by Georgia Hill
Max stared at her. He wanted to react. Wanted to tell her how amazing he thought she was. His innate shyness held him back. Besides, he had a feeling Lucy still hadn’t finished her confessional.
He was right. After ordering yet another pint of lager, Lucy continued to talk, this time almost to herself. It was as if she’d forgotten he was there. She told him about her lonely childhood in Oxford, how she had retreated from life once her mother had died, how devoted she was to her father. Throughout, his admiration for her grew.
Finally Lucy quietened. She slumped back on her stool, her chin sinking onto her chest in sudden exhaustion. The gruelling day of rehearsing, dancing and filming, and now this unburdening of her past had divested her of all energy. She felt emptied, purged but also strangely free. She turned to Max, grateful that he’d been her confessor.
Max gazed at her. Inside him something changed. Then his protective instinct took over. “Maybe it’s time we called it a night?” he suggested, gently.
Lucy nodded at him and managed a small smile.
“And I don’t know about you but I’ve got Lola rehearsing me at eight thirty sharp tomorrow morning. I need my beauty sleep. Come on,” he continued, as he manoeuvred her off the high bar stool. “Let’s get you a taxi and home to your hotel. Are you staying at the Artemida with the others?”
Again, all Lucy managed was a nod. In her head and heart though, the crush shifted and she knew she was in big trouble.
Step Two.
In her stuffy hotel room the next day, Lucy woke up with a raging hangover. She’d never developed a head for alcohol. As she lay there, willing the pain to subside and for her head to stop thudding, she thought back over the previous night. Once the first painful few words were over, Max had proved good company. He was shy, she’d heard he was, and self-contained, but he was good fun. He was an amazing listener and she’d found herself opening up to him in a way she hadn’t for years, certainly not to a man, certainly not in a public place. Perhaps it was true that every woman ought to have a gay best friend! Tentatively, she raised her head and tested whether she was able to sit up. Mmm, not too bad. She eased herself into a sitting position and gulped the tepid water from the glass on her bedside table. She was sure she’d made a new good friend, she just wished she hadn’t drunk so much.
She rested against the headboard and rubbed her temples, it always eased a headache. She really wasn’t very good with alcohol. She frowned and thought back, she hadn’t had that much surely? Only three pints; she wouldn’t have had two or four as she mistrusted even numbers and it had only been weak lager shandy after all. Oops! She’d had a glass of wine too. That was what had caused the damage, she decided, blearily. Four drinks. Four was never a good number. She’d heard hangovers got worse as you got older but she was only twenty-nine.
Lucy allowed herself a smile, who was she kidding? She was out of practice with more than the drinking side of being with people; she was woefully inadequate at talking to people. Her youth, the time when most people went clubbing, drinking, meeting others, had been spent in solitude, writing.
She’d produced five books in six years. It was only when she’d ‘come out’ that her existence had become interspersed with the odd book signing tour, interviews and, once the film rights had been sold and developed into a series of smash hit films, a few premieres. She’d been steered through the nightmare of publicity by her agent Whiz. As she’d explained to Max, Whiz lived up to her name and whirled round Lucy like a literary tornado organising her, batting away the unwanted, in whatever form it might take, and coaching her to say just the right thing at just the right time to just the right person. The result was that Lucy’s public persona was of a polished and professional person, beautifully dressed and smoothly coiffured. It couldn’t be further from the truth.
She groaned again and just about managed to ring room service. Once she’d drunk about a gallon of tea, she slid back under the covers to welcome oblivion.
Sometime later, her mobile trilled into action making Lucy wake with a start. Eyes half open, she located it vibrating under her pillow. How it had got there was lost in the fog of last night’s excess. She sat up cautiously. The tea and extra sleep seemed to have done the trick. The throbbing in her head had receded to a dull background ache. Pressing answer on her phone, she wondered if it was her new best friend, Max, ringing. She rather hoped it was.
“Hello Luce?”
Definitely not the slightly lazy voice, with its hint of a northern accent, from last night. This voice was throaty and female.
