London Belongs to Me

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  A small round table with two chairs gave way to a kitchenette tucked in the back of the house. Lucy popped out, looking pleased. “Good news. Cider with Rosie are boozing it up at a craft beer festival in Camden, so the place is ours. What do you fancy: pizza, fish and chips, kebab?”

  “Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich? I’m craving old school American comfort.”

  “Got it.” Lucy disappeared behind the kitchenette’s wall.

  Freddie pushed the TV remote and a few magazines to the corner of the tiny coffee table so he could stretch out his legs on its surface. “Make me one, too, please?”

  Lucy poked her head around the corner, saluting with a spatula in her hand. “Cheese toasties coming up.”

  Alex rested her head on Freddie’s right shoulder, scratching at her swollen eyelids. “I didn’t think for a second she’d steal my play. She even pitched Isabella the bit about the male roles being portrayed by women. She didn’t leave anything behind.”

  Freddie wanted to say something nasty about Olivia, but held back, sensing Alex’s need to vent. He got up to grab the box of tissues near the TV.

  “I feel so stupid. I’ve no one to blame but myself. I handed it to her on a silver platter.”

  Freddie gave Alex a dismissive scowl.

  “I did. I let her read the entire thing. I should never have accepted her offer to ‘read it’ over.” A warm trickle fled from her right eye down her cheek.

  Lucy thumped into the room and handed Alex and Freddie each a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich. “Bollocks! You didn’t ask her to nick it. What did she graduate in? Advanced Bitchery?”

  She rushed back into the kitchenette and returned with a tray crammed with her sandwich, ketchup, and several cans of beer and cola.

  The cheesy warmth of the toasted sandwich melting on Alex’s tongue felt like a little slice of home. She closed her eyes, sending stray tears towards the corners of her mouth. “I’ve been working on this play for a year, fine-tuning every bit of dialogue, every character, doing research for hours on end, and then in a split second—it’s gone. I’ll have to start from scratch with another idea.” She inhaled sharply. “I have to tell Harry. Let him know what his cow of a girlfriend’s done.”

  Freddie nodded between bites and nudged his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand. “I bet Harry would be livid if he knew that idea was yours. Girls like Olivia need to be brought down a peg or two. Entitled bitch.” He cracked open a can of lager. “She shouldn’t get away with it just because of who her daddy is or how much bloody money she has. Yeah, you have to tell him.”

  Lucy furrowed her brow. “Freddie, c’mon. Do you really think that’s a smart move?” She violently shook the ketchup bottle and popped the cap. A large red puddle engulfed her sandwich. “I’m not sure telling Harry’s such a good idea…”

  Alex frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m the first person who runs into a fight, you know that, but in this situation you’re taking on more than Harry and Olivia. I hate to say it—I’d just let it go if I were you.”

  “Let it go? Harry needs to know what Olivia’s really like before it’s too late! He doesn’t know her.” Alex’s nails tore desperately at the box of tissues as a collection of new tears conspired in her eyes. “And if I do it soon, maybe I can get my play back.”

  “Lex, listen, babe. If you tell Harry, he’ll take his girlfriend’s side.” Lucy sat on the loveseat’s armrest. “He’s known you for what…eight, nine months? How long has he been with Olivia?”

  Alex sniffed. “Three, four years? I’m not sure…”

  “Exactly. They’ve got history. They have a bond that goes far beyond your uni friendship. You may think he’s your friend, but when the chips are down, he’ll side with Olivia every time.” Lucy dunked her sandwich in the ketchup. “Harry won’t want his precious girlfriend upset by some chick he barely knows.”

  Freddie frowned. “She might have a point.”

  “Great.” Alex abandoned a crust on her plate.

  “Telling Harry might make you feel better, but you’ll be setting yourself up for a massive shit storm,” said Lucy. “I wouldn’t want to be there when that comes rolling into town. That girl’s a nutter.”

  Freddie narrowed his eyes. “But don’t you have a hard copy of the play?”

  Alex nodded.

  “So Harry can see that Olivia stole the whole thing. There’s tangible proof!”

