by Mandy Baggot
Trent sniffed, finally seeming to calm down a little. He pointed at the neon sign that hung on the bare-brick wall of the kitchen area. ‘There’s a light out on the coffee mug.’
‘I know,’ Seth answered. ‘I’m gonna get to it this morning.’
‘Haven’t you got anything on today?’ Trent asked. ‘I bet your agent has a whole stack of great things lined up.’
Seth didn’t reply. The truth was there was nothing. Not even a commercial for nuts. ‘Not really,’ he answered finally.
‘What about the Netflix series screen test you did?’
‘I’ve not heard back.’ And he’d had flu. He’d sweated a fever out all night while trying to learn the script and delivered the lines completely through his nose. He hadn’t even understood what he’d said.
‘But you’ve followed it up, right? Your agent has told them you’re gunning for the gig and you’re good to go whenever they are.’
‘I … don’t know.’
‘Come on, man. I got nuts! You’ve got—’
‘Nothing,’ Seth answered. ‘I got nothing.’ He let out a sigh and walked back to the table. He was beginning to get that creeping feeling he’d had just before he’d decided to try and make it as an actor. Disillusionment. Fear. The constant thought that his time playing Dr Mike on Manhattan Med might have been the pinnacle of his career … and he’d gone and thrown that fame and regular salary away for a chance that hadn’t come off.
‘Listen, man, I might be feeling a little off about the nuts thing but that’s because I know I’m better than that,’ Trent stated. ‘And I’m not too stupid to know that I only have half your talent.’
‘Get outta here.’ He waved his friend’s claim away.
Trent cleared his throat. ‘Pardon me, but you got down to the final casting for Christian paddles-are-my-weapon-of-choice Grey, did you not?’
Seth shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. ‘I can’t trade on that indefinitely. And the world knows I didn’t get the part.’
‘I blame your ass,’ Trent said with a long inhale. ‘When you do your squats at the gym you really gotta pull it on in. Suck that core to momma.’ He began a demo, crouching down in pants that didn’t look like they were going to withstand too much thigh-straining.
Seth brushed back his dark hair, then picked up the pen again, holding it over the notebook. He should have done this last night instead of going out with Trent. Now he only had a few hours before lunch with his mom and he wasn’t nearly as prepared as he wanted to be.
‘Listen, Seth, you’ve gotta get back out there,’ Trent said, raising one knee to his chest then the other. ‘Get your agent to get on to Netflix. Get on to the other studios. Big things, man.’
‘Yeah,’ Seth replied. There was little conviction. The reality was he was scraping by with what he had left from Manhattan Med. Just yesterday he had considered applying for a job at the little coffee shop down the street. He might even accept part-payment in their melt-in-your-mouth bagels.
Trent pointed at him suddenly, his eyes wide. ‘I know what you need!’
‘Do not say another shot of JD.’
‘You need some publicity,’ Trent continued. ‘Get yourself under the public eye and into the news. It will give your agent something to really hang your hat on when he makes those call-backs.’ Trent pulled up the chair opposite and slid the notepad towards him. He took the pen from Seth’s hand before he could do anything about it. ‘What kooky humanitarian projects are going on right now? How’s your Twitter looking? You do use a management system to grow your account, don’t you?’
‘Trent, it’s ten thirty in the morning.’
‘And you’re out of the game, buddy. Come on, this needs to change.’ Trent put his hand out, fingers beckoning. ‘Gimme your phone. We’ll do a search. See if we can’t find something Christmassy and heart-warming to put Manhattan Med’s Dr Mike back on the map.’ He held up a finger. ‘How about the zoo? People love animals. There must be some ailing critters that need a bit of attention. I can see it now … Manhattan Med’s Dr Mike brings meerkats back to life.’ He paused. ‘How about your mother’s cause?’
Seth shook his head. ‘No.’
‘OK …’
‘I don’t know, Trent. All that stuff is more your thing than mine.’ Seth wasn’t stupid enough to think he could be an actor without social media, photo opportunities and promotion but it was his least favourite part of the role. One of the reasons he got into acting to begin with was because he delighted in having the chance to be someone else. It was so much easier than facing head on where he had really come from – and that was starting today … if he went through with it.
