This Beats Perfect

by Rebecca Denton

  ‘Chut. Maxx du groupe The Keep a été repéré dans l’est de Londres alors que les rumeurs concernant son départ du groupe pour se lancer en solo continuent de circuler. Mais bien qu’il soit possible qu’il quitte le groupe, il ne semble pas prêt de quitter son amoureuse de longue date, Dee, puisqu’on les a vus sortir de la même chambre d’hôtel vendredi matin.’

  ‘In English?’ Amelie said dryly.

  ‘Amelie, your French needs soooo much work!’ She patted her knee. ‘It just says that there are rumours he’s leaving the band, and that his girlfriend joined him in London on Friday.’

  Amelie bit into the crisp, flaky croissant and sipped on her strong, tiny coffee and tried to shake the sadness that enveloped her.

  CHAPTER 28

  Goodbye England

  When Max rushed back inside the hotel wondering how he’d managed to screw up the timing of Dee’s arrival so badly, he saw her curled up in the bright-purple lounge suite, hair immaculate, hands folded in her lap and looking as ethereal and feline as ever. At a table just feet away sat her driver and an assistant having a coffee, next to an enormous collection of matching, black shiny luggage. A small entourage, but an entourage nonetheless. Gah.

  He was mortified that he had kissed Amelie and then run off, but he would need to deal with all that later on. For now, he had to focus on the job at hand.

  ‘Hi, Dee.’ Max walked over, slipping easily back into the habit of scouring his surroundings for paparazzi whenever they were together.

  ‘Max!’ She jumped out of her couch and flung her arms around him. ‘Darling! It’s so good to see you! I’ve actually missed you this last week!’

  ‘Actually?’ He laughed. ‘Good to see you too.’

  ‘Well, shall we get to it? I’m so absolutely sorry but I only have four hours then I have to get to Heathrow.’

  ‘Right,’ Max nodded. ‘Okay, well, it’s just a vocal I guess. Can you give me five minutes? We can take your car to the studio, right?’

  He ran up to his room and back to the car as fast as he could and tried to give Amelie the guitar he’d bought her. But after their evening together, the gesture seemed strange, and strangely unwelcome. It wasn’t the grand ‘thank you’ he’d had in mind. Why didn’t he just get her number? As Max watched the car pull off with Amelie inside he felt completely stupid, and angry with himself for how he had handled it.

  At the studio, Dee sat quietly opposite Max, typing away on her phone as she had been doing all morning. She looked tired, maybe a little jaded, by being there. Everything felt different to Max without Amelie there. The enthusiasm had left the room like a balloon being slowly deflated, until he found himself wishing Dee’s flight was even earlier.

  Mike had recorded her vocals in two takes. Not because it was perfect, but because Dee felt that she’d nailed it.

  ‘I don’t like to do too many takes, ruins the authenticity,’ Dee had said, strolling back out from the studio where she’d barely broken a sweat. ‘Really good song though. Better than the first version you sent. Will you release it as a single?’

  ‘Yeah, that was the plan.’

  Mike hadn’t said much that morning, and Max could feel his displeasure at the new vocal, a feeling he shared. It had lost its raw edge, its beauty. Its Amelie. He thought of her gloriously sulky face and grimaced.

  ‘So, how has the week been?’ Dee asked casually.

  ‘Oh, it’s been great actually. I’ve loved it,’ Max said.

  Dee was fidgeting, nervous and extremely distracted, and Max began to wish he’d never invited her to take part in the record. When they’d first discussed it, she’d been a catalyst for his taking this leap on his own, but now he didn’t need her. And he wasn’t even sure he wanted her any more, despite the commercial advantages it would yield.

  ‘Yeah?’ Dee said flatly, then looked at him with a sudden fixed determination. ‘Shall we get a coffee?’

  Max studied her for a moment, and realised it wasn’t a question. She wanted to talk.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, sitting next to her in the reception area.

  ‘I have to talk to you.’

  ‘Yeah? What’s up? What’s going on?’

  ‘There are two things, really. Firstly, if you want to use my vocal on the single as we discussed, we will need to speak to Geoff ASAP. He knows something’s up because none of us are back in the States.’

