by Clara Leigh
-34-
Felicity Caine
There’s no evidence of the press having been present when we arrive at Jace’s London pad. In fact, it’s eerily quiet in a way that raises the hairs on the back on my neck and convinces me for a moment that the doorman is literally dead on his feet and not simply sleeping on the job. Once inside the building, things remain the wrong side of peaceful. The lift glides upward without a whisper, delivering us to the last but one floor with not even ting to mark our arrival. There are no lights lit on the shared landing and none visible around the edges of the two doors on this level. Either no one is home, or that’s what they want people to believe.
Jace quickly sees to the illumination issue, bathing the non-descript beige walls and carpet in an amber glow.
“Most people keep the hall lights on all the time, but it’s such a waste of electricity, especially when there can be weeks, months even, when neither of us are here.”
He unlocks his apartment and steps inside, but I barely make it two feet from the elevator before I freeze. I’ve not come here to sit on his couch and drink tea, but to face Dare. I need to explain to him what has happened and do so in a way that’s comprehensible in a couple of words. I’m not anticipating a warm welcome. He’s going to be butt hurt by what’s been broadcast. Therefore, I need to make him understand I wasn’t the one who said those things as quickly as possible.
“I’m going to knock on,” I tell Jace.
“Waste of time.” He kicks off his shoes and disappears into the interior of his home, though he leaves the door ajar. “I’ll lay money on him still being in Oxfordshire.”
I know that’s the likely reality, but I still have to knock in order to know for sure.
Surprise, surprise, there’s no answer in response to my rapping. I half wondered if Lorne was home whether he’d let me in. As he isn’t, I’m just going to have to chill my butt on Jace’s couch.
Jace plays host, something he’s surprisingly apt at. Within minutes of me perching on the edge of his leather four-seater, I have tea and biscuits in front of me, shortly followed by a double measure of something that looks suspiciously like whisky.
“Drink it,” he orders when I pick it up and give it a sniff. Definitely whisky, but not from the same malt that Dare drinks. “After the day you’ve had, you need something to warm your innards.”
I do as I’m told. It’s easier than arguing and I need to preserve my energy for the battle ahead. The liquid burns as it flows down my throat, but it’s not the cause of the tears welling in my eyes. They’re courtesy of dredged up memories of previous whisky tasting moments – the night I first met Dare and a good proportion of the kisses we’ve exchanged since. I blink furiously, determined not to cry. What good will it do?
“You should call your lawyers,” Jace advises. It’s good advice. I know that my energy ought to be focussed on the legal battle I’m inevitably going to face with Chinchilla, but as of this moment, I don’t give a damn if I end up broke and homeless with my career in tatters. It’s more important to fix things with Dare. We had the beginnings of something good; I know we did. I might not have reached the level of long term stability and proclamations yet, but they were on the horizon, and I was anticipating them with real glee.
“My lawyers are associates of West & Co.”
“Then hire some new ones.”
I wave him away. Not now, I don’t want to be bothered by this now.
“I’ll sort you out a list of reputable firms.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Flicka, you do realise there’s no guarantee Dare’s going to come back here tonight? And even if he does, it’s unlikely he’s going to speak to you. Whoever was behind those interview responses knew how to hit where it’d hurt most.”
“I don’t know who it was.” Somebody from Chinchilla. “And I doubt they were aiming for such a direct strike.” That wasn’t the goal. The purpose was to redeem me in the eyes of the audience. “It’s not as if they know about Emilia and the Borrower.”
He sighs. Clearly Jace is aware of Dare’s history. “They don’t need to know about specifics. No one wants to hear they were a mistake or find out that something they valued was worthless to the person they thought they had a bond with. Flicka, breaking you and Dare up was definitely part of the planned outcome. Why else was the statement put out so fast? Why not wait until they’d at least got hold of you and assessed what your stance was going to be? Why involve Flo at all?”
I shake my head. He doesn’t know Chinchilla in the way I do.
“Control. That’s why,” Jace elaborates.
Okay, maybe he does know them.
“The purpose of ‘having you say that stuff’ was to put you in a position where you’re more likely to go along with their wishes, because your relationship with Dare has already been neatly dissolved.”
“In what way does it benefit them to keep me in the fold at this stage?” I counter. “Look at me, I’m tarnished goods regardless of whether I’m still involved with Dare or not. Arguably, it’d have been better for them if I’d stuck with Dare and told the world it was serious.” The Chinchilla crowd might frown on sexual antics, but they sure like the idea of white weddings and selling down to suburbia in a house with a nice picket fence.
“Flicka, it’s not about you at this point. The series you were waiting to hear about isn’t going to happen. Chinchilla aren’t going cast you in anything else they have in the pipeline either. You, and likely enough your sister too, are out on your arses after this. You’re already history. The purpose of controlling the narrative and possibly chasing you through the courts is to send a message to the other young stars in their stable that rule breaking will not only land them in deep, deep shit. They’ll lose everything they value.”
The way he explains it makes diabolical sense.
