His American Classic (Part 1)

by G J Morgan

  You’d think I’d be used to hospitals by now with Molly spending most of her life in and out of them. We spent a good few months pretty much camped out in the care unit when she was first born, watching our little baby through the glass of an incubator, all wired up, so tiny too. The doctors said she was normal size for a baby ten weeks early, but I still thought it was only a matter of time till she didn’t wake up, and every morning I geared myself up for that eventuality. God, I forget how tough those first few months were. Did a lot of crying, not in front of Cassie. I didn’t want her to worry, did what most men do, crying quietly and alone, pretending we are made of stone.

  Now to look at Molly it was hard to believe there was such a time when I thought she wouldn’t make it past her first birthday. Dr Malik was really pleased with her progress, but as for now Molly would still have to continue with her inhaler. I asked him how much it would all cost as he wrote a prescription for a new box of Atrovent and he smiled. I’d forgotten it didn’t work that way over here, so used to writing cheques every time I saw a clipboard and a diagnosis. That’s the one thing I didn’t miss about America, probably the only thing. Wished Cassie could see her now, know that her little girl would be fine, that she wouldn’t have to worry any more, only about the normal things parents worry about, being good at school, getting a good job, finding love, not getting their heart broken. Just normal things with normal worries.

  As we ate our McDonald’s, Molly continued to question me about the amputee in the car park. The human body had been a hot topic the last few days after she had found one of Dad’s old reference books upstairs. Now she was fascinated, pointing out her elbow, my brain, her veins, my lungs, what happens when one stops working, or one gets chopped off, or buried?

  “Is Mummy in a coffin? Did you put her favourite things in it? Does it have a torch in it so she doesn’t get scared? Can I go and see it? Can we open it up? Would she just be bones now?”

  It continued, milkshakes and mortality. One day I would take Molly back to America, show her where her mum was buried. I hoped someone was visiting Cassie in my absence, that when we got there it hadn’t become unloved and unvisited. I doubted people would let that happen, I’d like to think her friends would have kept an eye on her whilst we were gone, replaced old flowers with new, talked to her, showed her we were all still thinking of her. Not that I believed in afterlife, not that I was religious, but hey, you never know, I think when you lose someone close you fling out science and proof. What before might have seemed ludicrous was now your only choice. What was the alternative, surely it’s better to believe my wife was an angel, then be proven wrong? Perhaps that was real faith, the hope to be proven right rather than the other way around?

  Funny really, what we cling onto to get us through the night.

  * * *

  “Happy with your decision then?” Mum asked, waving at someone on the other side of the road.

  “About London?”

  “No, today. Your vote.”

  “Oh. I guess so. I didn’t have a clue, all three told a good story. I just went with the one that looked most trustworthy.”

  “Doubt any of them are, to be fair.”

  “Who’d you vote for?”

  “I’m not telling. Politics naturally breeds an argument, I prefer to keep mine close to my chest to avoid confrontation.”

  “Then why’d you ask me?”

  “I don’t care who you voted for. Just wanted to check that you had. So, I take it you’ll be catching the train first thing tomorrow?”

  “Not train, driving this time, but yes, early tomorrow.”

  “I’ve washed your clothes, stacked them in your room ready.”

  “Thanks. And you’re gonna be OK? Remember to keep me updated.”

  “I’ll be fine, Tom. The doctor didn’t seem that alarmed.”

  “Text me every day. If you ever you feel you’re struggling then I’ll be back straight away. I still feel bad I’m going back at all.”

  “I’m a strong old bird and I’ve got a lot friends who can help out with Molly if I get too tired. She will be in good hands.”

  “I want constant updates, like CNN.”

  We continued to walk, Molly way out in the distance, inspecting puddles, her Happy Meal balloon still wrapped around her hand like she might take off over the fields any minute. I didn’t know the population of the village – five hundred, six hundred – tonight felt like we were the only three people for a couple of miles.

  “When are we going to talk about Molly’s grandparents?”

  “Not today. I’ve got too much on my mind without that, too.”

  “It’s not going to go away, Tom.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m hoping the letter I wrote them will help buy you some time. But it should be you writing to them, not me.”

  “I will, just not yet.”

  “You’ve got some choices you need to make when this whole Lilly thing blows over. If it blows over, that is.”

  I nodded. Molly came running up to my knees. I asked her if she was cold, her arms felt like ice. She said no, requested hot chocolate and a movie instead, the “balloon film” as she called it. I agreed to both as she ran off down the path again.

  “Are you cold, Mum?”

  “No, I’m fine thanks,” she said, even though I’d already draped my jacket around her shoulders.

  “How many times have you watched that film with her, Mum? I’ve only been back a week and I’ve watched it, like, ten times.”

  “I could quote every line.”

  “I could think of worse things to watch. Bet you wish I wasn’t going tomorrow.”

  “Actually, no. I want you to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can see in your eyes you can’t wait to get back into your little world.”

  “My little world?”

  “Your little adventure, then.”

  “I have missed it. I’m not going to lie. I mean, I hate being away from you and Molly but I have missed the routine.”

