by Paige Toon
Afterwards he smiles at me, his expression soft.
‘Are you on the pill?’ he asks.
‘No.’ I immediately feel worried.
‘Don’t worry, I always use condoms,’ he says. ‘But you should probably get the Morning After Pill.’
‘Okay, I will,’ I say. ‘I’ll get it today.’
He clearly isn’t concerned about my sexual history. He folds his arms behind his head and stares up at the ceiling.
‘I didn’t like seeing you with Santiago,’ he says.
‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ I tell him.
‘I didn’t like it.’
I prop myself up on my elbow and put my hand on his stomach. He glances at me then back at the ceiling. I run my finger along the tattoo of the Johnny Cash lyric.
I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel…
He reaches down and takes my hand, bringing it up to his lips. ‘I never thanked you,’ he says.
‘Thanked me? For what?’
‘For taking me to the Dales. For looking after me. You know you are special to me, right?’
Happiness bubbles through me as I nod back at him. Then the nerves appear. I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t restrain myself.
‘Johnny,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘What happened between you and Paola?’
He drops my hand and looks at me, sternly. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Johnny, please. I saw her there on Friday night. I know she saw me, too. What happened? Why won’t you tell me?’
I sound like I’m whingeing, but I can’t stop the words from coming out.
‘I’m not talking about this,’ he says, sitting up in bed. ‘Not to you. Not to anyone.’
He climbs out of the bed, still naked, and picks up his boxer shorts, slipping them on.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask, trying not to sound desperate. I don’t want him to leave me again.
‘I’ve got to get back to work.’
‘It’s Sunday,’ I say. ‘Do you really have to?’
‘Yes.’ His reply is firm. ‘Albums don’t write themselves, Nutmeg.’ He grins at me and I relax back onto the bed at the sound of my nickname, watching him collect his clothes and walk out through the door.
Chapter 27
I don’t want to freak him out, so I try to act completely normal around Johnny from then on.
‘Have you heard from Christian?’ I ask, when I go into the studio on Monday to show him a couple of crazy fan letters.
‘That is fucking hilarious,’ he says, perusing one letter from a 35-year-old woman who claims she can sing his debut solo album backwards while standing on her head. She’d dearly love to demonstrate in person.
‘Get her in,’ he says.
‘Really?’ I ask in surprise.
‘No fucking way, Nutmeg. Get a restraining order,’ he jokes, passing the letter back to me. ‘Yeah, I have, actually.’
‘Have what? Oh! Christian! Have you really?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. We spoke a couple of days ago. He’s coming over at the end of the week.’
‘Brilliant!’ I beam.
Johnny looks at me, curiously.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’ He reaches down for his guitar.
‘How’s it all going?’ I nod towards his instrument.
‘Good,’ he says, starting to play.
‘That sounds great,’ I tell him, then remember back to the early days when I thought he’d written something by The Smiths.
He stops playing and puts his guitar down, while I’m on edge, fearing I’ve just made the same mistake again.
‘Not finished yet,’ he tells me, reaching for the mug of coffee I’ve just brought up to him.
That’s a relief. ‘Well, I guess I should get on.’ I head for the door.
‘Nutmeg.’
I turn around again and look at him, inquisitively, as he puts his mug back down.
‘Come here,’ he says, beckoning me with his finger.
I look at him, unsure.
‘Come here,’ he says again, leaning back in his swivelling chair.
I walk back to him. He takes my hand and pulls me onto his lap.
I gasp.
‘Fancy a quick shag?’
‘Hey!’ Christian says, coming into the office to greet me when he arrives on Friday. I get up from my desk and go round to give him a hug.
‘How the hell are ya?’ he asks.
‘Good!’ I grin up at him. Johnny emerges behind him and winks at me.
‘How’s he been treating you?’ Christian asks, motioning towards his mate. ‘Given you too much grief?’
‘No.’ I shake my head, feeling my face heat up. Christian looks down at me, amused.
‘So where are we off to tonight?’ Christian turns to Johnny.
‘Aren’t you jet-lagged?’ I ask, surprised.
‘Yeah. But we all know he’s going to drag me out anyway. May as well get in there first.’
Johnny shrugs. ‘Dunno. Viper Room, perhaps. Want a bevvy by the pool, mate?’ he asks Christian.
Christian nods and follows him out of the office while I put in a call to the Viper Room.
They seem totally normal with each other. I love it how blokes can just sweep things under the carpet like that.
My Facebook and MySpace obsession has steadily got worse this week. I saw a message on MySpace yesterday from that Asian babe, Nika, asking if Johnny wanted to hook up again. I deleted it, and then it occurred to me that it would have been smarter to reply and pretend to be Johnny, telling her I wasn’t interested.
A message flashes up on MySpace–it’s a flier inviting Johnny to a Spooky Girl gig tonight. My finger moves on autopilot towards the delete button. I already got rid of one of these Spooky Girl fliers earlier this week, but this time I stop myself. What if Lola asks Johnny about it next time she sees him? Hmm. In that case I’ll just ‘forget’ to mention it.
I click onto my emails and start replying to messages until I come across one from Bess:
Hey, how’s it going?
