Front Man: The Complete Trilogy (7 page)

The rain hadn't stopped. Jack listened
to it's constant patter on the window, willing it to soothe him to
sleep. All he wanted now was to slide into unconsciousness, and
forget about everything for a little while. At times like this, he
could almost understand...but no, drugs were never the answer, even
when alcohol failed to numb the pain. Both only made things worse in
the long run, and the sensible part of him knew that. He just hoped
that part could hang on long enough to get through this. He'd turned
the television on in the hope it would distract him from him own
thoughts, but nothing seemed to work. He saw Laura everywhere, and
the powerful guilt mingled with his desperate sense of loss. Maybe
Jared was right. Maybe he should just come clean, let the world know
what their hero was really like. Just a jerk who lets everyone down.
Especially the person who needed him the most. Jack's Dad had been a
real piece of work, drunk from morning till night, with zero interest
in providing for his wife and kids. Late at night, Jack would hear
his mother crying after he'd slapped her around again. Tears sprang
to Jack's eyes as he remembered his poor mother, whose only crime was
to marry the wrong man, covering her bruises with long sleeves and
turtle necks. Trying to keep them fed and clothed with what little
money she earned at her supermarket job. Bill Carter had finally made
himself scarce when Jack was eighteen, and they hadn't heard from him
since. But the cancer that would kill her was already growing inside
his mother, who didn't trust doctors, and died in his arms only days
after he dragged her to the hospital. Then it was just Jack and
Laura. His beautiful little sister was all he had left in the world.
And I let her down, Jack thought to himself, letting the tears flow
freely down his cheeks. He flung the remote at the TV, only his poor
aim saving the screen from cracking. He couldn't stay cooped up in
that goddamn hotel room any longer. He opened his door just a crack,
scanning the hallway for Jared, reporters, or just nosey hotel staff.
The corridor was empty. Without stopping to grab a jacket, Jack
slipped out of the room and made a dash for the back stairs.

Sara's first view of Paris was not quite how
she had imagined it. The buildings were blurry shapes through the
grubby windows of the airport taxi. It was starting to grow dark, and
the rain pelted mercilessly against the window. The taxi (or was it
the driver?) smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. They crawled along
through the traffic, every move punctuated by beeping horns, and the
occasional angry gesture from passing cyclists. Sara gripped the edge
of her seat, trying to contain her impatience. All she wanted was to
see Jack and get to the bottom of everything, but she was trapped on
this interminable journey. At last, she spotted the bright facade of
the hotel in the distance; they were only two blocks away, but the
city was gridlocked. She could easily spend another twenty minutes in
the cab.

"Forget
it," Sara cried, exasperated, "I'll just walk. How much do
I owe you?" The cab driver responded with a barrage of thickly
accented French. Sara had no idea what he was trying to tell her, but
he sounded annoyed. She wished she was better at languages.
"How
much? I'll pay you...um, combien? Euros?"

With a scowl, the driver pointed at the meter,
conveniently tucked away just out of her line of sight. With a sigh,
Sara pulled out her envelope of hastily purchased travel money, and
added on a generous tip. She thrust the notes at the driver, who
merely nodded, and hauled herself and her small suitcase out onto the
sidewalk. Within a few steps she was already soaking wet, water
running down the back of her neck and sending shivers down her spine.
Tired and worried, Sara felt like crying. But she steeled herself and
marched down the street, weaving her way through the sea of
umbrellas.

The
receptionist wrinkled her nose as a wet, bedraggled heap emerged from
the revolving doors, almost tripping over it's own suitcase. Sara
slunk towards the desk, leaving brown marks on the impeccable tiles.
She blushed as she pushed her hair away from her face and attempted a
smile.
"Bonjour."
"Bonsoir,
Mademoiselle."
"Umm...anglais,
s'il vous plait?"
"Certainly,
how may I help you?" Sara pulled a crumpled piece of paper from
her pocket and scanned the text.

