It was odd, Christie thought, as she walked back through the market, she felt a lightness in her heart that she hadn’t felt in a long time, ever since the gloom had first appeared. She’d been so stupid really. For the past month, she’d let the memory of Carey Wolensky overshadow everything else in her life, all the wonderful things: James, her family, Janet’s pregnancy, the good things she had. She’d let Carey overshadow them all, because she’d allowed herself to be a victim.
She’d done something she’d been ashamed of and, instead of facing up to it, she’d been scared it would destroy her family. In doing so, she’d almost allowed it to destroy her family. Ironic that, she thought wryly. But she wouldn’t be scared any more. Rosalind had just helped her to see what was in her heart and what she had to do.
She sat down on a bench near the market and made the call to Carey’s hotel from her mobile phone. She was put on to Heidi, Carey’s assistant, instantly.
‘This is Mrs Christie Devlin,’ she said coolly, although she was quivering with nerves. ‘You’ve
been trying to contact me with regard to Mr Wolensky’s exhibition.’
‘Yes, he’ll be so thrilled you’ve got in touch,’
said Heidi with obvious enthusiasm.
‘I don’t want to go to the private viewing. I’ll be away,’ Christie said, lying. ‘But I’d like to meet with Mr Wolensky, if that’s possible.’
‘I’m sure it is. He was most keen to see you.’
Christie nearly hung up there and then, but she had to be strong. She had to do this.
‘He’s here next week from Wednesday on for ten days.’
‘I can see him on the Monday morning,’ Christie said, shocked that she’d have to wait that long to get this all over with. ‘No other time, I’m afraid.’
‘He’s busy then but I can rearrange his appointments,’
Heidi replied quickly. ‘Eleven, here in the hotel?’
‘Eleven would be fine. Thank you.’
Christie pushed the ‘end call’ button. She’d done it. She’d stopped running from the past. But she didn’t feel any sense of relief - only pure panic.
She could have just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Thousands of miles away, sitting in the back of a beaten-up van with the band, Amber was wondering the same thing. Was this whole trip the biggest mistake of her life?
They hadn’t expected a traffic jam in LA.
Gridlock, a freeway nightmare. Cars jammed end to end, creeping along. That sort of stuff happened at home, not here, not in fabulous LA. But they still got stuck in it until finally, after three quarters of an hour in the heat - the air con didn’t work very well in the rent-a-wreck - Syd took an off ramp and they ended up in a small, beat-up neighbourhood, with a couple of pool halls and what looked like a pub.
They all piled in. None of them really had enough cash to spend on drinks, but they were dying for something cool: cool beer, cool lemonade, cool anything. The bar was half full, but nobody even glanced at Amber, which made her feel even more miserable, although she knew she looked a
sight. How was it that men ignoring her could be so depressing, when she and Ella had so often been dismissive of men who did notice them? Her skin was greasy and she’d got spots. She hadn’t washed her hair for the last couple of days, she’d been so tired. How could you be tired getting up in the morning when you hadn’t done anything all day except sit in the back of a van, bumping along?
They ambled over to the bar and ordered some drinks.
‘You can drive from now on,’ Syd said to Karl. ‘I’m having some real liquor.’
‘Hey, you’re turning into an American,’ laughed Lew.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Syd glumly.
The night before he’d confided in Amber that he was missing his girlfriend, Lola, so much. She was a make-up artist who worked for herself, often travelling around Ireland for jobs. There was no way she could have come on this crazy trek across America.
‘It’s impossible to get hold of her without my mobile,’ he had grumbled to Amber, as they sat on the fire escape of last night’s crummy hotel, Amber sipping a Coke, Syd chain-smoking.
‘She wasn’t worried that you were going away without her, was she?’ asked Amber doubtfully, thinking that she’d been too nervous to let Karl go off on his own.
‘No,’ said Syd, with a laugh. ‘We’re too close for that.’
And then, she could see him realise what he had said, realise he knew exactly why she’d tagged along with the band to New York and now on the trek to LA: because she didn’t trust Karl.
‘But you know,’ Syd said rapidly, ‘people are different and she’s busy. Plus, she’s been to America a few times and she’ll come out when we’re settled.
It’s different for you and Karl, right?’
