Career Girls (43 page)

‘I can’t be exact,’ Weiss replied, ‘but I believe that such a sale would only realize a little over a million dollars. And with the need to find a new apartment, Ms Gordon, you couldn’t live in the style to which you’ve become accustomed. ‘

‘Thank you, Mr Weiss,’ Rowena said. ‘I’d be obliged if you could send me your final bill.’

‘This firm will be happy to represent you for a reduced retainer, Ms Gordon,’ Weiss said impulsively, moved by the calm dignity she was showing. ‘We are sure you will make a success of whatever you next decide to pursue.’

She offered him her hand, touched. It was the first sign of confidence that anyone outside her immediate group of friends had, shown in her. Record executives and promoters who had kissed her ass till it turned blue would no longer even take her calls.

‘I must decline, Mr Weiss, but I shan’t forget your kindness,’ Rowena said.

‘Why, Ms Gordon?’ he asked, surprised to find he was disappointed.

‘I’m leaving New York,’ she replied. ‘There’s nothing here for me now.’

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It was all she could do to get up in the mornings.

To begin with it was easy by comparison, because at least

she had things to do. The apartment was sold. She found a relatively cheap house in the Hollywood hills above the Chateau Marmont; after the earthquakes in ‘94, prices for property on the slopes had plunged. Then there was the liquidation of her stocks and arranging for the packing up and delivery of her personal effects.

Peter Weiss had been right on the money. The value of

her entire estate, without selling her Musica stock, came to

I, I OO, OOO.

For most people, a fortune. By Rowena’s standards, failure.

Every single person she’d had close dealings with was worth at least ten times that amount. John, Josh, Barbara, Michael, the band. She’d been too busy flying first class, designer shopping and looking after other people’s business

to take care of her personal funds.

And now it was too late.

She had plenty of time to look back over things, and she knew it hid been her own fault.. She’d betrayed someone who trusted in her, and then refused to admit any guilt. She’d taunted Topaz again and again because she’d hated her for being her own victim, and despised her because of her own success. A flimsy enough success, as she was just finding out. As if a veil had been lifted, Rowena could suddenly see what Topaz must have seen: a haughty, arrogant bitch who cared for nobody but herself.

After Rossi’s attempt to screw up the launch of Heat Street

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failed, Rowena had thought she was invincible. Never mind that it was Michael Krebs, not her, who’d turned that one around. And when she’d managed to sign Obsession and Steamer, she’d thought she was immortal.

Her comments toJake had been just another symptom. It wasn’t what she’d said, it was where she’d said it. At Elizabeth Martin’s party. With practically every important man and woman in New York in attendance, including at least fifty of the top investigative reporters in the city.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt

me.

Oh yeah?

She’d been in the record business since she’d started working. She had no skills for doing anything else, and there was no way any record company would have her back.

I’ll never work again, she thought blankly. Feelings of shame and.catastrophe drifted through the house like black fog.

Rowena had coped with everything. Her father’s rejection. Squalor in London. The struggle to find a job, and the struggle to keep it. Setting up on her own in a foreign country. Building a major new company. Deliberately walking away from the love of her life.

She had coped with everything. Except failure.

It was John Metcalf who saved her from complete collapse.

At the start he stayed away, just calling now and then to see if she was OK.

‘She’s hurting now. She needs a mourning period,’ his therapist said.

‘But she won’t even go out with meany more,’ Metcalf protested.

‘You have to respect her space. It’s a difficult time for

her. ‘

Finally, John Metcalf handed his house keys over to a buddy, packed up a suitcase and simply drove over to her house.

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‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Rowena demanded when he turned up at her gate. It was a cool winter’s morning, the type Metcalf particularly enjoyed; a mild breeze, the flowers in Rowena’s small garden faintly scenting the air. She was dressed appropriately: a dark blue pantsuit in crisp linen by Michael Kors and fawn pumps from Chanel. In the doorway behind her he could see the main room of the house, immaculately neat and tidy. Too neat and tidy. The place looked like a museum. And for all Rowena’s careful outfit, she looked-utterly lifeless. She had

on no make-up, nojewellery, not even a watch.

