More Than a Stage Name

We stepped down from the private jet - clearly Amethyst had notched up another chart place - into a horde of epileptic lights. The airport staff struggled to restrain the pulsating masses of journalists, cameramen, fans as we hurried towards the waiting limousine.1

Cocooned inside the soundproof capsule, tinted windows wound right up, we watched as the backing band followed us in. But the eyes of the paparazzi stayed glued to Amethyst; no one cared about the instrumentalists. However talented they were, it wasn't their names blaring from every radio station, their images smeared on magazine covers and plastered on CD cases. No one seemed to care about anything but leaching the colour out of my girlfriend's soul with their camera-flashes.2

I put my arm round her, kissing the top of her purple-dyed head. "You all right with this attention?" I murmured to her. We'd just flown back from her last tour date, in some godawful fag-end of a country at the wrong end of Europe. Strangely enough, there weren't too many magazines operating there.3

"I'm fine," she replied. But I knew she wasn't: stressed and tired from touring, still reeling from the over-success of Not a Stage Name - a debut that had sold far too many copies for her sanity - what she really needed was a few weeks off. No interviews, no shows, no recording sessions, no photo shoots: time with herself and her friends and me, a guitar idle in the corner, tipsily played for an audience of four at midnight.4

"We'll stay in tonight, okay?" I said. "Just a quiet evening alone. Watch a film or something. Just the two of us."5

Amethyst smiled up at me as the band climbed into the car. "I'd like that."6

She leaned up to peck me on the cheek, and love for this determined, stubborn, barely twenty girl-woman flared in me once again.7

Before, we had lived in a small but adequate apartment; now we were moving to somewhere more appropriate for an international rock star, and staying at an ostentatious hotel in the mean time. Thankfully, the limo and chauffeur didn't attract too much attention from passers-by, and once in the sheltered hotel we decided to defer heading to our room in favour of a leisurely afternoon tea in the hotel restaurant. That would allow us to skip dinner, giving us more time alone; and the novelty of being able to casually order something as archaic as an afternoon tea had still not worn off.8

We were munching our way through a second plate of scones when our waiter swept grandly up to announce:9

"There is a Mr Armitage in the lobby for you, Miss Amethyst."10

Mr Armitage was Amethyst's agent.11

Amethyst glanced at me. "Connor, do you mind...?"12

"Not at all."13

I sat alone, growing ever more suspicious, until a rather harassed-looking Amethyst reappeared.14

"Armitage says NME want to do an exclusive post-tour...thing. But they won't do it unless it's this evening..."15

"I thought we were going to hang out tonight...?"16

"I know, I know." Amethyst slumped into her chair. "I wish I could but...NME are huge, and they won't hang around for a newbie like me...Armitage says it'll be really good for my career..."17

"That's true. But are you sure you really need it? Everything's going so well."18

"Yeah..."19

I reached across and took her clenched hand, kissing each knuckle. "What you really need is a break."20

"Precisely! I don't even want a holiday, I just want some time at home with you...but if I don't go for this then in a year or two I might not be able to afford to pay for that fancy new house we've bought...you know how fickle this industry is. I don't want to be a one hit wonder..."21

I could tell she was going to take it, whatever I said. That didn't bother me; I would support her whatever she did, and we could always have our evening another day. "Just don't put yourself under too much pressure. Perhaps...how about this: go to the interview, but tell them it's the last one you'll be doing for a while, you're taking a break - no more publicity or singles or anything for a month or two. Tell them to expect a follow-up album next summer."22

"Yeah...yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Con."23

*24

EXCLUSIVE! ROCK AND ROLL SENSATION AMETHYST TALKS TO NME ON HAIR, TEA AND WHY WE CAN EXPECT A FOLLOW-UP TO STAGE NAME FOR CHRISTMAS...25

"Amethyst? What's this? I thought - "26

"Yes, yes, I know, but the way they asked the questions, and they were so insistent, and sort of assumed things, and I said all this stupid stuff, and now everyone believes it, and I'm late for my studio session so I'll talk to you later, love you bye - "27

*28

It was a week before we finally managed to have our night in.29

Amethyst staggered in and leaned against the door. "God, so tired..."30

Then she did a double-take.31

There were candles lit around the room, her favourite meal on the table, and a vase of flowers artfully arranged between two plates.32

"Connor!" She ran to me, grabbed me round the neck, and assaulted my lips with kisses.33

I grinned as I disentangled her arms. "Bit of a chokehold going on there..."34

"I don't care, god! This is exactly what I need, thank you so much...definitely got something to sing about now..."35

As we sat down to dinner she looked momentarily guilty, and then said, almost as if she were confessing it, "I'm sorry we couldn't do this earlier...that idiotic thing I said to NME's kept me so busy. I hardly see you these days...but...you know...this whole music thing is just like...a really elaborate game, right? You don't have to play it with me. If you'd rather be with someone who doesn't need to be at the studio every five minutes, feel free to just...forget me..."36

"No! No, Amethyst, how can you even think that, I'd rather spend my entire life playing this game than have to forget you. That's ridiculous. How could I ever forget you, anyway? I love you. Always. I promise."37

But even as I said it I felt the crushing weight of success, and wondered if I could keep that promise.