Career Girls (45 page)

‘Face Up’ hit num’ber one in the blot oo the week it was released, and a fortnight later My Heart Belongs to Dallas opened to packed theatres.

All Kahed, astonished to find his act had the biggest hit of their career, called Sam Neil and told him that they might consider doing a little soundtrack promotion.

Nick Large called John Metcalf and dryly congratulated him.

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And late one evening Rowena’s phone rang in her bedroom.

‘Hello?’ she asked, surprised. The number was unlisted, John was on a plane to San Antonio, and the only other person she’d given it to wasJoanne.

‘Hello, kid,’ said Josh Oberman. ‘What the hell took you so long?’

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Peter Weiss stared at the young woman sitting opposite him with something approaching astonishment.

She no longer looked emaciated, listless and pale. On the contrary, she was a tanned, slender thirty-year-old woman in an elegant pink Chanel suit that fitted her to perfection. Her right wrist sported a platinum Rolex, and a sapphire engagement ring glinted on her left hand. Her blonde hair had been feather-cut to add body and movement. Her long legs were cvered by the sheerest nylon stockings, and her shoes were stack heels by Azzedine Alaa. She was lightly made-up, just enough to perfect the delicate beauty of her skin, and she wore a delightful scent-which one, Weiss had no idea, but it smelt vaguely of sandalwood. And jasmine.

It had been barely a few months since he’d seen her last, but Rowena Gordon looked like a different person.

That was partly to be expected, of course. After theJake Williams scandal and her summary expulsion from Musica North America, Rowena had come to his offices with the weight of public humiliation and the loss of her livelihood on her young shoulders.

He recalled their meeting clearly. As the first woman to be president of a major US record label, Ms Gordon had been one of their most high-profile clients, and his partners had been insistent that, after laying out for her the sorry state of her financial affairs - relatively speaking - he let her know that Weiss, Fletcher & Baum would no longer represent her. Instead, he’d been so shbcked by her emaciated body and so impressed by the quiet dignity with which she bore herself that he’d wound up offering to

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reduce the fee so she could keep her accountants.

It had been an impulsive offer. Completely out of character.

But now Rowena Gordon was back in his office. And this time she wasn’t a private client in severe trouble, she was the chairman of her own company. Cowhide, Inc had customers all over the entertainment business - film studios, TV stations, rock bands, sports teams. They picked their events and records and shows very selectively, choosing only assignments that-were both difficult and high-profile. That way, with every successive coup, Rowena’s company got more famous - and more pricey.

Weiss knew that the pressure on Cowhide to expand was immense. Rowena employed sixteen people, when she could have had sixty. She took on three projects a monthr when thirty more were desperately trying to secure her services.

Cowhide Goes Hell for Leather, screamed Variety.

Rowena rulest. proclaimed HITS.

Bullish Cowhide Wins Raiders Contract, announced Billboard.

They’d had offers from every conceivable source, wantng to buy them out-CAA, William Morris, ICM, Turner Entertainment, you name it. Rowena had turned them all down, as far as he knew. Certainly, she looked like a young woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

And yet he could scarcely believe what he was hearing. ‘Are you sure about this, Ms Gordon?’

Tm quite sure, Mr Weiss, I want your firm to represent Cowhide, both in general terms, for a retainer, and specifically, for-for any financial work that may arise,’ she finished vaguely.

‘But we handle private individuals, Ms Gordon. We’re just a small firm. For a company like Cowhide, you’d be better off with a big name - Coopers andLybrand or the like.’ Weiss coughed, embarrassed. ‘I would be derelict in my duty not to advise you of it.’

She smiled, a serious, courteous smile. ‘And you have

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advised me of it, Mr Weiss. Nonetheless, Weiss, Fletcher and Baum is the firm I want. If you think you need more associates to handle our business, by all means hire them.’

She fished about in her purse and drew out a neat folded piece of paper. ‘I hope you’ll forgive the liberty,’ she said charmingly, ‘but I have brought a certified cheque with me for a year’s retainer in advance. Assuming your partners will be willing to take on our account.’

Mesmerized, Peter Weiss unfolded the cheque. It was made out to his firm in the amount of one million dollars.

