by G J Morgan
Filming had been going really well. Still don’t think I’d mastered the accent and I was certainly no natural at living in a different century. I was afraid of asking Jon how I was doing, scared he’d be honest and say I was awful, that he’d made a wrong decision casting me. I would have to take his silence as a positive, get my head down, get the job done. In all honesty I was quite bored, the script wasn’t great and so far, I’d found it difficult to connect with the story or my character. For all its beauty, this movie was forgettable, and although everyone on set was having a good time, it came across to me that no one was taking it as seriously as they should, including me.
I didn’t actually have that many lines, which made it worse – certainly didn’t help my confidence either. From watching the dailies, I pondered and pouted a lot, perhaps they’d finally realized I couldn’t act. At the end of every day’s shoot when Jon handed me my call sheet, half joking I asked for more lines and he would always say some witty remark about the best actors not needing lines. And though I should have taken it at face value, instead I took it that there was another reason why my lines were so few.
I got upset the other day. I’d spent a good couple of evenings rehearsing a scene, decided to give it my all, lots of coffee, lots of reading over and over, getting into the head of my character – I didn’t have many big scenes so I wanted to come prepared. But on the day of filming, after a dozen takes, Jon decided to throw in the towel. There were reasons, I expected, he said there was too much movie in the scene, too much acting, said he wanted the audience to respond not react, whatever that meant. I didn’t argue why, stormed off back to my room into the arms of my on-screen father. He told me not to take it personally, come rigorously prepared but don’t be afraid to let it all go, he said.
My feelings for Chris Rogan hadn’t altered either, he was still an arsehole, annoyingly he was still adorable to look at though. He was quite persistent, too, and had been quite honest in his intentions, feeling inclined to offer his physical services after most takes. I had to kiss him the other day, it took a hell of a lot of takes, think Rogan was screwing up on purpose, but it was hardly erotic, a dozen camera angles, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. I knew Rogan did, that was for sure, told me he had a boner both before and after. He’s so fucking childish, it was actually quite an attractive feature. I didn’t know how old he was, I’m guessing mid-twenties, but he acted like he was about twelve. He was over the moon actually, his agent had got him a lead role in some comic franchise, endorsements, spin offs, so he was counting down the days till he could fly back home and be the bronzed poster boy. To be fair it was only a matter of time till he got his break, he was one of those fuckers who’s always had life a little easy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he used to play college ball, fucked cheerleaders, probably aced his SATs, probably Valedictorian, bet his dad looked like fucking Paul Newman. Not that I was jealous, well just a little, I mean I would have liked to have known what my next movie would be. Sally and my agent were in talks, I was told I shouldn’t worry, which always made me worry more.
The paparazzi were still hard at work, for all my hiding and scurrying, becoming the recluse, somehow, they’d managed to find me. To be honest there weren’t many, it was always the same half dozen guys I’d see, definitely not the swarm I was used to back home, but still enough to cause damage and distress, still enough to have to keep us all on guard. I didn’t delve myself but I was told that so far the damage was minimal, just me getting into a car, me getting out of a car, spent most of my time driving to location, or being driven back. I wasn’t sure why people would find that interesting to read or watch but for the most part these endless photos of my legs and sunglasses getting out of a car weren’t doing much harm and Sally and Frank remained calm and contented with the exposure levels.
I hoped that might have meant Sally could take a breath. Things did go a bit weird initially after that first photo leaked, Sally accepting sole blame, said she had been silly and naive to let me get so out of hand and in such a public location. Even worse, she and Frank got as out of control too. I told her that it was just one of those things, that I invited them not the other way around. Didn’t change her opinion of the situation, she took the role of responsibility more seriously than our friendship. The message was we were all getting too familiar and too comfortable with each other, from now on our relationships would be strictly professional. Let’s see how long that lasted, I thought, me and Frank had a bet it would be a matter of days till Sally was back letting me give her a French pedicure and watching old Friends episodes as she plaited my hair. But the last few weeks she has stuck to her guns, which wasn’t great news for Frank having been banned from touching a drop until informed otherwise. Also meant I was kept on a short leash, not allowed to venture too far unless with good reason, or if agreed by higher up first. I did feel a little caged, not as free as I would like, least the paparazzi didn’t know where I lived, as long as I had my little retreat I didn’t mind my temporary confinement. They could have anything they wanted outside, but my home was mine, I gave them enough of me, I deserved one thing just for myself.
I actually didn’t mind the paparazzi, I just didn’t agree with me having to alter my life around them. I couldn’t care less if they snapped me dancing, or drinking, or singing, or whatever it was I was caught doing. I didn’t even care about the money they made, sometimes the clever ways they’d hide and stalk probably deserved a decent payout, purely based on effort and desire alone. Frank disagreed, detested their very being, Sally on the other hand understood they were a necessity, didn’t mean she didn’t have words for them. Sally often spelt out her curses, thought it reduced its severity, and had spelt out all curses imaginable to describe the profession that was stalking and snapping.
