‘You wanna coffee … or, an English breakfast tea?’ Maxx asked in his best posh English accent.
‘Oh please! No, don’t worry yourself.’ Julian put his things down and squeezed out from behind the rack. ‘I’ll get it for you. What do you want?’
Despite his quite arresting appearance, he was the sweetest, kindest and most helpful guy Maxx had ever met.
‘No, I fancy the walk. What would you like?’
‘Really, let me.’ Julian opened the petty cash tin from under the reception desk. ‘I’ve got the ca-ash!’ he sang.
Maxx grinned, realising he only had euros. He was forever working in the wrong currency.
‘Okay, then. I’d love a coffee from that place on the corner, the New Zealand one. Mike got me a flat white from there this morning. Is that okay?’
‘Sounds very east London. Can I tempt you with a brownie?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘But they’re the 2015 Taste Award-winning salted caramel brownies! Your pancreas will explode with delight! You must!’ Julian squealed, clasping his hands together in delight.
‘Ha, okay. This is pretty much afternoon tea now, isn’t it?’ Maxx laughed, looking at his watch.
Just after Julian left, Maxx settled down on the reception couch to flick through a hot-off-the-press trashy magazine. There on the third page was a shot of Kyle, Art, Lee, Charlie and Dee from the other night in Paris, presumably on their way out for the end of tour party that he missed. There was a picture of him in a circle next to the headline: ‘MAXXED OUT’.
Has The Keep’s favourite singer moved on? With the absence of Maxx on The Keep’s end of tour night out, rumours were circulating that he is suffering from exhaustion, following their most intensive schedule to date. Girlfriend Dee looked relaxed in the company of the rest of the boys as they ran up a €10,000 tab at the exclusive Paris House restaurant and club.
Dee was certainly smiling and looking relaxed, as the rest of the boys strutted along the pavement in their expensive suits. He felt a pang of sadness. Five years of his life was a long time to spend with these guys, and despite the rows they were a kind of family.
Splashed across the side of the article under the title ‘HOT GOSS’, there was more.
Is it the end for Dee & Maxx? Go to TheBuzzOnline.com for an in-depth exclusive.
Just as he tossed the magazine into the recycle bin, Amelie Ayres came storming through the door.
She stood there holding a smashed guitar and stared right at him, her usually sharp eyes all red and puffy and her face filled with sadness and embarrassment. Before he had a moment to register she was there, she was gone.
‘Sorry for being here,’ she said as she walked past him and into Mike’s office, slamming the door behind her.
‘Are you okay?’ he replied after she was gone. The question hung in the empty air and he stood still for a moment trying to take in what had just happened.
Mike came rushing through next, rubbing his hands through his hair. He tossed his keys into the tray on the coffee table.
‘Maxx, I’m sorry but Amelie has had, um, a bad day, and she’s going to hang around here for a bit if you don’t mind. She won’t come into the studio, I told her not to, but she doesn’t want to go home. Her mum is in Paris. Bloody hell. I’m really sorry. Julian will look after her.’
‘It’s really no problem.’ Maxx looked at Mike, who was distracted with worry about his daughter. ‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, it’s fine. If you can just bear with me a bit?’
‘Of course. Julian’s just gone out to get me a coffee. I can go and meet him at the café, if you like? Give you some time?’
‘It’s okay for now,’ Mike said, just as the sound of broken strings being violently liberated from a guitar came from his office.
‘You know what? I actually need to get some fresh air. I’ll be back in fifteen, okay?’ Maxx didn’t wait for Mike to protest.
He hadn’t really ventured out into the surrounding area since arriving. It was their first full day in the studio and it was a good excuse to get the lay of the land. The clouds were thick and the drizzle was incessant, London was true to its reputation for terrible weather, but after the heat of the continent and in particular their last few dates in Rome, Madrid and Paris, he welcomed the cooler air.
As he walked the short distance to the café, he realised that for the first time in longer than he could remember he was walking in a city, without security, or an entourage, or even an assistant like Alexia. His hair had grown long around his ears and in his low-slung jeans, sneakers and T-shirt he could have been any other Londoner taking a walk in Hackney. And it felt amazing.
