THE TALENT'S THE BOSS

THE TALENT’S THE BOSS

Bobby-Lee sat alone in the dressing room, the show long over, the crowds that had screamed for the Pussycat Imps long since dispersed, the other Imps departed having barely wished her farewell or good luck. As she stared around her at the incredible amount of mess left behind, it was difficult to come to terms with the fact that never again would all four of them perform in front of their fanatical fans. This backstage area was really such a small room, yet the Imps had left such a shambles of clutter for somebody else to clear up.

How could four people create such chaos? Bobby-Lee turned to face the mirror, the makeup bulbs burning brightly, as she began to wipe off the heavy layer of cosmetics, her eyes looking tired, sad. So this was it, the end of the road for the Imps. It was truly hard to believe. Eight years of traveling and performing with these girls. Was this what she really wanted? No more late nights after shows, hitting the clubs, eating forbidden foods, laughing and joking about this or that guy until the early hours of the morning when they would finally slump into bed and grab some sleep. The Imps had grown from teenagers to very rich young women and they had done it together-as a family. Each girl knew everything about each other; the highs and the lows. Even after several months apart, not recording, not performing, it was always with a feeling of excitement when they re-united once again and carried on as if there had never been a hiatus. The four of them; her girls.

She looked over at where Mary-Rae had sat -always to her right-and picked up the glitter wig that Mary-Rae had worn for the last segment of tonight’s show. Placing it on her own head, she grimaced as she looked into the mirror. Hideous! Only Mary-Rae could pull of such outrageous hair pieces. Taking it back off, she brought it to her nose and sniffed. She could smell the expensive shampoo that Mary-Rae favoured and it brought a tear to her eye. Probably the prettiest of all the girls, Mary-Rae had always been like her little sister and the two shared a special bond -or they had -until Bobby-Lee’s desire to go solo had been announced and Mary-Rae had shown a nasty side of her personality, never seen before. The other girls had all turned against her but none so vehemently as Mary-Rae. Had she made the right decision? At the time, it seemed so but now...now that, finally, it was all over? This farewell tour, with all arenas completely sold out, had been exhausting but so, so rewarding -sharing this time with the amazing fans that had made their success possible and had stuck with them throughout the entirety of their careers: the awards, the scandals. In her head, she could hear them screaming still. It had been insane, as though they never, ever wanted the Imps to break up. But they were breaking up-and it had been her decision to end things now. Would she ever stop feeling guilty for causing this split?

“Excuse me, Miss. Jones. Am I okay to start cleaning up?”

Bobby-Lee turned to the doorway and saw a young woman, dressed in overalls, plastic garbage bags in hand. She was young and pretty, not unlike Mary-Rae.

“Of course, honey. Don’t mind me. You come on in”.

The young girl entered sheepishly and began to collect everything that seemed definitely to be garbage: discarded tissues, cotton buds, bottles, cans, magazines. The mess was everywhere but in the trash cans that had been provided and, as Bobby-Lee looked on via the mirror, she was ashamed that four women could have made such a mess in so short a time without a second thought. Since when had this pompous behaviour become acceptable?

‘Ma’am, what am I to do with this fruit?’

Bobby-Lee turned and stared where the girl was pointing. On a buffet table, an enormous platter of fresh fruits lay-untouched. It had been a part of their rider, the contract with each promoter, that a platter of fresh fruit was to be provided for each gig, along with an exact amount of chilled bottles of Veuve Cliquot (no alternative allowed) along with various other demands; the whims of full blown divas. Bobby-Lee could not recall the last time that she, herself, had ever touched any fruit before or after a show; nor any of the girls for that matter. Such an egotistical waste. She made a mental note to speak to her new manager, Mike. Moving forward, she would shed this detritus that had, somehow, become a normal part of the Pussycat Imps entourage. She recalled how, when they had first been allotted an actual dressing room at the start of their careers, all four of them had hugged and wept with gratitude. How had things grown so out of hand?

“Why don’t you take it, honey? You have family?”

“Just my boy, ma’am, and, try though I do, I can’t get him to eat no fruit. But, if’n it’s alright with you, ma’am, I could take it to the old people’s home across the way. They would surely appreciate it”.

Bobby-Lee smiled. This girl was bright and kind, too, though she seemed far too young to have a child.

“How old is he?”

“He’ll be five in September, ma’am”.

Bobby-Lee gasped.

“Hell, girl, how old are you? You don’t look no more than 15 or 16”.

The girl blushed before replying.

“I’m 21, ma’am”.

Bobby-Lee shook her head. This girl had had a child when she was just 16? At that same age, Bobby-Lee had already started out on her pop singing career. The thought of having children had never entered her head.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, ma’am”.

“Can you stop calling me ma’am or Miss. Jones? My name is Bobby-Lee”.

The girl giggled.

“You ever think about doing something other than this job? You seem too bright to be a cleaner. I hope you don’t mind my saying that”.

