The Mighty Storm (7 page)

He laughs. “No. Then what did you do after school?”

“
Moved here to go to uni. I got my degree in journalism. Then I landed a job at Etiquette, the magazine I work for, and I
’
ve worked there ever since.”

“
Cool.” Another drag of his cigarette. “You
’
re not married.” His words come out with the smoke, and I see his eyes flicker to my left hand.

“
No.”

“
Boyfriend?” He takes another drag, then leans over and stubs his cigarette out in the waiting ashtray.

My heart halts. I don
’
t know why but I have the sudden urge to not want to tell him about Will.

“
Yes,” I say slowly.

“
Live together?”

“
No.” This seems a little personal and a lot grilling. Why is he so interested? “I live with my flat mate Simone in Camden.”

His face stays impassive. “How long have you been with the boyfriend?”

“
His name is Will, and we
’
ve been together for two years.”

“
And what does Will do for a living?”

Why is he suddenly so interested in Will?

“
He
’
s an investment banker.”

“
Smart guy.” I can
’
t actually tell if he
’
s being sarcastic or not.

“
He is.” I nod. “He
’
s very smart
–
top of his class at uni and he
’
s climbing the ladder at work very quickly.”

I don
’
t know why but I suddenly feel the urge to needle him with Will and how great he is.

Seeing as though Jake is a rich mega star, I don
’
t want to seem so left behind I guess, even though all I can sell myself with, is Will.

Jake gets another cigarette out of his pack and lights it up.

Wow, he smokes a lot.

I curl my fingers around the edge of my notebook.

The atmosphere has shifted, and I
’
m not entirely sure where to. And I suddenly just want to get out of here. I want to get this interview done, so I can leave.

He
’
s not the Jake I remember. Or the Jake from the papers. I
‘
m not actually sure who this Jake is that’s sitting before me.

I unclip my pen from my notebook, and open it up to the page where my prepared questions are.

“
It
’
s been really nice catching up with you, Jake, but I really should get to the interview - especially if I want to keep my job.” I try to keep my tone professional and add a smile for good measure.

Not that Vicky would ever fire me, well I hope she wouldn
’
t, but he doesn
’
t need to know that.

“
You won
’
t get fired.”

“
You sound pretty confident of that.” I force a little laugh out.

“
I am.”

He takes another long drag of his cigarette, eyes fixed on mine.

Looking away, I shift nervously in my seat.

“
You okay?” he asks. “You seem a little uncomfortable.”

Still as direct as ever. That obviously hasn’t changed obviously.

“
Of course I
’
m not uncomfortable.”

Yes, I am. I
’
m a little intimidated by you and confused by your questions, and flustered and ready to leave to be honest.

“
I just need to
–”

“
Do your job.” He finishes for me. “Okay, go ahead, ask me anything. I
’
m all yours Tru, for the next thirty minutes.” He glances at his expensive watch, then leans back against the sofa, putting one arm to rest on the back and smiles at me. It
’
s a smile with something behind it. A cheeky kind of smile.

And it doesn
’
t relax me at all. Not one single bit. If anything it makes me even more nervous.

Putting the end of my pen in my mouth, I glance down at my first question, but now it just seems so lame and I feel embarrassed. I
’
ve done so many interviews in my time, but I can honestly say this is my hardest to date. Maybe it
’
s because I know … knew him so well.

I know his eyes are still on me, I can feel them, and a heat is fast rising up my neck.

I get my water from the table, have a drink of it, put it down and without looking at him, say, “
It’s been said in the past that you’re a perfectionist when it comes to your work – your music, and because of that you can be … at times, difficult to work with. Do you agree with that? Do you consider yourself a perfectionist?”

The
question was actually fourth on my list, but I decide to go straight in with the question that may possibly piss him off first. I’m just in that kind of mood now.

I look over at him and I can see the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. He actually looks impressed. And for a moment, I wonder what he was expecting me to ask him.

“
People don
’
t work
with
me, Tru, they work
for
me. And the guys in my band, the ones who matter, don
’
t seem to have a problem with the way I run things.”

Wow, arrogant much? And kind of hot.

Crap.

“
But to answer your question,” he continues. “I want my music and my label to be the best it can be. Currently it is, and I intend to keep it that way, so if I have to
bust
a few balls and have myself labelled as a complete shit to work for, or a
‘
perfectionist
’
,” he air quotes, “to keep me, my band and my label at the top of its game, then yeah, call me a perfectionist. I
’
ve been called worse.
”
He grins.

And it travels all the way through me. I have to press my knees together to stop my legs from trembling.

I scribble down the last of his answer quickly, and clear my throat. “The general feeling and what people are saying, is that
‘
Creed
’
is your most chart-friendly album to-date, do you agree with that?”

“
Do you?”

Eh?

“
Me?”

