by G J Morgan
My life was exhausting, every day a chase, sometimes I escaped, mostly I got caught. I keep telling people that whatever we were trying still wasn’t working, every day I was being mobbed and the numbers were growing as was the interest. There was never any respite, the world was turning claustrophobic, nothing good came from going outside. Sally said she was on the case, assured me the team were working out solutions, there was talk of me wearing a wig, turning blonde to avoid detection, there was even talk of finding me a lookalike, another Lilly Goodridge. Whoever she was, I already felt sorry for her, no one should be paid to be bait.
My world had turned ridiculous, the last few days especially.
First crazy thing was Frank.
Heard some pretty shitty news, I didn’t know all the ins and outs but he ended up in a hospital with his chest again, so despite Max’s attempt to stop me I decided to go and visit him, check he was OK. I’m glad I did, I thought it might be awkward but it wasn’t, just like old times. Wished I could’ve stayed longer, but I was informed the police had been called, a riot of paps was causing chaos downstairs, getting in the way of ambulances, apparently knocked some sick kid to the floor. I thought some places were off-limits, turned out I was wrong. I got to talk to Frank I suppose, albeit briefly, brought him some flowers, grapes, crosswords. I never meant to cause him stress, that was the last thing I wanted to bring to his door.
So that was the first thing.
The second thing was that Jon rang me, completely out of the blue. We hadn’t spoken since after the New Year, so it was nice to hear someone English again. It wasn’t a long call, he rang to tell me he’d be in LA soon for our premiere, he sounded excited, early screen tests were positive, even my accent hadn’t been ridiculed, which I was certain would have been regarded as woeful by every respectable critic in Hollywood. We were both excited about catching up again, it would be nice to see the gang, the friends I’d made, even Chris Rogan, God his face was everywhere right now too, fucking some pop star just like he was supposed to, his life was probably as ridiculous as mine right now. Anyway, Jon had some big news, told me worldwide release would not be long after the US, and calendar permitting I would be asked to attend as many premieres as physically possible, different countries and continents. Wasn’t till I heard Jon say the words “Leicester Square” and “May 14th” that I realized what it meant and where that might mean I would have to go.
Look, I was a smart girl. I knew England wasn’t Tom and London wasn’t Tom. I knew I should not have associated the two together, but I did. Until proven otherwise, me getting on a plane and stepping foot on London’s cobbles was as close to Tom as I was going to get, felt like Tom could just be a camera lens away again. Made me smile for a good few days, but it was a smile that wasn’t to last long. Max messaged me eventually, he’d obviously been informed of the same news of my pending European vacation not long after me. He made his feelings about my return to England quite clear and he was clever enough to understand how my brain would be ticking and plotting.
I told Sally this, she laughed it off.
“Who does that arsehole think he is?” she said. “It has got nothing to do with him. You’re contractually obliged to a different studio. You’ll go to London; the film is set in England for fuck’s sake.”
I just asked her to do her best, do what she could. I was glad Sally had my back, one of the few that wasn’t afraid to stand toe to toe with Max. In fact, I think she quite enjoyed the jostling for power and control, I think Max did too, he’d always liked a good fight, fights won without fists, fought in boardrooms and conference calls.
I hoped I’d get to go to London and that the tug of war between Sally and Max would end in my favour, however it was a slim chance. One thing I knew was, Max would do all he could to stop me and he would probably be successful, he normally was. I mean, look at what he’d done so far, I was a laughing stock, a walking calamity. I knew what everyone thought of me, I’d have thought the same thing if I was them, I hadn’t read the news, been online, but I wasn’t stupid. You get in and out of an abusive relationship once, you get sympathy. You go back to him a second time, you’re on your own. Not that Max was abusive, I wasn’t fearful of violence, he may have hit me once, but I’d hit him harder, and I deserved it, I would have hit me too. But I knew what Max was capable of and it was much worse than any black eye or bruised cheek. And that was why I did as he said, stood where he wanted me to stand, say what he wanted me to say, go where he wanted me to go, and stay away from places I wasn’t allowed to go, I must have looked so weak. Who cared, let everyone whisper and gossip, give their opinions, write me off. I was willing to look the fool, time just to get my head down, see it through. Tom would’ve done the same for me, saved me if I needed saving.
There was a knock at my door. It was a knock I recognized, a perfect knock, always the same. I bet a hundred dollars that behind my door would be two Agent Smiths. I didn’t know how many security guards Max must’ve gotten through, trust issues obviously, I barely ever got to know their names, as if that mattered, they just did as they were told, stayed quiet and kept me alive.
I put my wine down, grabbed my clutch bag, opened the door.
“Ma’am. It’s time to go,” they said as I was ushered down a corridor towards a limousine and the sound of high-pitched screams in the foyer.
* * *
“Admit this is all very agreeable, isn’t it?”
“Agreeable?”
“This. All of it. It’s not a bad way to live. Being wined and dined, being the brightest thing in the room. Everyone looking at us.”
“And you want to be looked at?”
