Читать книгу How Not To Be Starstruck - Portia MacIntosh, Portia MacIntosh - Страница 16

Chapter Seven

The Name’s Wilde, Nicole Wilde

I was about fourteen when I went to see my first proper concert and it was mesmerising. I think that’s when my love of the music biz started – I was just so fascinated by all of it.

I remember not long after that, I was hanging around outside the arena in Sheffield with my friends. We would turn up at 10 a.m. and wait for the bands to arrive, just hoping to catch a glimpse. That time in particular we were standing at the temporary metal fence in the huge, empty car park when the bus pulled in. I just stared in amazement as it drove past us. It seemed huge – like the band were travelling around in a hotel on wheels. It’s funny, I’ve been on so many since then that these days they all seem so small to me – tour buses that is, not bands.

Peeping through the fence, I watched them unload the bus. After the roadies had done all the heavy lifting, the doors would open and out strolled the important-looking people like managers and publicists. Then my favourite bit, the band would step off the bus, usually surrounded by girlfriends and friends. I wanted to be one of those people, following them around like a puppy, being the envy of every girl standing around in the car park. Well look at me now, I’m living the dream. Well, almost. Let’s just say things aren’t exactly the way I imagined them to be. I thought it was going to be pure glamour, but the reality of it is rather different. OK, so the five-star hotels are pretty glam, but even the most beautiful hotel room can seem like a shithole when you add a gang of lads who invite thirty of their closest friends for an impromptu party. Without entertainment planned, people will make their own fun and that is when things get messy. There’s nothing glamorous about a luxury bath when it’s nearly full to the top with beer, vomit, piss, fag ends and anything else that happens to be within reach.

I like to think I’m rock and roll, but I remember seeing a huge flat-screen TV taken down off the wall and being promptly thrown off the balcony and into the river that our formerly beautiful room overlooked. The band thought this was hilarious – it was no skin off their noses because their record label would foot the bill – but I’d kill to have a TV like that at my place, it was such a waste.

When I find myself alone in a hotel room I’ll order room service, throw on a fluffy dressing gown and see what the movie channels have to offer. The only things I have ever thrown off a balcony, well technically spat off a balcony, were orange Revels – abominable.

Don’t get me wrong though, I am a party animal. Put me in a hotel room with a bunch of drunk band boys and a few friends and things will always get messy. I’ve thrown up in a bath or two in my time, but that will not be happening on this tour, I’m not going to be able to seduce Luke with vomit.

At the moment I am hurriedly packing my bags so that I don’t miss my train to Manchester. That’s where I’ll be meeting up with Luke’s band, Two For The Road, and joining them on the last week of their tour.

Packing for tour requires two bags. I have a small bag to take to gigs with me – big enough for my phone, purse, camera and make-up – and a huge bag that could rival a suitcase for space. Inside this bag I have successfully crammed enough items of clothing to at least create the illusion that I am wearing a different outfit every day of the tour, my vital grooming items like my hairbrush and the super-important things like my phone charger. I lift it up before I squash in the last few items, just to see if it’s too heavy to carry and it almost certainly is, but I’ll manage.

As I frantically cram the last few things into the two bags, I mentally tick them off my list of things to take with me. Of course, the problem with a mental list is that you have to actually remember the things on it and you can guarantee I will always forget something.

Guess what? I’m running really late. It’s nearly 7 p.m. by the time I am making the short journey from my flat to the train station. I probably should have checked the train times, but I know there is one every half an hour so it should be fine. I really am so disorganised, but I think I secretly enjoy the drama. A few taps on my phone would tell me what time the train is due and what time it arrives in Manchester, but that would be way too easy, and if I start messing around with my phone then I’ll definitely miss my train.

After buying my ticket I check the departures board and learn that not only is my train due to depart in three minutes, but that it is departing from platform sixteen. Just brilliant.

I knew that I’d be running late, so I decided to get ready for the gig before I left home. The downside of this is that I’m freezing in my little dress but on the plus side it will save me loads of time when I get there, and at least I’m wearing my cosy Ugg boots. My pretty shoes are in my bag, I’ll make the swap when I get there.

Running down the steps to platform sixteen I hear the all-too-familiar whistle, the one that means the train doors are about to close and I’m about to miss my train. Before I know what I’m doing, I am diving through the closing doors, landing upright and still holding my things as the doors shut behind me. The train is absolutely packed and all the people standing in the doorway cheer and applaud my James Bond-style manoeuvre. That is probably the most energetic thing I have done in a long time, so I smile and curtsy for my audience before composing myself and trying to find my phone. This is one of those moments in life that is totally Twitter-worthy, in fact I think Twitter was designed with moments like this in mind.

