Things seem oddly tense when I walk back into work. Marnie is in my chair and I can’t ignore the fresh bruises on her shoulders and collarbones.
‘Marnie, what’s happened?’
‘Nothing. I went out and danced a lot and was just having a good time,’ she says, looking at her lap.
‘Marnie,’ I say as softly as I possibly can, ‘I don’t think that’s true. These are bruises from hands and fingers, aren’t they?’
‘Can you just cover them up, please? I’m on set in ten minutes and Langston is so mad at me, and—’
‘Why is Langston upset with you? He shouldn’t be getting you worked up this much, you poor thing,’ I interrupt while she blinks back tears.
‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to make a big deal.’ She lowers her voice. ‘We had a thing. It’s not a thing now. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I just need you to do my make-up and I can suck it up and do my job. I’ve always wanted to be an actress, I can’t blow it. I’m sorry I told you … If you say anything, I’ll just deny it!’
I can see Marnie flushing red with panic at the thought of losing her chance, and probably for fear of Langston. He’s a intimidating man, looming taller than most and having an air of authority you don’t often see. I’m a bit scared of him myself, to be honest. Still, I know what’s wrong and what’s right, and that overrides any concerns I have for Langston.
‘Did … did Langston do this to you?’
Marnie’s silence confirms my suspicions, and as she looks up at me we meet eyes and she nods. Big, hot tears run down her face and I grab for tissues to blot her mascara.
‘This is not OK … you don’t have to put up with this. You could—’
‘MARNIE! IT’S CALL TIME!’ barks Langston, who’s suddenly filling the entirety of my doorway. He’s so abrasive I almost jump out of my skin. I can feel Marnie shaking.
‘I’m sorry, Langston, we’re not quite ready yet. We shall need five more minutes,’ I deliver, channelling my inner Finola.
Taken aback either by my bravery or my absurdly posh accent, he glares at Marnie and leaves the room.
A moment or two later, Marnie has relaxed enough to start telling me her story. ‘We were dating,’ she says, twiddling her fingers as I fix her face and gently cover her bruises. ‘He told me he worked in movies and would get me a part. Things were great for a while, he called me his little dollface and took me to premieres and parties and gave me roles in his films,’ she continues, looking down at her hands and pausing as though unsure whether to go on. ‘Then I noticed the way he would talk to the other girls in his films, how he’d take them into his trailer and call them dollface too. I knew I wasn’t special to him, that I was just a plaything for him to amuse himself with, and so I tried to break it off.’ Marnie looks up at me for reassurance and I nod encouragingly. ‘I told him I didn’t want this, and that he was welcome to the other girls. He was so angry. “You need me,” he said. “You’re nothing in this business without me.” I said I didn’t care and that I just wanted to go home, and he grabbed me.’ She pauses and stops playing with her hands, looks straight into my eyes. I can see hers are full of tears, and she says quietly, ‘He’s so much stronger than I am. I’m going to leave for good when the shoot is over but for now, I just want this job – I need this job – and then I’m gone.’ Fresh tears fall again and I grab more tissues and sponge pads to soak them up and save the newly applied concealer. I wonder what Natalie would do in this situation. She’d be so much better at this than I am.
‘Oh Marnie, I’m so sorry. He’s a bully. A bastard bully.’
‘Yeah. Well, nothing I can do but leave and feel sorry for the next poor girl he calls dollface.’
Marnie’s called on set, and I don’t know what to do. I have barely any time to think because no sooner has she left my station than someone else is here, and I need to do mine and Natalie’s load today. I wish she was here; she’d handle this so well. She’s unflappable.
The next few hours pass in a blur of work and light chat, and all the while in the back of my mind I’m thinking about Marnie. I believed her when she said she’s seen through him and she’ll leave after this job and be OK, but what about Langston? He’s going to carry on doing this.
My phone buzzes – it’s from Kath. She’s sent a picture of Lyla smiling and holding up a picture she’s drawn of me and her and I could cry. I’m tired and emotional and trying so hard to hold it all together, but I can’t. I take this Lyla-induced moment of bravery, unclip my brush belt and walk on set, where thankfully they are between takes and Langston is sat in his chair, scrolling through his phone.
