“No. Not every interview is going to be peachy. I’ve got this. I just need a minute.” I double over and put my hands on my knees, filling my lungs deeply.
“Are you sure, it’s not too late to pull out?”
My hair jostles around my face as I shake my head. “I really need a haircut,” I laugh.
“Well, you can get that sorted out later. You can do this. Where’s the Reece Ashton full of confidence? The untouchable. The guy that didn’t give a damn about what people say about him?”
I mull over her words before I speak. “That’s the old Reece. I mean, I still don’t care what people think, I care about how I’m perceived. I don’t want to be known as the arrogant guy.”
Oddly, I feel loads better from her little pep talk, and I feel like I can construct a sentence. What the hell has happened to me? This is not me. I’m confident. I’m adored. I’m Reece-Goddamned-Ashton. That was the old Reece-Goddamned-Ashton. Arrogant, aloof and well, a tosser. Now I’m just nervous. I haven’t had these kinds of feelings for a long time.
“If you are sure?” The stagehand joins us and tells Hannah she can go and find her seat. “All the best. I’m right there if you need anything. Just speak honestly, but not your version of honesty.”
We both laugh and Hannah makes her way out onto the studio floor, but I call out to her. “Hannah, thank you.” She stands there staring at me for a beat and nods twice quickly.
“You really have changed,” she says before turning on her heel.
Time feels like it’s going at double speed when the floor hand taps me on the shoulder and ushers me to the side of the stage. The heat of the studio lights makes it harder to get comfortable.
“He will intro you and then you go on when he calls you,” she says while giving me a half smile and pushing out her chest. She lowers her voice and says, “All the best. By the way, big fan of your music. I’d love to discuss it more in a more private setting when we are finished.”
A strange feeling washes over me. This chick’s hitting on me and I’m not jumping at the chance. If anything, she brings the nausea right back. The thought of being with anyone other than Madelyn makes my skin crawl, and I think the stagehand realises. “Um, I’m flattered but no. My heart belongs to another.”
And with that statement, the sick feeling dissipates, and is replaced with nerves again. This unknown stagehand is the first person outside my little group to know my sentiments and it feels good to say I’m with someone. I’m standing in the shadows as I wait for my cue. I have done thousands of interviews in my time but for some reason, this one is different. This one gives me a chance to set the record straight, and I know this will be a good platform for me to start over, and that’s what calms me.
“And he is here today, to share with us what happened, where he’s been and what he’s going to do next. Please put your hands together for Reece Ashton.”
The stage assistant waves me to move out, and my hand is already up and thanking the audience for its enthusiastic applause. I lower my arm to shake his offered hand.
Jackson Worthrington. Respected journalist and father of the woman I’m falling hard for. Holy fuck. This is not how I wanted to meet my girlfriend’s father.
“Ashton, a pleasure to meet you, son, have a seat and let’s get started,” he gestures to the seat and waves for the audience to simmer down, but it only makes them louder. “Alright, this isn’t a rock concert, you are going to blow my sound guy’s eardrums. You look good, you look good.”
Taking in the audience, the bright lights have dulled them back just enough so I can’t make out who’s there. Doesn’t matter, the only person I want to really explain this to isn’t here and if this is how I need to get my message out, then so be it.
“Thank you for having me. It’s good to be here,” I give them another quick wave, and they go crazy again. Their enthusiasm coupled with my nerves has me wanting to do the unthinkable - vomit on live television.
Worthrington shifts in his seat, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t like playing second fiddle. This explains a bit as to why he usually interviews politicians because they don’t usually get such high praise, or it’s directed towards him for sticking up for the little guy. I see Hannah sitting off to the side, and it helps a little to know that someone is on my side even if I’m fed to the lions.
“Alright, alright,” I say. “Thank you. It’s great to be here, but I think our host would like to get on with the show. I’m sure you have some questions for me.” I can’t help but smile when the audience gets loud again.
“So, Ashton, tell us, where have you been?”
I nod my head as if to give the answer some thought, “I’ve been lying low. I haven’t been doing anything that the media have been saying. I’ve been keeping to myself, trying to make sense of this situation because you have about the same amount of knowledge I do as to why the band broke down the way it did.”
Interviews are normally well-orchestrated situations where they tell you to look sad or encourage the crowd to get excited. I lower my head, and the audience gives a collective sigh. Bingo, give the crowd a treat but for once, I don’t want them to play into my hand. I want them to see the real me.
“In saying that, he probably did me a favour,” I say with another short nod. “It’s sucked. I thought he left me high and dry, but we could have worked something out if he just told me. Turns out there was a lot more underhandedness going on with management.”
“Management?”
“Yes, I believe you know of him very well. David Steel.”
Worthrington’s face goes beet red as he doesn’t skip a beat and fires off his next question. “So if he came back and said ‘let’s start over’ would you?”
“Who? Sean or David? Sean - yes, David? No. Not a chance. Once my trust is broken, that’s it. How could I trust him again? I’d be questioning every single motive or action he took. He’s tried to hurt someone I have come to care very deeply about. Someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye and I’m working hard to protect that.”
