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Charles wasn’t one to stick to much of a schedule.
He spent most of his life just drifting through the streets of Monaco, moving from one thing to the next, running from things that couldn’t exactly chase him. However, there was one thing that stayed the same, and that was Saturday nights at The Grid.
It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
It was a small pub, sandwiched in between a corner store and a boutique. He had found it one night after yet another argument with his girlfriend, now ex, and went to drown his sorrows with a Moscow Mule. It hadn't been busy, allowing him to take a seat at the bar and order quickly.
A younger boy, hair curled and canines sharp, smiled at him and asked for his order. Charles rattled it off, adding on a glass of water to aid him in waking up tomorrow.
“Kimi, take care of him and then help Ollie change the Monte Carlo keg.” Charles looked up to see a taller man, and his breath hitched. The kid, Kimi, nodded and smiled while making the cocktail.
Charles shifted his gaze back to the other man and immediately made eye contact with him, and it seemed to have been startling enough to prompt him to speak. “You haven’t been here before, have you?”
“Astuste observation.” Charles snorted, fiddling with his wallet. “You the owner?”
“Manager,” he said, “Verstappen, Max Verstappen.”
“Leclerc, Charles Leclerc.” The manager smirked at the copied phrase as a glass slid in front of him. Max pushed it towards Charles, the latter thanking Kimi, who then walked towards the back and through swinging doors.
Max grabbed a rag and wiped down part of the bar as Charles chugged the mule, looking around the room and taking in the few people that were there, along with others that were trickling in. The ages ranged from old to young, a variety of nationalities, and all talking loudly.
The first large group, a gaggle of men, darted straight towards the back corner that held a banquet style table with a dusty piano a couple feet to the left of it.
Wait.
“Hey, Max?”
“Yes?”
“What’s with that piano over there?”
The manager looked to the back corner of the room, and grimaced. “That thing has been here for years, the last person who played it…” He trailed off, shaking his head, “Anyways, it hasn’t been used in a while, but the owner likes to keep it tuned.”
“Interesting,” Charles tapped his fingers against the bar, and then stood up quickly, “You mind if I use your rag?”
Max narrowed his eyes, but tossed over the piece of cloth. Charles grabbed it and his drink, then walked over to the corner. A few eyes watched as he went, filled with mild interest.
He sat on the bench and put his drink on top of the instrument before taking a quick look around. No one was looking anymore, well no one but the manager, and his gaze felt heavier than most. He ran the rag over some of the keys, disturbing most of them, but he wanted the dust gone before he even thought about doing anything.
Setting down the rag next to his drink, he cracked his knuckles and closed his eyes for a second. Charles thought about what to play, then opened his eyes and took a deep breath, starting the melody.
There's an old man sitting next to me
Making love to his tonic and gin
The next Saturday, Kimi served him the same cocktail as he sat in the same stool, but this time there was no Max in sight.
He looked to the piano and considered walking over, but before he could make a move, someone slid onto the stool next to him. “Andrea, is Stroll here?”
The kid looked over at the customer, “Nando, what have I said about my name?” Said man shrugged and the former sighed as he reached for a glass, “Lance has yet to arrive, I bet you’ll see him as soon as he does, principiante.”
Charles looked over at the man, he was graying and had a slight tremble to his hands. Kimi slid over the glass, a gin and tonic by the looks of it, and the older one gingerly sipped it. “I told you to stop calling me that, novato.”
The bartender just sighed and walked away, Charles watched, but then his eyes just drifted back to the piano.
He says, "Son, can you play me a memory?
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes."
The man turned and spoke to Charles. “You the guy who played last week, no?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be.” The monegasque looked at the man, his drink was already gone and a small smirk was displayed on his face. “Lo siento, got a dry sense of humor that comes with my age. I’m here most weekends.”
“Then, yes, I am the guy who played last Saturday.”
“Names Fernando, would you mind playing that song again? It reminded me of something I’ve heard before.”
Sing us a song you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright
It was a never ending cycle.
For almost 7 months, about 26 Saturdays, Charles came into The Grid and put on a show.
He had gotten more comfortable with performing, something he had given up for a bit at the age of eighteen after doing it for so long, and it felt like a missing piece of the puzzle had been found again.
More and more people have started showing up at 9 p.m. sharp for his start, and he’s seen it all at this point.
The staff shifts have changed quite a bit, so he’s met a lot of different workers, but he always looked for one person in particular.
Max would usually stand against the wall and watch him play, it was pretty hard to ignore. Sometimes, a worker would ask him a question and he’d have to move his gaze away, that’s when Charles’ shoulders would loosen and he’d really allow himself to play.
