Bad Boy Rock Star

by Starr, Candy J.

  After I gave my order, I turned to look for a seat. I took a few steps then returned and picked up the paper. I had to read the story even if shattered me.

  At least I looked presentable again, I'd put on my most expensive dress. An Alexander Wang woollen dress, casual but unmistakably designer. It was one of only three designer dresses I'd kept. Well, it'd been four but that linen dress was never going to be wearable after the dryer incident. I'd paired it with a cashmere cardigan and a great pair of heels. I'd paid extra attention to my hair and makeup too then surrounded myself with an aura of expensive perfume. No one would equate me with that bedraggled creature in the paper in the elephant pyjamas. I felt protected.

  I wanted to buy up every copy of that paper and burn them all. Maybe run around the entire city and buy every copy and burn the lot. But that would cost a fortune and what about the people who got their paper home delivered? I could never get rid of them all. No matter what I did, people would see that photo and they'd read those words.

  Maybe if I dyed my hair and had plastic surgery, no one would ever recognise me. I needed a hat. A big hat that would cover my face.

  I held my head high as I walked across the room. I defied anyone to judge me. But I found a corner table where I could keep my back to the room.

  The pain in my heart kept twisting. All those years when Dad talked about never causing a scandal, never giving anyone reason to talk bad about us. That meant nothing now. The whole city would see our shame.

  While I waited, I picked up the paper, by the edge as though it was dirty and would poison my skin. I didn't want to read the news story but I needed to know what they said about me. I picked away at it like a scab on my knee, reading a few words then cringing too much to continue. I threw the paper face down on the table, not wanting that pathetic me staring up at me before I'd even had my coffee.

  I slowly turned it over. God, I looked bad. I never imagined that, even on my worst day, I could look so bad. Maybe they'd photoshopped the photo to add extra ugly to my face. There was the big photo of me looking startled, close up with all the impact of the soaking wet hair and the dirty splattered face and the sodden pyjamas.

  Millionaire family's downfall – the headlines read.

  I imagined all those bitches I’d been at school with, the ones that hated me, reading this and laughing. I could almost hear their laughter ringing out over the city. Saying I deserved this, that they’d always known.

  There was another smaller picture with my hand covering my face. They'd taken that one as I tried to get away. After they'd extracted every bit of humiliation and torture they could out of me, they let me run off. I'd had to take all sorts of jeers about Dad being a criminal and conman though. They'd said he'd end up in jail if he were caught. That made me wonder if maybe I should've loaned him the money. Maybe, if I'd been a bit more sympathetic then, he'd have been able to save himself.

  I wouldn’t think about. Thinking about it made my eyes prickle. I’d wait until I was alone in my room then I could fall apart.

  "Sheesh, what kinda trouble do you get yourself in without me around?"

  Angie slid into the seat opposite me as though nothing had happened. I had half a mind to tell her to clear out. I didn't need her, especially after what she'd said last night. But, to be honest, I could've jumped up and kissed her. She was talking to me again, so something had to be right and good. Even if she was angry, angry and talking beat the hell out of angry and silent.

  "You're not still mad?" I asked, and shot her a weak smile.

  "I'm mad. I mean, you said you were too sick to work then I get to your place and you’re rolling around on the bed with Jack Colt. What's with that? But what's the point of being mad if you don't know I'm mad, so I thought I'd come here. Then I saw that picture on the front of the paper. You probably don't need more shit today, huh."

  "It was nothing. He was wiping my nose." It did sound a little bit wrong and unbelievable when I said it like that. I mean, who has some bad boy rock star in their bedroom, rolling around wiping snot. Like some kind of sicko fetish or something. No wonder he preferred the skanky chick. At least she wasn't snotty.

  "Aha, you expect me to believe that?"

  "Well, it's true." I grimaced at her and wiped my nose to prove my point.

  "Wow, even when you're sick, your life is a huge drama. And now this whole exposé thing. What the hell is with you?"

  She picked up the paper.

  "It's like you’re one of those celebrities that get embroiled in a scandal. Look at you, hand over your face. Did you try to smash the camera out of his hand? I'd have totally done that. Smashed it to the ground."

  "I'm not like one of those celebrities. I am one. This is my life, Angie. The scandal and all that. Read it to me. I can't bear to read it myself. I really can't bear to look at that photo either. "

  Even though I laughed, I’d have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.

  Angie picked up the paper.

  "Twageeedy befalls one of zee country's reeechest –"

  "Why are you reading like that? What's with the French accent?"

  Angie sat the paper down, grinning at me.

  "I thought it'd be easier for you if I did it in a silly voice. Like it would take some of the pain out of it."

  "You think there's going to be pain?"

  She nodded her head. "You don't get a photo like that without pain. Hey, was your dad really one of the richest men in the country? No wonder you act so snotty some of the time. So, where's all the money?"

  "Gone. It's all gone." I wanted to wrap myself in self-pity but I couldn't with Angie beside me. She made me laugh and that took the edge off the pain.

  "It says here he's planted some of it offshore."

  There was money? Well, where was it. Dad sure as hell hadn’t looked as if he had any. No one had mentioned any money and I wasn't sure if it was one of those things the paper makes up or if it were true.