Impressed with myself, I wonder how I managed to move so gracefully with my big bag and, of course, it is then that I realise I have left my big bag at home. This means that I have no clean clothes, no hairbrush and, worst of all, no pretty shoes. Shit. It’s too late to do anything about it now, I’ll just have to try and manage. I’ve survived on low-budget tours, sleeping in the back of dirty old vans and trying to make my face of make-up last for more than one day – I’ll be fine. I’m touring with Two For The Road, they have a big, glamorous tour bus and we’ll be staying in a few hotels. I guess I’ll have to buy some new clothes, but that is hardly an idea I am against.

About an hour later, the train pulls into Manchester Piccadilly station and I hop off far less gracefully than I got on. My friend, Gemma, is stood waiting for me. She’s a huge Two For The Road fan and I remember exactly what it’s like to be a fan, desperate to meet the band, so I told her that if she wanted to come along I would introduce her.

‘Are you excited about tonight?’ I ask.

‘I am so, so nervous. I don’t know how you keep your cool being friends with all these bands! Just promise to introduce me to Eddie.’

She does look nervous, bless her. I remember when I was nervous.

Eddie is the lead singer of TFTR and like every front-man ever, he is gorgeous, charming and as shallow as a puddle.

I resist telling Gemma about Luke – it’s not that I don’t trust her, I’m just worried. What if he acts like we never had that conversation? What if he was just drunk? I am not going to make a fool of myself tonight, although I’m not sure how easy that is going to be as I do plan on getting a little bit drunk.

Finally outside the venue, a big, scary-looking doorman ticks our names off the guest list. I can hear the music from out here, it’s Two For The Road. I told you that I was going to be very late.

Our first stop is the bar and it’s only as we’re ordering our drinks that I realise I am probably just as nervous as Gemma is tonight. It has been such a long time since I felt nervous about meeting a band, and I know these guys so well, but this Luke stuff is having a strange effect on me. I’ve always kept my crush on him under wraps, but now that he might actually fancy me back, everything is different. Oh God, I’m sounding like a schoolgirl again.

Armed with our drinks, we make our way towards the stage where the show is already in full swing. Eddie, the singer, is upfront and smack bang in the middle. He’s very typically good-looking (think Alex Pettyfer, but brunette) and he really knows how to work the crowd. The only time he isn’t surrounded by a crowd of girls is when he’s on stage. He has his shirt fully unbuttoned, like he’s in Whitesnake (circa 1980s) or something, and a guitar hanging off his body which I don’t think I have ever seen him play, that’s Ben’s job. Ben is the lead guitarist, but he’s probably the shyest member of the band. I’m not sure how old he is, but he can’t be more than twenty. He’s a new addition to TFTR (after their original guitarist walked) and hasn’t quite acquired the same level of cockiness as the rest of them, but given time I’m sure he will. Then we have the bassist, Mark. Mark is probably the one I get on with the least because he’s taken that cheeky cockiness that makes Eddie and Luke so likeable and mutated it into full-blown arrogance. Even before they were famous, you could tell he thought he was the shit. He’s never been anything but nice to me though, so I can’t complain, but there is something very unattractive about a man who thinks that he is God’s gift to women. In reality he’s a bit chubbier than the rest of the guys, his short blonde hair always looks like it needs a good wash and I wish he would have a shave – I am not a big fan of beards at the best of times, but his definitely has to go. As I’m staring at him, I catch his eye and he gives me a wink, so I give him a smile in return. Then I look at Luke, he’s sitting behind the drums with his shirt off, sweat literally dripping off him as he bangs away on his kit with real enthusiasm. I get that feeling again, that pang of something in my chest. I think my heart just skipped a beat – how lame is that?

We’ve managed to push our way to the front of the crowd – at Gemma’s request, I’d be happier blending into the background and pretending I’m important. As their song comes to an end, Eddie chats to his audience. I look over at Luke who is downing a bottle of water and the moment he stops drinking, he spots me. Standing up behind his drum kit and grabbing his microphone off the stand, he interrupts Eddie.

‘Nicole Wilde, I see you! Guys, we’ve got a very special lady in tonight, huge shout-out to Nicole from Starstruck. She’s touring with us and we want her to write nice things, so if you see her at the bar then buy her a drink!’ And with that, he returns the mic to its rightful place and sits back down behind his drums.

