by Paige Toon
It’s early evening and we’ve got the night off before tomorrow’s concert. We played the first of three gigs in Amsterdam last night and the atmosphere was storming. It’s Christian’s last night before he flies back to London.
There’s a knock on the door. Johnny is sitting on the bed, plucking at his guitar strings and I’m sitting opposite him on an armchair. I get up to answer the door.
‘Hey, Johnny,’ TJ says, nervously glancing at me. ‘We’re thinking of moseying on down to the, you know, red-light district. You wanna come?’
I immediately tense up, but he replies, ‘Nah,’ so I relax again, until he says, ‘Why pay for it when you can get it for free?’ Then he emphasises his comic timing with a few rapid strums on his guitar.
TJ laughs and shuts the door behind him.
‘Nutmeg,’ Johnny says, sternly, as soon as I turn back to him. It’s the first time he’s called me Nutmeg in weeks, and warmth rushes through me. ‘You didn’t bring my girl back for me the other night.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, and go cold again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Vienna?’ I ask, just to be sure.
‘Mmmhmm.’
‘Sorry, I thought you’d be too drunk to notice.’
‘I’m never too drunk.’ He winks at me. ‘So where does Christian want to go tonight?’ he asks, resting his guitar up against the bed.
‘I don’t know. The Dinner Club or something?’
‘Supperclub?’
‘Yeah, that’s the place.’
‘I know it. Sure, yeah, book a table. Join us, if you like.’
‘Okay,’ I reply, pleased. It’s the first time I’ve been included in their dinner plans since we were in Big Sur. ‘Nine-ish?’ I ask.
‘Yep, cool.’
‘Hey, I forgot to tell you, my brother got engaged,’ Christian says to Johnny. We’re crossing the Prinsengracht canal on our way to the restaurant. Johnny decided he wanted to brave the cold Amsterdam weather and go for a rare walk instead of taking the car. Supperclub is only about half a mile away from the hotel.
‘Wow! That’s cool, man. Say congratulations from me.’
‘What’s your brother’s name?’ I ask. It’s not really relevant to the conversation, but it’s my best shot at being included in it.
‘Anton,’ Christian replies. ‘I have a younger brother, too. Joel.’
‘How is little Joel?’ Johnny asks.
‘He’s fine. He’s working with Dad now, you know.’
‘Is he?’
‘What does your dad do?’ I ask, as we approach a bridge to cross another canal.
‘He owns an electrical shop up in Newcastle,’ Christian explains.
‘Cool,’ I say.
‘Actually, it’s pretty warm. What with all the electrical appliances turned on, and all.’
‘You’re so funny, you should do stand-up,’ I tease.
‘No, that’s my older brother.’
‘Is he a comedian?’ I ask, then see Christian’s face. ‘Stop winding me up, you.’
‘Sorry. No, he’s an accountant. Hey, did you know the word naive isn’t in the dictionary?’ Christian glances at me.
‘Ha ha.’ I play-punch him on the arm. ‘I’m not falling for that one.’
I’m walking in the middle of the two guys, Johnny to my right and Christian to my left.
‘What about you, Meg, do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Christian asks.
‘I have one sister, Susan. She’s older. Thirty-two. Married. Boring. We don’t get on.’
‘Why not?’ Johnny looks interested.
‘She’s so full of herself. And I don’t like her husband. He’s a prat.’
The guys chuckle. ‘Tell it like it is, Meg,’ Christian says.
‘Well, he is. Last Christmas we all went to stay with my parents–they live in the south of France,’ I explain. ‘And one night, without even asking, he opened up a bottle of wine which my dad had been saving for ages. He guzzled half of it down like it was water and didn’t buy a single bottle of booze the whole time they were there. He’s such a stingy git. It really pisses me off when my sister doesn’t pull him up on it.’
‘My brother’s girlfriend–well, fiancée now–is a bit like that,’ Christian says. ‘It drives Mum mad. She always makes herself at home when she comes round ours, but my mum’s kitchen is my mum’s kitchen, and you’d better have permission even to make yourself a cup of tea or it’ll get her back up. And if you’re caught rooting around in her cupboards for crisps or anything like that, you’re in big trouble.’
