Page 21 of In This Together

After a painfully silent ride to Madison Square Gardens, Hannah was relieved to arrive at the side entrance to the arena – the red carpet being reserved for A-listers, and even Andrea, much to her obvious annoyance, was a nobody when it came to the front pages of glossy magazines.

The rear door of the limo was opened by the driver.

‘Let’s get some of this frosty air out of here,’ Hannah said, smiling to herself as she stepped onto the much smaller and significantly less bright carpet to that which would have been rolled out at the main entrance.

Andrea finally put down her cell phone and walked with Hannah into the backstage entrance to MSG.

The grey corridors, though usually dull and chill, were brightened with poster prints of Sir Presley John with his arm around the shoulders of stars that spanned decades – Cher, Michael Jackson, Dina Carrol, Elton John, Tom Jones, Alicia Keyes. There were images of him performing on stage in the elaborate rock star jackets he was renowned for, sitting at a piano, rocking out with an electric guitar, singing that famous duet with Dolly Parton.

Stars had started to arrive and reporters interviewed them in the corridors. It was just past 8p.m. now, which meant the celebrity guests – the Pitts, Clooneys and Gagas of the world – would be pulling up in their chauffeur-driven rides, coming into the arena one by one in order of status, under the bright flashes of cameras.

The concert was being televised live so, right now, support acts would be playing in the main hall, setting the mood and tone, getting the crowd ready for the main event. Ensuring the room was in great spirits and high with anticipation by the time the TV cameras started to roll.

Hannah and Andrea twisted and bumped their way through the hustle and bustle of suits, fine dresses, stage gowns and, by contrast, jeans and leather jackets of the rock guys. They headed in the direction of the common area where nibbles and drinks had been laid out, and the nearby dressing areas, where Andrea would be able to check on her artists. When she wasn’t calming the nerves of some stars and taming the egos of others, she would be saying all the right things to fellow industry professionals and Hannah would be by her side the entire time, reminding her of the names that matched faces.

‘Annndi, Annndi, Annndi,’ came a familiar drawl, followed by the man himself, Tommy ‘Rock God’ Dawson.

He stepped into their path, his staple attire of worn jeans, cowboy boots (which emphasised hisextremelylarge feet) and a leather jacket in place, his hair as shaggy and purposefully unkempt as ever. In a nutshell, his usual, country-slick, hot self. And, for the record, that was the objective view. The more subjective tended to fall at his feet – literally.

He ran greedy eyes up and down Andrea. ‘Mmm hmm, you don’t know how to disappoint. It’s been too long, Andi. You know where I am.’ He mumble-slurred his words, the way guys tended to do after a whiskey or two. It was that mumble-slur in his singing voice that earned him – and consequently Andrea – the big bucks.

Nevertheless, the content of this mumble-slur, Hannah knew, would lead to her hearing another rant from Andrea about the inappropriateness of that dress later.

Andrea pulled on a subtle yet obviously (to Hannah) intentional smirk and flashed the flirtatious glint in her eyes that she reserved only for the botchiest of her male clients.

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she said. ‘Are you set for tonight’s performance?’

‘You know I am.’

He pulled a plectrum from the butt pocket of his jeans and used it to pick his front teeth – something he always seemed to do when he was flirting. Something Hannah couldn’t fathom – frankly, it seemed unhygienic. But it worked because Tommy Dawson was always,alwayswith another girl – usually of the long-blonde-hair and heavily busted variety. Including, she knew, a number of flings he and Andrea had enjoyed in the past.

He stared openly at Andrea’s breasts, then her thigh-high slit. ‘Baby, where did we go wrong, huh?’

Andrea laughed. ‘A bottle of Scotch and a new woman every night. Just try to keep it clean until after the show.’

He flicked his plec in his teeth again and grinned. ‘You always were too good for me, Andi.’

‘If I were better, I’d have never gone there in the first place.’

‘Or back here as many times as you have.’

He laughed and Hannah watched as the pair shared a familiar and warm smile – they had cared about each other once, deep down, whether Andrea had been willing to admit it or not. Ironically, Tommy Dawson would be a better option than a fling with a taken man.

Shaking her head, Andrea walked further along the corridor toward the communal area, calling back a reminder. ‘Keep it clean, Tommy.’

Tommy shook his head with another laugh, then ran his eyes up and down Hannah’s body.

‘Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.’

Hannah laughed – God loved a trier. ‘Toooommy, Toooommy, Toooommy.’

She followed Andrea and Tommy called after her. ‘There’s no breakin’ you, girl, is there?’

‘Not in a million,’ she said across her shoulder. And she meant it. Though he drove her half insane, Hannah had never done more than second-glance at a man who wasn’t Rod.

As she reached Andrea, she received the kind of side-eye look that told her a dress-related comment was coming. She zoned out entirely because, for one thing, Andrea looked good, and for another, who was she to talk about appropriate or inappropriate? For a third thing, Hannah was trying her damned best to be a mother, a wife, a friend, her own person and Andrea’s PA. She had so many faces it was making her dizzy. If Andrea wanted to be a dick, it could fall on Hannah’s selective hearing tonight.

The common area was packed full of musicians – established and budding – producers, agents, managers, press and VIPs with backstage passes.

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