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's some place that he'd rather be
He also learned that Max worked every other Saturday, and that the other manager was a little more uptight than him. “Leclerc, are you going up yet? Customers are starting to get restless.”
“Relax, Georgie,” One of the waiters that worked every Saturday, Alex, set his empty tray down. “I think you forget he doesn’t work for us, love.”
George rolled his eyes, “With all of the free cocktails Gasly gives him, he might as well be.”
“Sérieux?” Pierre came around the corner shaking a mixer and narrowing his eyes at the manager, “I am just being kind to the person who keeps bringing everyone back in.”
He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me."
As the smile ran away from his face
"Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place."
“I’m telling you, calamar, I could really be something.”
“Other than being a pain in my ass?” Charles spoke, tearing his eyes away from Max, who was speaking to a customer a little too closely. “I mean what would you even do?”
The bartender shrugged, garnishing a drink. “Something more than this.”
Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
Charles was extremely close to quitting his job.
Working at Scuderia & Ferrari Design had been a lifelong dream of his, architecture just made sense to him as a career path, stable and interesting. However, his godfather didn’t exactly understand it.
Jules Bianchi was a muse when it came to instruments, he could play every single one under the sun, but his favorite was the piano. When Charles’ parents named Jules the godfather of their middle child, the man immediately knew that the kid would be his prodigy.
Charles had loved it, but after the passing of his mentor, it felt awful to place his hands on the keys.
Until now.
One of his favorite patrons was Oscar, a man of few words, but a bit too many longing looks at the bus boy.
Charles knew that the man came in quite frequently, not just on Saturdays, since the stack of papers on the table had grown. The real estate agent only writes his book when he’s sitting in the corner booth near the window, never when he has “actual work” to do.
It was easy to see that Oscar liked his hobby far more than his nine to five, Charles obviously related to him on that level.
And he's talking with Davy, who's still in the Navy
And probably will be for life
Wherever Oscar was, Logan would follow.
Those two were practically stuck at the hip, especially when Charles first started his performances, but the American hadn’t been around much lately. He was taking classes in the States at some university in the south, most of his classes were online, but he had to go back every once in a while for exams and such.
Oscar wanted him to stay in Monaco, but Logan was too American that it almost hurt. The latter would make jokes quite often about how the former wouldn’t miss him too much. “You have Lando, why would you still need me?”
“Well, he doesn’t have him yet, no?” Charles would reply, usually sitting with the two when he took breaks. “No balls, mon fils has no balls.”
Oscar gave him a pointed look, “Like father like son, how’s Max doing anyways?”
And the waitress is practicing politics
“Another one?”
Charles looked up from his phone, his five minute break was going longer than he thought, but Instagram was just too addicting. Isack stood in front of him, holding an empty serving tray.
“Non, petit.”
Isack rolled his eyes, “Je ne suis pas petit.” Then he walked away.
Charles watched as the young man talked with customers, flirting with some and making jokes with others. He had been a host at first, but had been promoted to waiter a couple of weeks ago, which Charles didn’t see as a promotion, especially when people got handsy or rude.
It also meant that Liam was still stuck at the front of the establishment, which Charles could tell he hated, but at least he could busy himself with training the new host, Arvid.
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
The larger table near the piano was usually taken by a few older men, he didn’t know all of their names, but he overheard a few every so often.
Mark was the most frequent patron, always sitting at the chair furthest from the piano. Charles noticed that whenever the man walked into the bar, he would stop at Oscar’s table and speak for a few movements, and he seemed to be the only person (besides Lando) who was allowed to read the real estate agent’s manuscript.
Next to him, usually sat Old Kimi. Now, Charles didn’t know shit about him, just that he shared a name with Andrea. The blonde didn’t speak much, just sat and nursed a single pint every Saturday. Charles did, however, see him slightly perk up when the chair next to him would pull away and The Inspector would sit down.
The man had piqued Charles' interest as he was playing one evening, the brunette had sent back a couple drinks for “not tasting right” much to Isack’s chagrin. As soon as the melody faded away, the man introduced himself, shaking his hand with a look that conveyed pure disbelief. “I’m Sebastian, have you met Daniel?”
“Sorry, no, should I have?”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes, “Max hasn’t introduced you?”
That had confused Charles even more, “Should he have?”
“No, no, but I’ll make introductions sometime.” Sebastian said, looking around, “Where’s Max?”
“Over there.” Charles instantly pointed to the wall that Max usually leaned on, and there he was.
Sebastian tilted his head at him, a smile slowly forming on his face. “Well, that makes sense.”
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call "Loneliness"
But it's better than drinking alone
“Calamar!”
Charles' head shot up from his phone, where he had been ordering a Lyft. It was downpouring and he didn’t feel like running home. “Pierre.”
