A Song for Joey (20 page)

My next visitor was Jenny. She bustled in shortly after John had left, to talk about
material for recording and performing.
"I want to try to get you as many new songs as I can, Belinda. Standards and covers are
all very well, but they don't really make you stand out against other singers - you need a
few songs to call your own. I have a couple of songwriters on the books who have
produced hits for our other artists. Will you come with me to meet them?"
"Sure. But I get to decide which songs I use, right?"
"Oh yes, always, but I think you will like the work these guys produce. They wrote '
Noone But You
' for Davey Black and '
Another Day
' for The Ambers."
I was familiar with both the tracks, and the artists who had recorded them. I was not
impressed. I thought they were banal, commercial songs, knocked out to a formula by
cynical writers, and the success of the records was purely down to the talent of the
singers. However, I agreed to accompany Jenny to the offices of Stenner and Chambers
(who sounded to me more like a firm of solicitors than creative artists) and we hopped
into the Limo.
Abe Stenner and Marlon Chambers tried hard to look like trendy musicians, wearing the
colourful, tight-fitting fashions of the time, but just managed to look ridiculous and false.
Their music was the same, and after an hour, I was bored and had not heard a single song
I liked. We left, with Jenny looking at me strangely.
As we stood on the pavement outside, waiting for Paul to return with the car, she asked:
"What's wrong, Belinda?"
I was tense. I felt awkward about the way the meeting had gone, and knew I was being
picky. But I was angry, too. It was my career, for goodness sake! I was not prepared to
risk it by tying in with a couple of idiots like them.
Unsure of my ground, I turned the question around. "What did you think of those songs
we heard today, Jenny?"
"Well, they were ok, I suppose. Did you really not like any of them?"
"You see? You're being nice, and even then the best you could find to say was 'ok, I
suppose.' They were all dreadful, Jenny! There are groups of lads in Norwich writing and
performing songs that are a hundred times better than what we just heard."
She shrugged. "Ok, there are other writers we can try, are you up for it?"
"Sure, let's go. Don't get me wrong, Jenny, I'm not being difficult, but I have no time for
fakes, and those guys back there have nothing original to offer."
-♪-♫-♪

From the glamorous, expensive offices of Stenner and Chambers, we moved to the
grubby back rooms of
Groovy Tunes
. Three men - "Hi, I'm Jason," "Hi, I'm sexy," "Hi, I'm
pissed - hahaha!" - were trying to outdo each other in looking laid back and Bohemian.

"These guys wrote 'Outa Town' for Jessica Lattice," Jenny had informed me as we
pushed open the heavy Victorian doors.
Oh, great,
I thought.
The one called Jason, who seemed to be the only one interested in our presence (the
other two had returned to their game of Monopoly), threaded a spool of tape onto a huge
Grundig reel-to-reel recorder, while gesturing for us to sit down in two mismatched
chairs.
"This one's called 'Make You Mine'", he announced as he pressed [Play] on the
machine.
We listened.
When it was finished, Jason clicked [Stop], and Jenny looked expectantly at me. I
looked at my feet. There was a long silence.
Eventually I said to Jason: "Jenny tells me you wrote 'Outa Town' for Jessica Lattice.
Did you play this one to her?"
"Oh yes." He nodded vigorously.
"What did she think of it?"
He shrugged. "She didn't like it much."
Something about his manner made me persist. "What did she say, precisely?"
"Well, she said 'It's not very good'."
"Were those her exact words?"
"Er, not exactly, no." He was looking very uncomfortable.
"What did she say, exactly?"
After a long pause, he finally said, quietly: "She said it was a total load of fucking shit,
actually."
I stood up and glared at him, leaning toward him with my hands on his desk, a tight,
satisfied smile on my lips.
"So your top recording star, the one who had your only big hit, told you it was a total
load of fucking shit, but you thought you could offload it on this green kid from the sticks.
Yeah?"
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no sound came out. His hands
flapped like a performing seal.
"After all," I continued, "if I flop, it's not your fault, is it? - 'Well, she didn't have the
experience, or the fan base. It wasn't the song, it was the singer' - That's what you would
say, isn't it? But if my talent turns it into a hit, like Jessica did with 'Outa Town' (which
was also a total load of fucking shit, by the way) then you get to bask in my glory. Yes?
No way, buster!"
I turned to leave, Jenny rose to follow, and we left without another word.
Paul was waiting outside in the limo. My heart was thumping, my breathing fast and
deep. After a short, silent journey back to my hotel, Jenny and I had a drink in the bar.
"Not a day that could be called a success," she finally said over her Pernod.
I became defensive. "I can't believe those people make a living from that tripe," I
declared, then bit back on any further outbursts.
"I didn't mean to sound critical. I'm on your side, honestly." She leaned forward. "And,
while I'm being honest, I agree with you - all the songs we heard today were just ordinary,
corny stuff. There wasn't a hit among them."
"Thanks, Jenny. I was worried you wanted to push me into choosing something. I wish I
could write my own, but I know I don't have the talent; I can write some good lyrics,
when the mood is right, but I can't create a melody. The thing is, unlike those charlatans
we saw today, I admit it."
"But we have to keep looking, Belinda. You need material, and soon. But you can relax
for a few days. I'm travelling up-country tomorrow, following up on some new leads. No
doubt it will be a waste of time, but it has to be done. While I'm gone, explore London,
take in a show, visit a gallery or museum. Just have fun and relax. When I get back I will
introduce you to our resident record producer and show you the recording studios, and we
can resume our search for the right song. If you need transport at any time, ring the office
and they will send Paul for you. Will you be ok?"
"I'll be fine. Thanks for all you are doing, Jenny. Sorry I'm being a pest."
"You're not, honestly. You are right to want things to be perfect, I want the same for
you. We will sort it all out, it's early days yet."

