Chapter 14
14
On her impromptu shopping spree, Marisa had bought six tops and two pairs of trousers. Wet-look leggings and hipster jeans. She had changed three times in the Hexagon toilets and had finally opted for the leggings and a long, tunic-style top with black and red stripes. She teamed that with the highest pair of platforms George had ever seen and huge, silver, hooped earrings. Her make-up left a bit to be desired, though. George wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to avoid looking like a panda by the end of the night with the amount of eye liner she had under her eyes. Still, Marisa was young and hadn’t she worn similar when she had snuck out of her bedroom window and shinned down the drainpipe to meet Paul?
She smiled now as they took their seats in the concert hall. She remembered falling off the drainpipe once and landing in a heap at Paul’s feet. It had been raining, she was covered in mud and her arm hurt like hell. But, Paul had helped her up and they had run down the road towards his motorbike before her parents came out of the house to see what the noise was about.
They’d gone to see a band that night, some awful student indie band at the college. They hadn’t played a chord in tune the whole evening. In the end, during the interval, Paul and his band mates had invaded the stage and taken over the instruments to play their music. They had been amazing and were so well received, the original band never made it back on. She’d had the hangover to end all hangovers the next day courtesy of Dry Blackthorn and blackcurrant.
George held onto the ring on the chain around her neck and looked at Marisa’s radiant face. She was so excited about seeing the concert. She was sat on the very edge of her seat now, looking around at the other people in the VIP section, enjoying every second of the experience.
George smoothed her hands down her jeans. They were so gorgeous, she didn’t know whether she would ever wear any of the other twenty five pairs again. Quinn obviously had good taste. Either that or his personal shopper did. She didn’t want to think about that. She hoped he had chosen them. But she wasn’t really that na?ve.
‘Look at the people standing down there. Don’t they look squashed and like really uncomfortable? Don’t we have like the best view?’ Marisa exclaimed, looking at George.
‘We certainly do,’ George agreed.
‘Oh. My. God! It’s her! Taylor Ferraro! Look!’ Marisa blurted out loudly as she looked to the door into the VIP area of the seating.
George’s blood ran cold but she quickly turned her head in the same direction as Marisa to catch a look. A tall, very thin, blonde-haired girl in her twenties was being escorted to a seat by Quinn’s PA Michael.
‘That’s Quinn’s fiancée?’ George found herself asking as she watched the woman move along the row nearer to them.
‘Yeah. She’s like so pretty, isn’t she? I wish I looked like her,’ Marisa said with an appreciative sigh.
‘She doesn’t look like she eats much,’ George remarked, unable to draw her eyes away from the actress .
‘Well no, they don’t, do they? People like that, you know, celebrities. She’s probably on the new pea and apple diet,’ Marisa answered knowledgeably.
George continued to watch as Michael and Taylor sat down about ten seats away. She let out a grateful breath; the last thing she wanted was to have to sit next to her. Seeing her in the flesh made her real. She was going to marry Quinn. She was here. There would be no night of passion in his hotel room, or anywhere else. Well, not for her, anyway. She swallowed and looked back to the stage as the lights began to dim. She felt huge disappointment, like a shine had been taken off the evening. Had their one night together really been just that? One night?
The drummer began to bang out a beat; the other musicians joined in and then, descending on a platform from the roof of the stage came Quinn playing an electric violin. The crowd went wild. Marisa started screaming at the top of her voice and George watched him as he greeted the crowd and began to belt out a classical version of one of his well-known hits. The light show was amazing, with explosions and strobes flickering, as the dancers pulsated to the beat. Marisa stood up and already, the eye liner was making a break for freedom.
George glanced across at Taylor Ferraro and watched her as she slipped a nail file out of her designer handbag. She looked intently at her fingers and began to shape and buff them.
Quinn was a born performer. Apart from being something of a musical genius, he was also adept at crowd pleasing. He enchanted them with his musicality, his voice and his moves. George was certain every member of the audience had just experienced the best night of their lives .
Marisa’s face was awash with tears and make-up and her voice was now as husky as a forty-a-day smoker because of all the screaming she had done.