“Julia! Hello!” Lucy shook some sense into her head and settled back against the luxuriously padded headboard.
“Just thought I’d ring to say you were fab last night.”
“Oh thank you! I was so nervous though.”
“Well, it didn’t come across and you’ve got a real sweetie for a partner so don’t worry. Daniel Cunningham got me through last year’s competition. Couldn’t have done it without him. He’s a dream, isn’t he?”
“He lovely, so kind and encouraging. I love him already. Do you really think he’s gay?”
Julia laughed. “Oh Lucy, you’re not developing one of your famous crushes on him, are you? They’ll get you into trouble one of these days!”
“No! Just wondered, you know.”
Julia blew out a breath and Lucy could hear her thinking. “I never made up my mind about him. I never saw him with anyone, he never mentioned anyone. He just seems married to the dance world if you know what I mean. I don’t think it leaves him much time for anything else. He is lovely though.” She giggled suddenly. “And I tell you someone else who caught my eye: Max Parry! Where’s he been hiding all my life?”
This time it was Lucy’s turn to laugh. “In swimming pools as far as I can see. I think he’s part fish. He’s such a lovely man though. I’m definitely half in love with him.”
“Well, he’s definitely gay. I told you before, Joe, a friend of a friend of Harri’s went out with him.”
“It is a shame – for women, that is! It’s just what I was thinking. He was in the bar last night and we got chatting. He’s unbelievably easy to talk to. I found myself telling him all about the weird kid I was and how difficult it is for me to be with lots of people.”
“Did you come clean over the agoraphobia? You hardly tell anyone about that. Was that wise? He could run straight to the papers, Luce.”
“What, Max Parry? No, He’d never do anything like that, he’s simply too nice a man. Besides, he must have had his fair share of hassle with the press himself.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I’d never seen anything about him before last night’s show.”
“Yes well, you’re well known for reading the sports pages, aren’t you?”
“I am now, Harri makes me.” Harri was Julia’s boyfriend. They’d met while competing in last year’s Who Dares Dances.
Lucy laughed again. “Ah! And how is the Welsh Stallion?”
“Oh,” said Julia lightly, “stallion like, you know.”
“You lucky cow!”
“I am, indeed, a very fortunate girl. He sends his love by the way.”
“Send back a big sloppy kiss please will you?”. Lucy clamped down on her envy. Julia and Harri were a perfect couple and she wanted just a little bit of that for herself.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We’re coming to next Saturday’s show, did you know? Can you fix it for me to meet Mr Fish?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Lucy echoed. “Daniel and I are doing the samba so watch out!” She stifled her unease. It would be her second dance. Number two. With an effort, she tuned out of her obsession with numbers and back into the conversation. “We’re doing it to ‘Santa Baby’, you know, the old Eartha Kitt classic. I’m going to be done up as a Christmas tree, I think. Should be interesting,” she added, sarcastically.
Julia hooted. “You’ll be a picture! What will they think up next? Although, I have to claim a fondness fo
r the Kylie version. Is Max doing one too?”
“Yup.”
“I can’t wait! Look, I must go, got that read through this afternoon.”
“Good luck with it.” Julia was just about to embark on filming the third Davy Jones adventure. It was how they’d met. “I hear the writer is rather good.”
“Oh God yes but they’re nothing but trouble, don’t want the writer around.” Julia teased her friend fondly. “But seriously, read throughs, they’re always traumatic. Best over and done with. Take care of those two gorgeous men then. See you!”
“Bye, Julia.”
Lucy clicked off her phone and tapped it thoughtfully against her lips. Had she really told Max all about her lonely childhood with her eccentric and elderly parents? Had she mentioned St Ursula’s, the Spartan girls’ school with its old-fashioned emphasis on Latin, Greek and etiquette and, luckily in the light of recent events, ballet? Had she told him about dropping out of Oxford, of being unable to cope with the impossible standards she set herself? Yes she had. Did she regret it, now she was sober? Not one bit, she realised, to her surprise and joy. She trusted Max. She may not know him well but she knew she trusted him completely. And if someone had asked her why, she simply wouldn’t be able to explain it.
