‘Great,’ Kitty sighs.
I’m not pleased to see Charlie, and I don’t think much of Isla Montagne either, but it’s still quite exciting to be at the same bar as her.
Isla and her group stand at the entrance for a moment and scan the venue. Charlie spots us and turns to say something to Isla.
‘Wonder what that was about?’ I murmur.
‘We’re about to find out,’ Kitty replies.
Isla and her friends strut past the sunloungers towards some comfy-looking seats with an outlook over the city, but Charlie breaks off and comes to talk to us.
Kitty pops her sunglasses on top of her head and sits up a bit.
‘Where’s Johnny tonight?’
Straight in with the direct question.
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘Some PA, you are,’ she jokes, unpleasantly. She’s tied her hair back into a tight ponytail and it highlights her sharp features.
The waitress appears with our nachos and places them down between Kitty and me on the giant beanbag. She hands over our Mojitos.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asks Charlie.
‘No,’ Charlie glares at her. ‘I’m with Isla Montagne.’ She stresses the name as though the waitress should know much, much better.
Kitty and I tuck in.
‘Is Serengeti still out of town?’ she asks me.
My mouth is full and I make no attempt to hurry before answering.
‘Yes,’ I say, and pop another nacho into my mouth. This tactic seemed to work at Serengeti’s premiere with the canapés, and if it ain’t broke, right?
‘When’s she back?’ Charlie asks.
I shake my head and continue to chew.
‘God, every time I talk to you two you seem to be stuffing your faces!’ Charlie explodes.
Kitty, unperturbed, lifts up the bowl of nachos and offers it to her. ‘Want one?’
‘No thanks,’ Charlie says, spitefully. ‘I’d only end up like you–throwing my guts up in the toilets later.’
The smile falls from Kitty’s face. Charlie storms off.
I turn to my friend. ‘What a total bitch!’
Kitty doesn’t say anything, but her face is red with anger.
‘I can’t believe she just said that,’ I say.
Again silence from Kitty.
‘It’s not true, is it?’ I ask, startled.
‘No!’ she hotly denies. But she seems to lose her appetite after that.
At about ten o’clock that night, Kitty suddenly bolts upright on the beanbag.
‘Hey,’ she nudges me, excitedly. ‘Johnny’s here!’
My stomach involuntarily tightens when I spot him, sauntering through the crowd.
‘Johnny boy!’ I hear someone nearby shout. I turn to see who it was and realise it’s the rock star type with his top off. Johnny goes straight to him and his mates and they greet each other warmly. The Asian babe, who’s still wearing her now-dry bikini, stands up demurely and goes to shake Johnny’s hand.
‘Who
is
that girl?’ Kitty wonders aloud.
‘Looks like a porn star to me,’ I observe.
‘Probably is.’ Kitty giggles. ‘Call him over,’ she says.
‘No.’ I shake my head.
‘Why not?’ Kitty demands, and I detect a little frustration.
‘It’s my night off and he didn’t know we were coming here.’ I try to sound casual. ‘Maybe he wants some time to himsel—’ My voice trails off as Johnny turns around and spots us.
‘Hey!’ he says, coming over.
Kitty beams. ‘Hello, again!’
‘I didn’t know you two were coming here.’ He bends down and gives Kitty a peck on the cheek. Even in the darkness of the outdoor bar I can see her blushing. She tries to keep her cool.
‘You alright?’ Johnny asks me.
‘Yeah, good,’ I say. I don’t get a kiss and try not to look like it bothers me.
The waitress re-emerges and looks a darn sight happier than she did when taking
our
orders.
‘What’re you drinking?’ Johnny motions down at our glasses.
‘Mojitos,’ I tell him.
‘We’ll get a couple of those and I’ll take a vodka tonic,’ he tells her. ‘Hey, what are you guys drinking?’ he calls across to his rock buddies and the babe.
‘Bubbles!’ the girl shouts back, merrily lifting up a bottle of champagne to prove it.
‘Yeah, make it a few bottles,’ he tells the waitress. Then he leans down and flicks me on my bare leg–I’m wearing a short skirt and heels. ‘Budge over, Meg.’
I do as he says and he collapses back on the beanbag in between us. Kitty, I know, will be beside herself about this.
