by Claire Raye
It’s not even seven o’clock in the morning and the buzz on the sidewalk is far louder than normal. The streets don’t usually fill with commuters and people heading into work for at least another hour.
Daisy pulls back a little on the leash when we reach the door, the noise from the street coming through louder than before and when I push the door open, I’m met with a mob of people.
Vomit rises up in my throat immediately and Daisy begins to growl as reporters and paparazzi shout out questions and shove cameras in my face. I’ve been here before, but it still catches me off guard.
I stumble backward a little, my hand catching on the doorframe and I swallow hard trying to decide what to do. I know I can’t answer their questions because it only adds fuel to their fire, but I also don’t want these people to control the story that is being told. By working for Noel, I will be part of his story even if I don’t want any part of it.
I push through the crowd and walk down the street to the park where we let Daisy off her leash. But these people have no respect for personal space and they follow me.
When we reach the park, I let Daisy off, but she refuses to leave my side, her glare focused on the swarm of people taking pictures of us and one even has the balls to walk right up to me.
I’m taken aback and suddenly fear for my safety as this stranger walks right up to us.
“Ava,” he calls, waving to me as if he knows me, like we’re old friends.
I look around, the park is practically empty and if this man were to assault me, I’d only have Daisy to protect me. I pull my phone from my pocket and hit call on Lewis’ number, the phone on speaker as it rings.
“Hey, Ava,” he calls out again, my legs moving quickly away from him as my phone rings for a third time. Panic is starting to set in, and my skin feels raw, my shoulders tense up and my hand is clenched so tightly on the leash that the braided rope is cutting into my flesh.
“Fuck, Lewis, pick up,” I mutter, tugging Daisy by her leash as she looks behind us. I can feel the man creeping closer and I wonder if I should just start to run.
I’ve been followed before, but never when I was alone. Most people don’t know who I am or have any interest in what I have to say. I’ve been contacted to do tell-all interviews about my employers, but that’s about all. Julia and I had the paparazzi on us most days too, but again, we had bodyguards or drivers or other actors with us.
By the fifth ring I hang up and try again, moving toward the now busier street as this creepy guy continues to pursue me. But then I realize he’s not going to stop and even when I do reach the quiet confines of my home, they’ll still be outside waiting for me.
There’s a breakfast restaurant right on the corner and I tug Daisy toward it, crossing the street quickly and stopping outside the door. I hit end on my call to Lewis knowing this is as safe as I’m going to get. The man following me never looks as he crosses the street, bound and determined to catch up to me.
There’s comfort in the fact that the restaurant is busy and should I need to call out for help, there’s not a chance the people inside won’t hear me.
“What do you want?” I hiss out when the man is within a few feet of me.
“I just want to ask you some questions about your boss Noel Robinson.” His approach is casual like he didn’t just stalk me in the streets.
“No!” I yell out. “Let me explain something to you. You don’t ever follow a woman for any reason. I don’t care if you’re trying to get a story or a picture or whatever. It’s wrong. It’s just fucking wrong.”
I shove past him just as my phone starts ringing. I’m out of breath when I answer it and immediately Lewis knows something is wrong.
“Ava? Are you okay?” There’s a harshness in his words, a clipped tone that I only hear when he’s pushed beyond his usual calm demeanor.
“I’m okay now, but some fucking creepy ass paparazzi followed me trying to get a story on Noel. And they’re outside the apartment too.”
“What the fuck!” Lewis yells, and I can hear doors slamming and his feet stomping down the steps. I’m only about two minutes from the apartment when he starts screaming at the crowd outside.
“Lewis, baby. Seriously let it go. I’m okay,” I say, trying to control him before he takes things too far. He’s not a violent person by any means, but I understand his anger right now.
“You need to leave!” he yells out, as I catch all of this down the phone line. “I’m calling the police because you’re blocking the footpath outside my pub.”
I’m walking up the sidewalk just as Lewis is stepping outside the door. His face is red and his eyes wide, but he’s not focused on the crowd of people but rather on one single person.
Who is he looking at?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lewis
The scene when I open the front door is like a fucking circus. There are people everywhere, all of them holding cameras and scrambling to get a good position as they yell questions at Ava.
But it’s one single person in this crowd of people that catches my attention, her red hair immediately setting her apart and sending a wave of nausea through me.
What the fuck is she doing here?
But before I have a chance to question it any further, I hear Ava calling out my name and the sound of my dog barking.
“Lewis,” Ava calls again and turning, I see her and Daisy rushing toward me.
I reach for her, pulling her into my arms and inside our flat, slamming the door shut behind us. We collapse against it, both of us breathing hard as I wrap her in my arms. I can feel her heart pounding against mine, hear the sound of Daisy as she growls beside us.
“Are you okay?” I finally ask, easing her back.
She nods, her eyes wide as she swallows hard. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she says, her voice a little shaky. “This isn’t new to me,” she adds. “I just…I just haven’t experienced it alone before.”
