I’d done it. I’d managed to trick my way into Shania Twain’s house. Now all I had to do was
find her and convince her to listen to my demo. As I marvelled at the leopard skin rug that
was lining her hallway, I tentatively walked through the house, keen not to create a sound
that might alert anyone else in the house as to my presence. I remembered from an episode
of ‘Cribs’ that most afternoons she spent her time alone in her study writing songs, so I
swiftly headed there and hoped to god that she was in it, otherwise this had all been for
nothing. As I got closer I could hear a voice coming from within.
‘Of course You’re Still The One I want to hire, you’re the best damn plumber in the whole
state. I’ve just been busy these last few weeks, that’s all.’
There was no mistaking that smooth Canadian twang; it was her. I felt an instant sense of
relief and excitement. She was really here! There was just an inch of wood separating me
and my hero. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I’d have to tread
carefully though, as she was clearly in the middle of some sort of intense phone
conversation, and it was obvious that her blood was up.
‘When? Well when do you think? As soon as possible! My boiler pressure is currently at 3.5,
and it should be at 1.5. I’m a nervous wreck! What? Yes of course I’ve bled the radiators,
what sort of idiot do you think I am? I’m telling you I’ve tried everything, just get here as
soon as you can!’
And with that I could hear her slamming the phone down. So she had a boiler issue?
Coincidentally I’d also recently experienced boiler pressure problems, and knew how
problematic and potentially very costly this could be. Judging from her agitated and worried
tone, it was clear that Shania knew this as well. An idea suddenly struck me like a lightning
bolt. Thanks to a quick Google search, I’d managed to fix my boiler issue with no external
help; surely I could fix hers too? It was a huge gamble, but if I could pull it off, I’d earn her
trust, and then she might be more willing to listen to my demo. With a certain amount of
apprehension, I lightly knocked on the door.
‘Yes what is it?’ she snapped. I opened the door and peered my head round. There she was,
in the flesh; Shania Twain. Despite the furious look on her face, she still managed to look
angelic. Her peroxide blonde hair was loosely falling around her shoulders, and I couldn’t
help but notice how full of body it seemed. I was fascinated to know what sort of shampoo
and conditioner she used, and hoped I’d get a chance to ask. I also couldn’t help but notice
she was wearing a very baggy t-shirt which had ‘I Heart Dexy’s Midnight Runners’
emblazoned on it in Comic Sans MS font, which I found distasteful to say the least. But this
wasn’t the time to dwell on such things.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ she spat out, her eyes flashing angrily at the intrusion.
‘Erm, hello Shani…err…Ms Twain. I’m…I’m the plumber you sent for.’ I struggled to get the
sentence out. I was terrified she’d instantly see through my ruse, plus she was in a foul
mood. I needed to raise my game fast otherwise it was all over.
‘That was quick. I’ve only just put the phone down!’
‘Ah yes well, we pride ourselves on our speedy service.’
‘You’re very casually dressed. Shouldn’t you be wearing overalls?’
‘Normally yes, but it’s casual Friday.’ Idiot – it was Thursday!
‘Where are your tools?’
‘Oh, they’re in the car. I only bring them out if I know I need them’.
‘Fair enough. I don’t want this to be a rush job though, I expect quality, not speed. Also,
don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. If Dolly Parton hears that I can’t handle boiler
pressure I’ll be laughed out of the industry’.
Unbelievable! She’d bought my ludicrous lie! Was it really this easy? She was clearly
desperate and willing to believe anything if it meant her boiler got fixed.
‘Ms Twain, From This Moment On you can rely on my complete and utter discretion’.
‘That’s good to hear. Ok, follow me’.
My head spinning, we left the study and she led me through what seemed like a labyrinth of
corridors and leopard skin rugs (her tight-fitting leggings were also leopard print; she clearly
had a thing for leopard) before we arrived at a modest looking utility room where the boiler
was housed, along with a Samsung washing machine and, rather bizarrely, a 19” Samsung TV
which was wall mounted above the washing machine. Who on earth would want to watch
TV in here?
‘Here’s the offending article’ she said, gesticulating to the boiler. I felt a huge sigh of relief.
Her boiler was a Worcester Combi 30i, which was the exact same model as mine. I knew
what I was dealing with, and felt confident that I could easily solve her pressure problem.
