Star Struck

by Anne-marie O'connor

  ‘It’s good, yeah. Bit weird, doesn’t feel quite the same as pulling pints …’ Andy saw the look of confusion on Catherine’s face. ‘Crap job I had a while ago,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘But it’s good.’

  Catherine and Andy began to walk along the corridor. Andy took a sideways glance at Catherine. She paused, sensing that he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Then he did it again, Catherine looked at him. He took a deep breath. ‘Listen, tell me to sod off if you want but you looked really upset when you were on the phone and I know what it’s like here: you don’t know anyone, there’s no one you feel like you can speak to, it’s a bit of a weird environment …’ Andy stopped, he looked like he was regretting ever opening his mouth. ‘I suppose what I’m saying is that if you need to talk about anything then I’m good at listening,’ he said with a small shrug.

  Normally Catherine would have clammed up and nodded her appreciation but she was so stressed about her father and her role at home that she did need to speak to someone and Andy seemed so kind and willing to listen that it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to open up to him. ‘My dad’s got cancer.’

  Andy’s hands fell to his side helplessly. ‘Oh God, Catherine … I’m really sorry.’

  ‘So not only is he mad and inappropriate,’ she said referring to the one and only time Andy had met her father, ‘he’s really poorly,’ she said, her voice cracking.

  Andy put his hand on her arm. Catherine began to cry in earnest now. She didn’t want to dissolve into floods of tears but it seemed she had no choice. She needed to get this out and poor Andy, who she barely knew, was getting the brunt of it. He stepped closer to her, she hung her head; she didn’t want this poor guy to have to see her like this. He put his free hand on her other arm. ‘I’m so sorry, that must be awful.’

  ‘It is because I look after him and I’ve come here … but I don’t look after him because of the cancer, that’s a newish thing, I just look after him because he’s got depression and I’m sort of the only one at home, except Jo, she’s good, she tries but she’s only young and she’s got her own life.’ Catherine sniffed back her snotty tears and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She looked up at Andy. ‘Why am I telling you all this? I’m sorry. I just … I just needed to say something I suppose,’ Catherine said. She didn’t really know what else to say.

  ‘Right,’ Andy said awkwardly, ‘I’m rubbish at this sort of thing, so I’m just going to come straight out with it. Would you like a hug?’

  ‘Would I what?’ Catherine asked, making sure he hadn’t just asked her if she’d like a mug or a jug before she threw her arms around him.

  ‘Oh God, sorry, I just thought you looked like you could do with a hug.’

  ‘That would be really lovely,’ Catherine said sheepishly.

  Andy moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. They stood there, motionless for a few moments as she felt his warmth and basked in the comfort of this small intimacy. Then Andy pulled away. ‘You OK?’

  Catherine nodded, ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Do you need another one?’

  Right now Catherine wanted to curl up in Andy’s arms for the rest of her life, he was so kind and lovely and seemed to know what to say and when to say it. She was just about to say ‘yes please’ when Jesse rounded the corner.

  ‘What are you two up to round here? Sneaking around?’

  ‘No, we’re not doing anything.’ Andy protested a little too much.

  Catherine stood, her arms by her side, staring at her feet as if she’d just been caught behind the bike sheds by a teacher.

  ‘I was just using the phone and then Andy came round and I—’ Catherine broke off, as Jesse stood there, his eyebrow arched.

  ‘Anyways, I’m just looking for you to tell you that you’re needed in your room. Richard Forster’s planning a visit and he wants you, Kim and Star to see him.’

  ‘God, really?’ Catherine asked. She was going to have to pull herself together.

  ‘Yep. Come on,’ Jesse said, spinning on his heel and marching ahead.

  ‘Go on, good luck,’ Andy said, winking at Catherine. Catherine smiled gratefully and headed off to her room.

