Fallen for Rock (6 page)

Chapter Ten

‘For heaven’s sake, there’s got to be something I can wear.’

I sat down abruptly on my bed amongst the entire contents of my wardrobe. The ivory sequins on my favourite glitzy top glittered enticingly, and the label in the back seemed to wink at me.
Christian Lacroix
.

I sighed. ‘Much as I love you, Christian, I can’t wear you to this MonX do. For one, you’d get wrecked, and that would be a disaster. And for another, well. You’re not quite right.’

It was Saturday lunchtime, which meant I was supposed to be at the Hammersmith Apollo in less than four hours, and I had a wardrobe crisis of epic proportions. Me, who had never in her
entire
life had a wardrobe crisis. I surveyed my Armanis and D&G’s, my Galitzines, Hobbses and Burberries with surprise. Elegant, sophisticated, expensive items, one and all. There were suits and tailored tops, fitted trousers and flowing skirts. Heels, high heels, and stilettoes. I was the proud owner of a veritable treasure chest of office and evening haute couture with matching, equally expensive accessories, but there was nothing suitable here for a rock gig.

‘How is it possible that I don’t own a single pair of jeans?’ I demanded of myself. ‘And more to the point, how come I never even noticed that before?’

It was true. I had never questioned my sartorial choices before, although Nate had sometimes teased me about them.

Nate
. I still hadn’t heard from him even though I had left another message last night, and one very early this morning. At least I hoped I had; an automated answering service had taken the calls, but I had left a message anyway, short and to the point.

I’m going to the MonX gig today. I’ll be at the Apollo for the soundcheck at four. I’ll bring your ticket and backstage pass. See you there?

I cast a look at my silent phone. Nate either wasn’t getting my messages, or he wasn’t
getting
what I was saying.
Or
he was thoroughly through with me and didn’t want to consider making up.

My hurt transmuted into a steely resolve. I
would
go, with or without Nate, and I
would
have a good time. I would
enjoy
myself at all costs, if only to prove a point. Specifically, I would show the world that I could do the rock-star hobnobbing thing with the best of them.

However. To do so, I needed to get dressed.

I returned my attention to my clothes. Taking a really deep breath, I began sorting through items all over again. There had to be
something
here that would do.

You could go shopping for a pair of jeans and a top,
a voice piped up in my head. I certainly had enough time to nip up the Kings Road and get something, anything. On the other hand, going shopping would give the gig an undue significance. Somehow that didn’t feel right.

‘Nah. I’ll pick something unobtrusive and black.’

Black. My mind fixed on this colour. Rock stars wore lots of black. Black leather, black shirts, black make-up. Black would be a good choice.

Working fast and furious now, I replaced anything that wasn’t black on its rightful hanger and returned item by item to the wardrobe. I was left with several pairs of trousers and half a dozen tops. Again, I had had no idea I had so much
black
stuff.

I shook my head. ‘How odd.’

Thinking back, I remembered that Nate had always joked about my wardrobe. ‘You’re a top notch dresser,’ he used to say. ‘But don’t you ever relax, you know, wear something baggy and comfy and colourful?’

Apparently not.

Laying out trousers and tops across my bed and matching them in various combinations, I stood back and examined my choices critically. Perhaps, if I swapped around the McCartney and the D&G…yes. Yes!

Triumphantly, I settled on a slinky pair of black linen trousers and a black halter-neck. The top was sequined in places, but the glitz was understated. If I teamed this ensemble with my black block heels I might look vaguely the part.

I sniggered. Okay, I wouldn’t look the part, but at least I wouldn’t look wildly out of place. Only mildly.

Hair. Hair next. What to do with it?

I regarded my ponytail doubtfully. A ponytail wouldn’t do. I looked wholesome and innocent.
Grimace
.

My hands flew to my head, and my fingers executed their daily chignon routine. I didn’t even have to look in the mirror to examine the result. Sleek, elegant and severe. Like I was going to work.

‘No. No, no, no. This is rubbish.’

Frustrated, I yanked at the hairband and pins until my hair fell down freely, spilling over my shoulders and framing my face.
Hmm.

I gave an experimental little toss of the head, and my hair obligingly billowed out before settling down again, slightly mussed. I tossed my head the other way, and forward and back.
Getting there.

Suddenly inspired, I bent forward and shook my hair out. When I straightened up again, I threw my head back with a flourish and examined the result in the mirror. There was a certain texture to my style, some volume, a little frizz. I looked quite unlike me, but I liked it.

‘Wild and free,’ I giggled. I turned this way and that to examine the overall effect—clothes, shoes and hair. ‘Not bad, not bad at all. Now add some make-up, and I believe you’ll do, Emily Trenden.’

