Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

Harry’s POV

Since Miss Meier took care of Lara, Jeanne and I have been hanging out in her office. I like it here. It has great natural light, and the clean design is ideal to get focused on the work you are doing. Of course the surroundings are not my problem, but Jeanne. Even if I’m not able to see through, just by the quiver against the fair fabric I can tell she’s not wearing any bra. There’s no way I could concentrate under such circumstances. I’m trying though, not to picture her round, pert breasts in my mind, those sweet, pink, pointy nipples… I’m trying hard to switch my attention to my notes, but I can’t even fully stop staring at her. God, this is so wrong…

I’ve never worked on a screenplay before. It’s fun but I see all Jeanne’s hard work. I know nothing about adaptations, and maybe I’m being too ambitious, like when I’m writing a song. Sometimes I just want to put too much stuff in it, and it’s difficult to discern what’s essential to the final product. But of course, as a song is shorter, it’s easier to picture the results throughout the creative process. Jeanne is well aware we won’t have a proper idea of how this will work until our first table read. So it’s not that I want to disagree with her, but she didn’t include some passages I have marked up, and I think she shouldn’t discard them so easily. I explained my point of view, and we discussed it, so now I’m underlining them on her copy for her to take them under consideration. She told me she would check them carefully and maybe add them to a second version. I don’t want to give her extra work, but she asked… And if I know something about Jeanne it’s that she means what she says. If she asks it’s because she cares, or she wouldn’t mind at all. We’ve also been talking about literature a bit, so maybe she respects my opinion better now that she knows that, beside Pasternak and Dickens, I’ve also read Proust. Because I did. I read the whole seven volumes, and I even guessed who the Lady in Pink was.

I glimpse at her, glasses on the tip of her nose, leaning against the desk, a leg folded and the foot resting on the other. She has a note pad where she’s writing something, not paying attention to me. I notice she turns around to her iMac, facing away. She rolls her hair to the side and slightly pushes her body back, as she bends over. A rush of heat surges my body up and down, so I quickly glance away, gulping hard. This is getting much harder than I thought it would be. Who am I trying to fool? When I’m around her I’m a kid all over again, and not even a twenty-year-old boy, as I was when I met her, but my fifteen-year-old awkward, hormonal, high-pitched self. To make things more difficult, I’m having all these vibes from her, the window, and what happened at the kitchen, and I don’t know what to do with them… I must be dreaming it up. I hear some noises and turn to watch her. She holds a white piece of paper at her side. All of a sudden she mechanically closes her fingers around it, and without even looking she throws it to a bin. In a fast movement she spins around to face me again and, of course, I’m already staring. Nice one, Harry.

“Do you want to check the soundtrack?” She tells me, averting her eyes and grabbing a notebook. She begins to search for a page.

“Is it chosen?” I ask, curious, moving to the edge of the chair. I didn’t know it happens so early in pre-production.

“Yes,” Jeanne asserts, holding the notebook out for me. I reach it and our eyes lock for a single second, though the writing quickly gets my full attention. “Most of the songs are mentioned throughout the story. It has been a bit complicated with the rights, but I’m pleased with what we got,” she explains, crossing her arms. It’s been long since I don’t catch a sight of something new on her handwriting.

Oasis––Champagne Supernova
Live––Turn My Head
Garbage––You Look So Fine
Blur––This Is A Low
Radiohead––All I Need
Bush––Glycerine
Lana Del Rey––Video Games
Ed Sheeran––Photograph
Gwen Stefani––Four In The Morning
Republica––Drop Dead Gorgeous
Pearl Jam––I Am Mine
The Cardigans––You Are The Storm
Foo Fighters––Everlong
Dido––White Flag
The Cranberries––Dreaming My Dreams
Smashing Pumpkins––Try, Try, Try

“It’s mainly the nineties…–––I mumble, suddenly nervous because of something I read–––but you have one of Ed’s…” I can’t prevent my hands from trembling. Control yourself, Harold.

“Nancy suggested we should include something contemporary. I think both choices fit the story perfectly.” My eyes are still fixed on the line as she speaks. Yeah, they do, but…

“Why this song?” I ask, glancing at her and pointing at the notebook, as I try to dissimulate the emotional mess I’ve become. Why…? Why, from all of Ed's songs, did she have to choose exactly this one? I can’t remember how many times I’ve cried over this song because of her, and Jeanne bringing it up right now makes my heart break all over again. Loving can hurt… Loving can hurt, I think to myself. I know that for a fact.

