by G J Morgan
“I hadn’t thought that far.”
“You seen this?” showing the front cover to Lilly.
“Great. There’s my cover blown.”
“When did you do this interview?”
“No idea. Must have been a few months ago.”
I flicked through to the article. There was Lilly, double-page spread. Photoshopped and flawless.
“Says here you’re bringing out a fragrance soon.”
“First I’ve heard.”
“And you’re writing a book, too.”
“That’s a lie.”
“This whole interview is made up then?”
“Probably not all of it.”
“Must be horrible. All the lies and make-believe.”
“I’d rather they print happy and harmless rather than the other.”
“Well this article makes you sound pretty happy,” I said as I read through it.
“Trust me, I wasn’t. I haven’t been in a long while.”
“Then why not tell them?”
“They never asked me.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Most magazines don’t worry about the truth, they just want fluffy. What book I’m reading, my co-stars, what I eat. Least they make me look pretty.”
“I’m gonna grab a shower, unless you wanna have one first?” knowing she probably would.
“If you don’t mind. Unless you want a dinner date with damp hair.” She got off the bed, went over to her bag, getting out what she needed. “I don’t want you seeing my outfit either. It will ruin my grand entrance,” she said, turning on the shower.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we? You better close your eyes too, Lilly. I don’t want my grand entrance ruined either, though you’ve already seen my suit.” I went over to the wardrobe, took out my shirt, took out the ironing board and iron, stood it up, plugged it in.
“Do you need anything ironing?” I shouted over the sound of running water.
“Tom, you don’t iron an Alexander McQueen dress.”
“My mother would disagree.”
“You don’t have to sleep on the floor by the way.” Lilly said, walking back into the room, taking her complimentary robe off the back of the door. “I feel bad you always end up sleeping on some blow-up bed or hard floor. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I always get first dibs. I’m not a princess.”
“Don’t tell Molly that.”
“I’m not messing, Tom. I don’t expect you to sleep on the floor just because you are the man. This is the 21st century. Sisters are doing it for themselves.”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“We could always share? It’s a pretty big bed.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve slept on worse floors than this, much worse. I’ll be fine. You have it.”
She didn’t answer, disappeared back into the steam, as I ironed and swore at myself for declining an invitation most men would’ve accepted, regardless of whether it was a joke or a real offer.
* * *
“A Scotsman took a girl for a romantic ride in his taxi. She was so beautiful he could hardly keep his eyes on the meter.”
“Englishman, Scotsman and Irishman walk into a bar. The landlord said, is this some kind of sick joke?”
It went on, me then him, him then me.
He laughed. “All we need now is an Irishman. Complete the set. You reckon there’s any about tonight?” Itaking away myher bowl of chewed olive stones.
Me and the barman had been talking since I first took a stool at his bar, I’d gotten ready far too early, earlier than the whole hotel, so by my third cocktail he was already calling me Tom and swapping his best jokes before the room started to fill.
When I left Lilly, she was sat in her robe, duvet full of powders and brushes. Not that she even needed make-up, she already looked stunning, sat there cross-legged on the bed. God knows how stunning she would be when she was finished. She promised she wouldn’t be much longer, but as I predicted, she was running late. I didn’t mind, the waiting gave me more time to think, stare out the dinner menu over and over, when the last thing on my mind was ordering food.
I should have brought something for Lilly. Dot was right, it wasn’t gentlemanly to turn up empty-handed. But I didn’t have enough time, it wasn’t as if I had time to get flowers and a corsage. Dot was right about a lot of things, tonight was more than friendship.
Technically I wasn’t even married, not legally, not in the conventional way, but I made a vow, not to a vicar or my family, but a vow to Cassie. Even if Cassie wasn’t there to answer it or repeat her vow to me, I had to assume she said Yes and I had to assume I was a married man still. I noticed the ceiling above me, stained glass, a dome as extravagant and as ornate as everything beneath it. The barman came over, I asked him for another drink, told him not to rush on my part, but he’d already filled my glass with another Tom Collins, which I downed as hard and quick as the ones before it.
A crowd had descended around the fountain and canopies as I left my stool for the quieter main reception out of the double doors. I could’ve died for a smoke, something to keep my hands busy and my mind from pacing. I kept telling myself I wasn’t doing anything wrong, Cassie was dead and I was alive. I should be allowed to move on, I was allowed to fall in love again, wasn’t like I had to be on my own forever, a permanent widower. And what could I do anyway? I was on an island, I could hardly run away, not that I should feel like I had to.
Tonight felt significant, I should tell Lilly how I felt. I saw myself in the mirror, a twenty-seven-year-old single parent with a dead wife and tons of debt. Who the fuck was I kidding? I had nothing to offer her apart from everything I had, which wouldn’t be enough, not for the likes of someone like Lilly Goodridge. Just chew your food, Tom, laugh at her jokes, don’t do anything silly.
