Cold Comfort

by Isobel Hart

  As my senses returned and he continued on in his unchanging rhythm I realised this was how he fucked his groupies. This was fast, meaningless fucking, designed to get him off – cocaine allowing – with the minimum of emotional connection. I tried to pull away but he held me firm, widening my legs as he pushed further into me, rotating his hips until I felt him at my very core.

  Determined to reclaim this act, to separate it from what he’d done with hundreds of girls before me, I pushed myself up until I was sitting on his lap as he kneeled behind still deep within me. I grasped his hands in mine, running them over my body until finally he groaned as my head fell back against him and his hands began running over me on their own.

  “Fuck, Delilah,” he moaned into my hair, “You feel so fucking amazing.” I grabbed his hand again, this time bringing it low to where we were joined.

  “I’m yours,” I told him as we both felt the connection, “and you’re mine.” He moaned his agreement as I ground onto him and felt him swell within me. When we came, we came together.

  Chapter 26

  I woke to gentle kisses all over my face. Blinking, I slowly opened my eyes and smiled up into Cat’s eager blue gaze. “God, you’re so beautiful, Delilah,” he told me, kissing me more deeply this time. My Cat was back, the kind, gentle version I liked so much. I shuddered as I remembered moments from the version I’d seen the night before.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t close me out. Tell me.”

  “I don’t want to start the day off badly.” He scowled at me until I caved and gave him what he wanted.

  “Yesterday. After you read the letter, I felt like you withdrew from me emotionally. You wouldn’t talk about it, even when I tried to.”

  “There was nothing to say. He’s trying to stir things between us. If we do this, then we’re letting him win.”

  “But then you got fucked up on coke. It clearly did affect you if you needed to escape from reality like that.”

  “So I did some coke. It’s no big deal.”

  “It changed you, and not in a good way. The combination of the two things… your emotional withdrawal and then the coke… well, I didn’t like it very much.” He pulled away and leant on one elbow, looking down at me.

  “It’s just a bit of fun. Just recreational. Don’t make it into something bigger. The two weren’t related. I just wanted to blow off some steam. I don’t have a problem with it.”

  “I didn’t say you did, but you’re different when you’re on it. More distant, harder… I don’t like that version of you as much as this one. I can’t talk to that Cat. When you came to bed I felt like I could have been anyone. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like that with you.”

  “Jesus, Delilah, don’t blow this up into something more than it is.”

  “I’m not… you asked. I’m just telling you how I felt last night.”

  “Yeah,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry if I was an ass. I’ve been single for a long time. I’m still learning how to have a steady girl in my life. I fucked up.”

  “You didn’t fuck up. Not really. You just closed down on me, and I didn’t like it. But just so you know, the coke and the groupies that seem to sit alongside it… well, that could become a problem in the future. I already said I won’t share you. Not with other women and not with cocaine.”

  “I don’t want anyone but you, babe. There’s not a single one of them that’s a patch on you. And as for the charlie… pah.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand before catching sight of the time on his watch. “Fuck, we only have an hour until the car arrives to take us to the airport. You packed?” I nodded. I didn’t have much in the first place, although my little bag was being stretched at the seams with all my recent purchases. “Good, you use the shower first while I close up my bags.”

  The conversation was clearly closed as far as he was concerned, but the uneasy sensation continued to niggle at me as I showered and dressed. It was made worse when Henry started to mouth off about what he was looking forward to doing – mainly girls and coke – when he got to America. “You going to look up Tiff when you get to L.A.?” he asked Cat.

  “What the fuck, man?” Cat said, his eyes darting towards me. “What do you think?” I knew Henry was deliberately trying to stir trouble between us, but it still rankled.

  “I think she’s fucking smoking hot, man, that’s what I think.”

  “Well, if you think that, then have at her, with my blessing. Personally I have everything I want right here,” he said, pulling me into his side for a hug before bending to pick up my bags and loading them into the back of the car. He held the door open for me to get in, then returned for his own bags.

  “Fuck, man, you’ve become a dull fuck since you met Delilah,” Henry said over his shoulder to Cat as he climbed in behind me. I groaned at the prospect of his continued agitating for the entire drive to Stanstead Airport. “What’s the matter, D, you not digging me?” he said, running his eyes over my body in a way that made me feel unclean. “Cos that’s a shame when I’m digging you. Cat and I normally share our women. What do you say, babe? You up for it?”

  “Get the fuck out this car,” Cat said quietly. The controlled quietness was almost more terrifying than if he’d shouted the words.

  “Chill out, man. I was just teasing.”

  “It wasn’t funny. She’s not like the others. Get into another fucking car before I lose it and do something we’ll all regret.”

  “What the fuck, man?” Henry was indignant now, clearly surprised by his buddy’s lack of humour. “What the fuck happened to ‘bros before hos’? You’re losing it over this girl, man, and it’s not healthy.”

