Give Me Love

by Kate McCarthy

  I started bouncing my leg up and down. I knew I should have gone to the bathroom even though I went before we left. Was that a scuff on my shoe? I was about to reach down to wipe it off when Mac snapped at me, drawing my attention back to her.

  “Evie,” Mac said through clenched teeth.

  “Mac,” I hissed back. “What is your problem? You’ve been on everyone’s case all afternoon. We know how important this is. Stop reminding us.”

  The guys all nodded their agreement. Just as I sat back to take a deep calming breath, Gary Gilmore walked through the door, swiftly closing it behind him.

  We all sat up a little straighter, and I smoothed the creases that had formed on my shirt from my seat belt. I’d actually considered leaving it undone to keep my shirt wrinkle-free, but somehow I didn’t think that would fly in the face of an accident. Fancy explaining to some stern copper the reason I’d flown out the front window of the car, smashing myself to smithereens in the process, was because I hadn’t wanted to ruin my shirt.

  Mac glared at me and pointed to her head.

  What? I shrugged.

  She shook her head back in a silent whatever.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gary said as he walked hurriedly over to one of the chairs and quickly sat down, dumping a folder on the table in front of him. “I got held up at the studio. Sins of Descent are in the middle of their world tour, and we’ve been busy putting together a selection of supporting acts to put forward for the Australian leg in February because Menace pulled out.”

  We looked at each other with wide eyes. Sins of Descent was one of top bands in the world. They currently had three songs in the top fifty Billboard Chart. They were musical gods, and their lead singer, Ethan, had been voted second sexiest male singer, only behind Adam Levine.

  Gary looked at all of us and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers, as his assistant David came running in with a coffee. David had kindly offered us drinks when we arrived, but we’d all declined for various nerve related reasons.

  “I’m Gary Gilmore and I head up the A & R Department here at Jettison Records. We're in charge of discovering talent, which you seem to have quite a bit of.” He smiled at us. We stared back, hanging off every word. “Thanks for coming in at such short notice.”

  We murmured polite responses.

  “We’ve called you in because I liked what I saw when you played at The White Demon Warehouse a little while ago, and I think you may have what we’re looking for. However, what I think and the label thinks don’t always align, which means it’s up to my department to convince them you’re worth the investment, so that in turn, leaves it up to you, as the talent, to convince me to take that risk on my reputation.”

  Gary sat back to let us absorb the words while he took a sip of his coffee then waved his hand about. “I’ll run through a bit about our label shall I?” He went on to talk about the various departments. The Art Department would be involved in album covers, displays, advertisements. Marketing handled everything involved in releasing an album. Promotion made sure the artists got air time on radio stations, television spots on stations like MTV, and scheduled various interviews. He went on to talk about producers, sales, publicity, and label liaisons until it swirled around in my head dizzily.

  “Today, I’d like to get a bit of background about yourselves, what instruments you play, how long you’ve played, what artists influence your music, and what direction you see the band taking.”

  We all nodded so he would know we were listening.

  “Then,” he continued, “we’ll set up an appointment for you down at the studio so we can get two or three songs recorded. I’ll take that, along with some video of a live performance, and if the label is happy to go ahead, we can start talking contracts.”

  We went around the table discussing our musical backgrounds as Gary asked questions, eventually handing over some paperwork to Mac.

  “Mackenzie, you’re the band’s official manager?”

  She confirmed that she was and reached for the papers across the table.

  He nodded towards the pile. “That paperwork should have all the information for the recording studio. Where they are, who you need to talk to, what’s involved. The contact information on there is for Marty Jennings. He’s who you’ll need to talk to about scheduling. The studio is pretty backed up I’m afraid, so I would suggest you ring today. At the least it will give you time to put the songs together that you wish to put forward. I’ve included a selection that I think might be appropriate.”

  He looked at all of us. “Any questions?”

  I scrambled through my brain for something to ask so I wouldn’t look like the dumb mute I’d been throughout the entire meeting.

  “What kind of contract might we be talking about?” Henry asked, sitting back in his chair.

  Gary directed his answer to all of us. “We usually look at about a four to five album deal. That means you have to produce those records under our label alone. We don’t usually stick a time frame in there, but we don’t want albums to drag out forever. If you manage to debut a popular album, you could fade into obscurity if you don’t back it up with something reasonably soon. The whole purpose is to keep your name out there, but our publicity and promotions department can work with you on that.”

  We all nodded and murmured appropriately at his explanation.

  “Well if that’s all...” he stood up “...I’ll get my assistant David to see you out. Mac, you have my contact information if you need to be in touch. Thanks for coming in.”

  He shook all of our hands politely, and David materialised to usher us all out the door, pressing the lift button for us before returning efficiently to his desk.

