Her American Classic (Part 2)

by G J Morgan

  Tom’s mom came back into the room, handed me a bowl.

  “What do all the crosses mean?” I said, showing her April.

  “Molly crosses off the days that Tom’s away. Sad really, it wasn’t my idea, all her doing, but she seems to enjoy the countdown till he’s home.”

  “Feel like it’s my fault. I’m the reason for all the crosses.”

  “It’s no one’s fault, not yours or Tom’s. It’s just the situation, we all have to deal with it the best we can. You drink brandy?”

  “I’m more of a port girl these days.”

  “My kind of girl.” She went over to her drinks cabinet. “Tom says I drink too much. I don’t think I drink enough.” She poured us both a glass of port. “Whatever gets you through the night that’s what I say,” she said, sipping it as we stood in the middle of the room.

  “Your house is like a gallery,” I said, taking a mouthful of hot crumble. “I can’t stop looking at everything. I could walk around for hours. Puts my place to shame.”

  “Please take some with you. I’ve got art coming out of my ears. Got a load more in the attic. I swap them around when I get bored of them. I think they’re worth more than the house.”

  “What’s this one?” I said, both of us standing side by side, looking over the dining table.

  “‘Le Rêve’. Not the original of course. Do you like it?”

  “I love the colours.”

  “I might have to take it down soon seeing as Molly is getting cleverer by the day. I don’t want the willy face fiasco happening all over again, like we did with Tom.”

  “Willy face?” I looked at the painting again. “Oh, willy face, I get it. Oh God, I can’t stop staring at it now.”

  “What do you think of that one above the fireplace? Same artist, different muse.”

  I looked behind me. “I prefer willy face. It’s bright and lively. The other one looks sad.”

  “Interesting. The sad one as you put it was actually Picasso’s wife, Olga. The one you like is Marie Therese, his mistress. He met her when she was seventeen, he was in his forties. Love affair that lasted decades, he even had a daughter with her.”

  “Naughty boy, wasn’t he? Did it have a happy ending?”

  “Not really. He fell in love with another woman, and then another after that. Marie hung herself after he died. Artists are bastards aren’t they? I should know, I married one. He wasn’t too bad, my husband, one of the few.”

  “I would disagree but I’ve experienced artists first hand myself. Bastard seems the appropriate word. He was a director though.”

  “Still an artist, just a different instrument.” Both of us were now moving toward the couch.

  “I’ve never regarded myself as an artist,” I said, finishing the last of the custard in my bowl.

  “You create, don’t you? You act, take on a role.”

  “I guess. Is acting creating?”

  “Of course, it is, dear. Re-shaping one emotion into another. Doesn’t matter if it’s a paintbrush or guitar or a voice, everyone needs something to direct their creativity towards, joy, pain, love.”

  “She’s very pretty,” I said, pointing to the photo on the wall.

  “She was. Has Tom told you what happened?”

  “A little,” I said, which was a complete lie.

  “Life can be a shit sometimes.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Back in America.”

  “Where?”

  “LA, I don’t know exactly.”

  “Very far away from Tom and Molly.”

  “For now, it is the best place for them both, short term at least. I do wish Tom would go back to America though, he doesn’t suit here. He’d have a better life, as would Molly if he just went back.”

  “Tom doesn’t talk much about her.”

  “Just his way of dealing with it. He doesn’t like to be reminded, me, I think it’s important not to forget, no matter how sad. Still gives me the shivers when I think about it. I lost a daughter-in-law, but I was close to losing Tom and Molly too. I’m surprised Molly and he walked away from it like they did. It was a big crash, that is why I’m so grateful, sad but grateful. She died instantly, that’s what Tom told me. Which is a blessing, she didn’t die in pain.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “October just gone.”

  Just then Tom came through the door, a duvet and a foot pump under his arm.

  “What you two talking about? Me, I bet.”

  We smiled, sipping our ports, as he started to inflate his bed for the night. I tried to work out how it was possible to feel so sorry and yet so relieved. And an awful human for feeling one more than the other.

  * * *

  It was agreed that night that we would stay an extra day. After such a long drive the day before, the thought of doing it all over again so soon made it an easy decision for us both. Just wished I’d brought more clothes with me, I had to get Tom’s mom to wash my underwear, as I’d only brought a night’s worth. Not to mention my lack of cosmetics, not that the village would’ve noticed, it wasn’t the place fussed by greasy skin and a bad fringe.

  The morning was nice, watched cartoons with Molly for a while on the blow-up bed, tucked up under a duvet for two hours of Mickey. I told her about Disneyland, all the times I’d been, it was now top of her birthday list. I didn’t tell Tom this of course, he would’ve killed me for planting the idea of Orlando in her head. I could always pay for them all to go, my little treat. Not that Tom would step foot back on American soil, and definitely not by September, judging by what his mom said the night before.

  Me and her had just had a nice chat upstairs. Molly and Tom had gone for a walk to the shops, they’d been gone for a quite a while, though apparently, it’s quite a way on foot, so we had the house to ourselves, sat on the bed, me in a borrowed dressing gown, applying the very limited make-up I had. Our heads wrapped in towels, waiting for our hair to dry.

