“Baz, I need a breather for a few.” I tell him and he nods, opening the car door so I can sit on the step and come back down to earth. I’m on an adrenaline fuelled high.
“What a fucking set! We were on fire, DisDiva,” Shaz pants, obviously on a high herself. I chuckle and nod.
“One of your best performances yet,” Baz agrees and I thank him, taking a few calming breaths and tipping my face to the refreshing light drizzle, enjoying the quiet of the night as my ears and head buzz. We fall into a comfortable silence as Baz lights a cigarette and passes it to me. I accept it before taking a couple of deep drags and pass it to Shazza.
The doors suddenly burst open. Grotzy and Dominic fall out into the quiet and peaceful night. They don’t seem surprised to see us but Shaz certainly looks shocked to see Dom and none too pleased. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Grotz looks surprised before looking to Dom and realising the question was aimed at him. “He came to support me. I don’t suppose we can cadge a lift home, Baz?” Grotz asks, already piling into the back of the Range Rover.
Baz is just about to answer before Shaz throws the cigarette on the floor stamping harshly on it. “No you can’t. Get your own goddamn driver.”
“Shaz, come on, it’s Grotzy,” I say quietly and she looks from me to Dean then to Baz, who simply shrugs. She rolls her eyes before pointing at me. “You’re riding in the back with them,” Shaz huffs before climbing into the front seat next to Barry. I look at the open back doors and see Dom grinning back at me.
“Move up then, how skinny do you think I am?” I snap as Dom and Dean both shuffle further over to make space. I slide in and slam the door shut, looking out the window as the stereo blazes to life, hard house pumping from the speakers which Baz lowers to a slightly less deafening volume.
“You girls played a blinder tonight,” Dom announces and I hazard a glimpse at him, he has that same grin on his face, cocky and know-it-all.
Shit, I don’t know if I wanna slap him or snog him.
“Thanks,” I mumble before looking back out of the window, watching the light spots of rain hitting the glass and being dragged to the back of the car from our forward momentum.
“Honestly, I think I understand why you can make the demands you do now,” Dom says and I turn on him with a frown.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Dominic? You make me sound like some fucking Diva who throws club tantrums until I get my own way,” I snap and I catch Baz’s eye through the rear view mirror. He can see I’m pissed. Who the fuck does Dom think he is? He knows nothing about me.
“Oh, I know you don’t throw club tantrums. You just refuse to turn up unless the organiser parts with a shit-stack of cash,” Dom declares and all eyes turn to him. Grotz looks to his new friend with wide eyes.
Is he seriously going to sit there and slander me over my wage?
“Slap him, Tara,” Shaz demands and he gifts her a wink before looking at me, waiting on my response, but in truth I’m a little shocked and unsure if I want to waste my breath when a slap would be more suitable.
“And just what the fuck would you know about my income?” I question before ranting on. “Anyway, what’s the hang up over my rep? I’ve still got a huge following regardless and more offers of work than I can accept so it’s not like organisers aren’t willing to pay.” I look him dead in the eye, feeling my temper rise. Yet, when he looks at me that temper turns into a fierce, hot blast of lust. The way his swampy green eyes skim over my face before settling on my mouth just feeds the fire and the car drops into silence but none of us look away. I lick my parched lips and he watches me intently before his eyes return to mine, boring into my libido. I rip my gaze away and turn back to the window. For the first time, in what feels like forever, I feel all blood head south and pool between my legs.
How the fuck am I getting turned on whilst arguing with this numb-nuts?
I feel his hand softly come to rest on my thigh and I look down at his weirdly attractive hands. His nails are all trimmed short, square and clean. He has just the right amount of hair on the backs of his hands. They look like he’s never worked a day in his life.
“Sorry, okay? I’m nobody to judge.”