‘What do you reckon?’ He looks over at me. ‘Comfier than the waterbed?’
‘Just a bit,’ I tell him, smiling. ‘The Standard Downtown,’ I explain to Kitty. ‘Where we went after the gig last Thursday.’
‘Oh,
those
waterbeds,’ she says, then she looks at Johnny and pouts. ‘I didn’t get an invite to your gig.’
‘Aw, sorry, babe,’ he says, grinning and slapping her on her thigh. ‘Next time.’
I don’t like the way they’re looking at each other so I’m grateful when the waitress turns up with our drinks.
‘Johnny, Johnny! Come over, man!’ Hot Shirtless Guy says.
‘Gotta go.’ Johnny stands up. ‘Duty calls.’
We watch Johnny take a bottle of champagne from one of his mates and swig straight from it. I soon remember it’s rude to stare and look elsewhere. Charlie, on the other hand, doesn’t follow that particular rule of human etiquette because I notice she’s staring at us from across the other side of the pool.
‘I bet she thinks we lied about not knowing Johnny was coming here tonight,’ Kitty says, clocking Charlie herself.
‘Mmm, probably,’ I say. ‘Oh, well.’
Johnny doesn’t pay us any attention again for about another hour, and it’s a painful sixty minutes, trying to act indifferent as a gold bikini-clad potential porn star hangs off his every word.
I’m convinced Kitty is also trying to seem unfazed, and I wonder if I’m that transparent to her.
When Johnny does eventually come back over to us, we must visibly brighten up.
‘Hey, Meg,’ he says, half-empty champagne bottle hanging in his right hand, along with a lit cigarette. ‘Can you get me a suite?’
‘Sure.’ I stand up. ‘Any particular one you want?’
‘No, no, any’s cool,’ he says, taking a drag of his smoke and wandering back over to his mates. The Asian babe puts her hand intimately on his waist and he bends down as she says something in his ear. His expression is blank as he stands up straight again, but she giggles.
‘Somebody’s in the mood to party,’ Kitty comments, drily.
I glance at her, annoyed. What does she mean by that?
I go to reception and book Johnny a suite, taking the key back out to him. The five of them file off together, and as I watch them go, I feel increasingly hollow. When someone has the ability to
light up your insides and just as quickly snuff them out, all by his mere presence, it’s not good. Crushes like this hurt. And I don’t want to have a crush like this on my boss.
Kitty turns to me. ‘I should probably head home,’ she says, dully. ‘You want a lift?’
‘Yes,’ I answer. ‘That would be good.’
As we walk through reception towards the exit, I feel a pincer-like grip on my upper arm and turn around to see Charlie. She looks wasted. Her eyeliner is smudged and the pupils in her eyes are large and hazy. The sight is not pleasant.
‘Is it true Johnny fucked Paola?’ she slurs.
‘Sorry?’ I answer, feeling dizzy.
‘Did he fuck her? Is that why she left?’ Charlie persists.
I look around and spot Isla and her friends standing on the other side of reception. A couple of them glance over at us.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know.’ I shudder.
‘Have you fucked him yet?’ she demands to know.
I reel backwards. ‘No! Of course not!’
Then she collapses into a fit of drunken giggles and stumbles over to her group.
Kitty pulls me towards the door.
‘I just asked her if she’d fucked Johnny!’ we hear Charlie squeal behind us, on the verge of hysteria. The other girls scream with laughter. I follow Kitty out as quickly as I can. The incident leaves a nasty taste in my mouth and I’m quiet on the journey home.
‘Don’t take any notice of her,’ Kitty tries to tell me. ‘No one listens to a word she says, anyway.’
I just know I’ll be keeping as far away from Charlie as I possibly can in future.
It’s Sunday and I’m sunbathing by the pool when Santiago arrives for his weekly gardening session.
‘You’re not wanting to swim anytime soon, I hope?’ he says to me, kneeling down and pouring chemicals into the pool’s filter system.
Actually, it is so hot that I could do with a dip, but never mind. My fifty laps have fallen by the wayside. I think I only ever got as far as thirty-five.
‘Have you had a good week?’ he asks. ‘Been to any more premieres?’
