All Tomorrow's Parties (2 page)

Her life was now propelled full pelt through the weird and sometimes wonderful world of Vestal. The diversity of life contained within her ever-expanding circle left her at times speechless. She embraced her new path in awe of the sheer amount of creativity that she was now a part of.

Ella O’Mara was one of those “weird in a nice way” kind of girls who worked in the promotions department of Vestal. Absolutely the friendliest person Laine had ever met.

Ella quickly became Laine’s best friend and numero uno drinking pal. Although not joined at the hip physically, mentally it was a sure-fire match. Ella was three years Laine’s senior and had been around the music industry a while. Ella saw straight away Laine’s vulnerability and immediately appointed herself as guardian and protector. Ella gave Laine some much needed insight into the workings of Vestal. She explained why you never went to see Simeon (the artistic director) first thing in the morning (serious arty type – Hangovers R Us, no work till midday kind of guy) and why you never spoke to Becky about your age (older woman, Ella’s boss, wrong side of forty and very hung up about it).

Ella was the big sister Laine had never had and at times very much had needed. They were however the most unlikely looking sisters. Laine – tall, strawberry blonde, her steely blue/grey eyes piercing any that held her gaze too long. Ella - auburn haired with moss green eyes, a real Celtic beauty. A fraction shorter than Laine in stature, Ella was miles taller in attitude. What most people thought but dared not say Ella would dare. There was no off switch or filter, which sometimes led to awkward silences and a lot of staring at the floor. This was one of the many reasons Laine loved her. Ella’s family were originally from Ireland but had moved to Preston when Ella was four. She was the middle one of five sisters. She had a natural creative flare for making original clothes with a sniff of vintage about them and was often seen sporting her latest creation around Vestal. Her passion for music was akin to Laine’s: being in a room with the pair of them was infectious but also a little scary.

“Oh shit.” Laine had just missed her bus from Victoria. Her journey was a tedious one. It was OK living with Danny, but living in South London was as far away from Vestal’s Notting Hill Gate location as you could get.

Mondays were always tough, she told herself. That weekend had been particularly adventurous: Friday night spent with Ella in the Earl of Suffolk pub, then on to The Wag Club in Wardour Street, as usual blagging their way in, dancing till god knows what time then home to Danny via a dodgy mini cab. “No luv, you sit in the front and if we get stopped you’re my friend” - very dodgy. Sleep till 5pm, dinner, then off with Danny to the 100 club for a 60s all-nighter. Home, sleep, up at 2pm & then off to Camden Market for a bit of lunch and shopping. No wonder Mondays were tough.

As she boarded the number 52 bus at Victoria station Laine contemplated her life with Danny. “He adores you and you adore him”, she told herself as the bus trundled towards Hyde Park Corner. If I tell myself I can fall in love with him enough times, it will come true, she thought, ignoring the nagging doubt at the back of her mind that seemed to get louder each time. The nagging doubt told her she was not yet where she should be, and this bothered her, especially, it would seem, when she was tired. Too much alcohol, not enough sleep, she thought as the bus hummed its way up Park Lane and along Bayswater. The sun was shining and a car somewhere was playing “Mr Blue Sky” by ELO.

Despite the journey, she looked forward to work each day. She loved her job and enjoyed the people she worked with. Reggie was the busiest press officer at the moment and needed all the help Laine could give him. His band Mace Nation had just released their second

single, and Radio One and the NME had gone crazy for it. Who would have thought that a band whose male lead singer wore tons of make-up and dressed like a girl would be the next big thing?

“Reggie will want coffee, then to see all the papers… urrgghh the papers”, thought Laine. It was part of Laine’s job as the PR assistant to pick up all the daily newspapers from the newsagents on her way in. She had to methodically go through them, page by laborious page, and circle all articles relating to any band signed to Vestal. As it was Monday she had all the weekend papers as well. This was the only part of her job she loathed. Sometimes if the department was really busy she would end up taking a stack of papers home on a Friday night. Laine, Danny and a Pritt stick would spend the best part of a weekend cutting, sticking, and labelling onto A4, ready to file on Monday.

