by Low, Shari
I scanned the packed arrivals hall, picking out people with impatient grimaces, others with anxious anticipation, children who were beaming with excitement, and a couple of long-haired guys holding massive cameras, their eyes darting around the terminal. I could be wrong, but I was pretty sure they were paps, hoping to catch a celebrity on spec. It seemed like half of LA was there… Everyone except a driver holding a sign with our names on it.
‘Mmmm, I don’t think anyone is here for…’ I stopped. There it was. A sign. But it didn’t say our names.
The bloke in jeans and a black T-shirt, tinted glasses, wearing a baseball cap pulled low on his face, was holding up a placard that said, ‘Hollywood Hotel for Waifs and Strays. Cheap rooms. Free biscuits.’
My gaze met his. At least I think it did, it was hard to tell with him wearing those specs. At that moment, he reached up, took them off and a slow, easy grin revealed teeth that cost the same price as my car.
‘Fuck, is that Sam Morton?’ said one of the long-haired, sloppy guys with the cameras to the other.
Like synchronised swimmers, they both raised their lenses, while everyone in earshot turned to see what was going on, some of them already pulling out phones to take pictures. Sam didn’t even notice.
‘Ladies, I think we might have to do a runner,’ I warned. The first time I’d come here with the boys, Sam was at the height of his fame and we were mobbed when he arrived to collect us. He’d scooped up two-year-old Benny and four-year-old Mac, and we’d fought our way through the crowds to the car. At the supermarket the following week, my face was plastered all over the trash tabloids, under headings like, ‘Sam’s secret wife brings kids home’ and ‘Who’s the Daddy?’ Mark hadn’t been chuffed, but he’d understood that it was all just tabloid nonsense.
To her credit, Val sussed the situation immediately and formulated an impromptu plan. ‘Leave it to me, girls. I used to deal with this kind of stuff at the Barrowlands all the time,’ she announced, referencing the Glasgow concert venue that she’d worked in during the sixties and seventies. She swore she once sneaked Cliff Richard out of the back door by hiding him in a drum box.
Before we could stop her, off she went, the people in front of her parting like some biblical sea, until she reached Sam and threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, Benjamin,’ she yelled, ‘I thought you’d got stuck at the sexual health clinic and forgotten about me. Right, come on then, let’s go. My bunions are killing me and I’m dying to get these shoes off.’
The photographers decided it was a case of mistaken identity, and everyone around us immediately lost interest and lowered their phones. They also took a step backwards, and several of the men winced.
Meanwhile, Val slipped her arm through Sam’s, spun him round and let him steer her towards the door, with us walking behind them, the three of us with tears of laughter streaming down our faces. Hollywood might be a cut-throat world, but it was no match for Val Murray.
Sam took it all in his stride. He and Val had first met at Carol and Callum’s wedding twenty years ago, when I took him along as my fake date. Back then, he still lived in Hong Kong, but he’d travelled to Scotland with me, and Val had fallen madly in platonic love with him at first sight. By the end of the night, she was teaching him the Gay Gordons (‘Just spin me round, son, and don’t worry, I’ll give you the name of a good chiropractor in the morning’). It was only a couple of days before Christmas, so she’d then insisted that he move into their house until after New Year. Ten days of drinking, dancing, socialising, bingo and laughing until his sides ached – he still said it was one of the best times of his life.
The moment we stepped into the warm night, a large black Mercedes people-carrier with tinted windows pulled up in front of us and Sam slid the door open. ‘Leave your cases there, and we’ll load them up,’ he said, as the driver jumped out to help.
Val wasted no time in doing what she was told. She clambered in and immediately felt the effects of the air conditioning. ‘Thank God,’ she said, fanning her face with her hand. ‘I’ve got sweat in places I don’t even want to think about.’
Sam’s low, throaty laugh drifted over the sound of the traffic and a few blaring horns.
Carol hugged him, then climbed in. Toni gave a shy ‘hi’ and followed her mum.
