‘You weren’t a bad kisser.’ I smile at him. He actually was kind of a bad kisser, but that’s probably not the best thing to say out loud right now.
‘So are you heading for the train station?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. Wasn’t expecting to have to do this today.’
‘Do you want me to walk you there?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll find it. You go help Mick, he’s so stressed-out. Give Eddie my love, won’t you? Tell him I’m putting this in the magazine.’
‘Oh I’ll tell him, don’t you worry about that.’
We laugh. I am so glad that we are on good terms again. We say our goodbyes and he gives me a kiss on the cheek. My next impossible task is to wander through Birmingham, trying to find the damn train station.
Chapter Fifteen
The Rumours
Oh, Leeds, how I’ve missed you. My train journey back from Birmingham was absolute hell. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the past couple of days and when I wasn’t obsessing over every little detail, I was falling asleep, all under the watchful gaze of an elderly lady who clearly couldn’t wrap her head around my dress.
Speaking of my dress, I’m going to drop by the office and show the gang – because I know it will give Emily a laugh and provide Jake plenty of piss-taking material for the foreseeable future – and then it’s home to bed for some much-needed sleep.
Armed with the coffees I picked up at the station, I bum-barge my way through the ByteBanter doors with my usual baby elephant-like elegance. ET pokes his head out of his office door.
‘Wilde, I thought you were on the road?’
‘I was. I’m back!’ I say cheerily, holding my arms out in a ‘voila’ kind of way. I clock one of the nerdy desk boys (probably not his official job title) staring and blow him a kiss. He turns bright red and I feel slightly bad. I’m just glad to be home and it’s really showing.
This explanation obviously satisfies my boss, who has vanished as fast as he appeared, so I trot on to my office.
‘What’s up, bitches?’ I yell as I enter the room.
‘Are you high?’ Jake replies without missing a beat.
‘High on life, babes. High on life.’
‘And wearing orange,’ Vicky chimes in.
‘Yep, you know me and secondary colours,’ I say, still with a huge smile on my face. ‘Love them!’
At this point Emily walks out of my office with a very worried look on her face.
‘Oh God, what’s happened?’ I ask.
Jake’s face has fallen too but Vicky is still smiling, so I know it must be bad news.
‘What are you doing here?’ Emily asks me.
‘Eddie broke his leg. What’s happened?’
‘We’ve been trying to call you, why was your phone off?’
‘I forgot my charger, tell me what’s happened!’
‘Did you know about Dylan?’ Emily asks me.
‘What about him?’
‘About him getting some random girl pregnant!’ she squeals, holding up today’s paper as evidence. The headline reads ‘You must be joKING: Dylan to be a dad’ – very pun-ny, I have to admit.
‘He sprang it on me the day before I left for the tour,’ I admit. ‘He made me promise not to tell anyone until I’d spoken to his new publicist guy.’
‘Well his new publicist guy has been trying to call you – non-stop,’ Emily informs me, handing me a scrap of paper with ‘Charles Pace’ written on it, followed by his number.
‘Is that all? I can call him, explain I was away. It’ll be OK, Em.’
‘That’s not all,’ Vicky says, raising her hand.
‘Put your hand down,’ I snap before turning to Emily. ‘What’s happened?’
Emily places a hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ve been mentioned on Scott Hale’s website.’
I laugh.
‘I have? I’m a nobody, why would he bother?’
Scott Hale is one of those celebrity bloggers. Basically he’s a loser with a computer and a few friends in decent places. Half of the things he posts on his website are completely fictional, but everything he posts is completely horrible. There are never any happy stories, it’s all ‘this person is on drugs, this person had a threesome, this person had sex with their dog’.
Vicky happily loads up the website for me, clearly basking in my misery. I lean over her and read the blog in question.
‘What? That didn’t happen!’ I exclaim.
Scott and I have never interacted in any way, shape or form, but this blog is clearly a personal attack on me.