‘Sadly not.’ I lean behind me and pull the back of the sunlounger up a notch so I can see him properly. ‘I did go to the Skybar last night, though. That was fun.’
‘Cool, man. Did you see any celebs?’
‘Only Isla Montagne. And Johnny.’
‘Isla Montange. Jeez…She’s a piece of work, isn’t she? A mate of mine used to do the gardening at her daddy’s place and he swears she tried to seduce him in the bushes.’
‘That’s some claim to fame,’ I comment. ‘Did he go for it?’
‘He says he didn’t–he’s got a girlfriend–but I don’t know…’ he adds with a grin. ‘God, it’s hot today!’ He wipes the sweat from his brow and drags his T-shirt over his head. ‘Where’s Johnny? He home?’
‘No,’ I answer. ‘He stayed at the Mondrian last night.’
‘Do you think I could grab a glass of water from the bar?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I’ll get one for you.’
Santiago is sitting on the pool steps with his feet in the water when I get back. I hand him the glass.
‘Thanks. You mind if I smoke?’
‘Um, no.’ I’m hesitant, but I don’t suppose it matters if he takes a breather.
‘You want one?’ he offers.
‘No, thanks. I don’t smoke.’
Pretty much as soon as Santiago lights up, Johnny slides the glass door open and comes out. Santiago leaps to his feet and stubs his cigarette out in one of the tall steel cylindrical ashtrays.
‘Sorry,’ he blurts. ‘I was just taking a quick break!’
‘Sure you were,’ Johnny comments drily and gives me an unamused look.
Santiago hurries off to the other side of the house to do some gardening, I presume, and I stand up.
‘I’ll get out of your way,’ I say, thinking I’ll go up to my room and leave him to chill out in peace.
‘Why? You don’t have to do that,’ he says, frowning.
‘I don’t want to encroach on your space.’ I wrap my sarong around me and start to tie it up, but he comes over and puts his hand on my arm, making me look up, sharply.
‘Meg, don’t be ridiculous. This is your house too, now.’ He lets
go of my arm. ‘In fact,’ he says, looking around at the sunny day before us, ‘I think I’ll join you. Back in a tick.’
He goes inside and I tie my sarong up anyway, feeling too exposed lying there in a bikini. I perch on my sunlounger again, wanting to sit up, but knowing I’ll look better if I’m lying down with one leg slightly raised, like they tell you in women’s magazines. I reach behind and adjust the back of the sunlounger again so I’m able to lie flatter and avoid any unnecessary creases in my stomach. But as I’m doing it, my fingers slip and the back crashes down, right onto my hand.
‘OW OW OW OW OW OW OW!’ I yell, trying to pull my hand out.
Johnny appears in a flash and whips the sunlounger back up.
‘OW!’ Tears prick my eyes as I study my hand. There’s an indent across it where it was trapped and it’s gone bright red.
Johnny gingerly takes my hand. He’s wearing swimming trunks and nothing else. The sight is a nice distraction from the bluish tinge that I now see is starting to appear.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, concerned.
‘Mmm,’ I nod, wiping away my tears with my good hand, while he nurses my swollen one.
‘Aw,’ he says, gently.
I sniff.
‘I’ll get you some ice.’
He comes back from the outdoor bar, ice wrapped in a tea towel. I flinch as he presses it onto my hand. If it was anyone else, I’d rather hold the ice myself, but right now I’d rather suffer the pain just to be close to him.
‘That better?’ he asks after a while.
‘Much better, thank you.’
He lets go of my hand and lifts his sunglasses up on top of his head. His eyes look red and sore.
‘Big night last night?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ he says, glancing at me. ‘How was yours?’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Did you stay long?’
‘No, we left shortly after you went upstairs. Were those guys you were with in a rock band?’
‘Hey? Oh, yeah,’ he answers distractedly, lying back on his sunlounger.
I want to ask him about the Asian girl, but he doesn’t appear to be in the mood to talk, so we soak up the sun’s rays in silence for a while. It’s boiling hot. A thought occurs to me.
‘Have you got suncream on?’ I ask.
‘Um…’
‘Johnny, you’re going to get burnt.’
‘No, I won’t.’
‘Don’t argue with me,’ I say, reaching under my sunlounger and pulling my factor 30 out of my beach bag. I hold it out for him. ‘I don’t want you getting skin cancer.’
