Johnny Be Good (25 page)

‘Are you free tonight?’

‘I think so…’

We’ve been back in LA a week and while there were times on the tour when I longed to be back in my ‘own’ room, now that I’m here, it doesn’t feel like home at all. So when Kitty calls me in the office on Friday morning and invites me to a showcase that night, I have to restrain myself from kissing the telephone handset. I’m so relieved to have some female company again.

A showcase is a way of introducing a hot new act to important people in the industry. The act in question is a four-piece indie band from Britain, which is why Kitty thought I might like to come. I’m not so interested in the band, but I would give anything to get out of the house for the night–and a few free drinks wouldn’t go amiss, either. Of course, I have to run it by Johnny first…

He’s still being distant with me. We haven’t spoken about what happened in the Dales and I sometimes wonder if I dreamed it, but no, it was real. It hurts too much not to be.

I start to get up, then sit back down again and click on an open internet page. I hold my breath as I scan through the messages, eventually breathing a sigh of relief.

This week I’ve seen countless messages on Johnny’s MySpace and Facebook pages from adoring girls hoping he’s okay. Then on Wednesday I saw a message which turned my blood cold:

On Thursday, there was another one like it, only this time the country in question was Spain.

I’ve been trying to use this reality check to toughen myself up, to move on and get on with my job. Sadly, it just doesn’t work like that. I refresh the page and have one last look for new messages before I reluctantly close down the window. I know I’m becoming obsessive. A familiar figure walks past the open office door.

‘Rosa!’ I call. She halts in her tracks as I swiftly exit the office. ‘I’ll take that. Need to run something by him.’ I detach the coffee mug from her fingers. She reluctantly lets go and plods back to the kitchen.

I’m sure she suspects something has happened between Johnny and me. The other day I walked into the kitchen when Johnny was in there and you could have cut the atmosphere with her Cook’s knife. She didn’t say anything–but I know she’s too shrewd for her own good.

I carefully make my way up the stairs, knocking before entering.

Johnny’s face lights up when he sees the mug, then falls again when he sees who’s holding it.

‘Just leave it there, Meg.’ He turns his back on me.

I do as he says and put the mug down on a side table. ‘I need to run a few things by you.’ I try to keep my voice level, but I feel horribly awkward. I’ve been storing items up so I don’t bother him any more than I have to.

‘Shoot.’ He doesn’t look at me, focusing his attention on the guitar in his hands.

‘You have a dentist’s appointment…’

He plucks a string.

‘You have a dentist’s appointment…’

He plucks another string.

I try again. ‘You have a dentist’s appointment at three-thirty tomorrow. Johnny, can you stop tuning your guitar for a moment?’

He stops and looks up at me, a pained expression on his face.

‘You have a dentist’s app—’

‘I got that,’ he interrupts. ‘What else?’

‘Lunch with Quentin on Wednesday at twelve.’

‘Right.’

‘I’ve also arranged for a private viewing of Marvin Stately’s collection. Is Thursday morning okay with you?’

‘Who’s Marvin Stately?’ he asks, frowning at me.

‘The artist. You know, the guy with the bald head? Goatie? Specs?’ I add, when he still shows no signs of recognition. ‘You told me you were interested in buying some of his art when you saw him on TV the other day.’

‘Fine. Is that all?’

‘Erm…’

‘Can you—’

‘Close the door behind me. Yes, Johnny.’ I can’t keep my irritation out of my voice. I turn to face the door, then stop.

‘Actually, there’s one other thing.’

He looks up at me, warily. I tell him about the showcase and he looks relieved when I don’t broach the subject of our Dales trip. He needn’t worry. I have no intention of bringing it up.

‘I was thinking of going to that myself,’ he says, eventually.

‘Oh. Is that a problem?’

‘I guess not.’

‘So it’s okay if I go, then?’

‘Yep.’

‘Shall I ask Davey to collect both of us?’ I ask, hopefully.

‘No. I’ll take the bike.’

