SUCH
an ordinary doorway did not represent the grandeur of Vincent Jonas’ dressing
room. Mock gas lamps lined the walls casting an intimate glow over mocha panelling.
An entire wall had been dedicated to a walk-in wardrobe. Within, Nancy glimpsed
racks of shoes, suits, shirts and ties. A chaise lounge, Turkish rug and a
drinks bar added decadence to a room she suspected served also for business.
Movement
to her right drew her eye. Vince was checking out his appearance in front of a
mirror. She couldn’t see his reflection for the oblique view but guessed he was
adjusting his tie. Leon had positioned himself behind the chaise lounge, hands
clasped at the groin like an usher at a funeral. Nancy kept her reactions in
check. She didn’t want to appear flaky in front of two men who saw this routine
as just another day at the office. She pinched her lip between incisors and an
iron tang blossomed over her tongue. She swallowed it down.
Without
warning, Jonas turned – not to face her, but Leon. As though by script, Leon
scooped up a long, black overcoat from the back of the chaise lounge and opened
it out for Vince. Vince turned and allowed Leon to place it over his shoulders.
Leon brushed it down as Vince gazed soberly ahead. Nancy quickly stifled an
urge to snigger. Never had she seen such a routine task performed with such
gravity. The scene deserved the proverbial banana skin – for Jonas preferably.
She would treasure the image of one seen standing next to the likes of Beckham
and Barlow fall flat on his backside. Would Leon retain his poker face? Would
Leon share a complicit smile with Nancy?
The set of his mouth as he brushed down Jonas’ overcoat suggested not.
Nancy had the feeling theirs was a close-knit relationship forged on trust and loyalty.
Nancy
swallowed her smile down. She braced herself for when Jonas turned. She would
need to jettison her previous thoughts quickly. No one must suspect. She
rebooted with a brief closing of eyes and attempted a smile. Oddly this one
felt sincere. Deep down, she wanted to impress after all. He was Vincent Jonas.
She was about to shake hands or exchange words with an A-list celebrity.
Vincent
turned. Nancy put on full beam, certain her molars probably glinted in the dim
light. But Vincent didn’t even look at her. He made a beeline straight for the
door, pulling at his cufflinks as he did so. He kept on going. The shoulder of
his overcoat scuffed against hers on passing. Leon didn’t seem to notice. He
donned his Bluetooth and stepped towards her. ‘After you, Nancy,’ he uttered.
For
her sake, she held onto her smile. Well,
what else had she expected?
Leon
maintained a distance of two paces behind as they made their way down the
corridor. Jonas continued ahead. A man of immaculate gait, his spine remained
true to vertical as his arms and legs worked in faultless sync. Without effort,
he gained distance. Before she knew it, he had disappeared through the
stairwell door at the other end. In her effort to keep pace, one stiletto
veered sideways. Feeling foolish, she kept going, aware of Leon’s presence not
far behind.
On
reaching the foyer, she spotted him standing at the grand entrance. Sporadic
flashbulbs etched out his silhouette. She admired how squarely he stood,
unphased by the pandemonium outside and owning the space he occupied. She
wished she possessed one iota of such composure. But she didn’t understand the
world that had brought him to this point. A spiny orb bristled against her gut.
Was she acting naïve? What was she about to hurl herself into? A grubby outcrop
of Coventry had defined her twenty-five years of existence. She had been
mangled into shape by the welfare state, a city comprehensive and a string of
meager jobs. Past and future looked the same at this point. Such a fate should
have been more frightening than anything that awaited her on the other side of
those doors.
But
when the papers came out tomorrow, at least she had no current boyfriend to
give her the third degree. Who knew, this fifteen minutes of fame could jolt
her out of this steeply-banked rut. Someone might consider her perfect for a
soap extra, a face for a skin cream advert, or a model for Kay’s catalogue. The
idea made her feel like a child bunking off school. She could cheat her way out
of a job she should feel grateful for yet hated; she didn’t have to grim it out
with those mangled by the same system. Nor be in it together, like Cora and
Bex. Like the rest of them in that tin box in the Parkway Industrial Estate.
At
this moment Nancy could see she didn’t have to turn up on Monday. She had a
choice.
Leon
drew up beside her. This spurred her to take a step. She took another. And
another. And then she drifted over towards the grand entrance where Vince
stood. She could hear Leon uttering something into his Bluetooth. The two other
bouncers she had spotted earlier emerged from the entertainment suite. A steady
stream of punters was now milling through the other exit, the one from which
Nancy had bid farewell to Bex and Cora only minutes earlier.
If
only they knew.
