Star Struck (12 page)

‘Jo, what are you doing?’

‘Pushing Dad away by the head.’ Her voice sounded strained.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Nothing’s wrong with him. Nothing a good kick wouldn’t sort out.’

‘Did you just kick him?’

‘No.’

‘She just kicked me!’ Mick wailed.

‘He’s fine. Claire’s coming round in a minute. If you call again, I’m not answering. He’s fine.’

‘Can I speak to him?’

‘Bloody hell, Dad!’ Jo shouted as the phone was wrenched from her hand.

‘Catherine,’ Mick said breathlessly. ‘This one doesn’t know where anything is. She’s bossy and she doesn’t listen to me.’

‘Where’s your violin?’ Jo asked sarcastically.

‘Dad, you need to tell Jo what’s going on,’ Catherine said as quietly as she possibly could, ‘She just thinks you’re being a mard arse.’

‘No.’

‘Tell her.’

‘No.’

‘Dad, this is really hard for me.’

‘You’ll be back soon.’

‘God, Dad, you’re so encouraging,’ Catherine could hear Jo say. ‘She might not be, so you’d better start behaving because I for one am not listening to your shit from now till Catherine gets the Christmas number one.’

‘Ow!’ Mick complained, then Jo came to the phone.

‘He’s fine. Get off my leg, Dad! Seriously, Catherine, go and don’t be ringing here every two seconds.’

Jo put the phone down. Catherine stood for a moment listening to the dial tone. She redialled but the phone was off the hook. She took out a piece of paper with Jo’s mobile number on it, there was no point ringing her dad’s, he never answered it; she stared at it for a moment and then re-pocketed it. Jo wouldn’t answer even if she did call. Catherine turned around and headed back to the hall, she was going to throw herself into the turkey twizzlers and sparkling wine and try to enjoy herself.

Chapter 5

ANDY HAD BEEN
ushered into a room by Will, his supervisor, and asked to take a seat. Will had said that he’d be back in a moment but that had been over half an hour ago. Andy stood up and walked to the other side of the solid oak desk that took up one half of the wood-panelled room. On the wall was the mounted head of a deer. Andy peered up the deer’s nostrils and noticed there was something lodged inside. He looked closer, it couldn’t be what he thought it was … could it? He slowly moved his index finger towards the deer’s nose, like ET phoning home, and touched the hard, bristly stuffed skin. Suddenly the door flew open and Andy nearly shot through the roof with shock.

‘Yes, it is a camera,’ Richard Forster said.

‘I’m really sorry, I was just having a look around and then I thought I saw something shoved up there but I— sorry.’ Andy trailed off. His mind was racing; there was a camera in the room. That had probably been filming him for the past half hour. Was that legal? Why was it there? Had they been hoping to catch him weeing in the desk drawer like on
Builders from Hell?

‘They’re all over the place,’ Richard admitted as though this was perfectly normal practice. ‘We need to make sure that we know who we’re working with and that whoever we put through in the competition is totally on board with the ethos of
Star Maker
.’

‘Right.’ Andy nodded, feeling like a minion being shown around Dr Evil’s lair.

‘Look, I know it’s not great having secret cameras around but we’ve had so many tabloid journos try and get in here that we’ve had to make the place as watertight as possible.’

‘Is it legal?’

‘It’s all in your contract,’ Richard Forster locked his dark brown eyes on Andy. ‘You did read your contract?’

‘Yeah, of course …’ Andy said with a shrug.
Did anyone ever read a contract?
What was it going to say, you’re hired, and if you’re no good, you’re fired? He certainly didn’t expect the small print to explain that at any time he could be under video surveillance.

‘Of course … you didn’t,’ Richard said, with a knowing smile.

Bloody hell, Andy thought, that voice, that look; Andy felt the room crackle with this man’s personality. Andy wouldn’t have been able to explain it to anyone – least of all to any of his mates – but he felt it. It was the pull of the super powerful. Richard Forster had a reputation as a hard-nosed businessman, a ruthless entrepreneur and an arrogant opinionated individual. Until now Andy had never understood how this combination had women falling at his feet. Richard was always being voted among the sexiest men of the year in whatever hormone-driven poll was out that particular week. But sitting here in the full glare of Richard’s charm and arrogance – and his total disregard for ethics, evidenced by having a CCTV camera stuffed in a deer’s snout – Andy suddenly got what all the fuss was about. If Richard
told
him that he was now his slave for life Andy would have probably agreed to it without much fuss. In fact he probably had already unwittingly signed up to it in his contract.

