‘Oh, I know her.’
‘She was a client of mine,’ Sam says to me. ‘For about five minutes, before she got huge and dropped me. Did I tell you the emergency blowout story?’ he asks Marisa.
He glances around the table to make sure no one else is listening. I’m thrilled: more distraction. I’m so glad everyone has come to dinner tonight. Imagine if I had to sit alone with Luther! I take another slug of wine.
‘So she’s shooting in New York. And she has her personal hairstylist with her, as per contract. It’s his fortieth birthday, and to celebrate, he goes out for dinner with his boyfriend and some others from the cast and crew. They’re all having a great time in a really nice restaurant in Tribeca, and she calls him in the middle of it, and makes him abandon dinner right in the middle of the entrée and come back uptown at once, because she needs – drum roll – an emergency blowout.’
‘She needed a what?’
‘A blowout. She was just acting up. Probably furious to be left out, even though he invited her to dinner.’
I’ve heard some eye-opening things in the past few days, but this is definitely the worst.
‘But . . .’ I’m shocked. ‘How was that part of his job description? And he was gay!’
‘Well . . .’ Sam’s looking at me strangely. ‘He’s her hairstylist. Lots of them are gay. And it is part of his job, just maybe not during his fortieth birthday party when she has three assistant stylists on call for emergencies like that.’
Aha. I think I see my mistake. I start to laugh.
‘What? What did you – oh.’ Sam starts laughing too. ‘You don’t use that phrase, for styling your hair?’
‘No. That’s a blow-dry,’ I say, in between fits of laughter. ‘Sorry . . . I’m a bit zonked from all the interviews.’
‘I’ll have to remember that. So what’s a blowout?’ says Sam. ‘I know you get blowout matches, in basketball . . .’
‘Oh, God,’ I say, wiping my eyes. ‘A blowout, for me, is when you eat a lot. And I just thought it must mean . . . God, I don’t know what I thought. Sorry.’
I think I must be slightly hysterical after the conversation with Olivia, because I can’t stop laughing. I keep calming down, but then I took at Sam and I start to laugh again. And every time Sam sees me, he starts to laugh too. Soon we’re laughing so hard, the rest of the table is staring at us. Even Marisa is looking mystified.
Annabel glances at us, clocks our mirth, and goes on with her own story.
‘So then in March,’ she says, ‘I’m covered in mud, sort of writhing around, very Xenia Warrior Princess. And in April, I’m kind of covered in flowers, but not quite.’ She wriggles and smirks at Luther, who’s raised his eyebrows appreciatively. ‘It’s very arty.’
‘What’s this?’ I ask, hoping I won’t start laughing again. Though it sounds as though I probably will.
Annabel turns on me impatiently. ‘The Pirelli calendar!’ she says.
‘Pirelli? Really?’ Marisa asks, eyebrows raised. Federico looks excited.
‘No, no, babe, I told you,’ Nikos butts in hastily. ‘It’s not Pirelli – it’s a company that sells to Pirelli. Distributes through them, I mean. Sort of a spin-off,’ he adds to Sam, in a man-to-man way. ‘She keeps getting it wrong.’ He has such a strange accent. It’s impossible to figure out where he’s from – and I don’t think Annabel knows either.
‘Right,’ says Sam, sounding deeply sceptical.
‘The idea is,’ Annabel says, ‘that this is going to be the money-spinner, and then out of that, we get to finance the distribution of Her Master’s Bite.’
‘Ah, Her Master’s Bite,’ I say. Our old friend.
‘How exactly are you going to finance the distribution of a feature film?’ Sam asks Nikos. ‘And where?’
‘I’ve got some contacts . . . some buddies. It’s a very big area, yeah, and one I’m planning on expanding into,’ says Nikos. Marisa and Sam start asking him questions at once, but Luther interrupts by saying to Annabel, ‘Well, Pirelli girls are hot, and you’re hot, so I think it’s perfect.’
I smile to think how just a few days ago that would have made me jealous. Now I don’t even care. I look at Sam, and we both almost start to laugh again.
‘How was London?’ I ask him. ‘You must be exhausted.’
