Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Hi,” she said, her tone excitable. I liked her. I had no idea who she was, hadn’t uttered a word to her, but she exuded a positive energy that I found infectious. “I’m Aimee, Hugo’s tour manager. You must be Helen?” She pointed right at me, and then Chrissie. “And Chrissie.”
Chrissie said, “Hey. The view is insane from in here.”
Aimee followed Chrissie’s gaze, nodded enthusiastically. “Right! It really is the best way to enjoy a show. Unfortunately, I’m stuck behind the scenes all night. But hey, if you want to get a little closer at any point, maybe side stage, just tell your server and someone will give me a call.”
“Oh…I, uh…”
“No one will see you,” she said, as if reading my mind. The seats weren’t filled yet, but there were thousands of them. The thought of standing in front of all those people made me feel physically sick. “It’s an amazing experience, being that close to the music. You can really feel it, you know?”
I couldn’t stop looking at her, admiring the passion that animated her expression. I imagined I looked the same discussing my designs. I thought clothes could tell a person’s story. The colours they chose, the fabrics, the styles they preferred, were all glimpses into their subconscious. Fashion could reveal who we were beneath the flesh in the same way as music, so I understood this woman in front of me, just like I did Hugo.
“Thanks,” was all I said, unsure whether I’d be brave enough to accept the offer later.
“Gotta go,” she said after the iPad pinged under her arm. “Enjoy the show. I’ve no doubt you will.”
Once the initial shock had worn off, I started enjoying myself. It felt like role play, like Chrissie and I had been made celebrities for the night. Relaxed in our front row seats, legs crossed, champagne in hand, I wondered if this was how the queen felt watching over her peasants from the royal box at the theatre. I reckoned she’d have been much calmer. I doubted her veins would fizz with the level of excitement that surged in mine. I couldn’t see her belly swirling with anticipation or her pulse drumming with the need to see the man she loved most in the world appear on the stage below.
Wait… Did I love Hugo? Yes. Of course I did. He was my friend. A niggling voice in the back of my head tried to warn me it was too soon to consider him my best friend again, but my heart, it seemed, couldn’t hear. Just the thought of him made it beat faster.
I seriously doubted you’d ever see the queen almost choke to death on a glass of bubbly, either, when another famous person slid into one of the seats across from her. “Can you see him, have you seen him, can you, can you?” Chrissie whispered without taking a breath, swatting at my shoulder like she was attempting to murder a fly armed with a machete.
“I see him…” I kept my tone calm and low, eyes forward…once I’d recovered from my near-death experience. My throat still felt scratchy, but I held in the cough. I didn’t want to be one of those women, the women who melted into fawning fangirls at the sight of another human who just happened to have had his face splashed around a bit more than us regular mortals. “Is he looking?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. Sitting just a few feet away from us, sharing our oxygen, was Anthony Bray. Hollywood actor, Anthony Bray. Walking sex god, Anthony Bray. Winner of Style Now’s Abs of the Year Awards, Anthony Bray.
I felt lightheaded, and it had nothing to do with the champagne. Nope, we were so those fucking women.
Mr Abs of the Year had friends with him, too. Another man, two women and a teenage girl. I didn’t recognise them, assumed they were measly unknowns, like us. I wondered if they felt as awestruck as Chrissie and me.
“Sweet Jesus,” Chrissie mouthed, hitching one leg over the other. She leaned in closer, whispered in my ear, “There’s one helluva party going on downstairs right now. Hope it lasts till I get home.”
Dear God. I started laughing. “Careful, Chris. You know what they say, masturbation is the devil’s typewriter.”
“Yeah?” She sat up straight again, took a long sip from the tall glass. “Well, I hope he’s well rested, ‘cause I’m gonna be tapping out a long-arse essay tonight.”
By now the arena had started filling with people. Inside, thousands entered from various points along the first and second floors, appearing to pour down the steps like rivers of marching ants as they made their way to their seats. It seemed so surreal. They were all here for Hugo, for one man…for my best friend.
I’d never felt such pride in my entire life.