by Victoria Fox
In January, Daniel contacted her to say he was visiting Buenos Aires and could arrange to meet on his way through. He didn’t volunteer why he was in town and Calida didn’t ask—she chose to believe he was coming for her. When the day came, she dressed carefully, discarding outfit after outfit. She wanted to look nice for Daniel but she didn’t have to impress him. She wanted to resemble the girl he had trusted.
The apprehension was agony. Calida thought of all she had been through with this man, how he knew her better than anyone. He had known her as a girl, he had known her home, and he had known Teresita. No other lover would have known her twin. How could she give herself to someone else when there was this hole at the centre of her identity? Daniel was precious but this made him priceless.
Though she knew the knock on the door was coming, still it made her jump.
She answered, and all at once Calida wasn’t twenty-one; she was thirteen, the age she’d been when she had first laid eyes on him. Daniel hadn’t changed; those blue eyes hadn’t changed. He was the same wind-tousled cowboy she had fallen for.
‘Hello.’ Such a small word, for all it meant.
Calida wanted to hug him, bury her face in the softness of his T-shirt and the hard assurance of his chest, but his body language told her no. It was too soon.
As they made their way down to the street, Daniel avoided looking straight at her. He checked his watch a couple of times. He was on edge, too.
‘Thank you for coming,’ said Calida, as they took a table in the square. A gang of kids knocked a football around on a patch of grass, and, in the distance, a band started up. A waiter came over and they ordered two Quilmes.
‘Of course I came,’ Daniel replied. ‘You said it was important.’
‘Still, you didn’t have to.’
‘I wanted to. We’re friends.’
Calida smiled. ‘That’s a relief,’ she said.
Daniel shifted in his seat. He looked older, the crinkle of lines around his eyes testament to his life outdoors. She wondered how he had suffered as a boy, in the looming shadow of his tyrant father; the fear he’d known as he cowered from the blows, and then, as he got older, the bravery in defending his mother. How could she have left him, after he’d opened up to her like that? Selfish. Her pain and longing had driven him away—but what about his pain? What about his longing?
‘The thing is, Calida,’ he said, ‘I have something important to say, too.’
Daniel’s voice was clipped. She could tell he was about to lay it on the line.
‘Let me go first.’ Calida put her hands on the table. ‘Please. I deserve everything you’re about to hit me with but let me say this first. I’m sorry. That won’t make up for what I did but it’s where I have to start. I was wrong. I made a mistake and I regret it every day. I didn’t mean those things I said. I was confused, and angry, and sad, all those things, but they’re not an excuse because whatever I was, I should never have taken it out on you. The truth is, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. Not here,’ she gestured, ‘I mean … You know what I mean. You saved me, over and over. I never thanked you. I’m sorry, Daniel. I really am. I’m sorry.’
Calida watched the drops of condensation on Daniel’s bottle of beer and then his strong fingers as they closed around it. He drank and then replaced it on the table, where it stained the paper cloth with a thick grey ring. The movement incited a trace of his scent. He smelled so good, of all she missed and loved.
‘It’s OK,’ he said.
She waited for more but it didn’t come. ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘I said it is, and it is.’
This time he did look at her. The electricity of his gaze made her spark, the same way Rodrigo had looked at her right before he tore the clothes from her body, but at the same time different. Tender, gentle—sad, almost.
‘You got my note about the farm?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I had no choice.’
‘I know.’ She felt ashamed at shirking her responsibilities. ‘Who took it?’
‘Americans.’ Daniel dug in his pocket. ‘Here. This is why I came.’ He passed a cheque across the table and Calida’s mouth fell open when she took in the amount. ‘This guy offered way over before anyone else got the chance to take a look, said he wanted it taken straight off. He bought the horses, the land, the lot.’
‘But …’ Calida was shocked. ‘It was falling apart. It isn’t worth this.’
‘This guy thought it was.’
‘Clearly.’ She couldn’t believe the amount. This was enough to …
‘Take it,’ she said, passing it back. ‘It’s yours.’
