Fantastic Images

By S.A. Youngman

“Every band has its problems.”

But not quite like Fantage as their star begins its unparalleled ascent in the mid-80s music scene. While the band members become the latest pop rock pinups to grace the tabloids, they are faced with the challenges of their sudden notoriety. The trappings of fame soon start to outweigh the perks, especially for Nigel and Shelly Thompson whose marriage is put to the test by more than overzealous fans. With a megahit record and an international tour with a punk rock icon, Fantage is on the verge of exploding…if they don’t implode first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682224830

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rolling Stone Magazine, March 1986, Random Notes

Magpie Music recently signed pop/rock group Fantage, the quintet of suave New Yorkers that can’t seem to stay out of trouble. Back in November, they nearly caused a riot outside a St. Louis nightclub after being forced to postpone their show. In December, former drummer and psychiatric patient Lenny Sullivan was killed in a Los Angeles hotel room in a failed attempt to murder his ex-girlfriend Shelly Bates, the band’s hairdresser (and new wife of bassist Nigel Thompson). Then in February, the band nearly blew themselves up on the Mississippi River near New Orleans shooting the music video that would accompany the release of their first single, ‘Fantastic Images’ (due in stores March 26th). According to local authorities, the engine of the rented ferryboat on which they were filming caught fire and everyone had to be evacuated by the Coast Guard. No one was hurt, but lead singer Leigh Stevens was overheard saying, ‘I know we’re hot, but this is ridiculous.’

It was blue. They were all blue, which very nearly made Shelly turn blue herself. It was a slightly more pleasant shade than the one she had been wearing since they arrived in New Orleans. At first she blamed it on the succulently spicy food they indulged in the moment they stepped foot in the balmy city. Then she blamed it on nerves after being coerced into playing an extra in the music video, a role that involved cavorting around in precariously high-heeled red vinyl boots and a matching mini-dress. When she literally lost her lunch over the side of the ferry the day before, she blamed it on the tumult surrounding the fire that had not been as much a threat to their lives as the morning papers depicted.

When the nausea returned for the third day in a row, Shelly started to reassess the situation, particularly when she remembered the previous times she found herself holed up in strange bathrooms. Her period had been erratic since her miscarriage and even though she had assured Nigel on their wedding night that she was on the pill she realized later that she had left the pale green plastic case in her other make-up pouch in their other hotel room. Between the miscarriage and the trauma, she truly did not see how she could be fertile so soon anyway. But as her hand rubbed across her belly her mind flipped through the numerous times she and Nigel had made love since then, pausing on the handful of illicit couplings that could have been responsible, if God had such a sense of humor. There was the one time they locked themselves in the dressing room after their gig in Memphis and the two times they had managed to make love quietly in the tiny bunk in the back of the bus. There was also the nightclub in Dallas where they discovered a dimly lit room filled with pillows, writhing bodies and the noxious odor of patchouli and perspiration. They only had sex with each other against a wall, while completely sober and predominantly clothed, but it was the closest thing to an orgy that either of them ever wanted to experience.

Naturally, she would rather believe it happened at a much more romantic moment, like their wedding night, or even the Winnebago the afternoon after her blowout with Zach outside the diner in the Arizona desert. Her heart had nearly split in two, taking her three-day-old marriage with it, and they had spent most of those hours of solitude making peace with the fact that their union would not refute everything that led up to it and would always be tinged with the essence of doubt. When they did make love, it was more an act of absolution than a sexual release and that day was never discussed again, by any of them.

The sound of the door opening in the outer room snapped Shelly out of her reverie. She stiffened, but then realized it was too late to cover up her impromptu lab experiment so she just sat there on the bathroom floor and waited for Nigel to find her. When he appeared in the doorway, there was an immediate look of concern on his face.

Are you okay? he said.

I think so, she said.

Her heart was pounding madly in her chest as she watched him take in the array of indicators on the sink. He stepped further into the room to scan them more closely and then looked at her, his dark eyes wide and glistening in the vanity lights.

Please tell me blue means what I think it does, he said. When she nodded, he swallowed hard, making the gold charm quiver at his throat. You’re pregnant.

Looks that way. Are you mad?

Honey, mad is the last thing I’m feeling right now.

Really?

Am I the father?

Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you are.

Then why would I be mad?

Abruptly, she burst into tears. But it’s too soon. We’ve been married less than two months. I’m not ready to be a mother. I don’t know how. What if I’m no good at it?

Nigel plucked a tissue from the box on the sink and knelt down to gently dab at her face. We’ll learn together. That’s what all parents do.

It’s going to change our lives.

I know, and I can’t wait.

Really?

Yes, really. Didn’t I say I wanted to give you a family?

I think you also mentioned the moon and stars.

Those may take a little more time, he said, smiling. But I’m working on it.

She leaned forward and kissed him because she knew if it were at all possible, he would be working on it. You’re not going to still make me wear that awful outfit in the video, are you? I don’t want it to come back to haunt my children.

His laugh—something she had not heard much prior to their spontaneous nuptials—was both hearty and genuine and instantly allayed her fears. He scooped her off the floor and into to the bed where he made love to her, pausing to press his ear to her belly for any sounds emanating from their newly discovered offspring. As she combed his dark mane of hair with her fingers, she smiled contentedly even though the peanut-sized human inside her would likely usurp his love the minute he or she arrived. Under these circumstances, she was okay with that.

