Idol

by Carrie Duffy

  ‘One and two and three and yeah, punch, punch, stop, roll …’

  Jeez, this guy was relentless! But Sadie was determined to get it. She realized how long it was since she’d properly worked out. Moves that used to be easy, automatic, now took effort. And she tired quickly – her stamina was shot, and she was sweating like a man. But she couldn’t deny that the buzz was there. The adrenaline was pumping, the endorphins rushing through her body, giving her that sweet natural high that she craved. This was what she loved and she was excited to be back out there. She was up for the challenge, willing to do whatever it took to fulfil her ambitions.

  To raise the stakes, Sadie imagined this wasn’t a class but a real performance. Gone were the grimy mirrored walls, the dusty floor and the pile of abandoned exercise mats in the corner. In her mind she was out there, live on stage in front of thousands of people with all eyes focused on her so she couldn’t mess up. She saw herself standing alone in the darkness with a single spotlight picking her out as she wowed the crowd. The thought unconsciously made her up her game – her movements became sharper, her head snapped up and her eyes came alive with that joyous sparkle that couldn’t be faked. Was this what Jenna Jonsson felt like, she wondered suddenly? Was this what she experienced every day, this rush from being watched, adored and idolized?

  ‘Okay, one final time, make it good people, give it everything …’

  Sadie barely heard the teacher as he restarted the music. Her body was racing through the steps instinctively, her mind not stopping to think. This was blissful – she felt like she was flying. She was strong, sexy and powerful. She felt her body move, her hips grinding, pelvis rolling, ribs slinking from side to side. For a second she closed her eyes, imagining the adoring crowd below her, wowed by her every movement and in awe of her talent.

  Then the fantasy changed and she imagined she was dancing for Paul. She visualized his face in the crowd as she put on the performance, his pale blue eyes trained on her intensely, that handsome face unable to tear his gaze away from her. He’d probably come in his pants right there, she thought with a grin. He’d love the way she was moving, all that rolling and grinding. She couldn’t wait to see him again. She’d barely stopped smiling since that afternoon in the May Fair. Maybe she’d do a private show for him next time. Yeah, persuade him to book a suite somewhere with its own pole …

  ‘And pow! Hold the final position … and finish! Okay, great class people.’

  The group collapsed, exhausted but elated. Some clapped – a few even whooped. Then they quickly dispersed.

  Sadie headed downstairs to the changing rooms. Her limbs were aching but she felt amazing. She showered quickly, dressing casually in skinny jeans, vest top and a cropped jacket with an oversized scarf from H&M wound several times round her neck. She pinned her damp hair up and applied a little Maybelline mascara. She didn’t bother with any other make-up. She didn’t need to – her skin was flawless and glowing, flushed pink from the exercise and the hot shower. Swinging her bag over her shoulder, she headed back upstairs.

  ‘Bye Faye,’ she called out to the glamorous bleached blonde on reception.

  ‘Great to see you back again,’ Faye grinned, giving her a little wave.

  Stepping outside, Sadie turned up towards Selfridges, wondering if she could afford to treat herself to a little something. Maybe a new lip gloss, or even a pair of shoes for her next date with Paul …

  She felt her mobile vibrate in her bag, and her heart leapt. She hated to admit it, but her very first thought was that she hoped it was him. As she pulled it out, Sadie saw her agent’s name flashing on the caller display.

  ‘Hi Gill.’

  ‘Hi Sadie.’ Gill got straight down to business. ‘I’ve got you an audition for this afternoon. Three p.m. in Soho, can you make it?’

  Sadie felt a jolt of excitement shoot through her stomach. Every audition was a chance to progress her career. Even if you didn’t get the job, there was always the opportunity to meet people and make new contacts. Who knew where it might lead?

  ‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘No problem. I’m in town at the moment and I’ve got my dance gear with me. What is it for?’

  ‘It’s a commercial,’ Gill explained. ‘For some new shampoo. You’re looking all down and miserable, then you use the shampoo and suddenly you’re up and dancing. The brief says elegant – you’re floating and twirling like a ballet dancer, not raving at the disco.’

