You got a thing about you
I just can't live without you
I really want you, Elenore, near me
Your looks intoxicate me
Even though your folks hate me
There's no one like you, Elenore, really
- The Turtles (Elenore)
“Alone at last,” the auburn-haired one said, looking at Rick. He was nearly completely healed, so far as she could tell, “So tell me, can you understand a word I am saying?”
He felt strong enough to nod.
“All right. Are you in any pain?”
Another nod.
“I see. Aspirin pain or morphine pain?”
“Uh, aspirin, I think,” he finally said.
“I suspect it was morphine pain before, but it was hard to tell, and I was unsure whether it would interfere with things. Sorry, I should have given it to you anyway.”
“It’s all right.”
She got him two tablets and a glass of water, and sat him up so that he could drink. She opened the only window in the room, “It’s so stuffy in here,” she took her jacket off, “Damn, there’s some blood on it. Ah well, it’s about the only way I can prove to myself that you were actually injured at all.”
Seeing her bare arms for the first time, he noticed a blue tattooed number on her left forearm - 4142753. He stared at it for a minute or so.
“Have you never seen one of these before?” she asked, “It was a gift from Hitler,” she spat a little, saying the name. “See, it is a prime number. At least, I think it is.”
He just continued staring, so she added, “My sister has one, almost identical. And Pawel has one as well. They were the keys to the Hotel Dachau.”
“Who are you?” he asked tentatively.
“I am Milena Chelenska. I am a doctor - a gynecologist, actually. My sister, Noemy, and I, we saw you hit by a car. Your body was dragged down Bilkova Street, your arm was hanging off, and your face was all torn up. You are now almost completely healed from that, and it has taken maybe an hour.”
“I think I still have internal injuries.”
“You might,” she allowed, “I will not ask you about it today. You should rest instead, I suspect. Are you hungry?”
“A little, uh, Milena,” he said, “My name is Richard Daniels. Please call me Rick. You, uh, you said you would tell people I was your cousin.”
“So you were not passed out when I said that, eh? Well, we will think of something, Richard, some name that will work for you,” Her pronunciation of his name sounded like Reesherd, “Maybe Radek.”
“There, good as new!” Sheilagh said. She and Polly were in Crystal’s work area, and Crystal had just rubbed on some solution that regrew Polly’s hair.
“San Antonio, eh?” Crystal clicked around on her PADD, “It’s 1978, so it’s a little early for teased ‘80s hair, but I think you still need kinda big hair. Then again, neither of you sound like Texans. How much authority do you think you can wield?”
“I think we could be a bit like outside consultants coming in,” Sheilagh said.
“So suits, then? I’m afraid they’ll be kinda unisex, and the blouses have these awful, big, floppy bows,” Crystal made a face, “At least it’s before really big shoulder pads, although you do get some padding. But you won’t look like linebackers.”
“Gawd,” Polly said, once Crystal had produced clothes for her, “who in their right mind ever thought this was attractive?”
There was a cacophony of sound inside Abbey Road Studios. People were walking in and out, sometimes carrying guitars or even violin cases or saxophones or the like.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.
“Uh….” HD was momentarily stumped.
“We’re here to see Alan Parsons,” Tom said.
“Room 217. Second floor, to the left of the stairwell. You can’t miss it.”
They thanked her and walked up the stairs, “I can’t do all the talking,” Tom cautioned, “I can get you there, but then you’re on, all right?”
“Got it. And, uh, thanks, man.”
Milena fed Rick some potato soup she had warmed on the stove, “It’s not your normal breakfast fare, but what can you do?” she said.
“It’s fine. Um, thank you. You’re really going above and beyond.”
“Like I said, we take in stray puppies here. And you are clearly an intriguing puppy. Plus we got the two lovebirds to spend some time together. Maybe she’ll get a proposal out of him yet.”
“Who?”
