Milkshakes and Heartbreaks at the Starlight Diner

by Helen Cox

  I noticed Jack in a corner, already waiting for us at the table, wearing the same brown corduroy suit he’d sported on the night of the hop. Likely in response to the news I was wearing the same dress. I welcomed any reminder of the night I’d spent dancing in his arms and he got a hazy look in his eyes when I walked over, which told me he felt the same.

  As we approached, Jack pulled out a chair for Mum. She looked most impressed.

  ‘You’re what the Americans call a suck-up,’ I said when he did the same for me.

  ‘You’ll pay for that later,’ he whispered in my ear. A blatant attempt to make me blush in front of Mum and although I could feel the heat in my cheeks I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of actually going red. I narrowed my eyes instead and took the seat he was still holding out for me. He squeezed my shoulders as he returned to his place at the table.

  ‘So. What are we all having?’ Mum asked, picking up the menu.

  ‘Steak,’ I replied before she’d even finished the sentence. Jack laughed. ‘What? This is the nineties. Can’t a gal know what she wants?’ I grinned but Mum wasn’t looking too amused.

  ‘It’s polite to at least peruse the menu before making a selection, Esther.’ I gave Jack a look to let him know this was not the first time she’d tried my patience that day. I then made a show of looking up and down the prim columns on the menu before a waiter appeared to take our order.

  ‘You start, Esther,’ said Mum.

  ‘I think I’ll have…steak,’ I said, looking at Mum rather than the menu. She shook her head at me. Jack, who was taking a sip of water, choked a little at the effrontery nature of my tone. Mum went on to order the chicken whilst Jack opted for pasta.

  ‘So, Jack,’ Mum began before the waiter had even delivered the wine we’d ordered, ‘how do you find acting?’

  ‘Well, Mrs, Knight…’

  ‘Oh no, call me Edith.’

  ‘Well, Edith…’ Jack’s gentlemanly plan was working a treat; Mum was already hanging on his every word like he was Elvis. ‘It’s not as glamorous as everybody thinks but I do love the job.’

  ‘I always thought acting might be rather testing on the soul. Every day to face the temptation of excess, not to mention working around all those beautiful women.’ Now it was my turn to choke on my drink. Why was Mother talking like a Catholic priest? Was she insinuating Jack might stray after we’d been together a week? And what was that ‘excess’ comment about? Alright, so the man liked a drink but he was hardly John Belushi. I looked over at Jack who seemed cool and at ease – or maybe he was acting and really was a whole lot more than just a pretty face.

  ‘Well, beauty is a very subjective idea, Edith. The majority of people in the industry do work hard to look after their appearance but so much of what you see is superficial. Wigs, make-up, plastic surgery. After a while you realise true beauty is found in authenticity. In a woman unafraid to be herself. Like your daughter.’ Wow. He was good. Had he practised that speech in the mirror? Mum nodded and a smile came over her face.

  ‘It’s refreshing to hear a man talk that way, don’t you think, Esther?’ said Mum.

  ‘Well, Jack is refreshing on a number of levels.’ I smiled, wondering if he could read my mind. If he knew I was thinking about last night when I’d stayed at his after the shock of Boyle’s poisonous article. He’d been so tender: pressing our bodies together with those strong arms I’d come to adore, kissing every available stretch of skin. The connection between us now there were no secrets left was incredible. The kind of feeling you dreamed about for ten minutes when you were a teenager and then decided couldn’t possibly exist.

  Mum’s inquiry was interrupted by the waiter pouring out our wine and when he left she began on an altogether different footing.

  ‘What I should have said first, Jack, is thank you, for all you did for Esther yesterday.’ She took a sip of wine and nodded at it before continuing. ‘Mr Boyle’s article was unpleasant and unexpected. I can’t quite believe someone would write a piece like that but I suppose if you’re serious about your acting it’s something you might have to get used to.’

  ‘Do we have to say that name at the table?’ I asked. ‘I’m about to eat.’

  Jack reached over and put his hand on top of mine.

  ‘He won’t be a problem for much longer. In a couple of days Mr Boyle is interviewing me on television and I’ll be making it quite clear what I thought about that article.’ I noticed the hand that wasn’t holding mine gripping the table ever tighter. ‘He won’t bother us again, trust me.’

