Chapter 7
7
By the time the after-show party began that night, George was exhausted again. It was just after 11.00p.m. and since the unplanned pensioners’ punk party, she hadn’t had a minute’s break.
She, Helen and Marisa had stayed at the birthday party until they were sure all Archie Reeves’ guests were being attended to by paramedics or escorted home to bed. The hall had been a mess; there was food everywhere, streamers all over the place and blackout curtains lying forlornly on the dance floor, where they had been discarded during the frenzied dancing.
She knew she looked awful but she hadn’t had the time to care. She couldn’t wait to get home to bed, even though she knew she would only get four or five hours’ sleep before getting up to start catering for the party the following night. Sleep was all she could think of and she let out a yawn as she offered the platters around the packed function room, wondering if a seafood medley parcel could possibly prop her eyelids open if inserted correctly.
‘My dear George! Miss Finger Food herself! My darling, tell me what you have done to this lamb! It’s gorgeous, it’s divine, it’s delicious, it’s delectable, it’s every word beginning with d I can think of and more. It’s wonderful!’ Michael shouted excitedly, slapping her on the back as he bounded up to her and jolted her away from thoughts of sleep.
‘Oh Michael, thank you,’ George responded, stifling another yawn.
‘No, thank you, darling. People think I am a party-planning genius and guests are picking up your business cards like they were money-off vouchers for Harrods,’ Michael informed her.
‘That’s really good,’ George answered.
‘I’m sensing a slight lack of enthusiasm here. Your company could be huge, I tell you. Huge!’ Michael exclaimed, waving his arms about theatrically.
George smiled and offered him the tray of canapés she was holding.
‘Oh, the seafood medley is tempting me. Should I indulge?’ he asked, gazing adoringly at the plate.
And then her attention was diverted to the double doors of the function room as they were fiercely swung open.
Quinn Blake entered, an acoustic guitar slung around his neck and Belch at his side. They began to play as they walked across the room, enthralling all the guests with an instantly recognisable melody. It was one of Quinn’s biggest hits, ‘By Your Side’, and even George had heard it played over and over on the radio. It sounded different now though; there were no electronic overtones, no drum and bass keeping a rhythm, just two guitars and Quinn’s smooth, confident voice.
He moved into the centre of the room singing and playing, bewitching every guest present, stopping all conversations and turning every head. George watched as he mounted a table and began to strum out the crescendo to the song. Then in one swift movement, Belch jumped up alongside him and the two men duelled on the guitars, encouraging people to clap along in time.
George fumbled with her tray, trying to hold it and clap at the same time. She glanced over at Adam. His tray was abandoned on the floor in front of him and he was watching Quinn and Belch in awe, mesmerised by their performance.
Marisa was also enjoying the show, hopping about in an excited state, giggling and glowing as she stood in prime position at the foot of the table Quinn and Belch had got up on.
With loud, raucous strumming and harmonised vocals, the musicians ended the song and the whole room erupted into rapturous applause.
George watched as Quinn jumped down from the table and passed his guitar over to Belch. Guests hurried to surround him and compliment him, but although sharing a few words and smiling, he began to walk purposefully away from the crowds and straight towards her.
George quickly picked up her tray which contained less than half a dozen seafood medley parcels and prepared to leave for the sanctuary of the kitchen. Her heart was thumping in her chest.
But there was a large group in her way, giggly from champagne and blocking her route. She wasn’t quite quick enough. Before she could disappear, Quinn stood in front of her, his soulful eyes fixed on her.
‘Hello,’ she greeted in her weakest voice ever, trying desperately not to fixate on his lips.
‘Meet me outside. Fire exit door, ten minutes,’ he told her.
She looked directly at him now, her eyes widening with every second that passed, trying to digest his words.
‘Ten minutes,’ he repeated leaving no doubt.
Then he reached out, took a seafood medley parcel from the tray and turned back to his adoring public, smiling and accepting their appreciation of his music.
George swallowed a knot of fear and excitement and looked at her watch. No, what was she doing? Why was she looking at her watch? She didn’t need to know when ten minutes was, because she was not going to have some clandestine meeting with someone she barely knew. OK, so she knew what the inside of his mouth felt like, but she knew nothing about him in the ordinary sense. He was a celebrity, a rock star who adorned magazine covers, and she was not in the market for being anyone’s plaything.
She squeezed herself past the large group in her way, trying to avoid looking anywhere in Quinn’s direction.
‘Oh. My. Life! Did you like hear what he just played? That is sooo my favourite song in the world ever!’ Marisa exclaimed excitedly, buzzing about the kitchen, waiting for Helen to serve up some more food.
