Never Land (6 page)

            “Makeup time,” she said cheerily. “We've got a lot of work to do with you. I've got a very special idea.”

            “What is it?” I asked, slightly confused at the sheer colorful array of pencils and brushes she was getting out.

            “You'll see,” the woman said. “I've done a lot of makeup chairs in the past few months, but I've got to say – this is one of the most exciting. It's not often that you get hype like this.” She looked over at Cassandra, who was authoritatively barking out directions on her cell phone. “Your PR manager is good at her job. She knows how to create a buzz, that's for sure.” She made me close my eyes as she started applying makeup to my face, painting it with what felt like sticky goo. Meanwhile, a second attendant was changing my clothes, putting on a tight-fitting jacket and pants on, moving me around to avoid getting in the makeup artist's way.

            “Keep your eyes closed,” the makeup artist said. “You'll see the whole costume when it's done.”

            If I turned slightly pink at the idea that I was changing in front of an entire room full of people, the makeup probably hid it.

            “Okay, surprise,” chirped the makeup artist. “You can open your eyes now.”

            When I looked into the mirror, my mouth fell wide open with shock. Standing before me was a mirror image of Captain Beam – my father's most famous onstage persona. The glam rock space captain, with spiky blond hair and a painted lightning bolt covering his face from his meticulously painted eyes to his dark-red lips, who had caused an entire generation of screaming 70's fan girls to become obsessed with androgyny. Captain Beam had lasted my father through two platinum-selling albums and several additional singles; whenever he launched a reunion tour, Captain Beam was always his most popular character. And here I was, my hair spiked up and frosted slightly with spray-in dye, the familiar lightning bolt across my eyes, the green eye-shadow, the dark lips. Even my clothes were the same, albeit, a sexed-up, more feminine version of the spikey-shouldered jacket and form-fitting leather pants Captain Beam had worn.

            My heart sank as I realized what all this meant.
Rolling Stone
didn't just want the Never Knights on the cover, they wanted me – Neve Knight, Keith Knight's daughter.

            I looked around and saw that the other band members were being dressed in identical long black-leather coats with blue eyeliner. The same costumes the members of Captain Beam's Galaxy Band used to wear.

            “What's all this?” I looked around, confused.

            “We want to recreate all of Keith Knight's classic looks,” Cassie explained. “Only – with you in the leading role. Captain Beam. The Lonely Walker. All of them.”

            “So this is about my father...” my voice wavered.

            “It's our biggest selling point,” said Cassie. “Remember, these guys in
Rolling Stone
have grown up with Keith and Jessica. They've seen your baby pictures. They already know you as the girl Keith Knight wrote “Midnight Lullaby” for. There's no getting around it. Everyone wants to know if Keith Knight's daughter can live up to his image. And this way, they'll see that you can rock the same outfits – even sexier than the King of Glam himself.”

            “But what about the other band members?”

            “They'll be in the shot, don't worry. But you're our focus.”

            “But our music?”

            “People want to see you, Neve. You're the draw right now. Once we get bums in seats and start shifting stock, then people will listen to your music. But we have to get them to bite, first.”

            My stomach plummeted. So, this was how it was going to be. No matter how much I tried to make a name for myself, no matter how many times I tried to be independent and establish the Never Knights as an independent entity, my father's name and legacy would always haunt us.

            Luckily for me, the other band members seemed not to mind – or if they did, they pretended not to. They cheerfully allowed the team of makeup artists to fuss over and primp them, painting on false birthmarks, adding synthetic eyelashes and plenty of eyeliner. Everyone looked painfully, mind-numbingly gorgeous. Just looking at the four of them in a room – angelic, sensitive Kyle, brooding, dark-eyed Luc, charming, charismatic Steve and of course Danny, whose gorgeous looks were only accentuated by the skillful professionalism of the makeup artist – made me want to melt. No wonder we always had female groupies hanging out around us – I was surrounded by four of the best-looking guys on the planet.  

            “Hey, look!” Kyle laughed. “More costumes!” He pulled out a rack of military jackets – part of my father's Soviet Soldier phase in the late '80's.