  ‘What, are you going to the mattresses? Why are you talking like Don Corleone?’ I shook my head. He smiled at the film reference but I kept my expression straight. ‘Jack, promise me you won’t make things worse by infuriating him. The article is out there now. It can’t be undone. Just do the interview quietly and hopefully he’ll leave us alone.’

  ‘I’m surprised you agreed to an interview with him in the first place,’ said Mum.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I replied before Jack could say anything. Probably best not to bring up the whole Jack getting arrested thing just then. ‘But essentially Jack owes Boyle this interview and if he does it the likelihood is he’ll back off and find some other celebrity to stalk.’

  ‘I’m hardly a celebrity…’ said Jack.

  ‘Really, that was your take away from that sentence?’ I teased. He smirked and took a sip of wine.

  ‘I have no idea how these things work. Do you know what kind of questions he’ll ask in advance or is it all done on the day?’ Mum asked. Jack’s smile faded. He looked down at the tablecloth and fidgeted with his knife.

  ‘It varies.’ His jaw tightened. ‘In this case he could ask me anything but I have a few ideas what he might want to talk about. There’s –’

  ‘Let’s not talk anymore about Boyle. We’re here to have a lovely evening together,’ I said, rubbing the back of Jack’s hand with my thumb. He looked at me, nodded and pulled my hand up to his lips, kissing my knuckle. And from that moment forward we didn’t talk about Boyle.

  Mum asked Jack a million other questions, of course, from what his strongest subjects had been at school to how he took his coffee. I thought it all most interrogative and spent the majority of the night either stuffing food in my mouth to smother a rant about how inane her questions had become or covering my eyes with my hands when she pushed for clarification on a number of embarrassing topics. But Jack didn’t seem to mind. Mum at least had the tact to stay away from the subject of Jack’s previous marriage which I’d told her not to broach under any circumstances. Besides the fact that the end of any marriage is excruciating, everyone at the table knew I had my own complicated marital history and he wasn’t holding that against me. Whoever Jack married and whatever went wrong with that marriage was of the past and had no bearing on the now. We’d talk it over at some point, but all in good time.

  The last portion of the dinner was spent adjudicating an argument between Mum and Jack over who would pay for the meal. Jack, feeling flush after being paid for his first movie, was insistent he should fork out. Mum wouldn’t hear of it. It was her treat. She invited him. Etcetera. Everyone knew there was about eight dollars in my bank account as I didn’t get my wages for another couple of days so I couldn’t settle the spat by paying for it myself. In the end, we struck an agreement that Mum would pay this time and Jack could shout our next outing. I added that the first month I broke even after rent and utilities I’d foot the bill. A joke that ceased their bickering.

  ‘It is hard work having dinner with you two,’ I said, then sighed and knocked back the last drop of wine whilst Mum gave the waiter her credit card.

  ‘The nerve…’ Mum said, but her green eyes sparkled in amusement.

  After the restaurant, we walked Mum back to her hotel. She linked arms with Jack for the last segment of the stroll and went on and on about how lucky I was to have such a kind-hearted and respectable man as he in my life without once insin
uating that Jack was also fortunate to have found me. As though she couldn’t think of one redeeming quality I had that he didn’t. I’d no idea if this was a typical motherly thing to do but she’d done it with every boy I’d taken home since I was fifteen. After what seemed like an eternity of listening to how well-off I was, we reached the entrance to her hotel. Mum had had one glass of wine too many so Jack guided her up the steps. It was approaching midnight on a Friday night and a trip to A & E with Mum wasn’t anybody’s ideal way of rounding off the evening.

  Park Avenue was dead quiet at that time of night. The only sound besides the odd rumbling of a subway train underfoot was the slow clacking of a lone woman’s heels. Clip. Clap. Clip. The sound grew louder; whoever it was edged closer. I turned but as I did the clacking stopped. The street looked empty. I squinted. Not empty. Someone, a woman, stood in the darkness. She was hidden by the long shadow cast by a shuttered newsstand but a flash of red gave away her position. There was something familiar about the red hood she wore. I’d seen it somewhere before…

  ‘Night, Esther!’ Mum cawed from the hotel doors. I whipped back around and waved, smiling at Jack, who sauntered back down the steps towards me.

