by JS Taylor
She hangs up before I can launch any more questions. So I focus on racing to the studio entrance as fast as my legs will carry me.
I pass by the parking lot, which houses the various classic cars and other vehicles for filming.
It now also houses the shiny new Vespa, won at the studio party casino a few months back. I glance at it longingly. I’ve had a few lessons and have been bombing around the studio on my free time. Much as I’d love to leap aboard now and get to Lorna all the faster, I don’t have the keys with me.
Continuing on foot, I try not to torture myself with ideas of what may or may not have happened.
Did Ben reject Lorna? Or did he promise to stand by her?
It’s been a few months, so Lorna might well be showing by now.
She’s so lean that the slightest little bump on her long body will probably be quite obvious.
I reach the gate a bundle of nerves and see Lorna, standing casually in a tattered looking purple maxi dress and a pair of battered DM boots.
Her Afro is in slight disarray, and her make-up is smudged around the eyes, as though she’s slept in it. My eyes drop to her midriff.
Oh no. There’s no bump.
The observation fills me with slow dread.
No bump? What has Lorna done?
Please. Please. Don’t let her have aborted the baby because of Ben.
I pass through the gate, showing my pass to the guard, and virtually fall on Lorna in a torrent of hugs and questions.
“Are you ok? Where have you been? Are you ok? What happened? Are you ok?”
Lorna laughs, hugs me tight, and then pulls back a little.
“Issy. I’m fine. Stop worrying!”
“But…” I whisper, putting out a hand towards her belly but not daring to touch her. “The baby?”
“Oh, well, that’s a funny story.” Lorna rubs at her mussed hair.
“A funny story?” I virtually scream the words. This is no time for Lorna’s gallows-humour.
“Yeah.” Lorna looks at me in surprise, as if my reaction is unexpected. “The pregnancy. It was a false alarm.” She gives an adorable little shrug. “They always tell you to do two pregnancy tests, right? I shoulda listened.” She rolls her eyes. “Would have saved me a lot of worry.”
“A false alarm? There’s no baby?” I can hardly believe it.
“Yep,” nods Lorna. “No baby. Never was one.”
“And Ben?” I am so washed with relief I can barely speak.
A false alarm. Thank God.
I’m so happy, I’m finding it hard to even be angry with Lorna. Though I know I should be.
“What does Ben think of it all?” I add.
Lorna shrugs again. “You know what? The whole situation kinda put me off Ben,” she says, her expression philosophical.
“Did he react badly to the news?” I am imagining Ben behaving appallingly.
“No.” Lorna shakes her head. “I never told him. Found out the pregnancy test was wrong before I had to. But the idea, you know, of being shackled to that idiot for life.” She gives a little shudder. “It was like the spell was broken, you know?”
This is so much to take in, that I hardly know what to say next. Then a burst of anger sets in.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I rage, my voice louder this time. “I called and called. Lorna. I was worried sick.”
Lorna’s face looks guilty now.
“I’m sorry, Issy,” she says. “I just hit the festival circuit for the summer. Didn’t take my phone. I just wanted to let my hair down and party for a few months after all the stress. I didn’t think.”
The festival circuit. That explains her bedraggled appearance.
“That’s right, you didn’t think,” I rage. “I was about to take out missing person’s for you. It’s only because I spoke to your mother that I even knew you were still alive.”
The anxiety of the last few months is pouring out in a torrent.
“How could you do that to me?” I storm. “I thought you were pregnant and alone somewhere.”
Lorna is laughing.
“What are you laughing at?” I demand.
“I’m sorry, Issy,” says Lorna. “I am completely thoughtless. And you are my best friend, and I love you. I should have known that you would worry. Even my mum doesn’t fuss about me as much as you do,” she adds, smiling.
“You should have called,” I complain, some of my anger subsiding.
“Yes. I should have. I’m really sorry. Truly. Please forgive me. I was having a bad time. Well. A bad time, and then a really good time,” she adds grinning.
I glower at her. She gives me her special Lorna-pleading look that she knows I can’t stay mad at her with.
“You are in big trouble,” I say, batting her arm. But I can’t keep from smiling. “But I am so relieved that you’re not pregnant with Ben’s baby,” I add with a sigh.
She nods. “Me too.”
“So it’s all over between you and Ben?” I ask, unable to believe it.
She frowns. “When the doctor did a scan. Well. I was sooo relieved. Being bound to Ben Gracey for life was the most terrifying thought.”
“I thought you liked Ben,” I say weakly, thinking of all the times she agreed to meet with him despite his messing her around.
“Well, you know,” says Lorna. “I’m not used to men giving me the run-around. At first it was intriguing. Then. I don’t know. I guess I’m just over it. His games got boring.”
She says this casually. As though Ben were an old dress, or a song she’d heard too much.
“Really,” I ask, curiously. “You’re not interested in him anymore? Not at all?”
Lorna has always been incredibly fickle where men are concerned. So this isn’t out of character for her. But I always feared that Ben had a stronger hold.
“Yeah,” Lorna breathes out. “Weird huh? It was just,” she snaps her fingers, “like that. No baby. No Ben. Big relief.”
