Star Struck (4 page)

Jason clicked his fingers across his throat to indicate to the camera crew to stop filming. He glared at Catherine. ‘God, love, I’m not being funny but you’re going to have to pull your finger out of your dull arse if you want to get anywhere in this competition. You’re up against the likes of her, for Christ’s sake.’ He pointed to a doll-like starlet standing nearby. ‘And the prize is a recording contract in the US, not two weeks’ cabaret in Skeggy.’

Andy was mortified. He stared wide-eyed at the girl and wanted to announce to the room that the views of Jason P. Longford did not necessarily reflect those unfortunate enough to have to work with him.

‘Oh,’ she said quietly and looked at her hands.

‘Just saying, darling. You’ve got thirty seconds to impress in there and when you meet me, you should be switching on the charm.’

Andy could tell that Jason was losing interest in her and that the old man next to him who was GF (in production speak this meant Great For, as in
great for
TV) was
taking
centre stage with his false-teeth puppetry. Jason was asking him about his life, trying to extract a story. The TV presenter’s tack with old people was to always go for the sob story, no matter how eccentric, they were bound to have a recently dead dog or a recently dead wife or have been dropped out of an aeroplane over Dunkirk in the war and had a peg leg ever since. It always went down well with the producers, so when he was outrageously nasty to nervous young women it was brushed over because he was, on the whole, great at his job.

The poor girl looked crushed. Andy wanted to tell her to ignore Jason, he was a nasty piece of work, and to just go into the audition and give it her all. But he was being beckoned by Jason. Andy grabbed her wrist before he was dragged away and whispered, ‘Sorry about that.’ He really was; he felt terrible. He didn’t understand what this Jason guy got out of his personal swipes at people. The girl looked up and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away.

‘It’s OK.’ She said and smiled sadly. But Andy knew it wasn’t OK, it was just the way things were.

Over an hour had passed since Jason P. Longford had told Catherine exactly what he thought and his comments still stung. She had had her preliminary audition. Contrary to popular belief only about twenty per cent of people who attended the auditions ever got to face Richard Forster and the other judges. The rest were auditioned and sent away by TV producers who were clearly looking for more than talent; they were looking for people who would be good to watch. Catherine didn’t think that
there
was anything particularly earth shatteringly special about her that would make them put her through; all she really had was her voice. Catherine had tried to get a smile from the three prelim judges but they had simply raised their heads from their notes when she started to sing, then told her she was through. She thought she had done quite well and the cute clipboard guy had stopped her on the way out and said, ‘That was amazing’, but he might have just been trying to be nice, embarrassed that he hadn’t stepped in when his boss was being so rude. A lot of other hopefuls were exiting the first audition crying, having been told
Thanks, but no thanks
, but the lucky ones like Catherine had been given a golden ticket which meant that they were through to see the judges. She looked around hoping that she might spot Kim who she’d briefly met earlier, but there was no sign of her. Catherine assumed that she must have received a ‘no’ and gone home disappointed.

Now Catherine was sitting on her own and dwelling on what Jason P. Longford had said to her. Why would someone say something so rude? Catherine felt foolish. He always seemed so nice on TV. Jason presented his own mid-morning show and was always incredibly generous to his guests. Maybe it’s me, Catherine thought. She knew she needed to stop dwelling on this, there were bigger things to worry about – the fact that she was going to sing in front of the
Star Maker
judges any moment now being one of them.

The judging panel comprised of Richard Forster, his wife Cherie, Lionel Peters, the famous Broadway producer and Carrie Ward, an American recording star who was
married
to a famous American footballer who couldn’t seem to keep himself out of the tabloids – and they were formidable. She hoped that she wasn’t going to faint again.

An old lady wearing a baby-pink gown and a little diamante bow in her hair sat beside Catherine. ‘Would you like a boiled sweetie, love?’

Catherine smiled gratefully and took one. ‘Thank you,’ she said, putting the sweet in her mouth and savouring the liquorice flavour. ‘You look lovely, by the way,’ Catherine added.

The old lady had obviously made a real effort. Her make-up was flawless and her nails beautifully manicured. She carefully placed her boiled sweets back in her handbag, looked up as Jason P. Longford re-entered the room and watched him as he played to the audience. ‘Not everyone thinks so,’ she said, looking straight at Jason. ‘I always thought he was a nice man on the telly until today.’