At least that means he won’t be drinking, I try to console myself as I walk back down the stairs to the office to pore over the new messages on MySpace.

Kitty is already there when I arrive. As I approach, she intercepts a waiter holding a tray full of canapés.

‘Good timing!’ she exclaims. ‘Dig in!’

The waiter narrows his eyes.

‘No, thanks, I’m not hungry,’ I tell her.

‘Not hungry?’ she screeches. ‘They’re canapés! There’s always room for canapés!’

‘No, really,’ I say. ‘I don’t want anything.’

I’ve barely touched food since we’ve been back. I’ve even gone off peanut M&Ms.

‘Oh.’ She’s disappointed. ‘I’ll just have a couple, then.’

The waiter waits impatiently as she makes her selection before hurrying off to a small group of impossibly skinny blondes.

‘So!’ She turns to me after she’s devoured a California roll. ‘Tell me what happened!’

I look around, shiftily. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Well, the papers have been full of it. Bill kept saying he was in an “undisclosed location”, but he wouldn’t say where.’

I don’t tell Kitty that the location was undisclosed even to Bill. Not that he would have told anyone that. He wouldn’t want to lose face.

She continues, ‘Charlie was insistent that he was in some remote rehab clinic in Thailand, but I don’t know…’

‘When did you see Charlie?’ I ask.

‘At Isla’s New Year’s Eve party.’

‘You went to that?’ I can’t mask my surprise.

‘Only because Rod wanted to,’ she tells me. ‘So was she right? About the rehab location?’

‘No,’ I scoff. ‘We went to the Dales.’

‘I haven’t heard of that one,’ she says, cocking her head to one side.

‘It’s not a rehab clinic.’ I try not to smile. ‘It’s a place in the north of England.’

‘Hang on.’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘You just said “we”. Did you go with him?’

‘Yes,’ I reply, uneasily. ‘He wouldn’t go into rehab, so I took him somewhere quiet to get away from it all.’

‘Wowsers.’ She looks at me, wide-eyed.

I try to ignore the fact that she just said ‘wowsers’.

‘Can you tell me anything about what went on there?’ she asks, hopefully.

‘No,’ I reply, attempting to sound regretful, but being enormously thankful for confidentiality clauses and the fact that I’m standing with someone who knows all about them.

‘Shame,’ she says, her face dropping.

‘How’s Rod?’ I ask.

‘Fine.’ She sighs, her mind clearly still on Johnny.

‘And Charlie? What’s she up to these days?’

‘Still the same,’ Kitty tells me. ‘Although I heard a rumour that Isla was relocating to Britain to live with her new man.’

‘Her new man?’ I haven’t heard about this. I’m usually so ‘up’ on celebrity gossip. But I have been out of the loop recently…

‘She only met him a couple of weeks ago.’ Kitty looks unimpressed. ‘In fact, it was at the party I told you about. Will Tripping, or something like that.’

‘Will Trepper?’ I ask.

‘That’s the one. You know him?’

‘Yeah,’ I answer with interest. ‘He’s a really cool British actor. I didn’t think he’d be her type. Or vice versa.’

‘Well, apparently they’re
madly
in love.’ Kitty rolls her eyes. ‘So Isla’s thinking of moving over to England to be with him.’

‘Blimey. What’s Charlie going to do?’

Kitty shrugs. ‘Heaven only knows.’

‘I can’t imagine her in Old Blighty.’

‘Old what?’ Kitty looks confused.

‘Never mind,’ I say dismissively. I’ve just spotted Lola–the rock chick from that band Spooky Girl. She looks super-cool in a short red dress and black high heels. I remember Johnny admitting his crush on her after that night at the Standard Downtown when I first came to LA. The thought of seeing him with her now makes me feel even worse than it did back then.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a canapé?’ Kitty asks, as another waiter passes. The snooty waiter has been avoiding us since his first Kitty encounter.

‘I’m sure,’ I answer, distractedly.

‘Hey, look! Paola’s here!’

That gets my attention. I sharply turn to see where Kitty’s looking. ‘Where?’