‘Yeah, different,’ said Amber, thinking of the exams her friends at St Ursula’s were sitting now.
Thinking of her seat in the big exam hall, near to Ella, and the grins and the glances and the anguished stares they’d have exchanged, had exchanged for every exam they’d sat through together since they’d met. Ella always had a supply of sweets and crunched them noisily. Amber was more a chewing gum sort of girl. She wondered who was sitting in her place now, what dreams and hopes they had.
Thinking of Ella made her think of Mum. The guilt about Mum was always there in the pit of her stomach. Mum had done nothing wrong except stifle Amber in an attempt to protect her, and look how Amber had repaid her.
She was a horrible daughter and her mother must hate her. Every time Amber thought longingly of home and of hearing her mother’s voice, she reminded herself of her mother’s hurt face that last day. She, Amber, had done that - hurt her mother as much as if she’d stabbed her. She didn’t know how she’d ever say sorry for that. It was
such a huge weight to carry that she didn’t know how to try.
‘It’ll work out,’ Syd said.
‘What?’ said Amber, half lost, not quite knowing what he was talking about. ‘The band, you mean? You’re all very talented, I’m sure it will work out.’
Syd looked at her silently, for a moment. ‘Yeah,’
he said, ‘that’s what I meant: the band. It’ll work out, I’m sure of it.’
Now in the seedy bar in LA, Karl sloped off to phone Stevie in Dublin, just in case there was any news. Syd looked at Amber.
‘What’ll you have?’ he said, gently.
Normally, Amber stuck to a couple of light beers, since she still wasn’t the drinking sort of girl. Ella would laugh at that: to think they’d both been keen to have grownup drinks in grownup bars and now that she could, Amber had discovered she didn’t like them that much.
‘I don’t know, Syd,’ she said now. ‘Something to cheer me up.’
Syd grinned. ‘I know just what you need!’
By the third tequila shot, Amber was feeling no pain.
‘It’s great this stuff. Why did I never try it before?’ She was smiling happily, arranging and rearranging her shot glasses in different patterns.
‘We never could afford it before,’ Kenny T
laughed.
‘We can’t now,’ added Lew. ‘Karl will go stark, staring mad when he comes back and finds that we’ve been spending the savings on tequila.’
‘Well, Karl’s not the boss, is he?’ snapped Syd. ‘Amber can have Cuevo Gold if she fucking well wants to. In fact, she’ll have another one and so will I.’
When Karl came back from the phone a few moments later, Amber looked at him with eyes of love. She felt warm and hazy inside. It was all going to be wonderful. LA was a fabulous place, they’d live in a gorgeous house and go to amazing celebrity parties. Karl would be a world-famous musician, they’d have loads of money and people would look at her, envy her and think she had a fabulous life …
‘Tequila?’ said Karl, looking down at the empty shot glasses on the table.
‘Hey, we felt like cheering ourselves up,’ Syd said defensively.
Karl didn’t look upset, though.
‘You’re not going to believe it,’ he said, ‘but Stevie came through.’
‘Came through how?’ asked Lew.
‘Came through in that he’s got us a meeting with a production company out here. It’s a guy called Michael Levin and he’s hot, Stevie says. He’s one of the best producers around and he liked the stuff Stevie sent him. We’re to meet him in his office tomorrow. Guys, it’s going to be OK.’
The tequila-drinkers erupted in a cheer.
‘That’s incredible,’ said Amber, getting up to
throw her arms lazily around Karl’s neck. ‘You’re incredible. Oh, I love you, I love you so much, that’s wonderful. You’re so talented and clever and
‘Right,’ he said, moving his face away from her boozy breath. ‘You shouldn’t drink tequila, Amber, it smells horrible.’
‘We needed cheering up, you see,’ she whispered.
What he’d said hurt, but she was still insulated by the cosy fire of the alcohol.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’ Karl settled her back in her seat. He sat down beside the band and began to plan with them. What they’d say to this producer, what they’d play for him, how they weren’t going to be taken for some load of green young guys because now they’d been around.
Amber sat on the edge, sidelined again, but she didn’t care. It was all working out, it was all going to be great. She knew it.
