‘Crap day today.’
‘I know, just rest now.’
Isabelle opened one eye. ‘Where’s Alex?’ she asked, alert now.
‘He’s OK, a friend is watching him,’ Frankie lied, knowing that Isabelle would give her hell if she knew that Frankie had left him alone, but it was the only way she could see the sister that she adored.
‘You give that nephew of mine a big hug, you hear?’
‘The biggest. You want me to go?’
Isabelle looked at Frankie, her eyes fluttering with the struggle to stay open. ‘Don’t leave me yet, Frankie, stay a little longer.’
Frankie sat quietly, holding her sister’s hand, singing their mother’s favourite lullaby, ‘Luna Lunera’, about a lover who asks the moon to tell his sweetheart he loves her.
As her sister dosed, Frankie’s thoughts returned to Dan. She’d hoped that he would open doors for her, help her land a part that would pay big bucks and set her on the road to stardom. After all, he’d done it for his wife. Frankie didn’t believe her expectations were unreasonable, she knew it would always be her body and not her acting that would get her parts, but why shouldn’t she have a shot at Baywatch or Diagnosis: Murder? But things hadn’t worked out the way she’d planned. Dan wouldn’t play the game. Told her that their brief affair was a mistake and that he was ending it. Frankie didn’t think of herself as a cruel person, but she’d taken a certain amount of pleasure in breaking the news to him that she was pregnant with their child.
At first, he had refused to give her anything, told her that she was a crook and a liar, but Frankie bided her time and, once Alex was born, she was thrilled that he looked just like his daddy. She had sent a package to Dan’s office in Burbank Studios containing Alex’s plastic identity bracelet form the hospital, with his name, Alexander Rodrigo Jackson, and an enlarged photograph of their son, with his shock of brown hair and his eyes just like Dan’s.
Dan had agreed to meet her alone, without the boy. ‘What do you want from me?’ he’d demanded, his mouth set hard. Frankie saw that, despite the ‘decent man’ façade, this was a man like all the rest: happy to use her and then discard her afterwards, taking no responsibility for the predictable consequences.
‘I want a hundred thousand dollars and a lead role in your next movie.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘I’m serious. I’ve got a journalist from the National Enquirer on speed dial and I’m ready tell them everything.’
Dan had refused to give her a part in one of his movies, but he had paid up.
Frankie had intended to leave it at that. If she was careful with the money, it would last them for years, or at least long enough to give her son a decent start in life. Isabelle adored her nephew and had insisted on helping to look after him, so the three of them moved in together, a happy little family. Until Isabelle started to feel unwell and they found out it was cancer. That had changed everything. When Isabelle’s doctor told Frankie that her sister would die within months without chemotherapy, she used every penny they had to pay the medical bills. And when the money ran out, she called Dan to demand another hundred thousand.
Isabelle’s breathing deepened and the rise and fall of her chest became more rhythmic. Frankie rose, put her jacket back on and kissed her sister’s forehead with the words, ‘Te amo, pequeña madre.’ Little mother, the name she had always used for Isabelle.
It was now eight o’clock and the bus was due in ten minutes, but as she headed for the lift, she saw a doctor approach, He was quite young, in his thirties, and Frankie had always thought he looked a little like George Clooney in ER.
‘Hello, Francesca, do you have a moment?’
‘Umm, hi, Dr Scott, I kinda gotta run …’
‘This won’t take long, I just wanted to let you know that your sister’s treatment is working well. We did some scans and we’re confident that the cancer is shrinking.’
Frankie felt her heart lift. ‘That’s great! Does that mean she’ll be able to come home soon?’
‘Well, as we discussed before, this is a very aggressive cancer. Isabelle will need many more months of treatment before we can say she’s in remission.’
Frankie’s face fell a little. ‘But it’s good news, right?’
The doctor nodded. ‘Yes, it is … As long as you can afford the treatment. It’s cutting edge, but very expensive.’