  He thought about that phrase – none of us.

  ‘Okay. Well, my plan is to speak to them next week. I’m going to the New York office on Monday.’

  ‘Well, good. I know I thought the song was a good idea, but I’m worried about the wider implications. You know, of us having a single.’

  ‘Okay, I get it. If you’re unsure …’

  ‘No. Just run it past Geoff. There’s something else you need to know.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He felt his chest tighten. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, I’m just going to come out and say it, Max, because you’re not going to like it. So just saying it straight is always the best way.’

  They were someone else’s words. Dee had never been great at talking straight – she was ultimately too concerned that people would dislike her.

  ‘What is it?’

  She took a deep breath and looked at the floor, losing her nerve as she spoke, her voice wavering. ‘I’m dating someone.’ She swallowed. ‘And you know him.’

  Max took a minute to register what she’d said. He repeated the words to himself, and as he watched her switching her irritatingly busy phone to silent he realised he had somehow heard the words already; somewhere in the back of his mind he already knew Dee was seeing someone, and he already knew who it was.

  For reasons unknown to him he had never quite put it together, but it was suddenly glaringly obvious. His mind went back to London and the first night of the European tour. The night Max had decided he wanted to leave The Keep and had reached out to Dee for advice in that late night car ride to their hotel. He pictured Charlie’s annoyed face when Max had slipped into the car with Dee – that was who she’d been ferociously texting during their journey to the hotel.

  Charlie.

  Dee shifted in her seat, waiting for Max to say something, but the pieces just kept clicking into place. Amelie had been a pawn for Charlie – a distraction – a tactic Max himself had used when he had first started dating Dee to stop the press getting wind of the relationship, and it had been Dee’s idea. ‘Just flirt with some fans online,’ she’d said. ‘Play it up. No one will suspect us if they think you’re playing the field.’

  But how long had Charlie felt this way about Dee?

  ‘Max?’ Dee took his hand and he looked down at the immaculately manicured nails, kept short for playing, but perfectly kept. Both of her pinkie fingers were daintily painted blue, red and white, like French flags.

  He thought back to the early days of their dating. It had happened really quickly, not long after their first tour together. Charlie had been spiteful about Max dating Dee – using management’s rules as his reason – but there was ferocity in his disapproval that Max had always found perplexing. Jealousy, he now realised.

  ‘Um.’ Max couldn’t find the words. ‘How long? I mean …’

  He knew already, it must have happened before they had split. The red wine incident, that night out, when he had tried to kiss her and she jumped back like a frightened cat and spilled her drink all over him. She hadn’t wanted to be kissed because of Charlie, not the press. The Buzz’s coverage had been just the reason she needed to end the relationship – ‘an unwanted spotlight on a mess,’ she’d said. Indeed.

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Dee,’ he stopped her. ‘It’s okay.’

  He pulled his hand back from hers and saw the dark under her eyes for the first time. He felt a surge of compassion for a moment, and then an altogether emptier emotion – indifference.

  ‘But it’s … well, I’m seeing …’ Dee looked down, fidgeting with her gold iPhon
e.

  ‘Charlie,’ Max said.

  He remembered Charlie on the stage in Copenhagen, the argument they’d had over Amelie. Max realised that his fondness for Amelie, even after that first meeting, must have been obvious, and Charlie must have been out for some kind of revenge.

  ‘Why did you do that to Amelie?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Amelie. Mike’s daughter.’

  ‘Oh, her. I dunno. You know how it is, you grab a distraction when you can. She fancied him. The photo of her arriving backstage at the London gig was a bit of a bonus really; the press can be so desperate,’ she laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘She’s okay though, isn’t she?’

  ‘But he’s still contacting her.’

  ‘Not really. A few messages. He showed me them. He wanted to make sure she didn’t hate him. He felt bad.’ Dee sighed. ‘I know what he’s like – he’s got a terrible reputation. But it’s just this stupid image thing. He really does care. It took a long time for me to agree to see him. But he loves me. I know he does. Max, he’s kind and a good person.’