She ponders this for a moment.
“Ben only spoke about himself, you know,” she says. “That gets pretty old pretty quick.” Lorna leans closer. “And in the bedroom,” she holds up a crooked little finger. “Not all that.”
I let out a great gasp of laughter, pushing her hand back down.
Now this is the old Lorna.
“Lorna!” I admonish.
“What?” She affects innocence. “I can’t help it if it’s true. Ben Gracey is not blessed in the trouser department.”
I grin at her, delighted to have her back.
“So you’ve just been at festivals this whole time?” I say, taking in her grungy appearance.
“Yup,” Lorna nods, and puts up a hand to her hair. After a moment’s searching, she pulls out a stubby little dreadlock. “See? I’ve even managed to grow a real dreadlock. The modelling agency is going to go insane with me when I get back.”
“They’ll probably make you shave your head and front Benetton campaigns,” I say. “It will serve you right.”
She grins. “Totally worth it. Two months camping, a tonne of bands, and a lot of partying.”
“You are impossible,” I say. “Come inside, and let’s get you some clothes that aren’t mud splattered.”
Lorna salutes. “Yes mum. Just show me to the bathtub.”
As we walk back through the studio, Lorna’s launches endless questions about the movie.
“How long ‘til you finish filming?” she asks.
“About half a day.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Lorna,” I say. “Your timing is impeccable, as usual. You’ve managed to turn up on the last day of filming.”
“Great,” she says. “Is there a party? Can I come?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I concede. “But I don’t think anything big is planned. Just a small gathering and a few drinks.”
“So, you’re all saving yourselves for the big premiere?” she asks.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“When is it?” asks
Lorna.
I frown, trying to remember. “I think it’s in a few months. When we wrap today, then it goes into production. James will be working on it. Then it goes out to the world.”
“Exciting,” says Lorna.
I nod, realising I’m only just coming to terms with it all myself.
“So my bessie mate is going to be a big star,” she decides proudly. “I can’t wait to show you off.”
I wave my finger at her. “You are still in my bad books Lorna. Don’t forget you went AWOL for two months. That’s not what best friends do.”
“I’m sorry.” She looks contrite. “But I can still come to the premiere, right?”
She flutters her violet eyes at me. “Pleeeease.”
“I’ll see how I feel nearer to the time,” I say, my voice stern. “It depends if you manage to answer your phone in the next few months.”
This seems to satisfy Lorna.
“Ok,” she says. “That sounds fair. Can I watch you filming?”
I consider this. I guess there’s no reason why she shouldn’t. Would anyone mind?
“Please, Issy,” she says, sensing my indecision. “I love watching you act. And it would be a dream come true to watch James Berkeley in action.”
“Alright,” I concede. “But you have to behave yourself. No flirting with the crew or trying on the costumes.”
“Scout’s honour,” she agrees.
Despite being mad at Lorna, I am so pleased to have her back.
“Come on then, trouble,” I say, taking her arm. “I’ll show you were you can watch the filming.”
I set Lorna up with a director’s style chair, a little out of range of the working set. I notice David the props handler do a double-take when he sees Lorna, her long legs crossed casually in front of her.
I guess he hasn’t forgotten her from Barcelona.
She catches his eye and gives him a saucy wink. David grins back nervously, as if unable to believe his good luck. Then hurries off to arrange the props.
I smile to myself. Lorna’s back to her old self then. Charming the pants off every man within a ten mile radius.
We set up for the first scene of the afternoon.
I make a last reading of my script, turning it over in my head.
Grace doesn’t know it yet. But she’s about to find out she’s won over Tom’s conscience. He’s decided not to publish the story on her father after all.
I take my place, opposite Natalie. There’s a moment whilst lighting is wheeled into position. Then James shouts for lights to beam on. He’s not appearing in this scene, so he’s back behind the camera, calling the shots.
I sit, and then arrange my features into dejection. At this point, Grace thinks that Tom is going ahead with a story about her father. Everything she has been working for has fallen apart. Her father will be vilified. And worse. Tom, whom she was developing feelings for, has proven himself heartless.
“Action!” shouts James.
“Grace,” Natalie leans towards me, from her desk. “Did you get the letter?”
I shake my head, looking confused.
“What letter?”
Natalie frowns. “The one left on your desk. I could have sworn it…” She stops for a moment, and then her eyes flick down. “Oh,” she says. “Look, here it is. It must have fallen down between the desks.”
She stoops, retrieves the letter, and hands it to me.
I look at it in amazement, recognising the handwriting.
“From Tom?” I ask. Though I know the answer.
“Yeah,” says Natalie. “He wanted you to see it before he left for China. Sorry, I forgot to remind you.”
My mouth drops open a little.
“Tom left me a letter?”
Up until now, I was under the impression that Tom had no intention of betraying his journalistic findings. A story was a story. Could the letter mean something different?
Slowly, I tear open the envelope, hardly daring to believe what might be inside.
If Tom has relented, then I’ve just let him leave for the airport. On a six month reporting assignment to China.
I pull out the paper, and let my eyes scan the words.