That night they agreed to wait until returning to New York to tell everyone else the news. Their reasons were twofold; first, they wanted to confirm a due date with her gynecologist, and secondly, they wanted to make sure she surpassed the unfortunate benchmark set by her last pregnancy. Therefore, for the remainder of the tour, Shelly watched what she ate, cut back on her smoking to one or two a day and nursed her drinks whenever she felt obligated to have one in a social setting. No one seemed the wiser of it and when the buses finally pulled back into Manhattan everyone’s minds were focused on one thing; going home.

Only Shelly had been confused as to which way to go. Home to her was still her former two-room studio in the Village, the one that she had signed over to Bonnie. Home to her husband was in a brownstone on Seventy-Third Street, a building she had never seen let alone step foot in. Home to some of her belongings was across town in the loft owned by her former lover, the man with whom she had boarded that very same bus with misguided aspirations only to have them stripped away by the delusions of a madman.

Of course, she hopped into a cab with Nigel and allowed him to carry her across the threshold of his apartment, as he had promised, directly to the master bedroom. Without alarm clocks or slamming doors or unaccompanied minors running back and forth in the hallway, they slept undisturbed for nine hours and woke late the next afternoon. After feasting on a smorgasbord of Chinese takeout, they called their respective families to say they were home and then Nigel proceeded to reassign drawer and closet space to accommodate Shelly’s clothes.

Prior to rejoining the band in the studio, he introduced her to Mort, the building super, and gave her a set of keys to the building, the apartment and the laundry room in the basement. He also encouraged her to explore the neighborhood and make herself comfortable in her new home, but she had other things to do first, not the least of which was pay a visit to her doctor downtown. There she received a clean bill of health, a prescription for prenatal vitamins and a due date of October 5, which placed conception in the very early days of their marriage.

Nevertheless, Shelly knew she would need to find some diversion to avoid sitting home alone watching her belly grow while Nigel was in the studio or off doing publicity somewhere in the five boroughs. Since she was already there, she crossed Sixth Avenue and followed her usual route to Dario’s in SoHo where her former colleagues greeted her with giddy excitement and bombarded her with questions about the tour, the band and her new yummy hubby. The tittering drew Claude from his office and it was while he hugged her that she asked him if she could come back to work three days a week through the summer. Thankfully, he was more than happy to oblige her.

On their fourth morning back, a small van appeared at the curb in front of the brownstone. Two college-aged messengers carted four boxes containing her summer clothes and other assorted belongings into the apartment, an arrangement made between Nigel and Zach when she had adamantly refused to step foot in the loft again. Her things seemed like senseless clutter next to Nigel’s though, and she was too embarrassed to put out any of her mementos aside from some family photos. Even those she limited to a few since that was all he had on display—one being a large, stately portrait of his parents, taken at Maurice’s retirement dinner, and another of his sister’s family taken on a cruise ship. Moreover, she did not want to disrupt the aesthetic balance that he had achieved in the apartment because everything looked perfect the way it was. His furnishings were old but in good condition, his color schemes dark and masculine except for his kitchen, which held every modern utensil and appliance she could possibly want, and some she had a hard time identifying.

Many of her idle moments during those first weeks were spent acclimating to her new surroundings, inspecting everything he owned and putting her fingerprints on his furniture, books, dishes and clothes hanging in perfect order in his closet. Occasionally, she would bury her face in amongst his shirts, just to have his smell in her nostrils. It was at one such time that the phone rang and startled her so that she toppled into the closet, pulling a handful of his shirts down with her. She scrambled to her feet and dove across the bed to answer the phone on its sixth ring.

Hey, kiddo, Bonnie said, her voice distorted by a bad connection.

Bonnie, hey, Shelly said. Are you home?

Not quite. My flight was delayed and I’m still at LaGuardia waiting for my frigging limo. You’re going to the party, right?

Yeah. Cassie and I are heading over together. The guys are in the studio so I have no idea what time they’ll get there.

At this rate, neither do I.

How did the shoot go?

Like always. At least I got a pretty good tan this time.

Lucky you, Shelly said. They’re predicting snow tonight, just to welcome you back to the real world.

Bonnie laughed. You’ve been traveling too much when you think of New York as the real world. Shit! Limo’s here.

The phone went dead before Shelly could respond. She replaced the receiver in its cradle and then rolled onto her side, curling herself into a fetal position. Like my baby, she mused with a smile. The afternoon sun blazed through the open blinds on the bedroom window and she closed her eyes beneath its warmth while her mind dreamily drifted towards thoughts she could not elude anymore. Baby booties and bottles, cribs and strollers, a white wicker rocking chair like the one in her bedroom at Grammy’s house. It was the same one Shelly’s mother sat in to nurse her and it had stayed when the nursery became her own bedroom and a shrine to teen idols that were now pushing forty.

Honey? Nigel said quietly.

When Shelly opened her eyes, she thought he was blocking the sunlight with his body when in actuality it was dark outside. Hey. I must’ve dozed off. What time is it?

Five-thirty, he said, sitting down on the bed beside her. Are you feeling okay?

Just a little tired. What are you doing home?