“‘Photograph’ is my favourite–––she says, bending back after taking a good look at it. I love the parallel structure of the first and the fourth verse…” Jeanne glimpses away, sighing. Loving can heal… “It sort of reminds me of… my father…” She suddenly mumbles and I frown. Is this song emotional to her too, even if it has nothing to do with me? I can’t believe it… My heart races inside my chest. Should I tell her about the photograph her father took us at Clevedon Pier? “You’ll be glad to know Ed will write the closing credits’ song,” she radically changes the subject, bringing me back to reality.

“Will he?–––I ponder, confused. Is it a sure thing?” Jeanne nods, lightly biting her lower lip. I didn’t know he was involved. “That’s great.” I hand her the notebook after closing it.

“Would you prefer to do it yourself?” She startles me, and she grabs the notebook, mindlessly leaving it over the desk. Her hair moves around her face, perfectly framing it, but I can’t help but miss her long hair.

“I don’t think so–––I reluctantly speak. I mean, I write, but it’s been a while since I don’t perform.” It has been a while, though I’m pretty sure the ‘little something’ at Jimmy’s show involves some kind of singing. Jeff wouldn’t let the opportunity get away.

“Maybe you should…” Jeanne mutters, folding her arms again, and I shake my head. This is totally different than a simple comedy skit. “It’s the studio’s wish, but as you must know, your contract doesn’t bind you to do so… I don’t want to force you, but Ed wants you to sing it too.” Does he? I know he’s touring but he didn’t even call me for my birthday. We text every now and then. “You could even write together…” She suggests cautiously.

“Would it make it to the soundtrack?”

“It would be your choice… Ed and yours,” she explains, shrugging. The studio might have set her up, but she managed them fairly well. She made the most of the situation, and now she holds so much of the creative control. That’s remarkable in this business. “Don’t you want to sing anymore?” She inquires. I don’t really want to talk about this, not even with Jeanne, but I’m aware there are some issues I have to face, singing being one of them.

“I haven’t thought about it in a while–––I say, playing with my fingers. For some reason a solo career doesn’t thrill me. I’m not Ed…” I murmur the last part.

“What does that mean?” Jeanne takes her glasses off, watching me closely. I start to shiver. When she assumes that attitude I always end up emotionally naked. I’d prefer plain naked, but that’s not happening.

“I’ve always been jealous of him–––I shrug, glancing away. I’ll never be like Ed… I’ll never have a male audience…” The cons of being a former boy bander.

“That’s because you are threatening to guys–––she states, and I return to look at her. Mainly because their girlfriends fancied you…” The boy bander’s curse. Guys can’t like you, and girls have grown up and moved on from you. Only two former boy banders have fully managed to get rid of the curse: Robbie Williams and Justin Timberlake. The reality of it started to frighten me as soon as we began to face the end.

“I know… And I know what I said in the past… about wanting to do it forever.” I said it when I was still young and naïve. “But I feel I’ll always be stuck in the same stereotype, only able to reach a certain audience…” Jeanne shakes her head.

“You don’t know that,” she remarks sternly. I remember she once said I wouldn’t lament my choice because I put my heart in it, but life has proven she was partly wrong. I know I’d have nothing if it wasn’t for One Direction, but it became too heavy and at some point I just felt like Atlas, carrying a world of regrets on my shoulders, as in Heine’s poem. “What do you want?” Jeanne questions me, and I can’t help but twist my mouth.

“I wanted to be like Mick Jagger…”

“He struggled being a sex symbol too…” God, I can’t stand the mere concept. When I realised what was happening with the media and the fans I struggled so hard to avoid it, but the damage was already done. I was just eighteen years old… People would never imagine all the things I did, said or let them believe in order to fight that label, pretty much like Jagger did. I avoided questions, played dumb, suggested the most random ideas, until I finally stopped answering and even became a bit blunt.

“But guys liked him anyway–––I point out, sounding quite bitter. It doesn’t happen with me.” What’s wrong with me?

“The late sixties were another time, Harry,” she asserts. I know, but… “One Direction is still near, and you are too beautiful…” At her words my stomach churns. I eagerly glance up at her as she rolls her hair, biting the side piece of her glasses. She makes me so weak when she speaks about me like that, even if it sounds as if she were stating a physical law. Maybe she’s right, or maybe I’m just a manufactured product for young girls.

“Do you think ‘Venetian Blind’ would change people’s perception of me, or just make it worse?”

