Page 40 of In This Together

‘Bringing out the big guns for me, huh?’ he asked.

Andrea glared at him. ‘Too much of a star to be on time, huh?’

They both laughed and Tommy pulled out a seat at the table. His guard dogs stood like statues at the back of the room. Tommy greeted everyone as he poured himself a glass of water.

In times gone by, Tommy – if he came to a meeting at all – would have slouched in his seat, tapping out a beat with his foot and drumming his fingers on the tabletop as he wrote a melody in his mind. Then he would have asked for a whiskey on the rocks – a poison he and Andrea could agree on and which they’d shared too much of in the past. He would not have taken off his shades, politely conversed with his management team and poured H-2-O.No siree.

Who was this man?

‘Guys, I gotta tell ya,’ Tommy said, ‘this album is my baby. I want to be heavily involved in every aspect of what we’re trying to achieve here.’

A general chorus of assurance followed.

‘I’ve had a few ideas,’ Tommy continued. He took a small black notebook from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and Andrea almost choked, for one of two reasons.

Either he was about to share his little black book of women – which didn’t seem big enough to reflect the reality of his one-night stands, unless it contained only the ones he’d been sober enough to remember. Or he was a man who made business notes now. The second option was by far the most shocking.

‘Don’t worry, it’s not as full as my little black book,’ he joked, winking at Andrea as if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Despite herself, she smirked.

He was still a rogue but perhaps a redeemable one in this moment.

* * *

Though she hadn’t intended to sit in on the entire meeting, two hours, two coffee runs and a plate of baked goods later, the meeting about Tommy’s solo album drew to close.

Hannah reappeared to show everyone out of the room and to the elevators. Andrea stood at the door, shaking hands as each person passed, as if she were part of a wedding line-up.

Tommy was last to leave. He waved his team off and asked Andrea, ‘You got a sec?’

‘Sure. Do you want to come along to my office? I think this room is booked out.’

They made their way along the corridor, with Tommy’s personal security following closely behind and with Tommy turning the heads of every PA as they walked by. Andrea smiled to herself, remembering the early days, when Thomas Dawson was nothing more than a freeloader, sofa-surfing his friends, including, once or twice, Andrea. Turning up to Sanfia Records in the same pair of track pants day after day alongside his band members. He had been talented then but he hadn’t known how good he was as a frontman.

Boy, how times had changed.

It was the remarkable thing about the music industry. Sure, there were mediocre artists who could sing and play but couldn’t blow anyone away, whose lives never changed much from release to release. They earned a living doing what they loved. They had a steady fan base. Then there were the people like Tommy, who gave up everything to commit to their dream. Who had a spark, something magical in their music, and whose lives were projected by the industry from rockbottomto rockstars.

‘Nice digs,’ Tommy said when Andrea showed him into her office, his security standing watch like mastiffs in the corridor.

Through the glass panes, the PAs continued to ogle Tommy, until Andrea threw them a scowl that was intended to have the effect of an ice-cold power hose on their horny libidos.

‘Make yourself at home,’ she told him, gesturing to the suede sofas that occupied one half of her office space.

Tommy walked beyond the sofas to the wall of shelves stacked with LPs that Andrea had collected over more than two decades and didn’t have space for in her apartment.

‘Would you like a real drink?’ she asked, moving to the bar table in the corner.

Tommy kept his eyes on the records, pulling out a Jimi Hendrix album,Band of Gypsys, and looking over the track list.

‘No, thanks, I’m trying to cut down,’ he said. He turned quickly and added, ‘Not stopping. Just keeping it for dark.’

Andrea removed her hand from the bottle of Macallan whisky she’d chosen and moved to Tommy’s side.

‘That was his best album,’ she said, nodding to Jimi Hendrix in bright colours on the record cover. ‘“Machine Gun” arguably did more for the industry than the King himself.’

‘Agreed,’ Tommy said, setting the album back on the shelf. ‘These days people take distortion and feedback for granted. Though I probably wouldn’t go around busting Elvis’s ass.’

Andrea smiled with amusement. ‘So, what did you want to see me about?’

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