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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Edwardian Script ITC font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word installs this font automatically.

Editor's Note: Jenny Walker has graciously allowed me to represent her original story No Half Measures on BigCloset. Originally published on BigCloset Classic, this story segment was not migrated over to BigCloset TopShelf. This story segment first appeared on BigCloset Classic on Sunday, November 02, 2003 - 02:48 pm. Due to the original story presentation format being unsuitable and unwieldy for most portable devices (each part being over 1 meg in length), the story is now being broken up into single chapters for easier reading. The original Movements will be indicated on their respective chapters. The first chapter of each Movement will retain the original comments and read hits so as to preserve them for the author.

Sephrena Lynn Miller

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Chapter 32
 
 
As the 747 began its descent into JFK International Airport, I relaxed back in my spacious seat and decided that I really liked travelling first class. I did not think that I was being snobbish or anything, but I could fully appreciate the benefits of getting to wait in the first class lounge in Heathrow before being called for boarding. It was not that people in that lounge did not recognise me, but more that they did not swarm around me. I was a little fearful of what could happen in a less reserved crowd.

I was not the only one who had been enjoying myself. Jon and Brian had had a perpetual competition across most of the Atlantic as to who could get the highest score on each and every Nintendo game available on the system. Kevin had tried to compete initially but soon fell off the pace and decided to spend the journey sampling the various and seemingly unending culinary delights of high class travel. I often marvelled at the amount of food that Kevin consumed. Despite the calorific volume he put away, he was still as lean and wiry as a prize greyhound. Peter had played some games, eaten the food, watched some movies and had thoroughly enjoyed the whole procedure. I caught his eye; he grinned and winked at me, looking like the proverbial kid in the candy shop. Simon had spent part of the journey reading some highbrow novel that he had picked up at the airport, but he soon gave up and found the insides of his eyelids more interesting from then on. Jools and I had made the best of the extensive in-flight movie system. I'm almost ashamed to admit that I went for the romantic comedy slant compared to Jools' action flick choices. She was never a great one for anything that could be deigned even slightly mushy.

With the latest feast of blood and guts having finished, Jools took off her headphones and stretched. She turned to me and smiled.

"Feeling more relaxed now?" she said.

I grinned. "You bet. Nothing like a bit of pampering to help in that department."

It was true; I felt a lot more at ease. As the miles between us and London increased, it was as if I could leave the recent uncertainties and worries behind. I mused to myself that perhaps the original pilgrims had shared such a sentiment as they headed to the New World. However, I doubted that the accommodation aboard the 'Mayflower' was quite as lavish as British Airways' finest.

My mind did begin to chew over the revelations of the previous day again. When I had related the conversation with Keith to the others, we had all shared similar mixed feelings. There was a general sense of relief that Keith did not seem inclined to tell what he knew. Jools was still wary, but even she had been prepared to admit that he appeared to be on the level. I do not claim to be an expert judge of character, but I was fairly confident that Keith had been truthful and honest with me.

However, the realisation that someone else had been looking for the yearbook was a mystery to us all. I shivered as I thought about it again. We had talked about it for quite some time back at Jools' place and no one could even think of any remote possibility that could explain it. If Keith was being truthful, which we were assuming for the present, then it could have been an almighty coincidence with regard to timing. Claire had pointed out that, if so, it was a very fortuitous coincidence in that Keith had removed the evidence just in time. The fact that someone thought there was evidence to collect remained the outstanding concern.

My reverie was interrupted by the sound of rubber striking macadam as the wheels connected with the runway. The huge jet slowed to a crawl before snaking its way across the maze of asphalt that is JFK International. I used to hate the interminable wait to disembark, but I was pleasantly surprised with yet another benefit of this horrendously expensive way to travel: first class passengers were off the airplane within a few minutes of the door being opened. I thought that I could see myself really getting used to this.
 

*          *          *
 
The Waldorf-Astoria was definitely my kind of hotel. Located on Park Avenue, it is an imposing, almost regal, monument to the best of American opulence. Jools and I had a two-bedroom suite on the twenty-seventh floor. We had a spacious lounge with sumptuous furnishings and a large bedroom each. The bed alone was larger than my previous bedroom in my old Greenwich flat. That place seemed like a world away and, in more ways than one, it was. I unpacked my suitcase, which of course had been delivered to my room even before I got there. I had quite an array of clothing with me at Jools' insistence. She had said that I had to be prepared for every eventuality. I turned the air-conditioning up to maximum and let the cool air blow away any last vestige of the oppressive New York summer heat. I lay back on my bed, closed my eyes and enjoyed the sheer luxury.

