by Anita Notaro
There was nothing else to do but wait, given that she hadn’t the courage, much less the panache, to carry off a casual ‘how’ya, fancy a ride?’ type conversation. Being in love wasn’t much fun at the start.
Later, just as she was running out the door for chips, the phone rang. She pounced on it before the machine could. Her hello was loaded with anticipation.
‘Hello, I wonder if I could speak to Annie Weller, please?’
‘This is Annie.’ It was delivered with caution. Where had she heard that warm, cultured voice before?
‘Oh.’ There was a pause, and she thought she sensed a slight reluctance. ‘This is Libby Marlowe.’
If she’d said ‘This is Mother Teresa’ Annie couldn’t have been more surprised. She’d written to her ages ago and had given up all hope of any feedback.
‘Oh, Libby, hello.’ She hadn’t a clue what to say.
Libby hated it when strangers called her by her first name.
‘I just wanted you to know that I got your letter,’ she said. Her voice seemed subdued and it sounded to Annie as if she was miles away.
‘I hope you didn’t mind me writing, it’s just that I’ve been so upset in case you might have thought that I was pestering you in some way and I’d never . . .’ Shut up Annie, she chided herself, you’re waffling again.
‘I wonder if we might meet for coffee, or a quick drink?’ was the last thing she expected.
‘Yes, of course, I’d be delighted to, but I have told you everything I know, I mean, just in case you think I’ve left anything out, that is—’
‘What about next week?’
‘Fine.’
‘OK, I’ll have my secretary call you to arrange it.’
‘Great.’
‘Bye for now then.’ She was gone before Annie had a chance to try again. The call left Annie’s head spinning, with delight at the prospect of finally meeting her idol and dread in case this was some sort of set-up. At least it stopped her thinking about Marc.
Of course, as soon as she stopped worrying, he showed her how the dating game was supposed to be played.
‘Hi babe, what’ya up to?’ The ‘I’ve just shagged a Sheila’ drawl sent shivers down her spine.
‘Oh, hi. I’ve had a mad week, actually. How’ve you been?’
‘Great. Busy. Fancy having lunch on Sunday?’
Lunch! She wanted dinner, a long, slow, romantic meal followed by even longer, slower, mind-blowing sex. She was disappointed so she lied to cover up.
‘Yeah, great. I’m going out on Sunday night so that suits me fine.’ She’d been practising that one all week and it still sounded stilted.
‘Are you not working?’
‘No, remember I said I was off Tuesday and Sunday?’
Obviously not.
‘Well then, lunch it is, seeing that you’re off out carousing later.’ He didn’t seem concerned. ‘I’d love to try that new place in Temple Bar, beside the bank. How about I see you there at twelve-thirty? I’ll bring all the papers.’
She knew where he meant, they’d discussed it the last night. ‘OK, see you there,’ she said. Did that mean they’d be back to one of their houses for the afternoon? She needed to know, although God knows she’d cleaned the place to within an inch of its life and the one bit of carpet was practically threadbare from hoovering. Paranoia was getting to her.
‘Bye then, see you Sunday.’
‘Bye.’ There was a brief moment of anti-climax and then she was ecstatic. He’d called, he cared, he wanted to see her! It was all OK again. He hadn’t gone off her, or lost her number. They were still an item. Life was bliss.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
AS SOON AS she knew she’d be seeing Marc again, Annie came back to life. She sparkled, refusing to let the fact that it was only lunch dim her glow. Forcing the Libby Marlowe saga to the back of her mind, she bought herself a new T-shirt and a pair of combats, even though her bank balance was becoming increasingly frail. The trousers were hipsters, in a plum-coloured silky satin and the T-shirt was tight and stretchy.
As soon as she saw Marc, her stomach lurched.
‘G’day, Annie, how’s it going?’ He gave her a bear hug.
‘Fine, I’m starving.’ She wasn’t really but it sounded casual, she hoped. She looked at him impishly and he laughed.
‘Well, I’ve just seen the eggs Benedict waft past my nose, along with a bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese on top and they looked pretty good.’ He handed her the menu. ‘Glass of wine, or is it too early?’
‘I’ll have a glass of white, a sparkling water and a large orange juice, please.’ He shook his head and grinned at her again.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She was determined to be the confident, chilled girl he already thought she was and so regaled him with stories about her life and her job at the restaurant. Then she wanted to know more about him.
‘So, what have you been up to since I saw you last?’
‘Not much, it’s been all go on the work front. I was in most of yesterday and I’ve got a pretty hectic week lined up.’
‘So, you haven’t been out much?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Went for a few bevvies on Friday evening with the gang from work. Last night I went to a party and stayed far too late, so I’m a bit tired today.’ He looked anything but and she wondered why he hadn’t asked her – she could easily have gone after work. Quickly she dismissed the idea, determined not to become possessive. It didn’t go with her new, ultra-cool persona.
After a feast of brunch-type dishes they went for a stroll. Occasionally Marc put a casual arm around her but never left it there long enough, and he didn’t hold her hand as she would have liked.
‘Want to come back to my place for a coffee?’ She thought it sounded offhand enough, but the raspberry ripple streaks on her face might just have given away her real intentions.
‘Sure, that’d be great. Let’s go.’
This time there was no pretence. Once inside Annie’s house, he slid his arms around her and turned her to face him. He kissed her thoroughly and she felt the now familiar sensation in her limbs.
‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot since the other night.’
‘Me too.’
‘You’re so warm and sexy and inviting. I want to eat you.’
‘Come on.’ She took his hand and led him upstairs to her tiny bedroom and pulled the curtains. The bright sunlight made it appear faded and tired. It didn’t matter where they were, though, he had eyes only for her and this time they both peeled off their clothes and fell into bed. It was wild and carefree and she felt like the sexiest supermodel in the world as he kissed and caressed and teased and admired her.
‘Oh, baby, I want you so badly. Look what you’re doing to me.’
He took her hand and wrapped it around his penis, then guided her up and down.
‘What would you like me to do?’ She sounded short of breath.
‘I’d like you to suck me.’ He had arched his back and was leaning away from her, thrusting forward in rhythm with her stroking, so he didn’t notice that Annie was a bit mortified. She knew that practically every teenager in Dublin had done this outside a college or even secondary school disco at some point. Blow jobs were de rigueur these days. But amazingly – apart from a few childish attempts – she’d never done it and wasn’t sure she could. Now, wanting to please him more than anything, she bent her head slowly.
‘Oh my God, that is so right, don’t stop.’ He was looking down at her and the sight seemed to turn him on more. ‘Stroke it as well,’ he murmured, guiding her hand again. So she did and although she knew the technique it felt awkward but she didn’t have the courage to tell him, much less ask for help.
‘That’s it, harder, yes, don’t stop, I’m almost there.’ She had no idea what to do but luckily he was too far gone for it to make a difference. Precision timing, she thought gratefully.
‘Yes, yes, yes, oh my God,’ he was moaning and whe
n he finally relaxed they both collapsed.
‘That was fantastic, babe.’ He leaned over and kissed her tenderly. ‘Sorry for being a selfish bastard, but I was so horny that when you touched me I just couldn’t wait any longer.’ He was stroking her nipples and now he bent to kiss them. ‘I’ll make it up to you though, I promise.’
It took her a while to get into the mood after all the anxiety of the past few minutes but he was an expert: soon he was smiling down at her as she climaxed.
Afterwards, they lay together and chatted and kissed and she felt close to him until he announced, ‘I’d better go and let you get ready for your night out.’
‘Actually, it was cancelled at the last minute.’ She knew she shouldn’t have said it but she wanted him to stay, maybe even stay all night.
‘Ah, that’s a shame because I arranged to meet a friend in town.’ She waited for him to ask her to join them but he simply got dressed and sat on the bed talking until she felt a bit too naked. Not really able to carry it off, she finally pulled on her old dressing-gown, which made her feel like his granny.
After he’d left, her day went surprisingly flat. Instead of feeling confident she felt more vulnerable than ever and cursed herself for not talking to him about it.
It was a balmy spring Sunday evening and she was uptight and tetchy. She knew her feelings were a combination of anxiety over Marc and a constant dread when faced with the thought of meeting Libby Marlowe, in case she was in trouble again. It had not been a good week.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
WHEN LIBBY WOKE on Monday morning she felt heavy and groggy. It had been an indulgent few days without even a walk to clear her head. Now her limbs felt like lead and her back ached from loafing around. She knew she couldn’t go on avoiding people, either. John Simpson and his wife had both left messages inviting her to dinner and her mother was about to arrive with a tent and camp on her doorstep.
She was also unsure what to do about that tiresome Weller woman. It had been a moment of madness ringing her in the first place. Her emotions had been softened by a couple of G&Ts and she’d regretted it ever since. She’d almost decided not to follow it up, sure she wouldn’t find out anything more about her husband. And she certainly didn’t need the hassle.
It seemed like no time at all till she was back in the dreaded mansion, giving useless tips and promising the perfect fluffy soufflé to go with the most delectable wines, selling a lifestyle that no longer sounded convincing, even to the woman who once lived it.
The second-last day was one of the worst Libby had had in a while and that was saying something. When she arrived in her dressing room there were no towels and her favourite blend of herbal tea was nowhere to be seen. Also, some of her things had been moved. She stormed out in search of the stage manager.
‘Adrienne, someone’s been in my dressing room.’ The young woman was sneaking a fag in the tiny pantry they were using as a wash-up area. She was at a disadvantage and she didn’t like it one bit.
‘Oh, I checked your room earlier.’ Her eyes darted about nervously. ‘Everything was fine.’
‘There are no towels and my herbal tea has gone missing. Did you leave the door unlocked?’
‘No, of course not.’ She looked sullen.
‘Well, I am not staying there and I can’t go on set until I’m ready so you’d better get your finger out and organize it properly.’ Libby had a thumping headache and she was in no mood for this.
‘Could you just get ready there and I’ll sort it out while you’re doing the first run-through?’ Adrienne asked hopefully. It was the wrong thing to say.
‘No, I could not and please put out that cigarette. It’s affecting my voice. I want it sorted now.’ Libby turned on her heel to go in search of Jeremy.
‘For fuck’s sake.’ It was almost inaudible and on a good day, the old Libby might have been tempted to pretend she hadn’t heard it. Not today. In fact, not any day now.
She swung round so fast it caused a gust of wind in the vicinity. ‘How dare you,’ she said in a dangerously low voice. ‘How dare you use that language at me.’ The normally brazen young woman looked furious, and mad as hell at being caught out. She hated giving that bitch the satisfaction. She backtracked fast. ‘It wasn’t at you, it was at myself . . . I was just—’ But Libby had gone.
She was spitting fire by the time she met Jeremy, and the otherwise competent Adrienne was sent home. It was just the start. She glowered at the autocue operator several times over minor fluffs, then addressed the floor manager in a loud voice: ‘If people–’ she gestured in the direction of the cowering older woman – ‘cannot keep up with me then I suggest we forget this way of doing links altogether. It’s impossible.’
‘Sorry, Libby, give me a moment please, I’ll sort it out.’ He spoke through clenched teeth. He was trying really hard with her, but he’d already had to bollock two charge hands this morning and thanks to her he now had a new stage manager with little or no experience. Also, his old friend Niall, a painter with twenty years’ experience, was threatening to walk off after the star told him to get his brush off her worktop immediately or she would report the incident to the health inspector.
He held onto his temper now only by taking several deep breaths like his wife had told him and thinking of the creamy pint or two he was going to sink at lunchtime. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough for any of them. It was not a happy camp.
