Friends and Rivals. Tilly Bagshawe

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      CHAPTER FIVE

      Jack Messenger leaned back in his two-thousand-dollar ergonomic Therapod office chair and felt a warm rush of satisfaction.

      He always enjoyed coming to work. Jester’s offices at the top of Beverly Glen, near Mulholland Drive, had some of the most spectacular views in Los Angeles. Jack’s corner office was almost all window. In one direction lay the shimmering blue Pacific with Catalina Island in the distance. In the other, the jutting skyscrapers of downtown LA were framed by a ring of perfect, snow-capped mountains, encircling the city like benevolent giants. It was hard to get depressed in Jack’s home city; in a space so flooded with light, so energized with sunshine and blue skies and astonishing natural beauty. Between the constant light and the equally constant flow of work, Jester was a place where Jack came to forget the pain of his home life. It worked.

      Today he was in even better spirits than usual. In front of him on the desk were Lex Abraham’s album cover shots of Kendall. Even by Lex’s usual high standards, they were exceptional, exactly the sort of haunting, slightly unexpected images that drew the eye and translated into bumper sales. With visual media stimulation everywhere, it was becoming both harder and more important to grab an audience’s attention, to stand out in an ever-growing, ever more visually dazzling market. But Lex had done it, and he’d done it with understatement. Of course, Kendall was an unusually beautiful girl, even by the standards of an industry where exceptional beauty was considered the norm. But Lex’s shots had transcended her looks, conveying an innocence and intelligence and depth not typically associated with Kendall Bryce. Matador, her record company, were gonna love it.

      Lex’s pictures weren’t the only reason for Jack’s good mood. It was two weeks since Kendall had left for England, and she wasn’t due back for another week. Her first gig had gone well, and the trip, miraculously, had been scandal-free, so far – a personal best for Miss Bryce. With Kendall out of his hair for the best part of a month, Jack finally felt able to relax at home and his productivity at work had shot up too. Brett Bayley and Kendall Bryce between them took up more of Jack’s time and energy than the rest of his client list combined. Like Kendall, Brett had on-off addiction problems (and on-on stupidity problems), especially when it came to dealing with the media and/or keeping it in his pants. But Brett’s band, The Blitz, were also in London on the first leg of their European tour. To have both his ‘problem children’ away at the same time almost felt like being on vacation. Jack hadn’t realized how stressed he was with the pair of them till Kendall had gone too and he’d finally had a chance to breathe.

      Which wasn’t to say he didn’t miss her. To this day Jack didn’t know what it was that drew him to Kendall. On the surface she was everything he disliked in a woman: vain, selfish, attention-seeking, capricious. But there was a need in her that Jack responded to, a need for a father and for a friend, a true friend who didn’t blow smoke up her ass like the rest of her rich, spoiled Beverly Hills crowd. Since Sonya died, there’d been a void in Jack’s life that was more than just romantic. He hadn’t only lost his wife, he’d lost his family, his future, his reason to care. In some strange, undefined way, Kendall had filled that void. Not romantically, of course. As sexy as she was, Jack needed a relationship with Kendall Bryce like he needed a hole in the head. But, emotionally, Kendall mattered to Jack at a time when he’d feared that no one would ever matter to him again. In a bizarre way, taking care of her was a relief.

      There were other things too. Kendall was powered by fear the way that a car was powered by gasoline. Jack Messenger understood fear. Beneath Kendall’s bravado and bullshit lurked a sweet, smart, funny girl with a good heart. Jack wanted more for that girl than career success. He wanted her to be happy, which was one of the reasons he’d kept her at Matador for so long, rather than let her swim with the sharks at one of the big global record companies. Eventually she would have to make the move to the big league. But Jack was in no rush to hurry her out of her safe little cocoon.

      The intercom on Jack’s desk buzzed into life.

      ‘It’s Kendall for you. Line one.’

      Jack’s smile broadened. Speak of the devil. ‘OK, put her on.’

      Back at the Eaton Gate apartment, Kendall stumbled around the kitchen opening and closing drawers with one hand, while the other kept precarious hold on the neck of a bottle of Moët. Ivan’s phone was wedged between her shoulder and ear, playing Jester’s hold music. Beverly, Jack’s Rottweiler of a secretary, was ‘checking’ whether the great man was available to speak to her, and Kendall had decided to multitask while she waited.

      ‘I can’t find a fucking corkschrew,’ she called out to Ivan drunkenly. ‘Your fucking kitchen’s fucking dishorganished.’

      Ivan, who’d drunk the best part of a bottle of Chablis himself at their celebration lunch, but who at twice Kendall’s body weight was doing a better job of holding his drink, walked in to a deafening clatter of cutlery. Kendall had upended the entire top drawer onto the tiled floor. Dressed only in a pair of knickers and a T-shirt – she’d stripped off as soon as they got back from Boisdale’s, declaring herself ‘boiling’ in her Hudson jeans, and Ivan’s flat ‘a fucking oven’ – she seemed to be attempting to search through the drawer’s contents with her bare foot.

      ‘You don’t need a corkscrew, angel,’ said Ivan, relieving her of the Moët and expertly de-corking it with the softest of pops. ‘It’s champagne.’

      ‘Ooooohhhh. Oops,’ said Kendall.

      ‘Now go and sit down next door and I’ll get you a glass, before you totally trash the place. Who are you calling?’ Ivan glanced at the phone.

      ‘Jack.’ Kendall hiccuped loudly, then collapsed into giggles.

      Ivan’s eyebrow shot up. ‘Really? I’m not sure that’s the best idea.’

      ‘Courshe it is. Jack has to be the firsht to know. He’ll be happy for me, you’ll shee. He lovesh me really.’

      Ivan didn’t know whether Jack loved Kendall or not. But he’d have been willing to put good money on him not being happy about today’s events.

      The reason Kendall was so drunk was that she and Ivan had only just returned from a long, celebratory lunch. They were celebrating for two reasons. The first was that ITV had called last night and confirmed Ivan’s appointment as a judge on Talent Quest, their newest reality talent show. And the second was that at eleven o’clock this morning, Kendall had signed a huge, two-album deal with Polydor’s Fascination Records. Fascination were already huge in the UK, representing the likes of Cheryl Cole and Take That, but their big focus was on signing more big-name US acts, acts whose profile was still building and who were prepared to deal exclusively with the label. Kendall Bryce fitted the bill perfectly.

      Financially there was no doubt it was a terrific deal. Not only would Polydor buy Kendall out of her remaining contract with Matador, they were more than tripling her upfront money, and had committed a huge sum to promotion of her albums and at least one live tour. It also fitted well with Jack’s strategy of broadening Kendall’s appeal internationally, and particularly in the crucial UK market. The problem was that Ivan had made the deal. And he had done so without consulting Jack.

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