by Lucy Lord
He hoped she meant it about staying in touch, post-rehab, but she was still a world-famous movie star and sex symbol, for all her problems. He smiled at the words ‘our oh-so-busy, important schedules’, as if his work was on a par with hers, and tried not to feel too encouraged by ‘loads of love’, which was surely nothing more than an affectionate, girly way of signing off.
Unsure what to do for the best, he took another look at Summer’s email. On the one hand – well, she was absolutely right about his feelings. What a lovely, perceptive girl – and indeed, what a very good friend she was turning out to be. They’d been in email contact since he moved back to Albuquerque and he was glad to hear that her life was, slowly but surely, getting back to normal, though there remained an air of sadness about her.
He read the last couple of sentences again.
If you don’t tell her, you’ll never know if she feels the same way you do. And you know – after everything you’ve done for her, I have a tiny inkling that she might! Lars, life is too short – if there’s even the slightest possibility of finding happiness you should grab it with both hands. Believe me, I know. Good luck, and be sure to tell me how it goes.
Love
Summer xxx
Jack was sweating from his hike when he finally reached the summit of Griffith Park’s Mount Hollywood. He was in extremely good physical shape, but the heat was fierce, even though it was nearly October. On a rare, smog-free day like today, the 360-degree panoramic views never failed to thrill him – eye level with the iconic Hollywood sign, you could see everything from the hazy Verdugo Mountains to the LA basin leading to the glittering downtown skyline to the magnificent Pacific, shimmering deep blue in the distance.
It wasn’t particularly sensible to hike in the midday sun, but Jack had felt the need for a punishing workout, to sweat out some of the sadness that sometimes threatened to overwhelm him. By day, mostly, he could throw himself into his work – even now he was listening through his iPod speakers to classics from the late Sixties and early Seventies, to keep himself in Saigon Summer mode. The ’Nam buddy project was now fully underway, and due to start filming in a couple of months’ time. But by night, his dreams were full of his Summer – some happy, some sad, some disturbingly erotic.
He took a swig from his water bottle and paused for one last look at the spectacular view before making his way back down the mountain.
By the time he got home he was ready for lunch, and after a quick shower, started to prepare himself some chili beef fajitas with extra onions and red and green peppers. Jack liked to eat, and he liked to cook – fresh, healthy food in decent, man-sized portions, often with a hearty chili kick (he attributed his love of chili to his mother’s Hispanic roots).
While the vegetables and beef were sizzling away on the hob in his huge all-white state-of-the-art kitchen, Jack poured himself a glass of sweet, tangy blood-orange juice, downed it in one and poured another. He tasted the fajita mix, adjusted the seasoning, then plonked the lot onto a warm flour tortilla, adding a dollop of sour cream for good measure. As he carried his plate and glass over to the large glass-topped table in the centre of the room, Jack felt a wave of sadness that he would never have the chance to cook with Summer. A vivid image of her happy face as she told him how to take a slice of ham, followed by a bite of peach, came into his mind. Again he pushed it aside.
She lied to you, man. Stop being such a dope.
It had been a huge surprise to all of them when that wanker Jorge had told his story about screwing Tamara in the store cupboard, but Jack supposed he should thank him, really. After all the other creeps had crawled out of the woodwork with their stories about Tamara, Jack’s star had started to rise again in direct proportion to Tamara’s falling. He was surprised by how little he cared that he had been so comprehensively, and publicly, cuckolded. He just thought: poor Tamara. There had been rumours about her abandoning the set of Dust Bowl, of yet another stint in rehab, of Miles Dawson having to halt filming and the rest of the cast being fed up to the back teeth with her, but it was all being kept very hush hush.
Whatever Ben and the others thought, Jack hoped that Tamara was OK, and resolved to check up on her once she’d finished filming. He was taking his final, delicious bite of fajita, when the video intercom buzzed. He went to answer it and was surprised to see Poppy waving back at him from the driver’s seat of her shiny pillar-box-red convertible Sixties Alfa Romeo.
