by Laura Carter
Shaking her head, Andrea walked further along the corridor toward the communal area, calling back a reminder, ‘Keep it clean, Tommy.’
Tommy shook his head with another laugh, then ran his eyes up and down Hannah’s body.
‘Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.’
Hannah laughed – God loved a trier. ‘Toooommy, Toooommy, Toooommy.’
She followed Andrea and Tommy called after her. ‘There’s no breakin’ you, girl, is there?’
‘Not in a million,’ she said across her shoulder. And she meant it. Though he drove her half insane, Hannah had never done more than second-glance at a man who wasn’t Rod.
As she reached Andrea, she received the kind of side-eye look that told her a dress-related comment was coming. She zoned out entirely because, for one thing, Andrea looked good, and for another, who was she to talk about appropriate or inappropriate. For a third thing, Hannah was trying her damned best to be a mother, a wife, a friend, her own person and Andrea’s PA. She had so many faces it was making her dizzy. If Andrea wanted to be a dick, it could fall on Hannah’s selective hearing tonight.
The common area was packed full of musicians – established and budding – producers, agents, managers, press and VIPs with backstage passes.
Hannah and Andrea worked the room, slowly, one air-kiss at a time. Since Hannah had worked with Andrea for practically her whole career her face was just as familiar to most people as Andrea’s. They didn’t treat her as a nobody but as an essential part of the clockwork that was Andrea and her artists.
People greeted her, kissed her cheeks, flirted with her, offered to get her drinks and congratulated her on the birth of TJ because for most people it was the first time they had seen her since the baby bump.
She had eyes on Andrea, in case she was needed, but otherwise had a drink too many and was enjoying herself – not as a PA or a mommy but as Hannah, just Hannah. And it felt good. Her life had been going just fine. The boys were getting bigger, childcare cheaper. Then she fell pregnant with TJ. She adored her baby but hadn’t been ready for her life to be commandeered by children for a third time.
And as she thought that, she felt a pang of guilt. She shouldn’t be happy to be free of her family but damn it, sometimes she needed a break from nagging and tears and her husband leaving the toilet seat the eff up.
Thankfully, she didn’t have time to get bogged down in her personal dilemma because a bigger problem was about to unfold.
Rosalie stepped into the room, drawing the eyes of admirers, both men and women alike, as she managed to shine in a floor-length gold dress that not even Carrie Bradshaw would have been able to pull off. As soon as Andrea noticed her, she made a beeline for her. After all the help Rosalie had given Hannah lately, she wasn’t about to let Andrea tear strips off her about her outfit selection.
Both women came in and out of view as Hannah worked through the crowd, arriving at Rosalie’s side at the same time as Andrea.
Andrea had a face like thunder. Hannah watched Andrea open her mouth to speak but her jaw stayed loose and no words came out, her focus no longer on Rosalie. Hannah followed her gaze and realised that Andrea’s eyes were trained on the man behind Rosalie, who was holding a woman’s – his wife’s – hand and pressing his lips to her temple. That man and his wife were Rosalie’s parents, Hunter and Loretta.
There was a beat of awkward silence that was not lost on Hannah. Why?
She hugged Rosalie, then Hunter and Loretta. Eventually, Andrea followed suit, hugging Rosalie, then kissing Loretta on each cheek whilst holding her at arm’s length. Then Hannah observed as Andrea lengthened her spine and rolled her shoulders back, puffing out her chest like a lioness might to mark her territory in the wild.
Andrea held out her hand to Hunter, who had gone in for a hug, such that the pair ended up in a strained embrace, holding hands.
Hannah asked Loretta, ‘Where is that dress from? I love it!’ but she kept her eyes on her best friend and Hunter. She watched as he ran hungry eyes over every part of Andrea that was displayed to its best advantage in that dress. She watched as his eyes grew darker, heavier.
And in that moment, she knew.
As if the way they addressed each other and couldn’t tear their eyes from each other wasn’t confirmation enough, the uncommon flush of Andrea’s skin and the way she fidgeted as she exchanged pleasantries with Loretta, were also fairly damning evidence.
