Chasing Dreams

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Are you OK?’ Matty said, attempting to help her. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘Not really,’ she answered. ‘He scared the hell out of me, though.’ She sighed and shook her head again. ‘Can you believe that? He just turned up here like we were still an item and started coming on to me. Oh God, it was horrible,’ she gasped, screwing up her eyes. ‘Get me a drink, will you? And not his champagne. I’ll go change into something else.’

  A few minutes later she was hunched in a corner of the sofa wrapped in a dressing gown and sipping a Scotch, while Matty cleared up the broken glass.

  ‘Did you call him?’ Matty asked, after a difficult silence.

  ‘For God’s sake, no!’ Ellen cried. Then, banging down her glass she said, ‘You don’t seriously believe what he was saying, do you?’

  Matty shook her head. ‘Not really,’ she answered. ‘I mean, I know he was trying to rape you because I heard you right along the hall. I just can’t figure out what brought him here, that’s all.’

  ‘He’s broken up with Karen,’ Ellen answered, ‘and was obviously short of a screw for the night so thought he could get it on with me again. And who can blame him when I’ve got a history of giving it to a guy on the first date and ripping off my clothes on the first kiss.’

  Matty wrinkled her nose in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘Since when did you give it to a guy on the first date?’

  ‘Since I met Clay,’ Ellen answered. ‘And since last Friday when I was so keen for Michael to screw me I tore off my own clothes before the rest of you had time to get down the hall.’

  Matty blinked. ‘So?’ she said. ‘It was what you both wanted, wasn’t it? I mean, did you force him?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘Then why are you giving yourself such a hard time?’

  ‘Because he hasn’t damned well called me,’ Ellen shouted, ‘that’s why. He got what he came here for and he obviously hasn’t felt like it again since. Or maybe he’s sleeping with someone else already. Someone who doesn’t give it to him on a plate, who makes him feel like what he’s getting is worth having.’

  ‘Wow, this is some self-pity trip you’re on here,’ Matty commented.

  Ellen glared at her.

  Matty shrugged. ‘Go ahead,’ she invited, ‘don’t stop the train for me.’

  Ellen slammed her eyes and turned to look out at the twilight. ‘I almost got raped,’ she said a moment or two later.

  ‘Are we talking about Michael or Clay now?’ Matty asked.

  ‘It’s not a god-damned joke,’ Ellen snapped. ‘You should try it some time, see how it feels.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Matty said, ‘I guess it was uncalled for. But honestly, Ellen, I don’t know what you’re trying to deal with here, the fact that Clay came on to you like that, or that Michael hasn’t called you.’

  ‘Or that I’m thinking of quitting my job,’ Ellen added. ‘Or that some asshole ran into my car today. Or that I just screwed up on a major deal. Or that I was on the point of inviting Foster McKenzie to come screw me, before Clay turned up and beat him to it. Or that my dad’s not well and I’m scared out my mind he’ll die before he ever speaks to me again. Take your pick, there’s a lot going on here today.’

  Matty took a breath. ‘OK, which of them do you want to deal with first?’ she said.

  ‘I told you, it’s your call,’ Ellen responded.

  Matty nodded and leaning back against an armchair she hugged her knees to her chest. ‘Is it serious with Uncle Frank?’ she asked.

  Ellen shook her head. ‘Mom says not. Just the flu, but one day it’s going to be more serious than that and before we know it …’

  Matty lowered her eyes to the floor. ‘I know,’ she said softly. Then, after a lengthy pause, ‘Did you mean it about sleeping with Foster McKenzie?’

  Ellen shrugged and sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘Not now, no. But earlier, when I picked up the phone, I was prepared to do whatever it took to get me out of Ted Forgon’s clutches. And I suppose I was seeing it as some perverse kind of payback to Michael as well.’

  ‘Has Forgon been at you about Michael again?’ Matty asked.

