The Show

by Tilly Bagshawe

  In a few short hours, all the joy she’d felt at being back in her home city had gone, to be replaced by something very close to dread.

  Thanks for nothing, Austin Jamet.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Amazingly, Macy slept well. Waking at six, she went for a run through the canyon, had another incredible shower and a light breakfast and by eight o’clock was at her desk, working on the pitch. For once, the words and ideas seemed to flow out of her. This was easy! She knew what she loved about Valley Farm. And she knew what viewers loved about it. All she had to do was stand up in front of the network execs and tell them exactly that. How hard could it be?

  By the time she stopped typing at two o’clock, she was so awash with confidence and a sense of achievement that she decided to take the bull by the horns and go and meet Laura’s flight herself. That way she would look eager and co-operative and she could head off any negativity from the start. It would also give her a chance to brief Laura on the way to Shutters on the Beach, the fancy hotel in Santa Monica that Eddie had booked her into, and generally love-bomb her producer to such a degree she’d have no chance to find fault with anything.

  We’re going to sell this show, Macy told herself, over and over, listening to Kiss FM as she tore down the 405 towards LAX. We’re going to sell this show and make a fortune, and I’m going to be famous again. This time next year, everyone in America’s going to recognize my face, just like they do in England.

  It was only as she was pulling into the parking structure at Tom Bradley International Terminal that she realized she’d forgotten the Skype call with James that they’d scheduled for this afternoon. Oh, well. He would understand. She’d call him later, once Laura was settled at her hotel, and explain.

  When she got into the arrivals hall, the screens told her that the Heathrow flight had already landed. The first-class passengers were already beginning to drift through the double doors. Perfect timing. Nipping into the Ladies room, Macy went to the bathroom and tidied her hair with her fingers. She hadn’t had time to put on any make-up, rushing on an impulse from her desk to her car, and was still in the casual striped maxidress and flip-flops that she’d pulled on after her shower. Not that Laura would care.

  She contemplated buying a bunch of flowers, then decided that was overkill. Grabbing a bottle of water from the kiosk instead, she found a spot right in front of the barriers and waited. Seconds later, the double doors swung open. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Macy felt the invisible trap door give way beneath her. For there, sauntering into the arrivals hall with a small suitcase, looking tired but as gorgeous as ever in an old pair of jeans and a white linen shirt, was Gabe.

  The moment he saw Macy’s face, he burst into a grin.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ said Macy. Suddenly horribly conscious of her make-up-free appearance and shapeless dress, she didn’t return his smile. ‘Where’s Laura?’

  Gabe’s face darkened. ‘She couldn’t make it. We had a row, actually. A big one. She refused to fly out so I decided to come instead.’

  ‘Oh!’ Macy was ashamed at how cheered she was by this news.

  The truth was she really needed Valley Farm’s creator at these network pitches, or at least one of the show’s producers. Besides being another warm body in the room, Gabe didn’t add much value to the meetings, especially as he would not be a part of any US-based presenting team. Macy ought to feel furious with Laura for bailing without even letting her know. But anger was the one emotion she could not seem to find, looking at Gabe’s kind, funny, familiar face.

  ‘Are you taking me to my hotel then?’ he asked Macy.

  ‘That was the plan,’ she said, looking down so he wouldn’t see the shadows under her eyes.

  ‘Great,’ said Gabe. ‘You can fill me in on who we’re meeting on the way. And I’ll fill you in on Laura.’

  By the time they pulled up outside Shutters’ famous coral tree, Macy’s buoyant mood of this morning had completely deserted her. First, her agent, Paul Meyer, had called just as they were pulling out of the airport to tell her that not only had NBC cancelled their Tuesday meeting but that ABC had pulled out of the running again.

  ‘Someone in their commissioning department belatedly read a British newspaper,’ Paul told Macy ruefully. ‘I’m sorry, Macy, but you know the score. These guys are so risk averse, they’re all looking for a reason to say no. Lady Wellesley just handed them a whole bunch.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! She has nothing to do with the show! Even Eddie’s only an EP, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘You’re preaching to the converted,’ Paul told her. ‘Don’t panic. Showtime and HBO and Netflix are all still in the mix. And Fox. You and Laura just need to charm the pants off them.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Macy. ‘About Laura. Slight change of plan.’