  “What’s not healthy is what you’re doing. What I was doing before Delilah. I couldn’t see it either at the time, but believe me, man, this is way better.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I’m fucking sick of this domestic shit anyway,” he said, climbing back out the car and into one of the other two waiting behind. It left Cat and me alone.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

  “Don’t stress it. I know what he’s like. Don’t fall out because of me – I have no desire to be known as the Yoko Ono of Cold Comfort.”

  “No one disrespects you like that,” he said, looking at me intently as the car pulled out of the driveway and we sped along the country lanes.

  “You’re the only one that has the power to hurt me,” I admitted. “The rest of them – it’s just words. I’ve put up with verbal shit my entire life, and I’m still standing. It’s when the people you love hurt you that it can be hard to recover.”

  “Never going to happen,” he promised, but I felt less confident, especially after last night. I was getting in deep with this guy. In my experience that was a fast track to pain. “You love me, eh?” He gave me a small smile.

  “I didn’t mean… I mean….” I blushed.

  “It’s okay, I know it’s too soon. It’s still good to know you care.”

  *

  The airport was quiet, with a distinct absence of photographers, thanks to the spontaneous nature of our trip. We passed a comfortable flight, sleeping most of the way and watching films the rest, and arrived as fresh as it was possible to in New York, by which time word of our trip had spread thanks to the wonders of Twitter and Facebook.

  Cat waved at the fans that had gathered at the barriers as we walked through, and then we were rushed towards some waiting cars and driven to our hotel, just off Central Park. The city was busier than anything I’d seen to date, the sound of passing fire engine horns sending me nearly through the roof at three in the morning that first night.

  As promised we had two clear days for sightseeing around New York, and Cat made the most of them, showing me the Manhattan landmarks. Wearing a hat and glasses he passed relatively unnoticed in most of the places we visited, only causing e
xcitement at the music bars we went to in the evenings.

  The single was due for release across the US the following day, and Wayne had scheduled us in for a full day of publicity. It also coincided with the advance copy of the publication of the article about me that was due out over the weekend back in the UK. The day – or night, however you looked at it – started with Cat doing a radio interview for the chart people back in the UK. It was half four in the morning in the US, a brutal start to what would be a long day. On the plus side they informed him the single had indeed taken the number one spot, having broken the record for the most downloads in a day or week. It was a good start. By six in the morning Wayne had forwarded me a link to the article, and I opened it as Cat peered over my shoulder. ‘A Star is Born’ the headline read, above a picture of me sitting at Cat’s piano, my eyes closed, head to one side with my hair falling around me as I played. Even I could see it was a lovely picture. I read the article with some trepidation:

  It’s not often in this world of entertainment and celebrity, where spin is often extolled over substance and much is made of what is actually very little, that you meet someone who reminds you what it is to possess pure, beautiful, unadulterated talent. Delilah Thomas is the first to cross my path in a long time. Her old-school Hollywood beauty, reminiscent of a young Elizabeth Taylor, combines with a natural gift in music – proficient at both the piano and guitar – to form one of the most spellbinding individuals it has ever been my pleasure to meet.

  But it’s her voice that first brought her to our attention. That and her relationship with the notorious womaniser Cat Colton, lead singer of Cold Comfort. Delilah is currently riding high in the charts as a featured artist on the band’s most recent single release, ‘Eternity’. Her vocal purity and strength combine with a distinctive tone all her own that enhances the rasp of Colton’s voice. I predict a run in the charts to rival Legend and Adele. Deservedly so – it’s a beautiful track.

  It’s hard not to assume anyone in possession of that degree of beauty and talent would be ugly inside, tainted by the attention and adulation such a combination would naturally attract. After all, that’s been my experience with more celebrities than I care to mention. Delilah is the exception to the rule. Exceptional indeed. I found her to be the rarest of all celebrities; talented, beautiful and nice. Co-writer of ‘Eternity’ and a gifted composer in her own right if the sample song she played for us is anything to go by, she captivates when she plays. It is easy to see why Colton is so enthralled by her. Humble and kind, she gave her fee for this article to her Mama, despite having student debts to pay, participating in the feature only because she’d been told it would help the band.

  Delilah Thomas is so much more than a featured artist. The Tiffany Diamond in a sea of Diamonique, she stands out, completely unaware of the raw talent she possesses. Colton may wish to keep her as his own for now – I can understand why – but believe me when I say that this lady is a star destined for the very top. He’d better hold on tight.

  The article was accompanied by a number of other photos, all very natural. Even I had to admit David had done a good job of making me relax. The article itself was somewhat overwhelming, my only initial thought that I needed to send it to my Mama. She’d like to see it, and she’d definitely want one of the pictures.

  “I think she liked you,” Cat said with a wry smile.

  “She was very kind to say such nice things. I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

  “She saw what I did, what everyone will see soon.” His hand swept through his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “You seem upset. I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “You haven’t upset me. I’m glad they all like you… It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing,” he said, hugging me tight.

