by Andi Osho
‘Hey,’ said Simi.
Sandra looked up. ‘Simi?’ she said, trying to raise a smile. ‘You’re on this too? That’s fantastic.’
‘Yeah. Well, I was just coming over to say hi,’ Simi said turning to join her kitchen posse.
‘Fair enough,’ said Sandra, her voice weak. ‘Cameron said I was to sit by myself anyway.’
Simi paused. ‘Why?’
This was meant to be a dream gig not a bullet to dodge. She was intrigued.
‘Because she’s decided my character is a loner,’ Sandra said jabbing at a tomato while discreetly wiping away tears.
Simi set down her tray opposite Sandra, no longer intrigued but concerned. ‘She shouldn’t be making choices for your character. That’s not fair.’
Sandra rested her head in her hand. ‘She never stops. That’s why we’re overrunning. The director tells me one thing then she says another. It’s like I’m a puppet, The Sooty and Sweep Show but instead of Matthew Corbett with his hand up my arse, it’s bloody Cameron Christiansen.’
Simi offered Sandra her napkin to wipe her eyes, knowing all too well what it was like being bombarded with unsolicited advice.
‘I wish I was one of the kitchen girls. You all seem to be having so much fun,’ Sandra said.
Simi blinked at her, stunned. After years of envying Sandra, now Simi had something she wanted? Life – it made no sense. Sandra Scott was the walking, talking epitome of an unobtainable perfection. Everyone from classmates to family, the media and more had drummed into Simi that fair skin, straight hair, long nails, good eyelashes, thin waists, long calves, hairless arms, thin ankles, small ears and a million other traits, were good and what Simi had wasn’t. Perhaps it would help Sandra to know just how revered she is, thought Simi.
Sandra stopped nudging her food around and seemed to deflate. ‘The funny thing is, Simi, I was always jealous of you.’
Simi stared back at Sandra, dumbfounded. Of what? she puzzled.
‘You’re naturally gorgeous. You’ve got this beautiful, thick hair, lovely, clear skin, You never have to bother with false anything. I was always intimidated by that. At auditions, I feel like I have to compensate,’ said Sandra.
Life from Sandra’s side of the table didn’t look anything like Simi had imagined. Sandra wasn’t like Meagan, using her beauty embellishments to reveal herself. She used them to hide. Simi listened, agog as Sandra explained that she kept her lank hair under a weave because it was getting greyer by the day. Her nails were brittle so she covered them with gels and though it did her dry skin no good she always wore make-up – even in the gym. And all of that was shrouded behind a big, confident smile. Simi squeezed Sandra’s hand.
‘You are beautiful and a brilliant actor. Speak to the director because what Cameron’s doing is bullying and no one should have to put up with that.’
They sat, holding hands in a bonded stillness.
‘Call me Morenike. That’s my real name,’ Sandra whispered with a vulnerable smile.
Simi blinked. ‘You’re Nigerian?’
Sandra nodded conspiratorially and Simi squeezed Morenike’s hand even more.
‘We have so much to talk about. We should totally hang out,’ she said, excitedly.
‘I would love that,’ Morenike replied.
As the two of them sat grinning together, the dining truck wobbled and Kelly stepped on. ‘Okay guys, that’s lunch. Sorry for the delay but, Simi, girls, we’ll be coming to the kitchen scene next.’
‘Right,’ replied Simi.
She got up and squished round to Morenike’s side of the table to give her a hug. ‘It’ll be alright,’ she whispered.
Quickly, Simi shovelled down a mouthful of food and stuffed a bread roll in her apron. A moment later, zigzagging between the cluster of Winnebagos, she wondered how she had got Sandra so wrong. Far from being this impeccable, impenetrable automaton, Morenike was just as vulnerable as she, if not more. Simi was looking forward to getting to know her new friend, Morenike.
She stepped onto her trailer and immediately was struck by a beautiful aroma, the glorious scent of two enormous bouquets on her coffee table. She dashed over, plucking a card from the first bunch.
