Friends & Rivals (19 page)

‘How do I look?' She spun round to face him.

‘Gorgeous,' he said, truthfully. He didn't feel the wild stirrings of passion with Leila that he'd felt around Kendall, but he didn't miss them. Leila was sweet and kind and calm, a graceful steady ocean liner to Kendall's raucous, super-charged speedboat.

‘I hope so,' said Leila, ‘'cause I can hardly breathe in the damn thing. You should get dressed, you know. The boss can't be late for his own party.'

Lex laughed. He never would be able to think of himself as ‘the boss' of JSM, or even one of the bosses. Jack was the boss. He was just the lucky bastard who got to tag along for the ride.

Tucked away behind tall green hedges on Doheny Boulevard, The Four Seasons Hotel is a Beverly Hills icon. With its European architecture and interiors, surrounded by lush tropical gardens, it exudes an aura of peaceful luxury, a sanctuary of elegant rooms and sun-filled terraces just a mile from the bustling heart of Rodeo Drive. Less flashy than the Roosevelt or the Mondrian, and less stuffy than The Peninsula or even The Beverly Hills Hotel, The Four Seasons boasts a quiet exclusivity that's a world away from the rock-'n'-roll excesses of the nearby Chateau Marmont, the usual venue of choice for music industry parties, particularly in the run-up to the Grammys.

It was no accident that Jack Messenger had chosen The Four Seasons rooftop pool bar as the venue for tonight's celebration. Back in the bad old days, Frankie B had partied with the best of them up at the Chateau. But the new sober, spiritual Frankie had had to be persuaded to attend a party at all, particularly as the guest of honour. It was only after Lex convinced him that the celebration was in recognition of the album and everyone who had worked so hard on its success that Frankie relented. Lex hadn't added that the PR would be vitally important to JSM, that they had to leverage
Saved
's Grammy nod for all it was worth while it was still fresh in people's minds, and while their other acts still stood to benefit by association.

Lex and Leila arrived bang on time at seven-thirty. Jack was already there, along with his new assistant Sandra, a whirling dervish of efficiency and organization who held JSM together day to day, checking table plans and guest lists, making sure the waiters knew who was teetotal and who wasn't, who was Jewish or vegan or only ate raw food (this was Hollywood, after all), and generally making sure the scene was set for a smooth, flawless event. In a fabulously cut Armani tuxedo and simple white shirt, Jack looked even more handsome than usual. The only embellishment to his outfit was a pair of antique lapis cufflinks, a first anniversary gift from his wife Sonya. Every time he turned his wrist or lifted his arm in greeting, they flashed the same dazzling blue as his eyes. Lex, who was neither vain nor envious by nature, admired his partner's effortless good looks as an art lover might admire a painting. In all the months they'd travelled together, he'd never known Jack to bring a girl back to his hotel room; even in LA, his dating was low-key to the point of invisibility, as well as determinedly casual. Since calling it off with Elizabeth, Jack had rarely seen the same woman more than twice. Watching him now, greeting the first of the arriving guests, Lex wondered how long his friend would keep up his self-imposed monasticism. Jack was too young to spend the rest of his life alone.

Not that he seemed unhappy generally. Jack loved his work and was as consumed by building JSM as Lex was. If he still harboured dark thoughts of vengeance towards Ivan Charles, he no longer spoke about them, seemingly content to focus on his own agency's success and future. Even so, watching the women steal desiring glances at Jack while
he
stood hand in hand with Leila, Lex couldn't help but feel sad that his friend was so determined to live the remainder of his life a bachelor.

‘Hey you two.' Jack greeted Lex and Leila warmly as more of JSM's acts and plus ones streamed out onto the roof garden. ‘Looks like it's gonna be a good turnout.'