‘There.’ Kitty nods, trying not to be too obvious by pointing. ‘The tall, skinny one with long, dark-brown hair…’

‘I see her,’ I interject.

Johnny’s former PA is even prettier than I thought she’d be. She’s having an animated conversation with another girl who looks to be about the same age–early thirties, I’d guess. The other girl says something and Paola throws her head back and laughs. She has a beautiful smile.

‘Do you want to go and talk to her?’ Kitty asks.

‘No.’ I look away. I may be curious about her, but I have no desire to meet her whatsoever.

I hear a familiar murmur of excitement vibrate through the room and turn to see Johnny at the entrance.

Kitty nudges me gleefully as I watch him make his way through the room to a crowd of young, cool, trendy types.

I can’t believe I slept with you.

It seems so surreal, to think that I ran my hands over that chest. That I unbuttoned those trousers…I recall the intensity in his eyes as he looked into mine and a shiver goes down my spine.

‘Are you okay?’ Kitty asks.

‘Mmm.’

I tear my eyes away from him and glance behind me to gauge
Paola’s reaction. She looks shocked. Her companion says something in her ear and they both immediately look at me.

‘Ooh, they’ve spotted you, then.’ Kitty giggles, completely oblivious to how weird this is for me.

I look back at Johnny. He has a glass of what looks like whisky in his hand.

‘Oh God,’ I say.

‘What?’ Kitty asks, concerned.

‘He’s drinking.’

She follows my gaze towards Johnny. ‘Darn.’

‘He never said he’d stop completely, but I thought…’

At that moment Johnny spots me, then he looks past me and freezes. I know he’s spotted Paola. Still looking at her, he knocks his drink back in one and takes another one from a passing waiter.

The next thing I know, Paola and her friend have walked out.

Kitty, who has witnessed this also, turns to me, her eyes wide.

‘It’s true, then,’ I say aloud. My heart is in my throat.

‘What’s true?’ Her expression is perplexed.

‘Johnny slept with Paola.’

Kitty looks over at Johnny. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I just do.’

I catch a flash of red and see Lola walking in Johnny’s direction. He reaches out and grabs her hand as she passes and pulls her towards him, giving her a kiss right on the lips.

He laughs as she pushes him away, unimpressed.

Jealousy courses through my veins like poison. I can’t be here. I turn to Kitty. ‘I think I’m going to go home now.’

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Just don’t feel very well.’ I’m not lying.

‘But you haven’t even seen the band play.’

‘I know. I’m really sorry.’

‘Okay…’ Kitty tries not to seem too upset.

‘Will you be okay?’ I ask, guiltily. I do feel bad about leaving her.

‘Yeah, don’t worry about me. I know plenty of people here. I won’t enjoy talking to them as much as I would you,’ she concedes, ‘but I’m not going to force you to stay if you’re not up to it.’

‘Thanks,’ I tell her, looking back over my shoulder to see if Johnny has noticed I’m leaving. If he has, he doesn’t show it.

Santiago turns up the next day and it’s nice to see him after such a long time away. It hasn’t really been warm enough to go swimming, but he needs to clean the pool anyway, so I join him out on the terrace to have a catch-up. He wants to know about the tour, but much more than that, he wants to know what happened when Johnny and I went AWOL. I have to be quite careful in what I say. Bill hasn’t spoken to me since we got back. If he calls for Johnny, he’s super-succinct about getting to the point. Johnny clearly kept his word about threatening to fire him. That, at least, gives me some comfort.

‘Where did you go?’ Santiago asks.

‘We went to a cottage in the middle of nowhere,’ I tell him. ‘So he could detox.’

‘Did you get up to any naughty business?’ He gives me a wink.

‘No, we did not!’ I reply, hotly.

He grins at me, cheekily. ‘Where is Johnny, man?’

‘In his studio, I think.’

‘Do you think he’ll mind if I have a smoke?’

‘Maybe you should go around to the front, just in case,’ I say. ‘I’ll come with you.’

