How to be Famous

by Alison Bond

  ‘What’s irresponsible about condoms?’

  ‘You don’t understand. What are you? Twenty-four?’

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  ‘When I was your age I thought life was wonderful and the world was a good place too. I thought things were easy, just like you. Well, they’re not. Things do not just turn out good if you trust the bloody universe. When you grow up a bit you’ll realize the universe has a habit of letting you down.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like you know me, Melanie,’ said Lynsey. There was a polite warning tone to her voice, like a stranger would admonish a child. ‘You’ve been good to me and I like working with you. I’m grateful. But don’t talk to me like you know me.’

  Melanie stopped looking in the fridge and turned around. Lynsey looked sad, like she had just been told bad news. Instinctively Melanie reached out for her hand.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Lynsey. She stood up and moved away slightly. ‘It’s fine.’

  The fridge hummed. Melanie didn’t know quite what to do with herself. ‘I’m sorry about your date,’ she said. ‘Was he nice?’

  ‘He was okay.’

  ‘I’m sorry I dragged you away. I’m sure you’d rather be in bed with him than here with me.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Lynsey shrugged. ‘He wasn’t my type, anyway.’

  Melanie started to laugh and then stopped herself, checking to see if this was okay.

  Lynsey smiled weakly and Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. The strangeness of the moment passed.

  Melanie finally located a bottle of beer for Lynsey and flipped the top. She poured herself a glass of water.

  ‘Not drinking?’ said Lynsey.

  Melanie toyed with the rim of her glass. ‘It’s not that I don’t want a baby. I do. But just not like this. I want to be in love, I want the perfect family.’

  ‘And you really think that exists?’

  ‘Of course. If you stop believing in perfection then why keep going?’

  ‘I think perfection is a vision that will keep you in a permanent state of disappointment,’ said Lynsey. ‘And nothing lasts for ever. Not even perfection. That’s the final twist.’ She sipped at her beer and watched the beads of condensation roll down the icy bottle as the cool clear flavour of it played with her tastebuds. ‘I know the world can let you down. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Like love. Even when it lets you down you have to keep believing, keep trusting, keep hope. Otherwise it’s all just grey.’

  ‘Do you really think I could keep this, this baby?’

  ‘God, Melanie, it’s up to you, of course it is. You’re lucky to have choices. But I think there are women a lot worse off than you who manage just fine,’

  A whole new world opened up in Melanie’s imagination. A world where she had that bloom which all pregnant women have, all the maternity clothes that Prada could make, warm smiles from strangers on the street. ‘I could, I suppose,’ she said.

  Then she thought of sleepless nights and baby puke and trying to juggle the relentless schedule of Justice with the responsibility of being a new mother.

  ‘They’d never renew my contract if they knew.’

  ‘Don’t tell them. There’s no way they can prove that you knew you were pregnant. My friend Belinda was seven months pregnant before she realized.’ It was true; Belinda had gone to the doctors with a bad back and come out with the biggest surprise in the history of the lower sixth.

  ‘This could be my last chance to have a baby.’

  ‘Now you’re just being melodramatic. You’re only thirty years old. You have plenty of time.’

  ‘I’m thirty-four,’ said Melanie.

  ‘You lie about your age?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thirty-four’s still young.’

  ‘To you, maybe.’ Melanie looked at the clock. It was so late. They both had work tomorrow. Work. ‘I know what I’m going to do,’ said Melanie.

  Lynsey looked up.

  ‘I’m going to think about it.’

  19

  Douglas Mullraine wanted Serena Simon. Like most men who spent an evening in Serena’s company he became slightly obsessed. After she rebuffed his first few invitations he began to shower her with gifts.

  First there was a week of damask roses arriving every day by the dozen. Their sweet scent overpowered her new, tiny apartment so much that by the third day she was sending them back. The next time he was in town he sent Godiva chocolates that she didn’t eat, instead she gave them to her neighbour on her birthday The following week a single diamond earring arrived with the promise of its partner if Serena would join him for dinner. Again she refused and wore the earring with a plain silver hoop in the other ear. Flowers, chocolate and jewellery. So predictable. Serena sat back and waited for the perfume to arrive.