I needed to get some sheet music. And a kiss. As he bent over to kiss her, his fingers unbuttoned her cardigan and, once it lay open, he pressed his lips gently against her stomach. Hi, baby. I wish I didn’t have to wait so long to meet you.

That makes two of us. The receptionist at the doctor’s office warned me it’s going to suck being pregnant all summer because it’s impossible to stay cool. Her electric bill doubled with the air conditioners running twenty-four hours a day.

Nigel suddenly lifted his head. Let’s tell everyone tonight.

But what if—

No what if’s. This baby will be born and it will be healthy and beautiful and smart, like you.

There’s no rush, though. I’m barely showing.

But I’m about to explode. I need to share it with my family and whoever else that will listen. I also want to start turning the spare bedroom into a nursery this weekend.

That’s nice, but I haven’t finished unpacking yet.

What are you waiting for?

The bubble to burst.

You, my love, have to stop thinking so negatively. He crawled up to kiss her before pushing himself off the bed. I’ve got to get back to the studio if we’re going to make it to Frank’s at a reasonable hour. You’re still going with Cassie.

Yes. It’s just going to be the band there tonight, right?

I’m not sure what Frank has planned, aside from handing out the single. It won’t be anything fancy though, since we’ll be going straight there from the studio.

Zach will be there, then.

Yes, with his new girlfriend.

Girlfriend? she said, or at least tried to before her throat constricted on her. I didn’t know he met someone. Who is she?

A singer we met at the studio a couple weeks ago. He talked her into doing some background vocals for us and they’ve been inseparable ever since so I doubt he’ll give us any grief.

But that’s his forte.

Only because you let it, he said, bending over to kiss her again. You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it.

I want to go. I’ll be fine once I make a cup of coffee.

Ah, yes. Your favorite elixir. Didn’t the book say you should limit your caffeine intake?

I don’t remember reading that. What page is it on?

Forty-seven, he said with a grin. Give or take.

She smiled and shoved him gently away. You know I’m going to look it up the minute you leave.

You do that. I’ll see you in a couple hours.

Despite Nigel’s assurances, Shelly doubted a few weeks without seeing each other had done much to bridge her rift with Zach. No one aside from the parties involved knew what had transpired in the desert, but from that point on the tone for the tour had been set on ‘tense’. The radio interview prior to the gig in Phoenix had been the last time Zach seemed remotely animated. Afterwards, he put up a shield between the three of them, only speaking out of absolute necessity, and virtually isolated himself on the bus. However, women were frequently spotted leaving his hotel rooms in the mornings and the ones Shelly had the dubious pleasure of seeing did not look especially happy.

It had been like that for nearly a month before she was finally alone with Zach in the dressing room prior to the show in Houston. When he tried to bolt, she grabbed him by the arm.

What are you doing? he said tersely.

We haven’t said two words to each other in weeks and I thought it’s time we did.

You thought wrong, he said as he removed her fingers from his arm. Look, I’m coping with this the only way I know how. If that’s making you and your husband uncomfortable, I’m sorry.

His name is Nigel, and he’s your friend.

"No, he was my friend. He may regain that title someday, but for now, he’s just your husband."

As he headed once again towards the door, she made one last attempt to salvage the confrontation before he clammed up on her again. Just tell me already, Zach.

He paused in the doorway and, with what appeared to be a concerted effort, turned to her again. Tell you what, Shelly?

What you wanted to tell me in Arizona.

No, he said. To you it’ll just be words. To me, it’s all I have left of you.

She had watched him vanish out the door, unwilling to presume what he had meant by that. Now, as her taxi pulled up in front of Frank’s building, she recalled the pained look in his eyes and hoped it wouldn’t reappear once he learned she was pregnant again, this time by the man he no longer considered his friend.

Welcome to the hen party, Stan said as he stood in the doorway of Frank’s penthouse indicating with a bob of his head the cluster of women in the sunken living room behind him. The butler’s off tonight, so let me take your coats.

As always, Bonnie was the center of attention, looking radiant after her shoot in Jamaica for a not well-known swimwear catalog. The cropped green sweater and skin-tight, acid-washed blue jeans she was wearing accentuated her remarkable figure and Shelly felt the stirrings of real envy in her gut, considering how her own body would plump up in the months to come. She chided herself for not wearing something more provocative than a long silk sweater and a tube skirt, but after the topic of conversation switched to Cassie’s ailing grandfather in Queens, Shelly noticed that Bonnie had taken to staring at her rather intently.

You look different, Bonnie said. Did you lighten your hair or something?

No, Shelly said as a flush heated her face. But I am letting it grow out a bit.

Maybe you just look tired. I imagine you guys are going at it like jack rabbits nowadays.

As well they should, Cassie said. They didn’t have a honeymoon like normal newlyweds.

Which is why we’re enjoying our solitude while we still have some, Shelly said, realizing a beat too late that she nearly slipped up. Fortunately, it went unnoticed.

We are too, Cassie said with grin. Only we’re catching up on sleep instead of sex so I’m a little jealous.

Me too, Bonnie said, swirling her ice cubes in her drink glass. I haven’t been properly fucked in a week.