‘Work contracts, I know how it is; you look at your hours, what you’re being paid and then you sign. Am I right?’

‘Yeah, you are,’ Andy said blushing, feeling like a teenage girl on a first date, wishing he could say something funnier or smarter. He was going to need a fan like a Geisha if he didn’t get his act together soon.

‘So, you’re probably wondering why you’re here.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Andy said in a high-pitched squeak. He wanted to cough and repeat the sentence in a deep James Earl Jones voice. He gathered himself. ‘You’re not meant to be here tonight, are you?’

‘No, but Cherie and I have decided that this is the best way to conduct the first night. Let all the rabble get together, get pissed on cheap plonk …’

‘And see who makes a fool of themselves?’ Andy finished. That was more like it, he thought, one step ahead of this game.

‘No,’ Richard shook his head emphatically. ‘The cameras are there to see who complains. See who the divas are. See who we don’t need in this competition and who we do. As you know from the auditions, we don’t just put people through with good voices.’

No shit
, Andy thought, remembering the woman who had turned up on a pogo stick singing ‘O Fortuna’ from
Carmina Burana
and had been ushered through to Boot Camp despite the fact she couldn’t sing for toffee.

‘They need a story,’ Richard continued. ‘The audience at home needs to connect with them. But at this stage
we
need to get a feel for who is going to be hard to manage and when no one’s watching people show their true colours. We can afford one or two Mariahs every year, they make good TV, but we can’t have an entire line up of them. They become hard to manage and when they’re booted off they go straight to the papers and that makes the live shows that they all have to perform at in the new year pretty unbearable for the other contestants.’

‘Right,’ Andy said nodding, wondering where he was going to fit into all of this.

‘And you’re going to come with me, Will, Cherie and JP and have a look behind the scenes at the antics of our wannabes. Is that OK with you? Will said you were good to work with and could be trusted.’

Andy nodded. It all sounded a bit like playing God, but he was all for a bit of people watching. ‘Yes, great. Who’s JP by the way?’

‘Jason P. Longford,’ Richard said, looking quizzically at Andy as if he had just forgotten the name of a life-long friend. ‘There’s not much on camera stuff for him to do but he wouldn’t miss all the backtabbing that happens at Boot Camp for the world.’

I bet he wouldn’t, Andy thought, rising from his chair and following TV’s most powerful man into the adjoining room.

Waiting for them were Cherie, Jason and Will, sitting in front of a bank of monitors, watching the party that seemed to be now in full swing downstairs.

‘Well, well, nice to see you again, erm …’ Jason said.
He
took a deep breath and clicked his fingers and scrunched his eyes shut, ‘Sorry, it’ll come to me …’

The great trick of the friendless, Andy thought, pretend you’re so popular that you have a million different names in your head and you couldn’t possibly fit another one in.

‘Andy.’

‘That’s right,’ Jason said smiling, pleased with himself.

Andy realised that this was the shape of things to come for the duration of the competition.

‘Look at those girls …’ Cherie said.

Two young women who Andy vaguely recognised because he had escorted them to their rooms were now French kissing on the table where the buffet food had been laid out.

‘Been done before,’ Richard said wearily.

‘Not like you to complain.’ Cherie threw a withering look at her husband. Richard matched her look. Andy couldn’t believe he was standing between the two most talked about people in TV and seemed to be witnessing first-hand what everyone assumed – that they didn’t like one another very much.

‘Anything interesting popped up?’

‘Not really,’ Cherie said, pushing her chair away from the monitors. ‘Just the usual. A thirty-five-year-old guy from Kent has been sent home for stealing.’

‘What did he steal?’

‘A paperweight.’

‘No!’ Andy exclaimed. Everyone turned around and stared at him. ‘Sorry, it just seems like madness that anyone would get through to Boot Camp and then jeopardise their chances by stealing something.’

‘Especially a bloody paperweight,’ Richard said with a wry laugh.

‘It’s the same every year. Some one caught stealing, someone with drugs, someone caught shagging in the toilets …’ Cherie’s withering gaze settled on Richard; he pretended not to notice.