‘…and now a song that was only written a couple of days ago, by a very talented musician called Adam Fraser. It’s going to be on my new album and it’s called “Sunrise”,’ Quinn announced through the microphone.
George felt like her heart was going to burst with pride. A thousand people had heard Adam’s name, heard he had written a song with Quinn Blake. She looked over at Marisa and the young girl screamed at the top of her voice.
‘I know Adam Fraser! He’s like my best friend!’
Belch began the song and then Quinn started to sing, his voice soft and soulful. It was a beautiful melody with moving lyrics. George immediately recognised the section Adam had written. He had a certain style when it came to composition that was uniquely him.
She clapped along with the audience as Quinn encouraged everyone to join in. She could just envisage Adam’s excitement when she told him about this. He would be made up.
The song came to an end and the audience applauded, screamed and made noise any way they could to signify their appreciation. George and Marisa rose to their feet and clapped excitedly as Quinn and his band accepted the adoration.
George looked over at Taylor, expecting immense animation from her, but instead, she was checking her Blackberry, looking bored. Michael, on the other hand, was clapping loudly and yelling ‘bravo’ as loud as he could, hair flopping in front of his face, smile as broad as a wide chasm.
Taylor had just sat through an amazing concert that had moved everyone in the hall and she looked like she would rather be somewhere else .
‘We’d better go and get changed and get ready with the platters,’ George said, looking at her watch and returning to work mode.
‘Oh! But we’ve got backstage passes. Can’t we go backstage? I bet they have really cool dressing rooms and like loads of lilies and M can you take a picture of us?’ Marisa squeaked as she noticed the guitarist about to head into a dressing room.
‘OK, quick then! Before he goes into his room,’ George said, propelling Marisa down the corridor.
‘BELCH!’ Marisa screamed at the top of her voice, bringing him to an immediate standstill.
‘Man, that’s an enthusiastic greeting,’ he said, turning to greet them before letting out a trademark burp.
‘Can I – I mean like – could I – we…’ Marisa began, awestruck and lost for words.
‘She’d like a photo with you,’ George informed, waving the camera.
‘Sure babe,’ Belch said, slipping his arm around Marisa, much to her very obvious delight.
For once, the guitarist was smiling. George wasn’t sure she had ever seen him smile before. He still looked completely unkempt but a smile definitely improved him.
George took the photo and then the door of Belch’s dressing room burst open and Quinn came out. He was sweating from the show and was wiping at his neck with a towel.
‘Oh. My. God. George, take a picture of me and Quinn, please, please,’ Marisa said excitedly as she flashed a much-practised smile at the pop star.
George was staring at Quinn and Quinn was looking back at her. It was as if there was no one else there.
‘George! Photo!’ Marisa repeated in annoyed tones.
‘Sorry,’ George responded hurriedly.
Quinn joined Belch in putting an arm around Marisa and all three of them smiled for the shot .
‘Belch, why don’t you show Marisa around. It is Marisa, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Marisa said, her eyes glazing over with admiration.
‘Get her a drink or something and maybe some of that great candy,’ Quinn suggested, not taking his eyes from George.
‘Vodka?’ Marisa asked hopefully.
‘I don’t think so,’ George answered sternly.
‘I’ll look after her,’ Belch insisted, slipping his arm around Marisa and hugging her to him.
The guitarist seemed positively ecstatic to be Marisa’s escort. George hoped he wasn’t high.
‘Ten minutes and I’m coming to look for you,’ George warned as Marisa bounced up the corridor hanging onto the tassels on Belch’s leather jacket.
Quinn waited until they were out of sight and then opened the door of the dressing room.
‘In here,’ he ordered.
Without saying anything, George entered the room. It was certainly not the tranquil, flower and chocolate filled environment Marisa had spoken of. There were half a dozen guitars stood around the room and clothes lying on every available space. She was just deciding whether to find somewhere to sit when Quinn spun her around and kissed her hard on the mouth.
