Star Struck

by Anne-marie O'connor

  ‘I know that you are all lined up to have media training over this, but I just want to let you know that the interest in you if you get through to the finals will be intense. It’s also something that is extremely enjoyable if you choose to go along for the ride. The people who fare badly are the ones who start taking the process – and themselves for that matter – far too seriously. You have to learn to develop a thick skin and take the rough with the smooth. OK?’ He looked at the contestants. ‘Good, because it’s fast track this year. There’s always a buzz around this show but this year, with the back-to-back auditions and then straight into the live shows we’re expecting an unprecedented response.’

  Andy looked out at the girls. They would be famous soon, all of them, even Catherine. And then she’d be so busy that she wouldn’t have time to talk to him, even if she had the inclination. Andy decided that he would concentrate on his work and if Catherine wanted to speak to him, then she would, but he was becoming increasingly convinced that she would have better things to do.

  Chapter 15

  STAR MAKER. TRANSATLANTIC had been airing for ten consecutive nights. Even though the contestants had been too busy to have much contact with the outside world, it was apparent that they were becoming – if not famous – then recognisable. There was a definite buzz around the show and, in particular, Catherine’s family, but because Catherine hadn’t been in the UK to witness it happen, she didn’t quite believe it. Catherine had been in touch with Jo who had told her that their dad was something of a minor celebrity in Manchester and the fame was going to his head. It had one good effect in that his spirits seemed to have lifted and he didn’t feel as ill as he had in previous weeks.

  Catherine was missing her family terribly. She knew that each contestant was allotted tickets in the coming weeks for the live finals, but that hers weren’t until the fourth week, if she made it that far. She hadn’t even mentioned it to her sisters yet, she didn’t want to jinx herself.

  She and the other finalists had been ushered into a room that looked as though it should be in the Palace of Versailles rather than a New York apartment. There were gilt-edged mirrors and marble tables that must have been worth an absolute fortune. Richard Forster came into the room and explained to the girls that the American host of Star Maker, Tom Soronsen, who was to host the live finals, was about to greet them. Catherine noticed that Jason P. Longford was doing a lot of eye-rolling; he evidently felt intimidated by the American host.

  Richard said that once this had been filmed they would be taken off by a famous face that they had yet to meet and they would be mentored by them for the day. There was a buzz of excitement – who would it be? Names were bandied around – Britney Spears, Kelly Clarkson, Rihanna. Richard told the contestants to calm down and all would be revealed.

  Until now the whole thing, other than the auditions and the nerve-racking nature of them, felt somewhat tame. The tension and the razzmatazz associated with Star Maker was all created in the edit for the first stages of the competition, Catherine now realised. But when Tom Soronsen walked into the room and went straight into his role as host, the atmosphere changed. Catherine could see the other girls straighten in their chairs. Maybe it was the American accent that made proceedings seem altogether more showbizzy than they had in the Cotswolds or London or any time in the past two weeks in New York, or maybe it was that Tom Soronsen was charismatic and known the world over, unlike Jason P. Longford, who was charmless and known primarily to the daytime TV watchers of the UK. Whatever it was, the whole thing had suddenly shifted up a gear. It suddenly felt real: they were here to perform and to compete. Catherine looked around – everyone felt it.

  Tom walked through the room, shouting each contestant’s name in his punchy American way. When he said Catherine it made her involuntarily take a breath and her back fizz with goose bumps. ‘Cut,’ the director shouted. ‘Got it in one,’ he said watching the footage through his viewfinder.

  ‘I’m such a Goddamn pro,’ Tom said, his tongue firmly in his cheek.

  Richard took the centre of the room. ‘Thank you, Tom,’ he said, folding his arms and looking at his groups of hopefuls. ‘Right you all have mentors for the afternoon. Guys …’ he looked at the over-twenty-five men, ‘… you’ve got Elton.’

  ‘Elton John?’ one of them asked.

