Kitabı oku: «If We Ever Meet Again», sayfa 2
‘I think you’re the only person in the world brave enough to say something like that to me,’ he chuckled and apparently the kind of person who will tell you your music is crap is exactly the kind of person you want to have in your life if you’re a musician and we became pretty much inseparable. We’ve been best friends ever since – although nothing more, I hasten to add. This works well for both of us professionally because if I am having a slow week with news he will give me an interview, and he can always rely on me to give him a bit of good press when everyone is reporting the negative stuff – like him ‘banging’ a female escort, for example.
With me living in Leeds and him all the way down in London, we don’t see each other as much as we’d like, but we talk almost every day and we always have a blast when he is on tour.
My mind darts back to the ‘real world’. Sitting at my desk and staring at my computer, I realise that I’m not going to be able to concentrate today, I’m just too excited. I go through the rest of my emails, clicking my way through the masses of press releases we receive every day. There are a few good ones but nothing too exciting, I’ll do them later.
One exciting email I have received is from a tour manager, asking to me to confirm that I will be joining a band on their tour. These guys are also my good friends; I used to tour with them when no one knew who they were, and now they’re embarking on their first headlining UK tour as a signed band, which is pretty exciting. I send a quick message (something which feels weirdly formal considering they’re my buddies) confirming that I will still be joining them on the road and then crack on with my work.
After four hours of replying to messages and writing items for the website, I am more than ready to go home. In what little time I have, I’m going to pull out all the stops for tonight. I only wish I had time to pick up something new to wear.
‘Don’t mind if I get off a bit earlier, do you, team? Big night tonight,’ I say, making my way towards the door.
‘Last one in, first one out,’ Jake jokes. ‘Lucky for some.’
‘Of course we don’t mind. If you do pull one of them, be sure to text me,’ Emily says excitedly. I think she may be even more excited than I am.
‘I don’t think so,’ I call back as I make my escape. It’s not that they are a bad-looking band, but my priority is the interview and I’m certainly not going to mess this up by getting my goals confused.
Chapter Four
The Secret
I feel so old right now, and I’m only twenty-five. I’m at the Plastic Rap gig and, apart from a handful of parents and their young kids, I am surrounded by excited teenagers, most of them female. Unsurprisingly I haven’t bumped into anyone I know, so I have been entertaining myself. I’ve knocked back a few drinks and messed around on my phone quite a lot. It’s very important to keep the good people of Twitter and Facebook up to date on what I’m doing – not to show off, I promise.
Plastic Rap are currently playing their last song and for the millionth time since I got here I am checking my bag for my Dictaphone. Absolutely nothing can go wrong tonight.
Looking up at them on stage, I have to admit that I can see exactly what the thousands of screaming girls see in them. They’re good-looking in a goody-goody pop kind of way, not a tattoo or piercing in sight, which is something I actually quite like; it’s not that often you find a musician without one or the other these days.
When the gig is finally over, I make my way to the hotel next door where our interview is taking place. Before I know it, I am plonked down in front of the band, who are eagerly awaiting my questions.
All five of them are so chatty, they’ve got bags of character and they’re definitely saying all the right things.
Sometimes the really famous ones are rude or awkward and I hate it when there’s a particular subject I’m not allowed to ask about, but that’s not the case with these guys.
I’ve asked all the music-related questions that we’re expected to ask, so it’s time to get down to the juicy stuff.
‘So, are you boys allowed girlfriends? A lot of bands with large teenage fan-bases are told to keep their girlfriends a secret.’
Sam (the hottest one in my opinion) is straight in there with an answer.
‘Yes, we’re allowed girlfriends and we all have a girlfriend at the moment. Our fans are the most loyal fans in the world, they certainly don’t mind us having them. It’s all about the music.’
Fantastic answer, although I have to disagree. It’s partly about the music, but their fans are genuinely in love with them. Hearts will break when they read this, that’s for sure.
Eventually we wrap up the interview. I pose for a few photos with the band and I’m not going to lie, these are for Facebook. I’m still a band lover at the end of the day.
Sam moves to stand next to me and slides an arm around my waist as we continue to pose for the camera.
