Remember My Name Read online

  Much as seeing them again was a comforting idea, I knew it wasn’t a good one—they wouldn’t be able to help me with this, and they’d just end up getting dragged into the madness with me. I needed to talk to them, but I needed to have a better grip on my senses before I did it. I reminded myself that everything that was happening right now was good—it was what I wanted. And by the time I spoke to my parents, hopefully that would feel more real, and the conversation would go a whole lot better.

  So I let the floodgates open, until there were no tears left. I drank more water. I jumped into the shower for a very quick and very much needed wash. Then I wrapped myself in a towel, and stared at my wardrobe, wondering what I should wear—what would meet Patty’s concept of ‘looking good’ without the assistance of Neale to get me professionally ready for my big media meet and greet.

  In the end, after standing there shivering for five minutes, dripping onto the carpet, I pulled out a pair of brand-new super-skinny Topshop jeans that I’d picked up in the sale in town. They looked a lot more expensive than they were, and now fit me even better than they had when I’d bought them. I pulled out a pair of Kurt Geiger platforms that I’d never worn, and settled on a silver shimmery Reiss top I’d used a few times for nights out.

  I gave it a quick sniff test, and came up with nothing worse than deodorant, so we were good to go. Once I’d decided on my outfit, I got to work on the rest of the transformation—giving my hair a good backcomb, Bridget Bardot-style. I really needed to get my highlights touched up, but money and time had been scarce, so this would have to do. I still looked mainly blonde—and maybe they’d think I was starting a dip-dye. After that, I put on my make-up as well as I could with very nervous hands.

  As I did it, I tried to remember everything I’d picked up by osmosis from working with Patty, recalling the way she’d stage-managed various star’s ‘impromptu’ appearances. I didn’t want to be too showbiz, but I couldn’t be too girl-next-door either—I was supposed to be anew-found star, and needed to find the balance between being glamorous and being approachable. Someone you could aspire to be like—but still root for. Like Katniss in The Hunger Games, but without the death and the bow and arrows.

  Luckily, you can’t grow up female in Liverpool without learning a few make-up tricks—or without learning how to survive nights out in sub-zero temperatures wearing a mini and no coat. The weather was much cooler now, but I’d be fine—it was in my DNA.

  By the time I was almost done, a beep from my phone told me there was a message—and having well and truly learned my lesson about ignoring them, I looked at it straight away. Patty. Telling me she’d spoken to Yusuf, and that he was going to sneak her in through the back door. ETA two minutes.

  I wondered if Yusuf had offered her a free kebab, and wondered what she’d say if he did. It wasn’t a natural match, Patty and kebabs. Or Patty and food, for that matter.

  I hooked in some dangly feather earrings, sprayed on some Marc Jacobs perfume, and sat nervously on the bed, tapping my fingers against my knees and not daring to look in the mirror again. The first time I’d been fairly pleased with my emergency efforts—the second time I might feel differently. It wasn’t worth the risk, so I kept my eyes carefully averted.

  When the short, sharp knock finally came at the door, I leapt up again, practically flying across the room to let Patty in. It was a crazy, messed-up world when I was looking forward to seeing her, that’s for sure. I was even willingly inviting her into my own home, which I might live to regret if she turned out to be a vampire.

  She pushed past me and immediately threw a paper-wrapped package into the bin in the kitchen. I could tell from the delicious smell that Yusuf had, indeed, given her a free kebab—but at least she’d accepted it, and not been rude to him. Being rude to me was one thing, but I’d have been peeved if she’d lashed out at my lovely landlord.

  ‘Kebab?’ I said, lamely, pointing at the steaming parcel.

  ‘No, my firstborn child,’ she snapped back, standing hands on narrow hips to look me up and down. She was dressed elegantly and smartly, in a sleek black dress that managed to be both business-like and vaguely hot. I had no idea if she’d also had to put together her look for the day, or if she always dressed like that. In fact, I realised, I actually knew nothing at all about her—and now I was putting my life, or at least my mental health and my career, in her hands.

