The stage dominated the center of the far wall. It wasn’t very big, and was only raised about four feet, so your most rabid fans would get a good look at shoes, legs, and depending how tall they were or weren’t, a pretty straight-on eyeful of what lay at the top of the tight trousers. But they’d all be looking up? Right? I smiled. Maybe not. The sexual buzz of the musician. Despite all my anxiety, I still felt the potential energy. What had some band said in an interview? That they felt they had done their job if people danced around and were happy, and went home together to fuck. Something like that. I had to focus on the happy of it all, or I’d be the wallflower at the party. And that wasn’t how I wanted to come across.
There were roadies finishing the set-up—there was no break down and move forward, because Tristan was the only person playing tonight—no lead-on band. There were two massive stacks of speakers on either side of the stage, which also effectively blocked the audience’s view of backstage, which had to hurt to stand next to. Well, I’d be finding out if my ears would start bleeding. That is, unless I took the journalist way out, and perched myself up in the private balcony over at the other end of the room. I’d still get a decent view, and no moshing, I thought. I thought of his face, the strange expression as he kissed me goodbye, when he had left this morning to do interviews. But he wants you there. Right? The argument continued in my head as I did my sweep of the room. Somebody was already up in the press balcony, maybe I’d go up there and talk to them, buy some time. And over there, near the stage, with a small group of fans watching her laugh and snap her hair over her shoulder was the tall blonde. So that was the ex. I’d seen pictures, of course, but she’d always looked kind of wasted, grabbing on to Tristan, not the platinum Hollywood goddess she appeared to be now. I wondered if he really knows she’s here, I thought. I hadn’t seen him around. No. Must be backstage. I wondered if it would be breaking some kind of protocol to go back there and find him, and decided to wait and see before I ran to him, all needy.
I was watching her chat animatedly to some record company people, when there was suddenly a tap on my shoulder. I jumped and let out a strangled scream as I twisted around, fists up.
“Commando training, Lily?” Trevor’s laconic clipped voice was sarcastic, but his eyes were bright with amusement. Maybe he’d be an ally after all, in this fucking mess.
“I thought you were James. Or Dave. Lucky for you I’m so controlled.” I turned back to the growing crowd. If anyone had noticed, they’d looked away.
Trevor laughed. “So it won’t just be Tristan giving the show.”
I snorted. “No, probably not. And while we are on the subject of violence, do you know James Max?”
Trevor closed his eyes briefly. “Nasty little man. But tenacious, like a terrier. I’m afraid I’m to blame for his presence in Tristan’s life. Why?”
I felt oddly uncaring about putting sensible limits on what I wanted to say. “One, he dislikes me. Or he does now, after I slapped him when he tried to come on to me. Drew blood. Don’t think ‘sorry’ will fix that.”
Trevor threw a dark smile in my direction. “When will I learn to not do the washing up before I come out?” He paused. “Is there a two, or was the one for effect only?”
Clever motherfucker. I found myself almost liking him again. “There might even be a three. So impatient. And you might know something about number two.” I sighed. “I am pretty sure that James invited the ex-wife.”
Trevor raised his eyebrows. “Really? And what gave you that impression? Did he tell you before or after you tortured him?”
“Oh, he’d know if I tortured him.” I really wasn’t in the mood for endless chat. “But I saw him greet her at the line and invite her in. Then he told me who she was, and that Tristan wanted her here.”
Trevor’s face was unreadable. “Strange. Very strange. But I can’t pretend to know what goes on his mind anymore, if I ever did. I suppose the two of us will just have to wait for further updates from the front.” He must have seen the expression on my face, because he slid a protective arm around my waist. “Come my dear. Generally these events have a free bar for the likes of us. I’m sure a strengthener won’t hurt your lethal right hook either.”
I let him lead me through the crowd that seemed to have increased exponentially while we were talking. They must be letting in the line, I thought, and hoped Nick and Sarah would fend for themselves if they turned up. Or when they turned up, Sarah no doubt arrayed in something vaguely obscene. Suddenly I felt very underdressed. I’d gone with the leather trousers. I should have worn the dress. Men like tight dresses. Maybe I should go blonde.
