Star Struck

by Anne-marie O'connor

‘We’re being picked up here …’ Jo looked at her watch, ‘… flipping heck, in ten minutes out front, to go meet whoever we’re seeing from Star Maker.’

  Mick smiled proudly. ‘We’re going to be proper famous. Good eh?’

  ‘No, we’re not. It’s not about us, we’re just the freak show that was glad of a free flight,’ Jo said. Her father was proving even more of a pain in the arse as a minor celeb than he was as her run-of-the-mill dad.

  Jo’s phone began to ring again, she hoped it wasn’t Catherine – she didn’t want to have to lie to her again. The number was a Manchester one, it wasn’t Claire’s – poor Claire had had to stay at home because Paul was working away and children under ten weren’t allowed at the live finals. Jo studied the number and then realised who it was. She’d been waiting for a call back from the hospital. ‘Sorry, just need to get some reception somewhere.’ Jo walked out of the hotel room and shut the door behind her.

  Ever since her last meeting with her mother the idea that her father wasn’t being entirely truthful about his illness had been niggling Jo. She didn’t even want to admit to herself that he might be being dishonest, so she called the hospital and explained to a nurse there that they were having problems getting their father to accept their support, to the point where he wouldn’t even tell them what sort of cancer he had. The nurse had said that she would find out what she could and call her back. She had explained that they were bound by patient confidentiality but that she was prepared to see what she could do, as Jo was a relative and had sounded so upset.

  ‘Hello,’ Jo said.

  ‘Hi, Jo, it’s Louise Roper, I’m a sister at Christie’s Hospital.’

  ‘Oh, hi.’ Jo said, feeling suddenly nervous.

  ‘I’m just calling back because I’ve been looking up information on your father and we haven’t a patient registered with us under the name of Michael Reilly.’ Jo felt sick. ‘I’ve searched the archives but there isn’t anyone that matches your dad’s date of birth or address details.’

  ‘But I dropped him off there the other week,’ Jo said quietly, her mind racing.

  ‘He might have come to us for treatment but be registered with Wythenshawe or St Mary’s Hospital. One of the other nurses here is looking into it for you,’ the sister said. ‘I would normally suggest that you just ask him, but it’s such a delicate subject that I understand if you want some the facts and that your dad might not be the best person to tell you.’

  ‘You’re right. Thank you. You will let me know as soon as you find anything out, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It might be next week though.’

  ‘OK. Thanks for your help.’ Jo pocketed the phone and thought for a moment. Should she go out and just confront her dad now and find out what the hell was going on? On the other hand, he had been confused about where he was registered when they’d spoken about it before, so maybe he was registered elsewhere. She didn’t want to stir up a hornet’s nest if there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. She decided that she would leave it for now and they should just try to enjoy their time in New York. Anyway, she was looking forward to surprising Catherine later and she didn’t want a cloud hanging over the family when that happened.

  ‘Come through, come through,’ a voice Jo recognised was saying. She looked up to see the producer guy that they had met on Catherine’s first day at Boot Camp. She tried to remember his name … Will, that was it. They were led into a huge boardroom with floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides with views over Fifth Avenue to one side and Central Park to the other. This is the life, Jo thought.

  ‘Hello there.’ Will said with a big smile when he saw Jo.

  ‘Look at you, all big and important in New York,’ Jo smiled back.

  ‘Yep, I’m so important that I’m here to make some cups of tea for you guys while you talk to Richard.’

  ‘Richard?’ Mick’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Yes, Richard Forster. He wanted to see you all. He hasn’t got long but he just needed a brief meet before tonight’s show.’

  Mick puffed his chest out like the man of great importance that he’d like everyone to think he was. ‘Well, that’s only right.’

  ‘What’s the meeting about?’ Jo asked.

  Maria was standing at the window looking down at the street below. ‘Look at all the people, like little ants.’

  ‘Earth to Maria,’ Jo grabbed her sister and sat her in a chair next to their dad who was perched at the boardroom table.

  ‘Richard will fill you in when he gets here. Tea, coffee, soda?’

  ‘Ha! Soda. You’ve gone native already,’ Jo laughed.

