His American Classic (Part 1)

by G J Morgan

  “He hardly looks wild, does he?”

  “Then that’s your first challenge.”

  “Thank you, Jon.” I kissed him on the cheek.

  “Remember, Lilly. Confrontational and opinionated.”

  I grinned and in my best Lana Turner impression I turned to Jon. “I’m going up and up and up. And nobody is going pull me down.”

  “And you said you couldn’t do accents.”

  “I still can’t.”

  “You’re better than you think you are. Enjoy occupying your pedestal.”

  “I’ll wave from the top I promise,” I said, blowing him a kiss as I headed towards the bar, toward the man slumped at his stool.

  Less than an hour later I was on my way to meet Max.

  21

  He told me to meet him at his hotel at midnight. I was running late, back in my room, changing out of red carpet. I wasn’t rushing, he deserved to wait, I was taking my time.

  How do you dress to meet an ex, I thought, though looking in the mirror my approach was obvious. Unashamedly, with no new man on my arm, no big news, no new shiny trophy, the only thing I had left to flaunt was myself. Breaking every fashion law possible, every asset I had, arse, tits and legs were all in full view. I’d even sprayed my legs with perfume, which I never did, nor would ever do again. I looked at my reflection once more. What the fuck was I doing?

  Quickly I changed dresses, removed some make-up, rubbed off the perfume with a wet cloth. One last time I checked myself in the mirror; it was better, less desperate, less slut. I was the best I could be.

  I rang down for my car and made my way down in the elevator.

  * * *

  I asked the driver if it was far. He laughed, immediately apologizing.

  Strangely, I was genuinely excited. People forget, even me, that we were once inseparable. Yes, it ended badly, a lot of awful shit happened, but also a lot of good. Like most relationships I guessed. Fuck, this was going to be awkward. What do I do when I see him? Do we shake hands, do we kiss cheeks, do I punch him?

  My car stopped. I’d expected it to be further, it was so short, I could’ve walked – both coincidental and deliberate. I looked through my tinted windows, his hotel looked as pretty as mine, grand and lit up.

  My door opened, the night air hit me like a slap. A suit greeted me, helped me out of the car.

  “Good evening, Miss Goodridge.”

  “You remind me of Charlie Chaplin with that hat.” I had no clue why I said that, it was neither appropriate nor true.

  “Apologies, Miss Goodridge.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, it was a compliment I promise,” I said, trying to recover. “Sorry, I feel a bit drunk all of a sudden.”

  “Would you like me to fetch you a water, or would you like to sit down?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Think it’s the fresh air.”

  “Fresh air can do that, Miss Goodridge. Change in temperature and circulation. Would you like to come inside and rest for a few minutes before you venture downstairs?”

  “I’m fine, honest. I’m due to meet with…”

  “Mr Salter is waiting for you in the Cigar Room, Miss Goodridge. Shall I take you to him?”

  “Yes please.”

  22

  “Hello there, Lilly G.” He stood up to take off my coat, before pulling out the chair next to him so I could sit down. “I thought this was a nice spot. I hope it’s to your taste.”

  I looked around. “It’s very you.”

  “I’ll order you a new drink, your ice has melted.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind a warm drink.”

  “Nonsense. It’ll be more water than liquor.” He ushered a barman over. “I’ll have the same again, and the lady will have your house Martini. So,” he looked at me, his eyes big and blue.

  “So.”

  “You look pretty.”

  “Where were you tonight, Max? I thought you may have showed up. I mean, you were nominated. Or are you too cool for school now?”

  “Ceremonials aren’t really me, you know that.”

  “And there was me thinking you loved playing the man about town.”

  “People celebrate victory in different ways.”

  “How do you celebrate yours?”

  “By moving on.”

  “No one’s allowed to celebrate their success, then?”

  “Awards shows aren’t a celebration, it’s advertising.”

  “It could just be a chance to dress up and a have a drink, Max.”

  “Isn’t that what we are doing now?”

  “You know what I mean. A chance to meet like-minded people, network, meet our heroes and peers.”

  “And which hero did you meet tonight?”

  “I met plenty.”

  “Win anything?” he smiled, a cocky one, it was an answer he already knew. “You’ll be fine, darling, you just need the right film, that’s all.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is so. I don’t think any studio has been overly generous with the quality of work they’ve given you.”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t think you’ve acted badly, as such. But at the same time, I don’t think you’ve acted particularly well either.”

  “Can we change the subject, Max? I think I’ve had as much advice as I can take in one evening. How come you’re in London? New job as a film critic?”

  “I had a few meetings. I’ve got to pop over to Paris in a few days.”

  “Is that on business too?”

  “Maddy is getting married.”

  “Is that to the same man she was with when I met her at Thanksgiving? Ross, is it?”

  “Yes, that’s him. I’m not his biggest fan. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just all hat and no cattle.”

  “How old is your sister now? Must be around my age.”

