Silent for a few moments, Bradley slowly asked, ‘And why is this?’
‘Because I’m worried for my safety,’ I replied, as forcefully as I could.
Realizing that he had to do some more damage limitation with me, he quickly adopted a soothing tone, ‘Why don’t you come into the office today and we’ll talk it through?’
Knowing I’d be in a weaker position on his turf, I firmly told him, ‘No,’ and kept my spare fingers crossed that I’d stick with that answer.
‘Ah, Eva, come on,’ he pleaded. ‘It’s really not as bad as it seems. We might not even use this footage in the final edits.’
Infuriated by his patronizing tone, I quickly interrupted with, ‘Don’t try and kid a kidder.’ I was fiercely angry at his attempts to sway me. ‘I’m not thick, Bradley. Scared, yes. Stupid? Maybe up until now. But I’m telling you, I’m going to need a lot of persuading before I’ll give you any more film.’
Once again, there was nothing but silence down the line, as Bradley decided how he should play me.
‘Eva, I realize you had a scary time of it on Saturday, but—’
‘Don’t you “but” me, Bradley Brady …’ By now I was wired, so I went on in a shaky voice, screaming, ‘Don’t you dare call me Eva. As far as you are concerned, my name is Alice, and you better not tell people any differently.’ Feeling a wave of terror grip my body I let loose. ‘I am fucking terrified for my safety, and that of my daughter. What good will money be to Daisy, if her mother has been shot dead by a friend of Jake Lewis? Well? Can you live with that on your conscience? Well, can you, Mr Producer?’
Feeling myself starting to hyperventilate, I went no further, and cut the line in a rage.
He rang back immediately, but I couldn’t bear to answer it for fear of the things I might say, or the things I might be told. Instead, I ran towards the nearest large tree and flung myself on the ground, crying like a toddler having a tantrum. I was so angry at myself for having been sucked in by the glamour of the money and the prospect of being a TV star.
I couldn’t forgive myself for not researching the project carefully and not asking more questions at the start. And also for being naive enough to think that this undercover work was something I would be able to handle. As I kicked and scraped at the dirty ground, the discomfort of the muck filling up my fingernails added to my aggravation. I had been stupid before, but never as reckless as this.
I must have crouched, crying, in the shade of that tree for twenty minutes before the exhaustion of the previous night, and the sheer fatigue of crying, wore me out. I didn’t know how I was going to get myself out of this mess, or if it was even possible to do so. But the sight of a woman pushing a buggy in the distance reminded me of my responsibilities to Daisy. I knew I had to change the situation from being a case not of if, but how I could get us out of danger. Picking myself up off the ground, I vowed that I would never end up in a ditch, or have to hide behind a brick wall in the middle of the night, ever again. To make that happen, though, I would have to stop lying and start sharing more. Did I have the strength to do that?
11
After much texting and planning from Rio, on Thursday evening my big date night out with Rory at a TV awards ceremony finally came around. I was hyper with the excitement, and when he opened his mouth and said, ‘Wow, you look a million dollars!’ I knew all the effort I had gone to was worth it. Indeed, after a lengthy six hours preparation to make myself camera-ready, the end result made me feel like a plastic princess from the outside in.
As if I was on a mission to go to hell, now not only was my life a fraud, but my skin was covered in Fake Bake, my hair was plumped out with fake hairpieces, my eyes weighed down by Cheryl Cole fake lashes, and my miniature breasts were bolstered by, humiliatingly enough, a pair of sports socks, as I’d forgotten to buy the chicken fillets I needed to whoosh me up. Lisa had been my best bet for a magnificent ballgown at short notice. I picked one out of her wardrobe via Skype, and she very kindly couriered it over to me with the threat that I HAD TO get laid that night, and HAD TO tell her all about it. Otherwise I wouldn’t ever be allowed to borrow another thing off her again, as, according to her, dresses like this particular one deserved only nights of romance and lust. I was probably a tad too short to be wearing a full-length champagne-coloured gown. The diamond-encrusted skyscrapers that Lisa had also packed for me did help in making me taller, but they weren’t so useful in helping me walk very far – or fast!
