Authors: Alice Severin
I bit my tongue to stop from laughing, but the laugh died in my throat at her next words.
“All thoroughbred darling. High class and rubbed down. Would you like to check for yourself?” She thrust them out at him.
“Of course. You can tell. But Sarah, listen, maybe another time, right? I’ve got to get going today, or there won’t be a concert. You and Nick,” Tristan said, putting emphasis on Nick’s name, “will be on the guest list.” He pushed out his chair and stood up. I coughed and kicked the floor, pushing the door to the counter, as though I’d just walked in and tripped.
“Oh Lily, you can be so clumsy. I was just showing Tristan here my short list of wedding dresses. He’s been very helpful.”
“Great, Sarah, that’s great. You always have such brilliant taste. Which ones does Nick like?” I paused for a moment. “Listen, we’ve got to run I’m afraid. I’ve got this interview and I need to make some phone calls.”
“Lily, stay. You can use our phone. I was just going to make Tristan some tea.” She smiled at him, then turned to me. “No rush.”
I put my hand on Tristan’s shoulder lightly, and looked at her. “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I really wanted to see your wedding dress choices as well. But duty calls.”
Tristan picked up on my mood right away. “I’m just checking on where the cars are. I’ve got an interview at twelve. But thank you, Sarah, for everything. Let me just go say goodbye to Nick.” And he walked out into the garden, leaving us alone.
“He’s lovely, Lily.” She seemed honest for a moment. I tried to forget what I’d seen, and tried to forgive her. She took a chance. I might have done the same once. Maybe.
“Yes, very easy to talk to,” I replied, keeping my voice emotionless. “Very easy to be with.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh Lily, that’s not what I meant! I’m so sorry.” She gazed up at me, innocently. “But all those rumors. And he’s a rock star. You know what they’re supposed to be like, goats in heat.” She stood up. “But of course not anymore,” she said loudly, walking over to the kettle and switching it on. “Not now that he’s with you.”
“Yes. Absolutely,” I muttered. “Well, we’ll see you tomorrow night. Thanks for everything, really. It was great of you to do it.”
“Pleasure!” she sang out, and walked to the open door. “Tristan? Nick? Tea?”
Thank god, Tristan came bounding back in. “No Sarah, thanks so much though.” And he gave her a quick hug and kiss, and released her before she could grab him back. “The cars are here.”
I went up to Sarah and hugged and kissed her as well. A part of me was hoping to erase the scent of him on her—it was a sudden primitive reaction. “Thanks again darling. See you tomorrow.” I poked my head out the door and waved at Nick, who waved back, but didn’t move.
Tristan grabbed my hand. “Come on, love, time to go.” I clutched it back and we walked single file, connected by our hands, followed by Sarah. Tristan got all the locks in record time and we were outside. “Bye for now, thanks again.”
We walked out to the cars. There were two, exactly identical. I felt extremely conspicuous, and a little like I was in some mafia movie.
Tristan leant down and whispered in my ear. I had the impression Sarah was still there, watching. “There’s always going to be that, Lily. You have no idea. Can you handle it? You’re doing very well so far.”
“As long as you think so.”
Tristan kissed me. “You’re you. Breasts are everywhere, trust me on this. I’ll get another six offers today, of one kind or another.”
“Lucky you.”
“Now I am,” he said, hugging me. “Call me, sweetheart. And good luck with Trevor. I’ll see you later.” With that he jumped in the first car, which started moving out even as I stood there watching.
I turned, and walked towards the other car, opening the door, and turning to give a royal wave to Sarah. I was the one walking away, going somewhere, while she watched. I felt like I was escaping.
The car was dark and cool and it suddenly was really good to be alone. “Hello Miss Lily,” said the driver, “ready to head to your destination,” and he gave the address. Nice. Tristan had thought of everything.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, and the car moved off, almost silently, into the road. Back to the world.
