“Wait 'til you see the drinks prices before you thank me!”
The romantic drama was not to Paige's taste, but Claire had been keen to see the film, and the red-haired firebrand had missed her naturist friend in the two weeks since she had left the camp site, so readily agreed to meet up to see anything with her.
After the cinema, the two girls walked across the High Street and walked towards the station before stopping at a small bar near the main road. Claire bought both of them large glasses of wine and they sat down to talk.
“That was a bit of a crap film,” Paige moaned as she took a sip and Claire hummed.
“It wasn't that bad, but I don't think it was as good as the hype,” she replied and pushed her shoulders back to allow her coat to fall off her body and land on the padded leather bench she was sitting on. “So, apart from Hazel, what's been going on?”
“Nothing much. Every time I want to do something, Hazel stops me. It's a pain sharing bedrooms,” Paige moaned. “That karaoke competition on holiday really awakened something inside of me so I tried singing last night; I have an old karaoke machine from when the pub down the road closed down but she just wouldn't let me.”
“You bought a karaoke machine from 'em. That's quite enterprising!”
“No. I broke in and nicked it after closing night,” Paige said without a trace of irony in her voice. “Well the brewery didn't want it any more, they were knocking the place down.” Claire pursed her lips and looked away, but Paige didn't notice the disapproval of her friend. “I just can't use it any more when she's around. Hazel kicks off. And I write the odd song. I've got a few I've written and it has a mike and amp, and an output that I can stick into a laptop, so I've tried recording my voice and putting instruments over the top, but I can't do it in the flat. Kitchen's no good, Lounge always has the telly on, so only leaves my room and that's got Hazel in it. So I've just got nowhere at the moment. It's doing my head in! I really want to make music again and can't.”
Claire laughed. “I know someone with the opposite problem. A recording studio above their garage and no desire to use it.” Paige's eyes widened, and Claire recounted the visit to Jack's house a few days previous and Paige giggled at the story. “He's just so spoilt, really.”
“I hate people like that,” Paige moaned. “I mean, they will have telly rooms and pools bigger than my bedroom and all sorts. It's just sick.”
“He's nice,” Claire replied. “But his parents are just … well they aren't from this planet. To think I was trying to seduce their son. Agghhh!”
Paige giggled, and Claire smiled. “You know, I'd love a go on a karaoke machine again. We don't have one, and it'll be good to do it again. We won the competition and that afternoon where we entertained everyone was great. I mean, I know it was raining so they had nothing else to do, but it was fun.”
“It was wicked!” Paige gushed with a smile. “Hazel is away next week, she is off on a school field trip with an overnight stay or something. If Mum lets her go, so we could use it on Wednesday,” Paige suggested, and Claire nodded, excitedly.
“Yeah. Whereabouts do you live?”
“Selhurst,” Paige said instantly. “In the High Street. Above the pound shop.” Claire giggled and Paige nodded. “Yeah I know. Real classy!”
* * * * *
“Wow!” Claire said the moment she entered the small bedroom. Although the room was cramped with a bunk bed to her right and posters of pop stars and film celebrities on the wardrobe door, there was a big karaoke machine taking pride of place in the corner of the bedroom. “How did you get that from the pub?”
“I wheeled it on a supermarket trolley,” the girl told her proudly. “I had seen it and wanted it when we were in the pub for a birthday party. Someone my Dad knows turned sixty or something, but the moment the posters went up to say the place was shutting, I just had to go and get it. It'd only've gone to the tip.” Claire listened, and Paige snorted. “I met two guys with knives as I left. They scared the shit out of me, but they just went in to try and get some booze. Didn't give a monkeys 'bout the karaoke machine.”
“Did they find any?”
“What? You think I stayed to find out?” Claire giggled, and Paige pulled a laptop out of the cupboard and set it up on the floor. The fan strained and whined as it booted up; it was old, but once it had loaded, the hostess set up the output from the karaoke machine to go into the laptop and passed Claire a chunky microphone. “What shall we start with?”
