Cold Comfort (26 page)

I woke to gentle kisses all over my face. Blinking,
I slowly opened my eyes and smiled up into Cat’s eager blue gaze. “God, you’re
so beautiful, Delilah,” he told me, kissing me more deeply this time. My Cat
was back, the kind, gentle version I liked so much. I shuddered as I remembered
moments from the version I’d seen the night before.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t close me out. Tell
me.”

“I don’t want to start the day off badly.”
He scowled at me until I caved and gave him what he wanted.

“Yesterday. After you read the letter, I
felt like you withdrew from me emotionally. You wouldn’t talk about it, even
when I tried to.”

“There was nothing to say. He’s trying to
stir things between us. If we do this, then we’re letting him win.”

“But then you got fucked up on coke. It
clearly did affect you if you needed to escape from reality like that.”

“So I did some coke. It’s no big deal.”

“It changed you, and not in a good way. The
combination of the two things… your emotional withdrawal and then the coke… well,
I didn’t like it very much.” He pulled away and leant on one elbow, looking down
at me.

“It’s just a bit of fun. Just recreational.
Don’t make it into something bigger. The two weren’t related. I just wanted to
blow off some steam. I don’t have a problem with it.”

“I didn’t say you did, but you’re different
when you’re on it. More distant, harder… I don’t like that version of you as
much as this one. I can’t talk to that Cat. When you came to bed I felt like I
could have been anyone. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like that with you.”

“Jesus, Delilah, don’t blow this up into
something more than it is.”

“I’m not… you asked. I’m just telling you
how I felt last night.”

“Yeah,” he said, running his hand through
his hair. “Look, I’m sorry if I was an ass. I’ve been single for a long time. I’m
still learning how to have a steady girl in my life. I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up. Not really. You just
closed down on me, and I didn’t like it. But just so you know, the coke and the
groupies that seem to sit alongside it… well, that could become a problem in
the future. I already said I won’t share you. Not with other women and not with
cocaine.”

“I don’t want anyone but you, babe. There’s
not a single one of them that’s a patch on you. And as for the charlie… pah.” He
made a dismissive gesture with his hand before catching sight of the time on his
watch. “Fuck, we only have an hour until the car arrives to take us to the
airport. You packed?” I nodded. I didn’t have much in the first place, although
my little bag was being stretched at the seams with all my recent purchases. “Good,
you use the shower first while I close up my bags.”

The conversation was clearly closed as far
as he was concerned, but the uneasy sensation continued to niggle at me as I
showered and dressed. It was made worse when Henry started to mouth off about
what he was looking forward to doing – mainly girls and coke – when
he got to America. “You going to look up Tiff when you get to L.A.?” he asked
Cat.

“What the fuck, man?” Cat said, his eyes
darting towards me. “What do you think?” I knew Henry was deliberately trying
to stir trouble between us, but it still rankled.

“I think she’s fucking smoking hot, man,
that’s what I think.”

“Well, if you think that, then have at her,
with my blessing. Personally I have everything I want right here,” he said,
pulling me into his side for a hug before bending to pick up my bags and
loading them into the back of the car. He held the door open for me to get in, then
returned for his own bags.

“Fuck, man, you’ve become a dull fuck since
you met Delilah,” Henry said over his shoulder to Cat as he climbed in behind me.
I groaned at the prospect of his continued agitating for the entire drive to
Stanstead Airport. “What’s the matter, D, you not digging me?” he said, running
his eyes over my body in a way that made me feel unclean. “Cos that’s a shame
when I’m digging you. Cat and I normally share our women. What do you say,
babe? You up for it?”

“Get the fuck out this car,” Cat said
quietly. The controlled quietness was almost more terrifying than if he’d
shouted the words.

“Chill out, man. I was just teasing.”

“It wasn’t funny. She’s not like the
others. Get into another fucking car before I lose it and do something we’ll
all regret.”

“What the fuck, man?” Henry was indignant
now, clearly surprised by his buddy’s lack of humour. “What the fuck happened
to ‘bros before hos’? You’re losing it over this girl, man, and it’s not
healthy.”

“What’s not healthy is what you’re doing. What
I was doing before Delilah. I couldn’t see it either at the time, but believe
me, man, this is way better.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m fucking sick of this
domestic shit anyway,” he said, climbing back out the car and into one of the
other two waiting behind. It left Cat and me alone.

“Sorry about that,” he said, running his
hand through his hair.

“Don’t stress it. I know what he’s like. Don’t
fall out because of me – I have no desire to be known as the Yoko Ono of
Cold Comfort.”

“No one disrespects you like that,” he
said, looking at me intently as the car pulled out of the driveway and we sped
along the country lanes.

“You’re the only one that has the power to
hurt me,” I admitted. “The rest of them – it’s just words. I’ve put up
with verbal shit my entire life, and I’m still standing. It’s when the people
you love hurt you that it can be hard to recover.”

“Never going to happen,” he promised, but I
felt less confident, especially after last night. I was getting in deep with
this guy. In my experience that was a fast track to pain. “You love me, eh?” He
gave me a small smile.

“I didn’t mean… I mean….” I blushed.

“It’s okay, I know it’s too soon. It’s
still good to know you care.”

*

The airport was quiet, with a distinct
absence of photographers, thanks to the spontaneous nature of our trip. We
passed a comfortable flight, sleeping most of the way and watching films the
rest, and arrived as fresh as it was possible to in New York, by which time
word of our trip had spread thanks to the wonders of Twitter and Facebook.