Chapter 12
I leaned back against the seat, feeling oddly safe and protected in the small space. No wonder, I thought, all these people who are used to being chased down by the public have their cars and their limos and their drivers. It’s a small bit of safety, quiet, privacy after all the weird shit they have to deal with in the world. I thought of Nick, lecturing me, telling me I was wrong and he was right, almost deliberately ignoring the idea that Tristan might be a real person. And Sarah—the image of her thrusting her boobs up like that at him. I closed my eyes. The car continued its measured pace through the traffic. It was like being a child again, just for a moment, without needing to worry or drive or even pay attention, calm in the knowledge that the plan was being put into action, all taken care of. The driver turned around corners, waited at lights, accelerated smoothly through the traffic. I imagined myself captive, held hostage and blindfolded, trying to remember the route without looking at it. I knew that even though I knew roughly where we were, I’d still be surprised when I opened my eyes to find the car was a little further on than I’d expected, or stopped at a completely different set of lights. A silly game that I’d used to play as a child after seeing some TV show where the super-alert hostage had turned the situation around in his favor, through his superior memory and ability to map out the terrain in his mind. I used to wonder how well I’d manage if it happened to me. But I wasn’t being kidnapped, even if events were moving almost too quickly. Tristan and I were becoming increasingly public, which I hadn’t planned on. And I’d not only agreed to see the entire project through, in theory I’d been looking forward to this interview in particular. In theory.
I shook myself out of the mind game, and opened my eyes to watch the streets going past, the people walking, doing errands, intent on their destinations. They’d all gotten up this morning, dressed, readied themselves for whatever their day was supposed to bring them. They wanted a minimum of surprise. And then there was me. I’d woken up, somewhat hungover and jetlagged, in a strange room, owned by strangers who apparently were my friends. And then I had sex with a rock star, was told off for being a groupie, and watched my friend fling herself at my...boyfriend? Madness. I started laughing. Even looking at what had happened from that angle, I wasn’t bothered. In fact, I felt fucking brilliant. Happy, even. Strangely, oddly, unworriedly happy. It’s the sex, said the miserable voice in my head, you’ll be sorry. Risk taking. And telling the voice to shut the fuck up made me even more happy.
My phone buzzed. A text. Tristan. Already. I giggled.
L no more pink basket horror. We are at the Hempel. Driver will wait for you. Good luck give Trevor my love. Don’t take his shit.
Fuck. Tristan. The way he noticed things—dealt with them to his own satisfaction—and now I didn’t have to go back to that horrible place. Only the “don’t take his shit” set off alarm bells, and the happy excitement I’d felt a moment ago became a churning feeling in my stomach. Where was all my bravado now? I was about to go interview one of the heavy hitters in the business. Trevor was a legend, even if Nick thought he was some granddad with a Peter Pan complex. Nick was a tool though. His version of sensible was no longer required. No, no more negative thoughts. I took a deep breath and thought of Tristan. His vast quiet skills that had been arranging it all, thinking of us, thinking of me. Fuck. He did care, didn’t he? I let out a squeal, which made the driver turn around. “Miss, you are ok? Did you forget something?”
“No,” I hastened to reassure him, the giant smile spreading across my face. “No, just happy. Crazy, but happy.” I sighed, then quickly threw in, “could you pull over at the next coffee place you see? I’m desperate for a coffee.” He smiled and nodded, and turned back to the road. Fuck it was good being part of a world where the unpredictable was ok. Tristan. I had to text him back. Before I started overthinking it all.
Tristan. You’re a magician. I’ll tell you what he tried to throw at me later. Make the radio people want you. Should be easy. Xx
I didn’t want to say too much. Or too little. I pressed send before I started editing. A hotel. With him. Oh, Dave was going to have a field day. I hadn’t wanted him to find out, not yet, but it looked like proceedings were moving right along. Well, I was going to enjoy the ride. But I couldn’t ignore the question that was there in neon lights. What about my job, Dave being the boss and all? Yes, Tristan had requested me, and this was supposed to be the high point so far of my strange little career. But Dave could just fire me. Jealousy could kick in, especially after our dinner. Dave could tell me I’d gotten a little too close to my subject. That I was supposed to be a professional, not a groupie. Nick’s insult came back to me. It wasn’t like that, but it was easy to see how quickly our affair could be pulled apart, if someone had the notion to do it.
