Chapter 18
CLARA
I’m standing outside Delagado Towers. It’s Thursday. I’ve stood here many times before. So many times, I’ve crossed the road, said hi to Stan, and got on with my day. Only this particular Thursday, I’m terrified.
‘Are you sure I look all right?’ I say, winding the ends of my hair around my finger, curing them for about the hundredth time into place.
Evelyn places both hands supportively on my shoulders as though willing strength into me. ‘You look great, Clara. Seriously great.’
I nod but I don’t feel great. ‘I’m wearing the blue wrap dress I wore the first day I went up to the seventeenth floor.
Maybe I should have bought something new, but I just felt I needed to keep it simple.
I had this overwhelming idea to keep things comfortable, as familiar as possible.
This was going to be difficult enough as it was.
If I was to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I even want to sing professionally anymore.
I love singing with the choir and singing with friends.
I had even loved my taster of working in the music industry.
Well, loved it until it all went belly up.
I guess my focus has shifted; this is all about clearing Marco’s name.
‘Clara,’ Evelyn says firmly, pulling me back to the here and now. ‘I’m not coming up, but Fitz will be there and you said you know Terry and Jeff. You know everyone. Just don’t let Betsy put you off.’
I feel sick. I can barely speak, let alone sing. ‘I won’t let Betsy get to me,’ I say, crossing my fingers behind my back.
Evelyn draws me into a hug before turning me around as though I’m a robot and pointing me towards the door. I see Stan’s smiling face.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Evelyn whispers into my ear, and off I set, walking across the landscaped entrance to the doors.
‘Hey,’ Stan calls out, a look of absolute delight on his face. ‘Jeez, we missed you. Are you back for good?’
‘Oh, Stan.’ I feel my calmness crumbling. ‘I’ve got to go and sing.’
‘About time, too,’ Stan says, swinging open the door.
‘But I’m terrified,’ I say. I can feel my shoulders rising. The tension is unbearable.
‘You’ve got to push yourself,’ he says as he walks me through the vast marble foyer. ‘Fitz has told me exactly what’s happening. That Betsy Miller, she’s a problem. If she gets control of the company, she’s going to asset strip. All the Delagado businesses, everything, will be sold off.’
‘No pressure then.’
He laughs. ‘You’re only doing what comes natural, songbird.’ He presses the golden button and the lift doors slide open. ‘Be here when you get down to earth.’ Then he does the sweetest thing. Stan takes my hand, squeezes it gently, and says, ‘Don’t worry how it goes. We got you.’
I stagger into the lift. For a long moment, the doors remain open, Stan on the outside looking in, grinning from ear to ear, me on the inside wishing I could make a run for it.
As the lift whirs, the doors shut, and I can feel the mechanism outside pulling me up to the seventeenth floor.
I feel sure that my knees are actually sinking.
That I’m somehow going in the opposite direction.
When they finally come to a halt, and when those knees finally come to a halt, the lift doors start to open and I allow myself a deep breath.
I have to do this. It’s not just for Marco now; it’s for Stan, for Fitz, for Terry and Jeff, for everyone in the building.
‘Great,’ Betsy says. She’s standing outside the lift door and glances at her watch. ‘Well, at least you’re on time.’
‘Oh, stop fussing, Betsy,’ I hear Fitz drawl. ‘I took the stairs. Haven’t you ever heard of cardiovascular exercise? We said we would be here. We are.’
Betsy glances at her watch again. ‘All apart from Marco, it would seem.’
‘We’ll wait,’ Fitz says casually, flopping her Birkenstock bag down on the reception desk.
‘We can’t,’ Betsy says, folding her arms. She’s as inflexible as a buffalo grill.
‘Oh come on, Betsy,’ Fitz says, walking off toward the studio, flicking her hair into place.
‘Terry and Jeff won’t mind if Marco’s a bit late.
He’ll get here…’ Suddenly, she stops. She’s looking into the studio.
There’s a guy in there, one I don’t recognise, with the coolest looks and the fanciest diamond guitar.
Fitz points one long finger towards the window. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
Betsy nods smugly. ‘Jackson Black.’
Fitz’s eyes practically ping-pong out of her head, as her mouth drops open. ‘Here, but what’s he…?’ Suddenly her elation cools. ‘And where are Terry and Jeff?’
Betsy narrows her eyes. ‘You just missed them.’
Fitz shoots back to the reception desk and digs out her phone. It’s full to the brim with messages. ‘I don’t…’ She flicks through them, a look of total confusion on her face.
My knees are still not functioning properly. I can’t cope with Jackson Black; the man is mega. I slump down on the red leather sofa.
‘No time to sit,’ Betsy says, waggling a hand towards me, indicating I should stand.