  “Freddie, you know that doesn’t matter.” Lucy lowered her brows. “So Lex has a hard copy…big fucking deal. Are you forgetting that Harry and Olivia are both stupidly wealthy? They’re a different breed from us. He won’t be fazed by her theft. Rich people lie, steal, and build their wealth on the backs of little people like us, and if they’re threatened—they close ranks. They always look after their own and to hell with everyone else. People like us don’t matter.”

  “Down with the bourgeoisie! Up with the proletariat!” Freddie pumped his fist in the air.

  Lucy scowled. “Freds.”

  He shrugged. “Actually, I don’t think I’d make a good communist…their fashions are dreadful. Carry on.”

  Lucy sipped her cola and reloaded.

  “Olivia and Harry are on track to get engaged—apparently it’s only a matter of time. I Googled them both a week back. Harry’s family owns one of London’s largest and wealthiest property development companies. Olivia’s dad is head of the second oldest law firm in England. They’re an up-and-coming power couple, Lex—just a few rungs on the social ladder from royalty. You really think they’ll let all that be derailed by some Yank with a sob story about a stolen play?”

  “Fuck me…” Freddie put his head in his hands.

  “Harry won’t care if I have proof?” Alex blew her nose so forcefully it honked. “So, basically, I’m screwed, and no one will believe me? It’s such a big fat mess…and on top of that, I’ve blown it with Isabella.”

  Freddie interrupted. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  She shook her head. “You weren’t there. Isabella must think I’m a joke. One moment I’m shaking her hand. The next, I’m struck dumb like I’m having a stroke, and for an encore, I run away hyperventilating with my hand covering my mouth, trying not to barf.”

  Her shoulders twitched at the memory, the embarrassment seeping further into her bones. The remaining half of her sandwich lay on her plate untouched, her hands choosing instead to clutch a wad of disintegrating tissues.

  “My idol thinks I’m a blithering idiot.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you think?” Lucy shrugged.

  Alex pressed her palms against her warm cheeks. “I didn’t want to say anything, but…you’ve both been so great. You should know the whole story about me.”

  Lucy and Freddie looked at each other.

  “I get panic attacks, bad ones.” Alex avoided the gaze of her friends. “When they hit, I can’t breathe, can’t swallow. I get nausea, sweats, dizziness—the works. They started when I was a kid just after Dad left. Stressful or unexpected situations can set them off, but sometimes they arrive out of the blue. It’s like a black cloud of dread is suffocating me. My heart pounds out of control. I just…fall apart.”

  “I used to have a coworker who had them,” said Freddie. “She’d be in tears in the loo, and I’d try to talk her through it.” He rubbed Alex’s left arm. “I had no clue, honey. It must be so difficult.”

  Alex nodded. “I had one at Heathrow when my bags went missing. It was bad, but at least I didn’t faint; I did that once in a store back home. Talk about mortifying. I hate losing control.”

  “Aw, Lex, please don’t feel embarrassed. It’s okay.” Lucy hugged her. “I’m a terrible friend, so self-absorbed. I should’ve known.”

  “You, self-absorbed? As if. How were you to know? I never mentioned them. It’s not something I talk about. I’ve learned that people look at you differently when they know, so I hide them—deal with them on my own.”

  Alex dro
pped her chin to her chest. “I thought I had left them behind. After Devin and I broke up, I had a bunch, but then they petered out. Since February, I’d only had one. But I’ve already had two here—in two weeks. First Heathrow, then again tonight. I can’t believe I’m back in the anxiety pit. It scares me. I never know when I’ll have another one.”

  “I’m glad you told us,” said Lucy. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. The next time you feel one’s coming on, call me, okay? I’m here for you.”

  Freddie nodded in agreement.

  “Thanks…but please don’t tell Mark.”

  “Our lips are sealed,” said Lucy.

  Alex tugged her hair, somewhat relieved to have spilled her secret. Her mind wouldn’t rest though, switching gears. “You know, I think Olivia hates my guts because of my closeness to Harry.”

  Freddie’s eyes lit up. “Really? Do you fancy him?”