Nobody was looking at him. No young fans were around pestering him for autographs and photos, no press to bother him; none of those ‘don’t I know you from somewhere?’ second glances from anyone because there was nobody who cared – only Mike and Julian, oh and maybe Amelie.
He was surprised by his reaction to seeing her again. There was that spark behind her eyes, something he felt drawn to. Even in her stressed state, standing there with her broken guitar and red eyes, she looked quite beautiful. He quietly hoped she might be around a bit more this week.
He pushed the café door open and Julian was sat on a bench seat waiting for the takeaway coffees.
‘Can we get these to have in?’ Maxx smiled.
‘Hey, sorry, has it taken too long?’ he looked so sincerely apologetic, Maxx patted him on the shoulder.
‘No, no, no, I just …’ He started chuckling.
‘JULIAN!’ the barista shouted as if there was a large queue, when there was only the two of them in the entire café.
‘Thanks.’ Julian jumped up and grabbed the two takeaway cups. ‘We’re going to sit in, if that’s cool?’
The barista shrugged so nonchalantly that it could have been considered rude. Not that Maxx cared, the lack of helpfulness was refreshing after being waited on hand and foot for weeks on end.
They took a seat in the window as Maxx stirred a huge teaspoon of sugar into his coffee and flicked through a free Hackney Art & Live Music magazine.
‘Jeez, there’s so much to do in this town.’
‘I know, and that’s just Hackney!’
‘Wow. I’d love a few nights out while I’m here.’
‘A bit early for a break. Have you even laid down a track yet?’ Julian joked.
‘Mike’s daughter is there, and I think, well I’m not sure what’s happened but I am just giving them some space,’ Maxx explained.
‘Oh, Amelie? What? She’s at the studio? Now?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, remembering her haunted look as she stormed past him.
‘Oh, she’s great. Love the wee Amelie, the little sweet pea, did you meet her?’
‘The little sweet pea?’ Maxx was sceptical. ‘No, well, yes, I’ve met her briefly a couple of times. She knows my bandmate, Charlie, a bit better I think.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Julian grinned. ‘That was quite the dramarama!’
Since their argument in Copenhagen, Maxx’s relationship with Charlie had further deteriorated. If he was honest, the incident had just been a catalyst for whatever competitive stuff had been brewing between them since the band was first formed. They hardly spoke, unless they absolutely had to, and Charlie had become even more withdrawn and secretive.
‘Charlie knows how to cause drama,’ grinned Maxx. ‘So how long have you worked for Mike?’
‘Oh, two years or so, I guess. Since he opened the new studio.’
‘Cool, bet you’ve seen a lot of great bands come through?’
‘Well, depends on your taste. Mike’s pretty picky about who he works with. Plus, he still does the odd tour or one-off show, so he can’t always commit to studio time. He was pretty excited about working with you, though.’
‘That’s cool. Same here,’ Maxx said shyly, feeling honoured in a way he never did with The Keep.
‘How does it work, you kn
ow, with your band, and the label? Do they mind you going off on your own?’
‘Actually, funny you should ask.’ Maxx looked out the window wondering how much he could say to Julian. ‘They don’t really know. It’s more of an experiment, really. We’ll see if anything comes of it. I’m just happy to be here, in London.’
‘Oh, so it’s a bit of a naughty secret then, eh!? Excellent.’ He nudged Maxx playfully, who was now longingly staring at the gig guide in a Time Out magazine. ‘You know, if you fancied it, I could take you for a night out?’
‘Like a date?’ Maxx nudged him back, laughing.
‘Yeah, exactly like a date, except that I would bring my boyfriend.’ Julian smiled, pausing for dramatic effect. ‘He worked on your tour actually. I met him through Mike.’
‘Oh really? Would I know him, I mean, was he one of the regulars?’
‘Sure was. It’s Clint? He does your filming?’
‘Oh, wow! Yeah I know Clint, he’s hilarious. He’s your boyfriend?’
‘Yes. The straightest gay man in London. Hands off,’ Julian teased.
