Dirty Diana by January James

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Hoffman and Co must be livid,” Sheridan chuckled, as she shoveled a forkful of pasta into her mouth. Jenny, perhaps sensing that Jude had taken a knock and could probably use some home-cooked attention, had created an Italian feast for the entire team.

“They’d pulled out all the stops with that article about Jude, and it turns out no-one gave a shit.”

Sheridan and I had sloped off to the kitchen to have a much-needed catch-up in private.

“It bothered him though,” I said, sipping my water. My appetite had shrunk in the last week. The fact I’d hardly slept since the article came out and I’d knocked on Jude’s bedroom door may have had something to do with it. I hadn’t stepped foot back in my own room; Jude had insisted I sleep in his.

“It doesn’t seem that way to me,” Sheridan replied. “He’s floating around the place like he’s on cloud nine.”

I focused on the plate in front of me, knowing a bright red blush was giving me away.

“Finally got it on, did you?” I heard the grin in her voice.

“It’s not really like that,” I said.

“Oh, no? Then, how is it? Tell me. I haven’t had sex in months. I need to live vicariously through other peoples’ sex lives.”

“It isn’t just sex, Shez,” I said, glancing up at her, timidly.

“You’re telling me that like I didn’t know.” She placed her fork down and stared right at me. “I know it’s more and I’m pleased you’ve finally let him in. The man’s been dying over here, I could tell.”

“That’s rubbish. He’s just, I don’t know. He’s just excited to have a woman around twenty-four-seven.”

“You are blind, girl.” Sheridan picked up her fork and prodded it towards me. “I know I used to hate the guy but, since he jumped ship and started doing proper work…”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“…I’ve really come to like him. And we talk, you know? He tells me shit, he asks me shit. I know more about him than you think. And I happen to know that he has loved you for months. You are his damn world. It’s killing him that you won’t do anything about this Aaron guy. If you leave it much longer, he’s going to snap and try to find the psycho himself.”

“No…” I started.

“Don’t push it, Di. He wants you safe. He doesn’t want some creep hanging around, sending you crazy letters and threatening to kill you. And you are mad if you think otherwise.”

“Ok, ok,” I said, holding my hands up. I changed the topic. “How are our acts doing?”

“They’re doing ok,” Sheridan replied, looking hopeful. “We’ve got enough in the bank to honor what we owe them and the contracts are holding up. No-one’s jumped ship yet. They know they’ll have much less chance of being signed anywhere else, seeing as Hoffman and Co are trying to shut proper music down. And they’re staying positive. We had fifteen shows booked for the next month and only eight have cancelled, so not everyone is on the Hoffman payroll as we’d expected. We cannot secure studio space though for love nor money. Jude was talking about us building our own…”

“Our own recording studio?”

“Yeah, he just mentioned it this morning, like it had just occurred to him. How rich is he? The sound-proofing alone on those things costs an absolute fortune.”

I smiled and shook my head. Jude had absorbed himself into his new role with passion. He seemed to come alive when he was throwing ideas around with the team, negotiating with lawyers, banks and potential investors. He seemed to be in his element; nothing like the way he was when he was commanding Empirical Records, or eyeing me across the table as a board member of Decadence. Then, he seemed hungry, but empty. He’d become a different person in the last few weeks. Even with the damning article about his past, he recovered quickly, realizing the team was right behind him, and he was back on the phone the very next day.

“And how’s the team doing?” I’d had my head buried in numbers and contracts—I’d hardly come up for air—and hadn’t been as close to the team as usual. Thankfully, Sheridan had stepped in to help.

“They’re really good. They always felt like they were part of this bigger cause but now that we’re trying to separate from Empirical and establish Phoenix as a company in its own right, they feel a sense of ownership. They really care about the business and they’re doing everything they can to keep the cogs moving while you and Jude do the business stuff.”

“We should have a little celebration this afternoon,” I said. “Before everyone heads home. Just to say thanks for all their hard work.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“I’ll pop out get a couple of bottles of fizz and some cakes.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” I shook my head. “Stay here; I know you’re busy. I could really use some fresh air; I haven’t left the house since I moved in here.”

“Are you sure? I mean, that psycho is out there…”

“I don’t think he knows I’m here, Shez. And besides, its broad daylight. I’ve got an alarm on me too. I’ll be fine. I just need a bit of space and fresh air.”