We wander around to the front of the house and sit under a tree next to the garage. Santiago is wearing long, beige-coloured shorts and a white vest. I’m wearing a red jumper and jeans. It may be winter, but the weather is pretty mild. It’s a far cry from Europe.

‘Which country was your favourite?’ Santiago asks, lighting up and leaning back against the tree. I’m sitting cross-legged in front of him.

I consider his question. ‘That’s a toughie. Certain countries stood out, but not always for the right reasons.’

‘Oh?’ He regards me with his dark eyes.

‘I loved Amsterdam…’

‘Kinky,’ he jokes.

‘Not for that reason.’ I laugh. ‘No, I loved its canals. It was beautiful, but I did have one bad night there so that kind of spoilt it.’

I think of Christian again and remember how he looked after me. I feel sad momentarily. He hasn’t been in contact since we returned. Not as far as I know, anyway. Johnny hasn’t said anything. I stare down at Santiago’s glowing cigarette in a daze.

‘What sort of bad night?’ he asks.

‘Too much to drink.’ I skip over the details. ‘I also really liked Barcelona.’ Again, I have bad memories of that city because that was where I found out about Gran.
And
it was where I saw Johnny take drugs for the first time…

‘I’d love to go there,’ he comments.

‘You should.’

‘I haven’t even got a passport,’ he says.

‘Then get one!’ I laugh.

I loved Paris, too. But again, that was a combination of good and bad. There’s been a hell of a lot of that recently. An image flickers through my mind of Johnny kissing me.

‘Can I have a cigarette?’ I ask Santiago, on an impulse. I haven’t had one since my first year of university, but I really feel like one all of a sudden.

He looks surprised, but hands one over, leaning forward to light it. I’ve barely taken two drags when Johnny walks around the corner towards the garage, clad in his biker gear.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ He spots me and strides over, wrenching the cigarette from between my fingers.

‘Hey!’ I yell.

‘You don’t smoke!’ he shouts, throwing the fag on the ground a few feet away. ‘And what the fuck are
you
doing?’ He directs his anger at Santiago. ‘Get back to work!’

Santiago scrambles to his feet in surprise and hurries towards the back of the house and out of sight.

I look up at Johnny in shock as he scowls after Santiago. Then he looks down at me and gives me a look of such disgust that I almost fall backwards. He storms off towards the garage, not saying a word.

‘Oi!’ I shout after him.

No reaction.

‘Johnny!’

He heads into the garage.

Now I’m angry.

I get up and follow him, opening the side door and banging it closed behind me. He spins around at the sound.

‘Do you mind?’ he asks, loudly.

‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ I reply. ‘What the hell is your problem?’

‘Leave it, Meg,’ he warns, turning around to his bike.

‘No, I will not leave it, Johnny. You can’t screw me, ignore me and then give a shit if I smoke or not.’

He straddles his bike and turns on the ignition, then kicks the bike into life.

‘Johnny, I’m trying to talk to you!’ But the sound of the engine drowns my voice. I angrily reach over and turn off the ignition. He grabs my wrist, hard.

‘Let me go!’

He doesn’t. He looks at my lips as I struggle under his grasp, then he flings my wrist away at the sound of footsteps passing on the gravel outside the open garage door. I turn to see Lewis, one of Johnny’s security guards, going about his business. The next thing I know, Johnny has turned the ignition back on and kick-started the engine. He takes his helmet off the handlebars and pulls it over his head before squealing out of the garage. I fold my arms in front of me and watch him go.

‘What was that about?’ Santiago asks when I appear around the side of the house.

I shake my head at him and don’t answer, before going inside and sliding the glass door shut behind me.

That night I lie in bed, wide awake. I went through today in a daze, unable to concentrate on anything, unwilling even to scour MySpace and Facebook for messages from groupies.

Johnny, Christian, Paola, Kitty…Faces and names rush through my mind as I try to piece together the jigsaw puzzle inside my head.

