his other ear.

“The place is horridly unorganized, really.”

“Oh, I thought it was rather charming.”

“Well,” Cole said, then cleared his throat. He pictured his wallet still sitting at his nightstand. “Right, well I’ll be heading off to Delights now. If you’re unable to find the damn thing then I’ve lost all my money.” 

Vinnie didn’t reply and there was shuffling again.

“I’ll be seeing you then?” asked Cole.

“Alright.”

“Alright then,”

And Cole hung up the phone.

Cole and Jareth arrived at the Dine-in twenty minutes before scheduled. For some time, Cole stood by the front door checking his watch, waiting for Vinnie. After ten minutes passed, they seated at the back. Cole still watched the door, having to arch himself back to see past someone’s head. 

Despite wearing shades again, a small flock had formed around Jareth in a half circle. They quietly asked for him to sign napkins or to sign their clothing. Instead, Jareth slipped a stack of pre-signed cards from his coat and began to hand them out. 

“Alright, Jareth’s has a long day ahead of him, he’ll be needing food now,” Cole said.

Slowly, the crowd trickled away, still looking back at Jareth. After insisting twice more, they fully dissipated. 

Cole imagined Vinnie still in bed with the covers pulled over himself, sleeping. Or perhaps he was just unable to locate the wallet, still asking around. And if he did have it, he may be completely incapable of finding the Delights Diner anyways.

“He’s not found the bloody thing,” Cole said. “It’s still in the back of that damned taxi. Or the floor of the hotel.” Cole looked at Jareth, who was looking at the table. Jareth didn’t reply, and Cole’s brows furrowed at him. “Jareth,” he said.

Jareth’s eyes looked up at Cole.

“I’ve lost my wallet,” Cole said.

“Oh,” Jareth replied. Then, he opened his coat to look for his own wallet.

“You haven't got any American money- it was all in-” Cole leaned back in his chair and intertwined his fingers. He let out a slow sigh through his nose before he continued. “We’ll have to make the reporter pay for the meal,” He said, then reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Only two minutes passed and neither twin said anything before a thin blonde man in an orange corduroy suit appeared. He wore rounded lennon glasses like Jareth and held a satchel, which Cole thought looked rather womanly.  The journalist shook Jareth’s hand, sat down, then produced a pencil and a leather notebook from his satchel. 

After the journalist acquainted himself with Jareth, the waiter came around to introduce himself and offer drinks. Like most Americans he smiled wide, and whenever the journalist quipped with him he chuckled. If he was wanting a good tip from Jareth’s deep pockets, he would be disappointed today. He may get no tip at all considering Vinnie’s failure to arrive. 

The menu was horrid. Cole held it up for both himself and Jareth to see. Stuffed baked salmon, shrimp Louis salad, creamed crab, fish n’ chips (surely a bastardized version), and a handful of side dishes. Cole shook his head and let the menu fall flat on the table.

“What will you be having, then?” he asked Jareth.

“I’m not hungry,” Jareth said.

“You haven’t had a thing today, you’ve got to have something. Go on and have the fish and chips.” Cole said and pointed to them on the menu.

“I’d rather have, uhm… a fruit bowl, really” Jareth muttered.

“That’s a side dish,” Cole said.

As they spoke, the journalist opened the front flap of his journal and began to write. Cole watched him, then stopped talking.

The men ordered, the journalist began to ask Jareth questions about his early career, and some time later the food arrived. Warm steam wafted from each plate, and so too did the smell of fish. Cole sat back with his arms crossed and his head turned to watch the door while the journalist asked questions. After some time, the man said;

“Did you always know Jareth would be successful?”

Cole did not reply, but after the journalist stared at him for some time he looked back at him. Cole’s eyebrows raised and he began to sit up.

“What- pardon?” Cole said. “Oh, yes. Yes,” He replied, then looked at Jareth and cleared his throat.

“How did you know?”

“This isn’t my interview,” Cole said, smiling just slightly which upturned his stache at each corner.