  It was the coat that won Serena round. Perhaps she only succumbed because she had been feeling particularly low that day. Another day full of auditions for parts she didn’t really want. Even the empty apartment she had loved so much when she moved in began to depress her. The doorbell rang and she signed for a large white cardboard box without knowing what was in it. She thought perhaps Douglas had decided to send her roses by the score, except that the box was surprisingly heavy.

  Inside, cocooned within sheets of fine tissue paper was a long leather jacket of shimmering blue, the colour of a peacock feather. It was exactly what Serena would have picked out for herself. The leather was soft and supple and the cut was perfect. It was undoubtedly very expensive but it looked effortlessly casual. A good buy from a vintage clothing store perhaps. Inside was a card with his name and the telephone number for Chateau Marmont. Serena looked around her empty apartment and her even emptier refrigerator and decided to take her new jacket out for a walk. A leather jacket was not a romantic gift, nor was the accompanying note as flowery as usual. What harm could it do?

  ‘Douglas? It’s Serena, I’m in the lobby.’

  Bloody hell! He wasn’t expecting that. He had just ordered some adult entertainment on pay-per-view and was settling in for the evening. He’d hired a personal shopper and given her a five-hundred-dollar budget to buy Serena a gift. He thought they were a marvellous service, if a little inquisitive. They’d asked him all sorts of questions about her colouring and her interests. He’d had to make most of it up. Hair, clothes and make-up, he’d said – isn’t that what all girls are interested in?

  Women certainly knew how to shop. All month he’d been laying on the hearts and flowers routine and nothing. The shopper must have picked out something amazing for it to have such a response and he didn’t even know what it was. He would certainly be keeping their card. He looked regretfully over at the countdown to porn on his television.

  ‘Would you like to come up?’ he said.

  ‘Just a drink, maybe?’

  ‘I’ll be straight down.’

  The phone rang again almost immediately.

  ‘Change your mind?’ said Douglas.

  ‘Changed my mind about what?’

  It was his wife, Amanda. Damn. She talked too much, giving him every little detail of her day and every amusing thing the baby had done or said or breathed.

  ‘Why, about coming out to join me, of course,’ said Douglas. ‘I can’t talk now, sweets, I’m on my way out of the door.’ He pulled on his trousers and checked his teeth in the mirror as he listened half-heartedly to her latest complaint.

  ‘… and then, to cap it all, Olivia’s puked all over the sweet williams. But the new car arrived.’

  ‘You bought a new car?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘Right, so you did. Amanda, sweets, I really have to go.’ He sucked in his stomach.

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘Yep, absolutely, me too.’

  A quick squirt of gold-spot breath freshener and he was ready.

  They sat in the lounge bar of Chateau Marmont. Serena admired the landscaped gardens from their window table. Douglas admired Serena.

  Serena sip
ped Evian water and Douglas nursed a bloody mary.

  ‘I want to make something clear,’ said Serena. ‘I’m not going to get with you; if that’s a problem then we’re both wasting our time.’

  Douglas was slightly miffed but managed to hide it well. What a waste of five hundred dollars.

  ‘But,’ Serena continued, ‘I can act as your escort for certain events. Events where we both want to be seen.’

  ‘And what do I get out of this?’

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’ She threw her hair back over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. ‘You get to arrive on the arm of the most beautiful girl at the party. Lucky you.’

  ‘There are a lot of pretty girls in Los Angeles.’

  ‘Yeah, but you came after me. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.’

  The first place Douglas took her to was a lavish fundraiser for challenged children.

  I’m a challenged child, thought Serena; give it to me. At a thousand dollars a plate she might have asked for the money and had a hamburger instead, but everyone was there. So this was where they had been hiding.

