Kiss Heaven Goodbye

'Listen, I should get back,' said Alex suddenly, standing up.

'Alex Doyle,' she scolded, 'don't even think about it. You've had way too much to drink and I'm not going to let you kill yourself. There's plenty of room here.'

'Grace ...'

'Alex, please. I'll make up the spare room. Stay in bed as long as you like, but I warn you, the kids get up at the crack of dawn.'

She showed him the way and gave him towels and blankets and a spare toothbrush. He reached over and touched her cheek.




'Thanks, Grace,' he said softly. 'You know I've missed you.'

Her heart jumped.

'You were always so sensible,' he continued. 'You always make things make sense.'

She nodded, fighting down the feeling of disappointment. Creamy moonlight streamed through the window and for a split second they were both back there on West Point Beach. She flinched and then knew he'd felt it too.

'That's what friends are for, Alex.' She smiled. And friends is all we And friends is all we'll ever be, she thought sadly.

38

June 1996

Alex stepped off stage at LA's House of Blues, propped his guitar against the wall and sank down to his haunches. He was exhausted. He couldn't remember when he'd worked as hard. And where had twelve months of soul-searching, discipline and back-breaking graft got him? A measly acoustic gig on a dead Tuesday evening. OK, so it was one of LA's top rock venues, right on the Sunset Strip, and yes, he'd got a pretty good reaction considering, but he was playing as the first warm-up act to some local hair metal band. Headlining at the Hollywood Bowl it wasn't.

Hauling himself to his feet, he stripped off his T-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face, smiling at the thought that when he was in Year Zero, their live contracts had stipulated that each band member 'must be supplied with four brand-new forest-green towels'. He had always wondered why they had to be forest green. One of Jez's demands, no doubt. At least he hadn't had to listen to that c.o.c.k for the last year, he thought with a grim smile. be supplied with four brand-new forest-green towels'. He had always wondered why they had to be forest green. One of Jez's demands, no doubt. At least he hadn't had to listen to that c.o.c.k for the last year, he thought with a grim smile.

Alex had quit the band the moment he got back from Ibiza; he had been more than a little annoyed that no one had begged him to stay and that the label had issued a statement saying that while his departure was 'regrettable', it would be 'business as usual' for Year Zero. In the usual scheme of things, this would have been the perfect excuse for Alex to drink himself into a coma, but that was the old Alex. The new Alex went back to the Notting Hill flat, packed a backpack, grabbed his guitar and flew straight to Ireland. He rented a tumbledown crofter's cottage on a tuft of windswept headland in Connemara, grew a beard and slept in his clothes. He'd wake with the dawn, go for brisk walks and drink nothing but strong Irish tea. It was the ultimate in cold turkey, but he was also writing tunes that felt better than anything he'd ever written. On long hikes over the purple heather, the lyrics had come too. Verses of love and loss, romance and regret. Even memories, emotions he hadn't allowed himself to think about were revisited and rechannelled into the music. He knew it sounded w.a.n.ky, but in that little cottage he felt reborn.

And then he'd come out here, to LA. From the sublime to the vacuous, the home of the silicone breast and the c.o.ke spoon, the last place he wanted to be but the one place he needed to be if he was going to crack America. Some b.l.o.o.d.y hope Some b.l.o.o.d.y hope, he thought, pulling on his one clean T-shirt. He snapped his guitar case closed and headed out on to the Strip. He had wanted to see the main act he had a secret affection for spandex and drum solos but it would have meant hanging around the bar. After almost one year sober, he couldn't take that sort of risk.

'Alex, Alex! Wait!'

He turned to see two pretty teenage girls, one blonde, one brunette, running towards him.

'Can we have your autograph?' said the blonde, handing him a black marker pen.

'You sure?' he said, bemused.

'h.e.l.l, yeah,' said the brunette, opening her denim jacket and thrusting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s towards him. 'Can you sign my T-shirt?'

'You were amazing amazing,' said the blonde.

'Was I?' he said.

'h.e.l.l, yes. Those songs, they were so personal, so sensitive. I melted, man I f.u.c.king melted melted.'

'Hey, d'you wanna come to a party tonight?' said the blonde, biting her lip playfully.

Alex laughed. It was certainly tempting, but he'd promised himself no more one-night stands, no cheap thrills in the club toilets. In fact there had been no one in the year since Emma had left him, but the attention was flattering nonetheless.

'Ladies, it's fantastic to meet you.' He smiled. 'But I've really got to go.'

'Go where?'

'My hotel. I leave for Santa Barbara tomorrow.'

'When are you coming back?'

'Soon. I promise.'