  ‘Okay Gill, no problem.’

  ‘Excellent, I’ll text you the address. Have you picked up a copy of The Stage this week?’

  ‘Not yet …’

  ‘Get one. I’m not your skivvy, y’know – you’ve got to put some effort in too.’

  ‘Okay Gill, will do,’ Sadie smiled.

  Gillian was always on the go, gabbling at a hundred miles an hour in that south London accent. She was a hustler, an ex-dancer who’d turned forty, divorced her husband and started her own agency. She tended to bark out details and Sadie kept her answers as short as possible.

  ‘Great. Speak to you later, hon.’ Gill hung up.

  Swiftly, Sadie turned around, heading into the maze-like backstreets of Mayfair to find a newsagent. She had a spring in her step as she walked. Not only did she have a hot, sexy, loaded new guy, but her career was getting back on track as well. The hip-hop class had left her full of energy and boosted her confidence. She looked good and she knew it. She felt the familiar tingle of excitement and nerves at the prospect of an audition, but she was up for it, eager for the chance to get out there and prove herself. Yeah, Sadie Laine was back in the game and she was going to be more than just a contender – she wanted to be a serious player. With self-belief, hard work and a shed-load of talent, how could she possibly fail?

  She found a newsagent and headed inside to pick up a copy of The Stage, but something else caught her attention. It was the headline on the front of every tabloid, and the accompanying photos of Jenna Jonsson and Ryan Jackson.

  Well, well, well, thought Sadie, her mood brightening even more as she saw the battering her old rival was getting from the papers. Looks like both of us got laid last night.

  9

  ‘Jenna, what the fuck is going on?’ Gerry King screamed down the phone.

  ‘I don’t know, Gerry, I don’t know. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I swear nothing happened – it’s all lies, I promise,’ Jenna apologized hysterically.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get through all fucking morning – where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gerry, I’ve only just woken up. I guess my mobile was off and—’

  ‘Jesus, it’s all right for some,’ interrupted Gerry, under his breath.

  ‘… And then this morning when I saw the news I turned it back on, but it wouldn’t stop ringing, Gerry, the phone just wouldn’t stop!’

  ‘Do you know what a mess this is Jenna? I’ve spent all fucking night trying to sort this out, while you were blissfully unconscious.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Gerry.’ Jenna was crying now, struggling to get the words out. ‘It wasn’t my fault, I don’t know what …’ She trailed off, not even knowing what she was trying to say.

  ‘Look, get yourself over here and we’ll take care of it. Figure out some way to get out of this hole.’

  ‘Just tell them it’s all lies – sue their fucking arses.’

  ‘It might not be that simple,’ Gerry warned ominously. ‘I didn’t want to do anything before I spoke to you, but we need to put out a statement – my people can’t hold them off for much longer.’

  ‘You want me to come over? You think I’m in any state to go out?’ Jenna exploded. ‘I look like shit and there are a pack of photographers out there. Do you know how many people are out there, Gerry?’ she demanded. ‘The street’s packed and it’s absolute mayhem. My neighbours are going to be so pissed off,’ she added irrationally.

  ‘Okay, fair point,’ admitted Gerry, forcing himself to stay calm as he realized how upset Jenna wa
s. ‘But I need to talk to you. I’ll come over, okay? Stay put until I get there.’

  ‘I’m hardly gonna go fucking shopping!’ screamed Jenna, but Gerry had hung up. She stared at the phone in her hand and it immediately began ringing again. Withheld number.

  Out of some morbid curiosity she couldn’t quite explain, Jenna answered it. ‘Hello?’ she asked cautiously.

  An unfamiliar male voice began yelling at her. ‘Jenna, what can you tell us about this morning’s reports that—’

  Jenna hung up and quickly turned off the phone. Feeling nauseous, she collapsed onto a chair, looking around her in despair. By now the papers had been delivered and Jenna had spread them out on the kitchen table where the damning images stared back at her.

  Both The Mirror and The Sun carried the same photo on their front page – it was dark and grainy, yet undeniably showed Ryan embracing her in the car.