  Ellen laughed drily. ‘I saw him today and he didn’t even mention him,’ she answered. ‘But don’t let that mislead you into thinking he’s given up on Michael, or that he doesn’t know Michael’s in town. All that means is he’s playing this a different way now and I don’t even want to think about where it’s going to leave me, because the sadistic old bastard is bound to find a way of making me pay for something that’s not even in my control. That’s what he’s like. It’s the way he operates with everyone, except I, Ellen Shelby, the biggest sucker of all time, was dumb enough to think he had me starred for great things, when all he’s really got me starred for is as many hoops as he can make me jump through before he gets bored and moves on to the next.’

  Matty was quiet as she mulled it all over in her mind and wondered, not for the first time lately, if Ellen was starting to outgrow LA.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ellen answered, when Matty put the question to her. ‘Sometimes I think so, but other times, well, I just don’t know. You know what I heard someone say the other day, “Hell’s kitchen might be in New York, but the boudoir is right here in LA.”’

  Matty smiled. ‘Not bad,’ she said. Then, after taking a sip of her drink, ‘What about the job Michael offered you in London? Would you be interested in that?’

  Ellen shook her head, then laughed. ‘I don’t expect it’s on offer any more,’ she said. ‘And besides, I might be going through a tough patch here right now, but it’ll get better and you know as well as I do that the time to quit is when you’re ahead, not when you’re down.’

  Matty nodded. ‘I guess you’re right,’ she said. ‘So, what are you going to do about Michael? Will you call him?’

  ‘No. It’s the première tomorrow night, he knows he’s invited me, so he either calls to say it’s still on, or he doesn’t. Whichever way, it’s up to him.’

  It was Hollywood doing what Hollywood did best – an all-star, glittering extravaganza to mark the première of Victor Warren’s much hyped movie, United We Fall. The film’s stars ranked among the industry’s biggest box-office attractions and the support roles had brought together an international cast of easily recognizable as well as highly respected talent. The crowds outside The Shrine, in downtown LA, were going crazy, tossing rice and handkerchiefs, ribbons and flags in the air, as one star after another after another alighted from the endless stream of limousines and strode in all their chic designer splendour along the gilt-edged red carpet, towards the magnificent auditorium. Thousands upon thousands of flash bulbs lit up the night, while reporters from all over the world jostled aggressively for position and yelled out for Sandra, or Mel, or Arnie, or Julie, to look their way. Some stars were willing, others not, but the main cast of United We Fall were the prime targets this evening and each of them was as ready for the cameras as they were hungry for acclaim.

  Laughing as some hack from London recognized him, Michael declined an interview, for he never sought or particularly welcomed publicity. The woman he was with, however, was smiling at every lens, waving at the crowds and doing her very best to give as many interviews as she could. As the star of the movie it was expected of her, as the niece of Victor Warren and daughter of one of the world’s leading playwrights it came naturally to her.

  Her arm was linked comfortably through Michael’s as they made their way slowly through the crowd, he in his tuxedo, she in a stunning pink sequinned dress that revealed a great deal more than it concealed of the flawless, tanned body beneath.

  ‘Justine! It’s the BBC from London,’ a voice called out of the crowd.

  Immediately Justine turned, still clinging to Michael’s arm and smiled at the reporter.

  ‘What do you think of the turn out here tonight?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘Exceptional and e
xciting,’ Justine replied, her soft, girlish face alight with laughter. ‘I had no idea my uncle knew so many people.’

  Everyone around laughed and as Justine looked up into Michael’s face the cameras went crazy.

  ‘Who designed the dress, Justine?’ the BBC guy asked. ‘It’s gorgeous, by the way.’

  ‘Armani, who else?’ she laughed. ‘Who designed yours?’

  ‘His poor cousin,’ he answered. ‘Michael, have you seen the movie?’

  ‘Sure,’ Michael replied. ‘It’s terrific.’

  ‘Are you hoping for an Oscar, Justine?’