His blog, which went online last night, explains how I went on tour with TFTR. It then goes on to explain how, by the end of the first night, I had slept with no less than three members of the band. Oddly, my first reaction is to consider which three members he is referring to. My second is to work out which three members I would pick, in order.
I am snapped from my inappropriately timed thoughts by Vicky, who reads key parts of the blog, titled ‘Nicole Wilde has Three On The Road’, out loud.
‘Claiming to be there for journalistic purposes, Nicole Wilde of Starstruck is currently on tour with Two For The Road. One of my spies at their Manchester gig claimed they saw Nicole getting up close and personal with THREE different members of the band.’ She stops reading, and starts summarising. ‘It says you had one in the toilets, one around the back of a night club and one on the tour bus. Is it true?’
‘Of course it isn’t true, Vicky!’ I snap. She reads the last line to me to well and truly twist the knife.
‘Why pretend you’re there to work, Nicole? It’s clear enough to us that you were only there for one reason only....or would that be three reasons?’
I stare at the screen for a moment. TFTR are getting quite famous, but this just feels so personal. I mean, my name is in the headline! And while there are bursts of almost truth in there, it can only be a coincidence because, despite a couple of awkward kisses, I didn’t ‘have’ any of them anywhere.
‘I have to get him to take this down!’ I insist. ‘Is there a contact address on there?’
Vicky gives me the email address so I take a seat at Emily’s computer and start typing.
‘Dear Scott,’ I say what I am typing out loud for everyone to hear. ‘I’m not sure who gave you the information about my time on tour with Two For The Road, but I can assure you that none of it is true. I would appreciate it if you removed the post from your site immediately. Thanks, Nicole Wilde.’ I hit send.
‘Why did you say you were home early?’ Emily asks, and I tell her the story of Eddie breaking his leg. I fail to mention everything that happened, I’ll save that for later. I am almost finished telling her my story when the computer makes a noise.
‘It’s a reply from Scott,’ I tell the room as I click open. ‘Oh, you little fucker!’
‘What has he said?’ Jake asks.
I read out loud. ‘Dear Nicole, I have it on very good authority that events happened exactly as reported on my website—’
‘Blog,’ Jake interrupts.
I continue to read. ‘My spies don’t lie, Miss Wilde. The blog stays up. Scott.’
‘What the hell?’ Emily shouts in disgust.
‘He really is a little fucker,’ Vicky tells me, and it totally throws me to have her on my side. ‘Send him another email telling him what a little fucker he really is.’
Succubus is right for once. I can’t just sit back and let him publish lies about me.
‘She should do it, shouldn’t she, Emily?’ Vicky asks her, and Emily nods.
‘I don’t think he’s gonna take it down, Nic.’
‘Exactly!’ Vicky continues. ‘He probably thinks you’re a pushover. Show him that you’re not, and then he might take it down.’
I regret doing it the second I hit the send button, but I do as my girls suggest and sent Scott Hale a shitty email. I don’t feel better for sending it, and he doesn’t reply in the time it takes me to finish my coffee
and have Emily fill me in on what’s been going on over the past couple of days.
Heading into my own office, I shut the door behind me. I’m determined not to cry, but I don’t want Vicky to see me just in case I do. I’m feeling a little delicate after the past couple of days and the last thing I need is another person making me out to be a huge whore.
My parents moved to France not long after I started working here. I don’t get to see them very often and I know my mum keeps an eye on my work – she is forever Googling my name to see what comes up – and I will be absolutely mortified if she reads Scott’s blog about me.
Rummaging around in my desk drawer, I find my spare charger and juice up my trusty yet battered mobile.
It starts bleeping like crazy with missed calls, text messages, emails, tweets and Facebook notifications – aren’t I the popular one? That reminds me, I need to call Dylan’s new publicist guy. What was his name again? I glance at the scrap on paper on my desk. Charles Pace. It’s a mobile number, so at least I won’t have to go through any grumpy receptionists.
‘Charles Pace,’ a rather serious-sounding man’s voice says after several rings.
‘Hello, Charles, it’s Nicole Wilde. You’ve been trying to get in touch?’