I took the Tube to Hammersmith. In my black slinky outfit, with my hair open and more make-up than I usually wore in a week, I felt slightly surreal. Little butterflies of excitement made my tummy flutter, and I wasn’t sure whether this was from hoping that Nate would magically be there, or simply from doing something so very different.

‘It’s the magic of rock,’ Nate’s voice whispered in my head, and I jumped. For a second, I felt a little tearful. ‘The magic of rock’ was one of his favourite expressions, but I had always laughed it off. Oh, if only Nate were with me. Maybe the magic of rock would magically fix us, too.

I sniffed. This wasn’t the time to get morose. Besides, the Tube had pulled in at Hammersmith, and I had to get off. This was it.

My heart beat fast in my chest, and blood roared in my ears as the escalator carried me towards the exit. The moment of truth. The magic of rock.

Chapter Eleven

‘Holy sugar!’

I saw the queue as soon as I came out of the Tube station. The line stretched from the front of the Apollo right around the corner towards the Fulham Palace Road. There were
a
lot
of people.

‘What are they all doing here? It’s only three-thirty. They can’t all be VIPs, surely?’

Confusion and dismay warred in my head. I discovered that I didn’t want to turn from one out of a select few into one out of a thousand with backstage passes. ‘Nah. That can’t be right. They’re simply eager fans, that’s all.’

‘You intending to cross anytime soon, luv, or are you planning to set down roots here?’ An old woman nudged me on the shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ I gabbled. ‘I was lost in thoughts.’

‘I’d noticed.’ She laughed. ‘Are you joining them mad people over there?’ She nodded her head in the direction of the throng of MonX fans.

‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ I acknowledged, noting with surprise the hint of pride in my voice. ‘I’m a VIP today. I won’t be queuing up.’

‘Good on yer, luv. You have yourself a nice time now.’ She looked at the traffic lights and shuffled off past me. I jumped to. Green again—time to go.

As I crossed the roads under the flyover, I realised that there were even more people than I had previously thought. If only Nate were here—he would know what to do. My fingers found my mobile phone in my pocket and grasped it gratefully. I would call him one more time. Maybe he would answer at last.

No sooner thought than done. But sixty seconds later, I was back to square one. No answer.

So be it
. I squared my shoulders.
You’ll have to figure this one out by yourself, Emily. It can’t be that difficult
.

With an anxious heart, I went exploring and headed towards the box office. I went straight past it at first as the crowd was dozens of people deep, but then I skidded to a halt. At the side of the building, away from the waiting fans and fenced off by barricades in their own right, there were two big doors. I stood and stared. They had to be the stage doors.

I put myself into a corporate mindset.
Ooze confidence. You belong. You have the pass. Go and knock. You have every right to
.

With each word of encouragement that I muttered in my head, I took a step forward and quickly reached the far right door. I lifted my hand and rapped against it smartly. Nothing happened.

Suppressing an inexplicable wave of panic, I addressed myself to the other door, tapping out an imperious tattoo of knocks this time. I had arrived, thank you very much, now I wanted in.

I was only a few steps away from the barricaded fans, and their giggles and jeering rang out loud and clear over the street.

‘You’ll have to join the queue like the rest of us, sweetheart,’ someone offered good-naturedly, but I ignored him.

One more set of knocks, and I’m off
.

I lifted my hand again, ready to use it with even more force when the door was opened by an old-ish man dressed in black. I was in mid-knock and very nearly hit him straight on the nose. Only nearly though.

‘Emily Trenden,’ I barked before he could say anything. ‘I’m a VIP.’

I waved my pass at him for emphasis. The door opened wider, and the man stepped out to examine my pass.

‘Emily Trenden,’ he read out loud. ‘Looks legit. But I’ll still have double-check my list. You got any other ID?’

‘‘Course.’ I flashed my driving licence.

‘Thanks. I‘ll be back in a minute.’

The door closed in my face, and I tried to look nonchalant. Man, but they were strict here. All that fuss for a group of rock musicians. Unbelievable.

The sesame opened again, and the man beckoned me in. ‘You’re on the list. You should have come through the main entrance, you know, they’re expecting you there. But you’re here now. Come on in.’

I stepped inside, and he closed the door behind me. The street noise immediately faded.

‘I’m Carl.’ The man extended his hand, and I shook it politely.

‘Sorry about the wait. I’m head of security, and you wouldn’t believe what kind of stunts people try to get in to meet the band. Would you mind putting that around your neck again?’ He gestured to explain his meaning, and I hastily complied.

‘You’re the only Rock Radio VIP today, by the way. The other pair of tickets cancelled.’ He shrugged. ‘Can you believe it? Hey ho. Anyway. Sam’s here somewhere, and Adam wants to see you right away. This way, please, come on.’

He gave me a friendly smile, and I followed him as he led the way down a corridor.
Sam?
He was the Rock Radio DJ, if I recalled correctly. But who was Adam?