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"You okay sunshine?"
Noel felt his eyes rolling back in place and grunted affirmatively. What time was it? God, he was done for. It was fucking hot in there as well, and he felt like yellow snow melting under the sun, pooling all over the side of his new best mate, DJ fucking Goldie. Noel told him just so, save for the best mate part.
"Maybe lose the fucking coat, then," Goldie teased, "No one here’s gonna take it from you."
Yeah, for sure. Noel hadn’t really made an effort to dress up for the night. He shrugged off his black parka and let his eyes wander across the room: models, headhunters and fashion wizards, whatever they were called, filling their plates and stuffing themselves with delicacies such as Elle’s shrimp of the barbie. The vision made him want to puke. Or maybe he just wasn’t that good of a drinker.
The Fashion Cafe great opening night, situated on Piccadilly Circus: all flashy, tacky neon signs and hundreds of onlookers pressing at the front. The whole deal was a proper stupid concept if Noel’s opinion mattered at all. From what he understood, this was some sort of restaurant supposed to make you feel like Naomi Campbell, as if eating at all made you akin to the modelling scene to begin with. Noel was mostly interested in snorting their reputed coke and then some.
Meg, on the other hand, had been thrilled when Alan presented them with the invitations. A real PR textbook case she could look forward to, and she had a right sulk when Noel declined – on account of touring America, no less. But then, this and that happened: walking off the tour, flying his arse back to London, and those days spent alone with Liam in that top country house… Ah, well, he admitted he could use a distraction that was not his brother, or related to the band. That, and it was an easy way to keep Meg distracted too. Noel could not be bothered playing house, these days.
All that being said, he had regretted coming when they first got out of the car and found out they had to walk a makeshift red carpet to get in. Meg thought it was very clever, obviously, as she failed to consider the public shitstorm Noel had been in the past few weeks. She did not insist too much when he refused to give it a try, walking the pavement like a normal person instead; and when some dressed-up tart in high heels twisted his ankle and fell down the catwalk, they both laughed uncontrollably. At least, they were still on the same page when it came to the ridiculousness of it, which was good to know at this stage of the relationship – considering Meg seemed the only person he did not walk away from yet. Still, he feared this would be the most fun he would have tonight, and they had barely made it through the entrance.
But then, there was Goldie. Noel noticed him right away, cool as a cucumber and the perfect B-Boy picture with golden grills, a heavy set of chains around his neck and the complementary cap - the kind of outfit Noel had once mocked Liam for, back in the eighties. Stick to the violin la, y’know what I mean.
Just like Liam, Goldie was a loud one. He moved across the room with a devious glint in the eye, a total nutcase, whose laugh rang around the room with the rate of fire of a sitcom laugh track. Noel remembered seeing paps’ pictures of him with his girl in the paper, and that bird was from another galaxy as well, though he could not recall her name.
Goldie was also known as one of the tops DJ around. Now a full-time rock star, Noel barely had any time to keep up with electro music as of lately, except for that song he worked on with The Chemical Brothers. It was soon to be released, and set on the path to become the best musical output of his career. Dead proud of this one, he was.
So no, Noel never had the chance to witness Goldie’s magic at work, but he certainly intended on spending the night with him anyway. That would be fun.
The two of them clicked immediately, both not exactly sure what they were doing here in the first place. Oh, that wasn’t exactly true: they just hadn’t felt up their nose yet the reason they came snooping around, and they just needed the reminder. Arm in arm, they went digging for white gold, exchanging occasional pleasantries with other attendees and jokingly swaying to Paul Young’s voice. The geezer must have received the fattest check to bless that dive; one more reason to believe the establishment wouldn’t last a year.
