by Bree Darcy
“You know what they say, Kell. Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“O-M-G!” Stacey had just cottoned on. “That old boyfriend of yours – the one who was supposed to play at my birthday party – he’s the lead singer of Danger Game? Woah!” She fluttered her talons to fan her face. “Just wondering, do you think you could ask if he can play at my next birthday? Tell him it will be a real classy event – it’s a wild west theme and I’m hiring a bucking bull. He can sing country, can’t he? Or if he’s not available, I don’t suppose you know Nicole and Keith Urban?”
Dawn stepped in front of me and faced down her rival. “Stacey, AJ Dangerfield would rather jab needles into his eyeballs than play at a party for an old slag like you. So why don’t you save your breath, you’ll be needing it to blow up an inflatable Ken doll later because that’ll be the only man willing to spend the night with you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I nearly didn’t make it to the Danger Game concert. I had been puking my guts up the day before which Nikki diagnosed as a case of the collywobbles from being nervous about seeing Andy again.
“This is brill,” she said now, taking in the wired crowd at Wembley Arena. “The Shrimp must be abso-bloody-lutely well chuffed at this turnout.” Nikki had only been living in London for six months but she had already picked up an English accent. I had come down to stay with her for the week, primarily to catch this show.
Several fans approached me, offering to buy my Danger Game leather jacket.
“Sorry, it’s not for sale,” I told them, explaining it had sentimental value as it was a birthday gift from a friend. Obviously revealing who the friend was would have started a riot.
My heart started pounding the second the band appeared on stage to a blast of pyrotechnics. Gerry, with his LED guitar glowing blue, ran to the right of the stage, opposite two guitarists who had joined them on tour. Dom hopped up on to the rotating platform that held his drum kit. Then Andy, his black hair short and spiky, emerged from under the stage, one arm raised in the air. The concert was a world away from the last gig I’d see them do, at the Armoury the night Siena Ellement decided to save them from obscurity. I couldn’t stop the tears flowing as Andy returned to the stage for the encore, singing Runaway as masses of white confetti rained down on us.
Later, packed in like sardines on the Tube back to Nikki’s flat, I overheard some of the fans talking about how the band were staying at the five-star Leighton Hotel in Marylebone.
Nikki saw the longing look on my face. “No way, girlfriend.”
“I just want to see him. Just for a minute. Please.”
“The next station is Marylebone,” came the announcement. I placed my hands together in a begging motion. “I’ll owe you big time.”
The automated service was obviously tuned to my needs: “This station is Marylebone. Change here for the Leighton Hotel. Any chance to see Andy terminate after that.”
Nikki sighed as we pushed our way down the carriage and then followed the fans bearing down on the hotel. Scores had already surrounded its ivy-covered awning, clutching cameras and items ready for signing.
“I’ll wait here,” Nikki said. “You go see if you can find the Shrimp.”
I clattered up the hotel stairs, conscious that in my black jeans and jacket I hardly looked like a genuine guest. The doorman, who had been dealing with over-zealous fans all day, gave me a wary look. “Are you a guest at the hotel?” he asked.
“No but a friend is. I’m just asking after him at reception.”
He nodded me towards the revolving-door entrance. The hotel facade might have been Victorian but the foyer had a tropical feel. Giant palm trees stretched towards the atrium’s glass pyramid roof and a central fountain bubbled away. I wandered past red-waistcoated staff scurrying around, feeling rather out of place.
“Yes, madam, how may I assist?” The smarmy receptionist looked me up and down.
“I’m hoping to meet a friend but I’m not sure of the room. Could you ring up for Mario Brothers?” My face burnt with embarrassment. I hoped the computer gaming pseudonyms were still in use or I would look like one very sad individual.
“Certainly. And who shall I say is calling?” He paused with his hand above the dial pad.
“Kellie Carmichael. Actually hang on, he won’t know me by that name. Just say Kellie.”