Andrea promptly excused herself from the group, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter on the way out of the room, downing it as she moved quickly into the corridor.
It was the nail in the coffin. Hannah was one hundred per cent certain that her best friend was having an affair with her other best friend’s dad.
‘Holy mother of fuck,’ she whispered under her breath, meeting Hunter’s nervous gaze.
On wobbly legs, Hannah excused herself, told Rosalie she would find her in a while, and went in search of Andrea, not sure whether she wanted to kill her first and reason with her later, or the other way around.
How could she do this? How could she lie about this? How could she cast aside Rosalie’s feelings, as if years of friendship stood for nothing?
She pushed through the door into the ladies’ restroom and saw Andrea, braced with her hands on a wash basin, looking at her own grey complexion reflected in the mirrors. The picture Hannah found told her the answer to all her questions and it was worse than she had first thought.
She stared at her friend, not the powerhouse music exec but the vulnerable woman, who had lost her mother as an eight-year-old girl and brought up her younger sister whilst her dad found solace at the bottom of a whisky bottle. The woman who had grown up hiding her emotions and didn’t know any other way, but who, deep down, was compassionate and complex and had spent her life caring for others – her friends, her sister, her dad, her musicians – without ever asking for the same in return. A woman who could be promiscuous but who was afraid to ever let her guard down because she had been terrified for thirty years of getting her heart broken. A woman who had just seen Hunter, her lover, with his daughter and wife, and endured the agonising reality that she was that other woman.
‘Oh, God,’ Hannah said. ‘You have feelings for him, don’t you?’
Andrea heaved in a breath.
‘How could you do this, Andi? How could you do this to Ros?’
‘I don’t know, okay? Damn it! I didn’t mean for this. I just… don’t seem able to stop it.’
Hannah shook her head, refusing to feel sorry for Andrea. ‘Of course you can’t stop it. This is perfect for you. A man that you can’t ever commit to. It’s signature Andrea. Except this time, you’ve crossed the line, and you need to stop it. Or maybe that’s your master plan? Push the few people you have let close to you away, one by one. Hell of a first innings, Andi.’
8
Rosalie
Rosalie was midway through telling Tommy Dawson how to feng-shui his new city apartment. Tommy had been on and off the scene in the past, having had numerous flings with Andrea. She had first met Tommy shortly before he and his band were plucked from Andrea at Sanfia Records by XM Music Group. Funny, because she always thought when Andrea and Tommy were working together they were perfect for each other, but it had never come to anything serious.
Tommy had bought a flashy penthouse apartment in a sought-after building in the city and it was the kind of project even Rosalie would end her sabbatical for.
Their conversation was cut short when Sofia, looking uncommonly flushed and bothered, appeared nearby with Seth, Frankie, Billy and a young woman Rosalie didn’t recognise but who looked to Rosalie distinctly like a music artist – call it intuition or call it long feather ear-rings, a hippie-style dress and purple streaks in her hair.
‘Sofia, over here!’ Rosalie called, pulling her into a hug. ‘This jumpsuit looks incredible on you and I love the slicked hair.’
Sofia looked down at herself. ‘The what? Oh, thanks. You look as gr
eat as ever.’
Rosalie held up a hand in greeting to the others then quietly asked Sofia. ‘Are you okay? You seem flustered.’
‘I’m fine.’ Then she shook her head. ‘Just a bit of a delay getting out of the house, that’s all.’
Rosalie felt her brows furrow as she looked around the space nearby. ‘Isn’t Jay with you?’
She noticed Sofia swallow deeply, before she confessed. ‘That was sort of the delay. He had a big night last night and…’ Sofia clearly feigned a smile. ‘Nothing he can’t sleep off. Hey, I haven’t introduced you to Dani.’
Sofia ushered the purple-haired musician forward and said, ‘Dani, this is my friend, Rosalie.’ Then she told Rosalie. ‘Dani is recording her first EP at Sanfia. She’s going to be a hit.’
