Johnny Be Good Page 9

  Johnny was nowhere to be seen when we arrived home last night, and I was worried that I’d annoyed him. Today, though, he’s been in a great mood.

  Before we’ve even passed through the property’s gates, Bill has delved into the car’s minibar. I prepare four glasses with ice while Bill reaches for the whisky. He pours generous servings into two of the glasses and hands one to Johnny.

  ‘You having whisky, Chris?’ he asks Christian.

  ‘I’ll have a beer.’

  Bill passes Christian a bottle of Becks and turns to me.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Do you have any Baileys?’

  He sniggers and looks at Johnny, who’s sitting opposite us, next to Christian. ‘Fuckin’ Baileys. Get this down ya, girl.’ He hands me a whisky and pours himself another one, before collapsing back in his seat. I sneakily pour Christian’s ice from his unused glass into mine in an attempt to water my drink down. Christian looks at me in amusement before raising his beer bottle.

  ‘Here’s to a good comeback gig, mate.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Johnny replies.

  The Whisky is situated on the Sunset Strip and the queue is already snaking out and around the building regardless of the fact that the gig isn’t due to kick off for another couple of hours.

  A group of girls near the front begin to scream hysterically as they spot the limo. The queue dissolves as people break away and run after the car. Their faces are actually quite terrifying as they bash on the windows, trying to get in. I glance at Johnny in alarm, but he seems completely unfazed by this attack of the zombies.

  Davey drives on. ‘I think we’d better go round the block,’ he shouts from the front.

  Bill sighs and looks at me. ‘You gonna call security and let them know we’re here, or what?’

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ I say, rummaging for my phone. It’s not like anyone has told me what to do in these circumstances, but I’ll know better next time. So much of it is a case of learning on the job.

  A short while later, after the backstage entrance has been secured, Davey pulls up and we file out of the car. A crowd of about fifty people are waiting on the off chance that we come through this way, but, boy, can they make some noise. Flailing hands try to get to Johnny despite the bulky security guards holding back the tide as we hurry into the venue. The door is secured behind us and a tall, blonde woman with an earpiece and a clipboard leads us to the backstage dressing area. I enter the room in a daze.

  ‘That was a bit mental, hey?’ Christian says.

  ‘Gonna be a good one.’ Bill claps his hands together in anticipation.

  Johnny bounces on the spot energetically a few times.

  ‘You alright, Meg?’ he asks.

  ‘Fucking look at her, she can’t believe her eyes!’ Bill laughs. ‘I think she needs another drink.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m up for that,’ Johnny says and grabs a bottle of whisky from a tabletop which is bulging with booze and snacks. He cracks it open and swigs straight from the bottle before offering it to Christian with a grin. Christian passes it straight to Bill and gets himself a beer from a bucket of ice.

  ‘What’re you drinking, Meg?’ Christian asks me.

  ‘I’ll go for a beer, too.’ I figure it’d be preferable to more whisky.

  ‘You should crack open the champers, love,’ Bill suggests.

  There’s an idea…

  Hmm, little bit silly. The whisky and champagne have gone straight to my head and I feel tipsy. Well, okay, drunk. Johnny’s off doing an interview with Rolling Stone and Christian and I are lounging on a sofa. I think he’s a bit pissed, too. The room is bustling with the hip and fashionable. Some of the guys seem to be wearing even more make-up than the girls. I don’t know who these people are, but they’re all down on the list. Friends of the band and Johnny, I presume. Christian has been telling me that the Whisky–actually called Whisky a Go Go–has played host to some of rock ’n’ roll’s most important bands, from The Doors, to Janis Joplin, Led Zeppelin and Nirvana. It’s smaller than I thought it would be. I guess I’m used to hearing about Johnny playing stadiums.

  ‘It’s the first time he’s played live in over a year,’ Christian says to me.

  ‘Is it?’ I’m distracted. Johnny has just entered the room. I watch as he’s greeted by cheers and a few slaps on the back before he finally materialises in front of us.

  ‘Come and watch from backstage,’ he says.

  We follow him to the backstage area. A roadie rushes past with a mic stand and Johnny puts both his palms on my arms to manoeuvre me out of the way. His touch leaves my skin burning.

  ‘Nervous, mate?’ Christian asks him.

