by JS Taylor
He runs his fingers through his hair, as though he’s trying to find the right words.
“I may not like Ben,” he says, “but he is still my brother of sorts. He and his mother once had the Berkeley name.”
“Is that what this is all about?” I ask. “Some stuffy aristocratic reputation?”
James gives a half smile.
“No,” he says. “It’s about decency. No matter what the divorce papers say, a promise was made to Ben’s mother. It was a promise which bound her family to the Berkeley’s for life.”
He fixes me with his green eyes. “Protecting Ben and has family… It’s to do with honour. Perhaps I’m old-fashioned, but it’s a standard I live by. I won’t see them struggle in times of need.”
He makes it sound so… righteous. Still I don’t like the idea of him giving money to Ben.
“How often do you give him money?” I ask.
“Not often, and always for a specific cause,” says James. “I paid for his mother’s hospital fees last year. And sometimes, his brother needs additional private care.”
I consider this.
“And it’s not… blackmail or anything?” I ask.
James winces, and I hate myself for asking.
“No,” he says. “Believe me, Issy. If it came down to blackmail, I’ve far more on Ben Gracey than he has on me.”
Ouch. Lorna. She’s tied to him for life now.
“And you don’t give Ben money for reasons of guilt?” I ask, remembering that James beats himself up about not being more closely involved with the Graceys.
“No,” he says firmly. “It’s about honouring family ties.”
I consider this.
“Then you have to help Lorna,” I decide. “When she has this baby, she’ll be family too.”
James’s face breaks into an adoring smile. “My clever little Issy,” he says. “Always helping others.”
He passes a hand over his forehead, and I momentarily regret giving him this extra burden. He is so busy already with the filming and everything. But Lorna is my best friend. I have to do everything in my power to help her.
“I’ll talk to Ben,” says James finally. “But I can’t promise that he’ll listen to what I have to say.”
I leap towards him, throwing my arms around his neck and covering his face with kisses.
“Thank you! Thank you! I know he’ll listen to you James.”
He detaches me slightly, smiling. “We’ll see.”
Instantly, I feel better. Somehow, I know James will make things alright.
“In any case,” he adds, “we have our own little drama to attend to.”
“We do?” A wave of fear spikes through me.
The stalker?
“Oh no, nothing like that,” says James quickly, reading my expression. He pulls me close. “Didn’t I promise you I’d keep you safe from all that?”
I bury my face in his warm chest and breathe him in.
“You did,” I acknowledge, feeling the truth of it. I feel so safe in his arms, I could stay here forever.
James presses his lips into my dark hair.
“What we have to decide,” he says, “is where you’ll be staying whilst we’re filming.”
Where I’ll be staying. I hadn’t even thought about that. I’d assumed I’d be back in my chalet, making sneak visits to James whenever possible.
It wasn’t an ideal scenario. But to be close to him and free from danger was more than enough.
“What options do I have?” I ask, pushing back so I can see his eyes. His face is thoughtful, deliberating.
“Well,” he says slowly. “You could, of course, stay in your chalet. Your clothes and things have been delivered there as a matter of course.”
He pauses.
“Or?” I prompt, impatiently.
Is there another solution to this? Could I be with him?
James laughs. “Or,” he says “you could come stay with me.”
He says it so simply, as though this would be no problem at all. For a moment, it wrong-foots me completely.
“As easy as that?” I ask. “Just come stay with you?”
“Well,” concedes James, raising a thoughtful eyebrow. “We would have to announce our relationship to the crew.”
“Announce it?” I can’t keep the shock from my voice.
I can hardly think of anything more embarrassing than making an official announcement.
“Nothing ostentatious,” James assures me. “Just a brief announcement, saying we’re involved, and asking for everyone to respect our wishes to keep it out of the press.”
“You think that will work?” I ask. In the past few weeks, I’ve been introduced to the dark world of press relations. It seems to me that everyone could have their price. And newspapers have an awful lot of money.
