You may wonder how performing with rock’s literal femme fatale will help Cassie’s case, but as keen as she is to stand apart from the Greene brothers, we believe Pia is just as eager to prove she is more than the attitude she is famous for. Either way, it could be a very tactical decision on the part of Kevin Briggs and Martin Dowde to exploit the post-Grammy media coverage and use it to their own advantage.
While neither label has confirmed this collaboration, Pia Lindberg was seen flying into LAX earlier this week after a month-long stint in New York reportedly hitting up most of the bars and clubs in the East Village, occasionally with her bandmates, Jon Davies and Geert de Vries. Femme Fatale’s lead guitarist, Jakob Edvindsson, spent his downtime in Stockholm, where he was seen cozying up with no fewer than five supermodels over the course of four weeks.
As for the Evergreene boys, despite claiming in Grammys interviews that they were going to all retreat to England to write their next album, only the Greene brothers made the journey there, and it’s not clear where they ended up after an overnight stint in a Metropolitan Police holding cell. Clarence Oldman was seen in San Francisco, even enjoying a spontaneous jam session with some old Atlantic Records friends at Basin Street West. And as published last week, George Redfern was photographed escaping a residential drug treatment facility in New Hampshire. Within forty-eight hours of those photos reaching newsstands, he was spotted paying for everyone’s drinks in a seafood bar in Providence, Rhode Island.
As per usual, Cassie Everard has evaded most photographers’ lenses in recent weeks, being spotted only coming and going from a Sunset Boulevard hair salon and a lawyer’s office in Downtown LA.
All this is to say, it doesn’t appear as if any new material is being written by either band so here atRhythm & News,we are very intrigued to find out if Pia Lindberg’s presence in LA is to record a song with Cassie Everard. Whether it will be nothing more than the hottest rumor of the year—or if it will actually become the hottest single of the year—remains to be seen.
CHAPTER 3
PIA
Martin is all crossed arms and angry stares when I walk into the studio.
“You’re late,” he says, his Scottish accent extra curt for my benefit.
“Count yourself lucky I’m here at all,” I retort as I dump my bag and shrug off my leather jacket. I throw it on top of my bag and then go about fluffing my hair.
“We’ve all been waiting nearly an hour.”
“Better thantwohours.”
“Pia, I know you don’t want to do this,” he says, stepping closer. That has me looking around the room to see who else is here, but apart from two sound techs at the mixing desk, we’re alone.
“Where is she?” I demand as I pull out a packet of Marlboro Red from my back pocket. Martin sighs. He knows exactly who I’m talking about. I brace myself for yet another “play nice” lecture.
“She’s already mic’ed up in the studio. She’s been rehearsing for the last thirty minutes.”
“Such an overperformer.” I roll my eyes as I light a cigarette. I resist the urge to turn and look through the window behind me. The lights are down in there, but I’m sure I’d see her if I looked closely enough.
“She sounds pretty fucking good, Pia.” He steps even closer.
“Of course she does, ‘voice of an angel.’” I use air quotes for the phrase I read in a recentNew York Timesarticle about Cassie.
“Have you even listened to the demo?”
“Yes!” I lie. “You don’t need to worry about me, Martin. I won’t fuck this up so badly you have to stop sleeping with Kevin.”
Martin’s cheeks flush bright red. His cute Celtic colouring means he can’t hide a thing from me. Nor does the way his green eyes start looking anywhere but at me. I bet under that ill-fitting suit, his short, stocky body is sweating buckets. I smile as sweetly as is physically possible for me; his not-so-secret relationship with Kevin Briggs has given me considerable leverage over him in recent weeks.
“Just get in the studio, Pia,” he says. “And don’t fuck this up.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” I salute him and then finally turn to look through the viewing window. My eyes are pulled to her immediately.
Standing in one of the three booths on the right side of the studio space, she’s dressed in jeans and a baby blue floaty smock-style top with big sleeves and embroidered floral detail at the neck. Her hair falls down her back and over her shoulders in long waves that look styled for a fucking shampoo commercial, and headphones sit on the top of her head like amidsommarcrown. Singing into a microphone that falls from the booth’s ceiling, her throat is exposed in an elegant curve, and I stare at a vein that strains against her skin for far too long.
Dragging my gaze away, I keep my eyes down as I walk to the door and step into the studio. I feel her eyes on me before I see them as I deliberately stay focused on walking to the booth next to her.
But because she’s British and nice, she steps outside of her booth and holds out her hand where I can’t ignore it.
“Hi, Pia,” she says. “Cassie.”
I look down at her hand and then up at her. Her face is cuter than it looks in the countless photos I’ve seen of her, which should be impossible. Her chin is more pointed, and her nose is ever so slightly upturned. Golden freckles dust her cheeks, and her eyebrows are lighter than they’ve presumably been made up to be in photos or for events. I knew she was pretty – beautiful, even – before getting this close to her. What I didn’t expect was that I would find her interesting to look at.
Interesting has always done more for me than beautiful.
“Oh, Cassie, hi,” I say, my voice slimy with facetiousness. “I didn’t recognise you there without a cornfield to frolic in.”