  “No! Harry’s just a friend…but it’s like she’s threatened by the attention he gives me, how well we get along. I wish I could give her head a shake, make her listen.”

  Freddie grabbed the teetering plate from Alex’s lap, placing it on the table. “Well, if you do confront her, tread carefully. God knows what else that toffee-nosed cow has up her sleeve.”

  A yawn escaped Alex’s lips. “It probably won’t ever come to that. Right now, the only thing I plan to tackle is sleep…if my mind would just chill out.”

  “That’s my girl,” said Lucy. “Things always seem better in the morning.”

  Lucy shuffled down the staircase, bundled in the fuzzy blue cocoon of her Doctor Who TARDIS bathrobe. Still groggy, she stopped at the bottom, catching Alex at the front door. “Where are you going? It’s only just gone seven.”

  “To the flat. I need to do this. I need to tell Harry the truth, then have it out with Olivia.”

  Alex zipped up Lucy’s hoodie, her eyes puffy and red. She didn’t get much sleep last night. Cider with Rosie tromped in at three in the morning with four slurring pals in tow. The front room became an impromptu sleepover. Crunched for space on the loveseat, Alex tossed and turned, tormented by her thoughts and the rattling snores rising from the floor. It didn’t help that she woke up with a painful kink in her neck, either.

  Lucy scratched her head. “I thought you weren’t going to tell him?”

  “I know, but I have to. And if there are consequences, so be it.” Alex adjusted the waistband of Lucy’s borrowed sweatpants.

  “Well, I’ll come with you. I don’t agree with it, but I can’t let you face them alone.” Lucy turned to climb up the stairs. “Give me a sec to throw on some clothes.”

  “No, enjoy your Saturday lie-in, what’s left of it. If I get there before eight, Harry should still be around.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind tagging along with—”

  “I’m sure.” Alex peeked at her phone. She wanted to get going, now. “I need to do this on my own.”

  “Well, call me if it goes tits up, okay? I can swing by in a cab; get you and your stuff? Don’t worry about my weird flatmates. I’ll smooth it over with them.”

  Alex turned the door’s lock. “Will do.”

  Lucy grimaced and hugged her friend. “God, the breakfast from hell. I’m glad it’s you and not me. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  Fifteen

  Alex took a deep breath in the hopes of reigning in her galloping heart. Her right hand trembled, so she propped it up with her left, turning the key in the lock. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee drifted past the open door. Harry didn’t drink coffee; neither did Tom.

  Silence hung over the flat apart from the stern tick-tick-tick of the carriage clock. Alex stepped out of her shoes and approached Harry’s two towering vases of lilies standing regally on the coffee table. She pinched her nose walking past, the lilies’ scent waging war on her nasal passages. A single figure sat further on at the dining table, backlit by the early morning sun spilling from the kitchen’s east-facing window.

  “I wondered when I’d see you today.” Wrapped in her silk robe, Olivia lifted her cup and took a dainty sip. “Have a seat. Care for coffee?”

  A simple black hair band held the brunette’s tresses off her face, and a slight flush of pink brightened her cheeks. The hue looked effortless and fresh, like the complexion of a china doll.

  The blonde shook her head. “No, thanks.” She sat down tentatively as if her pockets held a hoard of raw eggs.

  No ranting or raving, Olivia seemed calm and friendly, like she was meeting an old friend for breakfast. She placed her coffee gently back on the table, barely making a sound.

  Alex looked around the room. “Where’s Harry…and Tom?”

  “Still asleep. Last night went late.”

  Olivia stroked her cup with her fingertips, her scarlet manicure shone in the encroaching sunlight. “We had a lot to celebrate. My soirée raised a record amount for charity. All the auction prizes were a hit. We even had a bidding war on the tea with Sir Ian McKellen. I couldn’t cross the ballroom without someone hailing my efforts. Even Kevin Spacey congratulated me. It’s just a shame that not everyone left the party with a smile.” She cocked her sights on Alex.

  “It wasn’t a night I’ll forget.” Alex spoke in a hushed tone. She needed to choose her words with care to keep her emotions in check.