‘It was good, I really like London. My meetings were all in Soho, and I took a walk afterward, down to the river. The view along there is cool.’
‘You would have been close to my office, then.’
‘Oh, yeah, I know. I looked it up,’ he adds, seeing my expression of surprise. ‘Where do you live?’ he continues.
It’s such a novelty to talk to someone about myself that I launch into an in-depth description of Hammersmith and its amenities, and then I tell him about my flatmate Ciara and how she needed someone to move in after her break-up. Sam is telling me about a friend of his who had a similar situation, when Nikos butts in, asking about a big Hollywood star who has a house in Sicily.
‘Apparently he’s there with his boyfriend right now,’ Nikos says. ‘Is that true?’
Sam says, ‘No, that’s just a ridiculous rumour.’ Luther says, ‘Yeah, that’s horse shit.’
But I have a feeling they’re both lying. I’m surprised: the person Nikos mentioned is a total heart-throb, and always seems to have some woman on his arm.
The conversation moves on. ‘Is that true?’ I ask Sam in a low voice. He shrugs, which I understand means yes.
‘But he has a girlfriend.’
‘She’s on a retainer,’ says Sam. ‘And she’s signed a contract, with a confidentiality clause. She’s an actress, so it’s good exposure for her. Everybody wins.’
‘But why does he have to hide it? There must be lots of other gay actors.’
‘Of course there are. Just like there are lots of cokeheads and meth addicts and idiots and prostitutes and affairs. Sadly it’s seen in the same light, as something to hide. Rumours leak out, the publicists bury it, and it’s business as usual.’
‘But what about—’ I’m trying to think.
‘Are you trying to think of a gay leading man?’ Sam asks. ‘I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you can.’
‘Rupert Everett!’ I say finally.
‘And what big roles have you seen him in?’
‘My Best Friend’s Wedding?’
‘Where he played a . . .’
‘. . . gay best friend. Yes, but surely he’s done other films . . .’
‘Not all the ones he could have, if he’d been straight. And that was a comedy. You think they would have cast Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger in Brokeback if they’d actually been gay?’
‘So – who are all the gay actors?’
‘I’d rather not mention names,’ says Sam. ‘But there are plenty. Hollywood is an equal opportunities employer, as long as you stay in the closet.’
He pours himself, and me, another glass of wine. I can see he’s had a lot to drink. Perhaps his trip didn’t go so well. I know the feeling.
‘I won’t quote you on that,’ I say.
‘What are you two saying about Hollywood employment opportunities?’ asks Annabel.
‘We’re talking about how Hollywood doesn’t like gay leading men,’ says Sam.
‘No way. Goddamn faggots run the creative industries,’ says Nikos.
‘Which is more than we can say for you,’ says Sam. In the candlelight I can see all trace of laughter has disappeared from his face; he looks furious.
‘Hey, easy,’ says Marisa, patting Sam’s arm across the table.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ snaps Nikos.
‘It means that I don’t know what your real line of business is, but I don’t believe for a second that you know anything about movie distribution – you bigoted jerk.’
‘How dare you? You fucking Yanks are all the same. You’d want to put your own house in order, before telling everyone else what to do—’
‘STOP
!’ I yell. Everyone looks at me, astonished. Annabel in particular looks as if she can’t believe I’ve dared interrupt her boyfriend. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just – Luther and I have been working hard today, and we want to relax. We don’t want arguments. Please.’
‘Sorry – Alice,’ Sam says, not looking at Nikos.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ says Nikos, looking more like a caveman than ever.
‘More pasta, anyone?’ asks Marisa.
‘Who was that asshole?’ Sam’s grumbling. Dinner is over, and we’re sitting around on the terrace with Luther. Everyone else has gone home.
‘Let’s not have the Joneses over for cocktails again,’ says Luther.
‘For sure. Jesus, where did Annabel find him? And by the way, where did you find Annabel?’
‘I don’t know. She was on set, and then she came here.’
‘Did you ever have a thing with her, Luther?’ I ask. It’s cheeky of me, but I’ve always been curious about this.
‘No. Well, yes. But it was on location. Which doesn’t count.’
‘And not since then?’ says Sam. I’m glad I’m not the only one being nosy.
