by Diane Louise
'You can do this,' she told herself, before standing tall and marching out into the bright lights.
Instantaneously she shed Daniella, she shed Daniella's fears, and she forgot there were people watching. Her entire company had gathered to see her perform for the first time. Rumours had circled that Daniella had talent. Now they were able to see it with their own eyes. Their director was a gifted performer. Within minutes Daniella had submerged so far into the character that she had no idea they were all there. Willing her on. Praying she would succeed.
The flash from a camera somewhere in the audience pulled her out of role for a second, long enough for her to scan the crowd and try to see Franco. She knew he was in the front row but all she could see were shadows. He'd be there. She knew it. He had promised her as much, and Franco was yet to break a promise.
Her scene soon ended and it was time to leave. She exited stage left instead of stage right like she was supposed to but the elation combined with relief was so great that it didn't bother her. She had done it. She had performed and lived to tell the tale. Accepting the hugs and kisses of congratulations from everybody, she began to come down from her high and willed the rest of the performance to fly by as quickly as her stage debut. All she wanted to do was find Franco, fling herself around his neck and shower him in love. She wanted to thank him for convincing her to do it. For forcing her to do it. For knowing her better than she knew herself.
Her wish came true and the rest of the evening whirled by in a blur. There was of course still things for her to do. Some last minute glitches with sound that needed her attention before the next show, a wardrobe malfunction that nearly caused an actor to reveal more than just her bountiful cleavage to the audience needed fixing. Daniella offered to take control of the sewing machine so her costume person could go home and make sure her teenage children hadn't murdered one another. By the time all loose ends were tied up and she was ready to leave most people had gone home. Franco had passed a message on that he would be waiting for her in the bar next-door, so she donned her coat, admired the green fairy costume one last time, flicked off the switch and left with a spring in her step.
Stepping outside into the street, she inhaled the crisp evening air. It was a glorious evening. Like somebody designed the night to match her mood. The stars shone bright in the clear sky and the air was still, carrying hardly any breeze at all. The half moon hung precariously and it was while gazing at it, imagining sliding down its crest and bouncing from one star to the next, that a bolt of light blinded her.
'Ms Porter. Daniella. Isn't it?' A man asked but she was too stunned to respond. 'How did it feel? Being on stage?'
Daniella's head spun and before she could gather her senses, another voice joined the first.
'So, what made you do it? Are you hoping to match your father's level of success?'
More flashing lights and more voices appeared from nowhere. Disorientating her. Crowding her. Drowning her.
'You recently married Franco Zorita, is that correct?'
'Does that mean he's forgiven you for selling his story to the papers?'
'You were a natural up there, Daniella. Are you going to model? Like your mother?'
'Tell us about her suicide?'
The questions went on and on and on. Flying at her from every angle. She lifted her arms to cover her face and ploughed forward, trying to find a gap in the throng of photographers, but there appeared to be no way out.
'Your brother-in-law. Enos Zorita. He's dying too isn't he? Daniella, is it AIDS?'
No. No. No. They were making things up; they were going to tell lies about Enos. They were trying to trap her. She attempted to bulldoze her way through, ignore their questions, and not allow the stew of scum to put words in her mouth. She would not allow them to misquote her and silence was the only way.
A hand grasped at her wrist, tugging her forward and nearly ripping her off her feet. She was about to raise her free hand to the steel bangle and prise it off before she realised the hand belonged to Franco.
'Will you lot fuck off.' He hollered at the crush of vultures. 'Leave her alone or I will be in contact with my legal team and heads will roll.'
Pulling her close he wrapped one arm protectively around her head and the other one around her shoulders. Leading her blindly away and guiding her into a waiting vehicle and into safety.
Chapter Ten
'How did they know?' Daniella mulled aloud as Franco entered the bedroom. 'The decision was made less than 24 hours in advance. So how did they know? Who told them?'
