The Worst of Me

by Lisa J. Hobman

  Public personas had a lot to answer for.

  And sitting there, all alone, in his swanky London hotel suite, Nick wondered if that was what he had become too—his public persona. A version of himself that wasn’t in any way genuine. The trouble therein being that he was beginning to lose sight of the real Nick Dacre. The edges were blurring. Nick Dacre the British, multi-million album selling, guitar wielding rock star and Nick Dacre the big brother, son and potential boyfriend were morphing into one and he felt powerless to stop it.

  ♫♫♫

  The rest of the band was in high spirits as they sat on the tour bus heading for the airport. They were to pick up a hired bus at the other end of the short flight, ready for the tour of Europe which started in Germany. The guys were always like this before the next leg of a new tour. Loud, leery and lascivious.

  Nothing changed.

  Sonic Idols had been living it up at the top for around five years now and there was no sign of that changing. The fans were relentless. Many followed them around from country to country, almost making it their profession to be groupies—most of them girls who, Nick thought, should be putting their time to much better use.

  From years of experience it seemed that every single one of their fans had dreams of bedding or marrying one of the band. Nick was lead vocals and rhythm guitar so he was obviously in the limelight along with lead guitarist, Chris, the blonde Aussie bombshell of the group. Si, the drummer, was the shyest member of the band and seemed to enjoy hiding behind his beard and shades but he had his fans who simply adored his muscles and tattoos. Stig, the bassist, with his shaved head and unwillingness to wear a shirt on stage seemed to garner plenty of attention too.

  Each fan presumed their favourite band member would fall head over heels in love with them if given the chance to meet. Then would come the showbiz wedding followed by the clothing line and fragrance all wrapped up in a neat little million dollar package. There would of course be no need for groupies any more. Clearly these girls were delusional.

  The guys were making the most of every experience on offer to them.

  Apart from drugs.

  Their original drummer, and Si’s older brother, Joe, had died of an accidental overdose when the band had just started out and so they had all vowed to stay away from the stuff.

  ♫♫♫

  Nick sat in his usual seat on the tour bus, only this time he was silently looking out the window at the industrial landscape, wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. The rest of the band and their roadies were partying towards the back. Although they were loudly singing rude songs and playing around Nick still managed to drift off into a vivid daydream. He began to think about the various random sexual encounters he’d had throughout the tour. And every other tour for that matter.

  He closed his eyes and he was in another hotel room looking down at another faceless woman. She groaned and called his name as he pounded into her. He kneaded her breasts as her hands fisted his hair or scratched down his back. No matter how hard he tried to remember her face, he couldn’t. She had brown hair…no blonde…or was it red? Yes red, that was it….that was all he could remember but then they all blended into one after a while. That had been fine before. Any port in a storm as the saying goes. But not so much now. He had no clue why he had become so self-analytical today and he cringed at the barrage of memories.

  Thinking back to the chambermaid from that morning he smiled but realised that she was just like the rest of their groupies in a lot of ways, only maybe sweeter…more innocent. But she still wanted something from him in a purely selfish way. The photos were for her to show off to her friends. But the chamber staff they usually encountered were all the same towards the band. They were all fans after all.

  Well, that was mostly true…apart from one girl he remembered…

  It was months earlier and they had played an extra date that their management company, Blue Demon Records, had slotted in due to high ticket sales. Den had been like a kid at Christmas when he announced that his bosses had arranged it. Wembley Arena had been a dream venue of theirs since they first got together as a band and each time they played it was better than the last. The atmosphere ... the adrenaline rush. The best natural high ever. The last gig there had been amazing to say the least. Nick had been staying in a Club Suite at the London Royale Plaza and had awoken in much the same way as this morning…

  ♫♫♫

  His eyes blinked open and there was a whooshing sound in his ears which made his eyes clench shut again through the dull, pounding ache. The obligatory sleeping woman—brunette on this occasion—lay beside him completely naked. Bottles strewn around the room. You get the idea. The brunette rolled over and snuggled up to him.