  It’s Always the Quiet Ones! screamed The Mirror, noting Ryan’s reputation as the quiet one from the band. With shaking fingers she turned to the fourth and fifth pages, which contained more lurid headlines and further inflammatory photos – Ryan and Jenna embracing in the car; Ryan and Jenna arguing in the street; Ryan leading Jenna into the house, one arm resting on her back; and finally, Ryan leaving her house, appearing to glance guiltily down the street. He wasn’t, of course, but that was the clear inference, and Ryan’s expression unfortunately tied in with that. The final picture was timed 12.06 a.m., almost an hour after the first.

  Jenna felt sick. Her coffee sat untouched on the table beside the two empty mugs from the tea that she and Ryan had drunk the night before.

  Randy Jen Does It Again! proclaimed The Sun, before going on to a double-page feature detailing all the guys she’d dated over the past few years, including her split with Will Rothwell.

  After working her way through some of the world’s most eligible bachelors, Jenna Jonsson, 23, has now turned her attention to eligible married men, commented the accompanying text.

  Oh, and, surprise surprise, thought Jenna, as she skimmed one of the articles and noticed they’d dredged up the old and untrue rumour that she’d secretly dated Prince Harry for a while. Well, who cared about the truth if it made a good story, thought Jenna angrily, throwing down the paper in disgust. Large, wet tears streamed down her face and dripped onto the newspapers, blurring the words as the ink began to run. Jenna wished they could wash the words from the paper and erase everything that was written there. It was just too horrible to think about.

  A wave of unbearable loneliness engulfed her as she realized just how desperately she missed her mother. Since her death, Jenna had had no one to turn to. Her father was in another country and clearly didn’t give a damn about her. She didn’t have any close female friends – her mother had always warned her not to get too close to her rivals as it might dull her competitive edge, telling her that no matter how sincere people might seem, they wouldn’t hesitate to sell a story on her for the right figure. Georgia had drilled it into her only daughter that everyone could be bought and no one could be trusted. It was a miserable way to live, but Georgia was convinced the rewards were worth it.

  At the moment, Jenna wasn’t so sure.

  Scanning over the list of guys she’d dated, she realized with horror that the newspapers were right. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been single for any length of time. She’d bounced from one relationship to the next, looking for the love and security she craved. It didn’t matter how unsuitable the guy, as long as they could temporarily fill the void. She pursued the richest, the best looking, the most powerful – anything to quell her own feelings of insecurity. And now she had no one.

  Maybe she could ring Susie, the girl who always did her make-up for major events? They’d worked together since Jenna first started out so she was able to treat Jenna as a human being rather than reverentially, as a living icon, the way everyone else seemed to. But I don’t want to pour my heart out to some make-up girl I last saw three weeks ago …

  Infuriatingly, the name that kept popping into her head was Ryan’s.

  She wanted to call Ryan.

  Jenna found a tissue and wiped her eyes as she mulled over the situation. Maybe it was a bad idea. But, on the other hand, it wasn’t as if any of this was true – surely his wife would realize that? Ryan would understand what she was going through and could give her the comfort she craved. He was a nice guy. He might even come over, Jenna thought hopefully, before the baying of the press pack outside reminded her that would be impossible.

  But he had been so good to her last night, and she desperately needed someone to talk to …

  Finding her Birkin bag dumped on a chair in the lounge, she rifled through it until she located her second mobile. The private one. The one that no one but Gerry and her father had the number for. Without giving herself time to hesitate, she rang Ryan’s mobile number.

  ‘Please hold the line. Your call is being transferred,’ the monotonous voice at the other end repeated for what seemed like an eternity. Jenna’s heart began to thump as she paced the floor impatiently.

  ‘Clive Goldman’s office,’ said an exhausted-sounding voice with an LA accent.

  Ryan must have had his calls transferred to his manager’s office, Jenna realized. He was probably being besieged by the press, too, with his family having to take the same shit she was dealing with.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Clive Goldman.’

  ‘Mr Goldman’s not available right now,’ the secretary said shortly. ‘Can I take a message?’

