Part 15
I awoke the next morning with the realization that I wasn’t in my usual bed. The sheet had been draped loosely over my waist and I could hear somebody walking and closing cupboard doors in another room. As I rolled onto my back and blinked at the white roof, I remembered accompanying Paul back to his house after his gig, which I thought had gone wonderfully, without any hitches. I assumed that I was still there.
I raised myself into a sitting position with my legs stretched out in front of me and scanned the bedroom. For someone with such a loud and hectic lifestyle, he had impeccable taste in interior decoration and knew how to keep things clean. A cool breeze entered the room from the open window and I breathed it in deeply, the scent of flowers and the nearby lake refreshing me. Like the living room, a couple of Paul’s artworks were framed and hung from nails on the walls. Arranged around the room was a polished pine desk with a matching chair, a walk-in wardrobe, a large set of shelves holding books, a stereo and a comprehensive CD collection, a wall mirror, and a stand with bottles and photos on top and drawers underneath. The room was comforting and welcoming.
I leaned forward and studied the photo frames curiously. In one photo, Paul was affectionately hugging a woman who I could easily tell was his mother. They were very much alike in appearance and looked as though it had been taken recently. In another frame were two images – a newspaper clipping of a gig review and a black-and-white photo of him onstage. Beside this frame sat another containing a close-up shot of Paul pecking the cheek of a young man, who was in mid-laughter and looking downwards. In silver ink, Paul had scrawled on the bottom right-hand corner: R.I.P. Lucas, 21.3.97. I hadn’t heard Paul or anyone else mention anything about this man. How close had he been to Paul, and how did he die? The nature of the photo answered my first question itself, but it provided no clues to the cause of his death. He was very attractive with neat brown hair, sky blue eyes and a smile that would’ve brightened any room he entered.
The bedroom door swung open and Paul entered, happy to see that I was awake. I guessed that it was around 9 or 10 in the morning from the amount of sunshine filling the room. He was already dressed in a blue brand name shirt and loose cargo shorts.
"I got a lovely little surprise on the doorstep!" he announced, waving a folded newspaper in his hand. Dragging my eyes away from the photos, I chuckled as he hurried over to the bed and crawled onto my lap, unfolding the newspaper and flipping the pages quickly to the section he was looking for.
"Paul McDermott oozes with sensuality and holds complete power over his audiences, commanding everyone’s attention and almost hypnotizing them," he read an except aloud. "I was left breathless, feeling as though he had taken me on a rollercoaster ride of exhilarating emotions. Not only is he an extremely talented vocalist, but his equal strength lies in his original songs, which are almost painfully honest, like he is reaching down into your soul and bringing your past pains or your present troubles to life. But this isn’t to say that all of his original music is morbid – in fact, in a few of his songs I found myself smiling and even laughing. He writes in a way that you can identify with the story being told. Stunning, absolutely stunning, a voice that truly pulls at the heartstrings. His flights of tone draw the audience into a pseudo world of security and excitement that has them pleading for more. The sheer thrill and honour to be in the presence of such a talent stirs feelings in people that may lay dormant for the rest of their lives. To miss such a miracle would be the biggest mistake you could make. This journalist wholeheartedly recommends that you discover Paul McDermott for yourself, whether it be by purchasing his album or seeing him in concert – although the latter is where this man really shines."
"And how much did you pay the journo to say this?" I asked jokingly, taking the newspaper from his hands and skimming the relevant concert review. "This is the best review you could ask for, Paul."
"But it gets better," Paul said, raising his eyebrows and smiling excitedly. "Remember that Ian Meldrum was in the audience last night?" I nodded. "He called Russ this morning, just an hour or two ago. He wants me to meet with him later in the week!"
"That’s fantastic!" I pulled him closer for a hug. "Didn’t I tell you that you’d do well up there?"
"Yeah, you did. You have no idea how nervous I was before doing the show. Just the thought of having these guys there to see me of all people...I was flattered, but it also scared the shit out of me. What if I stuffed up? What would they think then?"
"But you didn’t stuff up," I said, holding his head in my hands. "You don’t have to worry anymore. You got up there and you made the biggest impression on them that you could make. Just look at this review. You’re on your way, babe."
He nestled his head into my neck, still sitting on my lap, placing his hands on my hips. He’d had a shower and his hair was still damp. I held him closer and breathed in his fresh scent. He raised his head and began to kiss me slowly, his hand creeping under the bedsheet, giggling. For a minute or so I welcomed this, becoming lost in the sweet taste of his lips and his caress, but then a question pressed at me and I pulled back slightly.
"Who’s Lucas?"
Paul stopped his kisses and lowered his head, resting it against my chest. His breathing remained steady but I knew that he wasn’t expecting me to ask this question.
"He was a friend of mine a few years ago. A really good friend."
"A boyfriend?"
"No. Just a friend. He was my best friend, actually."
I glanced back to the photo. "That photo of the two of you is really nice."
He raised his head an inch to look at the photo, then returned it to my chest, entwining his fingers with mine. "Yeah, it’s my favourite. He was a model, and another of his friends was a photographer who wanted to use images of him for an exhibition. Lucas wanted me to be in them as well. Anyway, to cut it short, the photo in the frame is one that wasn’t planned. We didn’t know the photographer had taken the shot until he sent it to us in the pile for us to approve. He kept a copy and so did I."
