Darling Sweetheart

by Stephen Price

  ‘Are these the two paedophiles you were telling me about?’ Froggy asked her.

  Jimmy Lockhart lay on a hospital bed, although if his legs hadn’t been in plaster, he would have fallen out of it, such was the look of surprise on his face. Donnie Driscoll gaped from a bedside chair – his eyes were hidden behind a pair of black Ray-Bans, but his mouth hung wide open. Annalise had simply walked into St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington, asked for J. Lockhart at reception and then taken a lift to the second floor – it had been that simple.

  ‘Should you two not be on the children’s ward,’ Froggy rasped, ‘where all the talent is?’

  Annalise snorted. ‘Strictly speaking, I don’t know if paedophilia is the correct term for what these two get up to. Hey, Jimmy,’ she addressed him in her own voice, ‘is shagging teenage schoolgirls paedophilia, or is it just statutory rape? I mean, if I told the police what I saw in Bristol, what would they charge you with?’

  ‘Now see here, doll…’ Driscoll jumped up. His spiky black mane made him look taller than he was.

  ‘She’s not a doll,’ Froggy growled. ‘I am. And she’s way too old for you, so save your sweet-talk for the kiddiewinks.’

  ‘Annalise,’ Jimmy groaned, ‘what is this?’

  The occupants of the five other beds in the ward simply stared, as did their groups of visitors. One old man had tubes up his nose and there was a teenage boy opposite, rigid in a neck-brace.

  ‘Sorry, are we interrupting something?’ Froggy snarled. ‘Planning your next press conference, maybe?’

  ‘Annalise,’ Jimmy half-whispered, ‘please, talk in your normal voice, you’re giving me the creeps. And what are you doing with that stuffed toy?’

  ‘You’re the creep, Jimmy,’ and she did answer in her own voice, but that made the tears start. ‘And I used to think you were… I mean, since Darling Sweetheart, I never let anyone in, but with you I really tried to be a normal… a normal… I just wanted to be normal, you know?’

  ‘She’s mad,’ Driscoll muttered, then announced to the room, ‘Anythin’ this woman says is a pack of fuckin’ lies. Look at her – she’s a nutjob!’

  But she kept her bleary gaze on the prostrate singer, trapped in his bed. ‘I was a virgin when I met you.’ The confession, enormous to her, felt pathetic in its utterance. ‘I… I know that doesn’t mean very much these days, and b-because I was twenty-two you probably didn’t even notice the first time you… I mean, the first time we… I wanted to know what it felt like, falling in love.’

  Jimmy’s face reddened – but then Driscoll came around the bed and took her arm, as if to usher her away.

  ‘C’mon babe, you’re causin’ a scene. Jimmy Lockhart is a bona-fide rock star and he don’t need any of this shit. Sorry, folks,’ he addressed the rest of the ward. ‘Autograph hunter.’

  Before she knew what she was doing, her hand flashed out, grabbed a jug from Jimmy’s bedside table and smashed it into the side of Driscoll’s head, sending him and his ridiculous sunglasses sprawling across the floor in a tide of water and broken plastic.

  ‘Owww!’ His cheek was bleeding. ‘That’s assault!’

  ‘Assault?’ Froggy cried. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!’ Annalise raised Froggy and walloped the cowering manager about the head and shoulders. ‘Yah-hoooo!’ Froggy yelled. ‘Take that, child molester! And that! Yeah!’

  ‘Annalise!’ Jimmy sat forward, but he too got a smack in the face. ‘Hey!’ He shielded himself with his hands.

  ‘A virgin, Jimmy!’ She belted him again. ‘A bloody virgin!’

  He lowered his hands and glared at her. ‘And what was I to you, eh?’

  Panting, she stopped hitting him. ‘Huh?’

  His face was scarlet with a cocktail of surprise and shame. ‘What was I to you? Just another prop for your rehearsals?’

  Her arms fell to her sides. ‘What… what did you say?’

  ‘Doing it with you was like doing it with a fucking corpse!’

  A bevy of nurses burst through the ward door.

  ‘Call the police!’ Driscoll whined from the floor. ‘I’ve been assaulted!’ But the nurses just looked at one another. ‘You all saw what happened!’ he appealed to the rest of the ward. ‘This crazy woman attacked us! A sick man and his innocent visitor!’

  Froggy muttered, ‘Errr… bug-face, I think perhaps now would be a good time to get outta here.’

