Front Man: The Complete Trilogy (5 page)

Jack's eyes fluttered open, and for a
moment he couldn't remember where he was. As his eyes adjusted to the
darkness, he could pick out the shapes of the generic hotel
furniture, the lumps of his discarded clothes lying on the floor. But
what city was this? Cologne, Hamburg, Stockholm, Rotterdam,
London...no, they had left London in the middle of last night. Paris,
then. He was in Paris. Blearily, he turned his head to the digital
clock on the bedside table. 5am. He cursed under his breath. You'd
think after three months away, he'd have got over his jet lag. But
they kept jumping through different time zones, a new country with a
whole new language every couple of days. Rounds of press interviews
with translators in tow, meeting hyperactive fans who babbled at him
incomprehensibly. They were only half way through the tour, and Jack
was already exhausted. Maybe if he could have just one good night's
sleep, he would feel better.

Jack heaved himself out bed and padded
over to the window. The sun was just peeking above the rooftops of
Paris, gently lighting up the intricate architecture of the city.
Already, people were bustling through the streets below, vendors
setting up their stalls and opening their storefronts. Stepping out
onto the balcony, Jack was hit with the smell of baking bread. His
stomach growled. When had he last eaten? He remembered having
breakfast at an airport, but he couldn't be sure which one.

Slipping into his jeans, he pulled a
warm sweater and a hat out of his suitcase. It was bound to be chilly
at this time of the morning. In the hotel elevator, an elderly french
couple eyed him suspiciously. For a moment he thought they might have
recognized him, but he suspected they were judging his scruffy
appearance. Even at 5.30 am, they were both impeccably dressed. With
a sigh, Jack ventured out into the streets of Paris.

Ten minutes and several identical
looking side streets later, Jack was lost. All he wanted was some
food and a packet of cigarettes. He stomped over the cobbles with
growing irritation. Why were there no street signs anywhere? He tried
to ask an old lady, who rounded the corner with her shopping bag, but
she just gave him a confused look and scuttled away. Finally, taking
a left that he hoped would take him back to the main street, he
spotted a little red sign that read 'Tabac.' This looked promising.
He pushed open the small door and heard a doorbell jingle. The
shopkeeper, a stout, middle-aged man with an impressive moustache,
gave him a hard look before returning his eyes to his newspaper. Jack
scanned the small store. He picked up a tempting looking chocolate
bar; one thing he was enjoying about Europe was the chocolate,
especially the Belgian stuff. He could see why that was famous. He
spotted the cigarettes in a small locked case behind the counter, and
approached the shopkeeper with what he hoped was a friendly smile.

“Er...bonjour....um,
j'aime...cigarettes?” Jack murmured hopefully. All he received
in return was a withering stare, followed by a barrage of
incomprehensible french.

“Um...non francais...cigarettes,
s'il vous plait?” Jack tried, pointing at the locked case. The
shopkeeper rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket for the key.
Swinging the case open, he grabbed a box of some brand that Jack had
never heard of and plonked them on the counter. Jack thought about
arguing, but he didn't have the energy. He just set his chocolate
down next to them and held out a twenty euro note. The shopkeeper
took it wordlessly, dispensed a tiny amount of change on the counter,
and went back to reading the newspaper. Charming.

“Merci beacoup,” Jack
muttered, and the little man grunted in return. Jack left the store,
taking care to slam the door behind him. Jerk. Would it kill people
to be a little friendly?

Jack leaned against the wall of the
store, next to a battered old magazine rack, and tore the cellophane
from the packet of cigarettes.
Jack
lit his cigarette and dragged the smoke deep into his lungs. He had
given up, almost...but some days, he just really needed a cigarette.
For a moment, he felt at peace. Then out of the corner of his eye, a
familiar face jumped out at him, and he froze. Jack had become used
to seeing his face in print. Compass had done a few magazine covers
in their time, and there were always the paparazzi shots. Jack,
bleary eyed, stumbling out of a nightclub with his buddies. Chatting
to an old friend over coffee, who the tabloids would transform into
his 'secret lover.' Making out with a daytime TV star at some award
show or other...that was not one of his finest moments. But this
picture was different. Jack felt like he'd been slapped in the face.
His cigarette had lost all flavour, and he threw it onto the cobbles
and ground it out with his foot. Then he snatched every visible copy
of the magazine from the rack, marched back up to the counter and
slammed down a fifty euro note. The shopkeeper began to say
something, but Jack was already storming off down the street.  

Sara
groaned as the irritating buzzing sound penetrated her consciousness.
She had been in the middle of a good dream. She stretched out her
hand and fumbled on her bedside table until she felt the familiar
shape of her phone. It wasn't her alarm after all; the screen said
'Unknown Number.' Sara contemplated ignoring it and going back to
sleep, but she supposed it could have been work calling. 
"Hello?"
she mumbled.

"Sara?" The voice was familiar, but
the line was bad.

"Who is this?"

"It's
Jack. Hey."

Sara's tummy gave a little flip. Suddenly, she
felt wide awake.

"Oh, Jack, hi! Did you get my messages?"

Oh great, why did that have to be the first
thing out of her mouth? Way to sound needy, Sara.

"I,
um, haven't been online for a few days, sorry. It's been kinda hectic
out here." Something in his voice worried Sara. She couldn't put
her finger on it, but he sounded a little...off. Had he been
drinking, she wondered? She hoped not. Sara liked to think she was
more than just a drunk dial.

"No worries. Are you okay?"

There was silence on the other end of the line,
until Sara thought they might have lost the connection. Then she
heard him let out a long breath.

"No. No, I'm not, not really." His
voice cracked a little, sending a spasm of pain through Sara's
heart. 

"Oh, Jack, what's the matter?"