"Ouch!" I protested as I felt a poke in my side. I opened my eyes.

"No sleeping," Jools said with a mischievous grin.

"I wasn't sleeping," I said indignantly, "and haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

She shrugged. "Your door was open and your snoring was disturbing me. No sleeping 'til later or you'll be wide awake at three a.m. and I don't want you keeping me up."

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "I don't snore," I yawned. "Oh, I feel exhausted now. Can't I just have a little nap?"

She shook her head. "No chance. You'll thank me later."

She was right — as always. The bedside clock confirmed that it was only two p.m. local time, but my body clock was not buying that for a minute.

"OK then, Miss Know-it-all, so what do you suggest we do to keep me awake?" I said with a cheeky smile.

She laughed and gestured expansively with her hands. "Here we are in the heart of New York and you wonder what we are going to do?"

I thought for a moment and then grinned. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

She raised an eyebrow and said, "Anyone for shopping?"
 
 
After a quick shower to freshen up and a change of clothing, we were ready to go. As a matter of courtesy, we thought we should check in on the guys and see if any of them wanted to join us. We had a fair idea of the likely response. Jon and Brian were sharing a similar suite to ours.

Brian opened the door. "Err hi," he said with a somewhat guilty look on his face.

"What are you two doing?" Jools asked suspiciously.

"Nothing, really," he said lamely as Jools pushed past him.

I followed her in and saw Jon sitting on the sofa with a games controller in his hand. He looked up at us and gave an embarrassed grin. Jools raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"We've got a Playstation 2 and widescreen TV in our room," he said as if by way of explanation.

I sighed. "You are like two little boys. You played games for the whole plane journey and here you both are at it again?"

Brian grinned and picked up his controller. "Got to do something to keep ourselves awake, right?"

Jools gave a superior smile. "I don't suppose you gentlemen would like to accompany us ladies on a shopping trip?"

The look they traded between themselves said it all. Jon looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat.

He said hesitantly, "Well… I suppose we could… if you really wanted us to."

I laughed. "Forget it. We'd hate to drag you boys away from your toys."

"You sure?" Brian said hopefully, "I mean if you really want us to come…"

Jools shook her head and with a degree of irony said, "What? And have to drag two grumpy boys around the shops? Stay here and enjoy yourselves. We'll see you later."

They both looked immensely relieved and before we were even out of the door, they were both engrossed in their game once more. Jools just rolled her eyes and looked at me. We both giggled.

"Men!" she said.

"I know," I agreed, "Typical."

It was strange, but I was able to look at my previous gender with much more of an objective eye now. A year ago, I would probably have preferred to sit and play games rather than go shopping. Probably? OK, definitely then. A lot had changed.

We called in with Kevin and Peter in their suite. Peter was flicking through the myriad cable television channels. Kevin was munching on an apple from the well-stocked fruit bowl that was a standard feature in all of our suites.

"Hi," he munched with his mouth half-full. "Come on in."

"Oh hi!" said Peter looking over his shoulder. "Get this, there's like over a hundred channels and there's hardly anything but commercials on most of them. I mean, there's like a break for adverts every ten minutes."

Jools smiled. "I'm assuming you gents don't fancy a quick sortie to check out the best of New York's shopping?"

The smile disappeared instantly from Peter's face and Kevin actually stopped chewing mid-munch. Jools and I both laughed and did not even wait for an answer.

"We'll see you guys later for dinner," I said as we turned to leave.
 

*          *          *
 
Fifth Avenue was only two blocks away, but the short walk in the horrible humidity was not overly pleasant. It was a relief to step into the chilled sanctuaries of the shopping temples arrayed along this stretch of what seemed like consumer paradise. We looked, we browsed, we tried and, of course, we bought. It was not exactly cheap, but then quality rarely is.

I was standing looking at a display when I heard Jools' voice in my ear, "Fancy a pair, do you?"

I laughed and shrugged. "I don't know, I've sort of always thought about it." I was looking at a mannequin dressed in a pair of tight black leather trousers.

Jools sniggered. "You mean to tell me that you've always wanted a pair of leather trousers like those?"

I flushed a little. "Well no, not quite. I mean, in my previous dreams of rock and roll stardom, I imagined myself in a slightly different style of trousers than those."

"And now?" she said with a smile.

I chuckled. "These do look rather good to me. What do you think?"

"Very Olivia Newton-John," she remarked.