I laugh. ‘Was she like that with Clare?’
Christian looks a little taken aback at the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name, and I regret being so brazen, but he recovers quickly.
‘Yeah, she was a bit.’ He humphs. ‘That’s probably part of the reason she left.’
Johnny and I never did find out why he and Clare split up. Now I’m curious.
‘Doesn’t sound like much to complain about to me,’ Johnny says from beside me. ‘At least you’ve got siblings…’
I instantly feel guilty and look down at the footpath.
Christian reaches behind me to slap Johnny on the back. ‘They’re a pain in the arse. You’re much better off with me. Well, us,’ he says, nudging me.
Johnny looks at us both and smiles. ‘So where is this bloody restaurant? Whose stupid idea was it to walk here, anyway?’
‘Why did you and your girlfriend split up?’ I ask Christian, two hours and several glasses of wine later.
‘She ran over my dog.’
‘No!’ I gasp. Johnny sniggers beside me. I give Christian a wry look. ‘You don’t have a dog, do you?’
‘Not since she ran over it, no.’ Christian pulls a sad face.
‘Stop it! Tell me the truth!’ I prod him in the ribs.
‘Ow! Stop it or you’re going to get hurt,’ he warns me.
‘Okay, okay! Spill the beans, then.’
‘We had a difference of opinion,’ he says.
‘Oh. About what?’ I ask.
‘She didn’t have a sweet tooth, Megan. Seriously clashing personalities.’
‘Okay, I give up,’ I say, sitting back in my seat and giving Johnny an unimpressed look. ‘Is he always like this?’ I ask.
‘Afraid so,’ Johnny says, and flags down one of the ridiculously good-looking waitresses to order another bottle of wine for Christian and me. He’s on the spirits again, so Christian and I have got through two bottles on our own.
‘Oh no, I don’t think I can drink any more,’ I protest.
The waitress looks at the three of us, waiting for a final answer.
‘We’ll take that bottle,’ Johnny tells her. Even in the dim lighting I can see she’s on edge. She’s trying to be professional and not seem overawed by her customer’s star status, but it can’t be easy. We’ve already been interrupted three times by other diners wanting autographs. Johnny signs them, quite happily, even with his mouth full.
‘Seriously, I’ll fall over if I drink much more,’ I inform him.
‘We’re not going to have a difference of opinion about alcohol consumption, are we, Nutmeg?’ Johnny asks, raising his eyebrow. ‘Anyway, we’ll pick you up, won’t we, Christian?’
By the time we get to our next venue, I am positively steaming. I wanted to go back to the hotel, but the boys dragged me to a club and I was too far gone to object. Right now I’m sitting in a darkened booth surrounded by Christian, Johnny and the four members of the band who have joined us following their ‘erotic adventure’.
They’re stoned now as well as drunk, and are not shy around me regarding what they got up to. If I weren’t so drunk myself I’d probably feel sickened. As it is, I’m feeling sickened anyway, thanks to all that wine.
‘You alright, Megan?’ Christian slurs in my ear.
‘No,’ I slur back. ‘Feel like I’m going to throw up.’
‘She’s not go
ing to chuck up here, is she?’ TJ butts in.
‘Want me to take you to the bathroom, Megan?’
‘Mmm…’ I nod my head, although I don’t really want Christian to take me. Where are your girlfriends when you need them? ‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I think I’d rather go back to the hotel.’
‘Okay.’ He gets up and holds out his hand for me. I slowly scoot along the booth seat. Johnny grabs my arm.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks, annoyed.
‘I’m taking her back to the hotel,’ Christian tells him.
‘Why?’
‘Look at her, Johnny, she’s wasted.’
I stumble slightly and Christian holds me up.
‘She’s alright. You’re alright, aren’t you, Nutmeg?’ Johnny tries to sound jolly.
‘No,’ I shake my head.
