March 1st, 1971

    Today had been Amoeba’s fourth day of recording for the new album. Things had been going smoothly so far, and everyone had been arriving early in the morning and leaving by the evening. The five of them, with the producer, would spend the whole day in the studio and only ventured out to eat every few hours.
    The recording schedule didn’t leave much time for Cameron and I to be alone, and tonight was no different. All five of the men had gone out to a pub, which left Sylvia and I alone at the house. We poured ourselves drinks and sat in the living room, keeping the liquor bottles nearby. Once she had finished a few glasses, Sylvia was more open to sharing her thoughts once I asked how she was doing.
    “It’s been hard, Emily. If I’m being honest.”
    “Does Clyde know about the clinic?” I asked as I sipped my drink.
    “No.” Sylvia’s frown deepened. “I’m worried about telling him. He already has to spend the day working with Dale, in that little room.”
    “Men are stubborn,” I reminded her. “They’ve found a drummer for the tour, but Clyde said that he felt he owed it to Cameron to do the album. Not leave them scrambling,” I explained.
    “Clyde didn’t tell me that,” she mumbled.
    I frowned, not knowing what to say to her. Thankfully, she had enough thoughts for the both of us.
    “I’m scared this will end my marriage,” she whispered. “I love Clyde.”
    “Marriages have overcome worse things,” I replied. “Don’t worry yourself into a panic.”
    “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Sylvia retorted with a strained laugh.
    “Whatever is going to happen will happen. There’s no avoiding it,” I said to her. “All we can do is accept what comes next and learn to live with it somehow.”
    Sylvia lifted an eyebrow and looked at me with unfiltered curiosity. “It sounds like you’ve said that before,” she noted.
    “Oh, I have. Many times,” I replied. “And I’m sure I will say it many more.” I leaned forward from my seat on the couch and grabbed the bottle off of the table. “Refill?”


    It was a few hours, and many drinks, later when the band stumbled in through the front door. Every one of them was absolutely hammered, each man at a slightly different stage of losing balance.
    Cameron sauntered over to me and bent down to kiss me. He reeked of alcohol but I knew I did as well. Just as he pulled away, I heard Willie shout to Lee, who was doing his best to walk in a straight line to the kitchen.
    “Don’t trip!”
    All five of them burst into obnoxious laughter at the same time. Cameron let himself fall onto the couch beside me and nearly snorted from laughing so hard.
    I couldn’t help but add to the sound; I already found Cameron’s laugh hard to resist, but when supplemented by four other chortles, it was impossible to resist. Sylvia looked at us all with evident derision. “What is wrong with you people?”
    “I’m too wasted for this,” Dale laughed, and walked off in search of Lee.
    “Lee tripped in the pub and Willie lost his fucking marbles,” Clyde explained.
    “My marbles fucking scattered,” Willie added between guffaws.
    “I tried to quiet them down,” Cameron added, “but the server tripped over Lee and then fell…” The rest of his words were drowned out by the laughter that echoed around the room.
    “You all got kicked out of the bar, didn’t you?” I asked in an accusing tone.
    The laughter barely quelled enough for me to hear Clyde confirm my statement.
    “You’re all fools!” I shouted through my own laughter. “A gaggle of fools!”
    “We’re geese now?” Willie asked. I attributed my being able to hear him with the slowly quieting laughter.
    “No, no, you’re right,” I continued playfully. “Geese are more graceful thank you bunch. You’re more like… idiotic members of parliament. A cabinet of fools, if you will,” I laughed.
    Willie let out a short laugh, but went silent as he met Cameron’s gaze. “Did she just name the album?” Willie breathed.
    Cameron turned to me and gave me a playful smile. “I think she did.”