  And just like that, the room cleared and the haze lifted. Max could no longer see the beautiful, captivating woman he had fallen for way back when he was wet behind the ears. He could see a woman who had spent too long having people tell her how wonderful and amazing she was. She was hollow, and fully in thrall to her own ego. He could see how Charlie and her could work.

  ‘Well, I’m happy for you both.’

  ‘Really?’ The weight had lifted and she smiled meekly.

  ‘I think I am,’ Max nodded. ‘No, I am.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Max. Charlie will be pleased. He’s been really worried about telling you. He looks up to you, you know. He’s terrified you’ll leave the band.’

  ‘What?’ Max scoffed. ‘Charlie HATES me. He always has.’

  ‘He doesn’t,’ Dee said gently. ‘He just hates the way you look at the band. He’s quite sensitive, you know.’

  ‘The way I look at the band?’

  ‘You’ve always looked down on the band,’ she said. ‘I guess you should know that didn’t always make him feel great. He can’t sing like you, Max. Or write. This is it for him. When The Keep are over – so is he. With music at least.’

  ‘Well, hell,’ Max said, ‘now I feel bad.’

  ‘Don’t feel bad,’ Dee said, and then with her best pleading eyes, ‘Just don’t hate him. Or me.’

  ‘I could never hate you,’ Max said. ‘I can’t say it isn’t a bit weird though. Probably a good time to leave the—’

  Just at that moment they heard a huge crash as a glass smashed into a hundred pieces behind the reception desk.

  ‘Shit. Balls. Shit.’ Julian appeared with a cut hand and a look of faux surprise.

  ‘Don’t mind me!’ He tried to do a cool dance out from behind reception and into the kitchen.

  Max jumped up, laughing. ‘Are you okay, Jules?’

  ‘Fine as fuuuuuuck. Owwww!’ Julian called back, running the cold water tap as Max followed him into the kitchen to help. Dee started forward as well.

  ‘It’s fine, Dee. I got it,’ Max said, turning to her.

  ‘I’m just … what did he hear?’ Dee looked nervous.

  ‘It’s fine. He’s not going to say anything.’

  ‘But, it’s just, you know … well …’ Dee stammered as she shied away from the blood gushing from Julian’s right hand.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Max said, his voice rising. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He held up Julian’s hand.

  ‘Just a scratch.’ Julian winked at him.

  ‘Hi, is it Jules?’ Dee started. ‘I wondered if you heard anything, it’s just that it’s very confidential—’

  ‘DEE!’ Max shouted. ‘Enough!’

  Silence followed, interrupted only by the running tap and the constant vibrating of Dee’s phone.

  ‘Sorry.’ Dee looked hurt. ‘I just want to keep it for myself.’

  ‘Dee.’ Max walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Julian is totally trustworthy. Don’t worry.’

  ‘It’s tiring.’ She looked at the ground. ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘I know the feeling.’ He smiled and then pulled her in for a hug. ‘I want you to be happy.’

  ‘I want you to be as well,’ she sniffed, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Good luck, Max. I hope this all works out for you.’ She waved around at the studio as she picked her bag up and left, with her security in tow.

  ‘Sorry,’ Julian whispered when the door shut. ‘It’s just I was dusting and there wasn’t an appropriate moment to leave.’

  By the end of the afternoon there was a feeling of intense gloominess in the studio. Mike had set up the final mixes, ready to be mastered, while Max sat hunched over the desk listening through all the final tracks.

  ‘Happy?’ he asked Mike, who had been quiet for the last couple of hours.

  ‘It’s not me that needs to be happy,’ Mike smiled. ‘Are you sure you’ve got all the takes you want? I have to finalise now, as they’ve got you booked in for the master over the weekend.’

  ‘I think so, yeah,’ Max said, unsure, trying to ignore the elephant in the room. It was still commercially beneficial to do the duet with Dee, no matter how much he preferred the version with Amelie.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ Mike said once more, the slightest hint of disappointment in his tone.

  ‘Mike, I really love Amelie’s version. I actually prefer it. But I need Dee on the EP to help with the transition. She’s got the profile.’