  "They also say he was a swindler. He was involved in the underworld and all kinds of organised crime. Did you know that?"

  I shook my head.

  "Wow, they might end up making a movie about him. Who'd play you? Maybe Taylor Swift? And I could get someone hot to play me. Maybe I could play myself. That'd be really cool."

  "I don't think it'd be cool at all." I sniffed again. "And I'd want Anne Hathaway not Taylor Swift. Can Taylor Swift even act? But back to the story. This is my dad you're talking about, not some random person in the paper."

  Angie scanned through the article.

  "It doesn't say much else. Just all that about underworld connections. And he's disappeared and that you were the socialite daughter."

  "Argghh, that's foul. Like I'm some airhead. I was at university and I was studying. It's not like I spent my entire time going to charity fundraisers and garden parties. I would've taken over the company if there was a company left to take over."

  Angie turned the page on the paper.

  "Who's Tom?"

  "Tom! What about him?" A least Tom should have a good thing to say about me. "He's my boyfriend."

  Angie raised her eyebrow in a way that spoke volumes.

  "He says he never had a relationship with you. You were just casual acquaintances. And that he always thought there was something fishy going on." Angie folded the paper and threw it on the table. "Well, at least you don't have to feel guilty about fooling around with Jack now.

  "I wasn't fooling… shut up, Angie. What a jerk. He should be here standing by my side, supporting me."

  "Like Eric?"

  "Huh?"

  I turned around to see Eric walking through the café. He saw us and raised his eyebrows.

  "I thought you'd be here if you weren't at home. I've got your phone."

  He sat down with us and looked at the paper.

  "I'm sure it's all lies and beat up. The papers are full of shit. I don't believe a word of it."

  "To be honest, I don't know what to believe." You'
d think I'd have known if dodgy shit was going down but I only saw the things Dad wanted me to see. There had never been any reason to mistrust him.

  "You can believe in me," said Angie.

  "And me too," said Eric. "I'll support you."

  "Thanks, guys." Some warmth crept into my heart. I felt as if I could probably face the day. "I have to organise this record company meeting today. If I do that, then maybe I can be successful enough in my own right that everyone forgets about this. I hope."

  Eric reached over and grabbed my hand. I smiled at him. I could survive this. But really I wondered if it would be okay. They'd said Dad might go to jail. I didn't know if that were true but he had gone into hiding. It wasn't a very good sign about the whole okay-ness of this.

  My appetite had come back and I really wanted some French toast. Maybe with a side of bacon.

  Eric left to meet a client but told me to call him if I needed anything.

  Later, when the café was quiet, I rang the record company. I asked for the man who'd given me the card. The receptionist asked my name.

  I could hear her suck in her breath when I said it. There was only the briefest of pauses then she said she'd put me through.

  I waited for a while, listening to the hold music. While I waited, I went over what I'd say in my head. I wanted to sound confident and reassured. As if I did this kind of thing all the time and it meant nothing. As if we had heaps of offers on the table and I was working out which was the best. I could do that. I could be a hard-headed business bitch. Even if my palms were a little moist and the pulse at my temple throbbed.

  The phone clicked. I was ready to go into action.

  Before I could talk though, the receptionist came back on the line.

  "Sorry, he's in a meeting right now. I'll get him to call you back."

  I gave her my details.

  I put my phone on the table and waited for their call.

  I spend most of the day at the café, working on plans for the band. We had a pretty full calendar now, with bookings most weekends for the next few months. Word had gotten around about their success at the Metropolis and it seemed so much easier to get them booked into decent places. I sent all the details to the music press and gave them to Angie for the website. I checked their Twitter and Facebook. Whoa, the number of followers kept climbing but what some of those girls posted, it was just plain wrong. I did not need to see all those boobs and butts.

  I thought about booking a tour. We could travel up the coast. I'd have to discuss it with the guys next time. And support gigs. We should try to get support gigs with some big name bands.

  My phone hadn't rung all day. I picked it up to check it was working properly.

  "It's still early yet," said Angie. "They might call back soon."

  Angie sat beside me most of the day, doodling ideas in a notebook.

  "So, what do you think of Jack Colt?" she asked. "You haven't really said."

  "I've told you. I'm not interested in him."

  "Yeah, you say that but you can't say it without blushing. You blush and you squirm like a schoolgirl. He's got you in your pants with his Jack Magic! I'm surprised you don't have his name written all over your notebook with hearts around it."

  "You can't talk. You do have his name written in hearts in your notebook."

  Angie laughed and looked down at her notebook.

  "I don't like him, Angie, but I respond to him. You know. On a lustful level. Like, when he's around, my skin feels especially sensitive and my heart beats a little faster. I do stupid things and… I dunno. Maybe it's a lust thing. But I don't like him."

  "Oh, you've got it bad. Maybe you should just screw him and get him out of your system."

  "Maybe. Or maybe not. He was a total jerk the last time I saw him. There's something not right with him."

  "There's a lot that is right. His butt, his shoulders, his eyes…"

  "I mean in his head."