  “Bit older.”

  “Why Paris?”

  “I don’t think there is a reason. They just like France. Well, Maddy does, well at least she likes the idea of a French wedding. Ross, well he just does what he’s told.”

  “All the family will be there? Salters on tour?”

  “Not many, actually. My mom, stepfather, few aunties.”

  “Shame your father couldn’t be there.”

  “Don’t think it would’ve made a difference, he and Maddie had never got on. I’m the makeshift Father of the Bride.”

  The barman returned with our drinks.

  “A Monte Cristo for the lady.” He placed my drink in front of me. “And a Domaine de Rieston for yourself, sir. Would either of you like to see our cigar selection?”

  “It’s a bit early, friend. Don’t want to smoke out my guest. She’s not one for cigars.”

  “I don’t mind, honest. I mean, we are in a cigar bar.”

  “Come back later and I assure you I will try the best you have to offer.”

  “Honestly, you can have one,” I said. “It wouldn’t feel like an authentic night out with you without the smell of cigar smoke in the air.”

  Max smiled at the waiter. “Bring over a couple of blends in about an hour.”

  “An hour?” I sniffed. “Do we have a lot to talk about?”

  “Lilly, I could talk to you for days, let alone hours.”

  “Let’s start with the hour and see where we go from there. It’s been a long day, I might not last that long, depending.”

  “Depending on what?” he smiled.

  “How long I can keep my eyes open and how long I can go without punching you again.”

  “The first one I can fix, we’ll need more drinks. The second, I can’t promise.”

  He ushered the barman over again, telling him the same again.

  “At least you are being honest, Max.”

  “I’v
e always been honest with you. That’s been the problem.”

  “Well, just be prepared for mild violence.”

  “I always have been with you, Lilly.”

  * * *

  A few drinks had passed, in the toilet I reapplied my lipstick and checked my mascara. Max and the barman were discussing tobacco in a language I couldn’t understand, it felt a good time to leave them to it, take some time out and breathe, take a moment to work out what might happen next. Max looked good tonight, a vampire, dangerous, even tempting. This place suited Max too, felt like a secret, dark and subdued, purples and neons, quiet too.

  One last time I checked my eyes in my reflection. I looked tired, it had been a long day. Was I drunk? I couldn’t tell. I’d been drunk on and off all evening. I should go home soon, I thought. So far it had been pleasant, like old times. I didn’t want it spilling over into something nasty, I hadn’t the energy for it. But there was still a lot unsaid. I took a deep breath and headed back towards fresh drinks and Max, who was all smiles and cigars as I sat back down at the table.

  “Romeo y Julieta. I thought this a fitting brand.”

  “What, love and tragedy?”

  “‘Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs’.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive.”

  “I was a Montague in our college production.”

  “Romeo?”

  “Benvolio.” He stood up. “‘Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!’” He took a bow.

  “What did that all mean?”

  “Rough translation…” he lit the end of his cigar, “love isn’t always easy. Full of hardships.”

  “Well, I’ll try and keep tonight civil, but don’t think you can romance your way out of everything.”

  “I’ll try not to, Lilly.” He blew smoke into the ceiling. “With you I’ve always found it unavoidable.”

  And he gave me a look that suggested he wasn’t joking at all. He was a hard man, not someone to be seduced by.

  “So how is Lilly Goodridge? Winning?”

  “I think so. You? You seem like you are getting a lot of female attention.”

  “That’s all paper talk.”

  “I’ve seen the pictures, Max.”

  “They are friends, plus ones.”

  “Then you haven’t slept with any of them?”

  “A few. And what about you, Lilly? I hear you and the hottest lefty in MLB have been getting cosy?”

  “With keeping things civil in mind, let’s change the subject. Haven’t seen you make a movie in a little while. Writers’ block?”

  “Oh, I’m writing. Just nobody biting. But it’ll come, I just have to be patient. Get my head round what they want.”

  “Wish it was as simple as just making movies. Make a movie, take some time off, make another.”

  “It can be done, pretty rare these days. Don’t think the world likes it that way, likes to have every piece of us.”

  “To be fair, if I was someone else I’d be reading about me and you too. It beats a book.”

  “You think me and you are a story?”

  “I guess.”

  “How does it end? Happy, kids and a dog?” Max realised quickly, his choice of words was a mistake.

  “Let’s just hope it’s happy.”

  “Don’t think the natives will be too satisfied. Far too predictable.”

  “I don’t care if they are satisfied. I’m not in this for the long game. Smash and grab.”

  “That surprises me. I had you down as more ambitious than that.”

  “Oh, I’m ambitious Max, just not everyone needs to see mine. Ambitions just for me.” I sipped my drink. “I take you are in it for life, directing movies with a white beard and a big belly, young actresses falling at your knees to work with the legend that is Max Salter?”

  “I don’t think too far ahead. The game changes too much to predict.”