The car pulled over, and the driver looked back at me and pointed to the shop on the corner—one of the chain cafes in London. He was asking me if this was ok, I realized. I was surprised he was asking. Then I was surprised that I was surprised. Yet again my wishes were getting some airtime. Maybe this was the way it was going to be from now on. I gave him a thumbs up and got out to get my coffee. Time to ignore the fear and remember what I wanted, what I had to offer. Make them see my version of life. Whatever Dave would do, he would do. As I paid for the coffee, I realized that was the risk I’d run right from the start in trying to get ahead and get paid for doing what I wanted to do. I’d been committed from the start—and that was before any hope of fringe benefits. Ah, fuck it, I thought, as I grabbed one of the cup holders and a napkin and walked slowly back out to the waiting car. Waiting. For me. Yes, I’d rather have the upper hand with Dave, but I wasn’t going to turn my back on this…whatever it was, between us. Me. Tristan. What we had was something else. Something I didn’t have words for yet, something beyond what I’d thought were the limits of the real world.
I got in and thanked the driver, who looked pleasantly surprised, and leaned back, feeling the coffee work on my head, if not my nerves. I shifted on the seat, and I pulled at my leggings, remembering I was going commando today. Well, Tristan said he was teaching me to be a star. Now I just had to learn my lesson by heart. I thought of his teasing grin—the one that made his eyes crinkle up and changed all that forbidding power into easy charm—and I laughed. To no one. To the window. To my nerves. And the feeling of lightness that came over me was almost ticklish, as though someone had brushed a feather against me from the inside.
And the big interview. I was doing it, and in a few hours, for better or worse, it’d be done. And I did wonder what Trevor was like. I’d done my research. Unlike a lot of the music business people, he was educated—and resourceful. A bit like Dave, I thought. A less wealthy, more from the streets, English version, but someone that had gotten not only his Cambridge degree but who had made it work for him in both directions—reassuring the money and at the same time not alienating the range of talents and intellects that by all accounts, he enjoyed helping. Well, we’d see. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, that much I knew. And he’d probably think that I was a fool, another music business flunky that got paid too much and wrote shit that the tweens couldn’t stop swallowing, didn’t understand and wouldn’t remember. Like the article I saw the other day where the writer had said that Prince had covered a Sinead O’Connor song—“Nothing Compares to U.” Incredible. How that ridiculous mistake had gotten past the editor made me wonder. But there was a whole world of not-so-bright-but-very-loud people out there winning the game. And trying to make Trevor like me would be the surest way to put him off. I’d just have to go in, take my chances, be bold and resourceful.
I tried to organize my questions for him in my head, but my mind kept wandering off. Not everything could be predicted or arranged, and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. An image popped up in my mind of a person crying on Tristan’s shoulder, in his office. Me—not so long ago—giving in to what I’d felt. Such a short time had passed since. But look where those emotions had brought me. What counted was turning up, just like they said in some koan, or t-shirt, or cocktail napkin. Or whatever the fuck it was. It didn’t matter. Except it did, so I just gave up, and carried on looking out the window as we headed through the lights, and onto the Westway, the A40 heading towards West London and Oxford.
We sped up the elevated ramp, as I sat sipping my coffee, oddly pleased that we were coming this way. I’d always used to love driving down the Westway, whether I was driving, or being driven. Either way worked. It was good when you were driving west, heading towards a date, filled with the energy of an early evening of anticipation, watching the sun lowering red streaks over a grey London sky. And it was really good coming back at 3:00 a.m., free, wined and dined and touched, not having to make after-sex conversation in someone else’s bed, awake from the cold and the strangeness, watching the super cars and motorbikes that would suddenly appear out of nowhere on the elevated two lane relic of the fifties, cascading past with a terminal roar doing over a ton, at least. Sometimes there’d be two of them, racing, and the one that came up behind you would veer off at the last minute, which would send your heart pounding with some kind of terrified excitement. Alone, no one knew you were there, driving through the lights of the city, everyone normal safely asleep. Possibility and danger. It seemed a good omen that the interview was in this direction, down this path. It was like a date—with curiosity—and the fear of the challenge.