Jenny left, and I made my way dejectedly to the dining room for dinner. Somehow,
nothing on the menu appealed to me, and I settled for a salad. Having eaten half, and
pushed the remainder around my plate, I gave up and took the lift to the fourth floor and
my room, with a notion to go to bed early.

But the day had one more surprise. I was running through the day in my mind, for the
hundredth time, when my phone rang, making me jump. It was Dolly. Hearing her voice,
with its lilting Italian accent, raised my spirits at once, but she sounded serious.

"Belinda, cara, I phoned Jenny to get your number."
"What's up, Dolly? Are you ok?" I feared that something had happened to her or Steve.
"I'm fine, but I had to ring you at once with some bad news." She paused. I didn't know

what to think, but I was somehow not completely surprised when she said: "That man
Burroughs was here today, asking after you. I pretended I didn't know who he was. He
came in almost as soon as we opened this evening, bought a beer and sat at the bar
drinking it. Then he started asking questions: Did I have a barmaid called Belinda? Where
was she? I wouldn't answer him, asked him if he was the police. He laughed and said:
'Sort of'."

I remembered the day I first met him. When I asked if he owned a theatre, he said he
was "like an agent." What a lying, devious low-life.
"Well, cara, I told him I don't have a barmaid called Belinda, which is true, now, isn't it?
He wouldn't give up, and asked if I knew anyone by that name, and I said 'Only my sisterin-law in Roma; she a-married to my little brother Enzo.' He wasn't amused."
She stopped talking, but I waited for her to continue; I sensed there was more.
"Belinda, he is a bad man. He radiates evil. I am afraid for you." He voice trailed off.
"He can't find me, Dolly my love. I am safe here."
I really believed it.

On my first day alone in London I decided to explore the area around the hotel. I
discovered that, wherever you go in that city, restaurants abound - Italian, French and
English - and pubs of all nationalities, too. A few doors down from the
Imperial
was an
Irish pub,
The Emerald Isle
, and that evening I gravitated to the sound of fiddles being
scraped and bawdy voices singing. Before long I was joining in and making new friends.
They were wonderful, friendly and sociable people.

Connor, the waiter from the
Imperial
, was there, and came to sit with me. I didn't mind,
I enjoyed his company. He was easy to be with, open and friendly, without making me
feel pursued. He was also nice looking, with red-brown hair, freckles and warm hazel
eyes. And he was great fun, not afraid to jump on the dance floor, unlike most of the men.

We spent a large part of the evening together, dancing, drinking and chatting. He
offered to show me around the area the next day, and I was happy to accept. By the time
he walked me back to the hotel from the pub, I was feeling happy, squiffy and very
attracted to the young Irishman. I was disappointed that he didn't kiss me at the door, but
it was our first night out together, so maybe he would be more adventurous the next time.

