by Clare Lydon
Saffron sucked on the straw, the iced caramel macchiato satiating her thirst, but not her annoyance. “If you really wanted to spoil me, you’d let me enjoy my respite between shoots.”
Pearl’s eyes lit up like a slot machine. “I’ve got good news. No, great news.”
“My next movie fell through, and I can take six months off, not just one or two?” Inwardly, Saffron did her happy dance, but outwardly, she remained stoic because Pearl had the habit of stamping out all hope for a peaceful life.
“Yes and no.”
“I’m not following.” Saffron eyed her agent’s glee with a healthy dose of caution.
“I was able to get you out of that indie project that in all likelihood would be a box office snooze and highly unlikely to garner any nominations, so what’s the point, really?” Pearl hitched a shoulder. “Instead, James Thorpe has advanced the production schedule for the next great thing that will have all your fans screaming with joy. We’re talking serious cash.” Pearl let the script land on the tabletop with an emphatic thud.
Saffron read the working title: Girl Racer 3. Pinching her eyes shut, she bit down on the insides of both of her cheeks. Luckily for her, a barista fired up a machine, the sound drowning out a helpless whimper.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Pearl squirmed in her seat like a child unwrapping birthday gifts.
“Considering I’ve been in the first two, not so exciting.” Saffron flicked the pages, imagining tossing it into a fire one page at a time.
“Don’t undersell yourself. You’re the Racer Girl.” Pearl loved to change the wording to make it seem Saffron was the only stunning female astride a motorbike, when the cast included many babes on bikes to pull men and women into the cinema to watch an action flick starring mostly chicks. “It’s your megastar status that’s made the third film a possibility, and trust me when I say this. I’m going to put the screws to them. We’re talking eight figures.”
“I don’t need more money.” If she had to do a movie, Saffron would have preferred the indie option, but even that wasn’t all that appealing, since Saffron suspected she had been offered the job solely for her celebrity status, not because they thought her perfect for the role.
“Of course, you do. Everyone needs more money. Do you have a fever from this heat? Should I call your doctor?” Pearl lowered her head to inspect Saffron, not in a joking way. Sharks had more humanity than Pearl, who hunted for any money-making scheme, no matter the humiliation for Saffron.
“I don’t have a fever. I just want some time to relax.” Saffron glanced away, her gaze landing on an abstract painting of Holland Park, the name of the local artist and price printed below the frame.
“I’ll book you a day at the spa.” Pearl added with charitable gravitas, “A full day.”
“I don’t think a day will cut it,” Saffron scoffed.
“Do you need a weekend retreat? Where did Stevie go for two days of pampering?” Pearl rapped her fingers on the table. “I’ll have my assistant look into it. We’ll get you the rest you need. Don’t you worry.”
Saffron reached for Pearl’s hand to steady the finger tapping. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to be pampered for a couple of days. I want to go away for a month.”
“A month!”
“At least. Two would be even better.” If Saffron had it her way, she’d be gone until September. Could she dare for longer?
“That’s simply not possible. Not at all.” Pearl pressed a finger onto the table, whitening the tip.
“It has to be because I’ve booked a place in a quiet seaside town.”
“Which one?” Pearl had her phone handy to log the details.
“I’m not telling you, otherwise I won’t get a moment’s peace.” It wasn’t like Saffron would be able to stay hidden no matter where she went, but she preferred making things as hard as possible for her demanding agent who had no boundaries.
“What about the movie?”
“What about it?” Saffron sipped her drink, avoiding Pearl’s hardening stare.
“It can’t proceed without your blessing.”
“I’m sure the world will survive without another movie about illegal street racing.”
“What’s bugging you?” Pearl folded her arms over her chest.
“I told you. I need a break. I’ve been in the biz for too long. I can’t even go out for a coffee without people wanting to take a photo with me.” Saffron leaned close to Pearl and spoke as quietly as possible to only be heard by the agent. “I’m tired of always having to be the glamorous star. It’s exhausting.”