Meant I did as I was told, kept my head down, kept my head up, tried not to give the paparazzi ammunition, and instead me and the photographers continued with our stalemate, probably as bored of me as I was of them, and the cycle continued. Me getting into a car, me getting out of a car, me getting into a car again. They may even give up and go home, turn their attention to a celebrity far more interesting, though I guessed that would not be the case.
I heard my cell ring from the other room.
* * *
I thought I would’ve cried, though the day was young.
Mom sounded calm, too calm, if anything she sounded quite upbeat. Dad was moving out in a couple of days, a mutual decision apparently, said it was for the best they put some space between themselves. My instinct told me it was something Dad had done wrong, asked her what he’d done this time, but she pleaded his innocence, it was just a case of two people growing apart.
I rang Dad straight after, but he barely said a word, he was more concerned about the dog. I rang my sister too, she was all tears and sobbing, but rather than join her I spent most of the conversation persuading her it was for the best, even though I hadn’t persuaded myself yet.
Finally, when all phone calls had been made, that was when I cried, not loud or even for that long, just a few tears on my own, a few minutes of anger and frustration before I was back getting myself ready. It never crossed my mind to cancel tonight, Kate would already be halfway down a motorway, besides tonight I needed a drink and Kate wouldn’t need that much influencing to turn the night wild.
* * *
“I wish you had the Grease soundtrack.” Kate was knelt down by the stereo, concentrating at my iPod.
“I thought I had it.”
“Travolta was hot.”
“Kenicke was hotter. You want a top-up?”
“Load it up.”
“Double?”
“Only if you are.”
“I’m game.”
“Right, you do realize what happens when you drink bourbon, Miss Goodridge?”
“I’m fully aware.”
“You are crossing a line he
re. I was there at our wrap party. I witnessed your downfall personally.”
“Yes, but tonight I don’t have a stripper’s pole.”
“That is both a shame and a relief.” Kate sat back down on her stool. I passed her a drink. “What shall we drink to?” She raised her glass.
“England?”
“Fuck England. It’s wet and cold.”
“To Danny Zuko?”
“Much better. To Danny Zuko.”
We downed our drinks, which were quickly refilled.
“So, gossip. Fill me in?”
“Kate, I’ve been in the middle of nowhere. What gossip do you think I might have?”
“Must be something? Come on I’ve spent a month surrounded by brutes and heretics.”
“Doesn’t sound that bad.”
“Oh, the novelty wears off pretty darn quick. If I see another beard again I’ll fucking scream. Come on, you must have hooked up with someone, Prince Harry, Harry Potter. I need some gossip.”
“Sorry, pretty uneventful. I could show you some ducklings.”
Kate looked unimpressed. “What else?”
“I think this house may be haunted. I read the guest book. There have been multiple sightings.”
“Excellent. Glad I’m not staying over. What else?”
“Frank found lots of footprints by our garden fence.”
“What, in the garden?”
“No, just outside.”
“Farmer? Dog walker? Ghost of Christmas Past?”
“Could be. My guess is the paps.”
“You reckon they are outside now?” She went over to the kitchen doors.
“Might be. You should wave.”
“I can’t see shit, too dark. Shall we invite them in? Liven things up.”
“Let’s do it.”
“We could flash our tits.”
“Best not. I think the pizza’s ready soon. Looks pretty stormy out there.”
“What the fuck is that noise?” Kate put her nose to the glass of the double doors.
“Hailstones.”
“What the fuck is a hailstone?”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I asked Frank the same thing.”
“Glad I’m in here and not out there. Sounds like the end of days,” she said as she slumped on the couch in the corner of the kitchen.
When Kate first arrived she was dressed immaculately, J Brand jeans, camisole top. And likewise, I was equally as glamorous in a floral maxi dress, but our outfits didn’t last long, they were soon ditched for all things baggy and elasticated, it wasn’t a night for fashion. She had been in here for an hour and what started as quite a cultured evening of sophisticated conversation over cheese and jazz had transcended into doing nails and getting drunk, which I thought would happen anyway, and kind of counted on too.
“The house is pretty. Reminds me of the Hamptons,” she said, chewing ice.
“I wouldn’t know, I have never been.”
“Daddy throws one of his soirées there every spring break.”
“He sounds like Puffy.”
“I assure you, it’s pretty tame. Just old dudes masturbating over each other’s profit shares, and the women cleaning up after them.”
“Still, must be nice to get away from it all. Have a little retreat.”
“I guess. You’ll have to come. You can keep me company. Help me get through it all, keep my mom from the gin. How long till you go home?”
“Another month. Wish I could go home and see my folks though.”
“Must be pretty shitty for you. Divorce is a bastard. You don’t think they’d let you go back?”
“I doubt it.”
“What about after? Another movie I guess?”
“Gonna take some time off. You?”
