Johnny Be Good Read online

  ‘What’s her name?’ I can’t help but feel a little empty inside.

  ‘Caroline. Carrie for short. I’ll introduce you next time you’re over.’

  Not a flash-in-the-pan kind of relationship, then.

  ‘When are you coming over?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answer, truthfully.

  Bill said I could go back in three months to sort my flat out, but with our trip to Big Sur, recording the new album and going on tour later in the year, I don’t actually know if I’ll be able to get away.

  ‘Listen, Tom, I’d better get on with some work.’

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine!’

  ‘You don’t sound fine, Meg. You don’t mind me getting another girlfriend, do you?’ he asks, concerned.

  ‘Of course not!’ I reply hotly.

  ‘Well, okay, then…’ He sounds unsure. ‘I mean, it was always going to happen at some point, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Tom! Seriously, it’s fine.’

  I know I sound aggravated now, and if I’m being truly honest with myself, I am. It’s not that I want him back. I’m not even jealous of his new girlfriend. But I did think I’d be first to find someone else.

  Dammit, I must stop feeling sorry for myself! Look where I am! Look what I’m doing! Think of all the people who would kill…

  I sigh. I guess I’d better get some work done.

  I log onto MySpace and start trawling through Johnny’s comments.

  Someone called Terri says:

  Hey, thanks for the friendship! I love you, Johnny!

  Jim remarks:

  Loved your comeback gig, dude. When are you going on tour?

  Nika says:

  Saturday night rocked, babe. When can we hook up again?

  Eh?

  I scrutinise the picture. Oh my God, it’s the Asian girl from the Skybar.

  When can we hook up again?

  This day is just getting better and better.

  I’m at my desk as usual the following afternoon when the buzzer makes me jump.

  ‘Serengeti Knight here,’ one of the security guards informs me.

  ‘Johnny’s out,’ I tell him.

  ‘No, he’s not. He came back over an hour ago.’

  Did he? Then why didn’t he come to say hello?

  I hurry out of the office and spot him straight away. He’s outside by the pool softly strumming on his guitar. I slide the glass door open. He stops when he sees me.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, cautiously.

  ‘Alright?’

  ‘I didn’t know you were home.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘Couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Here and there.’

  Okay, now I’m getting annoyed. Is he not going to be more specific?

  ‘Johnny, I don’t want to make a fuss, but I’m your PA. You can’t just disappear without telling me. How do you think it looks when I have to cancel appointments or people ring up for you and I can’t even tell them when you’ll be back or where you’ve gone? I feel like a fool. I can’t work like this,’ I tell him, reasonably.

  ‘Er, hello?’

  I turn around to see Serengeti standing at the open door, hand on her hip.

  ‘I’ve been waiting at the front door for ages! Rosa had to let me in.’

  Johnny puts his guitar down and goes over to give her a kiss on the cheek. She gives him an enormously grumpy look, and when he tries to take her hand, she resists, pressing it to her hip. She reminds me of ‘The Little Teapot’.

  Footsie runs out from behind her, his mouth jammed open with a bone Rosa must’ve given him from the kitchen. He collapses at my feet and gnaws at it, manically.

  Serengeti’s glare switches from Johnny to me and back again. I decide to make a hasty exit.

  ‘I’d better get back to work,’ I say, walking towards the house. The doorway is still occupied by Serengeti’s body. She doesn’t move for me immediately, but rather makes me stand in front of her for what seems like ages, but is probably only a couple of seconds. Then she steps aside, hand still firmly glued to her hip.

  I head back to the office and take my seat, but I’m still irritated with Johnny. I am, quite frankly, being a shit PA. And I’m not a shit PA. He’s going to have to keep me better informed.

  And yes, I know I’m going to have to sort myself out, too.

  ‘Sorry, Nutmeg.’

  I look up to see Johnny at the door.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, both surprised and pleased.

  He grins and winks, and then he’s gone again.