Then…
‘Hey, you,’ he said, voice oozing warmth, taking his glasses off as he wrapped his arms around me. He’d obviously maintained his extensive gym regime. It was like getting cuddled by several melons in a pair of tights. I decided to block out any contemplation about how it must feel for him to cuddle my ever-expanding wobbly bits.
I managed to get words out, despite the fact that his bulbous biceps were crushing my oesophagus. ‘Hey, you,’ I answered, reverting to our old form of greeting.
Eventually, he pulled back and I could look at him properly for the first time. He’d barely changed since I last saw him, when he’d stayed with us for a few days a couple of years ago. In fact, other than some grey hairs and a few lines on his gorgeous face, he’d barely changed since the night I met him on the door of that Hong Kong nightclub.
I waited for him to register that I had the appearance of someone who’d arrived here via an age-advancing, weight gaining, time-travel portal, followed by a quick blast in a wind tunnel, but his eyes never left mine.
Instead, they creased up at the sides as he smiled again. ‘Where’ve you been, Cooper?’
‘Oh, you know. Around,’ I said with a shrug, loving the easy banter. It had always been that way with him.
We stood there, holding hands, grinning at each other for a couple more seconds.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he said.
‘To be honest, it was LA or Benidorm,’ I told him. ‘But you made the cut because Val wants to do one of those tours of the stars’ houses.’
‘I’ll see if I can get Tom Hanks to wave from the window,’ he joked. At least, I think he was joking. He stepped back so I could climb into the van, but then put his hand on my arm as I passed him. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Coop.’
I paused halfway, one foot up on the rubber step below the open door.
‘Me too,’ I told him. I waited for my brain to throw up some negatives, some rebukes, some limiting thoughts. None came. I couldn’t decide if that made me happy or concerned.
I settled in beside Val, then we waited as Sam helped the driver load up. I loved that he didn’t do the Hollywood airs and graces thing.
Zoning out of the conversation Val was having with Carol, I rewound the last couple of minutes. What had I really felt? And did it matter?
This wasn’t the time for my life to get complicated with old flames. I had enough confusion going on just now. Not that I thought for a moment that Sam had those feelings for me anyway. Our time was long gone. The young, sexy, fun Carly he’d fallen in love with was long gone too. And I wasn’t quite sure who she’d left behind.
11
Los Angeles, 28th July, 2019
Picture This – Blondie
We drew up at the gates of Sam’s home half an hour or so later. I wasn’t entirely sure because I’d dozed off in the car after I’d texted my boys.
Mum to Mac and Benny: Immigration let us in! We must look respectable. How’s Florida? How’s the hotel? Picking up the RV tomorrow? How are you coping with the pain of missing me? Love you. Xxx
Mac to Mum: Great. They’re not too smart then. Great. Great. Yes. We’re numbing the pain with pizza. Love you too, Ma. xx
As the gates swept open to reveal a stunning circular driveway with a fountain in the middle, in front of a beautiful Spanish-style home, Val gasped. ‘Christ on a bike, I wouldn’t want to have to Hoover that place. You’d just be finished and it’d be time to start again.’
Val’s housekeeping skills were legendary. She was a firm believer that most problems in life could be solved by contemplating the issue while washing your windows and putting a bit of bleach down your drains.
‘It�
��s like something off the Kardashians,’ Toni exclaimed, snapping photos on her phone. I was seriously starting to worry that we’d need to get her medical help for repetitive strain injury to the thumb from constant photo snapping. Like mother, like daughter.
The Mercedes stopped at the front door, just as it opened and a tall, broad, African American man, wearing a khaki T-shirt and shorts, came out to greet us.
‘Arnie!’ I exclaimed, hugging him. I’d met Arnie the last time Sam came to the UK a couple of years before. A college basketball player, ex-Vietnam vet and former stuntman, he was sixty, but didn’t look a day over fifty, thanks to his lifelong intensive fitness regime. They’d met on the set of Sam’s last action movie, when Arnie was the body double for the head of a crack team of Navy Seals. It was Arnie’s last job before retiring – not a prospect he relished – so Sam hired him as his all-round house manager and security chief. In truth, they were more friends than anything. I think Sam just enjoyed Arnie’s company and liked to have someone he could trust taking care of things when he wasn’t here.
