So Emily has a boyfriend? I thought we told each other everything! I called her up last night (after Vicky went to bed) to tell her all about TFTR, every little detail, and she didn’t tell me anything about a boyfriend.
Alone again, I read my email from Luke.
‘Nic, what can I say? The past few days have been pretty fucked up. Ed’s leg is going to put us out of action for a while, not sure when or if the tour will resume so I won’t get to say this to you in person. I’m sorry for what happened, I wasn’t myself that night. You know what it’s like on tour, you get carried away. The way I feel about you hasn’t changed. I hope we’re still cool? Luke x.’
What an infuriating email. It’s so like Luke to say so little with so many words. The way he feels about me might not have changed, but how does he feel about me? I guess it’s something that he apologised though, so I’ll send something back telling him we’re fine and then I’ll get any silly ideas of something happening between us out of my head. I was stupid to think anything more than a few awkward minutes on the tour bus was what he wanted from me.
Back to my Word document. It doesn’t take me long to finish the article – after all, it’s only about two tour dates and I put most of the focus on Eddie’s accident. People would much rather read about a rockstar jumping into a swimming pool during a wild night on tour anyway.
I don’t stick the working day out much longer before grabbing my bag, saying goodbye to the team and heading for the door. I’ll ask Emily about her boyfriend later.
Chapter Seventeen
The Shoot
It’s been a few days since the tour, and everything seems back to normal. Well, everything except Dylan and his accidental wife-to-be, but to be honest I’m sort of coming around to the idea now. Well, maybe not coming around to it, but I’m certainly adjusting to it. I think this might be good for him, calm him down a little.
We’ve had a hectic couple of days in the office – hectic, yet uneventful. I didn’t get a reply from Scott, and he didn’t take the story about me down either. I guess I’ll just have to try and forget about that and pray to God that my mother doesn’t come across it when she Googles me, because that is her number-one method of keeping tabs on me while she’s away.
The reason the past few days have been hectic is just because there’s so much to do. We’ve got a new issue of the magazine to get online and then I’m off to London for Dylan’s stag do – oh and his wedding, mustn’t forget that part – so everything needs to be ready.
Today should be fun, we’ve got a new band called Chillz coming in for an interview. They’re a three-piece punk/metal crossover band, and as much as I loved the genre in my teens, I’m into far more commercial stuff these days. Two For The Road are very typical of the punk-rock genre with their faux-American singing accents, hilarious lyrics and dressed-down look – they’re about as ‘alternative’ as I venture these days. The Burnouts are definitely a rock band, but the kind that get in the charts and bag number one after number one because almost everyone loves their music, even if they’re not a long-time fan. Their videos wouldn’t ever be played on the ‘alternative’ music channels (unlike TFTR, who never seem to be off the ‘alternative’ channels or the pop channels these days), which probably makes Dylan a pop star and not a rockstar, but he never got that memo, and that’s why he behaves in a way that would make Mötley Crüe blush.
One thing is for sure though, despite their different genres, both TFTR and The Burnouts are undeniably gorgeous and a huge hit with the ladies, but Chillz…well, they’re just plain scary. They’ve got that typical metal look about them, all hair, make-up and piercings – I’m just looking at photographs of them to try and learn their names before they arrive. The singer/guitarist is called Dominic, he has long-ish hair covering his face so I can’t actually see what he looks like. I guess I’ll know him by his stubbly beard and excessively pierced lips. The drummer and the bassist are twins, Kane and Killer – I’m going to hazard a guess that Killer isn’t his real name. Facially these two are identical, but Kane has long hair down to his waist and Killer has a shaved head, making them look a little like a before and after photo. With Halloween at the end of the month, and with these guys being a scary hairy metal band, we thought we might do a tacky Halloween photo shoot. Jake and I went out and bought loads of dressing-up stuff and loads of spooky decorations to set the scene so we’ve taken over the ByteBanter photo studio for the afternoon. Metal bands aren’t always up for being a bit silly – serious artists and all that – but these guys were well up for the idea straight away.
