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  The door opened a crack, letting in a bright strip of light. The white lit corridor of the music offices came back to me. I shut my eyes, the door opened wider. “Hon? Are you ok?” Alice crept over to the bed. “What happened honey? Do you want to talk about it?”

  The lump in my throat rose up again. I would not cry. But it was hard to talk; my voice came out in a croak. “Hey.” I took another gulp of air. “I’m ok, just a bad headache.”

  “Oh no, I know that voice. Come on, I bought a bottle of scotch.”

  “I’m not drinking.”

  “I know that. We’ll say it’s medicine. This isn’t for fun. Look at you.” Alice’s voice was stern. The bad nurse.

  I’d thrown off the duvet, revealing that I was still in my skirt and top, which were twisted around my body. I pulled everything up and down under her searching look. “Yeah, I felt like crap. I’m ok now.”

  “Bullshit. I’m making you tea and a shot. This is what friends are for. I tried to call you, to tell you I’d be late, but everything went to voice mail. Get up.” She held out her hand, pretending to be rough, but there was a bit of sadness in her eyes. “Come on, hon, face the world. You can sleep later tonight.”

  I creaked out of bed, carefully placing my bag to one side.

  “Since when do you nap with your bag? I know you’re dedicated, but…” She faltered under the look I gave her.

  “Come on, it’s a long story.” I took her hand and squeezed it. Of course, she was right. Of course. I needed a lifeline back to the world, and here it was. We walked hand in hand to the kitchen and she turned the kettle on. Spinning around, she pulled the box of single malt from the carrier bag.

  “Oh, the good stuff, huh? You must really want me to talk.” I laughed.

  “Hey, life’s too short, right? It was on sale.” She turned up the light and I winced. She leapt to switch it off.

  “Sorry, my head’s a bit sensitive.”

  “Candles?” She ran around pulling out some tea lights and holders. She was always like this, a whirlwind. But everything got done, and it always looked beautiful. I couldn’t move at that speed, I’d break things. Within moments, the table and counters had lit candles scattered at artistic intervals. With the sleeting rain hitting the window and the distant sound of the horns of evening traffic, it made for a cozy, almost romantic setting. Romantic. I winced. She didn’t miss it. “Isn’t that better? Maybe you should take something.” She ran out again, and was back in seconds with some tablets. “It’s prescription, stop looking like that. You know I wouldn’t give you just anything. Even for a story.”

  She pulled out two shot glasses and filled them expertly to the top. The tea pot was already on the table, along with a small pitcher of milk. “Alice, you’re amazing. I feel better just watching you.”

  “Yes, I’m wonderful. Sláinte.” And she clinked the glass with me, and we downed the whisky. I felt the burning sensation pour down my throat, making my eyes water, but melting some of the cold plate feeling I’d had there. Maybe I could make it through this.

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, I think this might work.”

  I sipped at some tea, and we downed the second shot in the same way. Ok, I did feel better. My head had loosened up, and I felt the muscles in my shoulder for the first time all day. I started pinching the spot to try and get some more blood going in. Oh. That shoulder. I dropped my hand like I’d been burned.

  Alice didn’t miss it. “What?” Did someone hurt you? What’s going on? This morning you were excited like a crazy person to go out and finally do a big interview—with the super-hot Mr. Hunter no less. You thought you’d hit the big time. What happened? Did it get cancelled?”

  I grabbed the bottle and filled our glasses again. I took a little sip before I could answer her. “No.”

  “No? No, it was cancelled, or no, you got to meet him?” She was bouncing in her chair a little bit. I couldn’t blame her. Tristan Hunter had been a bit of a legend for the last several years, an enigmatic figure, either loved or hated. But a lot of the haters were guys who couldn’t handle the effect he had on their friends, particularly but not always, of the female variety.

