Strings Attached (16 page)

She smiled now as they took their seats in the concert hall. She remembered falling off the drainpipe once and landing in a heap at Paul’s feet. It had been raining, she was covered in mud and her arm hurt like Hell. But, Paul had helped her up and they had run down the road towards his motorbike before her parents came out of the house to see what the noise was about.

They’d gone to see a band that night, some awful student indie band at the college. They hadn’t played a chord in tune the whole evening. In the end, during the interval, Paul and his band mates had invaded the stage and taken over the instruments to play their music. They had been amazing and were so well received, the original band never made it back on. She’d had the hangover to end all hangovers the next day courtesy of
Dry Blackthorn and blackcurrant
.

George held onto the ring on the chain around her neck and looked at Marisa’s radiant face. She was so excited about seeing the concert. She was sat on the very edge of her seat now, looking around at the other people in the VIP section, enjoying every second of the experience.

George smoothed her hands down her jeans. They were so gorgeous she didn’t know whether she would ever wear any of the other twenty five pairs again. Quinn obviously had good taste. Either that or his personal shopper did. She didn’t want to think about that. She hoped he had chosen them. But she wasn’t really that naive.

‘Look at the people standing down there? Don’t they look squashed and like really uncomfortable. Don’t we have like the best view?’ Marisa exclaimed, looking at George.

‘We certainly do,’ George agreed.

‘Oh.
My.
God! It’s her! Taylor Ferraro! Look!’ Marisa blurted out loudly as she looked to the door into the VIP area of the seating.

George’s blood ran cold, but she quickly turned her head in the same direction as Marisa, to catch a look. A tall, very thin, blonde
-
haired girl in her twenties was being escorted to a seat by Quinn’s PA Michael.

‘That’s Quinn’s fiancée?’ George found herself asking as she watched the woman move along the row nearer to them.

‘Yeah. She’s like so pretty isn’t she? I wish I looked like her,’ Marisa said with an appreciative sigh.

‘She doesn’t look like she eats much,’ George remarked unable to draw her eyes away from the actress.

‘Well no, they don’t do they? People like that, you know, celebrities. She’s probably on the new pea and apple diet,’ Marisa answered knowledgeably.

George continued to watch as Michael and Taylor sat down about ten seats away. She let out a grateful breath; the last thing she wanted was to have to sit next to her. Seeing her in the flesh made her real. She was going to marry Quinn. She was here. There would be no night of passion in his hotel room, or anywhere else. Well, not for her anyway. She swallowed and looked back to the stage, as the lights began to dim. She felt huge disappointment, like a shine had been taken off the evening. Had their one night together really been just that? One night.

The drummer began to bang out a beat; the other musicians joined in and then, descending on a platform from the roof of the stage, came Quinn playing an electric violin. The crowd went wild. Marisa started screaming at the top of her voice and George watched him, as he greeted the crowd and began to belt out a class
ical version of one of his well-
known hits. The light show was amazing, with explosions and strobes flickering, as the dancers pulsated to the beat. Marisa stood up and already the eye liner was making a break for freedom.

George glanced across at Taylor Ferraro and watched her as she slipped a nail file out of her designer handbag. She looked intently at her fingers and began to shape and buff them.

Quinn was a born performer. Apart from being something of a musical genius, he was also adept at crowd pleasing. He enchanted them with his musicality, his voice and his moves. George was certain every member of the audience had just experienced the best night of their lives.

Marisa’s face was awash with tears and make
-
up and her voice was now as husky as a forty
-
a
-
day smoker, because of all the screaming she had done.

‘...
and now a song that was only written a couple of days ago, by a very talented musician called Adam Fraser. It’s going to be on my new album and it’s called ‘Sunrise’,’ Quinn announced through the microphone.

George felt like her heart was going to burst with pride.
A
thousand people had heard Adam’s name, heard he had written a song with Quinn Blake. She looked over at Marisa and the young girl screamed at the top of her voice.

‘I know Adam Fraser! He’s like my best friend!’

Belch began the song and then Quinn started to sing, his voice soft and soulful. It was a beautiful melody with moving lyrics. George immediately recognised the section Adam had written. He had a certain style when it came to composition that was uniquely him.

She clapped along with the audience, as Quinn encouraged everyone to join in. She could just envisage Adam’s excitement when she told him about this. He would be made up.

The song came to an end and the audience applauded, screamed and made noise any way they could to signify their appreciation. George and Marisa rose to their feet and clapped excitedly, as Quinn and his band accepted the adoration.

George looked over at Taylor, expecting immense animation from her, but instead she was checking her Blackberry, looking bored. Michael, on the other hand, was clapping loudly and yelling ‘bravo’ as loud as he could, hair flopping in front of his face; smile as broad as a wide chasm.

Taylor had just sat through an amazing concert, that had moved everyone in the hall, and she looked like she would rather be somewhere else.

‘We’d better go and get changed and get ready with the platters,’ George said, looking at her watch and returning to work mode.

‘Oh! But we’ve got backstage passes. Can’t we go backstage? I bet they have really cool dressing rooms and like loads of lilies and M&Ms,’ Marisa remarked reluctant for her adventure to end.

‘I don’t want to leave your mum for too long. She’s already had to do all the setting up,’ George reminded.

‘She won’t mind and Curly Shirley should be there by now. Please! Pretty please!’ Marisa begged, putting her teeth together and grimacing like a desperate toddler.

‘Alright. One look backstage but then we’re going straight to the function room,’ George told her.

