Johnny Be Good (26 page)

I don’t want to freak him out, so I try to act completely normal around Johnny from then on.

‘Have you heard from Christian?’ I ask, when I go into the studio on Monday to show him a couple of crazy fan letters.

‘That is fucking hilarious,’ he says, perusing one letter from a 35-year-old woman who claims she can sing his debut solo album backwards while standing on her head. She’d dearly love to demonstrate in person.

‘Get her in,’ he says.

‘Really?’ I ask in surprise.

‘No fucking way, Nutmeg. Get a restraining order,’ he jokes, passing the letter back to me. ‘Yeah, I have, actually.’

‘Have what? Oh! Christian! Have you really?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. We spoke a couple of days ago. He’s coming over at the end of the week.’

‘Brilliant!’ I beam.

Johnny looks at me, curiously.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Nothing.’ He reaches down for his guitar.

‘How’s it all going?’ I nod towards his instrument.

‘Good,’ he says, starting to play.

‘That sounds great,’ I tell him, then remember back to the early days when I thought he’d written something by The Smiths.

He stops playing and puts his guitar down, while I’m on edge, fearing I’ve just made the same mistake again.

‘Not finished yet,’ he tells me, reaching for the mug of coffee I’ve just brought up to him.

That’s a relief. ‘Well, I guess I should get on.’ I head for the door.

‘Nutmeg.’

I turn around again and look at him, inquisitively, as he puts his mug back down.

‘Come here,’ he says, beckoning me with his finger.

I look at him, unsure.

‘Come here,’ he says again, leaning back in his swivelling chair.

I walk back to him. He takes my hand and pulls me onto his lap.

I gasp.

‘Fancy a quick shag?’

‘Hey!’ Christian says, coming into the office to greet me when he arrives on Friday. I get up from my desk and go round to give him a hug.

‘How the hell are ya?’ he asks.

‘Good!’ I grin up at him. Johnny emerges behind him and winks at me.

‘How’s he been treating you?’ Christian asks, motioning towards his mate. ‘Given you too much grief?’

‘No.’ I shake my head, feeling my face heat up. Christian looks down at me, amused.

‘So where are we off to tonight?’ Christian turns to Johnny.

‘Aren’t you jet-lagged?’ I ask, surprised.

‘Yeah. But we all know he’s going to drag me out anyway. May as well get in there first.’

Johnny shrugs. ‘Dunno. Viper Room, perhaps. Want a bevvy by the pool, mate?’ he asks Christian.

Christian nods and follows him out of the office while I put in a call to the Viper Room.

They seem totally normal with each other. I love it how blokes can just sweep things under the carpet like that.

My Facebook and MySpace obsession has steadily got worse this week. I saw a message on MySpace yesterday from that Asian babe, Nika, asking if Johnny wanted to hook up again. I deleted it, and then it occurred to me that it would have been smarter to reply and pretend to be Johnny, telling her I wasn’t interested.

A message flashes up on MySpace–it’s a flier inviting Johnny to a Spooky Girl gig tonight. My finger moves on autopilot towards the delete button. I already got rid of one of these Spooky Girl fliers earlier this week, but this time I stop myself. What if Lola asks Johnny about it next time she sees him? Hmm. In that case I’ll just ‘forget’ to mention it.

I click onto my emails and start replying to messages until I come across one from Bess:

Is that it? Talk about keeping it simple. I should write back to her, but there’s so much to say. And obviously I can hardly say anything.

I reply with:

I’m tempted to leave it there and press Send. Well, she kept it brief, didn’t she? For a laugh, I continue writing:

I chuckle to myself and press Delete.

Holy shit! I just pressed Send instead! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I quickly type out a new message:

Bugger, now I have to write back properly.

Liar.

Liar, liar. Pants on fire.

I yawn and press Send, then slump back in my seat, bored.

A memory comes back to me of Bess and I singing karaoke at my leaving party and I catch myself. To my surprise, a lump forms in my throat. How can I have grown apart from my best friend so quickly? And not just Bess. I’ve barely been in touch with anyone.

I remember when I first started working for Johnny. How much I wanted to send her a picture of his bare chest, out by the swimming pool…How much I thought she’d squeal her head off…I remember how often she used to ask me if she could come and stay. The answer, honestly, was always going to be ‘no’. It would never have worked.

‘I’ll have a double whisky. What are you two having? Want a bottle of Bolly?’

