by Jessica Ashe
“Oh. I guess that will do.”
Once we’re inside and the doors are shut, Damon starts looking around in that curious way people always do when they’ve never been in the back of a limo before. He presses all the buttons, and opens all the little compartments and fridges.
“This place is more comfortable than most hotel rooms,” Damon says.
“Not my hotel room, it’s not.”
“And am I going to see your hotel room?”
“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll send you some pictures.”
“You’re just trying to wind me up now. First you cock-blocked me, and then you leave me with blue balls.”
“Serves you right for using my name to get you laid. I feel sorry for Emma, not you.”
“You feel sorry for Emma?”
“Of course. I’m sure she doesn’t deserve to have a guy like you lie to her just for sex.”
Damon looks like he’s finally figured something out, and he laughs in a way that makes his large chest move up and down.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Good. I can still get you fired you know.”
“Yeah, you’re not going to do that. You want to see me again.”
“Do I now?”
“Definitely. You had fun tonight, and I don’t think you’ve had fun in a long time.”
“Oh really? In the last month I’ve performed for hundreds of thousands of fans, been to two movie premieres in Leicester Square and New York, and hosted a huge fundraising event at my house in Los Angeles.”
“And yet you had more fun playing darts in the pub.”
I can’t deny it, so I just look away from him instead. I have fun doing celebrity things, don’t I? I do things people like Damon can only dream about. Right now, I’m going back to a penthouse suite that’s probably larger than most people’s houses. Of course I have fun.
Darts is a cool game though. Maybe I’ll have someone install a dartboard at my house.
The car comes to a halt outside my hotel. When the driver comes around to open my door, I instruct him to take Damon home before coming back here for the night.
“Last chance to keep the fun going,” Damon says hopefully from the back.
“I can have plenty of fun by myself,” I say before realizing just how that sounds.
I don’t take my eyes off Damon until the driver shuts the door and a security guard takes me gently by the arm and guides me to the back entrance of the hotel.
A few passersby stop and stare at the scene, but none of them stop walking. Except one. One woman is standing near the entrance of the hotel holding a camera. We nearly make it past without her noticing me, but she spots the limo drive away and quickly looks around at me. I’m out of sight within a few seconds, but it’s enough time for her to fire off a few shots on her hefty camera.
At least she didn’t get any pictures of Damon. He’s tucked away in the limo with heavily tinted windows as it drives off into the night. The last thing I want right now is rumors that I’m dating a new guy going around. For one thing, I’m not dating a new guy. We just hung out once, and will probably never see each other again outside of work. Mind you, I thought that before.
I don’t date guys like Damon. I can’t. It’s not that I’m too stuck up and arrogant to date a guy like him. A part of me would love to date normal guys. But life doesn’t work like that. I exclusively date other celebrities because at least they have a vague idea what it’s like to be famous. Damon wouldn’t understand the stress that goes with your every move being monitored. Say what you like about Kenneth, at least he knew we had to avoid having arguments in public.
Mind you, sometimes you can do both. I’ve had full-blown arguments with exes in public, but the media never caught on because we sat there smiling as we cursed at each other over dinner. It’s a ridiculous lifestyle, and I can’t imagine bringing anyone else into it.
Damon wouldn’t put up with it. He’s one of those no-nonsense kind of guys. He’s the type to punch a photographer if they get too close instead of pose for the photo. Katrina would have a fit if I dated a guy like Damon.
I smile to myself as I ride the elevator up to the top floor imagining what Katrina would say. The two of us are close and I know she hates seeing me heartbroken, but at least she knows how to deal with it. Wait a few weeks and then introduce me to a new guy. That’s the usual approach, and I’m sure she’s already flicking through her digital Rolodex looking for eligible bachelors to take my mind off Kenneth.
In a week, a mysterious new event will pop up on my calendar and before you know it, I’m sharing a drink with an actor who just so happens to have a film coming out in a few months.
I don’t need that right now. My latest album came out a couple of months ago and is still selling well. Every day of the residency is a sellout. There’s no need for extra publicity. For the next couple of months, I’m free to do what and whom I like.
Within reason of course.
Chapter Eight
Damon
“The bruises are healing nicely. Doesn’t look like anything was broken, which is a good thing because I’m guessing you didn’t go to a doctor.”
“I don’t need to see a doctor, Mum.”
“I told Emma you got the bruises at work. She knows you’re moving heavy gear around, so I said you got hit by a clumsy colleague.”
I smile. “I’m fine with that version of events. Where is Emma anyway?”
“Just packing up her things.”
Emma stays with my Mum and Dad so often that this place is like a second home to her. She has her own room here and an entire wardrobe full of clothes. Mum looks after Emma on school nights because I’m usually working. Fortunately, weekends I’m free and I devote them completely to my daughter.
“Did you ask her about the bullying thing?” I ask.
“No. She didn’t say anything, so we didn’t press the issue. You should talk to her.”
“I will. Doubt she’ll say anything though. I nearly managed to get an autograph for her from Naomi Price. That would have put me in her good books.”
