And now I’m at the slots drinking Jack Daniels when Elvis appears at my side, flicking up his collar and smoothing his gelled hair.
“We-hell they bought it,” he boasts, still in character. “Hell, I haven’t acted in a long, long time. Now when was it? Aha, 1969, ‘A Change of Habit’ that movie was called. That chick had the best legs North of Mexico. Oh it sure felt guuuud to be acting again.”
I don’t know what to say. He is obviously quite convinced he’s the King.
We sit talking for a while. He asks me why I’m here alone. Obviously has no idea who I am, which is refreshing, actually. I tell him I sometimes have trouble sleeping and that I should really go back to my room and take a couple of sleeping pills. I need my sleep. I’m flying home tomorrow.
He looks mortified. “Listen, pal, you seem like a real good guy. Don’t you start with those sedatives, those painkillers, son,” he warns me. “They don’t do ya no good. Nearly killed me you know?”
We sit in silence for a moment. I take in his rounded cheekbones, deep-set eyes, bushy brows, flabby jaw. Obviously not Elvis. I wonder what Elvis would look like if he really had lived? I wonder if I’ll end up dying young. It’s a sad story repeated all too often.
I feed a ten dollar bill into the machine and pull the handle. Press the green button. All of a sudden, lights start flashing and a siren sounds.
“You hit Jackpot!” Shouts Elvis. “You lucky son of a...”
The machine begins to noisily chug out quarters, along with peppy, celebratory music. People turn to look, smiles on their faces. I don’t want the attention, I sure don’t need the money. I can’t have anyone notice me!
“It’s all yours, Elvis!” I yell, as I turn and run. “Enjoy it my friend!”
“What the - well bless you ma boy!” I hear him yell after me. “Waaa hoooo!"He punches the air.
And I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Oh, how I love Vegas. I am holding onto my hat, running down the Strip at two thirty in the morning, weaving in and out of tourists, with a huge grin on my face. ‘I love Beth, I love Beth, I love Beth’, thumps my traitorous heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Beth
We tell ourselves it is not an affair. It’s not ‘real’. We don’t meet at hotels or sneak around in the conventional sense. We don’t physically meet at all. It’s a union of minds!
It doesn’t reflect on how we feel about the people we love. We were destined to be together.
And my personal favourite: It’s not our fault!
Platitudes.
Excuses.
In our hearts, we know that we are lying. To ourselves, to our loved ones and to each other. We simply don’t have the strength to stop.
Oh, these are crazy days. The best.
There’s a fire, inside my head and pretty much everywhere else; a wild excitement that almost seems all the better for being so wrong. It's so mad that I compartmentalise in my head; there's the me that's with Richard, then there's this other me that will not be denied.
We meet in our heads, if that makes sense.
I’m writing a story about us. I keep the file password protected on a USB stick so that Richard doesn’t see. The password is 'Twinned'. I’m writing it as it happens but in the style of a screenplay. Here’s a bit from the last time we ‘met’:
Beth:
It wasn’t our intention to get back in touch at all, other than so we’d know the other was OK after Vegas.
Joel:
I didn’t know what to do. I made contact that first time just to see that you were alright. I was worried.
Beth:
And then we left it a few days. I tried not to think about you. I didn’t listen to your music, which was really hard...
Joel:
I got back to San Diego and got into recording, spent time with Georgia and Harry, you know – normal life.
Beth:
I think it was a week later that it happened. One minute I was in the changing rooms at Debenhams, trying on some new jeans...
Joel:
And the next minute you were in my arms, at the top of the Empire State Building.
Beth:
I still don’t know how you did that! It was mental. I was so shocked!
Joel:
You were just freakin’ out, worrying cos your jeans were ‘round your ankles and they still had the store tag on them.
Beth:
And I was in New York – and I’d just involuntarily shoplifted – and I’d left my handbag in the changing room.
Joel:
But I don’t remember you complaining after I kissed you?
Beth:
(Pauses) No. No it was perfect. I’ll remember that forever.
Joel:
(Laughs ruefully) We’ll always have New York.
Beth:
Where next? Barcelona, Rome, the Maldives... (giggles, twisting her hair)
Joel:
And then you had to go.
Beth:
And all of a sudden I was back in the changing room, all on my own. I thought I was mad, that I’d had a stroke or something. I bought the jeans, though. I kind of felt I should...
Joel:
And I zapped back home, back to my bed.
Beth:
Back to your life.
Joel:
And you back to your life.
Beth:
Yup. (Looks pensive. Joel strokes her hand.)
Joel:
And it’s time to go back now, Beth.
Beth:
Don’t say goodbye. Say “See you soon”.
Joel:
I love you.
(They look away and we see they are sitting on top of the Hollywood sign. Then they are gone.)