‘It’s been a thorn in my side for years, this thing’ she said. ‘The last plumber who tried to fix
it ended up with Black Eyes, Blue Tears. I sincerely hope that won’t happen again. It was
quite a mess’.
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but decided it was in my best interests not to enquire
further. I assured her it was under control, and that I’d have it sorted in a jiffy. However,
despite my stroke of luck regarding the model of boiler, I was still feeling the pressure (pun
absolutely intended), and ideally needed some time alone to assess the situation.
‘Don’t worry Ms Twain, you get back to your song writing. I’ll be sure to give you a shout
when I’m finished’.
‘Oh no don’t be silly, I Won’t Leave You Lonely. And as you said, it will only take a moment.
Won’t it?’
It wasn’t so much a question but a threat. There was something about the Country
superstar’s intense stare that terrified me beyond belief. I didn’t dare argue, and nervously
opened up the panel of the boiler to see what I was dealing with. She wasn’t kidding; the
pressure was dangerously high, so I knew I had to act fast. She’d already bled the radiators,
that much I knew, so I could eliminate that particular line of enquiry. I was scared to ask
questions, but knew that I had to.
‘What’s the pressure like when the heating isn’t on?’
‘The exact opposite; dangerously low. That’s what’s so frustrating. I manually set the
pressure to the correct gauge, then as soon as I turn the heating on it- ‘
But we were interrupted by the shrill tones of her mobile phone going off in her pocket. She
took it out and looked at it with a weary expression.
‘I’d better take this, excuse me’.
‘Of course’.
She stepped outside, which gave me the opportunity to further explore the pressure
problem whilst I had the chance. Now I could relax a little my head was clear. Within
seconds, not only had I diagnosed the illness, but I provided the cure. It was the exact same
issue I had with my boiler at home. The dial controlling the radiator temperature was set to
6, which was ludicrously high. With an element of smugness, I turned it down to 4, and
knew that after a few minutes the pressure would drop to a safe level. Danger averted, it
meant that I could now eavesdrop on Shania’s phone conversation. The corridor she’d
moved to had terrific acoustics, which meant I could hear every word as clear as a bell.
‘I don’t care if papa does love mama, I can’t see you anymore and that’s final. I’m Holdin’
Onto Love (To Save My Life) and I don’t want to risk destroying my marriage. I need you to
accept that.’
Blimey, was Shania Twain involved in a scandalous affair? This was huge! I felt like I should
stop listening, but curiosity got the better of me. Plus this gave me more leverage if she
decided she didn’t want to hear my demo.
‘No, you can absolutely not Come On Over. I don’t care if you have sold over 170 million
records and are the best selling solo artist in the United States, we’re done! You hear me?
Done!’
And with that, she furiously ended the call and stormed back in. I decided that this was a
welcome opportunity to give her the good news about the boiler.
‘You’ll be pleased to know, Ms Twain, that I have fixed your pressure problem’. I gestured to
the dial, which by now was reading a very healthy 1.5. Her demeanour instantly changed,
and the joy on her face could have lit up a thousand orphanages. Or at the very least a dozen
or so young offender’s institutions.
‘Wonderful! Tell me, please, how did you do it?’
‘It was actually quite straighforward; allow me to explain. Your radiator dial was set to 6.
Now, you may know this already, but when water heats up, it expands. Therefore, the hotter
the water, the greater the expansion, which in turn increases the pressure. Simply by turning
the dial down to a respectable 4, you maintain an acceptable heat, but one that isn’t so hot
that the pressure becomes dangerous’.
‘Well I never. You’ve Got A Way with boilers and no mistake. I won’t forget this’.
‘It’s my pleasure. I’m just glad it was nothing serious. My advice would be to always keep the
radiator temperature at 4, and if you ever feel the urge to increase it, my motto is this:
Whatever You Do! Don’t!’
She howled with laughter at this, and there was even some thigh slapping involved. I wasn’t
quite sure why she found it so funny, but I was happy to play along and laughed heartily with
her. Once she’d composed herself, she asked me how much she owed me. I hadn’t thought
about this at all, and it caught me off guard.
‘Oh don’t worry about it Ms Twain, it’s on me’.
‘Don’t be silly, I must pay you somehow. And please, call me Eileen’.
‘Eileen?’