“My sister and Pawel. She has been a lot more patient than I ever would have been. I mean, I suppose I can understand the longing, but why not put it all together under the auspices of marriage? Neither she nor I may be married, but our parents had a most excellent union - at least, that is what both of us can remember of them. She has a good blueprint, if nothing else,” Milena said.
“My, uh, my parents also have a really good marriage. I wonder sometimes what they’ll do when the first one of them goes.”
“My, uh, my parents did not have such an issue,” Milena replied, and Rick was polite enough to not ask about that.
There was some noise downstairs, “Ah I do believe we have groceries!” Milena exclaimed, “Are you finished eating?”
He just nodded, suddenly overly exhausted again.
Room 217 was a mixing room. There was a man in there, bearded, in his mid-twenties. He was bent over a large board with several switches, “Uh, I’m busy.”
“Sorry, um, we don’t wanna bother you,” HD said, “You workin’ on the new Pink Floyd LP?”
“Of course, uh, who are you?”
“Fans. And, uh, we just, uh, I just, I mean, look,” HD said, “I know it sounds crazy but I can just tell you, that album is gonna be monster. It’ll be killer.”
“Not if I can’t finish mixing it,” the man said.
“Mister Parsons,” Tom ventured, “what my friend here is saying is, well, have confidence in it. It’s, uh, it’s going to be the crown of their career and possibly yours as well.”
“Me?” Parsons asked, “I got other plans.”
“And I’m sure you do!” HD said, “I am a musician and I know what it’s like - you keep doing gigs, you keep wanna doing gigs, until you get to that great gig in the sky, whatever it is.”
“How do you know what’s on this album?” Parsons asked.
“I just, I know,” HD said, “I, uh, I just know.”
“It hasn’t been released yet. How could you possibly know the name of track number five?”
“It’s not a guess,” Tom said, “he knows. He’s been livin’ with it for hours, probably has it memorized by now.”
“That album isn’t mixed yet. It’s all here, in pieces. And I got offers to not even make it or finish it,” Parsons added.
“Not make it?” HD asked, “Who’s telling you not to make it?”
“Look, Mister, uh, who are you and why am I talking to you?”
“Grant. I’m Grant and he’s Avery,” Tom said.
“There’s, um, the people who don’t want you to release, they’re wrong,” HD said, “they got a copy of some of the tracks - The Great Gig in the Sky, Brain Damage, Eclipse and Money - and we managed to listen to ‘em.”
“That’s artistic theft,” Parsons said.
“I know, and I don’t approve,” Tom said, “and I know how unconventional this all is, but listen to this guy. He knows what he’s talking about.”
“It’s the 7/4, 4/4 time in Money, the Clare Torrey vocal in The Great Gig in the Sky, the dissonant augmented fourth in Eclipse, the laughter in Brain Damage - it is all utterly brilliant!” HD gushed.
“I haven’t added most of those things yet,” Parsons admitted, “I don’t know if any of them will fly.”
“Look, whatever you’re being told, whatever you’re being offered to not make it, to not finish it, well, it’s wrong,” HD said, getting a bit animated, “That album is gonna be enormous. It’ll, it’ll eclipse everything in its path. You gotta be bold, man! Swing for the damned fences! Or, er, whatever the equivalent is in soccer. Shoot on the goal, man!”
“I don’t know much about it,” Tom said, “but whoever’s offering you money or whatever for not finishing, you gotta wonder what their motives are, right? And my guess is that they’re lowballing you. Do y’all honestly think they wouldn’t be trying to do this if they weren’t scared of what you were producing? They probably are some competitor to you, terrified that you’ll run over ‘em. And you will.”
“We will?”
“You will,” HD said, “Swing for the fences. Make that goal. I know you don’t know me from Adam. If I were you, I wouldn’t listen to me, either. But I am the buying public and I know I am right about this one.”
.Elenore, gee I think you're swell
And you really do me well
You're my pride and joy, et cetera
- The Turtles (Elenore)