Дэвид Митчелл - Utopia Avenue

They climb the second flight of stairs to a logo of a whale silhouetted against the moon, stencilled onto a door: ‘MOONWHALE MUSIC’. The office is much quieter, much smaller and less populated than the busy agency below. Dust-sheets cover the floors and Bethany Drew, hired by Levon to do everything at Moonwhale he doesn’t, is on a pair of step-ladders dabbing the coving with a paintbrush. Bethany is thirty, sometimes mistaken for Audrey Hepburn, unmarried, unflappable and elegant even in the splashed dungarees she is wearing. ‘Jasper – and Miss Rohmer, I believe. Welcome to Moonwhale. I’m Bethany – office manager, dogsbody and decorator.’

‘Jasper said you are very capable, Miss Drew.’

‘You can’t believe that old flatterer. I’d shake your hand, but we can’t have you flying to America with paint marks on you. I understand you’re going straight to the airport from here?’

‘Yes. My flight to Chicago is at six.’

‘And what’s taking you to Chicago?’

‘A patron is giving me a small show. Then I’ll look for adventures and photograph what I find.’

Jasper wonders why Bethany’s looking at him. ‘It looks really professional,’ he says. ‘The paint job.’

‘So far, so good. Levon’s expecting you …’ Bethany nods towards Levon’s office, partitioned by a pair of sliding doors. The doors are half open, revealing Levon pacing to and fro mid-call, carrying a phone and trailing the cord. He mouths, ‘Two minutes’.

Jasper and Mecca go to the bench along the front window. Mecca takes out her Pentax to compose a shot. Jasper sits down and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t wish to eavesdrop on Levon’s call, but ears don’t have earlids. ‘Section two, clause three,’ says their manager. ‘It’s there in black and white. Peter Griffin is engaged as a session player , not as an artist signed to Balls Entertainment for the rest of eternity. No “release fee” is payable because there’s nothing to release him from.’ Jasper guesses Levon’s talking to his ex-bandleader Archie Kinnock’s ex-manager. ‘I’m not off the boat yesterday, Ronnie. I’d say, “Nice try,” but it’s a moronic try.’

Click, goes Mecca’s camera. S crit-scrit .

Tinny anger bleeds out of Levon’s receiver.

Levon interrupts with a dry laugh. ‘You’ll dangle me out of the window? Seriously?’ Levon does not sound menaced. ‘Ronnie, has no old friend taken you aside and said, “Ronnie, old son, you’ve gone the way of the dinosaur – get out of management, while you’ve still got a few quid in the bank”? Or is it too late? Are these rumours about your imminent bankruptcy true? Wouldn’t it be awful if word got out that you’re effectively trading while insolvent?’

A blast of abuse is ended by Levon hanging up. ‘What a freak show. Hi, Jasper, and welcome, Mecca, to my tiny empire.’

‘A beautifully decorated tiny empire,’ says Mecca.

‘My, she’s good,’ Bethany tells Jasper, to his confusion.

‘Is that all you’re taking to America?’ Levon stares at Mecca’s modest suitcase and middle-sized rucksack.

‘It’s all I own.’

‘Enviable,’ replies Levon.

Jasper asks, ‘Was that Ronnie Balls on the telephone?’

‘It was,’ says Levon. ‘Archie Kinnock’s ex-manager.’

‘Archie used to call him “my ex-damager”.’

‘He’s claiming Griff’s still under contract to Balls Management – but will let him go for a mere two thousand pounds.’

‘ How much?’

‘It’s bull-crap and Ronnie Balls knows it.’

‘The glamorous world of showbiz, Mecca,’ says Bethany.

‘It’s very like the glamour of fashion photography.’

‘Speaking of photography,’ says Levon, ‘do I spy, with my little eye something beginning with “P” for “portfolio”?’

Mecca holds it up. ‘They are ready for you to see.’

‘Come into my lair.’

