Bella Summer Takes a Chance (20 page)

‘For the fifth time, Fred, no, but I’m going to preview night. You’re both going too, remember? Don’t make any plans for Friday.’ The musicians caught my eye from the stage and waved me over.

‘But you haven’t talked to him,’ he said, his arms huffily crossed on my behalf.

‘I have talked to him. He’s been rehearsing non-stop. And working. He hasn’t got time for long chats.’

I wasn’t worried about The Actor’s radio-silence. It was obvious when we did talk that he was totally into me. Fred didn’t understand. If his paramours weren’t stripping off and straddling him, he thought they’d moved on.

‘I mean it about Friday, Fred. Don’t double book me.’ He was always doing that, then complaining that he had too much to do. ‘You either, Faith. I’ll see you after the set. I’m on now.’

Fred threw open his arms. ‘Kiss me for luck, B.’

‘I thought you were supposed to rub something for luck?’ Faith said.

‘Rub away, darling!’ He growled at her. ‘Come to Papa.’

‘I’ll just leave you to your love-fest. I’ve got to go on now.’

‘Break a leg, B.!’ They sang in unison.

I knew exactly why I grumbled as I made my way to the stage. Because
I
used to be Fred’s faux girlfriend. Who didn’t covet such a perfect role? It had (most of) the benefits and none of the drama of being a real girlfriend. Fred was
my
gay best friend. Surely daily proximity and sharing of beauty regimes had made it so. Nobody liked being replaced.

Also, they really should have been paying me more attention instead of whispering in each other’s ears. It was my premier. Sunglasses was sitting near the front and he’d brought ‘people’, just like he’d promised. ‘People’ was staring at me from beneath an intense black fringe, which suited her look. If anyone could wear her grandmother’s black antimacassars in public, it was a goth in thigh-high platform boots. Her gaze was rather creepy but that was her right, after all, since she was there to pass judgment on my talent.

The lights were low. Candles flickered on the tables. The sound levels were just right, the audience was courteously quiet during the set and I was comfortable in my favourite dress (swingy hemline, just enough cleavage to flatter without looking like I earned extra cash backstage). Everything was perfect.

Except that my voice sounded strained. Dammit. I wasn’t always nightingale-like, but I knew I could carry a tune. I should have had a glass of wine to steady my nerves. And to stop me sounding like a chair being dragged across the floor. The band didn’t seem to notice, though. Or they were too polite to let on. I knew most of their playlist already, and there I was, mangling them one after the other.

I bet my mum didn’t have off nights. She was a consummate professional. She probably never put a note wrong. She’d have been horrified to hear me. What’s worse, she’d be horrified to hear me sing my finale. Her best-loved song. That was a back-handed tribute if ever there was one.

‘B., that was good!’ Sunglasses said as I approached their table after the set. He was just being kind. It definitely wasn’t my best.

‘Yes, I enjoyed that!’ Said People. ‘You’ve got real depth. Especially on that last song. Beautiful.’

‘Thanks. It’s my mum’s. Well, you heard me say that. I love it, and you should hear her sing it.’

She smiled. ‘I feel like I just did.’

‘Oh, do you know it, then?’

‘Psh! You’re kidding, right? It was a huge hit here. Everyone knows it. Why isn’t it on your demo?’

Sunglasses must have sent her my demo. Maybe he’d sent it to others too. ‘Well, it’s not my song. I should probably ask Mum if I can include it.’

‘Definitely,’ said People. ‘Though your own stuff is good too. Listen, I don’t want to keep you from your friends.’ Faith and Fred hovered beside me. ‘And actually, I have to run to another gig. But do you have a card? I’d like to stay in touch. Ready?’ She said to Sunglasses.

‘Ready,’ he said. ‘B., thanks, I really enjoyed that. I’m gonna take off too, but please let me know how you get on. I’m interested.’

As I thanked him profusely and dug out my card for People, my heart raced. It felt like a pivotal moment. A manager, a real manager, wanted my card! I squealed at my friends as soon as Sunglasses and People were out of earshot.

‘That was great, B.! Really good!’ Faith kissed me squarely on the lips. Ever since her vicarious brush with threesomehood she’d been doing that. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the sentiment, but she always left trails of sticky lipstick in her wake, and coral was not my colour.

‘I can’t believe I’ve never heard you sing properly before.’ Frederick fluttered his hand in front of his face as if he’d just had an attack of the vapours. Now where were those smelling salts?

