‘That’s good,’ Krebs agreed. ‘You can go from “it’s good to see you again” now.’
‘Wow, the second line, ‘Joe growled sarcastically, but he looked pleased.
Michael glanced at Rowena and winked.
He was wearing a black sweater and black jeans and he looked amazing. Rowena thought Michael should live in black. It picked out his eyes. It made him even more attractive than usual.
She loved to be with him.
It had started in New York four months ago, when he’d come to the hotel and said he’d show her the city.
That wasn’t fair. He’d had her at a disadvantage - first he blew her out, then he offered her the break of the fucking century, then he put her in another of those monster black limos and showed her some of the sights. A man whom Rowena had hero-worshipped for years, whom she’d literally fantasized about talking to, was driving her to the Russian Tea Rooms for dinner, and ordering her strawberries and champagne. Then he took her to an Aerosmith concert at Madison Square Gardens, where they had access-all-areas passes and got to stand at the side of the stage.
Everyone they met treated Michael like a king. Rowena felt dizzy from the glory of it.
Krebs was intense. That was the main thing about him. She’d met guys as good-looking as he was, or at least she thought so - but never, never, had she found someone so completely in control of every situation. He’d decided that
I38
Rowena Gordon was of interest to him, and that was it. At the Aerosmith show, hc’d introduced her to so mauy record moguls they dissolved iuto a smiling blur. She was ‘Musica’s great white hope’. ‘A rising star’. ‘Incredibly talented’. And Krebs had told absolutely everyone that Rowena had personally couviuced him to produce her band for nothing.
She’d had record company presidettts lining up to shake her hand. Several of them offered to double her salary on the spot.
But Roweua shook her head, smiling and overwhelmed. ‘Why didn’t you take them up on it?’ Krebs asked.
‘I owe Josh,’ Rowena said simply, smiliug at him, and Michael Krebs looked at her, her 10ng, freshly washed hair gleaming in the bright lights, and thought how glad he was she’d walked iuto his offices.
‘Yeah, you do,’ he said severely. ‘And don’t forget it.’ In the ca on the way home, he’d demauded Roweua tell him her entire life story. ‘I want to know ever)thing. And you have to tell me. You owe me, because I took you to Aerosmith.’
‘Took me to a show? Michael, you’re produciug nay band.’
Krebs shook his head, giving her a smile that melted her bones. ‘You don’t owe me for that, houey. I have five per ceut of the album. I’ll get mine,’ and she believed him.
When the limo pulled,up outside her hotel, and Michael kissed her hand gallantly a she got out - man, it was weird to have an American heavy-metal producer do that - Rowena suspected she was in big t.rouble.
And when she got to JFK the next morniug and found that Krebs had arranged for her to be upgraded to first class, she knew.
Her returu home had been fairytale stuff. Although he had wauted this, Obcrman could hardly believe Rowena had actually pulled it off. He gave her a senior manager titlc and another pay rise. Atomic Mass, meanwhilc, were
39
dumbfounded by the idea of working with Michael Krebs, and their extreme gratitude turned into friendship, as Rowena found them places to live in London and took charge of their affairs. When Barbara quit to manage them, they got even closer.
The two women had a lot in common. Barbara wasn’t the music freak Rowena had turned into, but she was cool, logical and very ambitious. She had no interest at all in the secretaries’ gossip, or who was fucking whom, nor did she give a damn if Manchester Unitdd won the league. The result was that she was branded a cold bitch, stuck-up and the rest of it. Nobody understood what Joshua Oberman could possibly see in Ms Lincoln. Behind her back, and sometimes even to her face, they called her ‘the token black womau’, a piece of positive-discrimination window° dressing.
Roweua knew better. In fact, Barbara made her feel small; she’d only had to fight sexism, the disapproval of a privileged circle and prejudice on account of her looks. Barbara had clawed her way up by herself: law at London University, an MBA at nightclasses, and heavy specialization in entertainment law. Her tutors wrote her glittering reports, her papers were published in eminent legal journals. And then she had suffered the utter humiliation of being turned down again and again at record companies, always getting to the final interview, never getting hired.
‘Overqualified’, ‘underexperienced’. What they never
said was ‘Black’.