  He froze.

  Same old, same old.

  He gently lifted her arm from across his chest and pulled his boxers on before heading for the bathroom. He stood in the shower, allowing the water to work its wonderful magic. Once finished he grabbed two painkillers from his toilet bag and threw them down his throat followed by a huge glug of ice cold water. When he returned to his bed the woman was gone. He almost sighed with relief not to be facing the usual strained goodbye. That is until he saw that there was a note.

  Nick, you rocked my world last night.

  I think we could be MFEO!

  Call me.

  Suki 5549261.

  Nick shook his head and scrunched the paper up. How come girls have such weird names these days? You don’t get Claires, Sarahs or Alisons anymore, it’s all Suki and Candy and Mindy and Sindy. I don’t get it. He tossed the ball of paper into the trash and after getting dressed in black jeans and his favourite old Pearl Jam T-shirt he slumped on the sofa. But before he could relax there was a knock at the door and whoever it was took the liberty of walking right in without awaiting his response.

  “Hey, am I all right to come and make a start now?” the chambermaid enquired in rather a terse tone.

  Someone’s happy in her work.

  Too tired to protest at the way she barged in and the surly manner with which she addressed him he simply said, “Yeah, yeah, come in. I’m just going to grab a coffee and chill for a bit.”

  The woman walked around to plug in the vacuum cleaner. She laughed as she turned to look directly at him. “Bloody hell, you look rough.” His eyebrows shot up as he glared at her. She cringed, clearly realising her mistake. “Erm…Sir.” Her cheeks coloured.

  He scrunched his face at her comment and rubbed his face. “Gee…thanks. Where are you from? You’re clearly not from London.”

  The young woman rolled her eyes at him. “So you’re not just a rock musician, eh? You have amazing powers of deduction too.” Her sarcastic retort told him she had completely given up on any fake attempts at politeness.

  Kind of refreshing.

  Nick huffed and held his hands up in surrender. “Just trying to make polite conversation…sorry.” Good grief, someone’s got her knickers in a knot this morning. He left her to get on with her job, lifting his feet when she brought the vacuum cleaner nearer and scowled at him, making him feel like a total inconvenience. I’m getting too old for this, he grumbled to himself as he closed his eyes.

  In spite of the throbbing in his head, the growl of the vacuum cleaner, on this occasion, was reminiscent of the hum of a bus or plane engine and it began to have a lullaby effect. His breathing calmed and he the tension ebbed away from his muscles. Bliss ...

  “Gairloch,” the young woman suddenly blurted, yanking him from the edge of slumber.

  He opened his eyes, puzzled at whatever the hell it was she’d just said. She stood, hands on hips, in front of him as he lay sprawled on the large squishy sofa.

  He squinted up at her. “Excuse me?” He wasn’t exactly impressed with her at that precise moment and felt sure his narrow-eyed expression made the fact quite blatant.

  She tilted her head to one side and assessed him with a scrupulous gaze. “You asked where I’m from. So I told you.
I’m from Gairloch.”

  Intrigued, he sat up. “Oh…right. Where’s that? I’ve not heard of it.”

  She snorted derisively. “Like you’re genuinely interested.” He opened his mouth to speak but abruptly closed it again as she continued, “Well, why would you know where it is? There’s no stadium, the women tend not to be surgically enhanced and people up there have probably never heard of you either.” He watched, bewildered as she turned to walk away. But after a couple of steps she came to a halt, sighed and turned back to face him again. “Scottish Highlands. It’s totally different to here and I can’t wait to get back there. It’s quiet, beautiful and peaceful and the people are friendly.” She smiled wistfully as she talked about her home town. “You’d hate it,” she informed him bluntly, cocking her head to one side again.

