Los Angeles: back to the streets where he grew up. Back to where it began.
8
Kristin flew with Fraternity to Tokyo. The boys were running a PR tour for their new album and that meant she and Scotty were being separated for long periods of time. She liked to come along where she could, and luckily the trip fell on an opening in her schedule.
Asian fans were like none other in the world. She knew this from her own forays into the East, but that was nothing compared with the frenzy that the boys incited. The instant they exited the jet a crush of groupies descended, brandishing their camera phones and howling their exaltations. A vast number were wearing Fraternity baseball caps, a different colour for each band member. There was red for Joey, the cute one; green for Doug, the indie one; purple for Luke, the one who could play guitar; yellow for Brett, the one with the best six-pack…and blue for blue-eyed Scotty. Most of the caps were blue.
As the band was ushered through Arrivals, Kristin saw this was only the start of the Fraternity merchandise. Scotty Valentine bum bags adorned the crowd. Scotty dolls were waved manically in the air. Scotty key rings hung from Scotty wallets as the writhing masses clamoured for autographs with Scotty pens. Faces were painted with love hearts accompanied by Scotty’s name. T-shirts with the band splashed across them were worn by every schoolgirl, some lifted and tied in a knot to show off a smooth pale belly, the navel pierced. There was enough Fraternity merchandise in Narita Airport alone to sink a tanker.
They were performing at the Tokyo Dome. Kristin was in the VIP section and looked on as the boys opened with ‘I Dig U’, sending the fans into paroxysms, especially when Scotty came forward to kneel to the crowd and croon the bridge: ‘Girl, I’ve been waiting my whole life to find you, now let me put my arms around you and hold you tight, oh, baby, right through the night…’ The fans were screaming so much that Kristin was surprised they could hear the music over the top. But the show was slickly rehearsed and she was impressed at the boys’ flawless dance moves and ability to harmonise while their heart rate had to be spinning through the roof. Towards the finale Brett and Doug took their tops off. This was impromptu and drove the arena wild, with one girl falling into a seizure and having to be lifted over the barriers to safety. Teenagers clasped each other, wailing and snotting and crying, reaching out desperately to touch their heroes. When the rest of the guys followed suit, Scotty included, revealing their chiselled pecs and golden tans (she suspected at least three of them waxed—Scotty did, at least), Kristin thought the crowd might evaporate in a puff of smoke. Fortunately the encore was forthcoming and minutes later they were whisked offstage.
‘Superstars, every last one of you!’
The man who had put Fraternity together was waiting with congratulations. Fenton Fear, the fabled label owner and moneymaker, had been responsible for a glut of staggeringly successful pop groups over the last twenty years, each one manufactured by his own fair hand. Tagged ‘King of the Charts’ for his seemingly failsafe formula for securing a hit, with Fraternity he had hit on his biggest jackpot yet.
Fenton embraced all his boys heartily and graciously kissed Kristin hello. At forty-something he was a good-looking older man with a thick head of sandy hair and a moustache that tickled Kristin’s cheek. She had always liked Fenton; he was a rock-solid businessman with a kind, receptive ear to his clients’ wants and needs. Moreover he seemed to genuinely care about the boys, especially Scotty, so they already had that in common.
‘I need a shag after that,’ pronounced Luke. ‘Someone sort me out?’
‘No such luck,’ answered Fenton disapprovingly. ‘Press conference downtown in half an hour, get showered and get going.’
‘Serious?’ There was a smatter of grumbling as the boys wiped their torsos down with a towel. Kristin went to cuddle Scotty and he gave her a brief, limp hug.
‘When aren’t I?’ challenged Fenton. ‘Let’s rock it.’
‘I might head back to the hotel…’ said Kristin, squeezing Scotty’s hand as the rest of the group trailed after Fenton. She waited for him to object.
‘Sure,’ said Scotty non-committedly, already chasing in their wake. ‘Later.’
Kristin took a car to the Mandarin Oriental. She felt uneasy about Scotty’s behaviour. Ever since that day he’d tried to have sex with her back in LA. Was he embarrassed? Had he gone off her? But he had to still be interested if he wanted to do that…didn’t he?
On the drive she received a message from Bunny. Her heart lifted. She’d been loath to leave her sister with Ramona—their mother’s pageant obsession was spiralling out of control—but had promised Bunny that when she and Scotty were back they’d take her out, anywhere she liked, to do things that normal thirteen-year-old girls did: not tottering about in high heels while a sweaty middle-aged man appraised her chest-to-leg ratio.
Can’t wait 4u to come home
She tapped back:
Guys fine. Big sell-out gig, you’d have loved.
Won’t be long now. C u soon
Bunny was forever asking after Scotty. Kristin liked that her two favourite people got on so well. She remembered her own enchantments at thirteen—being so young you could never hope to disguise how you felt, no matter how many blushes you thought you hid.
Even so, Scotty had been alarmed when they had gone into Bunny’s room one day and he’d seen the pictures of him strewn from wall to wall. Kristin had been searching for a bracelet her sister had borrowed and he had followed her in.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he’d demanded, disturbed. ‘A fucking shrine or something?’ Scotty had never used to be so easily riled, or used such bad language. Since they’d got together he’d become so…ratty.
Kristin had found what she’d come looking for. ‘She’s only a kid, Scott,’ she’d told him, closing the door softly behind her. On it was a sign that read STRICTLY NO ENTRY!
‘Don’t you think it’s messed up?’
‘Not really. She’s one of about a trillion so you’d better get used to it.’
He’d shuddered. ‘Girls are weird.’
Kristin remembered his words as they pulled up outside the hotel. A doorman helped her with her bags and within minutes she was safely ensconced in her suite, where she ran hot water and salts into a roll-top bath. Sitting on its edge and guiding her hand through the steaming, fragrant water, she decided to try not to think about Scotty. Just for tonight.
When Scotty Valentine was a boy, he had never imagined he would be waking up at twenty-two with a multi-million-selling album to his name and more wealth and fame than he’d thought possible. Spending his formative years in The Happy Hippo Club had groomed him for a life of entertainment, but he couldn’t have expected anything remotely on this scale.
On his sixteenth birthday the record execs had come knocking. Kristin had already been signed to her label, so had a couple of the other guys, and the pressure was on to get selected. Producer Fenton Fear had been among them, casting through the assembled boys like an emperor through his minions. He had been assembling a band, already had four in the bag…but who would be his missing link? Scotty had auditioned on the spot, posing for a variety of modelling shots, in one of which he’d had to pout in a too-big tuxedo and clutch a bad-tempered rabbit that kept nipping his fingers. ‘Can you sing?’ Fenton had asked, with an expression that implied it didn’t matter if he could or not. But Scotty had surprised everyone: he possessed a rich if inconsistent tone that could be worked upon, and that same tone would soon overtake the other band members and cement his place as lead vocalist in Fraternity.
In a matter of hours Scotty had