  ‘How many other Eltons do you know?’ Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘Ladies,’ he turned to the over-twenty-fives, ‘you have Anastasia.’ The girls turned and excitedly whispered to one another.

  ‘Gents …’ The under-twenty-five men listened carefully, ‘… you have JT.’

  ‘Justin?’ one of the guys asked, jumping to his feet.

  ‘The very same,’ Richard nodded. ‘And girls …’ he screwed his face up, ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t got time to sugar the pill here, so here goes: it’s Anya.’

  A uniform gasp filled the room.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Richard said, like a man who’d heard it all before. ‘Everyone loves Anya. Everyone thinks Anya’s great. Well, she isn’t. Frankly she’s a mess.’

  Anya – unlike Star – never had to give her surname. She was known the world over as just Anya. Thrust into the limelight at seventeen, she was now twenty-seven and despite a train wreck of a life that had seen her lurch from disastrous relationship to disastrous relationship and hit drug-fuelled lows involving male prostitutes and her second child being given up for adoption, people still wanted to think that she was going to come good again. Recently she had lost a lot of weight and looked something like the teen sensation that she had once been.

  ‘I know it’s exciting, thinking that she’s going to be mentoring you, but trust me, she won’t. She’s coked up to the eyeballs and we’re trying to bring her round. So here’s the drill: we’ll do some shots of you all meeting her, she’ll wear shades. She’ll say the bare minimum and you’ll go through your songs with one of our vocal coaches. Then she’s out of here and off to a clinic in Arizona to dry out in time for her performance on the live show on Saturday. Any questions?’ Richard looked at the group. Catherine realised that they were all sitting staring at him, utterly speechless. ‘Didn’t think so. Enjoy your afternoon.’

  Andy was having the most bizarre hour of his life. He had been charged, alongside Jason, to look after Anya. Andy would have assumed that looking after one of the mentors would have been far too lowly a job for Jason but Jason had jumped at the chance to meet his pop idol. Now, Andy could tell that he was wishing he hadn’t bothered. Anya hadn’t stopped talking for the past hour, hadn’t even seemed to have drawn breath, and her only topic of conversation was herself. She was now in the toilet throwing up violently, having ended her hour-long rant by asserting that if her ex-husband – a famous pop star himself – went anywhere near their daughter she would tell the world that he’d had sex with a horse.

  ‘Is she on drugs, do you think?’ Andy asked as he and Jason stood outside the toilet door.

  ‘Is she on drugs?’ Jason asked disbelievingly. ‘She’s off her fucking box!’

  Andy caught his eye and they laughed together for the first time since they’d met; both realising the preposterousness of the situation they found themselves in.

  The door opened and the young star stood before them, her blond hair extensions matted to her head, her eye make-up smeared all over her face, her breath smelling of sick.

  Jason took his Ray Bans out of his pocket and handed them to Anya. ‘Stick these on darling, you look like Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.’

  Andy swallowed a giggle as one of the world’s most famous women lurched in between them. Andy took one arm and Jason took the other and they guided Anya into the next room where they thought the under-twenty-five girls would be waiting. When they shuffled into the room the only person in there was Catherine. Catherine looked stunned for a moment and then bit her bottom lip as if she were holding in a laugh. He could understand why, he was propping up a near-paralytic superstar.

  �
�Ladies and gentleman,’ Jason said drily, ‘I give you Anya.’

  ‘The others are just on their way in,’ Catherine said, pointing at the door.

  ‘Right.’ Andy felt embarrassed.

  Richard Forster walked in with the other contestants following him, breaking the tension. They all stood and stared at the fallen superstar.

  ‘Well, you didn’t have to make such an effort, Anya,’ Richard said sarcastically to the bedraggled star.

  ‘Fuck you, Richard Forster,’ Anya spat.

  ‘Why, thank you.’

  ‘What I needed tonight was a friend but I got you …’ Anya said, lurching to one side and slumping in a chair.

  ‘Well, that is a shame,’ Richard said, clearly trying to mask his impatience.

