Page 36 of Crazy Love
“It matters because we agreed they were off limits,” she growls.
She’s twenty-two, and she’s growling at me like she’s a goddamned tiger, how infantile is that? And actually, we didn’t agree anything of the sort. There wasn’t even a consultation process, Jess just laid down the law on the issue, and then only after she’d noted my interest. Basically, she just hates the idea of my having a sex life when she hasn’t had a shag in months, not since she split with Dane, in fact. And that’s not for want of offers. The fact, I’m realising, is that she wants Dane back, she’s just not prepared to admit it to herself.
Of course, none of this would be an issue if I opened my mouth and spilled what I know about Teddy Knox. Then it’d be all pats on the back for being a super spy, and her telling me I’m a very clever girl, as if I’m still in primary school and I’ve got a gold star for my reading.
Too bad, I’ve no intention of saying a word about Paradise Kiss’s bass-player. Right now, I hope he makes a miraculous recovery, and that Paradise Kiss turn up in an hour or so and wipe the floor with us. At least they want this deal for the right reasons. Jessie only wants it for spiteful ones.
I zip up my jeans, and pull on a pair of heeled boots, then stand before the mirror and smear concealer over the dark smudges beneath my eyes. Jess continues to scowl at me as I work, adding a layer of foundation and then eyeshadow, liner and blush.
Exasperated, she eventually turns away, and swaps her PJs for clothing, pulling on a microscopic skirt and a skinny-fit, home-made Bitch Slap tee.
“We ought to cut you loose for what you’ve done.”
“You what?” I laugh, because it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard her say. “What is it, an hour or so until we play for Mr. Big, and you’re planning on booting me for—”
“High treason,” she says, cutting me off. “It’s still a death offence.”
I just shake my head. This is so dumb. At least Paradise Kiss have genuine problems to combat—Knox genuinely needs help—not ones invented for the sake of drama. Graham Callahan isn’t going to pick us, or if he does he’s going to drop us just as fast, because Jessie’s too bloody high maintenance. “Good luck with that,” I say. “It should make playing interesting.”
She fluffs her hair, and sighs huffily. “I didn’t say I was going to do it, only that I should. If it wasn’t for this deal…” She lets the thought trail off. That’s all right, I don’t need her to say it. I get it. I really do. I just happen to wish this argument had something to do with music, and wasn’t just about the wound Jessie is still carrying about because Dane Darke dared to put his band before her.
“Did you dump him, or did he dump you?” I ask. She’s spent so much time mouthing off about him it’s weird that I don’t know. Telling too, in so many ways.
“What?”
“Did you dump Dane or did he dump you?”
“I’ve always wondered that too,” Ives pipes up. She’s been curiously silent regarding all of this so far, but that’s Ivy, determined to play the role of Switzerland in any conflict. “I know everything else about him, including his shoe size.”
Jessie’s face turns puce. “What does it matter?” she blusters. It ended months ago. He doesn’t mean anything to me now. She joins me by the mirror and jabs a finger into my chest. “In any case, stop changing the subject. How do we know you haven’t told them everything?”
“Everything, Jess? What everything would that be?”
“What song we’re doing,” she says.
That’d be difficult since we haven’t even discussed options amongst ourselves yet, and as if it’d make a damned bit of difference anyway. Actually, I do know what we’re playing, and not because it’s the best choice, just because Jessie can’t see anything outside of her own little bubble of hurt. “You really thinkPerverted Tit Fuckeris going to win us the deal?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes go wide and round as if she’s astonished I don’t agree. “What else would we do?”
I think back to what Darke said about my voice being stronger than Jessie’s, and how he knew they had competition when he heard me play,Slow Sweet Burn. That’s the song we ought to be playing for Graham Callahan, but Jessie’s never going agree to it. It’s too important for her to be front and central, hogging the limelight, and sticking two fingers up at Dane. So I just hold my tongue, same as usual. It’s pointless arguing with her, she never backs down.
“Callahan wants a group that can warm up a stadium crowd.PTFalways gets them going.”
“You don’t think he wants something he can turn into a number one hit, perhaps?”
She cocks her head to one side as if mulling the possibility. “I think he’d consider it a bonus, but nothing more.”
She’s always has an answer. God forbidden anyone else attempting to have the last word.
I smear on more lipstick and pull a brush through my hair. It’s even more flyaway and bushy than normal after my tumble with Darke. Nothing ever tames it.
“You guys know I’m not going on tour, right?” Ivy says, sitting up in bed to break the uneasy silence Jess and I have fallen into.
“Don’t be stupid, Ivy,” Jessie immediately barks.
“I am serious.” An enormous yawn stretches Ivy’s mouth wide. She raises her arms and stretches, then climbs out of bed and adopts a yoga pose. “I don’t want to play for ginormous crowds. I don’t want to make records, or meet Black Halo. I just want a house with a nice big garden where I can grow stuff, and have—”
“Twenty three kids running about. We know,” Jessie groans. She rubs at her temples, then raises her hands in defeat. “Fine, we’ll let Dane win. We’ll tell Graham Callahan we’re not interested. Thanks, but no thanks. Will that make everyone happy?”
