Page 119 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

‘I had a scout there. I hear good things. ’

‘Which is why I thought you two should meet,’ said Miles. ‘A lot of people have been showing interest, haven’t they, Al? But I told him not to sign anything until he spoke to you or at least gave you his demo.’

Miles nudged Alex, who reluctantly pulled out a cassette of some of the songs he’d written in Ireland.

Falk gave a lukewarm smile and put it in his pocket.

‘So you’ll listen to it?’ pressed Miles.

‘Boys, this is my fucking birthday party, not open mike night,’ said Falk. ‘So come on, let’s enjoy ourselves, huh?’

A slim Oriental boy, naked except for a black thong, had appeared at Falk’s side. ‘David, are you coming?’ he asked.

Falk chuckled and began to move away. ‘Going to hit the Jacuzzi. You’re welcome to join us, Alex,’ he said, looking him up and down and smiling.

Alex smiled weakly. ‘Maybe later.’

When Falk had gone, Alex let out a long breath and turned angrily to Miles. ‘That went well,’ he said sarcastically. He felt like he’d had a golden opportunity slip away.

‘Well maybe you should have gone to the Jacuzzi,’ shot back Miles.

Their eyes locked for a moment, then Alex looked away.

‘Listen, I should go,’ he said.

‘Oh come on, stop sulking,’ said Miles. ‘It wasn’t that bad. I thought he liked you.’

‘He’d like me to jump naked into his Jacuzzi, that’s what he’d like. What about the music?’

‘Alex, stop acting like a big girl,’ said Miles with irritation. ‘You just gave your demo to David Falk. People would literally kill for that opportunity. If he likes it, he’ll call you. Now don’t ever say I owe you one.’

Suddenly Alex wanted to get away from this place. He shouldn’t have come here, he knew that now. He felt soiled and shameful just being close to Miles Ashford. Miles corrupted everything he touched.

‘I have to get back to the hotel,’ said Alex.

‘Call yourself rock and roll?’ said Miles with a mocking laugh. ‘And how do you intend getting back to the Chateau?’

‘I’ll find a taxi.’

‘You’ll be lucky.’

‘Goodbye, Miles.’

Miles was right. Again. It took Alex thirty minutes of walking through the dark before he could flag a taxi, and when he got back to the hotel he ordered a triple Jack Daniel’s which sent him into a deep, medicinal sleep until ten o’clock the next morning. The phone woke him, a shrill ring that clattered round his fragile head. He clawed for the phone and pulled the receiver under the covers.

‘Ungh? Whoizit?’ he mumbled.

‘OK, here’s what I think,’ said an unfamiliar voice down the line. ‘One minute you’re trying to be Jeff Buckley, the next minute you’re trying to show off what a brilliant experimental musician you are, and if that’s what you want you should be trying to join Philip Glass’ orchestra, not touting yourself to me.’

Alex immediately sat up in bed, stars popping in front of his eyes. ‘Mr Falk? Is that you?’ he asked incredulously.

The mogul wasn’t listening. ‘But there’re moments of fucking genius on this tape, baby. Total genius. And it doesn’t hurt you look so hot either.’

‘Wow,’ stuttered Alex. ‘Thanks . . . So you’re interested, then?’

‘I’m only going to say this once, Alex. Sign with Falk Records and I’ll sell you two hundred million records.’

‘Whoo-hoo!’ screamed Alex, trying to punch the air, but getting tangled in the sheets and landing with a crash on the floor. ‘Mr Falk? You still there?’ he said, grappling with the phone.