by Sue Margolis
“I know.” She smiled. “I feel the same.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Frank, are you sure our relationship isn’t some kind of rebound thing for you? I mean, this isn’t just some kind of transitional thing, is it? I’m not just filling in the gap until you find somebody you really care for?”
He started laughing. “Christ, where did that come from?”
“Cass read this article in Cosmo. Apparently I should run a mile now and wait until you’ve had your transitional relationship and only then should I make my move.”
He grabbed her arm. “Stephanie, you are going nowhere. Understand?”
“Yeah. Got it.” It occurred to her that this might be the time for her to tell him she was falling in love with him, but aware that she didn’t want to put too much pressure on him or come across as even more needy than she’d probably just appeared, she held back.
By now he had started kissing her. Her body quivered as he slipped his hand under her top and she felt his warm skin on hers. “I want you,” he whispered urgently. She wanted him too. Desperately. But she knew she couldn’t sleep with him. Not yet. Not until the Albert situation was resolved.
“Look,” she said, pulling away slightly, “there’s something I should tell you.” Her own sexual frustration aside, she wasn’t too bothered about telling him the reason why she couldn’t sleep with him. Frank would understand. After all, she was only asking him to hang on for a few more days. Maybe she could even sell it to him as prolonged foreplay.
“Oh God, you’re going to tell me I’ve got halitosis or something.”
She laughed and said he knew perfectly well he didn’t have halitosis. “You remember ages ago when you asked me about Jake’s father?” He nodded. “Well, a few weeks ago he asked me to marry him.” Frank stood frowning, gathering his thoughts. “I’m assuming you said no.”
“Not exactly.”
“Ah,” Frank said by way of understatement.
“No, no. You don’t understand.” God, she was messing this up. “I’m planning to say no. It’s just that I haven’t quite said it yet. It’s complicated.” She explained about Albert being in Berlin thinking there was still a possibility she was going to agree to marry him and how it wouldn’t feel right sleeping with Frank until she’d told Albert the truth. “He’ll be back in a few days. I’ll tell him then and everything will be fine.”
“Will it?” he said. She could feel the hurt in his voice.
“Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?”
He went over to the sofa and sat down, making her feel strangely abandoned. “It seems to me that you haven’t sorted out your feelings for Albert. If you had, you wouldn’t have let him go to Berlin without getting this thing sorted.” She explained that she’d tried, but Frank wasn’t impressed. “And now you’re stringing both of us along.” She was so shocked by the suggestion that she didn’t speak for a few moments. She sat down next to him on the sofa. “Frank,” she said, “I am not stringing you along.” Her voice was soft and steady. She was determined to make him believe her. Then the most appalling thought occurred to her. She asked him if he was finishing with her. He shook his head and managed a half-smile. “No, of course I’m not,” he said. “That’s the last thing I want to do. On the other hand, I think you need to take some time to sort out how you really feel. We can’t be together until you’re certain.”
“But I am certain,” she pleaded. “You have to believe me.” He looked back at her. She could see by his face that his mind was made up and that there was no arguing with him. She stood up to go. She felt like a child being dismissed from the headmaster’s study with instructions to go away and reflect on her wrongdoings.
“By the way,” he said as she reached the door. “Good luck for tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice trembling.
Chapter 15
Stephanie lay in bed, cursing herself for being so stupid and naive. Frank was bound to think she still had feelings for Albert. It was the most logical thing to think. Anybody looking at the situation from the outside would come to the same conclusion. And he would be right. She did still have feelings for Albert. The point was, of course, that those feelings didn’t come close to what she felt for Frank. She knew she should have stayed and forced Frank to hear her out, but she had been so shocked by his reaction that her mind hadn’t been functioning properly.
Two hours later, still wide awake, she got up and made some hot milk. Then she remembered she had some herbal sleeping tablets in the medicine cabinet. Although they looked like hamster food pellets and smelled strongly of cheesy socks, she managed to get a couple down with the milk. Miraculously she dropped off.
The second she woke up, she thought about phoning Frank to have another go at persuading him that he’d gotten it all wrong, but she knew it would do no good. She absolutely refused to be defeated, though. In a few days Albert would be back, they would have the big conversation and everything would sort itself out. She just had to hang on.
Chalk Farm Studio, where she was recording the songs for Peggy, was in a converted warehouse near Camden Lock. She arrived dead on eight, as per Ossie’s instructions. She was almost as nervous as she had been for the audition. Over the years she’d been in umpteen recording studios to do backing vocals or advertising jingles, so from a technical point of view she knew what to expect. On the other hand, this would be the first time she’d performed solo with a full-size orchestra. Everybody, from the musicians to the producer and engineers, would have his attention fixed on her. That was the scary bit.
A blade-thin girl with spiky blue hair and bum cleavage showed her into the control room. Ossie and Sidney Doucette were already there, sitting next to each other on a leather sofa. Ossie’s legs were stretched out in front of him, his tiny brogues barely reaching the edge of the seat. The two men were drinking coffee out of Starbucks cups. Behind the console, an engineer with a voice to match his huge beer gut was twisting back and forth on his swivel chair, apparently telling Ossie and Sidney his life story. “And after I stopped working for Motorhead, I spent five years as a roadie for Anal Wig.”