As he spoke about Lucas, I could sense a tinge of sadness in his voice, and almost didn’t want to ask anything more about him, but curiosity was eating at me. "How did he die?"
Paul paused for a moment, absentmindedly toying with my fingers, before responding, "He was a junkie."
"Oh." I didn’t ask any more, preferring to leave it at that so I wouldn’t upset Paul. I held him closer to me, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. But as we stretched out on the bed without uttering a word, Lucas and the fact that he’d been a junkie was weighing heavily on my mind. Wouldn’t his best friend’s death encourage Paul to dismiss any and all illegal drugs? Why was he still using them? Was there an influence at work that I didn’t know about? Or did he wish to die as well? No, if he wanted to die he wouldn’t take the drugs a little bit at a time, he’d take them all in one go. Still, I couldn’t understand why Paul would continue to use drugs when they had taken away the life of someone close to him. Perhaps the recreational use had extended to addiction – if so, he couldn’t be rescued by just one person – it would take the support of everyone around him. And if his bandmates were any indication, that would be hard to achieve.
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Just as I knew he would, Paul turned on the charm when he met with Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum – in fact, Ian liked him so much that, in the middle of their meeting, he grabbed his mobile phone and called some of the top people in the industry. By the time they left Paul, along with Russ, had been scheduled meetings with three of the biggest record companies in the country – Sony, Warner and Mushroom. Each company had sent representatives to Paul’s gig, and when Ian called them they agreed to meet with Paul and Russ even before Ian could finish his spiel.
Within a month, Paul had signed a contract with Sony and had begun recording his next album – a far cry from his previous independent release. I finally plucked up the courage to quit my secretarial job with Paul’s gentle encouragement, promising me that once the album got underway he would find something for me to do and put me on the payroll. As he made preparations for the album, I would sit with him for hours on end, watching as his innermost thoughts, concerns and desires were transcribed into song lyrics. His band came to his house our or five nights a week to contribute the music. I marveled at how they could lock themselves in a room with Paul’s lyrics and emerge at the end of the night with exactly the music that Paul wanted. Tez, growing bored with the routine of gym-office-nightclub, began accompanying me to Paul’s house sometimes.
"Don’t you get bored?" I asked on one occasion. He gave me a wicked grin and leant back in his chair, scratching his ribcage.
"How can one get bored when somebody like him is in your presence?" He nodded towards Jason, who pretended he hadn’t heard but smiled to himself.
Paul and I made bets on how long it would be until Tez and Jason hooked up. He won – it took two weeks.
Paul finally began recording his album and the same people would join him each day...the band, a Sony rep, the producer, the engineer, Russ, Tez and I. Although I didn’t make any major contributions to the album, I was pair a fair wage while gaining knowledge and experience from Russ, the producer and the engineer. When a job had to be done we were focused and worked hard, but during breaks we became very laid-back and frequently joked around. I got to know the band and Russ much better and was told very amusing anecdotes from previous experiences on the road, in the studio and at industry events. I had no regrets about quitting my job – while I was learning the tricks of the trade, I found that this was something that I really enjoyed and wanted to take in a much as I could so I could possibly enter a career.
Tez, Paul and I hung around in the studio after a recording session one evening, at around 11pm. Our original intent was to clean up the debris left by the band so we wouldn’t get into strife for making the studio unclean. However, we quickly became sidetracked and had the radio playing at a high volume, dancing lewdly with coat racks and stools.
"I watch your fingers working overtime, I got to thinking that they should be mine, I’d love to see you naked baby, I’d like to think that sometime maybe tonight, if that’s alright, yeah..." I sang softly, turning quickly to face Paul and pinning myself against a wall, swaying and wiggling my finger to invite him over. He grinned mischievously and stepped closer to me before scooping me up in his arms and sitting me on the edge of the table, standing between my knees. Tez began to laugh and turned the radio down a touch, grabbing his jacket.
"I guess that’s my cue to leave, boys," he said. "Same time tomorrow morning then?" When we could only mumble our responses, too busy kissing each-other, he laughed again and tossed the jacket over his shoulder. "I’ll take that as a yes. Behave yourselves, y’hear?"
He gave us a short wave goodbye although we weren’t paying attention and left the room, gently closing the door behind him. I wound my legs around his thighs and pulled him closer, burying my face in his clean black hair. He hugged me and placed soft kisses along my neck.
"We haven’t made love for two weeks," he whispered, sliding his fingertips down to my thigh.
"We’ve been busy," I replied.
"We’re not busy now." He raised his head to meet mine and sensually moulded his mouth over mine, guiding my tongue into his mouth with his own. I kept one hand around his waist and unzipped his jeans with the other, his appreciative groan letting me know that I’d found what I was looking for. Those two weeks had felt like a lifetime – we concentrated on the album from the wee hours of the morning until the commencement of the graveyard shift, with minimal fooling around. We were simply too tired to make love, although we very much wanted each-other. All work and no play makes Rich a randy boy.
Not once breaking our passionate kiss, he led me over to the couch sitting in one corner of the room, gently pressed me back into the cushions and straddled me as he began to unbutton his shirt. I felt myself growing hard already and pressed him harder against me, anticipation and pleasure shuddering through our bodies.
As things began to heat up even further, we were interrupted by the sound of the studio door creaking open.
Part 16