"Um, I need to find room 320?" The
receptionist eyed her suspiciously. Well, Sara thought to herself, I
guess I do look quite like a crazed fan. Or maybe an axe murderer.
There were a few tense moments while the young woman tapped away at
her computer.

"Your name, please, Mademoiselle?"

It was as if Sara had whispered the secret code
word. Suddenly the receptionist was all smiles. Before she knew it,
an attractive young man had taken hold of her suitcase and was
ushering her towards the elevator. Sara felt her heart lurch in her
chest as the doors slid open on the correct floor. This was not the
first time she had visited Jack's hotel room, but previously she had
been full of excitement. Now she was all nerves, a vague sense of
foreboding pulling at her insides. She almost expected the corridor
to be the same one as her dream; she was a little relieved when they
stepped out and the carpet was a different colour.

The bell boy knocked loudly, and they both
waited. Sara hoped he didn't notice her breathing a little heavily.
There was no answer, and he gave another loud rap. Still nothing.
With a shrug, the bell boy slid his own key into the lock and the
door swung open. The inside was dark until he flicked the light
switch with a practised hand.

"Mademoiselle." The bell boy gave a
little bow and made a swift exit, leaving her all alone in the empty
room

Sara
slumped down on the bed. Where on earth was Jack? He knew what time
her flight landed. From the rumpled bed covers and stack of empty
vodka miniatures on the bed side table, she guessed he'd been holed
up in here most of the day. His suitcase was still on the floor,
open, clothes spilling out everywhere. Sara spotted the t-shirt he
had worn the night they first met, and her heart gave a little
flutter. She pulled out her phone, but his line went straight to
voice mail. Damn it. Suddenly Sara realized she desperately needed to
pee. The bathroom was palatial, all shiny white surfaces and gleaming
gold fixtures. In the corner was the biggest shower Sara had every
seen, with nozzles pointing in all directions. After hours on the
plane, and a battering by the French weather, Sara felt completely
gross. Surely Jack wouldn't mind if she freshened up a bit while she
waited? After finally mastering the control panel, Sara gladly
stripped off her clothes and flung them in a pile on the tiles. The
sensation of the hot water hitting her skin was incredible, and at
last she felt herself relax a little. Grabbing a bottle of divine
smelling body wash, she gently soaped her entire body. Jack would be
back soon, she reasoned. Maybe they would take a shower together, or
a nice long bath in the huge tub on the opposite wall. She could make
him feel better, she was sure of it, and before long the press would
realize they had made a mistake, and this whole stupid story would be
old news. Maybe Jack would take a bit of time off, come back to the
states. Maybe they would finally get to have that dinner. Running her
hands over her full breasts, following the smooth curve of her hips,
Sara imagined Jack's hands on her body. All the stress, all the fear,
would just melt away the moment he touched her, she was sure of it. A
sound from outside snapped her out of her reverie. Her eyes flew
open, and she reached over to switch off the spray. Yes, that was the
door opening. Jack was back! Hurriedly, Sara squeezed the water out
of her hair and grabbed the first towel to hand, not caring that it
barely covered her butt. She wished she'd had time to dress and apply
makeup, but a look in the mirror told her she would do. She hurried
into the bedroom.

"Ja- ...oh."

Michael stood sheepishly by the door, key card
still in his hand.

"Sorry, I didn't realize...I just came to
see if Jack was back. Jared's going crazy, we're supposed to leave
for the venue in half and hour. Have you, um, have you seen him?"

"No, the bellboy let me in," Sara
stuttered, trying to tug her towel into a more decent position. "Why
do you have a key?" The question was out of her mouth before she
had time to think the accusation through.

"We keep spares," Michael said
curtly, narrowing his eyes at her. "Do I know you from
somewhere? I feel like we've met, sorry if I've forgotten."

"I don't think so," Sara said coldly.
She couldn't get the image of him pulling at Erica's clothes out of
her head. Once, she thought ruefully, she would have been asking for
Micheal’s autograph. Now she wanted to slap the sleazebag in
the face.

