She steps into the room and perches at the edge of one of the red leather chairs.
‘You may well call this experience educational. Not sure I wanted to be the case study, but there we are.’
‘So once the stories dry up, is it all over?’
‘The damage limitation part’s over, but then there’s a bit of rebuilding to do. You can’t do that immediately. It makes you look reactive and fraudulent. But in due course we’ll probably spend some money on mental health and actors: you know, how it’s a hard trade, not enough support for the vulnerable, body-shaming, etcetera. I don’t know if it’s a foundation or funding the right charity or opening up a conversation, but we’ll take a quiet lead on it, build it into a nice healthy debate.’
‘Doesn’t that just make people think about the story all over again?’
‘Yes, you don’t want to get it wrong. But if you do it right, it shows you’re confident enough about it to engage with empathy. The message is, you had a brush with a mentally ill actress who really needed help more than anything, and you’ve reflected, and the experience has changed you and you’d like to do something to help. That looks like strength and compassion. The guys at Ice will get a proper plan written up and costed.’
‘How much will it cost you?’
‘Personally? Probably quarter of a million or so. Depends what we do, but I told them to look at that budget range.’
‘Good to get people talking about stuff. Issues that need to change. Doing good. I guess that’s the upside of what you’re going through.’ She wipes at her damp forehead with the back of her hand.
‘I agree. It’ll be money well-spent. Just not under the kind of circumstances I’d have wished for.’
They sit in silence for a while and she wonders whether this is the moment to say something …
‘You were saying about Emilia?’ he says.
‘Yes. I spoke to Sam. I think if the story dies down and Sharon stays on board then we’ll get through it with Emilia still up for it.’
‘I’ve had some very special conversations with Sharon’s agent,’ laughs Matthew wryly. ‘Let’s just say that Sharon’s going to get a much better deal than I’d have signed a month ago.’
‘So Sharon’s definitely staying on?’
‘Of course she is. It’s a proper A-list rising star, an Oscar-bait script, and a budget where she can afford a real crew and all those cranes that directors dream about. It’s all that, versus a malicious rumour that’s going to be forgotten by the time she’s in cinemas. She’s not stupid.’
Matthew walks toward a wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, a brass key sticking out of its keyhole. He takes out two tumblers – Drink Me, thinks Becky – their surfaces shining and jagged like they have been overlaid with the smashed cubes of car window glass. He sloshes whisky into both and hands one to Becky.
‘Ice?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Well then, here’s to you. Your passion for your project. And on a personal note, your loyalty to me continues to move me deeply.’
She turns the words passion and loyalty around in her head as she allows the whisky to touch her lips but go no further. She won’t ever make that mistake again. Anyway, she hates whisky and its peaty, arrogant smell. It reminds her of her father. It’s the smell of verdicts passed and judgements given. An airless drink that listens only to the sound of its own voice.
‘Maisie will be so proud of you when you get this film made.’ He says it as if he has sensed she needs some anchoring and reassurance. ‘It’s a wonderful feeling, to have your child see your work. It’s how they come to know you in a whole different way.’
He takes a drink. ‘And it will be made, I guarantee you that. No matter what happens, even if we lose Emilia and Sharon, even if I have to pay for the thing myself, that film will get made. It’s a story that needs to be told.’ He lays his glass down on a coaster. ‘I couldn’t forgive myself if my own stupidity fucked it up for you after you’d landed it in Cannes.’
The smile he gives her is one that demands to be reciprocated.
And she does smile back, but only mildly, and he drinks again. ‘It can’t be easy for you, all this,’ he says. ‘I had another casting thought. I was thinking of getting my friend Simon Bach to play Jason. What do you think? He’ll do it if I ask. But it’s your film. Your choice.’
‘Yes,’ she says, feeling her eyes light up as if she’s taking receipt of a gift-wrapped box. Simon Bach. Gained the respect of audiences and financiers for choosing high-quality art-house films that ended up outperforming more commercial ventures. He progressed into Marvel, other franchises, always ones that were reviewed well and made millions at the box office. A little older than Emilia. Rugged, blue-eyed, tanned. Dates the A-list world. Rumoured to be gay and worth a fortune.
