Chapter 19
19
CARINA
Many times over the years, Carina had wondered how it would feel to come back here again. She’d spent many years living in Hong Kong at the start of their marriage, and she’d travelled back here on holiday countless times too, but somehow, until now, she’d never had the inclination to revisit old haunts. Perhaps there was a part of her that believed they belonged in another time, to another person. Not Carina Lloyd, wife of wealthy businessman, Spencer Lloyd, mother of two beautiful daughters, exquisite hostess, chairwoman of the school board, and benefactor of multiple worthy charities. No. That Carina bore no resemblance to the posh rebel who once lived in a slum hotel in Kowloon, and spent her nights rocking out in a riotous bar and partying until dawn.
Now, Carina wasn’t sure which of those women she was prouder of. At least young Carina had been true to herself, and done exactly as she damn well pleased. She’d taken risks and chances and pushed herself right out of the rarefied bubble she’d been brought up in. Until she’d panicked and toed the line, she’d had a bloody good time. And it was telling that now, in probably the darkest time of her life, who was she with? Not the wives and friends she’d met over the last three decades. No. Her first reaction had been to come to Moira and Lisa. She wasn’t entirely sure what that said about her choices over the last thirty-four years.
Those were the thoughts that were still running through her mind, when Moira, ahead of her, pushed open the door to the bar, then held it for her and Stevie to pass. Almost immediately Carina spotted the differences in the entrance way. Their bar had wood panelled walls, with glass and brass globe lights hanging from the ceiling in the hallway that led to the main room. Now it was decorated in a retro, old Hollywood, speakeasy vibe, the white walls lined with black and white photos of loads of celebrities who’d visited over the years. They all slowed down as they studied the images they were passing. Brad and Angelina sitting at the bar. Pacino eating with DeNiro in one of the booths. Sports teams from the Rugby Sevens, huddled in the centre of the frame, downing beers while holding trophies aloft. The Spice Girls. A couple of Korean boy bands on the stage singing karaoke. Take That. Debbie Harry from Blondie posing on top of the bar. It was like a Who’s Who of pop culture that spanned years of recent history.
And then there was… Carina gasped. ‘And then there was us,’ she whispered, transfixed by a print in a black frame, about a foot square, that was right at her eyeline.
She glanced back at the other two, who were bending down, checking out an image of Kevin Costner, walking down this very same corridor, deep in conversation with another guy in a suit.
‘Oh my word, I bloody loved that Yellowstone, ’ Moira was saying.
‘Girls, look at this,’ Carina beckoned them.
Moira’s heels clicked as she walked towards her. ‘Is it John Travolta? I heard he came in here once on my night off.’
‘No, it’s?—’
She didn’t have to finish the sentence, because Moira and Stevie gasped at the same time. ‘It’s us,’ Moira blurted. ‘Oh my word, would you look at us.’
‘I know exactly what night that was. Christmas Eve, 1990. Look at the decorations hanging from the bar, and it was one of the few times we were all on stage together. We did an encore to count down to midnight, but we kept it going and ended up doing an hour together.’ She turned to Stevie, not sure if she’d already explained the format of their acts. There had been so many conversations in the last few days it was impossible to be sure. ‘I might already have told you this, but your mum and I did one set as Fleetwood Mac, and then Moira did her set, which was hits from musicals and general rock, pop and soul hits from female vocalists. I played piano on her set too. Never did work out why I didn’t get paid double.’
‘You did it for the love of it,’ Moira quipped, still staring at the image.
Carina noticed that Stevie still hadn’t spoken. ‘Stevie? Is it too distressing?’ Maybe this was a mistake after all. They’d just managed to get through the day with some degree of emotional equilibrium and now this.
‘No,’ Stevie said quietly, still staring. ‘It’s fecking glorious. Just look at my mum.’
All eyes went as directed to the blonde in centre stage, who was punching the air, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a roar, but her perfect face still exquisite.
‘I remember that night. She had food poisoning and wasn’t feeling great…’ Carina didn’t want to go for the truth, that Lisa probably had her usual post-party hangover, and yet she still went on that stage and set the place on fire.
‘Look at this one too,’ Moira gasped again, pointing to a frame Carina hadn’t noticed. It was a newspaper review with the headline, THE STARS SHINE HERE! Underneath were photos of Moira in her Cher costume and Carina and Lisa doing Fleetwood Mac, and then a glorious account of their performances. They were sensational, it said. Yes, they were, Carina agreed, followed right up by another thought – when was the last time she’d felt sensational? When was the last time she’d felt true joy, or fulfilled, or inspired, or that she was making the most of her life? When was the last time she’d had unabashed fun? She honestly couldn’t remember.