  Her last comment cut him to the quick. Why the hell was she being so judgemental? She didn’t even know him. Was it because she’d read articles in the press about him? Seen the woman leaving his room? Read that he was a city boy through and through? Okay, so all of the above would make her have a preconceived idea of who and what he was. But she was wrong.

  He curled his lip and narrowed his eyes. “Is that right?”

  She nodded. “Aye. You’d hate being out in the middle of nowhere wi’out your fans to keep you warm at night.” She smiled, clearly enjoying winding him up but then turned and sprayed cleaning products and wiped surfaces.

  This was a first.

  He observed her as she went about her work. She was very pretty; long wavy auburn hair pulled back into a loose bunch at the nape of her neck, lips that were full and blushed a natural pink, and large, very bright emerald green eyes—so vivid that he could see the colour of them from his position across the room on the sofa. She wasn’t the stick thin model-type that he usually had on his arm and in his bed. She was curvy in all the right places. If she wasn’t so snide, judgemental and sarcastic he could have found her quite attractive. Not that there’s much point in this train of thought.

  He stood and stretched his aching limbs, feeling the pull of last night’s exertion both on and off stage. Curling his lips up into a smile that usually had the girls dropping their panties he walked over to where she was stripping the linen from the king sized bed.

  “Am I to deduce that you won’t be wanting an autograph or a selfie with me then?” He chuckled to himself as she dropped the sheets to the floor and began to coil up the vacuum cleaner cable. Without speaking or even acknowledging him she continued with her work, finally placing her cleaning products back in their basket and shoving the dirty bedding into her trolley.

  He watched in amusement knowing full well she had heard him and was no doubt conjuring up a barrage of insults to fire off as a parting retort. A fluttering began in his stomach as he waited with bated breath to hear what she had to say. She couldn’t leave without saying something in response, surely? She really didn’t seem the type.

  Sure enough, pulling herself upright she glanced over at him. “Oh, by the way, you got that right. No offence, but unlike most of the women you meet no doubt, I’m not a fan.” A pink blush rose from her chest to her cheeks as if realising the bluntness of her answer. “N-not that I don’t think you’re a talented guy or anything. I just don’t do ‘rock’ music.” She made little inverted comma signs in the air.

  Still smiling, Nick shook his head and held up his hands. “No offence taken. We can’t be liked by everyone. And we can’t all like the same stuff. World’d be a boring place if we did, eh?”

  She frowned briefly and nodded her agreement. “Aye, true enough. Well, I’m done so I’ll be off then.”

  She was about to turn to leave but he wasn’t ready to be rid of her just yet. “Wait! Erm…what are you doing in London then?” There was no doubt at all that he found her quite intriguing. A breath of fresh air even. And he was very curious about her reasons for being so far from home, especially given her negative attitude to the city she found herself in.

  “I graduated this year from the University of the Highlands and Islands after doing a degree in proper music.” She smirked at him and raised her eyebrows to accentuate the word ‘proper’. “I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do with my life so I decided to take some time out, come down to the ‘big smoke’ and find my fortune.”

  She was mocking herself.

  He pondered and calculated that must have made her around twenty-two or twenty-three maybe. “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?”

  She snorted derisively. “What do you think? I took the only job I could find only to be paid minimum wage. I’m renting a shitty dump one room studio flat. The only mates I’ve got are hundreds of miles away back at home and I get to clean up after stinky rock stars who clearly have yet to be domesticated.”

  It was Nick’s turn to smirk. “Fair point. So, you’ll be going back home soon, I guess?”

  “Yeah…as soon as I possibly can. Only a month left to do of my temporary contract and then I’m free. Still no clue what I want to do, though. I think maybe I’ll just go back to working for my dad.” She smiled. “Although, why I’m telling all this to you when I haven’t even told my dad yet I don’t know.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you needed to hear how it all sounded out loud? It helps me sometimes.”

  Her lips tilted upwards. Her smile, when she used it, was warm and lit up her face. She was stunning.

