The Bare Necessities (Non-Profane Edition) (36 page)

“This life,” Jack
shouted and pointed towards his father. “Isn't me. I will not be
the person you want me to be. I am an artist, not a businessman.
I'm a naturist, not a prude. And most of all, I'm in love. And if I
don't tell her now, I will regret it for the rest of my life. Just
like Lucinda does. And I won't make the same mistakes she did.”

Paul snorted and
grabbed hold of his son's arm tightly, but Jack pushed him away and
got to the door. “Don't throw your …” He started, but Jack was
already racing down the corridor. He reached the stairs and jumped
down them two at a time, before emerging into the lobby.

Jack dialled
Andre's number on his phone, but it went straight to voicemail so
he tried Claire and then Paige, before sending Andre a text message
- “Where is press conf? Urgent. Jack.”

“Hell!” Jack
shouted into the street and ran down the road, stopping outside an
electrical retailer. “Where's the Bare Necessities Press
Conference?” He shouted and looked around the shop.

“Can I help
you?”

“Where's the press
conference?” He pointed to the news channel on the unreasonably
large television screens that adorned the shop.

“You want to buy a
television?”

“Where's that,” he
asked as the helicopter view on the television screen showed the
black car that Paige and Claire were travelling in. Along the
bottom of the screen, there were numerous bullet points relating to
their story and Jack panicked.

“That's Chelsea
Bridge,” he was told. “Can see Battersea Power Station there.”

“Which way?”

The man pointed
towards to his right, and Jack thanked him as he tore out of the
shop, almost knocking over a suited gentleman as he left. Jack
sprinted down the road, reaching the junction and heading for
Battersea.

His sides started
to ache as he dashed down each road, before having to cross another
major road at an intersection. Jack felt his pocket vibrate. “Why?
Wandsworth Hotel.”

“Andre, you
beauty,” Jack told his phone as he reached Chelsea Bridge. The
conference was probably starting, and he still had to find the
hotel. He ran across the bridge and stopped on the other side,
putting the hotel name into his maps application on his phone.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he shouted impatiently at his piece of
consumer electronics. “You,” he shouted at a woman walking past
him. “Wandsworth Hotel. Which way, please?”

She hesitated.
“Ummm …”

“Quickly. I might
lose the love of my life.”

“That way, turn
right, I think. Third right?”

Jack shouted a
“cheers” as he sprinted down the road and skidded as he approached
the third road on his right. Facing him was the giant hotel and he
ran to the end of small avenue before jumping up the stairs two at
a time.

“Where's the Bare
Necessities press conference?” He panted at the receptionist who
was talking on the telephone. She gestured at him to wait, but the
mild-mannered teenager reached over and took the phone from her.
“Where is it? It's urgent.”

“Oh my God,” the
receptionist shrieked and he turned to see Paige and Claire sat
next to Andre on a television screen in the hotel reception. “In
there,” she said, pointing towards some double doors. “But it's
started.”

Jack walked away
from the receptionist towards the double doors. “You can't go in,”
he was told, but he ignored her and stumbled into a long corridor.
He could see dozens of people sat on the corridor with laptops and
mobile phones and they looked up as he approached the end of the
room where all the noise was coming from.

“Jack's arrived,”
voices whispered, but the keyboardist said nothing and burst into
the large conference room at the end of the hallway. Sat on a stage
at the end of the room, and lit by powerful spotlights was Paige,
Claire and Andre, seated on chairs around a big, long table.

“So with regret,”
Claire told the audience. “The Bare Necessities are no more.” Paige
had a stony-faced expression and Jack coughed.

“I hope I'm not
too late,” he told the room, and Paige's misty eyes turned away
from him. The journalists muttered under their breaths as video
cameras were turned to face the third member of the band, and he
walked down the side of the room to the end of the stage. “'Cause I
let someone tell me what to think and do, and I may have made the
biggest mistake of my life.” He stared at his two former band
mates, and he sighed. “And I hope I'm not too late.”

