Friends & Rivals
‘Cool,’ said Hector. It struck Jack what a young thirteen-year-old he was. Almost as if his development had been arrested at age eleven, the year his father walked out.
‘It’s not “cool”,’ said Jack. ‘You paid for that plane ticket with Ned Williams’s credit card, which you stole.’
‘I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it,’ said Hector breezily. ‘Anyway, Ned won’t mind. He’s famous, he’s got loads of money. He didn’t even notice I’d used the card, did he?’
This was true, although Jack suspected it owed more to Ned Williams’s scatterbrained lifestyle than his groaning bank balance.
‘Call it what you like,’ he said firmly, ‘it’s still fraud. And what about the cash you nicked from your mother’s purse?’
‘What about it?’ said Hector defiantly.
His conversation with Catriona was emotional. When Ivan came on the line, Hector vehemently refused to talk to him, then ended up screaming that he refused to come back to England while his father was still living with ‘that bitch’ and stormed off into Jack’s garden to roll a cigarette.
‘Give him time,’ Jack told Catriona when she came back on the line. ‘He’s welcome to stay with me for a while until he gets his head together. I’ll put him to work at JSM, making the tea or something.’
Ivan had been all for dragging the boy onto the next plane by the scruff of his neck to begin his long round of apologies: to his family, to the police who’d wasted valuable time looking for him, to his school. ‘He needs to learn that actions have consequences. Besides, things are bad enough between Hector and me without bloody Jack sitting on his shoulder pouring poison into his ear, telling him what a shit I am.’
‘Jack wouldn’t do that,’ said Catriona. ‘He loves Hector.’ She wasn’t wild on the idea of Hector staying on in LA either. So they’d agreed a compromise. Hector could spend a few days with Jack, then Catriona would fly out alone, talk to him, and bring him back.
That had been almost a week ago. Catriona’s plane was due to land at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, and though Hector was looking forward to seeing her, he was still adamant that he wasn’t going to go back to England.
‘How about lunch at Johnny Rockets?’ he asked his godfather. ‘It’ll be like the condemned men’s last meal, before Mum shows up and makes me eat disgusting healthy stuff.’
‘Sorry, mate,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve got to stop by the office. I thought we could go out this evening, though. Land of the Greeks are performing at The Viper Room. I could take you backstage afterwards, meet the guys. Of course, if you’ve already made other plans …’
‘No!’ Hector interrupted hastily. ‘No, no, no. I’d love to go.’
A rock concert! At The Viper Room! With backstage passes!
It was official. Jack Messenger was the coolest godfather in the world.
On a busy stretch of the Sunset Strip in West Hollywood, the iconic all-black façade of The Viper Room sat perched like a sleepy crow in the moonlight.
Despite having a music manager for a father, Hector Charles had never been anywhere remotely so cool in his short life. Following Jack into the hallowed, triangular auditorium where River Phoenix famously died of an overdose on Halloween night in 1993, the boy’s eyes were on stalks.
‘You wanna hear a cool story?’ Jack asked him, strolling behind the closed bar and helping himself to two Diet Cokes.
Hector nodded enthusiastically.
‘You know who Adam Duritz is?’
‘Sure. Lead singer of Counting Crows.’
‘Exactly. After their first album came out, Adam got so sick of the fame and the pressure, he came and worked here as a barman. For six months. Isn’t that wild?’
‘Totally,’ said Hector, who was rapidly becoming au fait with LA speak.
A geeky twenty-something, in skinny jeans and a faded Labatt’s beer T-shirt, tapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘Hey, man. How’s it going? Is there a long line out on Sunset yet?’
‘Ben, hi. Yeah, looks like we’re gonna be standing room only. This is my godson, Hector, by the way. He wanted to come and see you guys play.’
‘Hey, Hector. You wanna come backstage, meet the guys? I’ll bet Jesse’ll let you have a go on his guitar if you’re nice to him.’
‘You’re … you’re Ben Braemar,’ Hector stammered.
‘Last time I checked,’ laughed Ben, winking at Jack and ushering an ecstatic Hector through the ‘Artists Only’ door.