“I have to wonder what the manager thinks,” said the journalist.

“I don’t know, really. I just uhm, I knew. I had grown up with him and he had it. The thing, the it. Whatever it was that people really were- are drawn to. So I was confident in his potential.”

“In past interviews Jareth talked about being musically inclined in his youth, but denied being categorized as a child prodigy. Would you agree with that?”
 “Well,” Cole said. “I haven't got the qualifications to... Say so.”

“But would you say so?”

“I’d say he was a musical child, is all.” Cole said.

It was then that at the front of the restaurant a man with choppy blonde hair appeared, then began to speak with a passing waitress. 

“Excuse me,” Cole said, and stood from his seat.

He went around the various tables and to the front where he caught Vinnie’s eye. Vinnie stayed where he was and waited until Cole met him.

“Is it gone? Did you check with the staff for whether or not they’ve even got a lost and found.”

“I’ve got it,” Vinnie said, and reached into his pocket to slip out the brown leather wallet with a golden button. Cole stared at him.

“Whatever took you so long to bring it?” He said, then reached out to take it. He split it open and began to check each nook.

“I walked, it’s close to the hotel,” Vinnie said, and leaned to see Jareth past Cole’s shoulder. 

“You- I could have been finished with the lunch by now and been unable to pay,” Cole said. “Nevermind,” Cole said and pocketed his wallet.

“When should we arrive at Sullivan's tonight?” Vinnie asked.

“I’ve told you this,”

Cole shook his head and reached into his coat to get his pocket calendar. He flipped it open and studied the day.

“Well, they’ll be sending a car for us at five,” he said.

“Oh, that's rather nice.”

“Yes… the whole band is meant to be there.”

Vinnie nodded.

“Alright then.” Cole parted ways with him and returned to the table of fish where the journalist had resumed his interest in Jareth.

Vinnie stood at the entrance for a moment, watching them, then turned to leave.

That evening, Cole stood with Jareth at the front door of the hotel awaiting their supposed ride for the Small talk with Sully show. Jareth changed from his original outfit to an ill fitted cotton collared shirt, a quilted sweater vest, striped hand warmers, and pants with stars sewn on them. Cole had him tuck his hair into a newboy’s cap and dawn shades, but his choice of outfit was give away enough. Cole stood beside him still dressed in black, gray, and white. Both men smoked cigarettes quietly, and on occasion an incoming guest would crane their head to look at Jareth for a moment. 

They were joined by Vinnie, Nigel the pianist, and Richard the percussionist. For tonight’s short performance, they were all that was essential for the show. The price of flying an entire orchestra that wouldn’t fit on the stage anyways wasn’t worth the cost. 

Half an hour before they were meant to arrive, a flat black limousine rounded the fountain at the lobby entrance and rolled to a stop just by the curb. Sullivan’s face was hand painted onto the side with his big toothy grin and slicked back hair. Next to him in yellow and dark blue lettering read; Small Talk with Sullivan. The paint was glossy and smooth to the car, and only slightly uncanny.

Cole nodded to himself as the coachman rounded the front of the car in his dark blue uniform and opened the door for them.

“For Gublenn Records?” he said.

“Yes, thank you,” Cole said, and stood back for the others to file in. He checked each pocket of his coat, then his pant pockets before he too stepped into the limo. 

The interior of the limousine was all velvet. The walls were dark blue while the seats were pale yellow, and in the center was a complimentary kart of various whiskeys, wines, and gin. The radio in the front played the opening tune of Sulivans talk show.

“Bit of a peacock, isn’t he,” Richard said.

“Oh yea?” Nigel asked.

“I’d rather have accommodation than none at all,” Cole said.

“Oh, you like him puffing his feathers for us, showing us his money?” Richard asked, and grinned at Cole from across the seats.

Cole furrowed his brows at him and leaned back. Then, crossed one leg over the other.

“Well it’s certainly far better than having to cab for one’s self,” he replied. 

