Idol. Carrie Duffy

it will,’ Jenna insisted, unable to hide her enthusiasm. ‘Everyone’s doing it these days – collaborations with unexpected people. It’s the latest thing, and it’ll be totally hot.’

      ‘Speaking of hot,’ Gerry pronounced the word distastefully. ‘Would this sudden desperation to work with Phoenix have anything to do with Nick Taylor?’

      Jenna flushed bright red, annoyed with herself that she was so easy to read. ‘I really admire him as an artist,’ she stated earnestly, as Gerry roared with laughter.

      ‘Yeah, and I love Pam Anderson for her acting ability,’ he chuckled. ‘Seriously Jenna, Nick Taylor eats girls like you for breakfast. I’m not letting him anywhere near you.’

      ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Jenna. She hated being treated like a child, and was blissfully unaware that the more petulantly she behaved, the more she sounded like one. ‘I can handle myself, Gerry, and I want to do this. Anyway, I’ve already said yes so I can’t back out now,’ she finished triumphantly.

      ‘Jenna,’ Gerry began tiredly, wishing she could be just a little less argumentative sometimes and save them all some trouble. He looked at her with affection as she stood there, bubbling over with excitement and energy, just as she had been the first day she’d walked into his office.

      He could still remember the first time they’d met. She’d been totally overshadowed by her dominating mother, Georgia, who was fiercely ambitious and determined to live out her failed dreams through her daughter. She and Jenna’s father, Mikael, had divorced when Jenna was tiny. By anyone’s standards they were a pretty unlikely pairing – Mikael was a Swedish academic who had little in common with glamorous, party-girl Georgia, and the novelty of their odd-couple relationship had soon worn off. Georgia had never remarried – she devoted all her energies to pursuing her daughter’s career, and found being single worked to her advantage.

      Yet despite Georgia’s overbearing behaviour, Gerry couldn’t fail to notice Jenna’s amazing presence in the room. The story was that she’d been out in LA, working with some dance group, when an A&R guy had spotted her. Ultimate Management had taken one look at her and signed her on the spot. They didn’t care whether or not she could sing – Auto-Tune could take care of that. But boy, could she sing.

      Gerry, based in London, had been assigned to work with her on the European side. He’d known straight away she was going to be huge. And he was right – in less than two years Jenna was tottering on the brink of superstardom, her level of fame surpassing even her mother’s wildest expectations. She was in demand on every major continent, her life one exciting, hectic treadmill of recording, gigs, interviews and appearances. Until the accident in Munich.

      It had been during Jenna’s first major European tour. She and Georgia had argued – nothing serious, just the usual mother-and-daughter spats. But Jenna had announced she would be taking the tour bus with the rest of the crew, while Georgia boarded the VIP helicopter. It came down shortly after take-off, crash-landing in the Englischer Garten. Georgia and the pilot were killed instantly. The autopsy showed traces of cocaine in the pilot’s bloodstream and witnesses remembered seeing him indulge at the after-show party the night before.

      Jenna had been destroyed. She’d tried to contact her father – he’d moved back to Sweden and she hadn’t heard from him in years – but when she told him what had happened he showed little interest, and made it clear he had no intention of flying over for the funeral. It was left to Gerry to step into the breach, and he’d stayed by Jenna’s side 24/7 during the darkest times, knowing she had no one else. By his own admission he’d neglected his other artists, and at times he worried he’d totally overstepped his professional boundaries.

      But they’d got through it. The tour had been cancelled and Jenna dropped out of the public eye for a while – some days she couldn’t even get it together enough to climb out of bed. But slowly, gradually, the old fire returned. When Jenna finally made her much-heralded comeback almost a year later, she was bigger and better than ever before. She’d cleaned up at the MTV Europe Awards, and now she wanted to record with Phoenix …

      ‘Look, there simply isn’t time,’ Gerry explained, his tone matter-of-fact. ‘Your entire schedule is manic for at least the next twelve months. We have magazine and TV interviews, promo appearances, photo shoots and live radio shows all booked. Then there’s the next tour to think about, a new album to record, maybe even a possible movie deal or fashion line to put your name to …’ Gerry looked at her pleadingly. ‘Can’t you see it’s just not possible for you to go swanning off to LA, not even for a few days? The schedule would kill you.’

      Jenna smiled innocently, curling up in her chair like a cat. ‘What if it wasn’t in LA? What if I could get them to record in London? That way I could still—’

      ‘You won’t,’ Gerry cut her off.

      ‘But if—’

      ‘No, Jenna.’

      Jenna simply nodded her head, keeping her gaze downcast as she distractedly pushed back her cuticles. ‘Okay,’ she shrugged easily. ‘Whatever you say.’

      Gerry eyed her suspiciously, wondering where the temper tantrum was. The Jenna Jonsson he knew didn’t just back down like that – she would fight him every inch of the way. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her face, but Jenna just smiled sweetly back at him. Gerry scowled. He had a bad feeling about this.

      On the other side of the Atlantic, in downtown Los Angeles, a similar argument was raging in Clive Goldman’s state-of-the-art office. Clive was the manager of Phoenix and, like Gerry King’s, his day wasn’t exactly going the way he’d planned it.

      ‘You told her what?’ he exploded, causing his already ruddy face to turn a veritable shade of purple. Nick ran his hands through his hair, messing up the artfully dishevelled look it had taken him forever to perfect that morning, and raised his hands in defence.

      ‘I just thought it could be good,’ he offered languidly, as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on Clive’s $10,000 desk. ‘We were talking and the idea kind of … came up, y’know?’

      ‘No, Nick, I don’t know. And get your fucking dirty feet off my fucking Parnian desk!’ Clive’s voice got louder with every word.

      ‘Keep the noise down, would ya?’ Nick winced behind his sunglasses. ‘It was kind of a late one last night.’ His voice was rough, and he had the hangover from hell. He’d been welcomed back to LA by Courtney, some pretty little actress-model wannabe with a great rack and a very willing disposition.

      ‘Christ Nick, don’t you ever take anything seriously?’

      ‘You should chill out, Clive; everything’s good – you know what I’m saying? The sun is shining and the women are sweet …’

      Clive inhaled sharply, trying to control his temper as he turned away from the band and crossed the sumptuous deep-pile carpet to the window. From the cluster of skyscrapers in Century City, the sprawling mass of LA spread out far below and the view extended as far as the mountains to the east. The sun was blazing, but it was early still and the smog hadn’t yet lifted, wreathing the city in its choking grasp. Clive saw none of this. Letting out a deep breath, he turned back to where the hottest band on the planet were lounging on his office sofas as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

      ‘Guys, I’m running a business here, not a fucking crèche,’ Clive pleaded. ‘Everything here is carefully planned – that is why it works. Phoenix are a business, a brand. Do you understand that?’

      ‘I guess,’ Nick shrugged, unconcerned.

      ‘What do you guys think?’ Clive turned to the rest of the band. He was well aware that Nick saw himself as God’s gift, and seemed to have got his dick in a twist about this hot little British chick, but he was pretty sure the others would see sense.

      Zac and Ryan remained silent. Clive clenched his fists in triumph. Divide and conquer.

      ‘Come