“Ok, if you’re sure. You should tell Jude…”

“I’ll be five minutes,” I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

I finally managed to shake off an overly concerned Sheridan and made my first outing since I’d been living with Jude. I stood on the steps of his brownstone and looked up and down the street. It was quiet but for a few people strolling up towards the main avenue. I looked around at the other houses, wondering who else was rich enough and fortunate enough to live in this neighbourhood.

I made my way up the street towards the store, keeping an eye on the people around me. I honestly didn’t think Aaron would have tracked me here, but I didn’t know who I was dealing with anymore. The death threats had been a recent development. Up until then, his letters had been merely derogatory, attempts to convince me I was nothing without him, that I needed him just so I could function. It was only since he’d discovered my whereabouts they’d become violent.

I wondered what his relationship with my mum was like now, and whether or not he still made her happy. One time I tried calling her. I don’t even know why; I was hardly going to tell her the man she was married to was stalking her own daughter—the very same daughter he’d dated and slept with when she was only sixteen. She answered the phone using his last name, confirming to me they were still very much together. Maybe she was in on his ruse—surely he couldn’t have kept this consistent abuse up in secret, without being discovered. But, I knew deep down she would never allow it to happen if she became aware of it. She would leave him and lose several years of her life. That was why, when she answered the phone, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell her it was me. She’d want to know where I was, why I’d left. And I wouldn’t be able to tell her. So there was no point.

I consoled myself with the knowledge she’d guess it was me and she’d at least know I was still alive. But I realized I couldn’t have her back in my life while receiving death threats from her husband and not letting her know about it. The more time that passes, the greater the pain of heartbreak becomes. It had gone from being six months of betrayal, to twelve months and a proposal, to four years’ betrayal, to now almost eight years’ betrayal. That’s how long they’d been together. That’s how long he’d been pretending to love my mother while stalking me obsessively. That’s how long I’d kept this a secret from her, and I would rather she died estranged and ignorant to the truth than feeling as though eight years of her life had been a complete and utter lie.

I picked up a couple of bottles of prosecco and a tray of muffins, then made my way back towards Jude’s house. As I rounded the corner, I noticed a young guy coming towards me. He was younger than Aaron so I wasn’t worried, but he was eyeing me curiously. As he got nearer, I noticed a sly smile spread across his face, and his mouth started moving. It looked as though he speaking to me; he was looking right at me. Then I realized he was singing.

“I don't care what you say, I wanna go too far…”

“Excuse me?” I said, turning as he walked past.

“I'll be your everything, if you make me a star…”

I stopped, recognizing the song. He turned to face me and started to walk backwards, the smile on his face growing even wider.

“Dirty Diana, oh,” he sang, loudly. “Dirty Diana, oh.”

I stared at him, confused. Did he know me?

“Dirty Di—ana, oh, Dirty Diana…”

Then he stopped and punched the air, singing “Let me be!” as he spun around to continue up the street.

I stood and watched him walking away while a strange feeling came over me. Something had happened; I just didn’t know what it was.

I closed the door behind me and went straight to the kitchen. The hum of chattering that usually came from the drawing room had quietened significantly. They must all be engrossed in something, or feeling hungover, I thought with a small smile.

I still felt strange about the boy on the street; I needed to tell Jude something was off. I pushed the bottles into his giant refrigerator and turned to see him standing feet away from me.

“Hey,” I began. “The weirdest thing just…”

“Di…” his voice was eerily calm. “Come upstairs.”

“Really? Now?”

“Yes. I need you to see something.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Upstairs? I thought I’d seen everything,” I joked.

He didn’t laugh. If anything, a flash of sadness crossed his face.

“Is everything ok?”

“It’s fine, babe, just come upstairs.”

Babe. He never called me babe during work hours. It was too informal and we still didn’t want the rest of the team to know we were more than just work colleagues.

He followed me up the stairs resting a hand on my back then took my hand in his as we reached the top.

“In here,” he said, leading me into his office.

“Hey!” I said, as Sheridan and Carlos came into view. They were sitting on the sofa looking anything but happy to be there. “What’s going on?”

Jude led me to an armchair alongside the sofa and held my shoulders as he sat me down. Then Carlos handed me the newest issue of Rolling Stone magazine.

I spun it around to read the front page and froze. There I was, my picture taking up the entire cover. It was a photograph of me taken at an awards event after I’d had a few cocktails. I was sitting on a chair chatting to someone out of shot and my wrap dress had fallen to the side, showing off the tops of my stockings. My eyes were half-closed—the picture had been carefully selected to ensure I looked as drunk and seductive as possible—and I was gently tugging at the neckline, showing off a mound of ample boob. My eyes moved up to the headline, Dirty Diana, and the subhead, Sex, lies and rock ‘n’ roll.