Frankie frowned. ‘I told you, you don’t need to worry about the money. I found it for you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, Francesca, but we will need more—’
Frankie jutted out her chin. ‘Whatever it takes, I’ll get it for her. That’s a guarantee. Listen, Doc, I have to run.’
‘Of course. Goodbye, Francesca.’
Dr Scott watched Frankie as she skipped the lift and headed for the stairwell, running. He shook his head. Cancer treatment could run to hundreds of thousands of dollars. He had no idea where Frankie had got the money for her sister’s care – it wasn’t his job to ask those sorts of questions. The medical system was unfair enough in the USA; sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted wouldn’t help matters. He only hoped that, however Isabelle’s sister had found the money before, she’d be able to do the same again.
Chapter 19
Shauna didn’t think she was nosey, but it was in her nature to be inquisitive, she couldn’t help herself, so she tried not to feel guilty as she listened at the door of Dan’s home office.
That something was wrong with Dan was all too clear. He’d been drinking too much again, and she’d found more telltale signs around their Malibu home that hinted at his increased drug use. Whenever she attempted to talk to him about it, he bit her head off and told her to mind her own business, so she’d resorted to subterfuge to find out what was going on.
At first it was difficult to hear anything through the thick wooden door, but then he began shouting about being bled dry, accusing someone of extortion.
Shauna knew that Dan was having problems financing his latest project, perhaps it was something to do with that. In the movie business, drama wasn’t confined to the big screen. Actors, directors and producers tended to get emotional, sometimes to the point of hysteria, when they couldn’t get what they wanted. That must be what was going on with Dan; after all, he couldn’t be serious about blackmail, could he? She shook her head and padded up to her own office which looked out over the Pacific Ocean. Their home had cost $3,000,000 and boasted ocean views from virtually every room. While Dan had a library office, Shauna’s was filled with her beloved art deco collection which she had been building up ever since she had moved to LA.
She was more convinced than ever that what they both needed was to get away from LA altogether and take a long break. They’d both been working too hard and had been promising themselves a trip to Europe for years – Shauna would love for them both to go to Rome and Paris and be like tourists again. Maybe then, in a more relaxed environment, she could talk to him again about having a baby. They’d been married almost thirteen years now but it felt as though work had come first for both of them during that time. She hadn’t been ready … but now she longed to feel the grip of a baby’s fingers on one of her own. That sweet smell of a son – or a daughter – lying across her breast, sleeping soundly. Shauna knew Dan would make a wonderful father.
And what sort of mother would she be? She rarely allowed herself to indulge in these thoughts, but today she couldn’t help it. Yes, away from all the pressures of Hollywood, they could just be themselves, and they could find each other again.
Shauna threw herself on to her large leather sofa and eyed the pile of manuscripts that Isaac had sent her way this week. He only sent her the most interesting ones, but before she had a chance to look at the first one, a script from Julian Fellowes, one of Dan’s old friends, the phone rang.
It was Isaac. ‘Hey doll, how you doing?’ He was calling her from his office in New York and Shauna could picture him in her mind’s eye, looking out ove
r Central Park while chomping on a Cuban cigar.
‘Hey, Isaac, tell me about this Gosford Park script—’
‘Hold everything, I’ve just heard about a project you won’t want to miss.’
‘I don’t know, Isaac. I’ve been thinking of taking a break for a while, so Dan and I could get away from LA. He’s been working too hard and badly needs some time out. A shoot in England would be a great compromise: Dan could relax and spend time with his family while I’m working, and—’
‘Hear me out before you do anything.’
‘OK, Isaac, I can see there’ll be no peace until you tell me.’
‘Wait for it … There’s a Grace Kelly biopic in the making.’
Shauna laughed; Isaac knew her so well. ‘OK, you got me, who’s making it?’
‘Columbia Pictures – they want Steven Spielberg, and he’ll only do it if he can get you on board.’
Shauna felt that familiar rush of adrenaline, that special tingle an actress only feels very rarely. Spielberg directing her as Grace. She must be dreaming. ‘Isaac, are you sure about this?’
