Authors: Mandy Baggot
‘You can almost see my house from here. If you squint and bend your head to the left,’ George remarked as she sat down and opened up the bottles.
‘Let me guess. That one?’ Quinn asked, pointing to the left of the skyline.
‘I wish! That’s Bowater Manor,’ George responded.
‘That one then?’ Quinn said, pointing at a group of tower blocks.
‘Nope, that’s Triplet Towers. And that’s not because there are three of them, that’s because that’s the number of children per single mother,’ George explained.
Quinn nodded and took a swig of his lager.
‘It’s over there. Raleigh Crescent,’ George informed, pointing in the direction of her home.
Quinn didn’t reply and when she turned to look over at him, his eyes were shut. She watched him, wondering what he was thinking. She didn’t know anything about him; they hadn’t really had a chance to talk in any of their snatched moments together. It had seemed more appropriate to act rather than speak and you couldn’t talk when someone was trying to kiss your face off.
He opened his eyes and took another drink.
‘I can’t come to Manchester you know, I have commitments. I can’t just travel to the other end of the country because you click your fingers,’ George stated.
‘I know,’ he replied simply.
‘Then what were all the theatrics?’
‘I don’t know,’ Quinn responded with a shrug.
‘You don’t know.’
‘No,’ he answered.
‘Well, that’s not good enough. I mean I’m just a caterer you met a few nights ago, you know nothing about me. Why I am suddenly so important to you, you have a full on hissy fit? I’m really not someone worth having a tantrum about,’ George exclaimed.
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Wel
l...
’
‘Look, I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I haven’t felt like this before.’
‘You’re engaged to some beautiful actress and yet you’ve spent the last few nights desperately chasing me. What’s that all about? I mean, just maybe I can understand the wanting illicit sex, but we’ve done that now, isn’t it time you moved on? I mean Manchester must be full of good looking women, dripping with anticipation for your arrival. Me, I don’t even know if I like your music.’
‘What d’you want me to say?’ Quinn asked, turning to look at her.
‘I want you to tell me what’s going on, because to be honest I’ve never been pursued as much and that’s nice and everything, but I don’t understand it,’ George told him.
‘I find it hard to believe you’re not pursued on a very regular basis. Weekly at least.’
‘Stop the flattery and talk to me. We’ve spent the night together but we haven’t had one proper conversation.’
‘Conversation’s overrated.’
‘Quinn!’
‘I like you, you like me, what’s there to say?’
‘You have got to stop seducing me,’ George told him.
‘You could always say no.’
‘I do! All the time!’
‘Yeah, but you don’t mean it.’
‘I do mean it. And I definitely mean it about Manchester,’ George insisted.
‘OK,’ Quinn answered.
‘OK?’
‘Yeah, OK, I get it. You can’t come to Manchester. It doesn’t mean I won’t wish you were there,’ Quinn told her.
‘See! You say things like that and I don’t know how to take them. You can’t want me! I’ve seen the women who hang around your parties; they’re preened and perfect, with less meat on them than a chicken satay. I barely run a comb throu
gh my hair and I stink of short
crust pastry and I mean you’re getting married! Why
are
you getting married?’
‘Pass. Next question.’
‘You must love her.’
‘Must I?’
‘Well that’s usually what prompts a proposal and a wedding.’
‘Is it?’
‘You know it is. Look, this is stupid, if you aren’t going to talk to me then
...
’
‘Let’s just go to bed. Let’s go back to the hotel and pick up where we left off,’ Quinn suggested, taking hold of George’s hand.
‘No. I told you before; I don’t do that sort of thing. This isn’t me; this isn’t what I do any
more
...
’
‘I think you’ll find you did that sort of thing just last night, several times in fact,’ Quinn reminded her.
‘Yes, but that was last night and last night I was just scratching an itch. You know, facing up to the inevitable, getting off on the adrenalin. I was stupid.’
‘You were amazing,’ Quinn responded, squeezing her hand and smiling at her.
George felt heat rush to her cheeks as she remembered being in bed with him the previous night. It had been amazing; they had been a fantastic combination. She still got chills when she thought about it.
‘Stop it, it’s not fair. I don’t know anything about you and I can’t be doing any of this with someone I don’t know,’ George exclaimed.
‘What d’you want to know?’
‘I don’t know. Where you come from? How you got into music? How you met Taylor Ferraro? What you like for breakfast? What you feel about global warming? Normal stuff, you know, things ordinary people talk about,’ George said
,
verging on exasperated.
‘Global warming’s a worldwide problem and we should all really cut down on our fuel
e
missions and CO2 production,’ Quinn replied with a smirk.
‘Don’t you take anything seriously?’
‘Life’s too short.’
George let out a frustrated sigh, picked up her bottle of beer and took a long swig.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I’ve not had a good day and the idea of only having two more nights with you kind of tipped me over the edge earlier. I was acting like a jerk before. You’ve got more important things in your life than me, I get that,’ Quinn told her in sincere tones.
‘You don’t need me. Look at you! You’re a successful musician with the world at your feet. You’ve got a glamorous fiancée according to
Star Life
magazine and your album’s about to go platinum,’ George informed him.
‘You don’t know whether you like my music, but you’ve been reading up on me. That’s sweet.’
‘When
I
work all day with your greatest fan it’s very hard not to soak up the information being thrown about across the bread buttering.’
‘Bread buttering. I’m flattered.’
‘So you should be. Marisa talked about George Clooney for a week once, when she was going through her ‘older man’ phase, but I didn’t end up knowing half as much about him,’ George told him.