Martina Munoz had already arrived in a show-stopping silver Dolce & Gabbana minidress, and was chatting animated-
ly to J Lo by the poolside. Land of the Greeks' lead singer, Ben Braemar, a dead ringer for a teenage Jesse Eisenberg, was wandering around with his mouth open, making no attempt to hide his awe at being surrounded by so many famous names. The Greeks had been one of the first acts Jack had signed to the newly established JSM, and they were already making a big splash on the indie scene. Their first deal wasn't huge, but their debut album had won enormous critical acclaim. In a couple of years, as long as they kept their noses clean and continued producing that quality of work, all three of the boys would be millionaires many times over. As always at Grammy events, a smattering of actresses and Hollywood stars mingled with the musos. Kate Hudson was laughing loudly at a joke told by her ex-husband, Chris Robinson of The Black Crowes, and Jamie Foxx was aggressively chatting up one of the prettier waitresses as she tried to weave through the crowd with her champagne tray. As well as the publicly well-known faces, Lex spied a number of industry powerbrokers, including two record-company chairmen, Jay Monroe, head of the most powerful PR agency in Hollywood, and a smattering of big hitters from the networks, including the legendary Bob Greenblatt from NBC, who was here with a record-producer friend.

Lex took a deep breath and hurled himself into the throng, glad-handing and smiling his way through the VIPs and ordinary guests alike. Despite being the designated ‘people person' in the JSM partnership, Lex had a lot less experience of these events than Jack, and he still felt awkward and faintly ridiculous chatting up the heads of record companies. This time a year ago he had been a penniless photographer. Surely none of these people could possibly take him seriously as an agent? But he did his duty, playing the part as best he could, while Leila swapped make-up tips with J Lo.

The sit-down dinner was supposed to start at eight-thirty, but by eight-forty-five the guest of honour had still not arrived.

‘Where's Frankie?' Lex cornered Jack at the bar, refilling Jay Monroe's glass. ‘He hasn't chickened out, has he?'

‘No,' said Jack, automatically smiling as an LA news photographer approached with a camera. ‘He called me from the car; he's on his way. I guess some old habits really do die hard. Frankie used to show up days late for meetings in the old days, looped out of his mind. By his standards, he's early.'

Eventually the man himself showed up, looking diffident in a white Zegna suit at least two sizes too big for him and a matching trilby with the word ‘JESUS' embossed in gold lettering around the brim. Flashbulbs popped dutifully as he posed with Jack and Lex, the head of his new record company, various other JSM acts and a posse of senior execs from MTV. After that it was dinner, a delicious smorgasbord of dishes prepared by The Four Seasons' Michelin-starred chef and his team, followed by a toast to
Saved
, and a short-but-sweet speech by Jack Messenger.

‘We're here to celebrate Frankie B's remarkable achievement with his wonderful comeback album,' he began. ‘Frankie is a personal friend. We all know this success has been hard earned, and I can't think of anyone working in this business today who deserves the recognition of a Grammy nomination more than he does.'

Wild applause. Frankie, smiling now, stood up and thanked the Lord.

‘But Frankie's is not the only comeback we're giving thanks for tonight. Two years ago, as most of you know, I was down and out in this business.'

Lex wondered nervously where Jack was going with this. One of Hollywood's few taboos was failure, even past failure. Alluding to it, especially at an event like this, was the equivalent of talking about divorce statistics at a wedding, or farting in the middle of the national anthem. Happily, Jack quickly got back on-message.

‘In the past eighteen months, I'm proud to say that JSM has enjoyed success beyond all of our expectations. I happen to believe this is because we represent the best names in the business today.' He name-checked a few, to a ripple of applause. ‘And because of the efforts of my partner and friend, the talented Mr Lex Abrahams.' More applause, this time led enthusiastically by Leila.

‘Tonight marks the beginning of a new phase in the life of JSM, a phase that I believe will see us rise to even greater heights of achievement, both commercially and artistically as an agency. As the great Frank Sinatra once said, “The best revenge is massive success.” Tonight is the beginning of a journey that will see us achieve that success.'

The last words:
and our revenge
, were left unsaid. But as Jack Messenger raised his glass, Lex caught the look of fierce determination beneath his perfect smile. The media lapped Jack up as music's Mr Nice Guy, and in many ways he was. But there was a toughness there too, a desire not just to win but to beat Ivan Charles and Jester, to leave his enemies trailing in JSM's dust.

‘To
Saved
!' said Jack. ‘To JSM.'

And to vengeance
, thought Lex. Clasping Leila's hand, he wished he didn't feel quite so uneasy.