Rory was unable to keep his hands off me from the time I fell into the taxi, and his pawing wasn’t helping me get to grips with my new diva look. ‘Stop touching me,’ I cried a couple of times, but my pleas for mercy went unheard.
‘You can’t tell me to keep my hands off the goods,’ he teased. ‘You specifically told me earlier in your text that you had gotten all dressed up just for me. Those were your words, so get used to it. You are my property tonight, my plaything, and thank you for doing such a good job for me.’ I spent the rest of the taxi ride to the venue trying to fend off his lingering kisses, in a vain attempt to keep my lipstick intact. Although I put up a good fight, I didn’t protest too much. I was just so happy to be with him, and loving having him to myself. If anything, my only wish was that Parker and Lisa could be around to see me looking so good. Before I left the house I had taken some nice photos of me with Daisy in a cute princess costume I had picked up in Camden Market and, after her, no one else really mattered.
Although Rory had initially wanted us to walk up the red carpet together in front of all the photographers and autograph hunters, I convinced him that we would only be humiliating ourselves in doing so, as we’d probably get pushed out of the way by Jedward or the Cheeky Girls. As a serious camera man, and as a very important waitress, I wasn’t sure that our fragile egos could take the embarrassment. So, instead, he brought me around the side and up the back entrance (joking, ‘It won’t be the last time I do that’) before whisking me into the inner sanctum of London’s high fashion parade and a celebrity-spotter’s heaven. No matter where I looked, there were recognizable faces to be seen. Jamie Oliver, Louise Redknapp, Ant and Dec, Gok Wan, Myleene Klass, Loyd Grossman; everywhere I looked, famous faces were laughing and air-kissing and generally being fabulous.
Two complimentary glasses of bubbly and several conversations later – with couples Rory didn’t introduce me to because he claimed not to know the wives’ names – and it was time to move towards the ballroom and find our seats. After queuing to see the floor plan, I felt giddy at the sight of seeing ‘Rory Baxter Plus 1, Table 6.’ Praying for a fun table, Rory and I scanned down the list and found we were sitting next to someone called Gavin Taylor. ‘I don’t know him,’ sighed Rory. ‘And Mae Durkan, don’t know her. Oh, hang on, this should be fun. They’ve put Tanya Cruze and Issey Blaze at our table together. Those two hate each other. They had some catfight on a plane in Spain or something. I actually think it was to do with who had the bigger boobs. Can you imagine if they kicked off tonight? Talk about ringside seats.’
Struck down with panic, my voice did its usual disappearing act, so I just shook my head feverishly as if to reciprocate the excitement, and distracted him by pointing towards the loo. Almost tripping to the floor as I tried to escape, it must have taken me at least three hundred baby-steps to cross the five yards across to the Ladies. Once inside, the only thing I could think of doing was to ring Parker. He would be the man with the answers. He would be my rock of sense. He would be – ‘Fucking engaged!’ I hadn’t meant to verbalize my frustration, but the words seemed to vomit out of my mouth, causing the entire gaggle of lip-gloss junkies to turn around from their prized spots in front of the mirrors and stare in my direction.
With a brief, half-hearted apology, I skulked into a free cubicle and tried to gather my thoughts. Maybe Tanya wouldn’t recognize me. After all, she hadn’t in Sir Charlie’s. But I was no longer in control of the random images that ran through my head – visions of me running out the door
with my heels stuffed into my tiny clutch bag faded out to a visual of Tanya and Issey wrestling me to the floor and pouring bottles of red wine all over my beautiful borrowed dress before declaring to the room that I was the scumbag that ruined their lives. I’d been thinking of this award ceremony as a welcome relief from the worry about Sir Charlie’s. Now it had all returned, even worse than before. Despite trying to get through to Parker several more times, I had no luck, so I decided to readjust my padding, keep my Irish accent subdued, and hope for the best.
Pushing past all the over-perfumed and over-coiffed Danni Minogue and Jordan wannabes, I re-emerged into the crowd. By the time I tracked down Rory he was buzzing like a true social butterfly and doing an impressive job of working the room. I watched him air-kiss the ladies and bear-hug the lads – everyone he talked to seemed genuinely happy to see him. For a moment I questioned whether I was good enough for him. After all, I was the queen of deceit, while he was Mr Popular.