Is that it? Talk about keeping it simple. I should write back to her, but there’s so much to say. And obviously I can hardly say anything.
I reply with:
Good
I’m tempted to leave it there and press Send. Well, she kept it brief, didn’t she? For a laugh, I continue writing:
Actually, it’s bloody fantastic. Johnny and I are going at it like rabbits. He’s the best shag I’ve ever had. Even better than you’d imagine!
I chuckle to myself and press Delete.
Holy shit! I just pressed Send instead! Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I quickly type out a new message:
OBVIOUSLY that was a JOKE!
Bugger, now I have to write back properly.
All is well. I’m in LA again after the whole disappearing-act thing. It was really nice to see you in London. And meet Serena.
Liar.
I’d love to go out with you both next time I’m in town.
Liar, liar. Pants on fire.
How are things with you? Did you have a good time at the Wembley concert? Sorry I had to dash off like that, but you’ve probably heard what happened. Anyway, I guess I’d better get on with my work…
I yawn and press Send, then slump back in my seat, bored.
A memory comes back to me of Bess and I singing karaoke at my leaving party and I catch myself. To my surprise, a lump forms in my throat. How can I have grown apart from my best friend so quickly? And not just Bess. I’ve barely been in touch with anyone.
I remember when I first started working for Johnny. How much I wanted to send her a picture of his bare chest, out by the swimming pool…How much I thought she’d squeal her head off…I remember how often she used to ask me if she could come and stay. The answer, honestly, was always going to be ‘no’. It would never have worked.
‘I’ll have a double whisky. What are you two having? Want a bottle of Bolly?’
‘What?’ Johnny snaps. ‘When did I say I was never going to drink again?’
It’s a rhetorical question, so I ignore him and reply, ‘Champagne would be great.’
‘Why did you leave Scarborough?’ Christian asks. We’ve just been filling him in on what happened after he last saw us. I suppose we should leave out the sex…
Johnny starts to relay the story, but I can’t resist chipping in and telling it from my point of view. The waitress arrives with our drinks.
‘Bastard wouldn’t let me smoke so I told him to piss off,’ Johnny says, taking his glass before it even hits the table and knocking it back in one.
‘Another, please,’ he tells the waitress, putting his empty back on her tray. ‘Will you two stop looking at me like that?’
‘Johnny!’
‘Hey, man! How’s it going?’ Johnny’s glare transforms into a grin when he sees who’s interrupted us. I vaguely recognise the guy from Serengeti’s premiere party.
‘Cool, dude. Long time no see. Hey, are you coming to Spooky Girl later?’
Dammit!
‘No? I didn’t know they were playing?’
‘Yeah, dude, at the Whisky. Come along! Lola said she put you on the guest list.’
I wait with baited breath.
‘Sure.’
Bollocks.
‘Hey, Laurence,’ Johnny continues. ‘This is my friend Christian from back home, and this is Meg, my PA.’
Laurence leans across the table and shakes hands with both of us. ‘Come along too, man. The more the merrier.’
The Whisky is familiarly dark and grungy. Johnny has been spotted by a few people, but they’re leaving him alone. This crowd is way too cool to stalk a celebrity.
I watch with envy as Lola struts across the stage like a supermodel, belting out Electropop tunes. She’s wearing high-waisted gold hotpants and black tights. You’d have to be a real stunner to carry off that outfit, and she does. I feel unbearably boring in my skinny jeans and black top.
I glance at Johnny. His attention is focused on Lola. I look past him and see Christian smile at me. I smile back, but feel sick inside. I really want to go home. And I really want Johnny to come with me.
When Christian goes off to the bar, I turn to Johnny. ‘Are you going to tell Christian about us?’ I ask.
‘No!’ He looks back at me, horrified.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s none of his business.’
After the encore, I adopt a bright and breezy tone. ‘Shall I call Davey? Get him to pick us up?’
Johnny shakes his head. ‘Nah. I’m going backstage. You two alright, here?’
‘Sure,’ Christian replies, but his friend is already striding towards the backstage door. I look after him in dismay.
‘You happy to be back in LA?’ Christian turns to me. ‘Meg? Hello?’
‘Sorry?’
He repeats his question.
‘Yeah, it’s good.’ It would be a darn sight better if I didn’t feel so tense about Johnny the whole time.
‘Must’ve been a bit of a toughie looking after Johnny in the Dales like that.’
‘It wasn’t too bad,’ I reply, distractedly. Where has he gone? Is he with Lola?
I remember his words earlier in the week:
You know you are special to me, right?
I try to let them comfort me now.
After half an hour of standing at the bar making small talk, Christian says, ‘I don’t know if he’s coming back, you know.’ He rolls his eyes at me, jokingly, but I’m not seeing the funny side.
‘Shall I text him and check?’ he asks.
‘Yes, good idea.’ I watch eagerly as he gets his phone out. He texts Johnny then puts his phone back in his pocket and carries on talking.
‘Has he texted you back?’ I ask after a minute.
Christian pulls his phone out and checks. ‘No. So anyway…’
I can’t concentrate. I ask him to check again after another couple of minutes. Still no reply from Johnny. I hate how insecure he’s making me feel.
