Fix You (4 page)

PS: There’s these strange things
called libraries …

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: I’d rather read yours

Seriously.

Richard x

Hanna smiled at the kiss on the last email as she logged off. All in
all, today was turning out to be a good day…a really, really good day.

THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY, Hanna found
herself in the backstage area of the University’s concert hall, pushing her way
through the packed corridors. They were teaming with rock bands, comedians, and
variety acts, all vying for dressing space.

As the headliners, Fatal Limits had been
given their own room, set apart from the rest of the performers. Hanna pushed
her way inside and she could see that at least one of the band was already
taking advantage of having a groupie following.

A whisper in the corner of her ear sent a
shiver down her spine. “Ever since we got signed, the rest of the band seems to
have become animals.”

She turned around to see Tom McLean
standing right behind her. He gave her a lopsided grin, and then pulled her
into his arms, his hands locking around her waist as he hugged her.

In the two months since they last met, Tom’s
life had taken a 180-degree turn for the better. Fatal Limits had been signed
by a small, independent label who were working hard to build up the band’s
reputation. Step one of that plan was sending them on a tour of British
universities, aiming to develop a strong student following for the band,
enabling them to release their album to a pre-existing fan base.

“Look at you, Tom.” Hanna pulled at his
hair, noticing how it had been expensively trimmed, his sandy locks still
falling slightly onto his forehead, but somehow looking more groomed. “You’ve
gone all Chris Martin on me.”

Tom hugged her tighter. His face was
touching hers, and he murmured into her ear. “If you compare us to Coldplay in
your article, I’ll stuff the magazine down your beautiful neck.”

“If you insist on playing
Yellow
, I’ll
have no other option.”

“If I insist on playing
Yellow
, you’ll
melt at my feet, just like you did last time.”

Hanna pulled back from Tom, turning to look
up at him with her brows raised.

“Seriously? You think I was impressed by a
Coldplay cover?”

“I don’t think it’s my singing that
impresses you. I suspect it’s my body.”

Hanna started laughing and hit him on the
arm.

“Mind the guitar arm!”

“Haven’t you got it insured yet?” Hanna put
out her hand and rubbed at his bicep, surprised by how hard it was. The boy had
clearly been working out.

“I’m working on it. Apparently, Keith
Richards insured his arm for $3 million.”

“Well, Keith Richards is an idiot. And
probably has a small cock, too.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that I don’t
have that problem. Maybe I can show you later?”

“Maybe you can keep it zipped in your
pants, or find a willing groupie.” Hanna pushed him away, taking her notepad
out. “We’re on the record now, so if you want to continue being a sleaze-ball,
feel free.” She winked at him to let him know she was only kidding. His
flirting was automatic, he couldn’t help but do it to every girl he spoke with.
It was part of his natural charm.

“Okay, Lester Bangs, we can do the sex
thing later. What’s your first question?” Tom gave her a slow, easy grin. He
looked like he was enjoying himself.

Hanna rolled her eyes, pulling her pen out
of her pocket as she turned over the page of her notebook.

“My first question, Tom Mclean, lead singer
of the up and coming rock band Fatal Limits, is ‘when did you become such a
dick?’”

Four

December 4
^th
2000

A
fter everything that had happened last year,
Hanna couldn’t believe she had agreed to visit with her father in New York.
He’d called her in November, suggesting a change to their usual routine.
Neither of them was keen to meet in Val D’Isere for Christmas. Within a couple
of hours he arranged for his secretary to book Hanna on a flight to JFK. This
whirlwind of activity had taken Hanna by surprise. She was too gobsmacked to
think of an excuse. She did allow herself a small smile when she thought about
her stepmother’s reaction to the news of her visit.

She was hoping to see some bands play while she was in New
York—that thought made the trip seem more bearable. The New York music scene
was scorching. She was looking forward to feeling a bit of the heat. Since
joining the university magazine in October, Hanna was the paper’s regular rock
reporter. In between her writing, she managed to fit in lectures, tutorials,
and assignments. It had been a busy few months.

Just like that, Hanna had discovered her first love: music
journalism.

Not that she felt like a journalist right then; sitting in
the back of the car her father sent to pick her up. She felt like a scared
little girl being dragged to see the principal because she’d done something
wrong.

“We’re here, Miss Vincent.” The driver’s voice brought Hanna
back to the present. He pulled up outside her father’s office near Wall Street.
Her forehead wrinkled in surprise. It was a long time since she had been to New
York to visit her father, five years at least. Only once had he taken her to
see his office.

“My father wants me to be dropped off here?” She could hear
the confusion in her own voice. God only knew what the driver thought.

“Yes, I’m to take your luggage back to the townhouse. Give
your name at the security desk, and they’ll let him know you’re here.”

