Black Girls and Bad Boys: Changing his Tune Page 2

  “Something like that. What about you? What’s your tale of woe?”

  “Tale of woe? What are you, medieval?”

  “No, go on. There must be something behind all this self-destruction.” She took a sip of her drink.

  That raised his hackles, but then he thought about what she was asking. Why was he determined to screw everything up? “I don’t know. Boredom?”

  She shook her head. “You drink yourself unconscious and do drugs because you’re bored?”

  “What do you want me to do? Take up knitting?”

  “Why not? It’s less damaging.”

  “You haven’t seen my knitting.”

  She didn’t laugh.

  “Angie, I’m a rock star. It’s what we do.”

  A grin broke across her face. She let out a melodious peal of laughter and slapped her thigh. “Did you hear what you just said?”

  “What?”

  “You’re happy to throw your life away so you can live up to some cliché?”

  To be honest, the words had fallen out of his mouth without him thinking about it. Most things in his life happened that way. He put the pipe to his lips, but the smoke didn’t taste so good any more. They fell into silence. His thoughts turned to the new album he’d promised. Another thoughtless turn in his messed-up existence. “I’m done. Let’s go.”

  ***

  Noah marched up the high street, employing every inch of his long legs so that Angelique had to hurry to keep up with him. She considered asking where they were going now, but thought better of it – his mood had changed from belligerent to mournful in the space of three seconds. There was something more fundamental under all his smart remarks. He could do with some time to think on it.

  He made his way to the seedier end of town and came to a stop outside The Kitty Shop. Seriously? Strippers in the middle of the day? It was like he was a little kid showing off by trying to shock her. Fine. If he expected her to run away at the sight of some naked breasts then he was about as immature as she’d imagined.

  “Are you coming?” He couldn’t hide the smile that threatened to take over his face.

  “Wait.”

  He paused on the doorstep, obviously thinking she was about to protest.

  “No alcohol, okay?”

  “But it’ll cost a fortune to buy a lemonade in there.”

  “Then don’t go in.”

  “Oh, I’m going in. You?”

  “If you promise not to drink.”

  “It’s too early for me anyway.” He stepped inside and held the door open for her to follow.

  The interior was as dark as it would have been at one in the morning. She’d never set foot in one of those places before, but it seemed like one of the more upmarket clubs.

  Noah paid the entry for both of them and they stepped under the disco lights. Unsurprisingly, it was pretty empty. Waitresses in short skirts wandered around the mainly unoccupied seats while high-heeled girls gyrated on the stage and hung off poles. Most of the women seemed to know him, but they might have been that familiar with all of the punters.

  She hadn’t been put off going inside, but that didn’t stop her giving him a dirty look as they sat down. “Do you come here a lot?”

  “Why? Am I offending your feminist sensibilities?”

  “Yes.” It might have been different if the women in those places looked like they genuinely wanted to be there, but they all seemed to share the same haunted expression behind their fake smiles.

  “You didn’t have to come with me.”

  But of course she did. She had to keep an eye on him.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” He slid out of his seat.

  It crossed her mind that he might be up to something. At first she thought she should give him the benefit of the doubt, but then she went looking for him. One of the waitresses told her where the toilets were. When he hadn’t come out after a couple of minutes, a cold weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

  She gave the door a thump. “Noah, are you okay in there?” He didn’t reply. Of course he didn’t.

  She rushed back to the entrance and asked one of the bouncers to check the men’s toilets for her. He raised an eyebrow, but he agreed to do it.

  He came out shaking his head. “Nope, there’s nobody in there.”

  Her heart pounded. “You checked the cubicles?”

  “Empty.”

  No. No, no, no. Her first day on the damn job and she’d lost Noah Trent.

  CHAPTER 3

  Angelique took an eye-wateringly expensive taxi back to the house, praying that Noah would be there when she arrived. No such luck. His phone went straight to voicemail every time she called it.

  At least John wasn’t there either. As far as she knew, he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. So as long as the missing rock star turned up before then, she stood a chance of holding onto her new job.

  She was too on edge to get herself anything to eat. Keeping busy was the only thing that would stop her falling to pieces. She went up to the suite and stood in the middle of her room. His bedroom was on the other side of that door. John had told her he and the cleaner had given all of the rooms a thorough search before she’d arrived. But there’d also been a clutch of bottles lying around when they’d been in there a few hours before.

  It was part of her job to keep him out of temptation’s way. She’d failed to watch him closely enough while they were out – and she wouldn’t let that happen again – but in the meantime, she could always make sure there wasn’t anything in his room that shouldn’t be there. She pulled open the door and walked inside.

  An hour and a half later, she’d turned his bedroom and bathroom upside down and located a small, solitary bag of coke. It took her another half hour to put everything back. Tidying up calmed her down and gave her time to figure out what she was going to say to Mr Shisha Lounge. This was never going to work if he didn’t want it to – no one ever got clean and stayed that way if they weren’t doing it for themselves.