Christian yawns. ‘I’m wondering if we should shoot off.’
‘No, er,’ I stammer. ‘I don’t think so. We should wait for him.’
‘He’s a big boy, he can fend for himself.’ Christian smiles and puts his empty glass down on the bar top.
‘No. I think…Maybe he’ll expect Davey to be here.’
‘We’ll send Davey back for him.’ He shrugs.
‘Um…’ I shift from foot to foot. What is wrong with me?
‘Are you alright, Meg? You seem a bit antsy tonight.’
‘No, I’m fine!’ I hurriedly assure him. ‘I guess, well, you must be jet-lagged…’
‘Very.’
‘Let’s go, then.’ I cast another longing look at the backstage door and follow Christian out of the venue.
Chapter 28
‘Where did you go for so long?’ I’m trying not to sound upset, but I’m not sure I’m doing a very good job of it.
I heard Johnny come home at three o’clock in the morning. He didn’t come to my room as I’d hoped, but he didn’t have anyone with him either, so at least I could sleep easier after that.
‘Just hanging out, you know.’ Johnny reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a glass, filling it up with apple juice.
We’re in the kitchen. It’s Saturday early afternoon and he’s only just surfaced. Christian is in the office, working at the spare desk.
‘Was Lola there?’ I ask, casually.
‘Of course.’
I say nothing, opening up the fridge, looking inside aimlessly and closing it again.
Johnny leans back on the kitchen countertop and regards me. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’
‘No!’ I exclaim.
‘Good.’ He puts his three-quarters-full glass in the sink and saunters out of the kitchen.
I drink the rest of his juice and, for want of something better to do, wash up his glass instead of putting it in the dishwasher. I look at the kitchen clock. It’s almost one-thirty. I should go and ask if Christian wants any lunch. He must be starving.
I walk towards the office, but stop outside when I realise Johnny is in there with him.
‘Good night last night, mate?’ I hear Christian ask.
‘Yeah, ace.’
‘Get your rocks off with Lola, did you?’
Johnny chuckles. ‘Not yet.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Christian sounds amused. ‘I’m sure she’ll succumb to your charms before long. They always do.’
I back away from the door, feeling like someone has punched me in the stomach. My wedge heel buckles and I stumble, almost toppling to the ground. I cry out in shock.
‘Meg!’ Johnny appears at the doorway, looking startled to see me. ‘I didn’t know you were there. Are you okay?’ he asks, concerned.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I tell him, hurriedly, trying not to limp. ‘I…I was just about to ask if you wanted me to get some lunch.’
‘Lunch?’ Christian calls. ‘What is there?’ He appears at the doorway, behind Johnny. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, when he sees my face. ‘You look as white as a ghost.’
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Um…’ I stand up straight and try to focus. ‘I think there’s a chicken casserole and Rosa also left some soup.’
‘What flavour?’ Christian asks.
‘Erm…Vegetable, I think.’ I glance at Johnny.
‘Bread?’ Christian asks.
‘What? Bread, yes, bread. There is bread, yes.’
Christian laughs. ‘You’re not very with it today, are you, Megan?’
Johnny scratches his chin.
‘I’ll go and put the soup on.’ I turn and walk back to the kitchen.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ I hear Christian ask. I don’t hear Johnny’s reply.
‘So what time does this party kick off, then?’ Christian asks Johnny a short while later, whe
n we’re all in the kitchen.
Party? What party?
‘We’ll probably head there at around nine,’ Johnny tells him.
‘Are you coming?’ Christian asks me.
‘Whose party is it?’
‘Some record exec guy. Isn’t he, Johnny? Loads of celebs going. Should be a blast.’
‘Oh, I know the one.’ I glance at Johnny, but I can’t work out if he minds if I join them or not.
‘Have you got other plans?’ Christian asks, sensing my hesitation.
‘No…’
‘So come, then,’ Christian says, casually. ‘I need someone to keep me company while this one is off chatting up laydees.’
I look at Johnny through narrowed eyes. Bugger it.
‘Okay, then,’ I tell him.
The party is being thrown by Daniel Steinbeck, one of the head honchos at Johnny’s record company. His house is up in the hills, not far from where we live.
Christian is driving and taking the corners fast. I can hear Johnny’s sharp intakes of breath and have been trying to stifle my giggles.
The paps are out in force when we arrive, camera bulbs flashing through the windows at us as we drive through the gates into Daniel’s private residence. Just like Johnny’s pad, this place has incredible views over the city, with a swimming pool at the front. It’s a warm night, so we make our way through the beautiful people to the outdoor area. The music is pumping, but it’s not as loud outside.
Johnny lights himself a cigarette and looks around for familiar faces.
‘Back in a tick,’ he says, distractedly. He walks off, leaving me alone with Christian.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Hey! There’s my friend, Kitty. Kitty!’ I call.
‘Meg!’ she squeals from the other side of the pool. ‘I didn’t know you were coming?’
‘I didn’t know I was coming either until a few hours ago.’ Seeing her immediately makes me feel better about Johnny abandoning us.