‘That’s okay. We haven’t known each other that long after all. Not like Faith,’ I pointed out, pointedly.

She looked appropriately guilty for hardly ever coming to my gigs. ‘And you have heard me sing, Frederick. I sang all the time at home.’

‘Heart o’ mine, that’s different. I mean like this. With all the pomp and circumstance.’

I’d hardly call four septuagenarians and a microphone pomp and circumstance. Still, I basked in the glow of his adoration. Okay, it was more of a 15-watt bulb of admiration. But generated from my two friends it felt as warm as the sun.

‘I l-o-v-e this place. Look at these light fittings,’ Frederick said when we’d settled into the bar in Soho for a post-premier drink. ‘The tassels! Mmm, lovely leather.’ He tested the springiness of the banquet’s seat with his bottom. His choice of celebration venue was certainly eye-catching.

‘Frederick, you know this is a gay bar, right?’

‘B., just because it’s stylish doesn’t mean it’s gay. This is a cocktail bar.’

‘Emphasis on–’

‘Stop it!’ He hissed. ‘Now, what shall we drink? Champagne? I thought so. Is there table service? Excuse me,’ he twiddled his fingers at the lithe young man in black who passed. ‘A bottle of Moët, please.’

It was hard to know whether he was actually a waiter, or just a patron on his way to the loo.

‘Thanks for coming to see me tonight.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Fred said. ‘You were divine. Really great, B. Do you think that manager will get in touch? Imagine. You’ll be famous!’ He threatened to swoon again.

‘You’re getting way ahead of yourself. First she’d have to sign me, then find me gigs, then I’d have to get discovered, then offered a recording deal.’

‘Well–’

‘Not finished yet. Then the CD would actually have to get produced, and distributed. Then it’d have to be promoted, then have good sales. Then, I’d be famous.’

‘You make it sound so easy. Ah, thank you, sir,’ he said to the man in black as he poured the bubbly. ‘So, to B. and her rocketing music career. Chin-chin, darlings.’ He took a dainty sip. ‘Well then, B., not to burst your bubbly, but how are you planning to get discovered?’

‘I don’t know, really. I guess I’ll keep calling the bookers to remind them to listen to the demo. And I can put the demos out to some managers. There’s not really a lot else to do.’

‘Are you up on YouTube yet?’ Faith asked.

‘No, that’s my fault,’ Frederick said. ‘I’ll call my friend tomorrow and load the clip myself. I still think you should consider some porn.’

I sighed, rolling my eyes at Faith. She was grinning idiotically, like someone not keeping a secret at all well. ‘Faith? Something to share with the group?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve done porn.’

‘You dark horse!’ Fred and I chorused. ‘Snap!’

‘It’s not that bad. It was a long time ago. It might not even exist any more. And it’s not hard-core anyway. It’s pretty tame by today’s standards.’

My friend did porn. ‘When? How? Was it with the girl you told me about?’

‘What girl?’ Frederick looked puzzled.

‘Er, no. That’s another story. I did it when I was at uni.’

‘Are we talking about the porn or the girl?’ Fred asked.

‘The por– tsch, it wasn’t hard-core. I did
the film
when I was at uni. Honestly, you’d think you’d never met anyone who’s done that before.’

‘We haven’t. Snap!’

‘I guarantee you have. You just may not know it. I met some people at a party and they offered me a part in a film. End of story.’

I begged to differ. ‘That is so not end of story! Did you know it was “artistic” when you agreed? Did you see the script beforehand?’

‘Of course I saw the script beforehand, B., I wasn’t a Lithuanian teenager sold into the business, you know. There was a script and a production company. It was legitimate. I just had a few steamy scenes.’

‘How many is a few?’ Fred had a funny look on his face, like his champagne had gone off.

‘Well, to be fair, probably more than were strictly necessary to move the story along. Okay, yes, it was soft porn. Happy now? The production company was called something like Trouser Productions.’

‘What was the film called?’

‘Promise you won’t try to find it?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Frederick said. ‘I’d never make a promise I couldn’t keep.’

‘Fine. You’ll just Google me anyway. It was called
Interlude with the Vampire
. I was a vampire.’

‘I’ve heard of it.’ I giggled. ‘I think it was up for an Academy Award.’

‘It must have been yummy to work with Tom and Brad,’ said Frederick. We clinked glasses while Faith reddened.