Lisa giggled on the sofa and Shelly gave her a quizzical look. She had finally met Ted’s girlfriend when he brought her to the party at Cinderblocks to commemorate their triumphant return to New York. After witnessing his unabashed promiscuity on the tour, Shelly was a bit squeamish about seeing her. It didn’t help that Ted had never once shown her a picture or even described what she looked like; however, it should not have surprised her that Lisa—whose full name was a lilting Lisa Maria Garcia—would be a natural beauty in every sense of the word. Even now she wore no make-up on her tanned face and her tawny hair was pin straight and cut in a mid-length bob, but it was the ornate turquoise jewelry on her neck, wrists and fingers that made her look as if she had stepped off an Indian reservation. Willowy was the word that had come to Shelly’s mind at their first meeting, and with Ted’s meaty arm draped around her neck she had appeared downright crushable on the outside. Even so, the way Lisa’s hazel eyes stared attentively at whomever she spoke to implied that she was no pushover, and was quite possibly made of cast iron in the inside.

Don’t you mean two? Lisa said.

Two what? Bonnie said.

Weeks.

It was then Shelly caught Lisa’s train of thought. That’s right. You left a few days after we got back.

For a split second, Bonnie looked trapped, but then she downed the rest of her drink and rose to her feet. I gotta tinkle. Feel free to talk about me while I’m gone.

The rest of the women in the room watched her move swiftly around the sofa and down the hall until she was out of view.

That little slut, Cassie said quietly.

Don’t jump to conclusions, Cass, Shelly said.

You don’t have to jump for this one, Shell.

I’m sorry, Lisa said. I didn’t think—

Don’t fret about it, Cassie said. It’s not like Leigh’s up for sainthood himself.

Leigh’s not having an affair too, is he?

I highly doubt it, Shelly said so she could change the subject. When does your show open, Lisa?

In addition to reclaiming Ted’s heart, Lisa had managed to get a small yet reputable SoHo gallery to dedicate its space to her abstract paintings for a three-week run. That news led to the private speculation that it might have been the real driving force behind her saying goodbye to New Mexico.

Next month, Lisa said, munching on a celery stalk. Don’t worry. You all can come, even if you didn’t get invitations.

Aren’t you nervous? Cassie said. I’d be tied up in knots.

The curator is a good friend of mine and he has everything under control. My paintings arrived last week so I’m not worried.

But it’s a whole gallery with just your art hanging on the walls, Cassie said. It’s like dangling little naked pieces of yourself in those tiny spotlights. I’d be paranoid that people will run out into the street screaming with their hands over their eyes.

Ted told us that you already sold a couple paintings, Shelly said. At least you know you can sell one or two to make a living.

That’s true, but I’m not doing it for the money. I’m an artist.

Aren’t we all, Cassie said.

Lisa looked at her with unmasked curiosity. Don’t you consider yourself an artist?

No. I consider myself employed and well compensated for doing something I like doing. How many people can say that?

And mean it, Shelly said.

I can, Stan said, propping himself on the arm of the chair closest to the door. Especially since I started doing entertainment law full time, which is way more interesting than insurance, not to mention fruitful. It’s how I met Frank, actually.

Cassie snickered. You picked him up in a bar, Stan.

No, I did not, Stan said before smiling coyly. "Okay, I did, unintentionally. I had gone to the opera at Lincoln Center—La Traviata, I think—with my then beau and we decided to pop into the bar across the street for a cocktail afterwards. There was a party going on upstairs with a bunch of high-level entertainment gurus and Frank had come down to get away from all those ‘stuffed shirts’, as he described them. When he sat on the stool next me, my beau got up to use the lavatory and we started talking. He asked me what I did, I told him I was an insurance lawyer, and he told me he was having a dispute with a claimant who was trying to swindle his club out of a small fortune after slipping on the men’s room floor. I told him I would be happy to look at the case and he invited me here to go over the papers. He put on some Chopin, offered me some Pinot Grigio and penne pasta he had delivered from Little Italy, and I fell for him, right there and then."

That’s so sweet, Lisa said.

What happened with the case? Shelly said.

We settled out of court for the poor drunk’s medical expenses. Six hundred and fifty-seven dollars.

You’re a pro, Stan, Cassie said.

"I have my moments. Of course, now Frank has me pouring over the record contract for the umpteenth time looking for loopholes because Zach is paranoid they will fall into the ‘corporate rock’ trap. You know, when bands are pressured into selling their songs to pitch bathroom cleaner or something equally ridiculous to make a few extra bucks. He forgets that Frank is a corporation and he is quite meticulous about the contracts he signs so he would never let that happen. Then Leigh is all hyped up about licensing the logo he drew up for the album cover in case it ends up on concert tee shirts and bumper stickers somewhere down the road. At least it’s keeping me busy while Frank’s off playing Mr. Producer."

Yes, but is it art? Cassie said with a giggle.

Lisa gave her a perturbed look. Are you making fun of me?

Cassie pat Lisa on the knee. "No, dear. I’m making fun of me. I’m called a ‘makeup artist’ and yet what I do is far from it. Did you see An American Werewolf in London? Now that was art."

That was disgusting, Shelly said, wrinkling her nose.

I thought it was hysterical, Cassie said. The scene in the porno theater? I was rolling in the aisle!

Is that what you really want to do? Lisa said.

Before I got married I did, but it would’ve meant relocating to L.A. and Tim loves winter too much.

The room fell silent as everyone sipped at their respective beverages. Cassie had a beer, Lisa and Stan a glass of wine and Shelly a club soda with lime. Bonnie had yet to return from the bathroom, and Shelly curiously glanced down the hall.

