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  I smiled back. I had no idea, but I guessed from his tone, that yes, they did. “Sounds like fun. New York’s great.” I was feeling the power of speech return with the end of the glass.

  Mark snorted. “New York’s great. Brooklyn’s great too—especially if you’re a property developer. Still, it shows people are interested in music again. That can’t be a bad thing.”

  I felt bolder. “So remind me. How do you know Jake again?”

  “We met at Oxford. Although apparently, we had played together at some wedding when we were about 9 or 10. Isn’t that funny? I can’t remember, but he claims I threw a glass of something at him.” He looked at the growing crowd. “Surely not.”

  “Surely not.”

  Mark watched the crowd for a while, silently, then turned to me. “Lily?”

  “Yes?” I responded. I wasn’t really paying attention. I was looking at the bands, who were beginning to arrive. We were just a little too far away to see them as well as I would have liked. The Arctic Monkeys had just come in, along with Kylie Minogue. Bob Geldof. Paul Weller. Was that Kanye? Jesus. A band I didn’t recognize in t-shirts and jeans, looking like they’d just come from the pub. I suddenly felt overdressed, until I looked around and noticed that most of the men were pretty low key, but the women had obviously all just been shopping and hairdressing. The whole double standard of it pissed me off, until I wondered if Mark had been late because he was getting ready. This thought amused me, until I realized he was staring at me.

  “Sorry, what? I was watching the bands come in.”

  As an answer, Mark put his hand around my arm, and lifted me up. “Come with me,” was all he said.

  Unless I wanted to make a scene, I really had no choice. So I let him drag me away from my star gazing. We went towards the back, and he started to open the door to the men’s room.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed. “I can’t go in there. What’s wrong?”

  “Come on, it’s less crowded than the ladies. I promise not to make you use a urinal. Now, quickly.” And he pushed the door open and led me inside. There was one guy in there, who was arranging his hair, who gave us a quick double take, before shrugging and looking away. This was the music business, after all, I supposed. Laws were not only meant to be broken, but it was a law to break them.

  Mark opened a stall, and closed the door behind us. He started looking for something in his inside pocket, then stopped. “Look, Lil. Do you want this?”

  “You know I do. You decided I did enough to bring me here. What’s going on?”

  He frowned. “Lily, stop. Stop lying. Do you want this? Want it. As in, I want this so badly I will actually do something to get it? Because at the moment, you’re acting not so much like Cinderella at the ball as her librarian.”

  I looked down at the tile floor. There was nothing to say. I felt the tears stinging at my eyes.

  Mark shook me gently by the shoulders. “Lily, believe me. I’m your friend in this. It’s going to work. You look fantastic. You’re smart, witty. But you’ve got to stop apologizing for existing. You are here. Everyone else—they don’t matter. Except they do matter.” He took a bit of toilet tissue and blotted my eyes carefully. “I’m sorry, but it needed to be said. You’ve got to step it up. You’ll have, what, two minutes with my old friend? Two minutes where you need to be actively engaging. Not building up to, not worrying about if you belong, or whether you’re worth it. Do you understand?”

  I gulped, and breathed in a big balloon of air. I shook my head vigorously. He needed to believe me.

  Mark pulled out something from his inside pocket. “Luckily, they make supports for moody artists such as yourself.” He quickly undid the vial and snorted up two little spoons. “And they say this stuff’s out of fashion. Yes. Of course. We’re all thin just through willpower.” He looked me up and down. “This will help with that as well. Not that you’re fat.”

  “Thanks. You’re so kind.”

  “No, stop it. Look around. These people aren’t just regular, they’re…demanding. Let’s put it like that. They all had an idea, and they all made it exist. So they came up with what they wanted. But made it better.” He smirked at me. “You look fantastic naked, by the way.”

  I warmed to the compliment, in spite of myself. “Thank you. So much. And thanks for the offer, but I don’t do drugs anymore. I think I mentioned that at some point.”

  “Yes, you alluded to some misspent youth—but I’m suggesting you deserve a misspent adulthood.” He smiled, and his smile reminded me of the night we spent together. It had been pretty good, actually. I wasn’t relaxed enough and he wasn’t talented enough to make it all it could have been, for me anyway, but I’d enjoyed it. Not everything had to be great. Good worked too.

  “And this is the way?” I wasn’t going to tell him that coke had been possibly my favorite drug at one point. Yes, there had been a few nights where I’d waited for the dawn, alone, quietly shaking. But everyone else had been asleep. Maybe that was their fault.

  “It will keep you chirpy. You will be able to drink more, that should be a plus for you. You will lose a dress size in two weeks. And it will feel good when you, or should I say when we—go to bed again.” His hand slipped down under my dress and slowly slid up between my legs and pressed against me. I closed my eyes. But just as I moved against his hand, he pulled away.

  “Oh no. There’s a party out there, and your future. Besides, there’s bound to be a fight. I heard there’s going to be some trash talking on stage. One of these giant egos is bound to take offense.” He held up the vial. “Come on.” He unscrewed the top, and filled a little spoon. “Come on.”