Sidney, who was displaying more than a little Southern discomfort at the mention of anal wigs, seemed particularly relieved to see Stephanie. He leaped up to greet her. “Well, pick my peas, Miss Stephanie, aren’t you as perty as a speckled pup?” Then he strode over, ostentatiously took her hand and kissed it.
“Hi, Mr. Doucette.”
“Now then, young lady,” he said giving the back of her hand a couple of avuncular taps, “we don’t stand on ceremony here. It’s Sidney. Please.”
“OK, Sidney.” She waved hello to Ossie. Then Sidney introduced her to the engineer, whose name was Graham. Just then Sidney’s mobile went. He excused himself and went outside to take the call.
She sat down next to Ossie, who was pulling a sheaf of papers out of a large brown envelope. It was her contract. “I’ve been through it. Sid’s signed his bit. All we need is your signature and maybe Graham here could witness it.”
A few minutes later she’d signed the contract along with the confidentiality agreement and Ossie was assuring her that the first thousand-pound payment would be in her bank account by Friday. It was a huge relief. She’d gone well over her overdraft limit this month and it would spare her having to make yet another cringing call to Kevin at the bank, begging him to give her time to get her account straight.
“I’m really looking forward to dinner tonight,” Ossie said after Graham disappeared through the connecting door into the studio. What with the confusion and emotional havoc caused by the Albert/Frank situation, Stephanie hadn’t given much more thought to her date with Ossie until she was driving to the studio. She’d toyed with the idea of telling him that her personal life was desperately complicated just now and that there was no possibility of her starting a new relationship. In the end she’d decided that telling him the truth was her only option. This, of course, was far easier said than done. What was the kind, t
actful way of saying “I don’t fancy you because you’re three foot nine”? Somehow between now and tonight, she had to find one.
“Me too,” she said.
“Great. Fantastic.” She was aware that he seemed slightly fidgety and nervous. The realization that Ossie had a great deal of emotion invested in this date made her feel even worse about what she had to tell him.
Through the glass partition she could see the studio starting to fill up with musicians. She felt her stomach tighten as she watched them unpacking their instruments. There were blokes with saxophones, trumpets and trombones, and a couple of slightly drippy girls tuning their violins. In the middle of the studio stood a shiny grand piano. At the back Graham was helping to set up some drums. “God,” Stephanie said, “how did Sidney convince all these people to go along with this scam?”
“Look at them,” Ossie said. “Not one of them is over twenty-five. They’re all young and hungry.”
“But what about Katherine? Why did she agree to it? She’s hardly hungry.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Her career’s in the toilet. Nobody wants to work with her. She’s just thrown one tantrum too many. On top of that, she’s made some bad financial investments and she’s in debt. You know she and Sidney are an item?” Stephanie said she had no idea. “Between you and me, I think she’s just after his money, but Sidney’s convinced it’s true love, daft old bugger.”
Just then Sidney came back into the control room, followed by a spindly chap with splayed gappy teeth and Art Garfunkel hair. Ossie winked at Stephanie and whispered: “See what happens when cousins marry.”
“Who is he?”
Ossie explained that he was Konstanty Novakovitch, the show’s musical director, who would be overseeing the recording. “Same deal as the musicians. Talented, unknown. Although he’s very big in Banja Luka.”
“Where’s that?”
“Bosnia.”
“Bosnia? You are joking. God, I knew this whole thing was doomed from the start. First, the average age of the band is twelve and a half and now the director has barely set foot outside the Balkans. Does he know anything about this kind of music?” Since she’d had her back to the two approaching men, she was unaware that they were now standing beside her.
“Actually, I know gret dill about this musics,” Konstanty Novakovitch said, looking distinctly offended by her remarks. “I am studying American jazz and blues five years at conservatory in Sarajevo. Miss Peggy Lee came to geev master class. Ver’ beautiful and talented woman.” Then he handed her a list of show songs and walked away in a huff.
“Don’t mind him.” Sidney laughed. “Artistic temperament. You’ll get to like him.”
Ossie said he had to get to the office and would meet her at the Jägerhütte in East Finchley at eight. After he’d gone, Sidney sat Stephanie down, patted her knee and thanked her for agreeing to take part in “mah little project.” Having just signed her contract, she wasn’t about to lecture him on the dishonest and deceitful nature of his little project. Instead she just smiled back at him. “You are a very talented singer, Stephanie,” he said. “You will get your proper reward one of these days. Mark mah words.”
Just then the bum cleavage receptionist came in with more coffee, pastries and a selection of newspapers. Sidney picked up the Daily Mail. K-Mart was beaming out from the front page. Stephanie watched Sidney’s face getting redder by the second. “Sidney? You OK?” He responded by throwing the paper onto the coffee table. Stephanie picked it up. It seemed that Katherine Martinez had thrown another of her famous tantrums. According to the article, she had taken one look at her dressing room at the Duke of Kent Theater, where Peggy was being staged, declared it shabby, filthy and dilapidated “like this whole goddamn country,” and demanded new carpet, furniture, and that it be repainted in soothing pastels. On top of this she insisted that the theater provide an ayurvedic masseur as well as a cranial osteopath. Apparently she had been so abusive to the theater manager that he had walked out on the spot.
