Star Struck

by Anne-marie O'connor

  ‘Much?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ Catherine admitted. When she had walked to the room with Jesse and Andy she had wanted Jesse to pipe down a bit so that Andy could get a word in edgeways.

  ‘His mate’s quite cute in that Oh-my-God-girls-scare-the-living-daylights-out-of-me way.’

  ‘Is he?’ Catherine said pretending she hadn’t noticed.

  ‘So, tell me, has it been mad at home? My mum and dad are all over the shop because I’ve got through to Boot Camp. My mum’s had posters made up and forced everyone to put them in their windows saying Vote Kim! The shame, I’ll get kicked out tomorrow and have to go home and say, “Er, hello everyone, can you take your posters down please, I’m off back to work in the pub. But if you need a pint I can sort that out for you.”’

  Catherine laughed. ‘So you work in a pub?’

  ‘Yep,’ Kim said, throwing her bag on the double bed, ‘The Dog and Gun. The landlord reckons it’s called that because it’s full of dogs and working there makes you want to shoot yourself. He needs to pack up and move to Spain and stop just talking about it, the miserable sod.’ Kim jumped up onto Star’s bed. ‘This is comfy. Are you in this one?’

  Catherine shook her head and pointed in the direction of the bathroom. Kim quickly realised that Catherine was indicating that whoever was in the bathroom was a bit of a nightmare. She jumped down from the bed and went and stood next to Catherine so that she could whisper the details to her.

  ‘Oh!’ Kim said, once she had been filled in on Star’s personality and self-promoted credentials. ‘She sounds lovely, can’t wait to meet her.’

  Catherine and Kim chatted amiably as the room began to fill up. Kim was from Bradford and she and Catherine compared notes about appearing in the local newspaper. Kim said that she had been put in a star costume and positioned outside the town hall and told to give them a big thumbs up for the camera. On the day the piece appeared on the front page of the Bradford Telegraph and Argus she had received over five hundred text messages. ‘People from school who wouldn’t have said hello in the street had got my number and were now my new best friend.’

  This chimed with Catherine. She had received a call from a girl called Veronica Kenny. The last time she’d spoken to Veronica was when they were fifteen and she had asked Catherine what she was looking at and if she wanted her face smashing in. Veronica only ever seemed to do two things: threaten to smash people’s faces in, and actually smash people’s faces in. The fact that Catherine had older sisters and could run faster than Veronica was the only thing that saved her. But now Veronica wanted to go for a drink with Catherine and catch up on old times. Catherine had made her excuses, sure that even if Veronica did just want some free Star Maker tickets if Catherine made it to the finals, then she would still find some reason to smash Catherine’s face in.

  The new girls who were arriving all grabbed a bed, unpacked their stuff and then joined Kim and Catherine for a chat. There was Marissa, a chatty young mum from London, Heidi, a shy, wide-eyed nineteen-year-old from the north-east and Jill, a student from Sheffield.

  It had been almost an hour since Star had taken herself off to bathe and there was still no sign of her appearing. ‘I really need the loo,’ Jill said.

  Marissa got to her feet and hammered on the door. ‘You all right in there, doll? You’ve not drowned have you?’

  Kim and Catherine looked at one another and burst out laughing. There was no response from the bathroom; Marissa turned to the other girls and shrugged. She was halfway through asking, ‘What d’you think we should …’ when the door burst open and Star glared at them all.

  ‘It’s not a bloody dorm, yeah? I was just after a bit of peace and quiet.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you too, love.’ Marissa said sarcastically.

  ‘No you’re not. And don’t pretend you are.’ Star said folding her willowy arms across her chest. ‘We’re all here for the same reason: to win.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m here because I got a few days off work.’ Kim said, raising a laugh from the other girls.

  ‘You say that now, but if you get down to the finals – and with that attitude I doubt you could win a bet never mind an international singing competition – then you’ll change your tune. It’s dog-eat-dog and don’t let anyone tell you any different.’

