His American Classic (Part 1)

by G J Morgan

  I knew one day I would go there and once I did it did not disappoint, I fell in love with it even more, for reasons I predicted, but for a lot of reasons I never would’ve seen coming. I had no intention of coming back. I was there for good. There wasn’t an alternative dream. America was the dream. England was the punishment.

  Mum asked me a while back to try and explain why I loved LA so much but I couldn’t, not in the way I wanted. I could have told her about the glamour of it all, the history, the buzz, the culture. But all I said was, I missed the sunshine, which was true, but selling the place rather short. Here in the village I was always safe and content, but yesterdays and tomorrows felt very much the same. Hollywood was all about the ‘just around the corners’.

  I knew all about that first hand, the curve balls the city could throw at you. The excitement that your day and your life could change in an instant. Being in the right place at the right time, or the opposite. That was the gamble, that is what I missed, the uncertainty of it all.

  Coming back, I realized how much I needed that uncertainty. The constant looming threat of a low but also the constant chase for the highs. And even though LA was hard on me I always felt things were about to change. That city gave me the grandest of ideas, some realistic, not even plausible. But honestly, I felt anything could happen. There was possibility. The endless kind.

  I never had that here. This was a place for the very young or very old. It had always felt too small to me, and all one colour, all one volume. But somehow, I needed to find a way of making a life here, both financially and emotionally, where I would wake up inspired, rather than lethargic. Being safe and content wasn’t always a good thing. Every single decision I’d made, travelling across the world on my own, moving in with Cassie two weeks after meeting her, taking a job as a tour guide. They had never been the safe option, and putting all my cards on the table, I’d always gone out of my way to live life a little recklessly. Later, it was different, Cassie and Molly came first in every decision, now just Molly. But I still had to think about me, too, I had to find way of living here, not just surviving but prospering.

  I didn’t realise how low I’d gotten when I first arrived back. Didn’t matter what I did, or who I spoke to, nothing helped. I was drowning and all anyone could do was describe the water. Every day felt like a slog, like I had to get through it, that was no way for a father to live, to wish away his time, celebrating midnights, when it should have been mornings, or middays with Molly.

  One night I took the car over the Humber Bridge. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t briefly think about the 100ft jump as I drove across it, how easy it would’ve been to fling myself over into that black water, I wouldn’t have been the first who had done it and I wouldn’t be the last. The finality of it all was a tempting alternative, and an easy way out. I may not have stopped the car that night or even jumped, but I thought about it and that was close enough to reality to make me want to change.

  I hadn’t thought of LA in a long time, that was done purposely and for a good reason, and it had been working. I had been in a good place, I was on the right path. I may not have been happy all the time, I may have known I hadn’t the perfect life or job or situation, but I was on the right path, I was moving on. One phone call and it felt like I was back to square one all over again. Vince ringing me was like America calling.

  I could just not ring him, I thought. I had no moral obligation to contact Vince. Our friendship was brief, we hadn’t spoken in over a year, maybe even longer. For God’s sake, he didn’t even call when Cassie died, or even attend her funeral. I had no loyalty towards him. But it didn’t mean I wasn’t curious about why he had rung.

  This was more than a phone call. There would be repercussions if I called Vince back. Butterfly wings, dominoes, ripples, it would start a chain of events. This wouldn’t be a chat, it would be an offer, a proposal, a favour. The easiest thing to do was to forget he’d ever rung me at all.

  Two days later, I was on a train bound for London and snow.

  5

  The journey home from London was a long one, angry commuters and festive cheer, a day of being on trains both under and over ground. I was glad of the time to think and digest Vince’s offer, but it also felt good to finally get a hot shower, wash London off and take a breath.

  “Is this job legal?” Mum asked after I’d told her what Vince was offering, or at least the version I told her.

  “Course it’s legal.” Even though I wasn’t quite sure myself.

  “Will it keep you busy?” she said, slicing bread.

  “For a while at least. It isn’t permanent.”

  “Will it make you happy?”

  “I don’t know. Happy isn’t the right word. Excited.”

  “It’s not going to harm anyone?”

  “Not intentionally. Not me, you or Molly.”

  “But someone will get hurt.”

  “What is it you think I’m going to do?”

  “I don’t know. It all sounds very ominous,” she said, spreading butter.

  “No one will get hurt. No guns or drugs or violence, I promise.”

  “When do you have to start?”

  “Soon, was all he said. I will be away a lot, could be for weeks and months. Means I have to leave you and Molly for longer than I’d like.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  “Yes. I think so. Financially, yes.”

  “And for you? Will it get you back on your feet?”

  “I think I need this.”

  “Then it looks like you’ve made your decision.”

  She got up and kissed my head. She was about to go to bed.

  “Mum, do you still have your old library card?”

  “What for?” she yawned.

  “Books, funnily enough.”

  “OK, I walked into that one. What sort of books?”

  “Just books. There is stuff I might not be able to view online.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Secrets and lies.”

