Idol

by Carrie Duffy

  Jenna, however, felt that this did not apply to her. They had worked together for so many years now that they both felt they could be disarmingly frank with each other, without the risk of upsetting or offending. Jenna knew just how far she could push her luck and still get away with it – it was a skill she had down to a fine art.

  ‘What?’ Jenna let out of a squeal of indignation. ‘Gerry, you have to be joking! Can’t you see what a fantastic opportunity this is?’

  Gerry sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to let this one drop.

  ‘Phoenix?’ he repeated doubtfully. ‘They’re a rock band, Jenna. You’re a pop star. It’s not going to work.’

  ‘But it will,’ Jenna insisted, unable to hide her enthusiasm. ‘Everyone’s doing it these days – collaborations with unexpected people. It’s the latest thing, and it’ll be totally hot.’

  ‘Speaking of hot,’ Gerry pronounced the word distastefully. ‘Would this sudden desperation to work with Phoenix have anything to do with Nick Taylor?’

  Jenna flushed bright red, annoyed with herself that she was so easy to read. ‘I really admire him as an artist,’ she stated earnestly, as Gerry roared with laughter.

  ‘Yeah, and I love Pam Anderson for her acting ability,’ he chuckled. ‘Seriously Jenna, Nick Taylor eats girls like you for breakfast. I’m not letting him anywhere near you.’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Jenna. She hated being treated like a child, and was blissfully unaware that the more petulantly she behaved, the more she sounded like one. ‘I can handle myself, Gerry, and I want to do this. Anyway, I’ve already said yes so I can’t back out now,’ she finished triumphantly.

  ‘Jenna,’ Gerry began tiredly, wishing she could be just a little less argumentative sometimes and save them all some trouble. He looked at her with affection as she stood there, bubbling over with excitement and energy, just as she had been the first day she’d walked into his office.

  He could still remember the first time they’d met. She’d been totally overshadowed by her dominating mother, Georgia, who was fiercely ambitious and determined to live out her failed dreams through her daughter. She and Jenna’s father, Mikael, had divorced when Jenna was tiny. By anyone’s standards they were a pretty unlikely pairing – Mikael was a Swedish academic who had little in common with glamorous, party-girl Georgia, and the novelty of their odd-couple relationship had soon worn off. Georgia had never remarried – she devoted all her energies to pursuing her daughter’s career, and found being single worked to her advantage.

  Yet despite Georgia’s overbearing behaviour, Gerry couldn’t fail to notice Jenna’s amazing presence in the room. The story was that she’d been out in LA, working with some dance group, when an A&R guy had spotted her. Ultimate Management had taken one look at her and signed her on the spot. They didn’t care whether or not she could sing – Auto-Tune could take care of that. But boy, could she sing.

  Gerry, based in London, had been assigned to work with her on the European side. He’d known straight away she was going to be huge. And he was right – in less than two years Jenna was tottering on the brink of superstardom, her level of fame surpassing even her mother’s wildest expectations. She was in demand on every major continent, her life one exciting, hectic treadmill of recording, gigs, interviews and appearances. Until the accident in Munich.

  It had been during Jenna’s first major European tour. She and Georgia had argued – nothing serious, just the usual mother-and-daughter spats. But Jenna had announced she would be taking the tour bus with the rest of the crew, while Georgia boarded the VIP helicopter. It came down shortly after take-off, crash-landing in the Englischer Garten. Georgia and the pilot were killed instantly. The autopsy showed traces of cocaine in the pilot’s bloodstream and witnesses remembered seeing him indulge at the after-show party the night before.

  Jenna had been destroyed. She’d tried to contact her father – he’d moved back to Sweden and she hadn’t heard from him in years – but when she told him what had happened he showed little interest, and made it clear he had no intention of flying over for the funeral. It was left to Gerry to step into the breach, and he’d stayed by Jenna’s side 24/7 during the darkest times, knowing she had no one else. By his own admission he’d neglected his other artists, and at times he worried he’d totally overstepped his professional boundaries.

