Star Struck

by Jane Lovering

  ‘I think it’s more what I’m going to do with you that you ought to be worrying about.’

  ‘Steady, darling, after last night I’m not sure I can take much more. I think I might be broken, actually. Certainly feels like it. Can I have the key, please? Or have you locked us out again for the dubious pleasure of having to invoke Antonio’s wrath?’

  I held it out at arm’s length. ‘Felix.’

  ‘Ah. So. Ah. I think we might need to have a little chat.’ Felix took the key card, his eyes flicking from Jack to me and back again but, I must admit, mostly resting on Jack’s half-naked chest where his shirt barely managed to make contact.

  ‘Later.’ Jack said, firmly. He half-turned and gave me a gentle shove. ‘I’m taking Skye for something to eat. You can discuss this when she’s got something inside her.’

  There was a looooong pause. Felix was bursting to add the obvious rejoinder but my expression must have put him off his stroke, as I didn’t think Jack looked in the mood for Fe’s speculation into our collective love-lives. ‘All right,’ Felix said, cautiously, after a second or two, obviously reluctant to let the double entendre go unentendred. ‘I need some sleep anyhoo. Catch you on the flip-side?’

  ‘No.’ I must have sounded unlike myself, because both men raised their eyebrows. ‘I’ll catch you in about half-an-hour. I am not just going to fall in line with your plans, Felix.’

  Felix bit his lip, hard. I saw the skin split and wondered what he was trying to stop himself from saying, as he waved a casual hand in agreement, pushing his way into our room and falling on the bed with a groan which was audible as we headed towards the lift.

  Jack and I ate eggs and drank coffee in the now open but still-deserted diner. There wasn’t much conversation between us; he seemed to have slipped into deep thought and I was more concerned with what I was going to say to Felix. Had he really brought me all the way out here just to try to win him a part? It seemed a bit of a long-shot, but then he wasn’t exactly meeting with huge success in Britain; maybe he saw this as his one chance. And I … was I happy to go along with it? To finally admit the death of my own ambitions?

  I watched Jack’s long fingers fiddle with the toothpick-container on the table while he ate his eggs one-handed. He pulled the lid off the box and, as soon as the eggs were finished, he put a toothpick between his lips, not even seeming to notice what he’d done.

  ‘You’ll never get it to light.’ I ate my last piece of bacon.

  ‘What?’ As he spoke he noticed the wood, pulled a face and shuffled it to one corner of his mouth. ‘Oh, bugger.’

  ‘Why don’t you try giving up? There’s all those nicotine patches and everything now, supposed to make it easy.’ I drained my coffee and a hovering waitress pounced with a refill.

  ‘Have you ever given anything up, Skye?’ Jack pulled the chewed end from between his teeth. ‘Because, let me tell you, it’s not a bundle of laughs. In fact, it’s not even one small giggle. I smoke because … well, because everyone needs a vice, a crutch, something to hang onto, and that’s mine.’ He wasn’t looking at me; he kept his eyes on the scratched tabletop. ‘And unless you can talk from a position of experience …’ now he raised his eyes and his gaze met mine, something like a flare of anger shone deep inside it, ‘then don’t moralise, okay?’

  I opened my mouth to ask how he could talk when he obviously hadn’t given up, but then it suddenly struck me that I was sitting in a diner in America eating breakfast with a writer from my favourite TV series and the oddest urge to start giggling swept over me. My lips must have twitched because Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘This is just so weird,’ I tried to explain. ‘A few weeks ago the high spot of my life was watching Fallen Skies on TV, and now …’ I waved an arm, ‘here I am!’

  Jack gave an answering grin and I had another jolt of realisation that he was quite a good-looking man, under all that dark, scowling façade. ‘Yeah. Moving and shaking with the movers and shakers. Not that I can get my head around myself as either a mover or a shaker. I’m a bit more of the slight oscillator.’ He wiggled his head from side to side. ‘We’re not as popular.’

  The moment opened up, stretched somehow, and enclosed both of us in a little bubble of time. Jack was still smiling and I was still grinning like a mad person, fighting the urge to burst out laughing at the absurdity of actually being here. Our eyes met, something moved between us, a recognition, an acknowledgement that we saw a piece of ourselves in the other, and then the moment moved past and was gone like a lighthouse beam that had picked us out for a fleeting second.