“Dare would have stood beside you through this. He’d have supported you. Therefore, the Woodrows would have supported you.” Everyone knows they’re a force to be reckoned with. “So, they’ve severed that link and at the same time they’ve driven a wedge between you and your sister.”
I’m on my feet again protesting. “I’m not losing either Dare or Flo over this.”
“Good.” He guides me back down onto the leather. “I’d like to finish making the film we’re already behind on shooting.”
Ouch! Reality check: Jace Jones isn’t helping out because he cares, only to make sure this film doesn’t collapse beneath him.
“What about Tyler?” I say. The situation between myself and Dare is totally fixable. I believe that. Likewise, the one between Flo and I. She’s already forgiven, in fact. Okay, mostly forgiven. I’ll admit I get a sour taste in my mouth every time I think about her pretending to be me and reciting the lines they gave her. She knew what the result would be. Still, she’s not the one to blame for this. Someone set this in motion by uploading that video recording and Tyler’s the obvious candidate. He’s been weird about my connection to Dare since filming began, and he was already fuming after the clash with Dare and the dressing down from Jace over damage and disruptions to the schedule. If he’d seen us, he’d definitely have stopped to film us with a view to stirring trouble.
Jace bites the inside of his cheek. “If it was him, and I’m not convinced, then I’ll deal with it, but you’ve no actual evidence. It’s a big assumption.”
“He’s been deliberately baiting Dare all along and hanging around me as if he’s some sort of guardian angel.”
Jace nods as if he’s agreeing with me. “If this was purely about Dare, then maybe, but it isn’t. Tyler’s protective of you. The lad clearly has a bit of a crush, which is why I don’t think he’d do anything to hurt you. He cares about you too much to put you in this situation with Chinchilla.”
“There’s nobody else with a grudge.”
A small huff of laughter escapes his mouth. “There are plenty of people who hold grudges against Dare Wilde. And even if that wasn’t true
, why are you so certain that it’s someone with a personal vendetta? People do all sorts for money, or, you know, just for the hell of it. It could have been anyone among dozens of crew members, actors, and extras.”
“There were extras on set that day?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!”
“Exactly. So how about we drop the case against Tyler for the moment and concentrate on getting the film back on track.”
“You mean my life.”
He simply smiles and pours me another whisky.
The biscuits go uneaten and before I know it my tea is cold in the cup, but I’m warm inside after three large measures of Scotland’s finest. I have my feet curled beneath me when we finally hear voices in the hallway. I left the apartment door slightly ajar after I came in to make sure I didn’t miss anything.
“They’re here,” I hiss, like it’s a secret. My legs are wobbly when I stand. The left immediately fills with pins and needles, slowing my movement towards the door to a zombie-like shuffle. It’s agony, but I bite my lip and plough forward regardless.
“Dare!” He’s standing a little back from his door, while Lorne deals with the lock. There are deep shadows around his eyes, and his hair is standing on end at the back, as though he showered and then lay down so that it dried with a kink. I’ve never seen him look anything less than perfect, so this grim, grizzled version of him draws a strangled sort of gasp from my throat, which he hears and turns in response to.
His expression doesn’t soften, if anything it grows even more haggard. I anticipate some kind of biting remark, but he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he snatches the keys from Lorne’s in order to see to the unlocking himself. He’s gone before I’ve crossed half of the hallway, leaving Lorne behind to defend against pursuit.
“You’re not coming in,” he insists.
“I need to talk to him. Lorne it’s important.”
“You’ve done enough talking today.”
“I need to explain. Things aren’t how they look.”
“You dumped him on television, Flicka.”
“I didn’t. That’s not what happened.”
He starts reciting words from the interview. Words that came out of Flo’s mouth, not mine. But either I’ve drunk too much or the stress of everything is finally doing a number on me as I can’t seem to make Lorne understand that things aren’t as clear cut as they seem. Movies employ smoke and mirrors all the time. It should be obvious to an actor that’s what’s happening in the real world too.
“I didn’t do that. That’s not what I said,” I keep repeating.
“Jace, get your guest under control,” Lorne says, speaking over my head. “If she causes trouble, I’ll call security.”
The friendly, easy-going, fun-loving guy I’ve encountered on previous occasions is gone, replaced with some sort of reptile. “Lorne,” I tug on his shirt. “You have to give me a chance to explain.”
“Time to come back inside,” Jace gently insists, uncurling my fingers from around Lorne’s clothing. He takes hold of my wrist and tugs me in the direction he wants me to go. I dig in my heels and stay rooted to the spot. “Dare,” I scream. “Dare, come out and talk to me. We’ve both been played. You need to listen to what I have to say.”
He appears. His head fills the gap between the open doorway and the frame. Thank God!
“Fuck off!”
I stare at him gobsmacked, except he’s already gone.
“You heard the man,” Lorne echoes. He follows Dare inside, and then all I’m staring at is a wooden door.
I lurch forward, intending to drum my fists against the barrier, but Jace’s arms wrap around my middle and he lifts me right off my feet and carries me kicking and screaming back into his apartment. He only releases me once the deadlock is engaged.
“I need to see him.”
“You need to leave this until tomorrow, Flicka. Let him sleep on it. You do the same.”