‘Great to see you, Cooper,’ Arnie bellowed.
It was difficult to say if it was the jet lag or his gravelly Morgan Freeman voice that was making my knees tremble just a little. I suspect it was the latter.
Arnie released me from his bear hug and greeted Carol next. ‘Well, look who it is, Miss Pretty,’ he said, a twinkle in his eye as he flirted mercilessly.
‘Keep that up and I might never leave, you old devil,’ Carol flirted right back.
Carol had been to Sam’s house dozens of times over the years. When she was still modelling, she travelled to LA a few times a year, and more recently, she came here for photo shoots and freebie brand launches. Sam had given her an open invitation, so they’d become great friends. Luckily, Carol was madly in love and married to one of only a small group of men who made Sam Morton look average by comparison, so my brother had been totally cool about it. There was definitely an imbalance in our gene distribution. I’d taken chaotic, haphazard, unpredictable, and the metabolism of a sloth with concussion, while Callum got laid-back, confident, secure and finely toned. That left highly intelligent, quirky, funny, and shy for my youngest brother, Michael. I’m not sure who got the best deal, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.
Carol introduced Arnie to Val and Toni, before Sam ushered us all into his kitchen. I thought Val was going to have to lie down with the thrill of it. Over sixty square metres of glossy walnut herringbone floor, cream gloss cabinets and black marble worktops, with a double island in the middle and appliances that would make Nigella Lawson swoon.
‘Keep it together, Val,’ I teased her. ‘I know this is as close to heaven as it gets.’
She was already stroking the marble in awe. ‘Sod heaven. When I die, just scatter my ashes right across this counter.’
‘There’s fresh coffee in the pot and Arnie has rustled up some chicken nachos,’ Sam said.
‘Or I can make you some eggs, or toast…?’ Arnie offered, pulling mugs out of one of the cupboards.
‘Nachos are good, thanks, Arnie,’ I told him, my resolutions to adopt a healthy LA lifestyle being battered to death by the prospect of nachos smothered in sour cream and guacamole.
Sam pulled a couple of bottles of wine out of his floor-to-ceiling glass fridge. ‘And of course…’
‘Ah, now you’re singing my song,’ Val told him, beaming.
Wine poured, nachos out, we sat around the second island, on bar stools that positively massaged the arse, for the next couple of hours, catching up, chatting, and, in Toni’s case, taking 2324 photos for her Snapchat and Insta. Val went on a roll, telling tales about all the trouble our gang of girls had got into as teenagers. She was hoarse with laughing when the conversation finally shifted to Sam and I entertaining the others with tales of Hong Kong and the laughs we’d had with the endless stream of eccentric characters who’d frequented the club there. Carol mortified Toni by talking about all the embarrassing things my brother, Toni’s dad, had ever done. And Toni… well, Toni listened and laughed. Sam was wonderfully sweet with her, just as he’d always been with my boys. He’d have made a great dad.
The thought turned the dial up on a twinge of anxiety that had been lying dormant in my gut. If I’d stayed with Sam, I had no doubt we’d have married and had kids, but our lives would have turned out nothing like this. Leaving him had started a domino effect that went from part time nightclub bouncer, to a career as an escort, to a movie script about it, to fame, fortune and Hollywood. If we had stayed together, we’d probably still be living in Hong Kong, he’d have opened his martial arts academy, and we’d have lived a normal, anonymous existence. He was so comfortable in this life that he had now that I wondered if that parallel world, the one without the fame, would have been enough for him.
‘Carly. Carly!’ Carol said impatiently, waving her hand in front of my face and snapping me back to the present. ‘You’re miles away.’
I shook off the semi-trance. ‘Sorry! Just, erm…’ I didn’t want to say, just imagining another life with the bloke chowing down on the guacamole over there, so I blustered a bit while lying through my teeth. ‘Just a bit jet-lagged, I think. It’s already…’ I glanced at one of the three clocks on the kitchen wall, trying to make my excuse more plausible. One was LA time, one was New York, and one was UK. ‘… After 10 a.m. in the UK. I’ve had about five hours sleep in the last thirty-six hours.’