‘Never been surer of anything in my life. He wants to meet you – to talk about the part.’
‘When?’
‘Soon. How badly do you want it?’
Shauna took a breath, trying to steady her racing heart. ‘I want it more than I’ve ever wanted a role in my life.’
‘That’s what I thought … leave it with me.’ And with that, he rang off.
Shauna was still for a moment, his words ringing in her ears, then she leapt off her sofa and did a dance of joy around the room. Easy, Shauna, she told herself, nothing is certain in this town until you’ve signed on the dotted line. Rome and Paris would have to wait.
She raced out of the room and down the stairs and knocked on the door to Dan’s office. When he didn’t reply, she started to go in to tell him the good news, but he was gone. As she set off in search of him, she saw movement through the windows in the lobby. Dan was leaping into his vintage Jaguar, which was parked next to her more everyday BMW in the drive. With a screech of tyres, he was gone.
Shauna wondered what could have caused him to leave in such a hurry. Neither of them had been planning to go out until this evening, when they were having dinner with friends. Then she remembered his phone call earlier and felt anxious. Determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with Dan, she resolved that tonight, when they got home from dinner, she would insist that he tell her the truth.
Gary Fisher was one of Dan’s closest friends. Old enough to be Dan’s father, he’d been blacklisted during the McCarthy era and forced to spend years in exile in Europe. The wilderness years came to an end when his work with David Lean earned him an Oscar; after that he’d enjoyed a renaissance in Hollywood and he was now respected as one of the finest cinematographers of his generation. His partner, Eric, younger than him by some decades, was a Hollywood stylist who knew all the latest gossip – who was sleeping with who, and who’d been thrown off the set of their latest picture. Dan loved spending time with the two of them. He knew how difficult it had been for Gary when he was ostracized by Hollywood’s elite, and it made him happy to know that in his golden years his friend was getting the recognition he truly deserved, and that he’d found a partner who truly loved him and looked after him.
Usually, Dan loved nothing better than to relax in their company, but tonight he felt trapped. This afternoon had been one of the worst of his life. Frankie had called him at home, demanding to see him right away and refusing to take no for an answer.
‘I need more money,’ she’d told him when he picked her up downtown. Her eyes blazed darkly as she sat in the passenger seat of the Jaguar.
‘You’ve had two hundred thousand dollars out of me already. I can’t keep giving you money, Frankie, this has to stop.’
‘It stops when I say it does,’ she’d spat. ‘You have everything you need, a home worth millions of dollars, your fancy cars, your beautiful wife.’
There had been a time when Dan felt some sympathy for her, but now he saw that she was out to destroy him. He should never have let it go this far.
‘No, Frankie. I’m not giving you another penny.’
‘Then your beautiful life will be in ruins, because I’ll tell the whole world about your dirty little secret.’
Dan had felt his anger snap, and he’d grabbed Frankie by her shoulders. ‘I don’t care any more, Frankie. You’ll not get a penny more from me, do you hear? Take your filthy story, your lies and your dirty secret and sell them to whoever will pay you the most money.’
‘I’ll destroy every shred of your life, I’ll tell them everything – about Alex, about your drug habits …’
It was all Dan could do to stop himself from physically throwing her out of his car. Instead, he’d leaned across and opened the passenger door, then commanded her: ‘Get. Out.’
Frankie took one last look at him, her face full of hatred and anger, then stepped out of the car.
Dan had driven straight home, and when he opened the front door, Shauna was standing in their enormous hallway, her face full of concern.
‘Dan, where have you been? I’ve been so worried.’
He took her in his arms, gave her a brief hug and said, ‘I’m OK, I just had to take care of something. I’m back now.’
‘Dan, please, I know something is wrong. You have to let me in.’
His shoulders sagged. ‘I know … these last few years have been tough on both of us.’ He kissed her on the forehead and held her tight. ‘I love you, Shauna, and after we’ve had dinner with Gary and Eric tonight, I promise I’ll tell you everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes, no secrets, not any more.’