  ‘You don’t,’ Mike said. ‘Do you want some advice?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Mike looked at Max and opened his mouth to speak, before letting out a huge sigh and turning back to the desk. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let me get this ready.’

  ‘Mike,’ Max spoke like he did to his own father. ‘Please, tell me.’

  ‘Well,’ Mike started. ‘I’m too long in the tooth for mincing words, Max. So I’ll lay it straight. The version with Dee is not a patch on the one with Amelie – and not just because she’s my daughter. You know it too.’

  ‘I know. But—’

  ‘But she’s a nobody in the industry. Hell, I didn’t even really know her until recently, but you’re right – having Dee on the record will help it sell. Probably get you in the charts! But the other version is the authentic one. If you really want to break free of the factory, you need to trust yourself. Stop thinking like someone who’s already in the industry.

  ‘You kids,’ he continued, ‘you think you need to play their game to make it. You don’t. You just need to be extraordinary. And you are.’

  At that moment Max’s phone rang. It was still set on full volume from earlier in the day when it was to be his and Amelie’s alarm. The ridiculous default iPhone ringtone filled the room. He glanced down to see if it was Amelie, but it was just Alexia.

  ‘And those bloody phones,’ Mike muttered just loud enough so Max could hear.

  It rang off, and Max stood for a moment wondering what to say. He hadn’t been told off like this since he was a kid, by his father.

  ‘Mike, um … I …’ he started, before his phone went again.

  ‘You’d better get that.’

  CHAPTER 29

  And Your Bird Can Sing

  Maisie was wearing a blue and white halter-top bikini, hand-stitched by a Japanese art student from some cool market stall in Spitalfields. She looked like a supermodel, with her incredibly tall and statuesque frame oozing chia seed and almond butter health from every pore. Amelie looked at her in amazement, vowing to try another green smoothie – although the mere thought of it made her reach for another sip of her coke.

  It had been all work and no play at her dad’s studio, so Amelie finally gave into Maisie’s relentless requests for that promised long weekend visiting Ella in Paris.

  In celebration, Amelie’s mum had bought her a new swimsuit – new in the sense that it was new to Amelie of course, in reality it could be fourth- or
fifth-hand. Ella had found the pink and green striped gem in a flea market for just €2 – a fact that thrilled her far more than it thrilled Amelie. She tried not to think of all the bums that had been in it before hers as she tugged at the awkward frill adorning the single shoulder strap.

  They were perched on loungers on one of those fake beaches that Paris puts up every summer along the banks of the Seine. There was a cycle path between them and the water, but you couldn’t swim anyway, what you could do is sunbathe and eat gelato and stand under one of the vast portable water features when the sun got too hot. And, of course, for the authentic European touch, there was bad house music playing on the speakers.

  ‘I’ve decided I’m going to go to Music in the Park,’ Amelie announced, peering over her red-rimmed sunglasses at a couple of handsome, shirtless young French boys who had clapped eyes on them, in particular Maisie. ‘Those guys totally fancy you.’

  ‘Really?’ Maisie looked flattered and terrified all at once.

  ‘Really,’ Amelie said, lying back and irritated by the attention. ‘I’m quite ready to face my failure.’

  ‘I promise we’ll make sure it’s a great day,’ Maisie said quietly. ‘You should stay with me the day before and we can get ready!’

  ‘A whole day to get ready?’ Amelie said coolly. ‘That’s a lot even by your standards.’

  ‘Well – hair, nails, skin, fake tan – if that’s your thing, a twenty-four-hour hydration program … Mum can make us some pretox smoothies.’

  Amelie imagined early mornings Chataranga-ing before a breakfast without bacon, and shivered.

  ‘What time do we have to meet your mum at the restaurant?’

  ‘In half an hour.’

  ‘That chef is awful.’

  ‘I know, he’s the pits. Mum fancies him though – it’s so obvious. It’s bloody catering college all over again. I hope he’s not married,’ Amelie winced.

  ‘He’s not married. No ring.’

  ‘I don’t think the French men do rings.’

  ‘Excusez moi?’ said a French man, as if appearing to suddenly explain. Amelie put her hand up to shield the sun. It was the two shirtless handsomes that had been staring at Maisie.