In his mid-forties, Josep Leon was impeccably dressed in a beautifully-cut suit that was at odds with the usual attire of the holidaymakers. He had dark hair that was streaked with silver and twinkly, mischievous, eyes, and was by far the best-looking man in the bar. Even if he had the worst attitude.
“Cerveza,” he demanded, taking a seat at the bar.
“Cerveza, por favor,” replied Caro, pouring his drink anyway. “Manners always get you further in this bar, even if it is quiet.”
He grunted in response. “And why is it so quiet?”
Caro looked around at the bar, watching people nursing their drinks, sometimes chatting to the people beside them. There was the odd stag or hen party that popped in, never staying for longer than one drink before moving on to somewhere more lively.
“There's nothing going on,” she said. “There's nothing to do; no music, no TVs for MTV or sport or anything. Nothing to keep the punters in for more than one drink. Sure, there's plenty of drinks to choose from, but if you can't get anyone to stay to buy them, there's no profit to be made.”
Mariella, who had come to meet Caro after her shift, gestured at her to stop talking. Caro ignored her.
“You've got it all worked out, haven't you?” Josep said.
“Just a few ideas that I've seen work elsewhere.” Caro shrugged and went about tidying up a few glasses that had been left on the bar.
“What would you do to improve this place then?”
“Why do you care? You've just come in for a drink.”
“A drink in the bar that I own.”
Mariella cut in smoothly. “Caro, this is Josep Leon, he owns The Roca Bar.”
Caro couldn't believe she'd put her foot in it. Telling the owner of the bar that it wasn't working and he should make changes would probably get her the sack. As she examined the man in front of her, she noticed that he didn't look cross. In fact, totally the opposite. He looked happier now than when he'd first walked in.
“I like your ideas.” He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. “I have a small amount of money that I could use to improve this place, a tiny amount.” His Spanish accent became more pronounced as he became more animated. “Tell me why I should get you to spend it.”
Caro looked at Mariella, who shook her head. Caro briefly outlined what she thought would make the difference, talking about live music, promotions, deals and other events that might keep people in the bar longer.
Josep reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. He passed over some euro to cover his beer and then handed a roll of notes to Caro. “This is it. Do what you need to.”
“I can't accept your money, you don't even know me.”
“Not yet, I don't, but I will.”
He was true to his word. Over the next few weeks, Josep made regular visits to the bar to check up on progress as Caro steadily made changes and introduced the things she had discussed in their first meeting. The more time he spent here, the closer he and Caro became. After his fourth visit, he asked her out to dinner. Flattered that someone other than a spotty, virginal teenager on a lads’ holiday was taking an interest, she accepted. And each time after that, she accepted, until they were going out almost every night of the week. As they spent more and more time together, the dynamic of their relationship changed, from business to something more personal. It came as no surprise that, finally, they slept together.
Mariella couldn't believe it, finding Josep snoring loudly in their living room, having spent the night on the foldout sofa bed that Caro had commandeered when she had moved in.
“You can't let this go on,” she said, pulling Caro into the tiny kitchen. “He's married.”
“Separated,” said Caro. “He told me himself.”
“If he's that separated, tell me why he was out last night with his wife.” Mariella pushed a newspaper at Caro, which had a shot of Josep and his wife, attending a gala dinner in aid of a local charity.
Caro had discovered by now that Josep was something important in the town, simply by the amount of people he spoke to or had contact with during the course of their dates. And then she realised that all of their meetings had been in other places, far away from The Roca Bar. He had told her that he and his wife were still legally married, although had agreed to go their separate ways. The article in the paper seemed to point to the contrary. She hated being deceived, but enjoyed the time that she spent with the older man. She ignored it until one night, after a long dinner that led to them making love on a secluded beach, Caro tackled the situation head on.
“Why did you lie to me?” she asked. “About Consuela?”
They were lying on a blanket, huddled up beneath a second, the air still warm and sticky. Josep shifted uncomfortably.
“I didn't lie, specifically... I just didn't tell you everything.”
“The two of you have been carrying on like nothing happened, even though you said you weren't together. Are you ashamed of being with me?”
Josep stroked her hair. “Never.”
“But not open enough to leave your wife.”
He shifted into a sitting position, rubbing his chest. “Caro, I can't have this conversation with you now. I need to get home.”
“Home to your wife.”
“Just home.” Josep hauled himself up off the sand and pulled on his clothes, before walking up to his car.
He never made it home.
He suffered a massive heart attack, which caused him to lose control of the car and veer off the road into a ditch.
He died instantly.
In the aftermath of his death, his affair with Caro came out, and she discovered he had left her The Roca Bar in his will. There was an acrimonious battle with Consuela, who demanded that it should be given back to her, to compensate for Josep's infidelity. Caro refused to give in to her and instead she ploughed every bit of energy she had into The Roca Bar, making it the most successful it had ever been. Creating a legacy to the man who had given her a start in the business.
