Read Online Access Restricted by Alice Severin - Free Book Online Page A

hope you understand. They’ve been touring. And they’ve had a night off, you know how the kids are.”
    That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “Right, of course. Ok, but where are they now? Can we round them up? The magazine is holding space for them, but it won’t last forever.”
    “Sure, sure.” He cleared his throat. “Are you the secretary? Hey, we were expecting Dave to talk to us directly about a cover shoot. I thought he was coming out with Matt to do the interview.”
    Oh, nice, I thought. In your dreams, mate. Cover shot. And Matt Black. Numero uno. Almost as famous as the people he interviewed. Matt talked to Bono, not a bunch of drunks on a rider, with one single released. God, why was the world filled with assholes? I smiled at the phone. Reminding myself to be pleasant. It was their future after all. “Really? Who told you that? Well, Dave sent me personally. I am sure he’ll be very disappointed to hear that the band didn’t want the interview. Not a problem,” here I was counting in my head to see how long it would take before he backtracked. “I’ll just move on to my next appointment then…” He spluttered. There we go. What was he, drunk or stupid? That took more time than he had.
    But his attitude had altered somewhat. “No, no, of course we want the interview. The band’s been really looking forward to it, um…what did you say your name was again?”
    My voice was crisper this time. “Lily. Lily Taylor. I’ll need them in an hour; I’ve got a very full schedule on today.” I pronounced schedule the British way. I didn’t think he’d notice, but any chance to wind him up a little, make him realize his huge, huge mistake thinking he was dealing with some newbie girl.
    “Uh, they’re having breakfast in the pub…I’m just going to meet them there now.”
    “Fine. Get a table for all of them, and I’ll meet you there. Where are you going to be?” I felt like I was talking to a complete idiot. Tell me the right answer. Slowly.
    “The Good Mixer, in Camden. Do you know it?”
    I laughed. “Yeah, I know it. I’ll see you there,” and pressed the red button, cutting him off in mid goodbye. The Good Mixer. God. The place used to be a hangout for musicians, now it was a meeting place for old smack heads and Japanese tourists, taking pictures of each other where Oasis had once stood, hoping for a glimpse of someone, anyone. It was a dive. Especially at lunch. I knew that first hand. Great. Fine, it’d be quick. Get the pics taken at their show tomorrow. I looked at my phone. 12:00 p.m. And they were already there. Well, they’d be worse for wear. Maybe they’d say something sound bite worthy. Or outrageous. Either one would do.
    “On, on, on to the next one.” I sang the snippet of Foo Fighters to myself. Next I had to call the woman who had started and been head of the fan club over here when Devised first came out. This, I was not looking forward to. I figured this was the real beginning—where all the stories were finally going to come out. Had he slept with her? I drew in a breath. Ouch. The thought actually hurt. But I wasn’t going to let my weakness fuck this up for me. I stiffened up. Ok bitches. He was with me now. At least for now. And it was fucking brilliant. And that was that. End of thinking. A little voice in my head said, yeah for now. And he’ll still be pulling the girls when you’re telling the story drunkenly to your flat mates as they creep out, leaving you passed out in your own aging memories. I shook my head. No. I wasn’t having it. Any of it. But the music business had its own little secrets. For instance, that for all its supposed cutting edge, change society and feed the world, did you say you wanted a revolution bullshit, the business was as traditional as a fairy tale. Macho intimidation and sex-as-a-weapon girls with an early sell-by date. Very few managed to get out of that little tradition unharmed. I was not going to be my worst enemy