James tilts his head to one side, considering me. Something seems to catch in his eyes, and he moves his hand to run along my cheek.
Then he moves forward and kisses my mouth.
For a moment, everything is forgotten as I lean into him. Then he draws back a little and cups my jaw in his fingers.
“Yes,” he says simply. “It will work. And it doesn’t matter really now, even if the press does get a story. Madison and I are officially divorced. But the decision of how we continue rests with you.”
“It does?” I’m still a little hazy from the kiss.
“Yes,” says James. His eyes are staring deeply into mine, and for some reason I am transported back to when we first met. I’m back on stage, with butterflies in my stomach, not knowing what’s expected of me. It’s thrilling and disconcerting all at once.
“If we announce our relationship,” James continues, “things get serious.”
I thought they were serious already.
“I mean,” James’s brow crinkles, and he rubs his forehead distractedly. “You must know, I’m serious about you, Issy,” he corrects himself. “I love you. But if we tell everyone on set, then we’re committed.”
“Does that frighten you?” I whisper, remembering everything I’ve heard about James. That he’s a hard man to pin down.
To my amazement, his off-centre features break into a great wide grin.
“Does it frighten me?” he gasps. “Are you serious?” In the heat of his sentiment, his aristocratic accent rings through his words, louder than ever. “I mean, Issy,” he frowns at me. “I’ve never been more committed to anyone in my life.” His hands are gripping me firmly.
He loves me! The familiar surge of startled joy sparks through me.
“Then why…” I’m puzzled. “What’s the problem with announcing it?”
James’s face is beaming now.
“For you,” he says, as though it was obvious. “In case you didn’t want to commit to me. It’s a big decision,” he adds.
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
“You think I wouldn’t want to commit to you?”
James. You idiot. I’ve never wanted anything so much.
His expression slides into something I’ve never seen before. He looks bashful. It’s so adorable, I can’t resist kissing his face and rooting my fingers into his hair.
“Why would you think that?” I say, unable to keep the delight from my voice.
“I…” His eyes are wide and earnest. “I thought with everything you knew about me. It was a big thing to ask.”
He looks sad again. “You know I’m broken, Issy,” he says. “Asking you to commit to me. It’s a lot to expect you to commit.”
I move myself closer so our noses are touching.
“You are the most wonderful man I have ever met,” I say, channelling my feelings through my eyes. “You have lifted me to a level of happiness which I never knew was possible.”
His eyes come alive as I talk, and I realise I should have told him this sooner.
“You are everything to me,” I continue, “and I love you so much. You’re not broken James, you are all I could have ever wanted, and
besides,” I pause for breath, “I’ve already committed to you already, haven’t I? We’ve already risked press exposure. I was ready to deal with being reported as your evil mistress. I think I can handle the crew knowing I’m your girlfriend.”
We’re both grinning at each other now, unable to stop.
“We’ll tell them then,” says James. “We’ll tell them all.” He stops and scoops me up, shrieking into his arms. “That the lovely Isabella Green is all mine.”
His face is shining with delight, and in that moment, I can’t think of how I could ever be unhappy with this man in my life.
Suddenly, all my fears of the celebrity world have fallen away.
Fame and fortune do your worst. James Berkeley is all mine.
Chapter 20
With the fancy dress party to come, we’ve only got a few hours to find outfits. And James has opened the costume department to the cast and crew.
Since our shopping trip, it only seems right to team up with Camilla and Natalie to choose outfits. Though to my disappointment, Madison declined to join us, saying she was too old for fancy dress.
“I’m still adjusting to UK time,” she added. “I’ll be in bed by 9pm. Though I hear Mr Berkeley has a very important announcement tonight.”
Madison gave me a disarming wink and looked so genuinely excited, that I forgot to be mad that James had confided in her. Much as I hate to admit it, the idea of their fake marriage still bothers me a little. And I can’t quite fix it in my head that they weren’t really husband and wife.