Trevor tightened his grip slightly as he felt me grow distracted. “Oh no, Lily. A drink with me before you go off to your duties. Did you get a chance to mention lunch to the star?”
We were at the bar now. We showed our wristbands and the bartender nodded. “A gin and tonic for me, Hendricks if you have it, Tanqueray if you don’t. Lily?”
“Scotch,” I muttered, “single malt if they have it, anything if it’s just the regular stuff.”
“And a good scotch with water on the side for the lady.” Trevor turned to me. “Would you prefer something else?”
I shook my head. “No, that sounds fine. I could use something stronger, thank you. And I did mention it to him. He seemed ok with it.”
Trevor watched the bartender pour the drinks. “Make them doubles, please.” The bartender turned around, and nodded, then added another shot to each glass. “Always the driven star. Nothing matters except the music. And maybe you?” He raised his glass to mine. “Take a big drink, my dear, we’re about to go over and say hello to his ex-wife.”
I choked on the sip I was taking and tried to cover up my coughing fit by trying to drink more while holding my breath. Trevor looked down at me, concerned. I managed to stop coughing, then raised my glass to him, and took a long swallow. The classic burning warmth, moved through me, both comforting and igniting. “Trevor. I’m your girl. Let’s go.”
He smiled, but placed a pale restraining hand on my arm. “We need to pick our moment, dear. Talk to me about, I don’t know, thread count, while I watch.”
Obediently, I blathered on about hotels, and sheets, and decor, hardly listening to what I was saying, as we both watched the crowd. She was behind me, so I also watched his face. I had a feeling that when he decided it was time to move, we’d have to be quick. His eyes were darting around the crowd. Occasionally someone would approach him, timidly, and he would smile, that oddly vampiric smile, and pull out his iPhone and made a few taps on the screen. For all anyone knew, he could be ordering groceries. He probably was. The person would then withdraw, practically moving backwards, out of the presence. It was fairly incredible to watch.
By now the place was nearly filled. It had to be almost showtime. Whatever we were going to do was going to have to happen soon. I tried to look around for Sarah and Nick, but there were so many people, individuals were hard to pick out. Poppy was bound to be here somewhere as well. I was surprised none of them had found us. I glanced back up at Trevor. There was a certain tension in his expression, and I felt sure our moment, whatever that meant, was about to come. I added some water, swirled the scotch around in my glass, and drank off what was left. Just as I swallowed, Trevor tapped my arm. “Let’s go. Let me do the talking.”
I gave his arm a little squeeze. I don’t know why. But I didn’t look up at him. I felt we both were going through mental preparations of some kind. What was he going to say? Would he introduce me? He’d have to, really, it’d be weird if he didn’t. We might not even get that far. I schooled my expression into some kind of blank, benign carelessness, or at least I hoped that’s what it looked like, and wished I could get away with wearing sunglasses all the time. We were only a few steps away from her, and although she was talking animatedly to a man in a pinstriped shirt and vest with a tight salt and pepper ponytail, who looked vaguely like the guy from Status Quo, she began turning towa
rds us as we approached. Maybe she could feel the waves of tension like some force field coming off me, at least. Trevor always seemed to part the crowd as he moved, a little like Tristan, so maybe it was that. Was I wrong, or did I catch a slight nervous hesitation as she spotted Trevor, only noticeable because of the sudden change to blinding smile? She hadn’t even really looked at me, but that was normal—women like that never really looked at other women unless they were sizing up the competition. I wasn’t blonde, or in high heels, or carefully made up or really any of the things that might make her feel threatened. But I was here, and I was with Trevor, and I didn’t really give a fuck anymore, especially after the inhaled double whisky, and not caring was the most dangerous pose of all. So she might have to notice me anyway, I thought.
Trevor spoke first. “Alixe, what a surprise. How delightful to see you after all this time. I thought you hated London.” He smiled, she smiled. It was obvious they despised each other. Trevor turned to me. “Have you met Lily Taylor? She’s writing a piece on Tristan for The Core magazine. She’s been interviewing everyone who had something to do with Devised. Perhaps you’d deign to give her a brief run-down of your…involvement with the different members of the band?” He smiled again, artlessly, like someone who’s hoping to hide the fact they just made a really good move in chess that won’t pan out for another few turns.
