Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen (17 page)

‘You have size eight
feet
?’ squawks Jaz in the cubicle next door. ‘But you’re only tiny!’

‘I don’t have size eight feet,’ I mutter, battling with the dress. ‘Ugh! Lou, help me – this thing’s got about fifty arm holes!’

Lou’s the only one not trying stuff on – she’s trying to save money, having bought way too many shoes last month – but Jaz begged me to come and, since I’d already promised to spend the morning with my best friend, I figured we could all do something together. Besides, I want Lou to see that Jaz isn’t a predatory crush-snatcher and she’s actually a really nice person. As with a lot of loud people, the mistake others make is that she doesn’t have feelings or insecurities, things that make her vulnerable like the rest of us – probably, in fact, more.

Lou gets up and I can feel her tugging at the various zips and folds, but to no avail.

‘It’s stuck,’ she proclaims. ‘Is this your head?’

‘No,’ I yell blindly, ‘it’s my elbow.’

‘Where’s your head?’

‘Where my elbow is.’

‘Is this your nose?’

‘Ow! You just poked me in the eye.’

‘
This
is your nose.’ She pinches the end of it.

‘You’re not funny, Lou,’ I tell her, ‘just get me out of this dress.’

‘
I’m a Celebrity
,’ Jaz’s voice chimes happily, ‘
Get Me Out of This Dress!
’

I thrash about a bit more, before Lou says gently, ‘It’s a playsuit, Maddie. You’ve put your head up one of the leg holes.’

I stop thrashing. ‘A playsuit? Isn’t that what babies wear?’

‘That’s a romper suit. This is like a dress that looks like a top and shorts.’

Eventually, with Lou’s help, I break free from the playsuit and step into it instead. It looks OK, but I could never feel altogether comfortable wearing something whose name implies enthusiastic participation in outdoor recreation and leisure, so I put it back on the hanger, change into my own jeans and top, and sit down next to Lou.

She’s looking at a photo of Nick Craven – after his public TV appearance, the first in eighteen months, he’s received a flood of coverage.

‘Wow, he
is
handsome, isn’t he?’ she observes. ‘But you know what they say.’

‘What?’

‘Once a cheat, always a cheat.’

I fiddle about with my mobile, pretending not to care. ‘He didn’t
actually
cheat, though, did he? It’s not like he was with anyone at the time …’ Lou fires me a look. ‘Not that I’m defending him or anything. I mean, it hardly matters to me.’ I study the photo. It’s a side-on one where he’s
deep in conversation with Evan, sharp and smart in a suit but with an irresistibly sexy five o’clock shadow and slightly mussed-up hair. I feel a tug in my chest and try to put it down to the brie and tomato baguette I just hoovered up at Pret.

‘Cheat or not,’ I toss my phone into my bag, adopting a dismissive, couldn’t-care-less tone, ‘it’s obvious he’s good-looking
and
he knows it – he probably thinks he can jump into bed with just about anything! Well, not me!’ I act affronted. ‘Not that that’s an option, of course it isn’t – and even if it
were
I’d not be tempted … not that any such thing has been suggested, but just to make it absolutely, categorically clear.’ I deliver a short, harsh laugh. ‘No, I couldn’t imagine anything
worse
than being seduced by such a shameless womaniser!’

‘Hmm,’ says Lou. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘I mean, it’s obvious he’s thinks nothing of shagging around,’ I gas on. ‘He’d probably sleep with Evan Bergman if he thought it was going to further his career!’

Lou stays quiet.

I’m aghast. ‘You don’t think …?’

‘Well, now that you mention it,’ muses Lou with a naughty glint in her eye, ‘why else did Evan hire him? It does seem strange given his reputation.’ She takes a minute to mull it over before giving me a confident smile. ‘But anyway, what do you care, right?’

I chew my lip. ‘Right.’