So, Shell, Cassie said, a taunting smile parting her glossy pink lips. Do you consider yourself an artist?

Me? No, Shelly said. I did a bridal party once that I was pretty proud of—they all wanted French braids laced with baby’s breath and it looked really stunning. Other than that, I figure I just provide a service.

These days some hairstyles look like sculptures, Stan said. Like Patti LaBelle and that guy from Flock of Seagulls.

I think most of hers are wigs, she said, spreading brie onto a cracker. His is just plain ridiculous. Don’t get me wrong; I do admire anyone who can sacrifice everything for their art.

But it is so passé, Cassie said, firmly setting her bottle on the coffee table as if to emphasize her point. There’s no nobility in starving yourself in the name of art anymore. Even if you get your ‘fifteen minutes of fame’, your work will be worth a fraction of what it will go for after you’re pushing up daisies. It’s not fair.

No, it’s not, but do I look like I’m starving myself?

Now that she mentioned it, Lisa could use a few pounds on her thin frame, Shelly thought as she shoved the creamy, calorie-laden cheese into her mouth. Cassie was starting to lose some of the weight she had gained during the tour in an aerobics class, but Lisa still looked anorexic sitting beside her.

"Au contraire, Cassie said. I bet you’ve never met a crudités you didn’t like."

Lisa defiantly pinched a carrot between her fingers and bit it in half. Obviously, you’ve never been touched by the muse.

The Muse? Cassie said. Is he anything like The Boss?

Lisa was clearly at a loss for a rebuke, but she was spared by the boisterous arrival of Frank and the band. The conversation was quickly forgotten when Shelly’s eyes riveted onto Nigel as he handed his coat to Stan. Their personal radar kicked in and he was at her side within a few of his long strides, but before he could enfold her in his arms, he flinched and looked over his shoulder.

Who just goosed me?

Bonnie came up beside them with a fresh drink in her hand and a leering smile on her face. Has anyone told you that you have a superior ass, Nigel?

My wife might’ve mentioned it, he said. He was clearly not as put-off as Shelly was until he tried to give Bonnie a friendly kiss on the cheek and she turned her head to catch it on her mouth. How are you, Bonnie?

Fabulous, Bonnie said. Having the time of my life.

I take it your shoot went well.

You tell me. Bonnie boldly hiked up the loose hem of her sweater to flaunt her flat and tanned mid-section, but from Shelly’s slightly lower vantage point, she caught a glimpse of much more. Bonnie was braless and, from what Shelly could see, she had no tan lines. There’s nothing like island sun.

"Was it Playboy or a swimwear catalog you were shooting?" Shelly said, a feigned smile stretching across her lips.

"Playboy hasn’t offered me enough yet, Bonnie said as she dropped her sweater. Actually, a couple of us hung out at the nude beach on our days off. I’d never been to one before and, let me tell you, it’s a liberating experience."

As Nigel’s face finally registered distrust in Bonnie’s shameless flirtation, Leigh lunged at her from behind, nearly showering him with her drink. Instead, she handed it to Nigel as if he were her cabana boy and turned into Leigh’s arms.

There’s my sexy mama, Leigh said, growling like a caged beast as his mouth clamped down on her neck.

Nigel set Bonnie’s drink down on an end table and took Shelly by the hand to steer them further into the room. Am I missing something or was she coming on to me?

I’m sure no one missed it. Something’s up with her.

For one thing, she’s stoned.

How can you tell?

Having been the sober one at too many parties to mention, it’s pretty easy to spot.

Frank appeared at their side and kissed Shelly on the cheek. Hi, sweetie. Marriage must agree with you. You look splendid!

Thanks, Frank, Shelly said, smiling at him affectionately. How have you been? I’ve missed you.

I’m a bit frazzled, but happy. Very, very happy. He looked to Nigel. I don’t want to intrude, but Hank asked if he could stop by on his way to the airport. He’s the new AOR rep so I’d like to introduce you to him real quick.

When Nigel looked to Shelly, she shrugged indifferently. Go ahead. I need another soda, anyway.

Frank led him over to the foyer where a tall, athletic-looking black man stood rather impatiently glancing at his watch. He perked up when Frank approached with Nigel and they shook hands. As Shelly’s eyes wandered down Nigel’s long, statuesque frame, she admired how his cotton sweater draped over his broad, rounded shoulders and puffed out above his squared hips, housed in his perfectly fitting black jeans, and she determined that Nigel’s posterior was definitely one of his best attributes. Thinking of the others reinstated her blush and she headed to the kitchen.

Before she reached her destination, she caught sight of Zach’s fiery head of hair as he conversed with the voluptuous woman sitting beside him at the bar in corner of the dining room. She was not unlike those she had seen him with on the tour, except this one seemed a bit rougher around the edges with raven black hair and far too much make-up. Their intimacy was undeterred by Shelly’s scrutiny from across the room and, like a rush hour rubbernecker, she stood there transfixed until he leaned over and kissed the woman fully on the mouth. Immediately, her innards clenched and spurred her into the kitchen where she aimed straight for the refrigerator and opened the freezer door to let the cool air rush over her, hoping it would shock her body back to normalcy. Witnessing a simple kiss should not have unnerved her so much, especially since it was by no means the first time she had seen one happen. She chalked it up to fluctuating hormones and shut the freezer before opening the refrigerator for a can of Diet Coke.