            “Is this Lenin or Lonely Hearts' Club?” Luc laughed as he put on a tight-fitting military jacket from the Soviet era. “These costumes are great!”

            It warmed my heart to see them all so happy, so enthusiastic.

            Danny came up behind me and squeezed my hand as unobtrusively as he could manage. He, at least, had picked up on my discomfort. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “Captain Beam or not – you look beautiful. And it won't take long before you show the world that you're not just your father's daughter. You're a talented, ambitious, exciting new voice in your own right. Don't forget that.”

            His words made me smile. I squeezed his hand right back, enjoying the feel of his flesh against mine.

            “Let's do this!” Cassie shouted, and immediately the five of us were posing on the bed, the flashbulbs going off in our faces as the camera
clicked
loudly. Photograph after photograph was taken – each time we moved, turned, posed, writhed like cats. One costume and then the next – Soviet military jackets, spiky metal collars, the pseudo-preppy look of my father's Lonely Walker album. Soon I let go of my misgivings and allowed myself to enjoy it – enjoy being center stage, mugging for the cameras, laughing and joking with the boys as the camera caught our every move.

            By the time we finished the shoot it was evening, and we were all exhausted and hungry.

            “What do you say we hit up Shoreditch?” Steve suggested. “Apparently it's the cool place to go if you want to get away from all the snobs this side of town. They've got some great bars – and the drinking age is 18! No need for fake Ids.”

            Kyle and Luc enthusiastically agreed, before turning to me and Danny.

            “Guys?” Luc asked, trying hard to be friendly to both of us. I could see how difficult it was for him; his eyes still welled up with ink-dark pain.

            “Actually...” Danny said. “Do you mind if we catch up with you later? I have to talk to Neve about something – is that fine by you, Neve?”

            I nodded and bid farewell to the others. “What is it?”

            “How about we go for a drive?” Danny grinned at me. He led me down into the hotel lobby and out into the street, where a shiny silver Aston Martin awaited us.

            “Your ride?” I asked.

            “All mine,” Danny spun the keys around in his hand and opened the door for me. “You first, love.”

            “So where are we going? A scenic ride through the countryside? A trip to the West End?” I'd eagerly read my London guidebook, and I was set to see as much of the city's tourist sites as possible before we headed home.

            “I'd hoped to take you to one of my favorite restaurants, a Sushi place in South Kensington,” said Danny. “But...my father changed all that.” He visibly tensed at the mention of his father.

            I looked up at him. “What about your father?”

            “I met with him earlier today. And...well....” he stiffened. “Dad wants to meet you. He asked if we'd meet him at his nightclub in Chelsea. Not really our sort of place – too stuck up. But he wants to get to know you.” He rolled his eyes.

            “What's so wrong with that?” I asked.

            “You don't know my father,” he said. “He had a thing for Jessica Botano, quite seriously. When she won Swimsuit Model of the Year he tried to hire her to come out of a birthday cake for his 50
^th
birthday celebrations. I was quite young at the time...”

            I made a face. “You think he'll be...a bit creepy?”

            “He's a 'bit creepy' as you call it with everyone. That's just his natural personality.” Danny grimaced. “Whether it's just that he wants to ogle the famous Botano genes or he wants to embarrass me in public, I don't trust the situation. My father rarely invites me – or a significant other – to anything but a business function without some ulterior motive. And the last thing I want is for you to get mixed up in all of that. And of course, I'll have to see my father's latest child-bride. Veronica Taylor. The former reality star. Have you heard of her?”

            “I've seen her ads.” She was the current face of Dior perfumes – an ethereally gorgeous, pallid young woman. “Isn't she like thirteen?”

            “Twenty-one,” said Danny. “They've already been married six months...she's the youngest one yet.”

            “Careful,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “They're getting younger and younger. The next one won't be out of high school yet.”

            “She's five years younger than me,” said Danny. “Which is thoroughly strange.” He sighed. “Well, Roni is
lively
, certainly. I suppose she keeps my daddy dearest young.”

