They found a long table for all of them, and soon the table was full of bottles of wine, pitchers of beer, and a dozen champagne bottles Brad insisted on buying.
“Don’t you think you're being a bit premature?” Zaira cautioned.
“Don’t be silly. Even if we don’t win, I think we all deserve a treat after all the hard work we’ve put in. And besides, I have a feeling you're going to win an award, so don’t spoil my joy at your success by refusing the champagne.”
“As if I would!” she laughed. “I just hope you get an award. It would never have been possible without you.”
As the ceremony got under way, Brad held Zaira close, and she was enveloped in a huge bear hug as she won the awards for best actress and director.
But his whoops of delight were matched by her own, as Brad was announced best actor in the drama festival.
Brad looked genuinely stunned and thrilled as he went to receive the award, and the audience gasped as they recognized him as the Brad Clarke, and applauded all the more tumultuously.
Finally, Zaira found herself crossing her fingers as the list of nominees for best play were read out, and Hamlet was on the judges’ list. She nearly fainted as they announced it had won, and Brad had to go up on stage with her to accept the award, so unsteady did she feel.
She opened her mouth to make some form of acceptance speech, but the words failed to come. Finally, Brad stood close to the microphone, and said, “As you can see, she is so delighted she’s at a loss for words, for once. Thank you all so much for this wonderful token of recognition of all our efforts, and I would just like to say, I think everyone who has participated in the festival is a winner anyway. I’m only sorry we can’t all have trophies to take home. Thank you, and on behalf of the entire cast, good night.”
The table exploded into rapturous cries as they brought the trophy down off the podium, and the champagne corks popped in unison.
“I suppose I should say something like it looks like my uncle Egbert,” Zaira laughed, “but it doesn’t have a head!”
They all giggled over the trophy, and began to make a list of all the wonderful things they could use them for.
“Book ends, a paper weight, a garden gnome,” Brad suggested with a grin. "But seriously, I'm delighted. I think I'm more proud of this than I would be of an Oscar. It's great being part of a cast, but fabulous to be noticed for my own talents for a change."
Zaira sobered suddenly.
“Well, I for one don’t think I should have three of them, so I want Adam and Brian to hang on to two of them. The best actress trophy is plenty for me, and as for the directing, well, you all made my job much easier by being so brilliant, so here Adam, you take it.”
Adam, the dashing golden-haired Laertes, was studying drama at NYU, so he was delighted to accept, as was Brian, who had played King Claudius, and also aspired to be an actor.
“I noticed your acceptance speech was very professional,” Zaira observed quietly, he eyes locking with his. “Any chance it was a practice for the day you get an Oscar?”
“Definitely,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I'm certain “The Dark Lady” will be an even bigger winner. What about using Adam and Brian as the two male leads? I think Adam would be perfect as young dashing Henry, and Brian as the older Will.”
Zaira stared at him in awe. “Oh, Brad, it would be so wonderful for them both, you know that, but are you sure? It’s an incredibly generous thing to do, but....”
“If I can’t support young talent, who else can?” Brad smiled. “Shall I tell them, or you?”
“We both shall, in a minute, as soon as I kiss you,” Zaira murmured, before his mouth swooped down over hers, and another whoop echoed throughout the dining room.
The party continued into the small hours of the morning, but Zaira could sense a certain tension behind Brad’s laughter. Zaira longed to be at home alone with him. Though she felt wide awake, she suddenly hear him say, “Well, it’s been great fun, but Zaira is looking exhausted, so I think we will have to be going now.”
“But you must promise to all keep in touch, and who knows, what about another production next year?” Zaira promised. She and Brad said special goodbyes to Adam and Brian, who promised to start rehearsals the following week.
There was a loud chorus of cheers, and then a rousing rendition of “For they are Jolly Good Fellows,” before Zaira and Brad were finally alone in the elevator. Brad pulled her to him fiercely, smothering her face and neck in kisses. His desire throbbed between them as he murmured, “I can’t wait to get you home. The last twelve hours have been torture.”
“For me too,” Zaira breathed, as her fingers itched to caress his magnificent bare flesh.
The taxi couldn't get them home fast enough. Once the apartment door shut, they stripped the clothes from one another with a frenzy of desire. It was only Zaira’s presence of mind that got them safely into her bed, such was the intensity of Brad’s passion. His hands roved all over her, seeking, massaging, filling her mind and senses until her whole world became nothing but Brad.
She found herself indulging her own curiosity, as she ran her hands up and down the length of his body, finding his erogenous zones, nibbling his earlobes, nipples, and running her hair down his body in a silken caress which ignited his passion anew.
In the warm aftermath of their lovemaking, Zaira reflected that she could never have imagined love like this, ever. Brad possessed her so completely, it was almost frightening. In less than a week, they had grown so close, Zaira was terrified that something might part them.
Zaira tried to tell herself that her fears were silly. Brad himself had promised he wouldn’t leave her, had no intention of going back to California, unless she was right by his side.