  One spoon and then the other side. And that sparkle. God, could it still be the same? That slightly burning, bright sense. And a taste that brought back visions of hundreds of little folded up packets, and single-edged razorblades, and that starry cold that slipped to your tongue and made worry irrelevant.

  We each did another spoon, and he took a little on his finger and rubbed around my lips, sensuously, before dipping back between my legs, and tracing a line there with his finger. The slight numbness mixed with my heat made me gasp, and he laughed. “Oh, Lil. You’ve got a great future, if you’d just let yourself have it.” He kissed me, surprisingly tenderly. “Come on, let’s go. And for fuck’s sake, keep talking. No more treats if you don’t impress him.” I looked shocked and he laughed. “Should have done this ages ago. Never mind.”

  We walked out of the men’s room, casually, and headed back to the table. Everyone was there, except Jake, and all the introductions were made. Mark poured more champagne, and we all made idle chit chat, wondering aloud who would win what, while pretending we weren’t actually scanning the room every so often to see who we could see. I was a bit fixated on Jake’s cousin, partly because he was wearing a plaid shirt, which I found strangely appealing in an unappealing way—red and blue amongst what was pretty much a sea of muted grey and black, but also that he was completely silent. I couldn’t decide whether I admired this or just found it irritating. I wondered briefly if that was what I was like, but then Mark caught my eye, and I quickly turned to the person on my left to make conversation. Mark was chatting to someone who had just wandered over to say hello. Words, everywhere, about nothing and everything. A couple of phrases struck me, and I thought I’d go put them on my phone for the article. I excused myself, and Mark slipped me the vial as I went past. I felt giddy like a schoolgirl as I headed into the bathroom. I almost had a moment once I’d closed the door behind me in the stall as to what to do first. Notes? Drugs? I pulled out the phone, figuring I’d forget, and saw I had a text. It was from Sarah.

  How’s the show? Isn’t it due to start? Having fun here. Much love.

  Everything seemed right. I did two more of the tiny metal spoons, more indents, I thought, giggling, than actual cutlery, and one more for good measure. Jake would be coming soon. I’d be ready. And I stumbled out of the bathroom to find that we were bein
g asked to take our seats. I walked quickly over to the table, and arrived in what seemed like no time at all. Mark was standing, talking to an attractive man with dark oversized glasses, and what looked like an alpaca sweater over a t-shirt, and dark blue jeans. His hair was short, nearly brush cut, but it suited him. I walked up, wanting my moment in the spotlight so badly I could taste it, like metal on my tongue. Mark turned to me, smiling. “Lily, I’d like you to meet my old friend Jake. Jake, this is Lily, of blogging fame.”

  I burst up to him, and held my hand out, clasping his tightly. His eyes were an interesting color of blue. There was something friendly in his manner that made me like him. He seemed genuinely happy to be there, happy to meet me. “Jake, a real pleasure to finally meet you in person. I wanted to thank you for the kind comments you had about the article.”

  “Lily, pleasure’s mine. Really rated the article. I thought—still think—the blog’s great. You’re very funny. Interesting, usually good-looking women don’t have much of a sense of humor.” He spoke very quickly, his accent Northern via London, but he enunciated every word with a clipped clarity that made his words feel a little like gunfire. I guessed that came from being on the radio.

  I fluttered at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment—from both sides.”

  He looked amused. “So you’re enjoying yourself—a music fan, obviously.”

  “None of us would be here if we weren’t.”

  “True enough. Some more than others perhaps. So you think you’re going to find something interesting to write about this for a 1000 word piece? Turned in? I’ll be kind and give you hangover time—say in 36 hours from now? 8:15am in the morning after tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely. And 8:15am in the morning is a pleonasm.”

  He grinned. “Just make sure there’s nothing redundant in your piece.”

  “I try not to repeat anything that isn’t worth repeating.” I winked at him.

  “Does that include your many conquests?”

  “Some places you need to return to. Others…,” I paused, and looked him in the eye, “you’d like to visit.”

  He held my gaze, and went quiet for a moment. I noted how his glasses had barely any prescription. I wondered if he needed them at all. “It all depends,” he said, “on how much you want to get there.”

  “I’m not turning back.”

  “Sure?”

  “Certain.”

  His smile returned, and his line of vision took in Mark again, who must have been standing there watching the whole thing. I had forgotten he was there. “Then email me the article, on time, I’ll call you and we’ll tear it apart over lunch. Deal?”

  “Done. I’ll add my phone number to the email. I’m looking forward to you enjoying…the piece over lunch.”

  “Excellent. Mark, mate, a pleasure seeing you. I’ll be back in a little while. I’ve got to go interview Razorlight and try and get them to express something negative about someone. Shouldn’t be hard.” He waved, and walked away. I stared after him. He looked shorter from behind.

  Mark patted my arm, and I turned towards him. “Well?” I asked.

  “I’m proud of you.” He coughed slightly, and poured us each a fresh glass from one of the new bottles that the wait staff had brought around. “And just so you know, we’re not exclusive, and you did the right thing even if we were. Some things can only be measured by how far you’re willing to go. I was worried you’d choose that moment to suddenly get moral. Not that he’ll carry through with it. Although, if he does, I’d love to hear about what he’s like in bed. Of course, don’t tell me if he’s better.” He made a little choking laugh. “Not that he would be.”

