Chapter 14 Christopher #2
His attention turns to me as the band starts to discuss arrangements.
“Everything okay traveling here?” He turns his back on the band and lowers his voice. “They weren’t too hard on you, were they?” He nods his head at Laurie, Erica and Connie, who are standing next to Paul, Rob and a red-head—Lucy?
“Yeah.” I hesitate, taking a slight breath and keeping my voice low to match his. “But Connie seems a bit off with me, and I’m not sure how long I can keep up this dialect coach facade.”
“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s like that with everyone. And you’ll be fine.” Alexander waves away my worry.
The rumble of discomfort bubbles up again.
I’m not sure how to feel about how quickly he pushes away my concerns.
Paul coughs loudly, then motions everyone to follow him down the hallway and into a small control room.
It looks exactly like how I envision a recording studio.
A large soundboard stretches across the room beneath a glass window, which overlooks a large room already set up with various instruments.
A tall stool sits in the middle, a mic in front of it, and an acoustic guitar rests nearby on a stand.
“Lucy, will you look after Christopher while I go down and start recording?” Alexander slings his leather jacket on the couch, squeezing my arm.
“Sure.” She turns her attention to me. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Lucy, Alex’s assistant. I’ve heard all about you.” A grin forms on her face.
“Is that right?” I say, following her lead. Alexander twitches as his attention darts between the two of us. “You’ll have to tell me more.”
I take off my backpack and sit down on the couch as Lucy does the same, moving Alexander’s jacket to the end.
Thank God. I’m not going to be stuck here all day pretending to be a dialect coach, and Lucy seems to know the truth.
I’m already regretting getting the Carbonara. I rub my hand against my chest, fighting off the indigestion. My eyes really are bigger than my belly these days.
The dining area at Abbey Road is only half full.
His team is spread out at the various plastic tables in the center of the room.
Other studio employees line a couple of the tables up against the wall, further down the room.
Connie and Paul stand outside, Connie animatedly talking away between drags of her cigarette.
“Want some?” I slide my plate toward his bowl of salad and chicken.
“I don’t do pasta,” he says, pushing it back toward me.
His mood has been off ever since we sat down to eat ten minutes ago. But there’s no need for that type of blasphemy.
“No pasta? What’s next? You kick puppies? Hate dessert?” I elbow him in the ribs as I eye the cheesecake on the table across from us.
I could google the answers to all the things I still don’t know about Alexander, but I’d rather learn about them from him. At the same time, I don’t want to interrogate him. I don’t want to be like one of the journalists he complained about earlier.
Alexander forces a smile on his face, but drops his gaze to his salad.
The silence makes me fidget in my seat.
Fine, let’s talk about something else.
“What’s with all the black. Did someone die or something?” I hold his startled stare for a moment before moving my gaze away.
“Oh, it’s a tour thing. To ensure everyone blends in when it’s dark on stage. The last thing you want is someone wearing a bright shirt or white trainers walking on stage and ruining the suspense.” He reaches for another bit of chicken with his fork.
“They must all have a lot of black clothes then,” I say, picking up my lemonade. Maybe it will wash away the indigestion.
“Yeah, fifty shades of black,” he says, biting into the chicken.
“I heard you’re more a fifty shades of gray kinda guy.”
Alexander almost chokes on the chicken as Paul and Connie walk back through the patio door. He raises his right hand to flag them down as he grabs a napkin with his other hand and spits the chicken out into it.
“Have you two got a minute? I wanted to follow up on what we were discussing earlier before I go back in to continue recording.” I see a flicker of irritation cross his face.
“Sure, why don’t we head up to the control room, where it’s more private?” Paul says, looking at me coldly.
“Here’s fine.” Alexander points to the two empty chairs at the table.
“I can leave you all to it if you need,” I say, grabbing my plate and pushing my chair back.
“Stay,” Alexander says, gripping the back of my chair.
I get the feeling that neither Paul nor Connie like me, judging by the looks of disdain on their faces as they reluctantly draw the chairs back to sit down. Paul removes his glasses and places them on top of his iPad while Connie tucks her skirt under her legs.
I’ve always wanted people to like me. I’ve actively gone out of my way to do things to make people like me more, unless they piss me off like Rob did when we first met.
But I have to remember what my therapist said: Ten percent of people will never like you no matter what you do.
And maybe these two fall into that ten percent.
“Before you start,” Connie begins, “we’ve just spoken to the head of the label and we’re at number one in the midweeks with My Anchor.”
“Congratulations,” I say, but the other three remain silent. Paul gives me a brief sideways glance and shakes his head. It reaffirms that my role here is to stay quiet. I lower my head and reach for my lemonade instead, silently telling myself to shut up.
“The issue is, it’s tight at the top, and the label wants to give it another push beyond the remix that they dropped Friday,” Connie adds.