“I don’t want to sleep. I’m not going to sleep.” How can I sleep when my world is so screwed up?
“You can stay here, or you can go home, but that’s it for tonight.” He waggles a finger inches from my nose, making sure his words sink in.
They do and they don’t. I calm myself, but it’s surface serenity. Inside I’m desperately churning over ways to reach Dare. Maybe there’s a window ledge I can shuffle along or an AC vent like there always are in films. I’m not ready to give up. I’m not ready… “I have to explain to him.”
“Tomorrow,” Jace insists, steering me towards his guestroom. “You can try again come daylight. Next time try for less screaming and consider going armed with a peace offering.”
I heed his advice. I replay it often during the long, sleepless night I spend in his apartment. Once it’s light enough to venture outside, I find myself an all hours off-licence and return pleased as punch with myself for having secured the correct offering. Retrospectively, banging them out of bed, perhaps, wasn’t the most sensible plan. Lorne answers. He grunts at me. Takes the offering, and then slams the door in my face. Jace advises me to leave attempt number three until at least 4P.M.
-35-
Dare Wilde
I’m awake when Lorne throws the bottle of Talisker on the bed and alert enough to wonder if he was deliberately aiming for my head.
“She really wants to talk,” he adds.
She didn’t try to force her way inside this morning, nor did I hear her voice. I want to know if he saw her, and if so how she looked, but at the same time my throat dries at the thought. My adult self tells me I ought to at least listen to what she has to say, but the toddler in me is still whirling like a dervish and screaming “It’s not fair!” at the top of my lungs.
It isn’t fair, but I always knew that taking a walk on the wild side with her would end in fireworks. What I didn’t anticipate was that it would be my heart getting blown to smithereens.
“Shall I fetch you a glass?”
If I say yes, I’ve a feeling Lorne will bounce the tumbler off my skull.
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Course not,” he grumbles. “Well, I’m going back to bed.” Only he doesn’t. He lingers at the foot of mine, scratching his head like an ape.
“What?” I’m forced to ask after several agonising minutes of this performance.
“Nothing.” He turns away and then turns back. “There’s something about this that doesn’t add up. Why would she give that interview and say those things and then come begging to see you?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I sigh into the duvet. Why the hell does it even matter? Felicity Caine and I are no more. I know it, our fans know it. The whole goddamned planet knows it. “Let me sleep, will you. And take that bottle with you. I don’t think I’ll ever touch a drop of it again.” The taste of Talisker will be forever tinged with memories of her. Likewise, cherry is relegated to my least favourite flavour.
Lorne eyes me sceptically, but does as he’s asked.
When I next open my eyes he’s standing over me again, only this time he’s holding my phone in his hand. “She tried to call you before the interview aired.”
Dumping me over the phone would have made it so much better.
“She called me too.”
“So what?”
“So maybe it wouldn’t hurt to listen to her.”
“Not happening,” I say, and bury my head beneath the pillows. She lay in this bed with me and begged me to make love to her. It seemed so damn real. Telling myself that it was merely a performance, only amplifies my headache. Nothing else aches. I’m numb from the neck down. This is the first day I haven’t woken with a hard-on since I hit puberty.
“If she bangs on the door again, I’m going to let her in.”
“Don’t.”
He exits, shaking his head.
Pretty soon I lose track of how often we repeat the cycle of Lorne ambling in to tell me something I don’t want to hear. I sleep a little. I stare into the dark
ness for hours. It’s always dark when I wake, the black-out curtains see to that. I’m not sure if hours pass or days. I think it’s days, although it could be seasons. In the end hunger forces me into the world again, or at least as far as the kitchen, thanks to Lorne’s perverse ideas about nursing, which don’t involve food.
“Your mother called. Apparently, you promised Arrietty you’d take her to the ballet.”
“Chase was supposed to be taking her.”
“Chase flew back to the States yesterday. You swore you’d fill in for him.”
I absolutely do not want to leave the flat, but I can’t let my little girl down either. Thanks to me, her birthday party turned into a boxing match. I don’t even know what the state of play is in the world of entertainment gossip. Although, if mum’s ready to let me be seen in public with the Borrower, she’s clearly not anticipating trouble. “I suppose these tickets are for right away.”
“Show starts at seven. That gives you two hours to straighten yourself out and go collect her.”
I don’t want to ask about Flicka, but if I’m going out, it’s imperative that I know whether I’m going to have to dodge a confrontation with her on the doorstep.
“She left this morning. Went back to the place she shares with her sister.”
The man is fucking psychic. He knows my every thought and anticipates every damned question, so I don’t even bother vocalizing them.
“You left her no choice, Dare. She couldn’t sit there forever, not after she got served papers. Jace helped her find a decent lawyer.”
I guess her rodent masters have seen through her fake tears and determined an apology for screwing in public and getting caught at it aren’t enough. Considering their target audience are all underage or else monumental God-fearing prudes that’s not such a surprise. But then screwing wasn’t exactly in her original plan. It was all supposed to be ever so chaste between us.
Damn, I miss her.