"Huh?"

"You know, the last scene in 'Grease' where she comes out all sexed up wearing those sprayed-on leather trousers."

"Ah," I said with a smile as I made the connection. I turned to move on when she stopped me.

"Aren't you going to try them on?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I wasn't really serious."

"Oh come on," she urged. "You've always fancied a pair, you said. Now that you've reached rock and roll stardom, why not treat yourself?"

"They cost a fortune," I protested, "and they probably look better on the mannequin than they would on me."

She shot me a sceptical look and said, "Only one way to find out." She picked a few sizes off the rails and handed them to me.

I sighed and grinned. "Alright, but I'm not buying them, OK?"

She laughed and nodded. "Sure, whatever you say."

I slipped off the light cotton trousers that I had been wearing and tried on one of the pairs that Jools had selected. It was safe to say that they were too small as I could not even get them up over my hips. Were my hips getting bigger? The next size up were almost as difficult, but I was able to pull them up and fasten them. They were tight. I checked myself out in the mirror and almost blushed. No curves were hidden. I also thought that my rear end was looking a lot bigger than I remembered it. I managed to peel them off and tried the larger size again. Whilst they were easier to get on, they did not hang very well on me.

"Well?" I heard Jools whisper loudly from outside.

I opened the door and stepped out. "They're not right," I said, "They don't fit well and the others are just too tight."

Jools gave me a wry grin. "Try on the smaller size and let me see."

"I said they're too tight."

She shrugged. "Let me give you a second opinion."

I realised that arguing with her was pointless so I sighed and went back in. Having pulled on the tight trousers again, I opened the door and gingerly stepped out. Jools' eyes widened and her face broke into a large grin.

"Turn around," she murmured.

I self-consciously turned around and then turned back to face her. "See what I mean? Too tight."

Jools inclined her head. "I don't think so."

"Oh come on, Jools. My bum looks massive in them."

"Cara, don't be ridiculous. I wish I had an ass like yours and those trousers show it off in all its glory."

I felt my face flush and said, "I can't wear these. Can I?"

Jools chuckled. "One of the perks of being a rock star, darling, is that you get to wear things that most of us won't get away with. One of the perks of being a particularly attractive rock star is that you will also look damn good in said things."

I smiled uncertainly and checked out my appearance in the mirror again. "They do look pretty good, don't they?" I mused.

Jools laughed. "I think I sense another purchase coming on."

I shook my head. "They're still too expensive."

"Oh, like you can't afford it?"

Predictably, I left the shop weighed down with yet another bag, my latest purchase therein along with a matching leather jacket to boot. Although it was a relatively short distance, Jools hailed a cab to take us back to our hotel. Neither of us could face carrying our bags for any length of time in the stifling heat.
 

*          *          *
 
The next morning I was up bright and early. Not quite three a.m. as Jools had warned, but early enough. I felt quite rested, but I envisaged feeling very tired again around mid afternoon. It was a work day, so I used the time to get myself ready. After showering and sorting out my unruly hair, I slipped on a short jade sundress and matching sandals. I added the minimum of make up and jewellery, and I was good to go.

When I exited my bedroom, the rest of the suite was still and quiet. I sighed and presumed that Jools was still in bed. That girl would never have a problem with insomnia. As much as jet lag might try to inflict itself upon her, she was way too tough to succumb to such a trivial insult. I knocked lightly on her door. Then I knocked heavily on her door. Finally, I just opened the door, walked to the window and flung the curtains wide open. This elicited a reaction at last.

"What-the-hell-did-you-do-that-for?" she whined as she rolled away from the light.

I chuckled. "Come on Jools. It's a beautiful day and we've got work to do."

She groaned and sat up. "You mean you've got work to do."

I shook my head and laughed. "You're not weaselling out of it. I'm not going alone and I need my manager with me."

"Simon will be with you," she whined.

I pulled the bed covers off the bed to leave her in no doubt that I had learnt a lot about being stubborn whilst living with her. She eventually sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"What time is it?"

"It's seven thirty."

"Seven thirty? Why so early?" She screwed her face up in disgust.

I shrugged. "I've been up for over an hour. Looking at you as you are now, I figured you're going to need some time to make yourself presentable to the world at large."

She scowled at me and then sighed. "Alright, leave me alone and I'll be out soon."

I turned to leave then stopped dead in my tracks. I turned back to her and chuckled as I saw her reaching for the bed covers. "Nice try Jools. I almost fell for it."