  The door opened and Richard Forster walked in. ‘So, guys, glad you could make it; you’ve been making a great impression on the public, Mick …’ he leaned across and shook Mick’s hand.

  Mick looked pleased as punch that he was being treated to a manly handshake. He’s such a bag of wind, Jo thought. One sniff of praise from Richard Forster and Mick’s protestations were out of the window. If Mick were a dog he would have rolled over to have his belly tickled by now.

  ‘We’re just waiting for one other person and then we can begin,’ Richard said, looking at his watch. Jo wondered who this person could be. A moment later her question was answered. The door opened and standing there was the last person that Jo expected.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ Karen said with a smile.

  Chapter 17

  CATHERINE AND THE other twenty-three contestants had spent the afternoon rehearsing at the Chelsea Pier studios where tonight’s first live final was to take place. Earlier that day she had stood on the stage where she would sing in front of millions of people, wearing a Juicy Couture tracksuit that a stylist had thrown her into, with her hair in rollers. Catherine had struggled through the first part of the song and was nervous that she was going to mess up tonight. She also knew that the full enormity of what she was about to do hadn’t dawned on her yet and was hoping she wouldn’t go to pieces as she stepped out in front of the studio audience this evening. Each act would perform once and by now everyone had rehearsed except Star.

  ‘Where is she?’ Kim asked, after she had finished her rendition of ‘Crying’. Kim had complained to Catherine when she was given this song to sing, but she quickly realised that it suited her voice and her practice run this afternoon had been extremely well received.

  ‘I haven’t seen her since this morning,’ Catherine said, looking around. In the corner of the studio Catherine saw Andy standing talking to one of the technicians. She couldn’t believe that they had managed to avoid one another for two weeks. She had seen him around and watched out for the type of behaviour that Jason said he was known for, but she hadn’t witnessed any. On the other hand, Jesse – it was widely rumoured – was working his way through the American girls and the crew from both sides of the Atlantic. Catherine had thought that Jesse had his eye on Star, but it seemed he had his eye on everyone. Andy saw Catherine catch his eye and waved. She waved back, feeling a little bit silly in her rollers. He walked over and Catherine felt nervous and embarrassed. Nervous because despite what he had done, she still quite liked him and embarrassed because of the way she had spoken to him in the back of the car in London.

  Andy smiled shyly at Catherine, ‘So then …’

  ‘So then …’

  ‘How’s everything? We’ve all been so busy that I’ve hardly seen you …’

  ‘Yes, it’s been great. You know, just knackering… And I’ve got new hair and teeth.’ Catherine tapped her front teeth with her finger.

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Oh and new bones …’ She pointed at her clavicles.

  ‘I’ve noticed that, you need to eat some more. Is it nerves?’

  ‘Nerves and Nicole Richie’s diet. Antonia thinks I “look amazing!”’

  Andy rummaged in his pocket and produced a Hershey Bar. Catherine hadn’t seen any chocolate for weeks. Andy passed it to her as if he was smuggling drugs. She looked around and, che
cking that no one was watching, greedily stuffed it into her mouth. ‘That tastes so good,’ she said, with her mouth full. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’

  They stood in silence for a moment, Catherine trying to swallow the chocolate as quickly as possible and Andy looking like he was trying to find the right words to say.

  ‘Can I just say that I’m really, really sorry about everything that happened in London …’ Andy blurted.

  ‘You don’t have to apologise again,’ Catherine said, but was secretly glad that he had. That he hadn’t just forgotten about upsetting her as soon as it had happened.

  Andy bit his top lip as if he was working out whether what he was about to say was social suicide. ‘Oh God, listen, I’m going to say something and if you say no, fine, but I’m just going to say it. Let’s go out tonight, please, after the show? I can get them to let you go out for a few hours, I know I can. And we can go wherever you want. And I think we’ll have a great time because I think you’re great …’ Andy tripped over his words.

  Catherine was stunned. He seemed genuine, but maybe this is why he was so successful in his Lothario ways, because he didn’t look like the sort that chatted everyone up. And she did have firm evidence that she couldn’t trust him one hundred per cent. She didn’t know what to do, she knew she was letting her defences down, but she couldn’t help it – she liked Andy.

  ‘You think I’m great?’ Catherine asked, embarrassed.

