Watching Willow Watts: One Country Girl Is About to Discover That Fame Can Cost a Fortune

by Talli Roland

  There was an expectant silence as the group awaited her answer.

  ‘Well . . . yes,’ Willow said finally. ‘Sort of.’ But the last bit of her sentence was swallowed up as the crowd’s excited murmur grew. Before she could even blink, flashes went off in her face as people captured her new image.

  ‘New Marilyn! Over here! Tell us exactly what you heard! Did she say anything else? Was it suicide or murder? Marilyn!’

  Excited punters fired questions at her and Willow took a step backwards, bumping up against the solid form of Jay. Thank God he was here.

  Jay held up his hands against the onslaught. ‘That’s all we can tell you for now. But tomorrow afternoon on the village green, Marilyn reincarnate will take to the stage, performing a classic. Hope to see you there.’ He grabbed Willow’s arm and pushed her back into the house, closing the adjoining door and locking it behind them.

  Willow sagged against Jay. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem. That’s what I’m here for, and you’ll get used to it in time, too. Now, about this concert.’

  Yes, what was that about? ‘Jay, I’m not sure I’m ready for a concert quite yet.’ She did want to kick off this whole thing quickly, but she was kind of surprised he hadn’t consulted her first. Wasn’t she meant to be the client? Willow nibbled a nail, quickly lowering her hand as Jay flashed a disapproving look her way. Maybe this was how things worked in the entertainment industry.

  ‘You have to be ready, now that we’ve already announced it. You don’t want to let down your fans, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Or my father, she added silently. ‘I just want to make sure I’m prepared. I’ll need a lot of practise.’ That was an understatement.

  ‘No-one said this would be easy.’ Jay looked at his watch. ‘Now, come on. Let’s go get to as many media outlets as we can, so they can put this on the six o’clock news.’ He turned to face her, eyes serious. ‘It’s not just about keeping the momentum going, Willow. We need to step it up. Once the media get wind that Marilyn herself is communicating with you, every weirdo within the bloody solar system will be here in a heartbeat. And we’ll make sure they get wind of it, don’t worry.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘WHOA!’ PAULA’S EYEBROWS FLEW UP when she spotted Willow at the salon the next morning. She hung up the phone and came around the counter, then yanked on a platinum curl.

  ‘Ouch,’ Willow yelped, rubbing her scalp. It was still tender from the bleaching session the day before.

  ‘So it isn’t a wig.’ Paula’s eyes narrowed. ‘I beg you for years – years! – to do something different. And then when you decide to do this, you don’t even come to me? What, now that you have an agent, you’re too good for RockIt?’ She smiled to show she was kidding, but Willow spotted a trace of hurt in her friend’s eyes.

  ‘No, of course not. Jay tried to get me in here, but he said there was a queue out the door. And he wanted to do it fast to get things started, you know? I’m sorry.’ Willow bit her lip, thinking how strange it was that she hadn’t seen her friend since signing with Jay. She’d rung to tell her the news, but Paula was so busy with the salon and Willow was so engulfed by being Marilyn, neither had a spare second to meet up.

  Paula sniffed, pretending to be miffed. ‘When do I get to see this agent? I can’t believe you haven’t had him round yet for inspection.’

  ‘I’ll try to bring him by soon. He’s just been really busy getting things sorted.’ Willow smiled, thinking of Jay’s chocolate-coloured eyes and that intense expression on his face when he talked about her career.

  ‘So . . . spill! Have you two snogged yet?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Willow mumbled, cheeks flushing as she recalled their earlier embrace.

  ‘Ooooh! Details, please!’ Paula leaned closer, and Willow gulped. As wonderful as the kiss had been, she didn’t have the headspace right now to deal with Paula’s probable interrogation: was it better or worse than Alex? Do you really like him? Are you going to sleep with him? Her brain hurt just thinking about it.

  ‘It was nice,’ Willow responded, making a big show of looking at her watch, before remembering she’d removed it. A battered old Timex didn’t exactly scream Marilyn Monroe. ‘I’d better get moving. Jay wants to do a final run-through before the concert this afternoon.’

