by G J Morgan
I checked my watch, it was time to go, checked my parking ticket one more time to make sure it would last me tonight and tomorrow without a fine. For the money I’d paid I should have gotten a taxi both ways, but I needed to be mobile and quick, I wished I could have parked a little closer, meant I wouldn’t have to run so far if Max and Lilly decided to move fast. I got out of the car and started to make my way across the city, through streets and more streets, each busier than the last.
The nerves really hit when I first saw the Opera House, how huge it was, how impressive, the wall of paparazzi didn’t help either. Felt myself take a big breath as I walked past the fans and barriers, heard cameras and saw flashes, I guessed they thought I was someone, they’d all be in for a sombre surprise when they found out I wasn’t anybody at all.
I handed the lady my ticket. As she checked its authenticity, I felt like I was fifteen again, trying to convince bouncers I was old enough to drink and dance, same nerves, same euphoria as the lady smiled and ushered me towards the nearest glass of cold champagne, as I tried to take it all in, look cool and calm when I was neither.
I was instantly in the middle of a sea of people, in an ocean I couldn’t quite swim in, the whole room was in a conversation I wasn’t privy to, telling the funniest joke, the smartest quip, the hottest gossip, everyone knew everyone, old friends and new acquaintances. God what I wouldn’t have given for the number of that agency now, someone who would just talk to me, make me feel less awkward. There were famous people everywhere, had to stop myself staring, my instinct was to grab my camera, I felt naked without it around my neck. I wasn’t sure what Vince expected me to do in here, I asked him the same question a few hours before, he didn’t have an answer, told me to watch Lilly and Max like a hawk, which was fucking great seeing as I couldn’t find either. I took myself to the bar, ordered something not too alcoholic, hoping someone might take me in, let me into their circle, but no one did, well one guy, but he looked even more desperate than me.
A guy called Rupert latched on to me, as posh as he was drunk, started talking about David Cameron, then the World Cup, quickly realizing I wasn’t educated in football or Tory triumphs. Though I appreciated the company, albeit brief, it killed ten minutes before I was back flying solo again. But what a place to be alone, always the closet film buff, I’d be lying if I said seeing so many industry faces didn’t give me a hard-on. A room full of trailblazers and heroes, experts in their field, legends and youth. This was movie people talking movie things, next projects, camera angles, name-dropping. So, when I should have been sweeping the room for Salter and Goodridge, instead I’d managed to get into a conversation about Kubrick conspiracy theories with a guy twice my age and twice as big, soon I found myself being ushered to my seat.
Wow, the Opera House looked majestic, I mean I was high up as high up could be, the amphitheatre, the upper slip, touching the ceiling, but I wasn’t complaining, the view was something else even if I was in nosebleed territory. I looked once more for you know who, but the search was impossible as the voiceover introduced the presenter to the stage and room fell to a hush.
Thirty minutes later I got my first sight of Lilly, it was worth the wait.
* * *
The first time I only saw her briefly, watched her present an award before disappearing backstage again. It wasn’t till afterwards, as the press took their photos of winners with their trophies and losers with their aggravated smiles, that I eventually saw her up close, watched her as she tiptoed gracefully down each spiral step of the staircase, into the crowds. My God did she look beautiful, her dress was stunning, not that what she wore mattered, clothes wore Lilly, not the other way around, they needed her more than she needed them. Whilst down below other women fought for accolades and admiration, women like Lilly, who were that beautiful, that effortless, attention came to them. I found myself laughing, a stupid grin. I’d missed Lilly, genuinely missed her, I felt such a fool.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I felt a nudge, Rupert was back, eyeing up Lilly with a snort, I didn’t reply, left him clutching his cock and champagne. I followed Lilly as she floated around the vast numbers of heads and bodies, as I too weaved myself around the periphery trying my best not to lose sight of her. Tonight, she wore red, her hair down, curled into waves. I’d never seen her like this before, I was used to an off-camera Lilly, I hadn’t seen how flawless she was up close, her teeth whiter, her lips redder, her eyes brighter.
I watched her sit at a busy table, it felt strange having no walls, no fences between us, how easy it would be to get even closer, or even talk to her, but there may as well have been a wall – no matter how close I was, it was still the same distance. She began to talk to the man next to her, white hair, white beard, I recognized him from the cottage, Jonathan Barton-Hughes, her director. After a few minutes, they both stood up and he led her to the dance floor, I watched them for a few minutes, it looked sweet, the odd couple, wondered what they might be talking about, what it must be like to dance with her, to be able to glide in her arms.
I wanted to order whisky, but the car keys in my pocket told me otherwise. A guy took a stool beside me, he wasn’t as posh as my last company, but he was definitely as drunk, if not more. He talked for a long time, the state of British cinema mostly, I pretended to listen, he offered tequila, offered me a line of coke. He said his goodbyes, moved onto someone more his own speed, he was OK, a different time I may have accepted both, but tonight I was still on the job.
