Star Struck

by Anne-marie O'connor

  Catherine was wearing a one-shouldered metallic blue top, Seven for All Mankind jeans which the stylist had assured her was like ‘having an ass-lift’ and some Stella McCartney wedges, which were surprisingly comfortable to walk in. Her hair was pinned to one side at the front and curled down her back and her eye make-up was smoky blacks and greys. She had seen her reflection and barely recognised herself, especially when she smiled and was almost dazzled by her sparkling teeth. Everyone else was equally groomed. Kim had her hair dyed purple, something which she hadn’t liked at first but was now quite pleased with and Star had her long flowing curly hair pinned up in a gravity-defying beehive. She was wearing a large sequinned Christopher Kane shift dress and six-inch heeled gladiator sandals; she looked great but she was in a mess.

  She had been pulled into rehearsal and she was still evidently upset. She was taken onto the stage by one of the vocal coaches and asked to sing her song. Star had begun to sing ‘Silent All These Years’ by Tori Amos, the song she had been allotted earlier in the week, but the band seemed to know nothing of it, they had ‘That Old Devil Called Love Again’. This puzzled the other contestants. The song was way too deep for a soprano like Star, and the fact that the song had been changed at the last minute and everyone was acting as if Star should know this had seemed very strange to Catherine. There had been none of the self-confidence that Catherine had come to expect from Star today, she was a wreck. She had tried to speak to her to ask her if there was anything she could do but Star had cold-shouldered her again.

  The over-twenty-five women had now all been called and the last of the over-twenty-five men were filing out onto the stage to rapturous applause. Catherine looked at Kim and Kim grabbed her hand. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered.

  ‘Catherine Reilly!’ Tom shouted and Catherine walked out onto the stage. The lights were blinding, the applause deafening and the walk to the stalls where they were to sit for the duration of the show seemed a mile. Catherine looked around, there were people holding placards with her face on it. How weird was that? She could hear people screaming her name. Catherine took her seat and looked at the judges; Cherie was dressed like Cruella De Vil, Carrie was looking sweetly pretty next to her, Lionel looked like a mad professor and Richard was sitting back in his chair wearing an open-neck shirt with a black suit and a tan. He caught Catherine’s eye and then looked behind him. She furrowed her brow, was he trying to tell her something? She looked into the crowd and there, sitting behind the judges, was Jo, Maria her dad … and her mum. She was so excited to see her family, but what on earth was her mother doing here? Jo waved as if she was trying to shake her arm off. Maria jumped up and shouted, Mick pulled up his jumper to reveal a T-shirt with Catherine’s face on it and her mum simply raised her hand and waggled her fingers as if she was the lady of the manor.

  Jo was mouthing something, Catherine studied her sister and worked out that she was saying, ‘We wanted to surprise you. Sorry about Mum.’

  Catherine winked at Jo. She couldn’t believe they were here and she certainly couldn’t believe Jo had managed to keep quiet about it. Jo had been texting Catherine nonstop all day, pretending to be gearing up to watch the final on the TV.

  The rest of the contestants came to the stage and then Richard Forster stood up and welcomed everyone on both sides of the Atlantic to the new series of Star Maker. Catherine nearly had to pinch herself, she couldn’t believe she was actually onstage. ‘I genuinely believe that this has been a great idea of mine this year …’ he said with a smile, as the crowd jeered his egomania in a pantomime fashion. ‘Seriously,’ he continued, ‘this year, bringing the best of British and the best of US talent together has been a real success. It’s upped the ante. Everyone wants to win.’

  He made it sound as if it had been constantly competitive behind the scenes, whereas they saw so little of each other when they were rehearsing that it really didn’t feel that way. Being here on the stage now she knew that the competition was definitely on. The pressure in the room was immense.

  ‘OK, Cherie, would you like to start?’

  ‘Thank you, Richard,’ Cherie said, not looking at her husband.

  ‘They’ve had a bust up,’ Kim whispered. ‘Jesse said he heard them arguing earlier.’