‘Can I come in?’ he returned.

She unlatched the door and stood aside for him. John seemed like a refugee from another world. Someone she had known a million lifetimes ago, when she was working,

, when she was able to use her brain.

‘It’s a nice place,’ Metcalf said. He glanced round at the modest reception room, the orderly kitchen and the glimpse of Rowena’s bedroom and bathroom to his left. She had set up a television and stereo and there was everything you might actually need in a home - a microwave, refrigerator arid coffee percolator, but that was it. She’d hung none of her paintings, unpacked none of her bonsai trees, laid out no ornaments.

‘Thanks,’ she replied automatically.

Metcalfhefted up his suitcase and carried it through to her bedroom. Then he picked up the remote and switched off the TV, flickering brightly in the corner. ‘You shouldn’t be watching that at ten in the morning,’ he reproved her gently.

‘Why have you brought a case?’ she asked, looking at Metcalf’s tanned body and luxuriant hazel hair. Almost despite herself, she was glad he was there. In fact, she was surprised he was there. Taken aback that someone was still interested.

‘Because I’m staying for a while,’ Metcalf answered impudently.

‘I can look after myself.’

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‘I don’t think so,’ he replied, reaching out and loosening

her ponytail. A blonde shower fell about her shoulders. ‘Don’t do that!’ she snapped.

He grinned at her. ‘At least you can still get mad.’

‘Go home, John,’ Rowena said. ‘You can’t stay. I need to be by myself.’

‘You’ve been by yourself for too long.’

‘I want to be alone.’

I can’t make her accept me, Metcalfrealized.

‘OK, I’ll go, if that’s what you want,’ he told her. ‘But first I need your help. I’ve run into a problem with Picture This and we have the divisional meeting coming up - it’s in San Antonio and everyone in the company’s gonna be there. Including Nick Large.’

Large was his boss, a redheaded industry veteran who controlled Cage Entertainment, the company that owned Metropolis.

‘So get Sam Neil to look into it,’ Rowena shrugged. Sam was her successor at Musica North America and the soundtrack label was his responsibility now.

He shook his head. ‘Won’t work. If this was easy I’d have fixed it myself. I need you because you structured the original deal.’ He gestured towards his briefcase. ‘I’ve brought the papers with me. Please, Rowena, I know you feel lousy but I’m stuck. We have a picture opening soon with a dynamite soundtrack - ‘

“My Heart Belongs to Dallas,” Rowena agreed, with just the faintest glimmer ofinterest

‘Right. Anyway, word is that our numbers are gonna be just OK, but the merchandizing could turn it into a very profitable picture.” The success of” the record is crucial to that- ‘

‘MTV, radio tie-ins, press,’ she cut in.

‘Exactly. Now we have a situation where the management for Black Ice-one of the bands featured-are insisting that the studio percentages must exclude their cut because of their original deal with Musica. They’re threatening litigation and that could delay the launch of the record, w.hich

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probably won’t hurt the album too much but its knock-on effects for our Tshirts and sunglasses and stuff could be disastrous …’

As John explained the problem, Rowena began to turn

the situation over in her mind, taking a pen from the sideboard and making notes. When he sat down she didn’t stop him, and when he opened up his case and handed her the thick sheaf of notes Rowena took them eagerly and paced through them intently.

Half an hour later she looked up, triumphant, her face flushed with effort.

‘I’ve got it,’ she said. ‘It’s clause 6b. The rolling break even states that - ‘

John’s face stopped her in mid-sentence. He was leaning against the kitchen table, smiling gently. She realized with a

, start that he’d been watching her silently for the last twenty

minutes.

‘Welcome back,’ he said.

He took her to dinner at the Ivy, where they’d first met.

‘You can’t understand what it’s like,’ Rowena said. ‘When you’ve fought for a dream all your life, and as soon as you get it, it’s taken from you.’

John kissed her hand. He wanted to let her talk, to help

her admit her feelings to somebody else. He was overjoyed

it was him she was confiding in.

‘Everything you hated before becomes precious. Like phones ringing all the time, like the travel - God, John, I missed getting woken up at six to go to the airport every

month because Atomic Mass were playing somewhere.’