“A week here, then back home. We are in pre-production at the moment, storyboarding.”
“With Max, again.”
Kate paused. “I wasn’t going to mention him. Didn’t want to put you off your pizza.”
“That’s OK. I don’t mind talking about Max. I’m fine with it now. How is he?”
“He’s good. Busy as normal.”
“Getting prepared for fatherhood?”
“Fatherhood?”
“Him and Darcey.” I sat myself next to Kate.
“What, Darcey as in Darcey Sterling?”
“Yes.”
“Darcey Sterling had her baby last month. Girl I think.”
“That’s a relief.”
“A relief?”
“Sorry, I mean it’s always a relief isn’t it when babies are born healthy? I bet Max is pleased.”
“He is, yes. They made him godfather. Darcey’s husband’s an old friend of Max’s. Used to go to college together.”
“So Darcey is with this Jeff? Max is not with Darcey?”
Kate laughed. “Max isn’t with anyone. He hasn’t been with anyone since you two broke up.”
“Oh.”
“You OK, Lill?”
“I’m fine. Another drink?”
“Fill her up.”
“Double again, I assume?”
“Of course. Is that burning?”
“Oh, fuck, the pizza.” I ran towards the Aga, grabbed a towel, pulled the tray from the smoke.
“How bad is it?” Kate came over to inspect the damage.
“Edible. Just about.”
“You sure you’re all right, Lilly?”
“I’m fine. Haven’t gotten used to the Aga yet.”
“No, I meant about Max. You seem a bit startled.”
“Sorry, just crossed wires that’s all.”
“Did you think Max and Darcey were together?” she smiled. “You thought her baby was Max’s?”
“My mistake.”
“You couldn’t be further from the truth, Lilly. Max is still besotted with you. Still hopes one day you two might get back together.”
“Does he now?”
“Talks about you all the time. In fact, he mentioned you for his new project.”
“That isn’t the reason you’re here, is it? He didn’t send you to butter me up, did he?”
“Lilly, I assure you I’m not Max’s errand boy. Max can look after himself.”
I put the pizza on the table, and passed her a few slices, the least burnt ones.
“Would you ever get back with him?”
“No.”
“You don’t think it’s worth another go?”
“Too much has gone on. Friends, but nothing more.”
“Do you still love him?”
“I don’t think I ever loved him. It was more infatuation.”
“You made a good couple.”
“We didn’t. We clashed about most things.”
“My mom always said marriages that last longest are the ones that learn how to argue properly. Trust me, she should know.”
“Clashing and arguing are different things.”
We both picked at our pizza, peeled off the toppings, left the rest.
“Any other potential boyfriend options?”
“Nope. Depressing isn’t it? My life is sexless.”
“How is it working with Chris Rogan? I’ve heard he’s a pest.”
“He’s harmless.”
“He has amazing shoulders.”
“This is true.”
“Is it wrong to love a man based purely on his shoulders?”
“I’ve got his number. I could ring him for you. Tell him to come around.”
“No way. We could so do that.”
“Probably best not to. It would ruin our working relationship.”
“Fuck that. I’m thinking a threesome. You can just watch if yo
u want.”
“I’m not sure your fiancé would approve, Kate.”
We both laughed hysterically.
“Sorry about a minute ago, it got too deep.?”
“It did a bit. It’s the Max effect.”
“Shall we do some dancing?”
“Yes, let’s dance. You choose.”
“Any requests? Just don’t judge me. I’m drunk and you’re a professional at this.”
“Kate, I haven’t danced in a long time. We’ll be as bad as each other.”
“Hey,” Kate was looking around in her handbag, “look what I’ve brought with me.”
“It’s not a crimping iron, is it?”
“No, better,” she held out a bag of coke in her hand. “I’ve not done any in ages. Come on, it will be fun.”
“No, it wouldn’t, Kate. Put it away.”
“If you aren’t having any, then I am.”
“Can you not?”
“I’ll only have a little, don’t worry. I’m not going to OD on your couch.”
“No, Kate. I mean it. Please.”
“OK, OK, I’ll put it away.”
“I thought you’d stopped all that?”
“No, I did, I have. Just on special occasions. I thought tonight was a special occasion. Obviously, I was wrong.”
“Don’t be like that. You know why I can’t.”
“OK, let’s forget about it. Can we dance now?” Kate went back over to the stereo. “A bit of N-Sync?” Kate grinned as she pressed play and the kitchen was filled with my childhood.
“Kate, you know I can’t refuse N-Sync. I might be a bit rusty.”
“I’ll lead the way, don’t worry.”
“I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this.”
“Well down some more bourbon. I’m going to the ladies room. When I come back it’s Justin and JC time.”
* * *
Not long after, I called Kate a cab. She literally crawled into it. I gave the cab driver extra, just in case there was any puke, he didn’t look amused. I said she could stay at mine, but she preferred a hotel, so I left her to it.