He was hot from the show, his t-shirt was wet but he tasted so good. He backed her up against the wall, his hands in hers, pressing them against the paintwork as he kissed her neck.
She let him kiss her, enjoying every tiny sensation of his mouth on her skin. She released her hands and moved them underneath his t-shirt, touching the taut stomach and the smooth, hairless chest. She pulled the top over his head and looked at him, willing him to know what she wanted to do .
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and George froze, her heart flying up to her mouth.
‘Yeah?’ Quinn called, his hand on the belt of George’s jeans.
They both watched the door, waiting for something to happen. The door handle moved down but then sprang back up. Thankfully, it had locked.
‘Is Belch there? He’s needed for an interview,’ the voice called through the barrier.
‘Try Quinn Blake’s dressing room,’ Quinn replied, muffling his voice with his hand.
‘Thanks,’ the voice replied.
George was still holding her breath. Only when she knew they were safe did she finally let it out and let go of Quinn.
‘Hey, it’s OK. Door’s locked, no drama,’ Quinn stated, holding her hand.
‘I saw Taylor,’ George said, straightening her top and smoothing down her hair.
‘I know. I didn’t know she was coming here; she just turned up this afternoon.’
‘Look, I’d better go and find Marisa before she steals away in a tour bus or something,’ George said, heading for the door.
‘You’re wearing the jeans,’ Quinn remarked.
‘Yes, they’re beautiful. Your personal shopper has great taste,’ George replied with a smile.
‘My what? Are you kidding me? I had Zara open at 8.00a.m. for me. If I could have made it to D I’ve got a party to run. Your party. ’
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Quinn said, looking at her seriously.
‘Tonight was fantastic. Your music, your performance… well, I’m so glad you showed me that. I can see your passion on that stage, how driven you are. Spending another night with you would have been amazing, but things change and Taylor’s here. And, you’re going to Manchester tomorrow,’ George reminded him.
‘I won’t let you go,’ he repeated and he kissed her again.
George clung to him, feeling his strength, wanting to close her eyes and forget everything else but the moment. It had been a brief liaison, but she knew this was the end. She wouldn’t see him again. He was leaving tomorrow; he was going back to America soon. It had been a fantastic few nights and she would never forget him.
‘Goodbye Quinn,’ George spoke, kissing his cheek and swallowing a knot of emotion in her throat.
He looked at her and then he took hold of her hand and placed it tight to his chest. His skin was warm beneath her fingers and she could feel his heart beating double time. She took hold of his hand and mirrored his actions, placing it on her chest so he could feel the rhythm her heart was beating out.
‘This isn’t goodbye,’ Quinn told her, squeezing her hand in his.
Unable to speak, she hurriedly fumbled with the lock on the door and let herself out into the corridor.
There was no time for contemplation; the scene that greeted her outside the door took her breath away in a not so good way.
Marisa was pressed up against Belch, one hand in his crotch, the other in his abundant hair. It looked like they were performing a tonsillectomy on each other .
‘MARISA! We’re leaving! Now!’ George yelled at the top of her voice.
Marisa broke away from the guitarist, lipstick all over her face and cheeks as red as a cherry.
‘Is this your idea of looking after her? She’s seventeen!’ George exclaimed angrily at Belch.
‘Whatever,’ Belch responded with a burp.
‘Bye,’ Marisa said, miserable that her passionate encounter had come to an abrupt end.
George grabbed hold of Marisa’s arm and marched her up the corridor.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing? He’s old enough to be your father,’ George said angrily.
‘Oh he is not; he’s like thirty or something. We weren’t doing anything wrong; we just—’ Marisa began.
‘I saw what you were doing?! You had your tongue stuck so far down his throat, you could have licked his stomach lining. Haven’t you learned anything from your encounter with Butcher Boy?’ George continued, pushing open the door and leading the way upstairs to the conference rooms.
‘It isn’t like I had anything to drink and I am seventeen, not like ten! I mean, I could get married if I wanted!’
‘You’d need permission unless you went to Scotland, actually! Right then, let’s go and tell your mum you’ve been getting intimate with a bushy-haired bassist, shall we?’