She gave him a tiny smile.

‘You could have done that any time you wanted,’ he told

her. ‘Atomic Mass are on a stadium tour of Europe. It’s a complete sellout.’

‘It is? How’s the record doing?’

John leant towards her. ‘Haven’t you even been listening

to the radio? Didn’t you put on MTV?’

‘My radio’s tuned to a classical station,’ she replied, the

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soft candlelight glinting on her gold earrings. ‘And I couldn’t bear to look at MTV. I knew I’d see Musica acts-my acts - and it was too painful. Like watching all the other kids at a party you weren’t invited to.’

Metcalf shook his head in wonderment. ‘I guess you’re about the only person on the planet who doesn’t know, then. Zenitk is busting sales records across America. Atomic Mass have turned into U2.’

Rowena digested the news in silence. Then she said, ‘Maybe I should tell you the whole story.’

Starting at the beginning, she recounted all of it. Her parents’ coldness and her own independence. Oxford, and meeting Topaz Rossi. Peter Kennedy and the Union. Soho. The fruitless hunt for a band. And Topaz in America, from the launch of Heat Street to Velocity and finally the Westside story that destroyed her career.

‘So don’t you want to get this Rossi girl back?’ he asked when she’d-finished, looking at the shadows under her beautiful eyes, the tiny lines that had appeared around her mouth and forehead for the first time.

Rowena shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. In Topaz’s place I’d have done the same thing.’ She paused, then added, ‘I told myself that one day she’d give up and let it go ….. couldn’t resist taunting her. I forgot what she was like. Topaz was always passionate, always hot-blooded. What we’d consider a grudge, she’d think of as a score that needed settling.’

‘Why did you make such a friend of her in the first place?’

She thought about it. ‘You know what it was? We both had something to prove.’

‘Because your fathers wanted boys?’

She nodded, a lovely, graceful movement. John admired her dress again, a fitted gown in moss-green velvet that picked out her eyes.

‘Your fathers were morons,’ he said.

‘Perhaps. I’ve sometimes longed to b6 a man,’ she answered. ‘It would have cut down on some heartache.’

‘Do you miss Topaz Rossi?’John asked.

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‘No,’ Rowena said slowly. ‘Certain things can’t be undone. I miss my job. I miss Barbara and Josh and Atomic…’

And I miss Michael Krebs, she finished silently.

‘So what are you going to do about it?’John asked.

His liquid blue eyes were intent. He was going to get her back in the game, whatever it took - pleading, bullying, threats.

He ticked the points off on his fingers. ‘You used to run a record company, and that option’s closed to you now. You’ve always worked in the record business. It’s unlikely that any big corporation would be in a position to hire you right now, because you’re too high-profile to be hired quietly. Those are your disadvantages.’

She looked at him as he bent over and refilled her glass with champagne; a vintage Dom Perignon, one of her favourites.

‘You built up a company from scratch, so you acquired general business skills. You have intelligence and guts. You have a million dollars of your own which you could borrow against. And you will have a lot of key players in your corner-Joshua Oberman, Michael Krebs, Barbara Lincoln, Steamer, Roxana, Atomic Mass, and me. Those are your advantages. Now the question is, what are you going to do with them?’

She sipped at her drink, considering it. ‘What do you think I should do?’

‘I think you should set up in business. Be your own boss,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t know which business. And it’s not my job to find out.’

‘I could, couldn’t I?’ Rowena asked, and with a rush ofjoy Metcalfsaw that her eyes were sparkling again.

‘Your hero David Geffen walked away from his brilliant career because they told him he had terminal cancer. A year later they say it’s the wrong diagnosis and he had a load of money and nothing to do. Did he turn into a zombie? No, he went and founded Geffen Records.’

She speared a forkful of Caesar salad.

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‘You can do anything you want,’ he said. ‘Real glory isn’t about a smooth ride to the top. It’s about picking yourself up when you fall and building it all again.’

‘John, I could fall in love with you,’ Rowena said. ‘That’s what I’m counting on,’ he replied.