Never Forever: The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy - Book 1

By Tam Sturgeon

NEW 2019 EDITION - The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy - Book1.
‘So ... How does someone get to really know ya?’ Max asked, grinning, his eyes holding a crystal glaze.
18+ Contains graphic content and reference to subjects only suitable for adults, mainly, drugs, sex and rock n roll.
Designer Tee Jackson is asked to help a rock band produce their latest album cover. Little does she know, within the month, her life will change never to be the same again. Becoming entangled in a racy love/hate relationship with gorgeous front-man, Max Manley, she experiences love and hate on a level she’s never known before. As the lights go down and all the glitter fades, can two hearts truly survive? A love story with lots of attitude, maybe every Rock Star’s other half should read this.
Warning - Contains explicit language and themes of an adult nature.
Ten 5 star reviews: Loved this book!! Laughed, cringed, cried, couldn’t put it down – DM
This was an amazing read, I have never cried so much over a book. Absolutely loved it!! – RO

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tam Sturgeon
• Release date: Sep 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476175867

Tam Sturgeon

Writing History of Tam Sturgeon1970’sI find myself reciting poetry at middle school in Christmas Assemblies. Pam Ayres a particular favourite (and remembered to this day).1980’sI start writing poetry in Secondary School, after finding a poem in a Sunday Supplement. An emotionally charged home life gives me reason to lose myself when my mother is being all weird and shouty. Poetry takes me away from that. I find it comes easily and is prolific. I write various lyrics and silly ditties for birthdays and weddings.2003-2004I start my first novel, Champagne Hurricane, a rock and roll love story, whilst I’m having an emotional breakdown. The first in the line of my life changing events starts with my Father dying then my first husband leaving me, all within 18 months of each other. I’m awarded Runner-up in a Writer’s Forum Magazine Competition. I start Art College and use my poems as part of my finals. It earns me a Distinction. I find I have enough material to write my 1st and 2nd book of poetry.2004-2009The next three books of poetry are written, one after the other in quick concession. I then relocate to Somerset. The novel is put on the backburner, due to a demanding second husband which ends very badly for me.2010I relocate back to Bucks, finding myself with little to show for my time away. I return to my writing and the first novel, which is finished before the New Year.2011A massive near fatal heart attack in the March leaves me on the verge of another emotional breakdown. I start to write my second novel and take a very level headed look at my life. Being housebound pushes me back into writing once more, and two more volumes of poetry are poured out before the end of the year. A new novel is also started, a Werewolf and Vampire love story, which runs parallel with the second. Six others novels are also dabbled with, but soon fall by the wayside.2012I finish the second, and two more books of poetry are completed. A 10th volume of A-Z Pocket Poetry is then completed. The third novel, still in its infancy, is set aside as the rhythm of the ode becomes my favourite once more. I tell myself the poetry collection will end at volume thirteen.2013With the New Year comes more poetry, the 11th book, 12th, and 13th. Later that year my first novel is ePublished to Smashwords.com and is welcomed with open arms by the readers, gaining 10, 5 star reviews, at this time I also ePublish three volumes of poetry. There is also a 14th book of poetry written. Sadly, it was partly lost due to my hard drive burning out. Some is salvaged, but it remains nameless and unpublished, to this day.2014‘Champagne Hurricane’ continues to gather followers as the poetry collection grows. I spend time in Canada and write the 15th volume, which is then made ready for ePublishing. The 16th book of poetry is started and finished shortly after. Come the Christmas of 2014 I have started yet another novel. Champagne Hurricane is suddenly rendered a trilogy.2015As the storyboard for Book 2, Different Directions, slowly comes alive, more poetry is produced. Lyrics are dabbled with, yet again, and along the way several other projects are started, most of which are all put on the backburner as the novel becomes a constant time-filler. By the end of 2015 Book 2 is a finished novel, plus I have rewritten and renamed Book 1, now known as Never Forever, under The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy title.2016At the turn of the year the 17th volume is started and then finished come the end of spring. A break is taken to travel. Upon my return, things pick up where they left off. The 18th is started, along with the Book 3 in the trilogy, Between Favours. These run side by side and see me through another summer, both finished about the same time. I also start writing a fantasy novel relating to the myth of unicorns and why broomsticks can fly. I get half way and am distracted by the thought I am wasting my precious time with needless thing, i.e. all the stuff I’m cramming into my laptop on a daily basis. I stop writing for the rest of the year, frustrated with not knowing what to do with any of it.2017So, anyway, early in the year I unpublished one novel, due to its lack of interest. I delete it from my back-catalogue, permanently. The 18th volume is then completed before the summer and the 19th is started. With The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy complete, what to do next? I write my first Action Thriller, a Novella, and finish it in a little over six weeks. As the close of the year faces me, I am ousted from my job of three years for highlighting a Toxic Manager case. I am rendered jobless in the New Year, with huge debts and nowhere to turn.2018The first two months of the year are taken up with ill health and what is to become another trilogy. Rewritten for the Young Adult and Teen market, the now gruesome trio, are all based around the same random grisly event but set in different eras, trips from my fingers. This is shortly followed by another short story, which almost touches on Sci-Fi, and is also initially aimed at the Y/A &Teen market, though it could also be enjoyed by anyone into the genre. It is at this point I also finish the 19th Volume of poetry and start the 20th. I diversify yet again, writing my own lyrics to classical and mainstream music. Drawing from my own personal experiences, I compose forty plus alternative ways of wording them. Alongside this, I turn myself into a product and decide I have enough material to approach the Agents and Producers in both the literary and music business.Find me on:TwitterInstagramFacebookThank you

Book preview

CHAMPAGNE HURRICANE

Tam Sturgeon

Never Forever Trilogy Book 1

Published by Tam Sturgeon at Smashwords

Copyright © 2019 Tam Sturgeon

All rights reserved.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed within it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or any events mentioned is entirely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise,

be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent

in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

Tam Sturgeon asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work.

Cover imagery courtesy of the author.

Cover design by Iam.aProduct.sellMe.

Copyright Iam.aProduct.sellMe 2019

Find Cameo Books UK on Twitter and Facebook.