Jaz emerges. ‘Thoughts, please!’ she says, giving us a twirl. She’s wearing bright orange leggings with a pair of frayed denim micro shorts and a bikini top. All she needs is a
scrunchie and a pair of DMs and we’d be in an episode of
Blossom
.

‘It’s very … loud,’ says Lou, glancing up from the paper.

‘Great!’ trills Jaz, seizing this as unanimous approval. ‘I can get the whole thing for under ten pounds.’

‘Bargain,’ murmurs Lou as she disappears again.

‘Stop it,’ I mouth, wishing Lou would make more of an effort. I know she isn’t Jaz’s biggest fan but I’m sick of playing the mediator.

Moments later, Jaz appears under a drift of clothing. ‘Ready?’ She grapples with the hangers and nearly trips over a trailing crêpey scarf.

‘Ready.’ Lou jumps up and takes a bundle, and I smile gratefully at her. ‘Shall we all go grab a coffee?’

‘I swear that guy’s looking at me,’ hisses Jaz. ‘This is it, Maddie: we’re getting recognised!’

It seems trivial to point out that we’re probably getting stared at because Jaz has a top on that reads
LOOK AT ME, I’M FAMOUS
! Instead I sip my tea.

‘People don’t care enough,’ I say, ‘it’s only a karaoke bar. Surely there’s only so much crap singing and dodgy furnishings a person can take.’ I’m not altogether convinced even as I speak the words – in truth I was shocked this morning at how much coverage the show had secured. And there’s a clear reason why: Nick Craven’s first public appearance after Ascotgate.

‘You’d better get used to it,’ says Lou sagely. ‘Of course people are interested: you’ve got Nick for one.’

‘Swoon,’ drawls Jaz, picking the pecans off her pecan slice with satsuma-coloured fingernails. ‘He can direct
me
any time he likes.’

‘Why did you get a pecan slice if you don’t like pecans?’ asks Lou.

‘I like the pecan pieces inside; I just don’t like the big pecans on top.’

‘What’s wrong with pecans?’

‘The pecans on top look like brains. See?’

‘Can everyone stop talking about pecans?’ I nick Jaz’s discarded pecans and pop them in my mouth. ‘
Blast from the Past
is only on for eight weeks – it’ll be forgotten about five minutes after.’

Lou stirs her coffee. ‘You do realise it’s not
really
about the crap singing and eighties nostalgia.’ She looks at me. ‘Don’t you?’

‘That’s part of it.’

‘But only a small part. Evan wants you centre stage and anyone else he can rope in, too. It’s a show about
people
, Maddie – most reality shows are.’ She glances at Jaz. ‘And some are more up for that than others.’

‘But the focus is on the club,’ I say, nodding decisively. ‘That was Evan’s point.’

‘And you trust Evan, do you?’ Lou reaches across and squeezes my hand. ‘Look, all I’m saying is you’ve got to be prepared to enjoy the limelight for a bit – and not look terrified at the thought of someone recognising you.’

‘I did not look terrified!’

‘You kind of did.’

Jaz is immersed in one of the articles. ‘It says here that
Chester Bendwell wants to give you a sixty-second haircut!’

‘No, thanks.’ I frown. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’

Lou rolls her eyes. ‘Nothing’s wrong with it – the man’s a fool. It’s all self-promotion and you’d better get adjusted to it.’

My interview with the man himself was happily with out incident. Soon after my flustered Nick–Evan–Alison encounter, I was thrust in front of the cameras and had Chester Bendwell’s excited-little-boy-on-the-brink-of-wetting-himself face lurching into mine. All I could think about was Nick Craven, which, I suppose, was a blessing: I didn’t have time to analyse the fact I was speaking to hundreds of thousands of viewers. I half expected Chester to refer to it and embarrass me further – I was convinced I’d had a sign over my head reading ‘Yoo-hoo, over here, I fancy the pants off that man I just met!’ – but he didn’t, for which I’m thankful.

