Out of the songs you told me you like. Well, Dire Straits clearly. Early is best, seems the same with most bands, early has their soul, later has the drive of commercial and the dollar if they last that long. The Police are amazing, wow the list goes on. Actually I really like Leonard Cohen!
My life isn’t that interesting really, and I think I cried it all out to you in a phone call. Sorry about that. Or at least some of it. Now…What makes me happy?
The phone call from your sister telling me I have a publishing deal! THAT made me happy! I had to give an outline for a second book, which is why I hadn’t gotten back to you sooner, I had to create it on the spot. Now sometime today, she is having a meeting with the publishers trying to stitch up a deal for both of them. I’m so excited.!
One more week, and you will be here. That is very awesome Mr Bowman! I still can’t begin to thank you enough! Now, go You Tube a song called “I will Persuade You” by The Huxton Creepers. That one is a serious blast from my past. It reflects my blurrish youth.
See you soon.
Carnegie x
Nate happily spent the last few days of his holiday in Italy researching her song list, enjoying the sounds she had chosen to share. It resembled his own taste for music when he grew up, always enjoying the live scene much more than the pop chart tunes. He was also wondering why he hadn’t heard from Katalie, why she had decided to exclude him from what was happening in her world. Although, he couldn’t really talk, he was doing the same. Somehow he felt that the existence of Carnegie Lane in his life and in his sisters, had come about because of him. Like a kind of fate that made him pick up her manuscript and read it, loving it above all other things for the day he held it in his hand. He was in a way, rather chuffed he had managed to have this concert organized without enough attention surrounding it to reach his sister in the first place. Although they both had agreed to disagree, there was a line that he was about to overstep that could force him to choose and he would know soon enough if he was prepared to fight for what he believed in.
For now, all he could do was wait out the last three days before reaching Bundaberg, two days earlier than the concert and discretely enough to be missed by the fans and the paparazzi. If he could do that, then Nate Bowman believed that he could continue with his secret friend, and never have to compromise his sister by doing so.
Not everything goes to plan when you want it that badly. Life has a funny way of turning it all upside down.
Richard Toll was in the business of taking photos. Not just any photo, he was a paparazzi specialist who followed and tracked the stars, waiting for the next big story. He lived in his nice neighborhood in London, and he made a six figure income out of photography based on his own personal triumph. He even drove headlines and magazines into frenzy by helping to create the story in the first place. That’s what a good journalist does, turns the ordinary into the sensational. It’s much more interesting with a scandal.
Somehow the line between reality and fantasy became blurred as the stars that were followed and reported on constantly were given a complete identity persona. One that was much easier to accessorize in the pages of a magazine. They became avatars of themselves, often portrayed with a personality that didn’t belong to them at all. They were Media driven machines that could sell anything. They could even be broken and then thrown aside like a discarded toy once they had served their purpose. Not only could the media build them up, they had the ability to tear them down at will, which in turn would sell. Everything came back to the dollar, even the importance of human life.
Richard had an entire team, strategically placed in convenient locations around the world. In Australia, he had three ex-journalists who freelanced on the occasional story for him. Australia wasn’t usually an interesting place to follow, being rather laid back and casual. The occasional pub fight with an actor, or sighting at a café in Sydney would turn heads, although, not enough to really hit the global market in force.
Tye Markem was one of those freelance journalists. At twenty six, he had completed his journalism degree at university and then fallen foul of the industry when the editors at the local paper he worked for had constantly asked him to report on the state of the local round-abouts and road failures. He was enthusiastic in his trade and needed a break.
Tye had left the local paper scene and worked for himself, taking freelance photographs of sporting events, concerts and the rare yet popular red carpet events around Sydney and Melbourne. One of his favorite bands was Sheeva’s Disciples and he couldn’t wait for them to hit the country. He was going to photograph them from every angle as much as possible.
On the grape vine, he had heard about the impromptu concert being held in Bundaberg. His initial enquiries to local sources there told him it was for charity. He wondered why, out of all the places he could have gone to do this, had he picked Bundaberg? Convinced there was more to it, he made the call to Richard. Hoping he could give him insight into what was really happening and hoping that he would contract him to follow the story, since it involved travelling to Queensland which was more money than he could afford right now...
“It’s not on the official tour schedule. Is there anything on their web site about it?” Richard asked. His ears were well and truly pricked by this time. It had been ages since he had any interesting headliners from the Disciple camp, other than following their global domination of the live concert scene. Even the slightest point of interest drew the dollars right back to him, every time. Nate Bowman was a goldmine, on the large proportion scale. His life was a continual source of fascination for the massive fan base he had created all around the world. Every girl on the planet wanted to know who he was with and where he was, just in case.
The ability to get that elusive first story and continue with the headline was hard, since everyone with a camera would be out if he was around. It came down to strategic planning almost to a level of stalking if you wanted to break a new story. And breaking a new story, or creating one for that matter, was Richards’ specialty.