‘No, it’s not. It was your home. It’s your money.’
‘I can’t. You earned this. We owed you. You deserve it.’
‘I don’t need your money.’
‘I know, but—’
‘I would have sent it before but it seemed safer to deliver it in person.’
Calida nodded. ‘Daniel, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then don’t say anything.’ The note of affection in his words compelled her to glance up. They smiled at each other. His smile was like the sun.
It made her take a leap of faith. ‘I guess I was hoping …’ A beat, before she blurted it. ‘I guess I was hoping we could share this … for us—for our lives, maybe, together. What you said in Mendoza about how you felt, that maybe you still feel the same way, because I do. I didn’t say it then, I didn’t know what I was saying then, but I can’t count the times I’ve wished I could go back and change every word. I can’t stop thinking about you, Daniel, siempre pienso en ti. No one else compares. I don’t care what it takes—I don’t care about anything apart from being with you. Te extraño. I care about you so much. I’ve made a living for myself here—and with this,’ she lifted the cheque, ‘we could be happy. I know we could. I could make you happy.’
It wasn’t a perfect speech, but there it was. She’d said it. She’d laid her heart on the line, on the table between them, and Daniel sat looking at it, his face grave.
‘Well?’ she asked softly.
‘I’m married.’
The force of his announcement made her sit back, as if she’d been struck. Her mouth formed around words for every outcome except this and no sound escaped.
‘I tried to tell you. It happened last month.’
A stone hardened in her stomach. ‘To whom?’
‘A local girl.’
‘Who?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes.’
‘Clara. We’re on honeymoon. She’s always wanted to visit Buenos Aires.’
There was only one question. ‘Do you love her?’
He continued to stare at the table, at the heart she had put before him. She wanted to reclaim it, fold it back inside her and get up and leave, but she couldn’t.
‘Sí,’ he said.
‘Look at me when you say that.’
He did. Well, she’d asked for it. ‘Sí,’ he said. ‘I love her.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t do this, Calida.’
‘Tell me why. She’s not a mess like me, is she?’
And you told her your secrets and she didn’t run out on you.
‘She’s nothing like you.’
‘And that’s why you love her.’
‘You turned me away. It was definite, as I remember.’
She couldn’t deny it. She had no right to be angry or upset—she’d had her chance and she’d blown it. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, pushing her chair back. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy together. I hope you understand but I have to go.’
‘Calida—’
‘No.’ He reached for her but she shrugged him off. ‘Don’t make this worse than it is. Forget we ever met. Go back to your wife.’
She felt his eyes on her the whole time she walked, but she didn’t turn back.
A month later, Calida was in a bar on Santa Fe when a celebrity bulletin
caught her eye. TESS GEDDES ATTENDS CHARITY GALA IN LA. She hadn’t seen her sister since Cristian’s house. Tess looked like a million dollars as she sparkled in front of the cameras, glittering eyes and shining teeth, her perfect face a mask of sympathy.
The reporter spoke in Spanish: ‘If you recognise the name, that’s because gorgeous Tess Geddes is the daughter of Hollywood queen Simone. The pair visited the Brentwood Children’s Ward on Saturday, where Tess was named an honorary patron. With filming in full swing for Caitlin Wood’s new production White Candle, it’s a wonder that Tess can take time out for her charity work. Tess is tipped for stratospheric success here in Hollywood and we can’t wait to watch her star rise.’
Calida held her glass in one hand and swirled the ice around in the bottom, listening to the cubes crack and slide against each other like splits on a frozen lake.
Her sister. Her nemesis. How I despise you.
If it hadn’t been for Tess Geddes, Daniel would still be hers. Her twin had failed in taking him that night on the farm—but she hadn’t stopped there. Oh no. By running from them, by chasing her own self-serving instincts, her insidious poison had ensured Calida would lose him another way. If Teresita hadn’t left, they would still be there, Calida would still know him, maybe he would never have met his wife.