  ‘God, he’s really going for it, isn’t he?’ Paula eyed her outfit. Today, Willow was wearing a mothball-scented pink satin dress, which flowed in a column to the ground. Hugging – strangling – her figure, walking was more like a shuffle. ‘Well, I must say, as annoyed as I am that you didn’t come here, he did a good job on your makeover. Love the bum.’

  ‘I know.’ Willow grimaced. ‘But don’t you think this is all a bit much?’

  ‘No! Not for Marilyn. I mean, if you’re going to do it, you’ve really got to do it. It is surreal, I’ll give you that. But like I said, if I were you, I’d be there with bells on. Or breasts. Or butt.’ Paula laughed but her eyes were wistful and for a second, Willow felt guilty again this was happening to her, not her friend. But the one thing Willow had learned in the past few years was this: you could never control which direction your life would take.

  Unfortunately.

  A few minutes later, Willow was on the way home to meet Jay, her palms sweaty at the thought of the concert ahead. Last night, she’d run through the lyrics until they were seared into her brain and listened to MP3 after MP3 of Marilyn singing. In the bedroom’s narrow confines, Willow had felt beyond ridiculous jiggling around and shaking loo-roll booty. How on earth would she get up in front of a crowd and do it? A crowd that now thought she had a direct line to Marilyn?

  Jay’s muscular form was waiting for her in front of the cottage. ‘Hey, baby. Where have you been?’ He pushed up his suit sleeve to examine his watch. ‘I’ve convinced Simpson to lend us the village sound system, and he’s going to set up everything over on the green. We’ve got to hurry and run through your routine.’ After following her into the living room, he handed over a paper bag full of – her stomach turned – packets of Mrs Lemmon’s homemade shortbread biscuits; the stuff she offered for free up at the off-licence, because nobody ever willingly paid for them.

  ‘Got these for you,’ Jay said. ‘Eat a few now to keep up your energy.’

  She’d have just one or two to keep him happy, Willow thought, risking her teeth as she bit into the rock-hard ‘treat’. After chewing for what felt like forever, she swallowed down the chalk-like lump.

  ‘Should we get started?’ she asked, trying to encourage saliva back into her mouth. It appeared to have fled in horror.

  Jay nodded, then pressed a button on his phone. The song I Wanna Be Loved By You blared through the tinny speakers.

  ‘All you need to do is mouth the words, move your hips, and smile. Not hard.’ His voice was encouraging, but his eyes narrowed as he focused in on her. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Okay.’ Willow’s heart beat quickly as she tore her eyes away from his. God, she hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. Right, here we go. The music started, and Willow counted down until she came in. Mouthing along to the music, she waggled her hips and leaned her sizeable bust forward, even risking a little spin. This wasn’t so terrible! In fact – wiggle, wiggle – all that practice must have paid off, because she was nailing the words.

  ‘Stop, stop.’ Jay turned off the music and Willow halted mid-swivel.

  ‘Not too bad, baby. But you need to really throw your hips into it.’ He came up behind her, putting his hands on her waist. Through the satin, she could feel their warmth seeping into her skin and her cheeks got even redder. That same spicy scent floated around her and she shook her head. Focus.

  ‘All you need to do is just move them like this,’ – he pushed her hips to one side – ‘and then move them around like this.’ Jay rotated her waist in a circle and Willow tried to ignore the fact that her arse cushion was pressed up against his groin.

  ‘Um, great! Thanks!’ she said, cursing her
voice for sounding so breathy. ‘I think I’ve got it.’ Sort of.

  ‘Perfect, because we have to hit the green.’ Jay pecked her on the cheek then wiped the heavy foundation from his lips. ‘And good news! Simpson says he reckons around a thousand new people have come into town today. And almost half that are press. I knew this concert would do the trick. Once this is over, I’ve got big plans, baby. Big plans.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ Willow tried to sound enthusiastic, but she couldn’t even think beyond the next thirty minutes.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Her heart picked up pace as they started walking toward the village green. Running through the words of the song, she sent up a quick prayer she didn’t forget them. What kind of Marilyn would she be if she fluffed the lyrics? Fingers crossed she could do this.

  The noise of the crowd grew louder as Willow and Jay neared the green, and Willow’s mouth dropped open as she spotted what looked like the entire population of London crowded onto the small patch of grass. Flashes and cheers rang out as people spotted her approaching. Matthias was there, too, doing what looked like a live report.