  She walked off the ward, leaving the hospital the same way she’d arrived – through the front entrance. As she trudged towards the taxi rank at Paddington Station, she heard a siren in the distance. Maybe it was the police, maybe it was just another ambulance; she didn’t look back. She was too busy thinking how the truth really can hurt, especially when it comes at you unexpectedly.

  13

  She made the taxi drop her as close to Shepperton’s ‘H’ Stage as possible. For such an enormous building, there wasn’t much room around it. As she paid the driver, she noticed a man getting out of a car parked close by; he had dirty-blond hair and looked vaguely familiar. She was half-expecting to be mobbed by Emerson’s goons, but this man was much slighter and wore a causal jacket and jeans instead of the regulation black.

  ‘Hiya,’ he smiled. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘The lady’s with me,’ Froggy told him, ‘so she’s better than all right.’

  ‘Eh… can I buy you a coffee?’ He had a Scottish accent.

  ‘Sorry – but do we know you?’

  ‘Last time you saw me, I was tarted up to look like Emerson. What’s with the frog?’

  ‘We’re trying to get rid of pests today,’ Froggy rasped, ‘not collect them.’

  ‘Annalise – it’s me, Ben Proctor. Remember? From the stunt?’

  But she was already halfway through the studio door.

  ‘Whaaaaaat?’

  In a nearby office block, Emerson brought his fist down on a desk, although Amanda noticed that he unclenched his fingers at the last second and slapped it instead of punching it. Still, she jumped slightly.

  ‘D’ya mean ta tell me,’ his accent, as well as the desk, lost some of its polish, ‘d’ya mean ta tell me that you had my future wife and the star of this fuckin’ movie on the phone, but you dunno where she is?’

  Amanda looked to Frost, who stood behind her purple-faced boss. In her mid-forties, Amanda was a veteran receptionist and not easily intimidated. However, if she expected Frost to intervene she had no hope, for the woman had apparently noticed something deeply fascinating about the polymer ceiling tiles. Two of Emerson’s black-suited gorillas lingered massively and impassively by the door.

  ‘W-well I’m sure,’ Amanda blustered, ‘that keeping track of Miss Palatine’s whereabouts is hardly my responsibility. As it happens, I did offer to send her a car, but she hung up on me. I’m a secretary, Mr Emerson, not a babysitter.’

  ‘You’ll be a sacked secretary!’ he screamed, sounding more, she thought, like a hysterical woman than a macho action hero. ‘This is a hundred-thousand-dollar-a-day movie we’re makin’ here, and I got news for you! We can’t shoot jack if we don’t have a leadin’ lady!’

  Amanda’s phone trilled. Gratefully, she grabbed the receiver.

  ‘ The Perfect Heresy production office, hello?’ She listened, then nodded. ‘I see… okay, thanks for that.’ She hung up, straightened her back, cleared her throat and looked Emerson in the eye. ‘That was the floor manager. Apparently, Miss Palatine is waiting for you in studio.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I said, apparently…’ but Emerson was gone, followed by his gorillas and, more sedately, by Frost. Amanda flopped back in her swivel chair, decided that she liked Frost even less than her arrogant prick of a boss and wondered whether to buy sausages or lamb chops for tea.

  Annalise sat on the bed of the medieval bedroom set. Froggy sat on her knee.

  ‘Here comes the big movie-star now,’ he informed her, ‘although I wouldn’t call him big, exactly. More like a dwarf in high heels.’
>
  Sure enough, Emerson jogged towards her across the vast studio floor, weaving around crew and sets, followed closely by Bernstein and Levine and, in the distance, Frost.

  ‘Baby!’ He threw himself at her feet. ‘Where ya bin?’

  ‘Hello, Harry,’ she greeted him in her own voice, ‘I was sick, but I’m okay now. I’d like you to meet my friend, Froggy. Froggy, this is Harry Emerson, my co-star.’

  ‘Pleased to meetcha, Harry-boy,’ Froggy waved a little arm. Emerson looked puzzled.

  ‘That’s cute, honey, real cute. All this time I’ve bin lookin’ for you, and you bin playin’ with a cuddly toy.’

  ‘Oh, we haven’t been playing,’ Froggy assured him, ‘we’ve been punishing paedophiles.’

  ‘Uhh… what’s with the Exorcist voice, Annalise?’

  Froggy glared at the still-kneeling Emerson. ‘You’re not very bright, are you?’

  ‘Annalise… you’re gettin’ me a bit worried here. Are you feelin’ okay?’

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry about us,’ Froggy snapped, ‘we’re dandy. You, on the other hand, are the one nursing a big-budget turkey and a flagging career. You want something to worry about? Go look in a mirror.’

