“Not really.”
“Come on, look at this stuff. And you play bass. Plus you have fantastic hair. That's a lot going on.”
Eric blushed.
Before he could answer, the doorbell rang.
I followed Eric downstairs and grabbed my bag. It was time I got to school anyway. I had hours of editing to do. Hours of editing and frantically checking my phone for a reply to my message. Hopefully, Hannah wasn't drugged and sold into slavery. That would be such a bummer.
A tiny woman walked into the room and stared at me, a stare that took in everything ― the bright purple hair, the tattoos, the piercings.
“I hope she's not your girlfriend, Eric. She has too much metal on her face.”
With that, I was dismissed.
Chapter 5. Hannah
I hadn't planned to have that last drink. Or the one before that either. But the champagne kept flowing and it'd be rude not to drink it.
“Sing again, Hannah. I love your singing.”
“You don't really want to hear me sing…” I giggled. I loved singing but after Jack and Eric had told me that my voice was awful, I'd been a bit self-conscious about going to karaoke with Tamaki. I didn't want anyone else saying mean things. But instead of telling me to stop, he encouraged me to sing more, clapping and cheering then pouring more champagne. All you had to do was ring the phone on the wall and they bought you more champagne. This place was amazing.
“I've sung enough,” I said, flopping back on the plush couch.
Apart from the microphones sitting on the marble coffee table, this was what I imagined a brothel looked like. The room, and the corridors we'd walked down, smelt of stale smoke and some kind of air freshener with undertones of debauchery and sex. All the red velvet and gold fittings and the walls lined with sofas big enough for an orgy, it gave off a dodgy vibe.
This is going to get weird, I'd thought as we'd entered the room. I imagined scenes of seduction in the secluded room, like in a Regency romance. Me, the innocent victim screaming with no one to hear as I was deflowered amongst the debauchery. Well, maybe not deflowered…
But Tamaki had picked up the phone near the door and ordered a bottle of champagne then got the controller and put some songs on. He'd not laid a hand on me, just passed me the machine so I could select songs myself. I'd scrolled through the song list trying to find something I wanted to sing, feeling a bit nervous about singing around him and trying to find a song that wouldn't sound too bad.
I'd finally found a song but, by then, Tamaki's song had started and he belted it out. Totally off-key.
I suppressed my grin, feeling so much better about my own singing voice.
After that, I'd put on every cheesy song I could find ― Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Justin Beiber. We sang them all. Out of key and totally flat, it didn't matter. We had the room to ourselves and an endless supply of good champagne. The night was ours.
We’d sung for hours and I thought I could sing no more but Tamaki handed me my microphone.
“Come on, duet with me.”
The opening bars of “I had the time of my life” filled the room. I wanted to rest but how could I resist “Dirty Dancing”. As I started singing, Tamaki moved his hips, trying to dance like Patrick Swayze. Trying so hard, but not succeeding. I tried not to laugh.
“Stop!”
“I like to dirty dance.”
I picked up a cushion off the sofa and threw it at him. He’d completely changed from being so aloof and uptight earlier in the day. I liked this side of Tamaki. He was fun and crazy and easy to be around.
“Hey, you missed your line.”
I kept singing but no way was I going to dance with him.
After the song, he high-fived me.
“We are awesome, right. The best karaoke combi ever. We need more champagne.”
“And maybe some cake. Do they have cake here?”
“They have cake. Do you like The Beatles?”
“Huh? Beetle cake?”
“No, do you like singing The Beatles?”
“I hate them. Boring.”
Tamaki reeled back in fake shock, falling back against the cushions. “How can you say you hate The Beatles? Everyone loves The Beatles. They are the best.”
“Boring. Ring for champagne. I want to do more Britney.”
“Yes, and One Direction. I love One Direction.”
As he phoned for more drinks, I wondered if he was gay. No straight man actually said they loved One Direction.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd had so much fun.
When the waitress arrived with the champagne bucket, I noticed her checking Tamaki out then giving me a dismissive look but Tamaki just ignored her.
He poured me another drink.
“This really has to be our last then. I need to sleep.”
“Ah, yes. Poor Hannah, I'm sorry to keep you out so late. You are still not rested from your flight.”
“No problem. It's been fun. Let's sing some more.”
“You eat the cake first. You can't eat cake and sing at the same time.”
“True words,” I said and picked up a fork to attack the cake.
Tamaki sat down beside me, finally taking a break from singing. His knee touched mine but I wasn't sure if he'd planned it that or it was just accidental. I rested my head on his shoulder, almost ready to fall asleep, my body heavy with that sleepiness that made think it might be better to fall asleep here than to try to make it home.
Tamaki put his arm around me and I wondered if he was going to kiss me. I didn't even care, maybe I even welcomed it a little. It felt so reassuring here in his arms.
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear but didn’t move any closer.
“Hannah, don't fall asleep,” he said, shaking me slightly. “We will leave now so you can sleep.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.
Chapter 6. Angie
“Are you sure you've got everything you need? Should I get some water? Are you right for drinks?”
I walked into the band room and grabbed the empty glasses to take back to the bar. Eric reached out and grabbed my arm.