Stephanie looked up to see Sidney stabbing at the numbers on his mobile.
“Oh, now then, sugar, what is all this ah’ve been reading? You know you only have to come to Daddy and ah will fix everything. Just tell me what you need and ah will see that it’s done … OK, you just stay calm now. ah will be right with you. Of course ah still love you, sugar. Of course you are beautiful. You are the most ravishing, radiant creature in the cosmos. Why, when ah looked at you in bed this morning, ah said to myself, ‘This woman’s beauty could charm the morning dew off the honeysuckle.’ ”
Sidney picked his coat up off the back of a chair. “She just gets a bit feisty when she’s nervous, that’s all.” He kissed Stephanie’s hand once again and said that even though Konstanty was Bosnian and uglier than a lard bucket full of armpits, he had every faith in him.
After he’d gone, Stephanie began looking over the list of songs Konstanty had given her. It was the first time she’d seen it. There were fifteen, ranging from the simpler arrangements like “Fever” to the big orchestral numbers like “Alright, OK, You Win” and “Big Spender.”
“You can manage them?” She looked up to see Konstanty standing by the engineer’s console, holding a cup of coffee.
She smiled. “Yes, I think so,” she said. “Look, I’m sorry I was rude with you before. I just don’t feel particularly at ease with this whole enterprise, that’s all.” Konstanty shrugged, giving her the impression he felt the same, but wasn’t prepared to discuss it.
Throughout the week she would run up against this attitude with all the musicians. Everybody knew that what he was doing was wrong, but nobody was prepared to admit it or talk about it, even among themselves. The truth would hang around the studio like some huge pink spotted elephant that everyone refused to acknowledge.
Konstanty sat down next to her and explained that they would run through each number at least three times and that the recording shouldn’t take that long, since the orchestra wasn’t actually being recorded.
“I don’t understand,” Stephanie said. “Why wouldn’t you record the orchestra?” He explained that the musicians couldn’t lip-synch and had to perform live onstage. Consequently it was only her vocal track that was needed. “The orchestra ees only here today to guide you, yes?”
An hour later everything was set up and she was standing at the mike as the trumpets and double bass kicked in with the intro to “Why Don’t You Do Right?” She must have sung it more than a hundred times at the Blues Café. Closing her eyes and trying to imagine it was just Dennis and the boys standing behind her, she felt the music and went with it.
As Sidney said she would, she found herself coming to rather like Konstanty. For a start, he really did seem to know his stuff. He stopped her if he thought a phrase was too clipped or he felt she’d breathed in the wrong place. He encouraged her to come to grips even more with “thee smoky yet laid-back sexualitee” of “Fever.” His criticism was always constructive, though, and he took care not to eat away at her confidence. As a result, by half past six they had laid down four tracks and decided to call it a day.
Along with everybody else, Stephanie had switched off her mobile during the recording session. As soon as she was outside the studio, she turned it back on. She had thirteen messages—all from her mother. It immediately occurred to her that something had happened to Lilly or, God forbid, Jake. She was just about to play the first one when Estelle phoned again. “Oh, thank God I’ve got you,” she said. Stephanie could practically hear her mother slapping her chest with relief. “I’ve been trying to get you all day.” Stephanie explained she’d had her phone switched off. “So, it all went OK?”
“Great. No problems. Mum, is everything OK?” Stephanie pulled her coat tightly across her against the wind and started walking to her car.
“Not really, no. I went to see your grandmother today. Anyway, when I arrived, Bernard was there.” Stephanie asked her what she thought of him. “Oh, he seemed nice enou
gh on the surface, I suppose.”
“So you brought up the Florida thing?”
“Of course. That’s what I went for.”
“Don’t tell me you lost your temper and blew the whole thing.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?” Stephanie said, opening the door of her car. “I’m amazed.”
“I waited until he’d gone. Then I lost my temper and blew the whole thing.”
“Ah.”
“I forbade her to go. She told me I couldn’t tell her how to live her life and then she said I should leave. Now we’re not speaking and your father’s furious with me. I know I should have handled it better, but she’s my mother. She’s old and I want to protect her.” Apparently, after the confrontation Estelle had been so distraught that she’d blown her diet by buying half a dozen cheese Danish and eaten the lot in one sitting.
“Don’t worry,” Stephanie soothed. “I’ll have another talk with Gran.” She gently revved the car engine to encourage the heater to come on. Then she dialed her grandmother’s number.
“Look, darling,” Lilly said, when Stephanie brought up the Florida situation, “this man is giving me the chance of a few years’ happiness. Aren’t I entitled to that?”
“Oh, Gran, of course you are. But we love you and worry about you. And we’re all going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too, especially Jake.”