"OK damn it," she said with frustration as she got out of bed. "Right, I'm up."

I waited until I saw her enter her bathroom before I left.
 

*          *          *
 
We met Simon downstairs for breakfast. When I say 'breakfast', I do not mean it in the usual sense of the word. Perhaps lavish banquet would be more accurate. The range of choice was staggering. Simon had no difficulty with this as he simply started at one end of the buffet and steadily worked his way along it. I did not have his stamina and gave up after some fresh fruit, cereal and a croissant.

A car picked us up outside the hotel just before nine and whisked us off to our first appointment of the day. It was a non-stop round of radio interviews and most of them were less than satisfying. Whilst most, but not all, of the disc jockeys were pleasant and polite, their interest was superficial at best. It was as if they were amused by this British girl who had come to the 'Big Apple' to promote her music. I tried to be charming and answer their questions as best I could, but by the end of the afternoon I was tiring of it.

Back at the hotel, to my envy, I found that the guys had spent most of the day in the swimming pool and health club. Actually, it seemed, Kevin spent a substantial amount of time in the restaurant. In his defence, he protested that it took a long time to eat breakfast when he kept finding more and more food on the buffet table. Brian had tried to point out to him that he did not have to keep eating until there was nothing left, but Kevin could not quite get his mind around that concept. We all grabbed a light dinner in the bistro and then got ready to leave.

Simon had hired two cars to take us to the Ed Sullivan Theatre on Broadway. From there the Carl Dennis Show was broadcast live, five nights per week. Simon was quite exhilarated at the exposure that this would provide. I was quite nervous. Especially since I knew what outfit the bag at my feet contained. I could not believe the persuasiveness of Julie Carstairs. She was merciless. I think her sheer dogged persistence led most people to cave in just to make her stop. I had protested that I wanted to wear something less arresting. She maintained that I had one big opportunity here to make an impact and I needed to take the bull by the horns. What chance did I have?
 
 
At the studio, it was all go. A production assistant was assigned to us. His name was Danny and he talked us through the plan. The show was broadcast live between eleven p.m. and midnight. It was going to be a late night. My tiredness was almost balanced out by the adrenaline that was beginning to pulse through my system. Firstly, as the only outside musicians performing on the show that evening, Danny wanted us to get the sound check over with. The theatre was empty. That is if you discount the numerous assistants and crew members scurrying here, there and everywhere. The sound check was fairly routine and, before too long, both we and the sound engineers were satisfied.

Danny talked about the show in quarters as if it were a basketball game or something. We were opening the second quarter with 'No Half Measures' and then I was going to be interviewed by Carl. I would remain there whilst another guest was interviewed and then at 'half-time', as Danny called it, I could go and get changed into another outfit if I so desired. Apparently we were to end the show with another song. 'Not Dancing, but Flying' was the obvious choice. This left me with a problem. I had just about reconciled myself to wearing the outfit I had brought for singing 'No Half Measures', but there was no way I could see myself wearing it for 'Not Dancing, but Flying'. I expressed this to Jools and she readily agreed with me. After a quick discussion, we settled on a short white dress that was currently hanging in my wardrobe in the Waldorf. Jools found Simon and, with his permission, commandeered one of the cars and went back to fetch the aforementioned dress.

The backstage staff were exceptionally well organised. I imagined that they would have to be. If they put on this show five times a week with lots of different guests coming in and out, it needed to be a well-oiled machine. Two rooms were allotted to us. Naturally, I got one to myself and I had to appreciate the benefits of being a female singer in an otherwise all male band. The boys made their typical token attempt to grumble about this. I managed to silence them when I said that if any of them wanted to come and share my room, they were most welcome to do so. Although I spotted a few raised eyebrows and cheeky grins, no one dared to take me up on my offer. I did not think that they would call my bluff.
 

*          *          *
 
I was just about to begin changing when there was a knock on my dressing room door. I called out for the person to come in and the door opened. A tall, rather chubby bald man with a large grin on his face stuck his head around the door.

"Well, hello, hello. Cara Malone, I presume?" he asked with the assuredness of someone who knows the answer before asking.

I smiled and nodded. "That's me and you must be Carl Dennis."

He grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "May I come in?"

"Please do."

He entered and bounded over to me. Given his obvious bulk, it was surprising how light he was on his feet. He held out a spade-like hand and I gave him mine. He pumped it up and down with vigour.

"Great to meet you, Cara. I've been looking forward to having you on the show."

I raised an eyebrow and unable to conceal my surprise asked, "You have?"