As I walk over, thinking on my feet, my legs feel like they might lose all structure and buckle beneath me. But I take a deep breath and think about Marnie and how, if someone did that to Lyla, I’d kill them with my bare hands.
I have to be careful about this. I can’t let him know my plan.
‘Hi Anthony – Mr Langston – sorry about earlier. I’ll try to be quicker next time.’ I say as nicely as I can through slightly gritted teeth. How can he be so disgusting to such a sweet girl?
‘Huh?’ Clearly our interaction earlier has meant nothing and I’m just annoying him. I take a deep breath and carry on. I’ve got to get this right.
‘With the actress, Marnie. She was talking and taking up my time. That’s why we were running a bit late, because she distracted me.’ I feel horrible for saying this about her, but hope my plan’s going to work.
If he were a dog, his ears would have pricked up, such was his reaction to the name ‘Marnie’.
‘I was doing her make-up but she just kept talking and talking, very frustrating really. I just wanted to apologise to you.’
‘She was?’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘She’s a fucking nightmare. Needs a bit of sense knocking into her. We’re on a tight schedule!’
‘Ha ha, I know, right? I could have slapped her!’ I say with a fake laugh so convincing even I almost believe it.
And then it happens: the most horrible, wonderful thing.
Langston, obviously feeling at ease with me, his new comrade, leans in and says, ‘You know what, Robbie,’ I’ll pretend he didn’t get my name wrong, ‘Sometimes I do.’ With that, he laughs. And I don’t.
I look him straight in the eye.
‘You disgust me,’ I say.
His eyes narrow.
‘What?’
He speaks quietly. Gone is the charm. He is cold as ice and furious.
‘You heard. You are a violent pig and I think you’re revolting.’
‘You want to watch your mouth, young lady, or you won’t have a job to come back to tomorrow.’
‘No, Mr Langston, you want to watch yours,’ I say, starting to feel light-headed with adrenaline. Before he has a chance to say anything – or worse – to me, I walk briskly back to my station, throw my things in their case, stash it under the table and almost run back to the hotel.
Good grief. I think I am going to lose my job. And on this day, too, when Natalie was depending on me. But I know what I have to do.
Lifting open my laptop so forcefully I almost bend it backward, I plug my phone in to it and write the riskiest email of my life.
TWENTY-NINE
AS SOON AS WE open the door to Sarabeth’s on Park Avenue, I can feel my dopamine levels rising. This place is the best. The smell, the gentle colour schemes of creams and golds, the happiness of all the people inside. In the distance I can hear music playing, and instantly I realise it’s mine and Simon’s song. I haven’t heard this in years, and wish I wasn’t hearing it now. I’m already anxious enough worrying about what just happened with Langston and what Natalie will think if I get fired. This place was just calming me down, and now a song is set to push me back over the edge. It’s funny how you can feel so completely over someone but then something hits one of your senses and you are utterly triggered. Hearing our song instantly takes me back to happy times when I felt secure and safe, and all of
a sudden I remember I’m far from home and feel quite on edge. Determined not to let a song ruin my day, I focus on the food to come. The smell of French toast is in the air, and nothing can be that bad when brunch is on offer.
‘You OK there, Twitchy?’ Piper asks, noticing my obvious discomfort.
‘Ha. Yeah, I was just thinking about Simon, actually,’ I muse back.
‘Ew! Why?’ Piper asks in surprise.
‘This music reminded me of him,’ I say, in more of a sigh to myself than a response.
‘Do you still miss him?’ She places a hand on my arm. She’s so sweet.
‘No, I just have him in my memories. He was such a huge chapter of my life, I can’t not think about him sometimes. I loved him. He was my everything, really,’ I say, scuffing at the lobby floor with my foot, allowing myself a second of extra time to gather my thoughts. ‘I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together, grow old and die together and then poof! It’s over. It’s actually amazing how hard you can fall for someone and then, years later, how little they mean to you.’ I look up at Piper, who is listening intently. I’m surprised at my own outpouring. I’ve been so used to just existing at home that coming here, to the busiest city in the world, is allowing my brain to be quiet and actually think for a second about what it’s been through. It feels good, so I let it carry on. ‘I mean, not little, he’s Lyla’s dad, but that magic is gone. That connection. I didn’t think it would be possible to have something so special and then for it to be nothing. It’s just a sad concept. I don’t miss him so much as I miss what I thought I was going to have.’