She didn't move from the spot in the window seat where she gazed down at the garden below. Franco had a well-tended garden for a man who never got his hands dirty. It could have been one of his housekeepers? No. He paid them well, treated them well, they would have no reason to sell out on him. But would that stop them from selling out on her? It couldn't have been. None of them knew Daniella' history, not many people did. Even her team weren't privy to Daniella's upbringing.
Without warning, a single leaf took flight from a branch. Her eyes followed it dance in the air and hover just above the ground before landing on the lawn. It dithered momentarily before another breeze sent it tumbling into the perimeter wall where it languished with other fallen victims. Victims of an autumn threatening to quash the brightness that was summer.
'I've brought breakfast,' Franco said, laying a tray of steaming coffee and a selection of healthy foods down on the bed. 'You need to move from that spot or you'll create a well in the memory foam.' He kept his tone melodic, another attempt to soothe her. He had tried so hard to relieve Daniella's pain. Holding her until the sun began to rise, stroking her hair, telling her that tomorrow was a new day and this would be history. Although, nothing he said came close to taking the edge off her misery.
Daniella curled the corners of her lips up into a faint smile but did not move. 'Thank you, Franco,' she said. 'But I'm not hungry.'
'Coffee then?' He handed her the beverage in the mug that she had taken a preference to. The thoughtfulness of his choice of cup was not lost on her. She accepted it, even though her stomach churned so much there was a chance it would repel anything that went in.
She was lifting it to her mouth when His Royal Highness jumped onto her lap, almost sending the coffee flying all over the tablet that had not left her side, or her hands, for the best part of two hours. Against Franco's advice, she had perused the entertainment sites as soon as they got home and had been relieved to see no mention of her name anywhere, nothing recent anyway. A quick search brought up ancient stories, most of which she knew word perfectly. Her relief had been short lived though, because the moment Franco drifted off to sleep, she prised herself out of his embrace and did the search again. This time the results were different. A handful of stories peppered the screen in front of her. Nobody would be interested in what she was doing with her life. Her parents may have been world famous once but now they were a distant memory in the celeb circuit. They were history, and Daniella was just another messed up child from another family of failed superstars. Not front-page news. Her quiet reasoning hadn't stopped her from compulsively hitting the refresh button on her search though. Or lessened the dismay that cultivated in her heart with every new story that appeared. Each carrying an image of her leaving the theatre, shielding her face from view or with Franco, her saviour, guiding her away from the predators. There was one in particular which piqued her interest. It was of Daniella, mid performance. How did that fall into the hands of the media? Maybe a photographer snuck in without the front of house team noticing. Stranger things had happened.
'Don't you dare,' Franco ordered, grabbing the tablet before she could search her name again, for the billionth time. 'I am putting a technology ban on you for the rest of the day.'
'What else am I supposed to do, Franco?' She pleaded. 'I can't go out, not today, one of the articles might slip up, give a clue as to their source.'
Franco sat beside her. 'Nella, listen to
me.' He searched her face, urging her to look at him. 'Do not become obsessed over publicity. Ignore it and after a while it won't bother you at all.'
'No,' she agreed. 'It's not going to bother me because it's not happening again. I'm not going back on stage. Ever.'
'Ever?' he quizzed. 'What about tonight? You did such an amazing job.' He tapped the tablet with his finger. 'I expect if you check your email you'll be inundated with ticket requests, you may have to extend the show's running time.' He grabbed her shoulders. 'Reframe this Daniella, think of it positively. The publicity may well be the best thing that ever happened to your Company. And you. Finally, you can do something with your life. Your career.'
Daniella's jaw hung slack. 'Do you not know anything about me, Franco?'
'I know you say fame isn't important to you. I know you say money isn't a priority in your life...'
'Why do you suppose I say that stuff, Franco?'
He shrugged. 'Because that is what people who are scared of success say. They make excuses.'
Daniella knocked his hand off her shoulder. 'Is that what you think, that I let fear dictate my life?'
