‘Come into the recording studio after Christmas.’ He jerked a thumb at the receptionist. ‘Cherry will give you an appointment.’ He went back into his room and closed the door.
Dave could hardly believe his luck. He had been caught out in his silly lies – but he had got an audition just the same!
He made a provisional appointment with Cherry, and said he would phone to confirm when he had checked with the rest of the group. Then he went home, walking on air.
As soon as he got back to the house in Great Peter Street, he picked up the phone in the hall and called Lenny. ‘I got us an audition with Classic Records!’ he said triumphantly.
Lenny was not as enthusiastic as Dave had expected. ‘Who told you to do that?’ He was miffed because Dave had taken the initiative.
Dave refused to be deflated. ‘What have we got to lose?’
‘How did you manage it?’
‘Bluffed my way in. I saw Eric Chapman, and he said okay.’
‘Blind luck,’ said Lenny. ‘It happens sometimes.’
‘Yeah,’ said Dave, though he was thinking: I wouldn’t have got lucky if I’d stayed home sitting on my arse.
‘Classic isn’t really a pop label,’ Lenny said.
‘That’s why they need us.’ Dave was running out of patience. ‘Lenny, how can this be bad?’
‘No, it’s fine; we’ll see if it comes to anything.’
‘Now we have to decide what to play at the audition. The secretary told me we’ll get to record two songs.’
‘Well, we should do “Shake, Rattle and Roll”, obviously.’
Dave’s heart sank. ‘Why?’
‘It’s our best number. Always goes down well.’
‘You don’t think it’s a bit old-fashioned?’
‘It’s a classic.’
Dave knew he could not fight Lenny about this, not right now. Lenny had already swallowed his pride once. He could be pushed, but not too far. However, they could do two songs: perhaps the second could be more distinctive. ‘How about a blues?’ Dave said desperately. ‘For a contrast. Show our range.’
‘Yeah. “Hoochie Coochie Man”.’
That was a bit better, more like the material the Rolling Stones were doing. ‘Okay,’ said Dave.
He went into the drawing room. Walli was there with a guitar on his knee. He had been living with the Williams family ever since coming from Hamburg with the group. He and Dave often sat in this room, playing and singing, between school and dinner.
Dave told him the news. Walli was pleased, but worried about Lenny’s choice of material. ‘Two songs that were hits in the fifties,’ he said. His English was improving fast.
‘It’s Lenny’s group,’ said Dave helplessly. ‘If you think you can change his mind, please try.’
Walli shrugged. He was a great musician but a bit passive, Dave found. Evie said everyone was passive by comparison with the Williams family.
They were pondering Lenny’s taste when Evie came in with Hank Remington. A Woman’s Trial was a hit, despite the catastrophic opening on the day President Kennedy was killed. Hank was recording a new album with the Kords. They spent their afternoons together then went off to their separate jobs.
Hank was wearing crushed-velvet hipster trousers and a polka-dot shirt. He sat with Dave and Walli while Evie went upstairs to change. As always he was charming and amusing, telling stories about the Kords on tour.
He picked up Walli’s guitar and strummed some chords absentmindedly, then said: ‘Do you want to hear a new song?’
They did, of course.
It was a sentimental ballad called ‘Love Is It’. The appeal was instant. It was a lovely melody with a little shuffle in the beat. They asked him to play it again, and he did.
Walli said: ‘What was that chord at the start of the bridge?’
‘C sharp minor.’ Hank showed him, then passed him the guitar.
Walli played the chords, and Hank sang it a third time. Dave improvised a harmony.
‘That sounded nice,’ Hank said. ‘Such a pity we’re not going to record it.’
‘What?’ Dave was incredulous. ‘It’s beautiful!’
‘The Kords think it’s soppy. We’re a rock outfit, they say; we don’t want to sound like Peter, Paul and Mary.’
‘I think it’s a Number One hit,’ said Dave.
His mother put her head around the door. ‘Walli,’ she said. ‘Phone call for you – from Germany.’
It would be Walli’s sister Rebecca in Hamburg, Dave guessed. Walli’s family in East Berlin could not phone him: the regime there did not allow phone calls to the West.
While Walli was out of the room, Evie reappeared. She had put her hair up and wore jeans and a T-shirt, ready for make-up and wardrobe artists to go to work on her. Hank was going to drop her at the theatre on his way to the recording studio.
Dave was distracted, thinking about ‘Love Is It’, a great song that the Kords did not want.
Walli came back in, followed by Daisy. He said: ‘That was Rebecca.’
‘I like Rebecca,’ said Dave, remembering pork chops and fried potatoes.
‘She just received a letter, very delayed, from Karolin in East Berlin.’ Walli paused. He seemed to be in the grip of some emotion. At last he managed to say: ‘Karolin had the baby. It’s a girl.’
Everyone jumped up and congratulated him. Daisy and Evie kissed him. Daisy said: ‘When did this happen?’
‘The twenty-second of November. Easy to remember: it was the day Kennedy was shot.’
‘How much did she weigh?’ Daisy asked.
‘Weigh?’ said Walli, as if that was an incomprehensible question.
Daisy laughed. ‘It’s something people always tell you about new babies.’
‘I didn’t ask what she weighed.’
‘Never mind. What about her name?’
‘Karolin suggests Alice.’
‘That’s lovely,’ said Daisy.
‘Karolin will send me a photograph,’ said Walli. ‘Of my daughter,’ he added dazedly. ‘But she sends it via Rebecca, because letters to England are even more held up in the censor’s office.’
Daisy said: ‘I can’t wait to see the picture!’
Hank rattled his car keys impatiently. Maybe he found baby talk boring. Or, Dave thought, perhaps he did not like the baby taking the spotlight away from him.
Evie said: ‘Oh, my God, look at the time. Bye, everyone. Congratulations again, Walli.’
As they were leaving, Dave said: ‘Hank, are the Kords really not going to record “Love Is It”?’
‘Really. When they take against something, they’re a stubborn lot.’
‘In that case, could Walli and I have the song for Plum Nellie? We’ve got an audition in January with Classic Records.’
‘Sure,’ said Hank with a shrug. ‘Why not?’