Warhol's Prophecy

37

HAILEY SIPPED AT her mineral water as she glanced around the dining room of the Happy Brig.

It was what purists scathingly called a plastic pub, complete with reproduction horse-brasses on the artificially aged walls, and a huge fireplace stacked high with logs that would never feel flame.

She and Rob had visited the place two or three times, and always enjoyed the food there.

Today was no different. All that had changed was her companion.

She looked across the table at Adam Walker, who was finishing his steak, pushing the final piece into his mouth.

Hailey had been a little late arriving. Trudi from Waterhole’s press office had finally called her back, and their conversation had taken longer than expected.

She’d managed to persuade Trudi to set up a meeting between her and the band in a few days’ time, so that Hailey could speak to them in person about the forthcoming gig.

Trudi had seemed almost reluctant: fiercely protective of the band, adamant that only the lead singer and the drummer were available on the day Hailey requested.

Hailey had finally relented, weary of Trudi’s hip ravings and Americanisms. If she’d used the word ‘cool’ once, she’d used it a dozen times.

‘You must be excited at the thought of meeting them,’ Walker said.

‘I don’t know if “excited” is the word,’ Hailey told him.

‘They’re famous – big stars.’

‘Jim says they’re arseholes. And, from what I’ve seen of them on TV, I think he might be right.’

‘You shouldn’t say that about them, Hailey. No matter what they’re like, they’ve made it, haven’t they? People know them, look up to them.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘I’d love to meet them, just to shake their hands. To tell them I admire what they’ve done.’ He smiled. ‘You never know, if they saw some of my artwork, they might like it enough to use it on an album cover.’

‘I could show something to them, if you like. See what they think.’

‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’

‘You’re not asking. I’m offering.’

‘I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that, Hailey.’

‘I wouldn’t have suggested it if I thought you were. Please, Adam, let me take some of your work along to them. You don’t know what might happen then.’

‘They’d probably just laugh at it.’

‘Well, you won’t know until you let me show it to them, will you? Please. I’d like to do that for you.’

‘Don’t do anything out of pity, Hailey.’

She glared at him, irritation in her eyes.

‘Do you actually like their music?’

‘Not really, but I still respect what they’ve achieved. I admire anyone who succeeds, anyone who makes a mark. It doesn’t matter how they make that mark.’

‘Is fame that important to you, Adam? I mean, would you want it at any cost?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, these pop stars, film stars and people like that, they don’t have any privacy. Everything they do is put in the papers. They can’t even walk down the street without someone sticking a camera in their faces. Would you want that?’

‘It goes with the territory, doesn’t it? That’s exactly what annoys me with some of these stars. They want the money and the fame, but they aren’t prepared to put up with what goes with it. I would be, in their position.’

‘Perhaps you chose the wrong profession to become famous,’ she mused. ‘I mean, artists aren’t exactly up there with actors and musicians, are they?’

‘Picasso? Dali? What are they?’ he wanted to know. ‘They were famous, weren’t they?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘David Bailey? Herb Ritts? Photography’s a visual art, but they’re famous too, aren’t they? Christ, even dress designers are famous these days. Calvin Klein. Armani. Versace.’

‘And look what happened to him.’

‘It’s a risk you take when you become famous, Hailey. And I’d be prepared to take it.’

‘You’d risk your life for fame?’

He nodded slowly, sipping at his drink.

‘Even murderers are famous,’ he said slowly.

She looked at him and shook her head gently.

Walker smiled. ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘I bet your friend Caroline knows all about it.’

Hailey laughed.

‘I went to the library today and tried to find her books.’

‘I’m sure she’d be flattered if she knew,’ Hailey chuckled.

‘You shouldn’t take the piss. She’s made her mark too, hasn’t she? Those books she wrote mean that her name will live for ever. People will know she was here long after she’s dead. And that’s what it’s all about. What’s that saying, “Life’s a bitch and then you die”? It’s true.’

Hailey regarded him over the rim of her glass.

Walker held up his hands. ‘All right, I’ll shut up. I’m starting to sound like a nutter, aren’t I?’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘You sound passionate, Adam,’ she told him. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘You know about passion, don’t you? You’re passionate about your job. You must be or you wouldn’t have gone back to it.’

She nodded.

‘Are you still enjoying it?’ he enquired.

‘It’s good to be back.’

‘Is Rob pleased you’re back?’

‘Not really. I told you before, he was never too keen. But, then again, I didn’t exactly expect him to throw a party when I went back to work.’

She sipped at her drink again, finally putting the glass down and running the tip of one index finger around the rim.

‘What’s wrong, Hailey?’ Walker wanted to know.

‘How long have you got?’ she said bitterly.

‘If you want to talk about it . . .’ He allowed the sentence to trail off.

‘OK,’ she said quietly.

When he looked into her eyes, he saw they were glazed with tears.

Walker leant forward and touched her hand softly.

‘Shall I start with Rob’s affair?’ she murmured.