  I had known most of the story before I’d gotten the call that I would be interviewing him about the solo record. It was the standard tale of hard work that got called overnight success. Then the sparkle took a few years to start tarnishing. But the weird factor had been turned up about a year and half ago, when it was announced that Tristan was splitting up from his wife and the band, and concentrating on the solo career. No one could get near him for any kind of comment. The band seemed a little confused as well. The two guitarists were openly split on the causes, which finally devolved into a drunken and bloody fist fight in a restaurant in LA. It all had started when one of them, Paul, had said in an interview that Tristan deserved to be dumped, both by his wife and the band, he was a selfish ass. The other guitarist, AC, defended him, but the blood didn’t flow until Paul had started getting a little too personal.

  I asked Alice if she’d heard the whole story. She only knew what had been reported—which was filled with half-truths and cover-ups. She poured again, and I told her what most people on the inside knew. “It was supposed to be a reconciliation meeting. To talk. But after a few drinks, apparently Paul had thrown out that of course AC would be happy about it—he could go back to being Tristan’s fuckbuddy again, like back in the good old days when he was Tristan’s personal bitch. Then he said maybe if AC had been a “power bottom”, they’d all still be together. And AC went ballistic. Naturally those quotes didn’t make the newspapers, but the broken glass and blood over the tablecloth did. And then the next day, the center of the controversy himself released a brief statement. All it said was ‘I’m sorry for the unhappiness I’ve caused those I’ve cared about.’ There was a picture of him, wearing the ubiquitous sunglasses. It was the least sorry picture they could find, he just looked like he couldn’t care less, but that’s why they did it. Trouble in paradise. The fall of the gods. Media goldmine.” I took a swig. Talking around it. Going back to what my reality was…yesterday. Yes, this was working.

  Alice was still talking though. “Ok, some of that I knew. He’s been slammed for being a hypocrite, arrogant, above it all. But not to everybody, right? He just had that interview last month where he said the new material was ready to come out, and whoever did the interview…”

  I interrupted her. “Clarice Close, NME. They’ve always loved him. They captured the whole tortured artist side. Misunderstood. Misquoted. Emotional pain of the breakup. Could happen to anybody. Music is all that matters, blah blah blah.” I took another drink. “But she’ll write whatever she’s told. Somebody probably played her all the mp3s on her way to DJing a party for the kids of some wealthy businessman.”

  “Yeah, ok. But they didn’t give out interviews to just anybody. Then you got the call.”

  “Well apparently they liked my credentials. The fact I wasn’t the typical rock journo. They’d read something I had written and liked it. So the management thought it would be better, be more sensitive to the ‘art’. But…”

  Alice leapt in. “I know right? They need damage control. After his ex came out with that In Style article. What a bitch, saying how much happier she was in LA, showing off a new boyfriend. What a relief it was to be ‘out in the sun, metaphorically speaking, away from the pressure and the moodiness’.”

  “Yeah. That was a shock. Someone helped her spring that one. No one knew until it was too late. They were going to put back the release date, but the suits decided all publicity was good publicity.” I sat back. Better to think of it as a story. A fractured fairy tale.

  “Jesus. So he’s touchy, right?” Alice’s face was animated. She loved all the gossip, and I usually didn’t spill.

  I laughed. I poured out another drink for us both, drank some, and started laughing again. Then I couldn’t stop, and pretty soon she was giggling as well. I hugged myself. “Ok ok,”
I gasped, “that’s enough. Touchy. Ha.”

  “Was he a prick to you? He probably hates all women now. He was always a bit gay anyway, right?”

  I took another gulp and the burning felt like it was reaching through my whole body. This was the moment where I decided what and how much to tell. One more drink. I threw back some more, a little more slowly this time, and looked over at her.

  She looked back. “Oh.”

  “Yeah oh.”

  “You fucked him?” Alice bounced out of the chair, waving her hands around. “You finally got some, and with him? Girlfriend!! It’s like a dream come true! Well done you, you sex goddess you. Come on, details. How big, how many, which way?”

