Wonderwall

by Soars, M. H.

  Sebastian - Present Day

  “This is unacceptable!” Hans hits the desk hard with his open palms, rattling the knick knacks he has on it, including the picture frame of his trophy wife. “Did you forget who your target age group is? Teenagers, Sebastian. Fucking teenagers. I cannot have the star of Boys Future get caught drinking, or high out of his ass, every single week. You’re making the tabloid magazines’ owners richer, and giving me an aneurism. Michael is fucking pissed. He wants your balls fried and dipped in hot sauce.”

  I wince at Han’s words, not because they have any effect on me, but because he’s hollering and I have a splitting headache. I partied with Oliver last night and, as usual, went overboard. This is so bloody unfair. Oliver was in worse shape than me, so why isn’t he here receiving a tongue lashing from our manager, too?

  “Take a chill pill, will you? You know the tabloids always exaggerate.” I massage my temple.

  “So you’re saying that you didn’t demolish that hotel suite in Sweden last weekend?”

  “Well, no, but that wasn’t my fault. DJ Fat Thin was the one who showed up with an entourage.”

  Hans leans back on this chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I really thought that you dating Gretchen would put a stop to your reckless behavior. But I see you haven’t changed one bit.”

  “Gretchen and I aren’t official or anything. We’re just hanging out.”

  “Well, make it official. Maybe it will help improve your image.”

  “Stay out of my personal life, Hans,” I say through clenched teeth. “If I make it official, it will be on my terms, not yours.”

  Hans’s gaze becomes hard as he stares at me over his crooked nose. “You signed off any right to a personal life when you joined Boys Future. Michael made you, and he can destroy you just as easily. If you don’t clean up your act and stay out of trouble before the world tour starts, you’re out of the band.”

  A big knot forms in my stomach and bile pools in my mouth. He can’t be serious. “You’re bluffing. Boys Future is Michael’s chicken of golden eggs, and you know that if I leave, the band is done.”

  “Cocky, aren’t you? Well, Michael is willing to take the risk. The others might not have your talent, but the band has legions of fans already. Boys Future will survive without you.”

  I should just tell him to fuck off and get the hell out of his office, but the idea of not being part of the band, of not been able to sing in front of millions anymore, isn’t appealing. It’s fucking terrifying. I’ve barely been holding things together as they were. If I lose the only spark left in my life, what will happen to me?

  “Fine! I’ll confirm the rumors about Gretchen and me at the E! interview tomorrow. Happy?”

  “No quite. But it will do for now. And you better behave on this U.S. trip.”

  ☂ ☂ ☂

  The meeting with Hans has left me reeling and by the time I get to my apartment in Camden, I’m ready to explode. The first thing that I notice when I open the door is that Oliver has moved from the small couch in the living room to my suspended bedroom. I can see his huge feet sticking out of my bed. Also, his loud snoring would be a dead giveaway. I close the door with a bang and make a beeline to the laptop on my desk. I turn that sucker on and Spotify the shit out of Oliver. Iron Maiden blasts from the wireless speakers mounted on the walls. Oliver jumps off the bed like he’s been electrocuted and almost falls over the railing.

  “What the fuck, Bas!” he screams and throws a pillow at me.

  I ignore him and go make me some breakfast. Bacon on bacon sounds good about now. I only had time for a quick coffee before I had to meet with Hans. Now it seems the walls of my stomach have glued together. I’m so hungry, I could eat through the entire McDonald’s breakfast menu twice.

  Oliver comes down the narrow stairs still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. They are wrinkled beyond repair and reeking of smoke and whiskey. His blond hair is sticking out at odd angles and his electric blue eyes are bloodshot. Hell, he looks worse than me.

  He takes a seat at the kitchen table and leans his elbows on it, hiding his face between his hands. “Fuck! Kill me now.”

  “Morning, sunshine,” I say.

  “Mate, what the hell did I drink last night?”

