by Nicky Wells
Chapter Thirty
I woke up snuggled into Dan’s chest. It was the sunlight streaming through the windows that finally roused me, or maybe it was Dan gently stroking my hair. I sighed happily and snuggled more closely against his body. What a blissful way to start the day.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted me softly, like he had done in the Royal.
“Morning yourself,” I responded and planted a little kiss on his chest.
My body felt warm and relaxed and, I was ashamed to admit, there was no confused moment of trying to remember what happened last night. I had instant and full recollection of everything that had passed between us, but I was unable to feel any guilt. My overriding emotions were joy, happiness, and a strange acceptance. Oh yes, and I wanted more.
“Are you okay?” Dan asked gently.
“I am, actually,” I responded. “I can’t quite explain it, but I feel…wonderful. And detached from real life. Like I’m in an alternative universe.”
Dan smiled. “What goes on tour, stays on tour,” he murmured. “It is like an alternative universe; that’s what makes it so hard sometimes.”
What goes on tour, stays on tour. I liked that. I liked that very much. By the uninitiated, it might be interpreted as a license for bad behavior without consequences, a kind of anything goes. To me, the little idiom said something quite different this morning. It simply seemed to embody a moral code that helped to make sense of…perhaps uncharacteristic behavior that might befall someone in this environment, and helped to draw a line under the consequences.
“What goes on tour, stays on tour,” I repeated. I would deal with tomorrow when tomorrow came.
We lay together for a few more minutes, nothing more needing to be said. We would be traveling to Stockholm later that day, but there was no immediate hurry. The flight wasn’t until mid-afternoon, and the band would do no more rehearsals between shows but use the travel days to relax and rest wherever possible in between the many requisite media appearances and sound checks. With nothing particular in the calendar for this morning, it was nice to succumb to our lassitude and doze together for a little while longer.
When we woke for the second time, we found that we were hungry for each other once more and we made love again, more slowly and more deliberate this time. The Sophie of old, the one with the doubts and the guilt, seemed to have disappeared. Or perhaps she was in suspended animation. I was vaguely aware that my resolve to stay strong hadn’t lasted even forty-eight hours, but there was absolutely nothing at all that I could do—or wanted to do—about that. I was Dan’s Sophie and all I could remember was that that was all I had ever wanted to be: Dan’s Sophie.
We were still in bed when room service arrived with a breakfast that we hadn’t ordered (apparently Jack had done so for all of the band to ensure that everyone would be up at least by midday) and a whole bunch of newspapers. To my great surprise, Read London was among them, and to my even greater surprise, my article was right there. Okay, so it wasn’t on the front page—Tuscq wasn’t that big news, yet—but there was a teaser on the front page and my entire article—pictures, byline and all—on page three. Practically the first thing you saw when you opened the paper. Rick and the team had to have pulled an early shift to get this scoop out.
Dan read my article silently while munching on a croissant. I didn’t read over his shoulder; I had the article in my head, word-for-word, and tried to gauge his reaction through close observation, but his face was inscrutable. When he was finally done, he folded the paper together, then took it apart again and looked in greater detail at some of the photos I had included. Just as I was starting to get worried, his face cracked into the biggest smile and he gave a huge whoop of joy.
“You are incredible, Sophie Penhalligan,” he beamed. “This is one heck of a write-up.”
I was over the moon. Obviously, Rick’s opinion was the most important to me, professionally, and I took the appearance of my article in its pristine, intact condition as the highest form of endorsement I was ever going to receive from Rick. But personally, Dan’s opinion was much, much more important. Imagine he had hated it. I would have been devastated, no matter how good Rick thought it was.
After that, we flicked through the other papers and discovered that most of them had lifted small sections and one or two pictures of my original write-up. Rick had to have faxed out edited tidbits to launch the syndication process and it had worked. I couldn’t believe that my name and my article—well, bits of it—had made it into the entertainment sections of all the national papers. Granted, we—we…just listen to me—weren’t on page three in these other papers, but they had picked up the trail, and we featured on the front pages of their entertainment sections. Dan was super-pleased; I was simply in awe. Rick had been right. This was a huge opportunity for me professionally.
We had just finished picking the crumbs off our plates when the door burst open without much warning—didn’t Dan ever think to lock it?—and Jack burst in, not in the slightest perturbed to find us together, and still in bed at that.
“Sophie, you are an angel,” he boomed and almost but not quite climbed in bed with us to give me a smothering hug. “This write-up is fantastic. I have to confess. I was so nervous about granting you permission to print without my prior approval, but Rick was right. You are a hero. And”—he waved the nationals triumphantly—“I have to admit that I wasn’t sure this was going to work, but it is. Somehow we got us coverage in all the papers. What a publicity stunt.”
He actually did a little dance around the room at this point, and Dan hugged me closer still with pride.
“Dan, what a great idea to bring your girlfriend along and have her do the coverage. You old weasel,” Jack shouted quite affectionately before dancing out of the room to share the news with, presumably, the record company and the rest of the band. “Don’t forget we’re boarding for Stockholm by four, you two lovebirds,” he shouted over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him.