Hanna nodded, shuffling over to the door and pulling at the
handle. She wasn’t going to wait for the driver to get out and open it.

“Well, thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem, Miss Vincent. Welcome to New York.”

Welcome indeed. As soon as the car door opened, Hanna’s ears
were assaulted with the noise of the streets. Humming engines punctuated the
air along with the staccato pumping of horns. The drumming of a road compactor
a couple of blocks down accompanied the constant drone of voices as she was
suddenly surrounded by people milling about the sidewalk. The sights and sounds
of London seemed like mere whispers compared to this. The height of the
buildings, and the closed-in feeling that they gave her as she walked along,
took her breath away.

To her left, the twin towers of the World Trade Center
loomed over the financial district, like two sentinels standing guard over New
York Harbor. Hanna couldn’t help but be impressed by their stature. She decided
then and there that she’d definitely make a trip up to see the observation deck
at some point during her visit. The view over the Atlantic Ocean on one side
and Manhattan on the other had to be impressive from there.

Tearing her eyes away, she walked the five yards to the
office building, which housed the company her father co-owned. When she got to
the security desk, she gave the guard her name and waited for somebody to come
and collect her. The foyer reeked of money; the marble floor was pristine, as
if it was being constantly buffed by an invisible army, and all of the
furniture was high end.

“Hanna?” She was shocked to see her father was the one who
had come to meet her. She was so sure it was going to be one of his minions,
maybe an intern or something.

“Hi Dad.” She allowed herself to be hugged by him. His dark
grey hair was perfectly arranged as usual, his suit well cut and fitted.

“How was your flight? Did you get here all right?” They
walked through the security turnstile and over to the elevator bank. When the
elevator arrived, Philip pushed the button to take them to the fourth floor.
Vincent-Jones took up the entire floor, with the best offices reserved for her
father and his partner.

“The flight was fine. It was nice to travel in first class.
Thank you for paying.”

“You’re welcome. I just need to make a couple of phone
calls, and then we can go and get something to eat.” They’d reached his
secretary’s desk. The blonde sat there looked up at Hanna with interest.

Hanna assumed she was probably trying to work out how this disheveled
eighteen-year-old, wearing ripped jeans, a band tee, and a wrinkled black
jacket, could possibly be related to Philip Vincent.

It was something Hanna often wondered herself.

“Can I get you anything, Miss Vincent? A coffee, something
to eat perhaps?”

“I’m fine. I’ll just sit here and wait.”

Ten minutes later, her father walked out of his office,
pulling a smart, black, woolen coat around his shoulders.

“I won’t be coming back today, Grace,” he said to his blonde
secretary as he passed by her desk. “If anything urgent comes up, call me on
the cell phone. Otherwise I’ll check my emails tonight.”

“Of course, Mr. Vincent, have a good evening. Good night, Miss
Vincent.” Grace gave her a small nod as Hanna stood to join her father.

This was all getting a bit surreal. First of all, he had
invited her over to his home in New York, something he hadn’t done for a number
of years. Then he had taken off early from work, just to spend some time with
her. She could guarantee this was something he had never done before.

Anyone would have thought he was feeling guilty.

“I thought we could get an early dinner, then I’ll take you
home and you can catch up with Olivia and your sisters.”

Oh Joy.

“Sounds good.” Hanna smiled at her father for the first time
in two years. “But I’m not really dressed for dinner.”

“We’ll hit a diner.”

“In that case,
you’re
not really dressed for dinner.”
Perhaps this entente cordiale could last for longer than five minutes. Hanna
was still skeptical.

“Don’t sweat it. Half of Wall Street will be eating there.”

“Okay.” She bit back her original retort, where she had been
about to ask him who he was and what he had done with her father. She didn’t want
to do anything to spoil the moment.

When they were seated, Philip ordered a Reuben and Hanna
opted for a burger. As they sipped at their drinks, she searched vainly around
in her brain to find something neutral to talk about. Luckily her father got there
first.

“This place is my guilty secret. Olivia would kill me if she
could see me now. She thinks ‘diner’ is short for ‘cholesterol dining.’” Philip
swallowed a mouthful of sandwich, picking up his glass of root beer to chase it
down.

“I guess you’ll have to bribe me for my silence, then.” She
still felt weird, sitting with her father, having a grown up conversation. Her
mouth was almost aching with the need to ask him why he was doing this.

“I’ll give you my Saks’ Fifth Avenue charge card. It seems
to work with all the rest of the women in my life.”

“S’okay. I don’t expect Saks will stock my taste in clothes,
anyway.” She mumbled, starting to rip at the napkin she had placed in her lap.

Philip’s eyes softened, as he saw her sad expression.