‘Hey, Pops.’ He smiled. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’ He would always have a bit of a soft spot for Poppy.
‘Hey, Jack! Buzz me in, won’t you? I’ve got some exciting news!’
‘Intriguing. Come on in – I’m in the kitchen.’
The electronic gates parted to let the glamorous little red car through, and a minute or so later, Poppy rushed through the sliding glass doors, arms outstretched for a hug. Dressed down today in white skinny jeans and a pale yellow slouchy off-the-shoulder T-shirt, she epitomized laid-back LA cool.
‘Can I get you anything? Coffee? Juice?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Poppy, so impatient she was practically bouncing on her old-skool Adidas trainers. ‘Sit down and listen.’
‘Whoa!’ Jack put his hands up, laughing. ‘I don’t see what can be so urgent that we can’t have some coffee or juice.’
‘I’ve just got off the phone to Bella – she told me the most shocking news,’ said Poppy, stopping Jack in his tracks as he walked towards the fridge.
‘What is it?’ he said, in a blind panic all of a sudden. ‘Has something happened to Summer? Please, for God’s sake Poppy, tell me that Summer’s OK?’
‘So you do care,’ Poppy teased, sounding pleased with herself. Watching the dark blush suffuse his handsome face, she decided to put him out of his misery. ‘Don’t worry, mate, Summer’s fine. Well, physically anyway.’
Jack scowled. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You know exactly what I mean by that. ANYWAY, do you want to hear the gossip from the White Isle or not?’
Jack sat down on his white leather sofa. ‘Sure.’
‘Do you remember that horrible man Jamie Cavendish who was at Bella’s party?’
Jack had a vivid flashback to sitting in Bella’s folly with Summer, their tentatively romantic conversation interrupted by the odious Englishman.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, yesterday, his wife India turned up at the finca bleeding, battered – half dead, by the sound of it.’ Poppy did like to embellish a story.
‘The bastard did that to her?’
Poppy nodded. ‘Of course. But it’s the reason he did it that’s so interesting.’
‘I don’t think there can ever be a reason,’ Jack started, the same way Andy had, in Ibiza.
‘OK, bad choice of words. The reason he got so angry’ – Poppy emphasized the word – ‘was that India had overheard a conversation.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘Between him and David Abrahams.’
‘David Abrahams,’ Jack repeated. ‘You mean that asshole – Summer’s boss? The one that she was screwing?’
‘Yes.’ Poppy sighed and looked out of the window. ‘Don’t you think it’s time for you to lighten up, you misogynistic bastard? You were ENGAGED to Tamara, for fuck’s sake!’
‘Summer knew that. Hell, who on the whole planet didn’t know I was engaged to Tamara? But I had no idea that Summer was screwing her boss.’
‘Has is ever occurred to you that she might have been ashamed of it?’
‘She lied to me.’ Jack’s face was a mask.
‘Oh, stop being such an utter dick, and listen to me.’
Jack looked up.
‘What India overheard,’ Poppy said, ‘was enough to put both her husband AND that shit David Abrahams behind bars. And that isn’t all. It was David who took the picture of you and Summer in her flat.’
‘What?’ Jack stood up and started pacing around his kitchen. ‘But . . . how?’
‘Jamie saw you two together at Bel
la’s party. I told you you weren’t being very subtle about it.’
‘Poppy . . .’
Poppy put up an imperious hand. ‘Hear me out, Jack. Jamie told David, who hung around outside Summer’s flat waiting until he could get a photo of you. And what a photo he got!’
‘So he sold the photo, and then came marching into Summer’s flat, all indignant that he’d had to find out about us in the Press?’
‘Yup.’ Poppy nodded her shiny blonde head vigorously.
‘What a creep.’
‘Yup.’ Poppy nodded again.
‘It may be despicable, but it’s not illegal. I don’t see how that could get him arrested.’