“Girlfriend?” I managed when he was finally gone.
Dan had the grace to blush. “Well…I had to use something stronger than a ten-year acquaintance to get Jack convinced that you were the girl—the only girl—for the job.”
I scrunched up my brow in my most mock-cynical impression, inwardly just plain delighted at the girlfriend-status he had granted me. No wonder that the rest of the band was so relaxed about me being around. But—what about the other one?
As I still said nothing, Dan felt obliged to explain further. “You see, this coverage thing was extremely important to Jack…well, to all of us really. Jack was desperately set on clinching a deal with one of the nationals. In fact, he had even tried but hadn’t got very far.”
I nodded. That tallied with what Rick had told me. As Rick and I had gloated—when I had finally come around to the idea—the nationals would be too big to risk committing to a column like this. But once they saw it flew, we knew they would be desperate to pick it up—and they already had.
“So, I suggested that we should give the column to you. And Read London. And to be honest, Jack was horrified at the idea. He bought a Read London and came back whining that it was a local rag with no wide coverage at all.” I winced. Rick would be mortified at this assessment. “But I insisted that you would be the girl for the job. Jack eventually bought it. But he bought it only when I assured him you would be great. And when he asked how I knew, I couldn’t come up with a stronger argument than that you had a vested interest because you were my girlfriend.”
I digested this for a minute, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Rick, Jack, and I had been thoroughly conned by this here stellar truth manipulation artist. Dan was a man used to getting what he wanted. And right now he wanted me, I reminded myself gleefully.
“But what about your real girlfriend?” I finally burst out.
“What?”
“Your actual girlfriend. You know, the one that wouldn’t be…what did you say to Tim? Oh yes, I r
emember. ‘The one that wouldn’t like the tour very much at all…’”
Dan looked confused. His brow folded in little puppy dog creases as he tried to recall the events that he precipitated at my engagement party. Then insight struck.
“Oh,” he spluttered. “That girlfriend.”
“Yes,” I repeated. “That girlfriend.”
He boxed me in the ribs. “Sophie, you dummy, I was referring to you.”
“To me?” I asked incredulously. “But I wasn’t your girlfriend then.” Hold on, what was I saying? That I was his girlfriend now? “Uh,” I spluttered hastily, “and I’m not sure I’m your girlfriend now. After all—”
“You’re engaged,” Dan broke in. “I know.”
How odd that we could talk about this matter-of-factly after just having made love twice. There still was no guilt, embarrassment, or awkwardness. It was like Dan had said, we were in an alternative universe and somehow protected from the constraints of the real world back home.
“But I meant you,” Dan repeated. “It just came out. I wanted to wind him up, see if he could figure it out. And when he didn’t catch on, it seemed a great thing to emphasize to…I don’t know, make him less worried about you going, when it came to it. Of course you didn’t know anything about the tour then, or my cunning plan to get you to come with me…But I knew you wouldn’t be thrilled because…well, because of what we’d promised each other. And because you’re such a good, straight girl. And because no doubt I presented you with all sorts of crises and dilemmas when you found out you had to come. But”—he grinned wickedly—“now you’re here and I don’t regret it one bit.”
He looked at me expectantly. Some kind of answer was required.
“I don’t regret it either,” I offered finally. “I’m having a great time. But about that girlfriend thing…I don’t know. That’s too complicated to consider at the moment. Plus,” I played a mean card, “you are bad news, remember? So why would I go there with you if you’re bad news?”
He flinched. “Maybe I’m finally ready to change,” he mused. He looked serious, and I could feel a shiver running down my spine. Oh God, what if he was? Ready to change, and serious about it?
Suddenly, the mood seemed inordinately heavy. I didn’t want to confront these things just then. I just wanted to be and get on with things and have a great time.
Something about my thoughts must have played on my face because Dan gave me another hug and kiss. “Let’s not spoil the day. Let’s just…well, continue with whatever comes naturally. And the rest will come by itself. What do you say?”
I grinned. “Deal,” I exclaimed, and we sealed it with a kiss.
From here on, we fell into a comfortable, exciting, fantastic pattern. One that I could only describe as domestic bliss while on tour. We traveled together, letting the rest of the band think whatever they would. We kept separate rooms, but we would always spend some time cuddling in the evening. And we would make love every night after a gig, but never, never before. I felt reborn, somehow. There was a different me that had just emerged from her cocoon, and I liked her, I really did. I had one long call with Rachel just before we left for Stockholm, filling her in on developments and absolving her of the need to stand by on her mobile phone. I left Tim the occasional message when I knew he was out, pretending that I couldn’t call at any other times because, invariably, I would be tied up in the evenings, which was actually true, although not always in the sense that he would approve of. The one-minute sound bites I offered weren’t intimate enough to get me thinking about what I was doing. It was merely like a courtesy call to say that I was still alive. I never said “I love you” because I couldn’t bring myself to do so. And on his return messages, I got cheerful, inconsequent chit-chat but never an “I love you” either. A fact which I noticed but didn’t want to analyze too deeply.