“Sit down and relax, Angie. You're stressing us out.”
“Really? But I'm your manager. Well, acting manager. I've got to do this right. Now, is everything tuned? Spud, is your kit ready to go? And Jack, get your boots off the table.”
I could see Jack roll his eyes but I was in charge of these guys tonight and nothing would go wrong. Nothing. I didn't want to be known as Angie, the crapola stand-in manager.
“And remember you have to say, 'this song's for Angie' before you do your finale, right. You can ad-lib that bit if you want and add in beautiful or charming or―”
“Bossy,” said Spud. “This song's for Angie, the bossy boots chick who won't shut up. But if you really do want to do something, you can get me a beer from the bar.”
“Okay, Jack? Eric?”
Neither of them wanted anything.
I pushed my way through to the bar. The guys were headlining tonight and the crowd had really come out to support them. They were being talked of as being THE band to watch, the up and coming stars on the local circuit. They'd only get bigger too. People wanted to be able to say, '“ saw them back when…” but “back when” had already been and gone.
I’d checked the song plays on Spotify before I came out. If a label didn’t sign these guys soon, they’d have to be stupid. Or maybe the guys could just do it all themselves. Who needed a big company backing you nowadays when most people just bought their music straight from the net?
The support band was okay. They had a bit of a country thing going on, nothing too cheesy, just a bit of an edge. Chick guitarist with a short skirt and legs that stretched forever. She wasn't just there for looks either. She really knew how to play. The lead singer was a bit of a dork but in a cute way.
I grabbed a beer from the barman and pushed back through the room.
A couple of chicks were hanging around the band room door.
“Whoa. Watch it there. No chicks back stage before the gig. Move along now. Keep moving.”
“How come you're going back there then?”
“I'm the manager. You are distractions, so shoo.”
They walked off slowly, keeping an eye on me but my glacier stare deterred them.
“Shoo… go on, scat.” I shooed them off with my hand. This was work not a playground for their sexual fantasies.
I walked in and handed the beer to Spud.
“Better make that your last one before you go on stage. No point you getting silly.”
I folded my arms, searching the room for anything else that needed doing.
“Hey, Angie,” Jack said with a slow drawl, “you got sandwiches packed for us?”
“Huh?” Was I supposed to have sandwiches? No one told me I needed to make sandwiches. Shit, I'd tried to think of everything but I'd failed. This was too much for me.
Jack's face bloomed in a wry smile.
“I figured since you are acting like a mother hen, you'd have packed us a lunch as well.”
Damn, they were teasing me.
The support band finished up their last song and Jack paced the tiny room. I figured it was better to sit quietly and let them get on with it. It wouldn't be long and they'd be up on stage and I could relax, knowing there was no more I could do. The band room was one of the worst I’d ever been in. Not only was it small and stuffy and cluttered, it had the smelliest couches for us to sit on. Weird stains covered the wooden walls, seeping through the print on the posters and stickers covering it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there were vermin around. The faint smell of vomit lingered in the room and the lights flickered in a way that would give you a headache after a while.
“How are things going with the tour?” Eric asked.
I shrugged. The promotion people wanted to meet up to finalise things but I'd put them off. I wasn't sure if putting them off was the right thing to do. We sure as hell didn't want to miss out on the opportunity. I just wanted it to all work out. Why couldn’t people just play nice and just make the offer they wanted to make instead of all this negotiation and hassle? Then we could just walk in and sign on the dotted line. No fuss, no muss.
A cheer went up for the end of the support band and some tinny Lou Reed played over the bar's PA. Time to get to work.
The tiny band room got crowded as the guitarist and singer from the support band came in. They flopped in the corner and both opened beers.
“Nice set,” said Eric.
The guitarist smiled at him. Why did I suddenly want to punch her in her ratty-looking face? A band of ice and malice wrapped around my heart but I had to run out and tape the set lists in place. At least I got to use gaffer tape. I'd gaffer tape that chick's legs shut so she'd stay away from my band.
Walking onto the stage with the strips of paper under my arms, I looked out over the room. Sure, most people had headed away to the bar but I saw some of the Storm diehard fans staking their spot at the front of stage. I waved to a couple of them.
“Look at me, up here on stage,” I mouthed to them. Most of them wore various versions of the Storm t-shirts. I pretty much knew all of these guys but there were new faces too. Probably people I only knew from their internet names, like when someone has a cartoon avatar so you expect them to look like a cartoon in real life.
“Hey Angie, are you playing?” Greg, the Mohawk guy, yelled out.
I shook my head.
“Saw you on the TV, Ange. You were great.”
I smiled. Wow, I was like totally famous. Maybe I should start my own band sometime when I got a break from study.
I ran off and got drinks to put on stage at the right spots.
Eric waved for me to get off stage. Spud needed to load on his drum kit and then they'd be ready to start.
I slipped into the front row, squirming my way into the line of people already packed tight.
“Hey, what do you think you're doing?” some chick behind me yelled. “We've been here all night.”
Maybe I should've moved out of the way but Kris and Danielle, two of the most prolific posters on the Storm forum, put their arms around me.
“This is Angie. She can push in if she wants.”