What happened with Johnny and Paola? Why did she quit her
job? Or was she fired? Did they definitely sleep together? Was it just the once? Did she fall for him? Stupid girl, I think, before remembering I’m in the exact same position. It’s humiliating to think that she was there before me. If, indeed, she was.

Oh God. The dull ache inside me is ever present. I can’t get rid of it. I’m sure Johnny almost kissed me in the garage. I know that I wanted him to. I also know that he’s a bad boy, and I have
never
been attracted to them. So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

Because I want him to fall in love with me. I want to be the one who changes him.

I picture myself walking down the red carpet with him; dining out with him; being gracious towards the paparazzi. I’d never complain about his bike messing up my hair. We’d get a dog. I’d look after it. Rosa would like me again because she’d realise that I was the real deal–not just some silly slapper like all the rest of them.

I
am
different. I’m sure I am. Who else cares for him like I do? He confides in me. He told me about his mum. He laughs with me. Well, he used to. And he will do again.

I hear a sound outside my door and lift my head from my pillow, startled.

‘Hello?’ I call.

The door opens and reveals Johnny’s silhouette in the doorway.

‘Johnny?’ I ask, confused.

He strides towards the bed and I struggle to sit up in time before he pulls the covers back. The cool air hits my skin. I’m barely dressed, wearing only a skimpy, cream camisole top and knickers.

He climbs onto the bed and kneels above me. I’m breathing so
hard it sounds like I have a megaphone pressed to my lips. His jeans are coarse against my bare skin. I unbutton his shirt and slide my hands inside as he kisses me, hot and passionate. His tongue tastes of cigarettes and alcohol, but I don’t care. He reaches down and frantically unbuttons his jeans, then pushes my knickers aside before taking me, rough and urgent.

I can’t catch my breath for a long time afterwards as I lie there, in his arms, anticipating his departure back to his own room. Even when he falls asleep and his breathing slows to a steady rhythm, I’m full of dread, waiting for him to wake up and leave me again.

I must doze off eventually, because when I finally come to in the early hours of the morning, I open my eyes to find him lying on his side, quietly watching me. I don’t smile, and neither does he. He undresses me, this time taking it slowly.

I
will
change you. I
will
make you love me.

Afterwards he smiles at me, his expression soft.

‘Are you on the pill?’ he asks.

‘No.’ I immediately feel worried.

‘Don’t worry, I always use condoms,’ he says. ‘But you should probably get the Morning After Pill.’

‘Okay, I will,’ I say. ‘I’ll get it today.’

He clearly isn’t concerned about my sexual history. He folds his arms behind his head and stares up at the ceiling.

‘I didn’t like seeing you with Santiago,’ he says.

‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ I tell him.

‘I didn’t like it.’

I prop myself up on my elbow and put my hand on his stomach. He glances at me then back at the ceiling. I run my finger along the tattoo of the Johnny Cash lyric.

He reaches down and takes my hand, bringing it up to his lips. ‘I never thanked you,’ he says.

‘Thanked me? For what?’

‘For taking me to the Dales. For looking after me. You know you are special to me, right?’

Happiness bubbles through me as I nod back at him. Then the nerves appear. I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t restrain myself.

‘Johnny,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘What happened between you and Paola?’

He drops my hand and looks at me, sternly. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Johnny, please. I saw her there on Friday night. I know she saw me, too. What happened? Why won’t you tell me?’

I sound like I’m whingeing, but I can’t stop the words from coming out.

‘I’m not talking about this,’ he says, sitting up in bed. ‘Not to you. Not to anyone.’

He climbs out of the bed, still naked, and picks up his boxer shorts, slipping them on.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask, trying not to sound desperate. I don’t want him to leave me again.

‘I’ve got to get back to work.’

‘It’s Sunday,’ I say. ‘Do you really have to?’

‘Yes.’ His reply is firm. ‘Albums don’t write themselves, Nutmeg.’ He grins at me and I relax back onto the bed at the sound of my nickname, watching him collect his clothes and walk out through the door.