‘You told me a few months ago that you had confidence in me, Mr Weiss, when circumstances were rather different,’ Rowena continued, seeing he was too stunned to reply. ‘Cowhide returns the compliment.’

He Couldn’t believe it. Jack Fletcher was going to have a heart attack.

Rowena stood up and shook his hand in a firm, dry grip. ‘Nice doing business with you, Mr Weiss,’ she said, and walked out of his office, leaving the old man staring after her.

In the taxi on the way to the Regent, Rowena permitted herself a small smile. The meeting at Weiss, Fletcher & Baum had been something she’d been looking forward to; it was one of the pleasures of a second wind of success to reward your friends and snub your enemies.

Well, maybe enemies was too strong a word. They existed in everybusiness; as .a new Angeleno she should be aware of that. Cowardly, greedy little types that kicked you when you were down and kissed your ass like mad if you happened to get up again. The record company execs who’d blanked her when she got fired by Musica. The promoters and agents who’d refused to take her calls. Recently, every single one of them had called up, or sent flowers, watches, other such peacemaking tokens. She had taken great delight in telling Joanne how to answer the phone to those jackals: ‘Ms Gordon is not available to you, Mr X, now or at any time up to and including the Day of Judgment.’

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She stirred in her seat, looking forward to her lunch meeting. First of all, it would be great to see Oberman again. For all the talking they’d done, she hadn’t actually laid eyes on the old buzzard since she’d got canned. And second, meeting the chairman of Musica Entertainment at such a powerbroker venue was the best way to announce that the exile was over.

Rowena Gordon was well and truly back.

As night was deepening, the electric floodlights grew more brilliant by the minute. Barbara could smell the acrid smoke from the dry ice drifting out from the venue; the sound of the people inside was a low rumbling noise, punctuated by sharp football whistles and interwoven with the pumping blast of the sound system.

On her way out of the arena, Atomic Mass’s manager sighed with satisfaction. Another sellout, and here in Barcelona the T-shirt stall was doing even brisker business than when they’d played Florence the previous night. Jim Xanthos, the new guitarist, was settling in great-there was no more sniping and secrecy among the boys, and Jim fitted in like he’d been there for ever. A happier band paid offboth in better shows and more creativity; Michael Krebs had loved the demos they’d written on the road.

Jesus, that’s a good sign, Barbara thought, as the limo spun out on to the main city road. Two hit albums is good, but three is better.., we could still gain a little ground in Australasia.

She smiled faintly, catching herself plotting. God, how she’d changed in the past few years; from a cool, impersonal lawyer to a kick-ass manager with the best of them. And if you’d told her when she first saw this act that they represented the rest of her life, she’d have laughed in your face. Even when she started out with Atomic Mass, she couldn’t tell Van Halen from Van Morrison.

The quiet streets slipped past her, a huge medieval cathedral at the city’s centre, not much traffic in the early evening. She had time for a good two hours with Michael

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before they went back to watch the boys.

Imagine me wanting to see a hard rock show! Oberman never lets up about it… I wonder what Rowena will say when we get her back out on the road.

Rowena. Her most constant friend; they’d been as close as two of the busiest women in music could be, and Barbara had been appalled by what had happened to her. For the sake of that useless junkie Jake Williams, too. She hated it when Rowena went into hiding and didn’t give a soul her LA number, but she understood. If somebody took this life away from her now - if Atomic Mass split up tomorrow…

Barbara shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about.

She knew what it was like, when you were a woman in business. You made sacrifices. If you were lucky, you had some joy out of your work. For both herself and Rowena, work and life had become inseparable.

Rowena a/ways loved the record business, and I came to love it, Barbara thought, pulling up in the hotel forecourt. But at least I had a lover, too.

She’d met Jake Barber a week before the Zenith release. It was love, if not at first, then certainly at third sight. Jake worked at a cool independent record label, and they were married after five weeks at Chelsea registry office in London, with all their friends warning that it would never

last. It was their eighteen-month anniversary next week. Rowena, on the other hand…

Barbara got out of the car,-her light Armani dress rippling in the warm breeze, and stepped into the hotel. The receptionist nodded at her and told her Mr Krebs was waiting.