  Chapter 12

  Because he’s been out of contact for over three days, Johnny and I have a lot to catch up on. I need to know about rescheduling Wednesday’s interview, I had to cancel his second doctor’s appointment on Thursday morning and need to rebook that for some time next week, and I have a list as long as my arm to run through with him about everything from financing the shoot for his album’s artwork to which hotel room he wants to stay in when we go to Big Sur in a few weeks.

  I’m also debating whether to show him Nika-the-Asian-babe’s MySpace comment.

  The problem is, it’s gradually becoming apparent to me that Johnny has the patience of a fly, so I have to keep going away and coming back again each time he gets distracted. Today Serengeti’s the distraction, and after the third time I’ve had to interrupt their sunbathing session to ask him to approve a photographer for a forthcoming photoshoot, she sighs melodramatically.

  ‘Does he really have to do this now?’ She looks at me, wearily.

  ‘Babe,’ Johnny warns.

  ‘But seriously,’ she says. ‘I haven’t seen you for a week and a half, can’t we have some peace?’

  Is this a good time to bring up Nika?

  Ooh, let me think.

  No, probably not.

  ‘Why don’t you give her the day off?’ Serengeti suggests.

  I really had no idea I had invisible powers, but apparently they can’t see me standing here, right in front of them.

  ‘Let her go and do some sightseeing,’ Serengeti adds. ‘Has she been shopping yet?’

  ‘Do you want the day off, Meg?’ Johnny asks.

  ‘Erm, sure…’

  ‘Well, then, off you go,’ Serengeti says. ‘Make sure you check out Rodeo Drive. And go have a look at the Hollywood sign, see a movie, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. Jeez, she really does want me out of the house today. ‘Is that definitely okay?’ I look at Johnny.

  ‘Yeah, of course, Meg. Go enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  ‘Take the Porsche, if you like.’

  ‘The 911?’ I ask, grinning.

  ‘Yeah.’ He grins back.

  ‘Okay, then!’ I turn and walk back into the house.

  ‘Johnny, you can’t lend her the Porsche!’ I hear Serengeti hiss as I go indoors.

  ‘Why not?’ Johnny asks.

  After that I’m out of earshot, but I take my time getting ready, just in case he changes his mind. I don’t want the pressure of something happening to one of his beloved cars if he’s not totally happy about me borrowing it. But Johnny doesn’t change his mind. So it looks like he won that particular battle.

  I decide to call Kitty, on the off chance that she’s free.

  ‘I am never free on Fridays, but would you believe it, today I actually am!’ She sounds absolutely delighted. ‘Rod’s on holiday in Australia, of all places, and I’ve been up half the night at his beck and call. They’re like, nineteen hours ahead of us, or something crazy like that.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I empathise.

  ‘Yeah. I’m pretty weary. But I could really do with some fresh air and a break. I think I’ve worked my fill already today. Why are you allowed the day off?’ she asks, curiously. ‘Where’s Johnny?’

  ‘Oh, he’s here. Serengeti just want
s me out of the house.’

  ‘He’s still seeing her, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shame.’

  I laugh.

  ‘So do you want me to come and pick you up?’ she asks.

  ‘No, I’m driving today. I’ll come and get you…’

  ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE HE LET YOU BORROW HIS PORSCHE!’ Kitty is screaming in the passenger seat beside me.

  ‘Cool, hey?’ Actually, I’m pretty nervous, especially as they drive on the right side of the road here. I’m trying not to show it, and the car is surprisingly easy to drive.

  We’ve got the radio turned right up and the windows down. It’s a baking hot day and the skies are blue as far as you can see. I pull up at some traffic lights and the scent from the recently-watered grass on the side of the road fills the car. I feel so happy.

  Kitty’s taking me on a tour of LA, and the first stop is the Hollywood sign.

  ‘Take a right, here,’ she directs me. ‘We’re going up the private roads to it. It’s much better than the tourist route.’

  We wind up through the narrow residential roads, the Porsche taking the corners like a dream. And then there, in front of us, is the famous sign, gleaming white on a hilltop.