‘I think that would be great.’ Presents, favours. All reciprocal, aren’t they? ‘Sorry, Matthew, is there a window in here? Can we open a window?’
Matthew opens a window a crack.
‘Do you want to talk to Sharon about him then?’ He is all deference with her. ‘You don’t need him to get it made, but you’ll get a lot more money with him on board. Asia and both the Americas love him.’
‘I’m the woman that Amber saw,’ says Becky.
‘I know.’
Becky is near tears. She wonders if she needs to bother hiding them now.
‘CCTV loop. It’s very discreet but the insurers demanded it as part of the cover for some of our paintings. It downloads in real time to a server. Wipes after twenty-four hours. I’m really sorry you walked in on that little scene. Can I ask what you were doing?’
‘I wanted to give you a bottle of wine to say thanks.’
‘For what?’
‘For taking me to Cannes. Believing in me.’
‘Ah, right.’
‘I took the bottle away with me. Sorry.’
He laughs. He actually laughs. ‘Yes, I can see why you did that. Well, I hope you drank it. And I’m sorry that you walked in on … that whole scene. It must have been horrible seeing your boss like that. I wanted to raise it with you but part of me hoped you’d run off thinking it was Antonia and me together.’
‘Matthew, I have to ask …’ She speaks quickly; she doesn’t want to lose her nerve or this chance to ask the questions that will surely put her mind at rest.
‘Anything.’
‘What happened? What did I see?’
‘You want me to tell you what you saw?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Why don’t you tell me how things looked from your point of view and I’ll fill in the gaps?’
‘No,’ she says, feeling a pinch of anger at this game. ‘I just want you to tell me what happened.’ It is perhaps the first time she has ever outright refused him. Overruled him. If there’s a flicker of irritation from him at this insubordination, he hides it well.
‘It’s exactly as I told you,’ he says. ‘Amber and I had a fling a while back. I was clear with her. Or at least, I thought I was clear about what it was and what it wasn’t. I was never going to leave Antonia. I love Antonia. I have many faults but I’m also very clear about people. I’m loyal, in my way. And believe me, Becky, after you’ve done three or four films, you’ll be sitting here again telling me how unbelievably tame a discreetly conducted affair is compared to what you’ll have seen. Co-stars posting runners at the entrance to the film lot, to tip them off about putting their clothes back on before wives and husbands turn up. The whole crew knows the co-stars are banging each other, but their partners don’t and probably never will. You will see some things, believe me.’
He shifts in his chair. Part of her wants to say, Yes, and, so? But she doesn’t, she doesn’t want to miss a thing.
‘So what does a beautiful young actress like Amber want with an old man like me? It’s a question you might well ask. I took her away on a few nice weekends. And I suppose she thought that I’d give her a good part in somethi
ng. That was never the deal, I mean, there was no “deal”, but I’d be feigning naivety to think otherwise, wouldn’t I? It’s something she wants and it’s something I can offer. The truth is – and this is rather shaming for me, but let’s have honesty now – if I’d liked her better then I probably would have been coming to you and suggesting you consider her, not for Medea, obviously, but for one of the smaller but substantial roles. But I started to find her quite tiresome. That’s a horrible thing to say, isn’t it? Easier to claim that my conscience about Antonia flared up, but that would be self-serving. I just found her a bit grating. She had mood swings and our last time together she was in a particularly difficult spot, and I ended up thinking, this is not any fun at all, really, is it? This girl obviously needs a boyfriend, someone who’ll be there for her more than on the odd night here and there. I can never offer her that, but that’s obviously what she wants from me. We sat up and talked for hours about everything she found difficult, all her anxieties, everything she felt sad about. And when I got back I decided I had to break it off, for both our sakes. And so I did.
