by Jemma Forte
Paul regarded her for a while. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to upset you and you’re right, that stuff shouldn’t matter,’ he said, offering Dulcie a hand. ‘But sadly it does, though I’d like to call a truce.’
‘A truce,’ agreed Dulcie, her even white teeth breaking into a glorious grin.
‘I suppose we’re all just a product of our upbringings to some degree,’ said Paul philosophically. ‘Our parents’ fuck-ups.’
‘You can say that again,’ agreed Dulcie, who could tell Jessica was in for a tough time if she pursued this one. Apart from anything else she’d have to come clean about who she was eventually and, when she did, she didn’t think Paul would be letting her off the hook that easily. God, she’d love to see the look on his face though, if and when she did.
Just then Jessica returned from the bathroom.
‘You two OK?’
‘Yup,’ said Dulcie and Paul at the same time.
‘Oh my gosh!’ Jessica suddenly yelled.
‘What?’ said Paul.
‘Look!’ shouted Jessica, feeling so happy she thought she might burst. Paul looked over to where she was pointing. On the dance floor, Luke had clearly decided (or was just drunk enough, one of the two) that tonight was the night to make his feelings known, whether Kerry bloody well liked it or not. Now he was striding purposefully towards her, a look of serious intent on his face and, having noticed, Jessica had immediately guessed what he might be about to do. By contrast, entirely unaware of her impending suitor, Kerry was still hurling herself around the dance floor to Amy Winehouse’s dulcet tones, a bouncer to one side keeping a very close eye on her.
Looking painfully nervous, Luke reached her. His shoulders were so rigid he looked like he had a coat hanger in his jacket and Jessica found herself crossing her fingers. Meanwhile, Paul, who was slowly cottoning on to what was happening, was watching as intently as an England football fan watching a penalty shoot-out at the World Cup. He was just as nervous of the outcome too and when Luke tapped Kerry on the shoulder, boss-eyed with fear, Jessica prayed she wouldn’t reject him.
Meanwhile, a still-bouncing Kerry turned round, not particularly surprised to find Luke standing there until he leaned in to say something in her ear. Then, before their very eyes, Kerry’s expression changed from carefree to stunned, for before she’d had a chance to react to what Luke had said, he took her in his arms, swept her downwards and proceeded to passionately snog her face off.
‘What the hell?’ yelled Paul, who could hardly believe what was unfolding. He started to laugh, more out of shock than anything else. ‘Way to go, Lukey boy!’ he shouted.
‘God, I miss Kevin,’ said Dulcie wistfully before getting up to go and find Isy.
When Luke finally let go, Kerry looked like her first instinct was to slap him hard around the face, but then it seemed to occur to her that actually she’d quite enjoyed kissing him. Sensing he might be in with a chance, Luke grabbed her again and the two of them began kissing like people who’d been told on good authority the world was about to end. A crowd gathered around them and, thinking on his Adidas-clad feet, DJ Delish whipped off what was playing and replaced it with ‘Young Hearts Run Free’. The onlookers cheered with the romance of it all and, when they finally came up for air, for once Kerry was lost for words. Luke, however, having waited a bloody long time for this, punched the air in delight in a way that made Kerry’s normally tough façade crumble away altogether. As people started to approach the ‘happy couple’, shaking their hands and offering their congratulations, she looked completely choked.
Jessica clapped her hands together delightedly. ‘That is so awesome,’ she squealed.
‘Luke and Kerry?’ said Paul, still marvelling at what had just taken place. ‘What were the chances of that happening?’
‘Oh, they were high,’ said Jessica sagely, giving him a flirty sidelong glance.
Paul’s face grew serious again. ‘I was thinking, perhaps after this, if you feel like it, I might invite a few people back to mine and Luke’s place. Why don’t you come?’