That night they stayed in another fleapit motel, the sort of place that was quite safe, mainly because there were two police cars parked outside the door most of the night. Sirens blared, people screamed and laughed and Amber barely slept a wink, partly because of the tequila hangover that had kicked in at about ten, and partly because of anxiety. She didn’t like this town: it was scary. These constantly bright and busy streets weren’t the palm-treed oases she’d imagined. There were no haciendas in this part of town, no nice cafes with movie stars sitting outside, no sense of Hollywood glamour: just dangerous guys driving big cars with music vibrating out from everywhere, and skinny girls in hotpants on the street corner opposite the hotel, watching every car that slowed down. Nobody smiled at anyone, nobody looked at anyone, as though eye contact was a threat.
However, in the California sunshine of the next morning, the streets didn’t look menacing any more: just edgy and hip, like a scene from a video on MTV.
‘Come back to bed,’ murmured Karl, sitting up against the pillows, watching her looking out the window and admiring her body in the pink spotted G-string she’d slept in.
‘Bed?’ she said, doing her best call-girl voice. ‘Can you afford me?’
She climbed on to the bed and began to crawl towards him, swinging her hair provocatively.
‘I don’t know,’ Karl said, pulling her closer. ‘I’m pretty broke now but I think there might be some money coming my way soon. Will you take an IOU?’
Amber straddled him. ‘Only for you, my love,’
she crooned before kissing him.
Within hours, their fortunes had changed. It took one trip to the producer’s office. Michael Levin was a small, slim, dark-eyed guy who clearly liked the band’s work. He said he’d work with them and that they needed to sort out some paperwork, as well as a lawyer to go over the small print. He recommended someone.
Amber raised her eyebrows at this: surely if the producer recommended a lawyer he knew, this was a conflict of interest? They should find their own lawyer to work out the percentages, etc, but nobody else looked askance at the suggestion.
Michael Levin was offering some money upfront and got them a deal in a lovely hotel near his office until they could sort out a house to rent.
Two hours after meeting him, they had four beautiful suites in the Santa Angelina Hotel, a hip little place with the requisite palm trees outside.
Amber felt the bellboy looking at the five of them in faint disgust as he showed them up to their rooms. She was sure that they smelt of poverty, of life on the road in. crappy motels where the toiletries ran to thin bars of soap and even thinner towels. She couldn’t wait to get into that vast bath tub in the huge pale marble and mirrored bathroom and sink into all the bubbles that would be sure to emerge from the beautiful aquamarine glass jars.
‘Wow, this is some place,’ said Syd, admiring Karl and Amber’s suite.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ gasped Lew. ‘Hey, relax, guys,’ said Karl, trying to be cool. ‘You’ve gotta get used to this.’
Amber felt a flash of impatience with him. Who did he think he was? They had just spent ten days on the road in cockroach-infested fleapits with no money, eating endless fast food until they were all spotty and lank-haired, and it seemed like sheer fluke that had brought them to this beautiful place.
Now was not the time to be doing the ‘we’re so cool, we deserve this’ act.
‘Cop on, Karl,’ she said sharply. ‘We’re lucky it’s working out, let’s not count our chickens. We did that the last time, remember? And then Stevie left and we were up shit creek without a paddle.’
Karl glared at her. ‘I knew it would work, even if you didn’t.’
He marched into their suite’s second bathroom and slammed the door.
‘Hey,’ said Lew, grinning at Amber. ‘Just as well you’ve got two bathrooms.’
Karl and Amber didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the afternoon, although Amber didn’t care. She was perfectly happy being in her own bathroom, lolling in a bubble-filled bath, scrubbing herself clean, rubbing scented body lotion into every inch of her body, washing her hair till it squeaked, feeling good about herself again.
They were being taken out to dinner tonight by Michael Levin, and as she rooted through her dirty, faded wardrobe, she realised she actually had nothing to wear and no money to buy anything.
It was different for the guys, they could wear jeans and a T-shirt and still look fantastic, but girls needed something a bit more special.
She could have gone and asked Karl if there was any money to spare to buy something new but she didn’t want to. Instead, she went over to Syd’s suite.
‘What’s happenin’, baby?’ he said, opening the door, a fat cigar in one hand, the TV remote in the other and himself wrapped in a big, fat towelling robe. The huge TV blared a pay per view movie and a room service cart lay pushed to one side with the remains of a club sandwich and a bottle of champagne.