  Emerson physically recoiled. His bodyguards glanced at one another, then at Frost. A shout came from behind the set.

  ‘So! Here we all are!’ Tress lurched into view, grinning. ‘Back together again, yes? Jus’ like a happy big family, yes?’

  ‘Great,’ Emerson stood, ‘a drunk director; that’s all we need. Peter, do you know what time it is?’

  ‘Time to make a Hollywood movie!’ Tress fumbled with a desk at the side of the set. A spotlight shone on Annalise and the bed.

  ‘It’s goddamn three o’clock in the afternoon, and you’re drunk!’

  ‘Not drunk, Harry, merely refreshed. When he has no actors, what is a director to do except enjoy a nice long lunch?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, I believe we have a love scene to film – are you two getting into costume or is this a dress rehearsal?’ Lolling, he cackled at his own wit.

  Annalise placed Froggy on the bed. She stood, removed her raincoat and sat down again, then tugged off her boots and peeled away her socks.

  ‘Honey,’ Emerson crinkled his brow, ‘whatch’a doin’?’

  She pulled off her black poloneck, revealing her torso and a black bra.

  ‘This is what everyone wants, isn’t it?’ She unbuttoned her jeans. ‘I mean, no matter what a woman does, no matter how complex she is as a person, she doesn’t exist until she gets her tits out for the lads, right?’ She pushed her jeans down and kicked them off. Frost and the bodyguards stared.

  ‘Wait!’ Emerson cried. ‘Not now! We gotta do this properly!’

  ‘What, not here in a freezing studio,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘but on a heap of rose petals in some enchanted forest glade? Or in a twelve-hundred-quid-a-night suite at the Dorchester? What do you have in mind, lover-boy?’

  ‘What the hell has gotten into you?’

  ‘Not you, obviously.’ She stretched seductively across the bed. ‘Peter! What about you? Fancy another go, now that I’m being a good girl?’

  Tress licked his lips. ‘I, err…’

  ‘Isn’t this what you wanted?’ She ran a hand along her body. ‘That night at my flat?’ She slapped her forehead. ‘Wait! I know! My underwear is clouding your artistic vision, is that it? Just a mo…’ She sat up and reached behind her back to undo her bra, but Emerson leapt forward and grabbed her arms.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘I said I think my underwear is clouding his–’

  ‘What night at your flat?’

  ‘Oh, Peter is one of those directors who likes to make a muse of his leading lady – it’s a time-honoured technique in the film industry: Polanski… Bogdanovich… Woody Allen… and not forgetting the great Warren Beatty, but he was more of an actor-producer, wasn’t he, so maybe in that sense he’s more like you…’

  Emerson shook her. ‘What night at your flat?’

  ‘Easy, tiger! What am I, your little rag doll? Peter came to my flat in Beynac when he knew I was alone. I don’t like telling tales out of school, but if you boys want me naked on this bed then we may as well get everything out in the open.’

  ‘That is a lie!’ Tress hissed. ‘You are a nasty witch!’

  ‘So burn me at the stake, but don’t call me a liar. The photographers got you as you left – I’m surprised some seedy tabloid hasn’t already front-paged it: “Slutty whore of an actress screws co-star and director”.’

  ‘Did he touch you? Did he put his hands on you?’ But Annalise just sighed, lifted Froggy to her chest and curled up on the bed. Emerson pointed at Tress and yelled at Levine, ‘Hit that man! He tried to make my wife!’

  ‘But H.E.,’ Levine removed his sunglasses, ‘she ain’t your wife.’

  Emerson stamped his foot. ‘I order you to punch that man!’

  ‘But I can’t just–’

  Bernstein slapped Tress across the face. The director yelped and held his cheek.

  ‘Goddamn!’ Emerson squealed. ‘Even I could do better than that!’

  Frost took two steps forward and with a sudden, brutal chop to the neck, felled Tress to the floor. Everyone gaped at her. She shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know why you pay those clowns.’

  ‘Judy–’

  ‘Tell the director,’ Annalise announced, ‘that I’m ready for my close-up.’

  ‘You’re fired!’ Emerson yelled at Tress, who moaned and rolled around. ‘Judy, if Peter sues, you’re movin’ to goddamn Guatemala. Now, help me with my wife.’