  ‘Nope,’ Johnny responds, shaking his head.

  I haven’t seen him like this before: full of energy and verve.

  He lights up a cigarette and I sneak a sideways peek at him.

  ‘So Meg,’ Johnny glances at me, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Would you rather be at a Kylie concert?’

  I laugh a little too loudly. He grins at me. Oh God, I fancy him.

  He throws his fag down on the floor and stamps on it.

  ‘Back in a sec,’ he says.

  Christian closes the gap between us. I take a deep breath.

  Ten minutes later Johnny still hasn’t returned and I can’t think straight. The lights on the stage have gone out and the girls in the audience have started to scream. The band files past us and take their positions. Then Johnny appears at my side, guitar hanging behind him.

  I watch him in the darkness as a soundman hooks up an amp to his instrument and tells him he’s good to go.

  ‘Good luck, pal,’ Christian says.

  ‘Yeah, good luck,’ I echo.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ he says to Christian. He looks down at me. ‘Cheers, chick.’

  The noise from the crowd is deafening as Johnny bounds onstage and launches straight into one of his hits.

  ‘Wicked, isn’t it?’ Christian shouts above the music. ‘Getting to watch from so close?’

  ‘Amazing!’ I shout back.

  The room is dark and grungy, smoke filling the air. The audience is made up of competition winners and press and I walk a few steps to my left so I can peek out at them. They’ve gone wild and are jumping up and down as one. Exhilaration soars through me as it finally sinks in. I am a lucky, lucky girl. I never want to stop working for Johnny. In fact, I’m going to work so hard for him he’s going to wonder how he ever did without me.

  After two songs, my boss addresses the crowd. He tells them he’s going to quieten things down a little. The members of the band relinquish their instruments and leave the stage and a roadie brings Johnny a stool. He sits atop it and starts to strum his acoustic guitar. The audience falls silent. I immediately recognise the song as the same one he sang to me in the studio. His voice fills the room and I stare at him, willing him to look backstage at me.

  ‘Check this out,’ Christian says from beside me. He’s wandered over so he can see the audience, too.

  ‘Those lasses in the front row,’ he says, leaning his head in close to me and pointing.

  I drag my eyes away from Johnny and follow Christian’s finger. I immediately spot who he’s talking about. There are two gorgeous girls in the middle at the front, staring up at Johnny, transfixed. One has long, dark wavy hair and is wearing a low-cut top to show off her ample cleavage, and the other is blonde with a pixie crop.

  My eyes flit back to Johnny. He’s looking down as he strums his guitar. I feel a wave of relief, and then, all of a sudden, Johnny looks straight at the girls as he sings.

  I feel a white spike of jealousy shoot through me as I look back at Johnny and see him raise one eyebrow at the girls. I can’t bear to think which one he’s most interested in. And then it occurs to me it’s probably both.

  I turn to Christian and try to sound flippant. ‘Bet Johnny wouldn’t mind getting them in his McLaren F1.’

  Christian laughs. ‘I was just thin
king the same thing. Watch. That guy over there? I bet you a bag of sweets Johnny tells him to give those two slappers aftershow passes before the next song is out.’

  ‘That’s a bet I’m not sure I want to take,’ I respond, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach.

  ‘It’s only a bag of sweets, Meg. Let’s say Skittles, to be specific. And I’ll share ’em with you.’

  ‘Okay,’ I force a laugh. ‘You’re on.’

  Sure enough, by the time the song is finished, I see Johnny nod at the roadie, who clocks the girls. The roadie beckons to a weedy-looking guy dressed in black and wearing an earpiece.

  ‘Watch! Watch!’ Christian nudges me.

  A few seconds later the second guy makes his way through the gap between the stage and the crowd and discreetly hands the girls passes. They smile demurely at Johnny, and my eyes dart back to him just in time to catch him wink at them.

  I try to tell myself this is the reality check I need. I know Johnny shags groupies. And he’s probably been off doing drugs tonight as well.

  He’s trouble with a capital T.

  So why does he have to be so sexy?

  ‘Told you!’ Christian jovially elbows me in the ribs. ‘You owe me Skittles, girl!’

  ‘Yeah.’ I force a smile and watch the rest of the set with a lot less enthusiasm than I started out with.