Bitterness filled her like tar. Daniel was gone. There was nothing left to lose. Hate was stronger than pain. Revenge more productive than sadness.
Calida stood from the bar. You can’t get away with it, bitch. I will not let you.
She grabbed her coat, paid for her drink, and vanished into the night.
25
December 2014
Night
The person stood before her, a black, faceless, nameless shape.
‘Who are you?’
But the words didn’t form. They came up her throat and hit the back of her mouth but they didn’t make it. Instead they were absorbed by the hot, saliva-soaked gag, and she screamed, but it was hard to scream and breathe at the same time and her heart pounded wild and fast, beating so hard she thought she would pass out, or die, and she hoped she would die because this wasn’t her life, this wasn’t her life …
A hand reached down, soft and hairless, and loosened the gag. It fell from her in a sticky, chemical-scented mess. The feel of air on her tongue was like water.
For a few seconds, she fell for the trick. Then she gasped.
‘Water.’ Her mouth was parched. ‘I need water …’
The person moved at leisure in the dark, no rush, and she strained to catch any clue she recognised. She detected a familiarity in the way they moved, something deeply reminiscent, like the forgotten touch of a long-ago lover’s hand.
Light pooled at the person’s feet, teased her by glowing, and then vanished.
The water was brought. The person knelt but not too close. She fought to catch something from their body, warmth or scent, because she knew them.
She felt certain she knew them.
She gulped the water but the glass kept moving out of reach. Helpless as a newborn, she nodded after it, begging for more. The liquid travelled into her like life; she sensed it move down her throat and into her belly and through all the veins and arteries that kept her body moving. She loved and hated it for keeping her alive.
‘What do you want?’ she managed. Her voice was rusty, clogged with the fog of her unconsciousness. A question surfaced in her mind: How long have I been here?
‘I want to talk to you,’ the person said.
Her captor sat with their back against the wall. Now they had spoken again, any last doubt was eradicated. Fear surged. Fear and need, and longing …
‘I’m sorry—’ she began, anything to make it stop.
‘It isn’t enough.’
For the first time, her kidnapper’s emotions got the better of them. The person remained in the dark, head bowed. The words came again. ‘It isn’t enough.’
‘We can talk,’ she pleaded. ‘Please, there isn’t any—’
‘I don’t want to talk.’ The tone changed. She shrank back. Her head was pounding. Snow continued to dust the windowpanes, an endless suffocation. In the corner loomed the sharp and piercing shape of a tree, undecorated.
‘Let me go,’ she managed. ‘Please, just let me go.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ said the voice. ‘You did a bad thing to me—and I don’t like people doing bad things to me. If someone does a bad thing to me, I have to do a bad thing back.’ The person’s face came close, their breath, hot and hungry, on her neck. ‘I’m going to hurt you now. But don’t worry: it won’t last long.’
PART THREE
2006–2010
26
Los Angeles
The man had been staring at her all night. Plenty of people admired Tess Geddes, some more surreptitiously than others, but few had the confidence to eyeball her.
Her first premiere—at least for a movie she had starred in—was held at the Fernbank Theater on Sunset. Every big hitter in Hollywood was involved in the run-up to White Candle. Tess and Simone arrived on the red carpet to a barrage of roaring fans. Thousands of eyes roamed her fishtail Monique Lhuillier dress, drinking in the vision that had set this town alight, and Simone’s hand guided her like the protective mentor and mother she was. Tess had been the golden girl of LA for the past twelve months, but this was her moment. Tonight marked her official arrival.
Tess held her head high and bathed in their praise and adulation. She was proud of the venture and her work. She loved to read the rave reviews: Tess Geddes isn’t just a pretty face … Her beauty surpassed only by her talent … You think her looks are all she’s about? Then you’re mistaken … She relished the idea that the girls at Sainte-Marthe would see this, that Madame Aubert and her professeurs would be pleased, that somewhere, perhaps, Señorita Gonzalez would watch her debut movie and it would chew her up inside. She only wished that Calida could see it.
