As I left the building and got into the waiting cab, I pushed thoughts of my sister and Ryan to the back of my mind. I didn’t want to think about anything else except for the fact that I was off for a night at the theatre, sporting gorgeous hair and glittery shoes. I felt a tiny flutter of excitement inside and I sat back in the taxi and watched New York City whizz by my window.
Nineteen
I got out of the cab and paid the driver, turning to see a six feet tall poster of Daniel’s face staring at me from a billboard outside the theatre. Wow. Just wow. His serious expression belied the wicked sense of humour I knew he had inside. The poster also featured Maria Williams, his co-star and former long term girlfriend. She was beautiful. Almond shaped eyes that were enormous and expressive and full red lips that just screamed, ‘Kiss me!’ She had the kind of shiny blonde hair that you only ever saw on shampoo adverts and cheekbones you could sharpen a razor on. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to muster the kind of energy that it obviously took to look like that. Most mornings I just about managed to flick a brush through my hair and throw on a bit of make-up. I touched my hair; it still felt strange. The last time I’d had hair that short I’d been at college. I liked it though; it made me feel different somehow. A new version of me; the kind of woman who would come to a Broadway play on her own and then go out for drinks with one of its stars afterwards.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t one of those people who worried too much about lacking confidence and I was very happy in my own skin. After years of growing up around a mother who constantly told me I was fat and that if I wasn’t careful I’d just end up fatter, I’d come to terms with my body and what it was capable of. It could carry and feed two babies, it bore its stretch marks like tiger stripes, and it had made it through tragedy pretty much intact, if a little bruised. I knew my limitations and I was comfortable with them. But with my new haircut and Kate’s sexy borrowed high heels, I felt like Evie 2.0. Like when you re-cover your favourite sofa or comfy chair – the frame underneath is still there, the part that carries the weight of everything, but you’ve just smartened up the outside a bit.
I took my new hair and sexy heels over to the box office. The young man behind the counter flashed me a megawatt smile and I was momentarily stunned by the neatness of his eyebrows. They looked as if someone had drawn two perfect arches over his eyes with a Sharpie; it was very distracting.
‘Good evening, madam, how may I help you?’ The eyebrows didn’t move, not a millimetre, even though his facial expressions were very energetic.
‘Um… yes… hello. I’m here for a ticket for this evening,’ I said.
He looked at me pityingly. ‘Oh, madam, this production is completely sold out for the rest of the run. There are no tickets.’ I think he smirked a bit, which really pissed me off.
‘Actually, what I meant to say was that I have a ticket to collect. Daniel Roberts arranged it personally.’ Name dropper!
In an instant his expression changed from one of pity to one of total surprise.
‘Oh, yes, of course. I have it here for you.’ He pulled an envelope out from under the desk and checked the front. ‘Mrs Grant?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘My apologies, Mrs Grant. You’d be amazed how many people we get who just turn up and think they can buy a ticket. I mean, who in their right mind would think that a show starring Daniel Roberts and Maria Williams wouldn’t be completely sold out?’
‘Who indeed?’ I replied, taking the envelope and walking away. Entering the theatre foyer, I was astonished by the theatre’s interior; it was simply breathtaking. The ceiling was covered in gold filigree plasterwork and in the centre was the biggest chandelier I’d ever seen – it even put Judy’s earrings to shame. I stepped to one side to let some people pass me and nearly knocked over an usher who was clutching an armful of theatre programmes.
‘Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry,’ I muttered.
The young lady with the gothic make-up and facial piercings just rolled her eyes before giving me an insincere, ‘No problem.’
‘Actually, can I get one of those?’ I asked.
She pulled one out of the pile and I gave her a twenty dollar bill, which she promptly stuffed into her money belt and then walked away. Twenty dollars for a programme! This play better be bloody good.
I didn’t fancy drinking on my own in the bar, so I went to find my seat instead. I showed my ticket to an usher by the door and he pointed to a flight of stairs on the other side of the foyer.
‘Your seat is in one of the boxes upstairs, madam, just over there.’