‘We’re having a bit of a party if you’d like to stick around,’ he says between smiles. Before I have chance to reply, in walks the band’s tour manager with a group of ten young-looking fans. They’re maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, so I assume they’re here for a meet and greet before the party starts. For someone who has been hanging around bands for so long, that’s a pretty naive assumption it turns out. As if to remind me exactly how these things go, Carl the bassist walks straight up to one of the fans and sticks his tongue down her throat. Maybe it’s his girlfriend? Sure she looks a bit young, but who am I to jump to conclusions? Then again, if it was his girlfriend he probably wouldn’t be kissing the next girl in the line right now. Or the one after that.
Now I really do feel old. When I was sixteen I certainly wasn’t hanging around in hotels with taken men.
‘Thanks for the offer, but some of us have got work in the morning.’ I try to sound friendly, jokey, anything but shocked and appalled.
‘I’ll give you my number, yeah?’ He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. ‘We’re back here again in a few weeks, we’ll have to meet up, babe.’
This is the second phone number I have been given today that I have no intention of calling – unless we ever need another interview, of course.
As I gather my things and walk towards the door, I take one final look back at the band, just as they are working out which band member gets which girls. Ten girls – that’s two each. It reminds me of when we used to pick teams during PE at school. I bet a couple of those girls still have to do PE, how creepy is that?
The band’s chubby, bald tour manager stops me on the way out to ask a few questions about the magazine so I answer and politely thank him for his time. As I go for the door, he puts his arm up like a barrier blocking an exit.
‘These girls are all over sixteen, so don’t go putting this in your magazine,’ he warns me – protesting a little too much if you ask me.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ I reply bluntly, waiting for him to move so I can pass him. Eventually he does, but not without trying to intimidate me a little. I can’t wait to tell Emily about this, in fact I’m actually dialling her number before I’ve even left the building. It doesn’t take me long to relay the night’s events to her as I walk home.
‘I cannot believe it!’ she squeals.
‘I know, right? No wonder their fans don’t mind them having girlfriends, it really, really doesn’t matter.’
‘Well yeah, that is shocking, but I can’t believe you didn’t stay. You were in there, Nic!’
‘No way! You’d have stayed? Those girls were the same age as your little sister. God, I felt like a prudish old woman.’
‘It would have been quite the scoop for the magazine though, wouldn’t it?’ she says cannily, but I know she doesn’t really mean it. She’s right, but not only did I promise their tour manager that I wouldn’t blab, I don’t really want to be pissing off a band that I will probably want to interview again in the future. They may not be very nice guys, but they pull the hits and that’s what I need.
‘We need to keep our heads down, Em. Trying to ruin the reputation of a huge band like Plastic Rap would probably just get us sued. Right, I’m at my door. I trust we’ll be keeping this little discovery between us?’
‘Say no more. See you in the morning and try not to be late, yeah?’
Cheeky bitch. Then again, I am always late.
Chapter Five
The Indecent Proposal
It’s good to be home, and I’m so glad I escaped the teeny orgy as I much prefer my own bed, and I don’t get on that well with kids. The kettle goes on and so does my laptop because, as soon as I get some caffeine in my system, I’m going to make a start transcribing tonight’s interview. I’m very much a night person which is proving really inconvenient because people expect me to wake up in the a.m..
Kicking off my shoes and abandoning my gig outfit in the middle of my living room, I wander around in my underwear until I eventually find my dressing gown which, for some reason, is plonked on top of the cooker. It doesn’t really matter because my cooker is super-clean – not because I am a domestic goddess but because I never, ever use it. Living in the city centre, there is a restaurant or a takeaway everywhere you look – who needs to know how to cook these days?
My butt finally hits the sofa at 1 a.m. I know I’ve got to be up in seven hours (five and a half if I want to wash my hair, which I probably should because I have post-gig frizz going on), so maybe I won’t be typing up the interview tonight after all.
I’m just about to shut down when a message from Luke Fox pops up on Skype. Just seeing his name makes me go all weird and, at twenty-five years of age, I still feel like a lovesick schoolgirl whenever I see him.
Luke is, you’ve guessed it, in a band and I have had a crush on him pretty much since the day we met. Unfortunately he is a bit of a tart, so despite our flirty banter I have mostly just stood back and watched him sleep with anything female that crossed his path.
It was Luke’s band, Two For The Road, that I used to tour with in my teens and now they’re a proper signed band in the middle of their first headlining UK tour – this is the band that I’ll be doing a few tour dates with later this week. I’m making out like it’s a magazine feature – and it will be going in the mag – but, to be honest, I have been on every tour with these guys since we met, I’m not about to stop now they’ve hit the big time. It’s amazing how things have changed. I used to sleep in the back of their van, now they’re being driven around in a huge tour bus.
