What Vicky fails to grasp is that I’m no longer friends with Jake, and haven’t been for twelve years. It’s not like I can just call him up to ask him for an interview.
She thinks I can. She thinks that Jake would be made up to hear from me. I know she’s only saying that to try and urge me to get in touch.
But I won’t ever get in touch with Jake. I think if he did want to see me again, then he would have been in touch himself by now.
Honestly, I think he’s forgotten all about me. He’s moved on to bigger and better things, and me rocking back up in his life, asking for an interview, would just be plain awkward and a lot weird, for him as well as me.
I’ve done my best trying to explain this to Vicky, but it’s not sticking, so I’m now at the stage of dodging her whenever his name comes up.
“Earth to Tru, have you listened to a word I’ve just been saying?” Vicky clicks her fingers, instantly bringing my focus back to her and I realise I’d zoned out.
My face flushes. “Um … no sorry.” I bite my bottom lip. “It’s just the whole Jake thing … I know you want me to get in touch but I just can’t–”
She holds a perfectly manicured finger up halting my words.
“Well if you’d been listening to me, my darling, you would have heard that I don’t need your help getting an interview with Jake Wethers after all.”
She’s full on grinning, like a kid who thinks they’ve just seen the real Santa Claus in Harrods.
Damn me and my zone out.
I sit up a little straighter in my seat. “Y-you got an interview with Jake?”
She nods proudly.
“How?” I breathe out, dumbstruck.
Jake’s well known for not doing interviews. Another of the reasons Vicky was so desperate for me to try and grab one with him. An exclusive.
Jake’s intensely private. He talks about his music when he has to for PR of course. But he never talks about himself outside of that.
Which is funny, considering how he lives his life - very publicly in many ways – the drinking, the drugs … the women.
Vicky shifts uncomfortably in her seat and grimaces slightly. “Well, it doesn’t matter how I got it – just that I did and you’re going to do the interview.”
“What?!” I almost reel backwards off my chair.
“Don’t look so surprised. You’re my best writer, Tru, and well … you’re my only music writer. And you have this huge connection with Jake, you grew up together for crying out loud! He’ll open up to you more than he would anyone else. You could land us an exclusive here.”
“Oh, no.” I’m shaking my head, rapidly. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
I might be a journo, but I do have this thing called morals. I’m not going to spread Jake’s guts all over the magazine in the name of news.
“It’s an excellent idea, and we need this, Tru.” Her normally smooth features furrow. “Sales are rubbish at the moment, and this exclusive with Jake Wethers will give us the boost we’ve been waiting for.”
Ugh. She’s right. It will be good for the magazine, no, scrap that, it will be amazing for the magazine.
All I need to do is get a great interview from Jake and keep my morals at the same time.
Holy fuck! Is this really happening? Am I really going to see Jake again after all this time?
A frisson of nervous energy passes through me.
He probably won’t even remember me. It’s been twelve years.
“Okay. I’m in.”
“That’s my girl.” Vicky smiles, clapping her hands together.
“When and where?”
“Tomorrow, 10am, at The Dorchester.”
“Tomorrow?” I feel another, much larger, shot of nerves rush through my blood.
“He’s only here in the UK for a few days. This is the only window we’ve got.”
“Okay … should I book Jim to go with me?” Jim is our photographer.
She shakes her head. “No pictures. We’re to use old press photos. You’re going in solo, gorgeous.”
Crap. I was hoping for the back-up.
I swallow down the nerves ramming up my throat and nod. “Okay.”
“Don’t look so nervous, you’ll do great, Tru. Oh, and here’s a review copy of the new album–” She picks a CD case up from her desk and peers down at it, reading. “– Creed … ahh,” she murmurs knowingly. “…anyway, have a listen before the interview, and it’s not released yet, so remember–”
“Guard it with my life.” I take the CD from her and start to walk away.
“I bet he’ll be delighted to see you,” she sings from behind me.
I look at her over my shoulder, pulling a face at her, I stick my tongue out.
She laughs. “Well maybe not with a face like that he won’t.”
I grin, and then with my new Mighty Storm CD, and the heavy weight of the interview on my shoulders, I amble out of her office.
I slump down in my chair at my desk and look at the CD in my hand.
Okay, so tomorrow, at 10am, I’m going to see Jake for the first time in twelve years.
Jake Wethers, the man who used to be the boy I loved.