Bad Boy Rock Star (17 page)

I glared at him through narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, well I'm not interested in you either." He folded his arms, practically snarling at me.

"Fine."

"Fine."

With that, the cab pulled up and I drove away.

I punched the dashboard of the cab and screamed. The cab driver stole glances at me, thinking he had a crazy girl in his cab.  Jack bloody infuriating Colt.  I could kill him.

I'd given
the cab driver my address but, when I got over my punching fit, I changed my mind. I'd still not heard back from Angie, so I searched in the bag for my phone. I pulled everything out of that bag, my manky old clothes and all, but I couldn't find that phone. I must've left it in Jack's bedroom, along with the dirty tissues. That gave me a small buzz, to think of all those tissues sitting around when he took that nasty woman to his bed.

I'd go to Angie's place and try to talk things over with her.
When I explained, she'd be cool with everything, surely.

As if to make things worse, it started raining.
I watched the drops splat on the window of the cab as the world outside refracted through them. The other day, when Jack had caressed my hair, I'd felt safe, like there was someone in this horrible world looking out for me but now, once again, I felt alone. Who did I have? Not my father, obviously. Not Jack. Not Angie, unless I made things right with her. I'd had so many friends once. People practically begging me to hang out with them, to go to their parties, to date them. Even then, I'd known it meant nothing. I saw them turn on anyone who wore the wrong clothes or had the wrong haircut. I'd been the same. I didn't even think anything of cutting someone who'd committed a slight transgression. We were an exclusive club and you had to know the rules to belong or it wouldn't be exclusive any more, obviously. Now I'd become a university dropout with a very dubious income, a shitty room and maybe three decent outfits, sitting in a cab, trying not to drown in self-pity.

When the cab pulled up, I put my bag on my head to protect myself from the rain and ran to Angie's building.

"What do you want?" she asked when she answered the door. She stood with one hand on the door as though she'd pull it shut any minute.

"Can we talk?" I shivered, even in that short distance, I'd managed to get damp in the rain.

"I don't think we have anything to talk about." She started to pull the door shut.

"Angie, is this about Jack?
That was nothing. You got it all wrong."

She opened the door a crack.

"I got what wrong? I don't even know you, Hannah. I've worked my guts out helping you and I thought our agreement was that you'd help me with Jack. But, even more than that, I thought we were friends. I thought we were in this together. Now, I'm wondering if you were just using me. I don't really want to talk to you right now.  And you owe me $15.65 for groceries."

She pulled the door shut and I stood staring at it then knocked again.
She had to talk. She had to let me explain. How could I make things right if she wouldn't talk me?

"Angie, open up."
I banged on the door. "Angie! Angie! Talk to me. You are my friend, right."

My only friend.
I stopped knocking and listened for her. I could hear nothing though. I knocked again.

"If it's about the money, you can have money.
It's not important. Just let me in so we can talk."

I heard footsteps and grinned.
We'd make up. She'd listen to me and see reason then we'd be friends again and sit around bitching about what a bastard Jack was and making more plans for the band.

But the door didn't open.
Instead, Angie turned on the stereo as loud as she could to drown me out.

I turned away.
I'd really ruined things. The only person who still liked me was Eric and I worried about his feelings for me. I didn't want to give any false hope that things could be more than friendship between us.

I couldn't stay in Angie's doorway all night but I had no desire to go out into that rain again.
It was only a few blocks to my place, so too close to even get a cab.

I ran out into the street and turned onto High Street, totally forgetting
how crowded it got at night, with drunks crowding onto the streets outside cafés and bars to smoke. I'd have to run past them all unless I wanted to cut through one of the dimly lit back alleys. I figured it would be safer sticking to the main street. At least if I had to deal with drunks, better in a busy well-lit street.

I huddled in a doorway and rolled up the legs of my
PJ bottoms. They'd already gotten soaked and flapped against my legs in the most disturbingly gross manner. I looked like a drowned rat, a rat in elephant PJs.

I wrapped my cardigan tighter around
myself and pulled my door keys out of the bag and held them in my hand, ready to run inside when I got home, then took off down the street.

"Whoa baby, looking sexy!"

