Star Struck (30 page)

‘Oh God,’ Claire said. ‘I’m totally mortified.’

‘I’ll be pestered by passengers for the rest of my life,’ Maria said.

The footage cut back inside and they saw the judges deliberating over Catherine and then deciding to bring her back. The camera followed the young guy who was
sent
to get her from the car and then Catherine was back in front of the judges again, being triumphantly put through. The judges looked like great guys for giving this poor girl a second chance and Catherine looked like someone who needed all the help she could get as a result of being from the family she was from. The very last piece of footage was of Mick poking his head into the audition room and Richard Forster saying, ‘You again?’ and Mick replying, ‘Wrong door. I thought this was the bogs.’ Then the credits rolled.

Jo threw herself on the carpet and rolled around, her hands covering her face.

Claire and Maria sat in stony silence on the settee. Only Mick seemed rather pleased with his TV debut. ‘I think we came out of that all right, don’t you?’ he asked.

‘No, Dad,’ Claire explained. ‘We are the best that they saved to last, don’t you see?’

‘You know, Dad, the big divs that everyone laughs at?’ Jo said. ‘Well, that’s us now. Good eh?’

‘Who cares?’ Mick said, waving his hand dismissively.

‘We do,’ the girls chorused.

‘You shouldn’t! No one will give that a second thought after tonight,’ Mick said confidently.

‘Really?’ Jo asked, pulling out her mobile phone which she’d purposefully put on silent for the duration of her and her family’s TV debut. Twenty missed calls and forty texts. ‘Shit,’ she said, showing her phone display to Claire and Maria. ‘That’s everyone I know ringing up or texting to take the piss.’

‘And so it begins,’ Maria said, with grave portent.

It was the first wise thing that Jo could ever remember her sister saying.

It was four in the afternoon in New York and the viewing figures were in for
Star Maker
:
Transatlantic
in the UK. ‘Wow. Fifteen million people. That’s our highest ever,’ Richard Forster told Andy.

‘That’s great,’ Andy said enthusiastically. Andy was convinced he was turning into someone he wouldn’t have cared for before he started working on this show. He was sure that he was agreeable with Richard to the point of sycophancy, but didn’t know what other way to be. Everyone seemed to be sycophantic to Richard.

‘Let’s go give the news to the girls … Oh, and by the way can you ask Star to come and see me later when all this is done?’ Richard asked. Andy was intrigued to know why, but of course didn’t ask.

Andy followed Richard into the room where the contestants were congregated. ‘Right everyone,’ he said, ‘this might seem dramatic but I don’t want you to underestimate what I say. Your lives, as of now, have irrevocably changed. The first
Star Maker
episode has aired in the UK and we hit fifteen million viewers. That’s one in four people in the UK that watched. And Catherine,’ Andy looked at Catherine as her eyes shot open in alarm at being singled out, ‘your family were a massive hit. The message boards are alive with your father’s antics.’

Andy wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Any mention of Catherine’s father left Andy feeling terrible.

‘Oh,’ Catherine said, looking worried. She briefly caught
Andy’s
eye and gave him the blackest look he’d ever received. She still hates me, he thought.

‘Tonight, we’ll be watching the first US episode from a TV studio over looking Times Square. The spin is different over here, obviously. Throughout the audition episodes we’ll concentrate more on the US than the UK but you’ll all be featured, obviously.’ Catherine looked ashen-faced at the thought.

‘I know that you are all lined up to have media training over this, but I just want to let you know that the interest in you if you get through to the finals will be intense. It’s also something that is extremely enjoyable if you choose to go along for the ride. The people who fare badly are the ones who start taking the process – and themselves for that matter – far too seriously. You have to learn to develop a thick skin and take the rough with the smooth. OK?’ He looked at the contestants. ‘Good, because it’s fast track this year. There’s always a buzz around this show but this year, with the back-to-back auditions and then straight into the live shows we’re expecting an unprecedented response.’

Andy looked out at the girls. They would be famous soon, all of them, even Catherine. And then she’d be so busy that she wouldn’t have time to talk to him, even if she had the inclination. Andy decided that he would concentrate on his work and if Catherine wanted to speak to him, then she would, but he was becoming increasingly convinced that she would have better things to do.

