‘You turn the key,’ Rupert pointed out.
Evan turned the key and the car lurched forward, smashing into the limo parked in front of them.
Rupert unbuckled his belt and started to get out.
‘Stay where you are,’ Evan ordered.
‘It will be a lot quicker if I just go and find a driver. A qualified driver. One with a driving licence. One who won’t get us killed.’
‘How hard can this be? It must be like riding a bike. Give me a minute and it will all come back.’
Evan pressed the gas and the car lurched back again, this time smashing into the limo behind them.
Rupert put his head in his hands.
‘I’m not used to the automatic gear shift,’ Evan said. He stamped the accelerator again and lurched out into the street. ‘See? Nothing to it.’ And he smiled at his agent as they kangarooed down Fulton Street in pursuit of Fern.
Eighty-one
Even though we arrive ahead of schedule, the plane is ready for us in no time and I board gratefully. This is the unmitigated joy of having your own private plane and not having to wait in the departure lounge for a scheduled flight with hordes of tourists. I could never have imagined in my lifetime that I would be experiencing such luxury. Hopefully, it will make up for the shortcomings in other areas of my life.
Within minutes of boarding we’re already in the air for the short flight to Los Angeles. When we reach cruising height, the steward comes to offer us drinks. I choose some orange juice in the hope that it will quell my thumping headache. Carl orders a bottle of beer, and when it arrives the glass has been frozen and is so cold that he can barely hold it.
‘What I wouldn’t give for a nice warm pint of British beer,’ he says.
I raise a smile. ‘Do you think Ken the Landlord is missing us?’
‘No. He’ll be dining out on the story of your success for the rest of his life. He’ll be the man who gave the world-famous Fern her first break.’
I laugh. ‘I can just see the headlines now.’
Because Carl and I are the only passengers, we stretch out in our seats and I kick off my mules with a deep and heart-felt sigh. Carl takes my hand and toys with my fingers. ‘Feeling okay now?’
‘A bit better.’
‘You did very well to cope back there,’ Carl assures me.
‘Did I?’ I take a sip of my OJ. ‘I feel terrible for snapping at Rupert.’
‘It was a pretty stupid thing for him to do.’
‘He’s done so much for us,’ I say. ‘I should apologise to him.’
‘And he should apologise to you for putting you in that situation.’
‘Maybe he didn’t realise how much I still felt…’ My sentence peters out.
‘For Evan?’
I nod. What else can I do?
‘How do you feel now?’
‘Stupid,’ I say. ‘I should move on with my life. So many things are finally starting to go our way. I should be counting my blessings.’ Not wasting time pining for someone I can’t have, I add silently. I go for a bit of overenthusiastic bluster. ‘Look at all the great things that are happening for us. We’re playing a major concert this evening in front of thousands of people. We should be so proud of what we’ve achieved.’
‘And you’ve always got me,’ Carl says. ‘Even though you may not want me.’
‘Oh, Carl,’ I sigh. ‘How could I ever manage without you? You’re my rock.’
‘Don’t forget it,’ he reminds me. ‘Behind every successful woman is a faithful man in a dodgy denim jacket.’
‘Thank you,’ I say as I kiss his fingers to my lips. ‘Thank you for being you.’
Carl looks out of the window. ‘Do you still love him?’
‘There’s no point in having this discussion, Carl. It’s over. That chapter of my life has ended. He’s married. I’ve got to get over him. What else can I do?’
My friend looks into my eyes. ‘You didn’t say no.’
I didn’t, did I? ‘My mind’s such a jumble right now,’ I say honestly. ‘Just be patient with me.’
Looking over Carl’s shoulder, I watch as the city grows tiny in our wake. Somewhere back there, the celebrations for Evan’s wedding will be in full swing. He and Lana will be laughing and all loved-up and I can’t even stand the pain of thinking about that.
There’s nothing else for me to do—I just have to forget about Evan David. Move on. Put him right out of my mind. Right out of it. From now on my career will be my sole focus. Men—particularly opera singers—will come a paltry second to my single-minded pursuit of fame. I might have left my heart in San Francisco, but there’s absolutely no need for me to leave my brain there, too.
Eighty-two
Evan had lost count of how many people had honked their horn at him. Or how many times he’d gesticulated back. Rupert was slumped down in his seat, peering at the road through gaps in his fingers and uttering intermittent howls of terror.
‘Shut up, Rup,’ Evan said. ‘We’re nearly there.’
They were still careening their way to the airport. The kangarooing had subsided to a violent lurch, and Evan was almost managing to keep within the lines of the lanes on the highway. The hills of San Francisco had proved trickier. They’d bottomed the stretch limo three times and had hit two parked cars. Rupert had jumped out to put his business card under the windscreen wipers, so no doubt they’d be picking up the bills for repairs in due course. They looked like junkers, so maybe Evan would just buy the owners new cars to appease them.
‘What time did you say this charity concert was?’
