Gimme More (29 page)

She was sitting very straight and tall. Her face was pale and as hard as china.

There was only one thing left to lie about. Alec said, ‘Oh Jesus Christ, Grace. I'm only a guy who wanted a job. I had no idea I'd feel this way.' That was true – he'd had no idea he'd be standing on the rim of a chasm with his teeth wobbling and his leg half broken.

‘I've had ten jobs since I left college,' he said, ‘and it's been hard. I wound up at Memo Movies on a trial. They're making a film about Jack. I was just trying to get myself noticed. I was visiting all the Jack web-sites when I met you. You seemed to know everything so I hung on to you. I didn't know who you were. I didn't know I'd feel this way about you.'

‘And how's that exactly?'

‘Grace, I …' Maybe this was the question he'd been avoiding all his life. His head felt like a toybox: he was scrabbling about, looking for something at the bottom, couldn't find it.

‘Well?'

‘Grace, I … I just want to be close to you,' he said desperately. ‘I want to be part of your life.'

Miracle. For a split second it looked as if the china mask might melt.

‘What about your girlfriend?' she said, bone-hard again.

This time, his mind, like anxious hands, searched his hard disc. What had she seen? What had he written?

He shrugged hopelessly.

Grace and Birdie exchanged one of those terrifying, wordless female glances.

‘I don't know what to say,' he cried. ‘I lied to her too. I said I was on a management course. I'll have to tell her, whatever happens here. I can't go on with her any more. Not since you.'

It felt true and untrue. His girlfriend was safe, and part of him would've given anything to be safe right now. Another part of him knew that she was from the lumpen past.

He fastened on to the bit that felt true. He said, ‘I've never met anyone like you before. I didn't know I could feel … this way. I think you've … changed me.'

Grace looked at Birdie again. She said, ‘Do you believe him?'

Birdie, in her red robe, detached and almost judicial, said, ‘Hard to say, sugar. You must make up your own mind. Sometimes they luck into the right words. Sometimes they believe them – that's what makes it so hard. He seems to believe himself, but Grace, that doesn't mean that what he says is true.'

‘Well, I think I believe him.'

‘But remember, he came into this house like a spy. He courted you, cultivated you with
his own ambition
in mind. You were a convenience, a means to an end.'

‘It's true,' Alec blurted out, ‘but I …'

‘He kept it going,' Birdie went on, implacable. ‘You have to ask yourself, would he
ever
have come clean if you hadn't rumbled him?'

‘I've been going crazy,' Alec said, to Birdie. ‘In the last few days I felt I was splitting apart. I didn't know what to do. But, Grace, you've read my last e to Mr Freel – you can see I was trying to find a way to make him back off.'

Grace looked at Birdie again.
‘That's
true, isn't it?' she said.

‘Yes, but why, baby?'

‘Why, Alec?'

‘Because …' This was the big one, this was where you were expected to expose your throat. ‘Because what I was doing was wrong. Not just to you, Grace, although that was the worst. I was doing wrong to all of you.' He turned to Birdie again. ‘They said you were a bitch … a sort of monster. Like you aren't really human. So, at first I thought it was a sort of game. But they were wrong, and I'm so, so sorry.'

Grace said, ‘Don't you believe him?'

‘Believe what? That Sasson and Barry told him I was a bitch? Yes, I believe that. That he thought it was all a game? Yes, that too. That he's so, so sorry? Grace, honey, you have to think very carefully before you believe a guy who says he's sorry.'

God, she was hard. Alec felt his eyes and nose running again. That's what always happens when you apologise, he thought. They throw it back in your teeth. He tried to wipe his nose on his T-shirt.

Grace said, ‘Well, I've thought about it and I believe him. I'm going to give him a cup of tea.'

Oh you little angel, Alec thought. You
do
like me. You really do.

‘Get him an ice pack while you're about it,' Birdie said languidly. ‘Unless you'd still prefer to give him an ice
pick.'

‘I
am
doing the right thing, aren't I?'

‘Only you can say,' Birdie said. ‘Only time will tell. It's a hung jury, but it's your vote which counts.'