“Nope…nothing. Just one local radio in Bundaberg advertising it.” Tye felt suddenly important. Not even Richard had a clue about this.
“And the date is..?”
“July 22nd. Just a few days before Brisbane headlines and it’s unplugged.”
“Well well, wonder what they are up to?” He thought out loud. Richard knew this was different. He had followed the band for five years, and there had been nothing out of the ordinary that had not been released on their official web site.
“Tye, I’ll get back to you, stay close to your phone, chances are I’m going to send you to Bundaberg. I’m just going to see what background information I can drag out from this end first and send you in armed with who and what to watch for. Failing that I’ll leave it to you to see if you can figure out what’s going on. Good call on this one. Have a great day.”
He put down the phone and began to research. He called the bands official press secretary who advised him it was to raise money for a local school charity, which to him seemed very out of character. When he asked the obvious question of why? He was given the deceptive answer of ‘why not’.
Richard had as much information as he could get his hands on when he called Tye back a day later and four days before the concert. It was going to be up to Tye now, to get the underbelly of the story. All he hoped was he had the ability to do it. If there was another angle to this concert then this was big news, and could potentially make a fortune.
“Tye… I’ve booked you a flight to Brisbane tonight with a connector to Bundaberg the following morning. I need you to talk to a girl at the airport called Monica, she works there and I’ve arranged for her to meet you at the café at the arrival terminal. She’s blonde and knows what you look like, so she will come to you. In the bank I have transferred ten thousand dollars. Give her two thousand of it. She will use it to distribute to the confidants in the airport if Nate Bowman or any of the band is seen arriving unannounced and
then getting on a plane to Bundaberg or even getting into a hire care, which is what I suspect they will do.
Monica will give you her phone number, you give her yours. She is your eyes and ears on the ground in Brisbane. When you get to Bundaberg, you will have to hire a car and then go driving to get your bearings. Talk to locals, see what they are saying about the concert and see if you can find out where they are staying. Anyone who may be able to give you a tip off just let them know there is money in it for them, discretely, just for the phone call. How much you give them is up to you and if it gives you the story, its worth double, remember that.”
Richard gave his instructions clearly. Tye listened enthusiastically. This was exactly what he had wanted. With his list of instructions written down in his trusted note book, Tye began to pack his equipment and clothes. He was off to create an informant web. One that would alert him to every move the band or anyone associated with them made.
He called a cab and made his way through the departure terminal, waiting for his flight to Brisbane to be called. Sipping his coffee in the departure lounge, he wondered what the next few days would bring him. He had wanted this break for a long time. With all that he was, he was determined to get this one absolutely right.
Nate Bowman was in Italy about to get on his flight to Brisbane Australia. He was alone. His band was flying out the following day. Nate wanted an extra day in Bundaberg to meet with Carnegie, before the entourage of media attention - that was sure to follow their every move - arrived. So far, the publicity release through his secretary had been that the band was arriving together, so he had hopefully ‘slipped the noose’ so to speak. He had been booked into the Pacific Reef – Kacys Hotel at Bargara, just fifteen minutes outside of the city center. Once on the ground in Brisbane, a hire car with a driver had been arranged to meet him and drive him immediately to Bundaberg. This was the easiest way to avoid attention. The longer he remained on the ground in Brisbane, the more attention he would attract. No one was expecting him and the fans and paparazzi wouldn’t be arriving at the airport until the following day.
Nate picked up his phone and made a call. He had no idea that Richard Toll already had his spies out at the airport in Rome. Standing behind Nate at the time of the call was a cleaner, apparently wiping down the unused seats, windows and sills around the departure lounge. He watched with enthusiasm as Nate made that call.
“Hi Carnegie.” He said not quietly, although not so loud for everyone to hear his conversation.
“I’m about to get on a plane in about twenty minutes. I arrive in Brisbane at about 9am your time tomorrow, then drive straight up there.”
There was a pause as he listened to the other side of the conversation, one that the cleaner would have died to have been a party to. Still, what he had so far was good.
“Yep… that’s all fine, what I’ll do is call you when I’m nearly there. Then you can come to me. OK… Well, hold tight girl, I’m on my way….Thanks, see you soon.”
He hung up and turned off his blackberry. The cleaner scampered out of the area unnoticed and pulled out his mobile. He sent one text to Richard Toll, smiling the whole time. It might have only been a little bit of information, yet it was enough to get him five hundred pounds. Money for nothing and more than two week’s wages.
Nate Bowman at Airport now.
Travelling Alone
Arrives in Brisbane 9am tomorrow
Emirates Flight.
Hire care from there arranged.
One name for you. Carnegie.
Richard Toll received the message moments after it was sent. He forwarded a text to Tye who was arriving in Brisbane himself any minute from now.
Slight change of plan.
