I Love the 80s

by Megan Crane

  ‘I’m watching you,’ Eugenia hissed. ‘Don’t think I’m not wise to your little games.’

  Jenna turned to face her, holding her coffee mug like a shield before her. She would not hesitate to upend the mug on Eugenia’s dress, either, despite the fact it was vintage Ungaro.

  ‘I can’t have this conversation again,’ she told the other woman. ‘I keep telling you this, and yet here we are.’

  ‘We’ll have this conversation as many times as we have to,’ Eugenia snapped. ‘We’ll have it until you understand that I am not about to sit idly by while you try to muscle in on my patch. Do you have any idea how hard I had to work to get to where I am?’

  The worst part of this conversation, which Jenna had been heartily sick of having weeks ago, was having to face the knowledge – again and again – that Eugenia was this jealous and territorial about a sleaze like Duncan Paradis. Jenna was tired of tiptoeing around the real reason she found that so unbelievable – aside from the fact that she had, in fact, seen Duncan.

  ‘You were dating Tommy, weren’t you?’ she asked. Because if she was going to have to have this conversation every day, she might as well ask what she wanted to ask. ‘At some point? How did you go from him to Duncan, of all people?’ She didn’t even get into the fact that Duncan was married. That was practically a moot point here in Eugenia’s La La Land.

  ‘You must be kidding,’ Eugenia scoffed.

  ‘And yet, I’m not.’

  Eugenia blinked, and then shifted her minimal weight on to her other foot, away from Jenna’s coffee mug, as if she sensed the danger she was in.

  ‘Tommy and I had fun, at first,’ she said, and then shrugged. ‘But why date Tommy Seer when you can date the person who created Tommy Seer in the first place?’

  ‘I don’t see what you see in him, I guess,’ Jenna said. Eugenia immediately looked suspicious.

  ‘Like I’ll fall for that!’ she scoffed. ‘Duncan is the most powerful man in music right now. Do you know how many Grammys he’s won?’

  ‘If I had to choose, I wouldn’t choose Duncan,’ Jenna said, and didn’t mention that the last time she’d checked, the Wild Boys had won the Grammys. ‘That’s all I’m saying. And I’m willing to bet right now that if you took an informal poll out on the street, most people would agree with me, because they’re not going to care about Grammys.’

  Eugenia looked at Jenna for a long moment, as if trying to figure her out, but then shook her head. Her lips pursed slightly.

  ‘Tommy’s no prize,’ she said finally. ‘He can be a right cruel bastard when he puts his mind to it, believe me.’

  Jenna knew this to be true. But she also knew that Eugenia had offered the poor man what anyone reasonable would have to consider provocation, in the form of sleeping with Duncan.

  ‘I believe you,’ she said.

  ‘Do you think you’re going to put me off my guard?’ Eugenia asked incredulously. ‘Do you think I’m that stupid?’

  Jenna gazed at her. Did she think that required an answer?

  ‘Stay away from Duncan!’ Eugenia ordered her. ‘I’m tired of finding you holed up with him in every corner of this house. It ends now, or you deal with me.’

  She was already dealing with Eugenia, but Jenna knew saying so would cause a whole onslaught of outrage that wouldn’t be worth the brief pleasure she’d experience in saying it.

  ‘I can’t help it if he wants to talk to me,’ she pointed out in a reasonable tone. The same way she did every time they had a version of this conversation. She sighed. ‘I work for him. He’s going to want to talk to me, and I have to talk to him.’

  Eugenia made a hissing noise that was simultaneously angry and dismissive, and stalked across the kitchen towards the pantry. As she did not eat, Jenna could not imagine what she was after. But she didn’t stick around to find out. She took her opportunity and hustled towards the stairs, as fast as she could go while holding hot coffee.

  Up in the studio, she settled into the lounge area with her coffee, pasted a relaxed sort of smile across her face, and tried to come to terms with the worst part of her new work duties over the past few weeks. Tommy Seer.

  Today, the rest of the band was absent and he was sitting behind the glass on a stool, singing different versions of the same song (‘Because and Because’) again and again into the mike while the producers in the booth played with different effects that Jenna didn’t pretend to understand.