  ‘You don’t even know that’s from a film, do you, Richard? Demi Moore says it to Rob Lowe in St Elmo’s Fire, Richard!’ Anya shouted slurrily, no one knew where to look.

  Andy shot a look at Catherine. She momentarily looked back at him and half smiled.

  ‘Right,’ Richard Forster got to his feet and grabbed the sozzled star. ‘That’s it. You’re out. Jason, get Christina on the next private jet we have, if not Christina then I’ll do it myself.’

  Anya got to her feet and then threw her arms around Richard. He stood back, disgusted, his hands in the air looking down at her head on his shirt like someone had just thrown a custard pie at his chest. ‘Get her out of here.’

  ‘I thought you loved me,’ she giggled and then turned suddenly serious. ‘You used me. You pick me up when you want me and then you leave me high and dry.’

  Andy looked at his feet. Rumours were rife about Richard’s liking for young girls but Andy innocently thought that they were just that, rumours. Was this true? Surely not, Cherie would have his bollocks on a plate if she knew that something like that was going on.

  ‘We’ve had it with the inane witterings, Anya, you’re going home.’

  ‘Too long in the business, Richard? Liked me when I was fresh meat though, didn’t you?’

  Richard didn’t hesitate a moment longer, he grabbed Anya by the top of her arm and frogmarched her from the room. Moments later Richard was back. ‘Sorry about that, folks,’ he smiled confidently, ‘let’s just say I don’t think Anya will be having a number one again, not outside Turkmenistan. So where were we?’

  Andy looked at Jason, who was intently listening to Richard, as was everyone else in the room. They all knew they had just witnessed the end of a once great pop career. Richard Forster wasn’t a man to be crossed.

  Chapter 16

  THE DAY OF the first live finals had at last arrived. Catherine had spent all day going over and over the song she was to sing, ‘The Edge of Seventeen’ by Stevie Nicks. Not something she would have chosen, but she did acknowledge that it was a clever choice. It was an old song that had been sampled by Destiny’s Child, so sounded modern.

  The American vocal coaches were loud, brutally frank and each more terrifying than the last. They had been putting the girls through their paces since Anya had been unceremoniously sacked from her role as mentor. The public didn’t know this, of course. To see the footage of her standing by a piano with each under-twenty-five girl, anyone would have thought that she had carefully guided them through every step of their performance.

  The past two weeks had been exhausting but great fun and now they were being driven to the TV studios at Chelsea Piers where there would be an audience of over a thousand people and their performances would be broadcast to the nation. Catherine was so nervous she hadn’t been able to eat properly – even her meagre one thousand calories a day – for days. Antonia had spotted her yesterday, tapped her collar bones and said, impressed, ‘Wow they’re really starting to stick out, good work!’

  Catherine hoped that her nerves wouldn’t get the better of her for the performance itself. But as soon as the day was over, her thoughts turned to her dad and how things were at home. She had tried to call home three times today but each time had got the answerphone. Finally, she decided to call Jo’s mobile. It made an odd noise and then connected.

  ‘Catherine, how’s it going?’ Jo sounded distracted.

  ‘It’s great. How’s Dad?’

  ‘Dad is totally fine. Nothing to worry about,’ Jo said breezily.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Completely. Fine. So come on, what’s the goss?’

  ‘No goss, really,’ Catherine said, feeling relieved that all seemed to be OK at home. She kept bargaining with herself about her dad. If she did well in this then she would be able to make sure he had the best care possible. ‘This line is bad. You sound like you’re miles away.’

  ‘Duh! I am. Right, I’m going to try again,’ Jo said, as if she was trying to get through to someone who had great difficulty understanding the most basic instruction. ‘How is New York? With Richard Forster and the Star Maker programme? It is the biggest programme on the planet – don’t tell me you don’t have any gossip!’

  ‘Oh, yes. Right.’ Her sister really did have a point. ‘Well, there was something that happened that was totally bizarre that I forgot to text you about …’ Catherine explained the Anya episode and Jo squealed excitedly throughout the story.