  “What do you want right now, Max? Happy carrying on living like a lothario?”

  “I don’t know. Ask me again in a few years. I like the sound of legend, but how I become one is up for debate. I hope to think my future will involve you.”

  “You do, do you?” God his eyes were delicious.

  “I don’t think I have much choice. It’s what the people want.”

  “Do we get a say?”

  “If we are smart.”

  “I’m not that clever, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do the thinking for us both.”

  “No change there then, Max.”

  23

  We’d walked for a few minutes through a deserted London, the only things that moved were black cabs, speeding to and fro. But there was no one on foot, just us. Perhaps people didn’t walk in London. Only the mad ones, or drunk ones.

  “Have you missed LA?”

  “Not as much as I thought I would’ve.”

  “You look cold. Here, take this.” Max took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around me. I still felt as cold but I appreciated the gesture. “When is the last time you danced?”

  “I can’t even remember. Apart from dancing around my house, it would have to have been on set when we made our first film.”

  “That’s not true, Lilly. We danced in Vegas.”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “You do, surely. It took three of us to get you off the dance floor. That night was certainly noteworthy. You looked wonderful. That white dress. Like Princess Odette herself.”

  “Didn’t we have a big argument that night?”

  “Probably.”

  “I miss dancing.”

  “I try to at least once a week. More like once a month. I just don’t get the time. Life in the director’s chair is pretty full throttle.”

  “When I get back to LA I’ll start up again. May even go back to my old studio. Hope I can still remember all the techniques.”

  “Your body may have forgotten and it will hurt all over. But your brain will know what to do. If you need assistance I don’t mind being your ballerino.”

  “I’d rather find another, thank you, Max. Athletic and dumb, with big shoulders and big brown eyes. Preferably mute so he doesn’t ruin it by talking.”

  “Sounds like most actors in Hollywood so you’ll have lots to choose from.”

  “I’m surprised I’ve not been offered roles involving dance. Have film studios stopped making musicals?”

  “There’s not many about. Someone will remake Flashdance soon. They’re remaking most things. I’ve been offered to direct a few myself.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Let’s just say it involved the word ‘Kellerman’s’.”

  “Oh my God. I’m in. I bet the script was awful though. Were you going to do it?”

  “No. I don’t think anyone will now either. Not with Swayze passing away last fall. The whole remake was built around him. He was the movie.”

  “That was so sad.”

  “I went to high school with his youngest brother. He and his family lived close by. He was a lot older than me so we never actually met.”

  “Have you said yes to any of the other remakes?”

  “Not yet. When I’m poor and all dried up. There is one I’m undecided on. It’s not a remake, but it would be interesting if I pull it off.”

  “Which one?”

  “I’m not telling you just yet.”

  “More secrets. Just what I need.”

  We came to a little patch of green amongst all the houses and parked cars. An oval of grass, little red phone box, a fence surrounding it, as high as my shoulder.

  “Not as big as Central Park, is it?” I laughed.

  “It’s not a park, Lilly, it’s a garden. Berkeley Square.”

  “Can we go
in?”

  “I think it’s closed.”

  “I’m sure I could manage the climb.”

  “I think that would be deemed as trespassing.”

  “There’s no one around. I’m game if you are.”

  “‘With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls’. Apologies. Armagnac brings out my inner thespian.”

  “Makes you sound pretty gay as well.” I jumped over the iron railings. “As does what you are doing now.”

  “Give me a break.” Max was struggling.

  “Have you climbed a fence before? You’re not very cat-like, are you?”

  “Lilly, you try it when you’ve got a three-piece suit on. Savile Row doesn’t tend to cut my suits with this in mind.”

  “James Bond manages just fine.”

  “Well, I must get the number of his tailor,” he said as he landed on his feet.

  “I feel very Julia Roberts right now.”

  “I am no Hugh Grant.”

  “Not much of a garden, is it? I thought gardens normally had flowers in? I might move out of the city when I go back home.”

  “What? Like Laguna?” Max brushed his trousers.

  “No, I mean literally out of LA entirely. Somewhere more remote. Fields and grass, no buildings. What about you?”

  “You’re kidding. I spent my whole life trying to get out of rodeo country. I prefer concrete and smog.”

  “Shall we sit on one of these benches for a minute? My feet are killing me. Feels like I’ve worn heels all day.”

  We didn’t talk for a few minutes, we just sat, a statue in front of us. We were in the middle of the gardens, felt like the rest of London was probably pitch-black whilst street lamps circled us like floodlights.

  “It’s a bit ‘Friday night at Chavez Ravine’.”

  “Do you reckon we have an audience?”

  “Doubt it. Think everyone’s in bed. Even the paparazzi have to sleep at some point. What time is it? Is it as late as I think it is?”

  He checked his watch. “It’s pretty late, darling.”

  “That’s the watch I got you, isn’t it? Nice you still wear it.”

  “I rarely take it off.”