Star Struck (37 page)

‘Star, are you OK?’ Andy asked, trying to grab her as she barged past him.

‘Please leave me alone,’ she said, trying to wrestle her arm from Andy’s grasp. The fact that Star said ‘please’ made Andy think that maybe he should pursue this; Star never said please. He followed her into her apartment and through into her bedroom. ‘What are you doing?’ Star demanded. ‘I asked you to leave me alone.’

‘But you’re upset, I just wanted to see that you’re OK.’

‘Well, I’m not, all right? I’m not.’ The fight went out of Star’s voice, she hung her head and began to cry, her shoulders heaving. Andy didn’t know what to do. There were no girls around to call, no female runners on hand. He walked towards her and then backed away; he hated
to
see anyone this upset, but he also knew that there was a fair chance he would get his head bitten off if he got too close to Star. He tiptoed over as if he was walking through a minefield. Star stood on the spot, her shoulders pulled into her head, as if trying to make herself smaller.

‘What’s happened?’ Andy placed his hand on Star’s back. She didn’t answer, she just kept crying.

‘Come on, Star, you can tell me.’

She looked out from under her hair, her pretty face blotchy and red from crying. ‘If I tell you, you cannot tell a soul, you have to swear to me.’

Andy nodded, nervous about what he was about to hear. ‘I promise, I won’t tell anyone.’

Catherine had been sitting in the park for over an hour trying to calm down. She had tried to contact Andy but his phone had been switched off so she presumed he was in a production meeting. She and Andy had been getting on brilliantly since the other night. He was kind and sweet and charming and she fancied him rotten. Catherine never thought that she’d feel like that about someone. She knew she sounded like an old spinster, but she’d thought that if she ever did get a boyfriend it would be because they were friends and then came to some agreement about making it more than that. She didn’t know how people got to the stage where they were besotted by one another. But now she knew. She thought about Andy all the time and couldn’t even be bothered to act cool and pretend that she didn’t; it was written all over her face. She had even told Kim and Star about him and had to stop herself from inserting his name into every conversation. ‘What’s that
you’re
eating? Cornflakes, oh Andy eats cornflakes too!’ She wished that he was here now with her, so that she could talk this through with him.

Catherine had wanted to ring her dad and shout at him, to tell him that she had wasted too much of her life looking after him and he had lied to her. But they didn’t have conversations like that in their house. They just buried things and pretended they hadn’t happened. Only Jo got everything out in the open. If Catherine hadn’t entered
Star Maker
and it had come out at home, just between her family, that Mick had been lying about having cancer, then they would have all tried to sweep it under the carpet. Mick would pretend that he genuinely thought he had cancer but that it had gone and everyone else would dance around the story, and after a while even Jo would fall into line. Well, it wasn’t going to happen that way this time; once the news got out that Mick had been lying, Catherine knew that he was going to be fed to the tabloid lions.

Marching through the grand old apartment building where they were staying, Catherine’s anger began to bubble over. Thoughts of making sure her dad took his tablets every morning – what tablets were they – Smarties? A vision of her and her father on the moors flying kites – what a dupe, she thought. She needed to speak to someone about this. She pulled her phone out and dialled Andy’s number again; this time it rang but there was no answer. Catherine headed for her bedroom, she was going to get a shower and try to get herself into the right frame of mind for that afternoon’s rehearsals.

* * *

Andy pulled Star into his arms, she was a shuddering mess. He had never seen anyone this upset. ‘Why haven’t you said anything before?’ he asked.

‘What could I say? “Richard Forster has been making me sleep with him so I don’t get a bad song choice”?’ Star asked, her hair stuck to her face.

She had just told Andy that since they had arrived in New York, Richard had been making a play for her. He had asked her to come to his room and she had gone. At first she was flattered by the attention but then Cherie had seen her coming out of Richard’s apartment – the couple insisted on separate living quarters – and had followed Star, demanding to know what was going on and telling her that if she went within a foot of her husband she would make sure she never worked again. Richard, on the other hand, made it quite clear that
unless
she came within a foot of him – slept with him, in fact – he would make sure she never worked again. At first Star hadn’t believed him and just tried to avoid Richard. But at the first live show, when he had changed her song on the day of the performance, Star realised he meant what he said. But she also knew that Cherie meant what she said. Since then, Star had been a bag of nerves. She had been called to Richard’s living quarters three times and had slept with him twice.