“I thought it might have been Sonic the Hedgehog.” He tittered as he over-dramatically punched in the numbers. He listened for a moment before replacing the receiver. “No answer. Would you care to leave a message?”
“No, that’s okay.” That was my sign from the universe to leave and forget all about Andy.
The doorman gave me a congenial nod as I pushed my way back through the revolving door and jostled my way over to Nikki.
“The band haven’t arrived yet,” she said. “Jeeza here says the band usually hang around backstage afterwards for about an hour. And there’s always the chance they’ll then hit a club. He says sometimes you have to wait until six or seven in the morning for someone to show up.”
“Well, I’m not waiting that long. Come on, let’s go. It was a stupid idea.”
“We’re here now. Let’s give it another half hour.”
I was silently cursing the fact I had no other way of contacting Andy when Jeeza gave a shout, waving his mobile phone in the air. “Limo’s on its way. T minus ten and counting.”
The throng surged forward with the news, and spontaneously erupted into the chorus of Runaway.
Nikki tapped Jeeza’s shoulder. “You got word who’s on board?”
“All the band, plus Jase and Jeremy the security and three unidentified girls.”
“Is AJ’s wife with them?”
“No, man. She’s back in the States. She never tours anymore.” Jeeza shook his head in exasperation, as if unable to comprehend how a true fan could not know the ins and outs of the band’s touring routines.
As Jeeza predicted, ten minutes later, a silver stretch limo rolled up to the kerb.
The hotel security and the band’s own entourage pushed back the crowd, allowing a narrow passage for the band members to pass through.
Gerry, trailed by two brunettes and a blonde, was first out of the car and sauntered past the fans, high-fiving as he went. But his triumphant entry was ruined when the ever-gawky guitarist tripped over the first step.
The screams got even louder when Andy toppled out and staggered up the path. He handed a nearly empty magnum of Veuve Clicquot champagne to the nearest fan and started signing autographs, using whatever material came to hand – paper, album covers, T-shirts, arms. A couple of the band’s session musos came next, walking quickly towards the hotel, knowing no one would pay them the slightest bit of attention. There was no sign of Dom.
I jumped around in the background, hoping Andy would sense I was in the vicinity and look my way. Nikki was calling his name loudly but so was the rest of the crowd.
I peered through at Andy signing his name on the arm of a guy with the same long, grungy hair he had when I first met him. He looked the boy in the eye, then reached out and embraced him, whispering in his ear. Then he took off his T-shirt and handed it to the boy. The fan shouted out his thanks, hugging the shirt to his body as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever held, while Andy was whisked up the stairs and through the revolving doors. He was gone.
“Go on then,” said Nikki, giving me a push. “Follow him in.”
“I don’t know if they’ll let me in again,” I said. “And he looked pretty wasted. What if he doesn’t recognise me?”
The limo door popped open again and Dom, his shirt half undone, climbed out followed by a strapping blond guy. As they were escorted through the throng, Dom’s eyes caught mine as he stopped to sign autographs. He signalled for me to move towards the entrance. I grabbed hold of Nikki and pulled her with me.
“My friend’s just arrived, thanks,” I said to the doorman as he stood aside to let Dom and his b
oyfriend through. “They’re with me,” Dom confirmed. The doorman merely raised one eyebrow.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Dom squealed, hugging me. “Come on, he’ll be at the bar.” He turned to his bemused boyfriend. “This is AJ’s girlfriend, Kellie.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I reminded Dom.
“Whatever,” he said. “Follow me.”
“Look who I found out front,” he announced when we located Andy and his hangers-on in the wood-panelled bar.
Andy stumbled to his feet, knocking over a trail of shot glasses. “Hey, you. You’re wearing my jacket.”
“Maybe you want to borrow it?” I said taking in his formal dinner jacket over his bare chest.
He brushed down the lapels self-consciously. “Apparently you can’t drink in this bar without a shirt or jacket.”