  ‘Who me?’ she cried, clasping a hand to her chest. ‘Would I lie?’

  And so it went on, moving from newspaper, to TV channel, to radio station to glossy magazine, until they finally disappeared inside the theatre and took their seats with Victor Warren and his wife.

  As with all these occasions, each opening credit brought the person concerned to their feet to accept the applause, whether actor, casting director, costume designer, cameras, sound, writers, producers or director. Victor Warren, a large, dour Scot, who was always taken for an American, was the last to rise but barely did so for the first scenes of the movie were already underway.

  Having seen it three times in as many days, there was little Michael could do to stop his mind wandering and in relatively no time at all he was feeling as bad as he ought about Ellen. The way they’d made love the other night had confirmed what he’d suspected for some time, that she was a woman he wasn’t going to find easy to resist, and his heart sank at the prospect of her turning on the TV and seeing him at the première with Justine Warren. He should have called her, he knew that, but he’d been so hectic since he’d seen her he’d barely had time to shave, never mind socialize. Except one phone call was all it would have taken and God knew he could have found time for that, had he tried. And he probably would have, were it not for the fact that he was so uneasy about his feelings for her. He wanted her, that much was clear, but he was pretty sure it went much deeper than that, and it just wouldn’t be fair to pretend there could be anything between them when he still wasn’t really clear what he was going to do about Michelle.

  The film seemed endless as it moved ponderously from one scene to the next, building all the time to a climax that he knew wasn’t going to disappoint. However, the prospect of sitting through another two hours, before moving on to a party that would no doubt rave through to dawn, was becoming increasingly unappealing. He glanced over at Justine and smiled as she looked back. The performance she was giving on screen was second only to the one she was giving tonight, for as yet only the family knew that her fiancé had chosen today of all days to inform her he was breaking off their engagement. Michael’s heart went out to her, for he knew how devastated she was inside, which was why he hadn’t been able to say no when she’d asked him to escort her tonight. And now, providing he didn’t think of Ellen, he could only admire the courage Justine was showing in putting on a front for the world, and for her uncle, who had insisted he would understand if she wanted to back out.

  At last the closing credits began to roll and as Michael looked at Justine again he knew that the tears on her cheeks were for her private pain, rather than that of the character she had portrayed. He wondered how she was going to get through the party now and not for the first time that day he felt a violent anger towards the man who had done this to her. Taking the handkerchief he was offering, she wiped away her tears and brought back her smile. The eyes of the world were on her again and she had too much pride to let any of them know that she was anything other than thrilled by their ecstatic reception of the film. From three seats away Linden Forsyth, her co-star, reached for her hand and drew her to her feet so that together they could accept the applause.

  Victor Warren was the last to stand up and as he waved to the audience of his friends and colleagues Justine turned and held her exquisite diamond tiara in place, as she stooped to whisper to Michael. ‘Let’s just get through this, then if you don’t mind, will you take me home?’ she said. Her limpid green eyes were shining with tears, even though her smile was perfectly intact.

  ‘Of course,’ he answered.

  An impish light made a fleeting appearance through her pain. ‘I expect people will talk, both of us not being at the party. Will you mind?’

  He smiled and shook his head.

  It was past eleven o’clock by the time the limousine finally dropped them at Justine’s Bel Air home, and after making sure she was all right and not about to do anything foolish, Michael got into the hire car he’d left there earlier and drove off towards Beverly Hills. This was against his better judgement and the chances of Ellen letting him in now were probably even slimmer than the chances of her forgiving him, but he was going to give it his best shot anyway and if that didn’t work, well dammit, he’d just keep on trying until it did.

  Twenty minutes later he pulled up at the security gates and told the guard which apartment he wanted.

  She was a while answering the phone, so long, in fact, that he thought she was probably out. But then the guard started to speak, listened for a moment, then, replacing the receiver he wandered back out of his booth.