Thirty minutes later, Hector and Jack watched from the front row as the Greeks powered through their short, eight-song set. Jack was gratified by how much the group had grown in confidence as live performers since he’d first signed them, but without straining at the choke lead to play ever bigger, more commercial venues. The boys from Detroit had no desire to stray from their indie roots, which made them both exciting to brand and market and a dream to manage versus the fame-hungry, bubble-gum pop acts that had long been Jack’s bread and butter.
Shaking his floppy hair to the deafening boom, boom of Lionel Scree on the drums, at one with the sweating, pulsing, universally black-clad fans behind him, Hector Charles was like a boy transformed. Jack didn’t need to ask him how he felt. The kid was clearly having the time of his life.
Later, on the short drive west back to Brentwood, he barely drew breath about how ‘awesome’ it all was. ‘Jesse showed me how to do three chords, and then he and Lionel were playing rock paper scissors and they started fighting with each other, not really serious you know, just fooling around, and they were rolling on the floor laughing and it was so cool. And then Ben told them to grow up and they all signed my back in indelible marker, look.’ He lifted up his T-shirt proudly. ‘Can you take a photo later, in case it fades before I have to leave? I seriously wish I didn’t have to leave.’
Jack smiled. ‘You wanna be in a rock band now, huh? Don’t tell your mother I encouraged you.’
‘Oh no,’ said Hector. ‘I could never be in a band. I’m crap at music. But I’d love to do what you do. You know. Schmooze.’
Jack burst out laughing. ‘Is that what you think I do for a living? Schmooze?’
Hector shrugged. ‘Kind of. Yeah.’
If you’re anything like your father, thought Jack, you’ll make a world-class schmoozer.
What on earth would poor Catriona do then?
At tea time the next day, Catriona walked through LAX feeling as nervous as a teenager on her first date. Which was perfectly ridiculous, of course. By rights it was Hector who ought to feel nervous, not to mention contrite, at the prospect of seeing her. What could be more pathetic than being afraid of confronting your own child?
It didn’t help that she was here, on foreign turf. She tried to remember the last time she’d been to America. It must have been for a Jester thing. Oh yes, one of Ivan’s classical acts, a tenor, had done a live show in Madison Square Gardens and Ivan had dragged her along. That must have been over a decade ago, back when he still wanted her to travel with him. Back when I was slim and pretty and young, she thought sadly. Although actually, coming through customs at LAX made her feel rather better on the weight front. She’d expected LA to be crawling with improbably proportioned Barbie-doll women with stuck-on silicone tits and hair extensions. In fact, although she’d spotted a few of those, most people seemed to be quite enormously fat, especially the women her age. Europeans looked down on Americans for their obesity, but it seemed to Catriona that Americans had got fatness right. None of the hefty ladies in front of her in the queue looked remotely embarrassed about their extra pounds. Most were married to similarly vast men, and they all seemed perfectly happy, chattering away, the wives reapplying their lipstick with as much confidence as Marilyn Monroe. Not like me, skulking around like a sad old sack of potatoes, thought Catriona.
‘Cat!’
Jack Messenger’s was the first face she saw when she emerged into the Arrivals hall. He looked blond and tanned, a little more lined around the eyes than the last time she?
??d seen him, but still preposterously handsome in that awkward, professorial way of his.
‘Hi, Jack, darling.’ She hugged him, then pulled back, suddenly realising that her breath was probably off after eleven hours on an aeroplane. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am for all this trouble.’
‘What trouble?’ beamed Jack. She’d forgotten what an incredible smile he had. Since Sonya died she’d seen it so rarely, but when he turned it on it was like a lighthouse beacon. ‘Your son is an absolute riot. I haven’t had so much fun in years.’
Catriona tried to equate the sullen, embittered teenager she’d lived with for the past two years with the word ‘fun’ and failed utterly.
‘And I get to see you, here in LA of all places. How many years have I been trying to drag you out here, huh? The way I see it, Hector did me a favour.’
