Starstruck (36 page)

‘They’ll
pay you.’

‘They’ll
pay me? To go on TV and talk about this?’

‘Yes,
and they really want you on the show so they’re willing to pay now, and I’ve
got you a pretty good deal.’

‘How
much?’ I ask. I cannot believe I am entertaining the idea, but I’m jobless and
I have no money to even get back home so I’m in no position to turn this down.

Frank
takes a pen and a pad of Post-It notes from his inside pocket, writes down a
number and sticks it on the table in front of me. I’m not quite sure why he
wrote it down, it’s not like anyone can hear. It must be a showbiz thing that
I’m not aware of. As I pick it up off the table and read the number to myself,
my jaw physically drops.

‘How
much?’ I squeal.

‘And
that’s with my commission deducted. That would all go to you.’

‘They
want to pay me that much money to go on TV - for how long?’

‘It
will probably be a fifteen minute slot.’

‘Oh
my God!’ I laugh in a slightly manic way. It may not be that much money but I’d
be stupid to turn it down now that I’m unemployed. ET called me a few days ago,
he told me in very polite terms that with the magazine not doing very well and
the entire team of staff disbanded, the we should part ways. He gave me his
blessing to carry on with Starstruck without their backing, and promised to
give Jake his old job back, but that he thought it best to disassociate
ByteBanter from my scandal. Another so called friend who isn’t standing by me.

‘Ok,
tell them I’ll do it,’ I say.

‘Great
stuff, lass. I’ll get on the blower to them and sort it out, it’s next week so
you’ll want to start thinking about something to wear. Let me know if you need
anyone to help you with that.’

‘Erm,
I can dress myself thanks, Frank.’

‘I
can see that, Nicole. I mean an image consultant. You want to put the right
message across.’

Never
in a million years would I have expected Frank to mention anything style
related to me. I see him out and run in to see Luke. I stop myself jumping on
his bed at the last minute, remembering his injuries, although he’s mending
nicely now. I wake him and tell him all about the show.

‘I
though Frank was just your band manager,’ I say, still unable to process what a
big-shot he is.

‘He’s
a big name, so are his clients. Google him,’ Luke suggests, carefully sitting
up. ‘No coffee this morning?’

‘Frank
drank it. Luke, should I go on this show?’

‘I
don’t see why not. People already hate you, and don’t give me a dirty look like
that, because you know they do.’

He
has a point.

‘Just
go for it.’

So
this is my fifteen minutes of fame. I’m the kiss and tell girl on a show for
middle-aged women. Wonderful, just wonderful.

 Sitting
in my dressing room – yes,
my
dressing room - at the TV studio, I try
not to think about what I’m about to do. At this point, it still doesn’t feel
real. Yes, I’m sitting here with my hair and make-up done, in my stylish yet
demure dress, just waiting to be called, but I’m still not convinced someone
won’t realise what a terrible mistake they have made and show me the door.

I
practice my voice again. When the woman at reception asked me if I was
Scottish, I thought it best to practice sounding... not northern. When I’m up
north I get teased constantly for my weak accent, but when I visit London
people treat me like I speak another bloody language.

There’s
a knock on the door.

‘Come
in,’ I call, mentally kicking myself for sounding so northern. A man wearing a
headset peers just inside the doorway.

‘Ready
for you in ten minutes, Miss Wilde.’

‘Oh,
right. Shit.’ I kick myself again for swearing, but he’s gone. No swearing. No
northern terms. I absolutely cannot come across as the foulmouthed, northern homewrecker
that I (kind of) am. No smartarse comments, no silly puns - I just need to be
myself, well, a version of myself that doesn’t swear, pun or have an accent.

Before
I know it I am being ushered towards the set.

‘This
is your seat,’ he points to one of the empty chairs and then addresses the
person I didn’t know was standing behind me. ‘Ah, Miss Parker, you will be
seated to the left of Miss Wilde.’