Touring can really take its toll on your body. I’ve developed tinnitus from all the loud music (it turns out your ears need protection too, something I learned a little too late) and tendon damage from a particularly high pair of heels that I wore for too many days in a row, and while thankfully I’ve managed to protect myself from the cocktail of sexually transmitted diseases that I know several of my band friends have dipped their straws into, my priority has always been to protect my heart – no, I’m not talking about exercising on a regular basis and taking aspirin, I’m talking about not getting too involved with the boys. With Luke, this has always been a struggle.
It would be the biggest understatement of the century to say that I have a slight crush on him – I am crazy for him. I haven’t wanted to be anybody’s girlfriend since Robbie Williams ripped off his clothes (and then his skin) in the ‘Rock DJ’ music video back in 2000, but I could quite easily believe in monogamy for this man – something which troubles me because I’m not a commitment kind of girl and he certainly isn’t a commitment kind of boy.
He’s tall without being lanky, his dark hair is effortlessly perfect with his fringe falling over his gorgeous brown eyes and he always seems to smells so nice, even when he’s all sweaty after a show – see what I mean, I sound like a fifteen-year-old girl. The bottom line is that he is gorgeous, but I’m not the only one who thinks so. He has an even bigger female following since hitting the big time and I can’t compete with semi-naked, drunk chicks that operate as a team.
Luke: Nicole?
As the message pops up on my screen, the butterflies in my stomach start fluttering like crazy, it’s ridiculous. When we see each other at gigs, we get on so well and we flirt constantly but that’s just the way he is. He definitely doesn’t know about my little crush on him. It would be stupid of me to interpret his flirting as real feelings because he’s such a ladies’ man and a total charmer. He’s the kind of guy your mother would warn you about and your father would want to kill – actually, he could probably charm your mum too.
After what feels like several minutes of panicky excitement, I manage to compose myself enough to type a reply. He tells me that he is currently sat in a hotel room, all alone and bored out of his mind. After we get past the hello-how-are-you stuff, things start to get interesting.
Luke: No party tonight. This is not what I signed up for.
Nicole: Well I’ll be with you in a few days, and I’ll make sure we have a messy one.
Luke: Looking forward to it. Are you seeing anyone at the moment?
Am I seeing anyone at the moment? That’s a laugh. The truth is that it’s been years since I had an actual boyfriend. It’s not that I’m lacking male attention, far from it, but my type happens to be musicians.
When you’re on the road, all relationships are short, even friendships. You take ‘relationships’ where you can find them and they require about as much commitment as a pet rock. Having a guy ask you to be his girlfriend in the ‘real world’ is the equivalent of a band boy actually remembering your surname. But that’s the way I like it. The sad truth is that I’d rather have two nights with a rockstar than two years with your average bloke.
The fact that Luke is even enquiring about my love life is enough to make my heart race.
Nicole: Nope. Are you?
Luke: No, I’m single too.
I knew that. Luke totally subscribes to the musician way of life and a girlfriend would only cramp his style. Before I have chance to worry about what to say in response, Luke sends me another message.
Luke: Can I ask you something?
Nicole: Sure.
I’m trying to sound cool, like I’m not really bothered what he says next – I am though. This is so high school, I cannot believe that I am still playing these games.
Luke: You know that I fancy you, don’t you?
If I’m being honest, I’m waiting for the punch-line.
My first guess is that it isn’t Luke at all. It could be Eddie, the TFTR front-man, messing with me. Or maybe it is Luke, but he’s drunk. Then again, if he’s drunk how come his typing is so accurate? And Eddie being sober, or alone, at this time of night after a gig is about as probable as me using my cooker for something other than storage.
Nicole: You fancy everyone, ha-ha!
Luke: No, I really fancy you.
If this isn’t a joke then I am gobsmacked. I’ll have to reply with something or he’ll think he’s scared me away. Not only is this guy my crush, but he’s a proper celebrity these days. He might not be a super-star like Dylan, and TFTR aren’t as big as Plastic Rap yet, but he’s big enough to have an album in the impressive end of the Top Forty at the moment.
Nicole: Is this really you?
Better to ask than to make a total tit of myself and have the rest of the band tease me about it for the rest of time.
Luke: Of course it’s me. You don’t believe me?
Nicole: Are you drunk?