‘Listen, man, do you want the nut job? Because if you need a shot of something right now, I’m thinking it’s confidence.’ Trent smiled. ‘And you could sell anything to anyone with those eyes.’
Seth smiled. ‘Trent, do not say anything like that in a bar, in company, like ever.’
Trent laughed. ‘Come on, man, humour me. Let’s hook you up with a cause.’
Five
Lara Weeks’s barnpartment, Appleshaw, UK
‘There can’t be nobody,’ Susie slurred, dropping her body down onto the rustic leather sofa. The seating was tan, worn and reminded Lara of saddles and cowboys. It smelt a bit like that too. Probably because the whole area was still barn-like despite the conversion that had taken place when she had decided to move out of the main house.
‘I know everyone in Appleshaw,’ Lara replied, stumbling a little as she headed to the tiny kitchen area for some glasses. She had hijacked the flagon of Flora’s mince-pie whisky and left the party as soon as the DJ had played ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’.
‘Well … what about Ian from the fish and chip shop?’
‘Susie!’
‘What?’
‘He looks about twelve!’
‘But he’s got to be over sixteen, because he’s been working there full-time for at least two years now.’
Lara poured the dark brown fragrant liquid into two oversized tumblers and sat down next to Susie. ‘I know, but sixteen is way too young and … I don’t fancy him.’ She took a swig, before cradling the glass in her hands and folding her legs up underneath her, sitting back on the settee. ‘And at a certain angle he looks a bit like a fillet of haddock.’
‘You don’t have to fancy him!’ Susie exclaimed. ‘Dan just has to believe you do.’
‘Well … he won’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I fancy Dan.’ Lara sighed. ‘We do talk to each other you know. And he knows who I like and who I don’t. We have played Kiss, Marry, Avoid.’ She had admitted to a slight girl crush on Jennifer Lawrence and Dan had concurred. They had laughed then, drunk more beer, ate peanuts and both pledged to avoid Keith Lemon at all costs.
‘There has to be somebody you fancy besides Dan.’ Susie spilt a little whisky down her shirt and patted her hand on her boobs to get rid of it. ‘It’s natural to look and admire and think “yes, if I wasn’t with him, I definitely would”.’
Lara smiled at her friend. ‘And who do you look at and think that? Because it’s been half a year since David.’ Susie’s Spanish boyfriend was as crazy as she was. They had met at a hairdressing conference and it had been lust at first undercut. Susie had spent alternate weekends travelling up to London to be with him and David had returned the favour, visiting Appleshaw and falling a little in love with Mrs Fitch’s attempt at tortillas. But a massive opportunity had seen him jet off and Lara knew her friend was finding the added distance difficult.
‘David and I are still very much together,’ Susie responded a little tightly.
‘He moved to New York,’ Lara reminded.
‘I’m well aware.’ Susie sniffed. ‘We FaceTime all the time, when we’re both not busy.’
‘But you haven’t seen him in six months.’
‘New York is a long way away and I just said, he’s busy and I’m busy and eve
ryone is really, really busy.’ Susie swigged at her drink again. ‘Besides, we weren’t talking about me and David, we were talking about you finding someone to make Dan jealous.’
Lara shook her head. She didn’t really want her life turning into some half-arsed challenge from a reality TV show. She shouldn’t be needing to make Dan jealous. Dan should be with her now. They both should be at the social club, making fun of the giant paper Christmas ball that had been hanging there, apparently since the 1970s.
‘What am I thinking?’ Susie said suddenly, bounding up from the sofa, eyes wild with alcohol and whatever had just come into her head. ‘We need to look further than Appleshaw.’
‘Salisbury?’ Lara shook her head again. ‘Oh no, Susie, not the guy from Prezzo who always gives me extra olives.’
‘Not Salisbury,’ Susie replied. She grabbed Lara’s laptop from the coffee table, opened the lid and sat back down with it on her knees. ‘Celebrity.’ She started to type. ‘The world.’