I read it back and I can't believe this is happening to me. This is a once in a lifetime ride. Whatever the consequences, I just can't stop. It would be a waste of this gift.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Beth
I pull up in front of the Holiday Inn. I have to make this look convincing should anyone see me, so under my coat I am wearing trackie bottoms, a t-shirt and white trainers. I go straight to the receptionist and ask about gym membership. She directs me to the leisure centre.
I follow the narrow, carpeted corridor. I round a bend and I realise that 'leisure centre' is a generous term. Frankly, it’s a cupboard. Still. It has some gym equipment and there is a 40ft heated swimming pool through the next door that looks OK. I wait until a super tanned, buff man – incredibly fit and obviously a member of staff by what he's almost wearing - sees me loitering, closes the conversation he’s having and strides over to greet me.
Mr Fit gives me a whitened smile, shakes my hand and consults his clipboard. Wow, his calf muscles look like ham joints, his legs stretch up to some tiny navy shorts and a cut-off navy polo shirt that is slashed to reveal a washboard stomach. His dark, wavy hair hangs down to his chiselled jawline. For some reason I expect his accent to be Australian but when he opens his mouth it’s unmistakably Essex.
I bet he waxes.
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like to join the gym,” I say, suddenly feeling transparent, like it’s obvious that I have a motive other than fitness.
“Awesome!” Another grin. He has piercing blue eyes. “Great, I'm Eric by the way." He shakes my hand. "I’ll just get some forms, pull up a seat and I’m all yours!” He says, pulling out a bar stool for me and patting the vinyl cushioned seat.
I perch on it, aware that I am at least five years older than him. He winks at me. Crikey, is he flirting? Probably does it to all the women. And the men, I reckon. He asks me some basic questions about my fitness level and ticks some boxes. He then asks me to read the legal bit and sign.
“Do you want to pay by direct debit?” He asks. I think. I was going to pay in a lump sum but it will be all the more convincing that I am going to the gym if there is a regular payment, just in case Richard sees my bank statement.
We set up the direct debit and he offers to book me in for my induction. “Can we do it now?” I ask. “I’m looking forward to getting started.”
He looks around, there are only three other people using the equipment. “What the hey,” he says, smiling. “Pop your stuff in a locker and I’ll show you around personally right now.”
“Thanks. That’s great.”
By the time the induction has finished it is seven fifteen in the evening. I work back. That’s eleven fifteen in the morning on the West coast of America. There is no point trying to contact Joel right now, he will be busy.
We have agreed that I will go to the gym each morning before work, which for him will be last thing at night. That way, if he is free he can get in touch and if he’s not then I can have a workout. If nothing else I will be fit. He usually stays up later than Georgia as he tends to do his music in the evenings, or sit up playing computer games until the early hours.
My mind flinches from the thought of his wife's blonde perfection and his perfect family life. I push the thoughts away, trying to console myself that he shares me with Richard as much as I share him with Georgia. That doesn’t help either. It sounds disgusting, like we’re swingers or something.
I just want to get to know him, to be with him some more. I mustn’t forget that I am one of the luckiest girls alive.
I say goodbye to Mr Fit and leave the hotel. It’s raining. I pull up my hood and hurry to my car. I break a nail opening the wet door handle. Damn. I miss the warmth and dry heat of Vegas. I can hardly wait until tomorrow when I next see Joel. I’ll need to get to bed early if I’m to make it to the gym by seven thirty am.
I get home. Richard is waiting for me. He has cooked a chilli con carne, it smells delicious. He pops open a bottle of expensive looking red wine and pours me a glass. I take it from him. He kisses my forehead then asks me about my day. Despite my deception, I smile all through dinner.
He makes me laugh, telling me about some people at work. We have a wonderful evening. If I can just keep my emotions compartmentalised, this arrangement could work, I think.
And still, I don’t mention Selina.
Joel
“Wow that was amazing!” She smiles and stretches. Clasps my hand in hers. We both look up at the ceiling, breathing hard and reveling in wondrous post-sex sensations. I imagine our thoughts are very different though.
I shiver. She notices, pulling the sheet up to cover me. She snuggles up. Her skin is warm and soft, her foot traces up and then down my leg. For some reason, I feel numb.
She is staring at me adoringly. “I have something to tell you honey,” she whispers. “I’m so excited, I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure but I can’t wait.”
She wriggles against me, excitedly.
“I think I’m pregnant!”
Oh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Beth
I wake shortly before the 5.30 am alarm sounds. I slept so deeply that I don’t remember any dreams at all. I dress quickly in the clothes I put out the night before. Richard snores softly as I leave the room. My heart is thumping in my chest.
When I get to the gym it’s 6.45 am. I make my way straight to the changing room. It’s deserted. I close the wooden stall door and sit on the narrow bench. I still my mind. Close my eyes and wait. And wait.
