Reach for a Star

by Kathryn Freeman

  Jessie sighed, accidentally catching sight of herself in the train reflection. Not the glowing face of a happy woman. More like the haggard face of a tense, worried one. ‘Sorry, I can’t quite manage that at the moment. I’m still picturing Jack and Luke’s faces as I said goodbye to them this morning. How had I not anticipated what a huge wrench that would be?’

  ‘Five nights, Jessie. That’s all it is. Five nights in London, staying in a swanky hotel. Meeting new people, some of them famous. One of them the man you’ve crushed on for the last five years,’ she added dryly.

  ‘I know.’ Jessie rested her head back against the seat, relieved to have the carriage almost to herself. ‘I’m being stupid and sentimental.’

  ‘You’re being a mum,’ Annabel corrected quietly. ‘But their dad will take good care of them, and I’ll go round every day to make sure they’re not wilting under junk food and gaming overload.’

  Jessie couldn’t help but smile at the uncannily accurate image. She’d known Phil practically all her life – from best friends in the playground to first boyfriend, to husband – so it was with some authority she could say he was kind, sweet and warm-hearted. BUT. He had no drive, no ambition, no discipline. In the end, it had pushed them apart. He hadn’t fought for their marriage, just as he hadn’t fought for anything in his life. At least it had made divorce relatively pain free. Phil had simply eased out of her life as calmly and good naturedly as he’d entered it all those years ago. He saw the boys whenever he wanted to, remaining a special friend to her, and a great, if rather lax, dad to them.

  ‘The Jessie I knew fifteen years ago.’ Annabel’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘The Jessie who dragged me out of the house and into the clubs of Oxford on a Tuesday night just because she fancied a wild night out and Phil was watching the football. That Jessie would be bouncing up and down with excitement right now.’

  ‘I know. But I’m not that girl any more.’

  ‘You are. Divorce and motherhood haven’t changed you, they’ve just dimmed your light a little.’

  ‘A kind way of saying I’m old and knackered.’

  Annabel hissed in exasperation. ‘I’m saying the exact opposite of that. You’re in your mid-thirties. The prime of your life. It has to be, because you’re the same age as me and I’m certainly not ready to succumb to middle age. You, Jessie Simmons, are still young enough to find that wild again. This is your moment. A week away from being a mum. A week away from being a pharmacist. John’s going to miss the heck out of you, mind.’

  Jessie rolled her eyes at her friend’s unsubtle dig. ‘Only because the pharmacist covering for me is sixty-two and can’t cope with the computer system.’

  ‘If you want to keep telling yourself your boss doesn’t fancy the pants off you, go right ahead. But don’t try and kid me. I’ve seen the way his spaniel eyes follow you round.’

  And truthfully, so had Jessie. John didn’t make her pulse race though, and after years of pleasant, and nice, the last thing she needed was another helping of the same.

  Instead of beige, she wanted vibrant, bold. Exhilarating. She longed for that lightning bolt of desire that made sensible people go crazy, just for the sheer thrill of it.

  Oh God, the train was slowing. ‘Help, I think I’m here.’

  Annabel snorted. ‘Stop panicking. You’re going to have a ball. And if you don’t bloody well enjoy it I’ll… I’ll…’ She huffed down the phone line. ‘I’ll be really cross with you.’

  Jessie burst out laughing. ‘Oh well, in that case, I’ll be sure to have a ball.’

  The train screeched noisily into the station and Jessie’s heart let out a loud thump, her hands trembling as she reached for her suitcase – her flipping heavy suitcase. Why had she let Annabel persuade her into spending a month’s salary on a tonne of new clothes?

  You can’t spend a week with a millionaire singer looking like a mum on the school run.

  Maybe not, but Jessie was that mum, and no amount of snazzy new clothes were going to change it.

  As Jessie struggled with carrying her case along the platform, Michael’s chauffeur-driven Bentley glided to a halt outside the hotel he’d been booked into – all The Week of Your Life team had been booked into the same hotel, apparently. He’d have preferred to stay in his apartment, but the place was having a thorough overhaul, thanks to an untimely leak from the apartment above that had totally ruined his kitchen and part of the living area. If it had happened a week later, he’d have been on tour. As it was, not only did he have to get through a tortuous singing competition, he had to do it living out of a hotel room.