“Do we need to get you a trainer to work on those muscles? Cindy has a facial fitness expert she can’t stop raving about. I heard she’s turned down working with Angie, but I know I can get you in. No one will have the guts to say no to the hottest actress on the market.” Pearl reached for her phone.
“No. I don’t need any more trainers.” Saffron pressed her palms together to avoid the temptation to scream. Instead she said in a monotone voice, “How can I get you to understand?”
“What?” Pearl blinked rapidly as if trying to swat away Saffron’s words.
“That I need rest. Not two days at a spa. A real break. Away from facial trainers, makeup artists, cameras, fans, sets, and…” Saffron tapped the title page of the script.
“You don’t have to read it. I have. It’s perfect.” Pearl repositioned in her seat. “What if I can convince them to push back the start date for filming? Will you commit then?”
“I can’t agree to make a film I haven’t read the script for. That’s something I’ve never done, and I don’t plan on starting now.” Saffron massaged her brow.
“Okay, fine. Take it with you. I’m sure I can clear your schedule for a week or so.”
Saffron shook her hands in the air, the fingers curling with rage, before sitting on them to avoid someone catching her in the act. The paps would have a field day with that. “You’re not listening. No one ever listens to me.” Her chin trembled, and she had to shut down her emotions before uncontrollable tears fell from her eyes. Once again, she stared at the artwork.
“That’s rich, coming from Hollywood’s hardest working actress. You were in three movies last year. Everyone on the planet was listening.” Pearl tossed her head back, smiling smugly.
“No, they were watching me say someone else’s words. That’s not the same thing.” No one knew the real Saffron, not even those closest to her. She’d become an amalgamation of all the characters she’d played, and even Saffron couldn’t remember if caramel macchiato was actually her favourite drink or if it was Amanda’s, the American TV character she’d played for ten years on a hit sitcom that made her a household name, before she made the leap to film at the ripe old age of 25.
Pearl let out an anguished sigh. “Two weeks.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. I’m going away for at least one month, maybe two.”
“What will you do? You haven’t taken time off like that since I’ve known you.”
“Exactly!” The tension behind her eyes made the lids heavy with sleep. “I want to know what it feels like to be human again, not a commodity.”
“No one treats you that way.” Pearl pursed her lips.
“Hey, Saffron. I prefer you without clothes.” A teenage boy made a crude gesture and ran out of the café with two giggling friends, none of them old enough to shave.
“You were saying?” Saffron waved for Pearl to mount her next line of attack.
“If I agree to this—”
“You seem to think you have a say—”
“Let me finish.” Pearl gave Saffron her steely agent glare typically reserved for negotiations with media moguls. “Go away to this magical town by the sea, but take the script with you. I’ll give them the straight arm”—Pearl held out her own arm, with her palm out in a protective manner—“long enough for you to have the time you need to come back, refreshed and better. How does that sound?”
Pret
ty good, aside from the coming back bit. “I can live with that.” It wasn’t like Saffron had a choice. This was the movie business. If you were hot at the box office, everyone wanted a piece of you.
“Will you please tell me where you’re going. You’ve probably told Michelle, who’s only your assistant, not your pit bull in the ring getting you the respect you deserve.” Pearl hooked her thumb, jabbing it at her own chest, proud of her tenacity.
Michelle had arranged the house in Sandy Cove, but Saffron knew not to share that with Pearl, who hated Michelle for not betraying Saffron, even though Pearl badgered the assistant non-stop. “Not a chance in hell. I don’t need you sabotaging my holiday.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.” Pearl batted her lashes as innocently as possible.
“Yes, you would. Like the time you scheduled a magazine spread after my appendix burst.”
“That issue was about women juggling work and the stress of everyday life.”
“Please.” Saffron gazed at the exit, wanting this exchange to end. “That was a medical emergency, not me trying to figure out how to find the time to shop for groceries and pick up the kids.”
