“Turn to the gossip page.”
“I'd rather not.”
“Seriously, turn to the gossip pages. It's the blind items.”
“What's a blind item?” Paige's ignorance was sneered at, but it showed a measure of her distaste towards the celebrity lifestyle. She was a singer, a musician and an occasional activist; she was not happy to wallow in mindless attention the journalists wanted to give her, unless it suited her. She’d use the power of her fame when she was protesting, of course, but for every day life she eschewed acceptance of the celebrity lifestyle.
“It's when they hint at a celebrity's misdeeds or antics and don't say who it is.” Paige screwed up her face; her lack of comprehension annoyed Claire. “Remember when we were doing the tour last year and we stopped off in that Greek island for a couple of days as a stopover. And we turned up at the local bar for a drink and ended up doing a free concert?”
Paige nodded. “Yeah. Good night that was.”
“That was in as 'Which group's quiet night out on holiday was so successful with the locals that they were bare-ly able to get away after their free show?' But that's quite tame. And obvious. There normally cleverer especially if they hint at misdeeds. Ones which could land them in court.”
Paige rolled her eyes but turned to the inside page. Underneath the glistening smile of a fantasy journalist was a handful of blind items. “So … what colourful ex-band member is finding life out of the limelight a bit taxing. Rumours abound that a call from the Revenue may force him into a solo comeback.”
“OK … who do you think?”
“Colourful so maybe Jason Orange?”
“Or Blue or Simply Red or Green Day or Deep Purple or …”
“Ok, so we have no idea. This is like fucking horoscopes.”
Claire smiled. “That's the idea. It could be any of those people.”
“But Blue's done nothing since Eurovision ten years ago. And Green Day or Simply Red have done nothing since the nineties and …”
“OK try this one. 'There was much ado about something when a famous name, suppressed his violent rages and reportedly seduced a dancer with a five-figure dinner bill. He was certainly as she liked it!'”
“Much ado about something, is that a Shakespeare play?”
“It's Much Ado About Nothing and As You Like It; they are Shakespeare.”
“So a Shakespearean actor maybe. Violent rages?”
Claire sighed and picked up the newspaper from her friend. “I think you’re the wrong person to play this with.”
“Indeed, I am. I don't know the first thing about Shakespeare.”
“How's your bump?”
Paige picked up the paper. “Which blonde-haired Tory MP's been a naughty boy. He was spotted creeping out of a notorious dominatrix's house last weekend when he should have been at the party conference. Oooh, Madam. More punishment please.”
“Paige …”
“I think … all of them. They are all likely to be doing it.”
“Don't avoid the question.”
“Perhaps it was Miss Piggy. You know what these Tory MPs are like with pigs and …” Paige's voice trailed off as she saw the disapproving look her friend was giving her. They stared at each other, silently communicating and arguing. “I don't know,” she eventually conceded.
Claire held her friend's hand and rubbed the back of it. “Does Jack know?”
“No,” Paige admitted. “Well we went through a bit of a rough patch and I didn't want him to think he had to stay with me because I was pregnant. And I guess, I don't want to have to tell him. And neither do I want to do anything about it.”
“But the abortion you had booked?”
“I never wanted an abortion. I just don’t want a baby. It sounds stupid, but when I think about it, I can't bring myself to terminate it.”
“Anti-abortionists, eh?”
“Well I'm not anti-abortion. I'm pro-choice, but I don't want to choose that option. I'm just not sure I could. Which makes me weak. I guess I don't know what I want to do. I think I want to do nothing and worry about it another day. I keep thinking I’ll deal with it tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes. And no, I’m not putting it up for adoption.”
“But …”
Paige put her hand up to indicate the conversation was over but Claire persisted. “Paige, you know …”
She interrupted. “So, has Andre been in contact?”
“Not too recently,” Claire admitted. “I don't want him to either.”
“You know, you will come into contact with him again.” Claire shrugged.
“I know. And I'm sort of over that now. I'll be fine with him as an acquaintance. I'll just avoid him where I can and be graceful where I can't. I know I have a problem with him but as long as he’s not in my line of sight. Like … traffic lights. Fine when they aren't on the road your on.”
Paige didn't reply; the car stopped and she peeped out of the window. “We’re here. Andre, like your papers are much ado about nothing and we most certainly didn't like it.” Claire groaned.
“Your jokes get worse!”
Paige led her friend into the large, imposing building housing an art gallery. “We've been friends for years and you've never brought me to an art gallery before!”
“Ahh well. Either I have a hitherto unknown talent with a paintbrush, disguised cultural intelligence or …”
“… or you’re up to something?” Claire asked.
“Or this one is different.” Although she didn't explain further. The building was impressive; stone Roman columns dominated the façade, and a large atrium filled the entrance hall.
Lavish and bold styles reigned over the architecture and provided a backdrop to the vast array of masterpieces. Neither Paige nor Claire cared much for the paintings, but tucked away at the back of the second floor was an exhibition.
“Paige …” Claire called as her friend walked under the archway. “What's … is this us?”