I stuck out my hand, the innocent abroad. As if. “Pleasure to meet you, Alixe. I’ve heard so much about you.” Trevor snorted. She stared at my hand as though it were covered in blood, which actually, not that long ago, it was. I wondered if James had told her how he’d come by his little accident.
“Trevor, darling. Lovely to see you.” She nodded at me as though I weren’t there. “Lily. Hello. Don’t think I’ve read any of your work. Sorry.” She turned her body towards Trevor, so I could now admire the backs of her arms. Had she had lipo? Surely one couldn’t have army grade triceps and giant boobs at the same time. The magic of Hollywood. Her voice suddenly went up an octave for absolutely no reason. “But Trevor! Hanging around with journalists? How the mighty have fallen. You must be scripting the story.” She turned her high-wattage smile on me. “So lucky to have a little help.”
I knew Trevor had told me to let him talk, but I wasn’t going to stand there. “I am very lucky. But as Humphrey Bogart said, I make my own luck. And as you’ve been able to watch lots of movies in Hollywood, if nothing else, I’m sure you know that one.” I smiled at her.
She looked momentarily irritated, but it was gone in a nanosecond. I pressed my advantage. “I’d love to interview you for the article as well. Naturally, you and Tristan would have final approval on whatever I wrote before it went to press, unless you’d rather make a statement off the record. Any lingering regrets?” I felt, rather than saw Trevor’s warning look, and I stopped. That was enough anyway.
“Oh talking shop. At a concert. Boring. I’ll have someone contact you.” She dismissed me, turning her head back towards Trevor and running her long nails through her hair. “But Trevor, a real treat to see you.” She turned to go.
Trevor coughed. “Alixe—why are you here? I’m sure I recall telling you to avoid anywhere within 1000 miles of Tristan. Or have you forgotten about the cellulite showing in that very exposed picture you sent of your frolics with his best friend, in the love nest you no longer own? Your ass does look magnificent now. And it will look even better in your first-class seat heading west back over the Atlantic.” He smiled again.
She shook her hair so that it fell over her shoulders. “Oh Trevor, that’s all old history. Old. Paul wanted to see Tristan. And Tristan said to bring me. He’s obviously forgotten all about it. We’re all just very very good friends now.”
Trevor snapped at her. “Who told you Tristan wanted you here? Have you spoken to him yet?”
She waved her hand towards the stage. “Oh dear, does it matter? No, I haven’t seen him yet. Paul’s backstage now.”
Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Vultures at feeding time? No, my mistake. Vultures wait for things to die first. Maybe you ran out of money? I hear plastic surgery is so expensive these days.”
“That must be why you haven’t had any, Trevor.”
He laughed. “Alixe, so happy to know that your values are still as sterling as ever. What does Paul want with Tristan?”
“He’s one of his oldest friends, Trevor.” She waited for his acknowledgment, but nothing came. He just stood there, still like a stone. It was intimidating, and I had the impression she was beginning to feel the chill. “We’ll watch the concert, Tristan will clear all this misunderstanding up afterwards.” She turned away, and then looked over her shoulder at Trevor for one last missile. “You’re getting too sensitive these days. Must be the lousy company you’re keeping.”
I started towards her, but Trevor’s arm went around me. “Your limited understanding, Alixe, was always what made sure you remained strictly a horizontal extra. But we’ll see,” he said, turned away, with his hand spread firmly across my rib cage, both an odd comfort and a warning. We headed back to the bar, where once again, he managed to find a place for us almost immediately, and he ordered us another round. I’d walked with him placidly enough to the bar, but as soon as his hand released me, I started to turn and head back to the stage.
Trevor grabbed my hand and tugged me back towards him. “Don’t do it love. Tristan won’t like it. She’ll love it. She’s obviously heard rumours. Lose this battle gracefully, win the war effortlessly. A little more confidence, my dear. She’s trash. You should know that by now.” I was staring at the bar, tracing an indent in the varnish covering the wood. He handed me my drink, and put his hand on my shoulder, which made me look up at him. His eyes looked sad, and I felt like an idiot. Foolish. But an angry fool. I raised my glass to him, and took a sip.