  ‘Yes, well, I did … sorry that came out wrong, I do. And I know you don’t think much of me but I just want to have chance to go out with you, before everyone knows who you are and I know I’ve left it a bit late and everyone will know you once they see the show tonight but …’ Andy was getting redder and redder ‘… I never say things like this, and I can’t believe I am, so will you?’ Andy looked exhausted as he came to the end of his sentence.

  Catherine didn’t know what to think. Andy appeared so honest, she didn’t know what to believe. Catherine thought for a moment, one thing she was sure of was that if she didn’t go she’d never know.

  ‘Yeah, go on then. I will,’ she smiled.

  ‘Oh, that’s great,’ Andy seemed utterly relieved.

  ‘But only because you gave me chocolate.’

  Andy looked as though he seriously thought this was the reason and when he realised that Catherine was joking he relaxed and laughed, ‘Oh right, yes. You just want me for my confectionery.’

  Andy put his hand to his earpiece. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go. Star’s acting up and we need to get her out to rehearse. I’ll see you later, yeah?’

  ‘Yes,’ Catherine said and then plucked up the courage to add, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ But Andy had already dashed off.

  Jo was sitting with Maria in a food hall somewhere off Fifth Avenue, waiting for their father to return with the McDonald’s that he had set off in search of over fifteen minutes ago. They could have gone anywhere Jo thought, had any manner of food, but Mick wanted a Maccy D’s. He was such a culture vulture.

  ‘Yes, it’s us!’ Jo shouted at a teenager who was pointing a mobile phone at them. She couldn’t believe that this was happening here as well as back home in Britain.

  ‘Where’s your dad? He’s nuts!’ the spotty oik asked.

  ‘With your mum, probably,’ Jo shot back. ‘Dickhead,’ she said under her breath.

  ‘Where is our “nuts” dad? That is a very good question,’ Maria asked, from behind her Gucci knock-off shades. ‘I should have known it would be like this, New York is bedlam at the best of times, never mind when you’re famous.’

  Jo held her nose and did an impression of a tannoy announcement. ‘Is there a deluded orange air hostess in the building? Deluded orange air hostess? Thank you!’

  ‘I’m not an air hostess. I’m a member of cabin crew and I’m not bloody orange. This is Fake Bake, you dimwit.’ She pointed at her fake-tanned arms. ‘Victoria Beckham uses it.’ She threw her hair back dramatically as if to make a point.

  ‘What, your famous mate Victoria Beckham?’

  ‘I’m not stooping to your level,’ Maria said.

  ‘You were already there.’ Jo smiled sweetly, she loved the smallest of victories where Maria was concerned.

  ‘Look!’ Maria said nodding over at the McDonald’s counter where a crowd was gathering.

  ‘What? People, Maria, you’ve seen people before, haven’t you?’ Jo asked.

  ‘They’re not just people, they’re people surrounding Dad.’

  Jo jumped up. Maria was right. ‘Oh shit. I bet he’s loving that.’

  A few moments later the crowd parted and Mick practically skipped towards them. ‘Where’s the food?’ Jo asked looking at her empty-handed father.

  ‘He’s got someone following him,’ Maria said. Two young Goths were trailing after Mick with Sesame Street puppet bags slung on their backs, stripy over the knee socks and huge bovver boots.

  ‘Don’t panic, girls, the food’s here. These two lovely punk rockers offered to help.’

  Jo groaned as the girls giggled at being mislabelled.

  ‘Can we have our picture now please?’

  ‘Certainly can!’ Mick enthused. The girls put the tray down and one handed her phone to Jo to do the honours.

  Mick put his arms around his fans. ‘Say Robber Baron!’ he grinned.

  Jo turned to Maria. ‘Oh God he’s making up his own catchphrase!’

  ‘He’s like Timmy Mallett,’ Maria said, pulling her shades down to fully inspect what was going on, ‘he’ll be writing a novelty song next.’

  The girls thanked Mick and then wandered off, looking at their phones and giggling, while Jo watched her dad doing some odd pointing thing – jabbing two fingers after the girls.

  ‘What’s with the fingers, Dad?’

  ‘I saw Bill Murray do it on a chat show in the eighties. Always thought it looked good, but needed a bit of celebrity gravitas to pull it off.’