  But they’d got through it. The tour had been cancelled and Jenna dropped out of the public eye for a while – some days she couldn’t even get it together enough to climb out of bed. But slowly, gradually, the old fire returned. When Jenna finally made her much-heralded comeback almost a year later, she was bigger and better than ever before. She’d cleaned up at the MTV Europe Awards, and now she wanted to record with Phoenix …

  ‘Look, there simply isn’t time,’ Gerry explained, his tone matter-of-fact. ‘Your entire schedule is manic for at least the next twelve months. We have magazine and TV interviews, promo appearances, photo shoots and live radio shows all booked. Then there’s the next tour to think about, a new album to record, maybe even a possible movie deal or fashion line to put your name to …’ Gerry looked at her pleadingly. ‘Can’t you see it’s just not possible for you to go swanning off to LA, not even for a few days? The schedule would kill you.’

  Jenna smiled innocently, curling up in her chair like a cat. ‘What if it wasn’t in LA? What if I could get them to record in London? That way I could still—’

  ‘You won’t,’ Gerry cut her off.

  ‘But if—’

  ‘No, Jenna.’

  Jenna simply nodded her head, keeping her gaze downcast as she distractedly pushed back her cuticles. ‘Okay,’ she shrugged easily. ‘Whatever you say.’

  Gerry eyed her suspiciously, wondering where the temper tantrum was. The Jenna Jonsson he knew didn’t just back down like that – she would fight him every inch of the way. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her face, but Jenna just smiled sweetly back at him. Gerry scowled. He had a bad feeling about this.

  On the other side of the Atlantic, in downtown Los Angeles, a similar argument was raging in Clive Goldman’s state-of-the-art office. Clive was the manager of Phoenix and, like Gerry King’s, his day wasn’t exactly going the way he’d planned it.

  ‘You told her what?’ he exploded, causing his already ruddy face to turn a veritable shade of purple. Nick ran his hands through his hair, messing up the artfully dishevelled look it had taken him forever to perfect that morning, and raised his hands in defence.

  ‘I just thought it could be good,’ he offered languidly, as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on Clive’s $10,000 desk. ‘We were talking and the idea kind of … came up, y’know?’

  ‘No, Nick, I don’t know. And get your fucking dirty feet off my fucking Parnian desk!’ Clive’s voice got louder with every word.

  ‘Keep the noise down, would ya?’ Nick winced behind his sunglasses. ‘It was kind of a late one last night.’ His voice was rough, and he had the hangover from hell. He’d been welcomed back to LA by Courtney, some pretty little actress-model wannabe with a great rack and a very willing disposition.

  ‘Christ Nick, don’t you ever take anything seriously?’

  ‘You should chill out, Clive; everything’s good – you know what I’m saying? The sun is shining and the women are sweet …’

  Clive inhaled sharply, trying to control his temper as he turned away from the band and crossed the sumptuous deep-pile carpet to the window. From the cluster of skyscrapers in Century City, the sprawling mass of LA spread out far below and the view extended as far as the mountains to the east. The sun was blazing, but it was early still and the smog hadn’t yet lifted, wreathing the city in its choking grasp. Clive saw none of this. Letting out a deep breath, he turned back to where the hottest band on the planet were lounging on his office sofas as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  ‘Guys, I’m running a business here, not a fucking crèche,’ Clive pl
eaded. ‘Everything here is carefully planned – that is why it works. Phoenix are a business, a brand. Do you understand that?’

  ‘I guess,’ Nick shrugged, unconcerned.

  ‘What do you guys think?’ Clive turned to the rest of the band. He was well aware that Nick saw himself as God’s gift, and seemed to have got his dick in a twist about this hot little British chick, but he was pretty sure the others would see sense.

  Zac and Ryan remained silent. Clive clenched his fists in triumph. Divide and conquer.

  ‘Come on guys, this could be amazing,’ Nick implored. ‘Jenna Jonsson is so hot right now, and we’ve gotta keep things fresh. Imagine, our first comeback song after Josh with Jenna on lead. No one would be expecting it.’

  ‘I guess it could be pretty awesome,’ Ryan suggested hesitantly. The bass player of the group, he was easily the quietest and enjoyed a much lower public profile than the rest of the band – which was exactly the way he wanted it. Fiercely private when it came to his home life, he’d married his childhood sweetheart three years ago, and already they’d produced two children. With his cropped brown hair, cute face and casual dress sense, he looked like the ultimate boy next door.

