by Kiki Archer
The look was perplexed. “You want me to come with you?”
“Of course. This is my day.”
“But you’ll be on stage.”
“And you’ll be front row.”
Honey watched with interest. On the odd occasion that she had invited people as guests in the audience they’d crowed and wailed, overcome with the idea of celebrity, the shoulders they’d rub, the stories they’d tell. But not Meg. Meg was sitting there, cogs whirring once more. “You can come to my dressing room first, help me get changed. I must try and beat Gwen tonight. She’s been crowned best dressed the past two weeks.”
“I’m not sure I’m the one to ask.” Her eyes were down. “And I’ll feel totally out of place. My job usually sees me behind the scenes, not up front and personal.”
“I’ll make sure you feel special.”
Meg’s face was back up and searching. “But why?”
“Because I like you. Is it really so hard to believe?”
The shoulders shrugged. “A bit. You’re Honey Diamond. I’m just… I’m nobody.”
“You’re everybody to me.” Honey reached out and lifted her chin, connecting with her eyes and speaking in earnest. “Who should I be with? Some love-themselves celebrity only intent on raising their own profile? Or some gorgeous woman who arrived on my doorstep like a gift from the gods?”
Meg laughed. “Too much. And I thought you didn’t judge?”
“Something brought us together, Meg. My song? Your paper? Those awful internet trolls? Who knows? But what I do know is this happens. People come into each other’s lives when they’re least expecting it, and they go and turn everything on its head. Because that’s what it feels like with you. I took a day off yesterday. I never take a day off.” She smiled. “And then you went and played the pavement in my acting class, and it was the best pavement I’ve ever seen, and I knew you were special. If anything I’m the one who should be self-conscious. I’ve been unnaturally forward. I’ve dived straight in. I’ve probably been stalkerish to the extreme.”
“You?”
Honey laughed. “Yes, me. I feel like I’ve been a hunter.”
“You don’t have time to waste. I get that.”
“And you do?”
“It’s that line. You’re Honey Diamond.”
“Stop saying that!”
“It’s true. You’re special, and yes I’ll admit it, I dreamt of moments like these. I was a fan, a big fan. I watched you from afar, I admired you from afar. I never actually believed I’d be in your presence. Surely you can understand there are slight nerves for me?”
“We’re all just people, Meg, and when we find that person who draws us in we should go with it. I want you to go with it.”
“I’m in the back of a car snogging the woman of my dreams; trust me I’m going with it. But it’s like: reality check, what the hell’s going on?”
Honey smiled wickedly. “It’s exciting though, isn’t it?”
Meg laughed. “You’re just so different to how I imagined.”
Reaching out, Honey ran her fingers down the side of Meg’s neck. “Tell me what you imagined.”
“Oh, I imagined a lot.”
The come on was sexy. “Did you?”
“I did.” Meg took hold of Honey’s fingers and moved them back to their owner. “I imagined I’d do the leading,” she said, reaching up with her own hands.
Honey groaned, feeling herself pushed back, lips once again hard to her neck. She spoke with a smile. “Well, won’t this be the battle of wills?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Following the hustle as best she could, Meg smiled, thankful for the hand that reached out to pull her into the fold. They were walking at a rapid pace down a backstage passage at the cavernous Britain Sings studio, scaffolding securing the seating to their right as runners rushed past on the left tasked with life or death missions if their frantic faces, buzzing headsets and flapping clipboards were anything to go by. Meg squeezed Honey’s fingers as a thank you. Honey was being hurried along by a team of people, yet she’d made time to reach out and reassure her, drawing her close so their steps were in sync.
Of course Meg had been in situations like this before, but only on the other side of proceedings. She’d been responsible for the hustle, and yes she was obviously aware it would be intimidating for the person she was shaking her mic at or waving her notebook towards, but she hadn’t quite accepted just how intense it could feel. If Meg was honest, the idea of dropping back and slipping away had crossed her mind twice already since leaving the car; the car that had been so cocooned, so other-worldly, their own little bubble, protecting them from this. She tried to take in what exactly this was because these weren’t journalists, they were production people flurrying around, desperate to impart whatever essential information they felt Honey needed to know.