The cabman sat back in the driver’s seat and started the car down the road again and out of the hotel. As they drove Nigel and Richard chatted, Vinnie sipped an irish whiskey while listening, and Jareth gazed out of the window. Cole watched him, and twisted his ring through his gloves. 

“Was the lunch enough to last?” Cole asked.

Jareth nodded without looking at him.

“When will we go back to the hotel?” he asked.

Cole’s brows lowered and he tilted his head slightly to try and see Jareth’s face better.

“Well- what’s this about?” he asked. “Are you ill?”

“No,” Jareth said.

“Right, so you don’t want to be on the Sullivan show?”

Jareth didn’t reply.

“Ah,” Cole scoffed and shook his head. “Have you any idea what a privilege it is to be on his show? What’s this about?”

Jareth said nothing, and laid his head back on the seat so he could look up at the ceiling. Cole stared at him for some time, watching his blank face. Cole thought he was, truly and utterly, ungrateful.

When they arrived they were driven to the back lot where a parking spot for the limousine was painted in bright yellow beside employee’s cars. The car rolled to a stop, and the coachman left the driver’s seat to open the side door for them.

They were soon escorted personally into the studio by the limo driver. The carpets were patterned with orange, dark brown, and yellow wavy lines and the walls were painted a deep blue. A cardboard cutout of Sullivan smiling big with a microphone was just beside Jareth’s dressing room, along with a table holding small complimentary water bottles.

“Jareth, this is where you’ll be waiting,” the cab driver said, now with his hat off. “And Jareth staff members will be in the room adjacent.”

“Staff members?” Richard said.

“Staff members? Staff members?” Nigel started.

“Nigel,” Cole said, sharp.

“I’ve not spent my last decade working for the star to be a staff member. I could do what he does, but I just don’t want to.” 

The lads chuckled.

“My apologies,” the cab driver said, slightly wide eyed. “For Jareth’s… Colleagues.”

The band members entered the dressing room, except for Vinnie who waited at the door for a moment with his guitar case in hand to watch.

“Right, thank you,” Cole said and went to open Jareth’s dressing room door.

“Sully wanted to say hello to the two of you,” said the cab driver. “If you’d follow me to his office.”

Cole brows raised slightly.

“How cordial,” he said, and began to follow. When he looked back, Jareth was still standing by the door of the dressing room. “Jareth,” he called.

“I’d like to sit down, really,” Jareth said.

“You can sit in Sullivan’s office.”

Jareth just stared at Cole, and his expression stayed extraordinarily blank.

“That’s alright,” the driver said. “It won’t take long.”

“Well,” Cole said, and sighed through his nose. “Very well, alright,”

Cole was led into an office with carpeting and wall the same as the hallway. The wall behind the receptionist had a fifteen foot oil painting of Sullivan’s face with a dark red background. The receptionist herself sat at a long curved desk with a typewriter, and when Cole entered she smiled at him and stood to shake his hand. Then, she pressed a button on her answering machine and leaned in. 

“Sully, Cole Gublenn is here for the six o’clock,” she said. Then, she sat down again and continued to type.

“Cole!” Sully said from around the corner. He soon came around wearing a gray pinstripe suit with a cigar between his teeth.

He opened his arms for Cole like he was going to hug him, but when he neared he took Cole’s hand with two big palms and began to shake his arm. His face had aged compared to the painting, which lacked his sun spots and yellowed teeth. Likely from coffee and his cigars. He was a tall square man with slicked back graying hair.

“Sullivan,” Cole said.

“That’s my dad, you call me Sully,” he said in his booming voice. “Where’s the diva?”

“ Jareth has had a long day and would like to rest before curtain.”

“Ah, sure he does. Well that’s alright, I don’t like meeting much with stars anyways,” Sully said. He let go of Cole’s hand and went around to his receptionist. “This is Rhonda, say hi to Mr. Gublenn sweetheart.”

To Cole’s surprise, he reached both hands out to slide thick fingers onto her shoulders to start massaging. She glanced at Cole, and he looked away from her. 