So Natalie, Camilla and I have headed to the enormous hanger, in which the Berkley Studios house their costumes.
And as usual, James’s studio facilities do not disappoint. The costume department is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
It’s a giant, rolling labyrinth of costume racks, stretching right to the ceiling. The selection so large, that it’s organised in pathways, complete with signage.
“Oh my God!” shouts Camilla as we move through the massive warehouse doors. “This is incredible.”
Ahead of us is a towering bank of clothes, tapering away in a long dark corridor ahead. Staring down the aisle, I can just make out where it splits off at a junction in the distance.
“We’re going to get lost,” I murmur, staring along the pathway at row after row of clothes.
We walk in a few steps, all of us mesmerised by the endless aisles of clothes and shelves of props.
“Whoa,” breathes Natalie, staring ahead. “This is going to be fun.” The theme for the evening is movie stars. And it looks as though we’ll be completely spoilt for choice.
We venture a few steps into the pathway created by the towering shelving systems. Now we’re in amongst the costumes, it’s hard to see what is where.
I look at the outfits immediately around us. It seems we’re currently standing in the horror section. The hangers and shelves are filled with scary masks, blood-stained clothing, and various ghoulish props.
“Jeeeesus Christ,” breathes Camilla, lifting up a clawed glove. “How are we even going to choose?”
I can see her point. I was worried I wouldn’t find anything I liked. Now I’m worried I’ll find too much.
Camilla is pulling out a Batman costume, complete with a utility belt.
“Cool!” says Natalie. She dips towards the outfit. “Look, it still has some props inside.” She reaches into a pocket on the Batman belt and pulls out what looks like a grey cotton ball.
“Smoke bomb!” she shouts, throwing it square on the floor.
“Uh! Natalie!” cries Camilla as the bomb detonates near her feet in a dusty puff of fake smoke.
“Yuk,” I say as the grey mist meets my nose. “It’s like flour.” The pretend smoke has got in my mouth and it tastes horrible.
“That’s what it is,” explains Camilla, waving away the rapidly settling dust. “It’s just coloured corn starch.” She turns to Natalie.
“No more messing around,” she warns, “we need to find outfits.”
“Sorry,” says Natalie. “Ok, where shall we head?”
I shrug. “This place is enormous. Let’s just walk around and see what we find. And hope we can find our way out again.”
Natalie grins. “I’ll bet there are a few well-dressed corpses in this warehouse of people who never found their way out again.”
We wander forward, and I realise we’re entering the history aisle. As we walk through the tight racks of clothes and high shelving systems, I see signs breaking the clothes down by era. We move past caveman, with furs and clubs, into medieval, and then Elizabethan.
I admire the huge skirts and elaborately jewelled garments. “These are incredible,” I say, running my fingers over an intricate lace ruff. “They must be difficult to wear.”
“Never do costume dramas,” says Natalie, “that’s what I was always told. You spend more time sweating than acting.”
“Doesn’t it remind you of the Wizard of Oz?” asks Camilla, taking in the world of outfits around us. “It’s like we’re lost in a mystical land.”
Hemmed in by the fantastical clothes, it’s hard not to agree. The real world feels very far away.
“I’d be the scarecrow,” adds Camilla with a grin. “I’m the tall lanky one.”
I laugh. “Then I’d be the cowardly lion.”
Natalie and Camilla look at me in surprise. As though they don’t think of me that way.
Surely they must notice? I’m not confidant like most actresses.
“Well then,” says Natalie, adopting a pitch perfect Judy Garland, “I guess I must be Dorothy. Come on lion! Come on scarecrow! Let’s go find the wizard!”
And she grabs both our arms and pulls us into an energetic skipping walk.
“We’re off to see the wizard!” she sings, imitating Garland’s high trill, “the wonderful Wizard of Oz!”
