by John Harding
Andre wasn't sure if he was “any good” as far as his uncle would think, but his adult shows were popular in certain communities and the lure of a popular client had enticed Andre to pay entry to a gay club and watch the explicit show.
Pedro was certainly keen to exploit his exhibitionist streak and his clothing was soon on a crumbled heap on the floor. His audience howled with laughter as he found all four queens in a pack of cards before suggesting “they weren't the only queens in the room!”
As the show finished, Andre moved towards the dressing room. He was stopped from entering by a burly security guard who was unmoved by Andre's claims to have an appointment with the scandalous entertainer. Andre rang Pedro on the mobile number he had been given, so he could be retrieved from the bouncer who was running out of patience with Andre's desperate pleading.
Pedro thought nothing of walking naked through the corridor to his dressing room, and Andre closed the door to give them some privacy. Smoke hung in the small room, and gay pornography blared on the television behind the middle-aged man. He refused to shake Andre's hand with a snort. “No idea where your 'ands been.”
Andre gave a weak smile and adjusted his suit. “I'm Andre Wilson, executive at Incredible Talents, and we like what we see. Ummm … we are asking, would you consider having us as your agent?”
The middle-aged man leant back on the chair, idling playing with his manhood while he spoke and stretched. “So, what's the deal? You get me bookings, and I give you 25%?”
“Err … not quite. We use our contacts throughout all industries to promote you, your work, your brand to increase recognition and maximise exposure to increase revenue and fully exploit your talents. And we take around 8%, not 25.” The entertainer grunted, and Andre pulled out a small wad of papers. “This is the sample contract, and this is my suggestion of what we do with you. I suggest a DVD to begin with and a promotional tour. Now …”
Pedro snorted and idly picked up the papers, flicking through them and looking back at the shifting feet of Andre. “Trouble is, I know your kind. Ya sign loads of people up do sod all for 'em and still want ya cut at the end. Ya on a commission if ya sign me up?”
“Err … no.” Andre stammered and squinted at the magician. “Not at all. I came here to speak to you as agreed on the 'phone. And we will work hard for you, like we do for everyone.”
Pedro sniffed. “Ya gay?” Andre shook his head, and Pedro chuckled. “Ya came to a gay club to watch me?”
“Yes, in short. I came here today to watch you. And it was a good act. I liked it, and it made me laugh, so I want to work with you.”
Pedro scratched his ear. “My mate got an agent after he was on telly and all that bastard did was leach off him. And then sued him. Near-on lost 'is 'ouse did he.” Pedro gulped and took a sip of his beer. “So, how do I know …”
“We aren't like that,” Andre promised.
“How do I know that ya ain't gonna flake out on me? There's one way.” He pushed himself into the chair and moved his legs further apart. “Ya get ya straight arse over here and you put your lips around my little friend,” he said with a grin. “And I'm gonna film it on my phone. And if you try any of your little games, it goes public.”
Andre gulped. “Pardon?”
“Give me a blow job?” Pedro demanded and Andre put his hands in front of him, pushing the air.
“No. Umm … no, I-I-I-I don't do that and …”
“So you won't do anything for me?” Pedro asked. “'Cause I want your lips around my little man. Am I gonna get it?”
Andre shook his head and backed out through the door. For a moment, the idea was almost palatable; he had not managed to secure any new clients and his uncle was getting restless with him, but it was too far. “Sorry,” he muttered and fled the room as Pedro cackled behind him.
* * * * *
“It's you,” Jack muttered as a familiar face ran to catch up with him as he left his exclusive college. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I know,” Claire said cryptically and then smiled. “OK, you told me where you went to college, and you said you finished at lunchtime on Mondays.”
“You're not stalking me, are you?” Jack moaned. “'Cause my parents reckon you are trying to seduce me and want to … yeah, well, you can't blame me for asking, can you?” Jack looked at Claire as her giggling turned to scowling.
“No. I am not stalking you. And I don't want to seduce you. In fact, the opposite.”
“Oh cheers,” Jack moaned, and Claire crossed her arms.
“I want to ask a favour,” she begged. “Can I see your recording studio?”
“Why? I've not been in it for four months. It's probably really musty and 'orrible.”
Claire sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “OK, cards on the table. I have a friend who has an awesome voice. And I would love to get some of the singing on tape to send to some record companies. And they have some songs written, and I want to try and get 'em to record a couple 'cause they're better than all the X Factor crap or manufactured bands and stuff. I just want to give 'em a chance to get something quite special down onto tape. And we haven't got a studio and … that's it.”
“So, why do you want to use mine? There are loads all over London that have the latest kit in them!”
“And they cost money,” Claire replied. “And lots of it. I know you don't use yours, and you have lots of time without your folks, and I only want to borrow it. I can give you something, but not much.” Jack sighed. “I just need to see what you've got and start to think about things and then get 'em down for a day or two when it's ready. What d’ya say?”