“Hello,” she said. Then, she continued to type.

“You a married man, Cole?” Sully asked, grinning.

Cole’s expression became slightly puzzled as he stood and avoided watching Sullivan massage his receptionists shoulders. The gold ring around his ring finger suddenly became very apparent to him, and he twisted it back and forth with his thumb.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

“Haha, of course,” Sully said, and moved away from Rhonda the receptionist. “Alright come on, I’ll show ya where you’ll be watching.”

“Oh- no I would much rather wait in the wings for Jareth, really.”

“You’re not sitting in the audience Mr. Gublenn, don’t worry.”

Cole was brought through the studio again side by side with Sully. They passed the hallway where the dressing rooms were and went up a flight of stairs to a room that oversaw the audience and stage through a window. Mother-boards of some kind lined each wall and monitors were mounted up above the window and in the corners of the room. A handful of men in suits with headphones on were seated at these boards, and on occasion one would say something into the microphone next to their mouths. Wires snaked on the floor and to the back wall where all the light sockets were located.

Below, a few audience members began to trickle in after having their tickets checked and punched. Up on the monitors was a steady film of the curtained stage in black and white. Cole placed his hands on his hips.

“It certainly won’t be in black and white?” he asked.

“No, that’s just for the monitor’s room. All the friends and family at home will see your star in color, don't you worry,” Sully said. He put a hand on Cole’s back to lead him to an empty chair at the window. He turned it for him. “We’ll get you a pair of headphones so you can listen,” he said.

“That’s quite alright, I’ll hear just fine from up here,” Cole said and checked his watch. “I’ll be seeing Jareth to the stage now anyhow.”

“We’ve got someone bringing him to the stage when it’s time.”

“Ah, well,” 

Cole stood and stared down at the nearly full audience, then at the closed curtains. He felt a steady beat against his chest as he imagined one of Sully’s staff members going to fetch Jareth without supervision. Perhaps when they arrive at his room, he’s already gone. He let his hands meet and began to twist at his ring as he sat down.

Behind him, men muttered and ran checks. Switches flicked and dials turned, and occasionally someone would laugh. Cole wondered if his hair looked funny from behind- or perhaps he had a surprise bald spot forming- and he reached back to smooth his hair.

After five minutes he began to trace a circle into his knee with his middle fingers. Three times one way, then three times the other way. It was then, finally, that the lights dimmed and the audience hushed their chattering. The men behind Cole became more direct in their tones, requesting to switch cameras or que a light.

It was then that at the very corner of the curtain a bright spotlight beamed on, revealing the deep blue color of the fabric. Sully stepped out and walked across to the middle of the stage in his nice suit while the audience cheered for him and the intro music began to play. He waved, and laughed, and adjusted the wire on his microphone.

And as he spoke it boomed through the speakers in the studio yet was muffled to Cole within the small room above the audience. He could hardly make out the words, and looked up at the monitor to read Sully’s lips. The audio was delayed.

After saying Jareth’s name a few times, he stepped out of the way back to the wings and the curtain began to lazily draw open. The heavy fabric moved in slow waves as it split, and the band stood in the dark as silhouettes. Behind them was the show set where Sully would interview them when they were finished. Cole felt a weight drop in his chest as he envisioned an empty microphone stand with no one behind it.

But as the spotlight hit the center stage, Jareth stood under it holding a thin microphone. He stood very still and moved his eyes to watch the roaring crowd. Cole looked up at the monitors, which had a camera on Jareth’s face.

Richard played four beats of the bass drum and the band came alive. The audience cheered over the playing, and the full lights slowly awoke to light the entire band. Then,  Jareth began to sing.

There, alone in the monitors room, Cole stared up at Jareth’s face on the screens. He watched Jareth glow and sway, and turn his head before a camera change. The monitor cut to the audience. The crowd had stood from their seats to scream, and clap, and cry. All watching Jareth. The camera cut back to Jareth.

Cole stared up at the screen, and Jareth stared back at him.