by Adam Carter
Corsac sat beside her and took her in his arms, rocking her soothingly. “I’m sorry, Liz,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Guess I wasn’t thinking straight at all.” She clung to him now like a lost lamb, her head upon his chest, her arms about him.
“I’m ...” Liz began, then changed her mind. “After I left Richard, I thought I’d never feel safe again.”
“You’re safe with me, Liz.”
“I know, Jack.”
“You can call me Mr J if you like.”
She turned her face so she was looking directly into his eyes. Her own were red and wet, but they were also bright with hope. “You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind, so long as it’s you.”
“Then I don’t make you feel old any more?”
“Liz, you never made me feel old. Of all people, you’re the one who always makes me feel so young.”
“You mean that?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
“Why would I just say that?”
“Because you want to screw me.”
“I ...”
“Deny it.”
“Of course I ... that is ...”
As close as she was now, she pressed her lips to his once more and this time allowed him no chance of escape. She pushed him backwards and immediately tore off her T-shirt. She wore no underwear tonight: she’d figured it would only get in the way. “I need this, Mr J,” she said when their lips parted. She lay atop him, her hands resting upon the bed either side of him, her bare breasts hanging over his chest. “I need this, Mr J. Please don’t take this away from me.” She tore at his shirt and leaned down upon him so their naked chests met. Her lips found his again and travelled his neck. This time Corsac offered no voice of argument, made no utterance at all. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them it was to notice one thing.
There was a seven-foot square mirror affixed to the ceiling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Rocker-Shockers weren’t doing so well.
It was a working title for them, there was no way they would keep it, but it was always handy to call these people something. The name didn’t necessarily sell the product in the music business, but image was everything and the name was part of the image. Imagine, for instance, Bros being called Buds or Take That calling themselves Been There, Done That. To the untrained mind, names of bands may have seemed a little weird, but there was a reason for everything. Nothing was left to the whims and fancies of media moguls who didn’t know what they were talking about. In fact, Sam Corsac had never once met a media mogul who didn’t know what they were talking about.
“We’re gonna have to let ‘em go,” she said at last with a sigh. Sam had an office, even though she didn’t like to use it often. It was where she kept her files and papers, and of course her desk. It was also, supposedly, where important decisions were reached. Sam liked to think all the really important decisions were made out in the studio, or on the street: wherever the heart could connect with these kids. However, the truth was that in the music industry, as with everywhere else in the world, the office was where everything happened.
“Unfortunately,” Calshaw said with a resigned sigh, “I’m going to have to agree.”
“You want me to tell ‘em?”
“I’ll do it. I’m getting good at it.”
Derek Calshaw had been working with Sam for some time now. They had first met about five years earlier when they had both gone for the same job. Sam had got the job and hadn’t thought of Calshaw since. Then, two years later, they were thrown back together when Calshaw went for another interview and this time got the job. In those two years Sam had moved up in the business herself and had always been in a superior position to him, but they had gone out for lunch as soon as they met that second time (they had recognised one another instantly) and things had gone on from there.
Of course, her father didn’t much approve of Calshaw, but that was a father’s prerogative. He had this image of Derek as being a long-haired pot-smoking hippie who’d never had a real job in his life. In fact, it was this which had caused the rift between Sam and her father. If he thought music wasn’t a real job, she had said, what did that mean he thought of her? The argument had gone around and around and eventually the two of them had simply stopped talking.
Which was actually untrue, since they had never really been great talkers to begin with. Her father had always been much closer to Louise, whereas Sam just got on with her life and had actually made something of it. That was not to knock Louise, of course, for she worked in an office – which was where something like ninety per cent of all people ended up working. So too did Sam, she thought as she looked about her own office. Just on a different level.
Sam and her father had not really spoken until that time he had contacted her regarding his job. That he had come to her for help must have been a big step for him and she was proud that he’d managed to work through whatever egotistic issues he had (and he would have had a lot, knowing him). It was only a week or so after they started speaking again that Sam had realised they hadn’t actually been speaking. It wasn’t a conscious decision on the part of either one of them: they seemed to both realise that whenever they spoke they always argued so mutually thought it best not to speak at all.
It was Sam’s greatest regret in life. But she was still young, only twenty-seven, and her father was going as strong as ever. She was lucky, she knew, because she still had a long time to make it up to him, to put aside the fact they had been at (silent) odds for all that time.
But, first things first, the Rocker-Shockers just had to go.
“Thanks,” Sam said and meant it. She was a hard woman, knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it, but the one aspect of her job she had never liked was telling young up-and-coming kids that they simply didn’t have what it took. It was akin to the part of a police officer’s job where they had to go and tell someone their loved one had been killed in a road traffic accident. Perhaps not so final, but equally as devastating. When you put so much of yourself, so much of your life, into something you really care about, it was heartbreaking when it was swept out from under you.