He laughed and waved a hand. "Well I have to say that don't I? To be honest, I hadn't heard of you before last week when my producer was running through the schedule for this week. No matter though, as I'm assured you're very talented and I'm positive we'll have an awesome chat."

I smiled and blinked a few times as my brain caught up with his rapid-fire speaking. "Err, thanks… I think."

He laughed again; he looked like someone who liked to laugh a lot. "Anyway Cara, I tend to fly by the seat of my pants… my very large pants." He laughed at his own joke and did not wait to see if I joined in. "So we'll just have a friendly chat and see where it leads us. OK with you?"

"Sure, that's fine by me." What else could I say?

He shook my hand again, gave another laugh for no obvious reason and waved as he headed out of the room. After the door closed, I sat there for a moment feeling a little bemused. I was not sure what to expect from this evening, but as there was little I could do about it, I tried to focus on getting myself ready.

I opened my bag and pulled out my outfit. I sighed to myself and with a shrug, began to change. Jools, at her obstinate best, had practically ordered me to wear my new leather jacket and matching trousers. With some effort, I pulled on the tight trousers over a pair of sheer dark tights. Under the leather jacket, I was wearing a sleeveless white vest top. It was both short and low-cut. A pair of shiny black high-heeled pumps completed the ensemble. I viewed myself in the full-length mirror and sighed. It was not that I thought I looked bad in the unappealing sense of the word, but more that I definitely looked potentially 'bad' in the moral sense. I hoped that my father was not a closet fan of the Carl Dennis Show. I was fairly confident on that last point.
 
 
The guys had been given a time to go and see the girls in the make up department. I, as the so-called star, had been given the option of having my make up done in my dressing room. I readily accepted this offer and a cheery young woman of around my age appeared before long and introduced herself as Nell.

"Wow, great outfit!" she said enthusiastically.

"Do you think so?" I said a little uncertainly.

"Oh yes, very hot! You look amazing."

"I just wonder if I don't go a bit over the top sometimes," I mused.

"Yes, it's way over the top, but that's just what you want," she replied.

"It is?"

"Sure it is," she began as she sat down beside me, "I see a lot of guests coming on this show who don't want to draw too much attention to themselves. They tone things down and go for a middle of the road appearance." She shrugged, "They usually bomb."

"What do you mean?" I asked with interest.

"Boring, ordinary and totally forgettable," she said matter-of-factly, "They don't stand out, the audience doesn't care and more importantly, Carl isn't interested. You want him to be interested. If he is, then he'll be at his humorous best and he'll do all he can to bring you out of your shell and do a good interview. If he's bored, he'll move on before long and may even give you a hard time on the way." She shuddered and gave me a knowing look, "You don't want that."

I didn't doubt her and was thankful for her advice and reassurance. She decided that she was going to have to make sure the make up matched the outfit. I was a little apprehensive as to what that meant, but had to trust her to do her job. She carefully worked on my face, nails and hair. When she was finished, she told me to look in the mirror.

"My goodness," I murmured.

She giggled, "Just remember after the show to make sure you let me remove the make up and don't forget to change your clothes or…"

I grinned as I completed the sentence, "Or the N.Y.P.D. will arrest me for being a hooker?"

She giggled again and waved a hand, "Nah, you're far too classy looking to be mistaken for that."

I thanked her as she left for her next assignment. I looked at myself in the mirror again. She had tousled and sprayed my hair into a loose, almost wild, style. My eyes were dark and smoky which contrasted with the scarlet lipstick and matching nails. I stood before the mirror and checked my outfit again. I tugged my top down as best I could, but it kept riding up and exposing my belly bar. I half-turned to check out my rear end, which did look outrageously large to me in the tight leather. It was in this position that I was caught when Jools entered the room.

"Admiring yourself?" she giggled.

"Don't you ever knock?" I said with mock irritation.

Her eyes widened visibly as she took in my appearance. "Dang girl, you look…"

I inclined my head and shot her my best sultry glance. "I look…?"

She gave a low whistle. "Damn sexy."

I blushed and tried unsuccessfully not to smile. Jools noticed and grinned at me. In a teasing voice she said, "I think someone likes looking like a hottie."

"Oh Jools, don't be silly. I've a job to do and this is merely the 'uniform' that I have to wear." I tried to sound nonchalant.

She chuckled. "You aren't fooling me, girlfriend. Don't be ashamed, you'll certainly be making an impression tonight. I think this is perfect — they will see such a contrast."