Paige smiled, stopping to admire the six-foot high picture that filled the wall. It was her; Claire and Jack were minor smudges in the background, but she was the focal point.
The stage, the crowd, the set and the weather were props to that moment; her eyes closed, her mouth open singing into the microphone. Her red hair was swept back, her knees slightly bent and her right hand extending towards the viewer.
But it was her nudity; water droplets were rolling across her skin, her skin radiant by the stage lights. It was power; her nakedness screamed control and confidence. The picture towered over the real Paige and she looked up, awestruck.
“This way,” she said to Claire admiring the same might and thunderous energy that had left her speechless a few moments previous. On an adjacent wall, was a similarly detailed and giant picture of Claire.
They looked at the vast painting, speechless as their eyes roamed.
Just like Paige's picture, the background was hazy and just out of focus daubs of colour; props for the focal point of a naked guitarist. The concentration in her face was captured magnificently; creases in her skin replicated flawlessly. The guitar filled the picture, angled towards the viewer. A tear rolled down Claire's cheek as she surveyed every brush stroke.
“Amazing,” she muttered.
“Feel anything?” Paige asked, sitting on the floor and encouraging Claire to do the same; they stared up at the giant picture.
“Yeah. It's like that happened a lifetime ago.”
“Six to eight months. I found this letter a few days ago from the gallery saying that they were running an exhibition on public nudism and did I want an advance preview. They opened a week ago so I came down and these are amazing. They capture freedom and power, and everything I love 'bout making music and being on stage. The thrill, the rush and the excitement.”
Claire nodded. “I guess.”
“And perhaps if you had an adrenaline packed life during tours and albums, you'd be happier to go home to colour-coded rotas and not weird orange shit that nea
rly kills you.”
“I am an adult!” Claire moaned. “I don't need to be reminded constantly.”
“I know,” Paige soothed. “I've fucked up enough times to know what it's like. But these pictures remind me of what I am missing. What we are all missing. They capture the essence of being on stage and wants to make me rocking like crazy again. To feel that magical feeling again.”
Claire shrugged. “Meb-bie” She sighed as her eyes traced the toned body of her right leg. “I was in a band and they chucked me out.”
“Fuck 'em. I was thinking of a reunion.”
“We only just split up. Sorry, short hiatus. I love those paintings but I'm not sure I'm ready for a manic tour and album. I want to get my life back on track and ease myself back into that world gently.” Paige smiled a disappointed smile that she tried unsuccessfully to hide. “Sorry, I'm busting for a wee.”
“Sure, toilets are back there.” the lead singer answered and waited for her friend to drop out of sight before approaching the desk in the corner of the room. “Hi. I'd like to buy three of these big pictures.”
“Madam, they are £15,000 each.”
“I know,” Paige giggled and watched as the show's exhibitor and artist was retrieved from the corner of the room. His eyes were on stalks as he shook Paige's hands; the object of his work stood before him, and she was dying to spend money with him.
“And they are available for collection at the end of the exhibition in two weeks.”
“I know,” Paige retorted. “But these would look amazing on our recording studio wall. ”
“Indeed,” he simpered as Paige withdrew her chequebook from her bag; he passed the young lady his business card.
“Who do I make it payable to?”
* * *
Jack picked Paige up from the art gallery and drove to the outside of the London studio. They had travelled in silence, but as Jack pulled into the car park, she spoke.
It had been a difficult situation for both of them. They both knew that while Paige's behaviour was immature and reflected poorly on her, it was not definite to have played the defining role in Jack's failure to get nominated. That said, it would have been a factor and Jack's girlfriend causing such trouble and using such language would mean that he was always at risk of being embarrassed and humiliated by future “principled stands” that the young lady chose to make.
Therefore, while Jack was still angry at her and Paige conceded he had a right to be, but as far as she was concerned the acceptable time period for his disappointment to last had drawn to an end.
Paige was not a patient person, and dealing with “sulky Jack” diplomatically was not something she had too much experience with.
“Are you still mad at me?” She asked. He didn't answer. “When are you going to grow up?”
Jack spluttered. “When the fuck are you going to grow up? When am I going to be able to travel to a Surrey town and not have my girlfriend turn up and call me a murderer with blood on my hands. Jesus, woman, talk about being a hypocrite!”
“Ouch. Tactful, I see,” Paige muttered.
“Why would I waste my time being tactful to a person who has no concept of it?”
“Fair point.” Paige took a deep breath. “You know, I could have taken the train or the bus.”
“Didn't want you to.” His voice was ungraciously sullen. “And we got an appointment together after this. Be silly turning up separately.”
“Oooo.” Paige laughed and then groaned. “OK. What do I need to do to allow you to forgive me? Do I need to do to ensure that this ends, and we can go back to how we were?”
Jack grunted.
“I've tried to build a time machine but Sainsbury's are right out of flux capacitors. And I've searched on the 'net …”
“This isn't a joke.”
“I know it isn't. But I've tried everything. I've tried doing things in the bedroom, I've tried not being around, I've tried being around and I've tried … well everything. You want me to admit it? OK, I was a bitch, I was a fucking bitch, I was a cow and an unthinking nasty, evil, disgraceful, witch and I humiliated you in public. Now whatever I've done doesn't deserve this. You're hot one minute and freezing cold the next.” Tears formed in her eyes and she allowed Jack to wipe them with his thumb.