As she drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the cocoon of his warmth, she smiled dreamily. They were going to live happily ever after. She would move heaven and earth to make Brad happy, and he certainly seemed to be with the new life they were building for themselves. If this wasn't true love, the emotion didn't exist. For the first time in her life, she felt completely sure of her life, her future. Zaira simply would not allow anything to spoil it for them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A crisp autumn day greeted Zaira and Brad when they awoke the next morning. They lazed around in bed for a time, chatting quietly about the evening before, then planning their day.
“You have a shower, and I’ll start breakfast,” Brad offered, as he kissed her tenderly on both eyelids and her mouth before swinging his long legs out of the bed.
“That sounds wonderful, but are you sure you wouldn’t care to join me?”
Brad looked her up and down in the glowing sunlight. “You bewitching creature, I might just do that,” he replied, but then shook his head. “But if I did, we would ever leave the house. So you go on by yourself, while I have a look in the fridge. How does pancakes and maple syrup sound?”
“Fantastic.” Zaira smiled, as she watched with gleaming eyes while he pulled on his long bathrobe.
As soon as Brad had gone, Zaira pulled out some clean clothes, a pair of jeans, a blouse, and a three-toned striped blue cardigan. Once in the bathroom, she showered thoroughly, washing away the last of her theatrical makeup. After getting dressed, she decided to go out to the store to get the newspapers. Hopefully some of them would be full of theatre reviews, and mention of their success at the Drama Festival awards the night before.
Zaira popped into the kitchen and announced, “Just going out for the papers. Do you want anything?”
“Yes, you, to marry me,” he said, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly.
Zaira was breathless. “Oh, Brad, this is all so sudden! I’m not saying I don’t want to. Believe me, I do.”
Her grey eyes locked with his stunning emerald ones as she tried to explain her innermost feelings. “I'm sure now, but for one thing, I'm still not divorced. As soon as I have a spare moment, I'll see where I stand on being awarded on
e on the grounds of desertion. But in the meantime, let’s just take things easy, not make any plans which will then fill us full of more regret if they don’t work out.”
“They will work out, Zaira. I can’t think of anything that might make me change my mind about my love for you, and I am a willful man. As soon as you're free, I’m going to marry you, do you hear?"
She clung to him as his kiss filled her senses, until she tore herself away and exclaimed, “Brad! The pancakes!”
Brad managed to rescue some of them, but the smell of burning drove her out of the apartment. She ambled down the street to the paper shop, and bought the New York Times and a few other papers. She was just about to pay for them all, when she caught sight of some of the more low-brow tabloid papers.
She shakily reached out a hand to unfold the front page of one fully. Zaira’s knees turned to jelly, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint.
“Are you all right, miss?” the elderly woman behind the counter asked her.
Zaira was brought back to reality, and she snatched three or four of the different papers off the racks and paid for them.
“Sorry, I just remembered I left the gas on at home,” she apologized, as she ran out of the shop. But once out of the shop, where could she go? She raced into the park and sat down on a park bench, reading the various articles with a growing sense of nausea.
Every single paper carried similar photos of Brad, obviously naked, but in each the woman was different. The poses could only be described as pornographic, and Zaira thanked god they were all long distance shots, rather than close ups. All the headlines were roughly the same, hinting that Brad was running a porno ring, which included child pornography, and that the police were starting an investigation.
Zaira read through the articles several times, trying to make sense of it all. She tried to avoid the pictures, and while she succeeded in ignoring the nubile young females, the face of Brad kept staring back at her.
She was numb. She couldn’t think clearly. Zaira forced herself to breath deeply, and held her shaking palms together to keep herself from falling apart.
A small voice inside her head told her it simply wasn’t true, that this couldn’t possibly be the man she had fallen in love with. But her more rational side became angry. There it was, in black and white, sometimes even in full color, Zaira thought with a sickening lurch of her stomach, and she was suddenly spectacularly ill in a garbage can.
Fortunately the park was quiet, so no one paid much attention to her as she sat there with her head in her hands.
Then a church clock across the park struck the hour, and Zaira realized Brad would be waiting for her back at the apartment. What was she to do? How could she show this to him, confront him with it? How did she feel about him now? She had loved him, but how could she continue to love a man who exploited people in such an appalling away?
Zaira was just about to sweep all the papers into the bin angrily, when something caught her eye in one of the photos. She stared at it again, and then picked up another paper. She blinked, blinked again, then held the paper up to her face for a closer look.
Zaira sat quietly for a few seconds, her heart pounding as she realized the seriousness of this attack against Brad. And where it had come from. She had almost believed the photos herself, and she loved Brad. Even with everyone knowing the wonders of digital photography these days, the rest of the world was going to condemn him completely once they saw these damning photos.
“My God,” she said out loud. “I’m going to lose him no matter what. This may not be true, but what happens when Brad finds out....”
Zaira ran for the nearest payphone as though her life depended on it. She rang Matt at home, and gushed out the story quickly.
“Damn, it, I don’t believe this,” Matt whistled. “What are you going to do? What has Brad said?”