  Since when do I wink? Andy felt a stab of mortification as he walked back to his and Jesse’s cupboard. Since when do I volunteer to hug people? There it was, that stab again. It was all right for people like Jesse, he could get away with stuff like that. He was smooth, women liked him; he looked like a hunk of manhood. Andy looked more like a clothes prop with a wig on and he knew that that look didn’t lend itself to great sweeping Lemar-type love gestures. He couldn’t tell if Catherine thought he was an idiot. She seemed quite pleased that he had intervened. But then again maybe he’d just caught her at a very low moment and she was back in her room wondering why she’d just let that beanpole of a runner touch her.

  Will approached Andy. ‘Just the guy. How’s it going?’

  ‘Erm, OK. You?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Can I catch you for a few minutes about …’ Will threw his wrist out and looked at his white Chanel J12 watch, ‘… nine? Richard should have finished with the girls by then.’

  ‘Oh yeah, Jesse said he was going in to speak to them.’

  ‘Yeah, he likes all of them, but he just needs to have a word, you know, see what else they have to offer, other than their voices.’

  Andy nodded. ‘OK, where are we meeting?’

  ‘Production room. Don’t let any of the contestants see you. We’re deciding the final twenty-four.’

  ‘Cool, I’ll be there.’ Andy said, still marvelling at the fact that he was being allowed into the inner sanctum.

  Andy let himself into his box room. If only the Great British Public knew that this was how their favourite show was decided. All of the heart-wrenching knife-edge auditions were just a con – from what Andy could gather, who was worthy of a place in the show was decided on sob story, controversy, personality and voice, in that order. And he was going to help.

  ‘So Star, tell me your story,’ Richard Forster said, shooting his cuffs and holding his head to one side. A very tanned head at that, Catherine observed. It had been bugging Catherine for a bit. In real life Richard didn’t really look like himself, or at least how he appeared on TV. He looked like someone else, and then it occurred to her, he didn’t look like someone else, he looked like something else: a magician. If he ever fell on hard times – not likely with the universal success of Star Maker – he could always ply his trade sawing someone in two or producing a dove from behind their ear.

  ‘I went to the Sylvia Young School,’ Star said with such gravitas that it seemed she thought that this information should see Richard roll over and start salivating.

  He obviously sensed this. ‘Who hasn’t?’ he retorted.

  ‘OK …’ Star said, gathering herself. ‘Well, I told one of your researchers this but I haven’t heard it mentioned since and I think it is key to who I am,’ Star said, clutching her hand to her chest dramatically.

  Kim sighed and lay down on her bed. She had stopped even pretending to humour Star. Richard looked over at Kim. His eye flickered, he spotted something. Catherine couldn’t work out what, but she could tell that the cogs were whirring.

  ‘Well, I was put though Silvia Young by my uncle …’

  So far, so ordinary, Catherine thought. A family benefactor, this must happen a lot to people like Star; it was no biggy. But Catherine could tell from the look on Star’s face that she was holding something back, something she evidently thought was solid TV gold.

  Star took a deep breath and bit her bottom lip, looking out of the window as if trying to compose herself. ‘… because I went to live with him when my mum and dad died in a car crash when I was nine.’ She delivered this news like someone who knew the answer to the million-pound question on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, not like someone who had suffered a terrible family tragedy at an early age.

  Richard F
orster nodded. ‘Well, that is sad. I’m truly sorry to hear that, Star.’

  He was being genuine, Catherine realised. Of course, he would have to have a heart of stone not to think that Star’s background was sad. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t capitalise on it for the purpose of the show and Star knew it. Catherine suddenly felt sick. Is this what it took? Taking your family’s personal tragedies and laying them bare for all to see. Well, she certainly wasn’t about to do that. She didn’t care if it meant she was going home tomorrow.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Star. That’s awful,’ Catherine said. She hadn’t taken the greatest liking to the girl but she couldn’t let this pass without saying something.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Star said with a shrug. Catherine didn’t know if she was trying to put on a brave face or if it really was OK. She didn’t seem too perturbed by her situation.