She also distanced herself from relationships, preferring instead to stick to the occasional one-night stand or meaningless hook up. She was wary of getting close to anyone again. Particularly if that man was already involved with someone else.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alik had been a little reluctant to go to Minty's Charity Ball, but Edie had been more than persuasive, saying it would be good for his image, not to mention getting him some mainstream press coverage. She had also informed him that the cameras from Pretty Rich Things would be there, although way after it was too late for him to back out. After finding out that Parker Roberts was also going to be there, he agreed to go. Despite his protestations, Edie had forced him into a tuxedo that covered almost every tattoo he had. She was convinced he looked like some kind of movie star, but he felt like a total fraud. He disliked going to events without the rest of the band, particularly ones like this. He had no idea how he was going to get through the evening.
They arrived at The Cartier Hotel in the limousine that Edie had booked and got out of the car to a blinding flash of cameras and paparazzi. Edie was used to this type of attention as she twisted and turned for the cameras, making sure they got her best side and the full effect of her dress; a dark red fitted number from Amanda Wakeley. Alik let her preen, trying to stay out of the limelight, but she grabbed his hand and pulled her close to him.
“Smile,” she said. “At least make it look like you want to be here with me.”
He forced a smile as they walked up the short red carpet to the entrance. Once inside, the smile slid from his face as he saw what awaited them. The ballroom had been decorated with various coloured ribbons, denoting the different types of cancer, and while Alik had every faith in the fund-raising efforts of the evening, the decor was making his eyes hurt. It looked as if someone had thrown up rainbows. Around the edge of the room were various tables with the lots for the evening. Ranging from yacht trips, spa days, race days, polo tickets, rugby boxes... There wasn't on
e thing that Alik would contemplate bidding on, even if he could afford it.
Minty bounced up to the pair, proffering them raffle tickets for some of the more inexpensive prizes such as dinner or opera tickets. “Hello you two, can I interest you in some of these? They are twenty-five pounds for one or one hundred pounds for five. Or you can put some bids on the auction lots.”
Alik coughed. One hundred pounds would almost cover the entire audience's drinks in the some of the bars the band had played in recently. And Minty wanted that much on the off chance that you might just get to see Madame Butterfly. Edie nudged him in the ribs.
“Of course, Minty,” she said. “Alik, we'll take five. I'm not so bothered about these prizes, but it's all for a good cause, isn't it?” She stared at him until he got his wallet out and peeled off some notes to give to Minty. Edie tucked the tickets into her tiny Chanel clutch bag, which probably cost more than the tickets in any case, and kissed Minty on both cheeks. “It looks like tonight will be really successful, well done.”
Minty beamed. Alik thought Edie was being patronising, although seeing how the other girl basked in Edie's praise was interesting. She clearly thought the world of Edie and any positive words were coveted.
“I think we'll go and take a look at some of the lots. I could quite fancy the yacht trip to Cannes.”
Edie pulled Alik away and they meandered around the room, moving from table to table. Each lot had pictures or videos describing it, with envelopes so that interested parties could make sealed bids before the ten o'clock deadline. There would then be a period of reviewing the bids made and winners would be announced before midnight. With around thirty lots to distribute, Alik was already thinking about how dull that would be.
“I need a smoke,” he said, as they stopped at a stand auctioning race days at Goodwood. Edie had already bid on pretty much everything and he couldn't face listening to yet another weak-chinned hooray talking at him. “I'll meet you at the bar in a bit.”
Escaping outside through the back door, he was pleased to see Parker Roberts already on the patio puffing away at a cigarette. The artist development manager was alone. Hearing someone else in his space, he turned, saw Alik, and offered him his pack of Malboro.
“Ah, good to see someone else who needs a breather. Although not too many of these, Mr Thorne, I don't want to have to cancel gigs because of throat problems.”
Alik laughed, accepting the cigarette, and bending over slightly as Parker flicked an engraved Zippo. “Good to see you too. I didn't think this would be your scene either though?”
Parker shook his head. “Not mine, no. The lovely Lexi insisted that I accompany her here this evening, much as I expect Edie did with you?”
“Lexi?”
“Lexi Bloom.”
Alik's eyebrows shot up. Lexi Bloom was the indie actress of the moment and an overall press magnet. It transpired that Parker had been seeing her on and off for a few months, initially attracted by her seeming disregard for the limelight and mainstream events. Lexi had also recently appeared in an episode of Pretty Rich Things, seen shopping at The Magpie. Edie hadn't stopped talking about it for weeks. He exhaled a stream of smoke.
“Never thought she would be your type,” Alik said at last.
“Nor Edie yours,” said Parker. “I thought you'd be hooked up with a rock chick.”
Caro's face immediately entered Alik's head. He hadn't been in contact with her since their very frank conversation at the villa in Greece, and what had been a burgeoning relationship now appeared dead. He contemplated whether or not to tell Parker about her. Did he really need to burden him with his love life?
Parker waved to a waiter and ordered them some whisky.
“Let's sit out here and chat for a while,” he said. “I'm sure Lexi and Edie can manage without us.”
A bottle of Laphroaig and two immaculately-cut crystal tumblers arrived on a silver tray within minutes, and the two men settled down at one of the heavy oak garden tables.