‘Hello, Miss Wilde.’ He relaxes slightly. ‘Yes, I’m Charles. Dylan King has hired me to take care of his extra press.’
‘Extra press? Is that what we’re calling her?’ I laugh. He ignores my joke.
‘While I’m sure Dylan has plenty of faith in my ability, he doesn’t entirely trust me yet. He gave me your number because he’d like you to give me your opinion on my ideas. He has instructed me to do whatever I see fit, providing it’s approved by you. A rather unusual request, but he’s paying my wages.’ It’s his turn to crack a joke, and I laugh politely because that’s what you do.
‘Unfortunately I couldn’t get in touch with you before we ran the article in the Daily Scoop, but we had to go ahead because Miss Slater wanted to announce the engagement as soon as possible. Magazine deals to sort out and so on.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me. Miss Slater?’
‘Crystal Slater,’ Charles replies. ‘Dylan’s fiancée.’
‘He’s marrying her?’ I squeal, totally horrified. The idea of Dylan getting married is shocking enough, but to a girl he accidentally knocked up! A girl he has only known for a few days! I’m just so shocked!
‘I’m sorry, Miss Wilde. I assumed you knew.’
Well, that explains all the missed calls for Dylan.
‘When are they getting married?’ I ask.
‘Next week.’
‘You’re shitting me!’
‘I think he’s trying to do the right thing,’ Charles offers up. It sounds kind of like he’s trying to make me feel better. ‘Good for him, I suppose.’
‘He’s crazy! I think he’s making a huge mistake!’ I insist. Charles doesn’t say anything in response to this, but I suppose he’s working for Dylan so it’s not his place.
‘Did you say magazine deal?’ I ask.
‘Yes, for Bacci magazine.’
I cannot believe I’m hearing this. Maybe it was me, not Eddie, who jumped in the pool. Maybe I bumped my head and this is all a crazy dream? First my press debut on Scott Hale’s blog, now this. Dylan is forever harping on about ‘the bloody media’ and how he’d never sell his soul. He has also spent the last few years sleeping his way through his female fanbase and I could get you a stack of magazines featuring interviews where he says he’d never get married.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ I ask Charles.
‘I’d give him a call, Miss Wilde. Talk things over. I’ll keep in contact over the next few days.’
‘OK, but please call me Nicole.’
‘Nicole,’ he corrects himself. ‘Have a good day.’
And with that, our call is over. One short phone call full of so much life-changing information.
My phone only moves far enough away from my head for me to hit call on Dylan’s name. He answers after one ring, not giving me any time to plan what the hell I’m going to say to him.
‘Hey,’ he says sheepishly. He sounds like a little boy who knows he’s done something wrong and that he’s going to be in big trouble for it.
‘Hay is for horses,’ I reply. ‘I hear congratulations are in order.’
‘I tried to tell you. I wanted to tell you first. I know what I’m doing, babe.’
‘You only found out she was pregnant a couple of days ago, have you really thought this through?’
‘First of all, she is called Crystal. All I know is that there’s this poor girl and she’s heavily pregnant and scared to death. It’s all my fault and I want to make sure she’s OK. And that my kids are OK.’ He adds that last bit as an afterthought. It’s so weird hearing him say things like that.
‘And you have to get married to do that?’ I ask.
‘Trust me, will you? I’ve dicked around for too long, time to do the mature thing. I’m going to have a family, Nic!’
He sounds almost excited. Even if I think he’s making a huge mistake, what can I say? I’m his friend and I’ve got to support him.
‘Then I’m right behind you. The wedding is next week?’
‘Yeah. Well, they’re highly likely to be little bastards with me being their dad, so we don’t want to do anything else to encourage it,’ he jokes. It’s so weird hearing him talk about his kids and say ‘we’ when he’s talking about what’s-her-name. I remember a particular interview he gave a while back. He said he’d considered having a vasectomy so that this kind of thing could never happen. The press will almost certainly drag this quote up at some point in the very near future. If he wasn’t my friend, I know I would.