“You don’t have kids.”
“You’re missing the point.”
Pearl heaved a sigh. “I don’t understand why you still get upset about it. It was ages ago.”
“You had a makeup artist and photographer in the recovery room.” Saffron stiffened in her chair, her stomach twisting into knots.
“Argue all you want. That’s one of the most visited articles on the internet, and millions of people wished you well.”
“Because that was the most important aspect of me nearly dying.”
“Dramatic, much?”
Saffron circled a finger in front of her face. “Actor, remember.”
“I do. The question is, do you?” Her stare intensified in hopes of subduing Saffron into submission. It usually worked in the past.
“What does that mean?” Saffron steadied her breathing, not wanting to wilt. She needed this time away, or she feared she’d break beyond repair.
“You want to run off, leaving the opportunity of a lifetime on the table.” Pearl pointedly looked at the script.
“I know you don’t understand or believe me when I say there’s more to life than another Girl Racer.” There just had to be.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I need to discover. If I don’t do this, I won’t make it.” Saffron hadn’t wanted to say that out loud, but Pearl wasn’t getting it.
“Why can’t you find yourself, or whatever you need to do, staying put in London, where I can find you?” Pearl’s voice lost some of its harshness, offering a ray of light.
“Because I don’t want to be found by you.” Try as she might, Saffron couldn’t disguise the anger in her tone or rigid shoulders. More proof she was on the brink, because she’d always been able to keep her feelings in check when it came to Pearl.
“Who do you want to be found by?” Pearl mocked, her gaze flicking upwards.
“Time will tell.”
Chapter 3
Kirsty was putting the finishing touches to a supplier email when a customer came in. She recognised her from previous visits. Stylish clothes, platinum hair. Plus, she knew her wines. Most of Kirsty’s walk-in clientele had a maximum budget of £10. But this woman always hovered over the more expensive shelves. The wines told Kirsty she either knew her grapes, or just liked the finer things in life. Or possibly both.
“Can I help you?” Kirsty checked she was wearing shoes, not slippers. Score.
She walked over to the customer. “That’s a lovely wine right there.” Kirsty pointed at the Primitivo Reserva, from a vineyard in Puglia that she’d visited years ago with Anna. It seemed like another lifetime.
“I read about it in the latest edition of Decanter magazine. Have you had a run on it?”
Kirsty shook her head. “Maybe if we were in Surrey or Bucks. I don’t think Decanter’s widely read around here.”
“It is by me.” The woman held out a hand. “I’m Ginger. I’ve recently moved here. Yours is my favourite shop on the High Street, so we should be on first-name terms.”
Her hand was ice cold, but Kirsty didn’t flinch. “Kirsty, good to meet you.” She glanced at her watch, then around the shop. It was 3pm on a Wednesday, and she was due a break. “I was just about to put the kettle on. Do you fancy a coffee?”
Ginger’s face spelled surprise. “That would be lovely.”
Kirsty pulled out a chair for Ginger. Five minutes later, she came back with two steaming mugs of coffee. “I can’t do iced coffee, even in this hot weather.”
“I only drink hot coffee, water, or red wine. Those three things.” Ginger took her mug with a word of thanks.
“No white wine at all?”
Ginger shook her head. “My ex hated it, so by association, so did I.” She paused. “Perhaps that’s a reason I should start drinking it though, right?”
Kirsty didn’t respond. That one was very much up to Ginger.
“I love the wine selection here. Are you the buyer?”
Kirsty nodded. “Co-owner, shop girl, buyer, marketer. Although the final one is my downfall, but I’m working on it.” She paused. “You said you just moved here?”
Ginger gave her a slow nod. “I have. Got one of those lovely seafront cottages by the Poseidon Inn.”
Kirsty let out a low whistle. “Prime real estate. You definitely need expensive wine to go with that address.”