Hells, it's not like the chick couldn't see over my head anyway. I was barely as tall as the feedback speaker from down there.
When Storm started playing, I forgot I was the stand-in manager, forgot these were the same guys I hung out with. It was like old times and I was a fan again with Jack Colt seducing me with his voice.
I screamed and cried and linked arms with Kris and Danielle while we belted out the words to our favourite songs. If life stopped right there, I'd have been happy but it went by in an instant. I'd completely forgotten what I'd told them until they got to the last song.
“This one's for Angie,” Jack screamed. “Our stand-in manager, mother hen who has been looking after us all night.”
He laughed and Eric stepped up to the microphone.
“You know, she did a fantastic job not just as stand-in manager but also as stand-in lead singer on our recent TV appearance. So I think it's only fair she get up on stage and sing with us tonight.”
It's not often I'm lost for words but I could only stand there with my mouth open. Was this for real? Was I dreaming?
“Angie, Angie,” someone started chanting.
Eric reached down and gave me his hand to pull me up on stage. I'm pretty sure as I climbed on stage, my skirt rode up giving everyone a flash of my undies. Why else would they be cheering like that?
Then it was just a blur where my brain stopped functioning. It froze and there was nothing coming out. I shared the microphone with Eric and hoped I was singing the right words in the right places.
Then it was over. It was just me and the guys on stage with cheers and screams.
Eric put his arm around my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. But, with his arm around me, I remembered these guys were just “the guys”, not rock stars but the same guys I hung out with.
We ran off the stage and into the back room. The couple from the support band were curled up on the dirty old couch but Spud ordered them off it. Main band privileges. I thought he was being a wanker but was glad he’d done it. They perched themselves up on an amp behind the door and didn’t seem to mind anyway.
Spud and Eric settled themselves on the couch and I propped myself up on the arm, next to Eric. I had a beer with them in the back room, still buzzing from my stage debut and wanting to make the most of it, then realised I needed to get into stand-in manager mode and went to check with the barman to find out how the night's takings had gone.
He said he'd tally it up and pay us out tomorrow if I wanted to swing by. Sounded good to me. I didn't want to have all that money on me.
When I got back, a woman skulked around the band room. From the back, she looked like just another groupie but then she turned and I realised she was bad news ― junkie thin with stringy black hair hanging over her face. She scratched her arm in a telling way and looked disoriented. I figured I should get rid of her.
Before I could get to her though, Jack came out of the band room and, grabbing her arm, led her out to the back alley. What would he be doing with a woman like that?
I headed for the bathroom, because I really needed to go to the toilet and not at all because the toilets backed onto the alley. And, while I was there, totally accidentally, could overhear them talking. I mean, I had to stand on the toilet lid and open the window behind it a crack. But it was accidental, okay, not at all eavesdropping.
“You gotta ask him, Jackie. He'll listen to you.”
The woman's voice rose to a desperate pitch but I couldn't hear Jack's answer.
“Jack, Jack, say you'll call him. Jack. Jack. Pumpkin Pie.”
If she hadn't sound so crazy, I
'd have laughed at the Pumpkin Pie. Who was she? She looked vaguely familiar but I don't think I'd seen her at a concert before.
“Jack, it's the last time, I swear. I just really need ―”
I couldn't hear any more because someone had walked into the toilet and the noise from the bar drowned out their conversation.
“… why do you even ask me these things, Mum?”
That was Jack. Mum? She was his mother? Holy crap. I had to grab on to the wall to steady myself.
Their voices got quieter and I stood on tiptoes to hear better.
Then someone thumped on the toilet door.
“You done in there? Hurry up, there's a line out here you know!”
I'd have told her to quieten the fuck down but, if I could hear Jack outside, he'd be able to hear me and I didn't want to him to know I'd been listening in. Actually, I had a lump in my throat of bile rising from my stomach. I really should not have been listening.
As I stepped off the toilet, I heard Jack's voice even over the music.
“I told you, NO!”
I rushed back to the band room, hoping Jack wouldn’t realise I’d overheard him. I sat back down on the arm of the couch and was about to tell Eric what had happened.
Before I could say anything though, Jack slammed into the room.
I’d seen Jack angry before. I’d seen him looking like he hated the world. But I’d never seen him like this. Anger and frustration radiated from him in waves.
“Jack,” I said, hoping I could say something to defuse the situation.
“Not now, Angie.” His voice cut like razor blades.
Spud handed him a beer. Jack closed his fingers around the bottle, staring at it as though he wasn't quite sure what it was. His eyes glazed over and it was as though all trace of Jack had gone, leaving something primal in his place. All the chatter in the room stopped. Even the couple from the support band sitting in the corner could sense the tension. We all froze, just watching Jack stare at the bottle.
His nostrils flared and his skin went taut. I reached for Eric’s hand, a little afraid of Jack.
Without a word, Jack raised his arm and hurled the bottle. As if in slow motion, the bottle flew through the air, hitting the wall behind Eric and Spud then splintered into a thousand shards. A rain of glass fell on Eric and Spud as the brown liquid seeped down the wall.
Bad Boy vs Millionaire Page 4