He kissed each girl on the cheek and started walking back up Sunset, whistling. In LA, everyone went everywhere by car, but it wasn't far to the hotel and it was a nice night to walk. A sweet, balmy breeze fluttered through the palm trees and Alex swung his guitar case happily; he felt relaxed, free and hopeful. People came out to see me! People came out to see me! He was more excited about that than he would have been if a record executive had turned up. Because this time, Alex was making the music he wanted to make, not the music he hoped would get him a record deal. He was more excited about that than he would have been if a record executive had turned up. Because this time, Alex was making the music he wanted to make, not the music he hoped would get him a record deal.

His hotel rose like a gothic fairy-tale castle from the garish wonderland of Sunset Boulevard. The Chateau Marmont was Alex's favourite hotel in the world, a place where you could not help but feel like a rock-and-roll star even if you were a carpet salesman from Wisconsin. He'd blown a huge chunk of his savings staying here, but Harry Cohn the hotel's founder had summed up its magic when he said that at the Chateau Marmont you could be whoever you wanted to be. Right now, that seemed like a potent idea to hold on to.

Walking through the doors, he was confronted by the bar, fizzing with people and sound. It looked so inviting, so welcoming. It was one of the things he had really missed about giving up the booze: the warmth and social mix of pubs and bars. f.u.c.k it, f.u.c.k it, he thought. he thought. I can do this I can do this. He settled into a booth, put his guitar under the table and ordered a Virgin b.l.o.o.d.y Mary.

To distract himself, he began doodling on a napkin, writing up his itinerary for the next fortnight: Santa Barbara, Palo Alto, San Fran, Portland, Seattle. Most of the gigs were in small bars on student campuses, plus a few interviews with college radio. Not much, but it was a start. Then he heard laughter and looked up and froze. Miles Ashford was standing in the lobby, joking with the hotel concierge. Alex's heart began to pound as he watched the sharp-suited figure cut through the crowd towards him. Miles did a double-take, then walked straight up and stuck out his hand.

'Alex Doyle,' he said, shaking his head and grinning. 'I don't believe it.'

For a second Alex didn't know how to respond. He had known that their paths would cross one day, of course, and he had rehea.r.s.ed what he would say a thousand times over. But now, with Miles standing right in front of him, no words would come.

'Miles,' he said simply, shaking his hand.

'May I?' asked Miles, indicating the s.p.a.ce next to him.

'Sure,' said Alex, wishing he had the strength to say no.

'This is incredible. This calls for champagne,' Miles said, signalling to a waitress.

Alex shook his head. 'Not for me.'

'Ah yes, I heard you were off the sauce,' said Miles.

'Really?' said Alex, slightly unsettled. He hadn't spoken to anyone about his self-ministered withdrawal in Ireland. 'Been keeping tabs on me?'

'Not really,' said Miles, giving the waitress his order. 'But it's amazing what gossip you pick up working in the club industry. I'm seriously thinking of starting my own scandal rag.'

'So are you staying here?'

Miles nodded. 'Scouting sites for a West Coast Globe Club. The whole thing has gone crazy, I've got a three-year waiting list from half of London wanting to become members. Difficult thing is marrying expansion with exclusivity.'

It was typical Miles, thought Alex, always boasting about his latest wheeze, telling you how well-connected and clever he was, but now the old brash arrogance had been replaced by a smooth self-a.s.surance. Alex had kept tabs on Miles too via the papers and the occasional snippet of gossip, and he knew that the tailored suit and the Rolex had come from the success of the Globe clubs rather than his father's generous allowance.

'So how're things with you? Still singing and dancing?'

Alex ignored the jibe. 'Yes, I've just done a gig at the House of Blues.'

'Well done,' said Miles without enthusiasm. 'So you left that band, eh? Brave decision. I hear the music scene is really taking off in London, all that Britpop s.h.i.te. Hey, I think Jez Harrison is a Globe Club member, do you want me to get him blackballed?'

Alex pulled a face. 'I wouldn't bother.'

'That's the spirit,' said Miles, clapping him on the shoulder.'Don't get mad, get even and all that. Good plan coming out to the States actually; all the serious money is here. Jez would s.h.i.t a brick if you made it out here.'

The thought had crossed Alex's mind, but if he was honest, it wasn't looking too rosy. Three knock-backs from record labels and a handful of college gigs he was hardly Michael Jackson.

'I haven't actually got a recording contract yet.'

'Oh really?' Miles with a sideways glance. 'Bad luck.' He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring into the air. It was a simple gesture, but it was so familiar to Alex that suddenly he needed a drink. He reached out and grabbed the champagne flute, knocking it back in one.