  ‘Just get up on that.’ Jay pointed to an old battered riser Willow recognised from her days at Belcherton Primary. ‘Smile, bat your eyelashes, and then I’ll start the music.’ He stood back and gave her a quick once-over. ‘Yes, you look fine. Next time, though, I want more lipstick.’

  Willow nodded, barely registering the words as her eyes swept over the people surrounding the small platform. Taking a deep breath in – as deeply as possible, given the tight garment – she told herself this was just like playing dress-up. It wasn’t really Willow doing all this; it was Marilyn. As long as she remembered that, she might be okay.

  Jay gave her a little push forward and she almost stumbled. ‘Time for your debut,’ he said, smiling encouragingly.

  So nervous she might throw up the disgusting shortbreads, Willow plastered on a giant grin, fluttered her eyelashes and carefully shimmied up onto the platform. The tight dress meant she had to stick out her bum to even raise her leg one inch. The audience certainly seemed to appreciate her manoeuvres, erupting into wolf-whistles and cheers. She gave her sizeable rear an extra swivel just for the hell of it. The applause swelled even more, and she relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

  But when she turned to face the crowd, a wave of fear crashed into her. The small high street was jam-packed with humanity as far as the eye could see, with people holding up mobiles, cameras . . .

  Willow shook her head to clear it. Don’t look at the crowd; just focus on individual faces, one at a time. It was what her mum had told her, when Willow had been terrified to go onstage during the Christmas pantomime in Year Four – and Willow had just been a sheep! If only Mum could see her now.

  Okay. She took the battered mic in her hand and checked that it wasn’t on. Nodding to Jay to start the recording, she filled her lungs as the music boomed through the air.

  Mouthing along with the words, Willow shook her shoulders back and forth in time to the backing track as her fake bosom bounced alarmingly. Rotating her hips, her cheeks flushed as she remembered Jay’s hands on her waist . . . but she was Marilyn now. She didn’t have to be shy any longer! Giving her gyrations extra oomph, she smiled into face after eager face, concentrating on the front row. This wasn’t so horrible. In fact, it was – in a strange sort of way – kind of fun. Sure, people were watching her every move. But they seemed to be enjoying it, swaying along to the tune and beaming up at her. Even Mrs Greene was tapping her foot.

  Moving her lips, Willow forced herself to concentrate on the lyrics. She was almost half-way through when a squeal of feedback jolted through the speaker and the music ceased. What the hell? Unsure what to do next, Willow glanced over at Jay, who just shrugged and gestured for her to carry on. Oh God. She stood, stunned for a second. What would Marilyn do in this situation?

  Willow drew in a deep breath.

  ‘We seem to have a technical problem,’ she chirped, using her best American accent. Leaning toward the crowd, she pressed her fake breasts together. ‘So I’ll just finish you all off nice and quick.’ She quirked an eyebrow at them. God, where had that come from, she wondered, doing another little twirl?

  ‘Boo boo de boo!’ she sang – more like screeched – then smiled and curtsied, hoping the crowd would accept the sudden end to the concert.

  Silence fell over the green and Willow froze. Were they going to lynch her for being a fraud? Run her out of the village?

  Then, like a giant Mexican wave, a cheer swept through the audience, growing in strength and intensity until Willow felt the force of it would lift her off her feet.

  ‘Mar-i-lyn! Mar-i-lyn!’ the crowd chanted. Relief rushed into her so intensely she nearly keeled over.

  She’d done it. She’d got up on stage without fainting or letting down anyone. If she just forgot she was Willow and focused on performing, she could be Marilyn in all her glory (well, most her glory). A couple of weeks and a few gigs later, and her father’s shop would be back in the black.

  ‘So, what did you think?’ Willow asked Jay, a few minutes later. She couldn’t help feeling a little proud at how well she’d coped with the unexpected hiccup.

  ‘Fine, baby, fine.’ Jay patted her back. ‘You need to develop a better onstage presence, but you handled the sound problem quite well. Now, how about you sign some autographs?’ He pushed a pen into her hands then gestured toward the crowd, who were wildly waving random Marilyn merchandise in the air. ‘It’s the perfect opportunity to mix with your fans.’

