Sample

Not the way

    The way it ran was not the way it was supposed to be, but then everything Geoff Winston touched became skewed over time.

Early years…
(1967: aged 21)

    In the beginning Geoff was living with Karen.
    Geoff worked in publishing, as a junior editor, but had ambitions to become his own man. Karen was four years older, and moved in with him when she was eight months pregnant and living with her parents was no longer an option. It was not his child, but he wanted her for everything he desired most in a woman.
    They had attended the same school but her memory of him was hazy at best. His memory of her remained keen; she had been a rebel with an independent spirit, someone to be admired.
    It was Karen that he desired for himself, but thought that she could also show him what he felt was lacking in his life. She was sure to know the way.
    
    Free spirited, she had friends who talked about taking off to see the world. He understood the concept, but wondered what it was they were hoping to achieve. He didn’t know what was out there to discover. It always seemed to imply some form of religious conversion, and he had turned against organised religion in his teens after his mother forced church attendance on the family.
    The drugs helped of course; Paul supplied hash or pills, and Jonas brought LSD. When Geoff went on his first trip it felt like a religious experience; they laughed at him when he came down and he was confused and dazed for hours afterwards.
    
    He was not a hippy himself; there was nothing in the lifestyle he wanted, except perhaps the freedom to do his own thing. Karen embraced it readily, and began to turn their flat into an exotic chaotic mix of East meets West. She dressed the baby in a gown made from the off-cuts of dresses she ran up for herself; wild billowing garments of imported cotton or velvet. For a time she even considered whether she could go into dressmaking as a career, but then it clashed with that other essential of life – having a good time.
    “I could be good at this.” She insisted.
    Jill was crying, but she ignored her. Geoff picked her up, softly rocking the child in his arms.
    “Karen, you never stick at anything long enough.”
    She grew animated; hating negativity with a passion. “You don’t know – this could be my thing.”
    “You said that about the painting and then you wanted to be a singer in a group, then a counsellor…”
    “I could have done that – I went to see that woman at Release.”
    He tried to remain realistic. “You don’t have the training.”
    “Training!” She spat the word. “I’ve lived the life – I know what those guys are going through.”
    He considered her motives for wanting to do these things; they weren’t entirely honourable. He heard all this stuff from her constantly, always when she was feeling down or someone had knocked her confidence. She wanted something to do, but didn’t actually want to work.
    “Why not do something in a shop, you know you like people?”
    She was scathing. “Shop work – it’s just capitalism, exploiting the natives.”
    “What natives – this is Islington.”
    She turned a face on him, grabbing the baby out of his arms. He was daring to challenge her again; she hated it when he found his own voice. Only hers should be listened to. Only she could be right!
    
    Despite his certain knowledge that she was using him, or at least his flat, he didn’t push her towards making decisions. He was still in that early stage of revering her for being the person he admired and that he had wanted all those years before, but he had changed over the last ten years. She appeared to be almost the same as the girl he had first seen when she was fifteen, and at times he wondered if she had actually developed at all. She certainly enjoyed being and doing all that the ‘alternative’ lifestyle allowed. Would it ever be possible for her to consider his desires against her own?
    There was no such doubt in her mind however; what eventually did for them both was that she became pregnant again, and made it clear the baby was not his. This time he was less phlegmatic and told her it was a straight choice between his wishes and hers. When he got home that evening, she was gone – not even a note.
    It was a harsh lesson in independence, but would he learn from it?