Jessica wondered what to do. It was very, very tempting, though it would be less of an interesting prospect if one of the people going back was Natasha. Still, she was pleased he’d asked. Just then, however, the DJ selected ‘Holiday’ by Madonna as his next tune and immediately a series of lightning-fast connections took place in Jessica’s brain. Holiday … why was that ringing such loud alarm bells? And then it hit her. Mike was coming back from his holiday on Sunday afternoon. Sunday, which was, by this point, today. She grabbed Paul’s wrist to look at his watch.
‘Shit!’
‘It’s not that much of a terrible idea, is it?’ said Paul, looking hurt.
‘Mike.’
Paul recoiled. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
‘No, no, you don’t understand,’ said Jessica quickly. ‘It’s two in the morning, which means it’s Sunday, which means that Mike gets home today and I haven’t watered his garden for a week. Not even once. He’s going to kill me.’
Paul opened his mouth to protest. In the grand scheme of things Mike’s garden was so far down the list of stuff he was concerned about it was unbelievable. Still, he could sense that the moment had already been lost.
‘Well, maybe we could go for a drink or something soon?’ he said, trying not to sound too eager.
Jessica took his hand, her eyes full of regret, but focused never the less on leaving. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Though I think you need to figure out how you feel about Natasha. I don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes.’
At this, Paul was quite taken aback. He conceded her point though, despite being more surprised by what she’d said than anything else.
Jessica, meanwhile, was hit by a huge wave of disappointment. The only reason she’d mentioned the other girl was because she was fishing for a denial that Natasha was an issue in the first place.
‘Anyway,’ she said, trying to be brave. ‘I’m just going to go and find Dulcie to say goodbye and then I’m off. If I leave now I can get a bit of sleep and get to Chiswick before Mike gets back.’
‘OK, though let’s still have that drink some time,’ said Paul, but Jessica didn’t answer. Instead she stood up, stopping only to turn and give him a little wave before heading off into the crowd to find Dulcie.
Which was how Mike Connor managed to ruin any chance Paul Fletcher might have had that night of getting Jessica Bender back to his place, something he was starting to realize he really wanted to do.
22
Some hours later, in Malibu, it would be fair to say Edward’s Saturday night hadn’t gone as well as his daughter’s. He peeked at the clock, which read five thirty in the morning. Due to a combination of too much alcohol, food and anxiety, sleep was no longer an option. Like Jessica, he and Betsey had also been out ‘dancing’ for the evening. Needless to say this hadn’t been his idea, but he’d gone with it, knowing his wife hoped an evening of ‘fun’ might save their marriage.
Ironically, as it turned out, the evening had probably killed their relationship off for good. Edward buried his face further into the pillow as if that might help diminish the embarrassment of the evening somehow. Torturing himself, he relived how one of the paparazzi outside the club had mistaken Betsey for his daughter. At this point he’d turned to look at his wife – fresh-faced in her skimpy black dress and killer heels – and had seen how they might look to other people. Instead of feeling chuffed or proud, however, like some men would, he’d just felt sad and rather pathetic. When had the age gap between them become such a big deal? What was this young woman doing with him? And what the hell was he doing here?
This last thought had coincided with their entry into the club, at which point any more thinking had become a complete impossibility. The music was thunderously loud and as Betsey headed for the dance floor it took Edward a second to realize his hand was attached to hers and that she was dragging him with her.
Too tired to compete wi
th the racket, he’d limply followed, wishing his jeans weren’t quite so tight while trying his hardest to remember how to dance. Feeling self-conscious, he’d shuffled about, wondering if he looked like the sort of man that young people laughed at. The sort of man who dyed his hair with Grecian 2000, who refused to mature gracefully and who insisted on driving around in open-top sports cars wearing a baseball cap.
At this point Edward had decided it was time to leave, but realized he’d lost Betsey. Not that it took long to find her. She was right in the middle of the dance floor, grinding into a muscular young man’s groin. And as he watched her do what would in other clubs be described as a lap dance, the only thing he could think about was the snack he was going to make when he got in.
Now, as he lay fretting in bed, suffering from mild reflux (he’d gone heavy on the mayo), he realized it was time to set Betsey free while she still had time to create a new life for herself. He did love her in a way, just not the right way. He was fond of her, which she would hate, and yet that was it in a nutshell. They were fond of each other, but they shouldn’t be together.