Rubbing his chin, Worthrington snaps at the opportunity to ask, “Oh is there a special someone in your life? I think I know who it is, care to share?”
Waiting for half a beat before answering, I say, “The only part I want to share is that she’s funny, she’s smart, she doesn’t put up with my BS. She’s beautiful inside and out,” I take a breath. “For the first time in my life, I think I’ve fallen in love … with someone other than me.” Even I laugh at my own joke. “I love her.” All the things I want to say are coming out in a jumble. “I sound like such a pussy …” and the audience gives a collective gasp. “Oh sorry. This is the first time anyone has got to me like this. I can just show her how much I love her and what she means to me, I have proven all along that I’m changing, and it’s all for the better, and it’s all because of her. She encourages me to try. I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t know much about the real world. And I might not have graduated from university but I’m keen to learn, and I know what I’d like to pursue.”
“Her? Well, there blows one theory of why you went underground out of the water. Here was I thinking all those women were a ruse.”
I can’t help to laugh at that one. “No, that rumour was never true, I don’t care if you are black, white, straight, gay – if my music makes you happy, then I’m happy.” The crowd hollers and claps.
“So this woman who has got you all smitten, do you like handbags?”
I shake my head at the randomness before saying, “I don’t think handbags are really my style.”
“So who is this mystery woman that’s been able to bring the philandering Reece Ashton under the thumb? I was concerned when I saw a tweet from a particular blonde. One from Handbag Heaven saying she’s excited to get back with you?”
I shrug my shoulders and shake my head. “Today’s been a bad day for me to keep up with what’s going on on Twitter. I just saw the tweet backstage with my new manager.
”
“So you can’t keep up with your girlfriend’s tweets?”
“That woman is not my girlfriend.”
Worthrington sits back in his seat and fires the next statement at me. “I have it on good authority that she is your girlfriend. In fact, I had a phone conversation with her not too long ago, and she’s very excited to see you again.”
Ah, fuck. He doesn’t know. He thinks I’m going out with Caitlyn, not Madelyn. Not the way I wanted this to come out. I reach for the glass of water and take a sip. “I’m afraid you’ve been led down the wrong path. That woman is not my girlfriend.” Some of the audience clap, some gasp and I can hear a small boo. “I am seeing someone, but that woman is not her.”
Worthrington is clearly not used to not being in control. He’s looking more flustered and reddening by the second. I am getting a great insight into the father figure that Madelyn despises so much. Worthrington holds his finger up to his ear before lifting his other hand and one finger to me and then the crowd. “We are getting more information now from another tweet … who is the tweet from?”
I look at the monitor in front of me and instantly sag in my seat. “@DavidSmedia - Reece is indeed seeing a long lost, but not forgotten Worthrington.” Awe fuck it all to hell. I listen to Worthrington’s voice trail off before my gaze locks onto his glaring one.
“We will be back after this commercial break.”
“We are out,” the stagehand calls and Worthrington is up and out of his seat advancing towards mine. I see Hannah making quick strides to join me, but she won’t get to me first.
“What is her name?” the spittle flies from his mouth.
“It’s Madelyn. That’s all you need to know,” I shift in my chair trying to put some distance between us. I stand a good few inches over him, and I don’t want to have to use that kind of tactic but I will if necessary. If Madelyn wanted him to know, she would have told him. My hands grip the armrests as I slide out of the seat. He doesn’t move back and straightens as I come to stand. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business …”
I don’t get to finish my sentence as he spits his words out. “You are dating my daughter?”
He is close to losing it. The veins are bulging around his neck, and I’m sure he’s going to crack a tooth with his jaw being held tight.
“We have ten seconds,” the stagehand calls.
“Tell me you are not dating my daughter. She has been through enough. She’s safest away from the world,” he spits again. “I forbid it. You will ruin her.”
The crowd sounds out a collective ‘ohhh’ while I glance at Worthrington, who’s struggling to compose himself.
“Six seconds.”
Stammering over my words, I refuse to break eye contact with him. I don’t want to do anything to hurt her or bring her kicking and screaming into the limelight, I’m kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place, or in my case, a studio floor and a pissed off father.
“Three … two …”
“Yes it’s Madelyn, and I love her.”
What happened next was as if it happened in slow motion. The chair holding me was toppling as I was being thrown over it by Worthrington. I couldn’t make out what he was yelling as his face loomed over me because the audience was gasping and several other voices started to yell. My hands dropped to try and catch myself, but one had to come up to block the now swinging arm coming right for my face.
I hear ‘security’, and ‘keep rolling’ being called but mainly the voice of disdain saying, “That’s my daughter. You’re dating my daughters? One wasn’t enough? I have another daughter and a son too if you swing that way. I’m going to kick your arse.”
“Get off me,” I yell while trying to clamber away from him. I can’t move quick enough before one of his punches lands on the side of my face. “I’m not dating your daughters. Just one.”
His arm hovers mid-air as he looms over me. “Which one? Either way, the answer will not end well for you.”
“Madelyn, I’ve never dated Caitlyn.”
A roar tells me that he was right. Whichever answer was going to be the wrong one. “You broke my little girls’ heart.”