French Leave
    (1968: aged 22)

    The publishing company sent Geoff abroad on business; he was trusted now and began to transact publishing rights in other countries. He was good at what he did, not exceptional, just good. He grew more confident and learned to make new contacts; they were not at all like the friends he had met with Karen. He cut his hair and changed his wardrobe to create a different image.
    In Paris, he began an affair with Juliette. She was completely different to Karen, and although a year younger, had taken many lovers. She spoke transatlantic English and taught him to feel more secure about himself and what he wanted. He was with her in Paris for only a few weeks, but she would become a part of his life for years to come.
    Juliette was pretty in an unaffected way; petite with long dark hair that she twisted in her fingers as she spoke. He met her at a party for a left wing author; she was a student activist, very much into the politics of direct action. She was there to gather support for a strike that was taking place in two days. He was drawn as much to her commitment for a cause as for her striking good looks. There were few causes he wanted to support. The ‘workers’ were people he had assumed had their own unions and could stand up for themselves. She tried to convince him he was wrong; strikes were illegal. If the ‘workers’ went onto the streets, the students would support them. There would be trouble, it was too late for a compromise, she added breathlessly. He smiled, he was from England, where strikers were ignored, and there were always confrontations between labour and management.
    He took her home, and spent the night. Next day when he went to his office, there were huge numbers of police on the street. His colleagues told him to go home and stay in his apartment the following day; trouble was brewing they insisted.
    He attended a rally Juliette had told him about at the university; with his short hair he was treated as a spy or agent provocateur. She defended him, standing beside him as speaker after speaker denounced the corrupt government.
    “Are you trying to start a revolution?” He asked, as they were jostled in the bar afterwards.
    She nodded. “The Gaullists are resisting change, and creating conflict, then whenever there is trouble they blame the communists. For the ordinary citizens it is confusing – there is a very real hatred developing for young people in this country. It is important that we change the way society works very soon.”
    He could tell she was sincere. “Should I come along tomorrow?”
    “No, stay home. It is not you we need on the streets.”
    He handed her a slip of paper on which he had written his address. “I have an apartment right in the centre of town. If there is trouble – come to me. Come to me even if you only want to have a coffee and a cigarette.”
    She smiled, at the bourgeois nature of the invitation. “You are kind Geoff, but this will be no picnic.” He was surprised as she lifted the hem of her skirt to tuck the note inside her knickers. “It is safer,” She remarked casually. “In case the police stop me – they are searching everyone.”
    
    Geoff watched the developing conflict on the street below from his 3rd storey window. The riot police were totally brutal in their approach and he grew enraged at the injuries they inflicted on those who came within range of their batons; it seemed impossible to determine if there was any control at all over the violence practised by both sides.
    It was late in the day when Juliette turned up, her chin was cut and there was blood on her clothes. She was supporting a man with a bandaged head. He helped them to his couch, and tended to their injuries as she described what she had seen. It was not a pretty story, but he listened without argument or interruption.
    “We were ok until we crossed the Seine to the Left bank – they were waiting for us, those CRS bastards. They broke up the march with a baton charge; when people retaliated they hit them with batons and dragged them away. Michele was one – we tried to grab him back, but they hit us all. Look.” She showed him the livid bruise on her arm. “Then it grew bad, they pushed us up Boulevard St Michel – there were missiles flying, cobbles and pieces of paving. I saw at least 3 Molotov cocktails – the police were using CS gas and water cannons. It was just a bloody mess – all you could hear were screams in among the sirens. I found Jean sheltering in a doorway, and pushed him into a car – we only just made it out of the area. There are roadblocks everywhere, but the driver was sympathetic and took us out on a route I did not know.” She paused, sipping the brandy he had forced into her hand. “It will grow worse – they have turned this into open warfare. We won’t rest now until this fascist government has been toppled.”
    
