by Victoria Fox
Finally the girl looked up. She was startlingly pretty, with a perfect white complexion, blood-red lips and cat-like green eyes.
‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘The loud American.’ She frowned. ‘Is your tan real?’
Aurora was unoffended. ‘West Coast sun, baby.’ She withdrew her hand and sat back. ‘You should get some.’
‘I don’t like how it looks.’
‘Thanks very much.’
The girl returned to her book.
‘Sport sucks for me, too,’ Aurora said. ‘How come you get off?’
‘I refuse to do it.’
‘Sounds like a great tactic.’
The girl flipped her book shut. ‘I am exempt from these lessons. My parents have a doctor friend—he wrote me the diagnosis.’
‘Which was?’
She shrugged. ‘Simply, I am not a team player.’
Aurora laughed with genuine amusement. ‘What are you, then?’
‘I’m me.’
She raised her left brow. ‘Does “me” get high?’
The girl narrowed her eyes. ‘Do you imagine you can be my friend?’
Aurora pulled up her scratchy, fashion-bankrupt socks. ‘I don’t care either way.’
‘Because I’m not here to make friends.’
‘Suit yourself.’
They sat in silence for a bit, watching Eugenie Beaufort roar and pump the air with her fist whenever her team scored a goal.
Aurora noticed the girl didn’t reopen her book. After a while she turned to Aurora. ‘I’m Pascale Devereux,’ she said, and held out a small, pale hand.
Aurora took it. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘You will be.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because now you have,’ said Pascale, ‘things around here are about to get a lot more interesting.’
17
Stevie
Stevie took the part. How could she not? There it was, laid out before her, the role thousands of girls had dreamed of. Including Bibi Reiner.
‘B, this was meant to be yours,’ Stevie said when the role was formally offered. ‘You wanted Lauren. I wasn’t even supposed to be here.’
Bibi kept her smile in place. She was not the sort of girl to begrudge a friend’s success, even if her pride stung. Stevie could never know why she’d wanted the role so much, why she’d had her heart set on a gig free from Linus Posen’s grip—she probably thought it was just another failed audition. Bibi was used to rejection, wasn’t she?
‘Take it, Steve,’ she said, giving her a hug, and despite her disappointment pleased for her. ‘Your turning it down won’t bring it my way, will it?’
‘If it would …’ She meant it.
‘I know. Really, it’s OK.’
Stevie felt bad. She had never harboured desires to be an actress, far from it, and yet the opportunity had landed straight in her lap. To her surprise the script in its entirety interested her, and people were telling her she had talent and that maybe she should give it a go. What did she have to lose? The studio had long been searching for an antidote to blonde-haired blue-eyed California, captured perfectly in Stevie’s cool, detached beauty, which, once the spectacles were off (she’d finally succumbed to lenses), everyone agreed was astounding.
‘You’ve changed my life, B,’ she told her friend. ‘I owe you so much.’
Bibi squeezed her hand and promised herself her time would one day come. It had to.
In the meantime, she asked Stevie to run her a small favour. Lie to Me would be filmed in Los Angeles, where the studio would put her up in a modest apartment complex. Bibi’s younger brother was already in the city, struggling to get parts, heavily in debt and currently residing on randoms’ sofas. Would she be able to accommodate him for a while?
Naturally, Stevie agreed.
Six weeks later, she was filming on location. Dirk Michaels, Hollywood powerhouse and legendary money-spinner, was producing. Stevie was living out of her suitcase in LA and getting four hours’ sleep a night. Things were moving unbelievably quickly, her name public property virtually overnight, her image suddenly appearing on Google and friends she hadn’t seen in years clamouring to make contact and claim they’d once been close. Everyone wanted a piece of her. She was being invited to an endless stream of parties and functions, awards ceremonies and photo shoots, scarcely having time to register that this was a world she’d been set against for years but now had welcomed her with open arms. Word was spreading about the hottest new actress in town: Stevie Speller was being billed as the next Great British Star, combining all the haughty London beauty of Keira Knightley with the shy intellect of Natalie Portman.