Despite what she’s telling me, my brain cannot comprehend or accept this. Not when every single protective instinct I have is on high alert, my body straining with the need to keep Ava safe, to push these people away and stop them from intruding on our life.
Daisy growls again and a chuckle inadvertently falls from my mouth. Clearly I’m not the only one who’s protective.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, slipping the lead from Ava’s hand.
Ava nods and with a hand on her lower back, we both walk upstairs to the flat. Inside, I let Daisy go as Ava collapses into a chair at the kitchen table. Glancing out the window, I can still see people hanging around, so I pull out my phone and dial the number for the police.
Ava watches me but says nothing and I’m not sure if that’s because she thinks what I’m doing is pointless or because she agrees with me. After I hang up, I move to the table.
“I’m guessing this is because of that wanker?” I ask.
A half smile tugs at her mouth. “Yeah, someone has obviously found out I worked for him and with production getting shut down, they’ve come after me for comment. I guess I always knew it could happen, I just didn’t expect it would happen this quickly,” she adds.
“How long do you think it’s going to last?” I ask.
Ava shrugs. “Who knows,” she says. “But past experience tells me, the bigger the scandal, the worse the press are.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“I should call Sadie,” she continues. “Find out where she’s at.”
“Ava, do you…”
But my question is interrupted by the sound of incoming text messages. Ava’s phone, which sits on the table between us, vibrates against the wood as the screen lights up with a never ending stream of them.
I watch as she picks it up, her thumb flicking the messages up the screen while she chews on her other thumb, an anxious look on her face.
“Who is it?”
“Reporters,” she says, without looking at me. “Looking for gossip, wanting to know what happened.”
>
I lean forward, my hands on the back of the chair opposite hers. “You’re not gonna answer them, right?”
Ava shakes her head, a mumbled no falling from her lips even as her eyes continue to scan the screen.
“Baby,” I say, pulling the chair out and sitting down. I reach for her hand, the one holding the phone, my fingers circling her wrist. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and unblinking, a strange look on her face. “What is it?” I ask.
She swallows hard but says nothing as she turns the phone toward me. My eyes move down to the message on her screen, taking in the words and the obvious meaning behind them.
Noel: Not a fucking word Ava. Not. A. Fucking. Word. Or I will end you.
I immediately take the phone from her hand, snap a screen shot and send a copy to my phone.
“We need to get you a new number,” I say, lowering hers to the table and sliding it to the side. “And I think we should call my lawyer.”
“Lewis…”
“He’s threatening you, Ava,” I say, cutting her off. “He’s already hurt…” I pause, swallowing hard because it still makes me feel sick thinking about what he did to her, about the mark he left on her skin. “The bruise, what he did, he can’t get away with this.”
She lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine. “But he will,” she says quietly, almost matter of factly. “It’s how this works.”
I’m shaking my head before she’s even finished speaking, sliding around to the chair next to hers as I take her hands in mine. “I’m calling my lawyer,” I repeat. “Our lawyer,” I add, lifting her hands to my lips. “Please just let me speak to him, let me tell him what’s going on. Just in case.”
Ava stares at me before she eventually whispers, “Okay.”
After I speak with the lawyer and send over the pictures of Ava’s bruise and the text message from Noel, I convince Ava to take the day off, hang out with V or something. Anything that doesn’t involve working downstairs or going back to the production office.
She reluctantly agrees, and after we call V and ask if she wants to come over, I wait upstairs with her until V shows up.
“Hey,” Victoria says, as she walks in.
“Hey,” I reply. “Any trouble getting in downstairs?”
V shoots me a weird look as though she doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.
“The press were here before,” Ava says, walking over. “The movie I’m working on got shut down and…”
“Whoa,” V says, a little too excited. “It got shut down, what happened?”
Ava glances at me before turning back to V. “Director went on a rampage, called the leading lady a cunt and she got production stopped.” Ava pauses for a second. “Shit, I probably shouldn’t have told you that, so…”
V chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t spill the beans,” she says. “But you are definitely telling me more of this juicy Hollywood gossip over lunch,” she adds, linking her arm through Ava’s. “I want all the dirt!”
Ava smiles and I feel myself relax a little, glad that not only have these two become friends, but that V can take her mind off the shit storm her job has turned into while I sort things out at the pub.
The three of us walk downstairs together and thankfully, the crowd of people have disappeared and it’s business as usual. Ed has taken care of the delivery that came earlier, so I kiss Ava good bye as she and V leave and then make my way behind the bar to look after the customers we have.
“Refill?” I ask the guy sitting alone at the end of the bar.
“Thanks,” he says, turning back to me as he smiles and slides a ten pound note across the wooden surface.
I grab him another beer and then busy myself with cleaning some glasses and restocking the fridge.
“Nice place.”
I glance up, find the guy watching me, an easy smile on his face. “Thanks,” I reply, not sure if he’s making small talk or what.
“You worked here long?”
I straighten, wipe down the wooden bar top. “Yeah, a while.”