~

To CK, miss you in a heartbeat, see you in my dreams x

~

CHAMPAGNE HURRICANE

Part 1

A World of Dreams

Cruising around the car park of the luxury apartments where she lived, I knew Shay’s car would stick out like a saw thumb. His new, shiny, red Merc acted the perfect beacon. I’d also known what I was going to do when I pulled up behind it, slammed down the side-stand and got off my old Triumph Bonnie. Switching her off, I removed my lid and sat it on the saddle, wedging it in place.

Leaving my kid leather gloves on, I knew I’d be in need of a good grip when it came to my swing. I pulled the zip down on my patrol jacket then removed my hidden hiker from within. His well-balanced aluminium baseball bat had no real weight to it as I walked round to face the front of his car.

Climbing up onto the bonnet, I stepped up and onto the roof before shouting his name at the classy balconies above me. I then waited till the count of ten. When I had no sign of life or a reply of any sort, I swung, straight down, against the ridiculously expensive windscreen. The alarm screaming into life, and all hell breaking loose, probably had a lot to do with me repeatedly jumping up and down, leaving him with a lowered roof he never ordered.

‘SHAY, you two-timing testicle on legs ... I KNOW YOU’RE UP THERE SOMEWHERE,’ I screamed. Again I waited, and again I counted.

Still no answer? Wiping tears from my face with the back of my hand, I paused once more, before jumping down to stand to the front of it again. The passenger side headlight became a shower of tiny crystals as the bat came into contact with the fragile casing. And so, on it carried, the rear lights next, and then the lovely shiny bonnet.

Three side windows down, one to go. It’s the way they sort of popped as the bat bounced against them. I liked that bit. All credit due, it took a couple of attempts before they finally exploded.

I’d been on the verge of taking a swing at the driver’s window, when he’d appeared, out of breath and nearly dressed. His face was a collision of emotions, as I recall. I was, by then, panting and grinning at him from under lowered brows, my lips pulled back over my teeth in a demented sort of grin.

He was very quiet as he rubbed his hands over his face, his eyes never leaving his remodelled Merc.

‘Adios, you selfish son-of-a-bitch ... Because, if this is it, if this is the best of us ... I’ll let HER have the rest of you ...’

I shouted that three letter word at him, my feelings for him dissolving as the door of my heart slammed shut on his arse. Throwing the bat at him I smirked at his sudden vulnerability, and then calmly walked back to the Bonnie. Within the week, all his belongings had been delivered to her address, and I’d started to file for a divorce.

Our first real encounter with each other was when he’d come across me skinny dipping in a huge indoor pool, lights on below me, all alone, and as pissed as a fart. He laughed about me being naked and my clothes being left on the side. Wasn’t I worried some rotten bast’d would steal them? Like I was going to get all upset and scared about that. I said I didn’t care.

In fact, I’d walked from the pool and strolled straight passed him to get dressed. My only form of cover had been the big, pissed, smile on my dripping face. He’d found that highly amusing, a crazy, naked, pissed chick with some balls. It aroused his curiosity immediately.

The next morning I was surprised, to say the least, to see him, there, beside me, asleep, under the full size snooker table, with an ivory Damask tablecloth acting as our only form of modest cover. I had to split early, so I kissed the tribal tattoo on his shoulder, had a flash peek under said tablecloth at the nicely naked form, then memorised said features, before I made my exit.

All day long I’d had fabulous flashbacks of some of the most incredible sex I’d ever experienced, and my body had tingled as the visions lit up my face.

He tracked me down in less than a day. Becks, my lecture buddy, eventually caved, giving him my home address, and so he knocked on my door that evening. We sat and talked about his childhood, his wonderful-crazy Irish family, and his love of photography. He had eight brothers and sisters, most of whom had moved back to Southern Ireland since leaving Uni and College. His Mam and Dah had been born in Blighty, but had gone back after they took early retirement.

We shared a nice evening, a few drinks, and our friendship started to blossom. We found we enjoyed each other’s company immensely. I hadn’t really had that many relationships, the few I’d endured hadn’t lasted long, and a year was unthinkable.

It was the incredible sex life we achieved that made me fall in love for the first time in my life. Really, he, eventually, taught me everything I know about shagging, what I want from it, and how to give as much as I got. He’d been a willing teacher too, and hadn’t minded the extra curriculum activity. In fact, he’d welcomed it, and with open arms and a dirty grin.

The year after we left Uni, we moved in together and started to live as a couple. The sex got better, and the love and friendship grew as we started building a life. He was working for a holiday brochure company back then, flying off on a regular basis to take photos of hotels and attractions.

Whilst he did that, I was designing greeting cards for a local company and writing in my spare time. Our lives were panning out nicely, the first five years together were amazing, and we’d always manage something crazy for our Anniversary.

We jetted off to Paris the first year. Shay was doing a shoot for a woman’s magazine, fashion for over 50’s. The second year was spent in Amsterdam, shitfaced in one of the Bulldogs. The third year, well, that was a year to remember, indeed.

He’d been sent on an assignment to Los Vegas and I just had to go, didn’t I. The job was done in the day and we partied all night. The suite had a fabulous view down The Strip, and the lights at night had me as dazzled as a child at Christmas. The three weeks out there were a trip of a lifetime, and in so many ways.

The one thing that everybody thought wouldn’t happen, did. We got really pissed one night and decided to get married in The Chapel of Love. Actually, Elvis married us, and Marilyn Monroe and Buddy Holly were our witnesses, who then went on to throw rice over us as we left. Our Honeymoon was a week in the Grand Canyon, camping and screwing under the stars, and then a week of bliss and partying in New York.

Leaving London behind, we bought the house in Stockenchurch, Buckinghamshire, and started to set down some roots. I met Gee, from across the road, when I saw his Triumph Thunderbird parked outside his house. We gelled straight away. He’d handed me a joint, smiled under his sunglasses, red-eye glinting over the top, and the bond was forged.