At first Barbara had thought she was being paranoid. Maybe she was just presenting herself wrongly. But when she asked for a list of senior black personnel at the seven major labels from industry associations, the reply cou
firmed all her worst suspicions.
There were none.
Not ‘one or two’, not ‘a bare handful’, none.
She refused to give up. She went on trying, banging on
the Human Resources doors and doing evcrything else she could think of. Finally, she had written a long letter to
I40
Joshua Oberman, President of Musica UK, and marked it ‘Private and Personal’.
Oberman had seen her. And hc’d hired her on the spot. Rowena learnt all this from Josh himself on the drive back from the Retford Porterhouse, and she’d bought Barbara lunch the next day - partly as a thank-you for getting Obernaan to hear her tape, and partly to satisfy her curiosity.
Now they were best friends - the first woman Rowena
had been close to since Topaz Rossi. Whom she never thought about. Whom she buried deep in her mind.
She was, she told herself firmly, a different person now. One who’d totally outgrown social snobbery. One who would never betray a friend.
Barbara enjoyed watching Rowena adjust to having money of her own7money she’d earned, for the first time in her life, helping her buy a flat in Holland Park, start shopping for her food in Marks & Spencer’s and, most importantly, dress designer. Since she’d been disowned by her father, Rowena had almost forgotten how.
‘I can’t believe how much this costs!’ she gasped, holding up a sexy little Krizia dress.
‘If you want to be a player, you better dress that way,’ Barbara laughed, folding the dress over her arm.
Rowena abandoned the elegant, refined clothes she used to wear in favour of yomager, brighter, more confident stuff. Where Barbara preferred Armani, she liked to slink around in Domaa Karan. When Barbara wore Chanel to industry parties, Rowcna turned up in shimmering
Valentino. They complemented each other perfectly. They were inseparable.
And then, on 5 March, Michacl Krebs arrived.
‘Can you come up to Oberman’s office?’ Barbara askcd, sticking her head round Rowena’s door. ‘Wc’ve got a visitor.’
She’d gone upstairs without thinking, totally preoccupied with how Bitter Spice were playing in the clubs. Too preoccupied to notice the sidelong glances that Barbara was giving her, and the jealous looks from the secretaries on the executive floor. When her friend opened the door of the president’s office for her, Rowenajumped out of her skin.
There he was. A week before she’d expected him. Michael Krebs, dressed in beat-up jeans and sneakers and a Mets baseball cap, chatting to Josh Oberman as though he did this every day of the week.
He looked so fucking gorgeous, Rowena’s heart stood
still.
‘Miss Gordon, we meet again,’ Krebs said, giving her a beaming smile and standing to greet her. ‘Oberman, 1 tell
, you, you are so lucky to have this young lady working for
you it isn’t even funny.’
Josh snorted.
‘You’re early, Michael,’ Rowena managed.
He shrugged. ‘I had a free week. I thought we might do a
little pre-production. Think you can get the band together
for me?’
“Oh, I expect we can manage that,’ she replied, glad to be
on safe professional grounds.
‘Good,’ Krebs said, looking her over slowly. Rowena felt
a wave of desire flood through her, and she coloured, hoping Barbara wouldn’t notice.
‘And you’ll have to show me London, too. If I’m going to
be here for a few months, I’ll need some help getting around. ‘
‘I’m not sure how good I’d be’as a tour guide,’ Rowena
said, but Krebs shook his head.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said implacably.
‘You can’t steal nay A&R manager, Krcbs,’ Obcrman objected. ‘She’s got three bands to look after.-‘
‘Relax,’ Michael said, not taking his eyes off Rowcna. ‘She’ll have plenty of time. I just want to show her how I record an album.’
‘You never let a record company within ten miles of your
studio,’ Oberman scoffed.
Krebs turned back to his friend with a shrug. ‘Rowena’s different,’ he said.
For two weeks, Rowena held out. She never saw him alone. She tried not to think about him. She kept herself busy, going scouting for bands, attending parties, seeing stupid amounts of films. Because Michael Krebs spelt danger. Heady, reckless danger, the kind any intelligent girl should avoid.
He was an extremely powerful man. He was twenty years older than her. He was married.
Rowena knew all that. So she did her best to resist her feelings for him. Because whenever she did have to see Michael - with Barbara, or with the band-she only became more fascinated by him. More attracted to him.
