by De-Ann Black
‘Take the assignments or there’s nothing else for you.’
Any icy shiver ran through me. He wasn’t bluffing. Royce never bluffed. He was betting I’d crumble and he’d have me working as one of the paparazzi.
‘You’d really let me go?’ I said.
‘It’s your choice.’
One of the subs called Royce through to the main office.
While several of them discussed the paper’s layout and argued over the lead story, I packed the few items I owned into my bag, put the camera on the desk, and left without any of them noticing I’d gone.
I drove through Manhattan and stopped at Central Park. I got out and walked in the snow, breathing in the freezing cold air, trying to quell the waves of panic that were threatening to engulf me. What had I done? Was it too late to turn back? Royce and the others would never know I’d left if I went back now. I glanced across the city in the direction of the newspaper office. I stopped and stood right on the brink of decision. Should I give in and take the paparazzi work? Or did I have the guts to make the jump to the scriptwriting? No matter how tempted I was to take the safe route, I just couldn’t go back to the newspaper. It was over. Truly over.
I blinked back the tears, turned my back on the paper, and went for a walk in the snow. Royce didn’t phone me, which was a real stab to the heart. I think deep down he was jealous of my friendship with Bradley. There were other newspapers in the city, though I’d learned from hard experience from when I’d first arrived in the city that newspaper jobs were difficult to find. Freelance work would be my only route, and even those gaps were fiercely fought for.
After an hour, I headed home.
Vaughn was the first to phone me. ‘Are you available to go to a meeting with the producer tomorrow afternoon at three?’
‘Yes. Where do I have to go? And what do I need to take with me?’
‘I’ll e¬–mail the address to you, or I can pick you up and take you there. Bring samples of your work, any scripts you’ve written.’
‘Okay, thanks Vaughn.’
He was quiet for a moment then he said, ‘Has something happened?’
I sighed and tried to keep my voice steady. ‘Royce just backed me into a corner. I can either work as one of the paparazzi for the paper or there’s no other work available for me. He’s given all my usual editorial and feature work to the other reporters. So I’ve left, and I’m not going back.’
‘Where are you?’
‘At home.’
‘Drive to my house. Or do you want me to come and get you?’
‘No, I’m on my way.’
I found Vaughn’s house easily enough as it wasn’t far from Bradley’s house whose address was fresh in my memory.
The sky was grey and the house seemed welcoming. The lights were on inside and the front door was open.
Vaughn came out to meet me. He was wearing a chunky cream sweater, and although casually dressed, he still looked like money. A blue scarf was tied around his neck and he had black gloves on.
‘So, are you going to show me how to make a snowman?’ he said, instead of taking me inside where I’d no doubt moan about being hard done to by Royce.
‘We’ll start with the body,’ I said, taking my gloves from my jacket pocket and putting them on.
I gathered a ball of snow and showed him how to roll it to make it bigger.
‘Got it,’ he said, and while he made the body, I made the head. And we talked…about everything and nothing…and I felt better by the time our snowman was finished.
We set him up in the front lawn so we could see him from the window of the lounge. And after a snowball fight, which Vaughn lost, badly, we went inside to get a heat by the fire and drank mugs of hot chocolate that I’d made for us in his enviable, well stocked kitchen. I loved the kitchen. It was all browns, copper, gleaming black and rich wood. Vaughn said he dined out most of the time and hardly used the kitchen except to make coffee and snacks. He had people who tended the house for him but they didn’t live in. He liked his privacy.
‘I haven’t had hot chocolate like this since I was a kid,’ Vaughn said, smiling at the generous amount of marshmallows floating in his mug.
‘You’ve learned to build a snowman and now you’re drinking hot chocolate. I think I could be a bad influence on you.’
‘A very bad influence. Don’t forget the snowball fight.’
‘You need to practise your technique. You throw like a girl.’ I was teasing him of course.
‘Not like a girl I know who threw snowballs at me without mercy.’