  She nodded once, very briskly, and said, ‘That’s not too bad. Slutty but wholesome. Appeals to all markets. Now, are you ready?’

  ‘For what?’ I asked nervously, running my hands over my hair, not really that happy with the ‘slutty’ part of her comment. I mean, nobody ever called Katniss slutty, did they?

  ‘To go out there,’ she replied, sounding completely exasperated with me. ‘Honestly, Jess, you’ve worked with my team for long enough now—I expected you to be able to handle this better. I left a message, I warned you—I didn’t throw you to the lions, tempting as it was. I have to admit there are more of them out there than I anticipated, but that’s not a bad thing. That’s the whole point, in fact. What you did last night was adequate—the rest starts now, and you need to pull yourself together.’

  I stared at her for a moment, fighting down the urge to cry like a big fat baby again, and nodded in agreement. Because I did agree, unlikely as it seemed. This might not have all happened in the way I’d anticipated, but it was happening—and I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself, and start seeing it as the fantastic opportunity I’d been hoping for.

  ‘Okay. But what about the reindeer photos?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that now. They’ll use them—of course they will—but it could have been a lot worse. At least you didn’t answer the door in S&M gear, or even worse, in a Liverpool kit … although we might get some mileage out of that at a later date. Reindeers are cute. Everyone loves reindeers. And onesies are both common and adored by the unwashed masses, so that works. Anyway, it’s too late to change it—now we have to go out there and do some damage control.’

  ‘And … erm … how do I do that?’ I asked, amazed at my sudden and total lack of ability to think for myself. Maybe this was part of the process of becoming famous.

  ‘You smile. You laugh. You simper pathetically. You talk about how grateful you are to be in this position. You talk about Vogue as though she’s your hero, and you stay completely and utterly vague about what happens next. Can you manage that, do you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, firmly, trying to put some self-belief into my voice. Because, in all honesty, all of that was completely true—so I should be able to sell it.

  She turned away from me, whipping her phone out, and I heard her talking to someone about bringing a car around. Once she’d finished issuing orders, she snapped her gaze back at me.

  ‘Sorted. Grab what you need for the next few days—you might not be coming back to this place for a while. Which,’ she said, glancing around her in complete disgust, ‘must come as a huge relief.’

  I wasn’t quite so sure about that, and muttered back at her: ‘It’s not that bad …’ as I scurried around throwing underwear and make-up into the only bag I could find, which happened to be a stylish little number that was plastic and said Superdrug on the front.

  ‘Maybe, if you’re an Albanian refugee,’ she replied, grabbing the bag out of my hands as soon as I was done. ‘Or from Liverpool,’ she added, giving me one of those pointed stares that made me realise all over again how much I hated her. ‘Now come on—they won’t wait forever, and you haven’t earned the right to be a diva just yet.’

  The experience itself was short, sharp, and scary. Patty went out first, hiding the carrier bag behind her, and did a little announcement, making a reindeer joke before she let me walk past her. For a few moments, I just stood there on the step, smiling, and doing my best to respond to what felt like a million separate commands. Look this way, look that way, give us a wave, turn round and look at us over your shoulder … the list was e
ndless.

  All the time, people also shouted questions at me, and I answered them as well as I could. They were all about the show, and about Vogue, and about when I’d be releasing a single and, on one occasion, about my love life.

  ‘Are you single, Jessika? Are you looking for love?’ I heard, yelled over the din by a short, round man with a beard that Yusuf would have been proud of. I froze for a second as soon as the question was asked, my mind whipping me back in time to the night before—to everything that Jack had said.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, grinning on demand. ‘I’m still one of the single ladies!’

  The worst thing was, I had no idea if it was a lie or not—I wanted to believe that what Jack and I had was special, was going to last, but we’d never discussed it. Never defined it, or set out terms and conditions. But I did know that I’d given the right answer—at least from his perspective. And admitting I’d been sleeping with the boss of Starmaker for all this time wasn’t exactly going to play well with the public, was it? People would immediately assume that was why I’d been given my big break, no matter how far from the truth it was.

