This rockstar life

3.15 Postcards from Margaritaville

I hear the front door slam while I'm staring into the fridge trying to work out if any of its disparate contents could qualify as dinner. Then Steve walks into the kitchen. He looks shifty and is holding something behind his back.

"Hey," I say in a wary tone. "What are you up to?"

"Um... you know when our picture ended up in 'Hello!' and you freaked out?"

"Yeeeees?"

"Well, someone gave me this. It might be... worse." He puts the copy of 'People' down on the table, open to one of the pages of slightly blurry photos of less-newsworthy celebrities, and points to one of the sections. "It's from the boat trip in Mexico."

There are two pictures, not great quality but still very clearly us. In one we're sitting together on a sun lounger, laughing at something in a magazine. In the other, more scandalous, shot we're kissing; I'm standing on tiptoe with my hands tangled in his hair, Steve has his hand on my lower back, pulling me against him.

"Oh. How did they even get that? We were way out of the harbour."

"Telephoto lens, maybe from another boat?"

"Ugh, and there must have been quite a gap between those two moments, so they were watching for ages. That's so creepy. And what other pictures do they have?"

The accompanying text draws the reader's attention to the mystery brunette 'spotted romping with heavy metal guitarist, Steve Clark' and announces that an insider has revealed her name to be Lucy.

"Why do people always think my name is Lucy? Do I look like a Lucy?"

Steve, who had been wearing a worried expression up until now, looks somewhat relieved, and shakes his head. "So you're not upset?"

"I'm just glad we had clothes on! And we look happy. They'd be nice pictures if they weren't being shared with thousands of other people."

—-----------------------------

After just a few weeks at home to recuperate, management had insisted that Steve go with the rest of the guys on a promotional jaunt to the US and, keen to avoid a repeat of the last time he was stuck somewhere he didn't want to be, I equally vehemently insisted on accompanying him. The trip started in New York and then a few other places on the east coast, followed by a TV show in one of those square states in the middle somewhere, then finally a bunch of interviews up and down California. By the second week and the, it seemed like, hundred-and-fiftieth radio station, I could see Steve getting increasingly twitchy; quiet and withdrawn in the little free time they were permitted, sleeping even worse than usual, flinching every time a camera was pointed at him. But one positive development over the past couple of months is that he has got better at recognising when he's getting close to the edge and, quite unprompted, he went to Peter and asked if he could skip the last few appointments and fly back early. The answer was, shall we say, not sympathetic - he was still part of the band and had to fulfil his obligations blah blah blah - but Steve, with new-found bravery, and perhaps desperation, told them to stuff it! He came straight back to the hotel and, reasoning 'What are they going to do? Fire me?', told me to start packing. Then we ran away to Mexico!

After a long cab ride during which we pretended to be bank robbers on the run (to the consternation of the driver who initially wasn't sure we were joking!), we crossed the border and then found another cab to take us 'somewhere pretty', ending up at a kitschy hotel near the beach in Rosarito. And there, after two days where he basically slept the whole time, I discovered that there is another Steve whose existence I was not previously aware of. As well as Musical Genius Steve, Stage Steve, Silly Steve, Devoted Boyfriend Steve, Sleepy Steve, Sulky Steve, Sad Steve, various varieties of Drunk Steve, and all the other Steves I was already familiar with, there is a Holiday Steve. This Steve can be conjured by a careful mix of sunshine (not too much), sex (quite a lot), and frozen margaritas, and what results is a sweet, mellow, slightly dopey boy who will let you pet him like a kitten and tell him he's pretty.

We would drag a couple of sun loungers into whatever shade there was - much to the bemusement of the hotel staff who couldn't understand why these particular pasty English people wouldn't want to lie baking in the sun like the rest of the patrons - and just laze around all day. Sleeping, reading, Steve would draw and I would write, I painted his toenails and he brushed my hair, some soppy canoodling that was probably pretty nauseating to witness. The other guests, who mostly seemed to be middle-aged couples from San Diego, apparently came to the conclusion we were honeymooners and thus dubbed our PDAs sweet rather than salacious, so we did not disabuse them of this notion. The few photos we took on the trip, with a cheap camera bought in the little shop in the lobby, have a retro 1920's/1930's vibe, over-exposed washed out colours, showing us in flowery hotel robes and huge sunglasses against the backdrop of the old building in its now slightly tattered glory.

At sunset, we'd go back to our room, shower, order room service, and then go out, go to a bar, walk along the beach, whatever. We'd get back to the hotel around two-ish, and sit on the balcony drinking whatever was left in the minibar, or lounge in bed watching movies in Spanish that we couldn't understand. Then back out to the pool and the sun loungers to doze the day away. Like vampires. Vampires with sunscreen. We did no sightseeing, attended no cultural events, and sent no postcards. It was blissful!

It took just over a week for management to find us (I think they tortured Phil until he gave up our location) and phone the hotel, yelling. But by then the promotional trip was finished so there was nothing they could do. Steve's act of rebellion actually brought about a sea change in the relationship with Q Prime; they had no real hold over him anymore and, while he would do everything possible to avoid letting down the rest of the band, he was able to just say no to a few particularly onerous duties. He was still feeling an immense amount of guilt about the whole situation, but the reduction in demands from on high definitely made the remaining months of recording and tour prep more peaceful than the past year.