The comedy of errors that ensued began when she popped open the soda and attempted to pour it into a glass only to have it fill with foam and overflow onto the counter. In her haste to grab the paper towels, she yanked the roll completely off its holder and sent it bouncing across the floor, leaving a white trail of towels in its wake. She scrambled around the table and, once she stopped the roll from further unraveling, she stood upright so fast that the room began to spin and her legs to buckle. Her hands reached for the table behind her, but they met with air so she teetered backwards and would have hit the floor hard if someone had not halted her descent mere inches above the cold tiles.

Hey, are you okay?

The voice was too familiar and too close to her ear. She even recognized his cologne and yet it took several more seconds for her to emerge from her swoon to identify the man who had caught her. When her eyes flew open, they met Zach’s above her.

Yes, I’m fine, she said. Thanks for catching me.

You’re lucky I needed a beer. Did you faint?

No, I lost my balance. Just help me up. He did, but made no move to release her, most likely because he was as uncertain as she was that she would remain upright. Just in case, she braced a hand on the table and conjured some semblance of a smile. I don’t know when I turned into such a klutz.

Are you sure you’re okay? You’re trembling.

I’m pregnant. Her unembellished admission deflected their oddly tender moment and sent it in the opposite direction. When his hands fell away, she spooled the paper towels back on the roll to avoid making eye contact. I didn’t want to tell anyone until I was far enough along, for obvious reasons, but Nigel was going to announce it tonight so now you’re the first to know.

Zach made a noise like a grunt and scuffed past her to the window next to the pantry, keeping his back to her. It was dark outside so that his face was mirrored in the glass, giving it a haunted look that Shelly found somewhat disturbing. She returned the paper towels to the holder before staring at her glass of soda sitting half-empty in its brown puddle on the counter.

How far along are you? he said quietly.

Eleven weeks, she said. Zach, I’m sorry.

No, you’re not. You can spare me the sympathy.

We weren’t trying to get pregnant. We barely talked about having kids, and I wasn’t even sure I could after…everything.

You must be so relieved.

No, I’m scared, she said, not liking the bitter tone that was seeping back into his voice. But at least I know about it this time so hopefully it’ll turn out differently.

Hopefully.

I’m not living my life just to spite you, you know.

Meaning what?

Meaning I will be happy.

Finally, he turned around and fastened his brilliant blue eyes on hers. Who are you trying to convince, Shelly?

No one.

Bullshit.

For someone who at one time professed to ‘not play games,’ Zach was the master of ceremonies for this particular sporting event. He had the art of discreet torture down perfectly and ninety percent of it was his eyes alone. The other ten was the words he didn’t say.

Please, don’t do this, she said. We can’t fight every time we see each other. It’s pointless.

You’re right, he said. So let’s not see each other anymore.

And just how will we manage that? Nigel never wants to leave my side as it is.

He’s going to have to learn how to because the band is far more important right now.

He might disagree. So would you, if you were in his shoes.

At once, the angry furrow in his brow deepened. Why would you say that to me?

Why say anything to you? It’s obvious you despise me now, but why do you bother wasting any of your emotions on me when there are plenty of women far more deserving of them, like your new girlfriend?

She’s not my girlfriend. I’m just screwing her.

How romantic.

She’s not complaining.

As if on cue, the woman in question stumbled into the room in her stiletto-heeled boots. She was prettier up close in a campy sort of way, with her hair short in the back and full on the top, as was the current fashion. Zach smiled at her as if they had been discussing the weather and slipped his arm around her waist, clamping his hand on her satin-covered buttocks for effect.

Hey babe, she said. What’s taking so long?

Did you miss me? he said.

You bet, she said, nipping him on the nose before affixing Shelly with her brown, mascara-caked eyes. Who’s the blonde?

Shelly Thompson, Zach said. Nigel’s pregnant wife.

Oh, yeah? He’s a hottie. Congrats.

Thank you, Shelly said with mild disdain. The loose neck of the woman’s sweater fell off a shoulder, drawing her eyes to the long, graceful curve of her neck. I’ll tell him you said so.

You two haven’t met, Zach said. This is Jessica Harper.

Like the actress, she said, laughing through her nose.

Jessica helped us out on some background vocals the other night, Zach said. She’s a gospel singer.

Shelly did nothing to mask her surprise, although a bubble of laughter was building in her throat and she had to look away before it burst in the woman’s face. She returned her attention to the spilt soda on the counter and tore off several sheets of paper towels with more care to begin mopping it up.

Can we get out of here? Jessica said. This party kind of sucks and I told Annette we’d stop by later.

We will, but not until Frank hands out the singles. I’ll grab us a couple beers and meet you back at the bar.

Jessica made a sound to indicate her annoyance. Okay. I’ll go powder my nose. Nice meeting you, Shelly.

Likewise, Shelly said. She waited until she could no longer hear the sound of Jessica’s heels scrape across the tile floor before turning back to Zach. She’s charming.

I’m such an asshole, he said.

No, you’re not. But I think you can do better than her.

I don’t want to do better than her.

Why not?

I don’t have to answer that, do I? Their eyes held for several seconds until he grabbed two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and offered her a humorless smile. See you in the lion’s den.