  To say he wasn’t looking forward to the week was a blinding understatement. Given the option of spending it singing on a cruise ship instead, he’d currently be heading to Southampton Docks. And that was knowing the last time he’d been on a boat he’d been so seasick, he’d spent the entire crossing sitting on deck in the pissing rain, staring out at the horizon.

  ‘Cheer up. You’re not on your way to the gallows. Just a few days singing with a pretty lady.’ Robert, his manager and best friend – not a combination Michael would recommend to anyone, as it was far too hard to say no – grinned over at him as they walked into the hotel reception.

  ‘I didn’t say she was pretty.’

  Robert raised an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t say much at all, which was why I decided to ask Stuart to give me the rundown on your partner for the week. Jessica – goes by Jessie – Simmons, thirty-six. Single. Pharmacist and mum to two boys. Very pretty, according to her photograph.’

  Michael kept quiet, refusing to be drawn into Robert’s trap. The guy was always matchmaking for him. Just because Robert was happily married, he thought everyone else should be. Michael had lost count of the number of times he’d reiterated to his blissed-up friend that he had zero desire to take the same path. He’d tried love once and it hadn’t worked for him. He didn’t feel the need to repeat the experience.

  They checked in, the woman on the reception desk giving him the same insincere smile she gave Robert. Clearly not a fan, which was exactly how he liked it. It was the women who blushed and stammered, or worse, batted their eyelids and pushed up their cleavage, he had a hard time dealing with. Formal and distant, he was an expert at.

  The pair of them made their way to Michael’s suite. Michael, because he wanted to settle in before he had to meet his partner for the week and Robert…

  ‘Remind me again what you’re doing here, apart from bugging me?’ Michael asked his friend as he pushed open the door to his suite, his eyes casually flicking over the decor.

  A sofa and modern fireplace in the sitting area, with fancy curtains framing French windows that opened to a balcony overlooking the Thames. As it was the end of January, he had no intention of going out on it. To the right was a door leading to a large bedroom complete with super king-sized bed. Standard five-star suite accommodation. He’d stayed in so many hotels over the years it no longer had the ability to stir him.

  ‘I’m here to talk about your tour, Mikey boy.’ Michael winced at the nickname Robert insisted on using, thankfully only in private. ‘We’ve got a teleconference with the publicist scheduled in fifteen minutes and I thought we might as well do it together.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Plus, I wanted to keep a check on you regarding the week ahead,’ Robert added with a smirk. ‘You were so against doing this show, I had to make sure you didn’t duck out at the last minute.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Michael dropped his case onto the bed and began to pull out his clothes, hanging them in the wardrobe not because he was meticulously tidy, but for something to do. Anything to take his mind away from the ordeal waiting for him.

  Robert sighed, slumping onto the sofa. ‘Come on. I know this isn’t really your thing—’

  ‘Not my thing?’ Michael jammed the hanger onto the rail with tight, jerky movements. ‘It’s about as far as it’s possible to get from being my thing.’

  ‘I know.�
� The understanding in Robert’s voice helped deflate some of Michael’s anger. ‘But we’ve spoken about this and I think it will be good for you. An opportunity to show your fans a little more of the real you.’

  ‘That’s not who they want to see.’

  Robert stared back at him. ‘How can you be so sure? You’re more of an introvert than they might believe. So what? Is that so terrible?’

  Once again Michael kept quiet. Even Robert, who’d been to school with him, didn’t fully understand Michael’s unease around people. He wasn’t just shy, he was painfully shy. Who wants to be friends with a boy who sings? That had been his childhood. Isolated, apart from Robert. It meant that even now, he hated talking to people he didn’t know. Sure, he could smile and sign an autograph, but anything more and he became ridiculously uptight.

  Which meant he was in for a week of torture. And his popularity was likely to plummet. How Robert could look him in the eye and tell him the show would be good for him, he had no bloody idea.