Not only was the guy a legendary producer, he was also highly intelligent and well educated, to Rowena’s surprise. He had two degrees, from the Universities of Chicago and Boston. He was an exercise fanatic and went to the Harbour gym in Chelsea every morning. He loved dogs. He loved history, and made Rowena take him round the National Gallery and the British Museum.
And he loved the rccord business. With a passion.
‘I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know,’ he told her.
‘You can spot talent. Ald that means the sky’s the limit,’ he said.
‘You’re going to surpass me by miles,’ he said. ‘You can conquer the world. Believe it.’
Rowena was halfembarrasscd, halftlrilled by his interest in her. It overjoyed her to see how well Atomic were getting on with him - Zach Freeman, the lead guitarist, and Alex Sexton, the bassist, especially - and what incredible depth he was bringing to the album. Even the quality of the songs the boys were writing had improved dramatically It was as though everybody was outdoing each other to impress’
43
Krebs. He had that effect on people, Rowena thought. Like any born leader, he made you want desperately to please him.
It felt like he was producing her life.
Of course, she couldn’t be sure she was right about how he felt. Maybe he was just a friend. Maybe he only wanted to mentor her. He did flirt with her outrageously, and she responded in kind, but there was nothing wrong with that. He never made a pass, he never avoided questions about his family, and he bugged Rowena about getting herself a boyfriend. So she was confused. She told herself she was being ridiculous.
But sometimes, when she caught him watching her in the evenings, she thought differently.
As the days went by, Rowena’s attitude changed. With
‘ out even admitting it to herself, she started to try to make Michael Krebs notice her - as a woman, not a record executive. She began to wash and condition her hair every day. She wore Red by Giorgio Beverly Hills whenever she went down to the studio. She selected her sexiest outfits, the clinging grey cashmere dress by Georges Rech, the black Donna Karan suit, the Ann Klein miniskirt. And she put on make-up.
Michael reacted by ceasing to even flirt with her.
‘He doesn’t know I’m alive!’ Rowena complained to Barbara.
‘Don’t be pathetic. I feel like holding up a match between you two, to see if it’ll catch fire,’ her best friend replied. ‘The sexual energy you guys are giving off could power the National Grid.’
‘He’s married,’ Rowena said, with an air of finality.
‘I know he’s married. That’s what makes me nervous,’ Barbara replied. ‘Rich, powerful men like Michael Krebs eat girls like you for breakfast.’
‘So you think all the stuffhe says about me being talented is rubbish, then?’ Rowena asked, winding a strand of blonde hair round her fist.
Barbara shook her head. ‘Actually, no,’ she said. ‘He
I44
believes all that. And he really likes you as a friend. The trouble is, he’s having trouble suppressing his sexual feelings.’
‘No he isn’t,’ Rowena said. ‘He’s stopped flirting with me now. He doesn’t ask me to dinner. He’s even stopped introducing me to people.’
‘You want to know why? Because you’re a threat now. When it was harmless to flirt with you, he enjoyed it. But
now you’ve turned up the heat, and he wants you.’
‘I think you’re wrong.’
‘You’ll see,’ said Barbara calmly.
So now, at the end of the session, Rowena watched Michael wrap it up with Joe with her normal mixture of interest, admiration and confused longing.
‘OK, my man. You’re out,’ Krebs told the singer dryly, flicking a couple of switches on the production console.
Joe raisel a hand to the two of them and walked straight off the studio floor, without further pleasantries. ‘Nice manners. Maybe I’m working them a little too hard,’ Krebs remarked unrepentantly.
‘The song sounds good, though,’ Rowena said. She curled on her chair, a sinewy, catlike movement.
‘What would you know?’ he asked gruffly. ‘You can’t tell take one from take fifteen. You’ve got ears like Beethoven.’
‘Oh, I just look for the big picture. I let guys like you sweat the details,’ Rowena said, smiling at him.
There was a pause. Both of them were acutely aware that they were now alone together.
‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’ Rowena asked suddenly.
Krebs pun round slowly on the big leather producer’s chair, looking at her. He’d been preparing for a moment like this for weeks. What he would say. How he’d let her down. How he could preserve a great friendship without risking anything further.