by KE Payne
It was everything I’d imagined it would be, and more, and as the song ended, Alex turned and hugged me, burying her head in my shoulder. Her skin was slick and glowing with sweat, hair damp from the sweat too, a heat radiating off her body as she held me in her arms and gabbled something in a voice so hoarse I couldn’t catch it. The crowd had erupted by this point, chanting our names, a pulsating wave of ten thousand cheers surrounding us, swamping us, and as Alex released me from her grip, she spoke again, much louder this time so I heard it.
She just said, Thank you.
*
I wished Nicole would go away. As we came offstage I swear I saw her again. Heard her. Felt her. She was asking me questions, wanting to know why Alex was onstage and not her. Bugging me to tell her why I’d found it so easy to connect with Alex, why I’d felt so comfortable onstage with her when I’d only known her for five minutes.
It was stupid. I was acting like Nicole was dead, like it was her spirit following me around and haunting me, when it was my own brain dealing me a whole bunch of guilt cards and scattering them at my feet yet again. Telling me things I didn’t want to hear. Constantly testing me.
Nicole wasn’t dead. Nicole was, in all probability, shooting some pool with a bunch of other girls at Croft House, or watching a DVD, or talking to her counsellor, or whatever else it was that seventeen-year-olds did in rehab. She probably wasn’t even thinking about me, Be4, any of us—so why was I letting my runaway thoughts spoil what had been the most awesome night of my life?
“Did you hear them?” Brooke jumped on my back from behind and slithered off again. “The crowd? I mean, did you actually hear them?”
Nicole disappeared back into the darkness.
“I think they loved it.” I grabbed Brooke’s arm, thankful for her intervention, and pulled it around my shoulder. “Did you see the front row? Mad.”
We walked deeper in backstage, and away from the burning stage lights and my thoughts of Nicole, I finally felt myself cooling. If only I could relax now too. Coming down from a gig always took time; coming down from Nicole’s presence was apparently taking longer.
“Insane.” Alex’s voice sounded behind us. “Just insane.” Brooke high-fived the palm that Alex offered to her. I did the same.
I could see Alex was totally buzzing. Her hair was still plastered to her forehead, but she’d obviously run her hands through it because it was sticking up slightly. Despite her sticky-up hair, she still looked radiant, ecstatic, and her enthusiasm bounced off her straight over to me. I figured this was what it was all about—the gigs and the fans. The natural high of performing live to thousands of people, seeing their appreciation of the music you’ve sweated over for months.
Nicole could have had all this too.
“Don’t you think?”
Alex was talking to me. I needed to concentrate on her right now, not Nicole.
“Think what?” I asked.
“How much the crowd responded to ‘Take Me There.’”
“It’s going to be the new single.” I released my arm from Brooke’s shoulder. “If Ed doesn’t make it the next single, I want to know why.”
“And it’ll go straight to number one.”
Brooke and Alex both said something similar at the same time, making all three of us break into laughter.
I looked at them as I laughed, feeling a profound sense of partnership for the first time.
“You were awesome.” Alex’s words slipped in amongst the laughter so quietly I almost missed it.
“Thank you.” Our eyes met. “So were you.”
“Your riff in ‘Crush’? Out of the park.”
“Your harmonies in ‘Drowning in You’—actually all your harmonies,” I said, “amazing.”
“Just like your high C in ‘Drowning in You,’ just before I came in,” Alex said, shaking her head. “Totally nailed it.”
“So I wasn’t pitchy?” I raised an eyebrow, then ducked as Alex pretended to hit me.
“Take a compliment when it’s given to you,” she said, “and quit reminding me of my past mistakes.”
“So when you two have finished winding each other up,” Brooke said, grabbing my hand, “Ed says there’s champagne for us somewhere.”
She pulled me away and walked me deeper into the area back of the stage. As I was pulled further from Alex, I turned back to look at her, our eyes meeting one more time before I disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter Twelve
The champagne flowed. When Ed had said he’d treat us, he hadn’t been kidding. This was probably about the most generous Ed had ever been to us, an impromptu party laid on just for us, with Ed acting as host. Well, acting like the cat that got the cream. He was stoked at our performance, and while I knew all he was probably thinking about was how much money we were going to make him, there was also a tiny bit of me that hoped he was genuinely pleased at how well we’d all performed together. I guessed he was happy that his hunch about Alex was right too. I couldn’t blame him; if I was in his shoes, I’d have been happy too.
As we heard the dull bass of the next band performing onstage pounding through to us backstage, we gathered together, glasses of champagne in our hands, and lapped up the praise that was being heaped onto us. Ed was pacing, muttering to us about the champagne being a treat, and to not drink too much, and afterwards we were all to switch to OJs. His face was flushed red with happiness, and he was using words about the gig that I’d never heard him use before: sensational, worldwide success, stratospheric, historic. I wasn’t sure about that last one, but as the champagne bubbles fizzed inside my empty stomach and loosened my muscles, I went with it. Why not? I could still hear the crowd cheering in my ears, could still see the sway of bodies in the pit below me, all singing our music and chanting our names. I could still feel the buzz, the heat from the stage lights; I could still see the blaze of colours from the set, hear my guitar riffs.