‘How is he?’ Cat asked warily. ‘Is he waiting at home?’
‘No, he’s out. I thought you and I should talk privately before he got back. I’ll fill you in in the car.’
They drove to Jack’s home, Catriona fighting back her tiredness to focus on what Jack was telling her. Not that any of it was news. Hector resented Ivan and in particular his relationship with Kendall. He felt his father had been ‘stolen’ from him, and was angry because he felt powerless to stop the break-up of his family. ‘A lot of the anger and acting out he projects onto you is really aimed at himself. He feels like he’s a disappointment.’
‘Well he is, when he pulls stunts like this,’ said Catriona, exasperated.
Jack reached over and put a comforting hand on her knee. ‘I know you’ve been through hell. But I don’t think he’s trying to hurt you. This stuff with Ivan is complicated. Part of him still looks up to his father hugely, but there’s a resentment there. Like ‘how come Dad’s so successful; how come he gets the career and the fame and the money and the beautiful girl, and I get nothing?’ At least some of Hector’s obsessive hatred of Kendall is down to straightforward sexual jealousy, in my opinion. The kid fancies her, and he hates himself for it.’
Catriona winced as if someone had just squirted lemon juice in her eyes. Jack was probably right, but it was hardly the most tactful thing to say, to her of all people. If Kendall was ‘the beautiful girl’, what did that make her? Then again, Jack had never been one for soft-soaping things. In many ways his honesty was part of his charm.
At last they pulled in to the driveway. Catriona gasped with pleasure. ‘Oh, Jack, it’s gorgeous. It’s not what I imagined at all. Just look at the garden! It’s almost like the countryside.’
‘Sonya designed the garden,’ he smiled proudly. ‘The house is all her too. You’ll see when you get inside. I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to live here.’
The house was indeed stunning, and very feminine, with all its white wood and light and soft, floral accents. As for the guest room where Catriona would be sleeping, it was like something out of a fairytale, complete with its own wisteria-covered terrace and a wildly romantic four-poster bed. Throwing open the French windows, she was entranced to see a bright orange and blue hummingbird hovering over a honeysuckle flower.
‘Oh, Jack,’ she sighed, drinking in the sunlight and the deep lapis blue of the sky. ‘This is heaven. No wonder Hector wants to stay.’
Jack left her to unpack. Cat hung her meagre collection of baggy, shapeless clothes in the closet and lay back on the bed for a moment’s rest.
When she woke it was dark. The windows were still open, and there was a distinct chill in the air. For a second she felt completely disoriented, with no idea where she was. Then the shadowy forms of the room reasserted themselves and she remembered. Jack. LA. Hector.
She came downstairs to the sound of whoops and yells coming from the sitting room. Jack and Hector both had their backs to her and were leaping around in front of the television screen, waving their arms around like a couple of lunatics.
‘No way! You jammy git,’ said Hector, elbowing his godfather to one side. ‘I can’t believe you made that jump.’
‘Watch and learn, kid,’ said Jack. ‘Watch and learn.’
‘What on earth are you doing?’
Catriona’s voice made them both spin around.
‘PlayStation Kinect,’ said Hector, a huge smile plastered across his face. ‘It’s awesome. It’s like Wii but way better. D’you want to play?’
‘Me? Oh no. No no no. I’m not … no.’
‘Come on,’ said Jack, taking her hand and pulling her over. ‘You can take my spot. I’m too good for him anyway.’
‘As if!’ snorted Hector.
‘You use your body as the controller,’ explained Jack. ‘The icon on the screen will follow your movements.’
‘What’s an icon?’
Hector rolled his eyes. ‘It’s the little man on the screen, Mummy. You’re that guy, on the raft on the right. I’m the guy on the left. You’re racing me down the rapids and trying to stay afloat, OK? Go!’
The next thing Catriona knew, she too was hopping around as if she had St Vitus’s dance, and flailing her arms like a deranged air-traffic controller. But within a few minutes she found her embarrassment fading. Hector was right. This was fun. Best of all, it was fun he was willing to share with her, fun they were having together. A few minutes here, in Jack’s house, had brought them closer together than two years of begging and pleading at home.