  The aftershow party is being held at the Standard Downtown, a hotel with a rooftop bar in downtown LA. Johnny is travelling there with the band in their minibus, so Christian, Bill and I arrive alone in the limo. Bill excuses himself immediately and goes to talk to a skinny dude who’s manically smoking a cigarette. Christian and I grab a couple of beers from a passing waitress who is dressed in a sexy red and white uniform with short shorts and looks like she should be on rollerskates.

  We move out of the way of the lift, which continues to spew out partygoers, and head past the bar and up a few steps. It’s quieter around here. There’s a long swimming pool, lit up in the darkness, and we have a perfect view of the city’s tallest buildings. It’s not like New York, skyscraper upon skyscraper packed into the smallest square mileage, but it’s still an impressive sight. Considering the earthquakes LA is subjected to, it’s amazing they have any skyscrapers at all. There are a few strange-looking large, red, round fibreglass pods to the side of the pool, and as I watch a couple vacate one, I notice that the mattress they were lying on is undulating. I look at Christian excitedly and point.

  ‘Waterbeds!’

  He laughs and leads the way. We slip off our shoes and he waits for me as I climb up through one of the four entrance holes onto the heaving mattress. I’m glad I’m wearing trousers and not a skirt because there is no gracious way to get onto this thing. I feel like I’m crawling through quicksand and start to giggle as I eventually give up and collapse onto my back.

  ‘Budge out the way, you silly girl!’ Christian pushes at my hip as he tries to get on. He doesn’t seem to have mastered the art of the waterbed either, and soon he’s collapsing in fits of laughter as well. I’m glad the music’s loud up here, because I don’t think the trendy types would find us very funny.

  ‘Oh, fuck, I’ve left our beers out there,’ Christian exclaims, and then has to go through the rigmarole of exiting the damn thing and getting back on again. I’m laughing even harder by this stage, and can barely hold up my hands to take the beers from him as he hobbles on his knees, trying not to spill any alcohol.

  ‘Take them, you wench!’

  I grab the drinks just in time for him to collapse on his stomach in front of me. The water underneath us swells and falls with every movement.

  ‘I feel seasick,’ Christian moans, his face pressed into the white mattress.

  ‘I think it’s far more likely you feel pissed,’ I say.

  He flips over onto his back and attempts to ease himself backwards.

  ‘What the hell are you doing now?’ I ask.

  ‘Trying to sit up.’

  Eventually he makes it to one of the edges and squeezes himself rather unceremoniously up against the red fibreglass wall surrounding us. It’s curved, so it forces his chin downwards until it’s practically resting on his chest. He doesn’t look very comfortable. I start to giggle again.

  ‘Whose bloody stupid idea was this?’ he asks, unimpressed. ‘I hope you’re happy with yourself, missy.’

  I’m currently lying flat out on my back and it’s not easy to drink in this position. I prop my head up with one hand as the water moves beneath me. I’m not very comfortable either, but I’m buggered if I’m going to tell him that, so I take a swig of beer and try to look cool.

  ‘Happy there, are you?’ he asks, wryly.

  ‘Perfectly, thank you. How’s your neck?’

  ‘Really fucking uncomfortable.’

  I tell him to stop moaning. He prods me in the ribs with a sock-encased toe and I squeal, which only makes him do it again.

  ‘Don’t! I’ll wet myself!’ I manage to spit out.

  ‘Oh, now that would be a really pretty sight.’ Christian laughs, but stops for a moment while I take a swig of beer. Then he prods me in the ribs again and I splutter as the beer goes down the wrong way. All this just makes him laugh harder.

  ‘You. Are. Such. A. Git,’ I manage to say, through coughing. I manoeuvre myself around so my feet are facing him, and kick him on his thigh with my right foot. He bats my foot away easily and glugs his beer down.

  ‘What’s going on here, hey?’ Johnny’s face appears at the side of the pod. ‘Playing footsies?’ He looks amused.

  ‘Hey, mate!’ Christian grabs my offending foot and holds it up and out of the way, forcing me to fall back on the mattress again. ‘She’s a kicker, this one, you’d better watch out.’

  Tears have been streaming down my face and I quickly wipe them away and study my fingers. Shit. They’re covered with wet mascara, which means my make-up is currently halfway down my face. As Christian releases my foot, I try to compose myself and clean away what I can as fast as possible.

