The Ballade of Nixon Tyme Chapter Eighteen

Having known Tanner since 1993, Erica Steed's relationship with him, was at first, purely professional. Tanner had hired her as an 'Entertainment Coordinator' which basically, constituted all the duties that Tanner felt he could now delegate.

It was true that his workload had increased, and he was in genuine need of someone to share the strain, but also, by this point, almost seven years in, he'd begun to coast. Erica fitted the bill perfectly. Calm and conscientious, she'd come into London, looking for a career boost. A series of boring secretarial jobs had left her dissatisfied, so when she saw the job description, thoughtfully crafted by Tanner, it seemed to offer something a little more out of the ordinary.

'Entertainment Coordinator required:

Seeking creative, self motivated talent to help run and develop one of the UK's busiest artist agencies. The successful candidate will ideally have experience in the entertainment business, and be comfortable liaising between artists and clients. Attention to detail essential, and advanced secretarial skills would be an advantage.

Apply in writing to Mr. T.A.Francis, Managing Director, Colony Room Entertainments.'

Timing, confidence, and a touch of creative truth bending, proved sufficient to get her the job, and Tanner soon felt vindicated in his decision. Erica proved more than capable in her new position. As well as handling their existing workload, within twelve months, she had managed to get the whole roster working to near capacity. Then, one Friday near Christmas, after a week of sealing some particularly lucrative contracts, Tanner decided to treat his valued employee to dinner, and the inevitable happened. Perhaps it was the festive spirits, the feel good buzz of the deals, or just too much booze, but Tanner and Erica ended up breakfasting together.

For Tanner, a relationship with Erica was something, that looking back, he'd fallen into without ever giving much thought. A relationship with an employee was something he sensed probably wasn't a good idea, but once in it, there never seemed enough justification, or an opportunity to change. He liked her enough, and she seemed eager to please. What more could he need?

For Erica Steed it was different. This was exactly what she had wanted. Back in Southend, looking for a change, she couldn't really describe what she was looking for. Now, waking up in Tanner's bed, that Christmas weekend morning, she knew she'd found it. Tanner had struck her as ideal material, right at the very first meeting. A solvent, well dressed, bear like man with no wedding ring was, for Erica, an irresistible combination, and by the turn of the year, she couldn't have wished for any more.................................except one thing.

Tanner had always lived at home. Back in the early market days, that wasn't so unusual. Money was tight and the family home was comfortable. They'd always lived in the same place, a three storey town house, near Kings Cross. Tanner had commandeered the top floor, and knew that it would take something well out of his price range to make it worth moving on. Losing his savings on the Belleville's, the property boom of the eighties, coupled with the vulnerable, early days of the agency had always blocked any thoughts of domestic independence, and by the time his mind had idly returned to the subject in '94, his father died. His dad was seventy four, but died suddenly, leaving Philomena stunned, and despite a fractious marriage, Tanner's mother took it badly. He couldn't think of leaving now, and so, 15 Reece Gardens would have to remain home for a while longer yet.

It was probably for this reason, that Tanner had never formed a lasting relationship. Living in the parental home, tended to put off prospective wives. His mother's critical eye hadn't helped either.

For her part, it wasn't especially possessiveness, but just a sense of her wanting the best for him. Quick to spot a girlfriend's potential shortcomings, Philomena was never slow to warn her son if she sensed something that might, ultimately, lead to him feeling trapped. She was determined that history wouldn't repeat her experience. Therefore, once Erica had entered her potentially perfect relationship with Tanner, it was clear that she'd have to bide her time. The problem was that, unknown to her, Tanner was also biding his time. Less contrived, but influenced by his mother, he'd started to form the idea that perhaps, somewhere out there, was a perfect match. The One.

Those details aside, their relationship, to the outside world at least, worked satisfactorily. Both professionally and personally, life sailed smoothly by. Tanner sometimes felt guilty, that at long last he'd found a woman who appeared ideal. Not only did she love him and run his business, she'd also skilfully managed to keep Minnie quiet. The guilt came from the fact that it was now he, rather than his mother, who'd become dissatisfied.

After their initial 'romance', Tanner had slowly come to realise he could never grow to love Erica in a way that merited the word. He had a suspicion that perhaps, a lot of the world, rubbed along in this way, either unwilling or incapable of change. Was it really unrealistic to wish for more?

What to do, stick or twist?

For three years he decided to stick, then, three things happened at once.

Just as the winter frosts of '99 gave way, and the first daffodils of spring started to appear, Philomena died. Contrary to his father, Tanner had seen this coming. In truth, she'd never fully recovered from Al's death, five years previously. Tanner loved his mother dearly, but unexpectedly, apart from the grief of the funeral, he felt strangely disconnected from the world. Her passing seem to set up within his mind, a stock check of his life's direction.

Apart from Erica, he was alone. He'd inherit the house, was financially secure and had no family responsibilities. Not far from his fiftieth birthday, a fact which had recently begun to occupy more of his thoughts, it was a rare opportunity to sit back, assess, and perhaps make some decisions that would affect the rest of his days.

The same week as the funeral, a letter arrived, postmarked from Paris. He didn't know anybody in France, and sure enough, the name of Franck Blanchard, printed on the headed paper, meant nothing either. Monsieur Blanchard introduced himself as an independent music journalist and explained that he was currently doing researching for a biography on the little known, almost mythical Punk Rock band, The Belleville Riders.

Somehow, he'd managed to track down Tanner's previous involvement, and address. He was curious to know if he could arrange a meeting and discuss his memories from that time. Tanner had laid that ghost to rest years ago, and never thought of them these days. He felt it ironic, that in a week when he'd been forced to examine many memories from his past, he was now being confronted by something which he preferred to forget. He found it hard to see how raking over his brief dalliance with Rock n Roll notoriety, could ever do him any good, and decided to ignore it. About to discard the letter, he checked himself, and shoved the letter into a drawer instead.