He faced the
cameras. “That girl. That Paige Simmons is one of the most talented
and best singers this country has ever produced. You all know that,
that's why our music shot up the charts,” he said confidently. “But
what you don't know is that she is also the craziest, wildest, most
beautiful, kind spirited, charismatic, wonderful person I have
met.” He looked across at her, and she slowly shook her head. “Are
you going to talk to me? Because I want to talk to you.”

Paige sniffed.
“You're just a posh bastard,” she muttered, but her microphone
heard it, and her insult was broadcast to the room.

“I was a posh
bastard,” he admitted. “But for the last two months, I've been just
like you.” She scratched her head, and Jack gave a smile to the
room. He put his hands underneath his T-shirt and lifted it over
his head. “I am a naturist, just like Paige. And I am proud to be.”
He looked at her. “Are you going to talk to me, or do I have to go
further?”

Paige wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and
Jack kicked off his trainers. “Hey, Jack, this …” Greg started, and
the experienced agent put his hand on Jack's torso, but the
determined man searched Paige's face for an expression. He
unbuckled his jeans and let them fall to the floor.

“I don't mind you
using dessert spoons for your soup, or using me to trap religious
fundamentalists, or embarrassing me in front of all the paparazzi,”
he told her and she looked up at him. “I like sharing double
sleeping bags with you, or being dragged off to Southend or being
hauled naked through the woods.” He smiled at her and, without
looking down, pushed his thumbs into his boxer shorts and slid them
down to his knees, where they fell to the floor. “I'm sorry,” he
told her. “I'd love to keep doing what we do.”

“You stupid …”
Paige murmured and got up from her chair, sniffing.

“I only have
Lucinda and you guys now for family,” Jack told her. “And am
begging for forgiveness. Please, can we go on tour, make a second
album. I mean, I think we have a fan-base.”

Paige smiled as
she navigated around Claire, and put her arms around her well-toned
band mate. “You're forgiven,” she whispered into his ear. “Just
don't do it again!”

They kissed, Jack
running his hands over Paige's back as their tongues intertwined
and caressed while hundreds of photographers eagerly caught the
moment.

“I guess the Bare
Necessities are back together,” Claire told the excited press pack.
“And … umm …” She looked at her boyfriend. “I guess you better sort
us out a tour. I fancy, somewhere warm this time of year. The
Caribbean, maybe? Oh, and a second album would be great.” She
looked up at the kissing couple. “And a couple of hotel rooms.”

He groaned. “Can't
I have just have some time to relax?”

Claire smiled.
“Why do you think I asked for two hotel rooms,” she said with a
glint in her eye and squeezed his hand. “Both doubles, of
course!”

* *
* * *

“Ahh Paul,” the
voice cried, and the manager of the factory jumped. He turned
around to see the figure of his sister in his chair and an unknown
man next to her.

“What's this?” He
thundered and looked at Lucinda. “What are you doing here?”

She laughed. “This
is a bit awkward, really. I actually don't own 50% of the shares. I
actually own 51%. We looked last night. Well Greg did.” Lucinda
scowled as she spoke and she rubbed her hands, before tapping the
desk. “Remember when Dad died, you got 40 shares and Mum got 25,
and I got 35. Well when you needed that fantastic new machine, and
I leant the factory the money from my second … or is third … I
don't know, anyway that divorce, I took Mum's 25 shares and gave
her back 18 as the full payment wasn't made, remember?”

Paul hummed.
“So?”

“When Mum died,
she gave us equal amounts of her shares. It was Dad's idea for
having 100 shares, seemed silly to me, but I have 51% of the
shares. And I so I have decided to … umm … take control.”

“But … but you
can't.”

“Why not?” Lucinda
asked.

“Because you are
an alcoholic.”

“I am a free
spirited drinker when I am not in a relationship,” Lucinda reminded
him. “But I was not the one nicked for drink driving two weeks ago.
Remind me, when is your court date?” Paul snorted, and she turned
to her partner. “This is Greg, he has managed one of the most
successful agencies in London and is our new Management
Consultant.”

“I do not need a
management consultant.”

“No, not you. Me.”
She smiled at him and pulled out a small folder labelled
“accounts.” He coughed. “We've looked at these. Did you know that
your house is actually owned by this company? Great little tax
dodge. And that revenue has declined far greater than the average
company in London during the recession. And that …”

“What's your
point?”