Jack sighed. “My parents would go bananas,” he told her. “And my Aunt is staying with us at the moment. She's getting divorced.”
“Oh I'm sorry to hear that.”
“It's OK. It's number twelve, she's used to it by now. Her weddings are a bi-annual event. I've been to seven or eight.”
“I bet she eats a lot of toast,” Claire joked, but the flippant comment was lost on Jack, and she returned to her pleading. “So is it at all possible?”
“Yeah. But only when my parents are out. Now there is a fundraising dinner on Saturday evening for some politician that my Dad's friend gets involved with. They are out all Saturday evening. Why don't you come 'round then and I'll show you.”
Claire smiled and put her arms around him, cuddling him excitedly. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “Thank you so much!”
“You're welcome,” Jack replied with a smile.
* * * * *
“Hi,” Paige muttered as her sister stormed into the room and she leant over the top bunk. “I was thinking, I know you always like sleeping on the top bunk if we have them on holiday, and I've had it at home for five years, so do you want to swap?”
“You wet the mattress then?”
Paige scowled. “No! I just thought …”
“You just thought I might not try and top myself if I have the top bunk.”
“I didn't say that,” Paige told her defensively.
“Why is everyone treating me like a child? I 'ate it and …”
“'Cause you won't talk to anyone,” Paige screamed. “And when you do, it's angry grunts, and you barely say a word. What are we supposed to do? You snap at everyone, it's like walking on eggshells with you.”
Hazel's eyes bored into her sister. “Then don't talk to me.”
Paige swung her legs over the side of the bed and descended the ladder. “You are my sister,” she replied and grabbed her taller sibling by the tops of her arms, shaking her aggressively. “I found you unconscious in a pool of blood.”
“And if I'd died you'd have the room to yourself,” Hazel spat back. “You'd love that.”
A tear rolled down Paige's cheek, and she gestured wildly at her sister. “I found you in a pool of blood. I had three minutes of waiting for an ambulance when I thought you were dead. How do you think I felt?” Hazel didn't respond, and Pai
ge shook her again. “Eh? I've had nightmares that I really will find you dead one day, and you don't care. You think we don't love you, but I was in pieces that night. I've never cried so hard, and I spent all night at your bed side at the hospital. I wouldn't leave you and …”
“I didn't ask you too,” Hazel muttered. “I never wanted …”
“It's what sisters do,” Paige shouted. “'Cause long after Mum and Dad die, we'll still be here with Jeremy. And I know you don't believe me, but I love you. I love you more than anyone else in the world because as long as I can remember, there's been you in my room, playing with my toys and at my school. I helped you with your homework, I helped you with puberty and boys and everything. Even your make-up when you went on your first date or when you were being bullied, it was me that beat 'em up to put a stop to it.” Hazel sniffed back a tear and stared at the floor. “So when you have a problem you won't talk about, that is so bad you can't face life, it hurts when you won't talk to me.”
“There's nothing to tell,” Hazel muttered and shrugged. The naked Paige stared into her sister's eyes, and she blinked. “Really, there's nothing to tell.”
Paige gulped and held out her arms to embrace her sister, holding her tightly and sniffing back the tears. It was the first cuddle they had shared since the troubled girl had left hospital four months previously and as far as Paige was concerned, it was a massive step in the right direction.
* * * * *
Claire crept up the front drive of the house and swore when she saw the executive saloon of her friend's father parked outside their front door; if she was spotted at the house in her waitressing uniform, then she was in trouble!
Claire looked to her left and right; there were impeccably manicured bushes and plants, but she had no option and dived to her left, over the bush and landed on something prickly.
She could still be seen, and showed up very well in her white uniform, so the young lady crept behind the back of a giant plant, swearing when she caught the spines on her hand in the twilight. The voices of Paul and Anne carried in the night as the man of the household moaned vociferously about the time it took his wife to get ready.
A couple of minutes later, the car swept out of the drive aggressively, and Claire waited for a few moments, just to make sure that Jack's parents did not return having forgotten something and see her striding towards their house. They didn't return, and after a minute of painful waiting, Claire tentatively got out of the bush and walked towards the house.
She could feel her heart beating and she felt as though she was doing something exceedingly naughty, but there was no shouting or screaming and the girl calmly knocked stoutly on the door.
She waited for an answer or for Jack to appear, but there was no response until she knocked again. “I'm comin',” a female voice shouted and Claire swore again, and sprinted back towards the bushes and dived into the prickly plant again. Neither Jack nor her had considered that anyone else would be home and Claire winced as she tried to remove two thorns from the back of her hand in the semi-darkness.
She watched as the dainty frame of Harriet Rees-Montague came to the door and shouted into the night, “hello?” The girl looked around the drive before cursing Claire under her breath and slamming the door.