    After dark he helped them downstairs; she was going to take Jean home and promised to return if she could, but never came back. The streets remained full of tense looking police and there were trucks with heavily armed soldiers parked on every corner.
    It was two days before Geoff returned to his office, appalled by the actions of the authorities. His colleagues were incensed at the behaviour of the students and the strikers; he realised then the importance of controlling the media.
    He went to the university to search for Juliette, she wasn’t there; the police were in control, questioning everyone who came through the gates. His status as a foreigner confused them, and they sent him away; he went to her small apartment instead.
    She was surprised to see him, and asked why he had come.
    “I needed to be sure you were ok.” He responded.
    “See for yourself.”
    It took all evening to convince her he believed in her cause; well enough for her to trust him. He was thoroughly sickened by what he had seen; overnight it had become a police state and he could understand the frustration that she was feeling. She wanted to go back to the university again to check on her friends, but felt sure she would be arrested.
    He stayed in her apartment for a whole week until the situation on the street became less volatile.
    They visited one of her friends in hospital; injured by the police, but already charged with violent conduct – carrying a possible prison term. Katharina had been photographed, her documents seized and expelled from the university. She was devastated; her father was a judge in Lyons. Juliette consoled her.
    “What do I tell my parents?” She asked tearfully.
    “Tell them the truth.”
    “My father is a conservative; he would never believe the State treat their young people so badly.”
    “Show him your injuries.” Geoff suggested.
    “He would not understand.”
    She began to cry; an argument was developing, as Juliette tried to convince her to remain in the city and carry on the struggle. Geoff went outside, unable to participate in the conversation taking place.
    Juliette came out eventually, flushed with temper and they left together without a word. Next day, when he returned to the office, there was a telegram asking him to go to Berlin to conclude a deal with a German publisher. When he told Juliette, she said he should leave.
    “There is nothing for you here.”
    “You are here.”
    She glanced at him. “What am I to you?”
    He didn’t know how the significance of his response would return to haunt him. “I want you Juliette – you are like no other woman I have ever known.”
    She smiled. “Why, because I‘m not afraid to lose the things I love?”
    He considered her choice of phrase; did that include him?
    “Maybe – but more because you do not allow the things you love from preventing you pursuing your own goals.”
    “Then I’m selfish?” She shrugged.
    “No, selfless.”
    “That is, maybe, because I do not love…”
    “I think you do.”
    She fed him an elusive smile, and he felt his heart open out to her in a quite extraordinary way.
    She touched his face, speaking quietly.
    “Don’t say anymore Geoff, there should be no promises between us.”
    “Can’t I say just one thing?”
    “No.”
    

(1969: aged 23)

    In London he moved to a different flat; Rachel was installed, but replaced after a few months by Nicola. This ‘fresh blood’ scenario went on for almost ten months; all the time he thought about Juliette, writing to her in the hope that he could persuade her to come to London, but she never would. He was living on his own when he met Sue Hardy. She was different to the girls he had been meeting. For one thing she was ambitious to be an actress and at first showed little interest in being anyone’s girlfriend. Geoff admired her for her clear cut style – she was plain talking, Northern and perpetually cheerful. She reminded him of his maternal grandmother, if that wasn’t too obtuse a reference.
    She was open in her desires, and her ambition to succeed.
    “I’ve tried wheedling, canoodling, copulation and corruption. I’ve slept with directors, producers, leading men and their best mates – I’m still not getting the parts I want.”
    She lived with three other girls in a cramped flat, actresses working for a touring company; fourteen weeks at a stretch, moving from place to place; six months residency in Leeds or Glasgow, or even London when they were lucky. She never tired of the gypsy existence, but what she really desired most was a part in a West End musical.
    It was not to be; so she took an engagement in Nottingham.

I want to be in America
(1970: aged 24)

    The company liked what he was doing and asked him to head up their New York office. It seemed too good an opportunity to waste.
    He eventually found a place to live about ten blocks from the Publishing House and he could walk most days. He quickly established himself and tried to make new contacts; this proved not so easy, and he had to depend on strange allies in the beginning. One such was Nick Walker, a brash New Yorker who seemed to know just about everybody or asserted that he did. Geoff fell in with him, and for the short term became his ‘buddy’. Nick was not someone to leave your girlfriend with; he would make a pass at a nun if he felt it would get him in good somewhere.
    Nick’s raison d’être was to meet, make use of, subjugate or cast aside as many people as possible in as short a space of time as he could manage. That meant socialising on the grand scale; it was a 24 hour world of partying, going to openings, or lunches, gala’s, or dinners at which celebrities and the socially acceptable chose to be present. Nick could talk, and was a constant source of amusement, gossip and mischief. He was as much loathed as liked by those with whom he came into contact.
    