I look up into his luminous pools which flicker in the street lights intermittently passing the window. His eyes look sincere but he is still wearing that cocky grin. Is he taking the piss or what? I put my hand over his on my thigh before brushing it off. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m not what? Sorry or anybody to judge?” He’s smirking. I don’t know if he’s making fun of me or flirting. The cheeky smile in his eyes has my pulse racing.
“You tell me, Dominic. I suspect both.”
This just wins me a cheeky wink. He confuses the hell out of me. He gives me all the signals he is flirting with his eyes but his words are harsh and critical. I can’t tell if he likes me or just likes to wind me up.
The rest of the journey is made in near silence apart from chit chat between Dean and Baz. I speculate on how my night soured considerably once I ran into Dominic but then I also realise him touching my thigh was probably the most exciting part, and after playing up a storm like I did in Sphinx that leaves me feeling disconcerted and a little sick to my stomach.
Nothing has ever been more exciting than work. Nothing.
Chapter 3
Sunday I sleep in late, or so Shazza thinks, really I’m laid in bed mulling over the previous night and replaying the sneaky glances between Dominic and I during my set. I finally admit to myself that I am seriously attracted to the guy. I can be forgiven for that, he is exceptionally good looking but, damn, does his arrogance piss me off.
I find I’m kind of dreading working around him, not just because we haven’t got off to the best start, but because I’ve managed to play some of the worst clubs the UK has to offer and nothing, nothing, has managed to distract me from mixing the way his stare did last night. I don’t need that when in the studio producing, or when I play on the Xtreem radio either for that matter.
I can already see Dominic being a distraction I can’t afford. Damn Pops for bringing him on board. I throw back the covers and pad down into the kitchen in just my knickers and a vest top. Shazza is sat nursing a mug of hot chocolate and watching Breaking Bad on Netflix.
“Morning, sweet britches. Hung over?” Her grin tells me she is not feeling the vodkas from the night before quite as badly as I am.
“A bit, I’ve been worse.” I pick up the empty bread bag and toss it in the bin, quickly followed by the empty milk carton. “I take it we are fresh out of everything I need for tea and toast then?”
“Nope, we have tea bags, but everything else, yep, all gone.”
I make myself a hot chocolate before parking my skinny arse next to Shaz and pulling the throw off the back of the sofa to cover my legs for an afternoon of Netflix bingeing with my bitch.
That night I check my Facebook and see I’ve been tagged in a ridiculous amount of photos and status updates from the weekend. I actually love the picture of me and Dayton stood in front of the decks and I make it my profile picture. I update my banner to the event I’m playing at on Saturday in Brighton so everyone knows where they can find me next. I like a few random tags congratulating me on a banging set last night then I share the link to the Xtreem’s Frantic Friday radio show I’ll be playing this week. I make an instant decision to pre-record that two hours set so Dominic can play the CD to listeners rather than me have to spend two hours in the studio with him.
I finally manage to fall into a fitful sleep, seeing emerald green eyes staring at me up on stage from a bustling crowd below me.
The working week for a DJ and music producer is no different to the average Joe’s. The normality in the Xtreem offices on a Monday morning is everyone being sluggish, feeling the rush of the weekend subside into a tired lull. So the norm for us all is to arrive late, delay starting work as long as possible and break for lunch before we have actually done a
nything productive. It just so happens that today it’s my turn to do the lunch trip and I come back from the sandwich bar on the corner to find Dom sat in the canteen with Shaz, Grotz, Valerie and Pops. I stall when our gazes clash and I’m sure everyone else can pick up on the sudden electrical charge in the room. Feeling my cheeks flush lightly I clear my throat to break the silence.
“Alright, Dominic?” I try for nonchalance but my voice is gravelly.
“I’m perfect, thanks, but then.., you already know this.”
I chuckle at his cheek but cover it with a cough, feeling my face flame further. Shazza’s frown makes me straighten my face.
“I didn’t realise you were in or I would have asked for your order.” I justify my neglect to collect him a sandwich.