"I...Oh
man, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. Just, I've been sat holed up
in this stupid hotel room for the last few hours, and I realized the
only person I really wanted to see was you. Oh god, that sounds
lame."
Sara
felt a little glow of warmth in the pit of her stomach, tempered with
concern for Jack

"I'm here, Jack. Just tell me what's going
on."

"Oh Sara, everything's just so fucked up.
I don't even know where to start...it'll be in the papers there too I
expect. Would you just...ugh, I'm sorry...have you got any plans for
the weekend?"

"Um, no, was just going to have a quiet
one. Big week at work," Sara responded, thrown off by his sudden
change of subject

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask. But would
you consider coming out here for a couple of days? I'll buy you a
flight, and I could have you back in time for work on Monday. I know
it's a long way and everything, I just...I really need to see you."

"Where even are you?" 

"Paris. France, not Texas."

"Jack, that's...um, it's a long way..."

"I
know, I'm really sorry for asking. I'll understand if you say no.
Just...please think about it."
Sara
looked down at her fluffy pj’s and the stack of DVDs that
constituted her weekend plans. She considered the pain in Jack's
voice, and the longing that tugged at her. And Paris...the city of
light...she had always wanted to see it.

"If you need me, I'll come."

"You
will? Oh my god, Sara, that is amazing. You can pick up the tickets
at the airport, I'll message you the details. I've got to go but...I
can't wait to see you."

Before she even had a chance to reply,
he hung up. Sara stared at the phone in her hand for a moment,
wondering if that whole phone call had been part of a crazy dream.
Then her email alert went off, and she saw the flight details drop
into her in-box. Sara dashed for the shower. She didn't have much
time.

The knock on the door made Jack jump.
He had been sat, staring out of the window at the rain as it fell
over Paris. The morning's brightness had turned to a grey drizzle, as
if Paris had picked up on his mood. The knocking grew louder.

“Jack! Open this goddamn door
Jack, before I call hotel security. Come on man, we need to talk
about this.”

“Go away.” Jack grabbed a
bottle of vodka from the minibar and took a long, bitter swig.

“C'mon Jack, just let me in for
ten minutes. Then I promise I'll leave you alone.”

Reluctantly, Jack went to the door, and
let his manager into the room. They sat awkwardly on the giant bed.

“Jack, this will blow over, it
always does. “

“They're saying I sold drugs to
kids. It's everywhere, Jared. Not just the rags, the real newspapers,
all over the internet...they're talking about a police
investigation.”

“That's not going to happen Jack.
Not from one stupid little photograph. They're just speculating.
Anything to sell another copy, right?”

“Even so. That's it for me. My
career. My whole fucking life...who's gonna want to work with me now?
Who's going to buy a ticket to see this?”

“Hey, come on buddy, all
publicity's good publicity, right? You're a rock star, a
little bit of notoriety never hurt.”

“Not like this. As far as they're
all concerned, I'm practically a fucking murderer.” There were
tears in Jack's eyes, his hands balled into tight fists.

“We'll call a press conference.
Call them out on their bullshit. You've done nothing wrong, you've
got nothing to worry about.”

“Hah! Since when was that any
help? They'll rip me to shreds. If I talk, they're going to keep
digging, and then they'll find out about Laura...I can't have all
that raked up, Jared, I just can't.”

Jared sighed. He cared for Jack like a
son, but at the same time, he had the rest of the band to think
about. There were schedules, contracts...income that he depended on.

“Jack...you've had a good run,
kept certain things from the public for a long time now. But now this
has happened, and we can't change that. Wouldn't it be better to just
come clean now? Tell the world what happened before some dickhead
with a notebook gets hold of it. They'll understand, I promise. Hell,
I bet they'll even respect you for it.”

“No. Not gonna happen. Not now,
not ever.”Jared reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“Ok buddy, I get it. So no press
conference?”

“No, no fucking press
conference.”

“Right, fine. No worries. You
just go out on stage tonight with your head held high, and show 'em
you're not going to stand for their gossip.”

“I'm not going to the gig tonight
Jared. I can't.”

“Jack, the boys all want to go
ahead. They're behind you, one hundred percent, but we've got a tour
to finish. The show must go on, right?”

“They can do it without me. Mike
can take the vocal, he knows how. He's been wanting the lead for long
enough now.”

“Jack...come on, if you don't
show then they'll assume there's some truth to this. And there isn't,
right?”

Jack whipped his head round and looked
the older man in the eye.

“Are you seriously asking me
that? Seriously? You know my fucking history man, do you really
think...? Fuck.”

“Hey, hey, Jacky boy, relax. I
was just...I know you would have done anything for Laura. Maybe one
time, you were trying to help her out...I just mean, if there's any
substance to this, any at all, I need to know so we can do damage
control.”

“Get the fuck out, Jared. I mean
it. Before I do something I'll regret.”

'Okay, okay, I'm sorry....look, we need
to be at the venue by six. Think about it. I'll call you later.”

“Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“You're a good guy, Jack. You
can't punish yourself forever. It's not worth throwing away your
career for.”

As the door clicked shut, Jack let his
head sink into his hands. He had never felt so alone in his whole
life.

Sara felt self-conscious as she
approached the check in desk. Half way to the airport, she had almost
told the cab to turn around...all this was just too crazy to be true.
But then, she never thought she'd get to meet Jack Carter...so maybe
crazy dreams come true some times. She smiled at the pretty blonde
behind the counter and held out her passport.

“There, um, should be a ticket
for collection.”

The attendant examined her details and
the computer screen for a few moments, before breaking into a
brilliant smile.

“Ah yes, here we are Madam. One
first class ticket to Paris via London, leaving on the 1.30. No
checked luggage? Okay, if you follow this corridor through security,
then you'll just need to show your boarding card to access the Gold
Lounge. Have an excellent flight.”