Christian and I glance at each other, warily.

‘What?’ Johnny snaps. ‘When did I say I was never going to drink again?’

It’s a rhetorical question, so I ignore him and reply, ‘Champagne would be great.’

‘Why did you leave Scarborough?’ Christian asks. We’ve just been filling him in on what happened after he last saw us. I suppose we should leave out the sex…

Johnny starts to relay the story, but I can’t resist chipping in and telling it from my point of view. The waitress arrives with our drinks.

‘Bastard wouldn’t let me smoke so I told him to piss off,’
Johnny says, taking his glass before it even hits the table and knocking it back in one.

‘Another, please,’ he tells the waitress, putting his empty back on her tray. ‘Will you two stop looking at me like that?’

‘Johnny!’

‘Hey, man! How’s it going?’ Johnny’s glare transforms into a grin when he sees who’s interrupted us. I vaguely recognise the guy from Serengeti’s premiere party.

‘Cool, dude. Long time no see. Hey, are you coming to Spooky Girl later?’

Dammit!

‘No? I didn’t know they were playing?’

‘Yeah, dude, at the Whisky. Come along! Lola said she put you on the guest list.’

I wait with baited breath.

‘Sure.’

Bollocks.

‘Hey, Laurence,’ Johnny continues. ‘This is my friend Christian from back home, and this is Meg, my PA.’

Laurence leans across the table and shakes hands with both of us. ‘Come along too, man. The more the merrier.’

The Whisky is familiarly dark and grungy. Johnny has been spotted by a few people, but they’re leaving him alone. This crowd is way too cool to stalk a celebrity.

I watch with envy as Lola struts across the stage like a supermodel, belting out Electropop tunes. She’s wearing high-waisted gold hotpants and black tights. You’d have to be a real stunner to carry off that outfit, and she does. I feel unbearably boring in my skinny jeans and black top.

I glance at Johnny. His attention is focused on Lola. I look past him and see Christian smile at me. I smile back, but feel sick inside. I really want to go home. And I really want Johnny to come with me.

When Christian goes off to the bar, I turn to Johnny. ‘Are you going to tell Christian about us?’ I ask.

‘No!’ He looks back at me, horrified.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s none of his business.’

After the encore, I adopt a bright and breezy tone. ‘Shall I call Davey? Get him to pick us up?’

Johnny shakes his head. ‘Nah. I’m going backstage. You two alright, here?’

‘Sure,’ Christian replies, but his friend is already striding towards the backstage door. I look after him in dismay.

‘You happy to be back in LA?’ Christian turns to me. ‘Meg? Hello?’

‘Sorry?’

He repeats his question.

‘Yeah, it’s good.’ It would be a darn sight better if I didn’t feel so tense about Johnny the whole time.

‘Must’ve been a bit of a toughie looking after Johnny in the Dales like that.’

‘It wasn’t too bad,’ I reply, distractedly. Where has he gone? Is he with Lola?

I remember his words earlier in the week:

I try to let them comfort me now.

After half an hour of standing at the bar making small talk, Christian says, ‘I don’t know if he’s coming back, you know.’ He rolls his eyes at me, jokingly, but I’m not seeing the funny side.

‘Shall I text him and check?’ he asks.

‘Yes, good idea.’ I watch eagerly as he gets his phone out. He texts Johnny then puts his phone back in his pocket and carries on talking.

‘Has he texted you back?’ I ask after a minute.

Christian pulls his phone out and checks. ‘No. So anyway…’

I can’t concentrate. I ask him to check again after another couple of minutes. Still no reply from Johnny. I hate how insecure he’s making me feel.

Christian yawns. ‘I’m wondering if we should shoot off.’

‘No, er,’ I stammer. ‘I don’t think so. We should wait for him.’

‘He’s a big boy, he can fend for himself.’ Christian smiles and puts his empty glass down on the bar top.

‘No. I think…Maybe he’ll expect Davey to be here.’

‘We’ll send Davey back for him.’ He shrugs.

‘Um…’ I shift from foot to foot. What is wrong with me?

‘Are you alright, Meg? You seem a bit antsy tonight.’

‘No, I’m fine!’ I hurriedly assure him. ‘I guess, well, you must be jet-lagged…’

‘Very.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ I cast another longing look at the backstage door and follow Christian out of the venue.

‘Where did you go for so long?’ I’m trying not to sound upset, but I’m not sure I’m doing a very good job of it.