You’ve got this, with love, your agent, your friend, your Meagan xx
Simi kissed the card and slipped it back into its envelope.
Her hand hovered over the second card nestled between an array of beautiful lilies and long-stemmed roses.
Eternally sorry. When or if you forgive me, I will be waiting. Jem x
Simi ran her fingers along the card, feeling the love infused in each word. She clutched it to her chest, rereading it, her heart filling up. Yes, Jemima had messed up but she’d apologised a million times in as many ways as she could. Even though Simi was yet to respond, Jemima had not stopped calling, texting and emailing since their fateful fallout a week ago. More importantly, she showed no sign of letting up any time soon and Simi didn’t want her to. The pain of what Jemima had done was huge but the pain of losing her was far greater. If she and Meagan could make peace after their bust-up, there had to be a way back for Jemima and suing her was not going to help that in any way.
Kelly knocked on Simi’s trailer door. ‘Ready for you, Simi,’ she called.
‘Got it,’ said Simi as she hastily dialled Meagan.
‘What is it? Is Cameron being a dick? Do you want me to come and—?’
‘Meag. I haven’t got long. I needed to tell you on the phone. I can’t do the lawsuit. I’m sorry.’
Kelly knocked again, rattling the frosted glass on Simi’s door.
‘I’ll talk to you later,’ Simi said hanging up.
Jemima was by no means forgiven, but Simi was not going to punish her further either. She had suffered enough.
Outside her door, she could hear Kelly radioing ahead, telling the onset team she was on her way. She positioned herself in front of her full-length mirror and struck a Wonder Woman pose. Alice had sworn this was good for confidence.
‘Cake!’ she barked.
She was ready.
Chapter 47
Jemima
Since her call with Shaheena the previous afternoon, Jemima had played out every scenario and they all led to the same dead end. If she didn’t take the deal, that was the end of the road with Hudson Hicks. If she did, her friendship with the girls would be irreparable. And the reality was, even in LA, there was no escaping whatever vulture lawyer Meagan sent circling. The worst part was, she still hadn’t heard from them and the wait was becoming more excruciating by the day. Jemima’s head span at the possible outcomes. Was there a chance Hudson Hicks would back her? Or would they join the litigation congo line and sue her too? At the very least they’d want their advance back and that was long gone.
Jemima took an out-of-date pack of coffee grounds from her cupboard and heaped a couple of tablespoons into her old cafetière. This was her new rock bottom, not even being able to go to Nostromo for her morning pick-me-up for fear of being torched by Azi’s wrath. As she poured the water, she realised, she had control over nothing. The horse hadn’t just bolted, it was darting around the field, taking a massive dump over everything. Prior to sending that final draft to Eve, she could have stopped this. Now, she couldn’t even go to her favourite coffee shop. She pushed down the plunger and the coffee swirled through its wiry mesh. Jemima paused. Whether Meagan sued or Hudson Hicks dropped her was out of her hands but there was one thing she still had power over. She searched the recent calls on her phone and dialled.
‘Shaheena, it’s me.’
‘Have I got some juicy goss—’
‘I’m not taking the deal or the adaptation. I’m not taking any of it,’ Jemima said interrupting her.
The other end of the phone fell silent.
‘Shaheena?’ Jemima said.
‘Shush. I’m thinking.’
Jemima waited, quietly surprised that contemplation was something Shaheena even did. Maybe she was weighing up wheth
er to sue her as well.
‘This is about Meagan and Simi finding out they’re in the book?’ Shaheena asked.
‘Yes,’ Jemima said, as her misery surfaced all over again.
‘Have you actually heard from Meagan’s lawyer?’ Shaheena pressed.
‘No, but…’
‘No buts. She hasn’t got grounds, Jem,’ Shaheena interjected.
‘But…’
‘Do you name her?’
‘No.’
‘Does Beverly look like her?’
‘Well, no but—’
‘Ah, ah. No buts. So, the similarities are, what?’ Shaheena asked, almost triumphant.
‘Well, they both had a friend with benefits,’ explained Jemima.