We’re all messing around with the Halloween supplies. Vicky, who is rather appropriately wearing a witch’s hat, is whispering with Emily at the other side of the room. I finally got some time alone with Emily yesterday and I think I might have upset her. She was getting worked up telling me all about what it’s like living with Vic, and poor Emily is too nice to throw her out. Apparently Vicky had a huge argument with her mum and she’s not going home. End of. She also told me all about how much Vicky complains about things, and all the nasty things she says about other people, but it was when we started talking about Emily’s new boyfriend that she got upset. Emily teases me about only dating musicians and I rip her about the boring, normal guys she goes for, but when I made a joke about her new bloke she got really upset.
‘Oh, Nic, he’s such a gentlemen. I slept over at his and after it was 4 a.m., so he made sure I was safe in a taxi,’ she told me.
‘He kicked you out at four? Not much of a sleepover,’ I teased.
‘What do you mean?’ she replied.
‘He humped ya and dumped ya in a taxi in the middle of the night. Oh, you’re so right, this guy is a keeper.’
Although what I was saying was basically true, it was all part of the usual teasing. She got super-upset though. I put it down to her feeling wound up over Vic, but she’s been a bit quiet with me today.
I have opted for a pair of devil horns, although we all know I’m a perfect little angel – unless you happen to catch me on a bus with a bunch of fit lads with instruments.
Finally the band arrive, and I am pleasantly surprised to see them looking normal – although I’m told they have their make-up bags with them. In traditional lead singer style, Dominic is absolutely gorgeous. It’s a shame he’s going to cake himself in make-up and put those big lip rings in, because I’d sure as hell buy his album, if you know what I mean.
As Emily and I arrange the backdrop for the photos, the band are going through the dressing-up stuff with real enthusiasm. I look over to see how they’re getting on and spy Kane and Killer trying to talk Jake into letting them ‘metal him up’, which is something I’d love to see, but something that Jake isn’t going for. I can also see Vicky trying to chat up Dominic as he applies copious amounts of eyeliner. I’m wondering just how unprofessional a person can behave, but then my mind is dragged back to a couple of days ago. Visions of Mark and Luke flash before my eyes and wipe the smile off my face.
With the band made-up and ready for action, I crack on with my interview. I love meeting upcoming bands, they’re so genuine, so obliging and so honest. If they make it big, that will all change in no time at all. In my experience, bands turn into arseholes when they hit the big time – take Dylan. The day I met him, he was such a poser, the big I am. I’d seen him doing interviews on TV and I’d always thought he was full of himself, and when I met him I realised he is actually his own biggest fan. It was only after we hit it off that he started treating me like a human being. I’ve seen other people interviewing him and he’s still got that arrogance about him. It’s not nice to watch, as an interviewer or a human being.
After the interview we do a few silly photos with the band, making full use of all the Halloween gear. As soon as they leave, it’s straight back to work, and I’m not even back in my office five minutes when my phone rings. It’s Charles Pace.
I answer his call and we chat politely. Thinking about it, he’s got a very sexy v
oice. You can tell he’s a Londoner, but he’s not quite as apples and pears as Dylan. I was in shock the first time I spoke to him, so I can forgive myself for not noticing.
‘I’m calling on behalf of my client, Dylan King,’ he tells me rather formally. Who else would he be calling about?
He continues, ‘Basically, it’s about the stag and hen parties the night before the wedding. We want everything to run as smoothly as possible.’
‘Don’t worry, Dill has already asked me about this. He said he wants me to tag along, as an honorary boy, and keep him out of trouble. It’s nothing I haven’t done before,’ I assure him, and it’s absolutely true. There have been a few occasions where I’ve had to undress Dylan and put him to bed, then stay by his side all night, wide awake, just watching him to make sure he didn’t choke on his own sick.
Dylan has absolutely no idea when to stop drinking. He thinks because he can afford it, that it’s OK to blow thousands of pounds at the bar and drink until he can’t drink any more. It occasionally crosses my mind that he might have a bit of a problem with alcohol.