  It was a marvellous evening. Douglas had welcomed the envious stares of other men and felt his chest swell with pride. Serena was like a magnet for unreturned calls. All the men he had been trying to get hold of for weeks suddenly found the time for proper conversation as long as they could keep admiring the view. He got two invitations to play golf and an open invitation to go sea fishing with the richest man in the room.

  She could talk to anyone. The men all adored her and while the women were frosty to begin with Serena soon charmed them too with her ready smiles and easy laughter. Serena was a powerhouse of ambition but she knew when to keep it hidden, and among the rich and powerful she played a perfect submissive role. She would hover on the outskirts of a conversation and make herself indispensable, seeking out the waiters when they were needed, relocating lost husbands in the room, laughing alone at the joke to save someone’s embarrassment. There were two sides to the Californian social scene and Serena would rather be a part of this one, where they didn’t check IDs at the entrance, they checked invitations.

  Her arrangement with Douglas became a regular thing and she was meeting some of the real players; last night Bob Rosenburg remembered her name and Serena thought that was the best thing that had happened to her since she arrived. She began to feature in the legitimate press as well as the trash mags, at first just her name and then recently a picture beside Lizzie Cullen’s column in the Los Angeles Observer. Keeping her profile high was essential if she wanted to get auditions for the right part.

  Douglas still lusted after her but he had made his peace with that. Being seen around town with Serena was doing wonders for his reputation and he was willing to keep his dick in his pants to maintain his new image. When he was out with Serena he liked to imagine that they were lovers. The human mind is a powerful thing when it comes to invention. With Serena as his date every time he was in town he no longer had to order pay-per-view.

  20

  Everybody kept telling her that Justice was certain to renew her contract, so when her last official day of filming arrived Melanie didn’t know whether she was expected to say goodbye.

  It wasn’t like she was anticipating a party. She had never been popular on set but the crew had at least begrudgingly grown to respect her. Fabien and Melanie smouldered on screen and with the first episode about to air they were confident that Justice would be a hit. Melanie wouldn’t appear on the television sets of America until week four.

  So with no goodbye and yet no date set for her return Melanie felt strangely in limbo. Nobody had told her to check out of the motel or passed on arrangements for a flight back to London. Was she supposed to wait and see? The thought of the empty days stretching ahead, banging her head against her bare walls and waiting, propelled her straight onto the phone. What was the point of paying ten per cent if you didn’t reap the rewards? She made a few demands and secretly enjoyed the rush of power. Within forty-eight hours she was flying home.

  Home was where she could make some decisions. Back in the real world, out of the fantasy, things would be clearer. She hoped. She was happy to be back here, driving along familiar country roads, slowing down in anticipation of well-known blind curves. No surprises. Nothing had changed.

  She was on her way to visit her mother. Immediately on her return to London, Amanda had insisted that they all went up to visit Norfolk for the weekend, ‘a real family occasion’. Melanie had been too tired to think of a decent excuse, so she had agreed. The thing about family was that they knew you too well. Amanda always knew when she was making things up so there was no point in trying. Her mother, Linda, had never really been close to either of her daughters. She was lively and vivacious, good fun, but not the sort to confide in. Melanie pictured a quiet weekend with good food and few questions. In a way it was ideal.

  She swung the car through the open wooden gates, half hidden by the hedgerow, and dropped down a gear as she had done a thousand times to traverse the rutted dirt track which led to the house. Linda waited for her on the front step as she always did. Melanie never understood how she knew the right time to stand there, perhaps she stood there all day; actually, she sat in the window seat in the north turret with its unbroken views, waited for the car to turn off the main road and dashed down the stairs to greet her. Linda had been a brilliant diamond of beauty in her youth and though the radiance was fading she was still a softly glowing pearl.