Christian starts to lead me away.
‘Oh, come on,’ Johnny calls. ‘The party’s only just starting!’
‘See you tomorrow, mate,’ Christian calls back.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ is the last thing I hear Johnny say before Christian manoeuvres me through the packed club.
I barely remember the taxi ride back to the hotel. The next thing I know I’m outside my room.
‘Can’t find my key,’ I say with frustration, and empty the contents of my bag onto the corridor carpet. Christian immediately bends down to retrieve the key, then picks up my belongings and stuffs them back into my bag while I stagger up against the wall.
‘Whoa, you alright, Meg?’
I don’t answer. He puts the key in the lock and turns it, helping me into my bedroom.
‘Gotta go bathroom,’ I say.
Five minutes later he knocks on the bathroom door. ‘Meg, I’m worried. Can I come in?’
‘Yeah. Urgh…’
I’m kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet. I haven’t been able to throw up.
‘Jeez, let me help you out of your coat–you must be boiling,’ he says, before adding, ‘I’ve called room service. They’re bringing up some toast.’ He seems remarkably sober considering how much he had to drink. But then, maybe that’s just in comparison to me.
He makes me eat two slices before sitting me on the bed and pulling back the covers. He kneels down and removes my high heels then leans me forward and unzips my dress. ‘You can take it off when I’ve gone,’ he tells me, ever the gentleman.
But like a lunatic I tug it over my head and it gets stuck, so he has to jump in and help me out of it. Luckily, I wore a bra tonight.
He sits on the armchair opposite the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, blearily.
‘I’m staying with you.’ He wriggles around.
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.’
‘Meg, don’t argue with me.’
‘Christian, I’m okay. Go to bed.’
‘No, Meg. Go to sleep.’
‘In that case,’ I say, groggily shifting over in my bed, ‘sleep up here.’
He looks over at me in my nice, king-size bed and doesn’t have to be told twice. ‘Only if you’re sure.’
‘Sure I’m sure.’ I roll over and close my eyes.
In the early hours of the morning I awake, feeling horribly worse for wear. I groan.
‘You okay?’ Christian murmurs.
‘Why did I do that?’ I hold my hand to my head.
‘You didn’t have much choice. He’s very hard to say no to.’
‘You manage to, most of the time.’
‘It’s taken years of practice.’ His voice is even deeper than usual. He sounds rough.
I slowly sit up in bed. I really need some headache tablets, but I don’t want to get out of bed wearing next to nothing.
‘What do you need?’ Christian asks, sensing my anxiety.
I tell him.
‘Where are they?’
‘In my washbag in the bathroom.’
He brings the tablets back, along with a glass of water.
‘Get that down you.’
I do as he says and then lie back down beside him. My arm rubs hard against his. I instinctively edge away.
Suddenly he gets out of the bed.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask, startled.
‘I’m going to head back to my room.’ He pulls his trousers on. ‘You’re alright now, yeah?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
He slips his shoes on and grabs his jacket, heading to the door.
‘See you for breakfast?’
‘Sure.’
It occurs to me for a horrible moment that Johnny might see him come out of my room and jump to the wrong conclusion. But he doesn’t. And when I finally emerge later that morning, Christian has already set off for the airport.
Chapter 19
After Amsterdam comes Zurich, then it’s Milan followed by Rome. Each and every stadium is sold out as the European cities begin to melt into one.
I’m not really enjoying myself as much as I thought I would. The combination of travelling constantly and never really knowing where I am with Johnny is making me feel a little apprehensive.
Right now I’m backstage at the Vallehovin Stadium in Oslo. I look over at the table stocked full of drinks. I can’t believe how much alcohol has already been consumed on this tour and we haven’t even reached the halfway point. Johnny has been getting through increasing amounts of spirits every night. Earlier I voiced my concern to Bill, but he laughed me off.
‘This is nothing. You should’ve seen him seven years ago!’
‘I just don’t want a repeat of that,’ I said.