Claire had a problem; she did not know Jack's mobile number and had no way of getting a message to him that she was waiting in his driveway under a bush. He told her to come to the house on Saturday evening, but they had not agreed at what time that meant, or how to meet.
She thought for a moment and then sat down, squinting at the windows to spy him moving through a room, but there was nothing. “Claire,” a voice whispered. “Claire. I know it was you, Claire?”
The black-haired girl got to her feet and peered over the bush to see her friend at the other end of the drive, calling softly into the wind and scrambled out of the undergrowth. “Jack,” she replied and ran softly towards him.
“Why didn't you just ring?”
“Because I haven't got your number,” she moaned, and he just grunted.
“It's this way.”
“Won't we need to go around Harriet?”
“Nah,” he said instantly and walked down the drive until he was alongside the separate garage, away from the main house. A wrought iron staircase between the perimeter of the property and the giant double garage led to a flat above the garage, and he smiled at her. “It's well away from Harriet!”
“Wow!” Claire muttered as they climbed the steps and he unlocked the front door. “It's like a separate house.”
“It was a granny annexe I believe,” Jack explained. “But it never got used at all and for my fourteenth birthday, my parents kitted it out for me as a den, and then for my fifteenth, they put a recording studio in the big bedroom.”
“It's two bedroom,” Claire muttered as he unlocked and opened the front door and they stepped into a narrow corridor. They both coughed as they entered the flat and he pushed open the door to his left.
“It's been sound-proofed,” he boasted. “And treated to stop echo, acoustics aren't bad. We got a big computer, an interface,” he said pointing at some dusty equipment in the corner of the room. “Filters, amps, speakers, headphones in here,” he told her and opened a drawer containing four expensive headphones and two microphones. “Oh and I've got a keyboard around here – well two actually. One MIDI one for the computer and another to play. There's some drums, electric guitar in the other room for storage and …”
“Wow! Seriously, this is amazing. And you'd let me borrow it for a day. Tops.”
He sighed and pulled down two posters from the wall. She noticed his face was printed along with two other people, above lettering that read “Element of Surprise.” She gulped and she stopped him taking down the third. “Ellie?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly and she looked at the poster.
“And you stopped coming in here, 'cause of her.”
“I got this setup 'cause of her,” he responded fiercely as he took a few deep breaths. “It's bringing back bad memories,” he snarled. “I just hate this place now.”
“But … can't you just move on?” Claire asked cheerfully and insensitively.
“She was …” Jack gulped and looked back at the poster in front of Claire before ripping it from the wall and thrusting it aggressively in front of the teenage girl. “I found her screwing my best friend and band mate,” he yelled, pointing at the two faces on the poster. “And I loved her. How can I just move on from that?” He ripped the paper into several pieces and threw them on the floor, before storming out of the room.
Claire flinched as he left and sighed. She stooped down to the floor, picked up the pieces and walked into the small reception room – also containing pictures of their old band, and he watched as she calmly took them down. “I'm sorry,” she told him as joined him on a small couch. “Really I am.” He didn't respond, and Claire spoke to break the silence. “I didn't know.”
“No,” he murmured, deep in thought. “I knew coming back in here would be pretty awful, but I had no idea. We went out for four years.” He wiped his eyes and stared at the floor. “And we were in this band, great vocals she had. And we would spend hours just singing and recording. Best friend on the guitar and we sent demo tapes to some recording studios. We got a bit of interest as well. Doing well. Couple of gigs at local pubs. I know Dad wasn't happy about it, but, we did it. Won school talent competition. Getting real close to her. She'd always said she wanted to wait until we got married before sex and I was fine with that, but we used to spend hours cuddling and talking. And then on her eighteenth I proposed, and she said 'no.' She said she wanted to split up not get engaged, and it just broke me. I spent the night wandering the streets and came home and wrote two songs. I went to her house that Saturday night and serenaded her with the music I wrote to try and win her back and my best friend comes out, half-naked with her and she tells me that they have been screwing for a year and just tells me to move on.”
“Crap,” Claire muttered, and Jack sniffed.
“I've never had a worst weekend. And this place, I was here so much with her. Our first kiss was here. Our first song together was there, our first everything was in these four walls.”
“Then maybe you should reclaim it,” Claire suggested. “Maybe, clean it up and make music again with someone else and banish the painful memories. 'Cause if you start having happy times here again, you won't have it reminding you of her, will you?”
He snorted, and Claire squeezed his hand causing him to smile. “I am not sure I can make music at the moment. It's just too fresh.”
“My friend has troubles too,” Claire told him in a calm, soothing voice. “I think you two will get on. She's quite a livewire and is very confident. Look, Jack, we don't have to clean this up for me to use, if it's too painful. If you want me to leave and …”