Sex,Lies, and Bondage Tape

"Hi," Kelly said. "I wonder if you could help me, I'm trying to find the quickest route to the nearest underground station, and I'm a bit lost."

The receptionist nodded, barely taking her eyes off her monitor. "Go back out the door, first left, second right. You'll see it straightaway."

"I just realized…this is a recording studio." Kelly smiled, glancing around at the vinyl discs in the frames. "Anyone famous recording today?"

The punk paused on her task, giving Kelly her full attention and delivering a look that said "don't try that one on me." People had obviously attempted it before. "That information is confidential." She gave a false smile, and returned to her task.

"Yes, of course it is. Thanks for the directions." She took one last, quick look around but couldn't see anything other than a couple of closed doorways that presumably led to the studios upstairs, or the cellar area.

She was about to leave when one of the doors swung open and a woman emerged carrying a bunch of empty coffee cups. She was dressed in black, too, but had more of a Goth look about her, with black-and-red-striped hair and kohl-lined eyes. Apparently, you had to look like a music sub genre to work in the biz. Kelly smiled to herself. She was getting a lot of insight into the music world over these past few days, one way or the other.

As the door swung closed behind the Goth, she caught the sound of guitar music. Someone was definitely recording, and it sounded rocky. Hopefully, it was Clayton.

Back in the street she glanced at her watch, pulled an energy drink out of her backpack, and then took up a watching position a few doors away, preparing to wait it out until the elusive recording artist emerged. If it was Clayton, she'd make her move.

The afternoon dragged. She was beginning to think she was on a fool's errand. It was getting towards six in the evening when a figure finally emerged from the Celtic. She gathered herself, pushing her sunglasses up her nose, getting ready to make an approach. Craning her neck, she watched as the man pulled up the collar on his jacket and put on a pair of wrap around shades, glancing around.

It was Clayton. Jay stepped out of the building behind him, hand raised to hail a taxi.

The Mission Impossible theme struck up in her head. Cautiously, she began to close in, hope and determination fueling her. Then she saw two teenage girls appear out of nowhere. They approached the two men and seemed to be asking Clayton for his autograph.

Kelly was amazed because she hadn't seen them waiting. They'd been even more surreptitious than she had. No wonder Clayton was wary of groupies. And yet he seemed to be quite friendly and chatted with them while Jay went to the edge of the street and waved down a taxicab. Presumably signing autographs in a public place was acceptable. It was more about privacy than anything else, and she should have realized that right at the beginning. She smiled wryly to herself, sheepishly aware of the error she had made by intruding into his private space.

A momentary doubt hit her because she was going to do just that, all over again. How would he take it? Not well, she knew that, but she thought about Tommy. She wanted to know. This was the only way. A trademark London black cab pulled up beside the two men, and she broke into a jog. If they left now, her wait would have been futile. "It's now or never."

She made it to the door just as Jay disappeared inside, with Clayton already ensconced in the cab. The driver was signaling, readying to pull out into the traffic. She didn't have a choice. She snatched the door from Jay's hand and leapt in behind him.

"Wait up," she said to the driver.

The cab driver paused, watching them in his mirror.

"Hey, this cab is taken." Clayton looked panicked, glancing at Jay for support.

"Out!" Jay pointed at the door of the cab.

Flipping down a seat facing the two of them, she held up her hands. "Okay, I know this looks really bad, I'm just asking you to hear me out." She had to raise her voice over the hum of the engine revving.

"Hear you out?" Jay frowned.

"Wait a minute, you're the groupie from the last night of the tour." Clayton looked even more panicked. "Jay, get rid of her."

"I'm not here to bother you, seriously, please believe me. I'm not a groupie, never was. I was trying to get an autograph for a friend who couldn't make it. I realize I went about it the wrong way and I'm sorry about that. I'm just trying to get in touch with Tommy again. I'd like to um...hire him, if I knew how." She was attempting to show she was serious. "Please hear me out."

Jay observed her, thoughtful. "We don't have time for this, we've got to be somewhere."

"Please...I really want to get in touch with Tommy. That's all it's about." She pursed her lips, giving them her most hopeful expression.

Jay looked at Clayton, one hand on his shoulder, reassuring him. "No harm in hearing what she's got to say."

Clayton didn't look convinced and sank back in his seat, gazing out the window to make a point.

"Thanks, it won't take long and I'll be gone." "You'll have to tell us on the way," Jay said.

She nodded vigorously.

"Drive on, Piccadilly," Jay called through to the taxi driver, and then looked back at her. "Any trouble from you, and you're out on the street, understood?"

The driver slid shut the glass panel that separated them, and the cab lurched out into the traffic.