‘Why, did he say something?’ Catherine asked, hoping he hadn’t but knowing he probably had.

‘He said, “So what brings you here then, love?” And I says, “Well, I like the show and I like to sing so I applied.” And he says, “Right … you a widow?” I says, that no, my husband dropped me off and he’s gone round B&Q for the afternoon – well, I knew my Harold wouldn’t be doing with all this – and he says, “No one died recently?” So I looked at him and said, “Not that I know of.” And he looks at me like I’ve just crawled out from under a stone and says, “Bloody hell, love, you could’ve made something up.” Then he turns to one of those fellows that’s with him and says, “Who wants to see an old bag with no sob story?” And just while I’m standing there
thinking
what a rude man he was he said, “And what’s with the dress, she looks like she’s been dug up.” Dug up! I was ever so upset.’

Catherine was sitting open-mouthed. Who did this man think he was? Even Richard Forster wasn’t this nasty to people, even though that was what he was famous for – he was just at the blunt end of honest. Catherine looked at the old lady sitting sadly next to her and suddenly she was on her feet and heading in the direction of Jason P. Longford. He was in the middle of having his picture taken with some of the other entrants but Catherine knew that if she stopped she’d lose her momentum and wouldn’t say anything.

‘Why were you so rude to that lady over there?’ she asked loudly.

Jason looked around as if checking to see who she was speaking to. When he realised it was him, he looked at the guy with the clipboard and said, ‘Nutter alert. Get security.’ But the clipboard guy didn’t move.

‘You are rude. You were rude to me and you were very rude to that lady,’ Catherine continued.

‘I said, get security.’

The clipboard guy walked forward and took Catherine by the arm and pulled her away. ‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘you’ve got through to see the judges, don’t blow it, he’s not worth it.’

‘He’s horrible,’ she shouted over her shoulder. She would never have been this brave on her own behalf but she couldn’t believe that this so called ‘personality’ had been so nasty to an old lady.

‘Yes, he is,’ the clipboard guy agreed.

‘And you work for him.’

‘Yes, unfortunately I do.’

‘Jason P. Longford is an exceptionally rude man!’ Catherine shouted to the room full of hopefuls.

Jason looked around and shook his head as if to indicate that Catherine was just another person in a long line of unhinged people he had to deal with.

‘Number 4695, Catherine Reilly!’ the woman ushering people into the audition room shouted. Catherine heard her name and looked down at her number.

‘That’s you, go,’ the clipboard guy said with a gentle shove.

Catherine noticed that he looked worriedly over to Jason. Jason saw that she was heading for the audition room and sped off in the direction of the door, beating her to it, barring her way in.

‘Wait there,’ he said menacingly, slamming the door behind him. Catherine’s heart sank, he was bound to sabotage it for her, but she wasn’t just going to leave now. As she jigged nervously from one foot to the other, the large automatic doors to the hotel opened and a row of familiar faces emerged: Maria, Jo, and her father. Her niece Rosie was there too – which meant that Claire couldn’t be far behind. Catherine stared in horror. Her family didn’t see her as they scoured the room.

Before she had time to think, Jason P. Longford came out of the audition room. She was sure he was about to say that the judges didn’t want to see her but instead he whispered in her ear, ‘I’ve put in a good word, psycho. Don’t fuck it up.’

Catherine was frozen to the spot. Why had she made an enemy out of this nasty piece of work? She wanted to
say
something back but her mind was blank. The door opened and one of the producers ushered her into the room. Cameras were pointing at her as she walked in shakily and stood the centre of the room. There, staring back at her, were four of the most famous faces in TV. Catherine’s legs turned to jelly.

‘So … Catherine.’ Richard Forster said looking down at his crib sheet. ‘Why do you think you’re a star?’

‘Er …’ She was lost for words. ‘I don’t.’

The judges threw looks to one another. Cherie Forster stepped in. ‘This is
Star Maker
,’ she said sarcastically.

‘Sorry.’ Catherine gathered herself. ‘I just want to sing.’ She was trying to sound honest; she didn’t think she was a star. People like her stayed at home and read
Heat
magazine; they didn’t appear in it.

