Chapter 22 #2
‘Maybe.’ He shrugs, subtly brushing his fingertips against mine, instantly sending shivers down my spine. ‘You seem to have a habit of making my life unpredictable. I never know what will happen next.’
That is literally the best compliment I have ever had. Assuming it is a compliment.
The Dollz take a bow and wave to the crowd at the end of their set.
It has been a sheer triumph and I’m thrilled for them.
Tash also seems to have forgotten to propose to Sister Kevin, who has been looking adoringly up at her from the mosh pit.
The next few seconds seem to go by in slow motion as they wave goodbye to the crowd and run off laughing to the other end of the stage.
Tash flicks her hair over her shoulder and blows a kiss in our direction.
Oh. My. God. They’re not coming to unshackle us.
I hear Matteo swear when he realises their plan. Then there’s a deafening announcement over the mic and the next act, me , is invited on stage. I shudder, trying not to panic. There’s nothing we can do but walk out on stage together.
Matteo has gone very pale.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I say, suddenly snapping into professional mode. ‘Come on.’ I yank at Matteo, who very reluctantly follows me out onto the stage. ‘Trust me,’ I say.
The poor man must realise that I have done nothing since my arrival to substantiate this request. He grins back and shakes his head, a small laugh escaping from his lips as though he can’t fucking believe this latest, in a long, long line, of hot messes.
‘Okay, Connie Cooper,’ he says. ‘Let’s show them what you’ve got.’
As I fumble with my phone, ready to hand it to the rig guy, Matteo swipes it off me, barks some instructions and, before we know it, a speaker, rig and PA system is wheeled over for Matteo to perch on, while I am almost on top of him at the microphone stand.
He one-handedly plugs in my phone and swipes away at it to access my backing tracks and then nods at me.
Christ Almighty, that was so impressive. My eyes balloon in admiration at the sheer capability. And in front of a few thousand rowdy, daytime-drinking festivalgoers!
I grab the microphone and try to get the crowd on side by speaking in Spanish.
I hold up our arms to let them see that the Dollz have handcuffed us together and are refusing to unlock us.
I make sure to say it was not my idea to kidnap Matteo, and this is definitely not false imprisonment despite me being partially responsible for his black eye and head bandage.
As the crowd go suddenly quiet, I mouth to Matteo, ‘Ready?’
He takes the microphone gently from me and speaks into it. ‘Connie, you just told everyone that this is the only way you can get a man these days, kicking them in the head and handcuffing them.’
Cocking hell.
Matteo howls with laughter as he explains to the crowd what happened, points accusingly at the Dollz, who proudly take a bow, and gives me the microphone back.
I lean over, press ‘play’ and launch into the opening track.
I chose one with a thumping bass to get the crowd clapping along.
It feels weird singing with Matteo so close to me but it’s thrilling at the same time, forcing me to up my game.
My cheeks are hurting from all the smiling I’m doing.
It’s like muscle memory returning to my face.
I didn’t used to be so sullen and strait-laced on stage. I suddenly remember the days when I used to have fun and play with the crowd. It seems so long ago but now, unexpectedly, the old feelings are flooding back.
When the track comes to an end, Matteo leans over to speak into the mic.
He’s asking the crowd if they want to hear something in Spanish they can sing along to.
He’s grinning away like an evil musical despot.
The intro to ‘Reggaeton Lento’ comes on and, as I sing the opening, the crowd join in and wave their hands in the air.
The Dollz run onto the stage and start spinning around, twerking, gyrating and singing backup along with me.
All of our outfits are coordinated, and we are a sisterhood of rampant, powerful vixens.
I genuinely feel like I belong with them.
I glance at Matteo, whose shoulders are dancing along.
He seems extraordinarily comfortable with all this spontaneity.
The Dollz run back off stage to thunderous applause.
They have brought an incredible amount of sparkle and fun to the proceedings.
The next track is a bit slower, but once again, Matteo meddles with the tempo while I’m singing.
His face is lit up as he reads the crowd, signals for an earpiece and fiddles with knobs on the rig.
I’m forced to speed up, and the song takes on a totally new life.
Thankfully, my years of classical training kick in, and I compensate easily, flicking from one octave to another, throwing in some of my own stylings. I’ve never done this before, and it is exhilarating. I feel on fire.
‘You are amazing,’ Matteo mouths to me, and the compliment leaves me euphoric.
Before I know it, we are on the last track. Matteo flicks through the tracklist on my phone and suddenly stops to look quizzically up at me. I frown, wondering what it is. He leans into the microphone.
‘Connie, what’s this track?’ he says, glancing out to the crowd. ‘It’s called “Matteo, Why Are You So Hot?”’
He turns to face me.
‘Did you write a song about me?’
He’s laughing, but his eyes are saying, Should I be worried about this?
I’m frozen to the spot. This is why you should never let other people access your phone. Ever.
‘No,’ I say into the microphone. ‘Of course not. No. Absolutely not. And it could be about any old Matteo. It’s a pretty common name, right?’
The crowd is howling with laughter, and too many of them are filming the exchange. To my horror, Matteo presses play and the piano intro I recorded yesterday floats out across the crowd.
‘Well, let’s see what it is, shall we?’
The crowd roars its approval.
Bloody hell.
‘Let’s not,’ I say into the microphone, clearing my throat and trying not to fall apart.
But Matteo is nodding his head. He has wild, pretend-serial-killer eyes. He’s not going to take no for an answer.
I open my mouth to sing, but no words come out. I think I’m going to have a panic attack. There’s no way I can sing my own song on stage to actual people. It was meant for me and me only.
He must be able to see the fear etched on my face, so he leans into the microphone. ‘Sounds nice. Come on, Connie. Let’s see what the real you sounds like.’
How can he be this comfortable on stage? How?
The Dollz are leaping about, yelling for me to do it. Matteo restarts the song.
‘Okay. But just to be clear,’ I say, as though I’ve reluctantly put my chart-topping solo career on hold to treat the crowd to an impromptu, stripped-back version of my next hit, ‘it’s absolutely not about you.’
It starts off quite melodic, and I’m almost cringing at the lyrics because they are clearly about a girl having a huge crush on a boy who simply does not find her attractive. He can’t see what’s in front of him. He can’t see how much she loves him.
I want the stage to swallow me up, but the crowd is being very polite and getting behind me.
Matteo fiddles with the rig and out of nowhere some drums and a bass kick in to lift the chorus and give the song an edge that wasn’t there before.
Now I have to belt it out to keep time. It really works and as I sing the last verse, unbelievably, the crowd join in the simple chorus with me.
We sing it again. And again. And again until the fade.
It’s catchy.
It’s simple.
It’s totally and utterly all about Matteo.