Rosalie enquired about Dani’s music but as she listened to the young woman’s passion for country music, her attention was drawn to Seth, not shaggy and unkempt tonight but looking… well. Very well. His scuffed suede boots had been swapped out for polished leather. His dirty ripped jeans had been replaced by butt-hugging indigo dress jeans and where he had worn a white T-shirt and a flannel shirt, he was wearing a black fitted T-shirt and a suave jacket. If it weren’t for his seemingly signature dog tags and fiercely blue eyes, he would be barely recognisable.
Their eyes locked momentarily before Seth was yanked forward into a rough embrace with none other than man-of-the-hour, frontman of Armstrung, a Billboard-topping rock band, whose name was Randy Jonson – possibly the crudest stage name in the business.
Seth impressed her. Despite being in the presence of real fame and riches, Seth seemed to be taking everything in his stride, shaking hands with the other members of Armstrung, laughing and joking. Rosalie knew them all from a brief time she spent dating the lead guitarist.
But how did Seth know Randy Jonson? Seth hadn’t even released his first single yet.
Since the music industry was all about who you know, Rosalie was going to find out. She neatly introduced Dani to Miley Delap, a young British pop artist who had recently left a well-known girl band to go solo – Rosalie knew Miley’s family through a friend of a friend. With the girls happily chatting, Rosalie made a beeline for Randy and Seth.
She watched as Randy took a cigarette from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, hung it between his lips and went to light up.
‘Outside, Randy!’ someone called, making Randy laugh. Rosalie watched him pat Seth on the back and tell the people around him, ‘Babysit my kid brother.’
Brother? Seth Young was Randy Jonson’s brother? This was gold. She had to tell Sofia.
But as she turned on the spot, she was nearly rocked off her heels by Graham Shelton, organiser extraordinaire. He was speaking frantically to a producer Rosalie recognised from one of the big labels.
‘What do you mean he’s too sick to go on stage? Give him a pill or something. He’s on in less than twenty minutes,’ Graham said.
‘I’m sorry, man, but he’s in no fit state, believe me.’
‘I hope he knows he’s fucking up his career. What the hell am I supposed to do?’
‘I’m sorry, man, I really am but he’s just a warm-up act. Can’t one of the others play an extra track or somethin’?’
‘At this stage in the game?’ Graham yelled. ‘Fuck!’
As Rosalie rubbed her battered arm, she listened to the exchange, her mind whirring with an idea. A way of paying Sofia back for teaching her the ropes. A way of making a small dent into the professional side of the industry.
Before she had a chance to second-guess herself and whether Seth was ready for what she was about to propose, she said, ‘Graham, maybe I could help you?’
* * *
‘Are you crazy?’ Seth snapped at Rosalie. Then he turned to Sofia. ‘This is insane. I can’t do this.’
Seth paced up and down in the gents’ toilets, one hand in the pocket of his denim pants, the other rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Please don’t call me crazy,’ Rosalie said. ‘You should be thanking me. I’m using my contacts to get you a break here. Plus, I’ve seen it done before. Do you remember, Soph? Three years ago, Andrea took one of her musicians along to the CMAs. An act pulled out of a day slot and Andrea seized the opportunity, telling the organisers that her latest talent could fill the spot. It went a long way toward making his next single a hit in indie terms, hitting the indie charts at… what was it, Soph, like twenty? And just breaking into the Billboard top 100 Hot Country Songs. So, you see, you just need to take your opportunities.’
She chose not to highlight that the difference between what Andrea did three years ago and what she had just committed Seth to in fifteen minutes’ time, was about ten thousand people (growing every minute), a significantly larger stage and, well, Madison Square Gardens.
Oops, maybe this was insane.
As Seth continued to pace, Rosalie motioned to Sofia to step in. He was Sofia’s artist, after all. Surely, she had some words of wisdom.
‘Look, Seth, Rosalie is right,’ Sofia said calmly. ‘She’s heard your single and wouldn’t have suggested this – I wouldn’t be in agreement with this – if we didn’t think you were up to it. I want the world to see what you do. I want those people out there to hear your lyrics, the way you play, that voice.’