  “You’ve missed her, too, haven’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You like her, don’t you, Tom?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “I’ve not even met her.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

  “Mum, I can’t even believe we are having this conversation. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Why is it?”

  “Lilly is a poster on a bedroom wall. She isn’t real.”

  “But admit you are attracted to her.”

  “Yes, I admit that. But that’s like me saying I’m attracted to Jessica Rabbit, it’s a fantasy.”

  “Can you see yourself falling in love again?”

  “One day, I hope. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I didn’t.”

  “I think it would.”

  “It wouldn’t be for a few years anyway.”

  “Out of loyalty to Cassie?”

  “It’s not down to loyalty, Mum. It’s down to being a decent human being. A decent human being doesn’t fall in love six months after losing his wife.”

  “You can’t put a timing on an emotion, Tom. It took me two years to fall in love with your father, it took two minutes for him to fall in love with me. You can’t use time as an excuse. Cassie wouldn’t want you to have a life of solitude in favour of devotion to her.”

  “I’m not saying that, Mum. I’m just saying not yet.”

  “You want to punish yourself a little longer for dramatic effect?

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You can’t hide dark with more dark. You shouldn’t feel bad for having feelings for another woman. You should remember Cassie, but not let yourself become the martyr. If I met someone tomorrow and I truly felt
that there was a chance I could love them then I wouldn’t use your father as a reason not to pursue it. In fact, I still cling to the hope I might fall in love again, if I’m around long enough that is.”

  “You’ll be around forever, Mum. And even after you’ve gone you’ll probably still haunt me.”

  Mum laughed.

  “Why do our chats always seem to be about love and death?” I asked her.

  “That’s all life is. Everything else is just trivial when you think about it. That and art.”

  “Some days I forget about Cassie. I literally go through a whole day without her in my head, but then just when I think I’m getting over it, everything just floods back. What if I’d earned more? Perhaps I would have bought a safer car than an old hunk of a Wagoneer. Or if money hadn’t been so tight, I could have concentrated on the road rather than arguing about the cost of bathroom tiles. Or maybe if I’d got my head down I wouldn’t have been sacked as a tour guide and I would have been flying them to Disneyland rather than that day out to San Diego.”

  “That’s normal. I did the same with your father. Did I spot his condition early enough? Did I love him enough when he was ill? It can eat you up but the reality is, bad things happen to good people. A cruel fact of life, I’m afraid.”

  “You think I’m doing the right thing going to London?”

  “Do you?”

  “My head is all over the place. At the moment, I think making money for my family is more important than any emotional attachments. I just don’t know if I can what Vince wants me to do.”

  “Only you know what you are capable of doing and what line you are not willing to cross. Just know that either way you should not feel pressured by me and Molly. You just do what you need to do.”

  “London is what needs to be done. I’ve just got to grow some balls and do it.”

  “Sounds like you’ve made your decision.”

  “But do you agree with it, though?”

  “Whether I agree or not is neither here or there.”

  Mum smiled. I didn’t.

  We sat down at the bench overlooking the pond, Molly on my lap, Mum by my side, black houses and trees, the sky still on fire.

  “Shall we tie our house in balloons, Molly?” I asked her. “Sail off to Paradise Falls, just the three of us?”

  Molly laughed, as did Mum.

  “You’ve got enough adventure down here, darling, without the need for balloons.” Mum put her hand on my leg. “Come on, let’s get back inside, get her to bed and you packed and ready for the city, before you do something stupid like change your mind.”

  16

  So far, London sucked. Congestion charges and city cab drivers sucked. My hotel – some no-frills, single-bed-and-sink place on Gower Street – that sucked. I wasn’t expecting luxury, I didn’t expect to be put up in anything remotely similar to where Lilly was staying, but at the very least I hoped I would be close by. Vince’s choice of accommodation was odd, almost malicious, I was being made to suffer, Vince was getting some mild enjoyment thinking of me lugging half a ton of equipment onto the tube, or waiting in traffic jams. I thought I was supposed to be mobile, be able to follow Lilly at the drop of a hat, well anyway, that sucked. Sitting outside her hotel in my Jeep, waiting for Lilly whose plane should have arrived a good two hours before, the rumbling in my stomach, the need for a piss, the constant rain, this all sucked. Did I mention saying bye to Molly and Mum? That sucked plenty, though not as bad as the first time, left at night instead of morning, put her to bed, she knew the drill, my absence was becoming the norm, kissed her head before the long drive north to south, lorry rear ends and empty motorways.

  Vince wasn’t here. He did threaten to fly over, expressed more concern about my capabilities, but whether or not he ever meant to come, or if it was just to keep me on my toes, I didn’t know, all I knew was he wasn’t here right now. Staying in LA as some hip-hop star had created a stir apparently, some poor guy with more money than sense, police charges, a socialite girlfriend. Vince smelt blood obviously, a wounded animal was easier to take down, selfishly I didn’t care, I was just happy it bought me more time.

