by Sue Watson
GOSSIPBITCH: Who’s being tipped as talk show host of ground-breaking prime-time new Beeb format? Looks like this new Daytime Darling will be more successful than her predecessor in her bid for mega stardom.
15
Celebrity Heaven and Hog Plum Hell
“Tanya, I believe you’ve just met CC”, Tiffany said, clearly annoyed, as I walked back into the party area. “You aren’t supposed to meet until you are on camera, sweetheart. We can’t affect reality. Can you pretend you’ve never met?”
“Actually Tiffany,” I said, eyeballing her, “it turns out I already know CC. She used to work for me and I am afraid I cannot lie to the public... But if it makes things easier, I’ll not deliberately let on that I’ve just seen her in the toilets.” I gave her a tight smile. “OK?”
“OK lovely. Listen, we are going to introduce you first. So when I give you the nod, you will go out of those doors” she motioned to the glass doors leading onto a patio, where I could see lights and cameras. “Then you walk along the red carpet until you are in front of the cameras. Then just wait there. We are going to get people in pretty quickly as we want it all to be filmed during sundown – we put you first because we thought you’d be good at introducing yourself and the others. OK, my lovely?”
“Not a problem, Tiffany” I said, pleased they had recognised my expertise but keen to smack her in the gob if this twentysomething called me ‘sweetheart’ or her ‘lovely’ ever again.
“Great. So they’ll come in, one by one and then when you’ve all met you will find out what’s happening tomorrow. Then that’s it for filming, though there will be food laid on in the bar for everyone afterwards.”
“Great.”
The walkie-talkie Tiffany had on her hip crackled and she turned and spoke into it for a few seconds, before turning back to me.
“OK Tanya. Thunderbirds are go! Please walk through the doors now. This is all being filmed, please try not to swear.”
I glared at her then swept out of the holding room, through the doors and towards the lights. It was very strange, walking on to an empty set in silence. None of the crew spoke and I was very aware of the camera right in my face, clocking my every reaction. I walked slowly from the cool, marbled hall out into the balmy late afternoon and onto the grass. I stopped in front of a beautiful lake in the hotel grounds which had been lit up for the filming. I was feeling queasy (which was probably down to the hog plum smoothie) and was glad of a moment to compose myself and take some deep breaths. The low sun was starting to set, casting a pinky-gold light over everything. It was still warm but we’d been warned the nights could be cool in Nepal in September and I wrapped my pashmina firmly around my shoulders. Standing there in the silence for a moment, I almost forgot where I was and what was happening and just stared at the amazing sight before me. Beyond the hotel’s expansive pools and beautifully landscaped gardens were the Himalayas. The colossal mountains, surrounded by pink cloud, their tops sprinkled with icing sugar snow, stood in the distance as if they were welcoming me into this other place. Then I heard soft footsteps, and I knew the first celebrity had arrived; I turned around.
“Tanya! Hello!” said a tall, muscly woman, striding purposefully towards me. “Gosh, I’m glad I know who you are!” It was Kara Jackson, former Olympic athlete.
Her body was honed to perfection and she’d clearly oiled her muscular frame, adding a dose of spray-tan to accentuate the ripples. Her skin was orange and her dress was designer but she looked out of place, like she ought to be in running shorts on a track.
“Kara,” I said warmly, also relieved I knew who she was. She clasped my hand in hers and shook it roughly, her bare, muscular arms like those of a man.
“I imagine you will be far more used to physical endurance than me,” I smiled.
“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t done any sport for a while, Tanya, I just go down the gym these days.” She had a bright, quick, smile and a tough, cockney accent.
Running-track-hero-turned-sports-presenter, Kara was once a popular TV personality until she fell madly in love with married straight actress, Dina Marsh. They struck up a friendship, but her feelings were unrequited. Clinging to a hopeless dream that her love might one day be returned, Kara planned to surprise Dina one evening by breaking into her flat and spreading herself across the kitchen worktops, wearing nothing but a smile. Despite Kara’s best efforts at romance, Dina was terrified to find an Olympian lesbian on her finest black granite and called the cops. Poor Kara, who had only wanted a ‘girls’ night in’ ended up with a court injunction, a suspended sentence and a career in ruins.