  ‘I can get us even closer,’ Kitty says. ‘Keep driving.’

  ‘Wow!’ I gasp, a few minutes later. ‘Do you think I can pull up here? I want to take a photo.’

  She glances behind us. ‘I don’t know. Let’s be quick,’ she urges.

  I hurriedly unbuckle my seatbelt and leap out of the car. Kitty does the same.

  ‘Here.’ I hand her the camera. ‘Can you get the Porsche in, too?’

  As soon as she points the camera at me I spy a police car coming up the hill.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I say.

  Kitty gives me a worried look as the cop car slows right down and then pulls up in front of us. Two hefty policemen in their late forties, I’d guess, get out of the car and approach us.

  ‘Sorry, we were just taking a photo,’ I smile at them, innocently.

  ‘I can see that, ma’am.’

  ‘Hey, ain’t this Johnny Jefferson’s reg?’ the other cop says.

  ‘He’s my boss,’ I quickly tell them.

  ‘Well, well, well…’

  Is his tone an indication of Good Cop or Bad Cop?

  ‘My daughter is his biggest fan.’

  Good Cop! Yay!

  ‘I can get you an autograph, if you like?’ I chirp.

  The other cop chuckles. ‘That’ll make up for forgetting her birthday.’

  ‘I’ll say.’ He turns to me. ‘Yes, ma’am. You would be doing me the biggest favour.’ He flips over his notepad and scribbles down his address and his daughter Charlene’s name and hands it over. Then he says, ‘Now, back to business. Do you want me to take a picture of you two, or what?’

  No wonder they call this place La-La Land…

  We cruise down Rodeo Drive after that, windows up, air-con on and Ashlee Simpson blaring out of the stereo. I drive as slowly as I can to take in the sights. This street is so pristine that it could be part of a theme park. There’s a horde of paparazzi photographers waiting outside Gucci.

  ‘I wonder who’s inside?’ Kitty says.

  ‘Could be Victoria Beckham,’ I remark.

  Suddenly one of them glances round and his face lights up as he spots us. The split second he starts snapping, the others whip around and do the same.

  ‘What the hell?’ I say, looking back in my rear-view mirror as a few of them leap into parked vehicles and squeal away from the kerb.

  ‘They think you’re Johnny,’ Kitty says, excitedly.

  ‘What shall I do?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing.’ She giggles. ‘They’ll find out soon enough.’

  The Porsche windows have been tinted so no one can see inside. I carry on driving.

  ‘Where shall we go next?’

  ‘Shopping?’

  ‘Wasn’t that Rodeo Drive?’

  ‘Goodness, how much does Johnny pay you?’ She laughs. ‘I mean proper shops. Affordable shops. Let’s go to Melrose Avenue.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘So tell me about your romantic dinner with Johnny on Sunday night?’

  ‘Hey? Oh, the Ivy. It wasn’t a romantic dinner,’ I scoff. ‘Serengeti was out of town and he just fancied a piz—’

  ‘Yeah, I read the press release.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Tell me what really happened.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I glance over at her, hoping I look suitably confused.

  ‘What did you talk about, what did he eat, is he really in love with Serengeti, do you fancy him…’

  That last one makes me look back at her in alarm.

  ‘No,’ I say, firmly.

  I’m getting a bit tired of this question, what with Bess going on about it every time we speak.

  ‘No you won’t tell me what he ate, or no you don’t fancy him?’ She tries to keep her voice light and airy, but there’s an edge there.

  ‘He had some sort of chicken pizza, and no, I don’t fancy him. Sorry, I can’t concentrate with these guys behind me.’ I pull over on the side of the road and unbuckle my seatbelt. They’re on the pavement outside the car before I even open my door. Gosh, they move quickly.

  The look on their faces when they realise I’m not Johnny is comical. One throws up his arms in irritation, shouting, ‘Jeez! She just cost me three thousand bucks!’ The others visibly slump their shoulders and traipse back to their vehicles, driving off again. I get back into the car.

  ‘That’s better.’ I sigh. ‘Now, where were we?’