In a box? I had a seat in a box? I muttered my thanks and headed over to the red carpeted stairs. Gripping the brass handrail tightly – I hadn’t done much walking in heels lately – I made my way up to the top. A smartly dressed man took my ticket and showed me to my seat. Did I mention it was in a box? I was fully expecting to be sharing the box with some other people but when he opened the door, it was empty. Floor to ceiling red velvet walls and eight red and gold velvet chairs, but no other people.
‘Which seat is mine?’ I asked.
‘Whichever one you like, Mrs Grant, the box is all yours.’
I thanked the usher as he backed politely out of the door and closed it behind him. There was a glass of champagne on a small table, and it had a card propped up against the stem that read, ‘Drink me’. Next to it was an envelope with the words ‘Read Me’ written on the front. I will admit to feeling just like Alice in Wonderland at that moment, a much older version who would have struggled to squeeze herself into that rabbit hole, but you get my drift. I opened the card and read the message inside.
Evening gorgeous. I hope you enjoy the play. I look forward to your notes on my performance afterwards. Wait for me in this box once the show finishes and I’ll come and find you. I’m taking you to my favourite restaurant for a post-show supper. Love, Dan x
P.S. They do a fabulous burger, but you might want to give that a miss this time. I’m not very proficient in the Heimlich manoeuvre so if you choke on beef again, I might not be able to save you. XX
That last part made me laugh out loud; some women in the row in front of the box turned and looked at me. ‘Sorry,’ I mouthed, before slipping the note into my bag and picking up my champagne. Taking my seat, I sipped my drink, enjoying the feeling of the bubbles tickling my throat as I swallowed. I could get used to all this, I thought to myself; private boxes, glasses of champagne, all very lovely. But then I supposed that this kind of life came with a price for Daniel. No privacy, the world always watching your every move – I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get used to that. It’s lucky that you won’t have to, then, isn’t it? came the sarcastic voice in my head. I took another sip of champagne and ignored it.
The lights in the auditorium flashed on and off, signalling that the play would begin in five minutes. I took the opportunity to have a quick read of my twenty dollar programme. I had no clue what the play was about. I’d planned on doing a bit of research before I came out but having to contend with Ryan and Kate had put paid to that. I tried to push Ryan’s smug face out of my mind; even thinking about him made my blood pressure rise. I didn’t want to let anything spoil my evening. I pictured them both, sitting on Kate’s sofa drinking wine and God knew what else, whilst Ryan’s poor unsuspecting wife sat at home taking care of his children. Or maybe she wasn’t, maybe she was out on the town with someone else and those poor kids were at home with their nanny. I didn’t know anything about his life. Perhaps I’d been too quick to judge? The fact that he reminded me so much of my dad had certainly pushed my buttons. No, don’t get involved, Evie, it’s none of your business.
I turned my attention back to the words in front of me. The play was billed as ‘a tense romantic drama, filled with unspoken tension and passion’. I didn’t know what any of that meant but it sounded great. Daniel’s character, James, was a tortured writer, who’d known great success but was now struggling to reach the same heights.
Maria played his long-suffering wife, Angel, a woman who was trapped in a relationship with a husband she no longer recognised. By the end of the play she leaves him for another man. Blimey, I thought, talk about life imitating art.
I overheard one of the women in front of me saying to the other, ‘It must be hard for them to play an unhappy couple when they’re obviously so in love in real life.’ Her companion nodded.
If only you knew, I thought. The women were pointing at a photo of Daniel in the programme and I heard their murmurs of approval. I smiled to myself. Would they have been so interested in the skinny boy from Dagenham that I knew? Probably not; they were only concerned with their image of Daniel, the one concocted from movies and magazines.
The lights in the auditorium began to dim; the play was about to start. I finished my champagne and settled back in my seat.