‘No, I kind of got tired of it. She has the crazy eye. And she kept busting my chops with her vampire movie.’
‘What’s the crazy eye?’ I think I know exactly what he means, but I’d like the official definition.
‘It’s the look that some actresses have, that means they have to be a success no matter what, and they’ll walk over your hands to get there. It can be a little scary. Actors have it too but not as much.’
Poor Annabel. I can think of a few people at work who have the crazy eye, and I’ve probably had it myself at times. It’s not super gallant of Luther to bitch about his ex-conquests, and I feel suddenly guilty about joining in.
‘She’s so beautiful,’ I say. ‘When I first saw her, I thought she was Sienna Miller.’
‘Actually Sienna Miller is very sweet,’ Sam says. ‘So there’s no danger of mistaking her for Annabel, if you ever meet her. I guess she and Nikos are suited.’
‘By the way, why did you go all Sam Seaborn on parts for gay actors?’ Luther asks. ‘You could say the exact same thing about parts for black actors or whatever. Your kid brother is gay, right?’
‘Yeah. But that’s irrelevant. I just find the whole thing kind of depressing sometimes, is all.’
Luther turns to me. ‘Did you know that Sam here paid his brother’s college fees?’
‘Wow.’
‘That’s not true,’ says Sam. ‘I helped him out in his first year, but he also won a scholarship.’ He looks proud. ‘He’s a very bright guy. How’d you know about that, anyway?’ he asks Luther.
‘He told me that time we went to the Griddle Café,’ Luther says. ‘He’s hot stuff. If I was gay, I’d be on to him like a shot.’
‘You stay away from my brother,’ says Sam. ‘And my sister. She’s still in college.’ He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of the three of them. It looks as though it’s taken at Christmas – there’s a tree and decorations in the background. They look like a nice family. They all have the same grey, slightly slanting eyes.
‘Do you have any siblings?’ Sam asks me.
‘I have an older sister, Erica,’ I say. ‘She’s married and lives in London.’ I’m not sure what else to tell them. I certainly didn’t pay Erica’s college fees, and she’s not gay.
‘So we’re both spoiled youngest kids,’ says Luther. ‘And Sam is a responsible eldest.’
‘Yes, I am, and don’t you forget it.’
‘No,’ Luther says. ‘Don’t start on me about the book again. Or the TV. I want to do my book. And I don’t want to do the TV.’
‘OK, OK, I heard you,’ Sam says, pouring him another drink. He glances up and says, ‘Alice? You want another?’
I’m about to say yes, but then Luther says, ‘Come on! You’re on vacation.’
And I remember with a creeping feeling of shame that I’m not here on vacation at all. I’m working, and I’m in big trouble with work. What would Olivia say if she could see me getting sloshed with Luther and Sam, just a few hours after our awful conversation? I look at my watch: a quarter to midnight. I need to go to bed, get up at a reasonable hour, and try and make some sort of amends for everything tomorrow.
‘No thanks. I’d better go to bed,’ I say, standing up. Luther waves and knocks back another drink. Sam says, ‘OK. Goodnight.’ As I walk across the terrace, I can feel him watching me go.
TWENTY-FOUR
I can’t sleep.
I’m tired enough, and it’s the first time in a while that I’ve been in bed before 2 a.m., but I can’t stop thinking about Olivia and my disaster with the clause. And it’s so hot. I drank too much at dinner, and had a coffee afterwards. Now I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Looking at my phone, I see it’s twenty past one.
Maybe I should go outside and get some air, or even go for a swim. Without turning on the light, I put on my bikini, put my nightdress back over it, and pad outside.
There’s a full moon, shining as brightly as an electric light. It’s just as hot outside as it is inside, but the water looks inviting. I’ve just dipped my toe in, when I hear a noise behind me and almost jump out of my skin. Someone is lounging in a seat beside the pool. It’s Sam. He’s dressed only in a pair of jeans, holding a lit cigarette, and listening to music. In the dark, I can just see the light of his eyes and the glow of his cigarette.
He removes his earphones.
‘Can’t you sleep either?’ he says.
‘No. It’s so hot.’
‘I know, right?’ he says. ‘Plus, I slept on the plane.’