‘Ah – this is where it starts getting interesting. You know I said Jamie tipped him off?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, he wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of his heart. And you weren’t the only unlucky celeb to have been caught with his pants down in Ibiza this summer.’ Poppy paused. ‘Jamie and David had this racket going. Jamie’s so loaded that he had access to all the VIP areas on the island. He kept his ear to the ground, tipped David off every time anybody remotely famous did something scandalous – which tends to happen a lot in Ibiza – and David sold the stories.’
‘I still don’t get how that’s illegal?’
‘I’m coming to that!’ said Poppy impatiently. ‘In return for this lucrative sideline, David gave Jamie some even more lucrative information from his old financial contacts in New York. Basically, insider dealing.’
Jack was starting to smile. ‘Man, that’s heavy shit. And they can prove it?’
‘This is the best bit. Your lovely Summer got the proof. She snuck into the Island Life offices in the dead of night’ – Poppy was getting carried away again – ‘and found the incriminating files on David’s computer.’
Jack looked at Poppy incredulously. ‘Summer did that?’
‘Fantastic, isn’t it? Not just a pretty face!’
Jack ignored this. Something had occurred to him. ‘Wait a minute. What about the – ahem – upskirt photo of Tammy? I don’t recall seeing the Abrahams loser at Pacha that night.’
‘They reckon that was probably some random clubber on the make with their phone. Surely you run the risk of things like that happening every time you’re out in public?’
Jack nodded. ‘I guess we do. Especially if we choose to dance on tables with no underwear.’
Poppy laughed. ‘It must have made the Ibiza Sun’s editor’s day to have both photos land on his desk at the same time.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m glad somebody benefited from it.’
‘Jack . . .’
‘What?’
‘Don’t you think it’s time you stopped being so ridiculously stubborn and pig-headed? You obviously miss Summer like mad, and Bella said that she’s never seen anybody so unhappy as that poor girl.’
‘She said that?’
‘And a whole lot more. Apparently Summer’s been saying that you must be a really good actor, as she believed you when you said you loved her. And that if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have thrown it all away over that creep David Abrahams . . .’
‘But I do love her!’
The words were out before Jack knew it.
Chapter 27
Tamara was sitting in the shade in her section of the wild and beautiful gardens of New Horizons, listening to the sound of pan pipes over a tinkling fountain. Each of the residents, as the patients/inmates were known, had his or her own section of garden – a policy that worked well as nobody was gated, or fenced off in any way, but respected the others’ need for solitude. There was a group section for those that felt inclined to have company.
She was trying to focus on her script, but finding it difficult to concentrate as today was Friday, and Lars was on his way. Her usual excitement at seeing him was laced with sadness, as she was checking out of rehab next week. The therapists all considered her ready to be unleashed into the real world – which was great, of course, but it did mean that this would be the last time Lars visited her. She hoped they’d stay friends, but she couldn’t expect weekly visits any more; he wouldn’t feel the need to look after her (wherever in his enormous heart that had come from) now that she was well, and able to look after herself.
She sighed and put the script down, gazing out at the magnificent mountains. She was itching to get back to work, and determined to be as hard-working and un-diva-like as possible, to make up to Miles and the rest of the cast and crew for mucking them around. But without Lars . . .
‘Tamara.’ His deep voice made her jump up, out of her seat. She turned and, with the sun in her eyes, could only make out his enormous frame, silhouetted against the desert.
‘Lars? You’re early. I mean – hey! It’s great to see you. But . . .’ She was babbling, overjoyed but suddenly insanely shy at the sight of him. Tamara Gold – shy? Had she not been feeling so – well, shy – she’d have laughed out loud at herself.
He bent over to give her a brief hug, kissing her on both cheeks. Was she imagining it, or did his lips brush the corner of her mouth? Finding she was trembling, Tamara took a step back. She had to get a grip.
‘Yes, I am a little early. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Hell no!’ Oh great, very ladylike, Tammy. ‘I mean, of course not. It’s lovely to see you. Let me have them send up some herbal tea.’