“Is ignoring fame your little rebellion? You look so cute when you’re being the enfant terrible.”
“You’re no different, Max.”
“I do love being famous. Once I understood how to take advantage of it.”
“You don’t act that way.”
“You’re not the only one who can pretend to be someone else.”
“What, Max Salter, the loveable rogue? Is this a part you are playing?”
“I’ve always been the sinner, you should know that. Pretending I care is the hardest part.”
“I take it tonight’s heartfelt speech wasn’t heartfelt at all then?”
“I don’t have patience for victims.”
“They are hardly victims. They are ill, that is not intentional.”
“Lilly, don’t be so naive. AIDS is a choice and no one is here tonight for AIDS awareness. I’ve just got the balls to say it.”
“You’ve got no balls, Max. If you did you would’ve said all this over the microphone, rather than holding that girl’s hand and pretending you gave a damn about her illness.”
“She’s just lucky I held her hand at all.”
“Jesus, Max.”
“Come on, Lilly. I was joking. You’re laughing too. It was funny.”
“I’m laughing cos you’re so evil-minded it’s absurd. You’re like a fucking cartoon villain.”
“The world needs big bad wolves, Lilly.”
“Can we stop now? My legs hurt.”
“No, not yet.”
Max swept me slowly across the dance floor, strong and confident and gentle. He knew everyone was watching. This was a performance, to our audience it probably looked beautiful, romantic. Women probably swooned, men were probably jealous. I did my best to swoon too, to be swept away.
“Tell me this doesn’t feel like a life sentence,” he said, as I tried to ignore his aftershave. “I can think of harder ways to be in chains, Lilly. Look around you, it’s hardly prison, I’m hardly the warden, am I? This is an amicable agreement.”
“You backed me into a corner, Max.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it. You may feel like trapped, but that isn’t my intention.”
“Max, you tell me w
here to go, what to say, what to wear. That sounds pretty trapped.”
“You don’t like the dress I had sent especially? The jewellery? I won’t tell you how much it costs, or what hoops I had to go through.”
“It’s very nice, thank you.”
“But?”
“But I can’t be bought.”
“Oh, but you can, Lilly G. I’ve proved that once already.”
“Don’t be mean or I will stop dancing with you.”
“Sorry, I was teasing you. You know I love you to death. I always have, that’s my downfall,” he said, as w we continued to slow-dance.
This had been our fourth dance of the evening and despite the chains it was, as Max described, all very agreeable once we’d done the carpet, the wall of flashing bulbs, once we got inside where the canapés and champagne were endless and everyone was full of smiles and positivity. Although I was made to come and given no choice, it was a nice place to be held captive amongst the rich and successful.
It was for charity, too, not that Max cared which, it could have been any, he wasn’t here to donate or for the auction, he was here to sell. He may have done a speech on stage, pledged his loyalty to the cause, he was here for one reason only and AIDS awareness was the furthest thing from his mind, Max saw dollar signs, not the sorts of dollars that cured things.
I was glad I couldn’t see myself, me and Max dancing together, our bodies tight together, the sound of a swing band, the chandeliers, the taste of fizzy bubbles, men in white tuxes, men in velvet suits, women so beautiful it made me feel drunk, and everyone was laughing. Yes, Max was right, there were harder ways to be in chains, but they were still chains.
“I am serious, you know. I do love you. And you love me too, I’m sure of it,” Ma,x said as I continued to dance ear to ear. “Do you think they do, though?”
“They?”
“People. The world,” looking over his shoulder. “You think they all believe our story?”
“They’ll think whatever we tell them.”
“They’re cleverer than you give them credit for, Lilly G. We need to raise our game.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You could move in with me.”
“No, Max. That wasn’t our agreement. We aren’t together. This isn’t real.”
“We need to make a statement of our intent.”
“Isn’t what I’m doing enough?”
“No, Lilly. Smiling and holding hands isn’t enough. We are supposed to be in love.”
“I’m doing my best, Max.”
“Well, it needs to improve for this to work. Let me kiss you.” He looked directly at me.
“No, Max.”
“Why not?”
“No.”
“There are plenty of cameras here. Give them something to salivate over.”
“I’m not a prostitute, Max. As much as you probably think it of me.”
“It’s just a kiss, Lilly. We are supposed to be lovers.”
“Love can be behind closed doors. Doesn’t have to be in full view.”
“We need to be believable.”
“No, Max. I’m not kissing you.”
“What if I said I wasn’t asking, I was telling.”
“Don’t do this. Tonight has been nice so far. We are enjoying ourselves. Please don’t ruin it by forcing yourself on me.”
“I’m not forcing myself on you, Lilly. This is a business opportunity. I don’t think I’m asking for much.”
“You don’t?”
“Please, Lilly. I want to kiss you, a small tiny kiss. Get all the tongues wagging. Be on the front page for tomorrow morning,”
“OK, Max. I will kiss you.”
“You will?”
“If you let me go to London in May like I’m supposed to.”
“No.”