‘It’s the only way to learn.’
He laughed, and then he said, ‘What type of cake did you have today?’
‘I haven’t had any.’
Vaughn stood up. ‘We’ll have to do something about that.’ He went off to the kitchen and I followed him. ‘No cake,’ he said, searching the cupboards. ‘Plenty of cookies but no cake.’
‘Never mind,’ I said.
Vaughn’s phone rang. It was Bradley. ‘She’s here with me,’ said Vaughn. ‘Party? Yes, we’ll be there. Do you have cake? Yes, for Phred’s birthday. Great. See you later.’ He rang off and said to me, ‘Bradley’s having a party tonight. You’re invited.’
‘Another party?’
‘Don’t you want to go? There are people you should meet.’
I did want to go to the party, especially with the day I’d had. There was only one problem. ‘Is it fancy dress?’
‘No, just the usual evening dress. I’ll drive you home and you can pick up a dress.’
I hesitated. ‘I’ve only got one dress. And I wore it last night.’
Vaughn’s expression changed. I could see he felt sorry for me.
I offered to drive downtown and buy one, but he said that due to the heavy snow, I could get caught up in the city centre’s traffic. He had another idea. He phoned Bradley. ‘Phred needs a dress for tonight. Do you have anything? Thanks.’ He rang off again.
‘Bradley’s sending some over.’
‘He has dresses?’
‘Bradley has everything. He collects costumes from the movie sets.’
‘So I could be dressing up as a sci–fi alien?’
‘It’s a distinct possibility.’
I laughed. ‘And I thought my world was crazy.’
Bradley had someone send round a selection of dresses he thought would fit me.
‘These dresses are beautiful,’ I said, admiring each one.
I chose a sparkly blue dress that glittered in the light. The design was sleek and the material was stunning.
‘Try it on. Try them all on if you want,’ said Vaughn.
I did. Some of them twice. I disappeared into one of Vaughn’s spare bedrooms, laid the clothes on the huge, sumptuous bed, and got totally lost in the movie style dresses.
I already had a pair of high heeled shoes. I always kept a change of clothing and at least one pair of dry boots and shoes with me in the car. I often got soaked going out and about doing the journalism, and I liked to have something to change into. And with clearing out my desk at the office, I also had a few extra items in the car, including make up.
‘How’s it going in there?’ Vaughn said, finally coming to rescue me from the clutches of silk and sparkle.
I opened the bedroom door. ‘What do you think?’ I said, giving him a twirl of the sparkly blue dress I was wearing.
‘I think you’re lovely, Phred. I don’t think you realise how lovely you are.’
I laughed off his compliments, feeling slightly embarrassed.
‘Shall we go?’ he said.
It was time to go? Already?
‘You’ve been in here for three hours,’ he said, checking his watch.
I gasped. ‘Three hours?’
He burst out laughing. ‘No, just kidding. An hour. There had to be payback for beating me with the snowballs.’
And so, in a happy mood, I fixed my hair and make up, and we headed to Bradley’s house. In al
l the fun I’d had with Vaughn, it had taken the edge off the fact that I’d left the newspaper. I was sure it would hit me later when I was home in bed, but for now, I didn’t dwell on it.
‘Does Bradley have parties every night?’ I said to Vaughn.
‘No, but he has a lot of parties when one of his new movies comes out. It’s all part of the launch and publicity process. Then he quietens down again.’ He gave me a wry smile. ‘Sort of.’
Bradley’s house was ablaze with excitement and activity. It was even busier than the previous night. Within the cream and white decor, a couple of bars were set up, a buffet, and a dance floor that was already filled with couples dancing.
Bradley had a birthday cake for me, a proper one with candles. I blew them out and made a wish.
Vaughn introduced me to several movers and shakers in the film industry he thought I should meet. Vaughn, Bradley and I were chatting to them when one of the security men gave Bradley a business card. ‘A newspaper editor wants to talk to you. He’s outside at the front door. He says it’s personal. He wants two minutes of your time.’