‘There’s that bloody girl!’ Jason said, then clapped his hands to his mouth.

Andy looked at the screen. Catherine was standing with her roommate Kim, both looking awkward, both holding their glasses of lukewarm wine to their chests.

Richard turned to him. ‘I thought we’d cleared things up on the day. She can sing. You can get off her case until we see how she fares over the next couple of days.’

‘Sorry,’ Jason said quietly.

Andy watched Catherine; suddenly Jesse hove into view. He whispered something to Catherine, then she nodded and laughed and he kissed her on the cheek before walking off again. Kim shoved an elbow in Catherine’s ribs and Catherine shook her head. Brill, Andy thought, Mr Smooth performing his smooth operations and he couldn’t even tell him that he’d seen him because Richard Forster had sworn him to secrecy about the hidden cameras.

‘So, Andy, you’re probably wondering what you’re doing here?’ Richard looked at him.

‘Erm, kind of.’ He had to admit it had crossed his mind.

‘We just want to know who you think is going to cause problems and who the public will like. We’re here year in year out and we get inured to the whole process. We need someone with fresh eyes.’

Andy nodded, while secretly not quite believing he was somehow being invited into the inner sanctum of the country’s favourite TV show. Suddenly Star came into view. She was wearing next to nothing. The best way to describe the outfit Andy thought, was a bikini with a piece of fishing net stuck to the knickers. She walked across the room as if she was the main event that everyone had been waiting for. She helped herself to a glass of free plonk and looked around with withering disdain. Everyone else in the room had come to a standstill and were now staring at this bikini-clad creature – she simply stared back. No mean feat staring down a crowd of hundreds. Then she did something that Andy wasn’t expecting and neither was Cherie, Will, Jason or Richard. She turned to where the hidden camera watching the room was secreted, blew them a kiss and winked.

‘How does she know it’s there?’ ‘Who the bloody hell is she?’ ‘Quick, get Lionel and Carrie on, get them to distract everyone’s attention.’ Richard, Will and Cherie spoke over one another.

‘That’s Star,’ Andy said. ‘I was going to point out that she was probably going to be a nightmare but you can see that for yourselves, I suppose.’

‘She’s got bottle, I’ll give her that,’ Richard said.

‘Make sure that’s all you give her,’ Cherie hissed, before turning to Will and saying, ‘Carrie and Lionel are ready, go with them now!’

Catherine awoke with a start and checked the room. Everyone else was asleep. As she lay in bed, easing herself into wakefulness, she tried to work out what had woken
her
so suddenly. Maybe it was the quiet. The manor house was miles from anywhere and was surrounded by acres of manicured grounds. More likely, though, it was the enormity of the day ahead that had woken Catherine; today was their big day. Each bedroom had been assigned a mentor for the day and Catherine’s bedroom had been given Carrie Ward. They would all have to sing two different numbers, one of their choice and one that was pre-selected for them, before lunch. At 1 p.m. they were to be taken into a room and half of the hopefuls would be sent home. The same thing would take place again in the afternoon so that by the end of day one ninety-six contestants would go through to day two. Day two took the same format until, at the end of the day, there would be twenty-four hopefuls in the four different categories. Catherine was in the under-twenty-five category but only by the skin of her teeth; there were some boys and girls there who didn’t look old enough to have a Saturday job. Catherine lay awake, thinking about the intensity of the process.

On the TV it always seemed as if the contestants were at Boot Camp for weeks, being painstakingly whittled down. The truth was it was far quicker and harsher than that. It really was the embodiment of Andy Warhol’s idea that everyone had fifteen minutes of fame. Catherine really hoped she could earn her place in the competition and hang around and at least make it to half an hour.

Someone stirred behind Catherine, she looked around to see who was up; it was Star. Catherine shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She didn’t want to have to suffer the full blast of a one-to-one with Star this early in the morning. The night before Star had made an
absolute
show of herself – as far as Catherine was concerned – but Star didn’t care, it seemed that all she was interested in was being noticed. She had entered the room dressed like a stripper and then had proceeded to writhe around in the middle of the floor, pointing at a potted plant and saying to the others, ‘I know they’re watching, they’re always watching,’ like some paranoid maniac.