As I expected, shitty guys called out to me. I kept my head down and ran past them. Hopefully, they'd be too taken with their own drunken wit to worry about me. I just wanted to get home to my own room where I could escape from this shitty world. I could lock the door behind myself and hide in my own world with the blankets over my head. Well, first I'd have a shower and put on some warm clothes. Maybe tomorrow everything would seem okay. Maybe this rain would wash the world clean and I wouldn't have to deal with creepy rock stars and oversensitive friends and creepy drunks.

Another guy grabbed at me.
I jerked away from him and sped on. This would have to be the most hellish night of my life. If Satan himself appeared and threatened to take me to the fiery depths of hell, I'd welcome it.

As I waited to cross the side street, a car pulled up, splashing water all over me.
I shouldn't have expected anything less. I pretty much couldn't think of anything worse. My nose had started running again and I just wiped it on my sleeve. I was filthy anyway and I think I smeared dirt and grime over my face. My hair hung down in rat's tails and I could feel the rain dripping off my fringe, in cold rivulets down my face.

I ran along the next section of street.
I just needed to get past there and I'd be home. It'd only be five minutes and I'd be in a warm shower.

As I ran by the last bar on the street, I barged into someone, like hitting a brick wall.

"Sorry, sorry," I said preparing to run on, but he had hold of me.

He bought his face close to mine and scrutinised
it.

"I know you.
Hannah Sorrento." He stepped back and looked me up and down. "Hannah Sorrento, I can't believe it. You've come down in the world."

My heart stopped.

Then he laughed a lot and nudged his friend. I tried to walk off but they blocked my way. The pair of them were huge.

See, here's the thing.
When I was in school, I wasn't always so nice. Sometimes, I might have been a bit mean. Only in fun, you know. But some people don't see it like that. Some people stew over those things and hold it against a person for life. Maybe even looking for revenge. I include Mitch and Cameron in those people. Big, gallomping farm boys with no brains but lots of simmering resentment.

Mitch leaned over right in my face.

"Hah, those rumours I heard about her father must be true. He's a swindler."  He pushed me to Cameron

"Karma's a bitch, isn't it Hannah?"

There was another one in their group too. Frog-face. I couldn't remember his real name. He'd always been known as Frog-face. He did something in the media now. As a camera flash went off in my face, blinding me for an instant, I remembered. He was a journalist.

The next morning,
I walked into the café with my head held high. So they’d taken a few photos. That didn’t mean anything.

Then I saw it. The newspaper sitting on the table near the barista.  A huge photo on the front page of a bedraggled girl
. A pain shot through my heart. A sharp, horrible pain that radiated out all over my being.

I couldn’t look at that picture.
I didn’t even recognise the person on the front of the paper. She looked filthy and poor and ugly. I turned the paper face down, hoping it would disappear but it seemed like the noise and chatter in the café had turned up to deafening levels and the eyes of everyone in the room burned into my back.

After I gave my order, I turned to look for a seat. I took a few steps then returned and picked up the paper. I had to read the story even if shattered me.

At least I looked presentable again, I'd put on my most expensive dress. An Alexander Wang woollen dress, casual but unmistakably designer. It was one of only three designer dresses I'd kept. Well, it'd been four but that linen dress was never going to be wearable after the dryer incident. I'd paired it with a cashmere cardigan and a great pair of heels. I'd paid extra attention to my hair and makeup too then surrounded myself with an aura of expensive perfume. No one would equate me with that bedraggled creature in the paper in the elephant pyjamas. I felt protected.

I wanted to buy up every copy of that paper and burn them all.
Maybe run around the entire city and buy every copy and burn the lot. But that would cost a fortune and what about the people who got their paper home delivered? I could never get rid of them all. No matter what I did, people would see that photo and they'd read those words.

Maybe if I dyed my hair and had plastic surgery, no one would ever recognise me.
I needed a hat. A big hat that would cover my face.

I held my head high as I walked across the room. I defied anyone to judge me. But I found a corner table where I could keep my back to the room.

The pain in my heart kept twisting. All those years when Dad talked about never causing a scandal, never giving anyone reason to talk bad about us. That meant nothing now. The whole city would see our shame.

While I waited,
I picked up the paper, by the edge as though it was dirty and would poison my skin. I didn't want to read the news story but I needed to know what they said about me. I picked away at it like a scab on my knee, reading a few words then cringing too much to continue. I threw the paper face down on the table, not wanting that pathetic me staring up at me before I'd even had my coffee.

