She handed him the phone and groaned. “I don’t have to see it. I lived it.”
“I don’t think any of them had your name.”
She groaned again. “How many are there?”
“A dozen, I think.”
“I suppose everyone has seen it.”
“I haven’t spoken with any of the cast since they’re not due in until next week, but the writers and crew…”
“And what are they saying?”
His lips disappeared into his mouth, and he stood mute.
“That bad? C’mon, give it to me.”
“That you had a fling in New Orleans, and then he…”
“Dumped me.”
He responded with something between a shrug and a nod.
“Well, they can think what they want, but neither is true.”
“So you didn’t have a fling? I have to admit, I was surprised when I saw the video the first time.”
“How many times have you watched it?”
“Especially with the lawsuit and how you left Peter’s house the night of the party, but then I started thinking about how you two were at the party.”
“I have got to stop socializing with my co-workers.”
“Do you want me to say anything to them?”
“No, let them believe it – especially the writers. Maybe it will help them write melodrama.” Plus, if they think I’m heartbroken, maybe they won’t make me watch it.
Mr. Peacock started out of her office but then turned back. “Alice, do not ever believe you are insignificant.”
For a week, writers reworked the scripts to erase every scene with Tristan, but they squirmed and averted their eyes when Alice joined them, as if cutting Peter out of the show sliced pieces out of her heart. At one point, when she had had enough of the sympathetic head-tilts, she tried to tell them nothing had happened, but her denial only fueled their speculations.
The day the cast returned, Giselle and Rich arrived together, exchanging glowing smiles. They made goo-goo eyes at each other throughout rehearsal, and Alice noticed him tucking Giselle’s hair behind her ear. At least no one took any pictures of me kissing Rich. Then I’d be a double-dumpee. Then her face grew hot as she imagined Peter seeing a photo of her kissing Rich. God, I hope he doesn’t think I slept with Rich.
Alice meandered back to her office to have her lunch at her desk with her book, but moments after she sat down, Rich appeared in her doorway and said her name. She had taken to leaving her office door open so they wouldn’t think she spent her time crying over Peter, but she would rather not deal with Rich right now either.
“Hi, Rich. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I haven’t seen you in over a month. Thought we’d catch up. That’s what friends do, right?”
He started around her desk to sit on the edge as he had in the past, but she cut him off at the pass. “Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair across from her desk. He hesitated a moment before sitting down. “I would say you and Giselle have become quite friendly.”
“Giselle…she’s something special.”
“But not quite like a sister after all, I take it.”
He grinned and cast his gaze down.
“I suppose a month was too long to wait.”
He lifted his eyes to her, and she wondered how she had ever thought him attractive. “Alice, I know the night before you left I said I would, and I meant it. But after we saw the videos of you and Walsingham, it looked like you weren’t waiting for me.”
“Convenient that Giselle happened to be there.”
“You know how it started. I was just being supportive after that toad Jack ran over her.”
“And now it has blossomed into something more,” she said with a lilt and a wave of her hand.
“Yes, it has. I mean, what am I supposed to think when one minute you hate Peter and the next you’re singing love songs together?”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a love song. It’s Ozzy –”
“I didn’t know he would break up with you like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “He did not break up with me. There was nothing to break up – we were never together.”
His eyes shifted back and forth and he furrowed his brow but then, perhaps in anticipation of her admonishing him, relaxed and rubbed out the crease, but she had no intention of reminding him.
“What you saw on the video was too many shots of tequila.”
“I figured he would have turned you against me.”
“Really? And how on earth would he have done that?”
“By telling you things.”
“What kinds of things, Rich? What would he have told me that would have you so concerned?” She did not mean for the sweetness of her tone to comfort him, and she thought she must have succeeded judging from the blood coming into his cheeks and those telltale beads of sweat she had noticed form on his lip before.
“Well, he has his own version of events, and I have mine.”
“Then perhaps it is better for you both to keep them to yourselves.”
He gasped out half a laugh. “Yes, well. I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us. I hope you won’t hold a grudge.”
She stood, prompting him to do the same. “Of course not. If you and Giselle are happy together, it can only be good for the show.” He nodded and turned to walk out, and then she added, “But if anything happens to her, remember – it is within my power to kill you.”
☼
A few weeks into production, Alice walked into a quiet studio. Too quiet. She found Mr. Peacock flipping through a magazine in the breakroom.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you taping?”
“Still waiting on Giselle. She was supposed to be here over an hour ago.”
She pulled out her cell and called Giselle’s number. “Where is Rich?”
“He’s not due here until nine.”
Voicemail. “Giselle, it’s Alice. You had a seven o’clock call. Where are you?” Who am I kidding? She ended the call and sent Giselle a text.
The stage manager popped his head in. “They’re here.”
Mr. Peacock and Alice walked out together and found Giselle leaning on Rich, both pale and puffy and smelling like they had been out all night.
Alice marched up to them and, ignoring Rich, tried to make eye contact with Giselle. “Can you work, or do we need to write around you?”