She breaks off laughing, and we all stop to get our breath back, joining in Natalie’s amusement. We’re in the 1960s now, and I can see brightly coloured baby-doll dresses and knee high white boots.
“Where to now?” asks Camilla. “Does anyone have the slightest clue what they want to wear?”
Natalie shrugs. “Let’s just keep walking.”
“We’ll never find our way out again,” protests Camilla.
“You’re forgetting my ruby slippers,” says Natalie. “We’ll just click our heels all the way back to the party.”
We take a left, laughing, and find ourselves in a section labelled ‘vintage greats’. It has the same musty smell as some of my favourite vintage stores, but I notice it’s laid out differently. Everything seems to by jumbled in together.
“What do they mean by vintage?” I ask uncertainly.
Natalie is grinning from ear to ear. She grabs Camilla and I and drags us to the first hanger.
“They’re outfits worn by movie greats!” she announces excitedly. “They sometimes have a few in the better costume departments. But I have never seen anything like this. James must be, like, a collector.”
She plucks out a pair of leather chaps and reads the label. “John Wayne. The Big Trail.” Her green eyes are wide and excited. “That was John Wayne’s first movie. I loved that movie.”
“I never even heard of it,” I say. “You must watch a lot of films.”
“I missed school,” says Natalie with a shrug. “But old movies is where I learned everything I know about acting.”
She rehangs the chaps. “James must go to costume auctions,” she says, “to have all this stuff. Those would have cost a lot.”
Natalie’s coral coloured fingernails slide reverently across the racks of clothes. She plucks out a small suit and checks the label. Then she crushes it against her chest, raising her eyes to heaven.
“Oh no. Oh no!” she cries. “You will never believe it!”
“What?” laughs Camilla. “Tell us.”
Natalie pulls the suit away from her body and regards it like a holy thing.
�
��Marlon Brando,” she whispers. “Actually Marlon Brando. These are his pants.”
She holds them high, so we can see.
They’re a fifties style cut, high-waisted, and made from heavy grey cloth.
Natalie moves them back against her body, considering.
“I’ve got my outfit,” she announces. “All I need is a jacket, a hat, and a Tommy gun.”
“A mobster?” I guess, thinking the pants are the wrong era.
“Yeah,” breathes Natalie, her eyes shining. “I mean, the pants will need adjusting. Brando was 5ft 8”, and I’m only 5ft 3”. But I’ll get them pinned.”
“Won’t the eras be wrong?” asks Camilla. “The pants are 1950s.”
“Yep,” shrugs Natalie, “but I don’t care. I just have to wear these pants. Marlon Brando is my absolute hero. I would die happy if I could act as well as him, just once. Just for a second.”
Her face looks far away for a moment. “I’ll be a kind of Godfather-mobster hybrid,” she decides.
I have a sudden picture of her as a cute little mobster girl in a black hat.
“Ok,” I say, enjoying her enthusiasm for mixing it up. “Then I guess we need to find props and get you a gun.”
“And a fedora,” says Camilla. “There’s a hat section too.”
After a long search, we discover the props department. And we find Natalie a surprisingly heavy Tommy gun, which she’s very happy with. Then we head back past the sci-fi and fantasy section to find a hat.
I’m wondering what costume I might suit. I’ve always liked history. Maybe there’ll be something interesting in the historical outfits.
We’re in sci-fi and fantasy now, and the costumes are incredible.
“Issy! Issy!” Natalie’s excited voice jolts me out of my thoughts. “Looooook!”
She dives into a rack of bizarre looking sci-fi clothes, and emerges holding up a few scraps of leather and metal.
For a moment I don’t understand her meaning. And then I see Camilla is grinning and nodding.
“Oh no, no, no. Not for me.” I shake my head, eyeing the outfit. “That it way too…”
“Awesome?” counters Natalie. “Totally out of this world amazing? Issy you have to wear this.”