    At one such party Geoff met the talented Natalie, daughter of the veteran film star Richard Tracy. She was an artist/writer/singer who had just concluded a deal to have two novels published by a rival house. She told him she was looking for a manager, someone to promote her work. Her dad kept recommending people, but she wanted someone her own age. Did he know anyone? Geoff did not; the contacts he had made were a mixture of the arts, but few seemed to possess commercial stability.
    “If I gave you a name, you’d blame me if it didn’t work.”
    “Would I? Give me a name.” She insisted, and he quickly realised she was totally serious.
    He thought better of it.
    “Find yourself someone who knows the business better than I do.”
    She looked away; he could see he was losing her.
    “I’m trying to stay outside of the mainstream – all that talk of percentages. I just want someone to represent me – not rip me off, and respect my talent.”
    He smiled, looking her up and down. She was not a woman he would normally make a pass at. For one thing - intellectually she was way out of his league. Instead he tried to use his sympathy instead. “How can you protect yourself – if it’s not the management, then it’s the business. They all want a share.”
    It came out sounding Yiddish and was a platitude.
    “Tell me about it.”
    It was spoken with bitterness. He tried harder.
    “Well, who represents you now – who did the deal on the books?”
    “My father’s attorney – but I don’t know if I got stiffed.”
    “How much do you get?”
    She told him; it was a fair amount. He nodded sagely, which made her smile. Everyone was on the make, why not him? Why indeed not him?
    She was looking past him, and leaned close. “There’s my dealer – I need to score. See you sometime.”
    She fell in with a man with long wavy styled hair, and they disappeared from the room.
    
    He didn’t give the conversation much thought until two days later, when a deal he was working on suddenly fell through. He felt thwarted; here he was, single, twenty-four, living in vibrant New York. Why shouldn’t he move on? He had ambition to do more than he was presently allowed. He phoned Natalie the following morning and his call was answered by a male voice; she was not home. Who was that? He enquired.
    “Philip.” Came the curt reply. He was none the wiser, but left his number.
    When she called back, it was as though she could barely remember him. He was disappointed; believing he had made a better impression.
    “Are you the guy from the party the other evening?”
    “Yes – Geoff…”
    “Did we agree you should call?”
    “No, but I thought you wanted someone to represent you?”
    “Is that what I said?”
    “Yes. Don’t you recall?”
    It was frustrating; clearly she was spaced.
    “I see so many people; I can’t be expected to remember them all.”
    It was an inauspicious start; she agreed to meet again, for a coffee. When he put the phone down, he began to wonder what it was he was doing. Could he truly represent someone like her? What did a manager do for his client? He brought to mind a couple of faces he had met in the past. None of them were exactly scintillating people. This was virgin territory, but he had served his time in publishing; he was ready for the next move.
    
    She remembered him only as they met; she had confused him on the phone with another guy from the party who was hustling her, his name was Nick she thought. They agreed to meet more formally and she suggested the offices of her father’s attorney in lower Manhattan.
    Natalie brought her dad to the meeting; Geoff remembered him from TV when he was a child growing up. His face was lined with age, and he wore an impressive toupee, but there was no doubting his presence and the influence he had on the proceedings. She sat opposite, smoking and pouting as her father chatted on and on about the business and the way his career had been allowed to decline. He still believed he was a player and that others should be prepared to listen to the advice he was dishing out. He seemed to want to monopolise proceedings and would not allow anyone to speak; eventually Natalie blew up and her father was forced to yield the floor.
    “Fucking hell dad – this isn’t about your career. Your time is done – now it’s mine.”
    “Natalie, don’t speak to me in that way.” He yelled back.
    Geoff could see the volatile nature of their relationship.
    “You’re here to offer advice dad… just let me handle things can you?”
    Richard Tracy pretended to be hurt. “Go ahead then – don’t listen to me.”
    She made a bitter face, lapsing into childish petulance.
    “Are we here to do business?” Asked the attorney trying to inject some professionalism into the atmosphere.
    Geoff saw his chance and launched into a prepared speech, directing it largely toward both men present.
    “I know you probably don’t trust me sir, but I want to try and take care of your daughter’s business interests – I’ve spent a long time representing the interests of authors both here and in Europe. I’ve concluded a great many contracts to the benefit of the authors I’ve represented. I can’t promise I won’t screw up – there are things you can’t always be prepared for, but if you allow me a chance then I’ll make her more successful than… more successful. I won’t disappoint…you, or her.”
    It sounded awful, and he thought he had failed, but then she burst into laughter. He saw at once that she was pleased by what he said, and pushed on.
    “I’m prepared to put my own career on hold to look after Natalie as my sole client. I want no more than a fair percentage…” He turned to her, but she wasn’t paying attention. The attorney was listening however.
    “How much?” He asked pointedly.
    “Twenty percent of her earnings, after I commence.”
    “Five.”
    “No, twenty – how do I know what she can do? At this juncture we both have to trust one another.”
    