  Everything and then some. It’s hard to remember after the fifth shot. He probably did more than drink though. And I would have done the same a couple of months ago. But since I started seeing Gretchen, the need to obliviate myself has disappeared. I still get drunk, especially when partying with Oliver, but hardcore drugs are off the menu. There’s something about Gretchen that makes me want to get my shit together. Am I falling in love with her? I want to believe so, but then I remember what it’s really like to be in so deep that the feeling overwhelms all of your senses, and the person you love becomes everything. And there are days when Liv is still my everything.

  Chapter 20

  Olivia

  I curse Mom and Kimmy as I push my overloaded luggage cart through the arrivals hall at Heathrow airport. It’s their fault that I have three huge suitcases instead of two. It was a miracle customs didn’t stop me.

  As soon as the sliding doors open, I stretch my neck, searching for the sign with my name. Hollingsworth Hotel has sent a car to pick me up, which was very nice of them. I don’t know many employers that would bother to do that for their interns.

  The area in front of the arrivals hall is packed with people, most with the same eager and happy expressions on their faces. I avoid making eye contact with them as I look for my ride. I’ve always felt awkward when I couldn’t spot Mom or Dad right away at airport arrivals. It made me feel like I was on display or something with all those people staring at me.

  I finally see my name in a myriad of signs and I exhale in relief. This is my first time travelling abroad on my own, and even though this is England and everyone speaks English here, I can’t help feeling apprehensive.

  The driver seems bored, and when he notices my approach his demeanor doesn’t change.

  “Miss Olivia Dawson?” he asks.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  He folds the sign into a tiny, perfect square before placing it in his jacket pocket. “My name is Mr. Abbot. I’ll take it from here.”

  I step back and let him handle the cart. “Thank you.”

  With long strides, he weaves in and out of the trafficked airport hallway like a pro. I trail after him with difficulty, getting too distracted by my surroundings. I know it’s only the freaking airport, but it’s the freaking airport in London! I can’t believe I’m here.

  I feel pressure on my bladder and remember that I need to pee badly.

  “Mr. Abbot,” I say as I increase my pace to keep up with him.

  He slows down and looks over his shoulder. “Yes, Miss?”

  “I need to use the restroom.”

  He nods once and resumes walking at a rapid pace. What’s up with this guy? He’s like the Road Runner. He stops abruptly a minute later and I can see the restroom sign ahead. I walk past him and go take care of business. There’s no line and I’m in and out in a flash. I’m washing my hands, looking at my bedraggled reflection in the mirror, when I catch a glimpse of a cover magazine with Sebastian on it. My stomach ties in knots. There are two girls next to me and they have the magazine open, pouring over its content with eagerness.

  “I’m so fucking jealous. I want Gretchen’s life,” one of them says.

  “Screw Gretchen’s life. All I want is Sebastian Coleman. He’s so freaking gorgeous. Look at those bedroom eyes. I bet he’s wicked in bed.”

  I shuffle back suddenly, and end up knocking my bag over, spilling half of its content on the floor. The two girls glance my way for less than a second, before going back to their stupid magazine. They don’t offer to help me. It’s okay. I don’t want their help anyway. I drop
to my knees and hastily put everything back. I get up and run out of that restroom as fast as I can, startling some ladies that were about to go in.

  I feel so stupid. I can’t let stuff like that affect me anymore. What happened at the evening of my farewell party was bad enough. I won’t be able to function if I don’t get my head straight. I’m in Sebastian’s domain now. Boys Future might be popular in the U.S., but here in the UK they are king.

  ☂ ☂ ☂

  Mr. Abbot stops in front of the famous Hollingsworth Hotel and I stare out the window with my mouth agape. It’s more amazing than in the pictures. It’s a limestone brick faced building inspired by Italian Renaissance architecture. Huge arches flanked by Greek columns are the first details guests see. Only the crème de la crème of society can afford to stay here. I’m surprised that the driver has actually parked in front of the hotel, like I’m a guest, not a lowly employee. A bellman opens the door for me, and I exit the vehicle in a complete stay of awe.