  ‘Anyway, it’s all great publicity for the tour,’ Robert continued, correctly sensing Michael wasn’t in the mood to discuss the blasted show any further. ‘We’re lining up a series of interviews on the back of it, which I’m sure you’ll look forward to with your usual unbridled enthusiasm.’

  Michael shot his friend a dark look. ‘I can sack you, you know,’ he pointed out mildly.

  ‘But you won’t, because nobody else would put up with you. Is Georgina going to be around?’ Robert added, before Michael could come up with a snappy retort. ‘You’re going to be busy over the next week and I want to make sure you don’t drop too many balls.’

  Georgina was Michael’s new PA. When he said new, she’d been with him for a couple of months now, replacing Mary who’d presumably retired so she could drive her husband mad instead of Michael. The man had Michael’s heartfelt sympathy. Georgina was different to Mary in every respect; efficiency, age, manner, looks. Mary’s efficiency had been… haphazard was a polite word for it. Georgina’s was like a Swiss clock. Mary had worn cardigans, sensible shoes and wool skirts that covered her varicose veins. Georgina was a fan of skirts that barely covered her bottom, lethal looking stilettoes and low-cut tops.

  Some days Michael didn’t know where to look.

  ‘Georgie will be flitting in and out. She’s already scheduled an interview and photo shoot for this week. Something I may have encouraged,’ Michael admitted a touch shamefaced.

  Robert gaped, obviously trying not to laugh. And failing. ‘You’ve what?’

  And yes, his life was pretty much screwed when the thought of a photo shoot interrupting his day was something to be cheered. ‘You heard. I’m not spending all day, every day, with this Jessica woman.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shouldn’t we be dialling into this conference call?’

  ‘Not so fast.’ Robert took out his phone, giving his messages a brief scan before smirking over at Michael. ‘What’s with the Georgie?’

  Michael winced, wishing he had a friend who wasn’t quite so switched on. ‘She’s asked me to call her that.’ Did he sound too defensive?

  One look at Robert’s glinting dark eyes told him he had. ‘Next, she’ll be asking you to call her babe, or sweetheart. Probably while she’s undoing your trousers.’

  Michael abandoned searching for a witty reply, settling instead for a crude, but very satisfying, middle finger.

  The call took longer than either of them anticipated. Michael kept glancing at his watch, knowing he was running late. As he couldn’t abide lateness in others, he motioned to Robert that he needed to pop out, and ducked into the bedroom to phone Georgina. And yes, he found it much easier to think of her as that, than the overly familiar Georgie.

  ‘Would you do me a favour and head over to the studio to meet Jessica? Explain that I’m stuck in a meeting but I’ll be there as quick as I can.’

  ‘Your wish is my every command, sir,’ Georgina replied, and Michael could visualise her giving him a mock salute. It hadn’t taken him long to realise she wasn’t the type of girl who hung on his every word. She had a very definite mind of her own and wasn’t afraid to show it. It was why he was scared to death of what her short hemlines – and Robert’s playful dig – might suggest. He’d slept with enough women over the years to know there were only two reasons they were attracted to him. His fame… and his fortune.

  He was so damn tired of it all. And if that made him sound old and jaded, well maybe he was.

  Chapter Three

  Jessie was overawed by her hotel room. Admittedly her previous experience was limited to Holiday Inn Express and a dodgy three-star concrete jungle in Spain. Still, at least now she knew what five stars gave you. A bed so big it would take days for couples to find each other and a view that didn’t overlook a car park. Cotton sheets so unwrinkled they must have been ironed. Oh and a bathroom boasting expensive tumbled marble tiles, miniature smellies she actually wanted to use, a sunken bathtub and a walk-in shower.

  The shower even had a pulsing spray, and not the weak trickle her ex-husband plumber still hadn’t sorted, despite a year of nagging. I’ll get round to it was Phil’s stock reply to any job she asked him to do.

  Following her invigorating shower, she changed into a vibrant pink shirt, a pair of simple but well fitting black jeans – part of her ‘new’ collection – and scrunch dried her hair.

  It was time to meet Michael Tennant.

  Her heart was beating like a drum as she walked over to the mirror to give herself a final study.

