It read, “Gavin McManus: make it happen.” And was signed by David Bowie.
Gavin hastily set the frame against the pillows and got out of bed, pacing a small circle with hands on hips.
“Don’t you like it, baby?” Sophie asked, playing innocent to his incredulous joy.
“How did you do this?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t actually get to meet him—in person, that is. James helped me. I tried to contact his so-called ‘people’ to do this but didn’t get very far. Then James got me the number of the recording studio where he was, though he figured that wouldn’t do much good. I called anyway and got lucky.”
“What do you mean?”
“After a couple tries, he came on the line. It was weird because I thought he’d be so removed and hard to convince. But as soon as I mentioned Rogue and you, he said he knew the band. That’s when I turned on the charm,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. “I told him how much his music meant to you, that it still inspires you. But you know what really got him?”
“What?” he asked, still flabbergasted. He ran his hands through his hair as he shifted his eyes from her to the scrawled personalized note and back again.
“I told him about you listening to ‘Heroes’ over and over again and how it made you think of trying to still time.”
“Sophie, you didn’t.”
“It really interested him, though. And he finally agreed to send me this and said to have you give him a call for an invite to the next show.”
“I can’t believe it. Jesus, this is amazing.” He looked at her and really focused on her for the first time since he saw the signature. “You’re the best, darlin’. The absolute best.”
“You like it?” she asked coyly.
He went to her and pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard.
“Marry me, darlin’,” he whispered in between kisses.
“Okay,” she replied, pressing her body to his.
He pulled away and held her face in his hands as he looked into her eyes. “Before the tour. Marry me before we go out again.”
“That’s . . . soon.”
He laughed. “Yeah, it would be. But, Sophie, I don’t want to wait. I love you more than anything in the world. I want you to be my wife.”
“Wow. I guess we’ll have to invite Bowie to the wedding, then,” she said with a smile and Gavin laughed.
CHAPTER FORTY
Sophie stretched, waking with the slow, tingling realization of what the day held. Rolling over to the empty side of the bed, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Gavin. The line rang four times before his voicemail picked up. She disconnected and tried again.
“Darlin’?” Gavin answered hoarsely.
“Hi, baby. I wanted to hear your voice before everything got too crazy around here. Sounds like you had fun last night.”
“Yeah, sure. Got drunk with half of Dublin.”
“Are you going to be able to meet me this afternoon?”
“I’ll do my best. You’ll be the one in the white gown?”
“Yes, that’ll be me.”
“Guess who Conor’s date today is.”
“Who?”
“Sondra.”
“Really? Are they back together? When did this happen?”
Gavin laughed. “I don’t know. I think he gets romantic notions in his head now and again. He doesn’t really want to be with her the way she wants. Hopefully she’s going in with her eyes open.”
“You never know. Weddings are awfully romantic.”
“Especially for the two getting hitched.”
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
“Just worried you’ll change your mind and won’t show.”
“Keep you on your toes.”
“Give me a little hope, won’t you?”
“Well . . . I do have this really nice dress and nowhere else to be today, so I think I will be there.”
“Brilliant. I can’t wait to see you, Sophie.”
“Me too, baby. But I better go now. I’ve only got seven hours to get beautiful for you.”
“More beautiful? Didn’t think it was possible.”
“Keep that up and I just might marry you, mister.”
“I love you, sweet girl.”
“I love you, Gavin.”
~
After hanging up, Gavin tried to go back to sleep but his racing mind kept him from further rest. Everything was happening at once—the new album had been holding tight to the top of the charts for three months, the world tour would begin the following month, and he was about to be married.
That Need had immediately garnered excellent reviews both in Europe and America. It debuted in the top five in over a dozen countries, thanks to the massive success of “You’re My One.” The song had been released as the first single at the insistence of the record label, along with a subtle marketing campaign that put the Gavin and Sophie reunion story back in the news.
James was in a near frenzy every time he talked to the band, as the demands of his management duties had exponentially escalated and drained his capabilities. Hiring an extensive staff was the only way to relieve the burden, and so he now had a complicated organization supporting Rogue. He had even assigned one staffer the duty of dealing with media requests concerning Gavin and Sophie’s wedding.
Gavin got up and padded across the hardwood floors to the bathroom. The vision in the mirror plainly revealed a hung-over young man. There were faint dark circles underneath his bloodshot eyes, his face had gone unshaven for several days, and his hair was a tangled mess.
“Who’d want to marry you?” he said softly and then laughed.
He turned on the countertop radio, raising the volume to be heard above the stream of shower water, and heard himself singing “You’re My One.” Groaning, he turned to another station and heard “That Need.”
Giving in, he sang along with himself as he showered.
Afterward, with towel around his waist, he wiped the steamed mirror to see if he looked any better. His wet hair, detangled with the help of conditioner, now dripped down his back but his eyes still needed help. He quickly dressed in jeans and a tee shirt before going to Conor’s room.
“Wake up, wanker,” Gavin told him, sitting heavily on the bed.