  I notice he’s unloading my luggage from the cab, and putting all my stuff onto a trolley. “I’m not sure if you should be doing that. I’m not really a guest. I’m an intern.”

  He pauses and finally takes the time to look at me. A slow grin unfurls on his face. “Fresh meat. Excellent. I’m Yoann.” He offers me his hand and I shake it. “I’m also an intern,” he continues. “Welcome to the Hollingsworth.”

  “Nice to meet you, Yoann. I’m Liv. How long have you been working here?”

  “Six months next week.” Yoann looks over my shoulder and quickly resumes his task. I turn around and see a sour-faced, half-pint man glowering in our direction.

  “Are you gonna get in trouble for helping me?”

  “What? No, it’s my job to help with the luggage, and he doesn’t know you aren’t a guest.” He winks at me. “Where are you from?”

  “California. You?”

  “California? Nice. I’ve always wanted to visit. I’m from Lille.” He begins pushing the trolley toward the hotel’s sliding doors and I follow him.

  The inside of the Hollingsworth is just as grandiose as the outside. The lobby resembles the great hall of a 16th century palace with embellished walls, high arches, and gilded details everywhere.

  “That’s in France, right?” I continue the conversation.

  “Yeah, sorry. I forget that most non-Europeans don’t have a bloody clue where Lille is.”

  “Well, your accent gave you away.”

  He smiles at me again and I realize that he’s one of those rare people that when they smile, it illuminates their entire faces, lighting up their eyes.

  “Touché,” he says.

  Yoann takes me in the opposite direction of the reception area and stops next to a couple of plush sofas.

  “Do you know where you need to go?” he asks.

  “I have no idea. The instruction email I’ve received said I was supposed to contact Mrs. Helen Becket from HR.” I retrieve the printout of the email from my purse.

  “Oh, yeah. The Queen of Human Remains.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Human Remains?”

  Yoann chuckles. “Inside joke. We have a few. I’m sure by the end of the week you’ll know them all.”

  “So, where I can find her?”

  “Follow that corridor all the way to the end and turn right. The HR office will be the third door on your left.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  ☂ ☂ ☂

  My meeting with Mrs. Becket is short and to the point. I don’t think she’s happy she had to come to the office on a Sunday only because of me. She gives me a list with all the important information regarding my internship and accommodations. She also talks about the dos and don’ts all employees must abide to. I have the feeling she’s sick and tired of repeating that speech day in, day out, by the robotic manner in which she delivers her spiel. I fill out boring paperwork and at the end, she gives me my room keys.

  When I return to the main lobby, Yoann is gone. An older bellman stands in his place. He notices my approach and asks, “Are you Liv?”

  “Yes, where’s Yoann?” I glance around, but can’t see him anywhere.

  “There was a big group coming in, big tippers, and I didn’t want him to miss his place in the queue.”

  I frown at him. “Miss his place? I don’t understand.”

  “We take turns. You help a guest, you go back in the queue. Sometimes you’re lucky and get someone who tips nicely, other times, not so much.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that. It was nice of you to volunteer to help me, but what about your spot in line?”

  “My shift is almost over and I’ve just serviced a customer. I’m okay.” He pauses and stares at the keys in my hand. “Are you ready to check out your accommodations?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We take the same elevators the guests do and I wonder if there are any elevators for employees’ usage only. During the ride up to the fifth floor, I learn that my new bellman’s name is Angelo and that he’s a transplant from Greece. He moved to London when he was fifteen, and has worked at the Hollingsworth for almost twenty years.

  We exit the elevator and at this point, I’m just following Angelo. Mrs. Becket didn’t give me any verbal directions when she handed me my room keys. I’m sure there must be a map somewhere inside my Employee Package, but it’s just easier to let my new friend guide me. He seems happy to do so.