The guy nods as though he somehow expected my answer. “It’s a chain yeah?” he continues, waving a hand around. “The Public House?”
Now it’s me nodding. “Yes, family business.”
He smiles. “Your family?”
I freeze, my blood suddenly going cold as I turn toward him. “What’s with all the questions?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Nothing, just making conversation,” he replies as though it’s no big deal.
Ignoring the bad feeling in my gut, I wander off to serve another customer, trying not to overthink the whole thing of this random guy, who I’ve never seen in here before, just sitting at my bar asking me weird questions. It doesn’t feel right, but at the same time, maybe he’s just a lonely guy, shooting the shit with the bartender cause it’s the only form of conversation in his life.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a customer like that.
Eventually, I wander back to him. “Can I get you anything else?” I ask, indicating the now empty glass in front of him.
He glances down at the glass, his hand moving it in slow circles on the bar, the condensation that’s collected at the bottom, now slowly spreading wider and wider. It irritates me that he does this, because it’s more mess to clean up and there’s a fucking coaster right in front of him that he isn’t using.
He finally looks up at me, a strange smile on his face as he says, “You can get me the inside scoop on what went down with Noel Robinson.”
My skin immediately bristles at the mention of that wanker’s name and I find myself leaning forward, hands planted on the bar as I stare down at this guy.
“What did you just say?”
He shrugs, that smarmy little smile still on his face as he says, “Noel, your wife’s boss,” he says, gesturing to the door that Ava and V walked through only thirty minutes ago. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
“Listen mate,” I say, my hands curling into fists on the bar. “I don’t know who you are, but you can piss off if you think I’m going to answer any of your questions.”
“Come on,” he says, hands up in surrender as though he doesn’t mean any harm. “I promise I can make it worth your while. Exclusive rights to the story, a one on one. Pays very well,” he adds, winking at me. “Might let you…”
“Get the fuck out!” I shout, cutting him off as I point toward the door.
He chuckles now. “I’m just saying,” he says, as he takes out a card and slides it toward me. “If you change your mind.”
“Out!” I repeat, tearing up the card right in front of him.
He tips his head as though conceding, but it doesn’t feel genuine. I watch as he gathers up his things and makes his way toward the door. When he reaches it, he pauses, turning back to look at me over his shoulder as he says, “This really is a nice place.”
Then he walks out the door, whistling as though this is all some fucking game and he hasn’t just come in here to track down my wife and make some kind of veiled threat to me.
As soon as he’s gone, I reach for the torn up pieces of card, smoothing them out on the bar top as I piece it back together. When it’s done, I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the name.
Roger Collins
Investigative Journalist
Guardian Newspaper
Then I gather them up and stuff them back into the bin where they belong.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ava
I’m scrolling through my phone obsessively, checking multiple websites only to find the same thing over and over. The stories about Noel are slowly disappearing and in their place are stories of Elizabeth Hutton.
Stories that have come out of the woodwork, long hidden and scandalous that undermine her career and all her efforts to make a name for herself over the years. They’re pulling the spotlight away from Noel and his volatile behavior and showcasing why she was deserving of being berated on set.
I have no idea why th
e shock hits me as hard as it does, but it does. A sudden feeling of coldness rolls over me and I shudder. He’s ruining her life to make this whole thing go away. He’ll spend every penny he has, use every resource and seek out every journalist to push his name out of the press and hers front and center.
I feel sick, acidic nausea burns in my throat and I swallow hard hoping to force it back down. The thought of eating right now seems abhorrent because all I can think about it what this man is doing to people.
V snaps her fingers in front of my face. I’ve been a horrible lunch companion, spending most of my time obsessing over Noel and the reporters and all these convoluted stories.
“Sorry, but look at this,” I say, sliding my phone across the table to V. The story about Elizabeth Hutton from almost thirty years ago has now resurfaced.
“So this is the actress claiming harassment?” V asks, as she scans my screen, reading the story. “This is like a thirty year old story. No one gives a fuck.” She slides my phone back across to me, her hand flitting at it like the whole idea is inconsequential.
“But they do and that’s the issue. He’s burying his own story with old smutty allegations about her. Ultimately he’ll exert so much power over her that the public will believe she was the aggressor, that she’s to blame for the movie being shut down.”
I find myself getting worked up, but not at Victoria, she just happens to be sitting across from me. I want to scream it from the rooftops how fucked up this industry is and how manipulative the men in it can be.
“And people will believe this?” she asks, genuinely confused because the real world doesn’t always work this way or if it does, it stays hidden.
“Think about it, Victoria. Do you read tabloid magazines? Like pick one up in the check out line at the supermarket? Click a link when you’re scrolling through Facebook or Instagram?”
She nods her head in response and kinda shrugs her shoulders a little. She isn’t being glib, but she, like most people, read those articles and magazines with a grain of salt. The trouble is, is that she reads them at all, that she maybe then discusses it with a friend and that friend tells another. Tabloids and gossip are like wildfires…it doesn’t take long for it to spread.
