His American Classic (Part 1)

by G J Morgan

  And she patted her stomach, and worse, Max patted it too. Worse still, she smiled at me, not at all malicious, just a woman excited and proud. What I did next was unforgivable, it makes me sick when I think about it, I just, well I just flipped, I launched myself at her, slapped her, pulled her hair. On reflection, I’m glad Max pulled me off her, as quite honestly, I dread to think what I would have done if he hadn’t been strong enough to stop me. I’d like to think I would have stopped, but in retrospect I don’t think I would. I deserved to be hit and when Max slapped me across the face I was glad of it. All I knew was, I ran, ran past the bustle of the party, through the gates, rang Frank to come and save me, to take me off to a runway, fly me a trillion miles from Max as soon as possible.

  Max messaged me straight after, but I didn’t get to read it till I was quarter way across the Atlantic. He was full of apologies, said he had never hit a woman before and that was something he would have to live with, said no matter how mad he was, or out of control the situation, he should never have raised his hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get back in contact since our split. No matter how many times I’d changed my number he’d always get the new number. Before the party I would never have messaged back, but it was different this time – I owed an apology too. I wished I could have said sorry to her directly, I really did, it was all I thought about on the plane. I nearly rang him to get her number, I so wanted to, so I could explain. Not that my explanation justified my actions, but at least she would understand. Anyways, Max assured me Darcey was OK, no harm to the woman or child, she wasn’t going to press charges, not that I would’ve put up much fight if she had. I didn’t blame her, it wasn’t her fault she’d chosen to sleep with Max, he probably didn’t tell her about me. I hit her because I was jealous, not of Max, but that my baby wasn’t good enough for Max and hers was.

  It wasn’t right how Max was hung out to dry. He wasn’t a violent man and I would have hit me too, I was in a rage, it was the only thing that could’ve stopped me, words wouldn’t have worked, it took the shock of a slap to wake me out of it. It would not have been Max’s intention to leave a mark or bruise, it was something done on impulse, a reaction to seeing a pregnant woman being attacked. To the big wide world, Max took the brunt of the blame, plastered on every single paper and blog, labelled the guilty one, an alcoholic, a woman-beater. For a change, the press got it wrong that time, but at least they were consistent. It’s funny as if they’d asked me directly, flat out just asked me what happened at that party, you know I’d probably have told them the whole truth, all of it. -They always seem preoccupied with exposing the lie, setting me up for the public execution behind my back, when most times I’d have helped them hold the rope.

  The strange by-product of what happened that night was it made me and Max talk again after four months of avoiding each other. It was effortless how easily we fell back into what we used to be, and I could see the danger in letting in continue, even if I enjoyed the flirting and the attention. I decided after I left London that would be the last message I’d read or send. It was hard and a few times I very nearly slipped back into old habits, but the key word was ‘nearly,’ I managed not to cave in to temptation.

  How Max saw it, I didn’t know. Badly, I expected, he didn’t take too well to people making decisions above his head, and knowing Max as I did, he would take this as a loss and he wasn’t too great at accepting those. But I suppose he had two choices, either he could concentrate on Darcey and his new baby, or more likely, continue to persist with me. He’s always preferred the option he couldn’t have. But hey, he might prove me wrong, though he never has before.

  The mood downstairs wasn’t pleasant. Frank was doing his best to be mother but he was struggling to fend for himself, let alone attempt to help anyone else. Outside in the garden we hid behind our sunglasses as we tore at croissants and sipped OJ hoping the combination of vitamin C and D would speed up the healing process, which so far it hadn’t.

  “The food was gorgeous, wasn’t it? Such a cute little place. We’ll have to go back. Maybe not drink as much next time.”

  “Don’t talk about food. My piss smelt of crab this morning.” Frank’s eyes looked to the sky. “You have yourself a little garden party last night? You left the patio doors wide open.”

