The Ballade of Nixon Tyme Chapter Twenty One

Les Moulins Blancs, Brittany

Sunday, 1st July 2001

Having spent the rest of Friday recovering from their efforts at sea, then disinfecting the van, and deciding on a suitable alibi for what they'd been doing all week, Gil finally decided to take Nixon over to his studio. Although they'd been together the whole time, planning for the disposal of the body had dominated most of the conversation. Gil had deviated from this subject only twice. Firstly, he'd explained how he'd built up his business and developed the studio, and then, on Thursday, he'd started to sketch out his ideas for how he thought Nixon could help him.

Nixon noticed that Gil had hardly touched on his personal life. He knew from years back that he'd got married, but there seemed little evidence of that now. Nixon doubted that a woman lived here. The house was clean and tidy, but lacked much personality. Everything seemed very functional, no decoration or ornamentation except for a couple of guitars hanging on a wall. Then, on the way over to the studio in Gil's car, Nixon decided to enquire.

“Didn't you invite me to your wedding once......How did it go ?”

“It was great, we had a party at The Mills, which is where we go now. I got so wasted.............”

Gil had answered without answering, and Nixon looked at him and raised his brow.

“What....?”

“I was asking about your wife. We've been here a week, and you've never mentioned her. Are you still married ?”

“Yes........Well, actually......Its been, umm........ Its complicated now. To be honest, I don't stay here much these days, I just come up to use the studio. That's another thing. Bella may not be too friendly to you...... I said it was your idea to come over, and launch this project with me. Which, is true really......Isn't it ?”

“Bella ?”

“Yes, my wife, Isabella.....There she is now........”

As the car drew into the courtyard of Les Moulins Blancs, Isabella Lake Riot, was washing her hands at an outside sink. She had on blue, industrial overalls and mauve, Doc Marten boots. Her blonde hair had been scrapped back into a bun. It looked like she'd been working on a car, and her hands were still black with oil. Gil jumped out of the car, and launched into rapid fire French. Isabella, without turning from the sink, replied in kind. It wasn't an argument, but Nixon didn't detect much warmth either. He couldn't make out much, but he did hear his name a couple of times. He wondered whether to go over and introduce himself, then Isabella, at the mention of his name again, glanced over her shoulder towards the car. Nixon decided to get out. As he approached, she'd finished scrubbing her hands, and pulled down a grubby towel, hanging from a ladder.

“Bonjour............Je suis Nixon”

“Its Je m'appelle actually, but well tried anyway. I'm Isabella”

Her English was perfect, not a trace of an accent. Her hands remained static, shrouded in the towel, and so Nixon, unable to shake, awkwardly raised his left hand and bobbed his head. Isabella made the merest glimpse of a smile, then turned, whipped the towel back around the ladder, and strode towards the house, already unfastening her overalls. The exchange with Gil, continued until she went in and closed the door behind her. Nixon hadn't seen them look at each other once.

“So, welcome to my studio.....” Gil gestured to a large, glass double door.

The studio was situated in a barn, adjoining the house. Gil had certainly put work in building this place. The live room was as good as anything Nixon had seen. There was a small stage area opposite a mirrored wall, and waxed oak floors bedecked with fine, Oriental rugs. Inside the control room, was a large window overlooking the rolling countryside.

The gear looked quite familiar to some of the stuff Nixon had seen at the studio in Hollywood. He was no expert, but it looked to him as if Gil had modelled it from the studios that had recorded his favourite albums, back in the seventies. The place sure had mojo, but it still hadn't helped Gil reach his goal, which was why Nixon was here now.

The other side of the deal, which Nixon had second guessed at his confessional, just a week ago, inevitably involved Nixon helping Gil to produce the music that would achieve the acclaim he'd always dreamed of. It was a tall order for sure. All of Gil's previous attempts had failed. His plan of building a quality studio had had only mixed results. It paid its way, and attracted some better artists. He'd earned a few sleeve credits, but nothing had been successful enough to turn any heads. As for his own bands, Gil never felt he'd got even close to what he was looking for. Nixon was his last chance, and he knew it.

For Nixon, it was a dilemma. Ever since he'd let go of chasing any tangible musical success, on his return from Greece, almost twenty years ago, he'd written songs purely for pleasure. Occasionally he might play a couple in a live set, and sometimes he was asked if he had any records for sale, but it just wasn't important to him. Now, here he was, being asked to do something he'd lost belief in. It was true, that a low key enterprise like bar singing, as he'd been doing in England, would be fine. After all, he'd planned to be away for a while yet, and would have to pay for his keep somewhere, but he knew that Gil wanted more. This would involve recording an album, and perhaps even tours.

One thing that concerned him was guarding his anonymity. He'd come here to stay incognito. If Peter ever discovered a connection between him and Lucia, things could still become dangerous. Any sort of publicity involving Nixon, however unlikely that may seem, could still be be risky. And so with this in mind, he decided to set out some conditions.

“Okay, there's something we need to be clear about.......

This is your baby. All song credits will be yours. I don't want my name, or photo, anywhere near the album. If we get to touring, well......I'll play, but I need to be a side man, nothing more. You do the press.....Say what you want...Its nothing to do with me...............Agreed ?”

“Sure, no problem.…......So, do you have any songs ?”