  The other five girls looked at one another in horrified-but-about-to-laugh silence. Then Kim said, ‘Well you’re a little ray of sunshine aren’t you?’ Catherine burst out laughing and the others joined in.

  Star glared at them with pure venom. ‘And you don’t want to cross me,’ Star said viciously, but only Catherine seemed to hear her, the others were too busy laughing.

  It was five to six and Catherine was ready to go down to the meet-and-greet dinner. She was so nervous that her stomach was performing flip-flops. She envisaged a great banqueting hall where they would feast on a ten-course dinner while each in turn getting to sit next to Richard Forster and tell him everything about themselves. He would naturally be interested in each and every story and by the end of the night everyone would have bonded and no one would want to leave. The others were equally nervous, all except Star, who was refusing to join them. ‘I’ll be down when I’m ready,’ she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  The five girls walked excitedly through the many corridors leading to the main hall but when they arrived, Catherine’s heart sank. Unlike the cornucopia of food and fine wine that Catherine had been expecting, there was a running buffet of badly presented finger-food. ‘Looks like mum’s been to Iceland,’ Kim whispered to Catherine. The room was filling up with the other Star Maker hopefuls, all dressed to the nines, all looking as disappointed as Catherine felt.

  ‘Can I have everyone’s attention?’ A pretty young blonde with trendy hair and – Catherine had to look closely but yes, she wasn’t seeing things – legwarmers with penguins skating on them, was shouting to everyone from the raised platform at one end of the hall. ‘Right guys, welcome to Star Maker. Help yourselves to food and bubbly, well, it’s cava, but we all love a bit of cava, don’t we?’

  There were some excited whoops from some of the other girls in the audience. ‘Unfortunately Richard and Cherie Forster won’t be here tonight but Carrie and Lionel will be coming down to wish you all well.’ There was an audible sigh from the crowd. Everyone wanted to meet Richard Forster, that was what they were here for.

  ‘Oh well, let’s get stuck into the cava.’ Kim said raising a plastic cup to the others.

  Catherine picked up something that looked suspiciously like a turkey twizzler and bit into it. She chewed for a moment and then wondered if it would be really rude if she spat it out. She quickly decided that necessity overruled politeness and put a napkin over her mouth and removed the offending turkey matter. Turkey twizzlers reminded Catherine of her dad. For a moment Catherine thought that most girls would have nice things that reminded them of their fathers: a favourite story they were read as a child, walks in the countryside, a certain aftershave. Turkey twizzlers were probably not topping the list for most girls and their connection to their dad. But Mick loved them. On their own, in a sandwich, in a salad. He even had them as a starter when he was feeling posh. Catherine liked it when he was in a turkey twizzler phase. It meant that he was eating, and when he was eating it meant he wasn’t depressed. Or at least wasn’t as depressed as he could be.

  As the others began to tuck into the food and drink Catherine thought that she should ring home and check that her dad was OK. Mobile phones were banned, but she knew that there was a pay phone somewhere they were allowed to use. Jesse walked past as she was wondering where it could be.

  ‘Jesse?’

  He turned and smiled. ‘Hi, Catherine, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, just wondering. Is there a payphone I could use? My dad’s not been well and I just need to call home and check that he’s OK.’

  ‘’Course, follow me,’ he said, nodding towards the end of the hall.

/>   Catherine and Jesse fought their way through the packed room. Jesse turned around and put his hand on Catherine’s back so that she could get through the crowd more easily. She felt slightly uncomfortable; she never really knew what to do with men who were super confident. She never really had much cause to concern herself with them, they didn’t usually talk to her.

  Jesse led Catherine down a dark corridor and rounded a corner. ‘No one really knows about this one. There’s a queue a mile long at the official telephones, everyone ringing Mummy and Daddy to tell them how fantastic it is here.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Catherine fumbled in her pocket for some change but Jesse swiped a card along the phone’s card reader.

  ‘There you go, free call.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘In fact keep it. I’ve got two for some reason. Just don’t tell anyone,’ Jesse smiled.

  ‘That’s really kind of you.’

  ‘Hope your dad’s OK,’ Jesse said sincerely.