  “You would be right in your estimations, Mr NCIS. Don’t make out you’re all innocent either. I wasn’t the one wearing a life ring and hugging the bartender.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Is there anywhere round here that sells fluff, Frank? I could seriously go for a fluff sandwich right now.”

  “You’ve got as much chance of fluff as I have of finding a copy of USA Today.”

  “Am I filming? Please tell me today is a day off?”

  “It’s a Sunday. No one is working.”

  “Good. I’m not feeling very ladylike today. Could we go to the beach?”

  “Let’s get through this morning first. I can barely see five yards in front of me right now let alone scale over sand dunes. I’m gonna grab up some more coffee, I think the caffeine is wearing off.” Frank picked up our cups and limped himself from grass to kitchen as I decided to get on my feet and attempt to move.

  Despite the migraine across my forehead, it was a pretty view. There were sheep in the distance, I watched them clamber and chew as I took myself around the garden. I wondered who would live here when I went home. I guessed people like me, people who make it home for a little while, before the next car load do the same. A shame, such a nice big house, felt like it needed a permanent family. It wasn’t perfect, don’t get me wrong, the restrooms were too small and Frank was always banging his head on the ceiling beams, but it had a feel to it, it must have been there for centuries, added to obviously, but it still had all the charm and characteristics to make you feel quaint and prairie-like. I enjoyed this lifestyle more than I ever thought I would. I thought I’d miss the LA scene, the juice bars, the nightclubs, but noticing frogspawn or leaving milk out for hedgehogs got me more excited than dance floors and after-parties. It would be nice to be a kid growing up here, I thought – hills and rivers, forests and beaches, trees to climb. I’d like to come back one day, bring my folks, invite my sister, she could bring the kids, they’d run riot.

  I walked downward through the tall bamboo, towards the stream, my own little Laguna, my Table Rock Cove. The other morning me and Frank made paper boats out of old newspapers, had little races, couldn’t believe how fast they moved, such a strong current for such a little stream, I wondered where they might have ended up, probably in the middle of some ocean by now.

  Frank returned with a fresh tray of coffee. “You better brace yourself.”

  “If I’m in trouble you’re going down with me.”

  We looked over, Sally was already halfway down the garden, pointing her keys at the driveway, locking her car mid-stride.

  “You never heard of knocking?” I shouted.

  “It’s not my fault you live in an open house, a wall would be nice, a gate, heaven forbid a lock, seeing as you’re a famous actress and all.” She took a cup and poured herself a coffee. “Makes me wonder who chose this house in the first off.”

  “I thought it was you.”

  “Not me, darling. My choice would have been a fortress, fucking Alcatraz.”

  “Who chose it then?”

  “Fuck knows. Whoever did needs shooting. Security nightmare, this place. Exposed from all sides. Sitting ducks.” Sally sank into a chair, her hand across her forehead. “Never let me drink cider again. Scrap that. I’m never eating apples again either.”

  Standing over her, I gave her a big cuddle. “Was this all worth it, Mom?”

  “I need serotonin. Some clomipramine.”

  “Well, I had a great night,” I declared. “Besides the puke.”

  “Lilly.” Sally didn’t look impressed. “Where did you puke?
”

  “Sinks mainly, various sinks. Stairs. I’ll clean it, don’t worry,” I said, feeling my insides bubble again.

  “You haven’t even cleaned it up?”

  “I will.” I had no clue where I’d even find the mop and bucket.

  We sat there in silence, fixed and emotionless, in our own private turmoils, must have sat there for a good fifteen minutes.

  “Right, we can’t sit in this state all day,” I said.

  “I agree,” Sally said, searching for tablets in her bag. “I feel worse for sitting down.”

  “I don’t,” Frank sighed. “I’m happy as I am, thank you very much. This is me for the day and I ain’t moving.”

  “We can tackle today in either of two ways, guys. Feeling sorry for yourselves or facing it head on.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Sally said, swallowing a handful of pills.

  “No idea. Just not this. Just not sitting. We could go to the beach.”