For five years, five fabulous years, we had uninterrupted joy and happiness. In fact, right up till the day my Pops died. Everything changed after that. I became lost in my work. I grieved, cried and drank while Shay was away in Japan, or Dubai, or Mexico. When I was burying my Pops, he was in Milan. When I was in need of his support, he was in Singapore. When I woke, crying for him in the night, he’d been a thousand miles away.

When he did come home, I was usually pissed-up and we’d argue the love right out of ourselves. He’d steam off out, and I’d drink more. We were slowly destroying what had taken us so long to build and, so, the divide just kept right on growing. He’d wanted to help, but couldn’t, and when I’d needed him there, he wasn’t.

Within months I knew something was wrong. His behaviour changed and I started to notice little things, odd things. At first I put it down to me working too hard, drinking too much and not sleeping enough. Work had been getting me down for a while, and I’d been missing my Pops to the point of breaking. And still that nagging in my brain.

I started to get inquisitive, so much so, I put a Private Investigator on his arse for two weeks. The guys report made very interesting reading. Seems it had been going on for a fare few months, him and his fuck-buddy. Wouldn’t you know, it turned out to be a bloody make-up artist. They’d known each other for a while. I’d even met her, on several occasions, at his studio.

It dawned on me then, how all of a sudden it was, ‘... I’m gonna have to work through the night ... If I don’t hit this deadline I’ll lose the front cover ... Sorry, darlin ... I’ll make it up to ya, I promise.’

The lying wanker, and how slow was I?

At the bottom of the paperwork, in an untidy scrawl, Carlos Pugman P.I. had noted her new address so, I thought, maybe I should pay them a little visit?

I rode over there at killer speeds with a vivid array of thoughts spider-webbing themselves through my mind. All those things that had made us so strong, all that hard work, suddenly they’d become someone else’s joy. I’d had my lover and soul-mate stolen from me, and I hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it. My sorrow welled up in me as I remembered all the tear stained nights spent needing him with me. By the time I got there, my sadness had morphed into bitter tears of anger.

So, back to the start we go. Life is, always, a full circle which is, in itself, full of smaller ones. It can take a mere moment, or an entire lifetime, for them to run and you’ll even lose count of the amount of times you do it, as around and around you go yet again. Sometimes, life isn’t about the rules but the way you play the game, plus with whom you choose to play it. Remember his name too, my friend, because we’ll meet him again.

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was my time with Shay Blane, internationally renowned Photographer, loaded Playboy, and my cheating ex-husband.

Three years later

The vision was still vivid behind my closed eyes, as I drearily spoke into the darkness and the digiphone.

‘Yeah ... Tee ... What ...?’ spat my disappointed voice.

‘... Urh, it’s me ... I can’t find him,’ came the male voice. It was Joey.

The silence hung in folds as I slowly opened them.

‘What do you mean you can’t find him? How can ya lose him? He’s six foot tall, has shoulder length curly hair and looks like a famous bloke. So, I ask again ... What d’ya mean you can’t bloody find him.’ I paused. ‘He isn’t hard to miss, Joey ... Try harder ...’

It was difficult remaining calm as a trail of very bad images skipped through my suddenly alert mind.

‘Chill out, Tee, before ya have a vapour lock or somethin ...’

‘Don’t tell me to chill out, you dick ... Now, find him ... Please ...’

So, there I was, stranded in Buckinghamshire with Max AWOL in London, somewhere, probably doing something he shouldn’t be doing. Splendid, my heart sank.

Suddenly, I knew the exact turn my appalling night was about to take. Poor Brian Martyn, from the boys management company, rang soon after looking for Max too, as I knew he would. All I could tell him was what Stevie had said when I’d rung him earlier regarding the missing Romeo.

At 4:05 a.m. the digiphone bleeped me awake, again. I sat up in bed and voice commanded it to answer. It was Craig Taylor. He was going ballistic because of what had happened in L.A and I could see his reason for concern. I tried to calm him down.

‘Craig, please ... Shouting at me, at some God awful time in the morning, is not going to help you, me, or this shite situation, is it? I’ve more reason to be pissed, let’s face it ... But I’m not there, am I, I’m here ... So, what do you want me to do about it? ... Nip into London, quickly, and trawl it looking for him?’

‘... Why? Why does he never learn? Is he always going to be such a penis? I’m starting to wonder, Tee ...’

I could hear him clicking his biro repeatedly, a sure sign he wasn’t very happy.

‘He’s pissed ... What can I say? You’ve known him longer than me, Craig, and you know what he’s like when he goes on a bender ...’

‘But, Tee ... If he’s snorting again ...’ He trailed off and fell silent.

‘Well, then ... We’ll have to cope with it, won’t we, as and when, like I usually do ...’ I inwardly laughed to myself and shook my head in disappointment. ‘We’ll find him, don’t worry,’ I sighed loudly.

‘How do you put up with it?’ His voice suddenly held a tinge of sympathy. ‘I can’t help but feel this’ll all end in tears ... And I really hope they’re not yours ... This time ...’

I already knew Joey had Max's phone, so no point trying to ring him. Joey had told me he’d given it to him as they’d walked back to the bar. Max was going to try to get rid of the problem. Apparently, he hadn’t wanted it to get broken, should they fancy starting a sparring match, so he’d passed it over as the pair of them parted.

I think it was about 4:47 a.m. when Stevie rang to see if I’d heard. I sighed with relief as he spoke. Max had turned up at their hotel, pissed and stoned out of his tiny mind, alone. Joey had caught him before he'd passed out, face down, in the foyer. Max was pretty messed up by all accounts. I remember thinking to myself, ‘Oh, shit, here we go again!’

Stevie and Joey had dragged him to his room, as usual. He'd taken a swing at Joey, probably thinking he was still in the fight, had fallen onto the bed, then slurred my name several times, before passing out, still dressed. The boys left him there not wanting anymore crap than they'd already dealt with. Who could blame them; the act of forgiveness is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?

After talking with, and thanking, Stevie for his good news, I rang poor Craig and relayed the glad tidings. He was a bit miffed, still, but pleased he'd turned up eventually.

‘... Him shitfaced is better than nothing, I suppose,’ he’d commented.