  Paul had been upbeat, but Macy knew he was worried and that most of his confidence was due to the fact that he knew he was on speakerphone with Gabe. Once he’d rung off and Gabe told her what had actually happened with Laura, Macy found herself in the rare position of being on his wife’s side. Apparently, after the play at the village hall, Gabe had been in the bathroom downing Alka-Seltzer when his phone had buzzed downstairs. Laura had picked it up and found herself looking at a picture of a very young girl in her underwear, signed off with xs and os.

  ‘She didn’t even give me a chance to explain!’ Gabe protested.

  ‘Explain what?’ said Macy. ‘You’re sexting with another woman. Case closed.’

  ‘First of all “sexting” is not a word.’

  ‘Of course it’s a word,’ laughed Macy.

  ‘Not a real one. And, anyway, I wasn’t doing anything with other women. This stupid trollop sent a picture to me.’

  ‘How did she have your number?’ Macy asked the obvious question.

  ‘Well, I … I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly. I was quite drunk. I mean, I meet girls all the time. You know what it’s like when you’re on TV. But I’ve never done anything and I never would.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Macy sounded about as convinced as Laura had. ‘It’s still disrespectful, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not you too …’ muttered Gabe.

  It emerged that in the tempestuous aftermath of this discovery, Laura had thrown the remainder of her toys completely out of the pram, accused Gabe of allowing fame to go to his head – and his dick – and of Valley Farm being ‘toxic’ to their marriage, and announced she was pulling the plug on the whole thing. Not only would she not consent to sell the show abroad, but she was having serious second thoughts about a second UK series. And Gabe could consider himself fired as a presenter.

  Macy went white. ‘Can she do that?’

  ‘No,’ Gabe said robustly. ‘I have a share in the show. So does Eddie, and Channel 5, and you.’

  ‘I have, like, half a per cent,’ Macy reminded him.

  ‘The point is, Laura has no right to pull the rug out from under all of us, just because she’s irrationally jealous and insecure in our marriage,’ Gabe fumed. ‘I told her that if she wouldn’t take these meetings with you then I would. So here I am.’

  Macy was too stunned to say anything. This was a disaster. With Eddie halfway out of the door and Laura determined to punish her errant husband, pitching Valley Farm would be like trying to run a marathon with both legs tied together. At this point it was far from clear whether Macy and Gabe actually had anything left to sell.

  Gabe, however, seemed determined to throw a positive light on everything.

  ‘Thanks so much for the lift,’ he said, kissing Macy on the cheek. ‘It’ll all be all right, you’ll see. Why don’t I get a few hours’ kip and then we can meet for supper, make a plan of attack. Eight o’clock all right?’

  For the second time in two days, Macy found herself accepting a dinner date from a handsome man other than her fi
ancé, much against her better judgement.

  They went to the Blue Plate Oysterette on Ocean Avenue. Feeling more confident in subtle but flawless make-up, Hudson jeans that hugged her figure in all the right places and a red silk shirt (sexy but not trying too hard), Macy was determined to keep things businesslike. She was not about to make the same mistake she had with Austin Jamet last night and let her guard down.

  Her resolve wavered for a moment when Gabe walked in looking rested and impossibly handsome in a Thomas Pink shirt and dark jeans, his hair still wet from the shower. But she quickly regained her composure, and even managed to stick to sparkling water while she talked Gabe through her plan for tomorrow’s meeting with Fox.