They secured a little bag from a man in the ugliest attire - a tight suit made of shiny material with patches of snakeskin. The uncultured twat didn’t recognise Goldie but he told them to wait before he sauntered away, because he wanted Noel to meet someone. Noel didn’t fucking care about meeting anyone, he had already found Goldie. The latter pointed with his chin in the general direction towards the bogs, and they made a dash for it. From that moment, they regularly made stops by a stall of their choosing as the night went on, getting their fix. In the thick of the party, they laughed about Brummies and Mancunians alike, heckled Paul Young some more – then were promptly joined by Meg and her girlfriends. They made another trip to the bog as a group, and drank absurd amounts of beer and liquor in the club area. At some point, Noel realised he had lost his missus again. Now, he was feeling like yellow snow and took off his coat.
Some DJ had taken Young’s spot, a shit one, and Noel was high enough to be the judge of that. He shook his head with disgust and leaned over Goldie, who came back from the counter with a glass of champagne for himself ("I’m being good tonight!"), and a bottle of Beck’s to Noel’s request.
"The DJ's not good, innit?", Noel snarled.
"Blame it on the crowd, too. David Rodigan could be up there and they still wouldn’t give a fuck."
"I think if it were you they would go mad for it," and Noel laughed as he tried to prove his point, because Goldie was laughing, and his hilarity was very contagious, "I’m being serious! They’d see your teeth and freak out!"
Goldie ignored him and started to shuffle on the spot then, all rough shoulder snaps and headbanging. His cap would have gone flying if he hadn’t already lost it earlier, exposing a large forehead and short bleached hair.
"Oi! Watch out, he’s goin’ for it," he raised a finger up in the air with anticipation as the music built up, and then he froze when the DJ followed up with an absolutely shite transition. "Yeah you're right, fuck him. That was fucking anti-climatic."
"Our kid used to like this stuff," Noel blurted out. "Breakbeats, hip-hop and that. Tried out breakdancing and graffiti, the whole deal."
"No fucking way!"
"Yeah. I'd tell him it was a bit ridiculous."
"Why, like he was bad?"
"I don’t know if he was any good. I wasn’t around much back then," he stood mouth agape, weighing his words. "I guess I thought it wasn’t our gig, y’know, us Irish kids, we were born with a guitar in the hand or summat… But he could never sit still, that one, too fucking angry all the time, so I think it did him some good for a while. You know, I wasn’t around, had to…"
He trailed off, feeling himself going on a loop. Goldie hummed thoughtfully.
"Is he in London right now?"
Obviously, like the rest of England, he heard about all that: the rumoured split, the alleged fights, the private reconciliation. Noel could make new friends, but that didn't come with a fresh new start.
"Yeah, just not here," Noel answered flatly. "You remind me of him, actually."
Goldie nodded like he knew whatever Noel had meant by that, and maybe he really did. Like many, he could’ve read the articles that were written on them, their family – their da. Noel hated it, hated to see their kin and their blood all over the papers, and with that, he despised the sorry looks they subjected him to. But Goldie didn’t look sorry, he just felt, and Noel understood why, because earlier Goldie had made a joke – a really crass one – and people didn’t laugh and scowled at him, but the world kept spinning. It had to, so people like them could keep moving on.
"Wasn’t easy for us kids, was it?" Goldie stated, simply like that. It felt so simple, being with Goldie. "What was his name? The graffiti rascal, I mean."
"Galli, I think it was," Noel shook his head, "Now why the fuck do I remember that…"
"Because that’s family!" He slapped Noel’s back playfully but the strenght of it almost had him spilling his beer all over his jumper. "Alright, little Galli, that’s cute! Next time I stop by Manchester I’ll keep my eyes open."
"Everything must have been scrubbed off by now…"
"Who knows?" Goldie threw his hands in the air, champagne flowing off the flute. "A scar, that’s what we call a tag that's been cleaned, but you can always see it, forever…" His mouth opened wide in a big silly smile, then, "LIVE FOREVER! Because it’s never too late to care, big brother. Never! Too! Late!"
Noel shrugged, tight-lipped. The conversation was taking a turn he could not have predicted, and he really wanted out of it. He fished for the little bag in his pocket and gauged the quantity left. Right, enough for…
"How about one last round?"