I slowly turned it over.
God, I looked bad. I never imagined that, even on my worst day, I could look so bad. Maybe they'd photoshopped the photo to add extra ugly to my face. There was the big photo of me looking startled, close up with all the impact of the soaking wet hair and the dirty splattered face and the sodden pyjamas. 

Millionaire family's downfall
– the headlines read.

I imagined all those bitches I’d been at school with, the ones that hated me, reading this and laughing. I could almost hear their laughter ringing out over the city. Saying I deserved this, that they’d always known.

There was another smaller picture with my hand covering my face. They'd taken that one as I tried to get away. After they'd extracted every bit of humiliation and torture they could out of me, they let me run off. I'd had to take all sorts of jeers about Dad being a criminal and conman though. They'd said he'd end up in jail if he were caught. That made me wonder if maybe I should've loaned him the money. Maybe, if I'd been a bit more sympathetic then, he'd have been able to save himself.

I wouldn’t think abo
ut. Thinking about it made my eyes prickle. I’d wait until I was alone in my room then I could fall apart.

"Sheesh, what kinda trouble do you get yourself in without me around?"

Angie slid into the seat opposite me as though nothing had happened. I had half a mind to tell her to clear out. I didn't need her, especially after what she'd said last night. But, to be honest, I could've jumped up and kissed her. She was talking to me again, so something had to be right and good. Even if she was angry, angry and talking beat the hell out of angry and silent.

"You're not
still mad?" I asked, and shot her a weak smile.

"I'm mad
. I mean, you said you were too sick to work then I get to your place and you’re rolling around on the bed with Jack Colt. What's with that? But what's the point of being mad if you don't know I'm mad, so I thought I'd come here. Then I saw that picture on the front of the paper. You probably don't need more shit today, huh."

"It was nothing.
He was wiping my nose." It did sound a little bit wrong and unbelievable when I said it like that. I mean, who has some bad boy rock star in their bedroom, rolling around wiping snot. Like some kind of sicko fetish or something. No wonder he preferred the skanky chick. At least she wasn't snotty.

"Aha, you expect me to believe that?"

"Well, it's true." I grimaced at her and wiped my nose to prove my point.

"Wow, even when you're sick, your life is a huge drama.
And now this whole exposé thing. What the hell is with you?"

She picked up the paper.

"It's like you’re one of those celebrities that get embroiled in a scandal. Look at you, hand over your face. Did you try to smash the camera out of his hand? I'd have totally done that. Smashed it to the ground."

"I'm not
like
one of those celebrities. I am one. This is my life, Angie. The scandal and all that. Read it to me. I can't bear to read it myself. I really can't bear to look at that photo either. "

Even though I laughed, I’d have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.

Angie picked up the paper.

"Tw
ageeedy befalls one of zee country's reeechest –"

"Why are you reading like that?
What's with the French accent?"

Angie sat the paper down, grinning at me.

"I thought it'd be easier for you if I did it in a silly voice.
Like it would take some of the pain out of it."

"You think there's going to be pain?"

She nodded her head. "You don't get a photo like that without pain. Hey, was your dad really one of the richest men in the country? No wonder you act so snotty some of the time. So, where's all the money?"

"Gone.
It's all gone." I wanted to wrap myself in self-pity but I couldn't with Angie beside me. She made me laugh and that took the edge off the pain.

"It says here he's planted some of it offshore."

There was money? Well, where was it. Dad sure as hell hadn’t looked as if he had any. No one had mentioned any money and I wasn't sure if it was one of those things the paper makes up or if it were true.

"They also say he was a swindler.
He was involved in the underworld and all kinds of organised crime. Did you know that?"

I shook my head.

"Wow, they might end up making a movie about him. Who'd play you? Maybe Taylor Swift? And I could get someone hot to play me. Maybe I could play myself. That'd be really cool."

"I don't think it'd be cool at all.
" I sniffed again. "And I'd want Anne Hathaway not Taylor Swift. Can Taylor Swift even act? But back to the story. This is my dad you're talking about, not some random person in the paper."

Angie scanned through the article.