  ‘I’m ringing Heat!’

  ‘You are not!’ Catherine said, panicked.

  ‘That was a joke, you dimwit.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine could see Star walking towards her. The usually immaculately groomed young woman was dishevelled and looked to have been crying. Catherine watched as Star got nearer, but when she saw Catherine she ducked out of view. ‘Listen, Jo, I’ve got to go.’

  ‘I’ll be texting you and watching you tonight and we’ll all be voting. In fact, all of Manchester will be voting and Dad’s new fan club will obviously be behind you, too.’

  Catherine didn’t want to think of the sort of nutters her father would be attracting now that he had made his TV debut.

  ‘I’ll call back later, after the show.’ Catherine looked at her watch. The show aired late in the UK, at half-nine and earlier in the US, at four-thirty eastern time.

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Catherine hung up and followed Star. She had been acting strangely for the past few days but Catherine hadn’t thought too much of it as they had been so busy and Star acted strangely all the time anyway.

  ‘Star?’ Catherine said, following her into their room.

  ‘What?’ Star asked, opening her wardrobe and rummaging around in it. Catherine could tell that she was only doing this so that she didn’t have to look at her.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Star said. She didn’t sound fine.

  Catherine tiptoed towards her, and Star turned around and said, ‘Seriously, I’m fine.’

  ‘Why have you been crying then?’ Having three sisters made Catherine an expert at not taking no for an answer.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Star said adamantly and went back to going through her wardrobe.

  ‘Star …’ Catherine decided that she was going to extend some kindness to Star. She was prickly and brittle but sometimes she seemed like a lost soul to Catherine. ‘I know you probably don’t want to, but just to let you know, if you need to talk to someone, you can talk to me.’

  Star turned around slowly and looked at Catherine. ‘Thank you. But really, I’m fine.’

  ‘OK.’ Catherine felt that there was more to this than nerves. Star didn’t suffer from nerves, she was the most self-confident person Catherine had ever met. ‘Well, are you going to be OK for later?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, honestly,’ Star nodded.

  Catherine walked towards the door thinking that she should give Star some time alone.

  ‘Thanks,’ Star said timidly, as Catherine opened the door.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Bloody hell, that was close.’ Jo said, stepping out of the taxi and looking up at the huge hotel they were booked into for the night, off Broadway.<
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  ‘It smells.’ Mick said, disgruntled.

  Maria’s bare, tanned leg stretched out of the taxi and she gathered herself as if she was about to step onto the red carpet for the awaiting photographers. ‘What does?’

  ‘This place. New York, New York, so good they named it shite,’ Mick grumbled.

  ‘Does that make any sense to you?’ Jo asked Maria, before turning to her father. ‘Right, you, a few rules while we’re here. Number one: no moaning. Number two: no moaning and number three …’

  ‘All right, all right. “No moaning.” I get it.’

  ‘Good,’ Jo said firmly. She looked around and couldn’t believe she was in New York. The fashion capital of the world. She wanted to soak up every minute of being here, not listen to her dad bang on incessantly about his opinion of the place.

  Jo, Maria and Mick had flown from the UK that morning, courtesy of Star Maker. Mick had been such a hit with the public both in the UK and the US that his performance at the auditions had become one of the most watched videos on YouTube. He was now being stopped in the street and asked to re-enact his infamous robber baron line. Jo hadn’t bothered to impart on Catherine how odd their own few weeks had been. Catherine might be off in the States and be on track to becoming a star, but back home Mick was the one who thought he was famous.

  The bellboy helped them to their room with their cases and Maria, who had been to New York before and knew that her dad would be utterly flustered with the whole process of tipping, paid him ten dollars, refusing to tell Mick how much she had handed over. Jo knew she was right to do so, they’d only have to listen to a speech about how much someone should be paid for carrying a few cases up the stairs.

  ‘So what happens now?’ Mick said, as soon as the bellboy had gone.