After what seemed like only a few seconds, the next celebrity arrived. A small, untidy man shuffled on, with a hopeful smile and watery eyes that darted between us both. I knew his face and quickly scanned my memory. I could see Kara desperately trying to do the same.
“Erm, hello, Tanya Travis,” he said. “And hello, Kara Jackson.”
There was an awkward silence and I could feel Kara’s face redden. Then suddenly, I remembered.
“Jonny!” I said, with a broad smile. “How wonderful to see you!” Jonny Lester shook my hand, pleased that I knew who he was. Poor Jonny was a tragic clown, a one-time comedian, all cheesy one-liners and goofy routines. He had never been quite good enough to hit the big time though and in recent years his star – and his talent – had really faded.
“I think I once interviewed your wife” I said, brightly. “Yes, I remember now, it was a Tanya Travis Celebrity Special,” I smiled. “She was lovely, very young, you were divorcing, she cheated on you with... Oh, it was the lesbian celebrity special,” I said, before I could stop myself. I caught the eye of Kara who was staring at Jonny in horror and I recalled with a start exactly who his wife had left him for.
We were saved from our awkward threesome by Cindi, who skipped onto set on the arm of a man in his later years.
“Hi, everyone! I’m CC and this is Marcus,” Cindi said brightly.
“Darling girl,” toned the man, annoyed, “you have quite spoiled my entrance.”
He was small in stature but wearing a huge coat and ankle boots he had a physical presence and resonance that belied his slight frame – this one I knew straight away. Marcus Saunders was an old Shakespearian actor that no-one under 35 had probably even heard of. He’d said goodbye to BBC Drama and hello to reality shows after being caught trawling King’s Cross for rent boys in the late 90’s. It landed him a night in the cells and his story across the tabloids, ending with a suspended sentence and a request for three other offences to be taken into consideration.
“Ooh sorry, perish the thought anyone should spoil your entrance, Marcus!” Cindi giggled. I smiled politely and shook his hand. I was starting to feel quite hot, probably from the combination of lights, nerves and hog plums. My hands had become sweaty and my mouth was suddenly very dry.
As Cindi and Marcus said hello to the other celebrities I had to steady myself as I was feeling faint. I took a few deep breaths, and noticed it had gone silent. I turned around, and saw Cindi, Marcus and the others, gaping at a man who was striding towards us. “It can’t be...” Cindi whispered. The silence could only indicate one thing – we were in the presence of a genuine A-Lister. I recognised him instantly – it was movie star Rex Cannon. I used to drool over him when I was about twelve and though he must have been quite old – and a bit of a has-been in today’s movie terms – I could see he still had that ‘something’.
“Howdy” he said, with his smooth Texan accent, hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. He was wearing a Stetson and his checked shirt was open at the collar, his craggy old face still deeply handsome. Everyone was stunned and I felt maybe I should take control. I stepped forward purposefully – but as I did a wave of nausea overtook me. My outstretched hand flew straight to my mouth, and he looked at me, quizzically.
“Erm... I erm...” I said, knowing now that I was imminently going to be sick. “I’m Tanya,” I managed, before clamping
my hand over my mouth and bolting from the set. I streaked past the startled cameraman, pushed Tiffany out of the way as she tried to accost me at the door and ran into the toilets where I was very, very sick. Judging from the bright green colour, the hog plum smoothie had been a big mistake.
I continued to retch hog plums for some time and as a result missed the rest of the filming. Tiffany kept banging on the toilet door and demanding I came out, “Tanya, sweetheart,” she cried urgently, “we’ve only got a few minutes before the sun sets and we need to wrap this bit. We need you now, my lovely!”
“I don’t care,” I snarled, spitting hog plum saliva into the toilet bowl. “I’ve got a mouth full of hog plums I’m not coming out, sweetheart and that’s all there is to it.”
Five minutes later, there was a more urgent knock on the door; “Tanya, are you finished with the vomiting and the hog’s plums yet?” It was Astrid.