See what you gave up.
The screening went brilliantly. Caitlin Wood could put no foot wrong, and, with Tess’s chrysalis-to-butterfly transformation, her performance was lifted from marvellous to masterpiece. The audience of VIPs laughed in the right places, fell reverentially silent where they should, gasped at the twist where Harry Duvall’s character confesses his love for Tess, and, at the end, erupted in ear-splitting applause. Tess and her cast were encouraged to stand to receive their praise.
At the after-party, she returned the man’s scrutiny. A flicker of a smile danced on his lips. If he wanted a staring match, fine, she would give him one.
‘Hello.’ He took this as an invitation to come over. ‘I’m Steven.’
‘I know who you are.’
Steven Krakowski was an illustrious producer. At thirty, after a string of box-office triumphs, he had just gone into partnership with Miller & Mount, one of the biggest studios in town. He had neatly cut ash-blond hair and handsome features.
‘Tess,’ she said. They shook hands.
‘Congratulations. You’re an immense talent.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I bet your mom’s angling for the awards circuit.’
‘I don’t need her to win an award.’
Steven liked her spunk. ‘Why don’t I doubt that?’
Tess smiled. Her mind was working. Tonight’s attention, the glory she was receiving as an actress, it was all well and good—but she craved more. She could achieve more. She saw what Caitlin Wood had, the other kickass female producers and directors in LA, and she wanted it. She didn’t have to be someone’s puppet.
Predictably, Simone appeared at her side. ‘Tess, may I have a word …?’
‘I’m busy.’
‘It won’t take a minute.’ She was shooting Steven daggers.
Steven was diplomatic. ‘I’m due a refill,’ he said. ‘Ladies?’
Tess shook her head. Steven smiled cordially and moved off. ‘What was that about?’ Tess asked through gritted teeth. She was sic
k to death of her adoptive mother interfering. What now—Steven needed the Simone Geddes Seal of Approval in order to warrant being spoken to? Courtesy of Simone, the year had seen a reel of industry guys come knocking on the Malibu villa. She was determined to snag Tess a boyfriend and each time Tess tried to squirm out of it—’We didn’t have much in common’ or, ‘I couldn’t make him smile all night!’ when in fact her date had spent all evening talking about himself or had no discernible sense of humour—Simone would pout, wounded. How could she explain that she would never find a man who made her spark? That she was incapable of that? She was ruined, frigid, frightened of sex?
‘I hate that man,’ said Simone.
‘Why?’ Steven seemed perfectly decent to her.
‘There are whispers in this town. I don’t like it.’
‘What kind of whispers?’
‘Krakowski has his fingers in too many pies. You figure it out.’
‘You mean he’s a young guy tearing up Hollywood and your old-school buddies don’t like it? I’ll be making my own mind up about Steven.’
‘Don’t get lippy with me, young lady. You take my advice.’
‘I’ll see who I like.’
‘Oh, you’re seeing him now, are you?’
‘He strikes me as friendly, honest, and respectful.’
Simone spluttered, ‘You’ve divined this after two minutes of talking to him?’
‘And you’ve divined your opinion based on rumour and hearsay?’
‘Trust me: rumour in this town is as good as fact.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You just keep away from Steven Krakowski, Tess. Do you understand?’
Tess brushed past her in search of the bar.
Simone’s veto succeeded only in making Steven an attractive prospect. Tess didn’t have the hots for him, the thought of sleeping with him brought her out in the usual psychological rash, but then that was no change. What’s important, she instructed herself, is what Steven can do for you. And Steven could do plenty of things. He was at the beating heart of the movie business. He could make or break a career with the click of his fingers. Befriending him would inject her straight into the core of the power set: a set that had nothing whatsoever to do with Simone Geddes. Tess had imagined herself with an actor—but why choose that when she could go straight to the cogs of the machine? Acting would only sustain her for so long. She wished to produce, to create: to be the woman in charge. Steven could help her achieve that.