  “Sounds a tad strenuous. I’ve had about four hour’s sleep. And I’m supposed to be replying to emails.”

  “Come on, you two. The sea air will sort us out. You can send your emails later.”

  I could see Frank’s distaste for the idea, but could see Sally’s brain taking it all in, trying to work out whether the idea had wings.

  “Where we would go?”

  “Can’t imagine it would be hard to find one.”

  “There’ll be people there, I take it.”

  “I assume so, Sal, it is a beach.”

  “If there’s too many, we come straight back. I haven’t the energy to fend off fans and cameras.”

  “Deal. We’ll keep low profile.”

  “OK, I’m in.” Sally smiled

  “For real?”

  “You look surprised.”

  “Cos, I didn’t think for one minute you’d agree.”

  “Well, I have agreed.”

  “And no cell phones. Cell phones are banned today.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Lilly.” Sally held her cell to her chest like a newborn. “I’m taking my cell.”

  “Fine. But only important calls, no checking emails or diaries. This is family time. Come on, guys, let’s get ready, whilst the sun is out.”

  “Do I have a say in any of this?”

  “No, Frank, you go where I go. Part of your job, I’m afraid. This is gonna be so fucking cool.” We started to walk, all three of us, arm in arm, back towards the kitchen. “First, I need to pack a beach bag, towels, lotions, a book. Money just in case we fancy lunch.”

  “No way. First thing you’re doing Miss Goodridge is cleaning up that puke.”

  “No problem. Will you help me find it?”

  “The mop?”

  “No, the puke.” I said, as Sally’s eyes rolled and Frank took his roasted socks off the Aga.

  * * *

  On arrival, the car-park was empty and not the view I’d expected – pale boys stripping out of wet suits, hanging them inside a van, about a dozen of them, smoking and laughing, looked pretty rowdy, a few of them were on the beer and it wasn’t long past breakfast.

  Frank handed me our bags and blankets from the trunk, he was still sulking, don’t think he appreciated Sally’s and my duet from the back seat, singing the only two Beach Boys’ songs we knew the words to, lucky for him the drive was over in less than five minutes.

  “You sure this is a good idea, you two?” he said, looking over at the group across from us. “You could get recognized.”

  “Frank, you serious?” I looked down at my clothes. “I’m hardly Hollywood today, am I?”

  “It’s your face that is famous, not your sweats. Just keep that hat on, the less skin on show the better.”

  “Holy fuck.” Sally stood hands on hips, looking toward the sand dunes. They looked impossible. Somewhere behind them was the ocean, not that we could see it.

  “You’ll be fine, Sal,” I lied. “Pretend it’s your treadmill back home.”

  “Howzit guys?” A voice from behind me. A man, small, in a wet suit, an accent. “You three thinking of surfing?” His dog started to lick my hand. I assumed it was his, though it wasn’t on a lead.

  I didn’t answer.

  “I assure you, it looks pretty gnarly, but it’s quite warm once you’re in, worth a go, for sure.”

  “I’ll think we’ll leave it for today, friend.” Frank slammed the trunk. “Got a sore head.”

  “Too many jars last night, hey? No better cure than Mother Nature.”

  “Another time.”

  “Well, let me know if you do ever fancy it, got plenty of sizes of boards and suits. Can do you a nice deal for the three of you. You guys look pretty cold. Got some coffee in the van. Where you from, California?”

  “Los Angeles,” I said. “Have you been to America before?”

  “Ocean City in New Jersey. Me and my bro are thinking of going to Montauk soon. Where you staying around here?”

  “A cottage,” Frank answered, purposely vague, borderline rude.

  “This place certainly has a lot of cottages. You like it, though?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Plenty to do, that’s for sure. Have you been to Salcombe? North Sands?”

  I shook my head.

  “Full of convertibles and Botox. Try the Winking Prawn. Best Po Boy in Devon, too.”