“Join us,” the bartender said, gesturing to the bar, where quite a few people were either occupying the stools or standing behind it. “The owner’s going to come in and buy everyone some drinks.”
“Everyone?”
Pierre grinned, “Staff, investors, and our entertainment.” He winked at that last statement.
The pianist scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t want to intrude, I was just about to call a Lyft, so –”
“Mon gars, you would not be intruding, and we all want you to stay.” Charles hesitated, so Pierre went for the monegasque’s one weakness, “Max asked if you were going to be staying.”
Fuck.
All of this felt like some sort of screwed up karma. Getting out of bed that morning had been a struggle, this day every year was always bad, though. He had considered not going to The Grid, but he couldn’t bring himself to skip even one Saturday.
So, now it had led to this, the two of them making their way to the bar.
Pierre patted his back, moving to walk behind the counter. Charles sat on an open stool that was between Liam and Sebastian. The latter halted his conversation with Old Kimi, who was on the other side of him, to give Charles a smile. “Glad you decided to stay, Leclerc.”
“Well, Pierre didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“Liar.” Said man coughed under his breath.
Charles rolled his eyes and rubbed his hands down his face, Sebastian chuckling and turning back to KImi, who had stayed quiet.
Hearing the distinctive clink of a drink hitting the counter, Charles looked through his fingers to see a Moscow Mule being pushed in front of him. He pulled his hands away from his face, looking up to see Max standing behind the bar.
“Hi, Charlie.”
Double fuck.
“I told you to stop calling me that.” He really didn’t mind it.
“You don’t seem like you mind it that much.” What is he, a fucking mind reader?
Charles took a deep breath. “So, the owner is coming in, yes?”
The manager nodded, “He does this every year, to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
Max leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper, “You know how I said the piano has only been used by one person before you?” The monegasque nodded. “Well, today is his birthday, so it’s a celebration of his life.”
“Wait, so did –” Charles cut himself off, his breath catching. “Was his –” He couldn’t finish any of his sentences, tears welling up in his eyes and his head shaking side to side.
His vision tunneled and he pushed his drink away from him, standing up from the stool and backing away. Max rushed out from behind the bar and walked towards him, but not before Charles’ back collided with someone.
The pianist stumbled away, landing right into Max’s arms, which on a normal day would’ve made him freak out, but this was no normal day.
“Oi, mate, you okay?” The man who he had crashed into was Australian, and he knew it wasn’t Oscar, since the novelist had been at the edge of the bar with Lando. Looking up, he made eye contact with a man he knew all too well.
“Mars 2011, sur la photo, c'est toi le meilleur.”
The Australian shook his head in confusion, “What?”
Max’s arm that was around Charles’ waist squeezed once, “Charlie, are you okay?”
The monegasque cleared his throat, “March 2011, you are in a photo from then.” His hands shook as he pulled out his phone, going into the camera roll and clicking the favorites folder. He picked the one that displayed a hand holding a printed out photo with a time stamp reading March 17, 2011 03:17, and handed the phone to the man.
It was silent for what felt like hours, but was probably only a couple of seconds.
A stool screeched from the bar, and footsteps walked up to the trio. Sebastian appeared, slinging an arm around the stranger’s shoulders as he also looked at the photo, a sad kind of smile sliding onto his face. “Charles, this is Daniel, the man I wanted to introduce to you.”’
Daniel’s face dropped, looking around at everyone slowly, before narrowing his eyes at Sebastian. “So, you all failed to mention that the Charles that was performing was Jules’ godson?”
An “oh shit” came from behind them and Sebastian pulled away a little. “That’s why I’ve been begging you to come in, Danny.”
“Well, you could’ve led with this, Seb. My god, bury the lead, why don’t you?” Daniel threw his hands up, a wet laugh escaping him. “Charles, mate, it’s good to finally meet you; I’ve heard a lot.”
Sing us a song. You're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright
It had been rather startling to find out about Jules’ connection to The Grid.
With everyone sitting at the bar, Charles now next to Max, the latter’s arm secure on the former’s waist, Daniel shared memories about Jules.
Turns out, this was the bar that the man had spent most nights at, playing the piano. He had started coming to escape his family, but quickly found out that he enjoyed playing for the patrons that showed up, and especially enjoyed entertaining the owner.
Daniel and Jules were together for four years before he passed, and the Frenchman talked a lot about Charles to anyone who would listen. “He never could bring you in here though, something about you being ‘too practical’?”
Charles laughed at that, wiping his eyes, “He didn’t believe in my schooling aspirations.”
