I read on. “After lead singer Robbie Harding announced his engagement to childhood sweetheart Dr. Jenny Calahan, sparks flew between the Coltrane brothers. Tim, the eldest and the band’s drummer, clashed with Dean, bass guitar, when they appeared to have set their sights on the same mystery girl. Not only are Manic Machines soaring high on a string of hits including “Slip Knot”, the Christmas number one, they also scooped all the industry’s major awards this year. But could this battle of the brothers cause the bubble to burst? Could this be the end of the dream for the boys and their fans? Watch this space for updates on what could be a cataclysmic love triangle for lovers of rock and roll.”
“Well they say no publicity is bad publicity,” I said in a slightly shaky voice. “But I’m not so sure about this.” I was used to the guys’ publicity but I wasn’t sure how I felt about being part of it.
“It’s all cool,” Dean said, shoving the pencil back behind his ear. “What’s going to happen? It’s all hypothetical. The band’s not gonna split over you, Sylvia, is it?”
“Yeah,” Tim said, running a hand over my shoulder and down my back. “What they say is true about us liking the same girl and being in a love triangle. But it’s hardly the sort of triangle they think it is.”
“Mmm,” Dean said, smiling and twanging out a rapid set of chords. “And the cataclysmic explosion is probably not quite what the reporter imagined it to be either.”
Tim gave a huff of amusement.
I took another sip of coffee. My mind was whirring. The paparazzi would up their game to get shots of the boys and the “mystery girl”. I would have to give extra attention to organizing outings.
“Don’t stress it,” Tim said as if reading my mind. “Everyone has seen you out with us plenty of times. You’re one of our managers for goodness’ sake.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I calmed. They were right, it was just speculation on the papers’ behalf. I’d been hanging out with the band for six months and nothing had ever been made of my presence.
“Come on,” Tim urged. “Sit, we want to give you your presents.”
“Presents?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, presents, Sylvia, it’s Christmas and you…” his voice lowered, “have been a very good girl.”
I smiled. “You think so?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tim said with a sexy shift of his eyebrows.
I glanced at my handbag, discarded on the end of the sofa. Luckily I’d bought them silver and black pens inscribed with their initials. I’d meant to give them out yesterday but had been wonderfully sidetracked.
“Hang on,” Dean said. “First, tell me what you both think of this?” He strummed out a melodic intro then hit into a hard bass. “Sweet dirty mouth,” he sang in his deep, gritty voice.
Sweet dirty mouth I dream of going south
Several more beats rang out and he looked up at me and grinned.
Sugar and spice keeps me going all night
She looks so good but she’s gonna get baaaaaaaaaad
Sweet dirty mouth
Sweet dirty mouth
Tim bobbed his head next to me, his right hand twitched as if counting a beat with his drumstick. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s got potential. I like it.”
“Sylvia?” Dean asked, his gaze sliding to me. “What do you reckon?”
“It’s good.” I sat on the sofa and was reminded of my lack of panties when my butt hit cool leather. “It’s catchy, could be next summer’s festival hit.” I paused and grinned. “You may have to make the lyrics a bit less suggestive though.”
“You think?” He looked disgruntled.
“Yeah.” I smiled. “But I love it and I think the others will love it too.”
Dean grinned and ran over the intro again. “Sweet dirty mouth. I dream of going south.”
“Here,” Tim said, sitting close to me. “Open this.” He placed a small turquoise bag with string handles in my lap. In black writing across the front were the words Tiffany & Co. “There’s two presents in there, one from each of us.”
“I…I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered. No one had ever bought me anything from Tiffany’s before and now here was a bag containing two presents.