  Catherine quickly looked at Kim, who nodded knowledgably.

  ‘My first act is … Jamie.’ Jamie was a thirty-five-year-old father of two from Scotland whose wife had left him. He had a lot of support and a lot of public sympathy. He wasn’t, however, a very good singer. He belted out ‘You’re the Voice’ by John Farnham and received rapturous applause. Cherie could barely be heard over the crowd, ‘That was amazing, and you are amazing. The public love you and you’ve got a long career ahead of you.’ More cheers went up from the crowd. Catherine looked at Jo who was pretending to stick her fingers down her throat.

  ‘That was truly inspirational,’ Carrie said. Jo pretended to gag again, Maria jabbed her in the ribs.

  ‘I think that you have definitely captured the public imagination,’ Lionel said, ‘but that song choice didn’t really do it for me.’

  Richard was staring at his panel of judges as if they were all stark-raving mad. ‘Are you all tone deaf?’ he asked, before turning to the hapless Jamie. ‘I’m sorry, Jamie, you’re a nice guy but you look like an accountant and you sound like a constipated club singer.’

  There were boos and jeers from the crowd. Catherine looked at Jo who was falling about laughing, it made her want to laugh too, but she knew the camera would pan on to her and she would look like the cruellest person ever, so she bit the inside of her cheek until the urge to yelp with pain was greater than the urge to laugh. Jamie shuffled back to his seat deflated. It didn’t matter what the other judges said, it was Richard Forster’s opinion that mattered. Catherine felt nauseous; she was going to have to face this grilling very soon.

  Catherine fell into something of a trance as different singers went up and received lavish praise or cruel criticism, rarely anything in between. When her name was finally announced she looked up as if there had been some mistake. She walked towards the microphone, her legs trembling like a baby deer’s, and looked out at the audience. Seeing her dad and Jo and Maria made her proud, but seeing her mum gave her such a confusing mix of pride and disdain that all she wanted to do was prove that she was good enough. Good enough to be here, good enough not to be left behind and ignored. The familiar first bars of the song began to play and Catherine grabbed the microphone and began to follow the well-choreographed routine that she had been over a hundred times this week. But now, instead of feeling like it was something that she had learnt, she felt that it was something that was hers. She moved around the stage, singing and dancing with all of her heart. The song was over before she had time to be nervous and as she stopped and looked out at the cheering crowd and the equally cheering judges, Catherine felt her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

  ‘That was amazing, Catherine,’ Richard was saying, though he was finding it difficult to be heard. ‘It’s a tired phrase, but I’m going to use it anyway, because you really did make that song your own.’

  Catherine looked to the other judges, they all heaped praise on her and Catherine looked out at the crowd and her mum was on her feet clapping, along with her dad and her sisters. Gone was Karen’s toodle-pip wave, she looked genuinely proud of her daughter. Catherine walked back to her seat unable to believe how well her song had been received.

  When it was Kim’s turn to sing, she gave a pitch-perfect performance and was praised accordingly. The final act of the evening was Star. Catherine watched her roommate walk nervously to the microphone. Here was the girl that only a few weeks ago Catherine would have put all her money on to win, approaching the microphone as if it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. What had happened to her? Catherine wondered. Maybe she would come to life as soon as she started singing, just as Catherine had.

  The music began to play and Star tried her absolute bes
t to make the song work for her, but it just didn’t match her voice. Catherine shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Star was dying in front of millions of people and Richard Forster, who was ultimately responsible for her song choice, was looking at her blankly as if he didn’t care what happened to her. She was in his category, he should care, Catherine thought. But he made money whatever happened: it was his show.

  Star finished the song. Richard spoke, and for the first time he was able to be heard over the less-than-enthusiastic response from the audience. ‘You’ve had a tough week, Star, but I think you brought some of it on yourself.’ Star looked at the ground and a tear plopped to the floor.

  ‘Brought what on herself?’ Cherie demanded angrily. ‘You’re her mentor, you should have chosen a better song. You changed the song at the last minute. Why Richard?’