Catriona Charles sat at the Victorian mahogany desk in her tiny study and looked critically at the photographs in front of her. As portraits, they were distinctly average. The first little boy had a sullen, spoiled look on his face completely at odds with the cute head cocked to one side pose and whimsically clutched teddy bear. The three-year-old girl from Oxford looked fat. (Then again, she
was
fat; there was only so much one could achieve, even with clever lighting.) And her elder sister's forced smile made her look as if she were in the early stages of rigor mortis.

If she did the sittings again in her own studio, Catriona was sure she could do better. But then she'd end up out of pocket and, as Ned Williams kept telling her, this
was
supposed to be a business. Grimly she placed each of the shots in separate brown envelopes, scribbled the parents' names on the front and sealed them. She couldn't afford artistic integrity, at least not this month.

Sighing, she looked out of the window into the cobbled passageway below. Known in Oxfordshire as ‘twittens', these narrow, hidden paths that wound between medieval workers' cottages were a feature of the backstreets of Burford. Catriona loved them, almost as much as she loved the narrow strips of cottage garden planted along their edges, crammed to bursting with old English flowers like pink hollyhocks, weeping white dog roses and imperial purple foxgloves. It had been a wrench leaving The Rookery. According to Ivan and the divorce lawyers, selling the house in Widford was a financial necessity, and at the time Catriona had been too emotionally and physically wrecked to argue with them. But as time passed she'd grown very fond of her new village house, a modest four-bedroom Georgian home, originally built for the town doctor. Part of what she liked about it was that it was
her
house. Having married so young, and given up work as soon as Rosie was born, Catriona had never owned property of her own before. It was a nice feeling, a secure feeling. These days Catriona Charles didn't get too many of those.

There were days when being divorced from Ivan still felt like a shock. When she would wake up with a strange, sinking feeling, as if something were wrong or lost or missing but she couldn't remember what it was. And then it would hit her. The marriage to which she'd devoted her entire adult life and which, despite its flaws and rocky patches, she had truly believed would last a lifetime, was over.

The pain was still there, but what had begun as sharp, unbearable agony had faded into a dull, constant ache of loss and regret. A lot of that was down to the house. With its small, unruly walled garden, crumbling sash windows, and ugly, early Eighties decor, it was crying out for some love and attention. Catriona, who desperately needed a project to distract her from the pain, devoted every spare minute – when she wasn't running around after the children or scrambling around for money to pay last winter's oil bill – to restoring the property room by room and inch by inch, transforming it into her own, idyllic safe haven. First she ripped up the depressing green carpets to reveal exquisite three-hundred-year-old flagstones. With the help of Ned Williams's trusty sledgehammer, she and Hector had had one of their happiest days in years, knocking through plasterboard to unearth no less than five original Georgian fireplaces. After that there were wooden boards to be sanded, wallpaper to be stripped and walls painted in off-white and grey and cheerful duck-egg blue, light fixtures and furniture to be picked up from local country-house auctions and antiques markets. And finally, once spring arrived, there was the joy of getting to grips with the garden, clearing weeds and pruning back creepers, planting a few of her own favourites like Sweet Williams and scented stocks, and digging out a miniature kitchen garden that she filled with herbs and artichokes and tomato plants, each one a symbol of new life and hope for the future.

But if Catriona's new home brought her pleasure, most of her day-to-day life was still a huge struggle. Ivan's TV show,
Talent Quest
, was now in its second series and phenomenally successful. The first season, in which Ivan had managed to transform himself from a wooden, awkward figure of fun to an acerbically funny judge who both appalled and delighted the British public, had already made him a household name. This year, thanks to his championing of an adorably shy young contestant from Yorkshire by the name of Ava Bentley, Ivan was more popular than ever. Ava was the nation's new sweetheart, and Ivan revelled in his role as her mentor. But, despite
Talent Quest
's soaring ratings, Ivan continued to claim he was ‘tapped out' financially, and his maintenance payments to Catriona, such as they were, had become increasingly erratic. The problem appeared to lie with Jester. The agency's acts continued to thrive, but Ivan seemed to have established a fee structure so low it had landed the business in an acute cash-flow crisis. With
Talent Quest
taking up so much of his time, and with Jack Messenger and the LA office gone, Ivan had had to take on more and more staff, so his overheads were rising just as Jester's income took a dip. Or something like that. In any event, short of taking him to court, something for which Catriona had neither the resources nor the energy, there was nothing she could do but cut back herself and attempt, for the first time in her life, to earn an income of her own.