“You remember Nikki,” I said pulling her forward.
“Of course. Of course. Great to see you. I can’t believe you’re here. What are you doing here?” He blinked as a camera flashed at a nearby table.
“We’re not staying long,” I said. “I just wanted to say hi and tell you the concert was amazing.”
“Totally amazing,” Nikki swooned. “Tell me why did you give that guy the shirt off your back?”
Andy narrowed his eyes, as if trying to remember.
“That fan out front,” Nikki prompted. “With the long hair.”
“Oh, that kid,” Andy said. “He had scars all over his wrists. He’s obviously been cutting himself. Thought he could do with something to cheer himself up.”
As the numbers swelled around the band – everyone wanted a piece of them – Andy kept catching my eye.
Finally Nikki yawned. “I have to bale,” she said. “I’m starting a new temp job in the morning so will need to look half awake. You coming?”
“No, she’s staying,” Andy said, clamping his hand over my wrist. He clicked his fingers for one of his security guys. “Can you get my friend a cab to wherever she needs to go. On me.” He kissed Nikki, telling her he’d look after me.
“I wouldn’t have got so tanked if I’d known you were coming,” he whispered before standing up, swaying on the spot. “I think we’ll head off too. I need sobering up and this woman here is no doubt champing at the bit to scold me about my debauched ways.”
I felt every eye on us as we traversed the atrium, the palm of his hand firmly planted in the small of my back. I felt like giving a two-finger salute to the smarmy receptionist.
“You know I felt like a right idiot asking for Mr Mario Brothers at reception,” I said.
“It’s a me, Mario. Lets-a-go.” His impression sucked.
“So what happened to Gerry?” I asked.
The lift pinged open. “Royal suite,” Andy said to the lift operator. “Didn’t you see him come in with those three girls, like his own Charlie’s Angels. I would say he’s experiencing one of the sexual highlights of his life right now.”
The lift operator adjusted his jacket collar. I wondered what sort of stories he could tell.
“That doesn’t sound like the Gerry I know.”
“Tell me about it. He’s taken his marriage break-up badly.”
“What about Dom, who’s the guy with him?”
“That’s Sven, our personal trainer from Switzerland or is it Sweden ... ”
We’d reached the seventh floor. Andy strode out of the lift, turning left.
“Why are all Scandinavians called Sven?” I mused.
“Actually he’s not called Sven – that’s just what I call him. His real name is … um … you’ll have to ask Dom.”
“So how long have they been an item?”
Andy looked at his left wrist, despite not wearing a watch. “Oh, about five minutes. Since we started this leg of the tour. Dom’s been living it up since coming out.”
“And what about you? You haven’t got a harem waiting for you in your room.”
“As if! I’m the respectable one. Groupies ain’t my scene. For some reason I always get this annoying Australian voice in my head asking what would my daughters think.”
Andy swiped his door card and our conversation stopped dead as my jaw hit the floor. “Wow, this sure beats that flea-pit of a room back in Idaho.”
We entered an expansive living area, furnished with a sumptuous black leather sofa and wingback chairs. Through a wide ornate archway was a king-size bed decked out in cream and burgundy. Lamps burned on every available surface, casting an orange glow over the rooms. “Bit disappointing, no palm trees,” I said.
Andy laughed and threw the dinner jacket on to the bed.
“So,” I continued crossing my arms. “You don’t normally bring strange girls up to your room.”
“You’re not strange,” he said.
“I’m guessing your wife wouldn’t be too happy to find me here.”
“None of her business actually. You were mine first.”
It was like time stopped as we gazed at each other. Then Andy broke away.
“Kitchen and dining through here.” He opened the fridge and removed two small bottles of Evian. He wiped his mouth after taking a swig. “It is a bit of a change since our early tour days, huh.”
“You’ve done so well, I’m proud of you.”
Andy lurched towards the bathroom. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna get changed, make yourself comfortable.”