Ginger cackled. “My sister would say the same.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “The truth is, I’m not loaded. I’m recently divorced, and our place sold for more than we thought. Hence, I’ve bought a nice house and am treating myself to some good wine. I deserve it.” She paused, annoyance crossing her face. “I need to stop saying we and our, don’t I? Old habits.” She shook her head.
Kirsty got it. It’d taken her a good few years to stop the habit herself after she’d discovered Anna wasn’t adhering to her marriage vows in the same way she was. “If you’ve only just got divorced, I think you’re allowed a little time.”
Ginger sipped her coffee. “I need to shake myself out of the habit soon. I want to slap myself every time I do it.”
“I got divorced seven years ago, so I know what you’re going through. If it helps, it does get better.” However, Kirsty wouldn’t go through those initial stages of divorce again for anyone. The pain and devastation of realising your happily ever after had just come to an abrupt end had been almost too much to bear.
Ginger sighed, before looking Kirsty in the eye. “It does, sort of. I’m still a little out of sorts, unpacking boxes, marvelling at the speed of change. Our house had only been on the market for two weeks when it sold. One minute we were arguing about who got the Charles Eames chair; the next, it’s sitting in my new lounge, but Dave isn’t.”
“At least you got the chair.”
“That’s what my sister told me. Still, I wanted a fresh start after Dave said he was leaving. You can’t get fresher than moving 100 miles to a town I barely know.”
“That’s a brave move.” At least Kirsty had the loving embrace of her community to fall back on. Anna had left, but she hadn’t gone far enough. Just five miles down the coast to Honey Bay. They still ran into each other on occasion. She held up her mug. “Consider your first friend in town made. We divorcees have to stick together.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Ginger took a sip, before putting her mug on the table. “Actually, I had meant to come in here on business. I run my own web agency, and I’ve got the contract for the town website. My job is to put Sandy Cove on the map and make it more of a destination for the whole country, not just London. I’m a web developer but I’m working with some freelance content staff, and I thought I could run some features on local businesses for a start.”
Kirsty liked the sound of that. “Great idea. Only, don’t look at our webs
ite.” She winced. Due to financial constraints, she’d set it up herself with a little help from Helena’s son, Anton. However, it still needed a lot of work. “We don’t even have online sales set up. Please don’t judge.”
Ginger snorted. “Since my life turned upside down, I’ve been trying to leave my judgement by the side of the road. But if you want, when I have more time, we could have a look at it over a bottle of wine, and I could give you my professional advice. Seeing as we’re friends now.” She gave her a piercing grin that somehow looked familiar.
Kirsty beamed right back. “You’re on. Our website needs all the help it can get. Professional or otherwise.”
A few moments passed as Ginger took in her surroundings. Kirsty followed her gaze. Shelves of wine from all around the world, along with a stand of spirits nearer the till, and a more upmarket selection behind the counter. She also had a range of fancy crisps and chocolates, as well as a fridge full of cheese to accompany her wines. That particular addition had gone down a storm as soon as she’d introduced it a year ago.
“You haven’t thought about having a divorce party?” Kirsty’s conversation with Helena came flooding back.
Ginger quirked one carefully styled dark brow. Was that the original colour of her hair? “Do normal people have those?”
Kirsty nodded. “Apparently they do. My business partner went to one that was like a wedding. She’s been to a few. It’s quite popular in your 40s.”
Ginger let out another cackle. “So are golf and running, but you won’t catch me doing either.” She finished her coffee. “Although, maybe it is what I need. A public commitment to a completely fresh start.”
“If you need help, I run a party planning business on the side, too. So far, I’ve mainly done birthdays and anniversaries, but I’m thinking of branching out.” She paused, snagging Ginger’s piercing blue gaze. Another jolt of recognition. Kirsty ignored it. “But this is not a hard sell. Just a thought.”
Ginger stared at her for a few long moments. “It would be a brilliant ‘fuck you’ to Dave, wouldn’t it? With his ‘I’m just not feeling it anymore’ attitude after 15 years of marriage?”