‘Yay!’ Marisa said, jumping up and down.

The silly bitch had arrived and he couldn’t have been more pissed off. This was Roger’s doing. He had got a sniff of something from one of the hired help
s
and he had flown in Taylor to keep tabs on him. This was the shape of things to come for him. He knew that and he hated it. But he couldn’t do anything about it. Not if he wanted to keep the life he knew. He wanted George more than ever, especially now he knew he couldn’t have her tonight. Well, he shouldn’t have her, but maybe there was still a chance. He just needed to charm Taylor the way he knew he could.

Backstage wasn’t exactly the glamorous setting Marisa had envisaged. The narrow corridors of
the Hexagon
’s behind the scenes area were full of equipment and people rushing from one end of the corridor to the other, shouting instructions and asking where certain people were. George felt very out of place and was beginning to wish she hadn’t given in to Marisa’s demands.

‘Oh.
My.
God. There’s Belch! Can we go and speak to him? I’ve got a camera; can you take a picture of us?’ Marisa squeaked as she noticed the guitarist about to head into a dressing room.

‘OK, quick then! Before he goes into his room,’ George said, propelling Marisa down the corridor.

‘BELCH!’ Marisa screamed at the top of her voice, bringing him to an immediate standstill.

‘Man, that’s an enthusiastic greeting,’ he said, turning to greet them before letting out a trademark burp.

‘Can I - I mean like - could I
-
we
...
’ Marisa began, awestruck and lost for words.

‘She’d like a photo with you,’ George informed, waving the camera.

‘Sure babe,’ Belch said, slipping his arm around Marisa, much to her very obvious delight.

For once the guitarist was smiling. George wasn’t sure she had ever seen him smile before. He still looked completely unkempt, but a smile definitely improved him.

George took the photo and then the door of Belch’s dressing room burst open and Quinn came out. He was sweating from the show and was wiping at his neck with a towel.

‘Oh.
My.
God. George, take a picture of me and Quinn, please, please,’ Marisa said excite
dly as she flashed a much practis
ed smile at the pop star.

George was staring at Quinn and Quinn was looking back at her. It was as if there was no one else there.

‘George! Photo!’ Marisa repeated in annoyed tones.

‘Sorry,’ George responded hurriedly.

Quinn joined Belch in putting an arm around Marisa and all three of them smiled for the shot.

‘Belch, why don’t you show Marisa around. It is Marisa isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Marisa said her eyes glazing over with admiration.

‘Get her a drink or something and maybe some of that great candy,’ Quinn suggested not taking his eyes from George.

‘Vodka?’ Marisa asked hopefully.

‘I don’t think so,’ George answered sternly.

‘I’ll look after her,’ Belch insisted, slipping his arm around Marisa and hugging her to him.

The guitarist seemed positively ecstatic to be Marisa’s escort. George hoped he wasn’t high.

‘Ten minutes and I’m coming to look for you,’ George warned as Marisa bounced up the corridor hanging onto the tassels on Belch’s leather jacket.

Quinn waited until they were out of sight and then opened the door of the dressing room.

‘In here,’ he ordered.

Without saying anything George entered the room. It was certainly not the tranquil, flower and chocolate filled environment Marisa had spoken of. There were half a dozen guitars stood around the room and clothes lying on every available space. She was just deciding whether to find somewhere to sit when Quinn spun her around and kissed her hard on the mouth.

He was hot from the show, his t-shirt was wet but he tasted so good. He backed her up against the wall, his hands in hers, pressing them against the paintwork as he kissed her neck.

She let him kiss her, enjoying every tiny sensation of his mouth on her skin. She released her hands and moved them underneath his t-shirt, touching the taut stomach and the smooth, hairless chest. She pulled the top over his head and looked at him, willing him to know what she wanted to do.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and George froze, her heart flying up to her mouth.

‘Yeah?’ Quinn called his hand on the belt of George’s jeans.

They both watched the door, waiting for something to happen. The door handle moved down but then sprang back up. Thankfully, it had locked.

‘Is Belch there? He’s needed for an interview,’ the voice called through the barrier.

‘Try Quinn Blake’s dressing room,’ Quinn replied, muffling his voice with his hand.

‘Thanks,’ the voice replied.

George was still holding her breath. Only when she knew they were safe, did she finally let it out and let go of Quinn.

‘Hey, it’s OK. Door’s locked, no drama,’ Quinn stated, holding her hand.

‘I saw Taylor,’ George said, straightening her top and smoothing down her hair.

‘I know. I didn’t know she was coming here, she just turned up this afternoon.’

‘Look, I’d better go and find Marisa before she steals away in a tour bus or something,’ George said, heading for the door.

‘You’re wearing the jeans,’ Quinn remarked.

‘Yes, they’re beautiful. Your personal shopper has great taste,’ George replied with a smile.

‘My what? Are you kidding me? I had Zara open at 8.00am for me. If I could have made it to D&G and back I would have,’ Quinn told her.

‘Oh,’ George answered feeling bad.

‘I ran my hands over at least a dozen pairs before I found these,’ Quinn said, pulling her back to him by the waistband.

‘I have to go.’

‘I won’t let you,’ he stated firmly.

‘I have to, I’ve got a party to run. Your party.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Quinn said, looking at her seriously.

‘Tonight was fantastic. Your music, your performance, well I’m so glad you showed me that. I can see your passion on that stage, how driven you are. Spending another night with you would have been amazing, but things change and Taylor’s here. And, you’re going to Manchester tomorrow,’ George reminded him.