by G J Morgan
Vince paused, took his time.
“I haven’t met many celebrities I’ve ever felt sorry for, Tommy.”
I waited for him to finish, like he was about to say more, or wanted to say more, but he didn’t. And with that he was gone, a honk of his horn and a wave out the window.
* * *
More weeks passed after my encounter with Vince. Emma was back any day now, flights booked, suitcase packed. The day before she was due to arrive an agent called, one who’d rung me before, told me again why I needed him when I was sure it would be the other way around. This time the offer was bigger, twice as big as the last time. I turned him down, obviously, just like I’d done before, though each time it was getting harder to refuse. The money they were talking, the deals they were throwing at me, life-changing offers, would set me and Molly up for life, pay for college, pay for her first house. Felt like eventually they’d get their way, that it was only a matter of time till they had me in front of a live audience, giving my confession, or Lilly giving hers. Like neither of us really had a choice. Like the world wanted us back together again, to watch us fight, or watch us fall back in love.
In the end, they’ll always get what they want.
76
I turned over and looked at Max again. Mr Snore.
He had gotten greyer, more wrinkles, but he had grown more handsome, hours spent in the gym had turned his body from thin to sculpted. He slept with a smile, a face of a man that had won and was still winning, but this time it felt like I was winning, too. He had treated me differently since London and rather than feeling fearful I felt protected. Like Max knew what he was doing, that it was all under control, I just had to enjoy the future he had mapped out for us, understand any bumps were deliberate and eventually they would run smoothly.
Max had slowly and surely made me fall in love with him again and trust that he would keep me safe, forgive him for what he did, understand he was doing it for us. This may not be my future but it was a future filled with ambition and grand ideas. We did things together again, we talked about the countries we wanted to visit, the films we’d love to make, how our lives may look in thirty years’ time.
I got up to the bathroom, turned on the taps and watched the marble turn the water black. Barefoot and half-naked, I wandered across the suite, it took a while, lots of rooms, too many chairs and too many tables for just me and him, not to mention a grand piano. I took a book from the bookcase, flicked through the pages just to check it wasn’t just for show, made me jealous my library back home was so small, realising that was something I would have to fix, though Max assured me that when his house had been built we would have a whole room dedicated to our books and movies and art and photos.
From my balcony, Tokyo looked like the future. High-rise buildings always made me feel uneasy, both looking up or looking down, partly down to Mr Bin Laden. But mostly because it made me the world look far too crowded, like the planet was too small and we had no choice but to live in the clouds. And it was certainly not the Japan I dreamt about when flying half a day to get here.
Max had promised me tomorrow I’d get to see a different Japan besides foreign fashion houses and foreign traffic. Max asked me where, I said somewhere quiet, temples, little rivers and bridges, tiny men catching fish, somewhere unspoilt. Max laughed, said there aren’t many places that people hadn’t spoilt, but he would do his best to find me Mr Miyagi’s house. It was nice to see the funny side of Max again, for so long most of his smiles came from my demise, but now it was a laughter shared, at least for now. And even though I was always ready for what he might do next, both good and bad, it seemed less and less that Max’s plans involved my sadness. So, for now until Max decided otherwise, I was being lavished and pampered in all the ways a girl should, though my decision to accept Max’s gifts and affection came at a price. Friends that were once close weren’t so any longer.
Franny was the angriest, said Max was just fattening me up before slaughter, think she took it personally I didn’t listen to her revenge tactics. Kate was a strange one, although close to Max still and although we’d never actually fallen out, our friendship was a Facebook timeline and all I saw now was her child go from newborn to baby on my cell screen rather than in person. And Frank, well Frank and I had not directly spoken since he came out of hospital, though just after news broke of mine and Max’s reconciliation he sent me a message telling me to be careful. I rang him back but he never answered and I guessed he never would. I could imagine his face, his look of disapproval, his sigh and sniffs. So apart from a few that had no choice, only a few stood by my side, family, Sally, Marla. All I could do was listen to them and trust my own judgement, do my best to be careful. I went back to the bathroom and stopped the running tap, our black pond was full.
Out of the blue, Max bought me a house in England, I knew it well, big garden with fields of lambs, a ghost upstairs, an Aga perfect for warming socks. I asked him why, an unusual gift, one that was premeditated, but he answered like I’d opened just any other present, a watch or piece of jewellery, not the keys to a house and a romance that I’ve been trying to lock away ever since.
Max was unconcerned, gave off the impression I was more in love with the big white house than I was ever in love with the romance outside. Max had grown in confidence when it came to my emotions, he was honest and understood that a little bit of Tom would always be in my thoughts, that was why he felt no danger in buying it, saw it as a house, bricks and mortar, not anything that happened between its four walls. We hadn’t been there yet, not to England or the house, too busy, plans were to spend some time there over the holidays, when it was cold and white, when the river looked like glass and the fire could roar day and night. I wondered what I’d change, or not change even, all those pictures on the wall, remove their memories, fill it with our own.