“What the…?”

Carlos reached out and opened the magazine to where he’d stuck a post-it to the offending article. It ran across three pages, with other photographs featuring the acts I had signed, Jude, a shot of Cambridge University and… Aaron, my stepfather. I clasped a hand over my mouth.

“I can’t read it,” I said, my fingers muffling my words.

Jude dropped to his knees beside me.

“You have to, Di, or you’ll just be wondering what it says. Think of it like a Band-Aid—just rip it off. We’re right here with you.”

He smudged a finger beneath my eyes; I hadn’t realized I was crying. I nodded, still covering my mouth as though that would stop any horrible things being said. But I knew it was too late for that.

Diana Delaney, the much-lauded VP of troubled label Phoenix Music, is hiding secrets. Or telling lies. You decide.

I skimmed down the first few paragraphs which seemed to recap my journey from talent scout to VP of a small label, from the launch of our campaign to #savephoenix and the show at Madison Square Gardens. Then my stomach turned.

This is what we know, or what we’ve been led to believe. The truth, however, is much darker. It is a story Diana Delaney tried to hide. It begins with incest.

I wretched into my hand but luckily, nothing came up. Still, Sheridan passed a waste paper basket to Jude who placed it at my feet.

As a sweet sixteen-year-old, Diana met her first love, the twenty-two-year-old engineer Aaron Battersea. They dated for over a year until a lovers tiff broke them apart. According to our source, the couple were “incredibly happy together.” It came as a huge surprise when they separated. “I always thought they were made for each other. Aaron was so attentive and Diana was smitten with him. They were inseparable until they had a misunderstanding at her seventeenth birthday party.”

Who the fuck was their ‘source’ I thought, angrily. It was clearly someone who knew shit.

While Aaron and Diana never reignited their relationship, they remained in contact, and when Aaron became involved with Diana’s mother, Beatrice, Diana happily attended their wedding. Sources say Diana moved to Cambridge shortly afterwards but remained in close contact with both Beatrice and Aaron.

With a taste for the darker side of sexual life established, Diana joined the notoriously private and exclusive Decadence sex club in New York, where she met Peyton-Harris who was a board member at the time. While the club continues to refuse comment regarding its members, sources close to Peyton-Harris confirmed he and Diana had sexual relations while they were both in attendance at the club.

I picked up the waste paper basket and threw up the contents of my lunch. Jude grabbed my hair and rubbed circles on my back. I wiped my mouth with a tissue that Carlos held out, and returned my eyes to the page.

It is unknown how the relationship between the two played a role during the first few months of Peyton-Harris’ appointment, but Rolling Stone can confirm their relationship was never disclosed, which broke contractual obligations. Former employees have stated they knew nothing about a prior relationship between Peyton-Harris and Delaney, suggesting they’d either been unaware of the situation beforehand or they were lying outright to everyone around them.

This latest finding comes at an inconvenient time for Delaney and Peyton-Harris who are in the process of sourcing new ownership for the controversial label. This comes after they hurled unfounded accusations of monopolization and corporate misconduct at music industry Godfathers Ralph Zeiner, Donnie Hoffman and Marty Weissenberg.

I read the last paragraph which simply summarized what a lying, cheating whore I apparently was and lowered the magazine to my lap.

I never wanted notoriety. I never wanted to be the story. I never wanted anything other than to play a part in helping others make great music and put it out there. I never wanted Aaron to marry my mother. I never wanted to join a sex club. And I never wanted to drag a man I loved into this disgusting life I’d somehow created.

“It will be trash before you know it,” Sheridan said quietly.

I shook my head. “It’s Rolling Stone. It’s on the news stand for a month.” I hiccupped, my stomach feeling empty and acidic. “People collect it, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t going to go away.”

I stared at the photograph, willing my eyes in the picture to open just a little bit, and my dress to close up just a little bit. But it was too late. It was all too late.

“I have to speak to the teams,” I said. “I need to step down from all this. It’s not fair that they continue to work so hard while I drag the reputation of this amazing business down.”

“You can’t quit,” Carlos rushed out.

“He’s right,” Jude said, firmly. “This is your business. You are Phoenix Music. You have to rise above this. Everyone will see the article for what it is: a pack of lies.”

“But it isn’t, is it?” I said, looking up at him, daring him to deny it. “It’s all true. I did date my stepfather once upon a time. I did go to my mother’s wedding. I did join a sex club. We did sleep together under that roof. And we didn’t disclose our relationship to anyone, and we should have done. It’s all true.”

