I turn and head back to my car. I’ve got a good feeling about Dree. I was watching her face carefully as she listened to our track, and I could see her ideas for the music flickering behind her eyes.
I drive out of London and get onto the M1, heading for Shropshire. As I drive, I recall how Dree looked as she was dancing in the studio. I studied her videos on YouTube, as well. There’s something magical about the way she moves. Her whole body is expressive.
I check my email when I stop for fuel and a coffee near Coventry two hours later. Nothing from Dree. I search for her name on social media but all her accounts are private. Guess she needed to lock them down to stop people from harassing her. With a grimace of hatred for Striker Jones, I shove my phone back in my pocket.
I arrive home in Shropshire just after ten and head for the studio I built in the east wing. We’re still laying down tracks for the album. We record every layer separately, sometimes dozens of times over, and then I painstakingly mix them together. The boys will be joining me here tomorrow and we’ll get to work on the drums and bass for the tracks.
The next two hours is taken up with adjusting the levels for the single, because I’m not quite happy with it yet. Then I head up to bed. On my way, I check my email, not expecting to find a message.
But I have one, and it’s from Dree. I stop dead on the stairs and read it.
Hi, Rush. If you think you can take direction and constructive criticism from me, then I’ll consider the job. Can I please have a full brief first? Thank you, Dree.
I smile to myself and forward it to my assistant with some instructions. If she’ll agree to choreograph the video, Dree North can have anything she wants.
5
Dree
I arrive at Euston Station at nine-fifteen two days later with butterflies holding a carnival in my belly. Rush’s assistant, Thomas, told me he’d send a car for me, but I refused, preferring to make my own way to Rush’s house at Weddon-on-Leam in Shropshire. I looked up the property last night and found that it’s a late-Tudor mansion. Of course. A British rock star has to have a big country house. The more I discover about Rush Osman, the more grandiose he seems.
Euston is chaotic and ugly and I have to battle through crowds holding a small case and a huge coffee. Thomas told me to pack for a short stay. What sort of meeting lasts more than a day? Maybe Rush Osman gathers people at his home so he can call them into his presence as it suits him. I should have brought a book.
Thankfully, the train is almost empty. I find a seat and take mouthfuls of hot coffee to wake myself up as we chug slowly out through the inner northern suburbs and past Wembley Stadium. I’m not much of a morning person. Just like my body needs a warm-up before I dance, so does my brain before I can start thinking.
By the time we’re skimming through green fields the cogs of my mind have clicked into gear, and I dig my phone out and send a text.
Just wanted to say hi. I’m thinking of taking a new choreography job. I hope you and Janice are well xx
That’s to Dad, and Janice is his wife. His long-suffering wife whom he was married to when Mum became pregnant with me.
His reply comes back a few minutes later. That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Let’s have dinner soon. Dad.
Our relationship has always been unusual seeing as we’ve never lived together and I’ve always wondered if his wife secretly hates me. This is how we’ve been navigating things for a few years now. I say hi and he says we should have dinner. Occasionally we do.
I call Mum, and she picks up on the second ring. “Well, good morning to you! I don’t usually hear from you at this hour. Is everything all right?”
I smile out the window at the passing houses. “Everything’s fine. I’m well. I’m on my way a meeting, hence the early call.” I tell her about the possibility of another job, and she’s thrilled for me. She knows that the dance world is the only place I’ll ever want to be.
“Who’s the job for?”
I hesitate. I doubt Mum’s even heard of Saint Cyprian or Rush Osman, unless it’s in conjunction with Palatine. If I say his name, though, she’ll start searching for him online. And then call me back and freak out.
“I can’t say. Orders from the people who are thinking of hiring me. I’ll tell you more as soon as I can.”
“How are Jasminta and Cassie?”