Before Shelly could ask him what he meant, he strolled past her out of the kitchen. She was probably better off not knowing anyway.

Chapter 2

The Village Voice, March 25, 1986, New Releases

"‘Fantastic Images’ (Fantage): The debut single by the pop rock quintet on the new Magpie Music label is the most talked about record release in New York. After hiding in plain sight for years (mostly at uptown hotspot Cinderblocks), Fantage has finally found their spotlight. Their first media blitz will include an in-person record signing at Tower Records downtown on Thursday and an appearance at MTV Studios on Saturday to introduce their first music video."

Before I hand out the records, I want to say a few words, Frank said, addressing the rapt assemblage in his living room. First, I want to thank you all for being here. It was a long day, but at least you’ll have the weekend to yourselves before the chaos resumes.

Jerry seemed happier with what he heard today, Zach said What about the new AOR guy, what’s his name?

Hank, Nigel said. I just spoke to him. He says he has another producer he wants to bring in to fine tune a couple tracks.

Really. Did he say who?

Someone he worked with at his former label who knows his way around a ballad. Orlando somebody.

Tony Orlando? Tim said, grinning at Ted.

If by ballad he means ‘Without a Trace’ I better be part of the conversation, Zach said tersely.

Why wouldn’t you be? Nigel said.

Maybe it’s ‘Desert Moon’, Leigh said. I don’t know about you guys, but I haven’t liked any of the takes we’ve done so far. It’s definitely missing something in the studio.

Yeah, the girls fainting at your feet, Ted said.

Okay, guys, Frank said loudly. We’re veering off track here. Rest assured, Dom himself told me yesterday on the phone that he’s excited about how things are going with the record. I’m sorry you all didn’t get a chance to talk to Hank yet—he got called back to L.A. unexpectedly so he just dropped off your schedule for the week on his way to the airport.

When is he coming back? Zach said.

Later in the week, Nigel said.

While Frank slipped on his wire-rimmed glasses to refer to the notepad in his hand, Shelly sank back in the sofa cushion between Nigel and Bonnie and wondered if either of them had noticed how tense she had been during that whole exchange. It had been a long time since she had heard Zach and Nigel say more than pleasantries to one another so she had been bracing herself for an escalation of rancor and was thankful it did not happen.

As you know, Frank said. The promo copies of the single should arrive at the radio stations nationwide on Monday and the record stores on Wednesday. I’ve got you slotted for an on-air interview at PLJ at five o’clock so the limo will pick you up at the studio at four-fifteen.

What should we wear? Leigh said.

Whatever you like. It’s radio. On Thursday, however, you’ll be marking the official release with an in-store record signing at Tower Records downtown so that’s when you should spiff yourselves up a bit.

What time is that? Ted said.

Noon. It may be better if everyone meets here again to get dressed and we can have Shelly and Cassie on hand to make sure you look your best. Then we can head down in one limo. Frank paused to look at the women. Although I’d strongly advise you both not to go to the signing. It might get kind of crazy.

No problem, Shelly said. Large crowds still intimidated her, particularly when she didn’t have Nigel to cling onto, so she was more than a little relieved to have permission to sit this one out. We’ll wait here until you get back.

We can make popcorn and watch a movie until our brave men return from the front, Stan said with an emphatic wink.

Now that the ladies’ afternoon is planned, Zach said with a smirk. What if we played one of the clubs downtown that night? Like the Limelight or the Palladium. What else is down there?

Peppermint Lounge. Bonnie had been staring catatonically at her empty drink glass on the coffee table but abruptly snapped out of it. No wait, they closed last year. There’s Tunnel, Berlin, Danceteria, and in midtown you’ve got Xenon and Studio 54. To name a few.

Everyone stared at Bonnie in disbelief until Frank cleared his throat. Well, I think that about covers all of my lower Manhattan competitors. Thank you, Bonnie.

Don’t mention it, she said as Leigh scowled at her. Sorry I’m not a hermit.

Apparently not, Leigh said.

In any case, we’ll be having your record release party at Cinderblocks, appropriately enough, only this time it’ll be hosted by Magpie. It’ll be invitation only so let me know how many you’ll need by Wednesday. Last, but not least, on Saturday night you’ll be at MTV’s studios to introduce the world premiere of the video, which I believe is set for nine-thirty.

Should we ‘spiff’ ourselves up for that, too? Tim said.

If you want to make a good first impression. Frank set his pad on the coffee table. "Listen guys, I don’t have to tell you that the buzz is already out there and we haven’t advertised any of these events yet. Once your music and your faces are out there chances are you will start being recognized on the street. Particularly these streets. You boys are the local celebrities du-jour and you need to prepare yourselves for whatever comes next."

Um, wouldn’t that be fame and fortune? Ted said.

It is in the realm of possibilities, Ted. Things are going so well with the album that I’m fairly confident we’ll meet our July release date. But that also means we’ll have to start considering how we’re going to promote it.

Wait, Tim said. You’re not thinking another tour already.

There were grumbles of objections, but Frank held up his hands to silence them. I know you’re all tired of the road, but this isn’t the time to rest on your barely attained laurels. People are getting to know your name, which is a great start, but now you have to make them remember it.

What’s the plan, Frank? Zach said.