Jude stared at me. He couldn’t deny it. Any of it.

“But none of it is wrong, either,” Sheridan said. “You were perfectly entitled to date Aaron. You weren’t to know he would one day become your stepfather. You went to your mother’s wedding because it was what she wanted. If you hadn’t gone, they would have twisted the story to suit. Yes, you joined a sex club, along with thousands of other people in the city. Yes, you slept with Jude. You are fucking human. And for all anyone knows, you and Jude were no longer in a relationship when he became your boss. The only mistake you made was not telling the board you knew each other and in what capacity. But I bet my life and yours, the team—and the general public—will forgive you for that.”

I sank my head into my hands. Everything Sheridan had said made sense, but I still felt sick, and guilty, and ashamed.

“Come and speak to the team,” Jude said, squeezing my shoulders. “They’ve all read the article and they’re more concerned about you; they’ll want to know you’re ok. Let’s go and show them exactly who you are. You’re human. You’re hurt and upset. But you’re still here, and when you’ve regained your strength, you’re going to fight. Harder.”

I wiped my eyes and let Jude pull me to my feet. I felt weak and inconsequential. But he was right; I had to face the music. They were my team—they’d stood by me throughout this whole ordeal. They deserved to see the real me and understand the truth.

The four of us made our way down the stairs and I heard the silence descend before we’d even reached the bottom. All eyes landed on me as I walked through the door, pushed along gently by Jude’s hand behind me.

I looked out at the sea of sympathetic faces and took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry I’ve dragged you all into this,” I began. “This is my past and it should have nothing to do with our present or our future.”

I noticed some eyes drop to the floor.

“I don’t expect this to go away over night, but do you know what? Hoffman and Co have done their worst. I don’t think they can hurt us any more than this. So…”

I took another deep breath.

“We should look at this moment as our rock bottom. From here on, we can only climb. We can only get stronger, and wiser, and better. They’ve played their whole hand and they’ve yet to see any of our cards. We are going to go back to the drawing board now. No more fire-fighting and groveling to people who are scared shitless of the big bad bullies. We’re not going to them anymore. They’re going to come to us. We’re not playing by Hoffman’s rules anymore; we’re changing the fucking game.”

I felt Jude shift beside me.

“It all starts with the music,” I said, looking up at him. “We need to make more of it. And make it amazing.”

“But we can’t get into any studios,” Dree said, quietly.

“We’re going to make our own,” Jude announced.

“But what about getting airplay? Only half the stations who played us before are willing to take our acts,” said Anthony, Sheridan’s promo exec.

“We’ll use different channels,” I replied. “TikTok, Clubhouse… I mean, hell, why don’t we just make our own? Why don’t we create our own indie music platform? We know people want it. We could charge a small subscription fee—all profits going to the #savephoenix fund.”

I saw a few heads nodding around the room.

“And what about ownership? We’re still entangled with Empirical.”

Jude stepped in. “Our legal team updated me this morning. Empirical has agreed to sell the business to us for a reasonable price, and we can afford it. But we’re still fighting for the name. We might need to think of a new one…”

He looked at me, probably expecting a look of despair. I had named Phoenix four years ago, after all. I should be attached to the name, but I wasn’t.

“I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. New name, new era. How does Rebel Records sound?” I asked the room. It took a couple of seconds for the suggestion to roll through their minds, but once it did, there were smiles and nods, some whoops.

“I love it,” Jude said beside me. “It describes us perfectly. We’re the round peg that refused to be squeezed into a square hole; we’re the teenager who smoked pot behind the sports hall at school…”

“We can make a shit hot marketing campaign with that,” Sheridan added and her team lit up.

“Great,” I smiled, waiting for the excitement to settle. “Now, back to the article.” I steadied my breath again. I had to get it out; this team who’d stood by me through everything needed to know the truth.

“It’s all true. Jude and I met when he was a board member of the Decadence Club. I was approached by a scout to join. I never would have done but I was at an all-time low. I would have said I wasn’t thinking straight, but I can’t be ashamed; it’s out there now. I joined a sex club.” I shrugged my shoulders, waiting for the judgement. But it never came.

“I did meet Jude there, but I didn’t know who he was then, and he didn’t know me. Discovering he’d been hired to close us down was…” I was suddenly hit by a wave of emotion—the same emotion that hit me when I saw him in the boardroom that first day. He seemed to sense it and he brought an arm around my chest, still steadying me from behind. “It was the worst day of my life,” I said, finally, looking up to see everyone not wide-eyed and horrified as I’d expected, but smiling, sympathetically.