  ‘Sorry man,’ he said, ‘she don’t want to let you in.’ Michael looked at him, looked away, took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and said, ‘Call her back and tell her I’ll wait right here until she’s ready to see me.’

  The guard looked at the money, shrugged as he took it, then went back into his booth and picked up the phone. ‘She says,’ he said, coming back a couple of minutes later, ‘that you’re wasting your time, ’cos she ain’t gonna change her mind.’

  Michael pursed his lips and nodded. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he said, ‘you’d consider letting me in anyway.’

  The guard shook his head. ‘No can do, man,’ he replied. ‘Another guy did it just yesterday and it was a movie star he let in. Got fired all the same. Don’t want to lose my job.’

  ‘OK,’ Michael said. ‘So where’s a good place to wait without blocking the entrance?’

  The guard pointed him towards a couple of parking spaces in front of the entry villa. ‘You can sit it out over there, if you like, but I got to tell you, man, she didn’t sound to me like she was going to change her mind.’

  Michael put the car into reverse. ‘Just call her and tell her I meant what I said, I’ll wait here until she’s ready to see me.’

  As the minutes ticked by and the warm, scented night became more and more still he asked himself over and over why he was doing this when he knew already that they were going nowhere and when the last thing he wanted was to hurt her again. Maybe it was just that he needed to explain, or perhaps he wanted to see her and hold her once more, or maybe it was something much less tangible and infinitely more perilous that was keeping him here. In truth, he had no real answers, all he knew was that he meant what he said, he was prepared to wait however long it took for her to let him come in, or even until she came out.

  He’d been there more than an hour when the guard sauntered over and rapped on his window. ‘She just called down wanting to know if you was still here,’ the guard told him as he lowered the window.

  ‘And you told her I was?’

  ‘Sure I did.’

  Michael waited.

  ‘She says I can let you go up,’ the guard finally informed him.

  Michael looked into the guard’s eyes. The guard looked back, then his handsome black face broke into a grin and holding out his hand he said, ‘Hey man, give me five.’

  Laughing, Michael slapped a hand against the other man’s and reaching for the keys he started up the engine.

  Minutes later he was standing in the smart, Andalusian-style hallway waiting for her to answer the door.

  It didn’t take long and just one look at her when she opened the door told him all he needed to know; that despite the fierceness of the pride in her eyes he had hurt her deeply. And without thinking any more he drew her int
o his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Somehow, I swear, I’ll make it up to you.’

  He pulled her more tightly to him and kissed her hair ‘Did you see the première?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘I can explain,’ he said.

  ‘It’s OK, you don’t need to,’ she answered.

  ‘I do and I will.’

  ‘Oh God,’ she laughed, rolling her eyes and trying to look away. ‘I feel such a fool. I mean I know we … only once, but it meant so much to me and … I’m sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t say that, but there’s just been so much happening lately and … Oh God, I’m sorry, I’ll have myself together in a minute.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he smiled, kissing her forehead, and keeping her close he took her back into the apartment.

  She was wearing a thick towelling robe and he could see the thin cotton pyjamas beneath. Her hair was clipped on top of her head, with tiny wisps of curls escaping around her face and neck, and her soft, creamy skin was totally devoid of make-up. He felt a tightening in his chest as he wondered if he’d ever seen a woman look so lovely, for the colour of her cheeks, the moistness of her mouth and guileless clarity of her eyes were all as natural as the gentle aroma of her femininity.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ she offered. ‘Would you like …?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he interrupted and taking her hand he pulled her down on the sofa beside him. The only light came from the full moon outside and a small lamp at the other end of the room.

  ‘OK?’ he asked, as she brought her knees up on to his lap and rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Mmm,’ she answered and looked down as he took her hand and entwined her fingers in his. ‘Tell me about the movie. Is it good?’

  ‘Yes, it’s good,’ he answered. ‘But I’d rather talk about what’s been happening to you.’

  ‘You mean apart from you not calling?’ she said, only half teasing.