‘Oh, wow, that’s cool.’
‘Yes, and I think we should all go to a gig.’
Maxx looked at Julian with uncertainty. ‘Will it, I mean, do you think I could …’
‘I promise you, no one will bother you,’ Julian laughed. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re more famous than anyone I’ve ever met, but where we’ll go, no one will care. And anyway, out of your boyband uniform even I hardly recognised you, and I was a bit of a fan once.’
Maxx felt a rush of excitement at going out in London with some locals – to a regular old pub to watch some live music and just hang. It sounded like bliss.
‘Okay. Fuck it. I’m in.’ He raised his coffee cup. ‘To a night out being a regular dick.’
‘Oh, believe me, I’ve seen regular dick, and you’re not that,’ Julian laughed.
They touched their cups together. Maxx sipped his flat white and watched the rain fall, the black cabs roll past, and the red buses kick puddles up onto the pavement. He felt the wonderful promise of new beginnings.
CHAPTER 17
Please Wake Me Up
When they got back from the coffee shop, Mike was in the studio and Amelie, as promised, was nowhere to be seen. Maxx pushed the studio door open to find Mike fiddling around with some cables and an old vintage amplifier on the floor.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, no worries here, she’s a beautiful thing but sometimes needs a little TLC.’
‘Ha!’ Maxx grinned. ‘No, I didn’t mean the amp.’
‘Oh! Ahh, Amelie. Well. Not really.’ Mike looked grim. ‘She’s had an audition today and it didn’t go so well.’
‘Oh.’ He didn’t want to pry further, but Mike seemed to want to talk. ‘What happened? Can I ask? I don’t want to intrude.’
Mike put his screwdriver down and looked at Maxx gratefully. ‘I think she simply has stage fright. Well, not simply, I guess, it’s massive to her. I just don’t know what to do to help, basically she won’t accept any help.’
‘Ahh, that sucks. I mean, I understand of course.’ Although he’d never had stage fright, Maxx had completely humiliated himself on American Stars, which was surely worse.
‘No, it’s fine. She’ll be okay. I think she’s going to take some time out and go to Paris to see her mum at the end of the week. But I wondered – and you are more than welcome to say no – but …’
‘Anything, Mike. What can I do?’
‘Can she come and watch or even assist me a bit?’
‘What? Us record? Sure,’ Maxx said without hesitation.
‘If you’re really sure? I mean she won’t get in the way or anything, I’ll make sure of that. She’s desperate to learn more about recording – I mean, she kinda grew up tinkering – hard not to with me as a dad. But I’ve never let her in here when there’s been a session on before. I promised her this summer … You know she built her own recording studio in her bedroom?’
‘Really? Wow. That must be some damn bedroom!’
‘It’s pretty basic, but as I said, she built the thing all by herself. It’s not just some mic plugged into Pro Tools either.’
‘Absolutely, Mike. I’m happy for her to be here. Only … one thing.’ Maxx suddenly grew worried. ‘Remember that I’m not supposed to be here.’
‘Okay,’ Mike replied, ‘I know. Don’t worry; we’re totally confidential here. You’re booked under an alias, and Julian is totally trustworthy. There’s not exactly anyone Amelie could tell. I’ve already spoken to her and she knows that whoever is in here recording must have complete anonymity. And … well I think she’s learned her lesson about social media and so forth.’
Maxx considered this answer. Despite the dire warnings from Geoff, Charlie had smugly confided in Maxx that he and Amelie were still secretly in contact, albeit through private messages. In fact, Charlie had presented it as a kind of fledgling romance. Maxx chose his words carefully, not wanting to stir up any trouble.
‘Okay, well, could you just remind her that it’s important not to mention it to anyone, particularly in my band.’
Mike looked perplexed. ‘Okay. I’ll make sure.’
‘Just being extra careful.’ Maxx tried to make light of the request.
‘No worries, I understand. I’m just about there. Shall we lay something down? Sometimes just getting something down helps us step back and get perspective,’ Mike said as he stood up and wiped the grease off his hands.
