Page 17 of Hollywood Games
Jamie paled. ‘You can’t! I’m playing tonight!’
‘Exactly why we recommended he go there,’ Morag said triumphantly. ‘You can do the music for the film.’
‘Mum! It doesn’t work like that. What have you done!’ cried Jamie, sounding like a teenager who’s just been told the girl he likes has been shown his baby photos.
Morag squeezed his arm. ‘He’s just any other punter, son. You’re right, it probably won’t come to anything. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. You know, most musicians would give their right arm to get to play for someone like Brad Bauer. Now stop complaining and go and have a shower. You need to spruce yourself up for the most important gig of your life.’
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9
By the time six o’clock rolled by, Zoe and Jamie were vying for The Most Nervous Person in Kinloch Award. Jamie was showered and fresh-faced, endlessly strumming on his guitar and checking the tuning. Zoe was also clean and had her hair pinned up by Fiona and make-up on. She knew she looked okay but her nerves were eating her. She hadn’t managed to get in touch with Rory as his phone was still off, but did manage a brief phone call with her parents who were blown away by the idea of her going out with Brad Bauer.
Morag had made two more versions of the spiced shortbread and they had collectively decided on a winner, which she’d artfully presented in cellophane with tartan ribbons. Jamie wasn’t supposed to start playing until eight, but Morag said he was driving her mad, so sent him off early with a shot of whisky in his belly to calm his nerves. She’d already fed them both soup to line their stomachs and made Zoe promise if she had one too many to drink, she would come back to hers for the night.
The pub was only a short walk away, so at six fifty, Fiona and Zoe walked up, Zoe cradling the shortbread like a newborn baby. The King’s Arms was an ancient pub that had suffered so many extensions over the years that none of the floors and ceilings lined up and foam had been stapled across the low doorways with warning signs above. It was cosy and warm though, with dark wood, an open fireplace and small tables crammed into every available space. Old men sat in their favourite chairs at the bar, dogs asleep at their feet, and teenage girls dressed in black and white rushed around waiting tables, being directed by Clive, the harried owner. The bar was busier than normal, an excited buzz in the air, as Fiona pushed her way through the crowds.
‘Clive, is he here yet?’ Fiona asked.
He looked at Zoe. She unconsciously slouched as if that would help her disappear. ‘A minute ago. I’ve put them in the far corner of the restaurant by the fire to give them a little privacy. It’s bloody carnage in here.’
Fiona grinned. ‘Good for business though.’
‘That’s true, although the phrasebe careful what you wish forkeeps coming to mind.’ He reached a big hand out to Zoe. ‘Hi, I’m Clive, good to meet you.’
‘I’m Zoe. Sorry about this.’
‘Don’t be. I’ll be thanking you when I’m drinking cocktails in the Caribbean. And if you can get him to make his film here then we might all take early retirement.’
Zoe smiled. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Come on, I’ll take you through.’
Zoe hugged Fiona, who promised to stay in the bar, and gratefully followed Clive as he cleared a path into the restaurant. The room had a roaring open fire and was quieter than the main bar, with people out for dinner, not quite believing their luck to be in the same room as Hollywood royalty. Brad was sitting with his back to the wall, at the far table, and stood up when he saw Zoe enter.
‘Zoe!’ He drew her in for air kisses, and she smelled incredibly expensive cologne. He pulled back, and ran his eyes appraisingly over her. ‘You look sensational!’ Zoe blushed. He released her and pointed to the chair. ‘Take a seat. Isn’t this place the bomb?’ He sat back, legs spread, posture open, in his element.
Zoe was relieved she was only looking at him and not out at everyone eye-balling them. Crystal and Greg were sitting at the table next to theirs, busy working on laptops. Barry sat at the table on the other side, a menacing gatekeeper, a fizzy water held as if it could be turned into a weapon should anyone dare approach.
Zoe gave Brad the cellophane-wrapped shortbread. ‘This is the famous spiced shortbread. Morag made it for you.’
Brad looked like he might explode with excitement, holding it as if it were a holy relic. ‘Hot damn! I’m gonna take this home with me tomorrow. Ain’t no one in the whole of LA got this!’ He passed it to Crystal. ‘You must thank Morag for me. She’s such a doll.’
Zoe promised she would and Brad raised his head to summon someone. Clive materialised at the side of the table, a young waitress beside him, chewing her lip nervously.
‘Mr Bauer, my daughter Kayleigh and I will be attending to you this evening. Would you care for an aperitif?’ said Clive, his Scottish accent becoming more pronounced with every word.
Brad looked to Zoe, raising his eyebrows. ‘Champagne?’
Zoe nodded. ‘Sounds great.’ She needed the Dutch courage.
Brad turned back to Clive. ‘Bring me your best bottle and the menu please.’
‘Right away, Mr Bauer.’ Clive pushed Kayleigh in front of him, back towards the bar.
Brad zeroed in on Zoe, his eyes deep and intense.
Her stomach fluttered nervously. What was this evening really about?