See, I know what it’s like being associated with Max, have done for an age already. It is hard work keeping up with his drinking and behaviour patterns, and that’s at the best of times. A Scorpio to the end, he causes all the troubles in my exhausting life. I do love him but, sometimes, I could bloody swing for him.

So, now I wait, and while I wait I write. It helps pass the time, putting it all down as I remember it, to read later. Sometimes I wonder where it will lead us both, Max and I, if anywhere. I’d like to think anything is possible, even more so when he’s the one I’m so inspired by.

How It All Started

It was the typical grey, wet and windy, autumnal, Wednesday morning when my boss, Pete, pulls me into his office to say, ‘An opportunity of a lifetime just landed on my desk ... You interested ...?’

The project turned out to be designing an album cover with some rock band. It sounded different and I was always up for a challenge. The details were due to follow so I was put on stand-by.

Well, within the week he called me into his office, again, and told me the P.R. man from the record company would be there, the following Thursday, with two members from the band. He also wanted me to make sure everything was in place to show the guys a good night out. Always good for business, he said. Great, seems I was to become a glorified babysitter. I told you it varied, but I’m sure I didn’t see that one in my bloody contract.

Thursday came and I was in the office by 8:30 as usual. All my projects were on target and I was ahead on three of them, so, life was pretty good. I lived in the Chilterns and commuted to work, but even that, and the crap weather, didn’t seem to get me down. I loved my life and everything was groovy. Up until then, that was. At 10:15 that morning, my life changed and was never to be the simple existence I’d had the pleasure of living, over the previous few years, ever again.

I was sat in my office when I heard Pete talking to Jane, my assistant. He seemed a bit angry over something and I think Jane was trying to calm him down. I walked out to them and looked at him. His red face seemed fit to burst and his eyes were screwed up in anger. From what I could gather, the two band members had turned up and one of them was already pissed off when they were introduced.

Apparently the language started to fly because this Max wanted to deal with the previous company. Their P.R. man, Craig, tried to explain to him that the two companies had, indeed, amalgamated, so, they had the best of both worlds, PQB Designs. But an angry Peter left before all was explained, because Max had called our company a back-street shit-pit.

Peter was furious and it was obvious from his face it hadn't gone down too well. Anyway, I gritted my teeth and said I’d go and see if I could save the project. Hell, I had nothing to lose, so off I toddled.

I could hear them shouting between themselves from down the corridor. I stood for a while, listening to what was being said. They had the attention of the whole of the floor by then. The language was quite strong, on occasions, and I think I cringed quite a few times.

Jane walked back along to where I was standing, her arms crossed and a sympathetic smile on her face. Realising I’d have to enter soon, I slowly placed my hand on the door knob.

She smiled and whispered, ‘Good luck!’ with her hands held up and her fingers crossed.

I watched her walk back to my office looking, once, over her shoulder smiling in support.

‘Thanks!’ I feebly mouthed and held my breath preparing to enter the unknown.

After counting down from five, I knocked, opened the door, and walked into the boardroom.

Two of them were sat at one end of the long, dark wood table, and one was stood looking out the window at the Thames running passed. He turned, briefly, and then went back to the view.

I paused, unsure of the reception I was about to get, before I walked towards them, heart in throat, waiting for the onslaught. Slowly and calmly I introduced myself then explained my role. That bit seemed to go okay. So far, so good.

After I’d finished, the tension in the room seemed to be a little more at ease. I smiled at the tall guy, still standing. He walked over and sat down in the Director’s chair. His eyes burnt right into me. At first, it made me feel a little uneasy. They were so blue I just couldn't look away. I was still talking but even I wasn't listening. I must have stopped and just carried on staring at him because, eventually, I heard a voice trying to bring me back.

I realised the guy in the suit was talking. It was Craig, the P.R. man, a really nice chap. I still get on well with him now. We became quite close on that project, funny where you make friends in business sometimes. Anyway, we sat and talked to each other, going over the details. All the time, the two guys sat in silence, not really taking in anything that was being said, or so I thought. It was when we reached the details of the cover did they start to prick up their ears.

Max, the one that had been admiring the view, suddenly jumped in with a torrent of ideas. Unable to take them all on board at once I suggested, stupidly, that maybe we could all work together. Max looked at his brother, Stevie, they both nodded, smiled, and all was set to Rock n Roll.

There was to be a photo shoot of the band itself, held in the studio where they were working, and done by yours truly. I was then to produce a cover design based around the band name, Ea$y. So, being an expert in Diverse Design and Problem Solving, (Eh?), I was considered pretty bloody good at my job so I became Peter’s first choice to complete the contract.

Within the month, via me, we’d done the shoot and I had the winning photos ready for viewing. With the CD almost in production, all that was left were the final stages. The fonts and graphics were still to be finalised, but I already had the design laid out and the band appeared very impressed with the progress, especially Max.

The following day they were due to drop in and view all the shots together. In my infinite wisdom I'd arranged for black and whites to be available as well as the usual colour shots. From doing the author’s photos, I understood not all celebs liked colour. It can tend to add a few years to the subject and, in some cases, not in a flattering way.

I had wanted the band to view them in the boardroom, but, because there was a bloody meeting, we had to make do with my office walls and floor. Now, my office was pretty big, half the size of the boardroom in fact, which made it the next biggest after Peter's. Was this good enough for Max?

Oh, no. He wanted some kind of exhibition of subject as if he was a bloody work of art himself. It was just a little too much attitude for me. At which point, I laughed and suggested he should, maybe, rent the gallery down the road, should he feel my office was a little too bijous for him.

He looked at me sideways, his face a scowl, threw a complete wobbly and stormed off. Craig ran after him while I took in what had just happened. With a bemused look on my face, I mentioned he was a bit touchy. That was when I first heard the name, Anna-Lee. Stevie filled me in on some of their history, the pissed lover’s fights, the pills and caine. I already understood Max, in a way, the perpetual poor little Rock Star piss-head with too much money to burn.

I must admit, I liked Stevie, the brother and bassist, from the moment we first met. He always had a smile and always made me laugh. We’d done some of the design work together, nearly as much as I’d done with Max, in fact.