  She understood other effects. Like the effect Tommy’s crooning voice had on the average woman’s respiratory system, for example. Or the fact that when they settled on the final effect for the song, it would be so beautiful that a generation would make it their wedding anthem. Or, more to the point, the effect Tommy’s proximity had on her.

  Jenna knew she should have gotten over it by now. It had been at least a month since that awful scene between them, but the truth was, she was still embarrassed. And the even more upsetting truth was that the humiliation, which she would have sworn should have obliterated every last feeling she had for the man, hadn’t done anything of the kind.

  Instead, Jenna had spent the last weeks falling for Tommy Seer in a totally different way.

  It wasn’t about how pretty he was, or what she imagined it would be like to interact with him. It wasn’t about Jenna or her fantasies at all – and the more she got to observe the real Tommy Seer, the more embarrassed she became not only for thrusting herself at the man, but for engaging in so many years of hero worship for someone who didn’t exist outside his public persona.

  It was the way he talked about music, for example, when it was only the band around. They all had spirited debates about this guitar versus that guitar, this music legend versus that music legend, the importance of a good hook and a kick-ass bridge, and what comprised the perfect pop song. They were all extraordinary musicians, it seemed to Jenna, or at least very good ones, who happened to make pop music, and were therefore dedicated to making sure it was really good pop music. She often wished she could let them know that they succeeded – that they’d stood the test of time, and would be remembered and revered long after the end of the band. But, of course, they would think she was a complete lunatic if she did that.

  Not that they didn’t already think she was, if not a lunatic, something less than terrific anyway.

  Something she remembered in a hurry when Nick sauntered through the door, his rangy body in full swagger.

  Jenna smiled her hello, and was not surprised when Tommy’s angriest band mate failed to return the smile. He didn’t quite scowl. He looked at her, then through the glass at Tommy, who had moved around to the console. Then back to her.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ he said belligerently. The way he said everything, including pass me that magazine.

  ‘You don’t get what?’ She tried to sound bright. Trustworthy.

  ‘If you’re not fucking him, or someone, what the hell are you doing here?’ He planted his fists on his hips, drawing attention to the parachute pants he wore. To say nothing of the tank top made entirely of mesh.

  ‘I’m just, you know …’ Jenna smiled again, unperturbed by his rudeness. That was mild, for Nick. ‘Duncan really wanted me to be here to help out. Since I had such a great idea on the Video TV thing.’

  ‘Interesting,’ came a different, smoother voice, and yet this one made Jenna’s spine straighten involuntarily. She hadn’t noticed that Tommy had left the console booth, and yet here he was, lounging in the door with that mocking gleam in his eyes. ‘We’re making an album. Do you sing? Play a musical instrument? How can you help out, exactly?’

  ‘I’m strictly here for moral support,’ Jenna said, and her smile took on an edge. ‘Ken Dollimore’s gift to Duncan Paradis, and now you.’

  ‘Politics,’ Nick muttered in disgust, and slammed into the booth.

  Leaving Jenna alone with Tommy.

  ‘Was that necessary?’ she asked him, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘You want me here, remember?’

>   ‘I want you on my side if you have to be here,’ Tommy corrected her. He prowled over to the leather sofa and stretched out on it, propping his head on one arm and his bare feet on the other. ‘Not quite the same thing.’

  Here were some things Jenna knew about the actual Tommy Seer, as opposed to the one she’d made up in her head. He was, apparently, American, which no one had yet explained. He liked to go barefoot, all the time. He wore T-shirts and jeans and very little else, save the occasional sweatshirt, which was at complete odds with his public persona, who was always decked out in the height of Eighties fashions. It was the same with his hair, which he tended to rake back from his face with his hands throughout the day, but otherwise left alone, thick and with that near-curl to it. He read the paper. He played cards with Richie. He watched PBS documentaries. He swapped paperbacks with Sebastian, and they liked to argue over who was better: King or Koontz. While Nick and Richie battled each other in Zelda on the Nintendo downstairs, Tommy preferred to read. Sometimes he cooked elaborate meals for the band and the producers – and by default, Jenna. One day it would be a massive brunch, with everything from banana pancakes to eggs Benedict. The next week he would announce he was making dinner, and would roast a couple of chickens and grill up some vegetables.