I heard Johnny come home at three o’clock in the morning. He didn’t come to my room as I’d hoped, but he didn’t have anyone with him either, so at least I could sleep easier after that.

‘Just hanging out, you know.’ Johnny reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a glass, filling it up with apple juice.

We’re in the kitchen. It’s Saturday early afternoon and he’s only just surfaced. Christian is in the office, working at the spare desk.

‘Was Lola there?’ I ask, casually.

‘Of course.’

I say nothing, opening up the fridge, looking inside aimlessly and closing it again.

Johnny leans back on the kitchen countertop and regards me. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

‘No!’ I exclaim.

‘Good.’ He puts his three-quarters-full glass in the sink and saunters out of the kitchen.

I drink the rest of his juice and, for want of something better to do, wash up his glass instead of putting it in the dishwasher. I look at the kitchen clock. It’s almost one-thirty. I should go and ask if Christian wants any lunch. He must be starving.

I walk towards the office, but stop outside when I realise Johnny is in there with him.

‘Good night last night, mate?’ I hear Christian ask.

‘Yeah, ace.’

‘Get your rocks off with Lola, did you?’

Johnny chuckles. ‘Not yet.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Christian sounds amused. ‘I’m sure she’ll succumb to your charms before long. They always do.’

I back away from the door, feeling like someone has punched me in the stomach. My wedge heel buckles and I stumble, almost toppling to the ground. I cry out in shock.

‘Meg!’ Johnny appears at the doorway, looking startled to see me. ‘I didn’t know you were there. Are you okay?’ he asks, concerned.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I tell him, hurriedly, trying not to limp. ‘I…I was just about to ask if you wanted me to get some lunch.’

‘Lunch?’ Christian calls. ‘What is there?’ He appears at the doorway, behind Johnny. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, when he sees my face. ‘You look as white as a ghost.’

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Um…’ I stand up straight and try to focus. ‘I think there’s a chicken casserole and Rosa also left some soup.’

‘What flavour?’ Christian asks.

‘Erm…Vegetable, I think.’ I glance at Johnny.

‘Bread?’ Christian asks.

‘What? Bread, yes, bread. There is bread, yes.’

Christian laughs. ‘You’re not very with it today, are you, Megan?’

Johnny scratches his chin.

‘I’ll go and put the soup on.’ I turn and walk back to the kitchen.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ I hear Christian ask. I don’t hear Johnny’s reply.

‘So what time does this party kick off, then?’ Christian asks Johnny a short while later, when we’re all in the kitchen.

Party? What party?

‘We’ll probably head there at around nine,’ Johnny tells him.

‘Are you coming?’ Christian asks me.

‘Whose party is it?’

‘Some record exec guy. Isn’t he, Johnny? Loads of celebs going. Should be a blast.’

‘Oh, I know the one.’ I glance at Johnny, but I can’t work out if he minds if I join them or not.

‘Have you got other plans?’ Christian asks, sensing my hesitation.

‘No…’

‘So come, then,’ Christian says, casually. ‘I need someone to keep me company while this one is off chatting up laydees.’

I look at Johnny through narrowed eyes. Bugger it.

‘Okay, then,’ I tell him.

The party is being thrown by Daniel Steinbeck, one of the head honchos at Johnny’s record company. His house is up in the hills, not far from where we live.

Christian is driving and taking the corners fast. I can hear Johnny’s sharp intakes of breath and have been trying to stifle my giggles.

The paps are out in force when we arrive, camera bulbs
flashing through the windows at us as we drive through the gates into Daniel’s private residence. Just like Johnny’s pad, this place has incredible views over the city, with a swimming pool at the front. It’s a warm night, so we make our way through the beautiful people to the outdoor area. The music is pumping, but it’s not as loud outside.

Johnny lights himself a cigarette and looks around for familiar faces.

‘Back in a tick,’ he says, distractedly. He walks off, leaving me alone with Christian.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Hey! There’s my friend, Kitty. Kitty!’ I call.

‘Meg!’ she squeals from the other side of the pool. ‘I didn’t know you were coming?’

‘I didn’t know I was coming either until a few hours ago.’ Seeing her immediately makes me feel better about Johnny abandoning us.

‘Me too!’ She glances at Christian.

‘Kitty, this is Christian, Johnny’s friend.’

‘Hi! Really nice to meet you.’ They shake hands. ‘Are you from England, too?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, Newcastle.’