    Richard Tracy took his daughter into a corner out of earshot; Geoff could tell that he was trying to persuade her against trusting this unknown quantity. Her body language was closed against her father, and she quickly returned to the table.
    “I don’t want anyone controlling me, or managing me in the way you might expect Geoff – I’ll tell you what I will, and will not do. Understand?”
    He nodded, but he really did not understand and imagined that she would come to accept his judgement after they had worked together for a while.
    Her father stood little chance in getting her to accept that Geoff’s inexperience could ruin her career.
    As he listened to them argue, he got the impression she was not interested in a career – simply someone who would give her the space she needed to get on with her life and create. He was to take care of daily business, money and any of life’s little inconveniences; she would produce the art.
    When he left the office, he had a signed undertaking in his hand for a period of two years. Her father’s attorney was to monitor business and financial arrangements – at a distance, but there would be no direct interference.
    She could live or die by whatever actions they undertook together.
    
    Some of the deals he had become involved in, together with the merchandising tie-in’s taught him how much money could be earned through appropriate marketing. America was such a vast continent, and the market potential was enormous for the right man with the right product. He sincerely believed Natalie could be that product, in purely brutal terms.
    Natalie was the youngest of seven children, from three different mothers. She was born at a time when her father was a fixture on TV, his movie career already past its best. He had fought and alienated each of his children in turn, and appeared to be doing a good job with Natalie, but she was strong willed and would not let him have his way over her.
    
    She had a large apartment, and invited Geoff to stay with her, seeing to it that he was put through his paces early on. Philip it transpired was her fitness trainer and sometime lover; he had a room of his own, but always seemed to be around whenever Natalie was at home. He treated Geoff with suspicion; Geoff ignored him as best he could. He didn’t figure in the plans he was working on. Natalie became his work and he relished the task; she was working on another novel, but felt compelled to paint; evenings were given over to music. She sang in a barn of a bar in Greenwich Village, and had a pleasing style that Geoff considered was never going to make her a star. Nevertheless, she had a face and story that could be promoted and it wasn’t unusual to find one or two record company people present when she performed. Geoff used his time to get to know these people, as well as the musicians who came in for a beer and who would stay to sit in with her. What he discovered was that they were drawn to her simple style; her lyrics were gathered from the life she had led and this set her apart from the other songsters of the time. He began to see a way to market her and use that as a springboard for the other material she was working on. It required a degree of subtlety; she didn’t want to be in the spotlight and would do anything to stay away from fame. After all she had seen what it had done to her father, and other family members.
    