Star could barely get her words out, she was so upset. Andy put his hand to her face and clumsily pushed her hair back. Star put her arms around him and fell against his chest. He felt terribly sorry for her. How could someone force someone else to sleep with them? Where was the pleasure in that? Andy felt nothing but disdain for Richard
Forster;
he might be one of the richest men in the world but he was nothing, in Andy’s opinion, if this was how he operated.

‘Thank you, Andy,’ Star said, still clinging to him.

Andy rubbed Star’s back. ‘No problem,’ he said.

The bedroom door opened and Andy turned round. Catherine was standing there with her mouth open, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Catherine ran through the long oak-clad corridor and down the stairs. ‘Catherine, come back!’ Andy shouted down the stairwell.

She kept running. She knew it was too good to be true. He was probably trying it on with everyone, and she’d told Star all about him the other day, saying how much she liked him; what a fool. She took the stairs two at a time.

‘Catherine!’ Andy shouted.

She could hear him catching up with her. She turned and ran along the bottom corridor leading out of the door. Andy was hot on her heels. Catherine kept running. She got to the doorway where outside a crowd of photographers and reporters had gathered. She ran out into them, fully expecting them to be waiting for someone else. She felt the crowd close in on her, pointing Dictaphones and shouting questions over one another.

‘Catherine, how does it feel to have been lied to by your own father?’

‘Have you spoken to your father, Catherine?’

‘Catherine, did you know that your father didn’t have cancer? A few people are speculating that you hatched the plan to do well in the competition.’

Catherine reeled around, trying to take in the enormity of what was happening. Everyone knew. She felt a hand around her arm and she was dragged backwards through the crowd, back into the apartment building. ‘Thank you. That will be all,’ Andy said, slamming the door shut.

‘What was all that about?’ Andy asked.

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ Catherine snapped.

‘What does that mean?’ Andy looked utterly confused.

‘Jason told me what you were like, he said you were off with a different girl every night, and like a div I didn’t listen to him.’

‘Off with a different girl every night? Star was upset, I was comforting her.’

‘Nice try, Andy. You sound like an MP who’s been caught with his pants down.’

‘I was. Go ask her.’

‘I’m not going to ask Star anything.’

‘She’s had a terrible time. Richard Forster—’ Andy stopped short.

‘Richard Forster what?’

‘Nothing. It’s not my place to say. Look, you’ve just got to believe me. I really like you, honestly. And what the bloody hell was Jason on about a different girl every night? I’m not like that! I couldn’t be like that if I tried …’

Catherine looked at Andy, his eyes were pleading with her to believe him. ‘That stuff down at the park with my hands over your eyes, I was so nervous, I thought you were going to tell me to get stuffed, but I just wanted to do something nice because I think you’re amazing and I was scared that you’d get famous and wouldn’t want to talk to someone like me anymore.’

‘I’m not like that,’ Catherine said, half flattered, half offended.

‘Well, I’m not like how you’ve just described me either. We’re both just normal, aren’t we? Caught up in this mental world where you get mobbed by paparazzi and people will do anything for fame.’

‘I wouldn’t. I’m sick of all this. All I ever wanted to do was sing.’ Catherine felt sick to the stomach that her family were now being dragged through the press and people seemed to want to know everything about her. ‘And look at me, I’m not eating, I’m worried sick about what’s about to come out in the British papers. It’s awful.’

‘What do you mean?’

Catherine told Andy about her dad.

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

‘I should be thrilled, shouldn’t I? He hasn’t got cancer, he’s fine. But he’s lied to all of us. And all because he wanted to get my mum’s attention.’ Catherine shook her head. ‘The silly old idiot.’

They walked back to the room. When Catherine opened the door, Star – who was sitting on her bed – pulled her knees up to her chin like a frightened child. ‘Star?’ Andy asked, ‘Could you reassure Catherine that nothing was going on between us?’