Luke: Yes, but that’s not why I’m telling you. I can’t get you out of my head, especially when I’m alone on the bus ;-).
He’s taking a bit of a risk with our friendship here, but he is a musician. He oozes confidence and probably thinks every girl in the world finds him attractive – then again, they probably do. Luke can easily get away with hitting on his female friends and using tacky emoticons in his messages.
Luke: Am I making things awkward? I’m sorry.
Nicole: You’re not making thinks awkward, don’t worry.
Luke: We flirt all the time, why do you seem so surprised?
Nicole: Again, because you flirt with everyone!
Luke: Wait until I see you, we’ll talk in person and then you’ll know that I mean what I say.
I agree before changing the subject from Luke’s declaration of lust and we carry on chatting for a while. Before I know it, it’s nearly 3 a.m., which means I should definitely be in my bed by now. I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to be late for work again either. I am both relieved and devastated when Luke says that he had better get some sleep, so we finish the conversation by saying that we’ll see each other on tour in a couple of days.
Finally climbing in my bed, I rest my head on the pillow and try to get some much-needed sleep. My conversation with Luke is replaying in my head and I can’t help but wonder how things are going to play out when I see him.
I’m so going to be late for work in the morning.
Chapter Six
The Fan-bang
Despite the exciting events last night, not only am I at work on time but I am also the first one to arrive.
I am in a fantastic mood today and my work is reaping the benefits. In fact, I am so busy flying through the emails that I don’t even hear Jake arrive. I’m surprised I couldn’t smell the coffee as he was coming up in the lift.
He makes me jump by dropping a copy of the Daily Scoop newspaper on the desk in front of me. Plastic Rap are on the cover accompanied by the headline: ‘We’re having a fan-bang’. Not only am I amazed by the speed these tabloids operate at, but I’d give anything to have been the person who came up with that pun.
‘Oh my God…’
‘I take it you left before this went on?’ Jake enquires.
‘I did. Minutes before, actually.’
‘You’re probably too old for them,’ he jokes.
‘Oi, you! Sam gave me his number if you must know.’
‘For what exactly? In case he needs a babysitter?’
Jake is so funny. He’s not really that into the kind of music we write about, but he is so good at his job and he keeps us all in stitches while we’re working.
I take a long, unladylike swig of my coffee and grab the paper to have a proper read.
It doesn’t say who their source is, but they must have been at the hotel last night because they saw exactly what I saw. I can’t believe this has made the front page.
I read the article out loud as Emily and Vicky arrive together.
‘Plastic Rap, the squeaky-clean teen sensation, are proving to be just as artificial as their name. There has never been any scandal in the press about band members Sam, Carl, Mike, John and Simon, all aged between twenty and twenty-two…until now, that is.’ Looking up to make sure that I have Emily and Vicky’s attention, I carry on reading: ‘At a gig in Leeds last night, the band members sent one of their people out into the crowd to bring them back a couple of fans each. Our spy estimated the age of the fans to be ‘about fifteen or sixteen’. The band, who market themselves as being teen-friendly, should know better – these girls probably had school in the morning.’
I’ve read enough. I wonder who leaked the story to the press – it certainly wasn’t me, I was far too preoccupied last night, but I don’t remember seeing anyone else in the room. It must have been one of the fans, maybe one of them realised how wrong it was and decided to tell the press. Well, good for her – whoever she was – and she didn’t even give her name so she’s clearly not just after the fame. Poor Em has a concerned look on her face, I didn’t realise she was so appalled by the story when I told her about it last night.
‘Nicole, I’m going to go pick the new camera up. I’ve had a message to say that it’s ready,’ Jake informs me, before turning to Vicky and asking her if she wants to go with him – it is for her after all. Vicky jumps out of her chair and heads to the door. She doesn’t even say goodbye to us, the girl is that rude. I’m just glad to get her out of the way so that I can talk to Emily properly about the headline and about Luke.
‘I saw that paper on the way to work this morning, I thought maybe you’d tipped them off,’ she says as soon as we’re alone.
‘Come on, Emily. You know me better than that. As if I’d give trash like the Scoop my story. Anyway, forget that, I have something far more interesting to tell you.’
I tell her everything about my conversation with Luke. She already knows how much I fancy him, but she doesn’t seem that pleased for me.
‘Oh,’ is her response.
‘Oh?’
‘Well, he’s not the kind of guy you really want to be with is he, Nic? Can you imagine being married to someone like that?’