‘Holy crap.’ Levon examines the photographs spread out on the pool table: four each of Jasper, Elf, Dean and Griff; plus a few posed shots of the band, first in Club Zed, then a few outside shots during a lucky moment of sunshine in Ham Yard. ‘This one,’ he points to the picture of Elf at the piano, ‘it’s more like Elf than Elf.’

‘I am glad the ten pounds is spent well,’ says Mecca.

Levon might be smiling. ‘Who said Germans aren’t subtle?’

‘A man who never went to Germany.’

Levon takes out his cash-box and counts out ten pound notes, then adds an eleventh. ‘Your first dinner in Chicago.’

‘I’ll toast you.’ Mecca slips the notes into a money-belt. ‘Contact sheets and negatives are here, so you can print more.’

‘Perfect,’ says Levon. ‘We’ll use them for press and for posters to flag up the band’s first gigs. Next month.’

Jasper realises this is news. ‘You think we’re ready to play?’

‘We’re going to book you a few student unions next month. It’s only the foothills of Mount Stardom, but it’s good to find your feet. My one concern is the lack of original songs.’

‘In fact,’ says Mecca, ‘he wrote one this morning.’

Levon’s head tilts back and his eyebrows go up.

‘Just an idea I’m mucking around with,’ says Jasper.

‘It’s called “Darkroom”,’ says Mecca. ‘It will be a hit.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. Very glad indeed. Moving on to other news.’ Levon taps ash in the ashtray. ‘Elf called. Apparently you renamed the band in the Duke of Argyll yesterday.’

‘I made a suggestion,’ says Jasper. ‘Then we left.’

‘Elf told me that she, Dean and Griff are all sold on Utopia Avenue. It’s looking very like a fait accompli. ’

‘I prefer Utopia Avenue to the Way Out.’ Bethany Drew glides in. ‘By a country mile.’ She surveys the photographs. ‘Goodness gracious. What fabulous images.’

‘These ones,’ says Mecca, ‘I am pleased by.’

Levon’s still on the band name. ‘“Utopia Avenue”… I like it, but I’m worried. It sounds vaguely familiar. Where’s it from?’

‘It’s a gift from a dream,’ says Jasper.

Halfway down the stairs to Denmark Street, Jasper and Mecca stand aside for a figure striding up, his trench coat flapping like a superhero’s cape. He pauses his ascent. ‘Are you that guitarist?’

‘I’m a guitarist,’ admits Jasper. ‘I don’t know if I’m that one.’

‘Good line.’ The figure pushes back his fringe to reveal a thin white face, with one blue eye and one jet-black. ‘Jasper de Zoet. A damn good name. A “J” and a “Z”. Nice high Scrabble score. I saw you at 2i’s in January. You magicked up a hell of a set.’

Jasper mimes a shrug. ‘Who are you?’

‘David Bowie, artiste-at-large.’ He shakes Jasper’s hand and turns to Mecca. ‘Enchanted to meet you. You are?’

‘Mecca Rohmer.’

‘Mecca? As in the place all roads lead to?’

‘As in, the English cannot pronounce “Mechthild”.’

‘So you’re a model, Mecca? Or an actress? Or goddess?’

‘I take photographs.’

‘Photographs?’ Bowie’s fingers go to the gold buttons on his trench coat. They’re the size of chocolate coins. ‘Of what?’

‘I photograph what I wish to photograph,’ says Mecca, ‘for myself. I photograph what I am paid to photograph, for money.’

‘Art for art’s sake and money for God’s sake, eh? Your accent’s a long way from home. Deutschland ?’

Mecca makes a facial gesture that means, Ja.

‘I dreamed of Berlin only the other night,’ says David Bowie. ‘The Berlin Wall was a mile high. Ground level was perpetual dusk, like René Magritte’s The Empire of Light . KGB agents kept trying to inject my toes with heroin. What do you suppose it means?’