I checked my phone, message from Mum, more doctors, more tests with no results. I scrolled my phone, no messages, no Max Salter and worse, the party had started to unwind, I glimpsed over my shoulder and half the hall had now cleared. For all the excitement and fascination, for all intents and purposes I’d come away with nothing of any value tonight, nothing tangible, nothing Vince would smile about. Tonight had to be a big night, the last five days had not been the best, for all my trying, for all my initial enthusiasm, it hadn’t gotten me any closer to a big pay cheque. Lilly and London were beating me, I couldn’t keep up, for all my planning, all my predictions, Lilly and Max may as well have been back in LA, I still would never have found them together in the same place.
I checked the time. It was just past eleven, I could just go back to my hotel, I thought, that felt the best option, forget tonight, reassess tomorrow, take the wrath of Vince, accept it and move on, leave the warmth of glamour and celebrity and go out into the cold of London, back with the worthless and disreputable, prowling taxis and stumbling drunks, back to a world where I belonged, one that felt more comfortable. Instead I went to the toilet.
Where was Max?
It kept going round and round in my head.
Where was Max?
He was here in London, Heathrow, Terminal 3, I’d seen the images clear as day. Reporters and journos said he was here for business, but in my gut the only business he was truly here for was Lilly, that was why I couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t showed.
If I were Max, where would I meet Lilly? Her hotel? His hotel? No, both would be swarming with paps. If he wanted to encourage a frenzy of media attention then he would have just shown up here, which clearly, he hadn’t.
I did have one hunch, literally a stab in the dark, founded on only assumptions and guesses, one Vince thought ridiculous but worth a go if all else failed, which so far it had. As I washed my hands I decided I’d go back and keep an eye on Lilly a little longer, wait till she called it a night, then decide once and for all whether to go with my last shot of the night. Wasn’t like I had anything to lose, just pride and petrol.
I’d lost my seat at the bar, despite being quiet, the ones left only had drink on their minds. I squeezed myself back to where I was sat before, quickly looked over into the corner of the room, thank God Lilly was still here, talking to the same people, worried I’d come back and she’d have already left. I tried to get the barman’s attent
ion but he was busy pouring shots to people who quite clearly didn’t need any more shots, when suddenly I felt someone come up beside me. I looked to my right, it was Lilly, stood shoulder to shoulder, trying to get the barman’s attention, which of course she immediately got, and mine too, as I looked forward, trying to work out what to do next and what words to say. No walls, no fences, no camera lenses, close enough to smell her perfume, to feel her arm touch mine.
18
“Vince? Vince? Can you hear me?”
“Tommy?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nephew’s christening today. Got half my family here. It feels like fucking Little Italy. Can this wait till later? I’m kinda tied up.”
“I wanted to tell you straight away.”
“I can’t hear you. What you say?”
“You’re not gonna believe this, Vince. I’ve only gone and done it.”
“Done what?”
“I got it, Vince. I got the shot.”
“Serious?”
“I’ve just pinged it across to you.”
“Give me a minute, let me just get this pancake batter off my hands and get someone to take over my frying pan.”
I could hear him over the line, shouting Italian at someone, things rattling, the noise of his breath as I heard him pace around his house.
“Have you got the email yet?”
“I’m just loading up my laptop. Is it from the Awards bash?”
“No, after.”
“Where? Max’s hotel?”
“No, the place I thought.”
“No fucking shit. Nice work.”
“Has it come through yet?”
“Nearly, it’s just finding a server.”
He went quiet for a few seconds.
“Where is this place, some park?”
“Some bit of grass in the middle of Westminster.”
“She looks pretty fucking pissed, man. They arguing?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t hear them from where I was, but it looked pretty heated.”
“And you’re sure there was no one else there?”
“I’m positive.”
The line went quiet.
“You still there, Vince?”
“You’ve only gone and done it, Tommy. You’ve only gone and fucking done it.”
“Are they good?”
“Oh, these are good. Better than good.”
“What do you think?”
“I think this is gonna make us a lot of green.”
“How much will it make?”
“Did you get any video footage?”
“No.”
“Shame. We’d get more dough if it wasn’t stills. I need to speak to my office straight away. Like now. We need to get these on print ASAP, they’re gonna want these sold damn quick. What time is it your end? Is it Sunday?”
“Sunday lunchtime.”
“Well it’s past six here. Why didn’t you ring me last night?”
“Sorry, I feel asleep. I got back pretty late.”
“We’ve lost a lot of time then.”
“How much will this make us?”
“Taking off expenditure, sorting out my informers. It will leave us about 60%.”
“That seems a lot taken off.”
“Don’t worry, Galella, you’ll do well out of this.”
“How well?”
“Your cut. About twenty gees.”
“Sterling?”
“No, dollars. Sterling you’ll be looking at just under twelve thousand give or take.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t sound happy?”
“I thought it might make more.”
“Hey, man. You did well. This is the fucking start, Tommy.”
“Surely now we can stop? We got the shot. I’ve made enough to start over. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“This is far from over. This is finally starting. The girl is crumbling. She’s been drinking all over Hollywood, her man Frank is over my side of the pond. She is ours for the taking. And it gets better. My sources tell me she is back down to Devon next week and it doesn’t look like Frank is going back any time soon. She’s got no security, no bodyguard. You can get close man.”