"What do you mean by contrast?"

She shrugged. "First you go on as the dirty girl of their fantasies and sing the rock-chick song, then at the end you go on looking like the virginal maiden their mothers would love as you sing the romantic ballad."

"You don't think that people will find the change of image confusing?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. It will show that you are not someone they can pigeonhole. You'll show that you have a great diversity of both image and talent."
 

*          *          *
 
"Please will you all stop looking at me like that," I said quietly, feeling very self-conscious.

Jools and I had headed next door into the guys' dressing room to wait for our cue. From the moment I had walked in, the conversation had stopped and I had felt four pairs of male eyes crawling all over me. Of course, Jools was highly amused by this. In response to my plea, I received a round of sheepish grins and muted apologies. I could see that they were all trying not to look, but I was still aware of surreptitious glances from time to time.

"Where did you get that outfit?" Brian asked.

I frowned. "Don't you like it?"

He laughed. "Come on, I think you know fine well that we all… like it."

I grinned. "Well boys, if you had taken Jools and I up on our offer of coming shopping with us, you would have been able to help me pick out this outfit."

Kevin nudged Peter and said in a loud whisper, "We thought we'd rather watch TV? Man, next time I'll even offer to carry their bags if they'll let me tag along."

We laughed and, with the focus thankfully shifting away from me, we began to chat about the imminent performance.

I sidled over to Jon. "You're looking pretty suave yourself." He was wearing a long flowing button-down white shirt over a pair of baggy black jeans.

He laughed and self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. "Gee thanks, but looking at you, I'm fairly confident that no one will be paying me a blind bit of notice."

I grinned. "I wouldn't say that. Wait 'til those American girls spot a true British guitar hero — they'll be swooning in the aisles."

Whatever he was about to say in response was lost forever as a member of the crew knocked loudly on the door and shouted, "Cara Malone, on stage in five."
 

*          *          *
 

As we stood there on the darkened stage waiting for the finish of the commercial break, I began to feel more nervous. Jon was standing just to my right and he must have sensed something.

"You OK?" he murmured.

I nodded and whispered, "Yes — just very nervous."

"Don't worry, we know our songs well — you'll do fine."

I glanced sideways at him. "It's not the songs I'm worried about, it's the interview."

He nodded with understanding and grinned and winked at me. "As I said, don't worry. Just be your usual charming and lovely self and you'll have him eating out of your hand."

I looked over at him and smiled warmly. "Thanks Jon, I appreciate that."

He shrugged diffidently and looked uncomfortable. "You're welcome," he murmured.

The red lights on the cameras came back on and Carl introduced us, "Ladies and gentlemen, give a big New York welcome to the latest musical sensation from Britain — Cara Malone."

The glaring lights went up, Kevin counted us in sotto voce and we kicked into action. The sound was good and I felt myself slip into that familiar place where I was not quite relaxed, but was comfortable with what I was doing. The song was so ingrained in my mind that I did not have to even think of what the next word was. I made sure that that did not compromise the energy of my performance as I sought to use my ease with the song to allow me to channel more feeling and punch into my delivery.
 
 

"For when you feel it's over and there's no point going on,  Is when you realise what is chaff and what're your treasures,  But if there's half a chance of making it, join me in this song,  Let's kick down the ever-closing doors — no half measures!"

 
 
We gave it the full steam ahead live ending and as I brought down my upraised fist, Jon, Brian and Peter brought their respective final chords and notes to a perfect crisp finish in synchrony with Kevin's concluding cymbal crash. I felt that fleeting moment of what I call 'negative noise'. It is that strange millisecond when a song finishes in which you almost feel like you share a vacuum with the audience before the applause begins. It is as if the song uses so much energy that it has to be balanced by a momentary silence. It is just long enough for you to take a breath and hold it as you wait for your audience to respond. The response seemed positive and I smiled and acknowledged it.

A spotlight came back up on Carl and he was standing applauding. "Ladies and gentlemen — Cara Malone."

When the applause began to fade he held out his hand to me and I walked over towards him and took his hand. He leaned in towards me and kissed me on the cheek.

Still standing there he said, "That was pretty powerful."

I smiled. "Thank you."

His eyes twinkled and he grinned. "However, my first question to you has to be — can you sit down in those pants?"

I was momentarily caught off balance by his question but found my composure quickly. I laughed.

"Well, I guess there is only one way to find out."

He chuckled and quipped, "Can you wait until we get a camera back here for the reverse angle view?"