  "I'd go there, regardless."

  "Yeah, that's obvious. But he scares me sometimes."

  I wondered if I should tell her about how he attacked me but she jumped up to go to class. I figured I should leave too. A person couldn't spend all day stuck in a café. I felt a bit wired after three cups of coffee but I didn't feel nearly so stressed about the story in the paper. Who even pays that much attention to the papers anyway?

  I paid up and left the café, wondering if I should go home and sleep. I still felt a bit sick and it hadn't helped getting caught in the rain.

  "It's her!" I heard someone yell as I walked out the café door. Then a camera got thrust in my face.

  I had no idea what was going on. Before I could get away, others had come to join him. They snapped photos and bombarded me with questions. I put my hands up to cover my face and didn't speak.

  "Where's your father, Hannah?" one guy shouted at me, and soon the rest joined in.

  "I don't know. I don't know."

  I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to move through but they closed in tighter around me, like a pack of animals after my blood. I could feel the sheen of sweat on my forehead and my arms began to shake. I didn't know why they were doing this. I didn't know anything. I heard another shutter go off and flinched away from the sound.

  My legs went weak, as though I’d buckle to the ground, but I could only think of being strong and not letting them see they were getting to me. Surely they'd go away. You have to be stronger than anyone, I heard my dad say.

  "I haven't done anything wrong," I muttered under my breath. "I haven't done anything wrong."

  But the questions kept coming. I didn't know what they were even talking about. Huge sobs rose up in my throat and I kept my head down, not wanting them to see.

  Then one of them grabbed me.

  "Come on, Hannah, give us a story."

  Why did they keep saying my name as if they knew me? He clutched me tighter and I tried to shake him off, screaming at him to let me go.

  Then someone broke through the crowd and took hold of me, dragging me away.

  "Jack?"

  He'd pulled the top of his hoodie over his head so they couldn't snap photos of him and pushed them aside with his body. A couple of them sized him up and then stepped aside. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me after him down the street.

  "Don't stop. Keep walking and look calm. We'll go to my car and get you out of here."

  "I don't know anything. I did nothing wrong. Why are they harassing me?"

  "They just want a story. They don't care. If you say anything, it will be quote for them. Did you say anything to them?"

  "Nothing. Just to leave me alone. It's wrong. How can people just take pictures of you and put them in the paper without you even agreeing? I never gave them permission."

  "They're the media. They can do what they want." Jack shrugged and I wondered if he'd dealt with the media before.

  We got to his car and he opened the doors.

  "I'm glad to get out of there."

  "Don't worry," he said, checking his rear-view mirror. "In a few days, it'll be something else. People don't have a very long attention span."

  "I hope so."

  Unless Dad got found then it would happen again. Maybe it was better for him to stay hidden. Even if he'd gotten us into this mess, I didn't want him going to jail and having to deal with the harassment. I had to find out what was going on. I needed to know the full story instead of being a dumb airhead. Someone needed to fix this mess and it looked as if that needed to be me.

  "Can you take me somewhere?" I asked.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  "Dad's lawyer. I need to talk to him."

  Chapter 23

  At first, Frank wouldn't tell me anything. He said it was better I didn't know, because then I couldn't let anything slip. That just made me realise that there might be more going on than I'd thought.

  Jack had said he’d wait in the car outside Frank’s house but when Frank started talking, I realised maybe it wou
ld take longer than a few minutes.

  Frank paced around his study, unable to settle. The whole room said successful lawyer, as though it were taken completely from an old school lawyer movie set – the heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room that looked as if it'd been in the family for generations, the leather sofa that smelt of – well, leather, but also cigars and serious business decisions, the bookcase with leather-bound tomes of legal stuff. I sat on the sofa, playing with my bag, twisting the strap in my hands, as though that would make things any better.

  I waited for Frank to speak but, after he’d offered me a drink and taken me into the lawyer room, he'd not said a word. The silence grew as solid and leathery as everything in the room.

  "Where's my father?" I asked. "Is he in town or has he gone away?"

  Frank looked at me as though assessing what he should say. He stood, leaning on the back of a chair. After a minute, it seemed as if he made a decision.

  "He's in Asia. You can't tell anyone, though. And I can't tell you where."

  "I think I know."

  "Maybe you do," he replied, with a half-smile that seemed to confirm my suspicions. I had no idea who that man had been though, or even what area he lived in. All I could remember was that market.

  "Is there a warrant out for his arrest?" I asked. Surely, he'd not have put me in a position of harbouring a wanted criminal. I didn't want to get into this any deep than I was, even though he was my father.

  "No," said Frank. "He's under investigation but they haven't found anything yet."

  I twisted the strap of my bag tighter around my fingers. I wasn't sure how much of this I really did want to know and I had to steel myself to hear the worst. This nightmare just got deeper and deeper.

  "Is there anything to find?"

  "Look, Hannah, there is stuff. It's not bad stuff. It's normal business practice but it might not be entirely within the law. If they dig around enough, they will be able to find a few things to pin on him. It depends on how thorough they want to be. But, if they do that, a lot of dirt on a lot of people will come out. It's not just your dad involved in all this."