“Would you like to be seated in the main hall, sir?” a waiter asked politely from over my shoulder. I was about to reply, but then I saw Lilly. I couldn’t speak. No words.
“You know how to whistle, don’t you?” she said, walking down to the stairs.
“That’s Bacall, not Garland?”
“I know, dibshit. I was trying to catch you out. God knows who I’ll be next.”
“Well, whoever you might be later, you look amazing.” I took her hand. “I mean your dress could do with an iron, but apart from that.”
She whacked my arm with her clutch bag. “You look pretty handsome yourself. Like a true Gatsby.”
“Sorry you’ve seen it before. It’s the only tux I have.”
“Any more than one would be a waste.” I took her arm. “Sounds lively in there. Shall we go in? Be nice to sit near the piano. Front row seat and all.”
“Apparently there’s a live band later.”
“You better be nimble on your feet. I want to dance tonight.”
“I’ll need more drink down me.”
“Well, we won’t get one standing in the entrance, will we?”
“Follow me, my lady,” I said, leading her up the steps to the main hall, the beautifully set tables, the sound of a double bass, the sound of popping corks and fizz.
What the room was before, it wasn’t any longer. Lilly was a vision in feathers and pearls, gliding through the bustle, the room didn’t know how to handle her, she underestimated the impact she has on people, like the room had taken a collective deep breath, exhaling as she passed.
I don’t think I could have been any more in love with her if I tried.
* * *
Dinner was delicious, small portions, lots of courses, food either cooked quick or long. I’d never used so much cutlery, so many forks and spoons, each more important than the last. The waiter took our desserts away, “Cheese will follow,” he told us, Lilly’s eyes lit up, the girl’s savoury tooth was equa
l to her sweet.
The party had swelled with new arrivals, strangers introduced themselves to strangers, couples had become groups, excitement was in the air, a hotel at the end of the world, no inhibitions, no thoughts of tomorrow. What at the start was quiet and well mannered, over a few neon cocktails had turned everyone into free spirits and friends for life.
An old lady tapped Lilly’s shoulder, complimented her on her hair, they chatted over the backs of their chairs before she turned back to her sorbet and smiling husband.
“That’s made your night, hasn’t it?” I said.
“It’s nice to get a compliment.”
“You must get them every day.”
“Hollywood compliments don’t count. You get too many, cheapens its value.”
“You do look pretty spectacular tonight.”
“What can I say? I’m a fashion chameleon. Dipping in out of styles. Borrowing and stealing. It’s an art form really.” She sipped her Martini.
“Speaking of thievery, I can’t believe you stole all the complimentary shampoos. You could afford to buy the whole bloody hotel. Why steal bath soap? Do people even use soap these days?”
“They don’t mind.”
“They?”
“The hotel. They don’t mind. Besides it doesn’t feel like you’ve stayed at a hotel unless you steal something or make a mess.”
“Is that so?”
“And I’m not as rich as you think, you know.”
“Rich enough though.”
“Few more career moves like this one and I’ll be back at the Dream Centre. And I don’t mean volunteering either.”
“I doubt that, Lilly.”
“It’s true. It may look like I live this fabulous life but I never get to enjoy it.”
“Why?”
“Cos, it always feels like it’s about to be taken away.”
I looked at Lilly over empty glasses and candles and I knew this wasn’t for show, she meant what she was saying. It was a look I’d seen many times through my camera lens, not fearful, but the expectation of fear.
“I’d still rather be in your position than mine though. It’s worse never having enough no matter how much you try, or how hard you work. It’s always the same struggle.”
“You must think I’m the spoilt little rich girl. It’s a cliché but the more money you have the more you spend.”
“What, cat manicures and florist bills?”
“Ha ha. My money all goes on people actually. Bought my folks a house, sorted my sister out, paid off all her student debt. Then there’s the agents, publicists, security, overseas people.”
“And they are all important, are they?”
“Apparently so. Though this movie won’t do well, not because of the director or cast. It was just doomed from the start. Though to be fair no one said I should have taken this movie apart from me, so I’ve only myself to blame.”
“Why is it doomed?”
“Big budget and low profit. That’s why Max was so flavour of the month.”
“How so?”
“His first film. My first film. Five million budget, hundred million profits. Small risks and guarantees. It’s just a business trying to survive.”
“You could just focus on independent films. Work with directors and actors you’ve always dreamt of working beside. Do one for your bank balance and one for yourself.”
“That would be the dream. But I’m not seen in that way. I’ve gone too mainstream for the indie crowd.”
“Actors are always reinventing themselves. Just takes the right script and the right direction.”
“Well, I’m still waiting.”
“Or you could just stop.” I said. “Try something else. Go out on a high.” I poured Lilly and then me more champagne.
“I can’t. It affects too many people.”
“Who, agents and publicists? I’m sure they’ll move on just fine.”