Kitty nods and smiles, blankly. ‘Is Johnny here tonight?’ she asks us.

‘Yes,’ I reply. And it would be nice if he came back and joined us. ‘Charlie’s here, too,’ she says. ‘Oh, great.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Who’s Charlie?’ Christian whispers, conspiratorially. ‘Isla Montagne’s PA,’ Kitty explains. ‘Shit, she’s not here, is she?’ Christian asks.

‘Yes, why?’ Kitty replies.

‘Better keep her away from Johnny. She’s bonkers. She went a bit doolally over him a year or so ago.’

‘
Really?
’ Kitty loves a bit of gossip.

‘I probably shouldn’t have told you that,’ Christian says. ‘Don’t say anything.’

Kitty grins. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Anyway, she’s over him now I’m sure.’ She looks at me. ‘She
is
moving to England.’

‘Really? What’s Charlie doing?’

‘She’s resigned.’

‘No shit?’

‘Why is Isla moving to England?’ Christian butts in.

‘You tell him,’ I say to Kitty. ‘I’m just going to nip to the ladies’ room. He’s a journalist. Give him an exclusive!’ I wink at Christian and make my way indoors.

Christian shouts after me, ‘I’m not that sort of journalist!’

It’s even more crowded inside. I look around for Johnny, but can’t see him anywhere. Nor, for that matter, can I see the bathrooms. I peek my head into a room, hoping to spy one or the other. As I turn around to exit it, I come face to face with Charlie.

‘Argh!’ I shout.

‘I heard about what you did.’ Her tone is snide.

‘What?’

‘Johnny. Detoxing.’

‘Oh, right. Yes.’

‘You could have killed him!’ she erupts.

I’m astonished. ‘
I
could have killed him? What the hell have you heard?’

‘Withdrawal from alcohol has to be treated properly!’

‘Come off it,’ I mock. ‘Going cold turkey hasn’t ever killed anyone.’

‘Are you out of your mind? You’re not supposed to go cold turkey when you’re an alcoholic. You’re supposed to be weaned off the booze with drugs.’

Is that true? Oh. ‘What makes you such an expert?’ I ask, backtracking.

‘My stepmother was an alcoholic,’ she informs me.

I picture a young Charlie, growing up without her real mother, having to live with an evil alcoholic stepmother instead. I almost feel sorry for her.

‘Well, I wouldn’t really say he’s a proper alcoholic. And anyway, he’s better now,’ I say, sullenly.

‘He doesn’t look better to me…’

She nods behind me. I turn in time to see Johnny plonk an empty shot glass down on a tabletop and slap a cool-looking indie-rocker guy on his back. Oh, God. I turn back to face Charlie.

‘Do you know where the bathrooms are?’ I ask, melancholically.

‘Over there.’ She points.

‘See you later, Charlie,’ I say, hoping that the opposite will be true.

I come out of the bathroom to witness Johnny doing another shot. Should I go over to him? Try to stop him? I watch in despair as he grabs a bottle of vodka and swigs straight from the neck.

No. It’s too late for intervention. He’s too far gone.

I rejoin a laughing Kitty and Christian.

‘You okay?’ Christian’s face falls when he sees mine.

‘Johnny’s doing shots inside.’

His shoulders slump. ‘Nothing we can do about it, Meg.’

I cast my eyes longingly indoors.

‘Meg,’ he says. ‘I think you should let it go.’

‘I
have
let it go,’ I reply, irritated.

Kitty looks uncomfortable standing next to us.

‘Good,’ Christian says, bluntly. ‘I’m going to the bar. Are we sticking with cocktails?’

‘Sounds good!’ Kitty enthuses.

I nod, half-heartedly.

‘He’s lovely!’ Kitty gushes as soon as Christian has walked off. My stomach tightens. ‘Has he got a girlfriend?’ she asks.

‘No,’ I reply, sharply. ‘Actually, I don’t know. Maybe he does,’ I add, looking away.

‘He really likes you,’ she says.

I look back at her quickly. ‘What do you mean? In what way?’

‘You know, in
that
way.’

‘What makes you say that?’ I ask, stomach still tight, but not unpleasantly so.

‘Just the way he talks about you.’

‘Really?’ I don’t believe it. ‘What have you been saying?’

‘Just the tour and a few things like that. How you both like kiddies’ cereal.’ She grins.