It was just such a shame he was gay.
Lucy glanced at the clock. She wasn’t due for rehearsal for another three hours. She could just do a little bit of scribbling.
Since being more in the world, Lucy had developed an obsession with hotel rooms. One way or another she spent a lot of time in them nowadays. She liked the beige anonymity of them and the fact that, once you’d played with all the toys like the remote controlled curtains and sniffed the freebies in the bathroom, there was very little to do in them. And, when she had nothing to do, she wrote. After a spell in the writing desert, one that had lasted so long it had terrified her, she’d started something that very week. It was new and very different to anything she had written before. Whiz would hate it. From somewhere in Lucy’s imagination, Davy Jones’ older brother had appeared on the page. Tall and thin, with a serious face only enlivened by a heartbreaking smile, he had a mysterious past and was destined for a fascinating future.
With difficulty, she found out how to turn on the complicated music system and Radio Two flooded the room with, ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas’. Ooh, there was a thought, maybe she should set the next book in the winter. A Victorian, snowy Christmas, what could be more romantic?
As Lucy reached for her laptop, she felt the old familiar tingle begin again. She knew this book would be good.
Step Three.
It was the second Monday and Lucy was allowing herself to enjoy rehearsals. Entering this competition had been her own special challenge. Except for her few very close friends, all those around her assumed she was in it to publicise the latest and possibly last Davy Jones novel. And while it was true that the publicity wouldn’t do any harm, it was hardly necessary. A Lucy Everett book went straight to the top of the best sellers list and stayed there. Aimed at ten-year-old boys, it was a lucky accident that their parents also enjoyed the exploits of young Master Jones, cunning Victorian thief and adventurer. With the addition of his older brother, Simeon, her books might just reach an even wider audience.
No, this was her own personal test: to see if she had finally beaten her agoraphobia and, more importantly, be her own person in public without the benefit of Whiz whispering what to do next in her ear. She was genuinely fond of Whiz but Whiz, true to her profession, had an eye to the dollar these days. Lucy was now selling well in the States and the agent demanded a heavy workload from her author. With the fifth book out in time for the Christmas market, Lucy really wanted to give Davy Jones a rest for a little while, maybe even permanently. She longed to concentrate on the more romantic novel she’d just begun but she knew Whiz would be reluctant to represent it. Just one more Davy Jones adventure, she’d wheedled, after book number three. And again after the fourth. Now the fifth was finished, Lucy wasn’t at all sure Davy had anything left to do. The last book had resolved most of what she’d wanted and, apart from anything else, a sixth Davy book wouldn’t do at all.
Doing something a bit mad like Who Dares Dances had had the desired effect, had got the creative juices flowing again and had inspired her. This romance had promise. And she thought she knew just the man to base her hero on.
As if on cue, Max walked into the rehearsal room with Daniel.
Lucy put her hand up in greeting. “Y-you two look very cosy.”
“Hey, Lucy!” Daniel waved back.
“Dan’s been helping me with my samba.” Max wandered over, a worried expression marring his beautiful face. “I just can’t get it somehow.”
Lucy grimaced in sympathy. “I know what you mean. I’ve got a horrible feeling I’m going out this week. I’m all arms and legs.”
“God, you two, you make a right pair. Lighten up will you?” Daniel shrugged off his tracksuit jacket, wiped his face with it and threw it into a corner of the dance studio. He and Max had obviously been rehearsing hard; Daniel’s usually floppy blonde hair was spiky with sweat. Max, in comparison, was looking completely fresh.
He must be so fit thought Lucy as she watched him move gracefully to the water dispenser, there’s not a drop of perspiration on him.
Again, as in the bar, as if sensing her gaze on him, Max turned and asked her if she’d like a drink.
“N-no thanks. Haven’t done anything to deserve one yet. You pinched my partner!”