“No I am not, now bugger off.”
“Oh Tanya, the pixie-girl Tinkerbell... She says you sucking hogs in the toilet and I have to be a fucking sweetheart and get you out. Filming finished now, all the celebrities are here but where is Tanya? I say to her, if Tanya was here the sick would be everywhere. Is that what you want, Tinkerbell? Stupid shithole says...but sweetheart, but sweetheart...”
“Yes. I get the gist, Astrid,” I sighed, wobbling towards the door to open it.
She rushed in and put her arm around me.
“Oh you look like a very big crap, Tanya.”
“Thanks.”
“Now you lean on the sinking here, while I put on some of the lovely lipstick.”
“No... Astrid, please...” She delved in my bag, produced a lipstick and proceeded to assault me with it. My Chanel Hydracaresse in Sugar Plum was never meant to be wielded like a weapon, or wiped hard and unevenly across my lips. But Astrid managed to add a shade of ‘crazy’ to the heroin-chic-just-thrown-up look. Even in my post-vomit-exhausted state I knew that re-appearing at an event covered in regurgitated hog plums with strangely-painted lips would have people talking, but I was helpless as Astrid grabbed me around the waist and heaved me back towards the party.
“Tanya, I am very excited. Shitting hot star is here – I swoon on the bloody floor when I see him...”
“Yes, I know. Rex Cannon...I have been in love with him since I was twelve.” I said.
“You insane bitch, you so funny!” she yelped, laughing loudly and slapping me on the back, catapulting me back into the room.
I still felt dreadful and landing somewhere near the food table, I had to use it as a way of standing up. I leaned against the huge table covered in banks of spicy pastries, tureens of warm dhal, their pungent smell wafting into my nostrils, threatening a further – and possibly more violent – hog plum recurrence. Astrid was filling her plate and chatting away to me but I couldn’t really understand her, it was very excited and Swedish and full of unusually inventive expletives.
I stood for a moment, trying to calm my insides and take it all in. The huge, beautiful hall was like something from an opulent past dotted with artwork and glitzy statues. Waiters wandered languorously through the crowd, carrying trays of champagne and smiling. For a moment I found it hard to believe this was the same city that had beggars on its streets.
The rest of the guests and press were mingling and I spotted a couple of reporters I’d encountered in the past. It wasn’t long before one of them headed straight for me and, knowing the questions would be all about Nathan, I hid behind Astrid and shouted for Paul. He should have been nearby, it was his job to protect celebrities from the press asking any questions other than Spa Trek ones.
“Paul,” I called from behind Astrid, clutching her for ballast.
“What the buggering bollocks are you up to now, you crazy old-?” she turned round, still munching.
“Astrid, call Paul.”
I could see him hanging out at the other end of the food table, drinking and chatting with Tiffany the researcher. I wouldn’t have had that on my show. It was the first time I’d seen him for hours and I’d just been ill – the least he could do was check whether I needed anything.
I gathered myself together and, still using Astrid as a crutch, staggered over to him. I was feeling rough but my irritation at his lack of attention had caused an adrenalin rush. “Paul,” I said pointedly, tapping him on the shoulder. “Would you be kind enough to keep the press away from me and get me a drink?” He turned around, surprised at first, then he smiled.
“Of course, Tan, no probs.” He took champagne from an ice bucket and holding the bottle, stood back a little from me with his eyes screwed up. “You trying out a new way with lipstick? ‘Cos it’s looking pretty...fly.” he said, uncertainly.
I glared at Astrid, while he poured my champagne carefully into an empty flute.
“Thank you. Beautifully done,” I smiled, always happy to give credit and encouragement. “He needs to get his arse into gear,” I murmured to Astrid as I wiped my lips with the back of my hand then sipped my drink.
Astrid held out her empty glass: “You will be needing to gear it up your arse, Paul?” she said flirtatiously as he poured champagne into her glass.
“My arse is none of your business, Astrid,” he flirted back. She giggled, went scarlet and muttered something under her breath about ‘dick’s-head but cute.’