Giselle smiled and rolled her head on Rich’s arm. “Why wouldn’t I be able to work?”
“Are you drunk?”
She laughed. “No, of course I’m not drunk!”
Then Alice turned her attention to Rich. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Alice. I’m not late.”
She sighed and rubbed at the imminent headache on her forehead. “Just get her to make-up.”
As Alice walked backed to her office, her phone began to vibrate. Jack? She closed the door and took the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Alice. It’s Jack.”
She hoped the connection caused that ringing tension in his voice. “Hi, Jack. I haven’t heard from you in a long time. Not since July.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Listen. I’ve been trying to get ahold of Giselle for a few weeks now. I know I deserve this, after the way I treated her. I just…I just want to tell her I’m sorry and explain.”
“Explain what exactly? How you trusted some unsubstantiated gossip instead of believing she cared about you? Why you didn’t even bother to give her an explanation?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I know, you’re right. I should have trusted my own feelings instead of listening to…”
“Peter?”
“Yeah. You probably won’t believe it, but it…it wasn’t easy on me either.”
She remembered Dirk’s words. “I believe you.”
“So could you just give her the message for me?
Tell her I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I just wish she would talk to me.”
“Funny, I think she said the same thing about you. I don’t know if it will make a difference, but I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks, Alice. How’s everything going?”
“Well, so far the ratings have only slipped a bit, but it’s kind of soon to tell.”
“No, I meant how’s everything with you.”
“Oh, I can’t complain. Or I guess I could, but I won’t bother you with mundanities.”
“Any fallout from the karaoke?”
She closed her eyes and brought her hand to her warming cheek. I knew I hated karaoke! “Uhhh… around here, there was some speculation, but I’m just ‘a woman in New Orleans.’ How did he handle it? He must have been mortified the next day.”
“No, not at all. But he hasn’t been around town much. Since Toronto, he’s been keeping to himself or spending time with his daughter. He said he needed to take a break, at least until the lawsuit is settled. He seemed more upset about the photos.”
Photos? “What photos?”
“The ones printed in The Intruder yesterday. He was really worried about how you were taking it.”
Shit. She opened her office door and held the cell against her shoulder while she yelled. “Somebody get me a copy of The Intruder!” She brought the phone back to her ear. “Jack, I’m sorry. I don’t typically read the tabloids. So what kind of pictures are they, and why did he think I’d be upset?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“They’re pictures of you together. And an article.”
She held the phone down. “Somebody bring me the Goddamned Intruder! Do not try to tell me that there is not a single person on a soap set with a copy!” Her heart pounded in her chest, which rose and fell with quick shallow breaths.
“Alice, are you there?”
“Yes, Jack. I’m trying to find a copy. So was he embarrassed to be photographed with me?”
“He sounded more concerned that you would be embarrassed. He made me go down to The Intruder to buy the originals.”
“To stop them from being printed?”
“No, this was after it had already come out. He didn’t know about them before then.”
“Then why would he want to buy them? That doesn’t make sense.”
A cameraman walked up and handed her the paper. “I’m sorry, Alice.”
“Jack, I’ll call you back.”
She closed the door and walked around to sit at her desk, staring at a black and white image of Jack standing over her on the Moon Walk under the headline “Peter’s Mystery Woman Revealed.” Her hands were shaking as she turned pages to the story. The photo essay began with a few stills of them on the stage at the karaoke bar, followed by the picture taken of them when they were kissing in the alley. That tourist must have sold it to them. Clearly not a professional shot, she and Peter were hardly recognizable, but there was no denying the heat between them, smoking on the page.
The rest of the photographs revealed a completely different story. Definitely professional, most likely through a telephoto lens, they painted an intimate portrait of that morning when they parted. The first must have been when he first walked up behind her. The only picture of them on the bench together showed her staring at him with round, tired eyes – eyes that looked like they had cried as much as they truly had. The other four in the series had been shot right before he left. His hand cupping her cheek. His lips on her forehead with her eyes closed. Him gazing at her as he told her to take care of herself, though only she knew what he said. Then a final shot of him walking away.
She knew why he wanted them. She hated to admit it, since they were shot by a paparazzo, but they were…stunning. Even the poor quality of the newsprint did not diminish their breathtaking beauty – artistic yet natural, with the morning light through the misty haze casting an ethereal quality to the scene. No trace of Hollywood glamour marred a single image. She wore an old sweater and no make-up, and she had done nothing but comb her fingers through her hair, which hung in loose, damp curls off her face. He wore jeans, an open Oxford shirt over a t-shirt, and pure raw emotion on his face as they said their parting words.
And no one who saw these pictures would ever believe she was not in love with him.
The accompanying article, though short, told the story with uncanny accuracy. They had her name, even spelled correctly. They had met on All My Tomorrows, where she is head writer. They were seen together frequently while he filmed in New Orleans (the implication being she had no reason to be on location there except to be with him). Then the last night, after their song, they were heard arguing in her hotel room, and he ran out without a shirt on. They met on the Moon Walk the next morning and mutually agreed to part ways. At least in this version he didn’t dump me.