  He couldn’t help returning hers with one of his own more natural smiles. “So, Gairloch-lassie, what’s your name?” He wasn’t sure why a) he had attempted a Scottish accent and b) why it was relevant, but regardless, he wanted to know the name of the young woman who had taken the time to just be herself with him.

  The smile melted from her face. “Firstly, that was an insulting accent. And secondly, why do you want to know? So you can be my friend?” she asked sardonically. “‘The rock star and the chambermaid, BFFs’ isn’t a headline that has the best ring to it. Don’t you agree?”

  He winced at her harsh retort once again and clamped his jaws shut in case more verbal diarrhoea slipped out.

  She bit her lip and shook her head, closing her eyes for a second. “God, I’m so sorry…I can’t help myself, can I? I’m so used to being treated like shit by you’s lot…and I just ... I’m not normally so bitchy.” Her features softened and she pleaded at him with her expression. She then told him in an apologetic, low voice, “My name’s Catriona. Or Cat for short. It’s Gaelic.”

  He hoped his responding smile was reassuring. She hadn’t offended him. Not really, anyway. “It’s a pretty name…Cat for short.” She was the first woman in a long while with whom he’d had an actual conversation and who hadn’t thrown herself at him, offered him a blow job, asked for sex, or asked him to sign her breast.

  Very refreshing indeed.

  ♫♫♫

  Catriona

  “Thanks. It’s nice, I suppose, as names go. I like it. Look, I’m really sorry for my attitude. You people seem to bring out the worst in me. You’ll probably report me and…well, I guess I deserve it…” She glanced down at the floor momentarily. “I’ll probably get fired now which could be a blessing in disguise, eh? It’s just that…I’ve been cleaning these huge posh suites for months now and some of the people I’ve encountered have treated me like a second class citizen. But I’m an intelligent, independent woman although no one ever bothers to find that out. People don’t usually ask me questions about me so I think you threw me a little.” The flush of embarrassment travelled up her face again.

  Nick pursed his lips. “Hmm, sounds like you have a tough job. But ‘us people’ aren’t all the same, you know? And don’t worry, you won’t get fired on account of me.” He smiled and his cerulean blue eyes sparkled. They were quite something—his eyes—and she felt momentarily pulled in. Despite the fact he was some famous multi-millionaire he seemed different to other people she’d encountered in her work. If they could all be more like him…

  His deep Yorkshi
re accented voice pulled her back from her mini daydream and she was thankful. The last thing she needed was an unattainable, utterly pointless crush.

  He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head inquisitively. His biceps were bulky and she could see tattoos peeking out from the arms of his T-shirt. “So, tell me more about Gairloch. What’s so special about living in the middle of nowhere? Don’t you get bored, Cat for short?”

  His use of her name in that way made her cheeks heat to the point of near spontaneous combustion and her stomach knotted.

  Oh great. She cleared her throat and lightly shook her head in the hope that doing so would send some of the blood away from her face. “It’s a little place but it’s surrounded by the most wonderful scenery. It’s hard to get bored when you’re surrounded by the best views the world has to offer. And it’s special because the people are warm. They care about their own.” Visions of home filled her mind and melancholy gripped her but he smiled regardless. “It’s almost like time has stood still a little there, you know? Kids are kids without needing the designer gear and gadgets that ones in other areas demand. Going to a gig is a night at the local pub with Jimmy on the accordion and Dot singing in Gaelic.” Her heart began to ache with an increased twinge of homesickness as she spoke and when she looked up she found him staring in a kind of quiet awe. If she didn’t know better she’d think the rocker liked the sound of what she considered bliss.

  “It sounds ... idyllic.” His voice was a low whisper and an air of sadness seemed to have settled over him.

  “Thanks. I think so.” Realising she had said a lot more than she intended she decided it was time to leave. “Right, well, I’ll be off…Nick, right?” She knew but didn’t want to boost his undoubtedly already inflated ego in case he burst all over her newly cleaned floor.