Conor groaned and pulled a pillow over his face.
“Come on, you’re supposed to be my best man.”
“What do you want, Gav?”
Gavin snatched the pillow from his friend’s face. “Look at me, Con. I’m getting married today and I look like shite.”
“Yes. Yes, you do. Now go away.”
Gavin watched as Conor turned on his side and away from him. He thought about letting his friend sleep but couldn’t dismiss his anxiety.
“Question?” he said.
Conor was motionless for a few seconds before replying, “I’ve got an answer.” Washing his hands over his face as he yawned, he then sat up and leaned against the wall behind him.
This question and answer repartee had begun when they were kids and was used as code to start a serious conversation. The question could be specific or general and the person who had “an answer” wasn’t claiming it would be the right answer, but that he would at least try to offer something of value.
“What if Christian was right?”
“About what?”
“Over holiday he said Rogue was about to explode. He said we’d get more attention than we could handle.” In fact, That Need would go on to sell an astonishing twelve million copies, earning Rogue the title of one of the biggest rock bands in the world, but Gavin couldn’t even imagine that they’d reach such heights of success.
“Sounds like a good thing to me.”
“It’ll mean more scrutiny on us. On me.”
Gavin watched as Conor silently understood then that his greatest fear really had to do with his mother. Rogue was a successful band on its own merits, but all the publicity about Gavin and Sophie’s romance had further driv
en Gavin into the spotlight. Now with the intense popularity of this album, it was like time was running out. Soon, the story would come out that Gavin McManus had been abandoned by his own mother.
“You worry too much, Declan,” Conor said gently. The use of Gavin’s middle name, “Declan,” was intentional. Conor and Gavin had discovered the music of Elvis Costello together and got a kick out of the fact that the artist’s real name—Declan MacManus—was so similar to Gavin’s—Gavin Declan McManus. Conor used the name sparingly, in moments like this where he was trying to get through to his friend. “Let it happen. Just let it out of your grip. Because, you know what?”
“What?”
“It’s not yours to hold onto anyway.”
“I know you’re right.” Gavin nodded slightly and forced a weak grin.
“How’s about we get some breakfast? Get on with the day?”
“Yeah, sure.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Gavin’s concerns over the truth of his mother coming to light were unwarranted, as the media was content to focus on the "Gavin and Sophie" story. They were the couple everyone watched with an inexhaustible desire to see them in moments both ordinary and extraordinary. The interest intensified when not long after they were married Sophie was “discovered” by a modeling agent.
It was a year into the planned eighteen-month tour of Rogue’s second album, That Need, and precisely the time when Sophie was looking for something to call her own. She had deferred her enrollment in Trinity after completing the winter term leading up to their wedding, with the plan that she would travel with Rogue for a few months before returning to school. But in ways both subtle and overt, Gavin made it clear to her that he wanted her to continue to travel with him, so she continued on.
That tour had been a whirlwind as the band’s skyrocketing popularity meant they played stadiums, did masses of media appearances, squeezed in collaborations with other artists, and were more in demand than they ever thought possible. They soon found that a dedicated group of diehard fans traveled to see them at every venue. On the other end of the spectrum, along with their friendship with the actor Jackson Armstrong, they gained a huge celebrity fan base, getting requests for backstage passes from other actors, models, artists, and musicians. As much as it was overwhelming to be embraced so forcefully, it all too quickly became normal. They had everything taken care of, including their hotels and transportation arrangements, restaurant reservations, and nightclub entrances. Clothing was brought in by a stylist, even when that meant basics like Levi’s and Dickies for Gavin or a higher end style like Helmut Lang for Conor. Every night was a celebration where the boys of Rogue got to play on stage to an arena full of fans singing the words right back to them, followed by alcohol-fueled parties.
Sophie was just as taken with the excitement of it all as they were. It was a thrill to feel the energy of the crowds, to experience a sliver of what it was like to be on stage in front of thousands of people. Gavin would come off the stage after a two and a half hour concert so hyped it would take him conscious effort to come down. He had spent all that time, after all, being not only validated by the audience, but worshipped. Their outstretched hands straining to get his attention, the way they would shift en masse based on where he moved on stage, the absolute obedience they showed when he directed a call-and-response were an undeniable ego-boost. And after the show, Sophie would watch Gavin’s disappointment as normalcy returned.
While they couldn’t hang on to the thrill of being on stage at all times, the after-parties helped to extend it. The revolving crowd of hangers-on included an eclectic group, but as the nights wore on, Gavin and Conor would invariably have gathered the musicians to talk old and new bands, as well as their favorite topics. But there were only so many times Sophie could listen to talk of the “27 Club,” or the curse of those who died at age 27 (Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Kurt Cobain, and too many others). Everyone always raised a toast to the dearly departed.
Talk often focused on when it was a singer found his true voice. Was it when they allowed less production? Was it a matter of aging and growing up? The consensus was that a singer’s voice on his first album was always marred by insecurities and too much production.
