Free Dream On by Terry Tyler Page B

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lucrative jobs to subsidise his other 'bit of this and bits of that' by which
he kept a roof over his head.  And, of course, a good review like this raised
his own profile in front of Ariel, too.
    Dave was hopelessly in love. He was trying not to
be, because he felt guilty about Janice, but he was. He didn't know if Ariel
felt the same; he prayed she did, but she was so elusive; she was like a
beautiful nymph who wafted in and out of his life, weaving spells around him. When she was with him, sprinkling her magic fairy dust his way, he was in
heaven. Having sex with her made him feel like the king of the world!
    Dave couldn't think about the future. Until now,
always in the back of his mind had been the assumption that his long term future
lay with Janice, safe and warm and happy and cosy, with a brother or sister for
Harley some day. Home. No more shagging around; he'd been there, done that,
and walked away with the lacy thong in his pocket. He wanted love, a meeting of
minds, a proper relationship.
    Oh, but oh dear, oh dear, now he wanted that proper
relationship to be with Ariel.  Oh God, he did. They understood each other,
because they were both musicians . Janice had always been great at
letting him come and go as he pleased, but she didn't really understand about
his dreams. How could she?
    Dave Bentley's head was filled with a whole bunch
of stuff, these days; sometimes he thought it would explode with all the
activity. There were the new songs that ran through his mind constantly, words
and chords twisting in and out of all his other thoughts - his ideas for
promoting the band, and reminiscences of times with Ariel which never failed to
send an arrow straight to his groin, so sharply, sometimes, that he would groan
out loud, in the middle of wheeling along a barrow of bricks at work, or
something. Then there was all that warm stuff about Janice and Harley that
made him feel so guilty that he had to tuck it safely away where it
wouldn't pop out and worry him, usually somewhere in the back of his head behind
the ideas-about-the-band section.
    This frenetic brain activity often threatened to
combust when he was alone in Ritchie's flat, and he was never quite sure what
do when it did, so when that happened he mostly just opened a beer and played
his guitar.
     

***
    "I like Facebook better. You get all sorts of
weirdos trying to friend you on MySpace," said Melodie, flicking her long shiny
hair over her shoulder and reaching for her wine glass. "Mind you, I get enough
of 'em on Facebook, too. Anybody would think I was fair game!"
    "Something to do with the amount of chest you're
showing in your profile picture, I expect, dear," said Ariel.
    Melodie gave her friend a playful slap on the arm,
managing to combine this movement with a forward cleavage-showing motion. "If you've
got it, flaunt it!" she said. "You never know when you're going to get noticed,
do you? Or who by! I mean, people like Chantelle Houghton, and that
Chanelle who was in Big Brother, the one who tried to look like Posh Spice,
they're looking at making it in America, too, so why can't I?"
    "Making it doing what?" Ariel asked.
    "What?" Blank expression.
    "Well, what have they got to offer? What are they
going to do in order to make it? Sing? Act? Write comedy sketches? Sell innovative kitchen utensils on the shopping
channels? Discover a cure for the common cold? Pole vault?"
    Melodie shrugged. "I don't know. Just be
celebrities, I suppose."
    Ariel put her head in her hands.
    "You flaunt away, gorgeous!" said Shane, and leaned
back on his arm to get closer to Melodie, legs stretched out. "But anyway, Facebook
and all that, it ain't the same for us. We're not on MySpace so we can do all
that "how are ya hun lol xox" crap! This is business!"
    "Hark at you," Ritchie said. "Like you know anything about
business."
    Shane laughed. "Don't need to, mate. Whose photo
has got the most comments on our MySpace, then?" He looked up at Melodie and
winked.