'Hey, I thought you were clean and serene,' said Miles.

'Just the one,' said Alex, grimacing as the alcohol burnt its way down. Clearly his feelings for Miles were as raw as ever and it made him uncomfortable just being in the same room.

'So how long are you in town?'

'Just until tomorrow. I've got a few college gigs up the West Coast.'

'College gigs! b.a.l.l.s to that,' said Miles with disdain. 'You know who you have to meet? Falk.'

'David Falk?' said Alex, almost choking. 'You know him?' Falk?' said Alex, almost choking. 'You know him?'

David Falk was a legend in the music industry. He ran one of the biggest media companies in the world. Equally known for his amazing ear for hits and for his appet.i.te for debauchery, he had not only made the careers of dozens of global stars, he had supposedly seduced a good few of them too. Alex was astonished that Miles was now mixing with the highest inner circle of the entertainment industry.

Miles shrugged casually. 'Yeah, Dave's having a party tomorrow night. Amazing house in the Hollywood Hills, even I was impressed. You should come, I think he'll like you.'

'Miles, I can't. I have to be in Santa Barbara tomorrow. I have a gig.'

Miles suddenly looked serious. 'You don't get it, do you?' he said, locking eyes with Alex. 'Why do you think people like Jez Harrison are successful despite having no talent, while you're out here with no record deal? Networking, Alex. It's putting yourself out there and showing people how good you are. Jez would be there in a flash; any musician who was serious about succeeding would. It's a music business business, Alex, a record deal deal. You need to start sweet-talking the money men.'

He threw a fifty-dollar bill and his business card on the table.

'Nice seeing you, Alex,' he said, standing up. 'Give me a call if you make the right decision.'

Then he walked away without looking back.Alex hated it, but Miles was right. After a fretful night's sleep, punctuated by vivid, brutal dreams, he got up early and called the number on the card. He could keep slogging away on the American version of the toilet circuit and hope that some record company scout happened to walk by, or he could cut out all the pain and uncertainty and go straight to the top. And anyway, it was just a party. He wasn't there to talk to Miles, or renew their friendship. It was just business.

Alex remained silent and tense for most of the twisting climb up into the Hills as Miles chattered about his many successes. The Falk mansion didn't look particularly impressive as they turned off Mulholland Drive high above the city, just a black gate and a lot of shrubbery. But as they climbed out of the car and Miles handed the keys to a valet, Alex had to stop in his tracks. The house was astounding, like a glistening silver s.p.a.ceship hovering over the twinkling carpet of Los Angeles. A series of pools encircled the whole house, connected by waterfalls and bridges, and the entire ground floor opened out on to a huge entertaining deck which tonight was packed with hundreds of household names mingling and laughing with a supporting cast of beautiful scenesters.

'Impressive, huh?' Miles grinned. 'Told you it was worth coming.'

Alex had been to loads of s...o...b..z parties in his time, but this one was in another league. London might be swinging, but this place was red hot. In a huge hot tub, talking box office receipts, were two of the most powerful men in Hollywood, while in another corner, Rosalind, the supermodel was semi-naked and fellating her billionaire boyfriend in front of a small, encouraging crowd.

'She's an exhibitionist,' said Miles unnecessarily.

They moved through the party, Miles shaking hands and slapping backs, until they reached the bar, staffed by topless male waiters. 'Don't be so nervous,' hissed Miles. 'It's just a party; let's have a good laugh. Like old times, eh?'

Alex ordered a Pepsi and watched Miles effortlessly flit from group to group, chuckling, swapping anecdotes, confident, garrulous, in control. Alex had tortured himself over the years with the question of whether his friend could actually have killed that boat boy, but watching him tonight, he did not look like a man with a burden. He looked completely at ease with himself and his environment. Did that mean anything? Probably not. Alex was sure there were people in this room whose pasts weren't whiter than white.

'Like those, do you?' asked a short man with salt and pepper hair. Alex had been admiring a display of electric guitars hung along a wall like works of art.

'What a collection,' said Alex, gazing up.

'The one at the end used to be John Lennon's,' the man said, pointing to the black and white Rickenbacker. 'Everyone thinks Yoko's got it, but we came to an arrangement,' he added with a wink as Alex realised with a blush that the man was the party's host, David Falk.

'Alex is a musician too,' said Miles, walking over. 'He's really good. Used to be in Year Zero, that British band? '

'I know Year Zero,' said David to Alex. 'A bit hit and miss, but you had potential. You were at the House of Blues the other night, weren't you?'

Alex nodded slowly but his heart was racing.

'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 ca.s.sette 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 f.u.c.king 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?'