  ‘You’re not famous, Dad.’ Jo said pointedly, as a group of young girls approached.

  ‘Excuse me, are you the family from …’

  Mick’s eyes lit up. ‘See!’ he grimaced at Jo.

  ‘Yes we are. Now hop it,’ Maria said.

  Jo burst out laughing. Mick tucked into his McDonald’s.

  ‘So … one big happy family then, that’ll be nice.’ Jo said, referring to the meeting they’d just had. Richard Forster had suggested to Mick and Karen that they appear together tonight at the live finals and be a ‘united front’ for Catherine, he thought it would look ‘appropriate’. So that was what the free trip was about. He said that they were not informing Catherine of any of this because at the moment they didn’t want to put her off her performance. Then the Star Maker team would feed this news to the papers and give them the story that Catherine’s family were all there for her. Jo couldn’t believe that anyone had convinced her mother to do this; there had to be more to it than a free trip to New York with her estranged family.

  Karen, who had said that she needed a few minutes before she joined them for lunch, walked towards them swinging a turquoise Tiffany bag. ‘Oh look, she’s so skint,’ Jo said. Karen was always complaining about her lack of funds.

  ‘She looks like Jackie Collins in that suit,’ Mick said wistfully.

  ‘She looks like Joan Collins in The Bitch,’ Jo said under her breath.

  ‘I heard that, Joanna,’ Mick gave his daughter a stern look.

  Karen sat down in the chair next to Jo and waved the bag in her daughters’ faces. ‘Tiffany’s!’ she exclaimed. She pulled out a box and opened it. It was a pair of Elsa Peretti earrings that Jo had coveted for years. ‘One for Maria,’ she said passing the box to her daughter, ‘one for Jo,’ she slipped a box to Jo, ‘and one for me.’

  Jo opened the box. If anyone else had given her these earrings as a present she would have yelped with joy. ‘You can’t afford these.’

  ‘You could show a bit of gratitude, Joanna,’ Karen huff
ed.

  ‘What about Catherine and Claire?’ Jo asked pointedly.

  ‘Why don’t I just buy everyone in New York something from Tiffany’s while I’m at it?’ her mother snapped.

  ‘I only meant your other two daughters,’ Jo said coolly, placing the box to one side. ‘So what else did Richard Forster say to you?’

  Maria and Jo hadn’t stayed for all of the meeting. The production team were keen to talk to Mick and Karen on their own and Jo and Maria decided to leave them to it. It was dull and they didn’t want to have to sit around while their mother planned to be fake and Mick’s mind went into lala mode and he thought that he and Karen were finally getting back together just because some TV bods wanted them in the same studio.

  ‘They had a few ideas—’ Mick said.

  ‘That didn’t come to much,’ Karen spoke over him quickly. ‘So we just had a nice chat and left, didn’t we, Mick?’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ Mick nodded. He seemed entranced to simply have his name uttered by his ex-wife.

  ‘Right,’ Jo said, throwing her half-eaten burger back into its container; she didn’t feel particularly hungry. She knew that neither her mum nor dad was telling the truth but she just couldn’t be bothered to dig any more. ‘Maria, fancy a spot of window shopping?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Jo looked at the Tiffany box on the table. She quickly weighed up what to do. Her mother was an arse who thought she could buy affection if she ever had the money or the inclination; on the other hand, the earrings were exceptionally pretty. Jo picked up the box. ‘Thanks for the earrings … Karen …’

  ‘It’s mother to you,’ Karen said pointedly.

  ‘Tell yourself whatever you need to hear … but it’s not.’ Jo placed the box in front of her mother. ‘And as lovely as they are, if I want some I’ll buy them myself. Come on, Maria.’

  Maria looked at Jo, then pocketed her Tiffany box and followed her sister out of the food hall.

  Chapter 18

  THE TWENTY-FOUR STAR Maker finalists – twelve men and woman under twenty-five and twelve men and women over twenty-five – were standing in the wings waiting for Tom Sorenson to announce their name and for their chance to take the stage. The twelve British contestants were to sing tonight, the twelve Americans the following evening and then two people would be voted off. This was to happen each week until there were six left and then it would go to one show a week.