Taking place in the summer of 1978, the story follows 18-year-old aspiring music journalist, nicknamed Goldie, tasked with following up-and-coming UK rock band - The Orphans - while they do their first tour of the U.S. New to life on the road, Goldi...
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Final chapter. Please watch the video at the end of the chapter to the very end, it is important for the conclusion of Goldie. Happy reading! 💛
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Crisp evening air blows through Goldie's yellow curls. She can feel Jimmy's eyes peeking through the blinds behind her, awaiting her pickup. Her incredibly conspicuous guardian angel, playing the part he's always played. Jimmy spent the night before tossing and turning, thinking about the decisions that lay in front of his daughter.
"Just enjoy your night, love. You worked hard. Get out of your head for the night." Jimmy tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear before she grabs her purse and heads out the front door.
At this point, if he could make the decision for her, she'd go to Sarah Lawrence. She'd roam the campus, books in hand, learning, making friends and soaking in the world as an average 19 year old would. But he knows she isn't an average 19-year-old girl. She never has been and never will be. There's a spark in her eyes. The same spark that glimmered behind the similarly-colored irises of her mother. A spark that craved the kindle of adventure and experience to light the dark caves of life, whether they knew it or not.
Goldie stares down at her pigeon-toed feet. Her red platforms squeak as she fidgets. The sound of an old, familiar engine roars and coughs at the end of her street. She sees Doris in the distance. As her old temporary home comes into focus, she sees Harry, blushing and smiling behind the wheel.
He comically blares the horn before placing the huge RV into park and stepping out.
"M'lady, your chariot awaits," Harry says, hanging out of the main door of the bus.
"Doris!" Goldie says with a laugh. "Thought I wouldn't see you again, old gal."
Goldie caresses the dingy chrome side of the bus. A short time away from her bunk and she already misses the stagnant smell of old beer and stale cigarettes. The feeling of being but three or four paces away from Harry's bed. The sight of her affection's grin illuminated by the dim lights inside as he sits behind his scratched acoustic guitar. These are the memories she'll share in the future.
She chokes back tears at thought of saying goodbye to it all again.
"I figured there was no better vehicle to take us," Harry comments. "That and I don't have another car to take us."
"It's perfect," she responds.
The start of the dinner is sweet. An archetype for what Harry thought would create a perfect date. He brought her a bouquet of flowers. Pulled her chair out. Ordered for her. And he's properly dressed. At least his version of "properly dressed." He wears his best suit, white shirt wrinkled underneath his blazer. His hair is perfect, as per usual, with is long curls cascading down the front of his outfit, begging to have her fingers run through them. She clenches her fists, her knuckles white with extreme self restraint, in attempt to keep herself from tugging at them and dragging him to their usual spot on the bus.