    Geoff went to see Charlie Walker who was president of Chet Records. They had met at one of the publishing events when Nick Walker, his nephew, introduced them.
    His aim was to get Natalie a recording contract, and then gradually move her towards a tour to promote the record during which he hoped to get her sufficient publicity to talk about other projects she was working on. They had already discussed an exhibition of her painting and sculpture in the autumn, and possible book signings in the lead up to Xmas. Her reluctance to formalise her music career was in part fuelled by the fear that her minor drug habit could become inflamed. Her sister was living with a well known singer whose own drug taking was legendary. One base fear that Natalie kept hidden, but which he discovered by degrees was that she was terrified of losing control in her life.
    Charlie Walker was quite explicit. “Geoff, we’ve got to go for quality, I’ve heard Natalie sing – she can carry a tune in an intimate setting. You’ve got to surround her with musicians who’ll cushion her. You understand what I’m saying?”
    He nodded. “But she’ll only work with people who she can trust.”
    He was bullish. “Well, bring ‘em in – this thing can be built up. She’s never gonna be an overnight artist. You might only get 1 or 2 albums from her. I don’t expect much – but if you want to give her a career, then go for quality. Those things matter.”
    Geoff conceded to Charlie’s greater experience and began to prepare.
    
    The album emerged to mixed reviews; it was a crowded market place and she was expected to sink. Geoff saw it differently and began to get her spots on radio stations in the city, where most people already knew her as the daughter of a celebrity who was practically an institution. She opened up on air and began to discuss her other activities, the novels, the painting and the music. From there, she was invited onto TV. Her father’s reputation drew them in, but when the interview got onto what she was doing currently her natural charm took over and she blossomed. She was soon in demand to go on air in several different States. Geoff accompanied her, directing, enthusing and talking up her work; she grew to trust him. The record company was capitalising on the publicity to promote her across America. The chance for a city tour was floated; 20 dates in mid sized theatres over 28 days. For the first time in their association, she asked his advice and he said “Do it”.
    “Do it?” She smiled. It was an evocative phrase.
    She had been keeping the coke habit under control recently; he was proud of her and told her when it seemed pertinent. The truth was, being out of town she had lost touch with her dealer. She was drinking heavily; it stimulated the creative juices she needed to make herself work. He largely accepted what she told him, but was concerned that she needed this kind of ‘prop’ at such an early stage in her career.
    “Are you ok?” He asked. She nodded absently. “Working?”
    “Yeah…”
    He had seen her working at another novel; she was sketching too, but rarely wanted to discuss this aspect of her work with him. She was yet to trust him as thoroughly as he would like.
    “Do you want me to start talking to your publisher?”
    “That really isn’t necessary.” She responded sharply.
    “We should try to get you a better deal, the last novel is sitting nicely in the best sellers list…”
    She made a face; talk of best sellers didn’t interest her.
    “My new one will be nothing like the last…”
    He waited for her to continue, but she was lost in her own thoughts. She was often distracted like this; he put it down to the artistic temperament.
    
    Somewhere along the way she parted company with Philip; he never really stood a chance. She began a brash romance with a guitar player, but that fell apart. It was during this time that her dependence on cocaine returned with a vengeance; soon becoming a fixture in her hectic life. He was expected to provide for her needs, and learned how to spot a dealer in a bar or in the crowds that attended the gigs she was prepared to play.
    “Have you got it?” She would demand anxiously.
    She was desperate, snatching it away from him to snort in a corner. Afterwards she took the glass of Jack Daniels he handed her with more grace.
    “I don’t need it – not really, I can kick it anytime.”
    He was not convinced. “Sure – let’s see when the time’s right.”
    “Back in New York… When I get home.”
    She made a great many promises on that road trip. She wanted so much; the crowds who applauded and cheered allowed her to see a new potential. She could be a star, maybe bigger than her father. He heard the ambition in her voice, and was glad she could be so positive. There was the down side as well; dark days when she suffered terrible doubts about her ability, and then she would scream and rant accusing him of taking advantage of her talent just to make money. She had a thing about money; she hated it, but she needed it. Mostly she despised it; luckily she had enough not to need to worry.
    