  I cleared my throat and stared down into my unwanted refill. ‘I’d better go and talk to Felix. He’s got so much explaining to do …’

  ‘You want me to come? Is there likely to be violence done, or is it all going to be tedious hugging and forgiveness?’ Jack swallowed a last mouthful of coffee. ‘’Cos if it is, I’m gonna stay right here and get another refill. I can watch Friends re-runs anytime.’ His eyes were back on the table, as though he was ashamed of letting me see a glimmer of what lay underneath his grouchy persona.

  ‘There may be shouting. But you stay, I’ll be fine.’

  He reached out without looking, and grasped my wrist. ‘Need me, I’ll come. Okay?’ He was still focusing on the dregs in the bottom of his cup, looking serious.

  ‘Understood. But Fe’s not likely to do me any damage.’ I pushed away from the table and stood up. Jack still didn’t look at me.

  ‘I’m kinda in charge of the quiz, so … if you decide to take part, I’ll be there.’

  I couldn’t help myself, I looked back over my shoulder as I left the diner. Jack was sitting, still alone at the table despite the comings and goings surrounding him as the diner began to fill up. He looked like an island in a constantly moving sea. People would glance at him, at the empty three seats tucked in around his table, then quietly move away as though they didn’t want to disturb him. He wasn’t exactly looking open to contact, leaning back in his chair, hands embracing a coffee cup, eyes partly closed behind his slim glasses with his hair dancing an untidy fandango in the breeze from the open doors, but why were people giving him such deference, such a wide berth? What the hell was he thinking, this dark man, hidden behind those heavy lids?

  * * * * *

  What the hell am I thinking? Jack tipped his head back and felt the tension in his neck. Why am I even getting involved? The wash of conversation became so much white noise and static as he let his thoughts roam, falling into the writer’s zone of what-if and what-could-be.

  What if Skye got herself caught up with Gethryn? That was what lay behind it all, he knew that. This was where having an imagination was not a good thing – extrapolating the real and happening and pushing it into the place of what-could-be – and in this case it was worryingly easy. She was obviously completely swept away by Geth, beyond the point of any rational words getting through. He could warn her, he could even lay it on the line, tell her exactly what Geth was like, and she’d smile, nod, accept his words and then go right out and let herself get taken in by the charm, that almost supernatural ability the man had to form a connection.

  Bugger. Jack drained another cup and felt the caffeine give his system a good kicking, the nervous twang of a brain in overdrive. Why hadn’t he got it, that easy smile, the charisma that enabled Geth to chat, flirt, draw the girls in? Why did talking to Skye make him feel that urge to withdraw, like he was indulging in something that was eventually going to hurt? As if he didn’t know.

  Did he want to save her? And if so, what from? She was clearly an adult … he let the memory of her slim body in the really quite see-through T-shirt she’d worn yesterday flow through him … clearly adult, oh yes. She could make her own decisions, reach her own conclusions. He had a life, a complicated one that needed no more help to get even more problematical. Two perfectly good reasons for him to
shrug his shoulders and get back upstairs to the next episode. Easy.

  He put the cup down but didn’t move.

  Chapter Twelve

  Felix was flat out on the bed, wearing underpants and with his head wrapped in a towel. When he woke up he was going to have scary hair, I thought happily. Then I bounced on him.

  ‘Ow! Sod! Oh, it’s you, how was your breakfast with Mr Luscious? You know, if you decide you don’t want him then I think it’s only fair that you let me have a go; did you see that body? Oh, sorry, of course you did, in great and glorious Technicolor close-up. Is he really huge? Looks like he’s a big boy in those jeans, but then, denim can be so … oooof.’

  I kept my hand over his mouth. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me? About the quiz.’

  ‘Mmmmmffffff.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I removed my palm and wiped it on the sheet.

  ‘I didn’t know how to. I knew you wouldn’t go for it. But, Skye, think about it, please, you’re brilliant at anything to do with Fallen Skies, and you might just decide you did want the part, and if not … well … I could do with the break,’ he finished, sounding unFelixly downbeat.