‘Yes, that’s my real name’.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Eileen Edwards. Shania Twain is my stage name. Surely you never thought Shania was
my actual name?’
‘Erm…I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it’.
Suddenly the ‘I Heart Dexy’s Midnight Runners’ t-shirt made perfect sense; Eileen…’Come
On Eileen’ - of course!
‘Anyway, I must reward you somehow’. And with that, I saw my opportunity.
‘Well, I must confess Ms Twai…Eileen, I’m actually a musician myself, and have a demo on
me of a song I recorded just last week. I’d be happy to forego a monetary fee if you’d be
willing to listen to my demo’.
There was a brief pause, and for a moment I thought she was going to refuse. Then the
strangest thing happened. Ever since I’d fixed the boiler pressure she was completely
different; playful even.
‘I’ll tell you what Mr Plumber, I’ve got a new line of clothing that’s due to be released later
this year for plus size ladies. I’ve just been sent the first load of dresses that need approving,
and I need a model to try them on. You’ve got the classic ‘handsome but has let himself go a
bit’ vibe going on, and I reckon they’d fit you perfectly. You try on those dresses for me, and
I’ll listen to your demo. How’s that sound?’
Despite the incredibly offensive and frankly weird offer, I realised that this was ultimately a
small price to pay if it meant that Shania Twain (sorry, Eileen Edwards) was willing to sit
down and listen to my demo. Therefore, I agreed. I was then escorted back to the main
hallway, where a pile of boxes were resting next to a shoe rack. It turned out these were the
dresses I was required to try on, and, eager to get this over and done with, I got changed
there and then.
‘Man! I Feel Like A Woman!’ I exclaimed, after trying on the first dress and seeing myself in a
mirror.
‘Well you don’t look like one, it’s hideous. What’s next?’ Shania had suddenly gone into
business mode, and it was clear I’d been duped. It turned out there were over 100 dresses in
the boxes, and she insisted that I try all of them on. I was being used as an unpaid model,
and I wondered if she’d ever listen to my demo. After what felt like an eternity (and only 5
approved dresses), we finally came to the final dress.
‘Well that was tremendously disappointing’, she sighed. ‘Perhaps having my own clothing
line isn’t for me. The problem is, I fell in love with the idea, and Love Gets Me Every Time.
Anyway, I appreciate your time. I’m sure you can see yourself out. Goodnight’.
And with that, she began to walk away. I felt cheated, and couldn’t help myself.
‘Wait! What about my demo?’
She slowly turned around and looked at me intensely. For a moment I thought she was going
to explode, but all she said was, very sweetly:
‘Ah yes of course, do forgive me. I promised you didn’t I? Come, we’ll listen to it in the
study’.
Like a reproachful schoolboy, and still wearing the last dress from the box, I followed her into
the study.
As I entered, Shania was simply stood staring, looking like she’d seen a ghost.
‘Shania?’ I said, ‘What’s wrong?’
Then I saw what had her so scared. Sitting in a corner of the room in a luxurious Chesterfield
chair, was none other than two time Grammy award winning Country artist Garth Brooks. He
looked deranged, and, even though he must have seen me, he only had eyes for Shania.
‘Eileen…baby…Papa loves Mama. You still love Papa...right?’
I instantly knew who was on the other end of the phone call Shania received only a couple of
hours previously; over 170 million records sold worldwide? Best selling solo artist in the
United States? How could I have been so blind? Shania Twain was having an affair with Garth
Brooks, and now I was in the middle of it!
‘Don’t…Don't Be Stupid (You Know I Love You)’, Shania managed to stammer out, but it was
clear she didn’t mean it, and Garth could tell. However, before he could say anything, I
couldn’t help myself and foolishly spoke out.
‘Think of Trisha! Your wife! What about her? Isn’t she enough? She’s a highly respected
country artist in her own right!’
I realised I’d made a terrible mistake by speaking out, but it was too late.
‘Eileen, who the hell is this, and why is he not only speaking to me, but wearing a dress?’
‘This is my plumber, and he has every right to be here! He fixed my boiler, modelled my
clothing line, and he’s also a musician. I’m about to listen to his demo!’
I felt a huge swell of pride; Shania Twain was defending me! I would have relished the
moment more, but I was genuinely terrified that Garth Brooks was about to kill me, and he’s
a big man. However, his facial expression changed from deranged to bemusement.