‘Brilliant,’
she says unenthusiastically, walking straight past me. What a bitch. Then
again, to her I’m probably just another girl like the one who ruined her
relationship.

I
take my seat as instructed and admire the set. Everything is red and gold –
presumably because Christmas is coming, although I imagine their usual set is
equally as garish.

‘One
minute to go,’ Headset guy calls out.

I
am taken aback by the studio audience, I didn’t realise so many people were going
to be here. I watched an episode of the show last night (for research) and
presumed the enthusiastic laughter and other audience noises were canned. We’re
all sitting around a large table, shaped a bit like a banana, with one host on
either end – guests go in the middle. I am sitting between Kelly and Deborah
Blake. I don’t know what it is Deborah is famous for, but I’m guessing she was
someone back in her day and she’s still very aware of that fact. I’d guess she
was in her early sixties. I know that Kelly is twenty-nine, so I’m the youngest
on the show. Then we have Kathy Saunders. She used to present a breakfast TV
show, and I remember the scandal when she was caught shagging her co-host, who
was also married. She’s probably fifty-ish, but trying oh-so hard to look more
like thirty. If people can forgive her, maybe they’ll forgive me in time.

Headset
man appears next to one of the cameras in front of us. ‘And we’re live in five,
four, three...’ he gestures the other numbers with his fingers, and then a big
red light appears on top of the camera. I guess this is it.

‘Hello,
and welcome back to Chit-Chat. Today our topic of conversation is adultery.’

The
audience make “oooh” sounds.

‘You’ve
never cheated on anyone, have you Deborah?’ Kathy asks across the desk. I
wonder if I’m in shot. I don’t know what to do with my face, smiling feels
awkward, but I can’t just sit there glaring at them.

‘I
haven’t, no. Never cheated on anyone, and I’ve never been cheated on,’ Deborah
chirps.

‘That
you know of,’ Kathy says with a chuckle and the audience roar with laughter.
It’s not that funny, is it?

‘I’ve
spoken about it many times on the show before, but for those of you who don’t
know, I did cheat on my husband -  but it saved my marriage. If I hadn’t
cheated, we probably would have broken up eventually. So personally, I owe an
awful lot to my affair. However, one of our guests today - Kelly Parker
everybody.’ She gives the audience a moment to cheer and clap. ‘Kelly, your
footballer fiancé Jed Ellis cheated on you. How did that feel?’

‘It
ruined my life, Kathy,’ Kelly tells her. ‘I thought we were happy, we’d set a
date for the wedding, and then it came out in the papers that he had been
cheating on me with several other girls. It broke my heart. I’m not sure there
is ever an excuse for it.’

‘Oh,
there is. In my case, it was a great thing, but when people get hurt...’ Kathy
trails off, and then looks at me.

‘Our
other guest, Nicole Wilde,’ - no pause for applause, not that I was expecting
any - ‘You had an affair with Dylan King, one of the country’s biggest stars.’

‘I
didn’t have an affair with Dylan, we’re just friends,’ I say weakly, feeling
defeated already.

‘You’d
been friends for so long, and yet you didn’t get together until after he was
married.’

‘Nothing
happened between us. I don’t think one suspicious looking photograph in a
tabloid is enough to prove otherwise.’

‘He
was on top of you, on the floor, your hands were all over each other,’ Deborah
interrupts, and then once again all three women stare at me, waiting for an
explanation.

‘Well
come on, if we were going to have an affair do you really think we’d get it on
in the centre of Leeds, right outside a five star hotel? There’s like 250
rooms, that’s a lot of people that could have seen.’

‘By
all accounts, you were very drunk,’ Kathy says, smugly.

‘Yes,
and by all accounts,’ I say, trying to copy Kathy’s voice, ‘At no point did
Dylan’s penis leave his trousers. We were a bit drunk, fine. We fell over, he
landed on top of me – if I was going to lie, don’t you think I’d come up with a
better one?’

I
look at Deborah, she’s not buying it and neither is Kathy. If I didn’t know
better, I’d think Kelly believed me, though.