“The point is
that, I am the new big boss. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it. Greg
is my assistant and management consultant. He is quite keen to pass
his business onto his nephew and go part-time, so working here is
fine. And you … well … that position you had for Jack. Supervisor,
or Assistant Supervisor. You'll be perfect for it.”

Paul's face went
purple. “How dare you,” he shouted.

“Errr … not a good
way to talk to your new manager, is it?” Lucinda asked and smiled.
“I can call an Emergency General Meeting. Actually shall we do it
now. We have the right people. OK. I propose to sack Paul
Rees-Montague. In favour?” She theatrically raised her hand and
then nodded. “Carried.”

“Why are you doing
this? I am a good manager here. We've done all right. And I'm your
brother, we're family.”

Lucinda snorted.
“When you can remember what a family means, I'll think of letting
you have your factory back,” she told him firmly. “What you tried
to do to Jack was nasty. But in the mean time I think you have a
factory floor to watch over.” He hesitated and Lucinda stretched on
the chair, not looking up from the folder. “Unless you want me to
reassess our property portfolio and put a nice umpteen bedroom
house on Barton Drive up for sale.”

He tutted and
turned to leave the room. “You're really enjoying this,” he spat at
his sister.

“Oh, and
lunchtime, one o'clock. I want us to go for lunch. Have those
brother-sister chats we've never actually had.”

Paul didn't
respond, and just left the room before closing the door.

1. Epilogue
   

Paige raised her
hand and nodded, causing Claire to hiss. “We agreed no more than
three hundred!”

“No worries,”
Paige whispered back. “We got an advance for the tour, we can cover
it.”

“Paige, I know
that.” Claire whispered anxiously as her friend raised her hand
again with a smile. “Jack's going to kill us.”

“No, he won't,”
the red-haired girl said with a grin. “He won't at all. He will be
most annoyed with me, and I shall kiss him and tell him what a
marvellous boyfriend he is and get on my knees…”

“You are so
vulgar,” the curvy teenager snapped.

“... And beg,”
Paige added with a smile. “And don't tell me you haven't been on
your knees around Andre,” she added and Claire shook her head.

Paige nodded
towards the auction-master as Claire whispered. “I really wonder
how you two ever work.”

Paige smiled at
her friend. “Because he loves me and I love him.”

“Three days,”
Claire reminded her. “That's it. Three days.”

“Ahh well,” Paige
blushed and she held up her board again. “So what, it's …”

“Paige, that was
for three fifty.”

“Yeah, I know. I
am listening,” the girl snapped at her friend and bit her lip. “I
want that place. Jack wants it too.”

“What about
me?”

“What about you?
OK, this is our money, but you have spent some too. You made a bid
for that florist yesterday for your mum.” Claire screwed up her
face into a frown, but Paige continued. “And you are looking at
houses for your folks. My mum used to work in childcare, and there
is a lovely little house around the corner. And Jeremy wants out of
South London after what happened, so a new start in Southend is
just fantastic. We all want our families to get a leg up from our
success.”

“Yeah, I know,”
Claire muttered as Paige looked around the room; the last bid by
herself was at £360,000 and no-one was prepared to go any
higher.

“And I happen to
know that little Miss Claire and little Master Andre were looking
at travel agents together.”

Claire sighed.
“OK. I just know that our accountants will be annoyed that we went
over budget.”

“This is nothing.
Just wait until I get decorators in,” Paige teased and grinned as
the auction-master announced that The Bare Necessities were the new
owners of the “Christian Light Childcare Centre” in the centre of
Southend. “Excellent,” Paige cried with a giggle and nodded towards
Claire. “I guess we should go and pay them! I got so many ideas for
that place. This is going to get so expensive!”

* * * * *

“What's this?”
Paul shouted as he burst into the office. “Are you taking the mick
or what.”

“Paul
Rees-Montague. I advise you to moderate your language in the
presence of your managers,” Lucinda goaded him as she looked up
from the general ledger. “And yes, I meant to tell you about that.”
He held out the T-shirt in his hands, and she smiled. “We got the
contract to make or assemble all the Bare Necessities merchandise.
How good is that?”