She made it to the office at just after 10am. Thankfully everyone else seemed to be running late as well. She was the first to arrive, which made her smile. It meant she had time to sit down quietly, grab a black coffee and skim the papers before craziness set in.

The phone rang. “Hello Press Office”, said Laine breezily. Some people had a “game face”, Laine had a “game voice”. A voice she only used when answering the phone at work. A voice that was just a little bit too sweet, but at the same time still South London enough to keep it raw and fresh. It said: yes I work here and yes I can help you but don’t give me any of your PR bullshit.

“Laine is that you?” said a Scottish accent she instantly recognised.

“Yes, hi Reggie”.

“Do me a huge favour would you? My train from Crewe has been cancelled so I won’t be in till after lunch - can you cancel my lunch with Tony at Trash Central?” 

“Sure no problem, what are you doing in Crewe?” said Laine.

“Long story, I’ll tell you later. Just be careful when you speak to Tony, OK?” His voice was now sounding low and very fatherly.

“Get off my case Reggie, I can make a phone call you know, bye”. She replaced the receiver rather sharpish; she did not want to hear his fatherly advice for the umpteenth time.

Adam appeared at the door. “Want a coffee Laine?” His black hair looked perfectly tousled. I wonder if his hair is naturally dishevelled or if he spends hours in the mirror every day thought Laine as she finished making her “to do” list for the day.

“No thanks Adam just had one. That was Reggie on the phone, he’s stuck in Crewe so I need to cancel his lunch with Tony Black”, she said, half looking at him and half putting the lid back on her very cheap but lovely fountain pen.

Adams caught her eye. “Sure”, he said, his gaze intensifying. “Just watch him - we all know he’s got a thing for you” - his voice drifting as he turned and headed towards the hallway that linked the Press Department and the International Department.

Why did both Reggie and Adam have to do that to her? Laine hated this kind of talk and felt uncomfortable when attention was pushed onto her. True to form she blushed: thankfully Adam was already half way down the hall so could not see her unease.

“Will you just stop, it’s only a phone call, I’m not that incapable of looking after myself!’ she shouted after him, the anger in her voice now evident.

So what if he fancied her? She tried to analyse why people felt the need to “mother” her. Tony Black fancied loads of girls, so what? She was eighteen years old for goodness’ sake - she could take care of herself.

“OK sorry what can I say? You bring out the caring side in me”, Adam’s voice trailed off. He had reached the kitchen at the far end of the international department. “Will they ever let me grow up?” she muttered as she lifted the receiver to dial Tony Black.

The phone had hardly rung and was picked up straight away.

“Tony Black”, a sharp, confident voice said.

“Hi Tony, it’s Laine over at Vestal. I’m afraid Reggie won’t be able to make lunch, he’s been delayed”. See? She could sound professional and make a stupid phone call.

“‘Never mind Laine, why don’t you come instead? In fact I insist.” Tony Black’s voice was as smooth and levelled as ever.

OK, I can handle this. no big deal, thought Laine.

“That is really kind of you Tony, but last time I looked they weren’t handing out expense accounts to assistants”, she joshed; yes I’m in control she thought.

“No problem Laine, it’ll be my pleasure to pay, 1 o clock. I’ll pick you up, I’ll book 192, see ya then”, and with that the phone went dead.

Shit, not in control now - what just happened? Exactly what Reggie & Adam had warned her of, that’s what. Shit, what now?

Tony Black was editor in chief of the UK’s largest selling music paper, Trash Central. Every record company would give their eye teeth to be having lunch with him. Many a deal was reached over a few glasses of chardonnay at 192.

What the hell am I gonna do? thought Laine. She knew it was an opportunity most would give their right arm for, but there was a sense of unease biting at her. She knew that Reggie and Adam were jesting and just winding her up about Tony’s crush on her, but it was peppered with fragments of truth. Anyone who’d been in the same room as the two of them could plainly see the way Tony looked at her. Whenever Laine was at a gig or a press launch Tony always made a beeline for her. What is it with me and older men? she thought. Tony was about fifteen years her senior, tall with an athletic build – and a charmer if ever there was one. Laine was sure that the last time he had been told no was when he was a child, and she was convinced he’d have been a very naughty child!