‘But
Dylan confessed
and
apologised. Isn’t it time you did the same thing?’

Ah,
fuck it.

‘Dylan
only confessed to keep his wife happy, so that he could see his kids.’ I hear
the northern creeping back into my voice, big time. I didn’t pronounce one ‘h’
in that sentence.

‘Well,
that’s my next point. When I had my affair,’ - Oh, shut up about your affair,
you old bag. It’s like she’s proud of it - ‘no one got hurt. You nearly broke
up a marriage, and a marriage with two new babies.’

‘No
one got hurt?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you think your husband was hurt that you cheated
on him? And what about the other guy, it didn’t save his marriage, it ruined
it.’

‘Well,
just a second-’ Kathy beings in a raised voice, but I’m on a roll now.

‘No,
I won’t wait just a second. I don’t care if you believe me or not, I don’t care
if any of you believe me.’ I wave my arms like a maniac at the cameras and the
audience. ‘I know what’s true and I can sleep at night, no problem. But you!’ I
point a finger accusingly at Kathy, there really is no turning back now. ‘You
are
so
proud of that fact that you cheated on your husband, and you ruined
another man’s marriage, and poor Kelly here, well her fiancé really hurt her
and humiliated her, and you sit there going on about how wonderful affairs can
be, it’s crap!’

The
audience gasp at the word crap. No, really, they do.

‘My
word!’ Kathy exclaims. ‘In all the years we have been doing this show, not once
has a guest sworn on air. You should be ashamed of yourself - for two reasons
now,’ she adds, giving me that last boost of confidence I need to really kick
off.

She
turns to address the cameras. ‘I apologise to those of you watching at home. I
did say that I didn’t want a common kiss and tell gold-digger on Chit-Chat, but
no one listens to me.’ She laughs smugly.

‘Oh,
we wouldn’t want a common kiss and tell gold-digger on Shit-Chat,’ I repeat, mocking
her accent. Well, when did being mature ever get you anywhere these days?

‘I
came on here to set the record straight,’ I continue, because there’s no
stopping me now. ‘Not to have you pick on me and big-up affairs in front of a
woman who has had her heart broken because of one. This show is a joke. You
have a platform to address real issues, and yet you spend the whole time
complaining about men, and justifying adultery. What a fucking joke!’

A
matter of seconds after the words leave my mouth, the red light goes off and
two large security men make enter the studio.

‘You
are a disgrace,’ Kathy tells me. ‘We invite you be on our show, and you repay
us by swearing four times.’

‘Four
times?’ I ask, counting them in my head. ‘I’ll give you “shit” and “fucking” –
I’ll even give you “crap” – but “penis” is a medical term. I can say penis as
much as I like.’

‘Get
her out of here,’ Kathy instructs the security guards.

‘Penis,
penis, penis, penis, penis, penis, penis, penis,’ I chant as they drag me out
of the studio, one guard each side which seems a little excessive.

My
fifteen minutes of fame didn’t even last fifteen minutes, and as I walk down
the corridor towards reception (technically, I think they’re carrying me, which
is a bit extreme considering all I did was drop an F-bomb, and I was going to
leave anyway) I can’t help but laugh at my career suicide. I don’t think Frank
will want me on his books now.

They
two big men walk me right outside the door.

‘This
one isn’t allowed back in,’ one of them tells a third big bloke who is guarding
the entrance.

I
straighten up my dress. ‘I don’t want to come back in... but can I have my
handbag please? It’s in the dressing room.’

‘I’ll
send out a form, list the items you have left in the building and your address.
We’ll send them on,’ one of the original big blokes tells me before heading
back inside.

‘But
my purse and my phone are in that bag! Please?’ But I am ignored.

If
I’m being honest with myself, that probably could have gone better. I’m glad I
stood my ground though. If that old bitch thinks she can call me a gold-digger
on national TV... It’s hard enough being labelled a homewrecker, I don’t need
to give people another reason to hate me.