Don’t get me wrong, I got on with Max, when he was in the mood to work, and we had a laugh, when he was, but most of the time when he was at the office, he was either chatting to the boss or faffing around with the young secretaries. But then, at least I could get on and not worry about humouring a bored head-banger, as sweet as he could be, sometimes.

The band, as a whole, was great. Max, on the other hand, was the one who added all the fire and moody moments. He caused all the scenes and was usually responsible for any arguments to be had. He could be a nightmare pain in the arse to deal with, whereas Stevie and the others were always pretty easy going, pardon the pun.

I knew those dark waters of his ran pretty deep. He could be distant and unreachable one minute, and then taking on the world the next. I watched him on a regular basis, and he could impress me just as quickly as he could piss me off. At the time, I found him very hard work indeed.

Stevie laughing with Dan, over a very moody shot of him, abruptly brought me back to my task at hand. After a while of looking over the photos, I asked the band what they thought. Each of them chose the ones they liked the most. Funny, but they were all black & white. I left them to it while I went to see if I could catch up with Craig and, or, Max.

The reception was empty. I couldn't see either of them as Peter walked from his office. He’d already heard about the tantrum from Jane, and every other person on my floor. As I shook my head and explained about Max walking off, Craig reappeared from outside in the car park. He had a rather concerned look on his face as he slowly walked over to us with his hands pushed into his trouser pockets.

Looking at me first, he smiled, ‘I really like you now ... I have never seen that guy hit the roof so quick with a woman before. You really know how to work sarcasm, don't you?’ Shaking his head he huffed out a laugh. ‘He's so pissed, he’s gone to get pissed ... I've taken him back to the hotel ... He was almost foaming at the mouth by the time we reached down here ...’

As he sighed, his tired voice held a sad tone. ‘I was a bit worried at one point, thought he was going to come back up and punch your lights out ... And believe me,’ his face turned a little more serious, ‘you wouldn't be the first woman he's decked, I can tell you.’

Falling silent, he turned and walked away, heading for his car so as to go sort Max out. At this, Peter suggested I go back upstairs and make sure the others were okay.

By the time I reached my office I could hear the laughter of girls flirting. I stood, silently watching at my office door. They soon realised I was back when the office girls disappeared, rapidly. Relaying the tale about Max and what Craig had said, Stevie laughed while the other two stood grinning. He told me not to worry. He reckoned Max probably had the hots for me.

Chuckling, whilst looking me over and grabbing his crouch, he grinned, ‘Woman, ya too hot for me ... Ya already poaching my pods ...’ The other two guys sniggered as he continued with, ‘He ain’t been near a woman in months, all that touring and recording ... Sugar, why d’ya think I call him Numb Nuts?’

Still laughing, he walked over and put an arm around my waist. Looking down at me he said, ‘Arh, fuck him, he'll get over it ... Ya wanna see him do his thang when he gets really pissed and obnoxious ... Man,’ he shook his head as he laughed, ‘I had to stop him from laying out Bethany Perez ... Shit, he nearly kicked off a big ole punch-fest when he called her trailer-park pussy ... So, anyway, that dumb hick bitch just had to squeal, swivel, dick spit (which he said in a high-pitched girly accent) in that evil voice of her’s, while flickin him one ... And the night, pretty much, escalated into a free-for-all from there ...’

My heart, at that moment, went out to Stevie. That lovely guy didn't deserve an arsehole brother quite as messed up as Max.

Peter appeared at the door. ‘There's a call on line three ... Jane says it's Craig, and he’s calling from their hotel,’ he nodded at the guys. ‘... He wants to speak to you ...’

A bit mystified, I walked over and picked up the call on my phone. Craig was in the bar, with Max, who’d, by then, had about seven double shots of JD and was about to fight the barman for the bottle. He’d been ranting on about how much of a bitch I’d been to him and how, if I was there, he'd give me a piece of his mind, or words to that effect. As I pointed out to Craig, the state he was in, had he a mind left?

‘... Less sarcasm please, it's what started this, remember?’ replied Craig. He sounded tired. ‘Can you come down to the hotel and help me sort this shit out, please? ...Once and for all ...’

He was as toneless as he had been in our reception.

‘He also said he won't deal with anyone else. He says ... You caused this shit, so you've gotta get your arse down here and apologise to him ... I think it'll be the only thing that’ll shut him up, Tee ... Please, I'm begging ... Help me ...’

I was on the verge of laughing but could tell Craig was getting a bit sticky about the situation. I said I'd be there after I’d arranged for the others to go to a club or strip joint, either/or, they weren’t fussy, and they’d asked so nicely.

I contacted the Security guy I always used, Joey. He'd done quite a few Personal Security jobs for me, so was always the first person on the list. I told him to pick them up from our office and take them to the good spots, and no queuing. He knew the score and I could trust him entirely.

With everything sorted and my day done, I left instructions with Jane to finish the little tasks I had to leave. Peter was aware of me going to the hotel and wasn’t particularly happy about it. Stevie knew what I was about to face, he'd smiled and told me not to let Max get the upper hand. Not that Stevie thought Max would, but Max plus JD, well, there was an atom just waiting to be split.

Within minutes, there I was, in a taxi, going off to face some pissed man-child from hell. It had just started to rain and autumn was well and truly in the wind. There was that smell of wet rotting leaves and snow on its way down from the North. Above me sat one of those watery grey skies that looks dirty and in need of a damn good wash.

I hurried into the main reception and checked to see if Craig had waited for me, but I couldn’t see him. I walked the foyer, the plush red carpet crunching under my stilettos as I made my way to the bar. It was dark and quiet as I entered, there didn't seem to be that many people in there. There was no sign of Craig and I couldn’t blame him for leaving. I walked over and asked the chap serving if there’d been a pissed Canadian in there lately.

Still cleaning a glass he replied, haughtily, nodding to a table in the corner, ‘What, that one?’

There, sat on his own, and with an almost empty bottle of Jack in front of him, was Max. He was slumped over a table, asleep.

‘How much has he had?’ I asked the Barman.