An awkward silence falls.
‘You’ve got a magazine deal,’ I say to fill the silence.
‘Crystal wants to do it, and I want to make her happy.’
‘Well if it’s good enough for the premiership footballers and their wives,’ I tease. I’ll bet Crystal is just like a footie WAG. I can just picture it, the big, tacky wedding with the magazine deal, photographers everywhere taking pictures of every second of their special day. Actually, now that I’m over the shock, this isn’t sounding so bad. Maybe I can get my mug in a magazine? That’s a step up from a trashy blog, right?
‘Charlie seems OK, doesn’t he?’
‘Charlie?’ I reply. ‘Oh, Charles. Yeah, I think so. I was kind of in shock when I spoke to him.’
‘Don’t worry, OK? And expect your invitation to my stag do soon, because you’re gonna be there. It’ll be the night before the wedding.’
‘How traditional of you,’ I tease. ‘And I’ll bet you need me there to make sure you don’t do anything stupid or end up naked and chained to something.’
‘Exactly! And it wouldn’t be right without you there, would it? You’re my best friend!’
‘Aww, you’re getting all slushy! What has this girl done to you?’ I laugh.
He laughs too, although it’s a much more nervous-sounding laugh than mine.
I know it sounds weird, but I’m sort of excited now. I love a good wedding; I might get my face in a magazine and I get to go shopping for a new outfit. Oh, and the stag do! I love to party with the boys! I’ve had some wild nights with The Burnouts and, if this is Dylan’s last night of freedom, I’ll bet Mikey is planning something awesome.
Caught up in the excitement, I totally forget that I was on my way home for a wash and a sleep before all this kicked off. A huge, involuntary yawn reminds me of this so I grab my bag and head towards the door.
‘By the way, I have something to tell you, Nic,’ Emily informs me with a grin.
‘Can it wait until this evening, love? I’m so tired I think I’m going to fall asleep right here.’
‘Oh, OK,’ Emily says. An unimpressed look spreads across her face.
‘Or you can tell me now?’
‘No, it can wait,’ she reassures me with a smile.
‘Well, in that case, I shall speak to you later. Bye, team!’ I tell the room before making my exit.
‘Bloody part-timers,’ I overhear Vicky tut as the door closes behind me.
Chapter Sixteen
The Apology
Sitting at my desk, I stare at the blank Word document on the computer screen in front of me. I was first in the office today. The others have since arrived, although I am yet to be disturbed; I must have my concentrating face on.
I am tackling – well, trying to tackle – my Two For The Road tour piece while it’s still fresh in my mind. I’m having a little trouble because it’s a little too fresh in my mind if you know what I mean. For me, all the moments I remember are the ones that involve me and my chaotic love life – absolutely not stuff that can go in the magazine. Listen to me referring to it as my love life, love doesn’t even come into it. Then again, I can’t really call it a sex life because none of that happened either. In a way I’m lucky Eddie broke his leg, it gives me something to focus on.
Vicky barges her way into my office – without knocking, obviously. She pops a cup of tea down on my desk and Vicky never does anything nice so I am instantly wondering what she has done wrong.
‘Oh! Thank you!’ I say, trying not to sound too surprised.
‘You’re welcome. Any word back from Scott Hale today?’
Shit, I totally forgot about Scott.
I check my emails and there’s nothing from him. There is an email from Luke Fox though. Subject: Sorry.
‘Nope. No reply from Scott,’ I tell her and she loses interest and heads for the door. Before she closes the door behind her, Vicky turns around.
‘Emily and I are getting on really well you know.’
‘Awesome!’ I reply, with just a hint of sarcasm.
‘She has a boyfriend you know.’
‘What?’ I’m unable to hide my surprise.
‘Oh yeah. She didn’t tell you?’ She smiles. Oh she is loving this.
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘OK. Laters,’ she replies, finally closing my door.
‘Laters, Succubus,’ I say as soon as I’m sure she can’t hear me.
How Not to Be Starstruck Page 8