Sam drained his water glass and put it in the sink. His triceps were perfect too. And did I mention his abs? Just like at our first meeting, I couldn’t actually see them, but I knew they were there and, right now, that was enough. ‘Must be a bit of a shock to the system, being whisked off here with no warning.’
‘You could call it that. I think the FBI may call it a straight-up kidnap.’
‘You could be right. Come on. I’ll show you to your rooms, and let you get some sleep. I haven’t planned anything tomorrow, so just chill and you can see how you feel. We could go out or stay home, up to you. Carol, I thought you and Toni could take the guest house. Is that okay?’
Carol reacted with mock horror. ‘That building out the back, with the roof terrace, the movie theatre, the super-king bed, the firepit and direct access to the swimming pool? Och, I suppose so.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘Sorry to make you slum it, darling.’
‘You’re so embarrassing,’ Toni retorted, face flushing as she shook her head. That was more like it. At least she was actively mocking her mother instead of ignoring her. Definitely progress.
It became a group expedition as we all strolled out to the guest house, so Val could have a tour. She was practically giddy when she saw the fifty-metre, infinity-edge swimming pool, complete with high-tech lighting, a row of sumptuous cabana beds and an outdoor kitchen and bar just metres away. Pretty much made a mockery of the inflatable hot tub I’d bought from B&M back in May.
With Carol and Toni settled, next stop was Val’s room, a private guest suite and bathroom on the ground floor, not too far from the kitchen, so she could nip in to gaze in awe at the double microwave whenever she felt the need.
Sam had barely heaved her case on to the luggage rack in the corner, when she had it open, and was digging out her bathing suit and swimming cap. ‘Fancy an early-morning dip,’ she announced. ‘And if you want to get yer Speedos on and join me, you’re more than welcome,’ she told Sam, chuckling. It struck me that, shock and emotional trauma aside, I’d barely stopped smiling since Val arrived at my house. She was an absolute tonic. The woman should be available on the NHS.
‘Okay, Miss Cooper, you’re next,’ Sam said, letting me go first and following me to the glass staircase that rose to the second level, before splitting and going around a gallery-style balcony to the two wings on the first floor. I noticed the ‘Miss’ and wondered if that was a reference to my newly almost single status. Or was I just reading too much into it?
At the top of the stairs, I stepped to the right, assu
ming I’d be sleeping in the same room as always, across from Sam’s master suite. When Mac and Benny were younger, they used to tear out of our room first thing in the morning, to go and dive-bomb Uncle Sam across the corridor.
‘Actually, I thought you could sleep along here,’ he said, stopping me with a hand gesture to the left.
Was it my imagination or did he lose eye contact with me when he said that? Nope, I was definitely reading too much into everything. So I was sleeping down a different corridor, at the opposite side of the house from him. No biggie. Maybe it was because I was here on my own this time and perhaps the room he was giving me was more of a single pad. Yeah, that must be it.
‘Gutted that the boys couldn’t come. I miss them,’ he said as we walked. And walked.
‘Me too. This is the first time I’ve ever been away from them. If you find me curled up in a corner wailing, just show me pictures of them and say their names repeatedly until I calm down.’
His low, throaty laugh made me smile.
And we were still walking. Dear God, was this some underhand tactic to make me exercise? The room was so far away, I was pretty sure we were now in the neighbour’s house. Eventually, he opened the very last door at the end of the corridor and stood back to let me go in. It was gorgeous. Cream carpets. A beautiful old wrought-iron bed. A walnut burr bookcase in the corner. A mirrored dressing table. French doors leading out to a terrace that overlooked the pool. And another door that I was fairly sure would lead to a luxurious en suite. It was perfect. And it was also almost identical to the room I usually slept in, just a half-marathon away.
I was suddenly very aware that this was the first time we’d been on our own since I’d arrived. ‘It’s amazing, Sam. Thank you.’
He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a hug, then pulled back and sat on the arm of the black velvet chair in the corner. ‘So how are you doing? Rough year,’ he said. It was a statement, not a question.