It felt strange having such a personal conversation with someone that he'd only met a couple of times before, and someone who was effectively his boss, but Alik found it easy to open up to Parker. He told him about what had happened in Mallorca and what had almost happened several times since they'd been back.
“I was with her at the weekend,” he said. “Poppy wanted to thank Caro for agreeing to be her maid of honour and it just happened. We... Well, I told her what I wanted and she turned me down. Told me that all we could be is friends.”
Parker took a long sip of the whisky. “That's pretty messed up. But what about Edie?”
“That's the thing, she doesn't know I was with Caro in Greece.”
* * *
Edie had stepped out on the patio to get some fresh air. All the entertaining and being nice to people took its toll after a while. There had been plenty of interest in The Magpie and she had made a couple of contacts who could really help her to expand in the online markets. Now she wanted Alik. She knew that he probably felt a little uncomfortable at events like this, but he'd have to start getting used to it. He hadn't come back to find her as he said he would so she'd had to go to him. Spotting him sitting chatting with Parker, she headed across the terrace, her heels gently clacking on the stone. Neither of the men heard or saw her coming. As she approached, she heard Alik talking.
“That's the thing, she doesn't know I was with Caro in Greece.”
Edie stumbled on a slightly loose paving slab and gasped. Both men spun round and Alik leaped up from the table.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Should she confront him about Caro now? What else had gone on while they had been away? Was he going to break up with her?
“Owwww!” she cried, instead, collapsing in a heap on the concrete. “My ankle! I think I sprained it as I fell.”
As expected, Alik came to her aid, gently stroking her back and feeling her ankle. “It doesn't appear too bad, but perhaps we should head home? I'm sure Minty will keep you posted on any prizes you win.”
Edie fluttered her eyes at him, eyes that were damp with crocodile tears. “Yes, I think going home would be a good idea. See you again, Parker.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alik was on edge. He wasn't usually that nervous before a gig, but he knew that Parker was going to be there and he respected what he thought of them, particularly this close to the Wilde Park Festival set. He had suggested that Parker came along to see them before the festival when they'd talked at the auction a couple of nights ago. They were at The Vegas again, somewhere that felt comfortable and where they knew that the crowd would be into them. The plan was to run through the set they would play at the festival, making sure it was as tight as it could be. In the tiny, cramped backstage area, Billy and Nate were tuning up their guitars, while Dev was air drumming. Alik waved the setlist at them.
“You know what we're doing, right?”
“You worry too much,” replied Billy, looking up from replacing one of his strings. “Plus you made sure that the setlist is taped to practically every amp or mic stand. We're not going to forget.”
“I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly. You know Parker's coming tonight?”
The others nodded. It wasn't as if Alik hadn’t mentioned it about a hundred times. He wondered whether he was going over the top. He wanted to make a good impression and make Parker realise that Blood Stone Riot were a good investment. He took a sip of water from the bottle on top of one of the drum cases. There was nothing wrong with the adrenalin that was running through his body; he needed to channel that energy in a show. Before it spilled out anywhere else.
Finally, the bar manager indicated that they should go on.
Strutting onto the stage, Alik grabbed the microphone. “Good evening, Vegas!” he yelled. “We're Blood Stone Riot and this is ‘Bleed Like Cyanide!’”
The crowd erupted. Alik whirled across the stage, energised by their response. He flitted between Nate and Bil
ly, alternately singing with them and holding the mic out to the crowd. He knew he was being a bit optimistic, but luckily it was an audience that knew them well and could, at least, sing back some of the chorus. Nate and Billy played their parts, swapping sides on the stage, singing harmonies together in the same mic and including Dev in their antics. Alik spotted Parker standing near the front to one side of the stage and raised a fist in acknowledgement. He was pleased to see that Parker responded with a grin. They blistered through the short, six-song set, finishing up with ‘In It For The Craic,’ another fan favourite.
“Thank you! You've been an incredible audience tonight!” cried Alik as the cheers died down. “We've been Blood Stone Riot and we'll see you at the Wilde Park Festival next weekend!”
The band left the stage, applause and whistles ringing in their ears. Alik still got an overwhelming feeling of pride whenever he got a reaction like that, no matter how many times it happened. Someone had enjoyed something he had poured his heart and energy into. He had bared his soul out there. And they had liked it.
Parker approached the band. “Guys, that was immense. I admit, I've never seen you play live before, just heard clips from social media and that was a mistake. I can honestly say that you put everything into that performance. If you pull it off at the same level at the festival, they'll definitely be asking you back for a main stage appearance.” He slapped Nate on the back. “Good job, mate, if I could only play guitar like you.”
Nate laughed. “Thanks, Parker, means a lot. After all, you'll be making a lot of money out of us if things go well, right?”
“We can but hope.” Parker gestured for Alik to join him in a quieter area. “In all seriousness, Alik, that's one strong band up there. It all works. The four of you are a force to be reckoned with. You keep it up and we'll have GnR begging you for a support slot. Look, I've got to shoot off, Lexi's expecting me at some drinks party, but keep in touch, we'll speak soon.” And then he was gone.
Cocktails, Rock Tales & Betrayals Page 10