They went around the bar, the older ones sharing similar stories. When they got to Fernando, the old man smiled and turned away from Lance, looking to Charles. “That’s where I remembered your song from, yes? That first Saturday?”
“The melody,” Charles hummed. “I learned it from Jules.”
Daniel tilted his head, “Will you play it for me… well for us?” Charles looked at Max, who nodded at him.
The pianist hopped off his stool and unwrapped the Dutch man’s arm from his waist, grabbing his hand instead, and dragging him over to the piano. Everyone followed over, gathering around. Charles let go of Max, and laid his fingers on the keys.
He took one breath, then started playing.
It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see
To forget about life for a while
It had been a full year at The Grid, and of course Pierre had to make it a big deal.
There’d been advertisements for drink deals and promises of staying open later with a longer performance, and Charles hadn’t been clued in at all, until Max let it slip as they walked through the door to a huge crowd.
“He what?!”
The Dutch man tried to backtrack, but he had already said it. “Ok, but don’t be mad, everyone just really loves you.”
Charles scoffed, “So now I have to play for longer… because they love me?”
“Yes!” Pierre’s voice exclaims from behind the duo. They both turn around to see the Frenchman and Daniel smiling at them. “We have many more coming as well, and special food options!”
Narrowing his eyes, Charles looks around confused. “You don’t sell food here?”
Daniel laughs, “Exactly! So we out sourced, Pierre found an excellent small business called –”
“RBR Catering, at your service.” A shorter, asian man, walked up to the group with a box in his hand. “I’m Yuki, and I need to steal some more help to bring the food in, Mr. Gasly.”
Flushing bright red, the bartender was quick to put his tray down and scramble to grab the box out of the chef’s grip. “Lead the way, and for the thousandth time, it’s just Pierre.”
They walked away, and Daniel turned back to Charles. “So, are you going to get up there?” Charles grumbled and took off his sweater, shoving it into Max’s arms and walking towards the piano.
Sitting down, he cracked his knuckles and let out a quick breath. Resting his fingers on the keys, he flicked his gaze to the wall. Instantly, he made eye contact with Max, who smiled.
And so, he played.
And the piano. It sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, "Man, what are you doing here?"
Walking into The Grid was strange.
It had been almost two years since he last performed on the old piano, and a little over a year since he last walked through the doors, but he was finally back.
The bell rang as he opened the door, alerting Arvid who was sitting on his phone. He started to stutter out a greeting, but froze when he realized who it was. The young man smiled and stood up, “Charles, mate, you’re back! I thought you’d be in California forever.”
Said man nodded and bowed his head, “Hello to you too, Arvid.”
Before he could say anything more, Isack appeared around the corner. “Lindblad, when someone walks in, you must get them seated quick– mon dieu, Leclerc!”
Charles shook his head, “It’s Verstappen, now, Lawson.”
“Cute, real cute, but not yet.” The now-manager rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Weddings in June, you better be there.”
The monegasque waved him off, nodding. “Now where’s the owner, I heard he’s a real connard.”
“Yeah, and I heard the man he’s married to is a echt een stuk stront.” Turning towards the bar, he sees Max leaning on the counter with a smirk on his face. “Hi, schat, I told you I’d pick you up from the airport.”
Charles walked straight towards the bar, rounding the counter quickly and launching himself into the Dutchman’s arms. “Well, I just wanted to surprise you, ma vie.”
“And he’s itching for a fix.” Pierre, of course. “I can see those fingers moving, how long has it been?”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Charles separated himself from Max and turned around to face the Frenchman. “I played like… 16 hours ago.”
BANG!
A serving tray clattered to the ground, causing everyone to turn towards the back doors.
Young Kimi had one hand over his mouth, and the other on Ollie’s arm. “Bambino, he hasn’t touched an instrument for 16 hours, call an ambulanza!” The Italian threw a hand to his forehead and fell into the Brit.
Ollie rolled his eyes and pushed the shorter man off him, “Drama queen.”
Max smiled at their antics, and turned towards Charles. “Are you going to go over there?”
“Am I allowed to?” The monegasque asked.
His husband pushed him gently. “Don’t be stupid, go on.
It was like there was a gravitational pull that tugged him to the instrument, and Charles let it. He sat at the piano and quickly looked around.
Sebastian gave him a wave, Old Kimi just a nod, and Daniel leaned forward, giving him a smile. Retired life seemed to suit the man, and Charles was glad to see him thriving.
So he placed his fingers on the keys, and took a deep breath. He smelt beer, heard laughter, and felt a presence that he never felt in Los Angeles.
The Grid was once his escape, but slowly became his home. It was the place where he renewed his love for music and found the love of his life.
And for the final time, it was the place where he played the melody.
Sing us a song. You're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright