by Talli Roland
Willow swallowed. ‘Okay.’
‘It’s going to be fantastic,’ Jay said, moving closer. ‘The two of us, living together at The Savoy, working together . . . a real star’s life in the big city.’
Jay’s words washed over Willow as she leaned into him. She hadn’t been back to London since that disastrous incident at the Landmark. In her mind, London meant Alex, and it had been too painful to contemplate going there on her own. But she wouldn’t be returning as Willow. Now, she’d be returning as Marilyn, expected to sleep where Marilyn slept, walk where Marilyn walked . . . she squeezed her eyes shut. Over and over, Dean’s words about becoming someone else swirled through her mind.
‘You okay?’ Jay slung an arm around her shoulders. ‘I know you’re disappointed with how things went today. But chin up. We’re onto even bigger and better things, baby.’
He pulled her against him but for the first time, his embrace didn’t calm her. Just take it day by day, Willow told herself, trying to relax. Get Dad’s shop out of debt, and then you can stop whenever you want.
*
‘Here’s your gate, madam.’ The immigration officer undid the handcuffs, and Betts rubbed her wrists together as the blood flowed into her hands. She couldn’t believe the way she’d been treated – like a common criminal – but at least they’d found her a flight back to the States tonight so she wouldn’t have to sleep in the horrible-sounding Detention Centre. Betts shuddered. Who knew what went on in there?
She’d pleaded again and again to let her call Dickie to explain why she’d had to go, but that silly officer had just said to ring when she got back to America. Those young ones clearly didn’t know how much long distance charges were! Betts’s heart wrenched for the millionth time as she pictured Dickie coming home and finding her gone . . . and with his health problems, it surely wouldn’t be good for him. Thank goodness she’d thought to leave a note so at least he’d know she was okay.
‘Flight AT907 to Atlanta is now boarding,’ the woman at the gate announced.
The officer nudged her forward and Betts handed her boarding card and passport to the woman, then walked slowly down the ramp toward the waiting plane.
This isn’t the end, she told herself, settling into the seat. This isn’t the end, at all. Now that I know what it’s like to have a life, I’m going to keep it up. And Dickie’s going to be a part of that, I’m sure.
The engines revved and the plane moved forward. Soon it was in the air. Betts looked down as the lights of London faded away, then leaned her head back and shut her eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AT THE BLEEP OF HIS BlackBerry, Jay rolled over in bed, away from Willow. Oh good, a confirmation for Thursday’s luncheon performance at a burlesque club in Soho, and with the fee he’d requested, too. Confirmations were pouring in, and Willow was going to be exhausted. From his experience with Jorgie, Jay knew that was a good thing. The less energy, the less resistance.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. If Willow started to fuss, he could always wave the contract to show she was locked into it, but he didn’t want to do that quite yet – it was better she thought she was calling the shots right now. And if having sex with her was the way to keep her on track, well, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
Licking his lips, Jay thought of all the totty he’d be able to score once he got to the city. Not that Willow was the worst shag he’d had, but she didn’t have the moves of a more experienced woman like Davinia.
Forget Davinia, he told himself – once they were in London, Jay would find women who’d do whatever he wanted and more, on command. Willow would be so tired she’d just crash out, and then he’d sneak off to experience a whore’s delights.
He couldn’t wait.
*
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Willow asked her father again, after she and Jay had dragged the last of their luggage down the stairs.
Her dad smiled and handed her one of the over-sized cases Jay had bought to hold her Marilyn wardrobe. ‘Of course, dear. I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me.’
Easier said than done, Willow thought, taking in her father’s pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes. Betts had only been gone one night, but already it looked like someone had pulled the plug on her dad, draining away the energy and life he’d regained. But he’d be all right for a week, she reasoned, and leaving now would be worth it in the long run. After all the gigs Jay had planned, she should have enough for next month’s tax payment and hopefully to start paying down the debt.
‘Betts will ring,’ Willow said, hoping it was true. ‘You might even hear from her later today.’
His eyes lit up, and Willow felt relieved she’d said the right thing. ‘Yes, yes.’ Her father nodded. ‘I’m sure I will. Now, you two have fun in London! Take care of yourself.’
Willow and Jay piled into a White Cadillac (since Marilyn used to be whisked around in one, of course) rented from God knows where, and Willow smoothed down the black dress Jay had insisted she wear. Although it was almost July, the air was chilly and wind whipped through the dress’s skimpy mesh panel stretching from her waist to her breasts. She’d tried to put on something more practical, but Jay had said Marilyn wore this outfit when she’d entered The Savoy, and that was that.
Willow was starting to think Jay was a little too obsessed with her looking exactly like the icon. It was one thing to impersonate someone, but now every little detail – even down to her white gloves and black pumps – had to mirror Marilyn. It was exhausting, and Willow was already bone-achingly tired. Last night she’d had a horrible nightmare where she returned to Belcherton after a trip like this. No one remembered Willow Watts had even lived there, but they bowed down to Marilyn. Willow shivered, remembering how they’d stared blankly when she reminded them of her real identity.
Leaning her head against the leather headrest, Willow let the hum of the engine lull her to sleep.
Two hours later, she jerked awake as Jay slammed on the brakes. Without even opening her eyes, she knew they were in London. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and hot asphalt, and the sounds of double-decker buses lumbering by and people jostling on the street filled her ears. Her heart clenched with nostalgia for the past, when everything had seemed so full of hope, life . . . and Alex.
Now’s not the time to think about that, she told herself, forcing her eyes open against the afternoon sun burning up shoppers on the Strand. And anyway, you’ve got Jay. A small thread of doubt worked its way into her thoughts as she recalled last night’s session in bed. It had been far from romantic – more along the lines of functional. Wham bam, thank you, ma’am, as Paula would say.
Willow sighed, thinking of her friend. They’d never gone this long without talking, and she missed having someone to chat to besides Jay; someone who really knew her. Maybe once the week was over, they could try to sort things out again. It was understandable such a big event would cause some friction, right? God knows what would happen with Jay in the future, but Paula was an important fixture in her life. Willow wanted it to stay that way.
‘Here we are!’ Jay turned off the Strand and pulled up to the grand facade of The Savoy hotel. Even though Willow had passed it hundreds of times in her previous London life, she couldn’t believe she was actually staying here.
‘Let’s go.’ Jay handed his keys to the valet. Already people were stopping to take photos with their mobiles and one woman was gaping at her with the all-too familiar zombie expression.
They walked into the reception to even more stares, accompanied by lascivious snickers from a group of middle-aged Russian business men as they ogled her dress and white gloves. The concierge herded Jay and Willow into a lift and, a few minutes later, opened the door to a suite with a fantastic view of the Thames.
‘Wow,’ Willow breathed, taking in the boats chugging up and down the river and the buildings beyond. Peeling off the gloves, she stretched out her sweaty fingers. It was way too hot in the city to
be wearing these things. She turned away from the window, a sense of heaviness settling over her at the thought of the week ahead.
‘I’m just going to take a quick nap,’ she said to Jay, after catching sight of the bed made up in crisp white sheets. ‘Can you wake me up in half an hour?’ That should do the trick.
Jay spun around, something like irritation flitting across his face. ‘No, baby, we don’t have time. I told you, we’ve got a busy schedule. You’re performing at the Royal Naval College in Greenwich in an hour, then we’ve got to leg it over to the Pigalle Club. After that, there’s a private performance at The Ritz. Then tomorrow . . . ’
Willow tuned out Jay’s voice, suppressing a yawn as he ushered her from the room and back down the lift. By the sounds of things, she wouldn’t have a second to spare.
*
With a flicker of relief, Betts swung open the door of her bungalow. She was nearly floored by the wall of heat that hit her. Her tiny home was like an oven and – she spied the dried, wilted leaves of the spider plant in the window – obviously Lucy hadn’t come by to take care of things as promised.
Betts dragged her suitcase into the bedroom, every muscle straining. She collapsed spread-eagled on the bed. The free transit courtesy of Her Majesty had gone from London to New York to Chicago to Atlanta, with missed connections and delays. But she was finally home, and things would be different. She looked at her watch. Just after ten here, and three in the morning in Belcherton. Her heart leaped as she pictured dear Dickie, sound asleep and snoring in his comfy bed. She’d just have a little snooze, wait until a reasonable hour, then give him a call and explain everything.
Her eyes were sagging closed when the ring of her cell phone jolted her awake. Dickie! she thought, before remembering she hadn’t left any of her contact information.
‘Hello?’
‘Mom, my stomach hurts.’ Lucy’s nasal tone rang through the receiver and Betts’s heart dropped. Welcome home, Betts. It only made sense it would be one of the kids, starting up the familiar whiny routines again. But wait – how had Lucy known she was back in the USA, where her cell phone worked? Betts hadn’t had the chance to tell anyone she was coming home, and all her emails made it clear if the kids needed anything, they should ring Dickie’s landline.
‘Honey, how did you know I was back?’ Betts asked.
‘Well, duh,’ Lucy said impatiently. ‘I talked to that old guy you were staying with, and he said you’d gone home. Sounded upset, but I told him not to freak out. People who are emotionally unstable often act irrationally.’
‘Emotionally unstable?’ What was Lucy talking about? ‘What exactly did you say to him?’
‘God, Mom, I didn’t tape the conversation.’ Lucy snorted. ‘I just told him you’re in a vulnerable state now, what with Dad leaving and you still not accepting it’s over.’
‘Lucy!’ Betts pressed a hand to her head. ‘Please tell me you didn’t.’
‘Well of course I did, Mom. He couldn’t seem to understand why you’d left so quickly.’ Lucy groaned. ‘Ah, my side is killing me.’
‘Take an indigestion pill,’ Betts responded distractedly. ‘What did he say after you told him all that?’ Dickie wouldn’t believe that garbage. It was obvious how much she cared! Maybe he’d asked for Betts’s number, so he could call himself?
‘I took a pill already,’ Lucy whined. ‘Oh, he didn’t say much. Just goodbye, and then he hung up.’
Betts shook her head. He’d just hung up? Well, it made sense Dickie would be a little miffed, seeing as how he thought she’d run off – not to mention Lucy’s misinformation. Betts would call him in the morning, explain everything, and they’d have a good chuckle about it all. And then, maybe . . . they’d never really talked about the future, but she hoped . . .
‘Can you come over now, Mom? I feel really sick.’
Betts sighed. ‘I’m on my way.’
*
By Thursday night, Willow was near collapse. Jay hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the schedule was jam-packed; it seemed each minute was accounted for. When she wasn’t performing in every club known to the West End, she was retracing Marilyn’s London steps: shopping on Regent Street; going to the Lyric Theatre, like Marilyn had with Olivier and Arthur Miller; hitting Harrods . . . the list was endless. Everywhere they went, people swarmed after them, screaming for Marilyn and shoving yet more souvenir tat at her to sign. Willow even recognised some of the same faces from the campsite in Belcherton! God, she couldn’t believe she had groupies now. Or rather, the new Marilyn had groupies.
‘No time to waste, baby. You’re building your brand,’ Jay said, over and over, when she asked for a five-minute break. She’d heard the phrase so many times now it was almost making her ears bleed.
Willow stood at the window in their Savoy suite, looking out at the lights piercing the darkness. It was almost eleven, and Jay had dropped her back at the hotel after a concert in Mayfair, saying not to wait up – he was meeting some friends, like he had every night so far this week. Willow didn’t mind, not at all. The more time she spent with him, the more doubts niggled that something wasn’t right. He was still as charming as ever, but now he seemed less interested in her and more interested in the dreaded brand. She should be happy he was so focused. After all, she needed the money. But that was the other strange thing: whenever she asked for specifics on how much they’d made after each performance, he always fobbed her off, saying he’d get to it later.
Sighing, she turned away from the glass. Despite the fatigue weighing on her, Willow also felt restless. Restless . . . and lonely. Maybe she’d ring up her father to check in.
‘Dad?’ she said when he came on the line. ‘How are you? Everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine, love,’ he responded, but she could tell by his hollow tone it wasn’t.
‘Have you heard from Betts?’ she asked, praying the answer was yes.
‘No, but I have heard from her daughter. She said Betts is on her way back home. Apparently this trip to Belcherton was all a whim – her daughter said Betts has been behaving unstably since her husband left.’ He paused. ‘I thought all that happened ages ago, but the daughter made it sound as if Betts still loves the man.’
Willow tried to fit the image of a heartbroken, vulnerable woman with the strong, friendly Betts she’d known. ‘But she didn’t seem that way to me,’ Willow said. ‘That sounds like a different person. And Dad, she did care for you.’
‘Maybe.’ There was a heavy sigh, then her father said: ‘Perhaps it’s better things are over. We had a good time while she was here, but she’s not here any longer. She’s a million miles away.’
Willow was silent, unsure what to say. She’d tried to warn him Betts would go home eventually, and she hated seeing how hurt he was now.
‘Anyway.’ Dad cleared his throat. ‘Onto brighter topics. Things are going great guns with the shop. I think we might actually sell out of stock soon.’
Thank God. ‘That’s great.’
‘And I was thinking I might take a little break once everything’s sold. The past few weeks have been unusual, to say the least. This old man can’t take all the excitement.’
That was a relief. After Betts’s sudden departure, Willow had worried her father’s health might take a turn. Relaxing a bit would be the best thing for him. And since she was making enough money now – or at least, she thought she was – there was no reason why he couldn’t have a break. ‘I think that’s a good idea, Dad.’
‘Yes, well, now that the business has a sizeable profit, I figured it might be all right to rest on my laurels a bit.’
‘Sizeable profit?’ How much could the shop have made from that tat?
‘You’ll never believe it, but once the stock is gone, we’ll have cleared almost nine thousand pounds,’ her dad said proudly. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when the business generated that much revenue in a couple weeks.’
‘Nine thousand pounds?’ Willow sh
ook her head, sure she hadn’t heard correctly.
‘Yes, the mark-up on those goods is incredible. And we refilled the stock order a few times, too.’
‘That’s brilliant, Dad,’ Willow said, still unable to believe they’d made so much – it was almost the full amount of the debt! The shop had been way busier than usual, but things had been so crazy she hadn’t noticed the extra deliveries. Maybe she could stop being Marilyn sooner than she’d thought. ‘I’ll be home on Sunday and we can celebrate then.’
‘You should celebrate tonight, dear,’ her father said. ‘Go out and enjoy London.’
‘Yes, maybe I should.’ She willed herself to sound enthusiastic, even though enjoying London was the last thing she was doing.
Big Ben started chiming down toward eleven o’clock, and Willow said goodbye and hung up. The suite was silent and empty, and even though every muscle was aching, Willow just wanted to get out. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner here.
Padding into the loo, Willow scrubbed her face free of its Marilyn-mask and wiggled out of the day’s tight sheath. Ah, bliss. Jay made her sleep in a tight silk nightdress (in case a hotel fire left her exposed to the staff and other guests), so even in her dreams she felt bound up. Staring in the mirror, she could see the poor diet of the past few weeks – all the donuts, greasy food and cakes – was beginning to take effect. Her hips were rounded now in a way they never had been, and yes, she actually had cleavage of her own! That was one good thing about being Marilyn.
Rummaging in her case, she unearthed the baggy pair of jeans she’d managed to hide under the rest of her Marilyn paraphernalia, along with an old black T-shirt. Holding the tee up to her nose, she breathed in the scent of her house as a wave of homesickness washed over her. Who’d have thought she’d be in The Savoy, in the middle of London, and missing Belcherton? Jamming the shirt over her head, she kicked on her trainers, twisted her platinum curls up into a ponytail, and headed out into the London night.