Obviously, it’s too soon for a headlining tour, but we want to get you into bigger venues this time around. One of the benefits of being with a label is they can hook us up with one of their more prominent artists which, I’m happy to report, they’ve done. Most of the slots were filled already, but this fall you are scheduled to open for a certain British rocker for seventeen dates of his North American tour and six dates of his European tour. After the names of some of the biggest singers on the planet, including Clapton and Bowie, were bandied about—none of whom were Magpie artists—Frank finally told them. It’s Corey Wolfe.

While Corey Wolfe was certainly no David Bowie, being his opening act was nothing to scoff at. Shelly was as stunned as the rest of them that they would be touring with the former lead singer of the offbeat, quasi-punk trio Odd Men Out. They had managed to generate one profanity-laced album that was smuggled into the States by obscure record shops specializing in imported music and she had stumbled upon a used copy at one such establishment on a trip to south Philadelphia with some high school friends. After seeing her contemplate a bootleg copy of The Clash’s Rude Boy film, the proprietor played a couple tracks by OMO, as they were better known as, over the strained sound system. Corey’s brash Cockney accent did not detract from the dulcet tone of his voice, which was very reminiscent of Jim Morrison, and he was easy on the eyes, apart from his inflated sneer and the myriad of tattoos emblazoned on his bare torso on the album cover. Those traits inspired her to buy the album, and enabled him to segue into a solo career after the band split in 1981. Shelly also recalled reading an article in Rolling Stone while on tour that he had jumped labels to be the first international act to join Magpie, resulting in a very public breach of contract dispute that was settled in a very private manner. Then she recalled something else entirely.

When is this supposed to happen, Frank? Shelly said.

The first date is October 3rd, he said, picking up his notepad. Then on November 12th we head to London, followed by Brussels, Amsterdam, Edinburgh, Dublin and finally Paris. We should be stateside again around November 25th.

Shelly had tuned Frank out after the first date he mentioned. She looked to Nigel, but he had yet to make the association that she would be giving birth around that time. She was stricken by the thought that Nigel would not be around to share in the first two months of their child’s life, let alone its entry to the world. When she placed her hand on his arm to get his attention it didn’t take him long to catch the meaning of her imploring look.

Oh, damn! he said. I can’t do it.

Why on earth not? Frank said.

Shelly and I have an obligation we can’t break.

Stop toying with me, Nigel. What kind of obligation?

We’re having a baby. The penthouse became unnaturally quiet for being so full of people. Somewhere an ice cube crackled in a glass, sounding as loud as a firecracker, until Nigel cleared his throat and went on as if his remark needed further clarification. It’s due October 5th, or thereabout.

Then it occurred to Shelly why the news had such a dumbfounding effect on everyone. Since they were unaware that Zach had already been made privy to it they were most likely expecting some sort of volatile reaction from him. She looked across the coffee table at him, hoping he would say something to put their minds at ease, but his expression was blank, except for his eyes, which burned into hers like liquid blue fire.

Finally, Stan cleared his throat. Well, Frank. I think we should break out that bottle of Moet we’ve been saving, don’t you?

Zach provided the second response by setting his drink glass down on an end table and heading briskly for the door. No one tried to stop him except Jessica, who quickly scuttled out of the apartment after him. No sooner had the door clicked shut behind her than the rest of the room audibly breathed again.

I guess the meeting is adjourned, Frank said, smiling as he stepped over to shake Nigel’s hand. You and I will discuss the logistics later. In the meantime, congratulations!

Frank kissed Shelly on the cheek as someone turned the stereo back on, giving permission for the party to resume. The others offered them similar sentiments, but once the crowd dissipated, Cassie sat down beside Shelly and hugged her tightly.

How long have you known? she said.

Since New Orleans. We didn’t want to tell anyone until I’d seen my doctor. Our families don’t even know yet.

Wow. You guys didn’t waste any time.

It wasn’t planned, but it could’ve happened in Vegas. Flying there was such a spur of the moment thing that I had forgotten to take my pills with me. Abruptly, Shelly remembered Cassie’s own fertility predicament and gasped. Oh, I’m sorry…

Please, don’t be. I’m so happy for you. Really.

Cassie began to cry and her tears were far from ecstatic as she leapt off the sofa and ran down the hall to the bathroom. Shelly stood up and wondered if she should go to her, which is when Bonnie sidled up next to her with another drink in hand.

That’s one way to clear a room, Bonnie said. Her smile seemed rather forced and her eyes were like amber marbles in her face. You’ve come a long way, kiddo.

Look who’s talking, Shelly said. You’re a supermodel.

Bonnie barked out a laugh. I wish. I’m ten years too late for that ranking. My horizon has nothing but catalogs, calendars and shampoo commercials on it, but thanks for the dose of optimism.

At least you’ll always have Paris.

No, I won’t. They passed.

Who passed?

All of them so I’m not going.

Shelly didn’t have to feign being stunned. Oh Bon, I’m so sorry. I know how much you wanted it.

I wanted it because I was told I was a shoe-in. What I want to do now is strangle my agent.

When did you find out?

Before I left for Jamaica. I haven’t told Leigh yet so let’s drop the subject. After Bonnie downed her drink, she set the glass down on the coffee table and smiled tightly at her. So the perfect couple is having the perfect baby. How smashing for you both.

We don’t know if it’s perfect yet, Shelly said. "I’m