Thankfully, security has intervened, and Jackson is being pulled off me. Hannah kneels by my side as I wipe the small trickle of blood coming from my nose.
“Are you alright?” Hannah asks, and she glances back at a still hollering Worthrington. She reaches over and yanks the microphone off my shirt. “Stop talking. Get that off, let’s get out of here.”
I’m grateful when the same stagehand that tried to hit on me offers me a tissue for my nose. “Thank you.”
Hannah is already letting a spray of terse words at the producers as I leave the stage. My phone vibrates against my hip, and I pray it’s a message from Madelyn. This interview could only have gone worse if Caitlyn was actually here.
Madelyn’s message gets lost in the barrage of notifications from all the social medias. It’s like a continual buzz. Hannah is back by my side in a flash. “Let’s get out of here, now!”
Hannah's fingers curl around my arm, and she pulls me out of the studio door. Members of the audience gawk as we pass them. Some of them even pull out their phones and snap pictures. I know I’m too slow to bring my hand up in some of them, and thankfully Hannah blocks the shots for me.
“This could not have gone any worse?” she says.
“Oh, I think it could.”
“You need to talk to Madelyn now while I go into damage control. This is one colossal fuck up. Sisters. Really? What are the chances?” I fall into the car, and I feel like my day has gone from bad to shitful. “We can fix this in our conference. Don’t worry Reece. I can fix all this.”
I’ve never been a man of faith, but I pray to the Gods that she can. I promised to keep Madelyn’s secret, and I’ve gone and given it away.
Chapter Forty-Three
REECE
We return to the hotel to find it in lockdown. The conference room had reached capacity two times over before they shut the doors. As a sign of goodwill and apology, we issue each room with a complimentary bottle of alcohol to try and calm the unsettled nerves of others sharing the hotel. My newfound frugal ways had me checking the price of each bottle. I wasn’t going full Scrooge but having lived with limited funds, I now see how good I have it and I want that to last. Thankfully the only evidence of the half-baked attempt of an arse-kicking was the bloody tissue shoved deep into my pocket. I’ll hold onto that 'til I can flush it away. Stuff like that sells for a fortune on eBay.
“This is a fucking nightmare,” Sean says. Hannah nodded. “I didn’t think there was going to be three journalists turn up, let alone all these.”
“Let’s get this over and done with can we?” I ask as I take one last look through the glass doors while they are closed. Hannah reaches over and pulls on the handle. The flashes of the camera reach epic proportions. The questions are yelled out thick and fast. I hear both Madelyn, and Caitlyn’s names called out. I hold my hands up to try and actually see where I’m walking, and some of the photographers start to boo at me. I call out that I’m just trying to see where I’m going, and I’m not trying to block their picture. I’ve not been on the bad side of the media before and I can say that I’m not happy to be there.
“Why block the photo, Reece, you arsehole,” one photographer calls. “That’s what that little bitch Madelyn did too.”
My arm drops and Sean has already got his hand on my back to keep me moving. Thankfully, he’s just as swift in telling Deni to get that guy out of here.
“Walk it off. Another twenty minutes and you will be out of here,” he says loud enough over the shouting media.
I take my seat at the front of the room and look over the sea of faces. The difference a few weeks makes. Before, I would have strutted my way in front of these people and charmed them with everything I have. Now, I just want to get away from them. I know they are going to ask about Madelyn, and I want to protect that. Prot
ect her. She’s the first thing I have had that’s just for me. I don’t want to share her with the world. Thankfully most of the questions were about David and the breakdown of our professional relationship. We answer their questions as diplomatically as possible without giving them another way to ask the same question. Sean fields a lot about David, and I sit nodding next to him to show my support.
“David made some choices that were not in line with the band’s best interest.” Nice save there Sean. “We wish him well, but our business relationship is over.”
“What have you been doing with your time out of the spotlight?” One calls out.
“Well, he got married.” That brought a laugh and a round of applause. I didn’t expect them to keep laughing when I said, “And I’ve been cooking.”
“Cooking?”
Arseholes. “Yeah. I’m not too bad at it. I have a Pinterest profile if anyone wants to follow me, it’s RsBitsNPieces.” When I say it out loud, it really does sound pathetic. It feels like it’s twenty minutes later and we are still fielding inane questions, and the crowd is unrelenting. I have answered every single one about Madelyn as ‘it’s new and I want to keep it private’.
“Hey Reece, so the interview with Jackson Worthrington has pretty much broken the Internet. Everyone wants to know,” the photographer calls out. I’ve seen this guy before.
“And you’re the only one brave enough to ask?” the room fills with a gentle giggle from his counterparts.
“Well, yeah. So, what’s this tweet from Caitlyn Worthrington saying she’s been waiting to recreate the night you shared with her. From her following tweets, she’s pissed that you’ve moved on to her sister?”
The room went silent as they waited for me to respond. The visions of my time with Caitlyn are crystal clear now. We got all hot and heavy in the coat checking section, but the details after that are very PG-rated. I got her a drink from the bar and left her there while I went to talk to industry reps.
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