  ‘And you Kim, tell me about you.’

  ‘Well, there’s not a lot to tell. I work in a bar, I used to sing at the karaoke every week and people kept telling me to enter and then, when my brother went to Iraq …’

  ‘Your brother is in the army?’

  ‘Was.’

  Richard looked at her like a lion who had just sensed something juicy to eat in the undergrowth.

  ‘Yes, he’s left now. Works at Tesco,’ Kim said. Catherine watched her study the great Richard Forster for a moment. ‘Did you want me to say he’s had his leg blown off and that’s why I’m here?’ Kim asked. ‘That hearing me sing is the only thing that gets him out of bed in the morning and stops the Basra flashbacks?’

  Catherine cringed, she didn’t think that taking Richard to task in this way would do Kim any favours.

  ‘All I want to hear about is you, thank you,’ he said, his glacial composure remaining intact.

  Kim weighed him up for a moment. ‘Well, he works at Tesco and I work in a pub. No sob story. Sorry,’ Kim said with a sweet smile.

  ‘Thank you, Kim.’ Richard gave her a bemused look.

  Star was sitting on her bed, rubbing hand cream into her cuticles and giving Kim a look that suggested she thought she was an idiot.

  ‘And Catherine. We met your family …’ Catherine winced at the thought of her dad and his performance in front of the judges. She hoped to God when the programme was aired in three weeks time that they didn’t make it onto the screen, though she had a feeling that it was just too good a Star Maker moment to end up on the cutting-room floor. ‘So we know a little bit about you,’ Richard continued. ‘But is there anything else you think we should know, anything that gives a bit more colour to who you are?’

  Catherine thought for a moment. There was nothing she would hate more than people finding out that her father suffered from depression and cancer and that she helped look after him.

  ‘I work in a call centre and live at home and I like singing.’ This was all true, Catherine thought, no lies here, just not the whole truth.

  ‘One of our crew said something about your mother …’ Richard looked at Catherine for a reaction.

  Oh God, she thought, what about my mother, what? Keep a straight face, don’t give anything away.

  ‘My mother?’ Catherine asked neutrally. ‘She’s just a normal mum.’

  OK, that was definitely a lie.

  ‘Right.’ Richard nodded his head. ‘That’s fine. Just wondering.’ He got to his feet. ‘Well girls, we’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Catherine was about to show Richard to the door but Star jumped in front of her. ‘If you need to know anything else about me, just ask,’ Star said to Richard.

  He looked her straight in the eye and said, ‘Thank you Star, I will.’

  She shut the door behind him and waited for a few moments until he was well away from the room. Then she looked at Kim and Catherine and said disparagingly, ‘Well, you two have totally fucked your chances.’

  Catherine was taken aback. She had just been about to ask Star what it had been like for her when her mum had died. ‘How have we?’

  ‘You bored him to tears,’ she informed Catherine, before turning to Kim. ‘And you made him look like an idiot. Nice going.’

  ‘What’s the alternative?’ Kim asked. ‘He uses the shit things that have happened in our lives to cobble together a reason why we’re on the show.’

  Star’s eyes bore into Kim. Catherine held her breath; Star was well within her rights to be offended by Kim’s insensitive words. ‘That’s not the alternative, it’s the only way to get on in this competition,’ Star said, walking towards the bathroom.

  ‘So you don’t mind using your mum’s memory in this way?’

  Catherine nearly crawled under the bed. She fully expected Star to explode. ‘My mum’s memory?’ Star sneered, ‘Don’t be a complete dupe, Kim. She’s not dead, she lives in Fulham. But she’s totally not bothered about pretending she’s not my mum. I mean this competition is too important to fuck up and Mum thought that saying they were dead was the best way to go.’ Star flicked her hair over her shoulder and stared pointedly at Kim.