‘What?’
‘There was this woman – it was in one of my magazines – she tweeted with her favourite celebrities and posted all the replies on Facebook and Instagram in a bid to make her husband jealous.’ Susie drew in a breath, fingers still flying across the keyboard. ‘He was having a relationship with Byron Burgers, apparently he would rather spend time with a double bacon cheese than her … anyway, it worked.’
‘What d’you mean it worked?’ Lara leaned forward a little. Not that she was interested in this ridiculous idea. ‘You mean people like … Tom Hardy tweeted her back? I don’t believe it.’
‘Obviously not all A-listers … although she did get a response from Zayn Malik.’
‘I’m not sure I’d call him A-list.’
‘The point is, she got replies and she got his attention. And that’s what we should do with you and Dan.’ Susie’s fingers ran over the trackpad of the laptop. ‘Let’s log you in to Twitter and get going.’
‘I don’t use Twitter to stalk celebrities,’ Lara said. ‘I use it to find out about the world.’ It was one of her favourite pastimes. Pick a country and type it into Twitter and see what she could learn. When her day consisted of loads of farm feed or fertiliser, it was a chance to travel outside the village in her evenings. From her laptop, she could walk down any street in the world. And she had. In her head, she had eaten tacos in Mexico and drank limoncello in Venice.
‘Let’s start with Ed Sheeran. He seems like a nice guy—’
‘Susie, stop.’ Even with her head being addled by the whisky and her stomach full of Christmas fayre this didn’t seem right. She should talk to Dan, properly – not hands-free before an Appleshaw parade. She put a hand on the edge of the screen of her laptop. ‘How is this going to help?’
Susie straightened up but in no way relinquished control of the device. ‘You told me that Dan is going to Scotland for Christmas with Chloe from the golf club.’
‘I know.’ Her friend saying the sentence made Lara’s chest ache again.
‘We need action! He needs to see that the love of his life, the girl of his dreams, is going to make this break permanent if he doesn’t hurry up and get his act together. You are going to be in demand … you are going to be Ed Sheeran’s … Appleshaw Amour … OK, it’s not quite “Galway Girl” but you get it, right?’
She didn’t want to get it. She didn’t want to be having this mad conversation. She wanted to be undressing Dan, listening to a Christmas classics playlist, the faint snoring of the goats from the farm next door making her feel warm, content and December-y … except Dan was who-knows-where with who-knew-who … or Chloe.
‘Thinking down to about D-list,’ Susie said, ‘who was that actor you had a crush on?’
Lara shook herself and reached for the flagon of whisky. ‘Narrow it down a little. There’s been a few. I even had a crush on John Simm once.’
‘Younger than him. Hotter than him … oh God, what was the name of that show? He was a doctor … all moody and broody and a little bit punchy when there was a drug-addict mother and a newborn baby …’
‘Dr Mike,’ Lara said. ‘From Manhattan Med.’ She still watched it, although it wasn’t the same without Dr Mike. He had been a glorious piece of eye candy to while away an hour or two when Dan was travelling for work. And she was picky – hence the rejection of local potential jealousy-making suitors.
‘Yes! We’ll tweet him too,’ Susie announced, eyes back down on the screen.
‘And Dan does know I liked him,’ Lara admitted. ‘He even didn’t shave one weekend when Dr Mike was going through his stubble stage.’
‘See!’ Susie exclaimed. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. So, what is Dr Mike’s real name?’
‘Seth,’ Lara answered, moving closer to Susie. ‘Seth Hunt.’
‘Seth Hunt,’ Susie said as she typed the name into the Twitter search bar. ‘Let’s see what you’ve been up to since you left the fictional hospital.’
Six
Dominique Bistro, Christopher & Gay Street, New York
Seth checked his watch again then poured some more water into his glass, adjusting the cuffs of his thick red-and-black plaid shirt. Pushing his glasses up his nose he checked out the other diners in the restaurant. All of them seemed to be engaged in animated conversation, as if the French vibe here was rubbing off on them. It was cold, some people were still wrapped up in scarves, coats unfastened but not removed, acclimatising before they shrugged them off. None of them appeared to be nervous like he was. Nervous about meeting his own mother. It was crazy. And then he saw her.