‘Ha! Of course he’s a musician! Everyone is these days. This should be fun. Come on then Mr
Plumber man, let’s have a listen to your demo. Who knows, if I like it I may even be willing to
forget that you had the audacity to mention my wife. Take a seat.’
He gestured to the futon that was next to me, and I instantly sat down. His authority was
undeniable, and I felt compelled to do exactly as he said. Plus he was wearing his trademark
Stetson hat, which only added to his power. As scared as I was, I was also aware of the fact
that I was sitting in a room with both Shania Twain and Garth Brooks, and they were going to
listen to my demo. Sure, there was a good chance I might be killed in the process, but if
you’d told me at the start of the evening that was the chance I had to take, I’d have taken
those odds. Funny how things turn out.
‘Please Eileen, take a seat’ Garth purred.
‘I’ll stay standing, thanks’, Shania replied.
‘Suit yourself. So then, Plumber. Do you have this demo of yours?’
‘Oh, yes. Of course’.
I nervously fished my USB stick out of my pocket and handed it to Shania. She raised her
eyebrows.
‘What’s this formatted for?’ she asked.
‘Erm, iMac’ I replied.
‘Hmm, lucky. I recently bought a Mac as I wanted to use Garageband for recording. If you’d given me this a month ago I wouldn’t have
been able to play it. I'm a PC girl at heart really’.
‘Oooh, that is lucky,’ Garth said sarcastically.
Country legend or not, I was beginning to dislike
him intensely. I was also surprised that Shania had bought an iMac purely to use Garageband. You would have thought with her vast riches she would have at least splashed out on Logic Pro. Still, fortune had favoured me and I was grateful for that.
‘Leave him alone Garth’, Shania said, ‘he’s an innocent party in all this. Look, why don’t you
come back later when it’s more convenient? We can talk about things properly then’.
‘What? And miss the chance to hear potentially the next big thing? I don’t think so. Let’s
hear the track’.
Shania inserted the USB stick into the computer and, after a few moments of waitng for the
device to be recognised, the track came up. She pressed play, and, for the next 3 and a half
minutes, we all sat in silence as they listened to my track. I couldn’t help but feel
disappointed; the iMac wasn’t connected to any speakers so therefore we could only listen
through the computer’s built-in speakers. The audio quality was nowhere near as good, with
the bass barely audible and a generally tinny sound. I was tempted to say something, but
decided against it. Once the track finished, there was a brief pause. Garth was the one who
broke the silence.
‘Well. I have to say, That Don’t Impress Me Much’. It was blunt and to the point, and it cut
deep. What was worse was the fact he had a smile on his face as he said it. Not only that,
but Shania herself felt the need to rub salt in the wound.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Garth. That was pretty painful. I’d stick to plumbing
if I were you’.
I started to say that the audio quality was compromised so it wasn’t a true representation,
but I was interrupted by the distant sound of the front door opening and a cheery voice
shouting.
‘Honey, I’m Home!’
Shania looked like her world was caving in.
‘Oh god, it’s my husband! Garth, please! You can’t say anything to him! It’ll destroy him! You
have to leave!’
Garth stood up, cool as you like. He walked over to Shania and put his hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m not going anywhere Mama. To be honest, it’s about time old Frederic learnt the truth
about us’.
I saw red, this was too much.
‘Hey! If You Wanna Touch Her, Ask!’ I was being reckless; if Garth wanted to he could snap
me like a twig. Instead, he calmly turned to face me.
‘I’m Garth Brooks boy, I don’t have to ask permission for anything. You’re treading on very
thin ice. If I were you I’d take your pathetic little demo and leave while you still have the
chance’.
He turned towards Shania again.
‘Eileen, please, listen to me. We belong together. You know this to be true. Leave Frederic.
Let’s go public with our love. Together, we’d be unstoppable. Can you imagine the music
we’d make together? We’d Rock This Country to its very core! Our record sales would be off
the scale!’
‘I…I don’t know…’
But before Garth had chance to say anything else, the study door opened and a man with
long, dark curly hair entered the room.
‘Ah so here you are my…wait, what’s going on? Garth Brooks? What are you doing here? And
who’s this?’
His last question was aimed at me. Just like Elvis Presley sang, I was caught in a trap, and I
couldn’t walk out. Things were about to get interesting.