    In New York, she completed her third novel and it hit the bookshelves with maximum publicity. She read him passages as they sat alone in her apartment; it was the story of a young woman from a famous family trying desperately to find love and grasp for the happiness missing from her life.
    “Is it intended to be autobiographical?” He asked whimsically.
    She merely smiled and continued to read, long serious snatches of a life lived under the spotlight of constant publicity.
    “What about your father – why don’t you write about him?” He asked when she had finished.
    “I have done.” She fell silent; thoughtful. “I put it away in a safety deposit box. My Dad helped me – it tells the truth, about his marriages and those deals.” She spat the word. “There’s murky stuff too – my dad told me… drugs, affairs – who screwed who etc. We’ll publish it when he dies.”
    “We?”
    “I meant my dad and I, we have a pact.”
    He was surprised; but then he wasn’t when he thought about it. As youngest, she had gone through most things at an early stage and knew pretty much how to avoid the pitfalls. She had also seen the family disasters and wasn’t about to repeat any, and though she might want to keep her dad at a distance – she also loved him.
    
    He asked about the life she had led; there were parts of the novel that were quite unpleasant. She told him about 1965; she was fifteen and her father held poolside parties at his ranch most weekends. When the early waves of British groups were on tour they would sometimes be brought by; she met them all back then and told him about the heavy drinking bouts that erupted into orgies of drug taking and sex. It was at one such party that she lost her virginity, to a drummer in a band who was a household name. After that there was no stopping her, and she soon became a sexual predator. It wasn’t passion; it was greed. The police brought her home more than once, and she was threatened with juvenile hall. Her father locked her inside the house, but she ran away to Mexico with a boy she met in a pool hall. A private detective tracked them down and paid off the boy. She was sixteen, and dragged home to face the consequences of her actions. There was an abortion, and for many months afterwards, times when she simply wanted to die.
    She fell silent as she recalled all this, and lifted the novel that had dropped into her lap. “I’m not strong enough to write about that part of my life yet.” She declared. “I’ve got to wait until after I’ve lived a little longer. I’ve got to put more distance between me and then. Do you understand?”
    He nodded, holding back a macabre interest he was developing in the more salacious aspects of her past life.
    “You mean those parts are still raw?”
    “Raw and…unresolved. You know…?”
    She grinned, closing down. He watched her for a while, but she was lost somewhere he could never reach.
    
    The record company was clamouring for a second album. There were ‘stars’ in their lives now; people drawn to her for the celebrity she had acquired. And with celebrity came notoriety - as close as night is to day. Her promise to kick coke proved impossible; Natalie was partying hard, work suspended or ignored. The second album was taking longer and longer to record; more takes were required to satisfy her ego and more ‘guests’ needed to carry her through.
    During two expensive evenings in the studio, exactly four minutes of material was recorded. Geoff was in the middle of this, enjoying himself, but aware it couldn’t last.
    He tried to remonstrate with her as they drove home, but she told him she wanted to go to LA to record the final 3 songs. He was exasperated.
    “Why? Why LA?” He demanded.
    She was evasive at first. “Sunshine.” Was the answer given.
    Well, it seemed simple. New York was dull, overcast; why not?
    When they got there, he realised the truth, she had started an affair with Martin Price the singer with the Golden Moment. He was a friend and former lover of her eldest sister. They ensconced themselves into a house in Laurel canyon, refusing all communication with the outside world, and he didn’t see her again for several weeks. When she emerged, it was clear her coke habit had not been her sole focus; she was also hooked on heroin, and drank to submerge the pain when drugs were unavailable.
    She came to his room at the hotel to ask for money, something she had never done before. He gave her what she needed; they had spent the advance the record company had provided, and were now living on her earnings from the novel - but it couldn’t go on. He was fielding calls every couple of days, lying to the suits in New York, telling them that it was a struggle but almost done.
    