They all snapped pictures of the frames on their phones, then carried on into the bar. Carina’s heart began to race. Moira had said the place would be different, and the décor definitely was, but Carina hadn’t factored in that the layout would still be the same.
There in the corner, at the back of the bar, was the spot where she’d spoken to Spencer for the first time. It would be easy to say that she’d fallen in love with him at first sight, but now she suspected it was more complicated than that. Her family had cut her off. She’d lost Moira to Nate and Lisa to alcohol and partying. What had seemed like a wild adventure had turned sour. And of course, he was so handsome and charismatic that he’d swept her off her feet.
A barman approached them as soon as they pulled out their stools from the stunning walnut bar. ‘Good evening, ladies, what can I get for you?’ he asked, with the kind of wide smile and easy charm that suggested he probably made a fortune in tips.
‘Gin and tonic please,’ Carina said, returning the smile.
‘I’ll have the same,’ Stevie echoed.
Moira was on a different track. ‘Porn star martini, please,’ she said sweetly, before turning to them, ‘And I don’t want to hear a word of judgement from you pair.’
The barman got in on the joke. ‘I’ll evict them immediately if they do. And can I get you menus?’
‘Most definitely, thank you,’ Moira replied, while Carina took her attention to the rest of the room. The stage was still in the same place, although the lighting rig above it was a testimony to modern technology. The back wall used to be where the drum kit sat, but now it was just a huge screen that she presumed would spring to life when the karaoke started. There were four microphones on stands in a line at the front of the stage, one acoustic guitar sat off to the left-hand side, next to a keyboard and a rack of tambourines, and in front of the whole lot was what looked like a glass teleprompter, which Carina assumed the singers used to read the lyrics.
The barman put the menus and two gin and tonics down, then got to work making Moira’s martini. ‘What time does the karaoke start?’ Carina asked him, curious as to why the place was already pretty busy, yet there was no entertainment.
‘Around nine,’ he said, ‘but people like to get here early to study the song books and pick their tunes.’
He took their food order – a sharing combination of flatbreads, mozzarella sticks, salad and chicken tenders, then keyed it all into a machine by the till.
‘The televisions are still there,’ Carina said, ‘but they’ve changed more than a little.’
Back in the day there had been big, chunky TVs suspended from the ceiling. Most of them showed MTV music videos, but the one in the centre above the bar, ran a promotion video of their night time performances on a repetitive loop, as a way to encourage the daytime diners to come back in the evening.
The barman was back, and gently placing Moira’s porn star martini in front of her. Carina took a sip of her gin, decided it was one of the best she’d ever tasted, then put it back down on the bar. A thought occurred to her, and she decided there was no harm in asking.
‘Can I ask something else, please?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, and she mentally notched his tip up a bit more.
‘If, say, thirty years ago there used to be a video of the act that played here every night, and they used to show it on a big, eighties television that dangled right above your head there, is there any long shot of a possibility that there would still be a copy of it anywhere? Would the hotel hang on to something like that?’
As expected, he appeared stumped – not a question he’d ever been asked before.
‘I’m not sure but I can ask my manager. They have a huge store in the basement where they keep props, and memorabilia, and posters, and anything else that is relevant to the hotel. I can ask him to check there.’
‘Wonderful. I’m in room 204. If he could just leave a message there, or with my porn star martini friend in the penthouse, we would very much appreciate it.’
‘No worries at all. Do you have the name of the act?’
Carina pulled out her phone and showed him one of the pictures she’d taken of the prints in the entry way. ‘This is actually us. We were the act. That’s the porn star…’ she pointed on the photo to Moira in her Cher fishnets and leather jacket, and couldn’t resist, ‘She hasn’t changed much. Still wears that on a Saturday.’ She pointed at the others in the photo. ‘That’s my friend here’s mum. And that’s me. It was a long time and a lot of wrinkles ago.’
‘That’s pretty cool. Do you still perform?’
Carina said, ‘No’, at the same time as Moira said, ‘Yes.’
The barman slid a couple of song books over to them. ‘Here you go. Just in case you fancy giving us a song here tonight.’
It was impossible to miss the way that Moira’s face lit up as she took the book from him.
‘What do you think, ladies? Fancy joining me? Carina, there’s a keyboard up there.’
She cast her mind back to the last time she’d played. Her anniversary night. And the whole time, Spencer had been up in the bathroom, screwing Arabella.
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll pass.’
Once upon a time, music had been her greatest joy, but she’d given it up for a man.
Now, it would always be a reminder that he’d given her up for someone else.
And she had no idea whether a ballad about forgiveness or a break up song was going to be next on the soundtrack of her life.