  Max Salter, that was the other hot topic, tongues would be wagging over that one, if it was actually true. I bumped into Ludo the previous night, behind the back of Lilly’s hotel, I was checking possible vantage points, getting my head round the layout. I hinted to Ludo about Max and based on his blank reaction it was clear he hadn’t a clue about Max’s pending arrival, unless he just knew how to lie, which I was sure he could. Ludo was a strange man, tiny and hairy, his camera worn permanently around his neck like a statement of intent. He loved this job, that was for sure, he was as much proud as I was ashamed, but Ludo was less concerned with the means, all he cared about was the end. I asked him if he had any family, attempting small talk. He told me they were back home, one day he would bring them to England, once he’d made his fortune, so me and him weren’t too dissimilar in our motivations, both robbing the rich to feed the poor, trying to be the one to steal it first.

  Regardless of Ludo I was still none the wiser about whether Max would actually be in London, but then again Vince was always one step ahead of the game and he’d never been wrong before, apart from recruiting me. I’d love to know where he got all his information, though it was probably best I didn’t, knowing him there wouldn’t be much he wouldn’t do in order to get what he wanted. So far, he’d kept me in the loop, told me all he knew, but I bet he knew more, just gave me what was necessary, just enough education to perform, which turned out wasn’t a lot. I knew Vince worked for an agency, that was where Vince would go for his long meetings, go off upbeat and come back pissed. Robbing scum, he called them, though I wasn’t clear on how much they robbed, I’m sure Vince got his share, judging by how much he threw his money about.

  The story of how Vince made his fortune was one I’d heard many times, though how much he’d choose to embellish and elaborate would change depending on how much he had drunk. From what he said Vince was just in the right place in the right time, a complete coincidence that he stumbled on the biggest story of that year. If it was true then Vince was one lucky guy, though secretly I didn’t believe it was true at all, I mean what were the odds? I think Vince was in the right place at the right time quite simply because that was where he was supposed to be and where he’d planned to be. I didn’t buy it, and the whole rags-to-riches story was one concocted purely to make his jump from bottom to top, a much bigger leap.

  I asked Vince once how the split worked, too, the money side, who gets what and when, asked how much money we and I could make. His eyes lit up of course, one thing Vince liked to talk about was money, especially his own. Taking off expenditure such as his travel, equipment, paying off his informers he told me he earned a quarter of a million dollars last year, and that wasn’t even classed as a particularly good twelve months – he said one year he made that from one photo. Vince reckoned a decent photo of Lilly and Max Salter together could fetch $100,000. All the other photos, the ones in shopping malls and red-carpet events, they were deemed as pocket change.

  I guessed that was why I was here, through good luck or poor judgement my job was to get that one photo that could make us both millions. And if anyone knew how to get that $100,000 it was Vince, perhaps I should do more of what he asked me, trust him more, though he was a hard man to place confidence in. For now, I had to believe that Max would be in London, make plans for his arrival, even if I couldn’t quite believe it myself, or that such money could be made just from one photo, if that was the correct value at all – could just be what Vince wanted me to believe it was worth, so my split would end up a lesser half. That was something I’d have to worry about later, negotiating my split would come once I had the photo to negotiate with, for now I just wanted to fill my pockets with something, no matter how little. For all my trying I’d made just over $700 all in, and bear in mind
that was for four weeks’ work, though I had an epiphany moment on the drive down, a decision to change tactics, to stop chasing the $100,000 whale and try catching what I knew could be caught day in, day out. From now it was just a numbers game, four or five of those $250 shots a day could quickly add up to a good day’s takings. And if I waited long enough, persevered, followed her every move, predicted her next, then I might be that lucky bastard one day too, till luck had nothing to do with luck at all. Meant regardless I had something to show for my work and I could go to bed at night with a sense of pride and achievement, that I did have the balls to get the job done, instead of feeling like a failure every night my head touched the pillow. But no more talking about past failure, that was done, now it was time to prove my competence, to Vince and myself, that I could be that bastard, the bastard I’d spent four weeks trying to avoid being.

  In the end, I sat outside Lilly’s hotel for another hour, gave myself the same mental pep talk over and over, psyching myself up, imagining what success would look like. And even though, after such a long build-up, and even though Lilly’s quick dash from limo to hotel lasted about thirty seconds in total, it still felt a success, managed to snap a few dozen shots. They weren’t the best, but I wired them to Vince straight away so that, for one thing, he knew she had arrived and secondly, so he knew I was trying. I stuck around a while longer, few more hours window watching, but Lilly didn’t come back out. I guessed the flight had tired her out, I was glad, I was pretty knackered after a long day of watching time and doing nothing.

  Hey, least I got some half decent shots, it was an improvement, better to have something than nothing at all, Vince happy enough, said he could make $500 dollars, give or take. It wasn’t much to shout about, and it was an amount that would have to be split accordingly based on whatever maths Vince saw fit, but who cared, it was my first pay cheque as a paparazzo, something to celebrate. And taking away the value, although small, I could still quantify it into something material, something useful, money for Molly’s new uniform, food in my family’s belly. Made me want to earn more, made me set my alarm earlier the next morning, made me want to search the tabloid stands the next day. Which I did, I got up at first light, ran to the nearest shop, searched each magazine page.