Not able to handle the idea of countless introductions, I played the ‘sore feet’ card and asked if we could sit down at our table. We were the first to arrive and I immediately started searching for the name cards. Sure enough, just to add to my hell, both Tanya and Issey had been seated directly opposite me. Despite there being a large candelabra centre-piece between us, I made the quick decision that if the girls were sitting slightly to my left, instead of opposite, I’d have a greater chance of ignoring them. Doing my best to hide what I was up to, I asked Rory to go to the bar for me, so I could change the seating arrangements without fear of him asking too many questions. But my request did nothing but open up a whole new range of questions.
The first was, ‘Can you not drink the wine on the table?’ The next, ‘Can you not hang on for a waiter?’
And then, while Rory debated whether or not he’d have a fighting chance of getting served even if he did go to the bar as, according to him, blokes never got served, a glamorous couple approached the table and sat down, leaving me no option but to smile and say hello, and forget all about changing any of the name cards.
Pouring a hefty serving of white wine into my red wine glass, I got the oddest look from Rory as I proceeded to knock it back in one. ‘Steady on there, gorgeous,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a long night ahead of us, and I’ve loads of colleagues that I’m dying to show you off to. Let’s not give them reason to start telling any Paddy jokes, all right?’ Acknowledging his plea, I stopped gulping, but only managed to leave a drop in the bottom of the glass. Giving him my best puppy-dog eyes, I apologized, and with a quick kiss on my nose he was swiftly sidetracked by a couple of guys sitting down at a nearby table. I shooed him away to go chat to them and burn off some energy.
As the tables began to fill up and the stage just in front of us became cluttered with beefy blokes in black jeans and tees moving microphones and teleprompters around, I prayed that the girls, who still remained at large, would be no-shows. By the time the show kicked off, it seemed my prayers had been answered, as neither one of the now former-WAGs had turned up to occupy their seats.
As the host, JT Collins, took to the floor to welcome, ‘All the liggers and everyone else from the meeja business,’ I could feel a weight lifting off my naked, shimmering shoulders, and I began to relax into the fun of the evening. With Rory, my proud date, by my side, my panic dissolved away and once again life felt good. I liked being his girl. Although he hadn’t actually used the term ‘girlfriend’ yet, I certainly felt that I was, and hoped that he would be calling me that by the end of the night.
After a fairly inedible starter – allegedly a crab cake – JT took to the stage again and told everyone to, ‘Hush up, please, as I’ve four very good reasons for you to give me your attention.’ As suggestions like Westlife and Take That were shouted from around the room, JT giggled with excitement. Pleading for some quiet, he explained: ‘We’re talking bigger than Westlife.’
The crowd cried out, ‘Wooo.’
‘Yes. And we’re talking bigger than Take That.’
The crowd ‘wooed’ again.
‘And, combined, they’re bigger than Katie Price. Put your hands together, people, for Tanya Cruze and Issey Blaze.’
The audience went wild, and I began to feel like I was the front-seat passenger in a car crash waiting to happen. The lights from the stage flickered with such intensity that I found it hard to breathe, and before I had a chance to hyper-ventilate, the girls emerged from opposite sides of the stage and walked towards each other as if they were going into battle. As they stopped, just inches away from touching, the audience fell silent and dramatic X-Factor music bellowed from the speakers. JT spoke over it in his best Star Wars voice, ‘They said they were enemies. They said they were in rehab. They said they were finished. But they were wrong.’ As the room hummed with excitement JT coughed before saying, ‘But they never predicted a reconciliation. Girls, take it away!’
And then as the audience whooped and screamed with joy, the girls leaned slowly forward, embraced, boob to boob, and locked lips in a full-on snog. The huge video screens at either side of the stage closed in on their glossy mouths as the girls drew back, smiling, and then went for it again. Unable to control his enthusiasm, Rory punched the air and screamed, ‘There is a God!’ Then he quickly resumed his seat and kissed me on the nose. ‘Sorry, hon. But that’s the way to open a show.’