‘That is OK.’ Lars had moved around her, now facing the sun, so Tamara could see his face more clearly. ‘I was wondering . . .’ He paused, his voice hesitant, almost shy himself, it seemed. ‘If you would care to take a drive in the desert with me?’
‘Oh wow!’ Tamara practically bounced up and down with delight and Lars smiled. ‘I’d love that – thanks,’ she added, trying to sound a bit cooler. ‘But – am I allowed out?’
‘I checked with the management and they say it’s fine.’
‘Well, in that case, wait a minute while I go put some proper clothes on.’ Tamara gestured down at the shortie pyjama and vest-top combination she was wearing, and Lars tried not to stare at her body. ‘Thank you so much!’ And she stood on tiptoes to give him another kiss on the cheek.
*
‘So you go back to work next week, huh?’ Lars turned his head briefly from the dusty desert road to smile at Tamara, who was looking cute and fresh-faced in white denim shorts and a green-and-white stripy T-shirt that didn’t match her eyes. There wasn’t much point in wearing coloured contacts in rehab, and the softness of her natural hazel was actually extremely appealing.
‘I do! And it’s all thanks to you.’ Tamara tentatively put a small hand on Lars’s thigh as she smiled back at him. ‘I cannot thank you enough, Lars. God knows what would have happened to me if I hadn’t bumped into you when I did.’
Trying to ignore the pleasure her hand on his leg gave him, Lars said, ‘Well, maybe I was the catalyst, but you did the hard work. You have sorted yourself out, and you should be proud of yourself. I am very proud of you.’ Without thinking, he leaned over and put his hand on her bare thigh. She gave a just audible sigh of pleasure and they both, realizing simultaneously what an intimate position they were in, snatched their hands away.
Lars stared fixedly at the road for about half a minute, trying to regain his equilibrium, before adding, ‘And Miles Dawson believes in you. He is a good man . . .’
‘He sure is,’ said Tamara excitedly. ‘And he’s a real good director.’
‘So do you not see what that says about you, Tamara? The fact that he believes in you?’
‘That I’m unbelievably lucky and don’t deserve it?’ Tamara joked.
‘Never say that,’ said Lars, drawing his Land Rover to a halt in a red sandy clearing on the side of the road. He turned to stare at her for what seemed an eternity, before adding, ‘Oh, Tamara.’
And before she knew what was happening, Lars had leaned over and taken her face in his hands, kissing her on the lips with surprising tenderness, given his size a
nd strength. Tamara let her mouth open under his, her arms wind around his neck, and soon they were kissing the life out of one another, hands entwined in each other’s hair, lost in their emotions as the desert sun beat down on the Land Rover’s roof, the ancient rugged mountains watching over them.
After some time they stopped and simply gazed at one another, smiling, laughing slightly, touching each other’s faces.
‘Did that just happen?’ asked Tamara in awe, her eyes wide as she gazed at Lars’s kind, open face.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lars. ‘I had it all planned, I was going to make a speech, to tell you how I felt, to see if there was any way that you could return my feelings, before . . .’
‘Before?’ Tamara smiled.
‘Well, before – that. I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I couldn’t help myself.’
‘Oh, you silly . . . beautiful . . . wonderful . . . man.’ Tamara had taken his face in her hands again and was showering it with kisses between words. ‘Don’t you know that I adore you? That your visits have been keeping me going these last few weeks? That you are the reason I was determined to get better? I couldn’t let you down, not after everything you’ve done for me.’
Lars was smiling more widely with every word she uttered, with every kiss she planted on his broad, handsome face.
‘I’ve been kidding myself that I wanted to protect you because you were damaged,’ he said. ‘That it was my duty as one human being to another. But do you know the real reason I wanted to protect you?’
‘No,’ she said, leaning back with her hands clasped around his neck, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, loving every second of it.
Lars laughed. ‘Of course you do. But I’m going to tell you anyway. It is because I love you.’
Tamara hadn’t realized it was possible to be so happy.
‘I love you when you are sweet, like this,’ Lars continued.
Tamara gave a little bow of acknowledgement, tightening her hold on the back of his neck.