Page 38 of Conviction
“Fuck off,” the other woman says, “Now,” she orders when Amanda fails to move.
“We’ll see you down at the VIP bar in a while,” Lawson says to Gun and me, then turning to Lennon, he holds out his hand, and they shake.
“Good talking to you, Lennon. I’ll be in touch once I get our contracts lawyer to go through the paperwork we signed with the label.”
Len nods. “Sweet, look forward to it… but Lawson… ”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever bring her near me again.” He gestures with his head to Amanda’s retreating form.
“Yeah, I’ll have words. I’m really sorry about that,” he looks between Lennon, and who I assume is Len’s wife, as he speaks.
I feel sorry for him, but hope he’s learnt his lesson where Amanda is concerned. As I keep telling him, the woman has no boundaries and refuses to take no for an answer.
He walks away and has only gone a few steps when the woman that yanked Amanda by the hair says to Lennon, “What the fuck, babe? What was ya doing standing there, letting her get all in your space?”
Lennon shakes his head. “Jim, seriously? She was like a fucking rash, came out of nowhere and was suddenly all over me. These boys’ll tell ya.”
She turns to look between myself and Gun. I hold out my hand, “Conner Reed.” I lay on the charm and give her my full megawatt, posing for the camera smile, trying to diffuse the domestic Amanda has potentially caused.
“And this is Gunner Vance.”
She shakes both our hands. “The boys from Shift, I know who you are. I’m really sorry for your loss. Jet was a great bloke. I’ve met him a few times over the years. Our kids are big fans. I’m Jimmie Layton, Lennon’s wife.” Her brown eyes look right into mine, and I know that she means what she says. You meet so many shallow, insincere people in this industry, in this job, that it’s so gratifying when you meet people that actually mean what they say.
“Thanks,” Gun and I both say at the same time and clink our bottles at our unison.
We stand and chat with them for a while. The fact that I’m going to perform alongside Marley later has even been kept secret from her we discover as we talk, and I appreciate the fact that despite being family, Marley and Ash have stuck to their word.
We eventually make our way down to the VIP area to wait for our performance. We still have a couple of hours, but it’s water only from here on out. Today is not the day to appear on stage off my chops as I’ve done so many times in the past.
Istand at the cornerof the bar and people watch while Sophie talks with some makeup artist that’s here as a guest of one of the bands at the Triple M event.
I watch a group that are standing to the side of the bar. There’s six of them, all in their early twenties. Three boys, three girls. Life’s beautiful people. I think at first they must all be models, but as I study them closer, I wonder if they might be all one family because they actually look alike. There’s one girl, aged about twentyish, who is just stunning. She’s taller than the other girls, with long brown hair, olive skin and the most amazing blue eyes.
I watch as a blonde woman, aged about forty approaches the group. She looks vaguely familiar for some reason. She gives them all a kiss and a cuddle before getting herself a drink from the bar. She’s beautiful too, tall and blonde, with big brown eyes and an even bigger smile. She nudges one of the girls as she whispers something in her ear.
“Mum that is wrong, so wrong. He’s gotta be ten years younger than you,” the girl says, and they all laugh.
I suddenly have a pang of something shoot through me, jealousy? Loneliness? I’m not sure. I’ve never had that kind of relationship with my mum, not with any of my family. We’ve never been close, and I’ve never felt like I belonged with them.
I knock back my third very large vodka, then take a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.
“You aiming to get completely smashed?” Sophie shoulder bumps and asks from beside me.
“Yep,” I reply, “I think this week calls for it, don’t you?.”
She grabs two shots from the tray of the next waiter that passes. “Amen to that, sister.” She hands me a shot, we clink our glasses together, then down them in one.
“Fuck!” we say in unison.
“What was that?” I splutter through the burn in my throat and chest.
“Lighter fuel I reckon,” Sophie coughs.
“Showing your age now, Soph. Do they even still make lighters that require fuel?”
“No, but they obviously still have excess amounts of the shit left, so they sell it in fancy stainless steel bottles with a name like Triple Z and sell it to idiots like us.”