‘Just that one bottle,’ he sneered, putting the now clean glass on the bar. ‘Are you here to resolve the problem? ... I’m afraid they don't tolerate that kind of language and behaviour here, Madame ...’

I apologised to him and explained the problem was actually staying in their Royale Suite. His face blanched as he finally realised Max was a Black Card guest and, most probably, helping to pay his stupid mortgage. His silence came at just the right time.

I smiled to myself as I turned away to walk towards Max. Slowly testing the water, I said his name softly and waited for a reply. I was right in thinking he'd fallen asleep. I touched his shoulder. That shot him awake.

The look on his face should have killed me there and then, but I found myself stifling a chuckle. I waited for all hell to break loose but, to my amazement, he just sat there staring at me. I could tell he was on another planet. His eyes were nearly closed and the side of his face lobster coloured from where he'd been sleeping, cheek down, on the table. He'd dribbled a bit, too, the poor bloke.

With the look of a startled child, he tried focusing on me. Then, I really started to worry. I was faced with a virtual stranger, who was pissed and didn't really like me that much. It was going to be very interesting indeed.

Finally, when it registered in his head who I was, the look on his face changed. I remember trying not to poop myself, not knowing I was about to see something we would later laugh about.

Half awake and very pissed, poor Max moved to the edge of his seat where he'd been slumped. With a vile grin peeling over his teeth, he snarled, ‘When was the last time you was fucked so hard ya couldn't feel anythin afterwards ...?’

‘Oh, God … Here we go,’ I thought, as I scanned the room behind me in hope of seeing a familiar face. ‘... This is getting out of hand … Where the fuck is Craig?’ I sung in a whisper under my breath.

Slowly, I turned back and stared straight into his cold, blue, but slightly bloodshot, eyes. He was still waiting for a reply. Perching myself on the edge of the seat opposite, I smiled sweetly over at him.

‘Well, I don't think there’s a man alive that can offer me so much of his valuable time and energy. Don't think for one moment I’d pass up on an opportunity like that ... So, when, and if, the right bloke for the job comes along ... I'll let you know what happens ...’

He slowly grinned as his eyes turned toward me again.

‘I wanted to slap you so hard, ya punchy bitch ... But Craig said ya wouldn’t go down without pitching a few feisty swings first ... Is that right ...?’

As he snarled it, his eyes looked at me in a way I could feel myself sliding into them. In that moment, something made me want to grab hold of him and kiss all over his angry looking face. I could also, for some reason, see the guy sat in front of me being the one to do to me what he'd just described.

‘... Yup, I'm afraid it is!’ I retorted, trying to keep my shaky reply light.

He had such a look on his face I thought, maybe, I'd get that slap sooner rather than later. I was bracing myself for the tirade, but none appeared. Max sat, silently staring at me. That was the first chance there had been to spend time together, alone, without work or the band stuff in the way.

He slowly looked around the empty bar and then fixed his eyes back on mine. He smiled in a sinister way , speaking through clenched teeth.

‘My betting, two and you’re out ... You wanna try it, right here, you and me?’

At first I wasn't sure what he was suggesting. Then, when his look changed again, I knew he meant a swinging party, and it had nothing to do with keys in a bowl. Just what I needed, another feisty piss-head with a liking to large it up with the ladies.

I raised my eyebrows and stood up as Max tried. Only he hadn't taken both legs out from under the table. That went sideways, glass, bottle and all. They crashed to the floor, stirring the bar bloke into action and verbal outbursts. In that same second, Max watched as the glass shattered in slow motion.

Me, I stood back as the bouncing shards shot in all directions. It was quite evident that, by then, he was super-pissed, and who was stood there looking ready to run?

The Barman got to within six feet of me when he stopped and fell silent. He was watching some minging head-banger just about to throw a punch at a lady in a pinstripe suit, holding a briefcase.

I was watching Max, knowing that the poor shitfaced wanna-be was about to pass-out, but he didn't know it. I could also see what was coming, so I just stood to one side and smiled.

He managed to make it almost upright, but not quite. The extent of his standing up was both his feet on the floor, with his torso vaguely above them, swaying side to side rather slowly. When he finally caught up with where I was standing, I'd already clocked he was on his way out. I knew he would look at me, go to swing, and be out cold by the time the action registered to his brain, and I was right.

He did try, but failed, as I looked over my shoulder at the Barman. I let myself enjoy a small chuckle as he hit the deck. I must have looked so superior, in that last moment, through his eyes. I was smiling, ear to ear, because I knew the signs so well.

See, in that job, I'd seen most of them like it. I rarely get that hammered, but then, how can I enjoy an event if I'm one of the pissed? Though, sometimes, I have been known to let my hair down, and it can get a bit messy, after all, I'm a JD lover too.

So, there I was, stood in the bar of one of the classiest hotels in London, dressed like an accountant, smiling down at a pissed Rock-Star, passed-out in puddle of J.D. And that was a quiet day.

I turned to the Barman as he asked, ‘What about him?’

I explained I was about to solve that problem. He grinned and followed me over to the bar as I rang Joey on my mobile to find out where they were. I caught them all in the strip joint, Gee-Gee’s, and they seemed pretty happy with a company credit card at their disposal. I was glad of that. At least I didn't have to deal with them, as well as little Mr Pass-out Pants, as nice as they all were.

My next conundrum, of course, was how to get Max up to his crash site to sleep it off. This, I must admit, was easier said than done. He’s quite a tall dude, Max, and not a flyweight by any means, and believe me, it’s all muscle.

I asked bar-boy if they supplied complementary wheelchairs and, if so, could someone bring one to the rescue. With that done, I went back and sat on the corner of the seat Max had occupied only a little while ago. Looking down at him, I had to chuckle, he was far away in J.D. land. There was to be no more excitement for him, he was O.U.T, out.

A young lad came scurrying in and met me with the chair. He was kind enough to stick around and help me lift the dead weight into his carriage. Once my cargo was loaded, I had to get the room key-card and then find his suite.