“Hungry like the Wolf” by Duran Duran was turned up in the International Department, which meant most of the building was suffering.

“Adam, I think we have a problem and it’s not Duran Duran”, said Laine in her I’m-not-panicking-but-really-I- am voice.

Adam laughed when he heard what had happened. “Oh Laine, what is it with you and this one?”

“Me?? I had nothing to do with it. He’d put the phone down before I could say no! What should I do Adam? I’m really not comfortable being on my own with him; besides, I don’t want to say anything I shouldn’t. I’ve heard he’s very good at worming things out of you”, she said, sounding a bit panicked and possibly a bit paranoid.

“Don’t worry, where did you say he’s taking you – 192?”

Laine nodded.

“I’ll give you guys a head start and then Ambra and I will’ - Adam raised his hands and mimicked quotation marks – “”accidentally on purpose” also have lunch at 192, OK?” said Adam, walking into his office.

“Yeah OK but don’t leave it too long”, sighed Laine.

“I’m on the hunt, I’m after you, smell like I sound…”, Adam’s voice could be heard singing through his office door.

“Adam that is not funny, really not funny”, shouted Laine.

The morning seemed to fly by: filing, coffee, press releases, meetings with photographers – Laine’s feet didn’t touch the ground. Vestal’s Managing Director Freddie Taylor had popped in with new signing Bandit, and was giving them the grand tour. Once signed to Vestal, Freddie always got the newbies to see Adam first, after all PR was his game and if anyone was gonna give you the feel good factor it was Adam Brighton.

“OK hot stuff go get tarted up for your hot date, you don’t wanna keep lover boy waiting”, joked Adam, making some rather lewd gestures. Not for the first time today Laine blushed and felt ill at ease.

“You really are not funny Adam. I just want to be myself, but I don’t wanna mess it up and give him the wrong impression. I’ve heard he can take offence really easily”, she said.

Laine had heard via the grapevine that some poor secretary from Polyford Records had given Tony the brush-off with disastrous consequences. He had refused to feature any of the bands signed to Polyford for the last six months. The poor secretary was fired last week. Coincidence? Hmmm…

It annoyed Laine that in 1982, with a woman prime minister and feminism allegedly changing things for the better, one of the most creative industries of the 20
th
century was still stuck somewhere in the dark ages. She couldn’t equate why such a liberal, forward-thinking profession was full of chauvinists. It still looked as though as long as you fluttered your eyelids and played the game then everything remained smooth.

Uncomfortably this struck a nerve with Laine. She knew she had got her job because of her passion for music, yet there was always a tiny voice in her head questioning her belief. “Is it really because you love music and you’re good at your job or is it because you’re young and pretty and because your legs are very, very long, Laine Marshall?” Whilst these thoughts did not rule her, they did make her wonder why it was such a man’s world. “Aw sod off”, she said loudly, wondering if others answer back to their subconscious.

“My advice Laine? Just be yourself and talk about your boyfriend a lot OK? That way any wrong ideas he has, well, you’ll be able to put him straight, alright?” Adam spoke a lot of sense when he put his mind to it, she thought. Maybe there are some brains beneath that mop of black hair after all.

She knew this was a big deal. She didn’t want Tony to start holding a vendetta against the label or, god forbid, get fired. She knew Vestal well enough to believe they would not embrace those kinds of actions.

The phone rang. ”Tony is in reception for you”, said Temi, Vestal’s receptionist.

“Thanks Temi, I’ll be right down.” Laine had a quick check in her mirror.

OK Laine, you can do this, be yourself and don’t get pushed into anything. You are a strong woman, yes you are. Tears For Fears’ “Mad World” was playing on the radio as she grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs. ‘It certainly is a very, very mad world”, she thought.