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Unlikely - 0.6

Bobby

Union Studios in Munich was the recording location for iconic Boney M. hits, including their massive 1978 disco track "Rasputin" from the Nightflight to Venus album, a song about the historical Russian mystic. Producer Frank Farian used the studio to quickly produce hits like "Rasputin," capitalising on the group's sudden success with catchy disco tunes inspired by history, with the studios helping achieve massive European chart success.

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Bobby Farrell, Aruban dancer, and the ‘King of Disco’ surveyed his surroundings:
From his comfortable studio chair he could lean back and stretch in his voluminous flared trousers and pristine, white fur coat, he studied Producer Frank Farian.

Farian was in front of a large studio mixer, making small adjustments to rotary knobs and faders as the music played through the loud studio monitors.

To either side of him, Liz Mitchell and Marcia Barrett, Boney M vocalists were also watching the work in progress.

Farian stroked his chin:

“ Night Flight to Venus is sounding great.. But I have this whole other tune Rasputin, which I feel really needs to follow on from it..”

“They are slightly different in tempo though..I’m not sure it will work.”

“What do you think Stephen?”

Professor Stephen Hawking , English theoretical physicist, cosmologist, and author who was soon to be the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge, widely viewed as one of the most prestigious academic posts in the world, smiled enigmatically.

Hawking, who was holidaying in Germany had spent the past week observing Farian and the whole “Night Flight to Venus” project. Apart from his cosmological studies, he had a keen interest in disco and in this case, the complex array of tape machines, mixers and outboard equipment.

He reached for a piece of chalk and with careful motions, he started to draw out a complex equation and lines and a set of numbers on a chalkboard.

“That…”, remarked Farian, “Is absolute genius!”
“So, if we take the section of chanting from Rasputin, we can slow it down precisely at this point here..”, he motioned to the chalkboard, “We can segue the end of Night Flight to Venus and bring in the bass guitar for the join?”

Farian motioned to his studio engineers to set up the tape machines to attempt the complex segue between the two songs.

Bobby could not quite understand what they were suggesting. What Bobby Farrell, Aruban dancer, and the ‘King of Disco’ actually felt like at this point was a good smoke.

He reached into his oversized fluffy white fur coat for his smokes and lighter. He pulled out a large “ready rolled” and lit up. Inhaled and then puffed out some sweet smelling smoke.

Farian scowled at him furiously:

“Bobby! No smoking in my studio.. Take it outside!”

Bobby muttered a quiet apology, help up a hand and made his way to the studio exit to the pool room and sofas, closing the glass doors behind him carefully. He nodded to Farian again to apologise but he was already directing his technicians huddled around the large tape machines.

Bobby took another leisurely drag of his large smoke.

In the dim light of the studio lounge, he sees, an extremely tall, physically robust elderly woman. She smiles beatifically and wipes her large hands on her gingham pinafore whilst gazing out across a small dining area where there is a large tea urn and some pastries on a plate.

The woman is Gladys Mills.
She reaches for a small pouch of tobacco in her apron, pulls out a dark brown liquorice cigarette rolling paper and expertly rolls a cigarette without once locking down.
She lights and inhales, blowing out the smoke through her large fleshy bulbous nose.
“Hello Bobby.” Says Mrs Mills warmly.
Bobby smiles back and listlessly paces the studio lounge.
He sees that damn fish in the large green lit tank. It gazes back at him with a milky eye and soft bubbles of the pump trickle to the tank surface.
Farian had something about this fish being a Coleocanth, some sort of prehistoric thing that was meant to be extinct.
He had no real understanding or indeed any real interest as to what this supposedly extinct fish was doing in Union Studios in Munich in 1978 and much less cared.
Except.. This damn fish gave him the creeps.
Farian was very protective and secretive when anyone asked about it.
Some evening when it was a late studio session, he almost felt like this damn fish was inside his head and was talking to him.
He tapped on the wall of the tank and scowled at the Coleocanth.
Soft bubbles and the delicate swish of a pectoral fin as the fish glided stately from one end of the enormous tank to the other.

The older lady, Gladys Mills, as we shall reveal in her most earthly and recognisable incarnation, finishes her cigarette and waves to Bobby.
She has warmed to Bobby Farrell. Although he shared little knowledge of anything outside disco dancing, he was clean, polite and respectful. Gladys Mills didn't ask questions of Bobby and he asked none of her – but for a quizzical eyebrow he raised at an old photograph kept on the wall of the studio.
There was something oddly familiar about this photo. Indeed in 1967 when it was taken, Gladys Mills or Mrs Mills as she was known then was very famous indeed.
This photograph was a revelation of this past life. As time had passed Gladys Mills had amused herself with this revelatory clue; almost as if to test the theory that is was indeed possible to hide in plain sight.
“Bobby dear, I’m brewing up some mushroom tea, would you like some?”
He liked this strange old English lady. Even if she was very eccentric and seemed to always have an unexpected supply of drugs. Perhaps this complete mismatch of appearance with her activity was how she operated.
He nodded to Mrs Mills with a broad smile.
She handed him a mug of steaming tea.
“Psilocybe Cubensis.. Go easy, these are quite poky.”
Bobby drank the hot tea slowly and raised a thumb to Mrs Mills who smiled back.
Bobby sat down on the lush studio sofas and sank back into the cushions. He pulled the hood of his voluminous white fur coat over his head and half closed his eyes in rest.
Mrs Mills raised a mug to him and smiled.
She reaches for a small pouch of tobacco in her apron, pulls out a dark brown liquorice cigarette rolling paper and expertly rolls a cigarette without once locking down.
She lights and inhales, blowing out the smoke through her large fleshy bulbous nose.
From the large fish tank, bubbles trickle gently to the surface whilst the Coleocanth glides past, slowly.