They scurried back to the bog and Noel dived in first, one hand gripping the corner of the porcelain sink for stability as he swiped his nose across the line. Then, he straightened up abruptly, reveling in the familiar rush moving upward to his brain. A suspended moment in time, body light and electric. Absolute whiplash, then, when a strong hand gripped the back of his head and pushed him down again, almost knocking his forehead against the mirror. He gasped in shock. Through the reflection, he was met with Goldie’s crazy eyes and his big, golden-toothed smile.
"Shit, Gallagher, look how pink you fucking look!"
Noel contemplated himself, the blush of his cheeks and the pallor of his face, contrasting with the light brown skin of the hand that held him down. His eyes were wide like two saucers, falling half-lidded. He looked fucking drunk, outrageously high and strangely unknown – like recognising someone from another life. He had caught this sight in broken mirrors before, back in the clubs, back when there was nothing more to him but a face with no name, never to be found in the morning after. A face that had lived through the best years of his fucking life.
Goldie’s massive hand still had him bent over the sink and Noel resisted the urge to stretch and arch against him, his body tense with the cocaine and begging for motion, anything.
"Okay, my turn, mate," Goldie eventually ruffled his hair and gently shoved him aside.
Noel leaned against the wall, the wave of shock having faltered, still feeling hot all over from the reminiscence. He didn’t know he always had it in him – and that it was barely lying under the surface.
"You know, when I was younger, seventeen or something, there was this club and all there was for me was a job in security," Goldie sprinkled the powder on the flat surface. "A bouncer, right? Now I wasn't very big or anything but I could pull it off. You lots get in, you in as well – nah mate, you look like shit, you stay out on the street. And so on."
"Yeah," Noel listened distantly, watched as Goldie revealed a key from his pocket and started to meticulously stack a fine line.
"Now, you know me, not for a long time, but you do – I was a naughty boy. Got high on the job to get through the night."
"So there I was, high as a fucking kite. And there’s this bird, she’s completely pissed, but I can’t let her in, right, even if she’s a girl and girls always get in, because she’s a gyal, you know, she’s Jamaican. And the gaffer, he doesn’t like them - us, too much. He didn’t mind me because I guess he didn’t see me as a real one, and he had me on the payroll like it was a fucking leash, or so he thought. Anyway—"
"—So I tell her, no sister, you’re not getting in. Get home and sober up, try again tomorrow. And she says, ‘My man’s inside with some skettel, I know he is. I give you a blowie, and you let me in, even-stevens’. Man! I say yes."
"We go to the bog, but then I felt bad, cuz that was a shit club, it wasn’t even worth a blowie at all. So I offered her some of my gear too. Guess what she did! She did a line off my cock and fucking left me hanging. I looked like a fucking cunt."
He laughed quietly to himself before he snorted up his line.
"Whoo-hoo!" He cracked his fingers maniacally and looked around before reporting his attention back to the sink. "Shit, there’s a bit left. You want?"
Sure, Noel thought, Sure, thank you, was what Noel wanted to say.
"C-can I have it off of you?" Noel slurred instead.
Goldie’s clear eyes shot wide. "That was just me chatting away, man. I wasn't trying to give you ideas."
"I know. Thought it would be a fun thing to try, that's all."
"Jesus," he shook his head but got his hands on the fat buckle of his belt anyway. "I knew you were a comical one, but still."
Completely pissed, more like.
Cut to Noel kneeling on the pristine tiled floor, and he hadn’t really thought this through, right. He was seeing double and his hands betrayed him, struggling to hold Goldie’s cock and spread a line along his length simultaneously. He choked on a giggle as he tried to retrieve in his palm the loose powder falling like snowflakes on the ground. Hovering above him, Goldie was doubling over with laughter, which was definitely not helping.
“Shit-“
This wouldn’t work, but there was no way they were going to waste all that blow. It was some really good blow. Some of it still stuck to Goldie’s skin, so Noel resorted to what he knew and gave it a lick with the flat of his tongue, eyes closed, focusing on the bitter tinge of rocks and sweat. He heard a grunt above him, and felt a heavy hand landing on his head.