Anyway, at least he isn’t hitting the drugs hard like certain band members I know. I am now certain Luke was on something the other night – how else could you explain his weird behaviour? He was aggressive and frustrated and I’ve never seen him like that before.
‘Yes, about that,’ Charles starts, and I know by the tone of his voice I’m not going to like what he tells me. ‘Well, Dylan has invited me along to keep an eye on him – so you are relieved of that duty. He has asked me to ask you if you’d attend Miss Slater’s hen party, and keep an eye on her.’
‘What? He wants me to hang out with Crystal? I’ve never even met her!’
‘Off the record, Miss Wilde, he trusts you and he doesn’t trust her. You can keep her out of trouble and I’ll keep Dylan out of trouble. We’ll all be in the same hotel, it’s where the wedding is being held the following day – did you receive your invitation?’
‘I did.’
‘Shall I tell Dylan you said yes, Miss Wilde?’ he asks.
‘I guess you’ll have to, but please call me Nicole!’
‘Sorry, Nicole.’
‘So why didn’t he call me and ask me himself?’
‘To be honest, I think he’s a bit scared of you,’ he laughs. ‘I think he cares a great deal about you and about what you think. He clearly has a great deal of trust in you.’
I’m glad he trusts me, of course I am, but babysitting a heavily pregnant stranger on her hen do does not sound like my idea of fun. Getting trashed with Dylan, Mikey and the band, now that sounds like fun, and the perfect way to celebrate the end of the poor bastard’s life.
‘Tell him I’ll do it. No, tell him I’ll be happy to do it. Tell him that my present doesn’t need to be anything too big, though,’ I say, only half joking.
‘Big present, I’ll tell him. So we’ll finally get to meet at this wedding. It will be nice to put a face to the lovely voice.’
I wasn’t expecting Mr Formal to say anything like that, I’m a little taken aback.
‘Likewise,’ I reply, in a much higher voice than usual.
He laughs. ‘OK then, I will see you in a few days. Any more problems, I’ll give you a call.’
‘Great, and if Dylan wants to ask me anything else you tell him to man up and ask me himself.’
After our call, I can’t help but think about meeting Charles face to face for the first time. I wonder if he has a sexy face to match his sexy voice. There’s only one thing for it, I’ll have to Google him.
No luck finding a photo on his company website, although there are plenty of photographs of his office and...wow! It’s bigger than my office, it’s bigger than my flat and it’s bigger than my office and my flat combined. Next stop, Facebook, because everyone has a Facebook account. The good news is that I have found him – and I know it’s him because we have Dylan as a mutual friend – but the bad news is that Mr Pace has a super-private profile and I can’t see his photos. Damnit! I have exhausted all my resources and I’d make a pretty rubbish secret agent. I wonder if MI5 use Facebook? If they don’t, then they probably should. As long as they don’t stumble upon a private profile, they’ll be fine.
Time for some work. Closing Facebook, I grab my Dictaphone and begin playing back the interview. The sooner I type this up, the sooner it’ll be the big day.
Chapter Eighteen
The Splurge
Yesterday I had a bit of an accident. The kind of accident you have in Harvey Nichols when you spend more on one outfit than most people do on their rent.
I don’t usually go this crazy, but I’m going to be in a magazine with a bunch of people who have way more money than me so I have to at least try and compete. For the past couple of days I have been dropping the fact that I am going to be in a magazine into every conversation possible, even when it has been entirely irrelevant.
I bought a dress, shoes and a clutch bag – I won’t tell you how much it cost, but let’s just say it wasn’t entirely out of choice that I bought the rest of my accessories at Topshop. Anyway, I’m hoping that everyone will be a bit too flash to know that’s where my jewellery has come from – I just hope no one asks me where I got any of it.
If I’m being honest, the magazine deal isn’t the only reason I’m trying to look my best. I seem to have developed a bit of a thing for Charles – for his voice, at least. We’ve chatted on the phone quite a lot over the past couple of days and last night our call lasted over an hour. I’m dressing up to impress a man with no idea what he looks like and he isn’t even in a band. I’m sure the novelty will wear off when I meet him and there’s no sign of any instruments.