Blag your way in, Alec thought, and then …

‘One piece of advice,' Birdie said to Grace,
‘before
you give him anything more than a cup of tea, if you want to know where he's coming from, make him take you to Hull to see his mother.'

Oh shit, shit, shit, Alec thought. He could feel himself blushing. ‘Stanmore, actually,' he said.

‘You see,' Birdie said, as if he hadn't spoken, ‘with relationships, you take things on faith which no way would you take on faith in business. If you don't want to get burned again, check his references. It's only fair. He's already checked yours – in fucking spades.'

Grace looked at Alec.

‘OK,' he said reluctantly.

‘Tomorrow? I mean today?'

‘I suppose.'

‘Now
you can give him an ice pack,' Birdie said. ‘And Grace, if you're satisfied and you still want him after you've seen his mum, between us we might be able to come up with a plan to rescue his job. Because, as of this moment, he's lost all his points with Sasson
and Barry, as well as with you. He's an embarrassment, and they won't be as kind as you when they find out.'

‘You're not going to make me quit?' Alec said in surprise. Mentally, he was already on his way to the job centre.

‘Do you want to?' Grace asked.

Key question. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘They lied to me … about your aunt.'

‘They manipulated you,' Birdie said, looking directly at him, the dazzling blue eyes almost pinning him to the wall. ‘What do you expect in show business? But if you have a choice, my advice to
you
would be don't quit from a position of weakness. Wait till you're strong and then flounce. Whether you have a choice or not depends on Grace. I'm going to bed.'

It was as if the spotlight had been switched off and he was left in the warmer, dimmer glow of Grace's hazel eyes. He sat down, carefully, and buried his face in his hands.

Now what? Exposed, humiliated, hurt. He should be toast. Why wasn't he toast? Because Grace saved him? No. Birdie
allowed
Grace to save his ass. Why? What for?

Ah. Alec saw a glimmer of light flicker across his screen. Game over? I don't think so – there's the double game to consider, the double infiltrator, the double agent. There's information and then there's misinformation. She
must
have thought of that.

And if she hasn't, Alec thought, I'll score points by suggesting it myself.

Blackened redfish with some étouffée and jambalaya on the side, complementing the sweet potato – hog heaven. Junior gazed at his plate in ecstasy. On stage were Eddie LeJeune and the Morse Playboys – another rare treat. On the dance-floor some of the best Cajun dancers in the city were executing the fancy footwork and controlled mayhem which went with the music. Traditional Cajun alive and kickin', Junior thought. Alive and cookin', he added, piling a little of everything on to his fork.

‘You can't do better than Mulate's,'. he said, through the starburst of flavours.

Barry Stears nodded. ‘Perhaps a little spicy,' he said, cautiously prodding the bulging area under his rib-cage, preparing it for invading enemies.

Junior did the arithmetic: good music to listen to, plus good food to taste, plus good dancers to watch, minus Barry to deal with, equals … Well, even with Barry alongside, he still came out ahead. Especially when Barry was picking up the tab.

‘Where were we?' Barry asked.

‘You're making a TV programme about Jack and you want to interview me. For a fee.'

‘Right,' Barry said, mashing étouffée into his potato. ‘How does that sound?'

‘Fair enough,' Junior said. ‘As long as it's here in N.O. – I don't want to travel, man. They're making the planes too small and they won't let you smoke. And as long as we talk about the music – I
won't do the gossip. And as long as the fee's cool. I'll have to ask Sandrine.'

‘I'm particularly interested in
Hard Candy.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Not just the album,' Barry said. ‘You went to the Caribbean, didn't you, when they were doing the demos?'

‘Yeah, six weeks. We worked most nights and slept most days. I didn't come home with much of a tan.'

‘What do you remember about it?'

For a moment Junior held his loaded fork suspended between plate and mouth. ‘Making do,' he said. ‘It wasn't a proper studio – we had to build a lot of it ourselves. There were people everywhere – wives, friends, girlfriends, kids off the beach. Sometimes they'd have the kids singing and playing too. Dustbin lids and spoons. Nice stuff, lots of fire and invention.'

‘And a film crew?'

‘Yeah, a handful of young guys. It was a mess, but we got the job done.'