It was the same with love, Sam supposed. She’d had a lot of guys, but Derek was the only person she’d ever lived with. She’d only ever had her heart broken a handful of times, and most of those were when she was a kid and didn’t have the first clue what love was. The problem, she always figured, was that people often confused love with lust, which was where all the extra-marital affairs came into play. (Which was a weird term, considering you couldn’t technically have an affair unless you were married, so by definition they all had to be extra-marital.)
Still, she’d learned morality from her parents. Hell, her father even generally managed to keep his act clean on stage. It had set her up well for life.
“There are some papers on your desk there, Sam,” Calshaw said, snapping her back to the present. “Thought you might want to go over them. Might be something promising in there.”
“Sure,” she said, picking up the bundle and giving them a quick flick-through. “You looked yourself yet?”
“Nope. Thought I’d leave that for you. I know the thrill you get when you find someone you like.”
“You’re a sweetie, Del.”
“I know, I know.” He absently brushed back a loose strand of hair. Calshaw was a long-haired hippie who had at one time smoked too much pot. Sam had made him give that up: she’d let him keep the hair.
Calshaw left the office without even a kiss goodbye, which was well within the rules of the office but for some reason left Sam cold. She couldn’t explain why, yet a sudden shiver thrust itself through her and she felt a strange and inexplicable sensation of fear. She needed to be held tight, comforted, and the very next second the sensation had passed.
She shook herself, wondering what had got into her. She put it down to being lost in a reverie
of the past, in regret and self-condemnation.
It wouldn’t happen again.
She looked to the files and began to sift through them. The best way to find new talent was to go out looking for it. On the street, sometimes even literally. Some artists had been discovered simply because they were whistling while fetching the morning paper. Recognising talent through a portfolio was somewhat more difficult, but there were so many small, unsigned bands or singers out there. Most had done something music-wise in their lives, or at least had a website and several gigs under their belt. That did not necessarily make them any good, but it did show they had made the effort and didn’t just sit around waiting for some miracle to drop in their lap.
The phone rang and Sam automatically picked up the receiver. “Corsac.”
The phone kept ringing.
It was then she realised it was her mobile, and not being able to differentiate between the two rings meant she really was out of it. Sam despised mobile ringtones. There were some which did actually sound reasonably good, as good as a phone could produce anyway. But there was no substitute in her mind for a full orchestra or live music. Ringtones butchered everything they attempted to mimic and she steadfastly refused to apply one to her phone. The downside was that her mobile’s ring sounded very much like that of her work phone. Or at least that was the story she was telling herself as she sifted through her bag before drawing out her mobile.
“Lou?” she asked as she answered the call. “Not like you to call me at work.”
“I wasn’t, Sam, I was calling you on your mobile.”
Sam closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair and began lightly swivelling. “Sorry, Lou. One a those days. What can I do for my little sister today?”
“Are you busy?”
“Does John Lennon have a fan club?”
“I need to see you.”
“Can’t we talk on the phone, Lou?” Sam whined. To everyone else, Sam Corsac was the hard-nosed epitome of the modern woman. To Louise, she was and always would be her older sister. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“So have I, but this can’t wait.”
“Lou?”
“Really, Sam, I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.”
Sam looked at the clock on the far wall (placed above the door so she could clock-watch while interviewing boring people) and leaned further back in her chair. “You’re gonna make me stay late tonight, aren’t you?”
“We could meet for lunch. You do get a lunch, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Sometimes. Sort of.”
“Good. Cinelli’s. One hour?”
Sam wanted to argue, wanted to turn her down flat. But she could tell there was something wrong, there was something in Louise’s tone that told her as much. Besides, this was her little sister she was talking about. If she couldn’t make time for her little sister, life just wasn’t worth living.
“Sure, Lou,” she said. “One hour.”
“Thanks, Sam. See ya then.”
“Bye.”
Sam sighed dejectedly as she dropped her phone on her desk, then stretched her arms across the table, leaning her head down. “Sleep,” she said. “Need sleep.” But sleep was off the menu. Well, she reasoned, looking on the bright side for a change, at least Lou had chosen a decent restaurant. No mention of who would be paying, though.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The two sisters did not discuss the important matter over their meal. Cinelli’s may have sounded Italian, but it was in actual fact one of the finest Greek-Cypriot restaurants in the area. It was unusual for Sam to stop and eat anything during the day, let alone visit such a fine place, but she did like Cinelli’s and knew Louise knew. This meant her little sister was after something, but for the moment Sam was content with just enjoying the food. There would be time enough later for an argument or some crying – maybe even both – but Sam hated good food being interrupted by talk of business. That was what dessert was for.
