Access All Areas (24 page)

The lift door opened on the other side, and I went to get the door.

“I’ll get it.” And he flipped the locks and opened the door, leaned forward to move aside the cage door of the elevator. I quickly stepped away from him and inside. I pressed the button, and the door began closing. I looked at him, through the little glass porthole, and thought I heard him saying “see you in London.” I nodded at him, as he shut his front door and the lift began to move.

I held on to the brass railing with a death grip. Play the game.

And as the door opened to the lobby, I thought—there’s an audience. Let’s give them what they want. And I strutted through the lobby, past the handyman, caretaker, whatever the fuck he was, with the best imitation of high class whore I could manage. Available to anyone, anywhere, anytime—for the right price.

At least money was a hard limit.

I looked up at the big white clock over the stainless counter and red topped stools. Nearly 2pm. Close enough, I could call now. London. Who could I get to come with me? I needed someone really good looking. No. Yes. Better to see if Mark wanted to go. He and I were still fairly good friends. There was some history. He was cool. Not bad looking. Of course, nothing compared to Tristan, I thought. Shut up, I argued with myself, not helping. I wrote down his name. And Sarah and Nick. She was great. We all got on. It was a chance to see them. Come on. I got up and I paid for the coffee, and left, walking towards the park. Thinking.

Mark’s phone went to voice mail. His roughened upper class English smoker’s voice on the recording made me laugh. We hadn’t had sex in a long while, but his voice always made me remember why I’d wanted him.

Sarah’s voice mail kicked in too. Fuck. I left messages for each of them, telling them when I was coming in, the name of my hotel, and to call me. I didn’t mention the party, not yet. I really did want to see them, not just use them as my backup. They’d have fun, wouldn’t they? How long had it been, two, nearly three years since I’d been back?

It was starting to drizzle and I pulled my jacket closer to me, and zipped up my sweatshirt. I just wanted to walk, and walk, and not stop. I called the magazine and told Linda, the editor’s executive secretary that I’d be in tomorrow to collect the tickets and the final information. While she was talking, I heard voices in the background. They sounded oddly familiar. No, couldn’t be. What would he be doing there? I was obviously overwrought. Paranoia the next stop on that train.

Then she asked me to wait. Dave wanted to speak with me himself. And the phone went silent, then began playing some 80’s pop song. I hated being put on hold. Especially to Simply Red. I walked faster, trying to dodge raindrops. Why was I doing business in the park? What next?

She came back on. “Hold for Mr. Fanning.” I nodded. Nodding at a phone. Why were we such creatures of inane habit?

I heard his voice a moment later. “Lily, are you there?”

“Yeah, hi Dave. What’s up? I was going to come in tomorrow to get the tickets and the write ups, but I can swing back today if that’s a better fit.”

“Why, Lily, yes. Could you jump in a cab and come over right away?”

My stomach fell again. Things happen in threes, right? Here we go, I thought.

“Yeah, I’ve just…been running, but sure. What’s up though? Can you tell me?”

“Nothing bad—not at all.” I dropped my shoulders, and tried to breathe again. “Just developments.”

“Ok, be there in about 20 minutes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the sweaty clothes.”

I hung up and walked back towards Central Park West. What the fuck was going on? And those voices. No way. It couldn’t be. Not possible.

I waited a few minutes, someone got the cab I thought was mine when they rushed out of a building a block up. I swore, and looked at my phone again. 20 minutes gone already. Another cab finally turned up, and I jumped in, and gave the driver the address. Maybe it was better not to be dressed up. No pressure. A little reality check. The whore off duty, but on duty. Whatever.

We pulled up outside, and I gave the driver some money. “Keep the change,” I muttered, and opened the door and clambered out. God, I wished I was wearing something more—serious. Still, people were looking at me. Maybe the casual look was rocking for me. The power in not giving a fuck. Luckily I had my bag with me, notebooks and ID, so I dug out my pass and showed it to the guard, and went through the turnstile, the little black numbers on the side counting me in. One more soul headed to their execution. I didn’t totally buy the nothing bad story. Something was up.

The secretary looked me up and down. I fixed her with a stare. Yes, bitch, no heels, and I’m not six feet tall. But I help pay your salary, I thought. And I smiled at her, suddenly feeling very generous. She smiled back at me, warily. No, not looking for girl on girl action. Or am I? I widened my smile. “Hi darling. Could you let Linda know Lily Taylor is here?”

She looked annoyed. “Of course.” Ah, she doesn’t like being told what to do—at least by me. Too bad. She looked back at me, after speaking quickly into the phone. “You can go in.”

I thanked her, and went through the next set of doors. There, at an angle, behind a grey metal desk with two banks of phones, was Linda. You didn’t fuck with her, but then again, you never needed to. She was utterly efficient, and never altered her slightly cold manner for anyone, no matter how famous. It worked like a charm at putting people at ease. The one thing that the rich and famous liked was being treated like anyone else. Unless they didn’t. Ha. But standing up to them always worked. Never argue with success.

“Hey Linda, how are you?” You also were always nice to her. Of course you were. Dave relied on her impressions of people. You didn’t get to make that mistake twice. “Is he ready for me?”

“Hello Lily, good thank you. Congratulations, by the way. Great article.” She smiled warmly at me. Well. That was unexpected. Maybe she didn’t act the same way with everyone, and I’d just been bumped up a level. That was an idea. Everything I thought I knew, thrown overboard yet again. Why not?