Nate Bowman arriving tomorrow.
9 am Emirates flight – alone.
Hire car as suspected.
Get car from Brisbane,
tail him to Bundaberg.
Book into same hotel.
You are not a journalist.
You are on holidays.
One name for you. Carnegie.
Research on the name in
B/Berg brings nothing.
Stay on it. Richard.
Tye Markem read the message with interest. His adrenaline beginning to move upward and he felt the sense of elation this business generated.
“Gotcha” he said quietly, as he headed to the café to meet with Monica.
They might not need her anymore but he knew to continue on with the plan. At the very least, involving her now and offering the money kept her exclusive to the situation. If they paid her for information they already knew, at least she wouldn’t go looking for another buyer.
They had a lovely chat, Tye and Monica. She walked away with two thousand dollars in her pocket, with no idea that Nate Bowman was arriving in the morning. Tye walked off with a hire car brochure, ready to go on ‘holidays’.
Nate Bowman’s plane had just lifted off into the air on the other side of the world, and Carnegie Lane was listening to the stereo, reading the instructions of her hair dye, trying to decide what clothes she should wear the next day. At that moment, her greatest concerns were trivial. Nate Bowman’s greatest concerns were the same. He smiled to himself a little as he settled back in his seat, ready to enjoy an in house movie.
Katalie Bowman was at that moment setting up contracts and payment plans for Carnegie’s book. There was publicity and promotion to consider. She had no idea her brother had betrayed her trust, and Carnegie had no idea there was an issue.
At 10.15 am the following morning, Nate Bowman got into his hire car in Brisbane with his driver and began the six hour car trip to Bundaberg. Behind him Tye Markem wrote down the number plate and headed off himself at his own pace. Not so close to be noticed, yet not far enough away for him to lose them on the road. There were no journalists or cameramen in sight. It could mean only one thing. Tye so far, had the exclusive on this.
That was what made the difference in the profession he was attempting to enter. He had no idea of the consequences for his actions nor did he care. His belief was that if you became famous, the sacrifice to your private life is a contract for the rights to your soul, signed in blood at the time.
In a world where faith had been set aside for the worship of demi-gods in the form of rock stars and actors, his ability to cover the movements of the Gods for the devoted followers was fair and just. The stars were the top of the food chain. They supported entire industries and networks of people that cashed in on their fame and talent. To Tye, Nate Bowman was no different, and he believed he had every right to do what he did. Richard Toll had taught him well. There was no conscious or consequence. The bottom line was get the photos, write the headlines and make a million. That was all that mattered at the end of the day.
Minutes become hours and hours pass slowly until the moment you are waiting for happens exactly as it should. It was 4.20 pm in the afternoon when the phone call came. Carnegie had been nervously expecting it for over an hour, yet she was grateful that it gave her an extra hour up her sleeve to get ready. She breathed in deeply, it felt like it was totally out of the blue even though she was pacing the lounge room waiting. Her heat began to beat a little faster as she picked up the phone and answered it.
The kids were home from school and none the wiser. The twins, who still moped about the house, unable to get over the tragedy of their current lives, didn’t ask any questions when their mother asked them to baby sit for her. She had dinner prepared for all of them and she tried to corner Connor long enough to threaten him to leave his little sister alone. The grin on his face told her it wasn’t a threat that would work it was a bribe, so as she walked out the door, Connor walked into his room with the joy of knowing one night of good behavior was about to get him a new x-box game.
Carnegie got in her car and drove to the bottle shop. She’d said she would come armed with a bottle of red wine, hoping to ease her nerves more than anything. Nate Bowman, for the last five months had
been a fictional character, hidden behind the words on a computer screen and an occasional voice via telephone.
This was about to bring him to life for her. She wasn’t star struck by any means, Carnegie had had her own fare share of that when she played host to the bands of her peers in the 80’s. Something here was different. There was a connection, an understanding of sorts. He understood why she wrote the story she did. It mattered to him and in the process, she mattered too, enough for him to be here in the first place.
Tye Markem had followed Nate Bowman all the way to Bargara, just outside of Bundaberg. He had keenly watched as he went inside the hotel and not return.
Impatiently he waited outside and unseen until the driver left. Twenty minutes after Nate checked in, Tye had done the same. He was now back in the lobby of the hotel, enjoying a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. Concealed under that paper was his camera with a distance lens attached. He had it positioned so that it had clear view of the reception desk. It seemed ages before there was movement. Tye watched as Carnegie approached the desk, his finger ready to pounce on top of his camera.
“Hi, my name is Carnegie Lane; I’m here to meet with Nate Bowman.” She said politely to the lady behind the desk.
“Yes, he is expecting you, top floor to your left. I’ll phone him now and let him know you’re on your way.”
“Thank you.” She replied, feeling a little more nervous than she had been a moment ago.
The Unexpected Life of Carnegie Lane Page 9