‘Oh, please don’t tell Mum; she’ll freak!’ Marisa said, suddenly scared about the prospect.
‘How many years do you think she will ground you for? Especially if I go on to tell her about the Blue WKD incident!’ George enquired, staring at the teenager.
‘About a hundred at least. Please don’t,’ Marisa begged.
‘Look, believe it or not, Marisa, I remember what it’s like to be seventeen and have everyone telling you what to do. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful and that you’ll never do anything like that again when I’m supposed to be looking after you. I don’t care what you do when you’re not with me, but you don’t go snogging the face off guitarists on my watch. Got it?’ George told her seriously.
‘Understood,’ Marisa responded.
As it was the final night at the Hexagon, the after-show party was buzzing more than ever. George was introduced to several potential clients by Michael, who couldn’t seem to sing her praises highly enough. Marisa kept looking lustfully at Belch, who was constantly surrounded by a bevy of women, and everyone had been complimentary about the food.
George had managed to avoid being at close quarters with Quinn so far, but she couldn’t stop herself from watching him. Taylor was at his side, holding his hand one minute, slipping her arm around his waist the next, laughing at things he said, smiling at his guests, looking comfortable amongst the other celebrities. She was the perfect hostess and George couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy at how she looked, how she was able to work a room and how she could hold Quinn without worrying who might see.
‘Darling, why the long face? I think the beef and cucumber sauce is your best work yet. Everyone’s said so,’ Michael spoke, standing in front of George.
‘Thanks, Michael and as it’s the last night, I want to thank you for the job here. It’s been really – good,’ George said, trying to find the right words and failing miserably.
‘No my dear, thank you. You’ve done a marvellous spread every night and you took on the job at such short notice. I would have loved you to continue the work in Manchester but it’s not to be. C’est la vie ,’ Michael said.
He’d had to listen to her bleat on and on about some stupid designer handbag she was on the waiting list for and now she was parading him around the party like he was auditioning for America’s Next Top Model . It would be worth it though, when she let him out for the night to ‘play poker’. It would be risky, but another night with George was more than worth the risk. It might be the last time. No, it couldn’t be the last time, not yet.
George suddenly stiffened and tightened her grip on her tray as Taylor Ferraro arrived at Michael’s side and took hold of his arm.
She was even more stunning up close. She was wearing a beautiful, peacock-blue dress which emphasised her slight frame. She had clipped her hair up into a chignon, which showed off a large, diamond stud in each ear. Everything about her was immaculate, from her pedicured toes to her perfectly threaded eyebrows.
‘Hello, darling. How are you enjoying the party?’ Michael asked, turning to look at the actress.
‘I’m so jet lagged, Mikey. I don’t think I’m going to last much longer,’ Taylor spoke in a voice like Minnie Mouse.
George hadn’t been expecting that. But it was comforting to know there was a rogue cell amongst all that perfection.
‘Oh you poor dear. Here, have a canapé; they’re truly delicious,’ Michael said, indicating George’s tray.
‘Oh, I couldn’t. I ate on the plane and I’m still bloated from that. It was all starch and carbohydrates,’ Taylor spoke .
‘Only the finest ingredients here – local produce too. Isn’t that right, George? This is George, by the way: MD of Finger Food. George, this is Taylor Ferraro, esteemed actress and Quinn’s fiancée,’ Michael introduced.
God, why had he done that? She’d never known someone introduce her to so many people before. Usually, it would have been a good thing, excellent for business, but she didn’t want to be introduced to Quinn’s fiancée. She wanted to be a faceless name to her, or a nameless face, she didn’t mind which.
‘Nice to meet you,’ George spoke, holding out her hand and hoping it wasn’t shaking too much.
‘Likewise,’ Taylor said her tiny little hand meeting George’s and performing a weak, wet-fish shake.
‘Oh gosh! I’ve just had the most amazing idea. Have you settled on a caterer for the wedding yet?’ Michael enquired.
George’s heart leapt into her throat. She knew what he was about to say. This was really a step too far.
‘I’m choosing between two at the moment, both very different. It’s going to be really hard to decide.’