  When she was done, she looked around her own room. There was a good chance he’d hidden something in there too. She was sliding her hand down the back of the chaise longue when she heard the front door bang shut.

  Footsteps started up the stairs. All of the irritation and unease she’d been working to get rid of flooded back and she stormed out to meet him.

  He stomped upstairs, his head drooping so that his long hair obscured his face.

  “Noah.”

  He ignored her, not even looking up as he walked past.

  That was the final straw. “Backside!” She grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. “This was in your room.” She held up the little bag of white powder.

  He tossed his hair out of his face, his jaw tense with anger. “How dare you?”

  “Me? How dare I? Look at everything you have, Noah. And you’re going to throw it all away for the sake of a quick fix. You know what your problem is?”

  He glared at her, his face a stone mask.

  “You’re spoilt. You said you’re bored, well you’re just self-indulgent. Some of us have got real problems.” It made her sick to think of all the money he must have frittered away to end up so close to losing his house.

  Folding his arms, he straightened up and squinted at her. “Alright then, Saint Angie. Since I obviously don’t have a care in the world, why don’t you tell me what your problem is?”

  She fell silent, thoughts of Lewis racing through her mind. What would he say if she told him she was an alcoholic too? What would he think of a woman who’d put the drink before her own child?

  The sneer slid off his face. “Go on, what is it?”

  It was worse to see him look at her with something approaching concern. Conflict, she knew how to handle. If he was nice to her, she might just crumble. “Forget it. I’m going to flush this down the toilet.” She waved the coke in his face. “Don’t bother getting any more because it’ll go the same way.” She fixed him with her sternest look, hop
ing she seemed more in control than she felt. He reminded her of Lewis – especially when he looked at her with those wide brown eyes. That’s how she knew he wasn’t completely lost. But it was also a way for him to manipulate her.

  She turned to leave, but this time, he caught her by the wrist. His touch burned into her skin, sending shockwaves all the way up her forearm.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I wanted a drink. I even went to buy a bottle of vodka. But I didn’t. You can smell my breath.” He leaned in closer and she snatched her arm away.

  “Please. Don’t do that. I don’t like to be touched.” No one got to lay hands on her. Especially not men.

  He stared for a fraction of a second, then backed off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  What was the matter with her? She was more screwed up than him. “It’s... It’s okay. I believe you about the drink.” She had no idea why, but she did. “Noah, do you want to get clean?”

  She looked into his eyes and watched him think long and hard about it. Had he sunk low enough to really want it? She thought back to the day she’d decided to quit drinking for the last time. It was nearly two years since she’d touched any alcohol. And more than two and a half since she’d lost custody of her son. Those seven months in between made her more ashamed than anything in her life.

  “Do you want the truth?”

  She nodded. There was no point going forward with a lie.

  “I don’t know. He swept his hair back off his face, combing his fingers through it. “I think about where I’m headed sometimes and I feel like I’m dying. But then that just makes me want another drink.” He looked away from her. “If I stop, what will I have left? Best case scenario – I go on tour and make enough money to get out of debt – what happens then? What do I do? How do I fill the hole?”

  He looked into her eyes and she thought her heart would break. It was the question all addicts were trying to answer in some way or another. “You have to work that out for yourself.”

  Looking away, he tucked his hair behind his ears. The silence between them stretched out. It was obvious she hadn’t given him the response he wanted. “I can tell you one thing. Keeping busy helps.” Anything that stopped you thinking about what you could be drinking was a godsend.

  “Well, I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied.”

  Of course. The new album. “Are you really going to write and record a whole album in time for the tour?” He slumped a little and she wished she could bite back the words. “Why don’t you get your guitar out? It might make you feel better.” She watched him mull it over. Everything was so close to the surface with him. Whatever came into his head was instantly written all over his face.

  It was a huge part of what made it so hard to dislike him, even after his terrible behaviour. That and his big brown eyes.

  “Well, there are a couple of riffs that have been stuck in my head ever since I got home.”

  “Why don’t you try them out? See what you come up with?”

  He sucked on his full bottom lip. “Wait here.” He bounded past her into the suite and came back moments later with a battered old acoustic guitar. Its body was a mesh of scratches and stained varnish.

  “I thought you had one of those double-necked electric things.”

  He dashed halfway down the stairs and beckoned to her. “Come on. The acoustics are better in the conservatory.”

  She put the coke in her pocket to deal with later. His enthusiasm was infectious. He was almost at the bottom before she caught up with him. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting – she’d braced herself for a full-blown argument when he got back.

  “This,” he placed a reverent hand on the strings of his old guitar, “is the secret of my success.”

  She tried to hold back the laughter, but she just couldn’t.

  “Don’t laugh. I’ve had this guitar a long time.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” She didn’t mean to mock. It said something about him that he wasn’t hung up on having the latest, most expensive kit.

  “It’s what I do all my writing on.” They crossed the marble floor of the hallway and he threw open the doors to the conservatory.

  The entire room was furnished in white – the chairs, the tables, the window frames – and light bounced off every surface. He went straight to the electrical equipment in the far corner.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to record this. Take a seat.” He gestured to the rattan sofa with plump white cushions and she perched herself on the end of it.