Cat waved at the fans that had gathered at
the barriers as we walked through, and then we were rushed towards some waiting
cars and driven to our hotel, just off Central Park. The city was busier than
anything I’d seen to date, the sound of passing fire engine horns sending me
nearly through the roof at three in the morning that first night.

As promised we had two clear days for
sightseeing around New York, and Cat made the most of them, showing me the Manhattan
landmarks. Wearing a hat and glasses he passed relatively unnoticed in most of
the places we visited, only causing excitement at the music bars we went to in
the evenings.

The single was due for release across the
US the following day, and Wayne had scheduled us in for a full day of
publicity. It also coincided with the advance copy of the publication of the
article about me that was due out over the weekend back in the UK. The day –
or night, however you looked at it – started with Cat doing a radio interview
for the chart people back in the UK. It was half four in the morning in the US,
a brutal start to what would be a long day. On the plus side they informed him
the single had indeed taken the number one spot, having broken the record for
the most downloads in a day or week. It was a good start. By six in the morning
Wayne had forwarded me a link to the article, and I opened it as Cat peered
over my shoulder.
‘A Star is Born’
the headline read, above a picture of
me sitting at Cat’s piano, my eyes closed, head to one side with my hair
falling around me as I played. Even I could see it was a lovely picture. I read
the article with some trepidation:

It’s not often in this world of
entertainment and celebrity, where spin is often extolled over substance and
much is made of what is actually very little, that you meet someone who reminds
you what it is to possess pure, beautiful, unadulterated talent. Delilah Thomas
is the first to cross my path in a long time. Her old-school Hollywood beauty,
reminiscent of a young Elizabeth Taylor, combines with a natural gift in music –
proficient at both the piano and guitar – to form one of the most
spellbinding individuals it has ever been my pleasure to meet.

But it’s her voice that first brought
her to our attention. That and her relationship with the notorious womaniser
Cat Colton, lead singer of Cold Comfort. Delilah is currently riding high in
the charts as a featured artist on the band’s most recent single release, ‘Eternity’.
Her vocal purity and strength combine with a distinctive tone all her own that
enhances the rasp of Colton’s voice. I predict a run in the charts to rival
Legend and Adele. Deservedly so – it’s a beautiful track.

It’s hard not to assume anyone in
possession of that degree of beauty and talent would be ugly inside, tainted by
the attention and adulation such a combination would naturally attract. After
all, that’s been my experience with more celebrities than I care to mention. Delilah
is the exception to the rule. Exceptional indeed. I found her to be the rarest
of all celebrities; talented, beautiful and nice. Co-writer of ‘Eternity’ and a
gifted composer in her own right if the sample song she played for us is
anything to go by, she captivates when she plays. It is easy to see why Colton
is so enthralled by her. Humble and kind, she gave her fee for this article to her
Mama, despite having student debts to pay, participating in the feature only because
she’d been told it would help the band.

Delilah Thomas is so much more than a
featured artist. The Tiffany Diamond in a sea of Diamonique, she stands out,
completely unaware of the raw talent she possesses. Colton may wish to keep her
as his own for now – I can understand why – but believe me when I say
that this lady is a star destined for the very top. He’d better hold on tight.

The article was accompanied by a number of
other photos, all very natural. Even I had to admit David had done a good job
of making me relax. The article itself was somewhat overwhelming, my only
initial thought that I needed to send it to my Mama. She’d like to see it, and
she’d definitely want one of the pictures.

“I think she liked you,” Cat said with a
wry smile.

“She was very kind to say such nice things.
I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

“She saw what I did, what everyone will see
soon.” His hand swept through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Why are you sorry?”

“You seem upset. I didn’t want to upset
you.”

“You haven’t upset me. I’m glad they all
like you… It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he said, hugging
me tight.

Hammering on our door announced the arrival
of cars to take us to the first of five bookings for the day. We were starting
early with a breakfast T.V. show, and then visiting three radio stations across
the state before finishing with an evening talk show, much like the one we’d
done in the UK.

A stylist had been tasked with outfitting
me for the performances. When I’d suggested I could wear the same outfit for
the duration of the day, she’d just laughed. When she eventually realised I was
serious, she looked at me as if I was something out of ‘Ripley’s Believe It or Not!’
freak show.

The performance at the first show went
well, despite the early hour. The single was well received and the interview
ran smoothly. I was somewhat disconcerted during the first radio interview by the
amount of the questions the presenters sent my way; they focused initially on
my relationship with Cat but then turned to my plans for a forthcoming album. I
tried to politely evade the more intrusive questions, blushing instead which
seemed to amuse them, and made it clear my main focus for the next few months
was to secure my degree and that I hadn’t thought beyond that point. I assured
them I wanted to support the band with any performances of the single whenever
I was able.

The second and third interviews followed a
similar pattern. The band had started to tease me about being on the ‘Delilah
show’. Cat laughed along, but I could tell it bothered him.

“Can’t you calm it down a bit?” he said,
taking in my outfit for the final performance. We’d planned to only perform the
single, but a guest had dropped out so Cat had been drafted in for an interview
too. He’d seemed on edge since we’d arrived at the studio. I suspected he’d had
some coke.

I looked down at what I was wearing; a
modest kilt miniskirt, paired with a black vest top, tights and biker boots. I
looked like a rock chick, especially with the silver bangles that adorned my
arms. It was one of my favourite looks so far.

“You don’t like it?” I couldn’t hide the
hurt in my voice.

“I like it fine… just… don’t you think the
top could be a bit more covered up?”