  ‘Well, Star, my good lady wife is on your side. That’s always good to know.’ Richard sat back and folded his arms.

  ‘Cherie’s right, Richard, you’ve let her down with the song choice,’ Carrie said, shaking her head.

  ‘Look, she’s a soprano, I thought we’d mix it up a little,’ Richard shrugged.

  ‘Oh, you mixed it up all right, you changed the song at the last minute. How’s that for mixing it up?’ Cherie threw back at him.

  Something serious must have gone on behind the scenes, that much Catherine knew, but what? Star wasn’t saying, Richard certainly wasn’t saying. Was he hoping to have Star voted out by giving her a terrible song choice, or looking for the sympathy vote by changing her song at the last minute?

  ‘Would you like to say anything, Star?’ Carrie asked.

  Star couldn’t look at her mentor who was sitting with his arms folded staring at her as if he was daring her to level something at him. ‘I just think I let myself down. That’s all.’

  Kim looked at Catherine, they were both thinking the same thing; what on earth was going on?

  * * *

  Catherine was having her make-up reapplied by a young make-up artist that she hadn’t met before. There were so many people that worked on the show. She had hoped there would be time to see her family, but the contestants had been whisked backstage and told that they couldn’t see anyone until the show was over. ‘I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you,’ the young woman said, as she swept a blusher brush over Catherine’s cheeks.

  ‘Me?’ Catherine had asked looking around, half expecting Mariah Carey to be stood behind her.

  ‘Your family were so fun on the TV.’

  ‘Oh, you saw it?’ Catherine had said, feeling panic-stricken, but of course everyone had seen her family, it was just that she’d been in the Star Maker bubble and hadn’t been exposed to the impact her dad’s performance had had.

  ‘Everyone saw it. You were great and they were great. My God, you’d have your own show on MTV if you lived in the States,’ the woman said, sitting Catherine down and studying her face.

  The Reillys? Bloody hell, Catherine thought; like The Osbornes, but more dysfunctional.

  The make-up artist laughed as she began to apply foundation to Catherine’s face with graceful strokes ‘… And then your dad called Richard a robber baron. And I’m there with all my girlfriends and we’re like, “What’s a robber baron?”’

  ‘I was like “What’s a robber baron?” too,’ Catherine admitted.

  ‘We just loved him!’

  Catherine didn’t know how to respond. No one ever said they loved her dad. Maybe his larger-than-life characteristics, both good and bad, were perfect for TV. They just weren’t very helpful in everyday life. ‘He’s in the audience. I haven’t had chance to talk to them yet.’

  ‘Right, Catherine, you OK?’ Richard Forster poked his head around the dressing-room door.

  Catherine nodded. ‘You’ve got ten minutes with Jason now. He’ll just be asking you about New York and how you feel about getting this far, the usual guff,’ Richard said.

  A runner scurried in front of Catherine, heading towards Richard with a mobile phone. ‘Manny Rowntree.’ The girl announced. Manny Rowntree was the best known and most ruthless PR man in show business. Anyone with any dirt to dish, or dirt they didn’t want dishing went to him. He was at least as famous as his clients.

  Richard took the call and listened to what the PR guru had to say. He looked over at Catherine. He flipped the phone shut, ‘Could I have a moment alone with Catherine?’

  The make-up artist left and Catherine sat in the chair feeling very worried. Richard walked towards her and leaned against the wall. ‘The call I’ve just taken was from Manny Rowntree. You know your family are here …’

  ‘Yes, I can’t wait to see them …’

  ‘We flew them over.’

  ‘Thank you, I really appreciate it.’

  ‘No need to thank me. They’ve been a great success and they’re very amenable.’

  Catherine furrowed her brow; she didn’t like the sound of ‘amenable’.

  ‘The News of the World is running a story tomorrow. It’s about your dad’s battle with cancer. One of the weekly magazines has picked it up over here as well. It might not be what you want, but it’s what they want and I think that you need to think about – as I’ve said before – how this can benefit you.’