  And, of course, he liked to lie on the sofa, stare at the ceiling, and hum to himself, driving his band mates insane when they were in the room. Nick had been known to throw things at his head. Jenna thought they were all missing the key point, which was that the man looked particularly good all stretched out like that.

  ‘You’re staring at me,’ he said, startling her out of her thoughts. Jenna blinked, and saw that he’d turned his head and was now contemplating her instead of the ceiling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as if she had not been checking out his abdomen as it peeked from beneath his T-shirt. She no longer engaged in wanton, absurd fantasies about the man, but hello. He was smoking hot. Millions of fan girls agreed. ‘My mind wandered.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  She decided she didn’t want to hear whatever inevitably devastating thing he would say next.

  ‘Duncan jumped all over me,’ she said instead. ‘Not literally,’ she hurried on when Tommy’s brows arched upward. ‘But he wants to know what you’re plotting. He thinks this is a waste of his time.’ She pursed her lips slightly, remembering. ‘And he told me it was about money. His money, specifically, and …’ Her voice trailed away, because Tommy moved then. He swung to a sitting position, suddenly intent.

  ‘He said it was about his money?’ His voice was light but his gaze was anything but. ‘He said that, exactly?’

  ‘He has no intention of losing his investment.’ Jenna searched his face. ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘I knew it,’ Tommy said. ‘I knew he would try to pull something.’ He let out a hollow sort of laugh. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill me.’

  That sat there for a moment, between them.

  And Jenna couldn’t help but wonder, almost against her will: what if he had?

  11

  The silence in the small lounge stretched out, and Jenna realized she was staring at Tommy in a sort of stricken horror.

  He looked away first.

  It was absurd. Why would Duncan Paradis kill off his cash cow?

  ‘You haven’t told me I’m crazy,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s usually the first thing people say.’

  ‘You’ve told a lot of people that you think Duncan Paradis is—’ His eyes cut towards the booth as she spoke, as if he thought everyone in it might overhear. Jenna broke off, and adjusted her voice to a whisper. ‘That you think Duncan Paradis might kill you?’

  ‘Not a lot of people.’ He considered her for a moment. ‘But you’re the only one who hasn’t laughed or shrugged it off. Why?’

  What could she say? As it happens, Tommy, you die in October – which starts in a matter of days – and your body will never be recovered, so there’s just as much chance that Duncan Paradis killed you as the accepted version, which is that you drove off the side of the Tappan Zee Bridge in a drunken stupor. So that’s why I’m not laughing or scoffing – it’s my ability to see into the future.

  Somehow, she didn’t think that would go over well.

  ‘I don’t know,’ is what she said, shrugging. She inspected her fingernails. ‘Duncan likes to throw his weight around. He likes to intimidate people. He’s married and yet he’s carrying on with your— with Eugenia. It’s not the biggest stretch in the world to imagine him capable of worse things.’

  ‘I don’t know whether that makes me feel better or worse,’ Tommy said after a moment. ‘There’s a certain comfort in being laughed at. Better to think you’re crazy than that people are really out to get you.’

  ‘But why?’ Jenna asked, lifting her head. ‘Why would he want to?’

  ‘Money.’ Tommy’s mouth twisted. ‘It’s always about money with him.’

  ‘I would think that you continuing to make him money would be a better plan than killing you,’ Jenna said, whispering again. Very reasonably, as if what they were discussing was at all reasonable. As if they habitually sat around and had discussions in the first place.

  That seemed to occur to Tommy too. The silence between them was filled with the sound of his voice singing as tracks spooled out from the production booth. Jenna was holding her breath. She let it out, surprised to feel that she was a little shaky. Tommy drummed his fingers against his leg for a moment, then stood up abruptly as if he’d made up his mind about something.