‘And what are you going to sing for us today?’ Carrie Ward asked.

Catherine looked at her. The woman was impossibly beautiful. She had silky blond hair and dewy honey coloured skin with pinched pink cheeks.
She
looked like a true star. Catherine shuffled nervously. She felt like a frump.

‘“Martha’s Harbour”.’

‘I love that song,’ Richard said. The others nodded approvingly. That was good enough for Catherine. ‘When you’re ready, Catherine …’

She was just about to begin when the door flew open and her family ran in.

‘What’s that about? She just looked straight at us and did one!’ Maria said, indignantly pushing through the crowds of people waiting to audition.

Jo grabbed her arm. ‘You don’t think she might be totally mortified that we’ve all just rocked up, by any chance?’ she said, trying to present her sister with a bit of sense.

‘Her? Embarrassed of us? Why?’

‘Let me think,’ Jo said, looking at her dad as he picked a remnant of his breakfast out of his beard, inspected it and then popped it in his mouth.

‘So what are we doing here if we’re not going to stick up for her?’ Claire asked.

Jo looked at Claire, who looked different somehow. She had only just joined them after parking the car but she was wild-eyed with excitement. Jo could tell that her sister was getting caught up in the atmosphere. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be the one bursting through the audition doors and singing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. ‘What’s up with you? You look half-demented.’

‘Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m just taking things in. Look!’ Claire shrieked, star struck. ‘There’s Jason P. Longford.’ Claire set off in the direction of the TV presenter. The rest of the family followed. Jo thought for a moment about what to do and then, deciding that she really couldn’t do anything other than wait for Catherine to come back out, followed them.

When she arrived at the doors to the audition room Claire had already struck up conversation with Jason P. Longford. ‘We just love your show.’

‘Vomit, Claire. Stop bum kissing.’ Jo said, sweeping past the TV presenter and sticking her ear against the audition room doors.

‘Can you hear her?’ Maria asked.

Jo shook her head. She could hear voices but no singing.

‘And who is this beautiful lady?’ Jason P. Longford said, sidling up to Jo. Jo’s eyebrow shot to the top of her forehead.

‘Bleurgh,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest.

Maria stepped in, speaking quickly over Jo, who knew Maria would be like this as soon as she clapped eyes on someone she’d seen on the telly. If there was a casting couch there Jo was sure that Maria would lie on it, legs akimbo, shouting ‘Take me Jason you big hunk of famous love!’

‘She’s our sister. The youngest. Everyone says she looks like Angelina Jolie,’ Maria gushed.

‘Maria, for the love of God!’ Jo seethed. She didn’t look anything like Angelina Jolie in her opinion. She had the same sort of hair and big lips – which Jo thought made her look more like a sucker-fish than a film star – and bright blue eyes, but all of her sisters had bright blue eyes. She didn’t get what the deal was. Jo wasn’t stupid; she knew that something had happened when she was sixteen. Until then she had always been too tall and too skinny for any of the boys at school to look at her twice. But on returning to school after the six weeks’ holidays that year, all of the boys in her year suddenly seemed to notice her. It was as if she had somehow grown into her features. Well, they could get stuffed, Jo had thought. And that had pretty much been her attitude to men ever since. If they were only interested in how she looked then she wasn’t interested in them. It didn’t seem to put them off though, annoyingly. Even clearly gay ones like this Jason guy.

‘And you’re here for the girl in there?’ Jason asked, as if there must be some mistake.

‘Yeah,’ Jo said. ‘She’s our sister.’

‘She’s your sister?’ Jason asked, shocked.

‘Yes.’ Jo was losing patience.

‘Really?’ he said, raising his eyebrows to the researcher guy next to him.

‘What?’ Jo asked, her eyes narrowing.

‘Well, you don’t look like her,’ Jason snapped. They glared at one another for a moment until Claire cut in.

‘I’m Claire, this is Maria, Jo, my daughter Rosie and our dad Mick and we’re all here to support Catherine.’ Maria chirped, as if she was introducing the Reillys on
Family Fortunes
.

‘And where’s Mum?’

‘She buggered off when I was twelve,’ Jo began.