“I can’t get any fucking closer, Vince.”
“You can always get closer. Cheer up, Tommy. This is a good day. You did good, man. You fucking stepped up to the plate. I’m a happy man.”
“Good for you.”
“Grab some balls, man. You just made yourself a lot of cheddar. That’s money you can take home to your Mom and Molly. You should be fucking proud. You’ve become a man. And this is only the start. There is so much money to be had out of that girl.”
“I’m tired, Vince. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Sleep well, my Prince. You did me proud today. Soon as I know money I’ll holler at you.”
“Night, Vince.”
“I’m not sleeping tonight, man. I’m celebrating. I better go. I’ve got people to ring. Today is all about negotiation.”
“What about your nephew’s christening?”
“Fuck that. Baptism can wait. My nephew wants a cheque for his first car, not fucking balloons and cake. Besides, business comes first.”
“Vince?”
“What?”
“Who is your informer?”
“My what?”
“Your informer.”
“I got more than one, my friend, my little stool pigeons are all over. I got girls on perfume counters, men in baggage claims, some office clerk over at NBC. I got ears and eyes everywhere. All you need to know is, they are close enough.”
Part Four
Lilly
Berkeley Square/May/Shot 409
19
I finished a few more sit-ups by the foot of my bed, attempted another set of press-ups before giving up. I looked in the mirror, analysed my stomach’s side profile, they say TV added a few pounds, which was fucking fantastic seeing as I’d spent the last two days sat on every presenter’s couch in London, least they were fun, nothing too serious, nothing too Diane Sawyer. My hosts, all funny and sweet and all gay from what I could gather, were harmless, treated me kindly, asked me easy questions when I’m sure they could’ve asked far worse.
There was a knock at my door. Room service, jeez those guys worked fast and without instruction he put the tray over by the balcony, just like he had the last time. I told him I felt bad making him work so hard, he smiled and left, I’m not sure they were allowed to talk to ‘upstairs’. I was having a lazy day, pampering myself, it had been a busy time since my return, busier than I’d liked and yet again I felt me and London would never get to know each other in the way I’d have liked.
Felt like I’d seen lots, though. I’d even done some filming over at Pinewood, some underwater work which was a first. Apparently, I drown very well. It was pretty intense, all the flames and lighting, didn’t require much acting, I’d never been the strongest swimmer so flapping about in a panic didn’t involve stepping out of character too much. Of course, I was saved, the dashing Chris Rogan, on hand for all the required heroics, as always. Even wet he looked perfect.
I’d had an audition, too, all very last minute, I only had a day to learn my scene, didn’t even have time to print off a hard copy, nor take my coloured pen to it. Despite my change in routine I felt I did enough, didn’t feel like I nailed it, but I didn’t feel like I made a fool out of myself either. I knew the casting director, we’d talked briefly at a black-tie event last year and he said that the screen test was more of a formality than an audition as he knew my work already, still felt like one to me. I liked the script, least what I’d read. I was down to play the wife of a blue-collar worker suffering from alcoholism. I’d never been a wife before, though I knew alcohol dep
endency pretty well and it was set in New York, which was great as I’d never been. Quite a gritty movie, no make-up, probably have to lose a few pounds, get gaunt and frail, leave the romance to the youngsters, time for me to grow ugly. It seemed to be the hot trend right now, becoming ugly for a role, every actress worth her salt had done it. Perhaps it was just my turn, or I was past being cast as young, hot-bodied love interest, those days were over, now I was left with being an alcoholic’s dowdy other half. Men like Chris Rogan as they grew old and grey would be allowed to command armies and run criminal organizations, the more years that passed the grander an actor’s role and the more we have to take them seriously. Me, I was just a wife, and hopefully if I aged gracefully I might be lucky enough to be typecast as a mother, and possibly one day a grandma. I’m Diane Keaton – not a bad thing I suppose.
I poured myself a tea, watched the teabag do its thing. It was a shame there weren’t more days like these, indulgence in the simplest of terms, a good book, a long bath, and time to enjoy them both without being bothered. I’d even managed a little sleep, not long, but long enough, I was going to need it, tonight would be a late affair. Beside my pot of tea, I noticed a plate of biscuits, a gesture I didn’t ask for and didn’t want. Though a waste, I threw them in the bin. If I was hungry enough to go through bins for calories, then getting into a dress was the least of my worries.
It felt like all I’d done since I’d arrived in the capital was eat hors d’oeuvre, amuse-bouches, taster menus, aperitifs, petits fours, not to mention cheese and port. I’d decided not to eat today, hence the copious amounts of herbal tea, and I’d taken a laxative, I know I shouldn’t have, but I needed to cleanse the system. Downside was I kept having to go to the bathroom, not very glamorous I know, my cheat’s colonic, but there was a red gown in my wardrobe that I needed to get into in less than a few hours. Make-up and hair were coming soon and it would be embarrassing enough not getting into the dress, even more when I have to explain to the team who had spent several weeks hand-picking it.