After the awkwardness of that first audition with Bibi—at least she’d felt it was awkward—she found herself taking to the game with surprising zeal. Her first time on set had been terrifying, she felt like a total sham, but before she knew it the director was calling ‘Cut!’ and the scene was nailed. All her life, as for so many, she’d been OK at a lot of things but never excelled in one. When she was immersed in a role, speaking words that had already been written, living a life in which the outcome was safe and known, she found refuge. She was able to forget where she’d been and what she’d done. When she watched her performance she was amazed to see so many versions of herself coming back. Ways of behaviour she’d never thought she had.
It was a sunny Hollywood Wednesday morning and Stevie was in her agent’s downtown office. Marty King was top dog, a power agent with a host of superstars on his books. She couldn’t believe it when he’d approached, and when she told Bibi over the phone the other girl squealed, ‘I just peed in my pants!’ Bibi went on to inform her that Marty King was renowned for his knack of spotting a star on her way to the top. He also represented major Hollywood blockbuster names like Cole Steel. Cole’s films had been staple viewing in Stevie’s family while she’d been growing up and the idea of sharing representation with him was mind-blowing.
‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ Marty asked. For a second she thought it was a loaded question—she’d heard enough about fledgling actresses getting promised the stars and ending up on their hands and knees—but he regarded her seriously from across his desk. Marty had ruddy cheeks and a soft thatch of orange hair. Stevie could tell he’d been handsome in his younger years, and he had a genuine smile she was learning was rare to come by in this town.
She thought of Will, who’d been less than enamoured with news of her moving out to LA. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied.
Marty made a face. ‘That means no.’
‘It does?’
He picked something out from between his teeth—a remnant from lunch, perhaps—and examined it before sucking it off his fingers. It told Stevie all she needed to know about how powerful Marty was. He didn’t need to impress; his name spoke for itself.
‘Sure it does.’ He linked his hands across his belly. ‘From here on in it’s about who you’re associated with. Stevie Speller spells class, she spells … sophistication. Some boyfriend you couldn’t give two craps about ain’t gonna cut it.’
‘Who said I don’t give a crap about him?’
‘I said two craps. You might give one: you’re still with the bozo. Do I know him?’
‘No.’
‘Good. The ones I know are the ones that cause me trouble. Take my advice and stay single. It’ll make my life a hell of a lot easier, not to mention yours.’
‘OK …’
‘With your looks and talent,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘there’s no place to go but up. That accent right there’s gonna have every major studio shitting money out their asses to sign you.’
She laughed. He didn’t.
‘You heard of Xander Jakobson?’ Marty asked.
‘Yes.’ He was a thirtyish actor-turned-director, quite handsome. He’d been nominated last spring for an Award.
‘I want him to see you.’ Marty rolled up his shirtsleeves. ‘His new project’s got your name all over it.’ The
re was a knock on the door. He looked up, distracted. ‘Yes?’
A pretty blonde opened the door. ‘Rita Clay called. I told her you were in a meeting but she made me promise to ask you personally to return it.’
Marty pinched the bridge of his nose. He stayed like that for several seconds before saying, ‘Thank you, Jennifer.’
When his secretary had gone, he turned to Stevie. ‘In the middle of a complicated negotiation,’ he said by way of explanation. Stevie shrugged; it was none of her business.
‘Xander Jakobson?’ she prompted.
‘See what you make of the script, I think you’ll like it. Let me get on to him. I’m sure we can strike a deal.’
On impulse she asked, ‘What do you know about Linus Posen?’
Marty sat back and narrowed his eyes. One whole wall of his office was glass and outside the green tops of palm trees quivered in the warm breeze. ‘Why d’you ask?’
Stevie shrugged.
‘I know you’re not gonna be working with him any time soon,’ said Marty.
‘Oh?’
‘You met him?’