  Gabe ordered a light beer with his clam steamers and listened attentively. It was vital for these meetings to go well, so he could justify his impulsive decision to jump on a plane. For all his outward bluster, he knew he’d fucked up by flying out here after the row with Laura. The boring, eleven-hour flight had given him plenty of time for reflection. Deep down he knew perfectly well that giving out his number to young women was not cool. That the only appropriate reaction after Laura saw that picture should have been a grovelling and abject apology. But some stupid male impulse had taken over – part pride, and part fear; some idea that if he admitted he was wrong Laura would leave him – and had made him lash out. And then, when Laura had threatened to pull the plug on Valley Farm, he’d panicked. Little by little, without him even really noticing it, Gabe had allowed his self-worth to get caught up with the show. Farming had always been his life, his identity. But that had changed. The truth was, Laura was right and he resented her for that. Now that he’d had a taste of fame, albeit a modest one, he didn’t want to let it go. He enjoyed the attention, and he was tired of feeling guilty about it.

  After the meal, Macy walked him back to his hotel. It was only a few blocks and it was a beautiful evening, warm, with a soft breeze ruffling the tops of the palm trees like an affectionate mother patting her child’s head.

  ‘Do you think Eddie will stay with the show?’ Macy asked him. Proud of herself for sticking to business thus far, she wasn’t about to blow the evening at the last minute. She loved James, and anybody who thought differently was just plain wrong.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Gabe. ‘I hope he will. At the moment he says nothing’s changed, but this stuff with David Carlyle’s book must be hell for him. You’d think after Annabel’s overdose Carlyle would have the decency to stop the serialization in the Echo at the very least. But he’s still printing new stories every week. Trying to poison them to death, drip by drip.’

  ‘But if Laura pulls out …?’

  ‘She won’t,’ said Gabe. ‘Valley Farm is her baby. She loves it more than any of us, and she wants it to succeed.’

  ‘She didn’t come out here,’ said Macy. ‘That’s a pretty strong statement.’

  ‘She was angry,’ said Gabe. ‘Which was my fault.’ He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. ‘God, I can be such a dick sometimes. I don’t know why I do it. The fact is, Laura’s right. I do like being recognized. I do like the attention I get from being on the show. And I’m proud of it, you know? I suppose you could say I’m ambitious.’

  They had reached Shutters now, and came to a stop beneath the white wooden sign at the front of the hotel, where the road met the sand.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with ambition, you know,’ Macy told him. Even in heels, she only came up to Gabe’s chest, so she had to tilt her neck back to look at him. Standing just inches apart, staring up into his beautiful, sad eyes, it was a physical effort not reach out and touch his face. ‘You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Gabe. Without thinking, he pushed aside a stray lock of dark hair blowing across Macy’s face. It was a momentary gesture, but Macy’s entire body tensed. There could be no mistaking the violent sexual energy between them in that instant, like a lightning storm.

  ‘Sorry,’ Gabe mumbled, stepping back.

  ‘No,’ Macy said awkwardly, her voice hoarse. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then,’ said Gabe, turning away from her and walking towards the hotel so fast he almost broke into a jog. ‘Get some sleep,’ he called over his shoulder with forced cheeriness.

  ‘You too!’ said Macy.

  Ten minutes later, in the safety of his suite, Gabe sank down on the foot of his bed and put his head in his hands.

  What’s wrong with me? he thought miserably. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  He longed to call Laura. Just to hear her voice and to tell her he was sorry. He was sorry, for more things than he could even put into words. But it was quarter to five in the morning in England right now. Under the circumstances, he probably wouldn’t get a very warm reception if he woke her and the kids up before sunrise. I’ll call in the morning, as soon as I wake up.

  Lying in her bed in Laurel Canyon, Macy stared at her bedroom ceiling and waited for the pain to go away.

  It didn’t.

  Eventually she fell asleep anyway.

  Fox Studios sits on a fifty-acre lot off West Pico Boulevard. Like the other big studio lots, it is a world unto itself, complete with sound stages, corporate offices, hospitality buildings, production suites and stores selling every conceivable item of 20th Century Fox-branded merchandise. Gabe’s eyes were on stalks from the moment Macy parked the car. You needed a map to get from the parking structure to the executive offices, and the route was both long and distracting. Gabe followed Macy past a teen band making a music video, involving what looked like a pack of wolves running down a hill, being chased by three kids whose body weight must have been at least fifty per cent hair gel.