“Get to the point…” Alexander says, pushing the cutlery together in his bowl and scowling.
“The label wants you to do some more promo tomorrow, before the show, to create enough of a gap to ensure you land the number one slot. They’ve got Radio One’s Live Lounge on hold, along with some big podcast interviews lined up.
Chicken Shop Date, Table Manners, and one with that pop star Lily…
” Connie looks up at the ceiling as if trying to pull the name from thin air.
“Allen. Lily Allen,” I offer, when the silence goes on a beat too long.
“Yes. That’s the one.” She nods at me before returning her gaze to Alexander. “I need to go back to them in the next few minutes to lock it all in.”
Alexander’s finger circles the rim of his glass, clockwise then counterclockwise, seemingly weighing the decision.
“What do you think?” he says, turning his ocean-blue eyes to me.
“Er….” My gaze drifts from him over to Paul and then Connie.
Whatever I say here, I’m going to put my foot in it.
Connie and Paul have measured expressions, but I can feel their frustration at Alexander batting the decision to me.
If I side with Alexander and tell him not to do it, both of them will hate me.
They will label me another Yoko Ono, as if I’m trying to get into all his affairs.
But if I side with Connie and Paul, then I’ve ignored what Alexander told me about no one looking out for what he really needs.
My heart beats rapidly against my rib cage.
It’s a lose-lose situation.
I take another sip of lemonade to draw out my response, working out how to be Switzerland in this discussion.
“I think Paul and Connie are the best placed to answer in regard to what you should do. I don’t have a clue about these things.
” A lie—given my marketing background—but right now isn’t the time to discuss that.
“Though I will say, Live Lounge is pretty iconic and the Chicken Shop Date show always seems to go viral online.”
Once again, I catch a micro-expression on Paul’s face, this time a smirk, before it returns to a neutral expression. Connie gives away no such clues. Alexander adjusts himself in his chair.
My heart rate begins to settle. Seems like I managed to navigate that minefield without setting anything off.
“Right,” Alexander says. “I’ll do it, but on one condition.”
“Name it,” Paul says.
“You guarantee Stolen Moments makes it on the live album, and that we record it today. You do that. I’ll do the promo.” He folds his hands across his chest, looking proud of himself, as he leans back into the chair. Paul and Connie exchange a brief look.
“Deal. Let me call up the label and let them know,” Paul says, pushing back his chair to stand. Connie gets up with him. “Oh, actually before I forget, a couple of other things. Alfonso has sent through the revised script. I’ve had it printed off and will leave it in your suite.”
“Okay, and the other?” Alexander’s head tilts upward to meet Paul’s gaze.
“We got the untouched pictures back from yesterday’s shoot,” Connie says, gesturing at Paul to open his iPad. “I want to get one of the images out to the press tonight to help with the push. Can you go through them now and let me know which ones they should start touching up?”
Paul retrieves his phone from his jacket and begins typing away as Alexander scrolls through the gallery.
I lean back ever so slightly to try and see.
There’s a variety of topless pictures of Alexander, all buff and brooding and in positions that remind me of our second meeting in the gym.
I feel my temperature rising, and I scrub my hand across the back of my neck.
“Which one do you think?” Alexander asks. He turns the iPad toward me, flicking between two almost identical images.
I move my hand from my neck to under the table, readjusting myself. The discomfort that my now semi-erect cock is causing in my jeans matches the discomfort in my chest, as Connie and Paul wait impatiently in front of us.
“That one,” I say, returning my hand to the top of the table, stopping the gallery at a topless image of Alexander staring broodily into the camera. His tanned, oily skin is lit to accentuate every single muscle as he stands tall in front of a weight machine.
Thank God, we’re sitting down. My cock is now fully erect. I rock back and forth, trying to adjust myself without making it obvious. Alexander must notice, because his hand slides under the table, grabbing my leg to stop me.
“That one it is,” he says, handing the iPad back to Connie, who nods as Paul lifts his head from his phone.
Alexander’s hand slides up my thigh, stopping when he reaches my cock. A smirk rises on his face.
“The promo’s all locked in, we’re good to go,” Paul says, waving his phone.
“And the track?” Alexander asks. His hand fiddles with the button on my jeans.
“The label has agreed. They’re drawing up a side agreement now to carve out the song as a stand-alone deal, and I’ll have John look over it.”
“Great,” Alexander says, punctuating the conversation with a full stop while attempting to pull my zipper down.
Paul and Connie turn and exit the restaurant, their heads close together and whispering about something.
“People might see,” I whisper, pushing his hand away. I frantically look around, scared someone might notice, but everyone seems lost in their own conversations.
“Well, let’s go somewhere quieter then,” he says. A smile reappears on his face as he stands up.