Love Lies

‘Your birthday, cool. How are you celebrating?’ he asks as he lights another cigarette.

‘Erm, well, I’m coming to see your gig,’ I reply lamely.

‘That’s sweet.’ He smiles and then he looks away. ‘I’m hungry.’ He turns towards the security guy. ‘Bob, can you get me a club sandwich? But no tomatoes. I hate tomatoes.’

12. Fern

About eight members of Scott’s entourage arrive with the sandwich and sadly, it’s clear my moment is over. I hastily grab my zip-up top, jewellery and shoes but I can’t find my ugly knickers. Sod it. I’ll leave them. I feel truly miserable when I consider that there’s probably a pile of other girls’ knickers stashed in this room, under beanbags and the like. The intimacy I felt between us, real or otherwise, has now totally vanished. I make my excuses and back out of the door as quickly as I can.

Scott calls, ‘Have a great birthday, enjoy the gig,’ but he doesn’t get up from his chair. A woman in black leggings with a tidy blonde bob is giving him a shoulder massage. Her fingers are thin and strong. She kneads his muscles as though she’s baking bread and it’s obvious that she’s done the same thing for him on numerous other occasions. The familiarity between them causes a spike of irrational jealousy to poke my innards. I leave quickly.

I scuttle back to the canteen, where the riggers, sound engineers and other crew members are eating their club sandwiches. The hall, which I’d previously thought impressive, looks lack-lustre now in comparison to the cosy room where Scott is holed up.

I spot Adam. He’s sat with some of his team. I wait for my heart to leap. Nothing. Yet all morning I’ve felt

‘All right, Fern-girl?’ he asks, but he doesn’t wait for me to reply. Instead he turns back to his friends and they argue whether Status Quo or the Rolling Stones are the greatest grey entertainers of all time. Scott has listened to me all morning, he’s valued every word I’ve uttered; Adam can’t even be bothered to wait for my response to his most perfunctory of questions. It’s so disappointing. Adam is disappointing. I stare at him and feel nothing other than bleak, steely resentment. I resent his very existence. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have had to pull away from Scott’s kiss. I wouldn’t have to be so eternally, boringly, bloody ordinary. And why did I pull away? Does Adam deserve my loyalty? What if I’ve just thrown away the most exciting opportunity of my life and Adam is indifferent towards me? He certainly didn’t take my ultimatum seriously. I glower at Adam but he’s oblivious. I might as well be invisible because I don’t have cable trailing from my butt attaching me to a bank of speakers or lights.

Thinking about Adam makes me feel irritable and agitated so instead I choose to fall back into thoughts of Scott, which are comforting and exhilarating. I think about Scott’s smile, Scott’s laugh and the way Scott’s brows sort of take a bow when his head creases up with concentration and I’m crazed with excitement. That was the heaviest bout of flirtation I have ever indulged in. I’m hot and sticky all over just thinking about it. Where the hell can

The unexpected but deeply intense encounter is probably work-a-day for Scott, all part of the rock and roll handbook, but I’ve never played strip poker and I’ve never dreamt of playing it with Scottie Taylor. For the first time since I issued the ultimatum to Adam I feel joyful. As long as I can deliberately shove all thoughts of Adam out of my head, then I am profoundly happy; there’s a chance that this will, after all, be the best birthday ever.

Although it’s actually not easy to shove all thoughts of Adam out of my head, especially when he’s sat right next to me, braying with his friends and doing ridiculous impressions of Russell Brand. I stare at him with frustration; annoyingly the frustration is peppered with something hideously close to guilt. I don’t want to feel guilty on my birthday so I quickly start a little reassuring self-justification. I tell myself that I haven’t got anything to feel guilty about. I pulled back, didn’t I? I may have walked right to the edge but I pulled back when it mattered; not every woman would have done the same. I almost believe me.

‘What have you been up to this morning?’ asks Adam, finally turning his attention to me.

‘Nothing much; just looking around,’ I mutter.

All I want to do is talk about Scott but obviously Adam isn’t the right audience. It’s tricky enough having to convince myself that playing strip poker with Scott is

I suppose I could tell Adam about this morning and just leave out the bit about me whipping off my knickers but something stops me doing even that much. Scott is a delicious secret to have. Sharing those moments with him has lifted me above the horrible deadening feelings of normality that have stained my life recently. My morning was fun and special at the same time and suddenly, I feel amazing, alive and very, very sexy. I have a sense that I’ll spoil that feeling if I talk about it with Adam. I’m not sure if he’d be angry or incredulous or even dismissive. I want to hang on to the feeling that I’m special, even if it’s just for the shortest time.

‘Well, I’m pleased to see something has put a smile on your face,’ says Adam. ‘There was one awful moment this morning when I thought that you were disappointed by my birthday pressie.’

‘Erm,’ I hesitate. Should I tell him that yes I was, I am, disappointed that he didn’t respond to my ultimatum and that I still want us to talk more seriously about our future? Or should I let it go? Before I can decide on the right words he stands up and starts to leave the table.

‘Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Keep out of trouble, hey.’ And he leaves without giving me as much as a peck on the cheek.

I’m very muddled, but one thing I do know for sure is that I’m glad Adam has gone back to his work; at least now I can call Jess and Lisa to tell them how I’ve spent my morning. I call them by turn and they prove themselves to be excellent friends when I tell them about my encounter as they repeatedly squeal, ‘You lucky, lucky cow.’ They both ask what he’s like.

‘Even more gorgeous, and hot, and clever and funny than you can imagine,’ I say somewhat smugly.

I give them a great amount of detail about what the room looked like, what the flowers smelt like, what the security guy did. I describe what Scott was wearing and I tell them about his low, throaty laugh, his eyes, his broad arms and even his neat toenails.

I leave out the bit about the strip poker.

Never before have I censored any part of my life when talking with Jess and Lisa. I’ve never had to, but they probably wouldn’t understand how or why I agreed to such a thing. I barely understand it. I might mention it later on, when we are face to face, but over the phone it’s difficult to explain why it was so utterly impossible to resist anything Scott suggested.

‘What did Adam make of it?’ asks Lisa.

‘I haven’t mentioned it to him,’ I say, regretting the fact that my voice becomes slightly squeaky and thin when I admit as much. I don’t want to be defensive. Lisa makes a funny sucking sound that I recognize as part warning, part condemnation. She sometimes makes that sound real gorgeous, hot, clever, funny guy,’ I joke.

‘Scott is real,’ argues Lisa.

I don’t say, true, when he sucked my blood off his thumb he did seem very real. I say, ‘No, he’s not. He’s a fantasy figure.’

‘He was a fantasy figure until you spent all morning playing cards with him and now he’s real,’ says Lisa.

‘If only,’ I sigh with obvious regret. Then I make an effort to turn the subject. ‘Now, let’s make a plan. You have to get here as soon as you can. When’s your babysitter due?’

After we’ve made our arrangements I go to the merchandise store and buy a pair of new knickers; I choose a pair with the words ‘Scottie Taylor, Deity’ emblazoned in silver, glittering letters. Then I decide to pass the rest of the afternoon sitting and thinking about my glorious secret; Scott Taylor – legend – definitely had a boner for me. It all came to such a weird abrupt halt that I can’t quite decide what Scott thought of the encounter. Not that I’m assuming he thought anything at all. As I say, this is all probably in a day’s work for him. He was probably relieved that I said no to more poker (he did at least have the opportunity to order lunch). But then I can’t help wondering would he have carried on playing – stripping – if I’d allowed him. Would he have