  First into the lift, I saw myself in the mirror and blanched. A giant strand of my straightened hair, which I thought was tucked neatly behind my ear, had somehow managed to do a double loop and pin itself back the other way so it flared out crazily in to the air. God! Gary must have thought I was a complete twat.

  “Mac,” I shrieked, madly brushing the offending tuft of hair back to where it belonged. “Why didn’t you tell me about my hair?”

  Mac let out a huff as I frowned at all of them through the mirror in the lift and patted it back into place.

  “Didn’t notice, Evie,” Jake said.

  Frog and Cooper just shrugged.

  “Evie,” Henry muttered as we made our way out of the lift and into the hideous heat.

  “What?”

  “We’re about to hit a real live recording studio for a potential signing and your worried about a strand of hair?”

  Frog picked me up and whirled me around crazily, and then a group hug had us dancing about wildly and accidentally jostling the annoyed and sweaty pedestrians who had the misfortune of getting in our path.

  It was cause for a celebration, and Casey had the thankless task of detouring to a supermarket so we could stock up on party essentials. Mac busily texted everyone we knew in Sydney to invite them over while I strolled the aisles alongside Casey. Thankfully he didn’t share Jared’s health food affliction. He didn’t so much as glance at the giant pile of food I loaded into the trolley, nor did he appear to notice that every woman we encountered embarrassed themselves trying to get his attention.

  Later that night we were two hours into the party, and I’d barely seen Jared for more than two minutes because we were surrounded by friendly well-wishers that were anxious and curious for details.

  The crowd mingled on the back deck and yard, eating the piles of marinated chicken wings and munching from Mediterranean platters. There were giant pitchers of sangria and beers piled high in the surrounding eskies.

  Finishing up a song at the request of the group, Henry leaned his guitar against the wall while I kept strumming slowly, sitting on the edge of the deck table, feet on the seat. Much to everyone’s amusement and laughter, I finished off with a limerick.

  There was once a young lady named Mac

  Who had an u
nusually large bum crack

  “Evie!” Mac screeched.

  She got it wedged in the loo

  So she screamed like a shrew

  And passed out in a panic attack.

  “Do me, do me,” Tim yelled.

  “Okay, okay,” I agreed with a chuckle. “Let me think.”

  I paused for a moment, then grinned.

  There was once a young man named Tim

  Who in actual fact was really quite dim

  He lifted weights and got hurt

  When he tried to flirt

  And perve on all the hot guys at the gym.

  Much to everyone’s disappointment, Jared came over, sat my guitar down, and picked me up off the table. “Come, my sweet poet.” He grinned at me. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

  I wrapped my legs around his waist, flushing in embarrassment as he carried me off amidst loaded catcalls and shrieks of laughter. The stairs must have been too far away because we somehow found our way into the pantry, backed up against the shelving, between flour and unopened packets of red lentils. Jared yanked my head back and began sucking and biting his way up my neck to my lips in a heated frenzy.

  “Can’t get enough of you, Evie,” he muttered and my hips jerked as he tugged at my earlobe with his teeth.

  I felt it when he pulled back to look at me. His lids were heavy, his eyes serious and steady. His hands ran slowly up my outer thighs, stopping to rest on my hips where his fingers dug in. His look made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

  It was a look I never wanted to see him give to anyone else. The jolt of possessiveness shook me so much I almost shoved him away.

  “What?” I asked him to cover the sudden loss of breath and the shaking in my palms.

  “Are you okay?”

  The pantry door rattled. “Evie?”

  “Won’t be a sec,” I called out to Mac.

  “Okay, well everyone is starting to leave.”

  We peeled ourselves apart, and Jared smoothed down the wrinkles on my clothes with tender hands. Leaving Jared in the kitchen, I hit the lounge room to say my goodbyes. There were only a few people left when the shouting started. Mitch and Jared were in the kitchen with each other having what appeared to be a yelling match.

  Jared stormed out, brow furrowed and fierce eyes glaring. “Tell me it isn’t true, Evie.”

  I looked at him in confusion. “What isn’t true?”

  “You and Tate.”

  What the hell? My mouth opened and closed like a fish with the confusion becoming no clearer.

  “The other day, at the station,” he clarified.

  All eyes swivelled to me, and I heard Mac suck in a breath.

  Mitch came out and I spared him a glance.

  “Evie,” he muttered, not quite meeting my accusing eyes.

  “Mitch, what did you say?” Fury was bubbling close to the surface, and I could see Mac waiting for it to spew over.

  “We reviewed the interview footage today, and I might have mentioned something about you and Tate.” He shrugged an apology.

  “Tell me, Evie,” Jared shouted. “I want to hear you say it.”

  Awkward tension tied the room in knots. People didn’t know whether to leave or stay and began an awkward shuffle for the door.

  “You’re overreacting,” I ground out.

  He glared at me accusingly. “Did he touch you? Did you let him?” His tone went from angry to broken, and I scrambled to get the words out before I caused him any more pain.