“Thanks Linda. I’m glad you liked it.” I smiled, suddenly uncertain how to treat her. She’d changed, now I needed to. But how? Try not giving a fuck came to mind. “You’ll like the next one as well, promise.” I was going to offer to bring her something from London, but I no longer trusted that was happening, or that giving was appropriate. So I nodded and walked towards the big door and knocked. I heard a muffled, “Avanti”, and I stepped into the room. There was Dave, big and imposing as ever, sitting in his large white leather chair behind the glass topped desk, impeccable in what looked like a crisp Gucci suit, on a call. He smiled and waved me in. I took another step and went to sit down at one of the chairs at the desk. But something prickled at the back of my neck and I turned to look at the large Scandinavian bleached wood table in the alcove of his office.

There, sitting at the head, with his manager to his left, was Tristan. He looked cool as always, gazing vaguely towards me through dark sunglasses, as though he were looking off into the distance. The manager was smiling criminally at me. He managed to look condescending and aggressive at once. I tried to smile back.

Dave was off the phone. I stood and he came up to me and kissed me on both cheeks. “Lily, thanks so much for coming by at such short notice.” He glanced at my leggings and sweatshirt and sneakers, and then over at the manager, who was watching us. Dave put his arm around me, careless of his perfect suit against my sweaty and damp sweatshirt, and turned me towards Tristan, who took off his sunglasses, as though announcing the meeting had begun. “Tristan, of course you know, and James, had an idea they wanted to run by me, something Tristan came up with, and I knew you would want to hear about it as soon as possible.” James looked even more gleeful at this. I looked away from him and over at Tristan. His face was perfectly impassive. The distant rock idol was in place. There would be no help there. I thought back to when I’d last seen him. No, I wouldn’t think about it. He obviously wasn’t.

“Come, sit down.” Dave moved over to the table, gesturing for me to follow, and pulled a chair out for me. What was going on? I’d just been slipped into business class, and suddenly the servers weren’t surly anymore. Shit. I couldn’t decide if I was happy about it, or pissed that I’d been happy enough before.

I smiled at him, and sat down as he pushed the chair under me, the perfect gentleman. I glanced over at Tristan and I thought I saw a fragment of a twitch around the corner of his mouth, but it was gone again, instantly, replaced with the business-like mask that covered up his thinking.

Dave sat down, and buzzed for Linda. “Would you all like something to drink? Coffee? Perrier?”

I spoke first. I might as well enjoy the power ride while the quarter was still working. “I’d like some Perrier, thank you.” And I sat back, and caught a glimpse of James. His face was hard, and his expression gave off nothing but a kind of vicious malignity. I wondered how and why Tristan had gotten him as a manager. I supposed it was like having a pit bull. Not pretty, but effective. I smiled at him, sweetly, and he looked annoyed. Lovely.

I turned back to Dave. He would need to speak first. Protocol. The complexities of man. I tried to enjoy it. I also tried to ignore the fact that Tristan was sitting right there. I could feel him. His leather clad arms were resting on the table, his long fingers stretched out. I looked away. I could still feel the heat on my skin where he’d whipped me burning against the acrylic chair. I blushed, remembering. Damn.

The drinks came, and when we all had a glass, and some ice, Dave began. I glanced over at Tristan. He was still staring off into the distance, but one of his long fingers was twirling the ice in his glass. He looked over at me, raising his eyebrows slightly, questioning. I looked at his fingers against the ice, and quickly returned my attention to Dave.

“Tristan, we are all very excited about the new release and the tour. Lily, as you know, Tristan is about to release the new record. One week. And then he is going on a short four week tour.”

I didn’t know that, but I was beginning to think I could see where this was going.

Dave continued. “What they have come up with is the idea of having a tour blog—like a diary. Twitter updates, a regular blog, input from the band and select fans, a daily update on the website, a backstage account of what is going on.”

I nodded. My mind was racing.

“There’s a possibility of turning the tour into a documentary. They are going to film some of the shows, but we have discussed the idea of making it somewhat biographical as well. AC has agreed to play with Tristan on some of the tour dates, that’s a secret by the way, and talk about the old days when they started Devised, rise to stardom, tensions, split. So there would be a lot of interviewing as well. Friends, family. Old girlfriends, possibly even Lori, Tristan’s ex-wife. In the interest of making it a continuing narrative. Real life.”

I looked over at James. I could almost see him rubbing his hands together. So this was his plan.

“You’re a good writer, have a feel for the music, and would have an interesting perspective on the personalities involved.”

Would I? I wondered what made him say that. I had a sudden vision of comparing bruises with a line of women in lingerie.

“Most importantly, Tristan thinks you would be perfect, and actually came here today to request you specifically.”

I looked over at Tristan. I couldn’t read him at all. His eyes only revealed that he was thinking, their bright intelligence impossible to disguise. I must have looked quizzically at him, because he inclined his head, a careful movement, then returned to his impassive gaze.

I looked back at Dave, who looked at me hopefully. When I said nothing, he continued.

“Of course, it would be a great opportunity for the magazine, which would have first rights on all serialization of the tour. The potential for DVD sales, screenwriting credits is enormous.” He turned to me, and I saw him going in for the kill, and realized instantly that this had never been my decision. Which was why Tristan had gone directly to him. If they both wanted it, it would happen. Because they knew I could never watch this job go to anyone else, regardless of how I felt about certain parts of it.

I was cornered, bound up in a golden, leather clad cage. I looked at his manager. He looked so oily and pleased with himself. I felt sick. Of course he’d love it. I’d have to meet up with Tristan’s entire life, judge and be judged. And watch him play rock star for weeks. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, even amusing, seeing him play the crowd, work the business, getting the girls. But that was before I’d fallen in love with him.