Could still feel Alex in my arms.
As I chugged down the last of my champagne and held my empty glass out for a refill, I thought it would be a very long time before the memories of this evening would leave me again.
*
Ed had rented us two large rooms in a hotel in Chelsea for the night. Now that was generous. At the party, as the champagne still flowed, he said something about spoiling us, giving us the chance to let our hair down, and what better place to do that but in a posh hotel in West London? The hotel had a pool, spas, beauty treatments…none of which—apart from the pool—were my thing at all, but then I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to spend the night in one of London’s best hotels. I wasn’t stupid.
It was one of those discreet hotels, totally used to celebrities coming and going. The sort of place where the doorman didn’t care if you were a Hollywood A-lister, a washed-up pop star, or an actor on a daytime soap, as long as you tipped him generously on your way in. It was all new to us. The foyer with its enormous sparkling chandelier, the marble flooring that made our shoes squeak, the sweeping staircase. As we trooped in through the revolving front door, it must have been clear to anyone watching that this experience was completely alien to us. We stood in the foyer, all four of us lined up, three slightly drunk, one stone-cold sober, and stared around us.
“I guess we ought to act like we know what we’re doing,” Robyn said under her breath. “Act like the stars Ed thinks we’re becoming.”
Alex took the initiative. With a confidence I wasn’t feeling, she strode to the front desk, a smile spread across her face, which instantly lit up a mirroring smile on the face of the guy who was serving there. I guessed not many guests normally smiled at him like Alex had just done.
She returned brandishing two key cards in her hand, which she waved in front of our faces once she was back with us.
“Suites thirty-two and thirty-three,” she said. “Adjoining rooms.” Her smile broadened. “Let the fun begin.”
*
We were like six-year-olds. Jumping on the bed,
sweeping the bathrooms for any freebies, channel-hopping on the free satellite TV, opening and closing the minibar so it could illuminate us and we could pull ghostly faces at one another. Embarrassing, really, like children let loose from their parents’ grasp for the first time and set free in a sweet shop. I half expected one of us to be sick from all the excitement, but it was all such huge fun I told myself to quit being a killjoy and just enjoy the moment.
The rooms were awesome. Cavernous. And stacked, it seemed, floor to ceiling with stuff we could steal, take home, and deny any knowledge of how it ever got into our respective apartments. A door separated one room from the other, but that was opened immediately so we could have even more space. One of us—Brooke—actually ran between the rooms while another of us—Alex?—timed her on the stopwatch on her phone. My head was spinning with it all: four young, successful pop stars with two whole suites to themselves. A year ago that would have been unthinkable. A year ago, the best we could have hoped for was a five-minute set on a children’s Saturday-morning TV programme and a bed and breakfast to bed down in for the night.
“There’s more champagne.” The game of opening and closing the minibar still hadn’t lost its appeal. This time, though, Brooke properly peered inside it and then pulled out a bottle. “It looks expensive.”
I took it from her and read the gold label. Moët & Chandon. Classy.
“We’re worth it.” Robyn crouched down next to us. “Well, Ed must think so anyway.”
I looked behind me to Alex, still sprawled on the bed.
“Guess you’ll be the only sober one tonight,” I said to her, lifting the bottle up. “Shame we don’t need a lift anywhere.”
Alex raised her head from the bed and flicked me her middle finger.
“I’ll make up for it by ordering myself a full English breakfast,” she said, resting her head back. “You lot’ll be begging for just water to get over your hangovers. I’ll be having the works.”
While I was still teasing her, I heard our music playing on the TV in the corner of the room. I stood up, grabbed the remote from the side, and turned the volume up higher.
“It’s us.” I waggled the remote at the TV. “From earlier.”
As one, we turned to the TV screen. It was a report, on some music channel, about the festival, the presenter talking excitedly as she spoke about our set and how we’d won the crowd over before our first song had even finished.
I stood, the unopened bottle of champagne still in my hand, engrossed as they showed clips from our set. Damn, we looked good. And seeing it back on screen, I realized I could see what the crowd had seen and loved: four kids playing their stuff and having the time of their lives, loving their lives and their music. It looked insane.
“Guitar solos coming up.” I heard Alex speak behind me.
As the camera panned in to me and Alex as we played our “After the Rain” solos, Robyn let out a whoop and pulled me to her, nearly knocking me off my feet.
“Looking good,” she said, but I wasn’t listening. Instead, my eyes were on Alex and how good she looked. She looked amazing, rocking it out, sucking up the enthusiasm of the crowd, playing better and harder than I’d ever heard her play before. I’d noticed it enough at the festival, but seeing it on playback now, her energy was sizzling, her enthusiasm electric. It sent shivers down my spine.
I suddenly realized I was staring and drew my eyes away. I stared towards the window, hearing the voiceover, hearing snippets of the interviews that followed, but nothing was really going in. All I could see was Alex, guitar in hand, her eyes sparkling, her slender body moving in time to the music.
“So,” Robyn said, “analysis of today?”