I laughed and gingerly sat down. I did it a little over-dramatically, not taking my eyes off his as I lowered myself into the seat. When I was fully seated, I looked to the audience and gave a mock sigh of relief.

Carl laughed. "I don't know whether to be relieved myself… or disappointed."

I smiled back at him. "Really Carl, if I'd realised I was on your show to talk about my pants, I'd have worn this lovely pair of Lederhosen that I have back home."

The audience roared and Carl laughed again. "Who says the English have no sense of humour?"

I saw an opportunity that I never liked to pass up. "I do, but of course that is because I am Welsh."

He inclined his head and then turned to the audience, rolled his eyes and in a quieter tone said, "Another background research assistant is going to be looking for a new job tomorrow. Just can't seem to get good staff."

He turned back to me. "Let me start again. So you're Welsh?"

"And proud of it," I said with a smile.

"I'm probably wrong, but the image that comes into my head when I think of Wales is a wet, damp country where the people seem to moan all the time."

I nodded solemnly and with a straight face said, "That about sums it up. It's our national pastime."

He chuckled. "Well I'm glad to see that, unlike a few of your British brethren, you don't take yourself too seriously."

I grinned and pointing downwards said, "I can hardly take myself seriously wearing trousers… sorry pants like these." Another laugh ensued and I found myself worryingly allowing my brain to have free unfettered use of my mouth. "I mean what is with your fascination with calling trousers 'pants'. Someone says to me 'I like your pants' and I'm like 'oh my goodness, is my underwear showing?'" I feigned looking behind me as if my underwear were showing.

Carl grinned. "It's the subtle difference between pants and panties. I can see how you repressed Brits may get embarrassed by our freer use of language. In that vein, I think we'll avoid talking about your fanny."

I couldn't help myself and found myself gasping and raising my hand to my mouth. Peals of laughter echoed around the theatre. Carl sat there looking at me with an amused expression on his face.

"Well, really," I said with a smile, "you're making me blush." My face felt as if it was burning and I realised that it was not just the embarrassment and stress of the situation. The lights were relentless and dazzling. I was worried that I was going to start sweating or something and having that displayed in close-up on national TV was not something that I was particularly crazy about.

Hooking my finger under the collar of my leather jacket I said tongue-in-cheek, "Carl, I'm getting hot under the collar here. I'm sure you're used to having that effect on the ladies you interview. Do you mind if I take off my jacket?"

He grinned. "Cara, let me assure you, I'm not a man who has ever stood in the way of a woman who wants to remove an item of clothing in his presence."

The audience appreciated this greatly. I laughed and stood as I shimmied out of my jacket. I sat down primly and crossed my legs.

"Now where were we?" I asked with innocence.

"I fear that I'm actually going to have to ask you about your music. If I talk any more about your pants or you removing your clothing, I'll have hell to pay when I get home to Mrs. Dennis…"

He proceeded to ask more straightforward questions about song writing, my career to date, my aspirations and so on, but every question was coated with his trademark cheeky and irreverent humour. I really did not mind and quite warmed to the occasion. I was beginning to think that I was going to come through this ordeal relatively unscathed. I was wrong.

"Now, to change the subject a little…" he said with a glint in his eyes.

"Yes?" I asked with evident suspicion.

"I have it on good authority Cara that you are actually single and unattached. Can that be true?"

I laughed and felt myself flush slightly. "Yes indeed, you are correct."

He turned to the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen did you hear that, how can this be?" He turned back to me. "No boyfriend?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Perhaps you've been waiting for a good honest charming all-American man?"

I raised an eyebrow and earnestly asked, "Is there such a thing?"

The audience 'oohed' and then laughed as did Carl. "Touché, Miss Malone, touché." After a brief pause he innocently asked, "Now if you could have a date with any famous musician, who would it be?"

I was immediately on high alert, but tried to appear offhand. "Oh, I don't know. I'd have to think about that."

He chuckled, reached under his chair and pulled out a magazine. "Oh come, come, Cara. I put it to you and the members of the jury… I mean audience," he winked, "that you've already thought about this." He slapped the magazine down on the table and with his eyes twinkling said, "Allow me to present 'Exhibit A' into evidence. The 'London Sunday Times' asked our delightful guest this very same question." He looked over at me and asked, "And you said?"

I shrugged and smiled. "OK, it's a fair cop. I guess your research assistant isn't too bad after all. I said it would be Aaron Kramer."

Carl shook his head. "Why would you pick him?"