Meg listened to the polite but firm instructions. Justin would be at the studio at six pre-recording his set that had to appear live, so they needed the judges in position early for their reactions to be filmed, which could potentially cause continuity issues if Gwen opted for a last minute outfit change, something she was prone to do, apparently. But why Honey needed to hear this, Meg struggled to understand. “I should get going,” she said, trying to speak over the voices, but not wanting to draw attention. “You’ve got enough going on without having to babysit me too.”
“It’s not usually like this. Liza deals with everything. Where is she? I knew she wasn’t coming to the drama day, but I assumed she’d be here; she’s always here.”
“Shall I try and find her? I’ve got my Beacon press pass in my bag. I’m sure I can wangle my way around.”
The voice was hushed. “I’d rather you got rid of these cling-ons.”
“Right,” said Meg, deciding to get a grip, step up and impress with her assertiveness. “Where’s your dressing room?”
“It’s down here.”
“Ask for some privacy and we’ll make a plan from in there.”
Honey glanced around at the urgency before slowing her pace. “Excuse me,” she said, addressing the crowd, “Liza will be here shortly. Could you do what you usually do and feed all this through her? I’ll be in my dressing room and would rather not be disturbed.”
Meg watched the faces. They weren’t shocked exactly, just questioning and reluctantly complying. She had no doubt the guidance they were all trying to impart was of the utmost importance, and without Liza the next port of call was obviously Honey, but this was Honey Diamond after all, and she’d asked for some distance. Meg smiled as they upped their pace, forcing the pack to gradually tail off, leaving them to finish their walk down the corridor without the chattering entourage.
Honey’s laugh was nervous. “I feel like a bitch.”
“Don’t. Tell me how I can help.”
“I’m not sure. We usually arrive for the live shows at the back entrance, as we did today, but there’s always a waiting runner who walks me to my dressing room where I find Heidi, Caitlyn and Louisa. Liza stays back there and obviously deals with all that.” She shook her head. “Poor Liza, no wonder she’s stressed. I’ve always tried to make her feel appreciated, but I’m not sure I’ve ever quite realised the scale of what she does.” She nodded at the glittering Honey Diamond placard before pushing open the dressing room door and continuing. “She must message ahead so the runner’s there for the moment we arrive; she must—”
“You’ve arrived!” came the gasp. “I didn’t message the runner!”
Meg spotted the PA first, head sticking up from some sort of portable massage table in the corner of the large dressing room, brogues tucked neatly under a nearby chair also playing hanger to a three piece suit, a shirt, slipped or thrown, down on the floor. “Hi,” she said, wanting to break the awkward silence, Honey still open-mouthed at the scene. “We met at Honey’s. Liza, isn’t it? And Svetty?”
The Russian woman lifted her hands together and bowed. “Svetty Sokolova. I do servic
es. Liza like me do services. Liza like me do extra services. Svetty be asked to service Liza’s—”
“Enough!” The PA scrambled from the table and grabbed her clothes, squatting behind the chair as if it offered some sort of camouflage while she tried to re-dress. “I’ve been saying for a while you need to relax, Honey. I didn’t realise your mother’s holistic therapist offered off-site treatments.”
“Svetty be offering the off-site treatments, the on-site treatments. On site of buttocks. On site of breasticles.”
“Svetty, please!” Liza’s voice was strained. “I’m sorry,” she said, shirt back on, legs pulled into trousers, “I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour. Tammara should have kept me informed.”