  ‘Walk with me,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ But Jenna was already rising to her feet, as if his voice was connected to some sort of puppeteer’s thread and she had no choice. Who was she kidding? If he was the Pied Piper, she’d always come running.

  ‘I don’t want Nick to hear any of this,’ Tommy confided in an undertone as they walked down the stairs. Jenna followed his lean back as he moved, and tried to banish the usual fantasies. She laced her fingers together.

  ‘He’s very angry,’ she observed. Tommy shot her a look over his shoulder. ‘Nick,’ she clarified. ‘He’s always yelling about something.’

  ‘He’s protective,’ Tommy said, a smile she couldn’t see warming his voice. ‘Of the band, but also of me. Nick and I grew up together. If he thought Duncan was even thinking about this kind of thing …’ He shook his head. ‘And the last thing we need is Nick getting in Duncan’s face. It wouldn’t end well.’

  Jenna tried to absorb that description, though it was of a different Nick than the one she’d come to know: blustery, furious Nick. Nick who was always in a rage.

  ‘I’m guessing you didn’t grow up in Manchester, England, as advertised,’ Jenna said drily.

  ‘No.’ This time when he looked at her, laughter crinkled up the corners of his eyes. ‘Buffalo, New York. But that’s a secret, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘If it helps,’ he said in the same dry tone, ‘I’m pretty sure there’s a Tommy Seer who did grow up in Manchester, and I’m also pretty sure Duncan keeps him on the payroll. But I can’t say for certain.’

  Jenna felt a warm sort of glow spread through her, simply because he was telling her one of his secrets. Even though it was a secret she already sort of knew, given the fact he never bothered with his English accent in the town house. She hadn’t known he was from Buffalo, though. He hadn’t had to tell her that. He didn’t need to talk to her at all. The fact that he was pleased her more than it should have, more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

  Though she couldn’t quite figure out why he would want to.

  He led her through the quiet house, all the way to the spacious living room where they’d had that awful scene. Jenna generally avoided that room whenever possible. He didn’t stop there, thankfully, but continued on out into the garden. Only when he’d gone to the furthest edge of the walled-in space, to the small stone bench fetched up next to the brick wall a
nd protected from the house by trees and the gurgling fountain, did he stop and face her. His expression was serious.

  ‘I told Duncan I’m leaving the band after this album,’ he said, with no preamble. ‘I’ll tour, but then I’m done with the Wild Boys. With him. He went ballistic.’

  Jenna’s mind cartwheeled around her typical fan girl’s reaction to that announcement. It was hard not to show it. But there was a more pressing question.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked haltingly. She tilted her chin up, braced for his response. ‘Why are you even talking to me? It’s been nothing but sarcasm since the night we— since that first night after the Video TV show.’

  Tommy sighed, and sat down on the stone bench. He stretched his long, denim-covered legs out before him, flexing his bare toes against the warm grass.

  ‘You had the groupie look then,’ he said simply. His gaze was challenging. ‘You don’t have it any more.’

  ‘What—’ She stopped, composed herself. She ignored the shaft of pain that lanced through her. She cleared her throat. ‘What is the groupie look, exactly?’

  He didn’t look away. Nor was his expression particularly kind.

  ‘That creepy blank stare.’ His voice was quiet. Not quite bitter, more resigned. ‘They don’t see you, whoever you are. They only see what they think you are. The fantasy. Usually they’re dreaming something about you while they’re looking at you. You’re just the object. You could be anyone. They’re like zombies.’

  Jenna swallowed. She wanted to deny that she’d ever been like that, a zombie for God’s sake, but the protest died unspoken on her lips. Because she knew he was right, that she was still fighting it, even in this moment, and it shamed her.

  ‘Um.’ She tried again. ‘I’m sorry about that.’ How woefully inadequate.

  ‘You don’t have that look any more,’ he said again. What he didn’t say was, that’s okay, or all is forgiven.

  ‘You must get that a lot,’ she said, aware that her cheeks had reddened. She could feel the heat spread across them, itchy and shaming. She blinked back similar heat behind her lashes before it spilled over and humiliated her further.