“I never got to tell you how sorry I was about last year. I
know that Olivia and I didn’t treat you as well as we should have, and I know
that I neglect you sometimes. I’m not going to go into all the reasons why it’s
hard for me, and I’m certainly not going to talk about how difficult things
have been between your mother and me. But I’m going to try, okay? I’m going to
do my best to be a better father.”

Hanna couldn’t meet his eyes. “Okay.”

She looked down at her burger, picking it up and taking a
huge bite, glad to have a diversion. No matter what her father said, or did, or
tried to do, there was always a little part of her that would doubt him. Hanna
wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to change that.

ON HER SECOND DAY in New York, she
took a trip to Columbia University to meet Richard Larsen for coffee. Since
October, she had been exchanging emails with him regularly. When she told him
she was coming to Manhattan, he suggested a meet-up.

It was a clear, bitterly cold day, and Hanna decided to take
a hike up to the academic acropolis of Morningside Heights. When she got there,
she spotted Richard standing on the steps, his blue woolen pea coat buttoned up
to the top, a striped scarf hooked around his neck. Hanna stopped for a moment,
feeling suddenly shy. Should she go and hug him, or would he be expecting a
pretentious air kiss? Maybe a handshake would suffice.

Then he saw her, and his face erupted into a huge smile. All
thoughts of embarrassment left her mind, and she ran over to him, throwing her
arms around him. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you.”

Richard hugged her tightly. “It’s great to see you, too.”

“Thank you so much for meeting me. I’m so happy to see a
friendly face.”

“I was going to suggest we hang out on the Low Steps, but it’s
way too cold. Let’s go get a coffee in the diner instead.” Throwing an arm
around her shoulder, he pulled her to his side as they started to walk.  “There’s
a coffee shop in the library, but I thought you might like Tom’s Restaurant
better.”

“Why’s that?” Hanna asked.

“You’ll see.” Richard started humming under his breath as
they walked down the street, so quietly that Hanna couldn’t quite hear the
tune.

As soon as they turned the corner onto Broadway, she
realized what he was singing.

“Hey! That’s
Tom’s Diner
from that Suzanne Vega
video.” The corners of Hanna’s mouth turned up as she looked at the stone and
glass façade. “I love that song.”

Richard took her hand and pulled her through the open door.
The warmth of the diner contrasted sharply with the freezing outside air.

“You know, this is the second time in two days I’ve been in
a diner.”

“Welcome to New York.”

“Can I get you a drink?” The waitress asked, putting napkins
down on the table.

Richard glanced up. “I’ll take a coffee.”

“Could you make that two, please?” Hanna added, watching the
waitress as she walked over to the filter machine.

“So, how’s the visit going?” Richard asked.

“Okay, I guess. We’re both trying our hardest not to
antagonize each other. It’s easier said than done sometimes.”

“In what way?”

Hanna sat back and took a sip of coffee, the hot liquid
warming her mouth. She scrunched her face up in concentration. “I suppose we’re
walking on eggshells. We’re not really being ourselves, in case we upset each
other. And then, when I do say something that reveals the real me, it’s like he
reverts back to type. Last night I was telling him that I want to go to see a
band on Thursday night, just so I can write about it for the paper, and he
started to go off on one. He was shouting that I was underage, that I couldn’t
be seen in a drinking establishment, and that I didn’t have an escort, so I’m
not allowed to go.”

“But you’re going anyway?”

“Damn right I am.” Hanna caught his eye. “There’s an
unsigned band I really want to see. They’re a regular at the Mercury Lounge.
Could be the next big thing.”

“I kind of understand where your dad is coming from. It
probably isn’t safe for an eighteen-year-old to be wandering around Manhattan
late at night.”

“I wander around late at night all the time at home.” Hanna
shrugged.

“It’s not the same.” Richard looked at her over his coffee
mug, the steam rising up to obscure his view. “A quaint town in England isn’t
exactly Gotham City.”

“Well, Bruce Wayne, I think I’ll take my chances.” The tone
of her voice echoed the finality of her words.

“What if I came with you?”

“You’d do that?” She put her empty coffee cup down at the
table and scrutinized him. Everything about him screamed money; from his
buttoned down blue Oxford shirt, open at the neck, revealing a hint of chest
hair, to his navy pants. She wondered if he knew how out of place he would look
at the Mercury Lounge.

She shrugged inwardly. It was a risk she was willing to take
if it meant she could go to the gig, and keep her father happy.

“Sure. I don’t think I’ve ever been there before.” He spoke
as if his offer wasn’t a big deal.

“So what should I do for you in return?” Hanna’s cheeks
flamed as soon as the words escaped her lips. She hadn’t meant to sound quite
so provocative.

Richard nearly spat his coffee out of his mouth.

She looked at him with narrowing eyes. “I was offering you,
as a friend, the opportunity to have something in return. I don’t see what’s
funny about that.”