‘You’re funny and you’re feisty and you don’t look like you’ve spent a month in a tanning booth,’ Quinn spoke, touching her hair with his fingers.
‘Was that a compliment? Or a not so subtle way of telling me I have the complexion of someone close to death?’
‘It was a compliment.’
‘Well actually, I snore quite badly, I used to have a big crush on Billy Idol and I’ve got twenty five pairs of jeans,’ George said, drinking more beer.
Quinn took a deep breath and then looked at her. His eyes, the colour of the Med, were so intense
,
every time they locked with hers it felt as if he could see right inside her soul.
‘Things with Taylor are complicated. It isn’t at all like you think. She’s young and she’s pretty, but that’s all. There’s no connection. The minute I saw you I felt something. I don’t know what it was but it blew me away,’ Quinn tried to explain.
‘You’re not expecting me to believe that are you?’
‘It’s true.’
‘Yeah, of course it is. You’ve never said that before to get someone into bed.’
‘Sure, all the time.’
‘At last! The truth.’
‘But I’ve never actually meant it. Until now,’ Quinn told her.
His eyes told her he meant what he said, but she still didn’t understand it. She was just George Fraser, caterer, black sheep, rock music loving jeans wearer; no one had ever wanted her like he seemed to want her. No one except Paul.
‘It’s just a physical thing. It’s just nerves before the wedding. You want one last fling before you settle down,’ George spoke quickly.
‘No, it isn’t like that. It’s more than that. When I saw you it was like I had to be with you,’ Quinn continued.
‘Do you love Taylor?’ George asked him bluntly.
‘No,’ Quinn answered with conviction.
‘But you’re marrying her, you’re engaged. What happened? Have you fallen out of love with her? Because, if you have, then you just have to tell her. Then you can go and shag whoever you like, go and live at The Playboy Mansion or something.’
‘I was never in love with her,’ Quinn replied with a heavy sigh.
George looked at him, not understanding what he was trying to tell her. She hadn’t understood a word he’d said since they got up on the roof. He was telling her everything but nothing all at the same time.
‘It’s difficult. It isn’t just about her, it’s about me and it’s about Roger,’ Quinn said, taking another much needed swig of his drink.
‘Roger? Who’s Roger?’
‘Roger’s her father. He owns Rock It Music, the record company I’m signed with,’ Quinn informed.
‘OK. Still not getting why you’re going to marry someone you don’t love.’
‘Look, I can’t tell you any
more.’
‘Please tell me we aren’t having some sort of ‘unless you marry my daughter I’m going to drop you from the record label’ kind of blackmail scenario here, because that is so 1970s cult movie and it really doesn’t happen in the real world,’ George spoke.
‘I’ve said too much already. Look, I’d better go. If I’m not back at the hotel he’ll be calling and I don’t want to speak to him,’ Quinn said, getting to his feet.
‘Well, let me drive you back,’ George suggested.
She didn’t want to leave things like this. She had assumed he was a player, after all weren’t they all? They had money, a luxury lifestyle, people at their beck and call; they took advantage and why shouldn’t they? He was a star, he had earned the right. She had completely expected it. But the things he’d said were not the words of an egomaniac with the world at his feet. They were sad words, the words of someone who was drowning in a situation.
‘No, it’s OK. The paparazzi are still outside, I don’t want them to see me, or you for that matter. I’ll walk.’
‘Look, I didn’t mean to pry and I’m not judging you. God, I’ve been judged so much in my life I know what that’s like. It’s really none of my business what you do, or who you do it with,’ George started.
‘Yes it is,’ Quinn told her bluntly.
‘No, really it isn’t and I apologise if I’ve given the impression that I’m some sort of bunny boiling stalker chick who wants to know the ins and outs of your entire life. The sex was fine, we’ll leave it there. I’ll go back to whipping up trout mousse and you can go back to whipping teenage girls into a frenzy,’ George said.
‘You’re kidding right?’
‘Kidding about what?’
‘The sex was
fine
? That’s what
fine
feels like to you? God, I thought I was doing OK all this time and really I’ve only been hitting the
fine
mark? Man that’s disappointing,’ Quinn replied with a shake of his head.
‘You’re not listening to me.’
‘And you’re not listening to me. I want to be your business. I want my life to be your business. I’ve spent all of a few hours with you and it isn’t enough. I want more,’ Quinn clarified roughly grabbing her hands.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘Change your mind about Manchester,’ Quinn suggested.
‘I can’t,’ George answered with a sigh.
‘Then come to my gig tomorrow night, see what I do. Bring that mad girl that works with you or whoever you want. I want you to see the show. I want you to know why I do what I do; I want to show you the part of my life I do understand. I want you to see how much the music means to me. The music - not the after-show parties full of people I can’t stand,’ Quinn said gently caressing her fingers with his.
‘I’d like that,’ George found herself admitting.
‘And then, after the party, spend another night with me. We’ll go somewhere else, anywhere you like,’ Quinn added.
George shook her head as she looked
at him. He probably had a high-
class call girl agency on speed dial. If he wanted someone, anyone, he could have them. Yet, he was sitting on a rooftop with her. She saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously and he smiled almost hopefully at her, waiting for a reply. In his beautiful eyes she saw honesty. He didn’t need to waste his time on her, he wanted to.
‘I promise to do better than
fine
. I’ll have the Kama Sutra sent by room service,’ he told her.
‘If I say no...
’ George began.