  ‘All right.’ Willow’s head ached from the stress of performing, but if Jay thought it best to mingle with the fans, she’d give it a go.

  ‘Sign this, sign this!’ Willow couldn’t even spot the faces past the items thrust her way. Grabbing a glossy photo of Marilyn in a beach chair, she carefully wrote Marilyn Monroe in big, curlicue letters, with several x’s beneath it. God knows how Marilyn used to sign things, but it must be somewhere along those lines. Pushing it back into the punter’s waiting hand, she tried to move on, but the man behind the photo grabbed her arm. ‘I’ve got twenty more here for you to do.’

  ‘Back off, mate,’ Jay hissed, jerking her away from the man’s pincer-like grip. ‘Don’t engage in conversation,’ he whispered in her ear as he propelled her to the next fan. ‘Just write Marilyn’s name and move on.’

  Thirty minutes later – hand cramping from signing everything from white satin Marilyn tissues to a woman’s pregnant belly – Willow was only a quarter of the way down the jammed high street. She paused for a second and took a deep breath to try to control the rising panic. Fans’ frantic screams echoed in her head, the waiting throng was starting to look angry rather than adoring, and somehow she’d got separated from Jay.

  Best get on with it, she sighed, turning to the person nearest to her.

  ‘Could I have your autograph?’

  Willow froze. That voice sounded like . . . no, it couldn’t be. Could it?

  Heart pounding, she pushed aside a gleaming Marilyn balloon, and there – right in front of her – was Alex. His face was more defined than she remembered, and his dark hair was cut shorter. But his eyes, those light-blue eyes that always seemed to know just what she was thinking, were the same.

  Her mind raced frantically as she tried to figure out what he was doing in Belcherton. He knew she lived here, of course, but surely he hadn’t come to visit? She swallowed hard, trying to keep her face neutral as memories of the last time she’d seen him – that horrible night at the Landmark Hotel – flooded into her head.

  Mum had been gone for a few months, and after learning just how bad her father’s health was, Willow had made the permanent move back to Belcherton. Despite protesting that her father couldn’t expect Willow to drop her London life, Alex had tried to support her decision. But as time went on – and dealing with Dad’s grief while desperately coaxing him into a healthier lifestyle absorbed Willow – it became harder a
nd harder to meet up, even though London was only two hours away. Alex’s crazy busy work schedule hadn’t exactly helped, either.

  One night mid-November, Alex had rung with an invitation to attend his firm’s annual Christmas party at the posh Landmark Hotel in London. Her heart had sunk as soon as he’d told her the date: December third, the same evening as the village’s annual Christmas lighting festival. As the Christmas season approached, her dad had become increasingly morose, and Willow knew this night would be almost as bad as Christmas Day.

  Ever since Willow could remember, Mum had been in charge of organising the event. And every year, once the tree was on and the village bathed in the soft glow of twinkling lights, Dad would hijack Simpson’s PA system, tell everyone he was the luckiest man alive since his wife ‘lit him up every day’, then enthusiastically kiss her. The ritual had been a nightmare of embarrassment for Willow when she’d been growing up, and she’d hidden out at home rather than watch her parents snog in front of the crowd. But as she’d got older, she’d found it sweet. This was the first year Mum was gone, and Willow couldn’t begin to imagine how her father would cope with the festivities without his wife beside him. Leaving Dad on that night was unthinkable, she’d told Alex.

  ‘I know it’s hard for him, Wills,’ Alex had said. ‘But it’s been a while now, since your mum . . . you know, and you’ve barely left his side. I really want to see you. It seems like ages, and this is our firm’s biggest party of the year.’

  ‘I want to see you, too.’ Tears filled Willow’s eyes as longing swept over her. ‘But . . .’ She couldn’t leave her dad. She just couldn’t.

  ‘Look, don’t worry about it.’ Alex’s tone was even, but she could sense an edge to it. ‘I understand. I’ll talk to you later.’ And then he’d hung up.

  ‘Willow?’

  Alex’s warm voice jolted her back to reality.

  ‘Um, hi,’ she said, trying to smile naturally. Her mouth was so dry her lips were sticking to her gums. ‘Good to see you again. What are you doing here?’ The question popped out before she even had time to think.