  ‘It’s all about you, isn’t it? You drug me up, drag me out here, and all so that I can be your patsy in some scheme to get a job! Why couldn’t you just audition like everyone else?’

  He unwound the towel from his hair and began to rub, spreading his spiky locks around and mopping at them, thinking. ‘It was Faith’s idea.’ He nearly whispered it.

  ‘Oh come on! Faith … it … the accident happened before Fallen Skies ever started.’ But the mention of her name made my heart rate rise again. ‘Don’t put this onto her.’

  ‘Honestly. We used to … when we were kids, we’d do these competitions. Like the ones you get in the paper, win a year’s supply of chocolate, win a bike, you know.’ His eyes were serious, the twinkle had faded and his dimples were nowhere in evidence. ‘When we’d both come out of drama school we’d watch those stupid “Choose a Leading Lady for Broadway ” shows and say that it would be better if they chose people with a passion for the show, not just a talent for singing and dancing. Faith used to pretend it was all beneath her. I can still see her sitting there, making like she was reading a magazine and then jumping up to yell at the screen. And she said …’ His eyes swam for a moment, then he sniffed and gave a pathetic smile, ‘Faith said that if anything like that came up, we’d go for it. You remember, when Faith auditioned for Nancy? I know it was just before the accident, but you must remember that. Most exciting thing to happen in York since the railways came.’

  ‘Felix.’ I swallowed. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ I scrubbed a slightly eggy hand over my eyes, pretending I wasn’t crying. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you don’t remember! You don’t remember how it was, being driven, being hungry for the part you knew was so right, so you. You felt it, we all did. And I feel it now, about this, about Fallen Skies. I don’t even care what the part is, I just know that being in this series would be the making of my career.’ There was a single tear running picturesquely down his cheek and his eyes looked huge. ‘But I don’t think you really want to remember what it was like. You don’t even want to try to remember.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Now my nose had started to run as well as my eyes and I gave up trying to hide it, just let the emotion come. ‘I want to remember, but I can’t. I wish I could. And I hate it, I hate that I have a whole year missing; everything I learned, all the experiences and all the familiarity from then have vanished! Everything is new and you’d think that would be a good thing, but it’s not, Fe, it’s really not. But I do remember this, Faith was my friend.’

  ‘But you’ve forgotten everything she did for you in that last year … everything my family did to help you; it’s all just wiped out, isn’t it? Like none of it ever existed.’ His tear was joined by another, a mirror image on his other cheek. He just sat, towel around his shoulders, tight black underwear on display, and the tears fell onto the duvet tucked around him. ‘It’s gone from your head, Skye. Just … poof!’ He flicked his fingers as though conjuring stars.

  ‘Fe …’ I was almost pleading. ‘It’s not my fault. It was the accident, the head injury.’

  ‘But deep down, Skye, deep down, don’t you think it was because you wanted to forget? This is your big chance to build yourself a new life, to remake yourself into the person you’ve always wanted to be – like being a kid but with enough knowledge to change yourself. Wipe out your background, forget the past, start again from scratch?’

  ‘No!’ I almost wailed. ‘I didn’t want to forget! I want to remember, but it’s like this big black hole where it all should be, and it’s all gone and nothing left and it means I don’t even know who I am any more …’

  He touched my face. Stroked away the tears with a thumb, looking into my eyes. ‘You’ve got me, Skye. You’ve still got me. If you win this … you win it for all three of us: me, you and Faith.’ He brought his face closer, rested his forehead against mine. ‘I’d do anything for you, you know that,’ he whispered. ‘I look out for you, keep you safe … will you do this one thing for me?’ He was barely breathing the words, all I could see were his immense hazel eyes reddening around the lids as his tears mixed with mine. ‘Skye?’

  My shoulders shook as I pushed the sobs down into my body. Felix put a careful arm around me and pulled me against him. I could feel the strength of his muscles under his skin as he held me tightly. His body was more compact than Jack’s, more strung with muscle, and he smelled familiar under the faintly foreign scent of someone else’s shower gel. Tears salted our skins for a while longer, then by mutual consent we pulled away. There was much blowing of noses and covert wiping of faces; Felix tried without noticeable results to tidy his hair and I combed a layer of mascara onto my lashes. ‘So? Have you decided?’