“Working with him while we were both fighting for different things was torture, and that’s the truth. I couldn’t tell anyone because I was embarrassed about the way we’d met. So that part about me not disclosing our relationship is true, but it’s the only thing I’ve done wrong.”

“Before we go any further,” Jude jumped in. “We owe it to you to tell you what our relationship is now.”

My head spun around to face him. What did he mean? What was he going to say? What was our relationship now? He gave me a small wink and looked out at everyone.

“Diana and I are together, if you hadn’t already noticed…”

“Of course we had,” piped up one of the talent managers.

Jude smiled. “I guess it’s been hard to conceal it, especially as she lives here with me now. To be completely transparent, we were not together officially until recently. We spent a long time trying to maintain a professional relationship only. But we are together now, and very happy.”

Jude squeezed his arm around me and my stomach melted in on itself. I wanted to turn around and kiss him hard, but that would have been several steps too far.

“What about your stepfather?” Dree asked. “I’m not being nosy. It’s just… he looks familiar.”

I took another deep breath, my nerves jumping to attention at the mention of him.

“Yes, of course. I dated Aaron Battersea when I was sixteen. We were not deliriously happy, as ‘the source’ in the article suggested. He was cruel and possessive and I broke up with him when I turned seventeen. He pursued my mother in secret, until she was so smitten she decided to ‘introduce’ me to him. I was very young; I probably didn’t handle it in the right way. I didn’t say anything about the fact we’d dated. It was only when my mum agreed to marry him that I tried to stop her. Yes, I attended their wedding, but I had begged her not to go through with it. To this day she doesn’t know why. Although…”

I thought back to the article and the fact the magazine would be available in the UK and my relationship with Aaron wouldn’t be a secret for much longer.

“… that’s probably about to change.”

I took another deep steadying breath.

“The truth is, my stepfather is damaged. He hasn’t been able to forgive me for leaving him and, as such, he’s spent the last eight years trying to get me back, despite being married to my mum. I fled the UK to get away from him. But since the article about me and Jude came out, he’s been here, in New York, trying to track me down.”

I watched as people looked around at each other, contemplating this new information.

“That’s it!” Dree gasped. “That’s why he’s familiar. He was here,” she rushed out.

“Here?” Jude asked, his arm going rigid around me. “This house?”

“Just outside,” Dree continued. “I saw him yesterday and a couple of days before that. He looks older than the picture, a bit unshaven, but it was definitely him.”

My heart was beating out of my chest. He’d found me, and it didn’t matter how tightly Jude was holding me, or how many locks he’d added to the door, the feeling of fear that came to light in my stomach, knowing Aaron was close, was irrepressible.

“We’re reporting it,” Jude said, firmly. “That’s it. Enough’s enough. He’s too close now, and it has to stop.”

He was bracing himself for me to turn around and refuse, again, like I always did. But the article had changed everything. Word was out now. The world would know; my mum would know. Her heart would be shattered anyway. And the letters gave me all the proof I ever needed to keep the man away.

I nodded and held his arm.

“I know,” I said, softly. “I will call the police.” My stomach sank at what I had to say next. “But there’s someone else I need to talk to first.”

* * *

Jude followedme back up the stairs. This was something I had to do on my own, but he insisted on accompanying me to his library, to where the offending article still sat, mocking me from his coffee table. He rolled it up and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans.

“I’ll be just outside, babe,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “Just say the word and I’ll come right in.”

I waited for the door to close, then picked up the phone. I couldn’t believe I was going to speak to my mother for the first time in seven years, since I’d escaped to Cambridge after the wedding. My insides were awash with anticipation—fear for what she might say to me, for how she might react; relief at being in contact with her again and sorrow at having been apart for so long. I had no idea what she knew or how she felt about me. She might hate me for leaving and cutting her off; she might find it too painful having me back in her life. I couldn’t think about it; I just had to make the call. If I didn’t tell her the truth, someone else would, and soon.

I listened to the rings, gaining some comfort from the knowledge my stepfather wasn’t at home with her; he was here in New York, trying to find me. My heart beat hard and loud in my ears, almost drowning out the sound of the rings. Then I heard it. A ring stopped halfway, a rustle, then a breath.

“Beatrice Delaney.”

Delaney?

I took a deep breath and gripped the phone.

“Mum.”