  Luckily, nobody had the chance to quiz me any further in that particular direction, as the car arrived. It was a big car, and it was black, and it wasn’t a cab; beyond that I can’t describe it, other than to say I was bloody relieved to see it turn up. I waved goodbye to the journalists and the photographers, and sank into the comfort of the dark leather seats, delighted beyond belief that it was finally done with. I’d not tripped over my own feet, said ‘fuck’, or vomited—all of which I was counting as a massive victory.

  I glanced at Patty as she climbed in next to me, waiting to hear her verdict—but she ignored me, and immediately got to work, tapping away on her iPhone as though I wasn’t there. As the car started up and we pulled away, I saw Yusuf out of the window. He was watching me, a confused smile on his face, as we drove past.

  I waved at him and kept my head turned in his direction until he disappeared out of sight. I had no idea when I’d see him again, and felt a bit sad about it.

  The car took us straight to the Starmaker offices, where there were also a few members of the paparazzi hanging around. Despite what I’d just been through, and despite what Becky had told me on the phone, I still automatically assumed they were there for Vogue, or Beckett, one of the other Starmaker acts. It wasn’t unusual to see photographers there, looking for a shot—but this time, bizarrely, they were there for me.

  We got out of the car, and after Patty hissed ‘stop looking like you’re here to clean the bloody toilets’ in my ear, I realised that was the case. I slipped back into the ‘pose and smile’ routine, and hoped I wasn’t pouting too much, like a bad selfie, before Patty shooed them off and I was ushered into the lobby.

  The same lobby I’d walked through, exhausted, on so many nights since coming to London. The one with the chrome and the flowers and the platinum discs and the huge, blown-up shots of the label’s biggest stars. The one I usually snuck through, slouching, feeling tired and out of place and vaguely anxious, scared that the security guards might pull me up and ask me what I was doing in the building.

  This time, though, it was all different. As soon as I walked in, I saw Heidi, Jack’s assistant, waiting for us. She was dressed, as usual, in a business suit that looked slightly too small, and she was wearing a big, dazzling smile that told me very clearly that she was up to speed on the strange twists and turns my life had taken.

  I wanted to go and give her a hug—she was one of the few people at Starmaker who’d treated me like a human being since the day I got there—but she immediately flipped open her notepad, tapped it with her pen, and announced, ‘They’re waiting for you in the Mash Up room, Jess. How do you take your coffee?’

  I paused, completely taken aback by this new development. I’d handled the show last night. I’d handled the media this morning—sort of. I’d handled the fact that my name had magically changed its spelling, although there would be words about that at some point. I’d been driven here in a luxury car by a chauffeur, and been greeted at the door by paparazzi.

  But what truly amazed me the most was this: I was no longer the one making the coffee. I was the one who had the coffee made for me. It was, utterly and truly, an astounding moment—and the one that finally made me start to realise that this was all real. It was actually happening. I was going to be a star!

  ‘Erm … could I maybe have … would it be possible to have a cappuccino?’ I mumbled, still a bit gobsmacked by the whole thing.

  ‘Sure,’ said Heidi, ‘I’ll get the new intern to make it—we seem to be one down all of a sudden. Now, come on, they’ll start scribbling on the walls if I leave them alone for too long.’

  She gave me a cheeky wink, and walked away.

  ‘Who will?’ I asked, scurrying to catch up with her as she headed to the lifts. Patty, I noted, had traipsed off up the stairs without so much as a goodbye. I suppose she was busy plotting world domination and changing innocent people’s names behind their backs.

  ‘Oh, you know—the creatives. The execs. The team. Honestly, they have the combined attention span of a six-year-old child.’

  I just nodded as she pressed the button for the top floor. The floor I’d only ever visited once before when, in fact, I was delivering coffee, funnily enough. Jack’s own office was on the same level as the PR team and the admin offices. The make-up people and stylists and dance and vocal coaches all tended to stay in their own gangs, around the studios and rehearsal rooms. There was another enclave for people who worked on cover design and things I didn’t really understand like digital distribution and international sales.