The staff must have got wind of what had happened. They all ran round for me and even held an empty lift for us. I could tell matey-boy was worried he was going to get puked over so I sent him back to Reception. I knew I could deal with Max. He was totally dependent on me, how unfortunate, and pretty lifeless in the lift. Not until we hit his floor did he really make any sounds, mumbles and gripes mostly. He still seemed quite pissed off even though he was out of it, amazingly.

They'd been given the huge four bedroom penthouse suite. (Nice work if you can get it, aye!) I left him at the door while I walked round till I found what I thought was his room. I had a feeling he would be all guitars and stuff. When I found the acoustic and electrics stood along a wall like strung soldiers I knew it had to be his.

Pictures in small folding frames were arranged on a chest beside the bed. One was of Max and Stevie, a couple of Max with a middle-aged lady, and another with a pretty blonde girl. I think the room had been his home for some time. That's how it felt, but it still wasn't very homely. When I entered, it smelt of him, his clothes and his expensive aftershave.

Returning for the sleeping songster, I pushed him to his room, wedged the front wheels against a few cushions and, with some effort, managed to tip him onto the awaiting king-size bedspread. Luckily enough, I didn't miss like I had with some in the past.

I stood and stared down at his screwed up face, fast asleep. He was fully dressed, boots 'n' all. I took them off and stood them by the door. The jacket was easy, he'd managed one sleeve in the bar, trying to disrobe for the fight he was about to pass-out on. I tugged and he turned over.

Hanging it on the back of a chair, I turned towards him again. Only then did I see he was watching. His eyes sparkled from the booze, but there was no expression on his face whatsoever. I caught his gaze and wondered if he was sleeping with his eyes open. Slowly, he started to smile.

Thinking someone had entered the suite behind me, I looked over my shoulder. It seemed he was actually smiling at me.

With a cheeky look on his face, he quietly asked, ‘Are my jeans next?’ I couldn’t help but grin as he continued with, ‘Hey, I like that better, you smiling ... I don't like it when ya look all serious ... It usually means trouble ...’

I laughed as I sat in the chair I'd just hung his jacket over and looked back at him.

‘How ya feeling ...?’ I asked, ‘... Better ...?’ the questions, my feeble attempt at lightening the moment.

He sat upright on the side of the bed but still looked a little green. I asked if they had any coffee in the place. I was told the way to the kitchenette and soon returned with the biggest mug full I could find, black, plus three sugars. He grinned, boyishly, as I handed it to him, and then motioned for me to sit next to him, which I did.

By what I'd learnt, they seemed a good bunch, but Max had a few problems he couldn't get passed. I hoped I could’ve been a little more help by giving him someone to talk to. In there, somewhere, was a really great guy with a mad sense of humour, and a devilish way with him. On the occasions I’d caught him in thoughtful mode he was a different person entirely, clever, quick, imaginative, a useful member of the team even. But, on his flip side, you could end up courting the Devil himself, as I found that night.

I watched him as he sipped the hot, black liquid. Slowly, it put a little colour back in his face. I wanted to hug and reassure him. He looked like a little lost boy. I wondered how much he missed his Mum. I think they’d only been home twice in nearly a year, so it could have been months since they were last with their families. I wondered if that had something to do with why he was so tied up on the inside. If the pain was that obvious to me, then the others must have seen it too.

When he'd finished his coffee, the mug being played with in his musician’s hands, he turned to face me.

Looking at me, with those pretty eyes, he said, ‘I'm sorry I've been such a shithead ... I don't know why I fuck-up the way I do ... Can ya forgive me? ... Please ...’

I told him I could tell him a few things about myself that I wasn’t too proud of. It seemed to lessen the chill in the air.

‘You,’ he chuckled, ‘I can't imagine you being like that ... You’re like all business ...’

At that, I really did laugh, and so did he at my reaction.

‘I think you probably wouldn't say that if you really knew me,’ I smiled back at him.

‘So ... How does someone get to really know ya?’ he asked, grinning, his eyes holding a crystal glaze.

‘Well ... They have to like me first,’ I chuckled.

Higher Challenges

I remember that as if it all happened just yesterday. There isn’t a day go by that I’m not reminded of the events from the past. As I always say, if you can dream it, you can be it, and that’s exactly how Max lived his life. But, that madness was ages ago now. We've been and seen some amazing sights since we got our shit together.

Max going wild in London wasn’t the first time and, I dare say, it probably won’t be the last. Must admit, we’ve shared some sad and mad moments, him and me. Like our first time in the sack. That happened in Los Angeles and, wow, what a bloody nightmare fiasco that was. Anna-Lee again. As will become apparent, everything changed between Max and me too, but I’ll explain that as I go.

About six months after my charming evening with Max, I ditched working in London to start my own design company from home. Managing to get all the best gear via Craig Taylor, who’d come up trumps with heaps of equipment, I must have saved thousands. After a helping hand like that, I gave him exclusive mates-rates, for which he was most thankful.

I'd, also, just had the digiphone installed. That was an amazing piece of kit. It ran via my computer, straight down the broadband line and into cyberspace. I could voice dial individual numbers and voice type as well as voice fax. I could also use it for conference calls. I loved it. I'd never have to rest the phone against my shoulder, when scrabbling for pen and paper, ever again.

One of the first calls that came through was Craig, funnily enough. It was about 3:20 a.m. when I jumped awake to the loud burst of some obnoxious rock track. I shouted answer and it picked up on voice-only, the camera only responding if the lights were on. He was in Los Angeles with the guys. Anna-Lee, the narcotics infused girlfriend, was there, Max had rung her to come and join him.

There was trouble before she even landed. Stevie had heard she was flying down and wouldn't stay in the same hotel as that fuckin rancid piece a snatch, his words not mine, and had then insisted that Craig move him somewhere else. Dan, the drummer, had blown a fuse because there was no way he was going to be left there with them two fuckin like the world might end. Jake, their guitarist, on the other hand, didn't care. Whatever! He was getting it on R & R style in a local strip club, The Booty Box. He was The Happy Hippy.

Craig said he was on his way to their hotel when all hell had let loose. Max and Anna-Lee had been out and got pissed-up, big time. They’d returned to the hotel, gone to the bar, and started drinking again. It had been alright up until she banged on about the next leg of the tour, and how she'd planned all her hotels along the route.