‘I don’t flatter myself that she was in love with me, but I do think she needed someone. And she’d decided, just as I was pulling away, that I was the answer. I didn’t know all of this when I told her. Some of this came out then and there and, anyway, the upshot was she accused me of betraying her. Of lying to her. Leading her on and all that. I actually told her that I felt she needed some help and I offered to pay for her to see someone, a therapist, for weekly sessions. Not as a pay-off. I genuinely thought she needed that. And I have the money.’
Becky waits patiently for Matthew to refill his glass. She is careful not to move and she bids her breath be shallow and soundless, as if she were hiding from someone, or something. She doesn’t want anything to distract Matthew from telling her these things: these facts or jigsaw pieces or whatever. She must drink them in and commit them to memory with all the concentration she can muster.
‘She came to the office to try and see me,’ he says. ‘And at that point I was quite concerned, if I’m honest. Here is this very unstable girl, telling me that I have left her hanging, without explanations. That I have made her depressed. That she worries she can’t act any more and it’s all because of how I have treated her. Quite difficult stuff. And I was really on the spot then. You know how many people we know who work near our office. Actress with mascara running down her face, shouting at a producer? We know how that looks. If I had put her in something then I could have at least said she was upset about being left on the cutting-room floor but … Anyway. I told her we’d make time and I knew that Antonia and the kids would be away for a night in the next week so I told her, Come to my house then and we’ll go over everything. I’ll hear what you have to say and I’ll try to help you. But it wasn’t going to be a resuming of play. Nothing like that. Would you like a top-up?’
‘No, thank you,’ she says. She is struggling to keep a clear head, what with the effort of listening and committing to memory and the worry of hearing things wrong. And the heat. Oh, the heat.
‘I think I might.’ Matthew returns to the cabinet and drains his glass before adding another splash then taking his seat again. ‘Amber came over and she seemed rather sanguine about everything. We agreed that we had had some good times together but that it could never have gone anywhere. I told her that I thought she needed more than I could offer and she actually agreed with that. I made us some food, we had some drinks. And, God, I just felt so relieved about the whole thing. I’d really worried she was going to turn out like some kind of crazy stalker, hounding me, but she was very charming. It was like she wasn’t trying so hard any more. So I thought, well, let’s try and help this girl.
‘And we sat on the sofa and we drank some more and talked about movies and how actresses build their careers and what kind of opportunities there are out there. It felt constructive. It turns out I actually do know one or two things about the business and I was happy to share them. I don’t know how much we ended up drinking and I couldn’t tell you how long we sat there for. And then she made a pass at me.
‘If you’re going to condemn me, and look, I condemn myself, then that was the moment to have some backbone and say, No, we’re not going to do that. Sit and talk, yes. But the rest is over with. And I protested a little but not very strongly. Now, I have to ask a very awkward question. Because I’m committed to being utterly honest with you here about what happened and what was in my head, but equally I don’t want to embarrass you with the grisly details, so would you rather I gloss over things or can I speak freely?’
‘Speak freely,’ she says, because what else could she say?
‘OK. Well, what happened was, she got onto my lap and I realized, or rather she made me realize, that she had no underwear on beneath her dress. Sorry. And it was this very odd moment for me, because for me it was all organic. It was just sort of happening. But for her, she’d come without underwear, or she’d slipped away to take it off, which made it a seduction. Does that make sense?’
Becky finds herself saying Yes not because it would make sense to her in that situation but because he is telling the story as if it would make sense to him, a man with expectations and appetites. And if she said No? She wouldn’t hear what happened next.
‘And so I was caught,’ he continues. ‘I wanted to sleep with her but I could also see that this was nothing but trouble for me. And bear in mind that I was drunk, too, by then. This is sort of what I can recall. And what happened next was … Well, it’s really hard to explain. And I feel terribly ashamed of it.’
She feels a slight caving inward, at how the admission of a weakness makes her warm toward him. We all make mistakes.