‘How are we doing? Running low on anything?’ George enquired, trying to remain focussed and forget she had been propositioned by the best-looking guy in the room.
‘No, we’re absolutely fine,’ Helen replied, passing out trays to Marisa.
‘George, did you hear Quinn Blake singing? Isn’t he just amazing ?’ Marisa said again.
‘Make sure you work around the room with the trays; check the crudités aren’t running low and that the business cards are still in the best position,’ George ordered, taking a deep breath and ignoring her comment about Quinn.
Yes, he was an amazing performer, in more ways than one, and he had invited her to an exclusive, private meet and greet in ten minutes. Well, approximately nine minutes now.
‘Did you know Adam spoke to him last night? Very unprofessional, I thought,’ Marisa piped up.
‘Marisa, you’re just jealous. Now take those trays out please, before things start getting cold. I don’t know! One nice-looking chap and your head’s in the clouds, isn’t it?’ Helen told her daughter .
‘Thank you, I’ll take those, just run out,’ Curly Shirley announced, whipping the tray from Marisa’s grasp and hurrying back towards the function room.
‘Mother! Will you stop her! She’s trying to get Quinn Blake! She’s like old enough to be his grandmother. Give me the sausages!’ Marisa ordered, snatching up another platter.
George waited for the young girl to disappear and then she bolted to the fridge and got out a bottle of lager. It was petty theft for the second time in two nights she knew, but she really needed a drink.
‘Is everything all right?’ Helen asked as George rifled through a drawer for a bottle opener.
‘Yes, fine,’ George replied, rattling utensils around looking for what she needed.
If she didn’t find one, she would use her teeth. It wasn’t like she had never done that before.
‘Are you looking for this?’ Helen enquired as she passed the implement over.
‘Thanks,’ George answered.
She removed the lid and took a long swig. A wave of calm ran over her as the sharp liquid coated her throat. She felt better already.
‘Something’s on your mind. I always know when something’s on your mind,’ Helen reminded her.
‘Nothing’s on my mind; I’m just tired that’s all after the 1940s Bacardi party. You’ve got to admit that was hard work,’ George said, taking another drink.
‘You’re doing too much in my opinion, taking too much work on. You’re seeking solace in lager, you’ve started listening to Metallica again, you’re not eating properly…’ Helen started.
‘I am eating properly. I ate half a lamb trying to get the canapés just right,’ George insisted.
She couldn’t deny the other points. She had dusted off Metallica’s The Black Album the other week and she suspected Helen counted the number of bottles of lager in the catering fridge. She didn’t know what was in the other fridge, though. Or what wasn’t. That was definitely a good thing.
‘You need to make time for some fun,’ Helen told her.
‘I do! Come on, parties like this are fun. I’m having fun. See! This is a smile,’ George answered, grinning a little too forcefully.
‘Hmm,’ Helen replied, unconvinced.
‘OK, well, say I was thinking about having some fun and it was all a bit impromptu and maybe a bit strange but I quite, you know, liked it – what would you say?’ George questioned, looking directly at Helen.
‘You know what I think, George. You need more time for you. Have you thought about going out with Simon from the bakery? He seems such a nice lad and he’s very keen on you. He was only saying the other day he thought you two should have a drink together or something. He’d be nice to have a drink with, wouldn’t he? Have you thought about having a drink with him?’ Helen asked, quickly opening the oven door to check on progress.
‘No, not thought about that,’ George answered, taking another swig of her drink and a look at her watch.
What was he doing? She wasn’t like other women. What if she didn’t know the drill? He knew nothing about her. Apart from the way she made him feel and how soft the inside of her mouth was. God, she was driving him crazy! He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He’d gone running at least five miles through the town at 4.00a.m. No one had ever done that to him before. And he needed to know why she was getting to him. No. This was stupid. He was meant to be mingling with record-company executives and influential players from the media. He wasn’t thinking straight. He took a deep breath and moved closer to the edge of the roof. He could get down and disappear back to the hotel. He looked at his watch. What if she didn’t come? That thought unsettled him more than it should.
It was twelve minutes since he’d said ‘ten minutes’ and she was standing by the door to the fire escape, staring at the white character man simulating running for his life from a deadly inferno. What was she doing? She should be serving canapés and directing her staff and keeping an eye on Adam. Instead, she was loitering by an exit door, wondering whether she should open it or not.
Why was he having an effect on her? Why did she want to see him? Why had she enjoyed his kiss so much the previous night? This was uncharacteristic. She was usually the one driving situations, but now, here she was, on the inside of the fire door, responding to someone’s order. And there was no doubt it had been an order. He couldn’t have made it clearer.