  “I’ll tell you in more detail tomorrow. I’m pretty tired. Long day.”

  “There’s a casserole in the oven. Even 007 needs to eat from time to time.” She was about to go upstairs. I was already scribbling notes. I had lists and ideas I needed to get down on paper.

  “I will. Just got a few things to do.”

  “Those things can wait for now. You get some rest. Your new life can wait till morning.”

  * * *

  I didn’t hear from Vince after that first meeting at Christmas. I waited, then waited some more, did my best to keep occupied, prepared what Vince asked me to have ready. Studied like an exam, read every article, watched every clip. My bedroom became my office, clippings and cut-outs, maps and pins. Wall-to-wall investigation, solving a crime, or about to commit one.

  Still I waited, kept busy, kept preparing, factory in the day, researcher at night, even managed to turn a year older, twenty-six became twenty-seven. I nearly started to give up. I was tempted just to throw all the reams of paper and piles of jotted notes away, screw them up, fling them into Mum’s fire, watch all my work turn to orange.

  Till finally on a normal Tuesday at the end of February, out of the blue, I got the call, the green light.

  “She is coming, Tommy. She is coming,” he kept saying.

  * * *

  Cassie had never been on a train. She’d always wanted to, had visions of individual wooden cabins, china plates and cutlery, limitless indulgence – she’d read far too much about the Orient Express. Probably best she never did see the reality, it was no 1935, that’s for sure.

  Even though I’d done the exact same journey only two months before, I was equally as dumbfounded second time around with the price of my ticket – a trip to London wasn’t too far removed from what I had paid to cross the Atlantic. Fuck, I needed the money, with
the small amount I had left in my account I knew those trips were going to leave a dent that would be hard to fill.

  I’d come better prepared than on my first visit back in December. A packed lunch, a flask of tea, a heavy book, and of course all the things I’d need to discuss it over with Vince. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been excited by it all, it had given me a new energy and purpose. Don’t get me wrong, I was nervous, and no matter how much of my book I read, how many pages I turned, all I could think of was how absurd this all was. But at that very moment there wasn’t another option and absurd was better than sensible. I’d refused to be the grieving widower any more and I had to force the change.

  I rested my head against the window of the train, looked at the blur of green. If she was coming as Vince said she was, then we both had to be ready. And I felt readier than ever.

  * * *

  She offered me another tap water. I wasn’t sure how long she would let me sit there without paying for something that made her boss a profit. I felt for some coins in my pocket, it didn’t feel enough to even buy a coffee, instead I continued to fold napkins, watched people eat spaghetti. He’d chosen the same place as last time, the closest restaurant to Euston station, playing every Dean Martin song with an Italian chorus. The waitress brought over a bowl of olives, said she felt sorry for me with my water. I thanked her – she was pretty, foreign, not Italian, but foreign enough to make you feel you could be eating on the Amalfi coast.

  On meeting Vince back before Christmas, despite the difference in appearance – the whiter teeth, the smaller waist, the smarter suit – everything else had remained the same. He had greeted me with long hugs and hard pats on the back. He briefly mentioned how sorry he was for my loss, ordered us both drinks, apologized for his absence, explained his whys and why nots, ordered us both lunch. I nodded and he talked, it was all heartfelt. Thankfully for us both the small talk was kept small, and quickly he moved on to the important matter of why he was here, and even more importantly, why I was here. If indeed his apology was sincere, it was a quick one – he didn’t fly halfway round the world to offer condolences

  “Tommy.”

  He grabbed my shoulders, firmly.

  “Hey, Vince.”

  “Fucking weather. Fucking taxi drivers.” He looked wet.

  “Tough time?”

  “Nothing an espresso won’t sort out.” He ordered over a waitress and demanded drinks. Menus followed.

  “You look better.” He said.

  “Do I?”

  “You’ve put on weight, you look better for it.”

  “What’s with the bust-up nose, Vince? You been making new friends since I last saw you?”

  “Would you believe me if I said a door did it?”

  “No, I wouldn’t believe that for one minute.”

  “Good, cos it ain’t the truth. You hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  Food was ordered, it arrived promptly, not like the waitress had a choice.

  “How’s Molly?”

  “She is improving. We’re not there yet.”

  “How old now?”

  “She’ll be three in September.”

  “Early fall, hey. They grow fucking fast don’t they? And your Mom?”

  “She’s well.”

  “Your dad’s passed, hasn’t he?”

  “Few years back, yes.”

  “Mine too. Cancer.” He put his hand inside his jacket. “You fancy a smoke? Bought two hundred in the departure lounge, that and a case of Woodford Reserve. I’ll give you a few packs.”

  I took a cigarette.

  “I’m guessing we can’t smoke these in here. Fancy stepping outside? Better not still be fucking raining.”

  Outside the smokers were congregated around patio heaters. It wasn’t raining but it was far from warm.

  “How is LA?”

  “Brutal. Just how I like it. You not fancy coming back?”