“Nearly? What happened?”
“Long story.”
“Long story, as in you got distracted by some piece of skirt again?”
“Nothing of the sort. Okay, maybe a little bit, but that’s all in the past.”
“Of course it’s in the past,” Mum says. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. All your relationships are done by breakfast.”
“Did I ever tell you how much I enjoy discussing my sex life with my mother?”
“No, I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned it.”
“Yeah, funny that.”
“I’d rather not discuss your sex life either. I want to discuss relationships, but you never have any.”
“I’m working on it.”
“You are?” Mum asks. She’s visibly stunned. If this were a cartoon her eyebrows would be hovering a foot above her head right now.
I’m not so much working on it, as keeping my fingers crossed and hoping something happens. What can I do? I don’t have Naomi’s phone number, and even though I know which hotel she staying in, it’s not like I can just pop up to her penthouse and knock on the door.
Meeting her last night was a minor miracle. I should never have been up in the stands in the first place, but there’d been reports of people sneaking around and they sent me to scare them off. I’d been flattered at first, until I realized they probably meant for me to scare them off with my bruised and battered face as opposed to my muscles.
I never found anyone, and was heading back downstairs when I saw movement in one of the executive suites. Naomi had been in a bad place. Even from outside the suite looking through the glass into the dimly lit room, I could see an emptiness in her eyes that I recognized from my own past. She’d been crying recently too. I couldn’t leave her alone. Even in my darkest times, I’d at least had my parents to fall bac
k on. Does she have anyone?
“There’s someone I have my eye on,” I tell Mum. “She’s a bit of a long shot though.”
“You never were afraid of a challenge; I have to give you that much.”
“Challenge is an understatement in this instance. Anyway, Emma and I had better be going.”
“What do the two of you have planned for today?”
“Shopping,” I reply with feigned enthusiasm.
“Oh, your favorite. That girl could use some new clothes.”
“Yeah, I know. Clothes shopping is not my favorite pastime. I don’t even like buying my own clothes.”
“I can tell. If this new girl of yours represents a challenge, you may want to smarten yourself up a bit.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine as I picture myself dressed in anything other than a T-shirt and jeans.
I head upstairs and find Emma laying on the bed reading a book, with her bag packed next to her. She’s only six years old and she’s probably already read more books than I have in my entire lifetime. She doesn’t get that from me or her mother, so I suspect my Mum’s influence might be involved.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Yep.” She doesn’t look up until she’s finished the page of her chapter and slipped in a bookmark to keep her place.
She picks up her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. The bag is full to bursting, and looks like it weighs more than she does.
“Why don’t I carry that?” I say, taking her backpack.
“But it’s a girl’s backpack,” Emma replies.
“It’s okay, pink just happens to be my color. We’ll drop it off at home before going into London.”
Emma takes my hand as we say goodbye to Mum and head over to my place. One day soon she’ll be too grown-up to hold her daddy’s hand, so I cherish every moment she does.
“How’s school?” I ask.
“Fine.”
Her hand clenches hold of mine slightly harder than before.
“Thing is, you might have to move schools soon.”
“Oh.” Her hand relaxes again.
“How would you feel about that?”
“It would be okay I guess. Why are we moving schools? Are you moving house?”
“No, nothing like that. But there’s a better school nearby that I want you to go to. It’ll be tough—lots of clever, nerdy kids go there. Think you’re up to the challenge?”
“Is it strict? Like, if people misbehave do they get in trouble?”
“Oh yes. You have to be on your best behavior, and so will everyone else. The students of this school are very well-behaved.”
“Okay then,” Emma says cheerfully. “I don’t mind moving schools on one condition.”
“And what might that be?”
“We get McDonald’s today for lunch.”
I have to pay thousands of pounds a year and eat McDonald’s? This might not go down as one of my greatest ideas.
* * *
Emma finds the idea of a kid’s menu offensive, so she insists on ordering from the adult’s menu instead. Unfortunately, she also thinks it’s boring just to get one thing and orders chicken nuggets, a cheeseburger, and large fries. And of course, what meal would be complete without a chocolate milkshake?
I settle for the chicken nuggets which is about the only item on the menu I can stomach. I’m not a fussy eater, but every time I eat this crap I end up feeling like I’ve got a mini hangover. Without fail, after a meal like this I always underperform the next time I visit the gym. It’s like my muscles are punishing me for my poor choices.
It’s all worth it today though. I can’t help but smile when I watch my daughter alternate between biting into a chicken nugget, then having some of her burger, and then shoving in a few fries. Usually some of the chocolate milkshake makes its way in there as well. God knows how she fits it all in her mouth and stays slim.
Her mother had been like that. Ate whatever she wanted and never put on a pound. Emma hasn’t asked about her mother much recently. There had been a spell about six months ago where she’d asked new questions every day, but now she’s stopped being curious. Emma never knew her mother—she was only one when she died—and the description I’ve given is not enough to get an accurate idea of the woman. That’s being generous. Most of what I’ve said about Emma’s mum has been completely untrue. No girl should have to grow up thinking badly of her mother, especially when her mother is dead.