‘Bloody hell, Em! I’m not planning on marrying the guy!’
‘Well what about those rumours that he is always off his face on drugs since the band hit the big time?’ she quizzes me.
‘Who knows if there’s any truth in that? And like it matters. Like I said, we’re hardly planning our wedding.’
I’m slightly annoyed that I’m having to justify myself to her, her love life is just as chaotic as mine, if not more so. I may go for the band boys, but Em goes for the bad eggs out there in the ‘real world’. Anyway, I’ve never seen any of the boys touch anything other than a bit of weed now and then on the bus (not that I approve) – certainly not the hard stuff like you read in the gossip columns. The press are just trying to trash the hottest new band on the scene, simply because they can.
‘In that case I’m very happy for you,’ Emily says with a smile that I’m not entirely convinced is genuine.
‘Yeah, well don’t go hat shopping just yet, will you?’ I joke, but things are suddenly a bit awkward.
I’m touched by her concern but, like I said, I’m not planning on marrying him, and she doesn’t usually care about the moral character of the band boys I ‘get involved’ with. He’s my big crush, can’t I just enjoy this moment?
‘I’ve got Vicky living with me, as of last night,’ Emily blurts out.
Now I’m shocked. ‘Why?’
‘She had a huge fall-out with her mum and she turned up at my mum’s party with her bags – what was I supposed to do?’
I don’t know what expression is currently occupying my face, but it must be bad because Emily reacts to it straight away.
‘I know you’re not keen on her, but she’s a nice girl and it’s only temporary.’
‘You’re too nice, Emily Adams. Don’t let her take advantage.’
Our conversation is cut short by my mobile ringing. It’s Dylan King so I take it in my office.
‘Hello, rockstar, how are you?’
‘Fucked,’ he replies.
‘What’s the matter?’ I do worry about him, he’s such a good friend to me and he gets such a hard time from the press for getting drunk and hooking up with girls. In a weird way I’m quite proud to be female and his friend, rather than just another one of his conquests. He has a hard time trusting girls, so it’s nice to be so special to him.
‘To summarise,’ he starts, sounding more serious than I have ever heard him sound in his life, ‘I’ve knocked up some girl, about seven months ago apparently. She’s having twins – fucking twins, Nicole. It’s going to come out sooner or later, she’s saying she’ll go to the press. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
‘First of all, calm down. I don’t want to be rude, but are you certain it was you who…knocked her up?’ I ask, using his words. ‘You’ve been, erm, seeing a few girls this past year and not the most committed kind…’ I trail off, hoping he’ll catch my drift. My point is that he’s shagged a lot of random girls. Random girls who have probably shagged a lot of random guys too.
‘The timing is right,’ he says before a long pause. ‘And there’s a video.’
‘A video? Bloody hell, Dylan, when those kids ask you where they came from, you’re going to be able to give them one hell of an answer.’
He laughs, but he sound worried sick. I guess this was bound to happen sooner or later. I love Dylan to bits, but he really puts it about and he drinks a lot, which we all know is a recipe for disaster. I think he’s been really lucky to not have this happen on a weekly basis. Even so, I feel sorry for him.
‘What are you going to do?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got a meeting with a guy this afternoon, some publicity crisis specialist who’s going to work it all out for me, I’ve just got to keep quiet about it until then.’
‘Good luck, babe. Try not to worry, OK?’ I know it’s easier said than done, but what do you say to a friend who has accidentally knocked up a girl he hardly knows? And with a video souvenir too. Hallmark certainly don’t make a card for it.
All around me glamorous, rich and famous folks’ lives are going down the pan and at the same time mine is getting better and better. It’s true what they say, money and fame don’t make you happy. When I think about the scandal with Plastic Rap and their young fans, and now Dylan and his pregnant one-night stand, it makes me really glad that I’m not famous. I do stupid things all the time, but luckily no one cares enough for a newspaper to want to write about it.
I try to put myself in Dylan’s shoes, but I just cannot imagine how it would feel to have everyone knowing every little detail about you, for your parents to see the details of your sex life on the front page of a newspaper along with the rest of the world – your dentist, the people you went to school with, the guy who serves you in Starbucks. Some of the things I’ve read about Dylan, true or otherwise, have been so embarrassing, I just can’t imagine the entire country knowing the dirty little details of my life and me feeling comfortable carrying on as if nothing were any different. That’s why I’m glad I became a journalist – no one cares what we do.