  We talked about lots of things, girly things like make-up and getting old, Tom’s change of career, mostly we talked about cancer. Again, like the night before, she assumed I already knew of her situation. She was positive about it, though said she was fed up of looking old, said she had a bit of a cry the other week, a comment Molly made. I assured her Molly wouldn’t have meant it, kids say the strangest things, it couldn’t have been nice to be compared to a witch in a book, obviously hit a nerve. I did my best to cheer her up, asked her if she’d like me to do her nails and hair, a bit of pampering, a bit of colour. Made her feel more fairy godmother than wicked witch. It did the trick, she joked she should have had a daughter instead of a son, sometimes all women needed was lipstick and curls to feel back on track.

  Downstairs as my underwear tumbled in the dryer, she made us tea, in a little pot with the cutest knitted tea cosy. We talked about Cassie a little more, how they met, what she was like, which Tom’s mom knew very little about. I asked what their wedding was like, though according to her there wasn’t one, at least not one she had been privy to. Tom and Molly came back not long after, a bag each, groceries in one, comic and chocolate in the other. Seeing as the weather was so nice we decided to take Molly out for the day, forced Tom’s mom get some rest.

  I went upstairs to get changed whilst Tom loaded up the car, tried to call my mom. Don’t know why but I suddenly felt the urge to talk to her, spending so much time with a family made me miss my own. I was upset me and my mom never talked like me and Tom’s mom just had, so effortless, so natural. I shouldn’t badmouth my own mother, she does try, it’s just so forced, our conversations had to be booked in, months in advance. Anyway, I tried to ring her, went to voicemail. Busy as normal, no change there then. Always too busy for me.

  * * *

  As Tom was upstairs settling Molly I lit a fire, a small one, watched the twigs and sticks sp
it before loading on a pyramid of coal. I looked out from behind the curtain, despite being relatively early it had turned dark quickly, the sun doesn’t stay out long in England, early mornings and early nights, the opposite of what I was used to.

  Glass of wine in one hand, I pottered around the room, eyeing the walls again, frames, family photos, art, cabinets, shelves, spine after spine of book after book. I picked one out, sat myself down, sprawled my legs across the sofa, till realized I wasn’t in my own home. I couldn’t stop yawning, putting a child to bed, all the whispered stories and glow lamps had left me rubbing my eyes too.

  Originally, the plan had been to drive to the nearest beach, but just after setting off the skies clouded over, so armed with umbrellas and flasks of tea we decided to go to a country park much closer by instead. I’m glad we did, living in LA the only animals I ever saw were Pomeranians poking out of Mulberry bags, or cats in diamond collars. It was nice seeing pigs and sheep, rolling around in mud and filth like they were supposed to, as nature intended. I nearly bought a micro pig back with me, so cute, even smelt of bacon, not sure a pet was supposed to make you hungry.

  “What are you reading?” Tom came through the door with a plate of cookie crumbs and a jumper for me.

  “It’s hilarious. Look at this guy.” I showed Tom the book. “So much penis, so little dignity. I love his facial expression, too.”

  “Dad taught life drawing at some point, apparently. I guess that was research.”

  “Oh, you know this book, do you?”

  “Know it? I had it hidden under my bed for the best part of five years. Got me through puberty.”

  “Hardly erotic. You can’t see anything. Guess they didn’t have bikini waxes back in black and white times. You manage to get hold of Vince?”

  “No. Busy pestering celebrities I expect. What do you fancy doing tonight? I thought we could go to the pub.”

  “I can’t be bothered to be presentable. I smell of farm.”

  “The pub won’t notice, I assure you.”

  “Where is it? Far?”

  “If you look at of the window, you can see it across the road.”

  “No. I’d still rather stay here. I’ve just got a fire going too and my butt is stuck for the night.”

  “OK, you win. I’m gonna grab something to eat. What about you? Or is that a silly question?”

  “I could eat.”

  Tom got up. “Give me ten minutes, I’ll rustle something up.”

  I grabbed the remote control and after several attempts I managed to turn it on. Suddenly my face came up on screen. Oh God, how embarrassing, I thought. It had only just started, I hadn’t watched it since the first screening. My memory of the movie was mixed, awful film really, a photocopy of a dozen other romcoms. Still, I loved filming it in Boston, it was when Max and I had first got together, before the rows and the sadness. Walking hand in hand around Back Bay, under trees full of pink. I’d have to go back sometime, see if it was still so full of colour. Maybe next time I wouldn’t have to take a pregnancy test, I spent the last few weeks of filming with my head down a toilet, worrying how I was going to tell Max he was going to be a father of a child he didn’t want.

  Tom came back in, put a platter of cheese and olives in the centre of the table, his mouth already full of cracker.

  “How come there are only five channels?” I asked, still pointing it at the TV. “Am I doing something wrong?”

  “No, Mum’s just a cheapskate.”

  We both went quiet, leant over the coffee table, helping ourselves to the different colours of cheese.