She stared into his deep blue eyes as she fought back the tears. “I didn't want this to happen,” he muttered. “And in some ways there is an easy way out. I just don't want that in a million years. There's been times when I really didn't like you and wanted to be as far away from you as I could, but I never stopped loving you. The thought of you being in my life fucking it up was nowhere near as bad as you not being in it.”
“Thanks.”
“Indeed.” He sighed. “I don't want to fight with you.”
“Well don't then,” she replied. She leant over the central column to give her boyfriend a kiss and they embraced warmly, hands sliding over their clothes.
“Next time, can you just talk to me?”
Paige snorted. “If you're home long enough to talk to!”
“I wasn't that bad!”
“OK. I won't attack you with water pistols in public, spraying you with a fake blood again. Am I forgiven now?”
“Yeah,” Jack chuckled. “You're forgiven. Now come on, we'll be late.”
The studio offices car park was sufficiently large that the couple could be lost in one of the long rows of vehicles, but a few minutes later they emerged and strode across the vast tarmac to a large office.
The director and Danny were waiting for Paige; the screen test with Paige, albeit done withany other naturist someone who had no formal acting training, was easily the best of the small number that they had conducted. Being naked on set was distracting and they knew filming on location would be tougher.
That left them with a small number of candidates; who were people used to be naked around camera men and scores of other people? The Bare Necessities and pornography actors.
The latter had proved a mildly diverting pool of talent; the former, in Paige, had been a nightmare of principled demands and refusal to adhere to the stereotypes that made the humour in his comedy work. It was the same for their Naturism Consultant who had quit the project after his amendments were refused.
Paige was difficult. But she was also the best audition for the role of Violet. She had a hand of aces and he knew it. The meeting was to discuss what they needed to do to get Paige on board with their project.
But despite her recently conciliatory moves in the car park, she wouldn't budge on her demands. Jack watched silently from the side of the room as his girlfriend tore swathes of the papers from the folder and drew red lines through so many more.
The director refused. “This is a comedy show,” he repeated firmly, standing up to stare at the dogmatic naturist.
“Will you make this mildly representative of my beliefs?”
“Not if it involves removing the comedy.”
“Then I will not be involved in your show,” she said with finality and stood up. She picked up the scripts and threw them at the director. “And I doubt a single other naturist will either.” She glanced at her partner, watching the row unfold. “Come on, we’re going. I'm done here.”
Jack reached for his car keys and checked his watch. “I can ask if they can see us earlier,” he told her as she flung open the doors to the TV company's reception.
“Who are they, again?”
“Cybercrime Investigations.”
“Who?”
“The Police!” Jack snapped. “I explained all this yesterday.”
“Ahh yes, but I wasn't listening yesterday. I was still angry at you for being angry at me. I didn't have to listen yesterday.”
Jack groaned. His key fob unlocked his car and he opened the door. “They want to talk to us to get evidence and ensure our security is …”
“Jack,” Paige interrupted. “Shut up a drive. I don't understand a bloody word you are saying.”
&
nbsp; Chapter XLV
Lars
The Receptionist guided him into a side room with a knowing smile. She knew why he was there. His heart pumped, and his mouth felt dry.
He flirted briefly with the young receptionist; she brought him a coffee in the windowless meeting room where he sat, ready for his meeting. The walls were painted a light blue colour; nondescript and forgettable. A table stood between him and two other chairs, waiting for the arrival of his hosts. Pictures dominated the wall: headlines, scoops, photos of editors and logos of awards.
Lars tapped the table. He gulped as the door opened, standing to his feet as the two men entered the room. “... and Mikey said he's got pictures of her tits but wardrobe malfunctions are everywhere now. I said we'd cover his client's knockers going for a wander if he gives us exclusive on her new baby. Mind you, there’s a few teenage boys that’ll knock one out to her knockers. Bigger than Miracle-Gro Melons!” The chuckling men looked at their guest and extended their right hands to greet the shaking Lars.
The two men wore suits like teenage joyriders; the smart garments baggy and not befitting such ill-mannered and immoral individuals. Their appearances screamed sleaziness, with the greasy, styled hair and tobacco-stained fingernails. The elder of the two had a tattoo on his forearm; an expression from Viz inked across his skin in gothic lettering.
“You said you had an exclusive for us.”
“Yeah.” Lars looked at them, clenched his hands together. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous. You know that Claire Baynes.”
“We know Claire Baynes.”
“Well a mate of mine was with her on a couple of her benders.”
The two men shrugged, glancing at each other. “So, we could get some background info but it's hardly news. Rock star has a night out with friend. Or fan. Who gives a fuck?”
“He met her through a dating app and they had sex.”
“Still not really big news. You ain't really got anything new.”
He took a tablet computer from his bag under the table and unlocked the device, putting it into the gallery app and passing it to them. “I took those from his phone. Swipe to the left.”
Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities) Page 19