  ‘Zac? What about you?’ Clive asked in exasperation.

  Zac said nothing, pressing his lips together in stony silence. It seemed clear he wasn’t in favour.

  Clive looked smugly at Nick. ‘I can tell you one thing for nothing: this will never happen. I know Gerry King, and I know how he works. He’s setting up this girl as a serious solo artist – a major player, in it for the long haul. He doesn’t have time for her to be dabbling in some side project, and there’s no way in hell he’ll agree to this.’

  Jenna’s gaze flicked quickly round the room as she peeped out from under her perfectly mascara-ed, impossibly long lashes. Her smile was unfaltering and effortlessly dazzling, expertly hiding her nerves as she took in the swathe of journalists packed into a function room at the Sanderson Hotel in central London. There must have been about 200 easily, Jenna thought with a pang of trepidation, taking a sip of water to clear her throat as Clive Goldman expertly fielded questions from the assembled press pack.

  Performing for the cameras was Jenna’s natural arena, and she loved it, but she had to admit to feeling an uncomfortable squirming in her stomach. She was anxious for this collaboration to get off to the best possible start and knew that positive press coverage was vital. She just hoped she didn’t do anything to mess it up before they’d even got started.

  Intent on charming the reporters, Jenna shifted slightly in her seat to what she felt must be a more flattering angle. She looked immaculate as always; her white Dolce & Gabbana jeans clung to the curved lines of her perfect rear, her long legs tapering down into dazzling jade-green heels. A brightly coloured Marc Jacobs halterneck completed the look, and showed off her toned, tanned arms and back. It was a young, fresh and funky image. Large gold hoops jangled at her ears as she shook her head slightly, throwing out her hair behind her and relaxing into the seat she had chosen between Nick Taylor and Zac Knight at the press conference table.

  ‘Philip White, BBC. Are there any plans for you all to tour together?’

  ‘They might be sick of the sight of me by the time we’ve finished recording,’ Jenna quipped. There was raucous laughter from the male journos in the room, who couldn’t see how anyone could get tired of looking at Jenna. Most of them had enjoyed a private moment with Jenna’s image locked in their head.

  Zac smiled politely, and added, ‘Seriously, though, it’s a long way off and none of us can say what we’ll be doing after this. We’ve all got crazy schedules. And, of course, it depends on the reaction to the music …’

  ‘But we’d love to do it, though,’ cut in Nick eagerly. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing a smattering of dark blond hair, and he was wearing his trademark sunglasses. ‘It’s just a question – like Zac says – a question of time. But Phoenix are definitely impatient to get out there and tour again, and Jenna’d certainly be a welcome addition.’

  ‘Katia Giacomo, E! News. Why have you made the decision to record in London?’

  ‘What can I say? We’d go anywhere to work with Jenna,’ Nick grinned, as he threw his arm around her, his hand squeezing her shoulder. Jenna’s stomach flip-flopped with excitement. She tried to play it cool, hoping the cameras wouldn’t pick up on it.

  ‘It’s a great city,’ Ryan added. ‘We’re looking forward to spending time here.’

  ‘So you’re planning to relocate?’

  Ryan nodded. ‘I’m renting a house so my family can come over. The kids are young, so I don’t want to be away from them for too long – you miss so many important moments …’ He trailed off, sounding almost wistful. ‘But I don’t want to speak for the other guys.’ He looked over to Zac and Nick, but it was Clive that intercepted.

  ‘I’d prefer not to go into details of where the band are staying – we don’t want to cause a riot,’ he grinned sourly, taking a sip of his water. The heat in the room was getting to him. He was sweating lightly, and he loosened his collar.

  A young guy in a cheap suit held up his hand. ‘Zac, I understand Amber’s working in London at the moment. Will this give you a chance to see each other more?’

  Zac looked at the guy as if he was a moron. His hatred of the press was legendary. ‘Yes,’ he replied shortly.