‘Do my back, then,’ he says, turning over.
‘Er, sure…’
His back is warm and tanned, and he has a tattoo etched into his left shoulder blade. There’s a noticeable white line just below his swimming trunks and I try to get suncream as close to it as I can, without actually sticking my hand down the back of his pants. He wriggles and pulls his trunks down a little so I can get to his exposed bits. I quickly smooth suncream there and go to sit back down on my sunlounger.
‘Right, there you go.’
‘What about my front?’ he asks, turning over.
‘You’re perfectly capable of reaching your own chest.’
‘Bet you wouldn’t mind doing it if I was a member of Take That,’ he remarks.
The thought makes me laugh loudly.
‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ he asks, huffily.
‘Only if it was Jason Orange,’ I answer.
‘Which one’s he? The little short bastard?’
‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘Jason’s the…Oh, stop winding me up,’ I say when I see him smiling. ‘Put your bloody suncream on and stop moaning.’
‘How’s your hand? Is it any better?’ He reaches over and takes it once again.
‘Much better, thanks.’
At that moment, Santiago appears from around the side of the house. I instinctively snatch my hand away and Santiago freezes.
Johnny casually puts his sunglasses back on and continues to sunbathe.
As Santiago approaches the pool, he gives me a sneaky, knowing look.
‘I hurt my hand,’ I explain, but somehow it sounds lame. He sets about taking the pool robot out, ignoring us.
I lie back on my sunlounger and try not to let on how awkward I feel. Eventually Santiago finishes up and leaves for the day.
It’s almost unbearably hot, now. I really want to go inside, but I don’t want to leave Johnny. I’m sure I’ll get burnt if I stay here much longer, though.
‘Wanna go to the Ivy with me tonight?’ he says out of the blue. I must look surprised because he adds, ‘I just really fancy one of their pizzas.’
‘At the Ivy? Won’t we get photographed there?’ I ask, heart pounding hard in my chest.
‘So?’
‘I can’t imagine Serengeti would be too pleased to see us splashed across the tabloids. Not that anyone would want to photograph me,’ I quickly add.
‘Who cares? It’s all bullshit.’
‘Alright, I’ll book a table.’
‘Cool.’
Am I really going out for dinner with Johnny Jefferson?
I hurry inside to call the restaurant before he changes his mind. The maître d’ assures me he’ll have a nice, romantic table waiting for us. I try to tell him that a romantic one won’t be necessary, but don’t want it to seem like I’m making a bigger deal out of it than it actually is.
When I return outside, Johnny’s sunlounger’s empty. I assume he’ll be back soon, so carry on sunbathing, but when he doesn’t return, I decide to go and tell him what time I’ve made the reservation for.
After living here for two weeks, I finally pluck up the courage to knock on his bedroom door.
‘Come in,’ he calls from somewhere inside. I tentatively obey.
His room is enormous, and unlike the other bedrooms which look out over the trees in the back garden, Johnny’s room runs from the back to the front of the house, giving him a perfect, floor-to-ceiling vista of the city. Black and white photographs of famous rock icons–everyone from Jim Morrison to Mick Jagger–line the walls, and many of them are signed. An enormous bed is in the centre of the room.
‘Table booked?’ I turn around to see Johnny standing in the
doorway of his en-suite, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his slim waist.
‘Yes, for eight-thirty. Is that okay?’ I try to keep my voice stable.
‘Perfect,’ he answers.
I look away from him and, for want of something better to say, comment on his amazing room.
He doesn’t answer.
‘Okay, then. I’d better go and get changed myself.’ I hurry out of the room and close the door behind me.
Then I remember I meant to ask him about booking the car.
Damn.
I turn around and knock again. He opens the door this time. He’s still wet from the shower and I swear I can feel heat radiating out from his naked torso.
‘Sorry, I forgot to ask whether you want me to book Davey?’
Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush, I tell myself as I feel my face heat up again. Bollocks.
He looks amused. ‘Why don’t we go on the bike?’
‘The motorbike?’ I ask, stupidly. Of
course
the motorbike, Meg.
‘Yeah.’ He leans up against the doorframe. ‘Unless you’re worried it will mess up your hair,’ he says, wryly.