  “Jesus Christ, Alice! Slow down!” The increasingly drunk part of me was finding it ridiculous. Maybe I should just make stuff up to tell her, I thought to myself. Or I could just sit here quietly, getting smashed, and she could tell me. I started laughing again. No, I couldn’t lie. It wouldn’t be the first time I wished I was better at deception. I pretended to be angry. “What’s with the ‘finally got some’ crack? Thanks.”

  “Oh bitch please. It’s common knowledge you’re shut up tighter than a vault. Use it or lose it, honey.” Alice swung her long blonde hair around and sat back down. “Come on details details, let’s have them.”

  I pretended to be offended, but I shrugged. It was true. All the offers I’d had since the last breakup, which seemed to be further away every time I checked, just didn’t do it for me. Alice kept telling me it was like getting back on the horse after falling off, while winking slyly at me and inviting me out. And I went out. But I was bored. Bored with the pick up lines, the way the most obvious women were the most obvious targets. I didn’t like what was too transparent, too readily taken. A little mystery. Alice said I was hopelessly old-fashioned and primitive. I’d always answer back with the same thing. Primitive like a temple harlot. And she’d laugh. But lately I’d been wondering what I did want.

  Then this chance to meet Tristan had come up. Really out of left field, the way luck is, unexpected, and you are just grateful you’d done the prep work so you could actually take advantage of the small miracle. I’d always liked his songs, particularly—well I loved the band, but the idea of solo stuff made my head swim. I’d always thought he was seriously underrated, one of the most intelligent artists to come along in years. And with swagger. Yeah, I’d always thought he was beautiful. In pictures. Then I went to see them and was blown away. His physical presence set the place alight for me. I walked all the way home that night, miles in the rain, seeing nothing else. And feeling the pain of waking up, like pins and needles. At the time, I’d been sort of starting to see Freddie, a friend of a friend and of all things, considering the home life I’d rebelled against, a banker. I’d been busy convincing myself that money was more important than love, that expensive fabric covered up an emotional vacuum fairly well. And it wasn’t like I was a great beauty. I thought I was finally being smart to be grateful. But after I saw Tristan and his band live, I had slowly stopped seeing the banker. And I’d stopped pretending. Just like that. I changed my life, and started trying harder to do what I loved. Someone had once said to me “don’t should on yourself”, but I’d never really seen the truth of what all my lies had done to me. Before he’d come on stage with his leather jacket and his intensity and reminded me what road felt instantly like the right one.

  But that was a while ago. In between there had been Mark. And Jake. Coming face to face with Tristan at that awards ceremony. And that path had led me here. Alice was talking. I hadn’t heard a word of it. I poured another half shot, feeling guilty. But the drunk was working, I felt better. I bet I could almost listen to the tape…I shook my head, violently.

  “What? What is it? You haven’t said a word about Sean taking us out Friday. You’re not the only one with the rock star connections.” Alice looked annoyed.

  “Oh hon, I’m sorry. What? I was miles away.” I tried to look guilty. At least the questions had stopped.

  “Oh no. No no no. You’re not getting away with it that easily. I know that look. But Friday—the secret show? It’s going to be a blast. Secret guests, free champagne. A chance to get out. And Sean’s all right. He’ll look after us, not like your last guy. Say you’ll come.” Alice was smiling at me in that “I look nice, but no is not an option” sort of way that she had.

  “I’ll think about it. I think I’m drunk.” I got up to get some water and had to hold on to the back of the chair.

  “I thought that was the idea.” She filled the shot glass again. “Now talk. You didn’t fuck him, but you wanted to.”

  I nodded. I could nod. I could take another drink.

  “He was incredibly gorgeous and he started a major thaw downstairs.” I smiled. Alice was so funny, so funny.

  “He looked at you with those big eyes and you lost your mind.”

  I found my voice. “Something like that.” I closed my eyes and remembered seeing him for the first time. Then his hand on my shoulder. His voice in my ear, telling me it would all be ok.

  “He touched you.”

  I couldn’t help letting out a sigh. My emotions had been twenty ways to hell fucked with today. I put my head in my hands. “He did.” Why was I torturing myself? “Ok. He put his arm around me and said he wanted to show me where he worked.” Alice looked excited again. “He whispered in my ear and said it would be ok. His voice…” I looked away.