Dan had ordered a steak and a crème brûlée at dinner and Eric had ribbed him about it. ‘You English guys are all the same, everything is full of calories and cholesterol.’
‘These public schoolboys are still obsessed with school dinners,’ Shauna joked. She’d squeezed Dan’s hand and he’d squeezed hers in return. She looked dazzling tonight, he thought, casual yet elegant in a tailored grey trouser suit which showed off her curves. She’d sparkled all evening, bouncing off Eric and making him and Gary laugh with stories of her Irish childhood, stealing a penny from the collection plate in church and then being made by her mother to apologize to the priest in person, who told her to pray the five joyful mysteries a thousand times on her rosary until she was truly sorry.
His heart ached with the knowledge that things would never be the same after tonight, when he finally told her the truth about Frankie and the son he had denied. Dan knew his marriage might not survive. He felt shame not only at that, but also at the terrible unkindness he had inflicted on a child who was completely blameless. He couldn’t even blame Frankie; this was his fuck-up and he’d have to pay for it. He felt his chest tighten and a pain shot up his left arm.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, standing up and pushing his chair back.
‘Are you OK, darling?’ Shauna asked him.
‘Yes, of course, I’ll be back in a moment.’
He walked to the Men’s washroom and locked himself in a cubicle, taking one of the small paper wraps from his pocket; these days he was never without a supply. On his knee, he rested the mirror, the chopped up the lines and snorted them quickly, his hands shaking as he did so. But instead of the usual high, he felt his tight chest worsen, along with the pain in his left arm. This time the tightness was worse, and it was a struggle to breathe. It took a great deal of effort to make his way out of the washroom and back to the table. As he approached, he could hear Eric saying, ‘Apparently they’re heading for divorce, it’s the worst-kept secret in Tinseltown. She is sick of his controlling ways and that weird cult he’s in thrall to. Trust me, she’s gonna walk.’
Shauna looked towards Dan and stood up immediately, ‘Darling, you’re ill …’
Eric stood up quickly too, shouting for the waiter to call an am
bulance, but by now the pain was radiating from Dan’s chest across his entire body. He tried to reach out for Shauna but suddenly if felt as if she were a million miles away. Try as he might, he couldn’t get to her.
The voices around him faded away. All Dan wanted was to speak to Shauna, to tell her he loved her and that he was sorry, but the only sound that came out of his mouth was a strangled gasp. He fell to the floor with Shauna beside him, tears streaming down her face, as her lips seemed to be saying, ‘Don’t leave me, Dan … don’t go …’
Then, everything around Dan went black and there were no more words, only silence.
Chapter 20
Beverly Hills, July 2000
Shauna O’Brien adjusted the neat pillbox hat on her head and pulled the net down over her face, praying it would blur her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Even a make-up artist as gifted as Mel couldn’t disguise the storm that had ravaged her face, leaving it dry and cracked, as if all her tears had sucked the very moisture from her skin. Was it really only a week since this nightmare had begun? With a shaking hand, she smoothed down the skirt of the Chanel suit, a little looser around the waist than when she’d worn it last.
Stiffening, she straightened and tugged at the neat, nipped-in-at-the-waist jacket. Her fingers shook as they closed over the heavy silk-satin fabric.
‘You set to go?’ Isaac’s voice was gentle but businesslike. Today, she was grateful for his steadiness, his guidance and his admin assistant’s near perfect organizational skills. Lifting her chin, she nodded. Like him, she knew that the moment she stepped through that door the television crews and paparazzi clamouring at the gates of the funeral home would be straining to capture a glimpse of the grieving Shauna Jackson.
Without a word, she reached out and gently squeezed Issacs’s arm as he pulled open the door, letting the Californian sunshine spill inside. She was aware of the sudden flurry as everyone moved forward, first the funeral director and his team, then Mel and Roxy flanking her on one side with Isaac on the other.
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