"It doesn't say much else.
Just all that about underworld connections. And he's disappeared and that you were the socialite daughter."

"
Argghh, that's foul. Like I'm some airhead. I was at university and I was studying. It's not like I spent my entire time going to charity fundraisers and garden parties. I would've taken over the company if there was a company left to take over."

Angie turned the page on the paper.

"Who's Tom?"

"Tom! What about him?"
A least Tom should have a good thing to say about me. "He's my boyfriend."

Angie raised her eyebrow in a way that spoke volumes.

"He says he never had a relationship with you. You were just casual acquaintances. And that he always thought there was something fishy going on." Angie folded the paper and threw it on the table. "Well, at least you don't have to feel guilty about fooling around with Jack now.

"I wasn't fooling… shut up, Angie.
What a jerk. He should be here standing by my side, supporting me."

"Like Eric?"

"Huh?"

I turned around to see Eric walking through the
café. He saw us and raised his eyebrows.

"I thought you'd be here if you weren't at home.
I've got your phone."

He sat down with us and looked at the paper.

"I'm sure it's all lies and beat up. The papers are full of shit. I don't believe a word of it."

"To be honest, I don't know what to believe."
You'd think I'd have known if dodgy shit was going down but I only saw the things Dad wanted me to see. There had never been any reason to mistrust him.

"You can believe in me," said Angie.

"And me too," said Eric. "I'll support you."

"Thanks
, guys." Some warmth crept into my heart. I felt as if I could probably face the day. "I have to organise this record company meeting today. If I do that, then maybe I can be successful enough in my own right that everyone forgets about this. I hope."

Eric reached over and grabbed my hand.
I smiled at him. I could survive this. But really I wondered if it would be okay. They'd said Dad might go to jail. I didn't know if that were true but he had gone into hiding. It wasn't a very good sign about the whole okay-ness of this.

My appetite had come back and I really wanted some French
toast.  Maybe with a side of bacon.

Eric left to meet a client but told me to call him if I needed anything.

Later, when the café was quiet, I rang the record company. I asked for the man who'd given me the card. The receptionist asked my name.

I could hear her suck in her breath when I said it.
There was only the briefest of pauses then she said she'd put me through.

I waited for a while, listening to the hold music.
While I waited, I went over what I'd say in my head. I wanted to sound confident and reassured. As if I did this kind of thing all the time and it meant nothing. As if we had heaps of offers on the table and I was working out which was the best. I could do that. I could be a hard-headed business bitch. Even if my palms were a little moist and the pulse at my temple throbbed.

The phone clicked.
I was ready to go into action.

Before I could talk though, the receptionist came back on the line.

"Sorry, he's in a meeting right now. I'll get him to call you back."

I gave her my details.

I put my phone on the table and waited for their call.

I spend most of the day at the
café, working on plans for the band. We had a pretty full calendar now, with bookings most weekends for the next few months. Word had gotten around about their success at the Metropolis and it seemed so much easier to get them booked into decent places. I sent all the details to the music press and gave them to Angie for the website. I checked their Twitter and Facebook. Whoa, the number of followers kept climbing but what some of those girls posted, it was just plain wrong. I did not need to see all those boobs and butts.

I thought about booking a tour.
We could travel up the coast. I'd have to discuss it with the guys next time. And support gigs. We should try to get support gigs with some big name bands.

My phone hadn't rung all day.
I picked it up to check it was working properly.

"It's still early yet," said Angie.
"They might call back soon."

Angie sat beside me most of the day, doodling ideas in a notebook.

"So, what do you think of Jack Colt?" she asked. "You haven't really said."

"I've told you.
I'm not interested in him."

"Yeah
, you say that but you can't say it without blushing. You blush and you squirm like a schoolgirl. He's got you in your pants with his Jack Magic! I'm surprised you don't have his name written all over your notebook with hearts around it."

"You can't talk. Y
ou do have his name written in hearts in your notebook."

Angie laughed and looked down at her notebook.

"I don't like him, Angie, but I respond to him. You know. On a lustful level. Like, when he's around, my skin feels especially sensitive and my heart beats a little faster. I do stupid things and… I dunno. Maybe it's a lust thing. But I don't
like
him."

"Oh
, you've got it bad. Maybe you should just screw him and get him out of your system."