  Hammering on our door announced the arrival of cars to take us to the first of five bookings for the day. We were starting early with a breakfast T.V. show, and then visiting three radio stations across the state before finishing with an evening talk show, much like the one we’d done in the UK.

  A stylist had been tasked with outfitting me for the performances. When I’d suggested I could wear the same outfit for the duration of the day, she’d just laughed. When she eventually realised I was serious, she looked at me as if I was something out of ‘Ripley’s Believe It or Not!’ freak show.

  The performance at the first show went well, despite the early hour. The single was well received and the interview ran smoothly. I was somewhat disconcerted during the first radio interview by the amount of the questions the presenters sent my way; they focused initially on my relationship with Cat but then turned to my plans for a forthcoming album. I tried to politely evade the more intrusive questions, blushing instead which seemed to amuse them, and made it clear my main focus for the next few months was to secure my degree and that I hadn’t thought beyond that point. I assured them I wanted to support the band with any performances of the single whenever I was able.

  The second and third interviews followed a similar pattern. The band had started to tease me about being on the ‘Delilah show’. Cat laughed along, but I could tell it bothered him.

  “Can’t you calm it down a bit?” he said, taking in my outfit for the final performance. We’d planned to only perform the single, but a guest had dropped out so Cat had been drafted in for an interview too. He’d seemed on edge since we’d arrived at the studio. I suspected he’d had some coke.

  I looked down at what I was wearing; a modest kilt miniskirt, paired with a black vest top, tights and biker boots. I looked like a rock chick, especially with the silver bangles that adorned my arms. It was one of my favourite looks so far.

  “You don’t like it?” I couldn’t hide the hurt in my voice.

  “I like it fine… just… don’t you think the top could be a bit more covered up?”

  “It’s a vest top. It’s hardly indecent.”

  “It’s a bit clingy.”

  “Don’t listen to him, D,” Eddy said, coming up behind me. “You look freaking amazing as you are.” Cat huffed and walked off, while I just watched, Eddy standing quietly beside me.

  “Why’s he mad?” I asked no one in particular, just voicing the question that had been running through my mind all afternoon.

  “He’s not good at sharing the limelight, I think,” Eddy suggested.

  “I’m not trying to steal his thunder.”

  “I know. He does too, deep down. You can’t help yourself. You’re just too good to hide, and people want to know more about you. These guys have been interviewed so much, and you’re new and exciting. He’s struggling to adjust. He’ll get there, though, eventually.”

  “Thank god you’re here,” I said, hugging him as we heard the five-minute call go out for Cat’s interview. The band huddled round the monitor in our changing room as Cat walked out onto the stage and shook hands with the host.

  At first the interview seemed fine, but once they started talking about the single Cat began to sound surly. The questions focused on me – where he’d met me, how incredible my voice was, what plans the band had to feature me on any other tracks. When he was asked how he’d managed to persuade me to go out with him, and they showed a picture of me from the UK magazine article, Cat looked openly pissed.

  “Fuck,” I heard Matt mutter.

  “Well, you know I have a way with the women,” Cat retorted with a smug, unpleasant expression on his face.

  “So then she’s just one of the many, Cat? We all know the source of your name,” the interviewer sniggered.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with swagger. I felt bile rise in my stomach. It didn’t matter that I knew it wasn’t true. He’d hurt me – on live T.V.

  “He doesn’t mean it, Delilah,” Matt said, coming over to hug me.

  “’Bout fucking time,” Henry muttered. “The Cat’s back at last. Le
t the party get fucking started.”

  The call came for us to set up on stage. I walked out, deliberately avoiding any eye contact with Cat, who was still chatting with the host. When his interview came to a close he walked over to applause from the audience and took his position on the stool beside me. I turned to face the lights, closing my eyes as the familiar opening refrain started.

  For the first time since we’d started singing together the song felt clumsy. Cat was off. It wasn’t anything the majority of the audience would notice, but I did, and so did the band. I tried to compensate in my own parts – my voice strong and sure – but it still didn’t make up for what was lacking. The connection was gone.

  We finished to a standing ovation and the usual effusive praise from the presenter, but this time it all felt false to me. I walked quickly off stage as soon as we were able and returned to the dressing room.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Cat shouted, storming in behind me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your fucking performance out there. All the showing off, the vocal trickery – were you trying to make me look bad?”

  “Oh, I think you did that all by yourself,” I said, grabbing my bag. I had no clue where I was planning to go, just that I needed to get away from Cat.

  “What is your problem?” he demanded.

  “Right now you’re my problem,” I told him honestly. “You’re behaving like an arse towards me. I’m not sure why, but I do know I don’t like it.” With that I slung my bag over my shoulder and marched past him. The others were standing in the hallway, clearly unwilling to walk in while we’d been shouting at each other. I grabbed Eddy’s hand as I passed him, and he tripped along beside me as I headed towards the exit.