‘In New York, last year. He offered me work. I thought I should mention it.’
‘What kind of work?’
‘He didn’t say. He gave me his card but I never called.’
‘You know what line he’s in?’
As far as she knew Linus directed mindless action blockbusters. She told Marty so.
‘That’s right,’ he said, and she detected a note of caution in his voice. He let the silence hang before adding, abruptly back to business, ‘So it’s not what we’re going for.’
‘I didn’t think so.’
‘Good,’ said Marty. ‘Take my advice, it’s what you pay me for, and steer well clear.’
When Stevie got back to her apartment, Will Gardner was waiting for her. Bibi’s brother was due to arrive this afternoon and her first reaction was one of annoyance. Couldn’t Will have called?
‘Hello, beautiful,’ he said when she exited the cab, drawing her into his arms and planting a kiss on her lips. She didn’t know what to say.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked eventually.
‘Do I need a reason other than this?’ He looped his arms around her waist and kissed her again. Stevie was hot and her top was clinging to the skin on her back: she wanted to get in the shower, change into a baggy T-shirt and sit by herself. It had been a hectic week and she realised now that Will was the last person she felt like seeing.
She didn’t want to be a cow about it. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Sorry it’s a bit of a mess.’
The apartment was in a basic, unfussy compound, laid out like the motels she had seen in films: a one-storey cream building that formed an L-shape around a central shared swimming pool. She doubted if the novelty of a pool would ever wear off. Since arriving she’d adopted a routine of early-morning swim followed by a healthy breakfast and a review of the day’s scenes.
Inside, Will helped himself to some apple juice out of the fridge, which he drank straight from the carton. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and pulled Stevie into an embrace. She felt yucky and wanted to change, but Will’s touch was all over her, his tongue in her mouth, sticky from the juice. Maybe if she slept with him now she wouldn’t have to later.
As they had sex he delivered a virtually non-stop stream of accolades, such as how gorgeous she was, how much he’d missed her, what a great body she had, how she was the hottest lay in the world. It felt wrong. Stevie had never been vocal during sex—and, besides, what was she meant to say back? Thank you. Now would you please hurry up and come? She realised then that Will had always been more into this than she was, despite what he’d said in the beginning. Breaking up would be horrible, but it was unfair to keep stringing him along.
Afterwards, he showered. Stevie took the opportunity to call Bibi. While Marty King hadn’t expressly said anything negative about Linus Posen, his remarks had unnerved her. Bibi hadn’t seemed herself recently: she wasn’t the sparky, carefree girl Stevie had met in New York.
Her friend picked up on the fourth ring. ‘Steve! How’re you?’
Stevie pulled the bed sheet up and lay back. She could hear the steady thrum of the shower, the change in rhythm as Will’s body moved beneath it. ‘Did you know Will’s here?’
‘Wow. I thought you guys were taking it slowly.’
‘So did I.’ She sighed, rubbing her temple. ‘What’s new?’
‘Well,’ began Bibi, ‘I was all set to call you, actually. I’ve got something I’ve been just dying to tell you! ’
Stevie sat up, willing it to be a successful audition. ‘Go on, then, spill!’
‘I’m moving in with Linus!’ Confused, Stevie waited for more. ‘He’s relocating to his house in Beverly Hills, and I’m coming with him! What do you think? Isn’t it incredible?’
‘Really?’
‘Yes!’
‘I didn’t even know you were dating.’
‘We kind of are, we kind of aren’t.’ Bibi cleared her throat, and for the first time in their acquaintance Stevie detected something forced in her enthusiasm. ‘We’re sleeping together. I mean, I don’t know if I’m the only one. But truthfully I don’t mind too much! And he must really like me, right? To ask me to come with him, I mean. Because the stuff I’ve been doing up till now hasn’t been great, but Linus says that once we’re in Hollywood he’s putting me in touch with all the major casting agents and when he starts spreading the word then it’s practically definite I’m going to make it! How can I go wrong? Steve, this is it for me. I know I said it before but this time it’s for real. I’m going to be a star!’