    What was Geoff doing all this time? He was displaying his ‘amateur’ status by lounging beside the pool of the motel, which is where he chanced upon ‘Rodeo Rose’ and the entourage she hung out with. She was there most days, topping up her tan and was easy to get to know. They were filming at a location close by and used the motel as a base between takes. It didn’t take long for him to discover they were making stag films, and she did an act involving ‘bare back’ riding.
    She ‘loved’ his British accent; he took pleasure in her brazen attitude. She had come to LA to become a bona fide actress, but these were the breaks. It was better than being a waitress, and she had done that for a while. He was reminded of Sue Hardy, but not for long; Rose had a clear perspective on what she was doing, and what it would take to get into the big time. She was interested to learn he was managing Natalie Tracy; yes, she had heard some of her stuff, although she preferred 3 Dog Night.
    He took a holiday from Natalie as Rose increasingly diverted him. He was invited to watch the filming and got to know most of the crew; it was artless stuff and there were few retakes on scenes that played to formula scenarios. The sight of so much naked flesh began to grow meaningless as time went on, but when he was alone with her it never became tiresome.
    He realised he had to pull his attention back to Natalie’s career, but she wouldn’t tolerate his interference. Natalie cared neither for fame or fortune, and he knew he could do little to shift her attitude or increase her appeal for that of a mass market. Her dependence on drugs was ruining any possibility he had of using her work in any meaningful way.
    He thought fleetingly of appealing to her father, but knew it would be interpreted by both as a sign of failure.
    He took what was perhaps the worst choice on offer, and sat by the pool, and played out his last remaining fantasies with Rose. It was easy; he was living off someone else’s money and doing only what people he barely knew believed stylish.
    
    By chance he discovered Natalie was on her own again. He found her suffering, alone in her room, and learned that Martin Price had gone abroad on tour; she didn’t know if he would ever want her back. She didn’t really care, but the experience had opened a number of doors in her psyche, so much so she had come to realise the extent of the tragedy her life had become and wanted time to reconstruct. There was no way she could consider going back into the studio to finish recording, or find time either to write or paint.
    He was devastated; what did she want him to do? She was in no state to make decisions and refused to answer. It was days before she could be bothered to include him in her thoughts, and only then because he was constantly badgering her.
    “Leave me alone!” Was all she would scream at him.
    He took her to New York in the hope that familiar surroundings would bring her old self back. She was lost somewhere inside herself, and there was no reaction to his attempts to reach her. He felt out of his depth. In desperation he finally went to see her father.
    “Look what you’ve done to my daughter.” Shouted Richard Tracy as he was confronted by the confused state of mind she had fallen into since their return from LA, his worst fears founded.
    Natalie was swept away out of Geoff’s influence, to be taken to a private hospital where she would undergo therapy. From what her father admitted, Geoff came to understand that her mother had been an equally talented artist who had suffered from a recurring psychosis all her life. Richard confessed to an addictive nature of his own. Combined in his youngest daughter, the effects could be catastrophic and he had feared all through her childhood and adolescence that she would either be extremely gifted or kill herself through addiction or suicide.
    
    The record company threatened to sue. Geoff gave them everything that had been recorded, but not the live sets and eventually a very disappointing album was released. It was too late to try to change matters; the family attorney informed him his services were no longer required. He would take over now.
    There was nothing left. The money was gone, every last cent spent or owing to others. There was not even enough to pay the hotel bill. He knew her father would refuse to help, and took the little that he had acquired along the way to return to London.
    Natalie had ‘given’ him two paintings, and he had a scrapbook of press cuttings and several mementos’ of their time together. He also possessed the tapes he had made of her club appearances. Maybe one day he could negotiate an arrangement to release these if and when her career picked up again.
    
    To say Geoff was disappointed was an understatement; the payoff, and certainly the payback were entirely absent. He had spent months pushing, priming and promoting Natalie, only to be given the ‘kiss off’. It was certainly illuminating in a morbid way, and he began to see that his skills in this particular arena were not all that he had hoped for. He still believed he had a role to play in management, and for that same reason refused to consider a return to publishing in the short term.
    What upset him most was that he had seen these opportunities as being his best shot at achieving the kind of fame and fortune others were acquiring. Vast amounts of money were on offer, and he had glimpsed the possibilities. Maybe Natalie was never going to be the provider, but for a while she had been the key and he should have used his prospects more convincingly to secure an advantage. As it was, who would remember him – it was a market in which only winners were allowed to participate. Everyone else was purely a spectator at the games.
    He put it to one side and went home, a wiser if no more richer man.

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