‘Who hasn’t got a friend with benefits, or should have one, no names mentioned, Jemima Abeson?’
‘But…’
‘Jem, it’s coincidental. We don’t include that page one disclaimer for our health. It’s precisely to stop morons like Meagan doing this kind of thing,’ Shaheena said.
‘There’s a hell of a lot of coincidences,’ said Jemima, not daring to dream Shaheena might be right.
Certainly, in terms of characteristics, Beverly was now a fusion of all three of them with the fastidious, clinical aspects of Jemima, the forthrightness of Meagan and Simi’s vulnerability. No one person, not even Jemima could claim the character was solely based on them. Even Beverly’s romantic paralysis belonged to all three of them.
‘You’re a creative. You take inspiration from everywhere. I bet I’m in there somewhere!’ said Shaheena.
How ironic Shaheena wanted to be in the book while everyone else wanted out.
‘Yeah,’ Jemima lied.
‘I knew it, you little tinker,’ Shaheena giggled. ‘Look, Meagan’s got nothing, okay. So, no more talk of turning down book deals.’
Jemima leaned against her kitchen counter. Even if Meagan didn’t have a case, which would give her a professional reprieve, personally she was still in the doghouse, cowering in the canine cathedral and that was a much, much bigger deal.
‘Maybe,’ said Jemima taking a considered gulp of her coffee, ‘but I’m still going to LA.’
‘Man alive, Jemima. Why?’ Shaheena wailed.
Jemima massaged her neck, feeling drained. Suddenly she realised, for LA to truly be a new beginning, a chance to leave everything behind, that everything had to include Beverly. Taking her to LA would just be an agonising reminder of all Jemima had lost. A sorrowful gloom descended. She and Beverly had been on a journey that had started nearly fifteen years ago in Jemima’s imagination. She was as much a part of her world as any living, breathing human and now, just as Beverly was finding her stride, she was about to become another casualty of Jemima’s own selfish stupidity. She held the phone from her face as tears of bereavement fell.
‘You’ve lost your bloody marbles, darling,’ said Shaheena elbowing into Jemima’s pity party. ‘You can’t leave those girls. Not Beverly, Meagan or Simi. Meagan is clearly a workaholic lunatic. Without you, she’ll have no one. She’ll just work herself to exhaustion and that Simi definitely needs you.’
‘They don’t. More accurately, they don’t want me. I can’t even get Simi to take my calls,’ said Jemima with a morbid finality.
‘Jemmy, don’t do something you’ll regret. Nothing is broken forever. Besides, what about me? I need you.’
Jemima fell silent. This was the sweetest thing Shaheena had ever said to her but it was too late. She had to do this.
‘Hey, did I tell you about the waiter I snogged at the party?’ said Shaheena.
Jemima groaned to herself. Only Shaheena could one-eighty like that on a heart-to-heart.
‘Shaheena, I have to go,’ said Jemima.
‘He’s into all that Tao stuff and he told me a story about this girl who tried to run away from her shadow. You heard it?’
‘No,’ said Jemima, rolling her eyes.
‘So this woman wants to escape her own footsteps and her shadow,’ began Shaheena.
‘Why?’ Jemima asked like a cranky teen.
‘I don’t know. That’s just what happens in fables. Anyway, she wanted to escape her footsteps and her shadow so she decided to run but every time she put her foot down, there they were, her footsteps and her shadow, so she ran faster and faster until she dropped dead.’
‘Well, you know I love a happy ending,’ Jemima grizzled.
‘The point is, Jem. She didn’t realise, if she’d just stepped into the shade, the footsteps and the shadow would have disappeared. She just needed to find herself a big old tree and stay still.’
Jemima sighed. ‘Listen, Shaheena. I really have to—’
‘Look, usually I hate fables. I’m like, no one sleeps for a hundred years, stop demonising old women and under normal circumstances, the hare would have won! But I heard this one and straight away, thought of you. Just chew on it, okay? Laters,’ said Shaheena, and she hung up.