“This here’s my night-time job. Being a single mom ain’t easy on account o’ I got to put my boy first but, after I drop him at nursery in the mornings, I work over at Jessups Haulage. I organise all the routes. In the afternoons, ‘fore I pick up my boy, I do four hours at the pharmacy fixing up prescriptions and taking care of re-orders. It all helps”.

“My, you’re sure a hard worker and, obviously, vey capable if you’re managing road routes and dispensing drugs but that ain’t my question though. What I really wanted to know is -do you like the Imps?”

The girl’s eyes lit up.

“Oh yes, surely, ma’am...eh, Bobby-Lee. I love them. Always have and always will. Why, when I heard you’d be playing here this week, I couldn’t believe it. The Pussycat Imps performing at my place of work. I know every single one of your songs by heart”.

Bobby-Lee was amused at the enthusiasm shown by this young fan.

“ So, do you think I’m doing the right thing by going solo?’

Unsure how best to answer this very pertinent question, the young cleaner hesitated.

“Please, I’d just like your opinion. I won’t take offence no matter what you say. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Rosie. Rosie Withers”.

“Well, Rosie Withers, in your considered opinion, as a real fan, do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Rosie thought long and hard before answering. Bobby-Lee reached out and took her hand, guiding her to the same stool at which Mary-Rae had been sitting less than an hour earlier. She suddenly needed to hear what Rosie had to say on the matter.

“I am truly sorry that you are not going to be part of the Pussycat Imps anymore, Miss-Bobby-Rae. But, you have been the face of this group for so long. You are a genuine star. The other girls are real good but you’re the star. You stand out. It’s like you shine up there on stage. You do and there can be no denying of that fact. It’s your voice we hear. You will always be a star and all of the Imp fans feel the same way. They’re sad that you’re leaving the Imps but they just can’t wait to hear your first album as a solo artist”.

As Rosie spoke, Bobby-Lee thought back on earlier tonight and how the fans had been screaming at the end of the final number and realised that they had all been screaming the same thing in unison:

“Bobby-Lee, Bobby-Lee, Bobby-Lee”

“Wow! That’s an incredible endorsement, Rosie. Thank you. God, you can’t imagine how much I needed to hear that. You have a wise head on such young shoulders”.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of yet another huge bouquet of flowers -for Bobby-Lee, not the Imps. Rosie looked at Bobby-Lee as if to say: what did I tell you? Then she went about her clearing up and Bobby-Lee continued cleaning her face of makeup, silence prevailing.

Another knock on the dressing room door was followed by an older woman popping her head in the doorway.

“Are you decent?”

“I’m always decent, Julie”.

The elderly woman entered and stared into the mirror, catching Bobby-Lee’s eye.

“Still not too late to change your mind”.

“No change of mind, here, Julie”.

“You sure? Our contract doesn’t expire until midnight. We’ve still got an hour”.

“I love you, Julie. But it’s time for me to move on. I’m sorry”.

Julie, however, was nothing if not persistent.

“You know, sometimes, the devil you know...”

Bobby-Lee looked up at Julie, the Imps’ manager of the previous eight years. In the beginning, Julie had used every dirty trick in the book to get the girls air-time, coverage in trade mags, TV interviews etc. She had been the one to call in favours with the tabloids to suppress any unwanted scandals. Their success could not have been achieved without this manager’s input but, for quite a while now, Julie had seemed to act as if she were the star, no longer content to remain in the background. As a result, she had often committed the girls to projects that benefitted her personally but not the Imps which, in turn, had resulted in friction and division with only Bobby-Lee seemingly opposed to such Svengali-like manipulation.

“Julie, you discovered me and you believed in me. You gave me-and the girls -our first big break. It’s been supersonic, it really has. You always pushed hard for us and I appreciate that. But, now, it’s time for me to move on, not just from the Imps but from you, too. You know it as well as me. The last year or two has been a strain and it’s taken a toll on our relationship ; on all of our relationships. We haven’t been aligned for a long time. It’s time, Julie”.

“Well, I could manage you in your solo career as well as the Imps. If you’d just give me half a chance...”

“I’m sorry, Julie. My mind’s made up. I had my doubts. In fact, right up until a few minutes ago, I was still wondering if I had made the right decision but, now, I know that I have”.

“How can you be so certain?”

Glancing at Rosie, now almost finished her tidying up, the dressing room looking much like it had before the Imps had arrived earlier that evening, Bobby-Lee answered with absolute certainty.

“My fans spoke to me”.

Later, as Bobby-Lee finally exited the auditorium accompanied by her new manager, she stopped and addressed him:

“Mike, I want you to scrap the rider. I don’t need fruit or champagne or anything else. I want things to be clean and simple; no ridiculous demands. Also, there’s a young lady working here as a cleaner but she has great potential. Her name’s Rosie. I want you to offer her a position as my full-time assistant on a top salary. She has a young son. He’ll need a tutor so’s he can accompany us on tour”.

“Whatever you say, Bobby-Lee. You’re the star. You’re the boss!”