Nothing. Each time a thought pops into my head I let it pass. Still nothing. Fifteen minutes later and my head hurts. I decide to go for a swim. Something must have come up, I think. It could be anything. Perhaps he fell asleep on the sofa, or had to look after Harry. I try not to be disappointed. But I am.
I tie my hair up so it won’t get wet and swim six slow lengths, then rest at the side of the pool, lazily circling my legs. I do another four lengths then rest again. A slim, dark haired woman in a yellow bikini comes out of the changing rooms, walks across the tiles and lowers herself into the water, flinching slightly at the temperature and throwing me a quick smile before she begins a confident breast-stroke to the opposite end of the pool.
The clock on the wall tells me it’s time to leave. I get out and go back to the changing room to get dressed.
I feel like crying, I don’t know why. Big, hopeless, lonely tears threaten to roll out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I blink them back, sniffing. It’s silly to be sad; I knew this was going to happen from time to time. I’m sure he must have a good reason. I’m sure he’s as disappointed as I am.
I get in the car to drive to work and for once I don’t listen to Joel’s music. I put on a CD that I bought in America, it’s a new singer-songwriter called Lindi Ortega. Her music suits my mood completely and her voice is amazing.
Work is a great distraction. In fact my editor, Marcus, asks me to handle development of a new section of the magazine to appeal to women of a certain age who want, as he puts it, "Gardening, Pinot Grigio and books about sex with a 19th Century Lover in tight trousers".
"The grey pound with a pulse is a hugely untapped market for advertisers," he explains. "Just think about all these internet-savvy grandmas going online to order their pelvic floor exercisers."
He laughs at how funny he thinks he is.
The thought makes me sick. Hell, he makes me sick. However, it's an opportunity. I start to research the section immediately by arranging a focus group with some Women’s Institute members who came in for a makeover last month. All the while I am busy I'm not thinking about Joel, which is great.
Joel
Georgia did a pregnancy test and it confirmed what she thought. We are having baby number two. I whoop and yell with her, "Yes!" I remind myself that this is what we wanted. Inside I am so confused but I know I can’t show it. Georgia mulls over whether she should tell anyone. She is talking so fast that I can’t concentrate on breathing in and out. I feel trapped.
“So?” she says, grabbing me by the shoulders forcefully.
“You’re so quiet Joelly, whaddya thinking buddy?”
“Huh?”
“Boy or Girl????” she squeals, doing a silly dance and running on the spot with excitement.
“Gotta call my mom,” she yells as she runs into the hall. “I won’t tell the girls but I gotta tell her, she’ll be upset if she finds out I didn’t tell her straightaway.” Her voice disappears and tails off. I think about my mom and dad, who will never meet baby two.
I collapse down on the sofa.
Then I try to force a smile. You can’t be sad about a baby, I think to myself. Come on, man. You’re married. You have one great kid. You always wanted more.
Sitting there, hearing Georgia start to gabble then squeal to her mom on the phone in the other room, the answer comes to me. I know it’s cowardly. I know it is. I just need some space in my head from Beth and Georgia; some new experiences and unfamiliar faces. What I need is an impromptu trip with the band. Somewhere that’s not connected to Georgia or Beth. South America perhaps. No, even better, Japan. I love Japan.
It’s time to get back on the road. Grab some time to find myself again.
I grab my cell and start dialing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Japan?” Shrieks Marti, our manager. “Too expensive!” Have you seen the exchange rate? And the distance... my God we’d have to ship a ton of stuff and for what? What exactly is in Japan that you haven’t seen already, my friend?”
He sparks up a cigarette in his office and draws heavily on it. Smoke curls up towards the sensor in the ceiling. Then, as if he suddenly realizes it’s a 'No Smoking' building for the first time (as he seems to do every time he lights up in here) Marti races to open the window and he leans right out. The sudden sounds of the city open my mind but choke up my thoughts.
He takes a drag and continues.
“You know, if you want to get away from it all...” he raises an eyebrow, “I may have just the thing. Pass me that letter,” he waves at the corner of his desk, which is strewn with paperwork.
“The one with the Radio Power header. Left a bit. Un
der that - Yeah, that one.”
Another deep drag.
Oh how I miss smoking.
I look at the letter. Radio Power is a top station across Europe and wants us to play a “unique and special live set in an exclusive mystery location, to be disclosed on arrival in..." – oh God – "London.”
Marti clocks my expression.
“Just thinking out loud,” he pacifies. “You like London. We all like London. It’s a cheaper flight than Japan and the station will pay accommodation, there’ll be no need to take so much kit either, ” says Marti, flicking his ash, some of which lands on a bird that's perched on the sill below.
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