At last it was over and the prolonged, warm sighs of relief practically stripped the wallpaper. Libby had only just managed to hold on several times that day and the people around her had paid the price. You could almost smell the tension. She was barely on speaking terms with one of the make-up artists and the two lighting directors who alternated on the programme were about to be canonized.
‘That woman is a cow. I’d say her husband killed himself to get away from her.’ Troy, one of the trendy young lighting assistants, said what many were thinking, although it still startled one or two who heard. ‘She just told me she had more lines on screen than she had in reality and asked me how I’d managed to actually make her look older than she really was. Sarcastic bitch. If she gave up her fancy dinners it might help, not to mention the sauce.’
‘That’s enough Troy. Cool it.’ Roger Dolan, the senior lighting director, privately agreed with everything his young operator had said, but he needed to work for this production company again.
‘Look at her, she’s a lush if you ask me and her eyes are red and sunken – it’s nothing to do with our lighting.’
‘Get back to work. This is not a conversation we should be having.’
‘Well, someone needed to say it.’ The young man moved away, but not before he’d seen the sympathetic looks of some of his colleagues. He was sick and tired of prima donnas and Libby fucking Marlowe was the biggest one he’d come across in a long time. ‘Fat cow,’ he mumbled. Nobody was arguing.
It was after eight by the time they wrapped the following evening and there was none of the usual banter, no cries of ‘Where’s the champagne?’ or ‘Last one down to the pub buys the first round.’ Jeremy was just about to offer to buy drinks in the local, when he realized that everyone had cleared off. No-one wanted to spend a minute more than they had to in the company of ‘the bleedin’ head-wrecker’, as the postboy had christened Libby.
‘A production crew not hanging around for free drink, that’s a new one on me,’ Jeremy remarked to Mel, the only other person left on set.
‘That bad, eh?’
‘Pretty much the worst atmosphere I’ve encountered in a long time.’ Jeremy felt he had to be honest.
‘She can be hard work at times.’ It was out before Mel realized she was bitching about one of their top stars. ‘Still, as you know, she’s had a lot to cope with these last—’
‘I know. Listen, do you fancy sneaking off for a drink and a chat?’ Jeremy had always liked the sassy, no-nonsense girl.
‘Sure. I’d murder a G&T.’ She smiled. Thi
s day was not turning out so bad after all.
‘Fancy a drink, you two?’ Libby was feeling generous now that it was over. Besides, she couldn’t face going home alone tonight.
‘Eh, not for me, thanks. I’ve another appointment later.’ Mel had been babysitting her for weeks and she’d had enough.
‘And I’ve just arranged to meet a mate.’ Jeremy took his lead from her, although guilt was written all over his red face.
‘Fine, I’ll remember that.’ Libby was furious. She turned on her heel and headed for her car.
‘I’m not sure that was the right thing to do.’ Jeremy whispered as soon as she was out of earshot.
‘Me neither, but it’s done now. Come on, and make mine a large one. We might be paying for this for a while.’
Nothing like this had ever happened to Libby before. Normally, people were queuing up to be seen in public with her. She stormed out of the car park and punched in a number on her mobile.
‘Moya. It’s Libby.’
‘Libby darling, how are you? I was just thinking about you today. We’re having a dinner party, as you can probably tell from the noise. Dreadful lot of rowdies in tonight, I’m afraid.’
‘So I can hear.’ Suddenly, Libby didn’t know why she’d phoned at this time of night. ‘Listen Moya, we must do lunch.’
‘Love to. I’ll call you next week.’
‘OK, bye.’
‘Bye, darling.’
Next up she tried Carrie. Her machine was on. She wanted to scream. All she wanted was a drink and a bitch. Mind you, she’d have had to travel quite a distance for a drink with her old friend. She flung the phone away from her, determined not to go home alone again. There must be someone around to have a drink with – she was a star, for Christ’s sake.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ANNIE’S EVENING HAD started off brilliantly. It was the night of her first TV appearance and Marc was calling to watch it with her.