Back in my suite, I stripped off and showered to remove the sweat of the evening's
exertions, then, as it was such a warm night, lay naked on top of the bed covers.
Sleep was slow to arrive. My mind was buzzing with all that had happened that evening
- the music, dancing, the lovely people - and Connor. As I recalled the fun we had had
together, I thought how nice it would be if he were to touch my body. There, for instance,
between my breasts.
I stroked gently in little circles with my fingers, tracing down to my belly, then back up
to cup one breast, rubbing the nipple with my thumb. It felt so good. I pressed harder
against my breast, pushing it up and across my chest, then the other breast. I closed my
eyes and pretended it was Connor's hands I could feel, raising first one nipple, then the
other.
Groaning softly, I slid one hand down over my belly to my pelvis, arching my back with
pleasure when it reached the centre of sensuality that is hidden there.
"Oh Connor," I whispered.
Round and round, back and forth I stroked. A little visit inside, two fingers pressing into
the little place that makes me shiver with delight, then out again, slippery and sensuous,
becoming more insistent with every movement. My body was trembling as I writhed
alone on my bed, softly calling his name.

Over the following few days, when he had time between his shifts at the hotel, Connor
walked with me to a museum or art gallery or just down to the river. He talked about his
home in Kilorglin, County Kerry, his parents and their little hotel, his sisters (five) and
elder brother, the beautiful countryside of Ireland and the hardship of life in a mainly
agricultural area. When he asked about my life, I told him about Gran and my time on the
streets with Joey. I left out the episode with Gary Burroughs, but talked proudly of my
friends in Norwich, especially the wonderful Dolly.

Still I lusted after him, but still he made no advances on me. He seemed to be quite shy,
and although he seemed to be happy to hold my hand as we walked around, he never
made a pass. I decided to break the ice, tactfully of course.

We were sitting in the sunshine on the steps beneath Nelson's Column, eating a burger
from one of the street sellers. "Do you think I'm attractive?" I blurted.
He looked at me, surprised. "Yes, very."
A pause.
"Well, would you like to kiss me?" So much for subtlety.
He stared at his shoes, stretched out before him on the steps. As the silence grew, I

I froze for a moment, stunned. "Oh Connor, I'm so sorry. No, I hadn't realised. No. Oh
damn! I am such an idiot."
Inside, I was crushed. An idiot indeed. There must have been plenty of clues - he
thought I knew, after all, so it must have been obvious to everyone else except this stupid
girl.
"You'll probably be embarrassed to be seen with me now, I expect." His voice was
hoarse, as though he had been there before, knew what to expect.
Dragged out of my own self-pity, I struggled for words. "What? Why? Oh Connor, no,
certainly not. I love being with you. I haven't enjoyed anyone's company as much since
Joey died ... " I felt my voice catch and fail, as memories of my times with Joey suddenly
flooded my mind, like liquid from a shattered bottle.
Connor heard the change in my voice, and he gently took my hand. "Missing him?" He
asked. How like him to be more concerned for me than I had been for his feelings.
I nodded. "He's always with me, but I hadn't realised how much your friendship has
become like it was with him."
He looked surprised. "You don't think he was gay, do you?"
That hadn't occurred to me, and I took some time to consider it.
"I don't think so. We talked about love once, and he said he didn't want to jump on my
body." I smiled as I recalled that moment. "But I think that had more to do with the nature
of our relationship. We were ... " I struggled to find words to describe the way Joey and I
felt about each other.
"Like brother and sister?" Connor suggested.
"A bit, but the bond was even tighter than that. I read about twins, once. Because they
develop together in the womb, they are sometimes like two parts of one person, and they
can often communicate even when they are apart. That's kind of how it was between Joey
and me. Although we weren't really related, it felt as though we should have been."
He squeezed my hand. "I wish I'd met him."
"I'm sure you would have liked each other."
After a moment, he added: "You won't tell anyone about me, will you?"
"I wouldn't dream of it. There's no reason why I should." I wanted to reassure him, show
him that I was open-minded and accepting. I remembered my afternoon of passion with
Daisy - should I tell him about it? No, it would sound patronising.
An awkward silence settled briefly, as my thoughts ricocheted inside my head, then he
suddenly leaned over and kissed me on the lips. It wasn't passionate - nothing like Daisy's
kisses, for example - it was a token of friendship and understanding, and made me feel
very special.