"I've been a big fan for a long time. I think his song writing epitomises what contemporary music is all about — poetry set to music. His lyrics are clever without being trite and moving without being soppy."

His gaze was fixed on me for a moment and I wondered what he was going to say next, but he turned to the audience and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for the lovely Cara Malone."
 
 
When the applause died down, he cast me a sideways glance and then stood as he looked into the camera in front of him. "It now gives me great pleasure to welcome my next guest who is no stranger to this show. We also continue on the theme of music." I began to get a strange sinking feeling, but thought I was being paranoid. Carl continued, "He has been described as writing lyrics that are 'clever without being trite and moving without being soppy'. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Aaron Kramer."

I lowered my face into my hands as the audience roared and applauded. I looked up to see Aaron swagger onto the stage in his inimitable manner. He was grinning broadly and he and Carl laughed as they shook hands. I slowly stood and was sure that my face was beetroot. Aaron walked over to me and winked. He held out his arms and I smiled as I opened mine. We hugged and he kissed me on the cheek before we took our seats.

They were both looking at me and I shook my head. "This is a set up," I accused.

Aaron nodded and said, "Yep, that's about right."

Carl chuckled. "Cara, I just wanted to give you the opportunity to meet your hero."

I self-consciously pulled my top down a bit and had to laugh. "Lord, I feel so embarrassed."

Carl then sounding more serious turned to Aaron. "I imagine you must be embarrassed too. I expect you get plenty of pretty ladies coming on to you."

Aaron shook his head and then scratched it. "No actually, I don't… wait a minute…" he nodded slowly and then more definitely, "I mean, yes of course. All the time."

Carl laughed. "I don't usually go in for embarrassing my guests…" The laughter and jeers from the audience suggested a difference of opinion. "Hey, who asked you guys?" he fired at them jovially. "Anyway Aaron, can I ask you a similar question? If you could have a date with anyone in the music world who would it be?"

He sat there as if pondering the question before turning to Carl and saying with all seriousness, "Cara Malone."

I shook my head and laughed again. "You boys…"

Carl nodded to Aaron. "What do you think has influenced your choice?"

Aaron couldn't continue with his straight face and the corners of his mouth began to tug at his lips. "It's the pants. Definitely the pants."

I groaned and smiled. "Can I go now?"

Aaron turned to me. "Oh you can't leave. Think about it. You go and that leaves me and him." He gestured to Carl. "Who's gonna want to watch us two if you leave?"

Mercifully, Carl began to ask Aaron about the latest album that 'Stealing Time' were recording and I was able to fade into the background a little. It led into a discussion on the state of modern music and I was happier to chip in from time to time. It was obviously time for another commercial as Carl wrapped up, "Ladies and gentlemen, show your appreciation for Aaron Kramer and again for Cara Malone who has been very patient with my tomfoolery."

The red lights on the cameras went off and everyone around the stage visibly relaxed. We stood and Carl came over to me.

I pointed at him and grinned. "Fly by the seat of your pants? See where the chat leads us?" I shook my head. "What a con!"

He laughed and held up his hands. "I'm sorry. It was irresistible. Can you forgive me?"

I smiled. "I guess you were quite nice to me, so I'll let you off just this once."

He shook hands with both Aaron and I again and then we were ushered off the stage. If anything, I felt more embarrassed now than I had been before.

"Aaron, listen… I feel really silly…"

He laughed and shook his head. "Don't. I'm flattered. Actually, I know you probably didn't even mean it, so don't sweat it."

I chuckled and mused, "This isn't exactly how I imagined meeting you."

He nodded seriously. "Likewise. In my dreams it always happened differently."

I looked at him with concern for a brief moment before I realised he was joking. I laughed and his face cracked into a grin. He stuck his hands into his pockets and looked like he was in deep thought.

"What is it?" I asked.

He turned sharply to me. "I know this is maybe strange or something, but can I ask you a favour?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

I shook my head slowly. "I don't think so," I said with growing curiosity.

He idly kicked the wall in front of him. "Uhh, you know we're recording our new album. I was kinda wondering if you might be able to drop by tomorrow. There's a new song that I'd love to have you sing backing vocals on."

I was quite taken aback. "Well… that should be alright. I'll have to check out the official contractual side of things with my manager."

He grinned. "Excellent. Here's the address. Studio's on Long Island, not far." He paused. "You do have to come, of course."

"Why?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He winked. "Because if you don't show up at the studio, you won't know where we're going on our date tomorrow night." He turned and swaggered off down the corridor leaving me standing there totally bemused.

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