  Catherine watched him walk away before punching in her home number. What a nice guy, she thought. Catherine waited for someone to pick up the phone. Surely Jo would be home by now? It had been over five hours since she had said goodbye to her sisters.

  ‘Hello,’ Jo said, sounding out of breath.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Hi, how’s it going? How’s Richard Forster? Loving himself?’

  ‘We haven’t met them, he’s not here tonight.’

  ‘How shit is that?’

  ‘I know. How’s Dad?’

  ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘No, I’m bloody well not!’ Mick shouted in the background.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ Jo said, sounding as if she was physically restraining her father.

  ‘Jo, what are you doing?’

  ‘Pushing Dad away by the head.’ Her voice sounded strained.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with him. Nothing a good kick wouldn’t sort out.’

  ‘Did you just kick him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She just kicked me!’ Mick wailed.

  ‘He’s fine. Claire’s coming round in a minute. If you call again, I’m not answering. He’s fine.’

  ‘Can I speak to him?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Dad!’ Jo shouted as the phone was wrenched from her hand.

  ‘Catherine,’ Mick said breathlessly. ‘This one doesn’t know where anything is. She’s bossy and she doesn’t listen to me.’

  ‘Where’s your violin?’ Jo asked sarcastically.

  ‘Dad, you need to tell Jo what’s going on,’ Catherine said as quietly as she possibly could, ‘She just thinks you’re being a mard arse.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tell her.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dad, this is really hard for me.’

  ‘You’ll be back soon.’

  ‘God, Dad, you’re so encouraging,’ Catherine could hear Jo say. ‘She might not be, so you’d better start behaving because I for one am not listening to your shit from now till Catherine gets the Christmas number one.’

  ‘Ow!’ Mick complained, then Jo came to the phone.

  ‘He’s fine. Get off my leg, Dad! Seriously, Catherine, go and don’t be ringing here every two seconds.’

  Jo put the phone down. Catherine stood for a moment listening to the dial tone. She redialled but the phone was off the hook. She took out a piece of paper with Jo’s mobile number on it, there was no point ringing her dad’s, he never answered it; she stared at it for a moment and then re-pocketed it. Jo wouldn’t answer even if she did call. Catherine turned around and headed back to the hall, she was going to throw herself into the turkey twizzlers and sparkling wine and try to enjoy herself.

  Chapter 5

  ANDY HAD BEEN ushered into a room by Will, his supervisor, and asked to take a seat. Will had said that he’d be back in a moment but that had been over half an hour ago. Andy stood up and walked to the other side of the solid oak desk that took up one half of the wood-panelled room. On the wall was the mounted head of a deer. Andy peered up the deer’s nostrils and noticed there was something lodged inside. He looked closer, it couldn’t be what he thought it was … could it? He slowly moved his index finger towards the deer’s nose, like ET phoning home, and touched the hard, bristly stuffed skin. Suddenly the door flew open and Andy nearly shot through the roof with shock.

  ‘Yes, it is a camera,’ Richard Forster said.

  ‘I’m really sorry, I was just having a look around and then I thought I saw something shoved up there but I— sorry.’ Andy trailed off. His mind was racing; there was a camera in the room. That had probably been filming him for the past half hour. Was that legal? Why was it there? Had they been hoping to catch him weeing in the desk drawer like on Builders from Hell?

  ‘They’re all over the place,’ Richard admitted as though this was perfectly normal practice. ‘We need to make sure that we know who we’re working with and that whoever we put through in the competition is totally on board with the ethos of Star Maker.’

  ‘Right.’ Andy nodded, feeling like a minion being shown around Dr Evil’s lair.

  ‘Look, I know it’s not great having secret cameras around but we’ve had so many tabloid journos try and get in here that we’ve had to make the place as watertight as possible.’

  ‘Is it legal?’

  ‘It’s all in your contract,’ Richard Forster locked his dark brown eyes on Andy. ‘You did read your contract?’