Instead he asked me all about the club: when my parents set it up, what the glory days were like (I probably fabricated a lot of this; I think at one point I said we’d had Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch performing – sadly, I don’t think this is true), where my parents were touring now (good publicity for them, I hope) and, finally, why we’d chosen to invite the cameras in. The way he said it sounded like I’d opened my doors to a pack of vampires.

‘It was OK, wasn’t it?’ I ask the others.

‘You were great,’ Lou reassures me. ‘You seemed really confident! No one would have guessed it was your first time on TV.’

Jaz flips the page. ‘You did look a bit … awkward when you met Nick Craven, though.’ She says this without a hint of
antagonism, which worries me: Jaz is known for speaking the truth.

‘
Ugh
,’ I put my face in my hands. ‘Was it that bad?’

‘No,’ Lou says, ‘it wasn’t. Jaz is just winding you up.’

‘I am not!’

‘A part of me will never forgive Alison for broadcasting that.’ I sit back, thinking about it. ‘But there’s something funny going on there, I know it.’

Jaz frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Between Alison and Evan.’ I run my finger round the rim of the tea saucer. ‘When I first met her at Tooth & Nail she was clearly in a piss with him, then the next thing I know she’s on my doorstep all soupy-eyed, then she’s trying to please him and it’s all Evan-this and Evan-that, and a week later he’s shouting at her and she’s throwing a sulk …’

Lou’s mouth drops open. ‘Are they having an
affair
? Yuck!’

‘Evan’s not
that
ugly.’

Lou shudders. ‘Imagine it, though …’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Brillo-pad hair, all that leathery skin … he’s like a handbag with arms and legs.’

I giggle. ‘Whatever he is, he’s got some sort of hold over Alison. And I don’t get the impression she’s easily subdued.’

‘Why’s she doing it, then?’

I shrug. ‘She works for him, she probably admires him. God knows what his agenda is, but my bet is he’s been promising her all sorts. He gets a pretty girl in his bed,’ I raise a mischievous eyebrow, ‘and I’m talking black silk sheets
and
a ceiling mirror here, and she gets the thrill of sleeping with the
boss. I just hope she knows what she’s getting herself into. From what I can see he’s constantly belittling her and making her feel bad. That’s the way with men like him – it’s all about control.’

Lou pretends to have a mouthful of sick. ‘That’s gross. Did you have to say the thing about the mirror?’

Jaz has gone quiet.

‘What do you think?’ I ask her.

She looks down at her lap. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, trying and failing to be breezy. ‘I guess it’s complicated.’

There’s an awkward silence, during which I curse my stupid big tactless mouth. I’m remembering why Jaz left the States in the first place – it was down to a very similar situation to the one I’m describing. How could I have been so insensitive?

‘Oh, Jaz, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m an idiot.’

She shakes her head, attempts a smile. ‘Forget it – it was a long time ago.’

Lou throws me a quizzical look and I resolve to tell her about it later – I can’t imagine Jaz wants to get into the whole mess now. But it’s another reminder that underneath all the hair and make-up she’s just as fragile as the rest of us, and just as prone to heartbreak.

When Jaz first arrived at Sing It Back looking for work, she’d flown into the UK only a week before. Her dream was to act, to one day see her name in lights, to walk the red carpet – and she had very nearly made it. She’d spent the last three years in LA, where at first she’d been slowly but surely working her way up the slippery ladder towards stardom. But then she’d become involved with Carl. Carl was a self-made
Hollywood casting agent, who, rather than promote and celebrate Jaz, had, over the months they were together, gradually chipped away at her confidence and told her she was no good; that the parts weren’t coming her way not because she’d just lost out by the slightest margin, or because the producers already had somebody in mind, but because she was lacking talent, ugly, needed her boobs done, her lips filled, her hair styled, her teeth straightened – whatever he wanted to pick on that day. He was a bit older than her and from the sounds of things a textbook control freak, set on tying her down and making sure he broke her low enough so that she hadn’t the nerve to leave him.