  Somewhere among all the emotion, I had decided what to do. ‘I’ll do it. Just this once, for Faith, for you.’ I felt a tremor of disloyalty but pushed the feeling away. After all, I was entering, wasn’t I? The chances of winning first prize had to be remote, but second prize now …

  ‘And how about for Jack?’

  ‘Jack? Why would I do anything for him? I didn’t sleep with him last night, Fe; I only went to him to find out what was going on. It’s not my fault the man has a very odd idea of “dressed”.’

  ‘Yeah, so I noticed, coming out with his shirt down to here.’ Felix demonstrated. ‘He wants to have you, you can tell. And as for you, missy … it’s been a long time. A good pipe-opener, that’s what you need, a run up the slope. And Mr Whitaker there, he’d take you nice and slow.’

  ‘You are horrible.’ Then, ‘What? Hold on, back up a bit … Whitaker? Jack is Jay Whitaker?’ I scrubbed both hands over my face. ‘Really?’

  Felix stared. ‘I thought you knew! I thought that was why you were all over the guy!’

  ‘But he …’ I groped for something suitable to say, ‘he’s clean! And wearing … you know, shirts and jeans instead of raggy shorts and, okay, so his hair is a bit long but … where’s the beard?’

  Jay Whitaker, the reclusive, anti-publicity show-runner, the man in charge of the whole Fallen Skies shebang. Chief writer, main storyliner, hirer-and-firer, the man rumoured to be a drunken shambles? Jack?? ‘The last pictures I saw of Jay Whitaker, he had a beard down to here and a fringe you could lose a baby in. He was so hairy that I thought it must be some kind of disguise!’ I tried to match that year-old image with the slightly shabby, quiet man who’d bought me breakfast. That scruffy, half-dressed brooder was the man who put those sexy phrases in Lucas James’s mouth? Things slotted into place – Jay Whitaker, British guy, one of the team of writers for the huge sci-fi hit Two Turns North. Jack. Of course. Now I felt stupid.

  ‘Hmm. Half-an-hour before you have to be there, Skye. You’ve got thirty minutes to pul
l out.’

  ‘Oh my God. I’ve seen him with no shirt on! He’s like … as famous as Joss Whedon, and I’ve vomited in his toilet!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Joss Whedon! The guy who ran the whole Buffy show! Felix, you do watch television, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, all right, don’t get carried away. The quiz …?’

  ‘Good Lord. I’ve eaten eggs with the Iceman. Wow.’ I tried to slot the two images one over the other, the few, blurry, backstage pictures of someone that made Bigfoot look well turned-out and the real-life barefoot man who chewed pencils. ‘He’s from Leeds, you know.’

  ‘Er, yeah. Calm down, Mastermind, what about …?’

  ‘I’ve said I’ll do it.’ I began to yank a brush through my hair, which resisted with everything it had. The thought of sitting in a room full of people made my knees shake, but I was committed now. I’d do it. If I knew half as much about Fallen Skies as I thought – I was heading for a dinner date with Gethryn.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A chunky girl with pink hair and a T-shirt which said “Mrs Lucas James” stood in the queue to get into Meeting Room One right in front of me. As I slipped into place, breathing carefully, she turned and gave me a grin.

  ‘Great turn out.’

  ‘Mmm.’ I felt the urge to rush upstairs and help myself to a Valium. It would soothe me, calm this terrible feeling that there wasn’t going to be enough oxygen once we were shut in a room together, and stop my fingertips tingling with the panic and the overbreathing as I subconsciously tried to store up the air. Stress. That’s all it is, doing new stuff, making me feel as though I can’t cope. I forced myself not to run. Dinner date, my secret inner-self whispered. Just think about that. Sitting opposite Gethryn. Watching him eat. Stay sharp. I relaxed my shoulders and forced my legs to step forward through the crowd, focusing hard on not thinking about the number of people who surrounded me. Further ahead, in the room itself, I could see Jack and two guys wearing official Fallen Skies T-shirts, shuffling papers. It made me feel better.