Running through the front door, a whirlwind of dark curls, a bright carrot-coloured scarf at her throat, already slipping off her thick winter coat as she came in on the breeze. Now his heart surged with nothing but love and admiration for Katherine ‘Kossy’ Hunt.
Seth went to stand up, wave a hand, but she knew where he’d be sitting. They always sat at the same table when they came here to eat – the one at the end of large windows displaying the street outside, next to the shelves filled with vinyl records, corks in a glass jar and a rustic, wooden pumpkin. She headed towards him, hands at her neck, unwinding the scarf.
‘Hey, listen,’ Kossy began. ‘Before you say anything, I know I’m late, but you will not believe the morning I’ve had.’
Seth smiled. Almost every one of his conversations with his mom began this way. He hugged her tightly and she gasped as if the contact was unexpected. Perhaps he held on a little longer than normal. She kissed his cheek, then held his body away from hers, eyes roving over his frame as if she was doing an inspection.
‘Are you sick?’ Kossy asked firmly. ‘Because if you’re sick you really need to tell me before I order the ravioli. Ravioli is my happy food here and if it’s accompanied by bad news then …’
‘I’m not sick, Mom,’ Seth reassured her.
‘Well,’ Kossy said, hanging her coat on the back of the wooden chair. ‘I might have acted all cool and nonchalant on the phone when you fixed up this date, but don’t think your father and I didn’t discuss the reasoning behind it before I left for work.’
Seth’s conviction was leaving him. He didn’t want to worry his parents. He never wanted to worry them, but he had been working up to this for a few months now and he’d made himself a promise: on 1 December, before things got too sentimental and snowy and sugar-coated, he needed to ask the question.
‘Your dad wants to know if you’re gay.’
Seth knocked the water glass with his elbow and it was enough to make a few droplets splash onto the dark wood table.
‘I told him a mother would know that already. I’m right, right?’ Kossy continued.
He mopped up the water with his napkin. ‘I’m not gay, Mom.’
She seemed to study him again, as if checking he wasn’t kidding around. ‘I can’t help feeling a little disappointed. When your dad said it, I had visions of us getting front row seats for Hello, Dolly!’
‘I don’t have to be gay to d
o that with you,’ Seth told her.
Kossy grinned then, nudged his arm and laughed out loud. ‘I know, I’m playing with you, Seth.’ She reached out and pinched his cheek. ‘Can we order? I’ve spent the whole morning watching my guests creating penises out of clay.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘They were meant to be making pots.’
His mom was one of life’s great people. She worked at a shelter, making sure at least some of the city’s homeless population got food, drink and somewhere safe to sleep. She also campaigned heavily to the city administrators for more funding for other centres just like hers and tried to not give the needy just the bare necessities, but also to attempt to enrich their lives too. Her latest project was getting the homeless – she called them her guests – to make things, explore the arts a little. It was all about empowerment and building self-worth. The idea didn’t work with every case but most, after a little Kossy-coaching, enjoyed having their day made productive with the promise of a clean bed to sleep in. And his mom being a wonderful, hard-working, caring, beautiful person made what he was about to ask her feel so much worse.
Kossy had already beckoned a waiter and ordered the ravioli with wild mushrooms and ricotta she loved so much. Seth had something different every time they came, preferring to work his way through the dishes, making a new discovery to try again one day, or never eat again – although he had never found anything he had truly detested.
‘The North Atlantic salmon for me.’ He passed the menu back to the waiter. ‘And shall we have a bottle of wine?’
‘Wine with lunch and I’ll be eating those clay pots after they’ve been fired,’ Kossy replied. ‘I’ll have a club soda.’
‘Can I get a glass of the Malbec, please.’ He needed a touch of alcohol to smooth things along.
‘So,’ Kossy said, leaning over the table a little and clasping her hands together, thumbs making a steeple. ‘Do you have another role yet?’
‘Not quite yet,’ Seth admitted.