They also favored discussing who had the right to play band songs when a member went off to do solo work. Mick Jagger’s faithful reproduction of Stones songs while touring for his own solo albums was a common complaint. Sting’s jazz-infused reinterpretations of The Police’s songs in his solo shows was grudgingly respected.
Gavin loved to debate how much affect a singer could reasonably use before the practice should be derided as a crutch. Dave Matthews and Chris Martin were often cited as examples of relying too much on vocal gymnastics.
After twelve months of living the life of a band member, Sophie began the paperwork to go back to school. Even as it seemed incongruous to become a college student again with her husband one of biggest rock stars in the world, she craved having her own identity.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
While Rogue was on a short break in the tour and before her Trinity re-enrollment was approved, Sophie and Gavin took a trip to the Italian island of Capri. The holiday was meant as a way to “detox” from the maddening pace of the tour, to slow things down and enjoy being together before separating for the first time in over a year.
Instead of keeping a low profile, though, Gavin brought his rock star persona to a guided rowboat tour through the Grotta Azzurra. Gavin was so captivated by both the otherworldly crystalline blue waters within the meter-high cave mouth and the way their guide’s voice echoed against the rock walls as he sang an ancient Neapolitan song that he dove into the water. He couldn’t resist the lure of being fully immersed in the heavenly-colored sea. This was an illegal act, however, and Gavin naturally created an uproar with their guide and the other tourist boats trying to squeeze through. But he swam deep into the water, only coming up for air when absolutely necessary, leaving Sophie to smile apologetically. He was only too happy to receive a spirited lecture in rapid Italian once he was back in the boat. In the end, he “paid” for his crime with an impromptu performance of “You're My One” within the cave, eliciting wild applause from the other tourists.
Gavin promised to keep a lower profile the next day for their excursion to the summit of Monte Solaro via single-rider chairlifts. At almost six-hundred meters above sea level, they had a panoramic view of the island, as well as the surrounding Bay of Naples and the Amalfi Coast. The bright yellow patches of wildflowers on the bush-covered hills led to views of deep azure waters so stunning that they sat under a tree for hours gazing upon it. The only thing to lure them away from relaxing in each other’s arms with one of the best views in the world, was their hunger. On advice from a local, they took advantage of the shuttle bus run by Ristorante da Gelsomina to find their way to a late lunch.
Settled comfortably on the outside patio with a bamboo cover shading them from the sun, they again enjoyed a high-altitude view of the majestic waters below—this time with copious wine, olives, and bruschetta to start.
They were disturbed from the romantic setting when a middle-aged Frenchman approached their table. He was neatly dressed in white trousers, a pale pink oxford shirt, and a fine blue blazer. His dark, receding hair was slicked back and he smelled of cigarettes and aftershave. Begging their pardon for the intrusion, he nonetheless proceeded to seat himself next to Sophie and compliment Gavin on how beautiful his wife was.
“Yes, I know,” Gavin replied with an amused smile.
“Have you ever modeled?”
“You’re not giving me the classic ‘you could be a model’ line, are you?” Sophie asked with a laugh.
The Frenchman looked confused for a moment. “No, no. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Henri de Chavannes and—”
“de Chavannes? Like the painter?” Sophie asked.
Henri smiled. “Oui, ve
ry good!”
“My wife is very smart, Henri,” Gavin said.
“So I see. And so very striking a woman, too. I am a modeling agent, so I see beautiful women all the time. Oui, there are many beautiful women, but very few who have such a striking look. Your eyes are magnificent.” He reached out to stroke her cheek, studying her bone structure.
“Watch it, there, Henri,” Gavin said, pronouncing the man’s name Henry as he leaned forward.
“My apologies. I forget myself,” Henri said quickly.
“My eyes only get that deep green color when I’m wearing something green. Otherwise, they’re just plain hazel.”
“No, I do not think plain at all. Listen, I would love for you to come to Paris, take some test shots. I think you could find work very easily.”
Sophie watched the man for a moment, trying to sort him out. “You don’t know who my husband is, do you?” she asked.
Henri looked at Gavin, straining for recognition that did not come. “No. I should?”
“I guess you should know me for that matter. I’ve been photographed a lot already. You see, my husband is Gavin McManus and he’s the singer of the band Rogue. They’ve sold millions of albums. And in the last few years, we’ve sort of become a bit of a big deal as a couple in the tabloids.”
“Oh. Interesting.”
Gavin laughed. “What I think she’s saying is we’re not buying what you’re selling. Thanks for stopping by, Henri.”
“Gavin, be nice,” Sophie said.
“You’re not interested in this rubbish, are you?” Gavin asked.
“Should I be, Mr. de Chavannes?” she asked.
“Well, of course, I think so. There are great opportunities to be had with modeling. Traveling, wonderful people in the industry, money, fame. It is a very exciting way to make a living.”
“She already has all of those things,” Gavin said flatly.
Henri nodded and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, but that is in connection with you, no? If she were to try modeling and become good at it, the success and all that comes with it would be entirely of her own doing.”
Tangled Up In You: A Rogue Series Novel Page 18