  Catherine felt sucker punched. ‘No! They can’t. How could they know something like that? They can’t just print something like that without his permission, that’s illegal.’

  ‘They’ve got his permission. They’ve got both their permission.’

  Catherine felt the words swim past her. ‘Both who?’

  ‘Your mum and dad. It was your mother’s idea.’

  Catherine wanted to be sick. How could this be happening? How could her mother do something like this and how could her father agree to it? And what were they doing even speaking to one another?

  ‘So, I think now would be a good time to think about how you handle it. I know you think that I’m being cynical, but I’m a realist. Your father is ill. He’s about to tell the country himself. So what do you want to do?’

  ‘I want to be sick,’ Catherine said and ran out of the studio, making it to the sink in the ladies’ toilets just in time.

  Andy was excited about his date tonight. Or at least he thought he could call it a date. Maybe Catherine thought that they were going out as friends? No, he was being stupid. He had found out somewhere really impressive to take her, courtesy of Richard Forster, and he knew that she would be on a high after her performance and having sailed through to the following week. While Andy was waiting for Jason to finish interviewing the contestant who had been voted out this week, a lady called Jodie from the over-twenty-five category, he saw Catherine come offstage.

  ‘Hi,’ he smiled, ‘well done.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Catherine smiled her twinkly smile. ‘Listen, Andy,’ she said, suddenly serious, ‘I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come out tonight. My family are here and there’s something that my mum and dad have done that I really need to talk to them about …’

  Andy was crushed. He could tell she was making excuses. Tonight had been life-changing for all of the contestants, he could tell just from their faces after they had performed. Why would she want to go out with someone like him now?

  ‘Oh God, don’t worry. It was just a drink. We can go for one any time. We don’t even have to go for one,’ he gabbled, ‘we’re both busy.’

  ‘Yes, we are.’ Did she seem happy? Disappointed? Andy couldn’t tell. ‘Anyway, I’ll just see you tomorrow or whenever,’ Catherine said, walking off.

  ‘Yep. Whenever,’ Andy said. He watched her walk away, wondering if he’d just been blown out for good. Of course he had, he thought, he was way too heavy-handed earlier when he told Catherine how much he liked her.

  ‘Come on, Andy …’ Jason came past in a flurry of activity, shaking him from his thoughts. ‘… that’s the first nobody interviewed and out of the competition,’ he waved his hand in the direction of Catherine as
she disappeared into the wings. ‘No doubt she’ll be next.’

  ‘No she won’t. She’s too good,’ Andy said adamantly.

  ‘Tell yourself whatever you need to hear. No one’s bothered about her.’ Jason said, waltzing off without waiting for Andy to follow.

  Chapter 19

  THE FIRST LIVE final had come to a close and the obnoxious Star girl that Catherine had told Jo all about had been saved by the public. Jo couldn’t understand why, she had looked like an overmedicated mental patient and she had sung like a yodelling goat herder. The first person to be voted off Star Maker: Transatlantic was Jody, a thirty-two-year-old woman from Reading. Poor sod, Jo thought, she just didn’t have the regional support or the sympathy vote or the outstanding talent that the other British contestants had.

  Jo was having a brilliant time. She was sure she already spotted Brittany Murphy and Bruce Willis in the audience and now she was on the look out for someone young, male and famous to get a snog out of, just to make her friends back home pea green with envy. But first she needed to see Catherine. Her sister had been whisked away as soon as her performance ended and as the crowd now dispersed, Jo was wondering when she was going to appear.

  ‘Catherine looked stunning, didn’t she?’

  Karen was sending a long-winded text, probably to the nob, Jo thought. She wondered what Jay thought of his partner coming all the way to New York with her family, but then decided not to ask because the answer, whatever it happened to be, would rile her.

  ‘She looked like you,’ Mick said to Karen.

  ‘Oh, shut up, Dad, you sound like a sap,’ Jo hissed.

  ‘I’ll say what I like, Joanna. Anyway, I thought she was cracking tonight, our Catherine. Really cracking.’