She needed Eileen. She called her number and it rolled to voicemail just as someone knocked.
“Alice, it’s me,” Mr. Peacock said through the door.
She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “Come on in.”
Closing the door behind him, he walked around the desk and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? All things considered, I think I look pretty good. There must have been a lot of photosho –”
“You know what I’m talking about. You have not been completely frank, and that’s not like you. Do you care about Peter?”
She leaned over her desk – over the photographs – and dropped her head into her hands, covering her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m so confused. I never entertained the possibility that he actually cared for me; and I spent so much time disliking him, I never considered that I even could care about him.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Not since…these were taken.”
“Call him.”
“No. He wouldn’t want to speak to me. I outlined for him precisely every quality of his that I despise – and they are all still true. He will always think he is better than me or you or anyone outside the upper echelons of the Hollywood elite. There isn’t room for both me and his ego. I’ll be fine. I just hate having all this aired in public. I’m surprised the tabloids haven’t hunted me down for an exclusive.”
“Well, they’ve actually tried to reach you, but Mrs. Jellyby and I have been fielding the calls.”
“You’re kidding.”
“She was hoping you would do it, thinking it would help ratings, but I told her in no uncertain terms the answer is no. You are not in front of the camera. You are entitled to your privacy.”
“Too bad The Intruder doesn’t think so.”
“You know, we can keep the photographers off the lot, but eventually they will find out where you live.”
“I’m sure this will die down before then. Besides, I’ll be leaving for Napa soon, although I was thinking of cancelling because of the way Giselle has been lately. I’m worried about her.”
“Oh, Giselle will be fine.”
“Well, keep an eye on Rich. I don’t think he’s good for her.”
“Everyone will be fine. You need a few days away from here, out of L.A. When you get back, no one will even remember any of this thing with Peter.”
☼
The Edge of Darkness
Chapter 18
Robert had a castle. If I had known that sooner, I might have gone with him more eagerly. It was as if it had been taken out of an encyclopedia. He spent a lot of time explaining about being in the House of Lords and how he came to be a duke, how the castle had been passed down through the generations. He was a Knight of the Red Garter and several other orders passed to him from his father and his father’s father and so on. It was all impressive, but it didn’t make me love him.
I tried to reach Tony, but he wouldn’t take my calls. I wrote the first of what would be hundreds of letters to him. If Robert had known I thought of Tony as something other than a brother, it would have devastated him.
Mother told me Tony would not take her calls either. He would only speak to Annette. He wanted nothing to do with his mother after finding out his parentage.
“Annette won’t tell him the truth, that you aren’t related,” Mother said. “When she found out about the two of you…I think it made her resent you because you had gotten closer to Tony than she ever had. She is angry and bitter and full of hate for both you and me.”
With twenty bedrooms, sleeping arrangements were not a problem, until the second night. I knew what Robert expected from me, and I had made him wait over a year and across an ocean. I had no reason to save myself for Tony anymore.
The servants had been dismissed early so we could have a romantic evening alone. After dinner, we sat on a sofa in the parlor drinking cognac. When we set our glasses down, we moved closer together, put our arms around each other, and started kissing. As Robert kissed and fondled my breasts, I recalled those nights in the back of Ben’s car. Then my memory traced to that night when Ben had come to my bedroom, and Tony had burst in on us.
I could feel the beginnings of tears in my eyes. To block out the past, I started kissing Robert’s neck. I took his face in my hands and looked into his eyes and said softly, “Love me.”
He gently took my hands from his face and held them. “Come with me.” He stood and pulled me up.
Robert led me to double doors, which he opened to reveal an enormous bedroom – larger than Mother’s party room – and a bed to match. The room and the furniture were amazing, and he saw me caught up in their opulence.
“Every time a ruling body got new furniture, we got the old.” He smiled and proceeded to the bed as I remained in the doorway.
“This was a baron’s room a few hundred years ago.” He lay across the bed horizontally, his feet still on the floor, and looked up at the painted ceiling and then at me. “This is the most fantastic bedroom in the entire house, and never once have I slept here. I have never so much as sat on this bed before.”
He sat up and extended his arm out to me. I walked over and got up on the bed beside him, pulling my feet under me.
“They say that he was a very good baron but a very poor gentleman.” I lay back with my arms over my head, and he reclined on his side, head on his hand, looking down at me. “According to the legend, he courted a beautiful contessa in hopes of winning her legacy, but she hated him with a passion because she could see right through him.” He took my hand and rubbed it against his cheeks and lips. “But to resume friendly relations between their two families, she accepted his invitations to dinner.” He started kissing my hand and fingers between words. “On one such occasion he drugged her wine and then led her to this bed and made love to her so she would be forced to marry him, which she did; but she refused to lie with him ever again, so he never had a legitimate heir. His plan backfired, for he fell in love with another woman but couldn’t have her because of his wife. He had sacrificed the chance of love for wealth before he realized the great price he was paying.”
All My Tomorrows Page 12