"Fuck, Gallagher – you’re into that?"
Noel looked up, thrilled with adrenaline. He never got roughened up, back when he found himself on his knees at the clubs, but there were stories of boys who had been, older men too, because of blokes who were up for it until they weren’t, and made a mess for it. But Goldie wouldn’t ever do that. Noel just knew, because even Liam had never laid a blow on him. Kids like them… you’re into that?
“Are ya?“ He quipped back.
“Shit, when you say it like that, I don’t know,“ Goldie laughed and relaxed against the sink, “Nah, but I wouldn’t say no to a good mate. Get your kicks, boyo.“
***
A familiar type of beat vibrated through the tiled floor, up his knees and to his throat. Noel paused and leaned back, ignoring Goldie’s hand that tightened on his hair insistently.
"’S that house music?"
"Yeah," Goldie breathed out, tapping his fingers on his thigh to the beat of the bass with his free hand, "Y’like that?"
Noel nodded and closed his eyes when the man's bling ring scratched on his scalp.
"Fucking missed it."
"C’mon, then…"
This time, he let himself be guided by Goldie’s strong grip.
***
He came with a grunt and Noel swallowed him through it, like he learnt to do early on, because he couldn’t risk wearing the stains on his clothes back in the day. When Goldie was thoroughly spent, he pulled out and Noel stretched his jaw, focusing his attention back on the music. It seemed to be fading away now.
"We should check it out before it switches back to something shite."
"You? Going out like this?" Goldie nudged Noel’s hips with his shoe.
Because he was kneeling down, his loose jeans stretched tight around his own erection. He covered it with his hand, feeling the blood coming up his cheeks as well.
"Y-yeah, whatever. I’m good."
Goldie snorted and playfully flicked his cheek.
"Ah, turning all pink again."
Noel flinched, still averting his eyes. His hand pressed down on his bulge before he could help it. A beat passed.
"Tell you what, when I first saw you here tonight I thought, fuck! Noel fucking Gallagher! Can’t leave this place without putting a word in for some future collaboration, y’know? I was thinking something more about music, but…" Goldie laughed raucously.
So he had fully found back his voice. Noel noticed he had been surprisingly quiet during the whole deed.
"Fuck," he muttered through a shaky laugh, dropping his head down with embarrassment, "I would like that, though. The music part."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah mate," Noel finally stood up, wincing when his knees immediately started to hurt.
"YES, Gallagher! You and I are up to some mad fucking shit!"
"Uh-huh!"
Goldie went in for a one-armed hug and Noel awkwardly angled his hips away.
"Oh, right, sorry," he took a step back towards the door, "I’ll head out first, yeah? So you can sort it out. Don’t like seeing a brother in pain."
Noel rolled his eyes, I’m not-, but Goldie threw him one last wink and slipped through the door.
Well. He certainly wasn’t going to do anything about his hard-on now, and it’s not like he had expected Goldie to return any favour. He checked the time on his watch, and his thoughts drifted to Meg, wherever she was. At some point he would have to find her, and maybe they could leave. She would probably want sex then, always asked for it on the way home, until they were sprawled in the bed with the lights off. Noel complied most of the time, even if he mostly resorted to fingers because he couldn’t keep it up long enough when he was plastered like that.
He faced the mirror, tried to fix his fringe. There was nothing to do, he looked a proper mess. Noel was about to go for the door when he heard a familiar song playing on the other side, muffled but instantly recognisable. Something really psychedelic about Venus and that.
“Ha!“
He clicked his fingers. Björk, that was Goldie’s missus, whose name he couldn’t remember. She had been all over the news the week before, something to do with a bomb and Scotland Yard. Noel had seen it on the telly, back in the country house. He didn’t really catch the full story, the words overwritten by Liam blocking the screen and curling over his lap, his voice soft as anything repeating love you, don’t leave me again.
Noel rubbed his eyes, fending off the vision. Right. So, finding Meg first, and then maybe looking for Goldie too, so he could ask him about that crazy bomb story. He sort of already missed his contagious laugh.