‘Betsy,’ Fitz says, her voice bubbling with suppressed anger. ‘What have you done?’
‘We’re going to have a proper recording session.’
‘But you can’t get rid of Jeff and Terry,’ Fitz says, her voice still sounding shell-shocked.
‘Oh, Fitz.’ Betsy laughs. It’s not a nice laugh. It’s over-syrupy and yet as hard as ice. ‘I haven’t let them go.’ There’s a slight pause, one I bet Betsy is itching to interject a ‘not yet’ into. ‘I’ve just given them the afternoon off.’
‘But…’ Fitz looks like she’s going to scream.
But sadly, the more emotional Fitz looks, the calmer Betsy seems to become.
‘Clara suffers from nerves,’ Fitz says, waving one long arm out towards me.
I clear my throat, feeling like a piece of extra baggage. ‘I was hoping it would be Terry and Jeff in the studio. It would be less daunting.’
Betsy’s eyes narrow. ‘So, if you were playing at the O2 or Hyde Park, or the Albert Hall, you’d want them there for that?’
I feel my shoulders drawing tighter and tighter. All the work I’d been doing on my breathing, on keeping calm, it’s all wasted.
‘Is there a problem?’ I turn to see Jackson Black standing in the studio doorway.
‘No,’ I say, taking in a deep breath.
‘Good.’ He nods slowly and raps his fingers against the doorframe. ‘Because time is money.’
‘Ain’t that right,’ Betsy says.
I feel Fitz’s hand on my arm. ‘Are you okay, Clara? We could do it another time?’
Betsy throws her hands up to her head. It’s total melodrama, but scary with it. ‘Another time? I thought we were here to clear Margo Delagado’s name!’
Suddenly I realise that, actually, a lot of the Delagado branding has gone from the studio. The logo on the desk has been picked off. The corporate stationery seems to have disappeared. It hasn’t taken long for Betsy to attempt a full take over.
‘It’s not a problem,’ I say, projecting a coolness I am absolutely not feeling. Shall we start?’ I walk into the recording studio.
Jackson Black nods. ‘No time like the present.’
I shuffle in my shoes, stand in front of the mic, fill my lungs, and my world cracks in half.
* * *
I run straight from the studio to the washroom.
I think I mumbled something before I sprinted, or maybe I mumbled it as my shoes were streaking across the carpet.
But if I did, I can’t remember what it might have been.
As I sit on the closed lid of the toilet, tears streaming down my face, my breathing is so erratic I can barely hold enough air in my lungs to support the most basic functioning of a human body, let alone allow it to sing. I am a fool, a first-class fool.
‘Hey.’ There’s a gentle rap on the door. ‘It’s Fitz. You okay in there?’
‘I’m so sorry. I let you down,’ I gasp. ‘I let everyone down. But I promise that voice, the missing…’ I can barely say the words. I detest that whole label so much. ‘That missing songbird. It is me. Just like I said.’ Sheepishly, I open the door. Fitz is standing there, a pained smile on her face.
‘You were pretty shit just now.’
I sob. ‘Sorry, I…’
‘Hey.’ She shrugs. ‘Actually, you were so shit that I totally believe you. I believe you about creeping into the studio. I absolutely one hundred per cent believe you about the singing solo bit.’ She sighs.
‘I wish we had those damn CCTV recordings. Betsy’s so smug, I seriously want to bite her nose off. ’
I can’t help it, I laugh. ‘Her nose?’
‘Yeah. I know it’s odd, but it would totally blindside the woman, so it would be so worth it.
’ Fitz runs her eyes appraisingly over my face and scowls.
‘You look like you’ve had a fight with a hedge and the hedge came off best.’ She leans forward and picks a thick false eyelash from my cheek and holds it between her index finger and thumb as if it’s some weird new creature.
‘I think these are supposed to go on your eyelids?’
Leaning back into the stall, I grab the end of a roll of toilet paper and pull myself off a wodge, dabbing the paper under my eyes as I flush away the offending eyelash creature.
‘What will happen to Marco? To the business. Did you see she’s taken down all the logos?
’ I say, finally feeling brave enough to step out of the stall.
Fitz moves back, leaning against the sinks. ‘That woman has seriously got some nerve. But don’t worry too much, I’ll get some damage limitation in place.’
‘After you bite off her nose?’
She smirks. ‘Don’t tell anyone I told you that. Are you going to be okay to get home?’
‘Yeah, I’ll call my brother.’ But the thought of seeing Minty when I’m in this state suddenly worries me. He’ll just get totally overprotective. I don’t think I can cope with all the male posturing. ‘Or maybe,’ I say, ‘maybe I’ll just get a taxi.’