The folder containing the CDs was huge and Claire started leafing through them. She selected Katy Perry's Teenage Dream; it was one of the few disks containing songs from the past eighteen months, but despite Paige's selection of disks leanings towards older music, Claire was still in awe at the choice open to her.
Claire and Paige sang well, but when they replayed the recording, their voices were “clipping” and Paige had to turn a few buttons. They tried again, and although they sounded OK on the recording, there was crackling and interference coming from the laptop.
Claire didn't care and just enjoyed spending time with Paige who, after messing up three songs in succession apologised to her friend and removed her trousers, shirt and underwear. “I can't sing with clothes on,” she told her friend. “It's not right. I always do it naked. It's why I froze on the school talent night.”
Claire giggled, and Paige told her to try singing without any clothes on. Claire hesitated, the last time she started getting undressed at someone's house she was accused by the parents of trying to seduce their offspring. She had no intention of seducing Paige, but had no idea what her friend's parents would say if they came in!
“It's much better,” Paige promised her and to prove a point selected Sinead O'Connor on the karaoke machine, before singing it pitch-perfect. Claire was spellbound at her talented friend's voice as her hairs on her arm stood up.
“You should record some of this,” she told her. “I mean properly. I play the electric guitar. If we could get someone on the keyboard, your vocals are just incredible.” Paige blushed so that her cheeks matched her hair.
“Well it's just to chill. I'm not that good.”
“You are, I know it's just an escape. But … wow!”
“You could sing just as well, you just need to strip off. Try it,” Paige encouraged her with a grin and Claire relented. She gently folded her clothes and put them on the bottom bunk before attempting Whitney Houston's signature ballad. She cringed when it was played back to her, and Paige smiled. “Better at Pop and Rock?” She teased, and Claire nodded.
“But I get it, it's good to sing naked.” She closed her eyes for a moment and hummed. “You know, I wonder if we could get access to a recording studio you could do something and put it on iTunes or something.”
“We could do stuff together,” Paige suggested. “I dunno. I don't think I'm that good to get onto iTunes.”
“You are,” Claire replied. “Really good. But there's only one way to find out.” Claire's eyes sparkled excitedly. “I've not felt like this before, we should. We should definitely do something. We could be the Undressed Couple or something.”
Paige burst out laughing, and Claire shrugged. They heard a door close behind them, and Paige looked up at her bedroom door, as it slowly opened. “Are you in for tea?” Her mother asked her naked daughter, and Paige nodded.
“Yeah, please.”
“And … Claire isn't it?”
Claire hummed and nodded. “Yeah.”
“I remember you from the camp. Do you want a bite to eat? It's only Pizza.”
“Thanks,” Claire muttered and the door closed. “Now why can't Jack's mother have done that?”
“Because my parents are not upper class twats,” Paige spat and picked up the microphone. “Go on, your choice. Which one?”
Claire scanned the list and looked up. “If I can get us access to Jack's recording studio, will you make a demo tape. The recording studios should wet themselves with your vocals.”
/> “Yeah, piss themselves laughing,” Paige joked and shook her head, but Claire was serious.
“I mean it,” Claire asked. “Would you?”
“I guess,” Paige replied. “But I really don't think I'm that good.”
Chapter VI
“And poof,” the weird-looking gentleman cried. “Not the only poof in here, is it?” A wisp of smoke appeared from an upturned hat, and the “magician” extracted a Rampant Rabbit dildo from it. “The Rabbit from the hat trick!”
Andre laughed; he had enjoyed the magic show, despite being slightly uncomfortable that the male magician was dressed in a latex bustier, fishnet stockings and outrageously neon make-up. His adult-themed show was designed for his gay patrons, and he delivered it well.
The young agent had felt decidedly uneasy at first; most of the audience fit a stereotype and he reasoned he was the only heterosexual in the room, although the barmaid was happy to flirt with him, partly because she probably presumed he was “that way inclined.”