There was loud giggling and George heard the doors along the corridor open. People were coming. She needed to make a decision. Open the door? Or go back to the party?
The voices were getting louder; people were approaching. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
She stepped out onto the fire escape expecting Quinn to be waiting for her, like some gorgeous, brooding knight, all bolshy and irresistible. But to her dismay, there was nothing but the oily black sky and the chilly air to greet her. She was on her own and suddenly, she felt very stupid. What an idiot! He must think she was some sort of pathetic fan, who would let him kiss her and order her about just for the thrill of being in his presence! He’d had no intention of meeting her; it was just a game. He probably did this stuff all the time. She should have known better. She did know better.
‘Hey! You’re late!’
It was him. She heard his voice but she couldn’t see him. She looked down to the bottom of the fire escape, but there was no one there apart from two security guards stood by the doors to the Hexagon’s back entrance.
‘I said you’re late. Ten minutes, I said; this is almost fourteen,’ Quinn called again.
George looked around her; she still had no idea where the voice was coming from.
‘Hey! Up here!’ Quinn shouted.
George looked upwards, towards the roof of the theatre and there he was, stood on the very edge, looking down at her, a broad smile on his face.
‘What the hell are you doing? Are you mad? You could fall!’ George exclaimed in horror.
‘Yeah, dangerous, isn’t it? So, are you coming up? I have beer,’ Quinn enticed.
He picked up two bottles and chinked them together temptingly.
‘How did you get up there?’ George enquired, wishing he wasn’t stood quite so close to the edge.
‘Same way you’re going to get up here. Give me your hand,’ Quinn ordered, leaning over the edge of the roof and holding his hand out to her.
‘I’m not coming up there,’ George told him, folding her arms across her chest in a show of defiance.
She was a grown-up and in charge of catering an important function. She was not stupid enough to be climbing up on roofs at the age of thirty-four.
‘Of course you are. You know you want to.’
‘I do not.’
‘Sure you do. Come on, live a little,’ Quinn spoke.
George looked at the hand he was holding out and then looked down at the drop below. This was insane! One slip and it was goodbye life, hello tarmac .
‘Take my hand, put one foot up onto the bar there and I’ll help you. View’s great, by the way,’ he said.
George felt a rush of excitement run through her. It was dangerous, it was reckless; it was like when she was a teenager and had found all sorts of new ways to annoy her mother. She had loved rebellion and a little danger then; perhaps she had forgotten how to live for the moment.
Quickly, she took off her shoes, put one down as a wedge to keep open the fire exit door and dropped the other.
She reached up, firmly took hold of Quinn’s hand and pulled herself up onto the metal fire escape. With another stretch and a scramble, she arrived on top of the roof.
‘You’ve done this before,’ Quinn replied as they sat down on the tiles and he handed her a bottle of beer.
‘Not for a long time and only on a three storey,’ George answered, taking a much-needed drink.
‘This is the sort of extreme length I have to go to to get away from people,’ Quinn said with a laugh.
‘And you enjoy every minute of it,’ George answered, looking at him.
‘Yes, I do,’ he replied, looking back at her.
It was those eyes again, like turquoise glass, clear yet dense. Something about the intensity of them reminded her so much of Paul.
They were sat very close together enveloped by a black blanket of night, both staring out at the town’s skyline. She didn’t really know what she was doing here, sat on a roof with the biggest rock star of the moment when she should be wowing people with her buffet. But her heart was thumping a rhythm it hadn’t performed in such a long time and she was finding it hard to care what she should be doing.
‘Are you cold?’ Quinn enquired, suddenly breaking the silence .
‘A bit,’ George admitted, aware she was shivering.
Without saying another word, Quinn put his arm around her and drew her closer to him in one quick action. She was suddenly wrapped up in warmth.
She was a grown-up, yet she felt like a girl on some sort of awkward first date where no one knows the rules. It didn’t feel like she was sat in the arms of a major rock star; it felt like she was in another time and another place where she was young again. Young and alive.
‘If I could, I’d ask you out to dinner,’ Quinn spoke as he stroked her arm, keeping the cold at bay and sending delicious shivers down her spine.
‘If you could?’ George queried.
‘It’s complicated. I’m watched, all the time, which is why…’
‘You climb on roofs,’ George finished off for him.
‘Exactly. But I like you, you know, and…’
‘So what do we do?’ George asked him.
‘What do you wanna do?’ Quinn replied.