I asked Max on the plane here who the owners were, who that family was in those photos, all blond-haired and blue-eyed, the ones I used to stare at and aspire to. Turned out it was a divorced banker with debts and diabetes. Max was under the impression there were kids and a wife somewhere, joked they were probably the reason for the quick sale and early grave, apparently it was the man who lived next door. I didn’t tell Max I’d met him, the man who gave me eggs, who always waved when he saw me, he was always happy to help whenever I needed a spare barbecue or help diffusing a smoke alarm. He wasn’t the man in the photos, he may have been once, but the man I knew looked old and lonely, not commanding a yacht or cuddling wife and children like their smiles would never fade. It shouldn’t have made me as sad as it did and even though I didn’t even know his name, I mourned him like a friend. Made me realize photos never show the full story, only show a brief moment, not what came before or after. Perhaps that was the key, perhaps that’s why we smiled for the camera, to prove we were all having a good time, evidence that we’d lived a fruitful life, even if we hadn’t before or since.
I looked back over at Max once more, his stirring, about to wake. We’d made love last night, it was starting to feel less awkward, I was stopping letting my mind wander, kept my thoughts on just him, not abortion or past loves. I don’t think Max noticed, too caught up in the moment, his eyes shut, biting me, kissing me, Max always knew how to provide pleasure and climax for both him and me. I didn’t need to fake, not the end part anyway, just the start and middle when all I could think about was what a bad human being I was. Like it was wrong, like every time I was intimate, it was an insult to the memory of what came before. I was sure that would pass, that as time went on it would hurt less and less.
I went to wake Max. We had a busy day ahead of us, wine-tasting, party on Max’s friend’s boat, only a select chosen few, there was talk of dignitaries being on board, a prince or king. My dress was already hung up, my jewellery was being delivered at lunch. That was me, billionaire yacht by day, soup kitchens at night. It was nice to be so far away from all the noise coming fro
m America, Japan had paparazzi, but not the sort to be bothered by a love triangle on the other side of the planet, so for the most part they left us alone.
I’m not going to say my heart didn’t break when Tom didn’t show up, but I understood his decision to choose her over me. He didn’t want the life I offered, didn’t love me enough to take the gamble, maybe he just hadn’t forgiven me for what had gone before. A very small part of me smiled when he didn’t show, knowing Max and Vince were somewhere watching, they may have had a Plan B, but it softened the blow knowing things hadn’t turned out exactly how they’d wanted. But it was only a very small part of me that smiled, the rest of me was broken, waiting there as long as I did, checking every face to see if it was Tom’s, waiting till the very last minute, until I couldn’t wait any longer. The plane home felt long, though Sally gave me enough sedatives to help me cross the big pond in one piece.
I’d like to say things were easy after London, but they weren’t. The photos of me and Tom were released and the world got to see me cheat on poor little Max. But it wasn’t that bad, I was used to looking glum and apologetic. I was worried more for Tom, wondered what damage it had caused to him and his family, I hoped they came out of it unscathed, that they could get on with their lives. Credit to Tom, from what I read, wherever Tom was he kept what me and him had silent, tried to let news wash over, tried to keep quiet till everyone lost interest, which so far, they hadn’t.
Me, well my infidelity had only added to my image as the rebel with or without a cause, and now I was being offered the edgier roles by edgier directors. No longer the girl next door, I was the brunette you wouldn’t fuck with, whose sexuality was questioned, with loose morals and a wild spirit. I was now suddenly a bitch and a fierce one and I’m sure my new tattoo would only make things worse, make me even more of a head fuck. It made me laugh, I was none of these things, a head fuck for sure, but wasn’t everyone in Hollywood? Max was clever, and my role as villain and his as hero was a triumph. His plan had worked all along, his masterpiece, it was only after Tom didn’t show that I realized it was better to be on Max’s side than against him.
Not bad, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. My hair messy, eyes still puffy from sleep, nothing a bath and a Bloody Mary couldn’t fix. I turned to my view again, my view from the top, a view more sky than city. Max made it hard to be unhappy, he made sure my life was filled with amazing things and amazing people and amazing views, meant no matter how I felt, I was always appreciative, grateful to be in the world he’d given us.
My Mom still keeps asking if I’m happy. Sally too. People must assume I’m not, regardless of how much I laughed and smiled.
I am happy, honest. That is what I tell them.
I am happy.
Honest.
Maybe one day just those first three words will be enough.
But hey, as four Welshmen I saw on a poster once sang, “La Tristesse Durera.”
Scream to a sigh.
The End
Burgh Island/June/Shot 1081