  ‘But she’s not your–’

  ‘JUDY!’ he screamed. ‘Just help me, okay?’ Frost pouted and helped him pull Annalise to her feet. Emerson wrapped her raincoat around her shoulders. She still clutched Froggy tight. ‘We gotta get her outta here! If the press hears about this, we’re in deep shit!’ Already, several crew members had stopped to watch the disturbance. Emerson and Frost hauled Annalise towards the darkened rear of the studio. ‘She needs medical help,’ Emerson panted. ‘Rehab, maybe.’

  Annalise snorted. ‘Don’t wanna go to rehab.’

  ‘Tranquilisers – that’s what we need; lotsa tranquilisers. Call a doctor, Judy, tell him to bring some heavy sedation and meet us at the hotel. Hospital is outta the question, we don’t need that kinda publicity!’

  Annalise wriggled. ‘Don’t wanna be sedated… let me go!’

  ‘Honey, behave yourself.’

  She struggled. ‘Let me go!’

  He tugged at her. ‘You’ll do what you’re goddamn fuckin’ told!’

  A figure stepped from the shadows. ‘Let the lady go.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Emerson squinted then roared, ‘Bernstein! Levine! Get over here!’

  The two bodyguards leapt up from their examination of the groaning Tress and sprinted towards the slight, silhouetted figure. There was an abrupt exchange of blows and, to the utter astonishment of Emerson and Frost, the big men toppled like trees, Bernstein clutching a bloody nose and Levine with his hands between his legs.

  ‘I said,’ the figure repeated, ‘let her go.’

  Emerson snarled, ‘And I said go fuck yourself! Judy – call security. Tell them there’s a terrorist loose in the studio and if they don’t get their asses down here pronto, I’ll have their first-born children killed.’

  ‘But H.E. – I thought you said no publicity?’

  ‘DAMMIT JUDY!’ he roared. ‘Do I gotta do everythin’ round here?’

  ‘Terrorist, eh?’ The figure produced a pistol, which it cocked and pointed at them in the business-like manner of one used to handling firearms. ‘Right! Gimme the fuckin’ girl or youse are dead!’ Emerson and Frost cowered as the figure stepped forward and took Annalise.

  ‘Hey!’ The star’s voice was shot through with disbelief. ‘You’re that stuntman! What the hell do ya think you’re doin’, buddy?’

  Proctor l
ed Annalise away, still aiming the gun. ‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. Miss Palatine is leaving; just not with you.’

  ‘But I NEED her!’ Emerson bawled. ‘I need her for my movie!’

  ‘You can have her back when you’ve calmed down, pal.’

  Proctor pushed Annalise through a side entrance into cold daylight. She stepped in a puddle and remembered that she was barefoot. He bundled her into a car. A commotion erupted behind them as Bernstein and Levine tumbled out the door.

  ‘Jesus,’ Proctor reversed at high speed, ‘they really are the crappest bodyguards in the world. I mean, they look great, but they cannae fight for toffee.’ As he accelerated away from the main gate, two police cars flew down the road towards it, lights flashing, sirens screeching. ‘Wow. Those feds were quick off the mark, eh?’ Annalise tucked Froggy inside her raincoat.

  ‘Are you really a terrorist?’

  ‘No. That’s just what Americans call anyone who disagrees with them.’

  ‘Then stop the car, please.’

  He glanced over. ‘That’s a negative. You’ve got no clothes, no shoes and a soft toy in your coat. How far d’you think you’d get like that?’ But she pulled the handle and her door swung open, admitting a noisy blast of air. ‘Jesus Christ!’ The car gave a sickening swerve as he leaned across her. ‘Don’t do that!’ He pulled the door shut and resumed control. ‘And put your seatbelt on!’

  ‘I don’t like guns,’ she asserted.

  ‘Oh, that?’ Proctor took the offending item from his pocket and, steering with one hand, put it against his temple and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. ‘It’s only a prop.’ He held it out for examination, but she averted her face. ‘In my line o’ work, they’re pretty common.’

  ‘I don’t like guns,’ she repeated, sullenly.

  He braked the car to a halt, climbed out and walked over to two old ladies who were waiting at a bus stop. He handed one of them the pistol, butt-first. Confused, she accepted it. He got back in the car and drove off again.

  ‘Happy now? I don’t think you realise – I’ve just saved you from being drugged! What happened back there? Why have ya no clothes on? And why did that scary lady kung fu the director? It’s like, one minute you lot are chatting on set, then all hell breaks loose!’ When she didn’t reply, he glanced over again and saw that she was shaking, crying silently into one hand. ‘Aw, no… look, I don’t mean to upset you, but I’ve just kissed goodbye to a very well-paid job.’