*
The first half of the play passed in a blur. The production was brilliant, and Daniel was mesmerising in it. He acted everyone, including Maria Williams, off the stage. His portrayal of a once successful writer’s descent into torment and heartbreak was spellbinding. It was also very erotic in places. Even though the writer and his wife had reached a place where they could no longer be together, you knew that they still felt the powerful pull of sexual attraction. In those parts I couldn’t take my eyes off Daniel, not least because he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time with his shirt either undone or completely off. And he played the audience like a fiddle. By the end of the first half, women practically had to be peeled off their seats, myself included. I was about to head to the bar to get myself a drink, when the door to the box opened and a white-gloved usher appeared with another glass of champagne.
‘From Mr Roberts, madam. He said he hopes you’re enjoying the play?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I am. Thank you.’ I took the glass and swallowed a huge mouthful in the hope of steadying my pulse. The usher just smiled and then backed out of the box. He was probably used to seeing women swooning over Daniel at this point in proceedings; I couldn’t wait for the second half to start.
*
‘Leave me, then, go on, go. I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!’
Daniel’s character fell to his knees on stage and wailed like a wounded animal. The curtain fell and that was it. A hush fell over the auditorium for a split second and then the audience were on their feet, applauding and shouting for more. The curtain came up and the supporting cast were on stage, ready to take their bows. We clapped loudly as Maria Williams entered at the back of the stage and made her way forward to a rapturous reception. And she deserved every second of it; she might not have been as good as Daniel, but she was still fantastic. She bowed, waving and blowing kisses to people in the audience, and someone threw a rose onto the stage which she picked up and held close to her heart. I thought it was the loudest round of applause I’d ever heard – that was, until Daniel appeared. He’d put his shirt back on but not done it up, I noticed – well played, Daniel – and the noise that the audience made when he came on threatened to blow the roof off the theatre. It was deafening, people clapped, stamped their feet, yelled for more.
But, unlike Maria, who had lapped up the attention and taken her bow alone, Daniel looked embarrassed by all the fuss and he made all of the cast step forward and take a bow with him. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as he waved at some people in the crowd and thanked them. He looked so grateful and so incredulous that all this acclaim was for him. My heart felt ready to burst with pride; this was what he’d always wanted. He let Maria take another bow and then she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the front of the stage with her. She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips and the audience went crazy. Daniel smiled and then turned towards me. Whilst Maria was busy working the crowd, he blew me a kiss and smiled. I nearly passed out and as I saw the two women in front of me turn to see who he was smiling at, I ducked down and pretended to be looking in my handbag for something. When I stood back up, Daniel and the rest of the cast were leaving the stage. I sat down in my chair, emotionally drained by the play and stunned by that kiss.
I watched the auditorium slowly empty, until I was the only one left. The ushers came in to pick up the rubbish, stuffing it into black sacks and staring at the crazy woman who obviously hadn’t got the message that it was time to go home. I started to feel a bit uncomfortable – maybe they thought I was a stalker. Or maybe Daniel had forgotten me? I should probably just go, I thought. I’d had my free night of fun at the theatre, that was enough for me. I stood up to leave and in the same moment Daniel opened the door to the box. We stood there just staring at each other for a few seconds, before I ran over and threw my arms around him; I didn’t care who saw. Instantly I felt his arms move around my waist and he held me tight. I had to pull away so I could speak; I wanted him to see my face, to know that I meant every word of what I was about to say to him.
‘You were amazing, stunning, just the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen.’ I was breathless with praise.
He gave me a dazzling smile. ‘No notes, then,’ he replied.
‘No. No notes. It was perfect – you were perfect.’
He reached up and took a lock of my hair in his hand.
‘You cut it,’ he said.
‘Time for a change.’
‘You look just like you did when we first met.’ He let my hair drop and then rested his forehead on mine and closed his eyes for a second. We stood this way for a bit and then I remembered that we weren’t alone.
‘Daniel?’ I whispered. ‘Dan, people are probably looking.’
He sighed heavily before opening his eyes and letting me step out of his arms. ‘Yes, they probably are.’ The smile had been replaced with a more morose expression, one that I instantly wanted to wipe away.
‘Your costume lady needs to learn how to sew on a button. That shirt you wear is obviously missing some, it comes open so often throughout your performance,’ I said with a smile. He laughed.