Bugger. Now he needed a piss, one of the more annoying signs of advancing age. No matter what time he awoke these days, going to the toilet was always an immediate, pressing need. Anxious not to disturb Betsey, Edward slipped out from between the sheets, padded into the bathroom, took a leak and then grabbed his navy Ralph Lauren robe from the back of the door before sneaking downstairs.
Edward’s study was his sanctuary. His huge desk, which had been carved from the wood of a mango tree, took centre stage. The wall behind it was studded with framed posters and stills taken from the many movies he’d made over the years, the Bond ones taking pride of place, of course. In the one from The World in Your Hand Edward was wearing his trademark tuxedo and looking down the barrel of a gun at Angelica (Heavenly Melons), who was perched on top of a giant globe in her infamous black bikini. She looked sultry, captivating, the stuff of any red-blooded male’s fantasies.
Down the side of the room were glass sliding doors, which when opened allowed the ocean air to infuse the room with its salty tang. Right now, however, the sun wasn’t yet up so the ocean view was grey and steely.
At the far side of the room was Edward’s viewing area. A huge home cinema screen dominated the back wall and on either side of the giant screen were floor to ceiling shelves that housed his incredible collection of films. Edward hadn’t got into the movies by accident. He’d loved films ever since he was a young boy and had been buying them for as long as he could remember on every format there had ever been.
This morning, he already knew exactly what he wanted to watch and, with Betsey asleep, the coast was clear. As he nipped across to his desk, he felt a dart of pleasurable anticipation. He took a small key from his cigar box, unlocked a drawer on the right-hand side and took from it a brown padded envelope, inside of which was a DVD. Then, furtively looking towards the door to check no one was coming, he scuttled back across the room, slotted the DVD into the machine and took position in his favourite chair. He pressed a button on the remote and the blackout curtains lurched into action and shut. The room was plunged into total darkness. Here we go, he thought, a shiver running down his spine.
Forty minutes later and Edward Granger was an emotional wreck. He was watching the rushes from Angelica Dupree’s latest movie, the one she’d been shooting in Morocco, and had been completely blown away by her performance. The film was in French, Angelica’s first language, and although Edward was by no means fluent he understood enough to cope without subtitles, which was fortunate seeing as they wouldn’t be added until after the film had been edited. He knew only too well how lucky he was to be seeing anything at this raw stage at all and it was only because he knew the producer so well that he’d managed to twist his arm to run him off a copy.
In this scene, Angelica, trapped in an unhappy, fruitless marriage, was telling the man she really loved she could never see him again and that she was honour bound to stay with her pig of an abusive husband. (The reasons for which weren’t exactly clear to Edward as he hadn’t seen the preceding scenes.) It was a tribute to her acting ability that even with so little of the plot available to Edward she had still managed to move him so much. She was wonderfully understated, letting her big aquamarine eyes do most of the talking.
Edward rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose hard. He’d always been easily moved to tears during films. He’d always been easily moved to tears full stop, something Angelica had teased him about mercilessly, though in truth she’d found it endearing. In private she’d often used to call him her ‘soppy date’, an expression she’d heard his sister Pam use and had adopted as her own, and when they’d watched films together, the minute his handkerchief had appeared from his pocket she’d known he was on his way. That he was about to, or was already, blubbing. While Jessica was growing up, school plays, especially nativities or anything that involved children singing had been a complete no-no and Edward had always tried to avoid watching anything too sentimental in public. After all, it didn’t really do for James Bond to get caught on an aeroplane blubbing at Cheaper by the Dozen with Steve Martin. He shuddered at that particular memory. That really had been embarrassing. Still, in the privacy of his own cinema he could sob as much as he wanted. And he did.
On screen Angelica was turning away from her lover, years of hurt and frustration etched on her face as she began to race for the door. She was superb, which came as no surprise to Edward for, unlike most people, he had always known what an incredibly talented actress she was.