‘She’s due on in just a few hours. Timing is very tight.’
Evan frowned. ‘You’re telling me.’
He pressed the accelerator farther to the floor, ignoring the speed limit. The limo whizzed into the airport slip road, clipping the kerb as it did before Evan slewed it sideways into a parking space right by the terminal building.
Rupert blessed himself with the sign of the cross. ‘My whole life flew before my eyes,’ he said.
‘Was it good?’
‘Yes,’ Rupert said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had quite a nice time.’
‘Come on,’ Evan urged. ‘Let’s find Fern.’
‘And I would like my life to continue. So I won’t be getting into another car with you for a while.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Evan said. ‘I’ll be sticking to singing from now on. I know where my talents lie.’ Driving, it seemed, wasn’t one of them, and yet he was sure that he had once been quite good at it.
Evan raced into the terminal building, Rupert trailing behind him panting heavily. ‘Scheduled or private?’ Evan shouted back to his agent.
‘Private,’ Rupert puffed.
Evan swung towards the VIP area and was instantly recognised as a regular flyer by the stewardess at the desk. ‘Good afternoon, Mr David. How can I help?’
‘I’m looking for a young woman called Fern Kendal. She’s due to fly out to L.A. today.’
The woman looked at her computer screen. ‘I shouldn’t really give out this information,’ she said, giving a coy smile, ‘but for you…’
Evan waited, tapping his foot impatiently while he did so. If this was a romantic comedy film the hero would always just catch the plane and there’d be a dizzying reunion where he swung the heroine around in his arms.
The woman continued to tap down her list of departures. Eventually, she looked up apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve already missed her. Ms Kendal’s plane took off a few moments ago.’
But this was the real world and he’d arrived just too late. Evan felt his heart sink. Rupert came up behind him, panting heavily. ‘Good news?’
Evan shook his head. ‘No. She’s gone.’
They crossed to the window and saw the tail of a plane heading into the distance. Evan wondered whether Fern was on it.
‘You need to get my jet ready,’ Evan said.
‘It’s your jet that Fern’s on,’ his agent admitt
ed.
Evan’s face darkened. ‘Then hire me another one. Or buy me another one. Book me a goddamn commercial airline. Tie me to a carrier pigeon. I don’t care, Rup. Do whatever it takes. I have to be in L.A. tonight.’ Evan grasped his agent by the shoulders. ‘I can’t let her get away this time.’
Eighty-three
The Staples Center arena in Los Angeles is full to capacity. I’m lurking in the wings watching the band currently on the vast stage, feeling nervous and faintly bilious. How can they look so cool when I feel so terrified? They’re an upcoming American indie band called Craze that I’ve never heard of, but they sound great. I’m going to have to swot up on my music knowledge now that I’m in the biz. They’ve certainly got the place rocking.
The crowd is moving as one mass. Girls in skimpy bikini tops sway on the shoulders of burly men as they sing along with the performers on stage. It reminds me of the Live 8 Concert in Hyde Park a few years ago, which Carl and I could only go to because we managed to get our hands on a couple of tickets which were dished out for free. This gig is in aid of an outfit called No Strings who use puppets to provide information for kids in war-torn areas about the dangers of landmines, and it sounds like a damn fine cause to me.
Carl is beside me with his guitar slung over his shoulder. He’s slipped into this world very comfortably and I smile to myself. ‘I can’t believe we’re here, Carlos.’
‘You’d better believe it. We’re on next.’
‘What are you supposed to say to rock gods before they go on stage?’ I ask him. ‘Good luck seems so lame, and I think break a leg is just for actors.’
‘We don’t need luck,’ Carl says. ‘We just need to be great.’
The rest of the band are loitering behind us. They’re proving to be a good team; they did the sound checks and got everything sorted out for us this morning. We’ve all really gelled considering that we’ve been together for such a short amount of time. I hope that this bodes well for the future.
I’ve been kitted out in a green chiffon strappy ethnic top covered in beads with denim cropped jeans and high-heeled sandals courtesy of Jimmy Choo. Shelly sidles up beside me. As my backup singer, she’s been decked out in coordinating clothing and looks very cute. And I don’t think it’s escaped Carl’s attention. I’ve also noticed that Shelly’s been talking to my dear friend nonstop since we arrived. Whatever there was between them, it clearly isn’t over for her, and I can so empathise with that situation. It only goes to prove the old adage that you can’t choose who you love.
I practise some deep breathing. We’re going to be performing our new single and two tracks from the album, which is due for release when we get home, so I run through the lyrics under my breath. My palms are sweating, but I also can’t wait to get on there. It’s just such a shame that the folks back in England—Joe, Nathan, my mum and dad—can’t be here with me, but I know they’ll be watching the concert with bated breath as it’s going out live on MTV.
Craze finish their set to rapturous applause, take their bow and bounce boyishly off the stage.
‘Ready, guys?’ I ask. My band punch the air.