‘Well, do not look any further. I think George could be your woman,’ Michael exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together like a toy monkey with a pair of cymbals.
He’d said it.
‘Do you do weddings?’ Taylor wanted to know, focussing all her attention on George.
‘I – er – yes, of course, but not usually in America,’ George spoke quickly.
Ha! That would put a spanner in the works. It would be impossible for her to cater a wedding that far away. It was impractical and she’d never done it before. Result!
‘Oh they aren’t getting hitched in America, kitten,’ Michael said .
‘We’re getting married in Spain. We have a villa there,’ Taylor informed her.
Still abroad and George had no experience in catering outside of the UK. Taylor needed someone experienced in that department, therefore not her. A lack of experience would surely hit her right between the eyes.
‘Oh well, I can’t say I’ve done any weddings in Spain either. In fact, I’ve done nothing abroad,’ George replied awkwardly.
‘But there’s a first time for everything. You need to tone up your self-promotion techniques, darling! George is a genius in the kitchen. We’ve had so much top-class food here, I don’t know how I’m going to cope when we get to Manchester. I’ll probably never be able to eat again,’ Michael spoke, his hair bouncing around.
‘Well, I’ll bear you in mind,’ Taylor said, looking at the tray of canapés and then again at George.
She smiled politely. Thank God, she seemed completely disinterested! That was one catering job George would definitely not want to take on. It would be almost incestuous.
She looked over at Quinn. He was chatting to a group of people in the centre of the room. He had changed from his show clothes and was now wearing an olive-green t-shirt and combat trousers. He looked up and caught her eye. He smiled at her and she smiled back. She was going to miss him. She was grateful for the time they’d had. He’d taught her how to feel again. Perhaps he was the kick-start she’d needed to leave the past behind and move on.
‘I’m like completely knackered,’ Marisa remarked as she helped George, Helen and Curly Shirley finish loading up the Finger-Food van.
‘I’ll second that,’ George replied, shoving in another box .
‘Me too,’ Helen agreed with a yawn.
‘Oh hark at you! You sound like you’re halfway to the old folks’ home. I’m wired after that party, ready for dancing,’ Shirley announced, throwing her arms in the air and jogging on the spot.
‘I have no idea where you get your energy from, Shirl’. Are you drinking that new pomegranate juice?’ Helen asked as Shirley continued to bust some moves.
‘We did well tonight and we got a bonus. An extra grand which I shall be divvying up tomorrow,’ George told them.
‘Oh wow! I’ve almost got enough for a car!’ Marisa said excitedly.
‘Oh God! Have you?’ Helen exclaimed, concerned.
‘And I’m going to have enough for a new van,’ George said happily as a taxi pulled up alongside them.
‘That must be ours.’
‘Thanks for your help, Shirley. I’ll see you two in the morning. No more late nights for a while, just a funeral tea and a teddy bear’s picnic tomorrow,’ George spoke as the three women approached the taxi.
‘Goodbye glamorous parties and shoulder rubbing with celebs. It was freaking sick while it lasted,’ Marisa remarked with a sigh.
‘Sick? What do you mean, sick?’ Helen queried.
‘It’s a good thing nowadays, apparently. But I think you’ve had enough excitement for quite some time, don’t you, Marisa?’ George said, giving Marisa a knowing look.
‘Well, maybe for this week,’ Marisa admitted with a coy grin.
The taxi pulled away and George turned to put the final box inside her van. She went to close the door when suddenly, she was forcefully pushed and bundled into the rear of the van. She screamed out loud and turned to put up a fight but someone had jumped in after her and slammed the doors closed .
‘You touch me and I’ll kill you. I have mace!’ George shrieked hysterically, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the sudden blackness.
‘Cool, but I have beers and fries,’ Quinn replied, switching on the internal light and revealing himself.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, taking a breath of relief and trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.
‘I’m doing what I want to do for once, not doing what I think I should be doing,’ he told her.
‘What about Taylor?’ George questioned.
‘What about her?’ Quinn asked, moving towards her.