  Noah pulled out a straight-backed chair and folded his lanky frame into it, resting the guitar on his thigh. He strummed a chord and the atmosphere in the room sharpened.

  Neither of them spoke as he picked his way through various note combinations, warming up for the real playing. Angelique leaned over the sofa arm, captivated by his concentration. He looked different again – serious and in control. She was glad she’d suggested this. All of the bad feeling between them had evaporated as soon as he laid his hands on the guitar.

  The strumming gave way to an actual tune and he hummed along, stopping every now and then to pick up the song from the beginning again. The run of notes was bright and uplifting. His rich, warm voice filled the space, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

  She’d never really listened to his music before. Now she knew why he was so popular. And there she’d been assuming it was because all the girls fancied him.

  He played one last chord and clapped his hand down on the strings to silence them. “What do you think?”

  She gave him a little round of applause. “Pretty good.”

  “It’s not quite there yet, but I don’t think it’ll need much more work.”

  “I’m impressed.” When he’d said he wanted to write a new album before the tour, she’d dismissed it as an idle boast, but now she could see he stood a good chance of seeing it through.

  “I’ve still got a long way to go.” He looked down and started to play again. Something slower this time. The tune came more hesitantly and she was sure he was playing out a difficult time in his life. There was so much of him laid out there it made her uncomfortable. This time, he sang a lyric over the top.

  Too many nights

  Too many fights

  I never wanted it to end

  Then I did

  He looked up, meeting her eye as he raised his voice to repeat the refrain. It sounded like the story of a bad break-up, but she knew he was singing about the drink and the drugs. She could feel it. The air in there was suddenly as thick as treacle. She got to her feet.

  “Are you okay?” He rose, placing the guitar on the floor.

  “I’m fine. I’m going to make a cup of tea, do you want anything?” The words came out almost double-speed. It was well over a year since her last panic attack, but she was perfectly aware of the warning signs. She had to get out of there before she made a fool of herself.

  “Angie, what is it?” He came towards her, reaching out before he remembered her aversion to physical contact and backed off.

  She fled the conservatory for the kitchen, too embarrassed to abandon her excuse. At the sink, she poured herself a glass of water, but her hands were shaking too much for her to drink any of it.

  “Angie.”

  She turned to see him standing nervously in the doorway. She hated being called that, but she’d let it slide for too long to say anything now.

  “What is it?” He stepped inside, but hung back. “What’s wrong?”

  He wasn’t a bad person – the concern on his face showed that – but he was in a bad place. It had been different back at the clinic. Maybe she’d made a mistake accepting this job.

  “Talk to me.”

  Taking hold of herself, she fought down a few breaths and carried her water over to the glass dining table. “I’m supposed to be looking after you, not the other way round.” She took a drink, her nerves a little steadier.

  “Have I upset you?”

&nbs
p; She met his gaze. “No. You haven’t done anything.”

  “That’s not true. I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have taken you to that place.”

  “And I shouldn’t have let you run out on me.”

  “What were you supposed to do? Come in the men’s toilets with me? It wasn’t your fault.”

  She sighed and drank some more water. It seemed the panic attack wasn’t going to make an appearance after all.

  “I feel better, you know? After talking to you.” He moved his hand across the table towards hers, stopping short of touching her.

  “I’m glad.”

  “If you ever want to talk about your stuff...”

  She shook her head. It was kind of him to offer, but that wasn’t what she was there for. “I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.” As far as he was concerned, that had to be the case.

  ***

  As the afternoon eased into evening, Noah had to admit that Angelique was right about keeping busy. His financial difficulties meant he’d had to let go of the household staff, so he offered to help her cook dinner and they dirtied nearly every pan in the kitchen making chicken pasta.

  He tried to remember when he’d last cooked something for a woman and came up empty. The girls he usually hung out with were more of the takeaway pizza type. If they had an appetite for anything other than class-As that is.

  The house was filled with the smell of garlic and tomatoes by the time they sat down to eat and his stomach growled in appreciation. Angie made sure he had an extra-large helping, but for once he was looking forward to it. They sat at the kitchen table with glasses of ginger beer to go with their food.

  “Cheers.” She held up her glass and he clinked it with his.

  “Cheers.”

  He was too hungry for small-talk and she’d made it clear she didn’t want to discuss what was bothering her. After wolfing down the pasta, he pushed his chair back from the table and poured himself another drink.

  “If I wasn’t on the wagon, I’d be having a coffee with a large slug of brandy right about now.”

  “I can do you the coffee if you like.” She knocked back the last of her ginger beer and got up from the table.

  “Black, two sugars please.” He watched her carry the kettle over to the sink, growing more and more irritated. Okay, she was easy on the eye, but she was getting on his nerves. He wanted a drink. He’d poured his heart out to her, let her hear his new songs – which he never did with anyone – and she wouldn’t open up even a crack. And what was all that stuff with the ‘I don’t like to be touched’?