  When Melanie’s father left them Linda had taken it hard. For a while the Norfolk house had been threatened but Linda had returned to nursing and taken the girls out of their expensive school instead of losing the family home. Melanie and Amanda spent their last few years at the local village school. Amanda had hated it from the very first day. She strode into the class in patent heels and was promptly told to go home and change. Instead she went into the village where she spent the rest of the day drinking dark brown beer with the local lads. For Melanie it had been a love affair; she had never liked boarding school. Girls like Amanda, with hennaed hair and Doc Marten boots had fitted in. Girls like Melanie, already five foot ten by the age of fourteen, with her head stuck in Tennessee Williams, had not. There was a gaping void at home where her father had once been and Melanie used language and literature to fill it. Amanda used boys. They would never again be as close as they were as girls.

  Linda stepped down onto the driveway and swept Melanie up in a suffocating hug, all silk scarves and patchouli oil. In these later years she had thoroughly embraced her spirituality with all the pioneering vigour of one who thinks she is the first. Twice a week she saw her guide and healer and ever since he told her that she had the potential for clairvoyance Linda had been trying to hone her skills by inviting various women in the village to sit around the kitchen table to concentrate on the dead and, of course, cross her palm with silver. She also insisted on rearranging the entire house to align its chi energies, which meant that Melanie’s childhood bedroom was now a storeroom and when Melanie visited she slept in one of the impersonal guest rooms. All those years you were sleeping under the loo, dear! It explains so much.’

  ‘Still driving that death trap?’ asked Linda, indicating the Golf Cabriolet Melanie had driven since her twenties. It still ran like a dream and was starting to look vaguely cool in a retro-camp way.

  ‘Until you buy me a new one,’ said Melanie.

  Linda walked through to the kitchen. ‘I almost could, I tell you. I’ve been doing Feng Shui consultations. People will pay so much money just for you to move a couple of rubbish bins and stick up a bamboo blind.’

  Melanie thought it was best not to remind her of the two hundred pounds Linda had paid for her own consultation.

  ‘You look tired, how about a nice acupuncture session? I’m really starting to get the hang of it. I’ve got clean needles.’

  ‘You know, you’d be a big hit in LA,’ said Melanie. ‘How about a cup of tea i
nstead?’

  Linda put the kettle on and unearthed a bottle of whiskey from under the sink, topping up her own tea with a splash and offering the bottle to Melanie. Melanie pulled a face. Pregnant or not, whiskey in tea was just a waste of good whiskey.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ said Linda, relaxing back into an over-stuffed armchair next to the Aga.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What was Fabien Stewart like?’ she asked.

  ‘Professional, very businesslike,’ said Melanie. No way was she going there. Her mum was a bit of a Fabien Stewart fan. She had watched his soap opera a few years ago on daytime television. She ought to give her something, though. ‘Actually, I went to a party at his house.’

  Linda swooned and insisted that Melanie spent the next twenty minutes detailing the decor of Fabien’s home. Finally she sat back satisfied in a way that looked vaguely post-coital.

  ‘What did you wear?’ said Linda.

  ‘Oh, the costumes were amazing, new season Calvin Klein which goes into the stores the day after each show airs.’

  ‘I mean what did you wear to meet Fabien Stewart?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake! Well, I hope it was something decent. Did you mention me?’ Linda quivered with excitement like a giddy schoolgirl.

  ‘Yes. He says hi,’ said Melanie. ‘Enough now. What have you been up to?’

  ‘Feng Shui and palm reading. Here, I’ll do yours,’ said Linda, grabbing her daughter’s hand. ‘You can buy books, you know, that just tell you what the lines mean. It’s so simple. Hang on, I’ll get it.’

  Linda searched through overflowing shelves to find the elusive book, displacing herb jars, incense burners, pots and pans. Its eventual appearance led to a similar search for her spectacles. Melanie watched her mother bustle around the room. Behind the sickly scent of a recently burnt joss stick, the kitchen still had the same warm, lemony smell she associated with childhood. Sometimes she would enter a distant room miles from home, capture a breath of a similar smell and feel instantly at ease.