“Nothing, I’m on the corner by the park at the minute. But I’m going to have to go back and tell him now. What if he turns on the radio or TV and hears something?”
“You’re right there, you’d better not hang around any more. Go to him, and get his side of the story.”
“I don’t need to. I know the whole story. The problem is proving it. I need your help, Matt, to keep Brad safe. Can you get away for a couple of days?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so," he said in confusion.
“Then give me about an hour to get ready, and take some stuff for a long trip.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll tell you when I’ve decided.”
Zaira raced back to the apartment building, and the front door was pulled open by a very worried-looking Brad.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to hold breakfast for you, then in the end I had to eat by myself,” Brad complained.
Zaira clutched the newspapers to her bosom, and said, “I met up with an old friend, and I've had a bit of thinking to do. Come upstairs and I'll tell you all about it.”
Once they were inside the apartment, Zaira sat him down and handed him the papers wordlessly. The roar of shock and anger shook the room as he bellowed, “I’m innocent. Surely you don’t think...”
“I know,” she soothed as she wrapped her arms around him. “But people believe what they see, or think they see, and these photos are pretty damning.”
“I must go back home now, see if there's anything I can do to clear myself.”
He started to rise from the sofa, but Zaira pushed him back down gently.
“There's no point. This would be a federal charge, under-aged girls. They would put you straight into prison. Besides that, whoever decided to organize this whole scandal won’t let it rest there. If that person is bent on destroying you, there's bound to be more than this.”
“Who would hate me so much?”
“I don’t know Brad, but the point is you can’t risk going back.”
“What do you suggest I do then, just sit around waiting for a miracle?” Brad spat.
“No, I suggest you leave the country,” Zaira answered quietly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That will make it seem as if I'm guilty, like I'm running away!” Brad argued.
“Or it will give you the chance to stay out of prison, and find out who's responsible. Your father is in England. Go to him, explain what has happened, and ask for his help.”
“His help? He will probably believe me guilty of every single disgusting thing in those papers,” he scoffed.
“No, he won’t. He loves you, I know he does. I'm sure if you ask for his help, he'll give it. Just try not to be so angry with him. If you expect rejection, chances are you'll be right. But he's your father. I can’t see him turning his back on you.”
“I think I should go back to LA.”
“No, you can’t. Do you have a passport with you? We’re going to have to make some arrangements.”
“I’ve got it with me, luckily. What have you in mind?” Brad asked, suddenly looking at her with renewed interest.
“I think you have to get on the first flight to London, to see your father. Have you got money or a credit card, know a place to stay once you get there?”
“Yes, I have a bank account over there, and we have a flat in Knightsbridge. But I still don’t like the idea of running away, of not defending myself.”
“You’ll get plenty of time to do that later, if need be. For now, you can start writing down all the names, dates, places you have been for the past two months or so. Any tickets, credit card receipts, that sort of thing, to account for your whereabouts. And do you have your ticket stub for when you came here to New York?”
“Sure I do, it’s a round-trip ticket.” He went into his bedroom and fished it out of a drawer, while Zaira went through her pile of old newspapers under the coffee table.
Brad showed her the ticket, and she smiled. “That’s it. I’ve got them now, whoever they are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just trust me.”
Brad pulled her to him, and kissed her with an ardor she had never experienced before.
She asked shakily, “What was that for?”
“Because I love you, Zaira and I can’t believe your attitude to all this. Never once have you even suspected me, asked me to deny it. After all, you hardly know me. It could all be true.”
Brad watched her face for any flicker of doubt, but Zaira gazed straight into his eyes and said, “I know you well enough to be certain it's all a pack of lies. You would never exploit others like that, and I'm certain that you have never got involved in anything illegal in your life.
"No, someone envious of all you have, of the wonderfully moral and caring man you are, is trying to destroy your career and happiness. We can’t allow that to happen. But prison can be a rough place, even for only a short time. I would die if anything happened to you,” Zaira declared, then added silently to herself, because of me.
“What’s the plan then, chief?” Brad asked quietly.
“Start packing, just one bag of essentials. You can always buy more stuff when you get to London. I’ll throw together a few things for an overnight stay, and Matt is coming to fetch us in the car.”
“All right, I’ll go along with it all,” Brad said, stooping to kiss her. “Whatever plan you've got up your sleeve, it has to be better than going to prison.”
Zaira hastily stuffed a few pairs of trousers, and some skirts and blouses into a bag, along with a couple of sundresses. She pulled a couple of items off the bathroom shelves, and her toothbrush, then went into the study for her laptop computer. She zipped up the bag, then fetched another holdall out of the closet, and stuffed in all her newspapers, and then took the bag to the kitchen. She got out a loaf of bread, cheese, butter, some hard-boiled eggs, and a few bottles of mineral water. There was a cake, some apples, and a few bags of nuts as well, so she crammed it all in, and then made a flask of coffee.
She cleaned out the refrigerator of anything that would spoil while she was away, and then they were both ready.
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