“
Yes. I
’
m assuming you
’
ve listened to the album.”

He
’
s testing me.

“
Of course I have … and … yes, I agree with the general consensus. I think that a lot of the songs are holding a softer tone than your previous albums. Especially
‘
Damned
’
and
‘
Sooner
’
.”

Ha, suck on that!

“
Good. Then then the point of the album is being received.” He smiles, and I feel a little lost.

What?

Okay, recover yourself Tru.

“
So tell me
–
what would you be doing right now if you weren't talking to me?”

“
I’d be catching up with an old friend.”

Oh
.

“
Um…” I stumble, caught totally off guard, yet again. “Okay … it’s been a while since you toured, are you looking forward to getting back on the road and playing live again?”

He sits forward, closer to me. I have the urge to lean back, but I don’t, instead I cross my legs in front of me, feeling like they could somehow protect me from whatever answer, or quite possibly question, he has ready to throw at me.

He was always smart when we were kids, and so quick, but this grown-up Jake is like a snake in a stallions clothing.

He most certainly does not come across as the womanizing, drinking, drug addicted Jake the press claim him to be. Or even like a man who just got of rehab a little over four weeks ago.

He seems in control. Or maybe this is just what sober Jake is like.

His eyes flicker down to my bare legs, quickly travelling up them and back up to my face.

And there’s the womanizer in him.

“
Playing live is what I love to do, it’s what I live to do … and I have a feeling this tour is going to be a very interesting one – probably my most interesting to date.”

“
Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

I’m curious now, if anything I thought this tour would be hard for him with Jonny gone. Especially, considering what happened in Japan.

He runs his hand through his hair. “I’ve just had a recent addition to my team and I know for sure she’ll make things different, interesting … better.”

She?

Maybe he’s got a girlfriend nowadays. But then he did say his team, I’m sure he doesn’t screw the staff – actually no he probably does.

“
And this new addition, I’m taking it she’s not new a band member?”

He shakes his head, lips pressed together.

“
So she’s part of the team putting the tour together?”

“
I put the tour together.”

“
Right. So she’s…?”

“
Let’s say she does … PR.”

Okay … I decide to move on from there seeing as though he’s not keen to expand on the mystery woman who’s going to make his tour his most successful to date.

“
So tell me about your personal favorites on the album and where the inspiration for them came from?”

Then I see the spark in his eye, and I know I
’
ve caught him with his music, the one thing he truly loves, and I
’
m reminded of that boy I loved all those years ago.

It makes my heart ache a little.

Forcing myself to focus, not wanting to miss a word he says, I start to write quickly trying to catch up as his enthusiastic words start to spill out.

And that
’
s how it is for the next thirty minutes. Question after question, I listen to him come more and more to life as he talks about his music; just like the old Jake I knew in so many ways.

It makes me miss him, in the oddest way, even though he
’
s sitting right here before me.

I keep all the questions music based. I don
’
t ask any of the questions I had lined up about Jonny Creed
’
s death, how it affected him or his time in rehab or about his personal life. It just wouldn’t feel in line with the whole vibe of the interview, and I don’t want to spoil the obvious pick-up in his mood, and I
’
ve got a feeling he wouldn
’
t answer them anyway.

To be honest I
’
m surprised I wasn
’
t vetted by Stuart on what I could and couldn
’
t ask Jake when I first arrived. That
’
s how it usually works with celebrities. Especially ones as high profile as Jake.

But then I get the distinct impression that Jake doesn
’
t play by the rule book in anything
–
and that any vetting to be done
–
he does himself.

I finish shorthand scribbling down his last answer and then close my note pad and put it back in my bag.

“
Thank you,
”
I say.

“
It
’
s been really good to see you, Tru.”

“
You too.”

I feel a sudden lump in my throat and I realise, even though half an hour ago I felt like bolting, now, I don
’
t want to leave him. The thought of not seeing him again is constricting my heart in the weirdest kind of way.

Crazy, I know.

I reach down and pick my bag up, and stand. Jake follows suit, standing beside me.

I
’
m not really sure what to do now.

Do I shake his hand, or hug him, or what?

“
Did you bring a coat?” he asks.

“
It
’
s in my bag.” I turn to him. He looks down at me with his crystal clear blue eyes. “Thank you again for the interview. It was great.”

“
You don
’
t have to thank me; I
’
d do an interview for you anytime.”

“
I might hold you to that,” I laugh.

“
Do,” he says. Not a trace of humour in his voice.

I suddenly feel unsteady. I put my bag strap onto my shoulder, holding my bag to me for support. “Thanks again for your time,” I smile and start to walk toward the door, my legs feeling like lead.

“
So you
’
re heading back to work now?” Jake asks following behind me.

“
Yes.”

“
Do you need a ride? I can get Stuart to drive you.”