'Don't you?'
'No.' Daniella jumped to her feet, spilling the coffee into Franco's lap in the process. 'I do not.'
'Really?' he snapped, frantically trying to wipe the hot liquid from his crotch with a cushion. 'So you're telling me you didn't enjoy last night? That you don't want another taste of it?'
'Not if it brings this shit to my door.' Daniella flipped open the tablet cover and scrolled through the pages and pages of articles, all featuring stories about her and her return to the stage. 'Believe it or not Franco, we don't all want to rattle around in expansive homes, lonely and miserable, having to bribe unwilling victims to marry them.'
The moment the words left Daniella's mouth, she clamped her hand over it. Shocked that she could throw such vitriol at the man who had done nothing but console her in her darkest hour.
Franco halted his frenzied drying off. 'Is that what you think?' he asked.
'Not really, no, I...'
'Victim? Is that how you see yourself? As a victim?'
Daniella took a step backwards. 'No, not really, it's just that I...'
'A poor, poor little girl,' his voice mocked. 'A little girl who just wanted what was best for daddy so she married the big, angry beast against her will. Took up residence in his castle. Let him buy her things. Fucked him at every opportunity. Reveled in the orgasms he provided time and time and time again.'
Daniella flinched at the venom he sprayed over her. 'Franco, listen, I didn't mean it. It's been a difficult morning.'
'I've given you everything, Daniella,' he jabbed his thumb into his chest so hard it must have hurt. 'And never expected anything in return.'
She hung her head in shame. 'I know, Franco.'
'I want the best for you,' he said, his voice taking on a much calmer note. 'And I want you to want the best for yourself.'
'I know, but I had the best, Franco,' Daniella said. 'This is what you don't understand. My life was great. It was normal. Some people might think it boring, unfulfilled. But to me, it was nice. The obscurity was nice. The freedom was nice. I like nice, Franco.' She stepped closer to him. Grabbing his hand and holding it to her chest as if she could somehow share the pain she felt through osmosis. 'I don't need flamboyant gestures, and fame, and riches. Those things don't make me happy. Once upon a time, I thought they would, but not anymore.'
'Normal is a matter of perspective, Daniella.'
She dropped his hand in frustration. 'No, Franco. It's not. It's a matter of preference. And if you don't understand my preferences then I need to leave.'
'Why are you so unwilling to change, Daniella.'
She shook her head in disbelief. 'Why are you so unwilling to understand, Franco?'
She scooped up His Royal Highness and left. But not before glancing over her shoulder one more time. Franco stood motionless. She wanted him to say something. To ask her not to go, even beg her to stay. Daniella couldn't believe he was just going to stand there and let her walk out of the door. Unless that was what he wanted. Unless he had created the entire catastrophe as an elaborate ploy to send her packing. She opened her mouth to ask but decided to say nothing. Instead, she walked out, clicking the bedroom door closed behind her, and leaned against it. A solitary tear escaped her eye, rolled down her cheek, and landed on her cat who mewled in her arms.
'Just you and I again, kid.' She said kissing the top of his head. 'But we did OK, didn't we?'
He mewled as if to answer her. She wished she understood what he said because, in that moment, she understood nothing.
Chapter Eleven
It had been three weeks, four days, two hours and thirty minutes since Daniella had picked up her bag and walked out of Franco's home. It had also been three weeks and five days since her last healthy meal. Fatigue had made itself comfortable and on some days Daniella could barely face popping to the shops. His Royal Highness was thriving on leftovers and Daniella worried that he would never again eat a pouch of cat food. Meals were delivered to her door, as was her wine. The inside of a supermarket was a distant memory, as were her running shoes, and her energy levels were not thanking her for it.
The first thing Daniella had done when arriving home was email all ticket holders for Moulin Rouge and postpone all performances. She informed them that the show would be rescheduled for an as yet undetermined date, and they could either transfer their tickets or have their money back. Most people asked for a refund. This was going to hit her bottom line hard, along with those on her team, as Franco said it would.