Barry reached into his inside pocket and pulled out an envelope which he placed next to Junior's plate.

‘What's this?' Junior asked.

‘Photographs. I wonder if you'd look at them and tell me if you think they were taken then.'

Reluctantly, Junior put down his fork and examined eight rather sludgy colour stills – Jack and Birdie playing in the surf, Jack and Birdie sharing a hammock, Jack on a shady veranda rolling a joint.

‘Yes, look – that's the studio,' he said. ‘See what it was like? Jerry-built. No proper sound-proofing. Where did you get these?'

‘They're stills from the movie,' Barry said.

‘What movie? Oh,
that
movie. Is this the thing Teddy came to see me about?'

‘It might be,' Barry said, collecting up the photographs and restoring them to his pocket. ‘For a long time I thought it'd been destroyed.'

Junior looked at Barry, taking in his tailoring and trendy tie, so tight-assed and out of place among the jeans and epigrammatic T-shirts. He realised for the first time that Barry wasn't drinking. Uh-oh,
hassle. He said, ‘Look, I told Teddy – I never saw the movie, and Birdie never stored anything with me.'

‘No, no, old man,' Barry said. ‘I know that. We're a few steps further on now. I'm only here to persuade you to participate. You were pivotal to the most important recordings.'

‘Yeah, I was, wasn't I?' Junior said, taking a long swig of beer.

‘It's a serious programme we're making – an evaluation – about the times, the innovations, influences. How that unique sound came about, its impact on the present day.'

‘Sounds OK to me,' Junior said. ‘Just as long as it doesn't turn into a hatchet job. There's been too much said … y'know, personally.'

‘Absolutely not,' Barry said. ‘I know you've remained friends with Birdie, and I respect that. I wish I could say the same – after all Jack was my very best friend and I would've liked to have stayed in touch with her after his death. Maybe if things had been different I could have helped her – stopped her going off the rails.'

Junior took refuge in the food. Good food represented comfort in times of stress.

‘I'm still hoping I can prevail upon her to contribute. But I'm not holding my breath. And I'm not asking you to use your influence either.'

‘That's good,' Junior said, “cos I ain't got none to use.' He was relieved to see that even if Barry wasn't emptying his glass, at least he was clearing his plate.

‘I was wondering,' Barry said, ‘it's a long shot, I know, but did you keep any of the production notes?'

‘For
Hard Candy?
'

‘For instance.'

‘The record company kept all those.'

‘I mean what you did in Antigua. For the demo. There was stuff on the demo which didn't appear on the album, wasn't there?'

‘Sure. Some of it came out on the next album. But I wasn't involved with that.'

‘I know,' Barry said, ‘and I've never understood why.'

‘Lots of reasons. Everyone fighting. Anyway, Jack wanted to produce himself. He'd got so's he thought everyone was trying to
take things away from him, bend him out of shape. I couldn't deal with it. I came here.'

Barry nodded in approval. ‘I can see why. But it'd be useful, for the purposes of our programme, if you could remember what was on the Antigua tapes. We'd like to be able to reconstruct the decision-making process – why certain songs were on
Hard Candy,
why others were held over for
Hard Time.
If you kept production notes it'd be a great help.'

‘Mmm,' Junior said. ‘I don't know, man. I could go through my records, see what I still got.'

‘Good,' Barry said. ‘That's all I ask.'

‘It was a long time ago.'

‘Don't I know it,' Barry said, petulance creeping into his voice. ‘I've been talking to the guys – Teddy, Wills, Goff – trying to reconstruct what you all did in Antigua. Do you know, none of them remembers the same things.'

‘I'm not surprised, man,' Junior said. ‘There was a bucket-load of mood-enhancing substances floatin' around.'

Barry sighed. ‘God, I wish I'd been there.
I'd
have kept accurate records. Stoned musos are a historian's worst nightmare. That's why notes would be a godsend – anything you've got in black and white. I'd be prepared to pay generously for them.' He leaned towards Junior, suddenly confidential. ‘There's something else,' he said. ‘There are other film companies on the prowl and I don't want anyone but Memo Movies to talk to you. As I say, I'll pay very generously for any help you can give me, but it must be exclusive help. Is that clear?'