“Then I’m not kissing you. Simple as that.”
“You think I’m a fool?”
“You let me go to London and you can kiss me however you want, in front of who you want.”
“You turning into quite the game player, Lilly G, aren’t you?”
“Do we have a deal?”
“Can I trust you in London?”
“I understand your threats, Max, believe me.”
We stared at each other. The band started another song, my head rested on his shoulder, piano keys, crystal ceilings.
“Then we have deal,” he smirked. “I’ll allow you to go.”
A small part of me wanted to tell him where to go. How dare he say such a thing, I thought. But of course, I didn’t, I thanked him, stayed in his arms, let him sweep me across the dance floor.
“When do you want to kiss me? Now? Here?”
Max looked around the room. “Not yet. Later. We need more cameras.”
“Well, let me know when you want me. I’m going for a drink.”
“Not yet. The song’s not over.”
I went back into his arms, without argument or fuss.
“Good girl. Doing as you are told is not a weakness, Lilly. The opposite in fact. You remember that.”
I realized at that exact moment that the only way I could ever beat Max was by being smart, being clever, tiny risks for tiny rewards, small wins – so small, Max didn’t even think he’d lost.
Part Four
Home from home/Oct/Shot 902
57
Rain. Rain. Rain.
“You want wine with dinner, love?” Mum’s voice from the kitchen.
“A small one. I’m driving later, remember,” I shouted back through the walls.
I looked back out of the window. Recycling bins, a shed, a garden neglected, a lawn knee high. My phone buzzed, it was Emma wishing me good night, I turned back to my computer screen, watching Thailand upload itself.
Even as a child, I loved Dad’s office. I’m told there was a time, just after I was born, when it was full of shoes and coats, a dumping ground for umbrellas and vacuum cleaners. I’d only ever known it as Dad’s room, his little retreat, the little desk under the stairs where he’d do his school work, important papers and filing. Mum told me it was just an excuse to get away from her for ten minutes, to avoid watching soaps, to fill his evenings with art and gin.
Mum had barely touched it since he died, said she couldn’t bring herself to, it was floor-to-ceiling Dad, it would be like tearing down a gallery. His pencil sketches, his alphabetized CDs, his carvings and sculptures, his windowsill of stones and geodes, his photos of a younger me, cuddling his hips, dancing in sunflowers. A perfect mess, a room only he could have had and one very hard to convert into anything else. I never appreciated how talented he was and for the most part I was embarrassed by him. Back then I just wanted a father like everyone else’s. A normal one, one that liked football and beer, not a dad that relaxed to Chopin and sketched chubby nudes. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
We’d been extremely lucky with our tenants, an excitable young couple, a pair of happy blondes, said we could leave Dad’s office locked and untouched till we returned from travelling. That was nice of them, so nice we decided to make their rent a little lower. Not too low, just enough to thank them for the gesture, show them how much it meant. True to their word, when we returned, it had been left untouched, in fact the whole house looked as if we’d never been gone. Mom said if we ever travelled again, she’d make sure our tenants would always be lesbians, assuming all homosexuals would be as clean as the last pair.
I could hear banging, rolling pins and chopping boards. Mum and Molly were in the kitchen, there was yeast and flour involved, a mess which they always got into when they were cooking and baking. Mum thought it best, after the morning we’d had, thought kneading dough might make Molly smile.
She hadn’t been great since coming home. Today she threatened to leave home, packed her tiny s
uitcase with a hairbrush and Calpol, said she was going to swim to America. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so heartbreaking, watching her get so upset, genuine tears and frustrations. All that time spent with Lou and Rose, all the talk of Cassie, so full of questions and no matter what answers we gave, she had never looked so lost and confused. Her head couldn’t quite take it all in and although she could accept what happened, her heart didn’t know how to cope with the enormity of it all. Luckily, she was never upset for long, a cuddle and a cartoon and she was back to her giggling and inquisitive self, though I wondered how long it would last till she packed her suitcase again and threatened to breaststroke across the Atlantic.
With a few minutes to myself I thought it a good time to transfer our photos of Thailand from camera onto the hard drive, and there were a lot of them, hundreds and hundreds, six months’ worth, blurred ones, ones Mum took by accident, the ones with Molly’s fingers over the lens, had to be brutal in my choices. But that would be a job for another day, I wasn’t editing yet, tonight was just about getting them saved and filed away.
“What am I doing with all of this crap in here?” Mum leant against the doorway, looking floor to ceiling.
“You’re supposed to say it’s sentimental.”
“Some is, the rest is just tack, utility statements and prehistoric computer consoles.”
“People would pay a lot of money for this stuff.”
“I still think we should order a skip,” she said, looking through a shoe box full of computer mice and scart leads. “It will sad to see his artwork go though.”
“Who says it has to go?”
“Me. I don’t want it all.”
“You could put them all in storage?”
“Cost a fortune. I’ll see if his sister wants some of it. Hopefully she will.”
“It wouldn’t fit in her little bungalow. Dad’s artwork is far from small.”