“It’s not a proper romantic comedy–––she explains thoughtfully. I’m sure Sam will help to make you more relatable to guys, and more earthly to everyone.” I glimpse down, tightening my lips. That’s what I would call wishful thinking. Once a heartthrob, always a heartthrob… No even Leo DiCaprio managed to escape this fate, and he will be fifty soon. “I’m hungry–––Jeanne complains, dropping the issue. Do you have plans for dinner?” Her question surprises me, but I shake my head ‘no.’ I didn’t make plans because I was hoping for this, though I didn’t think it would happen at all. What I came to do is practically over, but she wants me to stay… “We could order some food.” Jeanne starts to check her iPhone, probably some takeaway app. “Are you in some kind of diet?” She inquires in an amused tone, glimpsing at me. I can’t help but chuckle, scrunching my face a bit.

“No,” I assert, giggling as if those silly times had never existed. I just try to stay healthy now. “Are you?”

“Always…–––she says blithely, shrugging one shoulder. Atlantic-Mediterranean diet…” She returns to look at her phone and I realise the pit of my stomach is aching. What does she do to me? “What about Thai food?–––she asks casually. I crave some sticky rice balls…”

“How Atlantic-Mediterranean is Thailand?” I retort, squinting at her. Maybe I should be bringing Jimmy’s show up instead of fighting her, but for some reason I’m not terrified by the idea of people suggesting there’s something between us anymore.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Jeanne says in the most sensuous way, sending electricity throughout my whole body. She turns around, as she begins to type on her phone, slightly bending her hips. I watch her from behind, and the memory of when she did the Callipygian for me at the Opera flashes in my mind. This is too much for me… I can’t stay still. I jump from the chair and walk up to her side, standing dangerously close.

“Don’t forget to order Kai Yang, some rainbows spring rolls…–––I murmur, touching some notes over the desk. And green curry…” I mutter huskily, leaning towards her ear. Jeanne shoots me a quick, amused glimpse. I smirk, glancing at her, but a Vogue’s issue at the other side of the desk catches my attention. Something comes to my mind. “I’d never imagined you’d adapt to this world so easily, being such an anti-capitalist…” I whisper in a grin as I surround her slowly, brushing her body, taking in her smell. I get this urge to grind myself on her, but I move just enough to pick over her shoulder. Jeanne doesn’t even shift.

“Sadly the world we live in is not an Anarchist paradise…” She ironises, not taking her attention away from her iPhone. I bet she imagined I would bring that up, as I love to contradict her. She used to enjoy our little games too. As I glance down at the magazine a note pad with some handwriting different than Jeanne’s distracts me. “Otherwise it would only be free love and common good, without a care for the filthy lucre,” she carries on, turning to face me, and tilts her head provocatively, crossing her arms. Her lips. Her skin. Her eyes… What was I doing before she turned around? God, she’s stunning… God, she is, but I won’t cross another line. I have all the time in the world… “Behave while I go kiss Lara goodnight,” she scolds me playfully. I thought she knew I’m a peach. I nod my head, smirking, as I step back, but I can’t get rid of the feeling… Some part of her wants me.

So maybe I shouldn’t poke around, but as soon as she leaves I approach the desk again to peep at the note pad, though I quickly notice some framed photographs at the back I hadn’t seen before. I should assume what it is, and leave it that way. But I just can’t do that. This hunger I have for Jeanne forces me to bend over and watch them, as I have done so many times before. What have I learnt about Jeanne’s life through photographs? A hundred things I wasn’t prepared for, as how she met her ex boyfriend, how she was her daddy’s little princess, how I randomly showed up in her life without even having awareness, and now, how beautiful she was when she was pregnant… I clumsily stumble back. This is what being friends means… I can’t get over it, but I have to face it. Some other guy had my dream, and even if they aren’t together anymore the fact that he did is frozen in far more than just a photograph.

–.–.–

Notes

Harry's inner struggle... It may not be easy to be a sex symbol, as you never know for what reason people like you. We are mainly women here so we should know what it is to be cancelled as human beings because of our looks or what people expect from us. We can relate. And Harry doesn't know what he does to Jeanne, but here's everything that made her fall for him in the beginning. But the issues are here too. Life's not a bed of roses.

Who's ready for these two to take their issues to the spotlight? Hang on to your chair because 1/4 starts in the next update. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you to all the people reading, voting, and everything. Your support means the world. Love you all <3