The only reason hardly anyone else had cottoned on to this fact was because whenever she was on screen people were usually so enraptured, so busy, drinking in her delicious beauty that whether she was acting well or not somehow became irrelevant. As a result, whatever she’d done over the years, no matter how powerful a performance she’d turned in, her looks had always managed to totally overshadow it. Only now, after a couple of decades of aging, was she finally getting to the point where the edge was diminishing from her ridiculous beauty and people could actually start to see past it. After this performance Edward was sure she might finally get the credit she’d always been due. Maybe even a nod at the Oscars? She was spellbinding.
He wondered how she’d react if he phoned and told her. He’d been trying to find an excuse to call her back ever since they’d last spoken, but was terrified of all that was unsaid between them. He could still hardly believe she’d rung and had spent nearly every second of every day since wondering whether she’d spoken to Jessica and, if so, why she hadn’t called him back again. He had hoped she’d wanted to make peace, but her silence suggested otherwise. Still, maybe it was for the best. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive her anyway.
Edward looked at his watch. Betsey would be up soon so he should finish. He was just about to switch off, however, when the next scene flickered on to the screen. The camera panned slowly across a beautifully lit room and Edward realized with a start that Angelica was sitting on a bed completely and utterly, and somewhat surprisingly, naked. Her face was luminous and as she looked over one shoulder he could just make out a glimpse of breast, though her long, luscious hair covered the rest. She was breathtaking, even at forty-eight. Maybe even more so than she’d ever been. As Edward stared he suddenly felt like a voyeur, but his body simply wouldn’t comply with his brain, which was telling him to turn it off. Enraptured, he watched as Angelica got up and crossed the room to look out of the window, the camera behind her so her bottom was on full display. Her bottom that Edward hadn’t seen for so many years and yet was still so utterly familiar, less pert possibly, but all the more real and gorgeous for it. These Frenchies don’t hold back when it comes to nude scenes, he thought ruefully. Still, there was nothing sordid about it. It was exquisitely shot. On screen Angelica turned round, her face registering surprise as someone came into the room.
‘Jean Paul,’ she gasped as her lover rus
hed into her arms. Then, to Edward’s horror, the bastard started kissing her passionately, his mouth smothering her face, her neck, her hair with kisses, his hand at her still full breast. Edward couldn’t help it. He kept on staring, completely mesmerized and engulfed by such a complicated, heady cocktail of emotion he could hardly breathe. Then …
‘What the hell?’
The overhead light snapped on and Edward spun round only to be confronted by a confused and angry-looking Betsey. Her hair was rumpled and she’d thrown on one of his shirts and a pair of Ugg boots.
‘Betsey … you’re up. I’ll switch this off. I was just doing some research for my movie and –’
‘Are you watching porn?’ squealed Betsey, her face trembling with fury as she took in the scene on the screen. Mortified, but hugely grateful that Betsey was unable to make out who the actress was due to the fact that Angelica had now been shoved up against the wall and was being pawed from behind, Edward found the remote and turned the offending images off. He was horrified to feel himself blushing. Jesus, this was worse than getting caught with his hands below the covers by his mother when he was a teenager.
‘Of course not,’ he protested. ‘I know it looked a bit racy but I can assure you it wasn’t porn.’
‘Aaaeurgh,’ wailed Betsey, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. ‘You bastard, Edward. You won’t have sex with your own wife and yet the minute my back is turned you’ve got filthy movies on and your hands down your trousers.’
Edward was insulted. ‘Now hang on a minute, Betsey.’
But she wasn’t having any of it. ‘Hang on? You ask me to hang on, well, maybe I should hang on to that,’ and she pointed again, only this time in the direction of Edward’s groin.
Wrong-footed, Edward’s gaze travelled downwards, where he was possibly even more surprised than Betsey to discover he was the proud owner of the biggest trouser tent he’d had in years. Watching Angelica had given him a massive erection and what he made of that he wasn’t sure. Betsey, however, was very clear where she stood on the subject. As she switched off the light and slammed the door behind her, Edward was plunged into darkness.