  ‘Yeah, of course …’ Andy said with a shrug. Did anyone ever read a contract? What was it going to say, you’re hired, and if you’re no good, you’re fired? He certainly didn’t expect the small print to explain that at any time he could be under video surveillance.

  ‘Of course … you didn’t,’ Richard said, with a knowing smile.

  Bloody hell, Andy thought, that voice, that look; Andy felt the room crackle with this man’s personality. Andy wouldn’t have been able to explain it to anyone – least of all to any of his mates – but he felt it. It was the pull of the super powerful. Richard Forster had a reputation as a hard-nosed businessman, a ruthless entrepreneur and an arrogant opinionated individual. Until now Andy had never understood how this combination had women falling at his feet. Richard was always being voted among the sexiest men of the year in whatever hormone-driven poll was out that particular week. But sitting here in the full glare of Richard’s charm and arrogance – and his total disregard for ethics, evidenced by having a CCTV camera stuffed in a deer’s snout – Andy suddenly got what all the fuss was about. If Richard told him that he was now his slave for life Andy would have probably agreed to it without much fuss. In fact he probably had already unwittingly signed up to it in his contract.

  ‘Work contracts, I know how it is; you look at your hours, what you’re being paid and then you sign. Am I right?’

  ‘Yeah, you are,’ Andy said blushing, feeling like a teenage girl on a first date, wishing he could say something funnier or smarter. He was going to need a fan like a Geisha if he didn’t get his act together soon.

  ‘So, you’re probably wondering why you’re here.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Andy said in a high-pitched squeak. He wanted to cough and repeat the sentence in a deep James Earl Jones voice. He gathered himself. ‘You’re not meant to be here tonight, are you?’

  ‘No, but Cherie and I have decided that this is the best way to conduct the first night. Let all the rabble get together, get pissed on cheap plonk …’

  ‘And see who makes a fool of themselves?’ Andy finished. That was more like it, he thought, one step ahead of this game.

  ‘No,’ Richard shook his head emphatically. ‘The cameras are there to see who complains. See who the divas are. See who we don’t need in this competition and who we do. As you know from the auditions, we don’t just put people through with good voices.’

  No shit, Andy thought, remembering the woman who had turned up on a pogo stick singing ‘O Fortuna’ from Carmina
Burana and had been ushered through to Boot Camp despite the fact she couldn’t sing for toffee.

  ‘They need a story,’ Richard continued. ‘The audience at home needs to connect with them. But at this stage we need to get a feel for who is going to be hard to manage and when no one’s watching people show their true colours. We can afford one or two Mariahs every year, they make good TV, but we can’t have an entire line up of them. They become hard to manage and when they’re booted off they go straight to the papers and that makes the live shows that they all have to perform at in the new year pretty unbearable for the other contestants.’

  ‘Right,’ Andy said nodding, wondering where he was going to fit into all of this.

  ‘And you’re going to come with me, Will, Cherie and JP and have a look behind the scenes at the antics of our wannabes. Is that OK with you? Will said you were good to work with and could be trusted.’

  Andy nodded. It all sounded a bit like playing God, but he was all for a bit of people watching. ‘Yes, great. Who’s JP by the way?’

  ‘Jason P. Longford,’ Richard said, looking quizzically at Andy as if he had just forgotten the name of a life-long friend. ‘There’s not much on camera stuff for him to do but he wouldn’t miss all the backtabbing that happens at Boot Camp for the world.’

  I bet he wouldn’t, Andy thought, rising from his chair and following TV’s most powerful man into the adjoining room.

  Waiting for them were Cherie, Jason and Will, sitting in front of a bank of monitors, watching the party that seemed to be now in full swing downstairs.

  ‘Well, well, nice to see you again, erm …’ Jason said. He took a deep breath and clicked his fingers and scrunched his eyes shut, ‘Sorry, it’ll come to me …’

  The great trick of the friendless, Andy thought, pretend you’re so popular that you have a million different names in your head and you couldn’t possibly fit another one in.

  ‘Andy.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jason said smiling, pleased with himself.

  Andy realised that this was the shape of things to come for the duration of the competition.