Stevie didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m so happy you’re moving here,’ she said at last, the only honest comment she could think to make.
Bibi and Linus were dating? How had that happened?
‘Tell me about it!’ crowed Bibi. ‘We’re gonna have the best time. I’ve really missed us living together.’
Will opened the door to the en suite and padded naked across the bedroom.
‘Me too,’ she said. ‘Listen, B, I’ve got to run. Call you later?’
‘Sure.’
Stevie put down the phone. Despite the blast of warm steam that had accompanied Will’s emergence, she shivered.
18
Lori
Lori changed while she was in Spain. As the weeks passed, the quiet seeped into her, the stillness and solitude bringing a peace long forgotten to her heart. For hours she would walk in olive groves, read books in her mother tongue, wander the narrow streets of the nearest village or play with the dog. She realised how beneficial loneliness could be.
Though she tried to resist, Rico Marquez was in her thoughts. One minute she worried for him and wondered if he was OK; the next she was consumed with anger at the risk he had brought, quite literally, to her door. Had Rico known about Diego’s visit? Had he requested it? At night, in her dreams, she was terrorised by images of the gang, the hunger in their eyes and the rasp of their threats, of what might have happened if her stranger hadn’t arrived …
Gratitude towards the man whose name she did not know flourished by the day. Time, rather than diminishing her obsession, only heightened it. The thought she would never see him again was unbearable. Once back in LA, she would seek him out. She had no idea how, where she would even begin, but if she did not try she would never forgive herself.
Corazón was old, but she was sharp as a pin. Often they would sit on the veranda, sipping lemonade and playing cards, speaking about the past, or when Tony was a boy, or not speaking at all, just listening to the crickets or the low chatter of her radio. They would prepare meals together. Lori learned recipes she recalled her mother making in happier times: she, too, had been taught them here. In so many ways she felt that she was treading the same stones. It was clear Corazón had cared for her mother like her own daughter.
‘You know that Tony loves you very much, don’t you?’ she asked
one night. They were preparing a feast: salted bread and chillis and peppers dark as cherries. Lori was chopping red onion and its sting caught her in the eye, but if Corazón thought it was tears she didn’t say so.
‘It has been difficult for him,’ her grandmother went on.
‘I know.’
‘He remarried quickly because he believed it was best. He wanted you to feel secure.’
Lori couldn’t help herself. ‘He thought he’d better replace Mama, you mean?’
Corazón stopped what she was doing. ‘Oh, Loriana, that is not true. Tony struggled. He did not know how to be both a mother and a father to you.’
‘So he stopped being either?’ Lori wished she could let go of her bitterness. It was ugly, it ate her up, but she couldn’t help it.
‘When Maria got sick, it tore his heart out, right from his chest. I saw it, querida, spooling to the floor like a ribbon and gathering at his feet, and I knew I could never fold it back in. You cannot judge a man’s behaviour because of his grief.’
A long silence followed. Lori returned to the board but there was nothing else to do, she’d cut everything, so she drove the point of her knife into the wood and twisted.
‘He had to keep you safe,’ Corazón said.
‘Safe from what? My own decisions?’
Corazón put her head to one side. ‘Perhaps.’
‘But I don’t want to be safe!’ Lori found her hands were shaking. She thought about how reckless she had felt that afternoon at Tres Hermanas. How until that moment she had lived her safe, miserable life and no one had been there to show her there was more; a different way of feeling. Until him. ‘That’s the point! I want to be more than just the poor kid whose mama died.’
Corazón shook her head with infinite sadness. ‘No, querida. That is not how it is.’
‘I hate Angélica.’ She threw the vegetables into a waiting pan. Blue heat licked up the sides. ‘And I hate her daughters. If it weren’t for them—’
‘The blame cannot rest with Angélica. Tony changed after your mother died, and he did that all by himself … Maria was the love of his life.’