‘Okay.’
‘Most sessions start slow,’ Mike said reassuringly, flicking a bunch of switches on his desk so everything lit up.
Amelie sat next door in her dad’s office, leaning way back in his chair, inspecting the stark white ceiling and trying to think of anything but the audition.
She opened her dad’s computer and logged onto her SoundCloud, thinking she might cheer herself up by reading some of the kind comments from her followers. But through the prism of self-loathing she read nothing but lies and fantasy.
Excruciating recollections stole her small moments of peace, creeping in like a slide show of horrors. A bemused face in the crowd, a judge’s pitying smile, the warm glow of Tara’s face as she floated off the stage, high on triumph. She shook her head. There was nothing to do but bask in the pain.
CHAPTER 18
No Diggity
Amelie was feeling too low to fight her father, who had stood still with his arms crossed in the doorway for the last eight minutes, refusing to come any further in.
‘Okay, okay, I’m coming! Jeez. I don’t like this new bossy father.’
‘You hassle me for years to help out on a session, and now you’re dragging your heels?’ he said, standing firm.
Amelie was lying on the floor of her mother’s living room, showered and dressed but dragging her feet over going to the studio. If she didn’t hate music so much at that moment, she would have jumped at the chance.
He had sold it in as work – she would be paid £5 an hour to assist Julian and him on anything they needed. Trips to the shop, tidying up, helping with the rigging – anything that was required, and it was going to be a great way to pass the school holidays.
‘Remember, no one knows he’s recording,’ her dad reminded her. ‘So don’t even tell Maisie, okay?’
‘I know! You’ve said that like a thousand times, it’s not like I’ve got any other friends to tell,’ she said dramatically.
Mike picked up her leather satchel and walked to the door. ‘I think it would be good for you to see what he’s doing. I live in hope you’ll let me record you too one day?’
‘I already record myself, remember?’ she said glumly, nodding towards her bedroom. ‘It’s amazing what I can do without an audience.’
‘Well. I want to hear more of your stuff when you’re ready. Because, regardless what you can or can’t do on stage right now, the recording was very, very good.’
; In what she called an immediate self-esteem intervention, Maisie had picked Amelie up from the studio the previous night with her enormous make-up bag and spent the night trying to cheer her up with an Appletini and Seafoam Splendour pedicure. Since she turned sixteen last year, Amelie’s mum had let her stay home alone when she worked short stints in kitchens in Paris or anywhere else, and it was fun having the house to themselves. Amelie was so drained from the adrenaline of the audition and the comedown afterwards she was happy to be steamrolled by Maisie.
They painted her nails and her toes, she shaved her legs and soaked in a bubble bath. She had a full facial from Maisie using all her mother’s homemade, organic, raw products – an oatmeal cleansing mask, a cucumber and lemon peel and a deep moisturising mask made from coconut oil. Maisie then blow-dried her hair (something Amelie NEVER bothered with usually) and gave her ends a little snip to tidy them up, before forcing her to have a disgusting green smoothie for dinner. She also left behind another in the fridge for breakfast, which Amelie had obligingly drank, although it had started to turn brown and split into a watery liquid topped with a thick, gooey foam.
That morning, after a surprisingly long sleep, she checked herself in the mirror and was glad to see she didn’t look completely like death. She pulled on her oldest, most faded black jeans and, deciding against an ironic Backstreet Boys T-shirt, she pulled on a grey T-shirt and plaid bomber.
‘You need to move, Amelie.’ Her dad pushed as she slyly checked her look in the mirror. ‘You look very nice. Now come on – we’re going to work, remember.’
‘All right already!’ She pulled on her white Chuck Taylors and brushed her hair one more time before heading to the door.
She definitely looked a damn sight better than the day before. Maxx had stood there gawping at her with her broken guitar and her face red and blotchy from crying. She couldn’t believe she’d been terribly rude to him AGAIN, but was determined to make a super good impression this morning.
Her dad’s baby – a vintage silver Mercedes – was parked right outside, and as she hopped into the passenger seat, her mother called. Again.
This Beats Perfect Page 11