  Olivia nodded. “Me neither.”

  Enough with the niceties. This friend ship had sailed…and was lost at sea. “Why did you take my idea? Why would you do that to me?”

  “I didn’t take anything, Alex.” Olivia parroted the Floridian’s low volume and pushed her shoulders back. “Ideas are commonplace. You can’t copyright an idea. It’s one of the first things we’re taught in writing class at university. Don’t you remember? Maybe you were sick that day or they skipped that chapter at your American school…” Olivia shook her head gently. “…You’re so naive. It’s quite endearing, actually—but it won’t help you in London’s theatre world. You need to develop a thicker skin and realize that a good idea is often held by many. Coincidences happen.”

  Alex crossed her arms. “A coincidence? Really?”

  “Quite. Like I said, ideas are ten a penny. It’s rare to find a good idea that no one else has pondered. You’re getting your knickers in a twist over something that’s unavoidable in this business.” She shrugged and picked up her cup. “Best you learn now, I suppose.”

  Alex leaned across the table. “But you didn’t just hear about an idea. You read the entire hardcopy of my play. You took everything—my plans for casting, the relevance to today—all of it. Maybe we should wake Harry so he can decide whether what you did was theft or not?”

  Olivia stifled a laugh and took a slow sip. “Oh, Alex. You have no idea how bad things can get for you.” She raised her eyebrows, returning her coffee to the table. “If you share your stories with Harry, your life here will be over before it even began.”

  The sharp tick-tick-tick of the carriage clock filled Alex’s ears, each strike of its hands chipping away at her confidence.

  “One—you’ll lose Harry’s friendship. Don’t think for one second he’ll believe your schoolyard tales of theft. Do you honestly think he’ll believe you over me? He’ll take one look at your body language, your shaking hands, trembling lips, and frankly unattractive perspiration, and conclude that you’re hiding something…just like you are now. Good God, you’re actually making the table shake.” She snickered softly. “Harry was right. You do have a little anxiety problem, don’t you?”

  Alex jerked away from the table, the jolt sending a flurry of dust particles dancing through a warm sunbeam. Oh God, Harry told her? She wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “Two—you’ll be homeless. Harry’s very protective of me. I’ll see to it that he has no choice but to throw you out. Kiss goodbye to the cheapest room rental in London. You won’t be able to survive on your earnings from that pathetic café job.”

  She folded her hands on the table, the amethyst a sparkly reminde
r of the chasm between her background and Alex’s. “And three—you’ll be ruined professionally. Did you see the people at my event last night? I’m very well connected. My professional contacts are the crème de la crème of London’s theatre world. I’ll do everything I can to make sure that no doors are left open to you.”

  Olivia licked her lips. “And then there’s Isabella. Your idol will never forget the American girl who imploded.”

  An urgent need to pee flooded Alex’s bladder. She crossed her legs and scrunched further back into her chair.

  “I was mortified on your behalf, truly.” Olivia plucked a cigarette from a silver case with OCS engraved in a swirly script on its front. “You should’ve seen yourself, quaking in front of her, spluttering. That’s no way for an aspiring playwright to behave in front of a potential mentor, is it? And when you froze and then scuttled off, sobbing…that must have sealed it for Isabella. You weren’t up to the task, and, frankly, would you ever be?”

  She lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “If you tell Isabella your little story about this supposed theft, she’ll think you’re mad. If it was your original idea, why on Earth didn’t you say something there and then? A good playwright stands up for what she believes in, and you didn’t. You missed your chance. Oh, and FYI, here in England everyone hates a tattletale.”

  Alex’s eyes followed the twirling ribbon of cigarette smoke as it floated above Olivia’s hand.

  Olivia leaned forward, her shadow engulfing Alex. “Now, hypothetically—if one were to hijack someone else’s play—what would spur one on to do such a thing? Envy? Hmm…no. Laziness? Far from it. Perhaps it’s payback for a different kind of theft?”

  She stared at Alex. “I feel it in my bones…you and Harry. I know something went on.”