‘Do you have a problem with male nudity?’
I shook my head. ‘No, not at all. As long as the role calls for it, obviously.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Daniel, his smile restored, I was happy to see. ‘Shall we get some food? I’m fucking starving.’
‘Me too.’ I picked up my bag and we left.
*
Within twenty minutes, we were sitting at a table in a booth in a little restaurant near the theatre. It was tucked away down a side street and only had a dozen tables. The inside was decorated like a gentlemen’s club, all heavy velvet curtains and dim lighting, but it was warm and welcoming and the piano player they’d squeezed into the corner was playing Christmas songs, so I wasn’t complaining. The owner had greeted Daniel like an old friend, pulling him into a hug and ushering us both to a table at the back of the restaurant. Daniel introduced me to the man, whose name I discovered was Giovanni, as ‘his very oldest and dearest friend from England’. Giovanni had kissed me warmly on both cheeks and then taken my hand.
‘Ah, she is beautiful, Signor Roberts. Like an English rose but with a little Italian spark, no?’ he said, pointing to my dark hair and eyes.
‘Wow, you’re very good. Yes, just a little. My great-grandparents were from Florence, or so I’ve been told.’
Daniel looked surprised. ‘You never told me that.’
‘You never asked,’ I said.
‘Oh, Signor Roberts, you must always ask, you must always be interested in a lady.’ He kissed my hand and then pulled out my chair. I sat down and he unfolded my napkin and placed it on my lap with a flourish. I couldn’t help giggling; it was nice to be made a fuss of.
‘I’m very interested, Giovanni,’ said Daniel, his eyes suddenly dark as he looked across at me. I felt myself blush a little under his intense gaze.
‘Well, okidoki, then. I bring you some wine, yes?’
‘Yes, please,’ I squeaked. ‘And some water, please.’
‘For you, anythin
g,’ said Giovanni. He handed Daniel his napkin and then left us alone. The sudden awkwardness that I’d felt the other night threatened to descend again but I was determined not to let it.
‘Mr Toolan would be very proud of you, Danny boy,’ I said. Our old drama teacher had always referred to Daniel that way. ‘You were always teacher’s pet,’ I said.
‘No, I wasn’t. You were.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, Mr Toolan loved you. Especially after that play you wrote in the first term.’
‘Bloody hell, how do you remember that?’ I asked, surprised. Our first year at college, I’d fancied myself as a bit of a playwright and I’d written a two-hander about Ernest Hemingway and his son Gigi, a troubled doctor who spent much of his adult life as a cross-dresser and then had died, squalidly and alone, in a women’s prison in Miami. It was relentlessly dark, in that special way that only a teenager obsessed with Hemingway could be, but people had seemed to enjoy it. I’d forgotten about it until Daniel brought it up.
‘God, I was a pretentious cow, wasn’t I?’ I laughed, remembering myself at that age.
‘No. You were clever and devastatingly witty. I always felt like such a thicko in your company.’
‘You did not, you’re such a liar.’
‘I’m not. I was convinced that one day I’d be performing in a play at the National Theatre, written by you.’
I brushed off his remark. ‘I wasn’t ever that good. Anyway, I gave up on all that nonsense years ago.’
‘Why?’
A waiter arrived with our wine and water before I could reply. I was relieved; it gave me a minute to work out how best to answer that question. The waiter poured some wine for Daniel to sample, but he waved him on. ‘No, I’m sure it’s fine. You can just pour.’ The waiter nodded and filled our glasses, before leaving us alone again.
‘Have you had enough time to come up with a bullshit answer to that question?’ asked Daniel.
‘It’s not bullshit. By the time I left college, I had a mountain of student debt I had to pay back so I got a job. Once you start relying on a regular income, it’s tough to give it up. Then I met Tom and got married and we had our kids. Raising them became my job. And I loved it.’ I smiled. It was true; I loved being a mum. ‘I suppose I always thought I’d go back to writing one day, even if it was just scribbling away for my own benefit, but life had other plans. Cheers.’ I picked up my wine and drank.
City of Second Chances Page 21