Her team took the news better than she expected. Tina kindly offered to tell the group that Daniella had cancelled the performances and her marriage was over. She was thankful to her friend. Telling people her marriage had failed was not a task she looked forward to. Of course, she had known it was going to happen, but never considered what reason she was going to provide. Or anticipated how much the final separation would wrench at her heart.
Franco hadn't called either. For the first few days, she pounced on her phone every time it chimed, but it was never him. Every sales call, every call from a concerned friend, every text message reminding her that she was due a dental check up, all conspired to lower her spirits further. She had hovered her thumb over his name in her call list a zillion times but always chickened out from calling him. What was she supposed to say? That she knew she wasn't a victim. That she knew he had treated her well. Far better than she ever deserved at any rate. That she loved him. No, she could never do that. Love was never part of the deal.
She picked up the book she had been trying to read. A romance. When she found she didn't have the brainpower to follow even the most simple of sentences she tossed it back down again. Pulling a blanket over her head, she decided sleep was what she needed. Because the thirteen hours she had last night, and the half an hour doze earlier that morning, hadn't even tickled the surface of her exhaustion. As she hovered in that serene place between sleep and awake her door buzzed. The piercing sound through the otherwise silent space yanked her back into the land of the living. The last time her door sounded, and it wasn't Chinese food, was the time Franco knocked unannounced and demanded she went to dinner with him. Her eyes widened and her heartbeat quickened at the possibility. Could it be him? Of course not. If he was going to come he would have come by now. It was probably somebody selling something, or trying to gain entry to one of her neighbours flats. Opting to ignore the caller, she turned around and nestled deeper into the sofa. Until it rang again, and again and again, until a series of single shrills merged into one.
Flinging the blanket off and getting tangled in the process, she murmured a string of expletives while thrusting her feet into her slippers. Snatching the receiver for her door security system off its hook, she barked into the mouthpiece. 'What?’
'Is that any way to greet a friend?' A woman's voice asked.
De
spite straining to hear, Daniella couldn't quite make out whom the voice belonged to over the din of the outside world. 'What are you selling?' She asked. 'Is it religion? Because if it is, let me tell you a little something about your God.'
A giggle broke through the racket and instantly Daniella knew who it was.
'Tina!' she exclaimed. 'What are you doing here?'
'Checking you're still alive,' she shouted above a siren passing by.
Daniella longed for the silence of Franco's apartment. She hadn't realised how busy her neighbourhood was. Not until she'd spent time in the tranquility of his suburban home. Before returning three weeks ago she would have never described herself as a 'suburban wife' type. She would never have described herself as any type at all. This was part of the reason she couldn't shift the glum air that lingered over her. Franco defined her. Made her the person she never knew she wanted to be. In a way, Daniella was mourning the loss of her rebirth.
'I'm sorry, Tina. I'm not good company. Thanks for coming but...' The sound of the outside door squeaking followed by the click, click, click, of stilettos approaching her front door stopped Daniella mid flow. Fuck. Tina was in the building. Bloody neighbours. Daniella bet the lecherous old man upstairs held the door open to let her in. Never mind that she could have been a serial killing stalker, in heels, and knowing Tina, the shortest skirt this side of London.
Daniella opened the door before her friend could knock. 'Like I said, Tina, I'm not good...'
'Holy fuck you look like shit.’ Tina blurt out as she entered without invitation. 'Your flat doesn't smell much better either.'
'Come on in.' Daniella muttered to her friend’s back as she shut the door, stuffing a pile of junk mail into the recycling bin. 'You'll have to excuse the mess, I've been busy.'
Tina nodded while examining the living space, not even trying to hide the horror on her face. 'Too busy smoking?' She grimaced, spotting a half-empty cigarette pack laying proudly on the coffee table. 'Daniella? Really?'