            I looked over at Danny again. His face was still, stony. Almost expressionless.

            We turned on to King's Road and headed towards the river, where some elegant lights greeted us to BLUE WATER, the waterside branch of Danny's father's London empire. Barges were laid out on the Thames, and people in haute couture and sumptuous coats were standing or sitting and drinking next to pulsing heat lamps.

            “Ready to meet the dragon?” Danny turned to me.

            I gulped. “Ready,” I said.

Chapter 7

            No sooner had we walked in than I began to feel as if I were under a microscope. Everyone stopped and turned to stare at us; voices hushed as we approached, and I felt everyone in the bar stop in order to size me up, looking me up and down, judging my wardrobe. I was wearing a black sequined dress with square shoulders that gave me a powerful silhouette – one of my mother's favorite pieces she'd had re-tailored to fit me – but I still felt under-dressed compared to these people. Most of them were staring at Danny – he was easily recognizable, after all, as the sometime owner of this place, but their look wasn't just about respect for the most important person in the room. The women, especially, were looking at him with unbridled desire in their eyes. I flushed. I was with the man widely regarded as the most desirable in London. Back home in LA, I was treated like a catch, an eligible bachelorette. But here, I knew what the others were thinking.
Is she good enough for him? Does she measure up?
I wanted to vanish into the middle of the floor.

            But Danny refused to be daunted. He took my hand and squeezed it, hard, showing all the world that we were there
together
before he kissed my palm. “They're just wondering what a lout like me is doing with a gorgeous thing like you,” he whispered. “They know me here – same as your clubs in LA. It's a small world, and people here get nervous when they have to look at something unfamiliar. You're fresh meat. But don't you worry...”

            “Fresh meat?” I smiled grimly. “Is that what I am?”

            He laughed. “As utterly gorgeous as you are, to these people you're easy prey. Just ignore them.”

            “The VIP section, Mr. Blue,” one of the maître d's almost bowed as he directed us to a private waterside dock covered by a white canopy. Inside, people were reclining on pillows at long tables stocked with every brand of champagne imaginable. As we made our way to the dock, we were intercepted by a tall woman in a perfectly-tailored black dress, her auburn hair swept up in an Audrey Hepburn updo.

            “Can it be?” her accent had only the tiniest trace of a Scottish lilt. “Is Danny Blue back in town?” She kissed him immediately on both cheeks, lingering – I noted – just a few moments too long when she embraced him. She assessed me in a matter of seconds, her shrewd eyes taking in my height, attractiveness, and fashion sense, before apparently deciding I wasn't even worth bothering about and turning to Danny. “How
have
you been? What have you been up to, darling? It's been positively ages!”

            “Joanne,” Danny smiled through gritted teeth. “Always a pleasure. I've been in California.”

            “Oh yes, working on that little degree of yours – so charming!”

            “And I don't believe you've met Neve Knight. Lead singer of the band I played with out there. The Never Knights. We're touring over here now.”

            “Oh yes, the Never Knights...” Joanne's voice dripped with disdain. “That teen band from America. I think my little sister has one of their songs on her iPod.”

            I wished for the floor to open and swallow me up. Danny, however, refused to take the bait. “Just signed with RRR.” Danny said proudly.

            “Well,” Joanne said, looking utterly disingenuous. “So
good
that you've moved on, darling.” She gave me a look full of contempt. “After that horrible business with Peyton. Oh, you know, I really do miss her quite dreadfully sometimes. She was so beautiful – inside and out – we all loved her
so
much.” She squeezed Danny's hand. “We often think of her and you.” She turned to me. “I never encountered a happier couple than those two,
really.
So utterly in love. We all absolutely mourn that terrible tragedy that took her from us.” She looked over our shoulders. “Oh, my, is that Claire and Louis back from the Riviera? I simply must hear about their cruise!” She squeezed Danny's hand. “I know you must still be mourning. You have my number – do ring me if you ever need to...grieve.” She turned to me. “Good luck with that little band of yours, er – Ever?”