“Oh, no worries, Tara, I’ve already eaten,” he explains before getting up from his seat and making for the door. I can’t help the stab of disappointment and I grit my teeth.
You DON’T need his distraction, Tara, remember?
“Dom..,” I call as he leaves the room and he turns at the door, his eyes questioning and without that cocky smirk I realise he is even better looking when he isn’t trying to be a dick. “I need a word about booking a live show in one Friday.”
He offers me a simple nod and a small smile. “Sure, pop through when you’re ready and we’ll check the diary.”
With that he is gone and all eyes turn to me, questioning stares surround me. “What?”
Shaz sniggers and meets Val’s eye, they trade a look.
“Nothing, Tara.” Pops assures me but I’m not stupid, they have picked up on the tension between Dominic and me.
I roll my eyes and drop the lunch bags onto the table before swiping up my bacon and mushroom bap and going through to studio one. I plop down into the computer chair and crack open my can of Dr Pepper before shrugging off my coat.
Just as I tuck into my lunch I hear the door swing open but I don’t look to see who has joined me. I don’t really care. I hate that the whole team already seem to know that there is something off between Dom and I.
“Tara?” Pops says my name as a question and I swallow my mouthful of food before spinning in my seat. Pops looks nervous and takes a deep breath before choosing his words. “Are you okay? You seem kinda twitchy today.”
“I’m fine, Pops,” I mumble before taking another bite of my food.
“You didn’t do any drugs over the weekend, did you?”
I choke and look at him with widened eyes. Where the hell has that question come from? Pops knows I’m well and truly over my love affair with drugs, well, the illegal kind anyway. I shake my head. “I didn’t. Did you? Besides the Viagra,” I giggle and Pops rolls his eyes but is grinning.
“I take it none of us did any class A’s then?” He chuckles his deep, raspy chuckle from years of chain smoking. “You’re not yourself though, Tara. Is it Dom? Shaz says he insulted you on Saturday?”
I push my lunch away and use my napkin to wipe my mouth, my appetite wavering. Pops sits down in the computer chair next to me. I run my fingers over the knobs on the mixing desk in front of me, the familiar feel comforting me and I look up at the blank monitor. Did Dom’s jibe about my pay check really bother me that much? I don’t think it did. I know I’m one of the highest charging DJ’s on the circuit but I’m booked every weekend so I don’t think I over charge or I wouldn’t be working as regularly as I am. I think it was the fact he felt he could air his opinion that shocked me in all honesty. Nobody questions me, especially not about my work. I’ve always done it my way.
I look at Pops, the man who makes sure I get the fattest pay check possible and the headline slots at the biggest events. His eyes tell me I can speak to him. He’s the first person I could really open up to after my parents died. I don’t know where I’d be without him.
“I just think he’s an opinionated arse. I’ve got thick skin, Pops, you know that. He just seems to have a knack for getting underneath it.”
“You want me to have a word?” Pops offers but I shake my head.
“Nah, I’m not some office nark. You said he deserves a fair trial and he might well be able to do his job well. Just because we may butt heads from time to time doesn’t mean you have to step in defending me. I’d hate to think it could ever come between you and Val if Dom and I have the odd slanging match.”
“It would never come between me and Valerie, I assure you of that, love. I just want to try and smooth out any early problems whilst Dom settles in. Between you and Shazza I think I may have to mediate more than occasionally,” Pops chuckles pushing to his feet and sliding the chair back under the mixing desk. “You know where I am if you ever need anything, Tara. You’ve been like a daughter to me and your happiness is important to me. I’ve always said you’re my cash cow, the better your work and wages the better my retirement pension.” He breaks out into a loud, throaty laugh and I playfully slap his arm. He has said this before.