I felt like a gooseberry. Christ, I knew she was bonkers but she was part of the Tanya Travis entourage and it was wholly inappropriate for her to be flirting with a runner. I bet Posh and Becks don’t have this with their staff, I thought, enviously.
“Now Paul, you may have heard, I’ve been a little off colour and haven’t had chance to talk to everyone,” I said. I swigged a large mouthful of cool fizz. I was still feeling ropey from the hog plums and wasn’t sure champagne was the answer but I needed something to do with my hands.
“Will you take Astrid and me over to the others please?” I said.
He nodded and then the cheeky little sod poured himself a big flute of champagne. He took a huge glug then linked me which made me feel like a granny, whose grandson was helping her across the road.
“Paul,” I snapped, “I don’t need your physical help to get across the room. I just ask that you please bring everyone together for the formal introductions. It’s embarrassing. I just met them briefly on camera, I don’t know any of these people, yet I’ll have to sleep with them.”
He smirked.
“You really aren’t across this, are you?” I snapped.
He had the cheek to giggle, then put his head down and roll his arm forward in a ‘come this way, madam’ gesture. I couldn’t believe it. “Astrid, come along!” I commanded. “Come and meet the others.” She followed me, wide-eyed, towards the celebrities.
I wobbled alongside Paul; my heels were unusually high but as I’d be spending the following two weeks in mountaineering gear, I wanted to make the most of it. We arrived at a little celebrity huddle and Paul casually said hello in that irritating, laid-back way of his. Marcus the Shakespearian actor was deep in conversation with Rex the old movie star.
“...and my Lear – oh my dear, how the critics loved it!” he was saying.
Rex had an amused half-smirk on his face. “Really, big guy? You ever made a movie?”
Marcus puffed up his chest. “Movies aren’t really my thing, dear boy,” he said, buffing his nails against his neatly creased shirt. “I am more of a thespian, myself.”
“Is that so?” Rex said, chewing gum, nodding slowly, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “Well good for you, Marko. Of course, movies make all the money, but I guess you don’t get the same atmosphere, right?”
Marcus blinked.
“Do excuse me, Rex, dear boy,” he smiled, too sweetly. “I must get another drink.” And with that he moved off. Rex shook his head, laughing to himself. Jonny had been standing on the outside of the group witnessing the exchange and I moved next to him, remembering our earlier encounter.
“Hello again, Tanya” he said with a small smile. “I do hope you are feeling better and not ‘sick’ of us already.”
I pretended to laugh at his joke.
“Something I drank disagreed with me, I think.” Then, before he could come up with another lame joke I said: “Jonny, about earlier, when I mentioned your wife... Ex-wife. I’m sorry. I have interviewed so many people with so many stories they sort of jumble a bit and sometimes it all comes out... Unravels, you know?”
“Don’t worry about it, Tanya.”
“It must be awkward for you – with Kara here, I mean?”
“No, it was a long time ago and Kara’s had her own troubles since. Anyway the past is the past and we are all in here for one thing, to have fun!” He said this with the drooping brows and heavy jowls of a man who hadn’t had much fun recently.
I smiled and looked round for Astrid who was now deep in conversation with Paul. He was resting his arm lightly round her waist and she was bending her head in to talk to him. Annoyance flared though me.
I marched over to them. Their heads were together and for a moment I was stunned as I thought they were kissing. On closer inspection I could see they were listening to something on his iPod.
“Hi guys,” I tried to be gentle, as I didn’t want to embarrass them. “Paul, I think the producer needs you to clear away some of the cables,” I started.
“Oh?”
“Yes... over there. Anyone could trip over them, we have to be aware of Health and Safety at all times, don’t we?”
“Yeah, s’pose so...” With that, he wandered aimlessly into a throng of people where he was then completely distracted and high-fiving everyone.
“Jesus, where do they get them?” I hissed in Astrid’s direction. “And you have to remember, Astrid, you represent me when we’re here and you can’t be flirting with Paul. It just isn’t professional.”
“Fucking hell, Tanya! I was listening to his music, not doing the flirting... He’s bloody delicious boy though, no?”