I take a seat beside him. My nightdress is very flimsy, and I’m glad I’m wearing my bikini underneath it.
‘I didn’t know you smoked.’
‘Only on special occasions. Like when I close a deal. It’s like cigars for real men.’
‘Did you close the deal in London?’
‘No.’ He passes me his tumbler of whiskey. ‘So I’m drowning my sorrows. Cheers,’ he adds, tapping a finger against the glass.
‘What about you?’
‘We can share.’
I sip it. I hate whiskey, but this isn’t too bad. The burning warmth somehow seems to make the hot night feel cooler. I take another sip.
‘Cigarette?’
I nod. Sam lights an extra cigarette, and passes it to me. As he leans over I notice his washboard stomach – even though he’s sitting down and wearing jeans, I don’t see an ounce of fat. Amazing. It’s my first cigarette in years, and as I inhale and lean my head back, I can feel a mild buzz.
That’s better. I’m so sick of thinking, and fretting, about my job. If I get fired, I get fired. At least, unlike Luther, whatever I do, it won’t end up in the papers. I toy with the idea of telling Sam what’s happened – I can hear myself say out loud, ‘I’m in serious trouble with work.’ But I can’t tell him, much as I’d like to. Instead, I decide to ask him something else that’s been on my mind.
‘Can you think of anything worse than being famous?’
He laughs. ‘Well, there are a few things . . .’
‘No, I’m exaggerating, of course there are. Like being an orphan in a war-torn country. But even an ortorn in a warphan – sorry. An orphan in a war-torn country has something that a famous person doesn’t have.’
His eyes are resting on me, serious and attentive.
‘What?’
‘Their identity. I mean, I won’t say privacy, because if you’re very poor, you might not have a lot of privacy. But – for me, I can go out in the street, and I can meet people on equal terms; I’m a human being and so are they. But if you’re famous – that relationship is impossible.’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘I just don’t think we’re meant to relate to each other like that. I mean, Luther’s pretty normal.’ I pause as I wonder whether I really believe that. ‘But that story, about the actr
ess and her blow-dry . . . Nobody should behave like that. It’s ridiculous. But it’s also wrong.’
He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then he says, ‘Of course they shouldn’t. But the thing is . . . from her perspective, she’s given up a lot to do what she does today. The exact same things you’re describing: privacy and identity. And the pay-off, for her, is that she gets everything she wants. The people around her give it to her because they know that’s the deal. And they’re on her payroll, they make money from her. She’s not a private person any more; she’s an industry.’
‘But I don’t think that’s why she acts up like that. I think it must be terrifying to have everyone say yes to you all the time. It would be like going insane. If I behaved like that, I think it would be because I wanted someone to tell me no.’
‘Yes, but that’s because you’re smart, and a good person. I said no to her, and she fired me.’
‘Oh.’ At the sound of the word fired, I wince in sympathy. I’m about to ask him more about that, but he’s continuing, ‘Anyway . . . there are plenty of big stars, and powerful people, who don’t act like that. Some of them are really nice. And sometimes the ones who are up and coming are the craziest. There’s no hard and fast rule.’
Thinking of Annabel, I realise this is true.
‘I think it’s grotesque, all the same. A person isn’t an industry.’
‘You’re right,’ Sam says. ‘I agree. But here you are, and here I am.’
I don’t know what to say to that.
‘Sorry. That came out wrong. For what it’s worth, I think Luther is getting something out of this book . . .’
‘Thanks,’ I say, in a small voice. Does he really think I’m exploiting Luther? Treating him like an industry? I suppose I am.
‘Jesus – Alice,’ Sam says. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything about you. I think I’m talking more about myself. I mean . . . I compromise myself, a lot. The way I talked at dinner, or the way I’m talking to you right now – I could never talk to anyone that way in LA. You wouldn’t believe the way some of the agents I know talk. Homophobic, racist, anti-Semitic, anti-Republican, anti-Democrat, anti-actors . . . you name it. But the flip side is that the rest of the time, we’re kissing ass. And we benefit from it just as much. You know, it’s not just being famous that makes people treat you differently.’
The Out of Office Girl Page 19