Andre fidgeted and was anxious, but as the show progressed and the alcohol entered his system he felt more at ease with himself. He was still not sure about signing “Pedro, the world's best magic bender,” but his uncle had been firm. “Go down there and get him to come back to the office if he's any good.”
Andre wasn't sure if he was “any good” as far as his uncle would think, but his adult shows were popular in certain communities and the lure of a popular client had enticed Andre to pay entry to a gay club and watch the explicit show.
Pedro was certainly keen to exploit his exhibitionist streak and his clothing was soon on a crumbled heap on the floor. His audience howled with laughter as he found all four queens in a pack of cards before suggesting “they weren't the only queens in the room!”
As the show finished, Andre moved towards the dressing room. He was stopped from entering by a burly security guard who was unmoved by Andre's claims to have an appointment with the scandalous entertainer. Andre rang Pedro on the mobile number he had been given, so he could be retrieved from the bouncer who was running out of patience with Andre's desperate pleading.
Pedro thought nothing of walking naked through the corridor to his dressing room, and Andre closed the door to give them some privacy. Smoke hung in the small room, and gay pornography blared on the television behind the middle-aged man. He refused to shake Andre's hand with a snort. “No idea where your 'ands been.”
Andre gave a weak smile and adjusted his suit. “I'm Andre Wilson, executive at Incredible Talents, and we like what we see. Ummm … we are asking, would you consider having us as your agent?”
The middle-aged man leant back on the chair, idling playing with his manhood while he spoke and stretched. “So, what's the deal? You get me bookings, and I give you 25%?”
“Err … not quite. We use our contacts throughout all industries to promote you, your work, your brand to increase recognition and maximise exposure to increase revenue and fully exploit your talents. And we take around 8%, not 25.” The entertainer grunted, and Andre pulled out a small wad of papers. “This is the sample contract, and this is my suggestion of what we do with you. I suggest a DVD to begin with and a promotional tour. Now …”
Pedro snorted and idly picked up the papers, flicking through them and looking back at the shifting feet of Andre. “Trouble is, I know your kind. Ya sign loads of people up do fuck all for 'em and still want ya cut at the end. Ya on a commission if ya sign me up?”
“Err … no.” Andre stammered and squinted at the magician. “Not at all. I came here to speak to you as agreed on the 'phone. And we will work hard for you, like we do for everyone.”
Pedro sniffed. “Ya gay?” Andre shook his head, and Pedro chuckled. “Ya came to a gay club to watch me?”
“Yes, in short. I came here today to watch you. And it was a good act. I liked it, and it made me laugh, so I want to work with you.”
Pedro scratched his ear. “My mate got an agent after he was on telly and all that bastard did was leach off him. And then sued him. Near-on lost 'is 'ouse did he.” Pedro gulped and took a sip of his beer. “So, how do I know …”
“We aren't like that,” Andre promised.
“How do I know that ya ain't gonna fuck around on me? There's one way.” He pushed himself into the chair and moved his legs further apart. “Ya get ya straight arse over here and you put your lips around my little friend,” he said with a grin. “And I'm gonna film it on my phone. And if you try any of your little cunty games, it goes public.”
Andre gulped. “Pardon?”
“Give me a fuckin' blow job?” Pedro demanded and Andre put his hands in front of him, pushing the air.
“No. Umm … no, I-I-I-I don't do that and …”
“So you won't do anything for me?” Pedro asked. “'Cause I want your lips around my cock. Am I gonna get it?”
Andre shook his head and backed out through the door. For a moment, the idea was almost palatable; he had not managed to secure any new clients and his uncle was getting restless with him, but it was too far. “Sorry,” he muttered and fled the room as Pedro cackled behind him.
* * * * *
“It's you,” Jack muttered as a familiar face ran to catch up with him as he left his exclusive college. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I know,” Claire said cryptically and then smiled. “OK, you told me where you went to college, and you said you finished at lunchtime on Mondays.”
“You're not stalking me, are you?” Jack moaned. “'Cause my parents reckon you are trying to seduce me and want to … yeah, well, you can't blame me for asking, can you?” Jack looked at Claire as her giggling turned to scowling.