Christian returns, struggling to carry three glasses. ‘Hurry! Take ’em!’ Kitty and I laughingly do as he says. Then I adopt a serious expression.

‘I can’t believe you told her about our Pebbles addiction.’

His face becomes grave. ‘I thought it was best to face up to it, Meg. It’s the only way we can combat it properly.’

‘But I’m not ready to give it up, yet, Christian. It’s too soon.’

He puts his hand on my arm and looks into my eyes. ‘I know. It will be okay.’

Kitty giggles and gives me a cheeky grin. I sneakily pull a face at her then look past her to see Johnny on the other side of the pool, coldly watching us. I’d forgotten about him for a moment. I mouth, ‘Are you okay?’

Christian glances at me then over at Johnny, just in time to catch him striding back indoors. My heart sinks.

I don’t enjoy myself after that, and I know I’m bringing the mood down. It’s so hard keeping it together when I have no control over what Johnny does. I tell the others that I fancy a wander inside. I’m sure Christian knows I’m going after Johnny.

He’s not in the first room I look in, or the next. I finally find him after five minutes of searching. He’s sitting on a sofa, and a bikini-clad girl is sitting astride him. He looks up and sees me, but acts like he hasn’t, taking the girl’s hands and pulling her into him, tighter. He reaches around and spanks her bottom, hard, and she responds by slapping his chest, playfully. Then he runs his hands through her long, brown hair and pulls her in for a snog.

Darkness clouds my vision and I think I’m going to faint. I back away, clutching my throat. I have to get away from here. I rush back through the crowd and past the swimming pool, barely registering the two A-listers I spot along the way. I run out of the gates, not caring that I’m leaving Christian and Kitty behind. The paparazzi straighten up and take notice when I appear, then relax back into conversation with each other when they realise I’m a nobody.

I hurry down the road, tears streaming down my face. I’ll walk home from here. I’m pretty sure I remember the way.

But after ten minutes, I start to doubt I know the right way after all. Everything looks the same, and I wasn’t really paying attention in the car. My feet are killing me in these heels and I’m tempted to take them off, but there are cactus plants on the side
of the road and, knowing me, I’ll step in some prickles or broken glass, and end up bloody and bruised, as well as tear-streaked and desperate.

How could he do that to me? He saw me standing there and kissed her anyway. I thought I meant more to him than that. These last few days…He’s been so nice to me. I thought he cared about me. I thought…I know it’s crazy, but I did think that there might be a future…How could you be so idiotic, Meg? Oh God, what am I going to do now? Where the hell am I?

The tears fall heavier and I’m suddenly struck by the stupidity of my actions. I think I’m lost. I picture a rapist or murderer spotting a helpless girl on the side of the road and snatching me away. That would teach Johnny! That’s my first thought, my second is, holy shit, I’m scared now.

I’ll call Davey. Dammit, I’ve left my bag back at the party! This is the worst night ever!

Headlights appear around the corner and I jump back, trying to hide behind some bushes. The car slows down. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, this is it. Can I run in these heels? Maybe they won’t see me. Argh, they’ve pulled over!

‘Meg!’

It’s Christian.

‘Christian!’ I cry, coming out from the bushes.

Another car appears around the corner. Christian leans across from the driver’s seat and opens the door. ‘Get in, quick!’ He’s parked dangerously.

I climb in and close the door behind me, then wipe away some of my tears. He checks his rear-view mirror and pulls away from the kerb.

‘What happened?’ he asks, glancing at me.

I shake my head.

‘Meg?’

‘I can’t talk about it.’ My voice is croaky from crying so much.

When we get home, he tries again, but not before he’s sought out the medicine cabinet and has helped me apply plasters to my blistered feet. We’re sitting on the sofa in the living room.

‘It’s Johnny, isn’t it?’ he says.

I don’t reply.

‘I knew it.’

‘What do you know?’

‘He can’t fucking help himself, can he?’ He sounds angry.

I look at him, unsure if he really knows what’s going on. I’m reluctant to say anything, just in case.

‘When did it start?’ he asks.

‘When did what start?’ I ask, cautiously.

He looks a little impatient. ‘When did you start sleeping together?’

Okay, so he knows, then. ‘In the Dales,’ I answer.

He glances away from me at the blank television. ‘That figures. And tonight? What happened?’

‘A girl,’ I answer, tearfully. ‘In a bikini.’ What she’s wearing is not strictly relevant, but it feels so to me.