“Why should I trust you? Why?”
Trevor chuckled, which was the last thing I was expecting. My fist clenched up. I could just walk out of here, I thought, and leave all these monsters to their ball. “Lily, trust no one. That’s my best advice. But in this, I am thoroughly on your side, for reasons that elude my complete understanding as well.”
I glanced towards the stage. Tristan. The concert was going to start. He had wanted me here.
Trevor followed my look. “I’ll say please if it will make you reconsider. Please. Don’t walk out.”
I said nothing, and drank more of the whisky. My head felt heavy. The party atmosphere around me seemed miles away. I tried to speak. “Trevor…”
“He needs you, darling. He needs someone. If there’s a void, you’ll have just paved the way for Sindy doll over there.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Sindy doll?”
“Oh, I keep forgetting you’re a Yank. That’s quite a compliment to you. Barbie, dear.”
I tried to laugh. The place was packed, and the temperature had gone up noticeably. Maybe it was the drink. “He told me he wanted me here.”
“Then believe him. Finish your drink, we’ll go down the front. Two pairs of friendly, watchful eyes.”
I chugged the rest.
“Easy, girl. Let’s stay upright. Come on.” We left the bar and tried to navigate a path through the crowd. The roadies were finishing up the last minute adjustments to the guitars, taping the setlist down, checking the levels. Tristan would be backstage, getting ready. I hoped he was getting a minute alone, he told me he liked having a quiet moment before it all “cracked open” during the interview. I looked around for Alixe—Sindy doll. She was still out front, that was both good and bad. No sign of Paul, though I wasn’t entirely sure I’d recognize him in his current configuration. We managed to get right to the front, thanks to a few people moving aside, evidently out of respect for Trevor. I was glad to see they didn’t give up their places entirely; we were all just jammed in a little bit closer. The old excitement was bubbling up, the thrill of knowing your heroes were going to be on stage in a moment, the animal pressure of the crowd making
everything sweaty and immediate. I looked away from the stage, up at Trevor, and followed his gaze. He was watching the side door to the stage. It swung open, and out came a guy who looked like he must be Paul. And Dave. Now that was interesting. What the hell was he up to? They shrunk into the corner. And then, almost on cue, the lights went down. Instantly the crowd began screaming, whistling. It was total blackness, except for the little red lights on the amps, and the eerie glow that was the stage light for the performers. The clouds of dry ice started, and then I really couldn’t see, drums disappearing then re-emerging as the currents of air, rising on the heat of all the bodies, moved it around. The cheering grew even louder, and a guy yelled out, “Tristan, man, I love you!” Then the steady clapping started, speeding up, like some kind of football match. I could just make out the band coming on stage, strapping on the instruments, readying themselves. Then the guitarist playing a note progression, just six notes, but more and more rapidly until the entire thing was like a screaming blur. Then Tristan loped onto the stage, waving to the crowd, and the entire mass of people surged forward. I was pressed against the barrier, and I pushed back a little so I could breathe. It was insanity.
Tristan twisted the mike out of the stand, and murmured “hello London…you motherfuckers!” Everyone yelled back. And then crowd swept forward again, just to be even closer, and the whistling was deafening. I could see him smile, just a little. And he turned and nodded to the band, and raised his hand. “All right boys and girls! Let’s do this!” His arm sliced through the air, and slapped his jean covered thigh just as the rapid fire drum opening of “Broken Window” started. Nothing mattered anymore except the perfection of the beat, the howling guitar, the sultry smile on Tristan’s face that made you feel he was into it as much as you were. Then he started singing, every nuance of every word, every meaning you could get out of it, the smartness, the consciousness behind it slapping up against the intense beat. It was amazing, fantastic—I didn’t even have to pretend that I thinking about anything but this. Nothing fucking mattered. I had the impression that Trevor was watching me, studying the expressions on my face, seeing me dancing around, but I didn’t care. Let him think I was a groupie. Maybe that’s really all I was.
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