Bradley read the name on the card as if it was poison. ‘Royce.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ I said, not wanting any trouble.
‘He wants to talk to Bradley. He made that quite clear,’ the security man said.
The amenable party happy Bradley changed before my eyes into a darker version of himself. ‘No, Phred, I’ll handle Royce. I won’t be long.’
I heard the security man murmur, ‘Shit.’ Those who knew Bradley seemed confident who their money was on and it wasn’t the New York editor.
I was lurking at the door eavesdropping, and Vaughn was on standby to keep me in check. I peeked out the window. Royce stood outside in the snow, wearing a dark coat with the collar turned up.
Bradley went straight for Royce. ‘Have you come to offer Phred her job back?’
Royce didn’t flinch. ‘No. The offer of the paparazzi work I made this morning still stands. I didn’t come here to compromise, or talk to her, though I assume she’s here.’
Bradley didn’t confirm or deny it.
‘What did you want to say to me?’ Bradley said.
Royce took one step closer, matching Bradley in height.
‘You’d better treat her right,’ Royce said.
‘Better than you,’ said Bradley. ‘At least she won’t be struggling to pay her next month’s rent and economising on her heating when it’s freezing cold in her apartment.’
Royce reacted as if he’d been verbally slapped in the face.
Bradley kept the pressure on. ‘What? You never thought about it, did you, Royce?’
Royce didn’t reply.
‘No, I didn’t think so,’ said Bradley.
Royce’s voice was deep with suspicion. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re up to with her.’
‘I like her. I like Phred. It’s not complicated. If more women were like her, I wouldn’t be such a . . . what is it you and your paper insinuated I was? Oh yes, a philandering dick–head.’
Royce turned and walked away, and said over his shoulder, ‘Tell Phred I’m sorry it was such a harsh goodbye.’
Bradley shouted after him, ‘I would, if I thought it was true.’
Royce didn’t look back. He trudged to his car, got in and drove off.
Bradley and I didn’t discuss what had happened. He simply put his arm around my shoulders, gave me a reassuring smile, and the three of us went back into the party.
I had another slice of cake, and everything was fine, until the fight started.
Chapter Seven
It’s A Blizzard Out There
‘She’s the paparazzi.’
An actor from the movie premier during the pom pom fiasco recognised me.
Vaughn and I were dancing. He held me close and whispered in my ear, ‘Ignore him. He’s drunk.’
I ignored him. Basically, everyone ignored him.
Determined not to be ignored, the actor repeated his warning, louder and with more emphasis. ‘She’s the fuckin’ paparazzi.’
Well that got everyone’s attention.
It was one thing for Bradley to introduce me to his friends as the paparazzi, because they really never believed him, but it was quite another thing for this actor to point the finger at me.
As most of the celebrities were letting their hair down, in the relative privacy of Bradley’s house, news that the paparazzi were at the party caused chaos, and some of them started squabbling.
‘I thought she was a scriptwriter,’ a director snapped at Vaughn.
‘She is.’
‘Phred’s no longer working for the press,’ Bradley announced.
As if to make Bradley out to be a liar, another man pointed at me. ‘I recognise you. I saw you in the paper today test driving a car in the snow.’
‘That was the last feature I wrote before I left the newspaper,’ I said. The feature had come out well, and with the car company paying for extra space in the paper, the photograph of me sitting in the car was quite big. You could see my face quite clearly, though I hadn’t thought anyone here would recognise me.
A few curled lips showed their disbelief.
With emotions running high, and lots of alcohol consumed, the situation flared up. I don’t know who threw the first punch, but Vaughn became the target of the disgruntled actor’s wrath, and when I saw that Vaughn was in danger of being punched in the face, I stepped in to help him.
When I say I stepped in, I mean I literally blocked the guy’s attack and sent him reeling. I used minimum force, just enough to stop him punching Vaughn and possibly breaking his nose. But the way the actor flew through the air and landed near the buffet added spectacle and drama.
