Page 9 of Love Me Till Wednesday

She walked to the edge and gripped the shiny stainless steel rail tightly as if it were the only thing stopping her from toppling off. She stared out at the lights across the river. The sound of a crowd of people talking and laughing came from the ballroom behind her, but she tried to filter it out. She needed to concentrate on answering the many questions going around in her head.

How had she missed that Pete was gay? She went back over their relationship, looking for clues. He’d pursued her, confessing that he’d looked for excuses for the two of them to be in the studio or rehearsal room alone until he’d eventuallymade a move. And he’d been an enthusiastic lover until recently, anyway. She’d put that down to being tired from the long tour they’d just completed. But perhaps he wasn’t getting what he wanted. There’d been no hint of him being attracted to men, though. Or maybe he’d been very good at hiding it or didn’t want to admit it to himself.

Not that any of that mattered now. He’d cheated on her. How could she carry on working with him? After the excitement of being presented with that iconic award less than an hour ago, Lisa’s world felt like it was crumbling around her. And her boots weren’t helping either. At least that problem was easily solved. She unzipped them and hurled them over the balcony into the garden. There was a shout from below.

She looked down. Shit! They’d been more aerodynamic than she’d anticipated. They’d travelled over the garden and onto the pavement, narrowly missing a passerby. She watched as the man’s terrier picked one up and ran off. The dog was welcome to it. She started sobbing.

‘You look like you could do with one of these.’ The voice startled her. A young waiter had appeared beside her, holding a silver tray containing a solitary glass. ‘Champagne,’ he said.

Her feet were still throbbing despite being free of their patent leather prison. A drink might help take the edge off the physical pain and possibly the emotional pain, too, but there was one slight problem.

‘I haven’t got any money on me,’ she said.

‘It’s on the house.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Congratulations on your award.’

Damn. He’d recognised her. She could see the headlines now.Sapphire Stars’ lead singer can’t deal with fame.

She looked at him pleadingly. ‘Please don’t say you’ve seen me like this.’

He looked sympathetic. ‘I won’t. I promise. Can I get you anything else? Shoes, for instance?’

She looked self-consciously at her not-so-popstar pink and red spotty socks sticking out under her black silk and lace skirt. ‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Honestly.’

He smiled. ‘Find me if you need anything.’

‘Thank you,’ she called after him as he headed back into the ballroom.

The guests were spilling out onto the balcony while the waiting staff cleared away the tables. Senior execs for some big corporate judging by their well-cut tuxedos and expensive evening gowns. They were going to wonder what a 21-year-old shoeless woman in a leather bodice was doing, gatecrashing their formal dinner dance. Time to leave. Lisa was still holding the champagne the waiter had given her. She tipped the glass back, the bubbles tickling her throat as she gulped it down.

Right. She’d made up her mind. She wasn’t going to let Pete’s infidelity ruin what should be the best evening of her life so far. She was going to adopt a ‘fake it till you make it’ approach and go back downstairs to the Awards after-party to bask in the glory of being a winner. But first, she needed to sort out her footwear.

She hoiked up her top and walked onto the landing with her head held high. She took the lift back to the fifth floor and barged into the suite unannounced. It was in darkness. No sign of Pete or Andy. The trail of clothes had been tidied away, and the bed was made. There was a piece of hotel notepaper on her pillow.

I’m so sorry. We need to talk. I'll be back by midnight. P xxx

She sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

Lisa left the note where she’d found it.

She had a shower, redid her makeup, got dressed into a fresh shirt and jeans, and then found her trusty old baseball boots. She could dance the rest of the night away in those.

She took the lift back downstairs. As she watched the numbers slowly count down, it suddenly stopped at 2. The doors opened to reveal Dougie.

‘Lisa!’ He sounded thrilled to see her, his broad smile revealing his sinister-looking gold tooth.

Why did he have to be catching the lift now? She could smell the alcohol and stale cigarette smoke on Dougie’s breath as he lurched towards her, planting a soggy, wet kiss on her cheek.

‘Congratulations, bab!’ he slurred.

Lisa recoiled in disgust and hit the door open button, but Dougie knocked her hand away and closed the doors. He slipped his arm around Lisa’s waist and pulled her to him, unsubtly staring down her cleavage. ‘Why don’t we discuss your solo career in my room?’

Without waiting for an answer, he forcibly kissed her hard on the lips, his tongue trying to probe her firmly shut mouth.

Could this evening get any worse? A proposition from a sleazy scumbag of a man with a hairdo and moustache that went out of fashion at least a decade ago hadn’t been on her wish list. Dougie would sell his own grandmother to make a fast buck. Lisa would rather become a nun than allow his stubby, gold-ring-clad fingers to explore her body.

None of which she could say out loud as Lisa was 99% sure he’d stolen a significant chunk of the band’s royalties. She needed to keep him onside for the time being, which meant even a swift knee to the groin was out of the question. She could’ve done with her stilettos to “accidentally” tread on his toes. Damn those bloody boots again.

‘I’ve promised an interview to the NME,’ she said, hopeful that the prospect of more free publicity would make him give up on his plans for her tonight. Instead, he pulled her closer just as the lift doors opened again, revealing a familiar figure standing outside. The waiter.

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