As the dramatic music continued, and the girls’ smooching became wetter and deeper, JT took up his commentary again and teased, ‘What do Britney and Madonna know about kissing? Now that, people, is a girl-on-girl snog with authenticity!’
After the girls finally parted, the pair of them bounced their barely covered, well-enhanced boobs over to JT and asked, ‘Did ya like that?’
Trying to keep a straight face, through the screams of hecklers, JT replied, ‘Yes. That was a lovely show of, emm, friendship. Is that what you might call a traditional WAG greeting?’
‘Nah,’ Issey answered. ‘We’re not WAGs any more.’
Tanya then chose her moment to cut in and channel Beyoncé with some ‘Single Lady’ lyrics of her own – ‘Any single ladies in the audience? Put your hands up, girls!’ – lifting Issey’s arm up as well as her own.
While JT temporarily lifted his own up in the air and shared in the joke, he quickly resumed his composure and thanked the ladies for sharing their new status, and asked them to announce the first winner.
‘Thanks, JT,’ beamed Tanya, as always the more assertive one. ‘Both me and Issey were delighted to …’
‘… kiss and make up tonight,’ gushed Issey.
‘Ha! Ha! And the winner of this year’s Best On Screen Kiss was …’
As the girls used their stage performance to grab as many headlines for themselves as possible, the terror I had experienced earlier seized hold of me again. Rory’s eyes were still firmly fixed on Issey and Tanya, so he was unaware of my mental anguish as I twisted and turned in my seat, trying to work out how to avoid a confrontation. With the heat rising, I was checking all the nearest fire exits when a man from behind our table leaned over between Rory’s shoulder and mine and bellowed, ‘Hey, pal, brace yourself for the silicone invasion! You’re one lucky bastard!’ Within a few short moments the girls had left the stage and were seated at our table. Despite giving a frenzied wave to all of us, me included, their attention was obstructed by the legions of well-wishers and horny blokes that seemed to be magnetically pulled towards them from other tables.
Although my heart was pounding, it slowly became apparent that my fear of these women was similar to my irrational fear of spiders. Just because they were close, it didn’t mean they were going to spring over and bite me. And as the evening continued and the girls revelled in their tabloid triumph, the tension in my body eased. Although I couldn’t exactly say I was enjoying myself, I did take some pleasure in the subtle and the not-so-subtle PDAs that Rory was showing me. Clearly appreciating the time I had taken to look the part, he made the effort to put his arm prot
ectively around my shoulder, to shower me regularly with kisses, and to order me my own bottle of champagne – in between texting his mates at other tables, that is, and giving me a running commentary on who was supposedly having affairs and who was already falling over drunk.
As the night continued and the awards for ‘Best Sex Scene’ and ‘Readers’ Poll Best Torso’ were announced, Tanya and Issey’s frequent trips to the toilet left them looking increasingly messed up. After starting a wager with a fun couple sitting next to us, Rory was set to pocket £50 if both glamour girls managed to keep their nipples under wraps, and another £50 if they lasted the night without another catfight. But by the time JT said his own inimitable goodbyes – thanking the chairman of the magazine on stage by enthusiastically grabbing his bottom and pretending to snare him in a manly snog – Rory was out of pocket £100, as both girls got their nips out for a passing photographer, an event which led directly to a series of increasingly violent arguments over who was attracting the most attention, and who was going to try and bed Gerard Butler. Happy to hand over the cash, Rory gushed, ‘Some girls are just cheap entertainment.’ Then he turned to me and cooed, ‘Whereas you, my gorgeous, are simply high class.’
By the time we’d finished the last of our champagne, most of the other guests had departed for the bar already so, with flowers from the place-setting in my hair, we merrily headed that way so that Rory could, as he put it, ‘Finally get a proper drink.’ As we joined the tailback, Rory bumped into a guy whose name he actually did remember. He called him Slash, without elaborating further than that. The two boys started laughing and joking like they were long-lost brothers. There was a bit of whispering, and some coded talk, which from what I could make out seemed to be about another woman, possibly an ex of Rory’s. But when Slash took an all-too-long look at my bum, Rory protectively complained, ‘Hey, take your eyes off my lady’s trunk, thank you very much.’
Champagne Secrets Page 17