What in the hell? Someone has tampered with this prop!
Suddenly, everything changes. Grace vanishes, and Issy is back, staring in blank, terrified horror at the letter in my hand.
The page has words which are not in the script. They are scrawled in think ugly shapes, using marker pen.
It’s only five words, but I am shaking with shock.
The letter reads: “SEE YOU AT THE PREMIERE’.
And surrounding them is an untidy lipstick heart.
Chapter 26
Everyone is staring at my reaction as my hands begin to shake. My face is a mask of blank terror, and my mouth is forming the words in front of me.
See you at the premiere.
It’s a threat. From the Lipstick Stalker.
“Cut!” yells James. And then he’s striding onto set.
“What is it, Issy?” he asks softly as he nears my trembling body. In reply, I hold out the page towards him.
I see his lips moving slowly, then his face sets in dark anger.
Natalie, too, has caught sight of the contents of the page, and she’s turned pale.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “How did he get you that letter?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. I realise I’m still holding the page dumbly, and I drop it back on the desk quickly, as though it’s a diseased thing.
I turn to James, questioning.
“David!” James is calling to the props handler. “How the fuck did this letter end up in props?”
There’s a collective gasp on set. We never hear James swear.
David picks up the letter and studies it in horror.
“I… I don’t know,” he says finally. “I have no idea.”
David’s face tightens, as though he’s thinking carefully.
“We have some props sent,” he says, “from a specialist company. They tend to be items that we can’t make in the studio. But the letter might have slipped through. I can check it out?”
“Do that,” says James grimly.
James takes out his mobile phone and begins punching in numbers. He spins away from us, taking a few strides off set. And then I hear his voice, dangerously angry, issuing orders.
“I want to know who let that letter in,” he demands. “No. Now. I want an answer in five minutes. Get me the name of whoever is responsible. Someone must know. I don’t care what it costs. Use your judgement.”
Whoa. Remind me never to cross James Berkeley.
I stand, feeling important, the note lying ominously on the desk.
“Issy? What’s going on?” Lorna is by my side.
I’d forgotten she was watching on.
“You remember we had a problem with a stalker?” I say, trying to use language which won’t alarm her.
“The psychopath who tried to kidnap you?” blurts Lorna. “Of course I remember.” Her eyes drop to the note.
“Is this from him?” She picks it up gingerly with her thumb and forefinger and examines it. Then she drops it back down. “I thought you said he was in prison?” she asks, her face fearful.
“He is in prison.” James is suddenly back with us, his voice forceful enough to make Lorna take a step back.
He puts his arm around me.
“I’ve just had it confirmed. He’s still locked up. Are you alright?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Then what’s going on?” asks Lorna. “If this psycho is in prison, how is he sending Issy notes?” Her voice has risen to a loud pitch.
I raise my hands to calm her. We don’t need any more angry people on set.
“Someone is giving the stalker money,” I say, “enough to bribe a prison guard to let him pull stunts like this.”
I breathe out, trying to sound calmer than I feel.
“It’s just… smoke and mirror
s,” I assure her. “The stalker can’t actually do anything. But he’s sent a text message, and now this letter. He’s just trying to frighten me. He gets off on it.”
I’m such a good actress, I could fool myself.
Lorna looks furious at this last part. “Find the guard then,” she insists. “Find the asshole who is taking bribes.”
“It’s not as easy as that,” I explain. “The stalker is like, this enigma. And we don’t know who is giving him money either. We’re not allowed to probe too much. It’s… a legal thing. Something about a fair trial.”
Lorna sets her jaw. “Can’t James just pay someone to beat the crap out of him, in prison?” she decides.
I laugh at this. Trust Lorna to have an unorthodox solution.
“That would make us as bad as him,” I say uncertainly, looking at James.
“Believe me,” says James darkly. “I’ve considered it. It wouldn’t help.”
James scans the set and seems to suddenly realise that the crew are waiting on tenterhooks for him to issue some kind of instruction.
“That’s it for today,” he announces. “We’ll wrap the last few scenes tomorrow. Or later in the week, if Issy needs some time off.”
His eyes scan my face at this last sentence.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, sounding braver than I feel. “Tomorrow. We’ll film the remaining scenes.”
But the truth is I’m grateful there’s no more acting today. My stomach is thick with the shock and fear of the unexpected note. My hands are still shaking.
“You’re a wreck,” decides James, taking in my shaking hands. He sounds angry still. “Let’s get you to somewhere quieter,” he adds, sounding gentler now.
His eyes rest on Lorna. Then they travel down to the conspicuous absence of a pregnant stomach, as though he’s suddenly clicked.
“False alarm,” says Lorna cheerfully, registering his gaze. “Pregnancy tests aren’t always accurate.”
James’s mouth opens and then shuts again, as though he’s decided to address the issue later. I remember he promised to have words with Ben and wonder what was said.
“Lorna, you stay on set,” says James bluntly. “I’d like to take Issy someplace where she can relax.”
My face is apologetic, but Lorna shakes her head that it’s nothing.
“Do you mind?” I ask. I’d really rather be off set for the moment.