Moments later he emerged with dripping wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. I averted my eyes as he pulled on a pair of grey trackpants.
“It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before,” he teased, noticing my sudden fascination with the autumn leaves artwork on the wall.
We settled on a pile of cushions on the floor, leaning against the bed, swapping stories of what we’d been up to since we last saw each other at his mother’s funeral. My stomach hurt from laughing as he told me about Gerry forgetting his pass and getting thrown out of his own concert by over-zealous security who spotted him backstage. He had to buy a ticket off a scalper to get back in. Or the time they locked one of the Atticus management drones out of a radio studio booth so they could play the track they wanted to release off their album, instead of the single the record company chose. Then there was the time the three of them appeared stoned on the David Letterman Show. “What else is a green room for, I ask?” Andy said.
“Why did you say before that you expected I’d tell you off? Is that how you remember me? The nagging girlfriend as Heath used to call me.”
“No, not at all. You’ve always been that person for me … the one who helps me set a better standard. You know sometimes before I do something really stupid, I think to myself, ‘what would Kellie say right now?’”
“And?” I pressed.
“And then usually I go right ahead and do it.” Andy laughed. “But at least you made me stop and think for a second. How you would want me to act is always in the back of my mind. You’re like my … my moral compass. I’ve missed not writing you, talking to you.”
“It still makes me feel boring.”
“Boring – you? Never. So you must have a high-flying job by now.”
“Not exactly,” I confessed.
“I thought you’d be working for the big guy – what’s the president here called?”
“Tony Blair – and England has prime ministers, not presidents. I’m not involved in politics anymore. I’m working on a local newspaper as a sub-editor.”
“What’s that?”
“You know the people who check what the reporters have written, do the headlines and photo captions and stuff.”
“So you don’t write anymore, just read what other people have written.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Well as long as it makes you happy.” Andy looked disappointed.
“Blimey! Look at the time,” I said, suddenly aware that the little hand was now on two and Andy’s eyes were growing heavy. “I’d better go, you must be knackered.”
“I’d better not. Nikki will be wondering where I am.”
“She knows exactly where you are. It’s late, stay.”
“Andy, I’m married now. It wouldn’t be right –.”
He ran his finger over my wedding band. “So you did it, huh?”
“Ah huh.” I pulled my hand away.
“Just stay. I promise I’ll keep my grubby hands to myself. You’re not that irresistible.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean …” How embarrassing, assuming he’d still be interested.
“Okay I lie – you’re still irresistible. But I’ll be good, I swear. Stay with me, please. I’ll even sleep with my pants on.”
I excused myself to the bathroom and took in the array of medications lining the counter, the vitamins, the sleeping pills, the painkillers. If he took all of these at once he’d rattle when he walked.
I stared at myself in the mirror, debating whether I should stay or go. “You were mine first,” I said repeating Andy’s words. No, I’m married. He’s married. I should go. …
You were mine first. I twisted my wedding ring, reasoning with myself that it was too late to catch a taxi. I’d have to wake Nikki to let me in. And it would be sad to think we couldn’t be friends. Platonic friends.
Mind made up I opened the door to find Andy conked out on the bed.
It was hard to sleep with Andy snoring next to me. I’d given up by dawn when the first rays of light allowed me to examine his features through the shadows. It was a face I knew so well, yet seemed so different. He’d had his teeth straightened and the chipped one capped. His nose definitely looked like it had had work. His hair was dyed black, and he’d obviously been spending some time with a beauty therapist, because his eyebrows were tidy and his skin looked so smooth and soft. Irresistible. I traced my finger along the side of his face.
Andy stirred but didn’t wake up. My finger traced its way to his lips. Then I leant over and kissed him. Still not awake. I let my fingers trail down his chest and nuzzled into his neck. He tasted salty.
Andy rolled over towards me, a lazy smile on his face. “You sure?” he asked, pushing the hair off my forehead.