‘This one is for you, Nicole!’ Eddie shouts as he bursts into their next song. I am both smug and embarrassed in equal measure. Shout-outs are great, but embarrassing, and because it was from Luke I can feel my cheeks flushing. I’m hoping people will assume it’s because it’s warm in here.

The guys put on one hell of a show and, before I know it, they’re about to play their final song of the night.

‘So, this is our last song, guys.’ Eddie stops talking to swig his beer, his audience will wait. ‘Thank you so much for coming. We’re going to party here for a while afterwards so come and say hello, and then we’re going to a club. Where’s cool in Manchester?’ he asks in the faux-American twang he picked up somewhere along the way – I’m not sure where, he’s a Londoner. His question is met by a series of shouted-out suggestions from the happy crowd, none of which are audible.

After they play their final song and go off stage, the nerves really hit me. I’m going to have to have an actual conversation with Luke, and I can’t hide behind a Skype window while I think of cool and clever responses. I am so worried he’ll bring up the other night, but I’m even more worried that he won’t mention it at all.

After a quick trip to the bar for more drinks, I am chatting with Gemma when Eddie and Mark come over to say hello. Like the good friend that I am, the first thing I do is introduce Gemma to them, and if she is nervous then she isn’t letting it show because she is so cool. As the four of us chat, I feel two hands on my waist and my heart jumps into my mouth because I know who it is. I spin around in his gentle grip to see a slightly sweaty and unfortunately fully clothed Luke Fox. He pulls me closer for a hug and plants a kiss on my cheek.

‘Well hello, Miss Wilde,’ he says, with the usual slightly flirtatious tone to his voice.

‘Hello, Mr Fox,’ I reply – how very smooth of me.

Oh shit, is this awkward? Someone needs to say something.

‘You guys were awesome tonight,’ I tell him as the rest of the gang go back to their conversation.

‘Thank you,’ he says before pulling me close and whispering softly into my ear. ‘I think you and I need a conversation tonight, don’t you, Nicole?’

In my flat boots (which do not go with my dress at all) I have to lift myself up onto my tiptoes to whisper back to him, ‘That all depends on what you want to talk about, Luke.’ Now it’s my turn to sound flirtatious. Before he can reply, I am dragged back to the other conversation by the band’s tour manager who has now joined us. I was far too wrapped up in Luke to notice. Mick the tour manager hands me my laminated Access All Areas pass so that I can get in and out of venues without needing to be on the guest list or with a band member.

As we’re all stood chatting, I take the opportunity to think over what just happened with Luke. ‘We need a conversation’ doesn’t really mean anything, does it? No matter how flirty he was acting when he said it. I am snapped out of my thoughts by Eddie, who asks me something about the magazine. As I am answering, I feel Luke’s hand moving slowly down my back before resting softly on my bum. I’m trying to give Eddie an answer, but I feel like everyone can see it on my face, and I’m sure my cheeks are flushing again. My face cheeks that is.

Just as I start to relax, the band are called away to do some photos. Time for some more Dutch courage.

Gemma and I knock back a few more drinks as we watch the band chat to fans, pose for photographs and sign autographs.

Eddie is surrounded by girls, as always, and Luke and Mark have a fairly big crowd around them too, but Ben is sat to the side texting away on his mobile, probably to his girlfriend. It must be strange for him to go from being an unknown guitarist to being in a band like TFTR. I think he’s handled himself really well though. It’s great that he’s still with his girlfriend, especially considering the attitude towards women that the rest of the band seem to share. Having said that, Eddie has had several girlfriends, it’s just that unfortunately they have all been other people’s girlfriends.

I see Luke walking over, so I jump up from my stool, but the alcohol doesn’t seem to want me to and I stumble straight into him. He catches me and asks Gemma how many I’ve had.

‘Enough,’ I interrupt and I’m pretty sure I just winked.

‘We’re going to some club down the road, are you ready to go, babe?’ he asks, and I nod.

Gemma has work in the morning so she has to go. I drunkenly see her to a taxi and wave her off. I am caught by a pair of hands on my waist again, although they’re not quite as gentle this time. I turn around and see Mark, the sleazy bassist, and he looks like he’s had quite a bit to drink as well. I call him sleazy because, like the Plastic Rap boys, Mark has always had an eye for the younger ladies. Luke and I call him the torpedo, which Mark thinks is a pretty badass nickname, but what we’re actually calling him is the tour-paedo.

‘Nicole! Let’s go, we’re going to party!’ he slurs, his breath stinking of cider, as he grabs me by the arm. I’m not entirely sure who is holding up whom but he is stuck to me like glue all the way to the club. I don’t even get to talk to Luke on the way there. I’m going to have to up my game.