  ‘Do you get tame wolves?’ Gabe asked Macy, a faint edge of nerves to his voice as they walked past.

  ‘This is Hollywood,’ said Macy. ‘You get anything you want if the studio’s paying.’

  Gabe was soon distracted by a half-built house in which a bunch of actors he recognized were shooting an episode of a famous soap opera. After that it was the backstage doors for American Idol, where the next crop of hopefuls were lining up for the first round of televised auditions.

  ‘Is that Ryan Seacrest?’ Gabe whispered to Macy, as a slim, tanned man in a sports jacket slipped into the building, glued to his cell phone.

  ‘Don’t know, don’t care,’ said Macy, not looking up. ‘Focus, OK? We’re here.’

  Tim O’Donnell, the head of Scripted Reality for the Fox Television network, occupied a suite of palatial offices on the sixth floor of the tallest building on the lot. The Valley Farm format would be a stretch for Fox. Their bread and butter were competitive, Simon Cowell-style shows. Macy and Paul Meyer had both been frankly astonished that Fox had agreed to a meeting at all, let alone that they’d wheeled in a big gun like O’Donnell.

  After signing in downstairs, in a glass-walled lobby so awash with sunlight it was impossible to walk through it and not feel uplifted, Macy and Gabe took their ugly, laminated name tags and stepped into a clear glass elevator that whisked them to the sixth-floor reception.

  Upstairs everything was darker and more businesslike. A stunning Asian girl with dead eyes and a curtain of dark hair like a silk veil emerged from behind her poky desk to offer them ‘coffee, water or green tea’, with a smile so false it made Gabe’s eyes water.

  ‘She’s a bit scary,’ he whispered to Macy. ‘Talk about shock and awe. Her teeth are so white they must glow in the dark.’

  ‘Ask O’Donnell,’ Macy whispered back. ‘I’m sure he knows what they look like in the dark.’

  Gabe laughed loudly, earning himself a withering look from the Asian girl and a panicked one from Macy.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed.

  ‘Sorry,’ Gabe hissed back.

  It was weird to think that until relatively recently he’d been an unknown farmer in Sussex, and now here he was, taking Hollywood meetings with network executives as if it were the
most natural thing in the world. His life had changed so much. And yet fundamentally, inside, Gabe felt the same.

  Laura doesn’t think so, he reflected sadly. She thinks I’ve changed, big time.

  He must try not to think about his problems with Laura. Not here. One thing at a time.

  The Asian girl was still giving him evils.

  ‘She looks like she wants to put bamboo shoots under my fingernails,’ Gabe whispered, trying to make Macy laugh, or at least crack a smile. Aware that some invisible line had been crossed last night, he was trying to make things normal between them again by reverting to their usual banter. Gabe badly needed things to be back to normal with someone. He’d called Laura four times this morning and left messages, but she was obviously still too angry to take his calls.

  ‘I’ll put bamboo shoots under your fingernails if you don’t zip it,’ Macy whispered back, only half joking. ‘This meeting is crucial for us. Please, focus.’

  ‘I am focused,’ protested Gabe. ‘I haven’t even checked the cricket score and England are—’

  Behind the reception desk, a door opened and a small, bald, unprepossessing-looking man in a terrible suit stepped forward.

  ‘Valley Farm, right? From England?’ he gestured vaguely towards Macy. ‘Tim O’Donnell. C’mon in.’

  The meeting was short.

  Macy gave her prepared spiel and Gabe gave his. They were both charming, informed and poised in their delivery. Gabe, in particular, radiated pride in the show and did a good job of glossing over Eddie and Laura’s absence. He’s a natural salesman, thought Macy, as her nerves fell away.

  Tim O’Donnell listened, nodded and smiled. At the end he asked a couple of questions and gave the show some glowing compliments.

  ‘And your agent is …?’

  Macy reminded him. O’Donnell dutifully wrote Paul Meyer’s name down.

  ‘Great. Well, thank you both so much. We’ll be in touch.’