Emma suddenly stops eating and looks around. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, when I hear it myself.
“It’s definitely her,” a nearby teenage girl says to her friend. “She’s here as part of her tour.”
“There’s no way Naomi Price is just wandering the streets,” her friend replies.
“Go see for yourself. She’s outside by Michael Kors.”
Emma is wide-eyed with excitement as she looks back at me. “Did you hear that? Naomi Price is in the area.”
“Who’s that?” I ask.
I catch Emma roll her eyes. “She’s one of my favorite singers. I’ve got all her albums, Daddy. I play them all the time. How do you not know this?”
“I try to block out your music, honey. Anyway, I’m sure she’s long gone by now.”
“She might not be. Please, Daddy. I’ll never get another chance to see her.”
I’ve never been good at denying my daughter what she wants, but I’m seriously tempted to this time. I ‘accidentally’ forgot to mention Emma to Naomi, and I have an awful feeling she won’t take too kindly to me thrusting a surprise daughter in her face. Or maybe she just won’t care. There’s still a damn good chance I’m misreading all of this. Naomi’s probably already forgotten me.
It’s no good—I can’t say no to Emma.
“Come on then,” I say tiredly. “But don’t go getting your hopes up. I’m sure she’s long gone, and if not there will be a lot of people around her. You won’t even be able to see her.”
“I will if I sit on your shoulders, Daddy.”
Word is spreading about Naomi’s presence, and there’s a noticeable line of people walking against the traffic in the direction of the shop. Emma—who normally walks so slow I give up and carry her—is now dragging me along by the hand, trying to weave her way through the crowd and get to Naomi first.
No such luck. When we get to the shop, there’s a crowd of people outside and no one is being let in.
“Oh well,” I say. “Doesn’t look like we’ll be able to see her today.”
“Let’s wait here for her to come out,” Emma insists.
“I’m sure she’ll sneak out a back—”
I can’t even finish my sentence when the door opens and people at the front of the crowd start screaming. There’s a quick groan of disappointment as a man steps out of the store, but I recognize him as Naomi’s head security guy. Lance starts clearing a path and seconds later Naomi appears in all her glory. She’s wearing large sunglasses, and is keeping her head down, but it’s unmistakably her.
“Daddy, Daddy, lift me up.”
I lift Emma into the air and drop her down on my shoulders. She immediately lets out a loud scream which is somehow heard over the din of the crowd. Naomi actually looks in our direction. My stomach sinks, like I’m on a plane with bad turbulence, as Naomi smiles and waves at me. Except she’s not waving at me; she’s waving a foot above me at my far more adorable daughter.
Then she stops.
She recognizes me. She lowers her glasses and we make eye contact.
Naomi stands there surrounded by her security who are urging her to keep walking. I smile awkwardly and give a quick wave. She waves back and then whispers something in Lance’s ear. Whatever she says, he doesn’t look happy.
Naomi keeps walking until she reaches a limo and steps inside. I lower Emma back to her feet, but when I look up I see Lance standing directly in front of me.
“My employer would like a word,” Lance says.
Emma looks a little c
onfused, and she’s not the only one. We push our way through the crowd and step into the limo. Emma doesn’t know where to look. On the one hand, her idol is sat on the seat just opposite her, but she’s also struggling to comprehend the size of this car.
“Hi,” I say to Naomi.
“Hi,” she says back. We stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds, until Naomi turns her attention to Emma. “Hello, I’m Naomi. What’s your name?”
“My name’s Emma Curtis.”
“Nice to meet you Emma Curtis.” Naomi shakes Emma’s hand and then looks back at me. “So, this is Emma?”
“This is Emma,” I confirm.
“A-ha. Suddenly a few things are falling into place.”
Emma keeps looking back and forth between Naomi and I. She might only be six years old, but she’s not daft, and I’m fairly certain she’s about to figure out this isn’t my first meeting with Naomi.
“I’m Damon,” I say, stretching out my hand towards Naomi. “Emma is my daughter.”
Naomi shakes my hand. “I guess I owe your daughter an autograph?”
“What’s an autograph?” Emma asks.
“It’s what boring old people like your daddy do instead of selfies,” Naomi says with a smile. “Come on, sit next to me and we’ll get a photo.”
Emma hops over and sits next to Naomi while I take a picture of the two of them. Naomi’s a complete natural, but then I suppose she would be. Emma’s smile is wider than I’ve ever seen it. She’s beautiful. They’re both beautiful.
“Do you want to be dropped off somewhere?” Naomi asks.
“Anywhere away from this crowd, and preferably near a tube station.”
“Where are you going?” Emma asks.
“Emma, don’t be rude.”
“That’s okay,” Naomi says. “I’m going to a studio to record some new songs.”
“Can I come?” Emma asks.
“Emma,” I scold.
“I don’t think you want to come,” Naomi says tactfully. “It’s not like listening to my album. Recording music is kind of boring and you never get to hear the full song properly. Besides, I’m just testing out the lyrics; I don’t have anyone playing guitar today.”