I place my outfit carefully in my case, which I must absolutely not forget to take with me. I resist the urge to try it on one last time because, you’ve guessed it, I’m running late.
I’ll be arriving in London this afternoon and then heading straight to the hotel to be introduced to Crystal, something I’m not exactly looking forward to. The wedding is being held at The Trenton hotel. I’m booked in for a couple of nights and I do love my big, glamorous hotels – especially when I’m alone – so at least I have that to look forward to.
Big, glam hotels, magazine shoots, celebrity weddings – this is the life. My job may only be glamorous in certain areas, but it’s fascinating how I’ve become accustomed to certain things. Soon after making friends with Dylan, I realised I could live like a rockstar without actually being one, and that suits me just fine. I get to sleep in the hotels and attend the fancy parties and, when I’m with Dylan, I get to enjoy all the perks of his fame without any of the crap he has to put up with.
I know how weird my life must seem to outsiders. I’m fairly sure my dad – who is a big, serious businessman who deals in big, serious business – thinks he’s paying my rent while I play office with my friends, and my friends from school just think I’m a groupie. I think the fact that I’m not doing what they’re doing baffles them. They’re all married or have kids (never a combination of the two) and their only window into my life is via Facebook, which only shows me partying with bands, it doesn’t show me sitting in my dressing gown writing until dawn. I don’t know why I don’t want the boyfriend or the husband or the kids, but I just don’t. I feel very much stuck in the middle as far as my life is concerned. I’m not a child, but I’m not an adult either – I’m like a teenager that has been left home alone while her parents are away for the weekend. That makes sense, my life is one big party. It probably has something to do with the people I hang out with. They get paid a shit-load of money for a few hours work which means they can spend their days doing what they like and they have women falling at their feet so why would they stick to just one girl? People like Dylan, Luke and Eddie are a bad influence on me. I’ve spent pretty much all of my adult life living by their rules and the consequences are that I have no idea how to behave in the ‘real world’ now. It’s got to a point where I wouldn’t know
what to do with a boyfriend, I’ve forgotten the rules of the game. I’m pretty sure sharing beds with band boys is a no-no, even in an entirely platonic way, but in my world it’s totally normal – we’ve all got to sleep somewhere. You can sleep where you like, dance with who you like, flirt with who you like and no one cares. Everyone is happy.
So what if I don’t have a boyfriend...I’m going to be in a magazine!
Chapter Nineteen
The Ugly Sisters
Thankfully, when I arrived in London I didn’t have to travel very far to get to the hotel. I decided to get a taxi anyway because I almost always get lost in London and the last thing I need is to get lost the day before Dylan’s wedding. He’d probably think I’d done it on purpose to avoid babysitting Crystal on her hen night – I really can’t hide the fact that I am not looking forward to that, but I do plan on getting very drunk so hopefully it won’t matter.
I am currently sitting in the lobby of The Trenton Hotel, the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous hotel I have ever seen. If, for some reason, I had to get married (for example, if someone put a gun to my head), I’d want to do it here.
All the wedding guests are staying here and I can’t even begin to imagine how much this wedding must be costing Dylan, but I’m pretty sure it’s more than I’ll ever see in my lifetime. Everyone around me looks important and expensively dressed, and then there’s me in my grungy train outfit looking a little like the love child of Ke$ha and Jon Bon Jovi (circa 1986). I stick out like a sore thumb. In fact, I feel a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman – although hopefully I look less like a prostitute.
Before anyone gets chance to show me the exit, the lift doors open and out steps Dylan, looking every inch the rockstar he is. Oh, and the girl he knocked up is with him – I mean his fiancée, Crystal Slater.
It’s weird, I had expected to feel awkward, fat and scruffy standing next to Crystal. But I don’t. My Pretty Woman moment is over because not only does Crystal look even more out of place than I do, she does actually look like a prostitute too.
How Not to Be Starstruck Page 9