  ‘Johnny,’ Kitty says.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ I look across at her. ‘Sorry. It’s my day off. Can we talk about something other than my boss?’

  She’s disappointed, but lets it be.

  A thought occurs to me. ‘Did you know Paola?’ I ask.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Johnny’s old PA. Paola. Did you know her?’

  ‘Kind of.’ Kitty shifts in her seat.

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘She was nice,’ Kitty replies, non-committally.

  ‘What did she look like? Was she pretty?’

  ‘She was tall. Taller than you. Long, dark-brown hair. And yes, she was pretty.’ Kitty shrugs. ‘She only lasted eight months, though, which was a bit strange.’

  ‘Yes, that is strange,’ I agree. ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘Nope. There were rumours, of course.’

  ‘What, that Johnny slept with her?’ I remember what Charlie said that time at the Skybar.

  ‘Yeah. I don’t believe it, though. Surely Johnny wouldn’t be that stupid.’

  ‘What do you mean? Stupid enough to sleep with his PA?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she replies.

  I raise an eyebrow, but she doesn’t notice.

  ‘Take a left here,’ she says.

  After I’ve spent the equivalent of two week’s wages in the funky vintage-clothing shops on Melrose Avenue, I decide I’d better go home. I would like to save some money while I’m working here. It’s pretty well paid–maybe not as well paid as you would think, considering my boss is a multimillionaire–but with free board and free food, my earnings will hopefully be breaking my piggy bank before too long.

  Johnny and Serengeti are lounging around in front of the telly when I get back and I’m made to feel distinctly uncomfortable by the latter. I go upstairs to my room and cook baked beans on toast in my little kitchenette before going to bed for an early night.

  The next day Serengeti is still there, so even though it’s my official day off, I don’t feel I can just chill out by the pool. I’m reading a book in my bedroom when there’s a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ I call, and am perplexed to find it’s Serengeti.

  ‘I need you to do something for me,’ she says quickly, Footsie clutched tightly in her grasp.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I can’t do it myself because I might get papp
ed. I know it’s your day off,’ she adds, dismissively. ‘But you had the day off yesterday so…’

  ‘Okay.’ I could tell her to bugger off because I don’t work for her. In fact, doesn’t she have a PA?

  ‘Don’t you have a PA?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ she says, raising her chin defiantly. ‘Not yet.’

  Footsie wriggles in her arms, so she puts him on the floor. He runs to me, yapping and wagging his tail. Serengeti looks uncomfortable. Okay, now I’m curious.

  ‘What do you need?’ I ask.

  She takes a deep breath. ‘A pregnancy test.’

  I practically feel the blood drain out of my face.

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ she pleads.

  ‘Of course I won’t!’ I reply vehemently, getting up.

  ‘Especially not Johnny.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s in the studio, so I don’t have a lot of time.’

  ‘I’ll go and get you one right away.’

  It’s probably not worth calling Davey so I decide to take the Porsche out again. I call security and ask them to get it ready.

  Half an hour later, laden with three different types of tests, I return to the house. There’s muffled music coming from the studio. I find Serengeti up in Johnny’s room, sitting on the bed and staring out into space. I feel a surge of compassion for her as she gets up, pale-faced, and takes the tests from me. She doesn’t say a word, but heads into the bathroom, shutting the door in my face.

  ‘Do you want me to wait?’ I call.

  She doesn’t answer so I don’t know what to do. I pace around outside Johnny’s en-suite for ten minutes before I can stand it no longer. She must know the results by now. These things only take a minute or two, don’t they?

  I knock on the door. ‘Serengeti,’ I say, ‘are you alright?’

  I hear the toilet flush inside. A moment later the door opens and a rush of air comes out with a whoosh. I step backwards in surprise. She dumps the paper bag from the chemist into my arms.

  ‘Get rid of this,’ she says. ‘Not in the bins outside.’

  ‘Where do you want me to put it?’ I ask.

  She glares at me. ‘You know journalists root through celebrities’ trash, don’t you?’