Wow, that got deep quickly. I breathe out a sigh so big the woman in front of me turns round in shock. She quickly turns back when she sees me tearily blinking back at her. I didn’t even realise I thought that. Sarabeth’s is clearly a trigger point for more than just brunchy goodness.
‘I know, yeah.’ Except I don’t think she does know. ‘Let’s just get some carbs and eat our feelings instead.’
‘Good plan!’ Eating my feelings isn’t something I’m new to, so I gladly end the chat, hold back the waterworks and walk over to the maître d’. I’ve been longing for a Sarabeth’s for days, and I’m not going to let my brain spoil it for me. Shut up brain, it’s tummy’s turn today!
We’re led to a table and I almost physically swoon. God, that would be embarrassing: ‘Oh, so how did you cut your head open, miss?’ ‘I physically swooned at the sight of a table filled with breakfast foods and fell and smacked my head on a hotplate.’ ‘Don’t worry, miss, we see it all the time.’
Nested in the corner by the back wall and window at a table laden with well-polished silverware, we take our seats and open the heavy menus. Everything looks like heaven.
Leaning towards the berry bowl and then almond-crusted French toast, I close my menu with a satisfied thud and look up at Miss Dovington Junior. Of course, she looks relaxed and glowing. I can imagine her in the gallery, walking around looking effortlessly stylish and giving her opinions and instructions for how and where everything should go. She’s so comfortable in her skin, you can’t help but respect her.
Silver leather pointy-toe flats with a delicate buckled-up ankle strap, another pair-of-straws skinny jeans but this time in a very soft washed-out blue, slimline silver belt and a crisp white shirt tucked into her jeans with three buttons undone at the top, she looks simultaneously effortless and absolutely amazing. She’s thrown her hair up in the type of topknot she’ll claim only took three seconds but if I were to do it, it’d take forty minutes, and slicked on some popping-pink lipstick and a couple of layers of mascara. I think if Piper punched three holes into an empty cat litter bag and wore that she’d still look better than me. A bit like Natalie, really. I must attract amazing women. That’s actually quite a nice thought …
I’ve gone for a more casual look, as always, but not for lack of trying. ‘Boyfriend’ jeans (such a cruel name for jeans – they’re not my boyfriend, I don’t have a sodding boyfriend, and even if Theo took the coveted title, I’m not sure my thighs would crush into a pair of his anyway), a slouchy black H&M cotton tee and once-white Converse that I bought because Lyla had a pair and I wanted us to match. My hair is also up, but in an it-really-needs-a-wash ponytail. Thankfully I took the time to fully cleanse and moisturise last night, so my skin is glowy and my make-up looks chic. Gotta use the skills you have, eh?
Piper is finished with her menu and leaning across the table looking at me with mischief in her eyes.
‘Go on then, it wasn’t just admiring his art, was it?’ I say with a faux sigh, because actually I love hearing about her exploits and adventures.
‘Nooo,’ she says, as if she’s revealing the most tantalising piece of information you’ve ever heard. ‘Ooohhh nooo … oooo he’s incredible!’
‘You say they’re all incredible while you’re with them, though.’
‘I’m not with him with him, I’m just seeing him,’ she retorts nonchalantly.
‘What’s the difference?’ I ask.
‘Well, I just go over and see him or hang out with him, but he’s not my boyfriend. I’m not bothered about that bit.’
‘Isn’t that the best bit?’ I’m amazed people feel this way. All I want in the world is the holding-hands-and-sharing-our-problems part. Sure, I want the fizz and thrill of the chase and the early days hot-sex-before-work, but mostly I just want that connection you don’t find in a friends-with-benefits kind of set-up.