Chapter 15

STAR MAKER. TRANSATLANTIC
had been airing for ten consecutive nights. Even though the contestants had been too busy to have much contact with the outside world, it was apparent that they were becoming – if not famous – then recognisable. There was a definite buzz around the show and, in particular, Catherine’s family, but because Catherine hadn’t been in the UK to witness it happen, she didn’t quite believe it. Catherine had been in touch with Jo who had told her that their dad was something of a minor celebrity in Manchester and the fame was going to his head. It had one good effect in that his spirits seemed to have lifted and he didn’t feel as ill as he had in previous weeks.

Catherine was missing her family terribly. She knew that each contestant was allotted tickets in the coming weeks for the live finals, but that hers weren’t until the fourth week, if she made it that far. She hadn’t even mentioned it to her sisters yet, she didn’t want to jinx herself.

She and the other finalists had been ushered into a room that looked as though it should be in the Palace of Versailles rather than a New York apartment. There were gilt-edged mirrors and marble tables that must have been worth an absolute fortune. Richard Forster came into the room and explained to the girls that the American host
of
Star Maker
, Tom Soronsen, who was to host the live finals, was about to greet them. Catherine noticed that Jason P. Longford was doing a lot of eye-rolling; he evidently felt intimidated by the American host.

Richard said that once this had been filmed they would be taken off by a famous face that they had yet to meet and they would be mentored by them for the day. There was a buzz of excitement – who would it be? Names were bandied around – Britney Spears, Kelly Clarkson, Rihanna. Richard told the contestants to calm down and all would be revealed.

Until now the whole thing, other than the auditions and the nerve-racking nature of them, felt somewhat tame. The tension and the razzmatazz associated with
Star Maker
was all created in the edit for the first stages of the competition, Catherine now realised. But when Tom Soronsen walked into the room and went straight into his role as host, the atmosphere changed. Catherine could see the other girls straighten in their chairs. Maybe it was the American accent that made proceedings seem altogether more showbizzy than they had in the Cotswolds or London or any time in the past two weeks in New York, or maybe it was that Tom Soronsen was charismatic and known the world over, unlike Jason P. Longford, who was charmless and known primarily to the daytime TV watchers of the UK. Whatever it was, the whole thing had suddenly shifted up a gear. It suddenly felt real: they were here to perform and to compete. Catherine looked around – everyone felt it.

Tom walked through the room, shouting each contestant’s name in his punchy American way. When he said
Catherine
it made her involuntarily take a breath and her back fizz with goose bumps. ‘Cut,’ the director shouted. ‘Got it in one,’ he said watching the footage through his viewfinder.

‘I’m such a Goddamn pro,’ Tom said, his tongue firmly in his cheek.

Richard took the centre of the room. ‘Thank you, Tom,’ he said, folding his arms and looking at his groups of hopefuls. ‘Right you all have mentors for the afternoon. Guys …’ he looked at the over-twenty-five men, ‘… you’ve got Elton.’

‘Elton John?’ one of them asked.

‘How many other Eltons do you know?’ Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘Ladies,’ he turned to the over-twenty-fives, ‘you have Anastasia.’ The girls turned and excitedly whispered to one another.

‘Gents …’ The under-twenty-five men listened carefully, ‘… you have JT.’

‘Justin?’ one of the guys asked, jumping to his feet.

‘The very same,’ Richard nodded. ‘And girls …’ he screwed his face up, ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t got time to sugar the pill here, so here goes: it’s Anya.’

A uniform gasp filled the room.

‘I know, I know,’ Richard said, like a man who’d heard it all before. ‘Everyone loves Anya. Everyone thinks Anya’s great. Well, she isn’t. Frankly she’s a mess.’

Anya – unlike Star – never had to give her surname. She was known the world over as just Anya. Thrust into the limelight at seventeen, she was now twenty-seven and despite a train wreck of a life that had seen her lurch from disastrous relationship to disastrous relationship
and
hit drug-fuelled lows involving male prostitutes and her second child being given up for adoption, people still wanted to think that she was going to come good again. Recently she had lost a lot of weight and looked something like the teen sensation that she had once been.