  We go through double doors that have a clear sign saying “Employees Only”, and once we cross the threshold, the change is distinct. Instead of the plush carpet with deep gold and burgundy pattern, a worn and smelly gray carpet covers the hallway. The walls are painted an ugly beige color and smudges can be seen everywhere.

  “Quite a shocker, huh?” Angelo says.

  “Yeah, a bit. I mean, I didn’t expect it to be Buckingham Palace, but maybe they could have used happier colors?”

  “It’s better than some of the students’ houses in town. At least here, you won’t have to fight roaches and bed bugs.”

  “Gross!”

  “Here you are—room twenty-four.”

  I insert the key and only manage to get the door unlocked after jarring the handle a couple of times. And oh-my-God, the room is tiny. I don’t think two people can maneuver inside without getting in each other’s way. It’s a rectangle box with a small window. There is a single bed to the right, and a wardrobe and sink to the left. No bathroom. An ancient TV stands on a small table by the foot of the bed.

  I glance over my shoulder. “No fridge?”

  “Nah, you’re lucky they gave you a TV. If you want a fridge, you’ll have to buy one.”

  Angelo puts my three suitcases on the little space between the bed and the wardrobe. It isn’t wide enough to qualify as a passage way. I have no idea where I’m going to store those monstrosities once I unpack them.

  “Well, let the fun begin,” I say.

  I fish a ten pound bill from my pocket and offer it to Angelo. He raises his hands and shakes his head. “No, no. There’s no need.”

  “But you helped me and you didn’t have to.”

  “You can buy me a pint later.” He shrugs.

  “All right, then. Well, thank you so much.”

  “See you later, Liv.” He walks away and I close the door.

  The room is even more claustrophobic now, but I like my privacy. I get my laptop and sit on my bed, leaning against the wall. I look for the piece of paper containing the wireless password and five minutes later, I’m connected to the world again. I call my parents first and they want to know everything—how was my flight, did I sit next to an obnoxious person on the plane, how far was the airport from the city, what did I think about my room, and so on. It’s hard to keep the conversation brief, but as I talk to them, I keep eyeing my suitcases. I won’t be able to relax until my little room
is sorted. I say goodbye after ten minutes and begin putting everything away. An hour later, all of my belongings are where they should be and I have even managed stuff the stupid suitcases under my bed.

  My stomach grumbles and I realize I haven’t eaten anything since the meager breakfast they served on the plane. I get my purse and decide it’s time for some exploration, when someone knocks on my door. I open it without bothering to use the peephole and find Yoann standing there.

  “Hi, Yoann.”

  He peers over my shoulder. “Are you all settled?”

  I turn back to do a glance over of my room as well. “Pretty much.”

  He barges in without prompting, and I have to take a step back so he won’t stomp on my feet.

  “They gave you a TV? Cool. Can I check something?”

  I shrug. “Be my guest.”

  He picks up the remote control next to the television and begins pushing buttons. A screen for the hotel’s paid movie channel pops up. He puts in a code then turns to me. “Voila!”

  “What did you do?”

  “I just gave you free movies.”

  “Really? That’s awesome. Thank you!”

  He grins at me and then makes a grand gesture with his arms, like he’s presenting a masterpiece, not my bento-box room. “So, what do you think?”

  “Cozy?”

  He laughs. “That’s one way to put it.” He looks down at my purse. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yeah, I’m starved. I was gonna grab something to eat. Do you wanna come?”

  “I actually came by to ask if you wanted to come to the pub. There’s one just around the corner and a bunch of us will be there. They have food.”

  He doesn’t need to ask twice. “Lead the way, monsieur.”

  Chapter 21

  Olivia

  Yoann wasn’t lying, the pub is literally around the corner. We head inside and go straight to a table at the far back of the bar. Most of the seats are taken by people with unfamiliar faces.

  “Hello, folks. Meet Liv, Hollingsworth’s newest intern,” Yoann says, commanding everyone’s attention.