She started with dolma. She didn’t usually go for dolma but she knew pâté was too rich for her to be eating this early in the day. Evenings, yes, but she didn’t like having pâté inside her when she had to go back to work. If asked to explain the reasoning behind this, she could not. She had tried several times, always unsuccessfully, and Louise had once put it down to something she must have seen on the telly. Some famous chef must have said (perhaps even jokingly) that pâté should not be eaten at lunch-time and Sam had taken it to heart. Since Sam could not recall why she did not eat pâté at lunch-time, she could not argue. It sounded plausible as well. Incredibly sad, but plausible none the less.
Louise had the pâté.
Moving onto the main course, Sam ordered kleftiko. It was her usual order, for lamb had always been her favourite meat and she loved the way Cinelli’s prepared it. Louise went for the steak, which was also what she tended towards. There was nothing especially wrong with eating steak in a Greek-Cypriot restaurant, it was just that when Sam went to a non-English restaurant she liked to eat non-English food.
The conversation at the table was stilted by whatever Louise had on her mind, but it was continuous. Louise knew Sam didn’t like to be bothered with problems while eating and that if she wanted something from Sam the way to do it was not to break that cardinal rule. Sam talked about some work she was having done on her front room while Louise talked about her bathroom problems. The way she phrased it – ‘bathroom problems’ – must have made anyone at the next table think she was suffering from constipation or diarrhoea.
Sam and Louise were in many respects exact opposites, but there were some things upon which they could always bond. Sam lived in a house, Louise in a flat. Sam liked to live life in the fast lane, Louise on the hard shoulder. Sam was obsessed with promotion and the acquisition of money, Louise was more focused on being happy.
Neither lived a better life than the other, as they would both admit.
Yet in times of trouble they always came to one another for help. They each had their own circle of friends, but there was only ever so far friendship could be taken. The sibling bond was not something forged over time. It was immediate, immeasurable for the simple reason that it had always been there. Sam was two years older but that did not mean she really remembered a time when she did not have a sister. She remembered looking out for Louise a lot, spoiling her. She knew this was yet another time Louise needed her help and there was no way Sam was about to turn her down.
“So, how’s Dad doing?” Louise asked.
“Fine,” Sam said. “He’s decided to stick with it.” She paused. “Strange, you should be asking me about him. I’m usually the one asking you how he is.”
“You see him more than me now. You’re his agent, there’d be something seriously wrong if you didn’t.”
“Dad’s cool. You should phone him more.”
Louise laughed. “Nice one. So, he’s decided to stick with it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then the debate about leaving’s over?”
“Pretty much,” Sam said, finishing off her kleftiko. “He said he’d hold out until Christmas and he has.”
“From what I remember, he also asked you to look out for something else for him.”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “And I did. But then he told me he’d changed his mind. Said he wanted to stay with the show, run with it and see where it took him. That was all – what? – two, nearly three months ago now? Anyway, long time ago. He’s with the show for keeps, which is good for me since I don’t have to do any more work for him.”
“You get him a decent present yet for Christmas?”
“Christmas?”
“Sam, you must know it’s Christmas. You were just saying Dad was hanging around for the Christmas special.”
Sam stared at her sister blankly for a moment, closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “You know, I forgot all about it.”
“You forgot about Christmas?”
“Well, it’s been a busy couple of months, Lou. A lot of work a
t Christmas. To me Christmas equates work.”
“So you’ve gone off Christmas now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good. ‘Cause I got you something really nice and I hope you get me something equally nice in return.”
“Christmas isn’t just about presents, Lou.”
“Says the woman who just practically told me Christmas was a time to make lots of money.”
“What can I say? I’m a leech. Or one of those things that attach themselves to sharks. What are they called again?”
“No idea.”
“I’ll ask Liz next time I see her. I’m sure she’ll know.”
Louise’s expression soured. “Great.”
“You don’t like Liz?”
“Do you?”
“Uh, no. But you don’t dislike anybody. You’re fun and bouncy and caring, while I’m ... uh, not.”
“What don’t you like about Liz, Sam?”
“Well, nothing especially. I think she’s two-faced and I think she knows she’s onto a good thing hanging around Dad the way she does.”
“Then you think she’s one of those things that attach themselves to sharks?”
“Yeah. Actually, yeah I do. But she’s harmless, right? I mean, she can’t do anything. Just stand there in that bikini of hers pointing at the pyramid and smiling a lot. What a job, eh?”
Louise shuddered. “Wouldn’t catch me doing that.”
“Nor me. Me because I think it’s degrading and you because you’re so self-conscious about your weight.”
“I am not,” Louise protested.
“Oh come on. How many different diets are you on at any given time?”
“Not my fault none of them work.”
“Maybe that tells you you don’t need to diet, Lou.”
“I wouldn’t need to if I could lose a few pounds.”
“Everyone has a little fat, Lou. The models in the magazines? They twist their bodies and the fat disappears, or hides. Try it in front of the mirror sometime. It works, and that’s why there are so many twisted poses in fashion photos.”