"I guess not. I wouldn't forget a face
like that in a hurry." Michael winked at her, casting a
lingering glance at her bare, wet legs. She glared at him in return.

"So you've no idea where Jack is?"
Michael asked again, and Sara shook her head. "Probably gone on
one of his walks. Sometimes he disappears for hours. I figured he was
in the bars, but he says he just walks for miles. Thinking, he says,
god knows what about. I can't believe he's being such a selfish
bastard."

"Have you seen what people are saying?
Wouldn't you be upset?"

"I'd get over it. The papers write all
sorts of crap. No use crying and running away, for Pete's sake. We're
a band. It's not all about him."

"Maybe he could do with your support right
now." Sara's tone was icy. Michael just rolled his eyes.

"Looks like he's got his own personal
cheerleader already. Good luck with that one. If you do see him, tell
him not to bother showing up to the venue tonight. We can do it
without him. It's not like I don't know the words."

Michael
slammed the door, leaving Sara almost quaking with rage.

Jack breathed out into the cold air and watched
his breath disperse. Around him, the city continued to hum with
activity, but he was closed off from it all in a shroud of silence.
The bench was cold and damp; he could feel the moisture seeping
through the seat of his pants. He took a swig from his hip flask, and
felt the burn of the alcohol warm his insides. Jack turned his cell
phone over in his hands, willing the battery to come back to life.
Sara should be in the city by now, maybe even at the hotel. He'd made
sure earlier in the day that the staff would look after her. He
should find a telephone booth - assuming those still existed- and
call. He should walk back to the main street and hail a taxi. But
somehow he couldn't bring himself to move. It was a mistake, calling
her, he knew that now. Though every fibre of his being longed to see
her, the truth was they barely knew each other. One mad night of
passion, a few emails and text messages...that barely counted. She
would have seen the papers by now, and she would think exactly what
the rest of the world thought; that he was scum. He couldn't expect
anything else. The thought of seeing her face to face, trying to
explain the whole mess, the thought of Sara rejecting him...it was
all too much. He just couldn't. Jack sat paralysed, consumed by his
own misery, no idea where to go or who he could turn to. Years ago,
in what felt like another life, it would have been Laura. Holding his
hand, trying to make him laugh. No matter what happened, Laura could
always get a smile out of him. She had looked at her big brother like
he was a hero, the guy who could do no wrong. Right up until the end,
she had believed in him. For a moment, Jack could almost imagine her
sitting beside him, ten years old, her strawberry-blonde pigtails
sticking out at funny angles, a grin on her face that revealed her
crooked front tooth. This would always be the image he kept of his
sister, pretty and innocent. Not what came later. He couldn't bear to
think of that. Jack stared up at the orange glow of the street light
as it filtered through the trees, willing away the tears that
threatened to blur his vision. He willed himself to get up, to head
back to the hotel. But he wasn't ready, not yet. He would just sit
for a little longer.

Sara looked up at the clock. Compass were due
on stage in an hour - the rest of the band would be in their dressing
rooms, running through their own pre-show rituals. Once upon a time
Sara would have wanted nothing more than to be in the front row,
cheering them on. But tonight was different. Tonight there would be
no Jack Carter, no front man. And all Sara cared about was seeing him
safe. She replayed their early morning conversation in her head, over
and over, hoping to recall some small detail that would give a hint
of where he was, of what he was thinking. But she had nothing to go
on. Only what Michael had said,that he'd be roaming the city
somewhere. She gazed out of the window and pictured Jack lost in the
winding streets of Paris. Fuck it, she thought to herself, there was
no point sitting around driving herself crazy. Ignoring the rational
part of her brain, she pulled on her jacket and headed for the
elevator. Though she barely knew Jack Carter, and had no idea what
was going on, Sara was sure of one thing. He called her because he
needed her. She came because, despite all her misgivings, she wanted
to be there for him. And if she had to hunt him down in a strange,
dark city, then that was what she was going to do