Everyone was rather surprised. Vaughn hadn’t seen that one coming — the punch or my reaction to it.
‘Wowza! Did you see the speed of that?’ one man said.
Bradley was the first to laugh, and gave me a round of applause. Others joined in, clapping and smiling, and the fiery atmosphere fizzled out like a damp squib.
All issues with me being the paparazzi were brushed aside in favour of my fighting ability and madcap motoring.
The director who had snapped at Vaughn changed his tune. ‘I’m sorry, Vaughn. I was out of line. Set up a meeting. Your young lady could be very useful.’
How could I be useful as a writer because I could fight?
The troublemaker (who wasn’t me) was escorted out by a couple of the security staff. Bradley assured me there would be no backlash to deal with. ‘He’s always causing fights when he’s drunk and then apologising when he’s sober.’ He smiled at me. ‘Nice moves though, Phred.’
‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’ said Vaughn.
‘Sixteen years of martial arts in Dublin since I was a kid. Karate mainly,’ I said.
‘Any other lethal or hidden talents we should be aware of?’ said Bradley.
‘No, that’s about it.’
‘You sure?’ said Vaughn.
‘I enjoy painting and dressmaking, but I doubt my watercolours or a bodkin will cause you any harm.’
‘It’s a blizzard out there,’ someone shouted.
I looked out the window, and all I could see was thick snow falling fast.
People started leaving.
Vaughn put his jacket on me and held me tight as we stepped outside and made a dash for his car. The strong wind was biting cold. I was freezing. Ball gowns and blizzards just didn’t go well together, unlike Vaughn and me.
I pulled his jacket around me for warmth as he drove us back to his house with the intention of picking up my ordinary clothes and laptop, leaving the Cinderella glitz, and driving back home to my apartment before the weather became worse and I was snowed in. I glanced over at him as he concentrated on driving us safely. Visibility was bad, but he handled the car well. His crisp white shirt emphasised his broad shoulders and lean torso, and I wondered what he did to keep in shape, or wh
ether he was one of those men who was naturally strong and hunky.
‘Do you train to keep in shape?’ I said.
‘No, I just keep busy.’
Within minutes we arrived at his house. My car was parked in the driveway. It was covered in snow. He lifted me from the car and carried me over the snowy ground, depositing me inside the hallway.
We looked outside at the blizzard.
‘Safer to stay here tonight,’ he said.
‘I could make it if I left right now.’
‘No, the weather’s getting worse. And besides, you’d need to be back here in the morning. We have to go over our strategy for the meeting tomorrow afternoon.’
This was true. And there were worse things than a sleepover at Vaughn’s mansion.
I changed out of my evening dress and high heels into my black cords, warm socks, and a cosy red jumper that belonged to Vaughn.
I made us tea (for me) and coffee while Vaughn lit the fire in the lounge. I sat on the sofa with my laptop, while he relaxed on a chair beside the fire with his laptop. He’d had a phone call from the producer (snowman) while I was making tea. The producer had e–mailed information about the meeting, and about the script I’d rewritten for Bradley. The producer had also e–mailed Vaughn five scripts. He wanted to see if any of these would be something I could work with, and was giving me a chance to read them overnight ready for the meeting next day. This suited me. I wanted to be prepared. I wasn’t a complete novice, but I’d never been in this league before.
Vaughn read the e–mail, and then he said, ‘They’re going to pay you extra because the producer liked what you did with Bradley’s script. It’s been approved. They’re going ahead with the change in storyline. You’ll be credited as one of the scriptwriters.’
My face lit up with excitement.
‘Credits are valuable,’ he said. ‘They’re like currency in this business. You’ll get more offers once this ball starts rolling. But fair warning. You’ll have to prove your worth, and work damn hard.’
‘That’s fine with me.’
‘In the morning we’ll go over the plan for the meeting. I’ll tell you what you have to say.’