“No. I am not stalking you. And I don't want to seduce you. In fact, the opposite.”
“Oh cheers,” Jack moaned, and Claire crossed her arms.
“I want to ask a favour,” she begged. “Can I see your recording studio?”
“Why? I've not been in it for four months. It's probably really musty and 'orrible.”
Claire sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “OK, cards on the table. I have a friend who has an awesome voice. And I would love to get some of the singing on tape to send to some record companies. And they have some songs written, and I want to try and get 'em to record a couple 'cause they're better than all the X Factor crap or manufactured bands and stuff. I just want to give 'em a chance to get something quite special down onto tape. And we haven't got a studio and … that's it.”
“So, why do you want to use mine? There are loads all over London that have the latest kit in them!”
“And they cost money,” Claire replied. “And lots of it. I know you don't use yours, and you have lots of time without your folks, and I only want to borrow it. I can give you something, but not much.” Jack sighed. “I just need to see what you've got and start to think about things and then get 'em down for a day or two when it's ready. What d’ya say?”
Jack sighed. “My parents would go bananas,” he told her. “And my Aunt is staying with us at the moment. She's getting divorced.”
“Oh I'm sorry to hear that.”
“It's OK. It's number twelve, she's used to it by now. Her weddings are a bi-annual event. I've been to seven or eight.”
“I bet she eats a lot of toast,” Claire joked, but the flippant comment was lost on Jack, and she returned to her pleading. “So is it at all possible?”
“Yeah. But only when my parents are out. Now there is a fundraising dinner on Saturday evening for some politician that my Dad's friend gets involved with. They are out all Saturday evening. Why don't you come 'round then and I'll show you.”
Claire smiled and put her arms around him, cuddling him excitedly. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “Thank you so much!”
“You're welcome,” Jack replied with a smile.
* * * * *
“Hi,” Paige muttered as her sister stormed into the room and she leant over the top bunk. “I was
thinking, I know you always like sleeping on the top bunk if we have them on holiday, and I've had it at home for five years, so do you want to swap?”
“You pissed on the mattress then?”
Paige scowled. “No! I just thought …”
“You just thought I might not try and top myself if I have the top bunk.”
“I didn't say that,” Paige told her defensively.
“Why is everyone treating me like a child? I fuckin' 'ate it and …”
“'Cause you won't talk to anyone,” Paige screamed. “And when you do, it's angry grunts, and you barely say a word. What are we supposed to do? You snap at everyone, it's like walking on eggshells with you.”
Hazel's eyes bored into her sister. “Then don't talk to me.”
Paige swung her legs over the side of the bed and descended the ladder. “You are my sister,” she replied and grabbed her taller sibling by the tops of her arms, shaking her aggressively. “I found you unconscious in a pool of blood.”
“And if I'd died you'd have the room to yourself,” Hazel spat back. “You'd love that.”
A tear rolled down Paige's cheek, and she gestured wildly at her sister. “I found you in a pool of blood. I had three minutes of waiting for an ambulance when I thought you were dead. How do you think I felt?” Hazel didn't respond, and Paige shook her again. “Eh? I've had nightmares that I really will find you dead one day, and you don't care. You think we don't love you, but I was in pieces that night. I've never cried so hard, and I spent all night at your bed side at the hospital. I wouldn't leave you and …”
“I didn't ask you too,” Hazel muttered. “I never wanted …”
“It's what sisters do,” Paige shouted. “'Cause long after Mum and Dad die, we'll still be here with Jeremy. And I know you don't believe me, but I love you. I love you more than anyone else in the world because as long as I can remember, there's been you in my room, playing with my toys and at my school. I helped you with your homework, I helped you with puberty and boys and everything. Even your make-up when you went on your first date or when you were being bullied, it was me that beat 'em up to put a stop to it.” Hazel sniffed back a tear and stared at the floor. “So when you have a problem you won't talk about, that is so bad you can't face life, it hurts when you won't talk to me.”