So life was good. I felt that I was born to do what I was doing, jet-setting with the stars and being part of the action. Rick loved my pieces. Dan loved being with me. I loved being with Dan. The tour was going great. The record company reported an avalanche of inquiries about more tour dates and a new album.
My toughest challenge was not how to come to terms with the moral morass in which I had unwittingly—or perhaps deliberately—embroiled myself. No, my toughest challenge every day was finding that fresh, exciting angle on events at each gig that would keep the—by now national and international—readership engaged, interested, and buying those papers.
Chapter Thirty-One
THE TUSCQ CHRONICLES
By Sophie Penhalligan
Royal Reception for The Boys in Stockholm
When the lighting shifted, there was a tangible thickening of the atmosphere as fans anticipated Tuscq to appear. The atmosphere backstage had been tense; this was the first foreign gig of the tour. There was no telling how the fans would react. But the stunning riffs and classic glam-rock tunes that Tuscq resurrected to the stage of the packed Stockholm Arena received an enthusiastic welcome of truly royal proportions here in Sweden, and the band quickly relaxed, launching into an a capella rendition of Eat My Heart with vigor and force.
Fans at first thought the appearance of a be-crowned and bejeweled young lady and her escort were part of the band’s show, a joking but endearing acknowledgement of the rumor that the Princess is an ardent Tuscq fan. But the bewildered faces of the band quickly gave it away: this royal visit was for real. When the Princess turned to face the arena, the audience gave a tremendous roar of recognition and the stage was instantly bathed in an explosion of flashlights as press photographers snapped this unique and quite unprecedented opportunity. The Princess took autographs from each member of the band before leaving the stage in a flurry of applause.
THE TUSCQ CHRONICLES
By Sophie Penhalligan
Aero Cameo on Broken Strings in Berlin
Tuscq had a special surprise for fans in Berlin. At the halfway point of the gig, the band retreated from the stage for a few moments, leaving fans wondering—as always—whether this was the end, or whether there was more to come. Just a few minutes later, four figures reappeared on the darkened stage. Fans clapped and cheered as the opening riff of Go On Come Back swelled through the stadium but, somehow, Tuscq didn’t seem to sound like themselves.
Bemused fans became uncharacteristically quiet as they tried to work out just what didn’t ring true. All of a sudden, spotlights picked out a second, smaller stage at the back of the stadium where the guys from Tuscq walked on, totally unconcerned by the fact they were already on stage.
When the lights flooded the main stage, fans gasped in astonishment as they recognized that they had been taken for a ride by none other than Aero. The two bands concluded the song together, and played a one-off medley of their respective top hits. Things took a somewhat comic turn when one of the strings on Darren’s guitar tore in mid riff, followed only seconds later by a similar calamity on the main stage for Aero’s bassist. Both musicians played on merrily without missing a beat, but forcing their partners into an improvised double key change as they tried to work their way around their broken strings. Rarely have music fans been treated to such a display of skill, improvisation, and professional musicianship.
THE TUSCQ CHRONICLES
By Sophie Penhalligan
Alien Invasion in Munich
Tuscq’s second German show got under way to generous acclaim and high expectations. If the show itself seemed to go without unplanned interruption, things got somewhat out of control backstage at the close of the gig. Unbeknownst to the band or the venue’s management, about fifty attendees from a Star Trek convention taking place that same evening had—quite mistakenly, or so they later assured security guards—found their way to the stadium and were camped out in the dressing rooms when the band returned from the stage. Mick commented, “It was crazy. When I got to my dressing room, I was greeted by Mr. Spock who was wrestling an alien on my sofa. I fought my way to the bathroom only to find Captain Kirk try
ing to get friendly with Uhura.”
I chuckled to myself as I submitted this latest column to Rick. So far, the tour had been far from boring and my tough challenge of finding exciting things to report for every show hadn’t proved to be a challenge at all. Tomorrow, we were off to Brussels, where we would have a complete one-day rest, and I was looking forward to whatever adventures would happen.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next morning, however, my alternative universe came crashing down around me with a resounding bang.
I was retrieving emails when I noticed a message from Rick marked extremely urgent, please read immediately. I chuckled to myself in delighted anticipation. No doubt another accolade letting me know just how successful my column was. Rick had been uncharacteristically full of praise, probably fueled by the fact that the nationals were groveling for excerpts from each new article as Tuscq’s popularity index rose dramatically day on day. Rick was the only real contact I had maintained with the real world. Rachel did not expect any further calls from me until I returned, and Tim and I were still trading voicemails. I kept meaning to listen to his messages but somehow they didn’t seem important right then.
Instead of the expected praise and feedback, Rick’s message was rather more somber. In fact, it had a one hundred percent sobering effect on me as the words slowly sank in. The words “father” and “heart attack” leapt out from the body of the message and the text seemed to blur. It took me another five minutes to extract the full meaning of the email. Unable to reach me, Mum had called Tim, and also Rick, to let me know that Dad had had a serious heart attack the previous night and that he was in intensive care in the hospital in Truro. That was it—there was nothing more, nothing less. No indication of what I was required to do. But in my mind’s eye, I was already driving down the country lanes trying to formulate words of apology for not having gotten home more quickly.