  “We haven’t seen much, to be honest. Been in our cottage mostly.” I felt guilty for talking.

  “That’s a shame, guys. There is a lot to do round here, if you are willing to find it and depending how long you’ve got to explore. You guys just here for a long weekend?”

  We didn’t answer. I noticed Frank had started to lose patience, stood there in a frown, his hands full of bags, his face red from the cold, he wanted to stay under the radar, this wasn’t part of his plan.

  “Can you get signal here for our cell phones?” Sally asked our new friend.

  “Not likely.”

  “What about a beer?” Frank asked. “Might do me good”

  “If you look to your right there is Bigbury on Sea.” He pointed, but all we could see was the sand dune. “There is a little café serving scones and crab there, you can walk across if the tide is out, if not then you’ll have to drive. Other than that, there is a pub up the road, The Sloop Inn, if you fancy something warmer and indoors.”

  “We best be off, whilst the sun is out. Thanks for your help today.” Frank offered out his hand.

  “No worries. The name’s Dave. You are?”

  “I’m Frank, this is my wife, and this,” he paused, looking at me, “this is my daughter.”

  I looked over at Sally, I did my best to hold in my laugh.

  “Well look, guys. Maybe not today, but feel free to ring me if you fancy a surf. Here is my card, ring me the night before and we’ll sort out times depending on the weather and tide. I’ll be here for a couple more hours depending on how busy it gets, so if you change your mind then swing by the van.”

  “How busy does it get here?” Frank enquired.

  “This time of year, Bantham is pretty quiet. You’ll have the beach to yourselves.”

  “Perfect.” Frank’s eyes brightened up.

  “Frank, do you need a hand with all that stuff, those sand dunes are killer. I can have the guys help you over to the beach. They are all hung-over, stag do. Have a guess which one is the groom? Have you got windbreaks?”

  “What’s a windbreak?”

  “Don’t worry,” Dave laughed. “I’ve got a few spare ones. Don’t want your wife here to blow away, do we?”

  He whistled and soon a selection of pink men with beards and bellies were walking towards us. I handed my bags to the nearest set of hands, thanking him as I did. He said his name was Gary, and he felt obliged
to apologize instantly for his appearance, his prom dress and matching Viking hat. I looked over at Sally, she was being piggybacked by Frank. I couldn’t work out who looked angrier.

  * * *

  “Bars don’t smell like this back home. Smells like my grandma’s old kitchen table. Old and varnished.”

  No one answered, not for a long time.

  “This is more my speed.” Frank took a sip of beer, his feet up. “I could die for a pack of Lucky Strikes around now.”

  “Don’t get any funny ideas,” I said. “Your doctor will kill you, not to mention me and Sally.”

  “I’ve cheated death once. I ain’t taking any more chances, don’t worry. It’s just some moments call for a smoke and this feels one of those moments.”

  “You enjoyed today then, Frank, after all your sulking?”

  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Max said the same thing after my first audition.” I put my feet across Frank’s lap. “You admit today was a success?”

  Frank nodded. “Better than just sitting, I suppose.”

  “What about you, Sally? Had a nice time?”

  “Once I warm up.” Sally was leaning even closer towards the roaring fire.

  I noticed Sally check her cell again.

  “Still no signal?” I asked.

  “How does this fucking village survive? It’s the 21st century for God’s sake.”

  “Just think of the all the things you are missing. There might be a world disaster going on, an asteroid has hit America, zombies have taken over Manhattan.”

  “Ha Ha. You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that. Besides you forget one thing, Lilly darling. I haven’t had no signal in about seven years, I’m literally about to have a panic attack, this is fucking psychological warfare.”

  “It’s just a phone, Sally.”

  “It’s my fucking right arm. This shit will set me back five years.” Sally looked over my shoulder. “Oh great, another dog.” The owner apologized as it licked her hand.

  “It’s like going back in time,” I grinned. “Look at us, no phones, no TV, no distractions. Just a fireplace and good company.”