At this Max smiled and the deep groove etched his face.
So beautiful.
“You look cold, Lucy.” He looked at her, concerned.
“Yes, it’s freezing out there.” It was. Lucy had run from the limo into the dance studios, to escape the cold blast of air which had hit her as she’d got out. She tried to focus on the conversation and away from Max’s irresistible smile; it was easier to talk about the weather. She shivered, “They’ve forecast snow this week. And we’re due the harshest winter since records began, so they say.”
“Oh, they always say that,” interrupted Daniel. “Now here’s a thought,” he continued, his mind obviously on more immediate matters, “why don’t you stay and watch me train with Lucy? The two routines aren’t all that dissimilar and I can show you how I do those voltas.”
Max made a face at Lucy. “You know, sometimes I haven’t a clue what he’s on about!”
Lucy laughed. God, she liked everything about this man.
“But I don’t know about me staying to watch, Dan.” Max sobered and looked uncomfortable.
“Lucy won’t mind, will you?” Daniel turned to face Lucy with a question on his smooth brown face. He’d seen the way these two had looked at one another. They were obviously attracted to each other but weren’t acting on it. He sighed inwardly and wondered why he was in this position of matchmaker again. He’d been piggy in the middle between Julia and Harri last year. He hadn’t done anything about those two though, he admitted to himself; he’d been too much in love with Julia himself. But Julia and Harri were very different people to the shy couple sharing the room with him at the moment. Max, he knew, was only truly at home with fellow sportsmen; he was struggling with the luvvie world of Who Dares Dances and didn’t trust it. And as for Lucy, well Daniel had never met anyone quite like Lucy. She had some natural dance talent, honed by childhood ballet lessons, but he’d never met anyone with her peculiar obsessions, or anyone quite as socially awkward. Without a gentle shove, he couldn’t imagine her ever giving Max any encouragement and he was certain Max wouldn’t make a move without it.
“Lucy,” he repeated as she hadn’t replied, “you don’t mind Max watching us rehearse, do you? It’ll be me who he’ll focus on. He needs to study my footwork.”
Put on the spot Lucy did mind, very much. She hated people watch her do anything. She’d got through the first show in a blind and thankfully numbing terror. And somehow, dancing in front of mi
llions of people was less daunting, less exposing than being watched in the intimacy of the rehearsal studio – by Max.
“I d-don’t -,” she stammered out.
“Look Dan,” Max said kindly, rescuing her. “Lucy’s not happy with it, so I’ll go.” Clutching his paper cup of water, he began to move to the door.
Oh Lord, it would be a miracle if he ever got these two together. Daniel raised his eyes to the heavens for divine intervention. “If you stay, we could all catch some lunch afterwards? The three of us,” he added, for Lucy’s benefit. She seemed to have this weird thing about the numbers three and five.
Max stopped and turned back to them. “It’s up to Lucy.”
“Well,” Lucy began. Come on; make a decision the little voice in her head said. If you say yes, you can spend some more time with him at lunch. If you say yes, it’s one more step towards fulfilling your goal of becoming a total exhibitionist. If you say yes, you never know, you might, just might - uh oh wicked, useless thought, you should be ashamed to even think it! - begin to get closer to him.
“Y-yes! I mean, well, alright but only if you think it might be helpful, Daniel.”
“I do. Better get cracking then, babe. No more wasting time.”
Daniel was suddenly all energy and efficiency. “Max, sit over there out of our sightlines. Don’t want you putting Lucy off more than you have to and make sure you watch me and see how I push up from the feet to get the right hip action. And keep an eye out for the rolls. Lola’s got you doing lots of those. Got it?”
“Got it,” Max said, so meekly that it made Lucy giggle again.
Daniel turned to Lucy with a mock stern expression. “And you, young lady, are going to start believing in yourself. Oh yes, you are,” he added as she shook her head. “It’s going to be the best ‘Santa Baby’ samba since the show began. You’re a strong, confident, sexy woman. Got it?”