every word she uttered was laced in innuendo. ‘After all, what would a sprinter know about vocals?’
It was a cheap shot, she ought to know better, but humiliation had forced her into a corner. A blood-hungry cheer erupted and she could all but hear the producers salivating.
‘Well, he is the bookies’ favourite,’ supplied the mogul.
‘Not just the bookies’…right, Robin?’ Leon joked, a crescent-moon dimple appearing on one side of his all too slappable face. His insinuation was obvious. There was a horrible silence. Robin’s cheeks flamed. She tried to think of something to say and nothing came. She was so angry she could scream. This was live TV!
‘Excuse me?’ she spluttered.
But the presenter moved on, instructed to sever it at the point of maximum speculation.
Afterwards, everyone assured her that it hadn’t sounded that bad. Robin wasn’t stupid. It would be all over the papers tomorrow thanks to that insufferable bastard Leon Sway! The contestant looked hopefully at her as she fled: that was the end of him.
Her car took her straight to Soho’s Hideaway Club, where she found scant solace in ordering the strongest concoction she could find. Her band met her there.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, before Polly, her bassist, had a chance.
Polly was American with a peroxide-blonde beehive. ‘All right,’ she said as they settled in a booth. ‘But just to say—’
‘Don’t say anything.’
‘It could have been worse.’
‘Could it?’
‘Did you screw him?’
Robin was aghast. ‘Who, Leon?’ she demanded, outraged at the thought.
‘No!’ Polly named the contestant. ‘Although Mr Sway, well, you have to admit—’
‘I’m warning you: don’t even go there.’ She downed the drink. ‘Anyway, what difference does it make? Everyone thinks I did, so I did. Isn’t that how it goes?’
Within minutes a tower of frosted glasses was deposited in front of them, together with several giant bottles of part-frozen vodka. An accompanying note read:
Want a winner on your team?
Her manager Barney signalled across the space. ‘Hey, Robin, check out your secret admirers.’ Close to the neon-bulb-strewn bar, just decipherable through the low-lit shadows that gave way to pockets of absolute dark, Olympian Jax Jackson, officially the fastest man in the world, was partying with a harem of lovelies. Two Olympians in one day? Some luck that was. Jax raised a glass and Robin prayed he wouldn’t come over: thanks to Leon he probably thought it was a free-for-all.
‘If we accept these you don’t have to do anything in return, right?’ Matt, her drummer, was already pouring. He winked at Robin when she raised her middle finger. ‘What? Girls never buy me drinks; it’s not like I know the rules!’
Robin tossed back a syrupy shot, then a second, then a third. Polly threw her a glance and she matched it. What was wrong with having fun? She was young and free and famous, and didn’t need anyone to tell her she deserved a break.
‘What?’ she countered. ‘Aren’t we partying?’ Matt grabbed the second bottle and filled the glasses and everyone went in for a sticky collision before the liquid vanished.
‘Sure,’ said Polly, not sure at all. What Robin had gone through didn’t go away; you had to deal with it before you could move on, not get trashed till you forgot. ‘You earned it.’
‘Nah, we earned it,’ corrected Robin, putting one arm round Polly and one round her manager and pulling them close. ‘We’re family, aren’t we?’
Family.
Even as she said the word she could hear how hollow it sounded.
2
Five thousand miles away and several hundred feet above a Hollywood theatre, Kristin White and her boyfriend were making a surprise landing at the premiere of Lovestruck.
‘Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?’ Scotty panicked, clinging to the door of the chopper as it began its shaky descent. Kristin giggled and put a comforting hand on his knee. Out of the window they could see the red carpet splashed beneath them like a river of fire, the upturned faces of fans and paps dozens-deep, gazing awe-struck at the approaching marvel.
Scotty gripped her fingers, white-knuckled, and gulped.
‘Relax,’ she soothed, leaning over to kiss him.
‘I am relaxed,’ he warbled.
‘You’re James Bond,’ she calmed him, ‘remember?’
‘Yeah.’ Scotty closed his eyes, holding tighter. ‘I’m Bond. I’m James fucking Bond.’
When the helicopter touched ground, Scotty was so relieved he grabbed Kristin and embraced her passionately. ‘Wow,’ he raved, ‘that was totally wild!’
It wasn’t like Scotty to initiate a PDA and Kristin trembled with joy, filled with the brilliance of the moment. Here they were at the peak of their careers, crazy famous and crazy in love. Her tummy lurched at his kiss more than it had at any point over the last half an hour.
‘Check out the reception,’ Scotty rhapsodised. ‘This is sick!’ He took her hand with a reassuring squeeze and said, ‘You look really beautiful tonight…you know that?’
She glowed.
By the time the door opened Kristin could scarcely hear what her boyfriend was saying because the screams were so loud. Thunder rushed at them, crashing in waves, a wall of sound so solid and suffocating that the whole impression was one of being underwater.
‘Scotty, I love you! Scotty, marry me! Scotty, over here!’
Kristin took Scotty’s hand in hers and held firm as they posed and turned for the circus of cameras. The paparazzi lining the passage shouted their names, encouraging them to stand separately, together, to kiss, the latter of which sent the fans demented, crying out for Scotty once more and snapping him frenetically with their camera phones.
Dating the subject of a gazillion teenage fantasies was never going to be easy. Kristin tried not to get jealous. You’re my only girl, Scotty would promise. She trusted him.
A stylist was on hand to rearrange her dress, a pretty lilac fishtail with capped lace sleeves, offsetting to a T her tumbling flaxen waves and creamy porcelain skin.
‘Kristin, hi, this is some arrival!’ Entertainment Now! caught her for an interview. ‘Would you answer some questions for our viewers?’ Scotty was happily dragged off to sign autographs. A girl fainted and had to be removed from the throng.
‘You’ve written the soundtrack for this movie,’ the reporter enthused. ‘How