  ‘So, apparently I’m a lucky woman?’ I said.

  ‘I think I did hear that somewhere.’ Jack rested his hands on my hips.

  ‘Don’t let it go to your head, Mr Faber. Arrogance is not an attractive quality.’

  ‘I’ll remember that. Your place or mine?’ He wrapped his arms around my waist while I tried to stifle a laugh.

  ‘I don’t know about that. I’m feeling kind of tired,’ I teased.

  ‘Oh, well allow me.’ He picked me up and I draped my arms around his neck.

  ‘You keep this up you’re going to be able to cancel your gym membership,’ I said.

  ‘Another excellent reason why men should lift women,’ he said, ‘the health benefits. Lift women, not weights. That’s my philosophy.’

  ‘You’re an idiot.’ I pressed my nose against the side of his and looked down to see his lips smile right before they kissed me. Then, he marched towards his place on Ludlow Street while I looked over his shoulder. The heel-clacking had started again but this time the sound was fading away.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The chatter of hundreds of people filled the air. Directors were shouting at camera men and spotlights roamed across the stage. I had Mona and Angela sat either side, talking across me about how they’d never been in a studio audience before. My stomach churned so hard I daren’t open my mouth to join in the conversation in case I was sick. All I could think about was Jack, who’d been somewhat jittery the last couple of days, sitting back stage. On his own. Waiting for Boyle to go to work on him. Boyle would probably bring up the beating. I squirmed at the idea of him forcing Jack into a public apology even though Boyle must’ve said something that day to anger him. I was fully prepared for Boyle to dredge up my past in front everybody too. Probably hoping to capture some dramatic reaction shot of me in the audience. But there was no way I was giving him that satisfaction. Nothing he could do or say could shock me. Not after what I’d already been through.

  Boyle was in a dingy corner of the set having his face powdered by a make-up artist when he noticed me. He waved for the woman to stop her attempts at making him look more human and swaggered over. I swallowed hard and raised my chin. He had a smug expression painted across his face that I prayed Jack would find a way to erase.

  ‘Well, well, well. I had no idea you ladies were such big fans of my work.’ He beamed down at the three of us. Mona scrunched her lips together and was on the brink of saying something she’d regret when I put a hand on her arm to stop her.

  ‘We’re here to support Jack, that’s all. So just leave us alone, OK?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, come on now, you’re not sore I found out about your chequered past, are you?’ He gave me a wide grin showing all his teeth, of which he had too many.

  ‘More that you published a skewed version for the world to see.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘But no, I’m not sore. I’d expect nothing less from a creature like you.’

  ‘Creature? I see. Say, you sure you want to stick around for this? You might be better off, you know, anywhere else but here,’ he said, still grinning.

  ‘You leave Esther alone,’ Angela piped up. ‘She’s staying no matter what you say. And so are we.’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Faber’s other mistress.’ Boyle eyed Angela up and down. She shuffled in her seat, glaring back at him. ‘Alright. You ladies are welcome to stay but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He gave me one last look and returned to his make-up artist who was readying the bronzer.

  ‘Pay him no heed,’ said Mona, squeezing my hand. ‘You had it right when you called him a creature.’ I gave her a puny smile as the lights began to dim, heralding the start of filming.

  ‘Alright, everybody,’ said a young woman wearing a head-set. Probably the director’s assistant. ‘We’re live in one minute. Fire exit signs are illuminated in case of emergency. Whilst we’re on air, feel free to clap and cheer as necessary to make our guests feel welcome.’ It was her use of the word ‘guests’ plural that drew my attention to the fact there were two chairs set up nearby the one allocated for Boyle. I didn’t realise Boyle was interviewing somebody else but if he was that was good news. Not all of the focus would be on Jack. The show was due to run for thirty minutes and if Jack’s slot was half that time it seemed little damage could be done in the space of fifteen minutes.

  The crew started counting down as Boyle took his seat in the canvas chair and made one final check of his hair in a small mirror he carried in his pocket.

  ‘And five, four, three…’ The assistant director covered numbers two and one with her fingers and then pointed at Boyle to signal he was On Air.