“No, my friends and family. Sally, Frank, my parents.”
“Your job isn’t to bankroll your friends though.”
“I know that.”
“And surely, you’ve made enough to able to live comfortably, live a good life. Probably never need to work again.”
“I wish. My first movie I did practically for free. My others slightly more.”
“What about all your endorsements?”
“They pay well, yes. But without movies, without gossip, without Max, they would all stop. Fame is relentless. Getting famous is the easy part, it’s staying famous that’s the problem.”
“You’re screwed then?”
“Pretty much.”
“You could just try and enjoy it. Sounds crazy I know.”
“I’ve tried that too.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” asking a question that required no answer.
The waiter brought over another bottle, topped up our glasses. I needed to slow down, have a water, I didn’t want tonight to be a blur, I wanted to remember every last detail. But it was hard not to join in, give in to the excess, the jazz in the background was loud and upbeat, behind us guests danced and laughed, it wasn’t a night for frowns. Every guest had the same look as Lilly and me, trapped on some mad, decadent island, where mad things might happen. Where any regrets were left on the mainland, even mine.
“OK, Dr Phil. My turn now,” Lilly said with a wicked smile. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Plans?”
“I have no plans.”
“I’ve got just over a week of filming and then I’m back off to LA.”
“I know. I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Well you need to, Tom. Have you made enough money out of me to start over?”
“Not as much as I’d hoped.”
“Did you make any money out of those recent shots?”
“What, the ones of you in the country park? A little, Vince didn’t seem that impressed. Not raunchy enough. I can see his point, you holding a kestrel was hardly front-page news.”
“Why’s this Vince so hell-bent on destroying me?”
“He’s not after destruction, he’s after wealth. Think he knows the paparazzi game has a short life span. He reckons he’ll have to retire soon. Making his mark before everyone else jumps in.”
“I can only see it getting worse.”
“So does he. Soon everyone will be paparazzi. All it will take will be a decent cell phone.”
“Great, so less privacy, more invasion.”
“I wish I could tell you otherwise.”
“Well on the plus side, Sally loved those country park shots, said the press lapped it up.”
“Really?”
“Yanks love Brits. And they loved the thought of me turning British. Party girl turned nature lover. They dig that shit.”
“Do you think Sally realized you weren’t in Devon?”
“No, all she saw was green. And I’m not talking fields.”
“Well, whoever is making the money from it, it certainly wasn’t me,” I said, taking a sip of my drink.
“How cute are those two?” pointing at the odd couple over at the bar, one a giant, one tiny. “Shows you there is someone for everyone.”
“You think some people get with anyone? Y’know, rather than being alone.”
“I’d rather be an odd couple than no couple at all.”
“It’s not always that easy. Having a good life with the wrong person will only ever end up one way. It makes life easier, makes you financially and emotionally stronger being two, but it will only last till one throws their hands up and quits or finds someone right.”
“Either real love or alone. Nothing in between.”
“Yep.”
She raised her glass. “Sounds like something
we can drink to.” Just then the house band stopped playing, the room turned quiet, all eyes turned towards the host.
“Ladies and gentleman.” A man’s voice rang across the hall, addressing the audience across table lamps. “And now for your listening pleasure this evening. Can you please put your hands together for the ever so beautiful and ever so talented Ruby Dubois.”
We all clapped, watching as a woman, small and catlike, entered the stage and took her position behind the microphone.
“I’ll be sad when this is all over, Tom.” Lilly leant over.
“Me too. “I whispered back. “I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when it all ends.”
“We’ve still got another week yet. We’ve still got tonight.” Looking at me, the way any man would want to be looked at by someone so beautiful.
The lady began to sing, her voice warm, the piano soft.
“Would you like to… ?”
“I’d love to,” she said, as men around the room led their partners to the floor and I led mine.
17
“These T-strap shoes are definitely not built for rock climbing,” I said, struggling.
“We’re not exactly climbing, Lilly. We’re going downhill for a start.”
I found this hysterical, I was finding most things hysterical as we walked down the pathway and through the dark and wind, Tom’s jacket draped over my shoulders like a cape. I looked behind me at the party, still lit up in terrific yellow. The piano was doing its best to calm the last few guests down, not willing to let the night end. It felt too early to leave, which Tom argued was always the perfect time to leave. He was probably right, the party had peaked, couples drunk or sober, telling off or being told off, waiters bringing out hot chocolate and bacon rolls, hoping froth and carbs might fizzle out any heartburn or hangers on.
“Whose idea was this anyway?” I said, lagging behind. “We should be back in there. I’ve still got a few songs left in me yet.”
“It was your idea, Lilly. And it was a good one. You need to sober up, otherwise I’ll have to carry you upstairs again.”
“Again?” as I linked arms with his. “When have you ever carried me to bed? I think I would’ve remembered.”