‘We began to have sex on the sofa,’ he says, ‘and then she looked me in the eye and said, “I knew you still loved me,” and I thought, fuck, oh God, this is terrible. How do I convince her, after everything, this whole evening we’ve had and what we’re doing together now? And my idea then was to try to show her that I didn’t love her. To make her feel certain that I didn’t have any feelings for her, so that maybe she’d hate me for it, but at least she’d be free of this … terrible delusion. And I had her on the floor and I told her, No, I don’t love you. You’re cheaper than a whore. And she wouldn’t believe me! She thought it was a game. So I kept on. I felt I had to show her. I insulted her. I belittled her. And eventually I think she did believe me. But it was all happening so fast. I don’t know if she ever said Stop or anything like that. But at some point I know she pushed at me and called me some terrible name and I wouldn’t let her go because I needed her to know that her opinions didn’t matter to me. It was a kind of theatre. I couldn’t think of anything else.
‘And then afterwards she was crying and I desperately wanted to say, Look, I’m so sorry, I just needed you to understand that I don’t love you and telling you that I only liked you wasn’t working.’
Becky is rapt. An audience member in the theatre, a cinema, at home on the sofa. ‘It’s good you were upfront with her again. No room for ambiguity there.’
‘Well and then she asked me to call her a cab and I did that,’ he says. ‘We didn’t talk much while we waited for it to come.’
‘What more was there to say between the two of you?’
‘Exactly. But then she said she’d never forgive me for what I’d said and I said I didn’t expect her to. I put her in the taxi and I wished her well. And that was that. Well, then DB called me the next day and went off at me, saying Amber had called saying I’d assaulted her. And Antonia – well, you were there when she came to the office, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, that looked … it must have been awful.’
‘Amber had emailed her.’
‘Oh God.’
‘And then I realized, I think I got this wrong.’ Matthew laughs, but it is an authentically despairing sound. ‘I told DB, No, this is about me cutting things off with her. And the idea that I’d “assaulted” Amber wa
s, well, I couldn’t even take that in. Is there any world in which she might have honestly thought that? How could she strip off her underwear, seduce me, and then call it an assault? But of course I’d said all those things to her. I’d aimed to destroy that idea, that I loved her, and I’d done it while we were having sex with each other. It seems like an insane idea.’
‘We all do stupid things under pressure.’
‘I swear at the time I thought, This is what I have to do to make her see.
‘I called her, after I spoke with DB and after I’d talked to Antonia. I told Amber, Look, I’m sorry for how I was. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted you to see that I’m not in love. It’s never going to work the way you wanted it to work. And I told her that I was weak and I bitterly regretted how I’d gone about things, but that I hoped maybe in time we’d find a way through it to be friends. She listened to me, she said that she got it and she accepted my apology and that was the end of it. She said she couldn’t imagine wanting to be my friend. I said I understood but that I hoped one day that would change. And I meant it.
‘And then we were off to Cannes. And I thought, God, I have a mountain to climb to mend fences with lovely old DB and my darling wife, who deserves so much better than an email from … But if I can do that, and maybe put in a quiet word for Amber somewhere where she won’t know it was me, maybe I can begin to dig myself out and learn from this. And Cannes is such a bubble. And this time it was you who was the star attraction. You’re so talented.’
Becky bows her head and blushes at the compliment.
‘I could sit back and just admire watching you work. It reminded me of so many things I realized I needed to reconnect with Passion for the work. A hunger to push against your limits. I flew back full of joy, like I’d been given a second chance. I sat down – Antonia will tell you, she watched me do it – and I wrote a list of everything I hadn’t done that I’d once wanted to. Books I love, plays to take forward. I was pulling books off shelves, childhood reading, with a hunger to do better again. To be more than the cliché of a complacent producer finding more pleasure in the attentions of a young actress than in the work. The work is harder by far, but it’s what nourishes you in the end. I’d forgotten that.’
Blurred Lines: The most timely and gripping psychological thriller of 2020 Page 18