‘No, no, no, that’s fine!’ I say brightly and turn to walk down the landing towards my room.
Bess is going to kill me!
After about fifteen minutes spent deciding between two dresses it eventually dawns on me that a dress might not be such a good look on a motorbike. Flashing my knickers at waiting paps…That really would give Serengeti something to moan about.
Yes. Serengeti, Meg. You remember her. Johnny’s girlfriend.
God, I am being so stupid. As if he would ever bloody well fancy me in any case. I’m just his PA, for crying out loud.
Right, I’m wearing jeans, and I’m not going to look like I’ve made too much of an effort.
It’s amazing how much of an effort it takes to make it look like you haven’t made an effort, though, isn’t it?
At eight o’clock I exit my room to see Johnny doing the same thing at the other end of the landing.
‘Am I alright in this?’ I ask, motioning to my outfit.
‘You’ll need a warmer jacket,’ he tells me.
‘I’m not sure if I’ve got one.’
‘Actually, I think there’s a spare in the garage.’
There is. Riffling through a cupboard, he pulls out a helmet and a dark-brown leather jacket. I try the jacket on. It’s a snug fit. I wonder who it belonged to.
Johnny is already wearing his biker gear and he mounts his bike, a shiny black beast of a machine. Pushing his blond hair back off his face, he tugs on his helmet, then he kicks down on a lever and the engine roars into life. He looks at me and pats the seat behind him with a glove-encased hand. I throw my leg over the back and climb on.
‘You alright?’ he shouts over the noise of the engine.
‘Yes!’ I shout back.
He takes my damaged hand and wraps it around his waist. I jump because it hurts.
‘Sorry!’ he shouts.
‘It’s okay!’
‘Hold on tight!’
Hold on tight…As if I have any choice in the matter. I feel like I’m gripping on for dear life as he shoots off down the road as
though he’s just pressed a button to send us into light speed. I’m too terrified even to scream as he takes another corner.
Actually, I take that back. Did that scream really just come from me? I swear I can feel his stomach muscles tighten as he laughs.
As soon as we arrive at the Ivy, flashbulbs start to go off in our faces. Johnny hops off the bike and turns to help me, and I’m mortified as I take my helmet off to reveal that I’m not Serengeti, or indeed anyone famous or worthy of being here with Johnny Jefferson. Johnny calmly takes my helmet from me and hands it and the bike’s keys to the waiting valet attendant. I try to smooth down my hair as best as I can, while the paparazzi snap away. I’d dearly love the ground to open up and swallow me.
A picket fence fronts the outdoor terrace of the Ivy and the whole place is twinkling with fairy lights. We manoeuvre our way through the crammed tables to meet the maître d’, who takes my coat and leads us to a secluded, candlelit table inside. Johnny takes off his jacket and sits down.
‘Alright?’ he asks.
‘No!’ I all but hiss. ‘That was really embarrassing!’
He chuckles. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
I open up a menu and bury my head in it, while he tucks into some freshly baked bread. My mind is racing and I can’t take in the words in front of me. Finally I give up and decide to get the same as him.
‘What are you drinking?’ Johnny asks.
‘I don’t know, a Diet Coke?’
‘You can’t come to the Ivy and order a Diet Coke.’
‘Why not? You’re ordering a pizza.’
‘Don’t argue with me, Meg. Let’s get a bottle of red.’
‘You’re driving.’ I state the obvious.
‘You can drive home,’ he says.
‘No! I can’t drive that!’ I splutter.
He grins at me. ‘Joke, Meg. I won’t drink much, I promise. You can get hammered for both of us.’
We place our order, the wine arrives and after a few mouthfuls I start to relax. I’m desperate for our conversation to flow, but I’m struggling to think of what to talk about. I settle on Christian.
‘Have you heard from Christian recently?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, he called this morning actually. Wanted to know if I got up to no good with a hot chick at the Mondrian.’
I’m surprised. ‘How did he know you’d stayed there?’
‘It was on some tawdry website.’
‘Well, he should know you better than that,’ I graciously point out.
‘He
does
know me better than that. That’s why he wanted to check.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Pause. ‘So, did you…’
‘Of course not, chick.’ He looks at me like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. ‘I’m a good boy.’