‘You’re the complete package, Seth,’ Rosalie added. ‘I mean, I had my doubts when I first saw you, believe me. Those ripped jeans and scruffy boots and… I digress. Tonight, though, you look… you know.’
He stopped pacing and looked at her as if he were contemplating her words. Then he smirked.
‘So maybe look at it this way,’ Sofia tried. ‘You’ve been shot at and you’ve kept people alive in the middle of a war zone. All I’m asking you to do is go on stage, with Billy and Frankie, and sing like you would have to your platoon. Like no one else is there. Just you, sitting on some turned-up crates at your F.O.B.’
Shot at? He was a soldier?
Rosalie watched him rub the dog tags that hung down his chest, then he looked down to his feet and she truly had no idea whether he would do the show or not. God, maybe she was irresponsible after all.
Then she stood taller and asked firmly, ‘Do you want this, Seth? Do you want to be an artist?’
He raised his eyes and Rosalie saw the answer in his determined look.
‘Then you’re going to have to get used to big stages and screaming fans because you’ve got. It. All. You’re going all the way. I believe that. Sofia believes that. And you need to too. I’ll give you two minutes to decide and if you choose not to go on stage, I’ll go and tell Graham that you weren’t up to it. But my best advice, for what it’s worth, is don’t waste life’s opportunities. Take them for those who can’t.’
She left the bathroom, letting the door close behind her. In the corridor, Billy and Frankie were leaning up against the wall, wondering whether they would be going on stage in a matter of minutes.
She twisted one side of her mouth and raised her arms from her sides as if to say, We’ll see, hoping that this wouldn’t come crashing down around her and Sofia.
Why did she think she could meddle in a business she was fast realising she didn’t know at all?
Coming to stand between the guys, the three of them waited for the bathroom door to open, counting long seconds until eventually, the door opened and first Sofia, then Seth’s imposing frame filled the space.
They waited for Seth’s response. Rosalie held her breath.
Seth cleared his throat and asked, ‘What about the piano?’
As Billy and Frankie quickly got excited, Rosalie exhaled slowly, relieved.
‘You’re going to have to play the piano, Soph,’ Seth said.
‘The stage isn’t for me,’ she said. ‘You can go on without the piano, the guitars sound great anyway.’
‘In the studio, you said the piano makes the track and I agree, so it’s the single with the piano or no show.’
Reluctant though Rosali
e was to admit it, from what she had heard in the studio, Seth was right, the piano did carry the melody, particularly in the opening of the track.
She thought quickly. ‘Can’t someone else just play the piano? Billy, you can play piano, right?’
‘Yeah, I can, musical genius, but then we’ll lose the bass guitar and—’
She held up a hand to quash his sarcasm and told him, ‘Billy, I’m nothing if not a lady with contacts. You guys get ready and I’ll find you a bass guitarist to blow your socks off.’
* * *
The feeling she had was a feeling she rarely got and one that Rosalie knew only came when something truly great was about to happen. Rosalie rushed over to Hannah and Andrea, tottering at almost a light run as best she could in her heels, finding her friends deep in conversation with Calvin Richards. Calvin was a radio DJ capable of making or breaking artists and Andrea would doubtless be tapping him up for airtime.
‘Ladies, we need to get to the stage for the next act,’ she announced, breathless. ‘You too, Calvin. You’re not going to want to miss this, let me tell you.’
‘What? Who is it?’ Hannah asked, already falling into step behind Rosalie as she led the way to the arena stage.
‘Someone who is about to make history, magic and the front page of every glossy magazine in the country. Hurry!’
They hustled to the stage with Calvin Richards in tow, turning heads as they made their way, until they were part of a large group of others who tapped into their frenzy and filed into the arena, coming to stand in the press area immediately in front of the stage.
Sofia was already standing dead-centre in front of the set, her hands forming a steeple over her nose and mouth as she breathed into them.
‘What’s the big deal?’ Hannah asked, seemingly giddy without knowing why, as they reached Sofia.