  There were discreet chuckles from the other reporters. Jenna tried to keep her face neutral at the mention of Amber. She’d met her twice and she didn’t like her.

  Clive quickly interrupted. ‘Come on guys, let’s move it along here. Yes?’ He pointed to a woman in the second row.

  ‘Julia Page, Sky News. How do you think Josh Starr will react to the news that you’re to work with Jenna?’

  Zac glanced nervously at his manager, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

  ‘I don’t really know what Josh would think,’ he began slowly. ‘He’s made his decision, and we wish him all the best.’

  ‘But is there any bitterness there?’ the reporter pressed. ‘Or has it turned out to be a blessing in disguise as you now have the chance to work with Jenna?’

  A flicker of worry crossed Zac’s brow.

  Clive leant forward towards his microphone. ‘Sorry, we’re running really short of time. We’ll just take one last question. Bob, yes?’

  The CNN reporter jumped to his feet as Julia Page sat back in disappointment.

  ‘This is a question for Jenna,’ Bob Williams drawled, a sly grin flashing across his features. ‘You’ve long expressed your admiration for Phoenix – Nick Taylor in particular,’ he added, as the other reporters sniggered.

  Jenna could feel her cheeks burning, remembering how she’d cited Nick as her ideal man in countless interviews.

  ‘I was wondering if you’re still of that opinion, now that you’ve met him?’

  Jenna laughed brightly to hide her embarrassment, her smile lighting up her face. The press were gunning for a sniff of romance between Jenna and Nick – and Jenna was pretty keen on the idea herself.

  ‘I’ve found all the members of Phoenix to be extremely generous, welcoming and phenomenally talented,’ she began carefully. ‘I’m looking forward to forming an exciting and stimulating relationship with them – strictly professional of course,’ she added quickly, looking up coyly from underneath her lashes at a grinning Nick Taylor.

  4

  It was a glorious spring afternoon in the City. Shafts of sunlight filtered between the tall, grey office blocks and reflected off the stark, glass, ultra-modern buildings that had sprung up all over the City in recent years. The harassed-looking workers had shed their jackets and were striding through the streets in shirt-sleeves, their eyes hidden by black Ray-Bans. Parks, squares and even churchyards had been colonized by staff on their lunch break, looking to make the most of the unseasonably good weather. The hot sun was making everyone feel sexy, and Sadie was loving the vibe.

  She was strolling along Bishop
sgate with Carla and pretending not to notice the appreciative looks she was getting. Every man that passed checked her out, and Sadie was revelling in the attention. She’d just been to the lunchtime Pilates class that Carla ran at the City Works gym, and was bathed in a post-workout glow. Although she wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, her skin was flawless and her cheeks were flushed and healthy. Her supple, toned limbs were evident through the fitted sweat pants and T-shirt she was wearing. She had put on a few pounds over the past couple of weeks and her usually skinny dancer’s figure had rounded out into sexy thighs, her small breasts had swollen a little fuller. The City high-fliers, surrounded by over-groomed women in their staid suits with immaculate hair and make-up, couldn’t keep their eyes off her.

  ‘Here?’ asked Carla, as they scanned the menu outside a smart-looking Italian bistro.

  ‘Good for me,’ Sadie grinned.

  They sat down at an outside table beside a large group of business people. Sadie turned her face up to the sky, feeling the sun beat down on her skin as she loosened her hair band and shook out her dark, glossy hair.

  ‘I’d love a glass of white wine,’ Sadie smiled, as the waiter approached. ‘And a risotto verde.’

  ‘I’ll just have a mineral water and a goat’s-cheese salad … without the goat’s cheese.’ Carla winced in apology at the confused waiter. ‘And with the dressing on the side.’

  Sadie looked at her carefully. ‘You do know you’ve just ordered a glass of water and a plate of lettuce?’

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘Mmmmmm,’ Sadie smacked her lips together sarcastically. ‘Sounds delicious.’

  ‘I’m having a fat day,’ Carla retorted crossly.

  Sadie stared at her friend – she was a size four and there wasn’t a trace of fat anywhere on her body. Her hip bones jutted out and you could count her ribs when she inhaled. ‘A fat day?’ she repeated.