On the surface it all looked wonderful? The wild success of My Heart Belongs to Dallas followed by the world beating a path to Rowena’s door. She was her own boss now, and any corporate misgivings about ill-advised remarks had been drowned in the heavenly sound of cash tills chiming. Even Vanity Fair had done a profile on her - ‘The Rise, Fall and Rise of the Hit Woman’. And then, on her thirtieth

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birthday, her engagement to John Peter Metcalf III, the brilliant young president of Metropolis Studios, had been announced. The happy couple were photographed together at the wrap party for Steven, the big Metropolis weepie for autumn, looking impossibly rich, powerful and glamorous.

Truly two of the ‘beautiful people’.

And yet, and yet.

She knocked loudly on the door of Krebs’s suite and walked in.

‘Barbara, you look great,’ Michael said, greeting her warmly.

‘So do you,’ his friend replied. Krebs was wearing his usual T-shirt and jeans and still managed to look gorgeous the muscled toso rippling under the thin cotton, the stomach trim and lean, the wiry hair at the side of his head giving him an unmistakable aura of intelligence and power. He’s not my type, but I understand what she saw in him. ‘Yeah, but I have to work at it. How’sJake?’ ‘Wonderful. How are Debbie and the boys?’ ‘They’re great,’ Michael said.

There was always just a slight edge to this ritual exchange .between the two of them. Krebs didn’t know whether Rowena had ever told Barbara about their affair, and the doubt hung in the air whenever they spoke.

Since Rowena fled New York for LA, that edge had got keener. It was an unspoken bargain between the manager and the producer that her name be mentioned as little as possible, and only ever in a business sense. For after Cowhide had catapulted her back into the industry spotlight, Rowena had recontacted Barbara, the band and all her old friends - except Michael.

In interviews and on television she’d repeatedly called him a genius, her mentor, the sixth member of Atomic Mass. Rowena made it perfectly clear that she was a big fan

of Michael Krebs, both as a producer and a human being. But she didn’t call.

Well, Barbara reflected, if I’m right, that’s all about to change.

‘Michael, when did you last speak to Joshua Oberman?’

she asked him, sitting down and lighting up a St Moritz. ‘About a month ago. Why?’

‘Did he mention Rowena Gordon to you?’

Krebs stiffened imperceptibly. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘OK,’ Barbara said, taking a long, satisfying drag. ‘I’m gonna tell you something, but it’s totally confidential.’

‘Shoot,’ he said, watching her through narrowed eyes. ‘Josh rang me in Florence last night. He asked Rowena to meet him for lunch at the Regent Hotel in New York this afternoon, and he’s going to offer her a newly created post at Musica. They’ve changed the make-up of the board again, and Oberman has an absolute majority now.’

Michael leant back in his armchair. ‘What new post, exactly?’

‘President of the worldwide company. She’d report directly to him, but Josh is basically retiring from active involvemeat.’

‘Holy shit,’ Krebs said softly.

‘We don’t know if she’ll take it. It would mean giving up Cowhide, and that’s something of her own.’

He shook his head. ‘She’ll take it,’ he said, and there was an expression glittering in his dark eyes that Barbara couldn’t decipher.

‘Maybe. Anyway, that’s not all, which is why I thought we should talk,’ she said. ‘Oberman told me something else. One of the reasons he wants to hand over to Rowena Gordon now is that he doesn’t think he’ll have the

opportunity in a year’s time.’

‘Why not?’ Michael asked.

‘Because he thinks Musica Entertainment is the target of a hostile takeover bid.’

‘Who from?’ Krebs demanded. ‘Musica is a major record company. They’ve got the clout to hire the best investment banking in the world. Who the hell would try to swallow them?’

‘Try Mansion Industries,’ Barbara replied.

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Rowena leant forward, trying to take in what she’d just heard. She was careful not to let her surprise show. Oberman had taken a centre table, right in the middle of the dining room, the most blatant position of all. The two of them - old corporate warrior and his young entrepreneur protegee-were on display to the business elite of Manhattan, and she knew they were being watched.