‘Fred, really,’ I said. ‘Be sensitive, won’t you? Sorry, Faith. So you were a vampire. Did you suck a lot of… blood?’

‘Or only go down, I mean out, after dark?’

Of course our glee was childish. I didn’t care. It was like she’d handed me my birthday present early. ‘When can we watch it?’

‘I’ll download it when we get home. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m pretty good if I do say so.’

Bold move, Faith. I’d have dithered and made excuses and hoped we’d forget about it, however unlikely that was.

Faith was always as good as her word. She never backed out of a plan, even when she got a better offer or had period pains. Such reliability meant that Frederick’s lounge was filled with her arse. ‘It’s not bad, is it?’ She said.

‘The film?’

‘The arse.’

‘Not bad at all, darling.’ Fred made a grab for the real thing, his eyes glued to its cinematic equivalent. ‘I’m just glad my loathsome lodger isn’t here.’

‘Still not getting along?’

‘He’s beastly. He’s got feet like an orang-utan.’ It was clear from the first day Zac moved in that he wasn’t going to be Fred’s new best friend.

‘How do you know what his feet look like?’

‘He picks them on the sofa while watching
Top Gear
. I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse as I ran for my room. Imagine.
Top Gear
. Tell her, Faith. Isn’t he ghastly?’

Faith was too absorbed in the film to hear him. Her pride in her work was obvious. That was the same look she had when we read her latest column. Now, as then, she expected detailed feedback. She looked like the cat that got the canary. She glowed with pride… hold on just a minute. I knew that look, and it wasn’t pride.

‘Faith! You’re having sex!’

‘It’s simulated, not real.’

‘I don’t mean on-screen!’ Her blush told me I was right. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Who with?’

‘I didn’t tell you because it’s, well, it’s too personal.’

I was stunned. Stunned. How dare she keep something like that from me? I was her best friend. We told each other everything. It’d be understandable if she hadn’t proven herself completely incapable of involving everyone around her in her love life. I’d been her walking journal for a decade, the one who took her 3 a.m. phone calls with hardly a moan, her accomplice when she stalked her latest man, and the shoulder she cried on when it ended. A terrible thought struck. ‘Fred, did you know about this?’

‘Well, em.’ He looked guiltily at Faith. ‘Yes.’

Just great. In a few short months my real best friend replaced me with my gay best friend. I was cut out, extracted from the picture as completely as if tweezing out a splinter. ‘I have to say, Faith, I’m hurt.’

‘Oh, B., don’t be! We just haven’t told you because, well, we were waiting for the right time. We didn’t mean to hurt you.’

Suddenly they were ‘we’. ‘Well, I am hurt. I didn’t think you’d replace me like this.’

‘Replace? B., what are you talking about?’

‘Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about. With Fred. That’s fine. I just thought we had more than that.’

‘B., are you saying you want the relationship I have with Frederick?’

‘I guess I thought we had that.’

‘Wow. I don’t know what to say. You never said.’

‘I didn’t think I had to. Wasn’t it obvious?’

‘But I told you I wasn’t gay,’ she said.

‘Why would I think you’re gay?’

‘Well, how did you plan to have a relationship with me if I’m not gay?’

‘Who says I want a relationship with you?!’

‘What is it, then? Just for the sex?’

‘Faith! I don’t want to have sex with you!’

‘Then how am I replacing you with Frederick?’

And like that, the penny dropped. ‘You? And Frederick? You and Frederick? You and Frederick are having sex? Fred, and you? Sex?’

‘Close your mouth, dear heart, you’re most unattractive right now.’

My best friend and my ex-flatmate were having an affair. How was that possible? Faith was way too demanding. She based her future on things like chiropody and food intolerances. And Frederick. Well. ‘Fred? How is this possible? You’re gay.’ I wasn’t sure why I was whispering. Surely it wouldn’t come as a shock to him. Or her. Could he be bi? A tiny part of my mind accepted that this might be the case, but then the rest of it bullied, shouting, ‘Can elephants fly? No. Therefore he is gay.’ End of debate. I won.

‘I’m not gay, B. I keep telling you that. You never listen.’ He was huffy.

‘He’s not gay, B.’ Faith grinned, jumping to her man’s defence. ‘Trust me. I knew from the first time I met him that he was straight. And that I liked him. A lot.’

I had to admit that when they groped like that, he did seem pretty straight. ‘Okay. Let’s assume for the moment that you’re not gay. You’re really together? As in boyfriend and girlfriend?’ The moment my back was turned.