After the game, the three of them had supper together. Catriona had already agreed with Jack not to bring up the question of her and Hector’s return tonight, or to read him the riot act about his sudden disappearance. As a result it was a pleasant evening, the first pleasant evening that Catriona had spent with her son in a very long time.
After Hector went to bed, she and Jack sat outside on the verandah for a drink. Jack cut to the chase. ‘I think you should consider letting him stay here. At least for a few months.’
Catriona shook her head. ‘I can’t. It’s a very generous offer, Jack, but it’s not practical.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because! He has school back home—’
‘Which he never shows up for.’
‘True, but he’s only thirteen, he can’t just drop out.’
‘We do have schools in the States, you know,’ Jack chuckled. ‘We’re not all walking around in loincloths and living in caves.’
‘I couldn’t possibly afford to educate him here,’ said Catriona. ‘Ivan would have to pay and it’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens. If he even knew I was having this conversation with you, he’d hit the roof.’
For the first time all evening, Jack’s face darkened. ‘Why do you still care what Ivan thinks? He left. You’re the one who’s still here, picking up the pieces.’
‘He’s still Hector’s father,’ Catriona sighed.
‘Only in name,’ said Jack.
By the moonlight, Catriona could see the bitterness in Jack’s face. Ivan had hurt him too. No wonder he empathized so much with Hector. Her own feelings about Ivan were more confused now than at any time since the early days of their divorce. In the days after Hector’s disappearance, Ivan had been her rock, the one person who truly understood what she was going through. Although he’d gone back to Kendall and to London, and she’d flown out here, Catriona felt certain that something had changed between them. That a connection she thought had died had somehow been re-established, a new bond had begun to spring forth from the ashes of the old. Of course, part of her still agreed with Jack, that Ivan had forfeited his right to decide the children’s future. But another part feared cutting him out completely.
‘Anyway, it’s not just about Ivan,’ she said eventually. ‘Actions are supposed to have consequences. This evening was all very nice, but what sort of message does it send to Hector if he gets to run away like that and instead of being punished, he’s rewarded?’
‘I’m not saying there shouldn’t be consequences,’ said Jack. ‘If he comes to work for me at JSM he’ll be working like a dog, beli
eve me – he won’t know what’s hit him. I just think that being here is helping him. I think it could help you too.’
‘Me?’
‘Sure. You need a break, Cat. When was the last time you had a real holiday?’
‘A long time ago,’ she admitted. ‘But I can’t just up sticks and leave. For one thing there’s Rosie.’
‘You said yourself Rosie’s staying with friends for a bit,” said Jack. Look, I’m not talking about for ever. Just a couple of weeks, for you and Hector to reconnect, away from Burford and Ivan and all the stresses of home.’
Gazing out across Jack’s beautiful, moonlit garden, sipping an ice-cold gin and tonic (another slip, but it had been a long, stressful day), it suddenly felt like a wonderful idea. Why not stay for a week or two? What harm could it do, other than irritating Ivan? And Jack was right, she had to start making her own decisions and putting herself first.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay. Just for a little while. I’ll call Rosie’s friend’s parents in the morning and let them know.’
She was touched by how delighted this seemed to make Jack. It occurred to her, belatedly, that perhaps he, too, was lonely. That he might welcome the company of an old friend as much as she did.
Catriona went to bed that night excited and with a renewed sense of hope for the future. The last two weeks had been a living hell, but perhaps the old saying was right, and it really was darkest before the dawn?
Los Angeles was a revelation for Catriona. Rarely had her preconceptions about a place been so wrong. She’d imagined a sprawling, urban metropolis, clogged with pollution and gangs and glittering with the sort of vulgar fakery that always made her feel depressed. Instead she found a place bursting with natural beauty, from the white sand beaches and hidden coves of Malibu, to the wild craggy canyons that looked like the sets of an old-fashioned Western, to the suburban gardens bursting with ginger flowers and lemon trees and roses and lavender and agapanthus, a glorious riot of colour and scent.