‘I know it’s exciting, thinking that she’s going to be mentoring you, but trust me, she won’t. She’s coked up to the eyeballs and we’re trying to bring her round. So here’s the drill: we’ll do some shots of you all meeting her, she’ll wear shades. She’ll say the bare minimum and you’ll go through your songs with one of our vocal coaches. Then she’s out of here and off to a clinic in Arizona to dry out in time for her performance on the live show on Saturday. Any questions?’ Richard looked at the group. Catherine realised that they were all sitting staring at him, utterly speechless. ‘Didn’t think so. Enjoy your afternoon.’

Andy was having the most bizarre hour of his life. He had been charged, alongside Jason, to look after Anya. Andy would have assumed that looking after one of the mentors would have been far too lowly a job for Jason but Jason had jumped at the chance to meet his pop idol. Now, Andy could tell that he was wishing he hadn’t bothered. Anya hadn’t stopped talking for the past hour, hadn’t even seemed to have drawn breath, and her only topic of conversation was herself. She was now in the toilet throwing up violently, having ended her hour-long rant by asserting that if her ex-husband – a famous pop star himself – went anywhere near their daughter she would tell the world that he’d had sex with a horse.

‘Is she on drugs, do you think?’ Andy asked as he and Jason stood outside the toilet door.

‘Is she on drugs?’ Jason asked disbelievingly. ‘She’s off her fucking box!’

Andy caught his eye and they laughed together for the first time since they’d met; both realising the preposterousness of the situation they found themselves in.

The door opened and the young star stood before them, her blond hair extensions matted to her head, her eye make-up smeared all over her face, her breath smelling of sick.

Jason took his Ray Bans out of his pocket and handed them to Anya. ‘Stick these on darling, you look like Bette Davis in
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane
.’

Andy swallowed a giggle as one of the world’s most famous women lurched in between them. Andy took one arm and Jason took the other and they guided Anya into the next room where they thought the under-twenty-five girls would be waiting. When they shuffled into the room the only person in there was Catherine. Catherine looked stunned for a moment and then bit her bottom lip as if she were holding in a laugh. He could understand why, he was propping up a near-paralytic superstar.

‘Ladies and gentleman,’ Jason said drily, ‘I give you Anya.’

‘The others are just on their way in,’ Catherine said, pointing at the door.

‘Right.’ Andy felt embarrassed.

Richard Forster walked in with the other contestants following him, breaking the tension. They all stood and stared at the fallen superstar.

‘Well, you didn’t have to make such an effort, Anya,’ Richard said sarcastically to the bedraggled star.

‘Fuck you, Richard Forster,’ Anya spat.

‘Why, thank you.’

‘What I needed tonight was a friend but I got you …’ Anya said, lurching to one side and slumping in a chair.

‘Well, that is a shame,’ Richard said, clearly trying to mask his impatience.

‘You don’t even know that’s from a film, do you, Richard? Demi Moore says it to Rob Lowe in
St Elmo’s Fire
, Richard!’ Anya shouted slurrily, no one knew where to look.

Andy shot a look at Catherine. She momentarily looked back at him and half smiled.

‘Right,’ Richard Forster got to his feet and grabbed the sozzled star. ‘That’s it. You’re out. Jason, get Christina on the next private jet we have, if not Christina then I’ll do it myself.’

Anya got to her feet and then threw her arms around Richard. He stood back, disgusted, his hands in the air looking down at her head on his shirt like someone had just thrown a custard pie at his chest. ‘Get her out of here.’

‘I thought you loved me,’ she giggled and then turned suddenly serious. ‘You used me. You pick me up when you want me and then you leave me high and dry.’

Andy looked at his feet. Rumours were rife about Richard’s liking for young girls but Andy innocently thought that they were just that, rumours. Was this true? Surely not, Cherie would have his bollocks on a plate if she knew that something like that was going on.

‘We’ve had it with the inane witterings, Anya, you’re going home.’

‘Too long in the business, Richard? Liked me when I was fresh meat though, didn’t you?’

Richard didn’t hesitate a moment longer, he grabbed Anya by the top of her arm and frogmarched her from the room. Moments later Richard was back. ‘Sorry about that, folks,’ he smiled confidently, ‘let’s just say I don’t think Anya will be having a number one again, not outside Turkmenistan. So where were we?’