Meg thought back to Honey’s instruction in the car. “Just drive,” she had said in the nicest possible way, neither of them wanting any interruption to the temperature that had started to rise. Tammara had possibly mentioned something about calling ahead, but the memory was hazy, as was Honey’s no doubt. Both lost in the moment, in the desire to dive deeper, to explore, to feel more. Meg quivered. Their kissing had been so intense, encompassing them in a private bubble where nothing else seemed to register apart from the moans and the contact. Tammara could have been divider-down, talking the whole time for all she could remember. And she knew Honey had been lost in exactly the same way, she’d seen it in her eyes, the trance that sucked them both in.
“You know I don’t like strangers touching me, Liza,” Honey’s voice came from her new position on the sofa, “and there’s nothing wrong with admitting Svetty’s here for your purpose.”
The PA turned her back on the table. “She’s not here for me.”
The holistic therapist looked hurt. “You be saying you like the services of Svetty. You be calling Svetty special.”
“Not now, Svetty.”
Meg shuffled on her feet in the centre of the room, not wanting to gawp at the lovers’ tiff. Instead, she looked around at the décor. A glittering dresser table, mirror and stool against the back wall, plush sofas down the side wall and a lavish table and chairs to the right. Expensive but soulless, Svetty’s make-shift massage salon in the corner the only thing out of place. Maybe it was Liza who liked everything just so, Liza the one with borderline OCD, everything having a purpose or no place at all. Other dressing rooms she’d been in had been cramped and full of the typical odds and ends, feather boas and flowers, but this one was like a waiting room.
She moved from her position and sat next to Honey. The smile came quickly. The idea that Honey didn’t like strangers touching her sounded so foreign after their ride in the car and, yes, while there hadn’t as yet been any intimate contact there had been a great contest to get closer, cheeks on cheeks, arms pulling chests together, fingers riding higher on necks, both wanting more, needing more. “You don’t like strangers touching you?” she whispered.
Honey dipped her head. “You’re not a stranger. And I don’t mean in a diva type way, I mean in a – let me lie naked for an intimate back rub from a stranger – way.”
Meg felt that chemistry once more. Shivers of lust spiking through her body as the invisible pull found its force. “I think a massage is a good idea,” she whispered.
Honey whispered back, “From Svetty?”
“From me.”
“What are you two giggling about?” asked Liza, fully together once more, brogues clipping at the heels, signalling she was back in the game. “And I did bring her for you.” She nodded towards the massage table and the holistic therapist who was now standing obediently, hands together, head bowed, awaiting further instruction. “I have to admit she’s worked absolute wonders with me. I feel like a new woman entirely, but I acknowledge I can’t let this new found freedom affect my game, which it has done today.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“You not be using the Svetty no more?” The obedience was broken.
Liza turned back around. “We’ve spoken about this. Please remember your place when at work.”
“But you confuses the Svetty.” Her eyes were upset. “You say—”
Honey cut in. “Oh Liza, don’t worry about it; it’s lovely to see you so happy, and we must have been early anyway.”
The PA refocused her attention. “The workshop didn’t run its full course?”
Meg could feel her cheeks reddening; she’d no doubt been the fly in the ointment affecting the format of the day. Trying to ignore the cringeworthy memories, she talked instead to Liza. “It certainly was an eye-opener,” she said with a smile.
Liza smiled back. “I’m afraid you won’t be quite as involved this evening. I’ll be back in twenty minutes with the girls, please feel free to stay and watch Honey’s transformation but then I’ll escort you to the stands.”
“Front row?” asked Honey anxiously.
Liza nodded. “Of course.”
“You’ll be right behind me then.” Honey spoke with a smile. “And I’ll come and chat in the breaks. Make sure the seat next to hers is free as well please, Liza.”
“I’ll do that now.” Liza moved towards the door. “And Honey, please give Svetty a go.”
Meg looked at the now silent woman, like an offering shared among friends.
“Sloppy seconds ain’t my style,” said Honey with a whisper.
Meg’s smile was wide as the dressing room door clicked closed. Honey was on exactly the same wavelength. “We’re racing for pinks.”
“Pinks?”