  “Jared,” I said in a hurry, “it’s not what you think, you don’t―”

  He cut me off. “Fuck. Save it. I should have known better, really, it was stupid of me to think you would be different.”

  He rushed to the front door, swung it open and stalked out, slamming it shut behind him.

  I sucked in painful breaths while everyone watched me in silent shock, apart from Mac who was looking at me with narrowed eyes.

  I made for the stairs with blurry eyes, in shock at how quickly Jared turned into just another asshole. How could he look at me like I was his whole world in one moment, and the next, believe something about me that wasn’t true without talking to me first? If he didn’t trust me, then it was likely I didn’t matter to him half as much as I was starting to believe. His actions were proof that protecting my heart should have been my number one priority. When would I ever learn?

  Chapter Fourteen

  It had not been a good week. Not that I’d expected it to be all sunshine and daisies, but we had studio time to plan for, and I'd be damned if Jared being an asshole got in the way of all that happiness. I hardly slept without him there, I was being a high maintenance bitch, and if Cadbury wasn’t my middle name, things would have been a lot worse, and not just for me.

  J: Evie, please answer your phone.

  Delete.

  J: Evie, I’m sorry. I managed to get the full story. Please can we talk?

  Oh you did, did you? Nice of you to wait until after your asshole episode and skank assumptions to realise I’m not a cheating bitch.

  Delete.

  J: Look. I understand you’re angry but just let me explain.

  I don’t think so.

  Delete.

  I received a message from Mitch the next day.

  M: Sorry, Evie. It’s my fault. I didn’t see the actual footage. One of the detectives here was obviously exaggerating by saying that Tate was all over you.

  What could I say? I would have thought Mitch knew me better than that, but he was looking out for his little brother after all.

  E: That’s okay, Mitch. I’m not angry at you, just at Jared for choosing to believe it.

  In the heat of the moment, Mac was, surprisingly, supportive.

  “Honestly, Sandwich, all men are wankers. Henry excluded,” she added quickly when he flipped her the finger. “It’s a wonder they can find their own dicks what with them being stuck about on their heads all the time.”

  However, two days later her tune started to change. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

  “Why should I, Mac?”

  “Because there’s more to it than what you realise and maybe if you spoke to Jared, it might clear a few things up.”

  I thought back to my chat with Coby.

  “It’s not just you I’m worried about.”

  “What does that mean?” I’d asked.

  Coby had sighed and waved his hand. “Nothing.”

  “You’re keeping something from me.”

  “It’s not my place to tell you, Evie.”

  “Why couldn’t I manage to settle for a nice quiet unassuming dork that pecked me on the cheek as he headed off to his nine to five office job?” I wailed.

  “Evie,” Mac snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You used to walk right over the top of Hairy Parry and Beetle Bob. They bored you silly.”

  “They weren’t boring, Mac. I did like them you know, and yes, they might have been safe, but I didn’t use them.”

  When Jared messaged me again a week later, I didn’t delete it in light of Coby and Mac’s words.

  J: Can I see you?

  I sent a reply off quickly before I could change my mind.

  E: Okay, but not here.

  The duplex was full and as much as I appreciated the support of my friends, I wasn’t in the mood to have them involved in our conversation.

  J: Come to my place. Travis isn’t here.

  He messaged me the address and an hour later found me pulling into an allotted visitor park outside a converted warehouse apartment complex in Woolloomooloo.

  Jared buzzed me up to the top level and led me in to a beautiful loft style apartment with double height ceilings, massive windows, a huge open style dining room, a kitchen, and a lounge room. The kitchen was right in the middle, separating the two rooms with wide caesarstone benchtops and stainless steel appliances. There were doorways off to the side, which I imagined led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Big glass doors le
d to an outdoor deck that was perfect for entertaining. The whole place was painted white with a feature red brick wall and decorated in man. No girly touches here. As I wandered through the room, I glanced at photos here and there in an effort to avoid looking at Jared and moved to one of the giant windows where I could view the famous Finger Wharf where Russell Crowe supposedly lived.

  “Evie, who drove you here?”

  I turned to face him and sighed. He looked tired, but even wearing just an old pair of faded jeans and a shirt with a big tear in it, he still took my breath away.

  “Jared…”

  “Evie, Jimmy is still out there. Shit. Just…don’t do that again, okay?” He sighed. “Drink?”

  I latched onto the subject change. “Yes, please.”

  He poured us both wine and led me over to the couch. Once I’d arranged myself comfortably, he took a sip from his glass, sat it down, and took hold of my hand.

  “So, here’s the thing,” he began without wasting time on small talk. “Jessica was the girl I was going to marry.”

  “Oh.” I snatched my hand away, thinking that maybe a bit of conversation beforehand would have been a good idea to soften that particular blow. “How lovely for the two of you. Am I standing in the way of that?” I asked.