  He’s just a man, she reminded herself.

  A boring one with bad breath, if her sons were to be believed.

  Squaring her shoulders, she gave herself a critical appraisal. Not bad, considering what she had to work with. Hopes of morphing into Angelina Jolie had vanished a long time ago. A pair of hazel eyes not too tired looking, curly brown hair not too frizzy. A wide mouth painted in lipstick that matched her shirt, and also claimed to plump her lips. Wrinkles… well, okay, those were there to stay, but didn’t they add character? Or was that something only men were allowed?

  All in all, she didn’t look bad for a mid-thirties mother of two.

  Time to take a few teetering steps on the wild side.

  A short taxi ride later she walked purposefully into the studio. Head held high, hips trying to remember the sway they’d once had, curls bouncing. Yes, she’d caught sight of her reflection in the huge glass windows and there was definitely some bounce.

  Her steps faltered at the sight of Tegan – twenty-two-year-old pop-star mentor to one of the male contestants.

  Tegan wore thigh high, black patent boots and a thin strip of material around her waist that was possibly a skirt. Immediately Jessie’s jeans felt too dull, the pink blouse as if she was trying too hard.

  But you’re not the celebrity, she reminded herself. She was here to represent the ordinary woman. One who couldn’t sing, and who didn’t look like she’d just walked off a slick pop video.

  Taking several deep breaths, which did little to calm her nerves, she went in search of her rehearsal room where Michael, so she’d been informed, would be waiting for her.

  Her hand shook like crazy as she knocked on the door. Why hadn’t she gone via the ladies to check her eyeliner wasn’t halfway down her cheek? And her lipstick wasn’t all over her teeth.

  Too late now, because a voice from inside told her to come in. A female voice.

  ‘Oh, err, I think I’ve got the wrong room,’ Jessie stammered as she pushed the door open.

  ‘No, this is the right room, Jessica.’ A sleek-looking blonde gave her a cool smile. ‘I’m Georgina, Michael’s personal assistant.’

  Jessie didn’t miss the way Georgina’s eyes skimmed over her, weighing her up. ‘Michael is running a bit late,’ Georgina continued in her crisp, cultured voice. ‘He asked me to meet up with you first.’

  Deciding to give as good as she got, Jessie returned Georgina’s stare, her eyes sweeping across the classica
lly beautiful face, framed by silky, straight blonde hair. She hated people who judged by appearances, yet here she was, feeling an instant dislike. Was it anything to do with Georgina having hair Jessie would have sold her soul for twenty years ago? Or was it the younger woman’s firm, trim – and no doubt stretch mark free – figure?

  ‘While we’re waiting, Jessica, let me go through a few things you need to be aware of. Michael is an extremely busy man, as I’m sure you’ll understand. His priority right now isn’t this little competition, but the promotion of his upcoming world tour. Your sessions will need to fit around that.’

  And now Jessie had her answer. Georgina might be younger, with glorious hair and a body to die for, but the reason she wasn’t going to like her was because she was a stuck-up little madam.

  ‘Actually, I go by Jessie, not Jessica. As for Michael’s tour, I understand that’s a priority, but he agreed to take part in this show, so he’ll need to find a way to manage his time with me alongside his other commitments.’

  ‘Actually, Jessie,’ Georgina countered, with heavy emphasis, ‘I’m in charge of Michael’s diary, so I’ll be the one managing his time. Currently he has an interview for a magazine tomorrow morning, and a photo shoot scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. You can use the free time to practice. You need it more than he does.’

  Jessie was saved the trouble of finding a clever retort by the entrance of the singer himself.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. You must be, Jessica. I’m Michael,’ he said needlessly, extending his hand in a formal introduction.

  Jessie had an instant impression of height, breadth and a pair of cool blue eyes. She’d heard it mentioned that celebrities who seemed larger than life on the television were often reduced to mere ordinariness in real life. Not Michael Tennant. His presence dominated the room, making everything else, even Georgina, fade into the background. He was, quite simply, stunning. Wearing a steel-grey shirt and dark trousers, he was every inch as beautiful as she remembered from hours spent watching him on the television.