“Well you better keep taking good care of my work affairs then, you don’t want to end up in some second rate nursing home where the nurses don’t have big tits and tight arses,” I tease and this only feeds his laughter. We often joke about his age and retirement. Pops has been in this business since before I was born and built Xtreem from the ground up. The label is definitely his baby and for at least three years now, I have been the face of that business. His prize DJ and producer. He taught me almost all I know so I suppose you could say I’m his baby, too.
“Don’t let Val hear you say that, she’d book me into a right doss hole with ugly staff to give me my bed baths.” Pops shakes his head with a grin. “Now get to work, Dis Diva, earn me some money.”
He leaves the room and I rest my head on the back of the chair, looking at the florescent lighting on the ceiling, with a stupid grin on my face. I really do love working here. I remember meeting Pops for the first time. I came enquiring about studio time and Pops recognised the disappointment on my face when he told me the hourly rates. There was no way I could afford even an hour a week and even though I was a full time music production student there was things I wanted to learn that was specific to the harder genres of music that college wouldn’t each. Xtreem would, but I was skint. I was a snot nosed little seventeen year old and rather than get upset about the studio time being out of my price range I went on the offensive.
“Don’t you do student discounts? How the hell is anybody supposed to be able to afford your prices? I bet the equipment in the studio doesn’t cost the price of an hour!” I snapped at him.
I smirk to myself now at the memory. I was a cheeky little bleeder. I think it was the cheek that made Pops love me. He wasn’t offended by my insult, rather, he was amused. When he asked how much I could afford I crossed my arms and tried to think of a smart reply. The best I could come up with was to offer my services being a cleaner and general dog body in return for an hour in the studio after closing. To my shock, and delight, Pops agreed. And the rest is history, as the saying goes.
Little did I know that being in that studio every day after college, making coffee for everyone and emptying the reeking ashtrays would put me in the presence of, who are now considered, the old school greats of happy hardcore.
I was like a sponge, constantly soaking up every little bit of information I could from the producers around me. I think it’s fair to say the university of life in that studio taught me more than I ever learnt at college. I still feel indebted to Pops for all he did for me, even though I have dragged the label enough money to build this studio three times over. He took a chance on me and helped me fight my way to the top. He caught me when I fell, kicked me up the arse when I was close to jacking it all in and constantly praised me on my talent and encouraged me. He believed in me. For that, no amount of money will ever show my appreciation and gratitude.
I’ve often been told my ego is bigger than my pay check, and that is freakin’ huge! I can’t argue that my ego does get the better of me at times. All the constant
flattery and attention from hundreds of people can go to your head and when I really started to top the charts, winning EDM awards and getting event organisers battling to book me, I did get quite a bob on my shoulders. Pops brought me back down to earth with a bump though and made sure I knew who the people were that I had to keep sweet and which people should count themselves lucky to even be in my presence. Clubbers being one of them. If they couldn’t further my career then they weren’t worth my time.
So my rep soon started to evolve as one of a rather cocky bitch. Pops taught me that this was a ‘branding’ that I needed to build on. DJ’s aren’t booked because of their mixing alone. They need a following, an image, a brand. Schmooze the right people and get them talking. It soon turns into a booking. I mastered this quickly and soon grabbed that shooting star to the top. Now I am truly living the dream and my ego has deflated substantially. Unless, of course, I have to act that part out again to make sure the newbies and warm up DJ’s around me know their place. I’ve played the shit holes for peanuts, taken the rejections and the blows and it all made me stronger. So now I’m top of my game and I intend to stay there. If that requires acting like a spoilt brat from time to time then I’m happy to play along.
I’m happily floating through a million memories when someone clearing their throat from the doorway interrupts my daydreaming. I notice Dom stood just inside the door with an unsure look on his face. I raise an eyebrow in questioning. Does he intend to speaking or what? When he nervously moves further into the room I stand up. What’s up with him? No cocky remarks or cheeky grins while there is nobody to entertain except me? “Spit it out, Dom, what’s up?”
Disrespectful Diva (DJ #2) Page 3