Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

“IOC?” Adam asks.

“International Olympic Committee,” Scott fills in for him.

“So what you’re saying is that this is a party for all of the Olympic VIPs and what not?” I ask, trying to sound less threatening this time.

Scott smiles. “Exactly.” He opens up the door to a very nice private dining room. “Your instruments are ready in the main room. You can wait here while we introduce you. It shouldn’t be long. A server will be around to see if you need anything before you go on.”

“I’m going with Scott to mingle with the ‘VIPs’,” Cole says, smiling. “Text me if you need anything, but like he said, your wait will be short. You play, there will be a few speeches, the reveal, food and drinks, then done.”

We nod and agree and the two of them are gone.

“Bloody hell.” I collapse into a nearby chair, rubbing my forehead. “I didn’t know we were playing for the entire Olympic Committee in a tiny bloody restaurant with them all crammed up close. This is a huge deal.”

Adam grins. “Yep. I can’t wait. I’d love to pick the brains of the people who make the Olympics a reality. That’s really impressive.”

Jesus. Man up, Davies. You’ve played stadiums with tens of thousands of people. You can do this.

A man brings us all water and asks if we need anything. Adam orders a PG Tips with honey. The rest of us stick with the water.

“Ready?” Scott pokes his head in, his smile somewhat nervous. I note a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Hmph. Seems I’m not the only one who’s nervous tonight. Of course, he’ll probably be made redundant if this doesn’t go well.

Adam puts down his tea and stands up. “Let’s go.”

We’re lead down a short hall into a much larger dining area. The end nearest us is set up with a fairly large stage, our instruments in their usual spots.

Adam hops right up on stage and grabs the microphone. He immediately starts working the crowd, chatting on about the games, London, and anything he can think of while we take our places. Like I’ve said, when Adam is performing, he’s bloody brilliant. The audience is eating it up.

He shrugs on his own guitar and waits for Hawke to start us off. It’s our first time playing this song in public, one Adam wrote in rehab. He hasn’t outright said, but it’s clearly written for Ellie. In my opinion, it’s the best thing he’s ever written.

Hawke signals to start and the place fills with sound. The guitars, the drums, Adam’s clear voice—it’s perfect. At the end of the first song, I’ve relaxed enough to unkink the knots in my back. After the second song, I’m starting to have a good time. By the time we finish our set I can’t stop grinning. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

We’re shuttled back to the small room to clean up and get a quick drink before Cole herds us back into the party.

“They’re doing the unveiling now,” he tells us right before ditching us to suck up to more VIPs.

The people who have surrounded us to chat turn their attention to the stage when Scott takes the mic.

“Thank you all for being here.” Scott looks out over the crowd, exuding appeal. Not in the naturally captivating way Adam works an audience. Scott is less genuine, more rehearsed. He goes on and on thanking various people and organizations, causing me to check the time more than once.

Just as people become restless, a massive screen drops behind Scott on the stage. The lights dim and Scott begins his introduction.

“I’d like to unveil our 2012 Olympic Issue, featuring Women’s Soccer, I mean Football player, Katherine Campbell of team Great Britain.”

I stagger in shock and my hand clenches around my drink. I’m frozen in place as Kate, my Kate, appears on a twelve-foot screen wearing only a teeny tiny scrap of a bikini with the Union Jack printed on it.

When the real-life Kate walks out on the stage in a low-cut, too-short red dress, waving and smiling for the cheers of the audience, I nearly lose it.

I grab the back of Adam’s neck, pressing my fingers down tight.

“Ow! Sod off!” He tries to shake me off but I hold on.

“Did you know about this?” I hiss under my breath.

“What? No! How would I know? They’ve kept the bloody cover a secret! No one knew who was on it, just that it was an Olympic athlete.”

“Fuck!” I release his neck, only to fist my hands at my sides. My eyes turn back to Kate, who is finished with her speech already and is making her way down the stairs and into the crowd.