  And the top floor was where the mysteriously titled Finance and Legal lived, along with the Proper Big Wigs, and the meeting rooms. These were the posh, boardroom style places where important visitors were brought when Starmaker needed to assemble their avengers, or really impress someone.

  In an accountancy firm or a law firm, they would probably just be called the boardrooms. But here—because this was the music industry, thank you very much—they had funky names that presumably matched the image of the business. There was the Mash Up room, where we were heading, and the Mixing Deck, which I’d never even seen the inside of.

  I felt nervous as the lift progressed upwards, anxious about what was going to happen next, and too scared to ask. I think part of me was worried that if I asked, it might break the spell, and I’d suddenly find myself back in Kansas. I thought I was hiding it well until Heidi stared at me from over the top of her glasses, and said, ‘You look terrified. Do you want me to press the emergency stop button, so we can wait here until the men from the lift company come and rescue us?’

  I laughed and puffed out some air, pathetically grateful for her attempt to put me at ease.

  ‘I’d say, yes,’ I replied, ‘except I really need a wee. Please tell me there’ll be time for that at least?’

  ‘Only if you make it quick,’ she said, just as the doors pinged open.

  I followed her out and headed for the Ladies’, which were luckily at exactly the same point on every floor. A piece of architectural design genius, I thought, doing my business with supersonic efficiency.

  When I came out of the cubicle and started to wash my hands, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, and gave myself a Very Stern Talking To.

  I needed to get a grip of the situation. Control my nerves. Stop feeling so worried. Relax enough to enjoy this whole crazy ride. I looked good. I’d performed well the night before. I’d certainly attracted Starmaker a lot of attention, hopefully for all the right reasons. The team that was waiting for me in the Mash Up room was doing exactly that—waiting for me. Not the other way round. Much as I was grateful for this opportunity, I wasn’t naive enough to think that any of this was happening out of the kindness of their own hearts—it was happening because I was a viable talent. Someone who could sell records, boost the label, add yet more platinum discs to the walls
.

  Odd as it seemed, I was a product—and that should, by all rights, make me feel better. Or at least put me in a position of strength. So I needed to stop my knees from knocking together, and put on my game face. I didn’t exactly know what was next on the agenda, but the fact that there was an agenda at all—other than fetching Patty’s lunch from the sushi place over the road—was definitely an improvement.

  I fluffed up my hair, stood up straight, and walked out of there ready to fight monsters, slay dragons, and drink coffee that somebody else had made for me.

  Chapter 19

  Two hours later, I emerged from the Mash Up room as Starmaker’s latest signing. Or at least, I would be as soon as the paperwork was sorted.

  The meeting had involved me, Jack, his partner Simon (not Cowell), and various other people who represented the record label’s interests. There were songwriters, and a producer, and Evelyn, Patty’s boss, as well as Heidi, who had been taking notes on everything quietly in the corner.

  It had felt overwhelming, partly at least because they were all so damn nice to me. People who hadn’t given me a second glance as I walked through the staffroom with a tray of biscuits were suddenly incredibly attentive—and I can’t deny it felt good.

  I tried to take it all with good grace—to be the person I’d been raised to be—but hey, I’m only human. I’d been so flattened by the exhausting anonymity of my time so far at Starmaker that finally getting some attention felt sensational. It was like lying on a beach in the Caribbean sunshine after living in an igloo at the North Pole for months on end.

  Despite the temptation to bask in it, I listened hard to what they had to say; I tried to stay alert, and I made a huge effort not to jump up and down with excitement when they started talking about plans for a single, an album, and eventually a tour. I heard bizarre sentences like ‘Our next step is to build you as a brand’, and ‘We’ll work as a team to find the sound that makes Jessika unique’, and words I didn’t really understand, like ‘synergy’, and ‘USP’, and ‘global push strategy’.