  “I was thinking about the whole Frank and Sally situation on the drive back,” I said.

  “Was that why you were so quiet?”

  “I need some time with them before I introduce you.”

  “I’m being introduced, am I?”

  “Course you are. I thought you would like to be introduced. Save all this hiding about.”

  “I’m joking, Lilly. Though I’m not gonna lie. Frank scares the shit out of me.”

  “I can see why. Me and Frank have lots to sort out, we didn’t leave on the best of terms.”

  “What happened between you and him? Why did he leave?”

  “Long story, actually it isn’t that long at all. He thought I’d taken drugs when I hadn’t, basically.”

  “Why didn’t he believe you?”

  “It’s not the first time I’ve lied to Frank.”

  “What shall I do whilst you are smoothing things over with Frank? Should I stay up here for a while?”

  “No. Unless you would rather stay here?”

  “No, I’ll come back with you. Otherwise it might complicate things with Vince.”

  “You could just tell him you quit. That way you can take Vince out of the equation completely.”

  “I did think that but it’s not that simple.”

  “Why isn’t it simple?”

  “Cos if I quit, then he becomes my replacement. He’s a lot more brutal than I am. You’ll know your privacy is being invaded with Vince. I know for a fact he has at least two restraining orders.”

  “What are you suggesting we do?”

  “Perhaps throw him the odd bone here and there. Let me take a quick snap of you out shopping, go for a walk in one of the fields. A few of them should keep Vince sweet.”

  “I don’t mind doing that. It’s the not first time I’ve been on a prearranged pap shoot and it won’t be my last.”

  “OK, that sorts out the short term.” Tom took a wedge of cheese.

  “Then next it’s Frank and Sally? That’s going be an awkward introduction. Frank hates paparazzi. Sally hates them too, thought she isn’t too fond of people in general.”

  “Tough crowd then?”

  “You could say that. It may take them time for them to trust you. God, I don’t even trust you myself yet.”

  “You don’t actually mean that, do you? You do trust me, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t take it personally. I’ve had trust issues for years. People always letting me down.”

  “Do you trust Sally?”

  “Strange question to ask?”

  “No, I’m just curious that’s all.”

  “Course I trust Sally. She’s practically family. I mean, I can’t stand her most of the time, so practically like my real family then.”

  “She scares me. Whenever I’d see her with you, she always looked angry at something. Do you think if I give her flowers it might help? Y’know, when I first meet her?”

  “Probably not. Just tell her you’re the one who made me famous. That’s what she most cares about.”

  “I didn’t make you famous, Lilly.”

  “Well, more famous then. If she feels you being around will increase my fame and reputation then she will love you forever.”

  “Bet she loves Max then.”

  “Strangely enough, she does. Not the man, but what he brings Brand Goodridge.”

  “Do you think I’m good for Brand Goodridge?”

  “I’m the least concerned about branding, especially my own.”

  “Lilly. I was asking you a serious question.”

  “I know. I just don’t know how to answer it.”

  We went quiet, concentrating on our cheeses.

  “We need more crackers. Do you want a beer? Wine?”

  “If you get any red I’ll have a small glass.” He headed off to kitchen as I pretended not to think of Tom’s wife, her photo right in front of me. Felt like she was watching me fall in love with her husband.

  14

  “I’m having a bath, a long one that’s for sure. “My top is stuck to the back of my seat, fuck knows what my bra is up to. How long have we been driving now?”

  “Too long. My left foot’s gone numb, too much clutch control.”<
br />
  “I’m bursting for the toilet.”

  “Again? Your bladder is worse than Molly’s.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, Tom. I’ll piss myself, literally. How far off are we now?”

  “Will be another five minutes.”

  “OK, talk to me about something to take my mind off wetting myself.”

  “What about? A babbling brook, a waterfall, a running stream?”

  “Tom, if I wet myself you are cleaning my car. What are your plans for later? I really need to ring Sally. I’ve ignored her for two days, can’t keep putting it off.”

  “Need to wash my clothes, watch a bit of TV. Boring stuff really. I’m pretty knackered.”

  “I should probably do the same. If ever you sell your story about me, which you probably will eventually, can you make me out to be a little more hellraiser? Orgies and drug-fuelled, rather than country parks and cheese nights. I’ve got a reputation as a wild child, I can’t have people thinking I look forward to laundry duty and a good book.”

  “Shall we give ourselves a night off from each other tonight?” I said, trying to see her reaction in my rear view mirror, like I had the whole journey down. Pretending we were sat next to each other, when we were both behind separate steering wheels.

  “Bored of me already, Tom?”

  “You filming tomorrow?”

  “They are, I’m not. I’m not scheduled back in all week.”

  “Are you in the movie much?”

  “Seems not. I think once Jon has been in the editing room I’ll be in it even less.”

  “How’s Jon been? Is he still concerned about your lifestyle choices?”

  “He hasn’t said much since the shit in Salcombe. All I know is I’m keeping my nose clean and out of trouble.”

  We turned a corner, into a road that stretched further than we could see, Lilly’s car behind mine, as she did her best to keep up..