Robyn’s voice finally cut through my thoughts.
“The best day of my life?” I offered, grateful for her interruption.
“The best day of all our lives,” Brooke corrected.
I sat on the edge of the bed, making the mattress dip and Alex roll a little towards me.
“Is that it?” Robyn joined me. “We just rocked over ten thousand people into the ground, and all you pair of losers can say is that it was the best day of your lives?”
I lurched over to a chair next to the bed, grabbed the cushion from it, and threw it at her. “What would you call it then?” I asked her.
“Monumental?” Alex laughed to Robyn. “Overwhelming?”
“It was the defining moment of my career so far.” Robyn made a fist and held a pretend mic to her mouth. “And you, Ms. Brody?” She lifted her fist towards Alex. “How did you feel today?”
“Like”—Alex looked to the ceiling—“I never wanted it to end.”
“Lame,” Brooke and I chorused together, then fell against each other laughing.
“It was Robyn’s defining moment, you know,” I said, mimicking Robyn. “Can’t you think of anything to say that could better that?”
“Okay,” Alex said, threading her hands behind her head. “It was…awesome?” She screwed up her nose. “I’m not so good at this, am I?”
I shook my head. “That was even lamer,” I said, slapping her leg. “Try again.”
“Okay, how about you tell me how you felt today instead,” Alex asked, sitting up, “if you’re so good at it.”
“I loved…” I bit my lip. “The intensity of it,” I said, smiling. “The passion, the…I don’t know, the power of knowing we’d made so many people happy. I soaked up their energy, you know? Used it to feed my own. And when I stepped offstage I wondered if I’d ever get that same feeling ever again, or whether any gig we do from now on could ever match that level of intensity.”
There was a silence then. The laughter that had been ebbing and flowing round the bed suddenly stopped.
“I know what you mean,” Robyn said, staring down at her fingers. “It was like nothing we’d ever done before. Like no feeling I’d ever had before.”
“Me neither,” Brooke said softly.
“Like, if I actually stopped and thought about all those people there today, singing our music back to us, dancing to it?” Robyn shook her head. “That’d freak me right out.”
“They loved us, didn’t they?” I smiled at the faces around me. “Totally loved us.”
“Be4 are going places, guys.” Alex lifted her hands and fist-bumped first Brooke, then me, then Robyn, immediately bringing the laughter, and with it a lightness, back into the room.
“This so needs the champagne.” I lifted the bottle that was still in my hands and waited while Robyn scrambled off the bed and grabbed four glasses from the unit above the minibar. The bottle opened with a satisfyingly loud pop and an instant frothing of bubbles out of the neck, down the bottle, and over my hand, prompting loud whoops and yet more laughter.
I looked at everyone’s faces around me and loved it all. The solidarity, the joy, the mutual feeling of satisfaction at our successful gig. I poured the foaming champagne and handed a glass to each of them, sharing a look with each as I did so, then taking a large gulp of Alex’s drink before I handed it to her.
“Don’t want to get you into bad habits,” I said, passing her the half-filled glass.
She took it from me, one perfect eyebrow raised.
“To Be4,” Robyn said, raising her glass.
We mirrored her action. “Be4.” Four voices sounded as one. The champagne disappeared in one mutual gulp.
“So, Brooke,” Alex eventually said, “it’s your turn now.”
“For?” Brooke wiped her mouth with her thumb.
“To spill,” Robyn said, reaching for the champagne bottle again. “Tell us what today meant to you.”
“Keep it short.” I sat on the edge of the bed again. “There’s drink to be drunk.” I knew what Brooke was like.
“I felt like…wait.” Brooke took another drink, making us all laugh. “Like I was in another world,” she said, “almost like an out-of-body experience, floating on a cloud.”
“Were you high?” Robyn asked. She reached over and play
fully punched Brooke’s leg. “Did you score before you went on? Nic would have been jealous.”
No one laughed at that.
As if realizing what she’d said, Robyn screwed up her face. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “Dumb thing to say.”
My stomach balled into a fist, refusing any more champagne. I wanted to tell Robyn how I’d felt coming offstage, when the euphoria had faded. I wanted to tell her how Nicole had taunted me after what should have been the time of my life, and how that had made me feel as if the walls were coming in on me, crushing me. I knew neither Robyn nor Brooke felt the same guilt as I did, and I glared at her, wondering why she’d think to say such a stupid thing. Robyn had totally ruined the moment, and the silence that now scratched through the room was excruciating.
“Didn’t I see an Xbox somewhere?” Alex put her glass down and shuffled off the bed. “I’m sure I did.”
We watched in silence as she scooted over to the huge wall-mounted plasma-screen TV, fell to her knees, reached under the table that was underneath the TV, then pulled out two controllers.
“I knew it.” She turned and lifted them up to show us. “GTA anyone? I heard drunk GTA is the best game ever,” she said, looking back at us, “not that I’d know.”
The fist in my stomach loosened its grip a little. I looked over to Alex, crouched by the TV, and as she smiled at me with a face so open and alive, I felt my chest burn with gratitude towards her.
I knew what she was doing, and I loved her for it.