  ‘It’s about Ryan Jackson—’ she began hesitantly, before the woman cut her off.

  ‘We’re not making any further comment at this time. A statement was released a couple of hours ago which I can fax or email if you give me your details. At this time, there’s nothing more to add to the story regarding Ryan Jackson and Jenna Jonsson.’

  ‘This is Jenna Jonsson,’ stated Jenna arrogantly, her patience finally snapping. ‘Mr Goldman might want to speak to me.’

  There was a brief pause. ‘Certainly, Miss Jonsson,’ came the polite but frosty reply. ‘If you could hold for one moment, I’ll just check he’s available.’

  Jenna held. A few moments later she recognized the gruff tones of Clive Goldman.

  ‘Ms Jonsson, what can I do for you this fine morning?’ he began sarcastically. ‘Or should I say, the middle of the night, because that’s what time it is here and I haven’t been to fucking bed yet.’

  ‘I, er …’ Jenna trailed off, not sure what she wanted now that she had him on the line.

  ‘Yes Ms Jonsson? I’m a busy man.’

  ‘I wanted to speak to Ryan,’ Jenna stammered finally. She gripped the phone tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. ‘I tried to call him, but it was diverted to you.’

  Clive Goldman let out a guffaw of incredulity. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Jonsson,’ he chuckled when he’d recovered. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible today.’

  Jenna swallowed hard. ‘I just want to talk to him,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  Clive’s voice took on a hard edge. ‘Look, I don’t know what your game is, but you’ve caused enough trouble.’

  ‘But nothing happened,’ Jenna protested desperately. ‘Surely you’ve spoken to Ryan? He must have told you that.’

  ‘Quite frankly, Ms Jonsson, that has very little to do with it. The accusation has been made, and what we’re engaging in now is a little exercise called damage limitation. I’ve been in touch with your manager and I understand he’ll be coming to see you shortly. If you want to contact me again, I suggest you do so through him, because I’d really like to get home to my wife sometime before sunrise. I would also suggest that, for the time being, you don’t try to contact Ryan Jackson. Have a nice day, Ms Jonsson,’ he finished, his voice laden with sarcasm.

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Jenna repeated, her voice barely a whisper. But Clive had hung up.
>
  The phone sat uselessly in Jenna’s hand and she simply stared at it, not knowing what else to do. Why was everyone treating her like this? Nothing had happened! Her eyes felt hot as a new wave of tears pricked at the corners, and Jenna bit her lip, determined not to break down again.

  The doorbell rang and Jenna started. She hurried to the front of the house, wondering if Gerry had arrived or if the press had simply recommenced their hounding. Discreetly, she attempted to pull aside the curtain to see who was at the door. But the waiting paparazzi were alert to every movement and, as soon as the curtains twitched, a barrage of flashbulbs lit up the street.

  ‘Shit,’ she swore, hoping she hadn’t just given them tomorrow’s front page – Jenna Jonsson, trapped in her own home like a guilty prisoner. She touched her hair; it felt flat and greasy. She knew her face must be flushed and puffy.

  Jenna’s mobile began to ring. Glancing down, she realized she was still clutching it in her hand.

  It was Gerry.

  ‘I’m outside,’ he yelled, struggling to make himself heard above the pandemonium in the usually tranquil street. ‘Can you hear me?’ he bellowed. ‘Let me in!’

  ‘I’m coming now, Gerry,’ Jenna shouted, turning off her phone as she hurried through to the front hall.

  She stayed hidden behind the door as she opened it and, after a slight scuffle with an over-eager photographer, Gerry squeezed his way in. His suit was crumpled, his face bright red and sweating. Jenna thought she had never seen him look so angry.

  ‘What a fucking mess,’ he roared at her. ‘What the hell’s going on, Jenna?’

  ‘Please don’t shout,’ Jenna pleaded. ‘I feel like shit.’

  ‘You feel like shit?’ exploded Gerry. ‘I’m the one who hasn’t slept all night ’cos I was trying to clear up your mess – fielding calls from the press, trying to kill the story. You’re the one who’s had the easy ride, gallivanting around doing what you damn well please as usual.’