Chris Martin and Gwyneth: An Authorized Adventure.
Tall, lithe Chris Martin was lounging at his home in Belsize Park, thinking about a new song for his pop group, Coldplay, when a small knock came at the door. Though he was listening to Radiohead on his iPod at the time, seeking inspiration, he was so attuned to his environment that he sensed the outsider’s presence immediately.
Removing his headphones and glancing up, he noticed his wife, slender Gwyneth Paltrow, star of SKY CAPTAIN AND THE WORLD OF TOMORROW among other films, enter the room. Intuitively, he could tell she was concerned as well, even though her brow was unfurrowed. The nanny, tall brunette lesbian Eleanor Foster, followed in her wake, carrying the sleeping child, Apple (Apple of my eye
, thought Chris Martin with an inward smile).
Gwyneth asked the obvious question, “Who is it, darling?”
“Only one way to find out,” said Chris Martin grimly. He unfolded his long legs, and headed for the door.
Opening it, he was surprised to see Noel Gallagher, of the pop group Oasis. He seemed ill-at-ease and angry.
“Lo, Chris Martin,” he muttered.
“Noel!” Chris Martin knew that Noel Gallagher viewed Coldplay as a deadly rival to Oasis in the highly-competitive popular music scene. His presence at Chris Martin’s doorstep came something as a shock. “Come in,” a puzzled Chris Martin said, stepping aside, “Come in.”
Gwyneth, ever the hostess, chimed in: “Would you like a spot of tea, Noel? A pint, perhaps?”
“Nothing for me, ma’am,” the sullen rocker responded, entering.
“A healthy macrobiotic snack? Or I could make some flounder with miso sauce. Or some bangers and mash? I know how you lads like to indulge now and then.”
“I’m fine, me,” Noel said.
“Sit down, sit down,” said Chris Martin, gesturing towards the couch.
Noel sank into the leatherette Milano, and sighed.
“It’s Liam,” he said.
Chris Martin and Gwyneth exchanged a knowing look.
“Oh Noel,” Gwyneth uttered sympathetically, sitting down in one of the twin loungers.
“Talk to us,” said Chris Martin.
“I dunno.” Noel ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s because we was so skint coming up. Insecurity and that. But we were both wild boys.”
“Yes,” agreed Gwyneth, softly.
“We have a new record,” Noel said. “Liam’s doing all right now, but I’m afraid he’ll go back to his wild ways.”
“He gets bored easily,” ventured Chris Martin.
“Oh yeah. The silly twat might headbutt a promoter, for example,” Noel said. He held up a hand, and added, “Nothing wrong with that, done it myself. But what if he does it in front of the fans? Or what if he doesn’t show up at a show?”
“Even if he does, he could headbutt a fan,” offered Gwyneth.
Noel concurred: “He can be fookin’ barkin’, on occasion.”
“So you’re being proactive,” nodded Gwyneth, approvingly.
Chris Martin, who had been looking out the window thoughtfully, turned and said: “I think we can help you, Noel.”
“That would be brilliant,” Noel said. “Maybe I’ll have that pint after all, then, ma’am.”
It was just a week later that Noel, accompanied by his younger brother Liam, once again knocked at the front door of the handsome front man of Coldplay and his lovely actress bride.
Liam wondered aloud, “What’s this all about again?”
“I told you, mate. Pot noodles for me, and beans on toast for you,” Noel responded. “That’s what it’s all about.”
“Fookin’ great,” Liam exclaimed. “Maybe a pint or two as well, eh?
The door opened. Gwyneth Paltrow, beaming a radiant smile, stood before them. She gestured to the room behind her as she stepped aside.
As they entered, they heard a disembodied voice.
“What am I doing, swanning about like a fooking wanker? Like that fat whinging bastard Robbie Williams? I want to get fooking hammered and freak people out. And I don’t mean the bloody fooking Yanks. They can kiss my stinky white arse. If this is rock ‘n’ roll, I’ll be at home with me feet up, totally monged, watching LOVE ME, LOVE MY KIDS. Russell Crowe, that’s my role model.”
Liam cocked his head and frowned. He asked, “Who’s this chuff?”
The tall slender figure of Chris Martin filled the doorway. He was chuckling.
“Hiya Liam,” he said.
“Chris Martin,” acknowledged Liam.
“Do you remember an interview you did a few days ago with a student newspaper reporter?”
“There are so many….” said Liam.
“The interviewer was a funny-looking stooped-over kid with coke bottle glasses.”
“Fooking geek,” said Liam. “Yeah, all right. I remember.”
“That was me,” grinned Chris Martin.
“You?” Liam was incredulous.
“I helped with the disguise,” Gwyneth chimed in. “And make-up!”
“You did so much more than that, Gwyn,” Chris Martin revealed. “We rigged up Apple’s baby monitor to a digital recorder in another room.”
“And you were wearing a webcam,” said Gwyneth.
“That I was.”
“This is shite,” mumbled Liam.
“We’re glad you see it that way,” said Gwyneth gently.
Liam looked startled. “What d’you mean?”
Chris Martin put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “That was your voice we just heard,” he said.
Liam looked shocked, then hung his head. “I’m quite the mad aleck then,” he said.
Noel put his hand on his brother’s older shoulder.
“Doesn’t have to be that way, brother,” he said.
Chris Martin spoke again: “Imagine if your fans, or the tabloids, or your record label could see and hear you carrying on like that.”
“You have a wonderful band,” Gwyneth added. “You make uplifting music that young people adore. Do you just want to throw that away?”
“Reckon not,” said Liam sheepishly.
“Oy,” said Noel, pointing at Liam’s face. “The mucker’s blushing.”
Chris Martin’s face broke into an open grin. He asked, “Lesson learned?”
“’Nuff said,” exclaimed Gwyneth. “Now let’s have some pot noodles, beans on toast, and tofu.”
Noel broke in: “And a pint or two, as well, if you please. We don’t want to tarnish the image.”
“Don’t forget the chocolate,” laughed Chris Martin.
The nanny, tall brunette lesbian Eleanor Foster, cradling Apple, mused to herself: “Chris Martin. Ah. I could go wrong for that one.”
Then she turned her gaze to the lissome Gwyneth Paltrow, as she gracefully led the way for the men to the dining nook.