  “One day. Not sure how it works.”

  “How what works?”

  “Well, me and Cassie never married. I don’t know how the laws work. I didn’t stick around long enough to ask.”

  “Well, Molly is half American, that must count for something.”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Place is full of immigrants. I’m sure two more wouldn’t do no harm. I’ll find out if ever you’re serious about coming home. I’ve got friends in high and low places.”

  “I do miss it.”

  “I know what you mean. When I go to New York, even here in London. They might be cities, but they ain’t LA. She’s an animal, Tommy.”

  “Who’d have thought me and you, two of the worst tour guides in Hollywood, would be smoking Camels in the centre of London, hey, Vince?”

  “It’s no White Horse Inn.”

  “No, can’t imagine we’ll get a free hot dog here. Can’t see no jukebox either.”

  “I’d rather be back there than here. Jeez, this place is too fucking cold. I can’t feel my hands and dare not feel down for my cock.”

  “So, what’s the story with the nose?”

  “Let’s just say it will heal quicker than my pending injunction.”

  “You make it a habit of upsetting people don’t you.”

  “I was just doing my job. Don’t worry, her bodyguard will be getting a letter with a nice little misdemeanour charge any day now.”

  “Which ‘her’ are you talking about?”

  “The same ‘her’ in that little folder of yours.”

  * * *

  “Right, timescales,” Vince said, feeding himself more mortadella. “She lands at Heathrow, April 2nd. Early hours.”

  I made notes, I could tell this gave Vince a hard-on, he liked being the boss and me his secretary. I listened as he talked, making more notes and scribbles as he fired off instructions.

  “Next day, she is attending some red-carpet event. Every pap and his dog will be hosing her down. I’m inclined to not even bother with that one. It would be nice to get one of her walking off the plane though at least, ruffled, no sleep, no make-up. The uglier the better. Ugly sells.”

  By now we were on our third round of coffees, Vince had just ordered grappa.

  “I’ve been informed she is travelling down to the coast on the 5th, some farmhouse out in the sticks. I’ll sent you the zip code once I have it, I should get it in a couple of days. That way we can do a bit of recon work, scope out the surroundings, find some good angles. Filming is due to start a week later, so there is a good seven days where she will be out and about. How are you for these dates so far?”

  I read back my notes. “So, London on the 2nd for a few days, then Devon the 5th.”

  “We’ll head down to Devon on the 4th, give us a day to find our feet. You can sort out transport and logistics. Don’t worry about money,” he said, throwing a roll of notes across the table. “I’ll give you more as we go along. We are going to need a car. Something inconspicuous, something like a sedan. In grey. Something you wouldn’t look twice at. But make sure it’s reliable.”

  “They’re all farmers down there, Vince, the roads aren’t even roads, they are mud tracks – it’s not Melrose. A sedan is out of the ordinary. A Jeep is most likely to blend in.”

  Vince agreed. “OK, make it bottle-green. In very good condition, with a big tank. Please tell me you still have a UK licence.”

  I nodded.

  “How much will a Jeep cost in this neck of the woods?” he said, chewing olive stones.

  “Not worth buying. I’ll check prices on a rental. You not having any bread?” I said, pointing at the bread basket.

  “Oh, me and bread are no longer friends. Makes me fat and gives me heartburn.”

  We picked at our food again.

  “I always thought paps worked in teams?”
/>
  “Fuck teams, Tommy. The more involved, the lower the cut.”

  “You do realise two is classed as a team?”

  “I know, I’m breaking my own rule on this one. Anyway, I can’t get too close. I need to keep my distance till my legal team fight it out over this fucking injunction. Tell me about the castle.”

  “Security will be heavy on set.”

  “No matter. No one’s too fussed about location shots. The big focus is when she is at her base, the farmhouse. She will be there two months, three tops, gives us plenty of time. What do you reckon to the target?”

  “What, the farmhouse?”

  “The girl, you moron.”

  “I can see why she has so much media attention, put it that way.”

  “That’s why it is so important we can get in there first. That’s why you are so important to the operation. The English paps aren’t too interested in her, but she is all they are talking about across the pond. You’ll give us the upper hand, you know your way around these places. Hey, what do you think of her boyfriend?”

  “He sounds horrendous.”

  “Fuck, yes. Our price doubles if he tags along, but I’ve heard nothing to suggest he’s coming.”

  “Look, Vince, I need to go, it’s getting late. It’s a long journey back home.”

  “Hey, feel free to stop at my hotel. It’s big enough.”

  “No, Molly will wonder where I am. I promised I’d be home.”

  “Tommy, we have got a lot to get through. I’m sure she will be fine.”

  “No, I must go.”

  “I’ll give you another hundred if you stay.”

  I looked at him. I couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

  “You stay one night, I’ll make it two hundred for the trouble. I can’t say fairer than that.”

  “OK, Vince. But I’m leaving first thing.”

  “Good man.” He ushered over the waitress. “More grappa please, doll.”