Carl pulls me to him and presses his lips to mine. ‘You’ve made it,’ he says with tears in his eyes. ‘You’ve bloody well made it.’
And now it’s our turn. This is it. This is my moment.
Evan ran through the backstage area at the Staples Center—a place he knew well as he’d performed concerts here a dozen or more times over the years. He’d had no trouble talking his way through the security checks because of who he was. Sometimes being famous had distinct advantages, although his wedding attire was raising some curious eyebrows.
Rupert had hired him a jet to take him to L.A. and he’d got into the air with only a short delay. It seemed he was here just in time to hear Fern’s set as the backstage manager told him she was about to go on. He pushed through the crush of musicians and performers as he made his way to the wings, hoping that he might be able to watch from there.
As he approached, he heard the announcement.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the compère said, ‘put your hands together in a big stateside welcome. All the way from London, England—this is Fern!’
Out in the stadium, the crowd screamed the place down. He saw Fern clasp her hands in prayer and then run onto the stage. The band followed and Evan recognised Carl as the guy standing at the back. Before he went on stage, Fern’s friend turned and then froze as he saw Evan waiting there.
‘What are you doing here?’ Carl demanded.
‘I had to come. I had to see Fern,’ Evan said. ‘It wasn’t my wedding.’ He saw Carl take in his clothes. ‘I was the best man.’
‘So you’ve followed her here?’
‘I love her,’ Evan said.
‘So do I,’ Carl answered bleakly.
‘Does she love you?’ Evan had to know. If she did, then he would turn around, walk away and try to forget all about her.
Carl’s shoulders sagged, and Evan could see his eyes fill with tears. ‘Yes.’
Evan felt as if all the breath had been punched out of his body.
Then Carl shook his head sadly. ‘But not like she loves you.’
‘Then where do I go from here?’
‘Remember the night at the King’s Head?’
Evan nodded.
A slow smile spread over Carl’s face. ‘Then let’s go for it.’
‘It will certainly make Fern’s first performance in the USA memorable,’ Evan said. Then he clasped Carl’s hand. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
‘If you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you,’ Carl warned him and then he ran onto the stage.
Our first two songs go down a storm. The audience are really motoring now and give us a great response. I skip about the stage, whipping them into a frenzy, never realising that I could exert this power over a crowd. This is the biggest adrenaline kick I’ve ever had. I’m just sorry that we only have one more song to go, as I could quite happily stay out here all night. If this has to be my life without Evan David, then it won’t be a bad one at all.
I’m ready to launch into our last number when Carl catches my eye. He signals that we’re going to slow the pace down, and I’m panicked as I don’t know what he’s doing and I have no desire to fall flat on my face in front of a capacity crowd at the Staples Center. The rest of the band stop playing, and now I’m really confused. Carl comes to the front of the stage with his acoustic guitar and sits down right on the edge by the footlights. I begin to wonder if he’s lost his mind. As he starts to strum, I recognise the chords of the Beatles song ‘Yesterday’—the one that I sang with Evan that fateful night at the King’s Head before I found out he was engaged to Lana Rosina. What is my mad little friend doing? This is going to break my heart.
I’m blinded by the lights, and then out of the wings I see Evan walk onto the stage. The crowd recognise him in an instant and go absolutely berserk, and all that I feel is that I’m a centre of calm in the middle of a storm. I can’t move. My limbs have gone numb, and somewhere inside me there’s a sense of acceptance. He’s still wearing his wedding clothes and I’ve no idea what must have happened after Carl and I left the celebration, but if this is what’s meant to be and Evan has come here to be with me, then we can work out all the details afterwards.
Evan takes my hand and looks deep into my eyes. ‘It wasn’t my wedding,’ he says quietly to me.
Before I can ask for any further explanations, the screaming dies down and Evan starts to sing ‘Yesterday’ in that fabulous, rich voice that sends shivers down my spine. This is Evan’s apology to me, and the lyrics pierce my soul. I thought I could live without this man, but I now know that I can’t.
After the first verse I join in, and we lose ourselves in each other and in the music. Tears stream down our faces as we finish the song. I see that Carl is crying, too. He stands up and goes to Shelly, who throws her arms around him. Somehow my best friend has made this happen for me, and I’v
e never cared for him more than I do now.
Evan leads me to the front of the stage, and he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. ‘I love you,’ he says. The crowd screams their approval.
We take our bow hand in hand, and the audience’s cheer reach a crescendo. The whole stadium is on its feet shouting for us. I feel as if the future is stretched out before me, full of wonderful things just waiting to happen. I pinch myself to check that this is, indeed, the real world, and then I fold myself into Evan’s arms feeling the power of his strong embrace…and I never want this moment to end.
WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD
A Red Dress Ink novel
ISBN: 978-1-4603-1170-7
© 2008 by Carole Matthews.
All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Red Dress Ink, Editorial Office, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Welcome to the Real World Page 33