  Catherine and Kim were sitting open mouthed. Star opened the door to the bathroom and looked at them both. ‘What?’ she said finally, as if she couldn’t believe they were taking exception to what she had done. But both Catherine and Kim were speechless. They really couldn’t believe that Star would stoop so low.

  Andy was sitting in his chair trying to disguise the fact he was ill at ease in the presence of Cherie Forster and his boss, Will. He had decided to mirror Will’s posture and was sitting with his leg lolled casually over the arm of his chair. Will looked cool sitting like this, Andy quickly admitted to himself as his long leg hung limply over the chair-arm, because Will was cool. He was six foot, totally in proportion, had a five o’clock shadow that George Michael would have fought him for and a manner about him that suggested everyone should either fancy him or like him for being a great bloke. Andy just looked like a stick man who’d been drawn badly into a chair. He swung his leg back round and planted his feet firmly on the floor.

  ‘You all right?’ Will asked.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ Andy said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. He had no idea why, but whenever he was nervous and trying to appear nonchalant, he yawned. He really needed to stop being such a bag of nerves, but this was a rather special fair-enough-to-be-a-bag-of-nerves situation he now found himself in. Cherie looked at Andy as if he was irritating her. He stopped yawning. The door opened.

  ‘Well, I know the under-twenty-fives,’ Richard announced, sitting on the edge of the desk.

  Please say Catherine, Andy thought. She really deserves a break and she’s nice.

  ‘Star has to go through.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Cherie groaned.

  ‘Come on, she’s very attractive …’

  Cherie threw her husband a look that could have cut him in two, but he chose to ignore it.

  ‘She’s got a great voice …’

  ‘And it’s operatic, there’s no other girl singing like her.’ Will said, getting behind Richard.

  ‘And …’ Richard paused and then a cunning smile spread across his face, ‘… her parents died in a car crash and she’s been brought up by her uncle.’

  ‘Bingo,’ Cherie said, nodding resignedly.

  ‘Bingo indeed, my love,’ Richard said, winking at his wife. She didn’t seem to appreciate the wink.

  ‘Great,’ Will said excitedly. Great? Andy thought. The girl’s parents are dead and this is great somehow? ‘So who else?’

  ‘Well, Therese has to go through.’ Andy thought for a moment, he didn’t remember any Therese.

  ‘Who?’ Neither did Cherie, it seemed.

  ‘Pre-Raphaelite hair, sang like Alanis Morrisette.’

  ‘Oh, I liked her, yes, very good.’ Andy hadn’t met Therese and didn’t remember her audition; he must have been elsewhere at the time. Richard named three more girls, Carly, Sierra and Julie, all of whom had really impressed the judges. Andy had to admit that they had all been excel
lent but this meant that there was only room for one other person. Who would they choose between Kim and Catherine? It had to be one or the other, they had both performed brilliantly.

  ‘And lastly it has to be Kim,’ Richard said, his flat pronouncement shattering the hopes of countless girls. Andy’s heart sank.

  ‘Kim? What’s her story?’

  ‘She hasn’t got one, she’s just got attitude and that’s what we need. She made me laugh actually, her brother had been in Iraq and the way she said it I assumed he was dead and actually he’s working in Tesco’s …’

  ‘What about Catherine?’ Andy heard himself say.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Catherine.’ Andy tried to swallow his nerves. Think, what did she do that sets her apart? ‘She was really good but you sent her away and then gave her a second chance,’ he said, warming to his convictions. ‘The public will love that. And then she had the whole family come in and argue with you.’

  ‘But there’s nothing else there,’ Richard said, his mind evidently made up. ‘She’s a bit of a damp squib.’

  ‘But she isn’t, she has a great voice and really deserves a chance.’

  ‘Andy, we’ve got ballsy girls with attitude, we’ve got one with the voice of an angel and a dead mother, we’ve got one who was brought up in care, one who’s mum’s in prison and you want me to put Catherine through who works in a call centre and cites reading as one of her interests.’