“Is it time for a new direction......? Try La Route du Coeur.”

The header on the email that came in at the end of that week, caught Tanner's attention. His head had been filled with vague thoughts of a new beginning, and now, here he was clicking on a link, that ordinarily he'd pass on. La Route du Coeur, was an online dating site. Tanner had noticed a few of these lately, and always felt them tasteless. This one, however, had a refined look, and purported to represent clients who had interests centred around the arts. It was also limited to over thirties. Tanner looked at the clock. It was 10.28 am. Erica would be at the office for the rest of the day.

Filling in the personal profile, Tanner felt a bit foolish, and then guilty. He'd keep it fairly vague, but decided to put just enough information on his interests, which, when he read it back, seemed to be completely at odds with the tastes of Erica. He imagined what she might have entered. Seeing it written down, it seemed obvious that outside of work, they actually had little in common. Books, films, music. Not much crossover except for food, but was that enough?

No, Tanner Francis was ultimately a romantic. Now he'd lost his mother, he felt alone, and a long suppressed desire returned. He wanted to fall, hopelessly in love.

A soul mate, someone to spend the rest of his days with. Someone to admire, desire....Inspire.

That was it. No matter how well he and Erica rubbed along, he wanted more. He clicked send.

The phone rang, it was Erica.

“Hi darling, how you feeling today ?”

“...aah fine thanks, how's things over there ?”

“Oh don't worry, I'm on top of it.....Hey, you know, Palmersley's taken the Stones again......at the new rate...Isn't that great ?”

“Mmm...Well, if that's what he wants. Look, I'm going to have to go. There's still of lots of mum's things to deal with. I'll see you later...Okay ?”

“Okay darling, take care.......Love you !”

Tanner could never reply in kind, and put the phone down. He went to make a coffee. When he came back to his desk, he noticed a new email.

“We have found one compatibility match with your profile”

Tanner clicked the link. The refined features of Cecile Labat looked out at him from the screen, with a feint, enigmatic smile. Sensing his guilt, Tanner quickly closed the page.

What was he doing......Was he mad?

He remembered the letter from the journalist, and thought about the Belleville's. It had been nearly twenty five years since they'd made that record. He hadn't listened to it in a long time, and, in an attempt to distract himself from his covert pleasure at the computer, he decided to try and dig out a copy that he thought he still had somewhere. Eventually, from one of two cardboard cartons, containing the hundred or so vinyl albums he'd acquired from his youth, he pulled out an almost immaculate copy of 'The Real Deal', still in its plastic protective sleeve.

It was one of only five hundred pressed. Tanner wondered where they'd all ended up. Most likely kicking around odd boot sales, or lying forgotten in cupboards and musty lofts. Tanner didn't own a turntable now, and he had to go downstairs to his mothers' quarters to use hers. She'd never taken to CD's, and right up to her death, regularly played her vinyl albums of mostly jazz and classical music, meticulously collected for over sixty years. A modern hi fi unit would have never looked right in here, anyway. Nothing much had changed since the fifties.

Resembling a mix between an Orwellian novel, and the Colony room itself, Philomena's taste in décor ran to oxblood chesterfields, metallic soda siphons, and column ash trays. A bamboo and glass bar, complete with optics and cocktail glasses, was flanked by reproductions of German and English modern art. There was even a token Aspidistra, in an oversize Majolica pot.

Still on the ancient record deck was a collection of Schubert Piano Sonatas. It must have been the last thing she'd ever listened to. Not a bad call, he thought. He knew it well himself. Sonata No 20 in A major, by Alfred Brendel, was his favourite. Erica had never heard of it. In this setting, it felt almost sacrilegious, lowering the stylus onto the glistening black vinyl of The Belleville Riders' first, and only album. Soon Damon England's unmistakable, jagged guitar filled the air. Marrat's heavily accented sneer, recanted the call to arms of the opening track, 'Aux Armes'. It took him right back to the 100 Club.

Tanner sat down, and listened to all thirty five minutes, forty three seconds. It still sounded surprisingly fresh. Time had not diminished the energy which sprang from the grooves. It was truly timeless he thought, and actually not so different from anything in his mothers collection. Great art, after all, in all its forms, stood the test of time.

The Belleville Riders, even after a quarter of a century, really did have something. Tanner idly wondered what effect this record would have if it were launched on the world today. The faux arrogance of Brit pop was now in decline, and for once, it was as if there was nothing on the horizon to replace it. He wondered what today's bands would sound like in twenty five years time. All mouth and shit trousers. Rock n Roll had died years ago, but The Riders might shake things up.

The distraction was only temporary, and on returning back upstairs, his mind wandered back to Cecile. It was unlikely he'd have struck gold at the first try. The photo appealed for sure, but no doubt, there'll be enough monsters in that profile to scare him away. He'd just have a quick look.

French, from Paris, aged forty three. Cecile Labat was a theatre costume designer. Although she lived in Paris, some of her time was spent in London with West End Productions. As Tanner continued down the profile, and the extensive list of likes and dislikes, he looked again at that photo. There had to be something wrong. Life didn't work like this, and of course, there was. It was him. He'd listed himself as single. Where exactly was Erica going to fit in with this romantic fantasy? He didn't know, but what he did know was that life wasn't long enough.

Hearing the Belleville's again, made him realise that there are but a few, fleeting moments when significant opportunities arise. After all, he thought, Cecile may look like his ideal woman. She may well laugh and cry to the same script as him, but that didn't make her compatible did it? No........He'd have to meet her to find out.