Meg’s excitement rose. Nothing better than a woman who could banter back and forth with great lines from great films. “Pinks you punk! Pink slips! Ownership papers.”
“Oh oh ho ho ho!”
Meg laughed loudly. “Please tell me you can do the Fresh Prince of Bel Air rap.”
“Yes,” Honey nodded, “with swag.”
The head was out of its bowed position. “Svetty be starting the pack up. You two not be needing the relax. You already be loose. You already want the pom pom. The bonk bonk. The sex.”
Honey laughed. “Me?”
“Both. Both juicy. Juicy eyes. Juicy lips. Juicy joo-joos.”
“Svetty!”
“I think she already said that,” laughed Meg.
“Meg!”
“What?” Meg knew Honey’s indignation was feigned. “She’s on the money with the joo-joos.”
“It’s more fun if we tease together,” said Honey, joining her with a nudge to the shoulder. She turned to Svetty. “Does Liza want the sex?”
“Ma’am not be paying me for the sex.”
Honey’s face straightened. “My mother?
“Ma’am be paying wages. I in-house holistic therapist at Velvet Villa.”
“Yes, but surely you’re here for Liza?”
“Extra cost money.”
“My mother’s paying you for today?”
“She says I be keeping the Liza happy, so I be keeping the Honey happy.”
“But you like Liza, right?”
“Not matter what Svetty like. Everyone just be liking services. Just services.”
“I think she likes you.”
The plump cheeks rose into a smile. “She like the Svetty?”
“I think so.”
“Liza like Svetty for Svetty? Not for beating of hand and slapping of buttocks?”
“Yes probably that too, but there’s more to life than work – there’s love, and love can never be bought or paid for.”
“We heff confusions.”
Honey nodded. “Miscommunication happens in all relationships, Svetty, regardless of translation.” She smiled. “If you like someone, tell them.” Her eyes turned to Meg. “If you love someone, show them.”
Meg held the connection. Honey was so perfect and so kind to everyone no matter their walk of life or role in her world. She could learn from her. She could grow with her. Returning the smile she accepted the truth. Honey could teach her how to love and be loved.
The kindness con
tinued. “Why don’t you hang around? We could all go for some food after the show.”
“Svetty be chiropodist tonight. Gerty got the bunions.”
“Another night then? I’ll arrange it.”
The woman pulled her folded table towards the door. “You not be teasing the Svetty? You think Liza like her? I go find the Liza. We heff the missing communications of issues sometimes. Svetty go now, she sorting it out. But you promising you are not doing the teasing?”
Honey spoke with all seriousness. “I’d never tease the Svetty.”
“Damn it,” whispered Meg under her breath. She waited for the therapist to leave and the door to close before the inevitable shoulder shove came from Honey. “What?” said Meg, “it’s a shame.”
“It’s a shame if those two don’t do the Sokolova.”
Meg leaned in closer. “You’re quite the little matchmaker, aren’t you?”
“I can spot the odd spark.”
“Any fire between us?”
Honey’s lips were exploring once more. “There’s a whole blazing inferno,” she said with a smile.
****
Taking her seat in the studio Meg marvelled at the electric atmosphere. The last hour she’d spent watching Honey transformed from her naturally beautiful state into a stylised queen, dripping in glitz and glamour, her outfit sure to blow Gwen’s offering out of the water. What Meg found interesting was that there’d been no interaction between the two female judges pre-show. There was a perpetual public debate as to whether or not the two singers from opposite sides of the ocean were actually friend or foe, and so far Meg’s judgement was they were neither. Liza had liaised with Gwen’s team, ensuring outfits didn’t clash or – worse – match, but in the build-up to the show the team had been close-knit, just Honey and her professionals. To Meg, a theme was emerging. Honey didn’t have an entourage of pointless flunkies, she didn’t make dressing room demands, she didn’t have fame-hungry friendships or create false feuds, she was just Honey, as often as possible.