  Johnny passes Christian a whole bottle of whisky and steps up onto the fibreglass frame. He doesn’t take his shoes off. He falls down onto his back next to me, and Christian and I both groan as the mattress moves beneath us again. Johnny holds out his hand for the whisky and grins.

  ‘Cheers!’ He chinks our bottles and takes a swig from his before passing the bottle to me.

  ‘Urgh, no thanks,’ I respond. ‘I don’t know how you can drink it straight like that.’

  ‘I’m hardcore.’ He grins. ‘So what did you think of the gig?’

  ‘Fucking excellent, mate,’ Christian says.

  ‘Really, really good,’ I add.

  ‘Yeah? You liked it?’ Johnny turns to face me. He pushes Christian’s sock out from in between us. ‘Mate, get your smelly foot out of the way,’

  Christian instead presses it onto Johnny’s nose.

  ‘Ew, that’s disgusting!’ Johnny exclaims, violently shoving it away. Christian does the same to me. His sock is now slightly sweaty and I squawk in disgust as it brushes my lips. Christian finds that more hilarious than ever and soon Johnny starts laughing too. Christian prods me in the ribs with his foot again and I squeal, which is all the encouragement Johnny needs to get involved. Propped up on one elbow with the whisky bottle in his right hand, he hovers above me and starts to tickle me in the ribs with his left. I scream and bat him away as hard as I can as my top starts to ride up. He and Christian guffaw like a couple of teenagers as opposed to the grown men that they actually are while I lie there panting, trying to recover. Johnny stays propped up on one side and looks down at me, his green eyes laughing.

  ‘Whisky, Meg?’ He offers me the bottle.

  ‘Fuck off,’ I tell him. Both he and Christian laugh again. I adjust my top and wipe my eyes to rid myself of more mascara smudges.

  It’s then that I notice the crowd outside. The bar is absolutely packed now–all around the pool area, people are standing and sitting–and th
e vast majority of them are looking at us. Humiliation washes over me and I hurriedly try to sit up. Johnny’s still lying down and seems unbothered about the fact that he’s the centre of every guest’s attention. I glance back out at the crowd and watch as dozens of pairs of eyes dart away from us and surreptitiously dart back again. It’s obvious they’re trying not to look. It’s not cool to stare. Like a bolt out of nowhere, my feelings of embarrassment are replaced with pride. I’m where every single one of those people is dying to be. I look back at Christian, happily.

  ‘You need another beer, Meg?’ he asks.

  ‘I’ll get them,’ I reply. ‘You look so comfortable, I can’t bear to make you move,’ I add, jokingly. ‘Anyway, I need the loo.’

  Johnny holds out his hand to take my empty bottle while I crawl across to the opening. He pushes on my bum.

  ‘Oi!’ I shout at him.

  ‘I’m just trying to help!’ he exclaims. I carry on with my crawling and he pushes my bum again.

  ‘Stop it!’ I laugh. I reach the fibreglass opening and ungraciously climb out, sliding my feet into my high heels. I turn back to take the empties.

  ‘You want anything else?’ I ask Johnny.

  ‘Nah. Still going.’

  As I try to walk with confidence from the shiny red pod, I make eye contact with a couple of gorgeous girls and can’t help but feel smug as their lips purse with jealousy.

  This is fun!

  I arrive at the loos and check my reflection as I wait in the queue. The mascara damage isn’t too bad, thankfully. I smooth down my hair and apply some lipgloss.

  On my way out I notice the two groupies that Johnny gave passes to. They’re hovering a few metres away from the pod. Our pod. I feel a wave of dislike for them as I grab another couple of beers from a waitress and make my way back to Johnny and Christian. I’m annoyed to find a couple of moody members of the band have encroached on our little party. But they nod at me and even manage a half-smile of recognition as I slip off my shoes and hand Christian our beers before climbing back up onto the waterbed. Johnny is still lying in the middle of the mattress, while Lee and TJ, the drummer and bassist, are leaning against the side, like Christian. I suddenly feel a little uncomfortable about placing myself in the centre with Johnny, so I crawl across to Christian and he edges himself right to make room for me. He hands me back one of the beers.