  ‘Good evening, New York. I’m Jimmy Boyle and tonight I’m interviewing one of Hollywood’s newest sweethearts, Mr Jack Faber.’ The audience let out a cheer. Jack had more fans than I’d realised. ‘Let’s take a look at Jack in action.’ The stage lights muted. A large monitor lit up and a clip from Without You played out. As it was a Hollywood flick Jack was looking particularly well groomed. Clean-shaven. Every hair slicked into place, and make-up or touch-ups or something to hide that small scar on his forehead. Even in the close-ups it didn’t show. There were no cracks. No imperfections. No stutters. He was the perfect leading man. Once the clip finished a high-pitched whooping flickered across the audience and I smiled.

  They were celebrating the work of my boyfriend.

  ‘Well, if you liked that you are in for a treat as Mr Faber has agreed to talk candidly with us about his life. Tonight, you’ll be seeing the real Jack Faber for the first time.’ Boyle paused for the audience reaction while I frowned wondering what he had in store. I also couldn’t work out why he hadn’t mentioned who else he was interviewing but presumed he wanted to give each guest an individual introduction.

  ‘Let’s not delay his entrance any further, please welcome Mr Jack Faber.’ With that, a spotlight moved to the edge of the stage and Jack appeared in his pinstripe blazer, sand coloured shirt and khaki trousers. He’d opted to let his hair hang loose rather than slick it back and it fell in a soft frame around his face. After the clapping died down a couple of the women in the audience whooped and screamed.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Jack, sitting in one of the two seats arranged opposite his interviewer and everybody, even Boyle, laughed. Somehow, through the glare of the lighting, Jack caught my eye and gave me a wink. I shook my head at him and smiled. Was there no situation he couldn’t handle? I’d be a wreck if I was up there.

  ‘Well, Mr Faber, thank you for agreeing to this interview,’ said Boyle leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. ‘I understand you’re a busy man.’

  ‘Well, I’m never too busy to talk about myself, Jimmy. No actor is.’ Again laughter from everyone, Boyle included. Jack was doing an amazing job of hiding the fact he h
ated Boyle’s guts. If any casting director out there knew what was going on underneath the pleasantries, Jack would never have to read for a part again.

  ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear that because I’ve got plenty of questions I know fans will be burning to have the answer to,’ said Boyle.

  ‘Fire away.’ Jack made a gentle opening gesture with his arms that seemed relaxed, though I knew otherwise.

  ‘Well, you grew up in London, England. Can you tell us about that?’ So, Boyle was starting with the easy questions. No doubt hoping to lure Jack into a false sense of security.

  ‘Oh yeah, well it was just what you good people in America would expect from an English upbringing. You know? My day was split between fencing and elocution lessons and at four o’ clock we’d stop for afternoon tea.’ Boyle began laughing again and the audience followed suit. ‘And on Sundays we’d have the Queen over for dinner and we did all our shopping at Harrods and made all our calls from red telephone boxes.’ More laughter from the audience.

  ‘And uh, what about your big break? Can you tell us about that?’ Boyle asked.

  ‘Well, Without You is my first big studio picture but my first film role was actually in a budget horror film about a herd of killer chinchillas,’ said Jack, and everyone laughed again. ‘Yes, it was very highbrow.’

  ‘Oh yes, I…’ Boyle couldn’t finish his response for laughing. ‘I remember reading that. Why don’t you tell the folks what it was called.’

  ‘It was called, of course, ChinKillers.’

  Boyle clapped a couple of times. The audience lapsed into hysterics, and even through my nervousness I couldn’t help but follow suit.

  Boyle paused a moment and then grinned. ‘But that wasn’t the very beginning was it, Jack? I’m sure everyone would like to know what drew you to acting in the first place. It’s not the easiest of careers to get into, so for you why did it have to be acting?’

  ‘For a long time it didn’t have to be acting at all. I didn’t make that decision until a lot later in life. I lost a bet and the forfeit was to audition at the local amateur dramatics society, which was my worst nightmare. Nobody believes me when I tell them but I’m naturally an introvert so the idea of getting up on a stage did once terrify me. But I auditioned and miraculously they liked me and I got the part of Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’