  “I’m sure it won’t come to that. A bit of friendly banter, nothing more. And I don’t kiss and tell.”

  Mark snorted over the top of his glass. “How am I supposed to get any publicity then? Why do you think we men like it when the girls all go to the bathroom together? Lil, I will never understand you. Tell everyone. Sex is like publicity. The only bad kind is none.”

  More Prologue

  The presenters presented, pretended they hadn’t rehearsed, and tried to seem too drunk/blind/natural to read their cue cards. Carefully scripted comments like—“Isn’t this a laugh—an awards ceremony?” I was surprised they didn’t add—“Aren’t we ironically self-referential? And post-modern?” Their studied poses and their wry laughter all went into trying very hard to show they didn’t care. Of course it only made it patently obvious they did. So the losers lost, the winners won, and then came up and thanked a variety of people. The more politically savvy among them remembered all the A and R people, their manager, anyone they’d met who might help them in their slippery scramble to the next rung—and oh yeah, the fans, love you guys, thrown in for good measure at the end. After only an hour, it was getting fairly predictable. I did feel compassion and irritation in equal measure for the people who I guessed we’d never see up there again. Some people just seemed off, their jokes fell flat. The group didn’t accept them. Others—they were playing it so hard. Too hard?

  I drank more champagne. How many glasses? I’d lost count by this time. Mark disappeared briefly, claiming it was business, waving the phone at me. Seeing as he had no business to do, I gave a brief nod and scanned the direction he went in, and wondered who he was hooking up with. Then I finished the rest of the champagne, and waited for the next bottle to arrive. I was more annoyed at what drifting off with such a lame excuse said about how he rated my intelligence. Was he kidding? How stupid did he think I was? I was riding this horse to the next town and getting the fuck off.

  Meanwhile, the night was progressing towards its inevitable conclusion and climax. Now we were starting to get somewhere with the presenters and the awards. One of the hosts, who obviously decided that things were getting a bit stale, made such a snide, sarcastic comment about the famous presenter he was paired with, there was an actual little gasp from the crowd. That was breaking the rules. This was rock and roll royalty. You weren’t supposed to actually say what everyone thought. Maybe just allude to it, a little. Everyone looked up to watch how the star was going to react. His face was still and grim, and he gave a brief little smile as he walked up the stairs to the stage. He stood and faced the audience for a moment, and waved, then turned towards the presenter. “Let’s hear it for Graham Mills everyone. He really is a fucking asshole, isn’t he?” And while he said this, he was looking right at the man. I had expected him to turn away, deflect, face the audience. But he didn’t flinch. The host, Graham, let a momentary twitch cross his face, then settled back into his edgy half smile. But the rock royalty didn’t move, not until the applause kicked in. That’s how you do it, I thought. You look right at them. You go right up to them. No sideways movements. You stand your ground and wait to fight, up close. I sighed. That’s how these motherfuckers had gotten here, I thought. Even the most seemingly mild mannered had balls of steel and will to match. They were either too stupid to notice how far there was to fall, or too determined to give a fuck what anyone thought.

  The next bottle had arrived, and the waiter was having difficulty opening the bottle. I felt like grabbing it out of his hand, and doing it myself. But I stopped myself, hating my good behavior, and sat there, waiting, listening with half an ear to the speech that Rock Royalty was making. He was not only standing up for himself, but making the other guy, the main host, look like a complete wanker. Unless you were on the host’s side, that is; then it sounded a little too defensive. Either way. They were both fighting it out up there. I felt like having my own fight. Now. The waiter finally opened the bottle and I held out my glass first, preempting the man in plaid who had been about to take the whole bottle for himself. I smiled at him sweetly, while glaring, and thanked the waiter, while continuing to stare at Mr. Plaid Shirt. No peace and love on your farm, I thought. He grimaced back, and I smiled. Hate me, love me. I’m not going anywhere.

  Mark had returned, looking a little flushed. He waited for M
r. Plaid to pour for himself, then gestured for the bottle. He drank down a glass, and poured another, before replacing the bottle in the bucket.

  “Thirsty work?” I said. “Or just washing out the taste of her personal perfume?”

  He looked down his nose at me. “Life is short, and none of us are getting any younger. You got what you wanted, so behave.” He smiled. “Besides, you have to be nice to me. I know your boy, and I’ve got the coke.” He winked. “You are so much more fun when you’re loaded.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I have a glass too you know.” I waved my glass at him until he fetched the bottle and refilled it. “Ok, I’ll behave. Now everyone’s happy.” I replied, looking away from him, and back at the stage. “In more interesting news, what’s up next, Mr. Fingers in All Pies?”

  “Let your fingers do the walking.” He laughed.

  “Must be why yours have calloused edges.”

  “So witty. Didn’t you say you liked it rough?” He smirked at me, when I turned to glare at him, and I looked away. Nothing to say.