‘I don’t know,’ George answered almost in a whisper.
‘Yes, you do,’ Quinn told her, his eyes looking deep into hers.
Before she could stop herself, she had reached out and touched his face with her hand. She felt the firm line of his jaw and looked into his eyes, waiting, pausing in anticipation. He just matched her gaze, not letting his eyes drop from hers for a second and as her hand fell to his chest, she could feel the strength of his heartbeat.
It was then he moved, taking her face in his hands for the second time in as many days and their lips were together, his mouth hot and sensual on hers.
He lowered her down onto the roof tiles and the raw, cold slate sent shivers down her back as he sat astride her. He kissed her jaw, her neck; he ran his hands through her hair and then started to unbutton her blouse .
She thought she was going to combust with the desire she felt. She had never experienced anything like the longing she felt for him now. She wanted him to touch her everywhere.
Wantonly, she pulled his t-shirt over his head and admired the perfect body underneath.
And then, completely shattering the moment, a mobile began to ring.
‘Shit,’ Quinn remarked, moving off of George and hurriedly fumbling for the phone in the pocket of his jeans.
She sat up and began to refasten her shirt buttons. Suddenly, she felt a bit stupid, sat on the roof of a theatre, half undressed with someone she knew had two platinum albums and liked her canapés, but that was where the knowledge ended.
‘Hey, Roger! Yeah, it was another great show tonight. Where am I? Well, I’m at the party; there’s a good turn-out. Yeah, back to the hotel afterwards, sure, I know, and no late-night poker with the boys. Yeah, OK, tell her the same,’ Quinn spoke into the phone.
He ended the call and snapped the phone shut, turning around. George’s shirt was tucked primly back in and she got up from the tiles and stood in front of him.
‘I’d better go. I should be serving your guests,’ she spoke, trying to move away from him without him touching her again.
‘Spend the night with me,’ Quinn said, grabbing hold of her arm.
George saw the sincerity in his expression and felt the tight grip on her arm. She swallowed, not knowing what to say. A night with a rock star, a hot rock star and someone who made her burn up from the inside out. She liked sex, it would be fantastic sex and she hadn’t had sex in almost a month.
‘Not on the roof, obviously. I have a hotel room,’ Quinn spoke hurriedly .
‘And you’re watched all the time,’ George reminded him.
‘Yeah, I know, I am. But we could work something out.’
‘I’m not that sort of girl, sorry. I’d better go,’ George said.
‘I think your brother’s really cool, by the way. He knows a lot about music,’ Quinn said quickly as George began to balance over the roof edge.
She stopped and looked back at him. He was still shirtless and the sight of his perfection did nothing to strengthen her resolve in turning him down. It wasn’t too late. She could change her mind. Her foot was only dangling toward the fire escape; no contact had been made.
‘He’s very talented; I mean, really talented. He was grade eight piano at age eleven,’ George informed him, a swell of pride coating her voice.
‘That’s seriously good. I didn’t do grades, at least I don’t think – well anyway – he could definitely teach me a thing or two,’ Quinn answered.
‘He thinks you’re a great artist. He admires you and your music very much,’ George told him.
‘Well, maybe we could spend an hour or so together doing something on the piano,’ Quinn suggested.
‘Don’t say things like that unless you mean them, not where my brother’s concerned,’ George ordered almost angrily.
‘I don’t say things unless I mean them. Tell him to ask for me tomorrow afternoon before the show, say four?’
‘Four,’ George repeated.
‘Yeah, and if you wanted to come along, that would be good too,’ Quinn said, his turquoise eyes studying her.
‘Sorry, four’s no good for me, I’ll be busy coordinating an Army party and trying to create something exciting and never seen before, using salmon as my muse,’ George answered as she clambered carefully over the side of the roof and her foot made contact with the fire escape. No going back now.
‘I want to see you again,’ Quinn said, leaning over the edge and watching her descend.
‘You will. I’ll be one of the waitresses holding a silver tray at your party tomorrow night,’ George answered.
She jumped down onto the fire escape, put on her shoes and went back inside, closing the door behind her.
Once inside, she leant against the door and tried to get her breath back. If the phone hadn’t rung, would she have stopped him? Would she have stopped herself? Or would she have had sex on a rooftop without thinking about the consequences? Why did he have this effect on her? Yes, he was gorgeous, but there was more to it than that; something about him was different. He got to her.
He was buzzing from head to foot, even more than from the gig. His heart was racing like he’d taken a shot of something. She was hot and sexy and she’d tasted like all his fantasies rolled into one. He stood up on the roof, stretched his arms up to the sky and howled.