Well, Max had obviously thought that a bad idea and had gone mental. He was hoping she'd go back to Canada so he could carry on the next leg of the tour alone, he’d then meet her back in Alberta when the tour was over. This was not what she'd wanted. She'd wanted to follow him, but he hadn’t wanted her to, and that’s when it had all kicked-off.

Craig explained what happened next wasn't very clear but, from what the Barman said, Max had screamed at her, ‘Jesus ... Fuck you, bitch ... I can't stand this ... Ya always have to get in my damn face ... What the fuck's wrong with ya? Can't ya fuckin let me be alone? ... Will I have to take ya with me for a shit next ...?’

Her drink had gone over him, the table had gone across the bar, and the brown stuff had hit the proverbial fan. It seems Anna-Lee had stormed from the hotel, got in a Taxi and left for the airport.

Max had then punched a couple of the saloon windows through, before kicking a door to death and then, raging in anger, slammed back to his suite, shouting and swearing about Anna-Lee. The airport had been checked and she'd already caught a flight back home.

Max was, by then, sat in his suite not answering the door to anyone. Stevie had then suggested phoning me to see if I had any ideas or could help in any way. He’d also commented that Max and I had stuck up an odd love/hate relationship back in London.

Craig had dealt with the hotel costs, but that wasn’t the problem, it was dealing with Max he couldn’t handle. Stupidly, I told him I’d fly out on the next plane and try to get to speak to him, if that was of any use.

Nearly a day and four stomachs later, I landed in a very humid L.A. Craig had been waiting about three hours for me in the lounge of the Airport. No one had told Max I was on my way and Craig mentioned that he still wasn't talking to anyone. They had the Manager try the Master Key but he'd propped a chair or something against the door. They knew he was still alive, they could hear coughing and the occasional item being thrown across the room against a wall. He was still drinking too.

The others, well, they were doing the booked Radio Show appearance saying Max had another engagement that couldn't be avoided. Nicely put boys.

I put my ear to his door and listened as Craig stood behind me. I called Max's name and said it was me. A whole load of stuff bounced against the other side of it along with loud comments such as, ‘FUCKIN WOMEN’, mumble, mumble, and, ‘I DON’T GIVE A FUCK’, mumble, mumble.

I looked at Craig and raised my eyebrows. ‘... Come on ... I have an idea ...’

I walked back to the Reception and asked the guy at the desk if he had a ladder at hand. He looked a little concerned as he showed us out to the backyard where it was stored beside an old garage. I looked back at Max’s floor and thought it would just reach his window. Time for Action Tee.

With Craig in tow, we picked it up and walked to the rear of the hotel. We attracted the attention of a small group of onlookers at a bus stop as we put the ladder up against the building. I hadn’t travelled all that bloody way only to be hollered at through a sodding door, I knew that much.

Telling Craig to take the slack, I turned to start my climb.

He grabbed my wrist, in fear of what I was about to do, and said in horror, ‘You're not going up there? ... Not for him? ... Are you crazy?’

His eyes moved from me to the window above as he spoke, he seemed amazed that I even cared.

But, as I pointed out. ‘... Something has to be done, Craigy baby, and who else gives a shit? I can’t see anyone else here giving a shit, can you?’

My foot rested on the second rung hoping for an answer, or some other crazy person stepping in on my behalf. I waited, neither appeared.

‘... No! ... I thought not ...’

Starting my climb, Craig and the onlookers watched as the ladder bounced and I gripped with all my feeble girly strength. At the top, I could see straight into Max's room. He was face down on the huge bed and looked like shit. I remember shaking my head at the state of the place. It showed all the usual signs of being hit by a Max size cyclone.

I knocked on the window with one hand, as the other shielded the sun’s reflection from my eyes. At first, he ignored the sound it made. So then I knocked harder and louder. This made him want to know where the irritating noise was coming from.

To this I laughed, ‘Oi, you, over here, ya dumbass ... If ya don't open this God damn window, NOW, I'm gonna break it with my sodding shoe and stab you to death with the God damn shards ...’

I pulled a cheesy grin as I finished my sentence.

At this, he raised his head, and from below a curtain of messy curls came his unforgettable goateed smile. He’d recognised that voice and those insults. They were coming from the only person, he’d suddenly decided, he could deal with at that moment. He also, in that instant, realised I was up a bloody ladder. Bouncing over he pressed his lips to the glass in a grotesque kiss. He must have seen I wasn’t impressed as he moved to the catch and slid the window open.

I looked at his face. I knew there was trouble in there, again. His eyes were rimmed red with anger and emotion. I asked him to lift me in, which he did, with no effort at all.

Now, there certainly is something really nice about being in the arms of a flirty man, especially when you haven't been laid in quite a while. The feelings I felt weren't meant to be that strong, he was six years younger than me. I could have stayed there all day, so, as he dropped me slowly, I made sure I slid down all the right parts of his body, quietly purring to myself.

Looking at me in an odd way, he stepped back as I shouted down to Craig that I was okay. The ladder was then removed and Craig went back to Reception.

We sat on the end of the bed as he explained everything Craig had told me on the way there. He was so angry. I turned to him and told him he mustn’t let her get to him. In my own way I did care what happened. We had become quite close after the hotel encounter, as I’ve said, and I’d caught reflections of me in him on more than one occasion. There was one particular spread of common ground we found we shared. It was the way the loss of our Fathers had affected our lives. For some reason, that had created a bond that neither of us understood. Just then, something in me changed.

‘Why do you even bother with her? ... You could have anyone, Max, look at you, you’re young, gorgeous, and disgustingly loaded ... And you know what she's like, better than anyone ... She does it just to see how far she can push you ... It’s all a bloody game to her, I thought you knew that? Tell her you’re done ... Get out, Max, while you still can ... Tell her you found someone else ... Tell her it’s me, if it helps ...’

I just babbled it out at him, not really thinking about the words I was using.

Silently I sat, waiting for some sort of reaction. I went to get up, feeling I’d overstepped the mark in some way, but he grabbed my arm and stared at me with a look of astonishment on his face. I wanted to take