Jemima set down her cup, massaging her brow. Maybe Shaheena had a point and this was fixable. Maybe too, this wasn’t the time for running away but to take on her life, walk past that body and look. As she contemplated this, her phone pinged with a text message from her local taxi firm.
Your airport pick-up is outside. You have five minutes of free waiting.
Well, she couldn’t think about that now. Life would just have to take its course. Only time would tell if she was making the right choice, she thought as she headed for the door.
Chapter 48
Simi
Simi watched the carousel trundle past, battling the urge to clamber on and get carried around the baggage reclaim hall.
‘Don’t you just want to sit on that thing?’ said Morenike as she waited for her bag next to Simi.
‘I was just thinking that!’ Simi chuckled.
How things had changed since the catering truck, she thought. After filming their scene, which Simi was relieved had gone well, all the kitchen girls and Morenike had gone out together. Had they not had such an early flight, Simi was sure they’d have stayed up all night. After raiding their minibars they’d retreated to her room where they’d shared acting horror stories. Simi had had them howling at her impression of Gabe. They’d discussed creepy directors, lovely producers and everything in between until they’d noticed the sun creeping up and reluctantly called it a night. On the plane, Simi and Morenike had sat together and hardly stopped talking and laughing the whole flight home.
‘Oh, there’s mine,’ said Morenike.
She hoisted a Louis Vuitton case off the conveyor belt then turned to give Simi a hug.
‘Okay, lovely, thanks so much – for everything.’
‘Thank you and don’t be a stranger, Morenike!’ Simi said with a playful wag of her finger.
‘It’s Sandra though,’ said Sandra, plastering on her professional smile. ‘What goes on in Dublin stays in Dublin.’
Simi felt time stop. ‘Oh… right.’
And with that, Sandra about-faced towards the exit and was gone.
Simi stood by the carousel in a stupor watching bag after bag drift past her until, finally, the conveyor belt regurgitated her holdall. She yanked it off the carousel. What had just happened? Did Sandra consider her heritage a dirty secret not for public consumption? Simi remembered a girl at school who had done everything to hide her African heritage, even pretending she was from French Guyana not Ghana. And in her teens, Simi had been teased for everything from the tight kinks in her hair to her shapely behind and defined muscles. No one told her those strong Nigerian features were beautiful. She’d had to discover that for herself and was still learning. After so long undoing those negative messages, how could she befriend someone who wanted to bury that ancestry?
‘Bye, Sandy,’ Simi said under her breath as she too headed for the exit.
As usual, the arrivals hall was a criss-crossing confusion of bewildered travellers. Simi braced herself for the trek across town to South London. By t
he barriers were rows of private hire drivers. She examined their nameboards, teasing herself that someday one might be waiting for her. As she did, her attention was caught by a board behind all the drivers. Clearly written in black ink on a wipe-clean slate was her name. Her face creased. Was it possible another Simi Oladipo was travelling at this exact same time, to this exact same airport, on the exact same day? But then she looked up at who was holding the board. Shock turned to surprise which became a smile then a grin that gave way to tears as she hastened through the crowd towards Jemima.
‘What are you doing here?’ Simi gasped.
‘Trying to make your dream come true,’ said Jemima, uncertainty in her eyes.
Simi bit her lip, hoping somehow to contain her sobs but she couldn’t.
The girls held each other as though holding on for their own survival, as though the harder they held on, the more love they could squeeze from each other.
‘I am so sorry,’ said Jemima wiping tears from Simi’s face.
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Simi. ‘I want you to use those stories. You’ve given me so much and I know Beverley means the world to you. It’s the least I can do. They’re yours and I won’t take no for an answer.’
Simi held Jemima again. Ultimately, she could see, no one would ever know the source of these stories and they were great stories. They would simply become part of the Beverly Blake canon. But this wasn’t only for Jemima. Just as Meagan had said, this was a chance for everything Simi had been through to count for something, help others to grow, do things differently. After all, why learn from just your own mistakes when you can learn from someone else’s too. Simi pulled away from Jemima for a moment, sensing that the news hadn’t landed as she’d imagined.