‘I just don’t want a repeat of that,’ he mimicked me. ‘Have a word with yourself, love. Listen to what you sound like, all prim and proper. I thought you were more worldly-wise than that when I hired you.’
I’ll keep my mouth shut in future.
Johnny strolls into the backstage area with his guitar.
‘There you are! What do you think to this?’
He’s been so upbeat these last few days–a complete contrast to how down he was at the start of the tour. Bill was right about that, at least.
He sits down next to me and starts to strum a few notes. ‘It’s a new intro to “What You Are”,’ he says.
‘What You Are’ is one of his greatest hits.
‘Why?’ I ask. I thought it sounded fine the way it was.
‘I’m bored with it.’
‘You’ve only been playing it for the last month!’ He rearranged it just before we came on tour.
‘Yes, and I’m bored with it,’ he says again, stressing each word to really drive home his point.
‘Okay, shoot,’ I say, not wanting to dampen his enthusiasm.
He starts to play, talking over the top to tell me what he’s planning. ‘And then the strings will come in here, and I’m not talking the little string section we bring on tour, I want a full-blown orchestra.’
‘You want what?’ Bill says, coming into the room.
‘Bill! There you are! Listen to this…’
He goes through the motions again with Bill.
‘Yeah, sounds good, Johnny boy, but we can’t bring a whole orchestra in this late in the tour.’
‘Yes, we can,’ Johnny replies, still strumming.
‘Where are we going to get one?’ Bill huffs.
‘That’s up to you,’ Johnny comments. ‘But I know you’ll manage. It’s what I pay you for,’ he adds, giving Bill a look.
‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’ Bill glares at me. ‘But Terrence is going to be pissed.’
Terrence is the tour manager, responsible for organising the whole shebang.
‘Don’t see, do it.’ Johnny’s tone is firm.
Bill stomps off. I’m impressed. And I’m delighted. Bill really annoyed me with that ‘prim and proper’ comment, so I’m glad he’s got his work cut out for him.
‘I think that sounds really good.’ I nod at Johnny’s guitar.
‘Cheers,’ he answers.
&n
bsp; It’s a testament to how much power Johnny wields in the industry that Bill does manage to find a whole orchestra at this short notice. They’re flown in four days later when we’re in Copenhagen, with only a couple of days free to get up to scratch before we play at the Olympic Stadium in Munich. I’ve booked an out-of-use theatre for everyone to rehearse in, and I’m currently sitting halfway back in the seats with a magazine. But I’m not reading, I’m watching. Watching Johnny direct his usual band and backing singers, along with a brand-new orchestra.
Everyone should have had a couple of days’ rest between Copenhagen and Munich, and now they have to rehearse instead. But no one seems to mind. When Johnny is ‘up’ like this, it rubs off on everyone. Including me. I’m filled with a renewed sense of respect for him, for what he’s capable of. Which is why it hurts so much to witness the sort of thing I saw last night.
I was in his suite showing him some press cuttings when there was a knock at the door.
‘Housekeeping!’
‘Do you want me to ask them to come back later?’ I ask Johnny.
‘No, I could do with some more bubble bath.’
‘Bubble bath?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Come in!’ I call.
‘Housekeeping!’ Five more rapid knocks.
‘I said, come in!’
Knock, knock, knock!
‘That’s strange,’ I mumble. ‘Why doesn’t she have a key?’ I open the door. Standing there is a cute, petite brunette who looks to be in her late teens or early twenties.
‘Housekeeping?’ I ask. She’s dressed in a maid’s uniform, but her face is lit up with such excitement as she attempts to peer past me into the room that I become suspicious. I can’t believe she’s that thrilled about cleaning out somebody’s toilet.
‘Are you really from housekeeping?’ I ask, warily.
She nods, manically.
‘I don’t think so.’ I begin to shut the door.
‘Wait,’ Johnny says. ‘Let her in.’
He saunters to the door, leaning his right arm up against the doorframe.
‘Johnny Jefferson!’ the ‘maid’ says, delightedly.
‘Hi.’ He grins.