  “Holy hell. What a player.” Alice shook her head. “But come on, when you look like that, you almost have to. It would be a waste, especially when there are people starving…” She pointed at me accusingly. “You. Did. Not. Turn. Him. Down. No. Don’t tell me if you did.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t like that. His manager thought he’d had me though. But it wasn’t like that. It was…” My words were lost in the shards of memory I was looking at. I held on to the table and grabbed the glass, very carefully. I got it to my mouth, and sipped. Ah. Better. I was drunk. Ok, I couldn’t have her think I’d turned him down. That would be certifiable. And I wasn’t crazy, right? Just a little weird. That’s why I had collapsed by my own front door, smelling my handbag. Right.

  “Tell me. Now.” Alice wasn’t generally a mean drunk, but she looked pissed off.

  “Ok, ok. We went into his office, room, whatever. It was very neat. It smelled fantastic.”

  “Like what?” Happy Alice was back.

  “God, I don’t know. Leather. Flowers. Wood. Him.” I stopped. “Don’t say it. Don’t fuck with my memory.”

  “Don’t worry, go on.” She was gentler now.

  “Then he played me some of the new stuff. It’s amazing, incredible. Did I tell you we had moved to the sofa? He was so close, but…listening to him talk about the music. I never meet anyone brave enough to care about anything that much!” I realized I was shouting. I took another sip, and tried to regain control over my voice. “Then he said he had something special to play for me.”

  “Oh here we go.” Alice nodded. “Something special.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that.” How many times had I said that now? I had a feeling it was going to be my new mantra. Everyone would just think that of course he took and of course I gave. Of course. No. “Listen, no, the song was just like everything I’ve had in my head for a while. I mean, he’s just been through being betrayed too, so it’s not surprising, but…” I fell silent.

  “So he played the song. Then what?” Alice was bouncing again.

  “I started crying.”

  She made a face. “Oh man, that’s a passion killer. You should have just said no.” She shook her head.

  “But that’s just it. He…held me. He was so…,” I struggled to find some way to describe it. “So gentle. Then he kissed my cheek.”

  “Your cheek? Mr. Sex God. Whoa. That’s unexpected. Ok, so you’re a tearful mess and he’s being kind. Then what?”

  I heard the shouting in my brain and drank down the rest of the
whisky in a shot. I would never tell her what he said. She already thought it weird enough that he’d been kind. Fine. Our memory. Our secret, then. “His manager came in. He had another appointment.”

  “And that’s it?” Alice looked disappointed. I didn’t blame her, not really. It wasn’t the sweaty tryst his pictures made you think of.

  “Yeah, I said I had a few more questions, and he could call if he wanted to finish it up. Or not. The manager was an asshole, implied he fucked all the interviewers who walked in the door.”

  “Maybe he does.”

  “Maybe.” I grimaced. It wasn’t the happiest thought, but it’d hardly be surprising. Except that one of them was bound to write about it. Maybe the one who acted like they didn’t care. Maybe that’s why he’d been so careful, maybe he did want to…my head felt light. “I don’t know, he’s got to be careful.”

  “Yeah, especially after Ms. the Ex did such a kiss and tell.”

  “That did suck. Something surprisingly mean about it.”

  “Well, maybe he is a dick. Love ‘em and leave ‘em—a lot. And all those rumors about the band—swinging both ways.” Alice took another drink. Was half the bottle gone? Yes, it was. “It’s hot though, come on, admit it.”

  I nodded. “Well yeah. But I don’t know.”

  “Whatever. I can’t think what it takes you to let go. I’d pay good money to see him shagging that bandmate of his, what’s his name? The one he lived with. The guy with the wild black hair.”

  I mumbled agreement. It would be. It wasn’t the point, though. I wasn’t dead, not yet, but my mind was fuzzing up with the drink. Alice was talking again.

  “So, he hasn’t called then? That’s why you’re so upset.”