‘What? Having to listen to their problems or hold hands at their boring work events or provide soup and tissues when they’re full of snot? No, thank you! I just want to go over, have some company, hang out, go for drinks, maybe explore the city a bit and leave it at that. Simple, easy, exciting.’
‘Wow. I wish I could see it like that.’ It’d certainly make life with Theo feel a lot better. Maybe this is actually how Theo thinks?
‘You can,’ Piper says, sitting back, picking up her fork and putting her fingers on the prongs, gently musing her idea over. ‘You just have to cut your heart off from your brain a bit. Maybe it’d do you good to put yourself out there a little more.’
I blush slightly, thinking about how much I put myself out there the other night, but I don’t think she’s noticed.
Best change the subject. ‘So, Callum’s just sex and fun, is he?’
‘Yes. Oh my God, Robin, he’s incredible. We went back to the studio, he took five seconds to show me a canvas and before I knew it we were all over each other. It was so raw and animalistic! I could barely even think it was so hot. He’s ripped. And tall and strong and absolutely massive. I mean his dick is absolutely huge, and as he thrust into me he did this thing with his fingers that—’
‘Yep! Yes! OK! Thank you, Piper! I’ve known you since you were five, remember. Weird, weird, weird!’ When did my best friend’s little sister become this sexual minx-like creature? I’m sure we were playing with Barbie and Ken about four nanoseconds ago. Now she looks like the Barbie and there are a lot of Kens playing with her. Ew, ew, ew.
‘Shut up!’ laughs Piper. ‘We’re all adults now! I’m sure you’ve had loads of hot sex in your life!’
Uh-oh, I can feel all the blood rushing to my cheeks again. I’ve not had lots of hot sex in my life but I’ve had pretty explosive sex this week. Every time I think of it my body tingles.
‘Are you blushing?’ Piper says, putting both hands flat on the table, clearly thrilled with her observation and what it might mean.
‘Me? No, I don’t think so. It’s so warm in here, isn’t it? Shall we order?’ I say, reaching for the menu, trying to busy myself enough to distract her.
As if all the gods are smiling down on me, the waitress arrives to take our orders and I do go for the berry bowl, the almond-crusted French toast plus a hot chocolate. You’re only in New York once, right? Piper orders fruit and granola and a green tea, and I realise she doesn’t share my philosophy about eating everything in sight in this city.
&nb
sp; Thinking we can move on, I start up the conversation again.
‘So, Lacey called me the other day and said she feels like it might be a good month,’ I offer, to fully swing the conversation round. ‘The conception app thing says all the signs are good. And her nipples hurt, apparently. Maybe she’s right! Maybe there’ll be a new baby next year!’
‘Lacey always thinks it’s a good month, bless her. I try not to talk about all of that with her too much; I don’t think I’m much help with ovulation chat, and I’m ever fearful that I’ll upset her more. I just want to cheer her up and make her smile. Sex chat, that’s where I am. So, tell me, Miss Wilde, what’s going on?’ Piper says, leaning forward, eager to work out what, indeed, is going on.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, trying to look as innocent and confused as possible.
‘Yes you do, you’re bright red and being skittish. I’ve known you forever, remember. Something’s up. You did something with Mr Marry, didn’t you?’
She’s literally a psychic now, is she?
‘OK, yes, I did.’
‘I knew it!’ Piper is euphoric, for fuck’s sake. ‘Sooo, how was it? Where was it? Was he good? Are you in love? Are you going to marry him and have all his babies?’ she says, overenthusiastically clapping her hands together and smiling wide.
‘For someone who just had to explain the difference between seeing and going out with, you’re awfully quick to jump the gun,’ I laugh as the food arrives. I feel like a king looking at all this glorious breakfast food. Why isn’t this more of a thing in England? Why have I spent 99 per cent of my life settling for non-brand cocoa pops? I’m clearly not living.
I go to pick up my fork, but Piper’s huge eyes are piercing into me in a way that suggests she’s not going to let me eat in peace until I spill.
‘OK, Mr Marry is Edward. He works in creative design, is British and has lived out here a while but flits back and forth.’
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