‘Andy!’ Catherine said, embarrassed.

‘With him!’ Star said rudely and then, realising that this sounded harsh, recovered with, ‘Sorry, he’s just been really lovely. I was upset and he talked to me.’

‘Upset about what?’ Catherine asked.

Star looked at Andy, the look said,
should I say?
Andy shrugged.

‘It’s OK, I’d rather not talk about it,’ Star said, climbing under the covers.

Andy looked at his watch, ‘I’m really sorry, I have to go to this meeting, I’ll see you in a bit?’ he asked Catherine. She followed him to the door. He kissed her and she felt a jolt of excitement run through her. ‘We’ll talk more later, OK?’

‘Yes,’ Catherine said. She really needed to talk to someone. As Andy left, Catherine wished that her family were all tucked up somewhere safely and not about to enter the full glare of a wronged media.

‘Andy, glad you could make it,’ Richard said. He was sitting at the head of the boardroom table at the
Star Maker
offices on Fifth Avenue, wearing an open neck rugby shirt.

‘Right, just a few things to run through for this weekend …’ Richard went through his list of who should stay and who should go and how he was to engineer the departure.

‘Star?’ Cherie asked pointedly. ‘You were very keen to get rid of her last week, but the dear old public kept her in. This week I notice …’ Cherie looked at her notes, ‘… that she is singing “Nessun Dorma”. The public don’t know as yet that she can sing opera so when they hear that she’s guaranteed to go through. What’s changed?’

Richard glared at his wife. ‘Nothing’s changed, I just think she should stay in.’

‘Really?’ Cherie said, as if to say, pull the other one.

‘I think you’re absolutely right, Richard. He really is a good judge of what the public wants, isn’t he?’ Jason P.
Longford
said, in the biggest display of arse kissing that Andy had ever witnessed.

Andy stood angrily in silence. He should say something shouldn’t he? He knew what Richard was like. And as for Jason, he was beyond contempt, too. Telling Catherine he was playing the field. Why would he do that? The only conclusion that Andy could come to was because he was miserable himself and couldn’t bear to see anyone else happy.

‘Moving on,’ Richard scanned the room. ‘I heard Catherine speaking to her sister on the phone this morning and it turns out daddy dearest hasn’t got cancer after all.’ There was a quiet gasp from the room.

‘You heard?’ Andy asked.

‘Yes, I heard. There are cameras in the basement, Jesus, where have you been?’

Of course, Andy thought, Richard the ultimate control freak liked to keep tabs on everyone, even at this late stage in the competition.

‘So, I’ve been onto the press and the coverage is going off the chart apparently.’

‘You told the papers?’ Andy said.

‘Of course I told the papers,’ Richard said, as if he was dealing with an imbecile. Andy wanted to tell Richard to shove his job, that he couldn’t work like this, but he was no use to Catherine if he was in the dole queue. He was better weighing up his options, he thought. So he settled back and listened to Richard’s plans for making and breaking people this week and wondered what he would do about all of this, if indeed he would do anything.

* * *

Star finally confided in Catherine. Catherine had told Star about her dad and the fact that there was a gaggle of paparazzi baying for her blood. Star had listened and taken it all in and then sat bolt upright in bed and said, ‘I might as well tell you, your boyfriend will only tell you anyway.’ And informed Catherine of what Richard Forster had made her do. Catherine felt sick.

‘And he’s given me “Nessun Dorma” this week because that will keep me in, apparently.’

‘But why didn’t you just say no?’ Catherine said and then felt terrible as soon as the words were out.

‘Because I’d be back in Hackney living in my mum’s shit flat. That’s why.’

Catherine stared at her, ‘Hackney? But I thought your mum lived in Fulham?’

‘She doesn’t.’

‘And all the stuff about living all over the world?’

‘Look, Catherine, not everyone’s got a family like yours.’

Ain’t that the truth? Catherine thought.

‘You’re all really tight and your dad might be a total nightmare but he does things for the right reasons.’ Catherine had never thought about it like that, but there was some truth in what Star was saying. ‘My mum doesn’t give a flying shit what I do. About the only thing that she says to me is, “Mandy, get me ten B and H from the shops.”’