Breakfast at Stephanie's

by Sue Margolis

  “Shh. No, you didn’t. Dom just can’t cope with domesticity and the chaos of having kids. Instead of confronting his problems, he’s blaming you. On top of that he’s decided to punish you by having an affair. There is no way this is your fault. So where’s Dom now?”

  “I told him to leave.”

  “Good for you.”

  By now the kitchen was empty. The mummies had gradually migrated into the living room to hear the paleontologist. Stephanie led Lizzie to the sofa, which was positioned against one wall of the conservatory, and sat holding her and rocking her gently. “Tell you what,” Stephanie said after a few minutes, “how’s about a nice cup of tea?” Lizzie took a tissue to her panda eyes, caused by her mascara running, and nodded. Stephanie put the kettle on and then went to fetch Cass.

  In the living room, the children were kneeling on an enormous ground sheet, chipping away at a three-foot-high block of ice with plastic hammers and chisels.

  “It’s meant to be the polar ice cap,” one of the mothers explained. “It’s all Lizzie’s idea. She’s so clever. The child who finds the most mastodons wins a prize.” Dom was such a prat, Stephanie thought. He had no idea what he had in Lizzie. She was beautiful, a wonderful mother, hugely talented. And she adored him. What more could he possibly want? Of course she knew the answer: a twenty-two-year-old firm-breasted innocent who wouldn’t challenge him and laughed at all his jokes.

  She virtually had to pry Cass off Alex. “Cass, I need you in the kitchen. It’s really important.”

  On the way into the kitchen, Cass declared irritably that nothing could be more important than her trying to get laid. Then Steph told her about Lizzie. Cass’s eyes filled with tears. “Not that it’s come as a surprise,” she said.

  Cass went over and hugged Lizzie, which made her start crying all over again. Eventually they managed to calm her down and the three of them sat in the conservatory drinking tea. “Her name’s Belinda,” Lizzie said. “Belinda Olsen. Top honors from Oxford. She’s doing articles at Dom’s firm.”

  “God,” Cass said, “her initials are B.O.” Even Lizzie managed to laugh.

  “So, how did you find out?” Stephanie said. Lizzie explained she’d overheard Dom on his mobile telling Belinda he loved her and couldn’t wait to be with her.

  “Just like Cass did.” Stephanie had blurted it out before she could stop herself. Cass did a theatrical roll of her eyes.

  “What? You and Cass knew?” Lizzie looked truly hurt. “And you never said anything?” Stephanie explained about New Year’s Eve. “Look, blame me. Cass was all for telling you, but I persuaded her it was none of our business and that you and Dom had to sort it out. I don’t think you would have thanked us if we’d blabbed.”

  Lizzie let out a heavy breath. “No, maybe not.”

  Eventually Lizzie said she wanted to get back to the party because the twins would be wondering where she’d gotten to. Stephanie asked her how much they knew about what was going on.

  “Nothing,” Lizzie said. “They think Dom’s away on business.”

  Stephanie and Cass were worried about leaving her after the party, but Lizzie said she needed some space to think and that her mother had offered to have the boys for a few days.

  “You know, you will get through this,” Stephanie said. “And, whatever happens, we’ll always be here.”

  “I know,” Lizzie said with a tearful smile. “What would I do without the two of you?”

  Jake slept most of the journey home. The two women didn’t really discuss Lizzie and Dom. There didn’t seem much to say other than that Dom was a complete tosser.

  “I just hope he comes to his senses,” Stephanie said. “If his marriage means anything to him, he’ll get down on his knees and beg Lizzie to forgive him … So how did you and Alex get on?”

  “Well,” Cass said, “it’s true. He isn’t the type I’d usually go for.”

  “Yeah, I mean, you’ve never been out with a bloke who’s got kids.”

  “Or a dog collar.”

  “Yes, you have. Don’t you remember that kinky Gavin bloke you were seeing who bought you one with pink nylon fur and fake diamonds?”

  “No, I mean a real dog collar.”

  Stephanie took a moment to process this. “Hang on. Omigod. He’s a vicar? Gorgeous Alex is a vicar?”

  Despite everything that had happened, Stephanie burst out laughing.

  “So, I take it you’re not planning to see him again.”

  “Well, you take it wrong. I’m seeing him tomorrow, as it goes.”

  “Where’s he taking you?”

  “His congregation is raising money for Oxfam and he’s invited me to the church hall for a frugal lunch.”

  Chapter 12

  Stephanie arrived at Ossie Da Costa’s office the next morning exactly at ten. Sheila, his assistant, told her to go straight in and that she would be along in a minute with coffee. Ossie was sitting at his desk in his running shorts and T-shirt. He was eating a bacon sandwich and wiping post-jog sweat from his forehead, while at the same time carrying on a phone conversation that, for his part at least, was being conducted at a slightly high-pitched bellow.

  “Look, Ed, with respect, I don’t give a monkey’s arse that you’re the duke of Wessex.” He stifled a belch and motioned Stephanie to take a seat. “I treat your company like I’d treat any other film company. If you want Branagh to do the voice-over for your documentary, then that’s the fee. No discount … No, not even for lunch with Princess Michael of Kent …” It seemed that His Royal Highness, having given up the film business, had now relaunched his career with a documentary about the history of royal cutlery and china.

  Just then Sheila came in carrying two cups of coffee. “Buzz the intercom when he keels over with a heart attack,” Sheila said, rolling her eyes to indicate that conversations like these were regular events, “and I’ll phone for an ambulance.” She handed Stephanie a cup of coffee and put the other one down in front of Ossie.

  He was too busy shouting at Prince Edward to notice. He slammed down the phone, turned to Stephanie and grinned. “Ten minutes and he’ll be back, offering the full amount, I guarantee it.”

  “Or he’ll have you slung in the Tower,” Sheila said, “and with a bit of luck they’ll throw away the key.”

  “Oh, but you’d wait for me, wouldn’t you, Sheila? And you’d bring me the occasional Havana to keep my spirits up?”

  Sheila told him to dream on. Ossie responded by patting her on the bottom and asking her if she would mind putting what remained of his bacon sandwich in the microwave, as it had gone cold. Snorting and tutting, Sheila picked the plate up off the desk. Ossie waited until Sheila had closed the door. “It’s her birthday tomorrow,” he whispered. “I thought I’d surprise her.” He pulled a small box out of his drawer, took off the lid and passed it over to Stephanie. Inside was a pair of large, exceedingly overstated gold and emerald earrings. “Lost track of how many times she’s been thirty-nine, but I know for a fact she’s fifty. I got them in Harrods’ Egyptian department. Do you think she’ll like them?” Stephanie said she was sure Sheila would love them.

  Smiling, Ossie put the box back in his drawer. Then he looked up at Stephanie. The smile was still there, but she detected an uneasiness about his eyes. “You know, your performance the other night was outstanding. Quite outstanding. I have to say that Sidney is pretty smitten with you.” She felt herself going red. “He’s convinced you’re perfect for what he has in mind.”

  “So what does he have in mind?” she asked, desperately trying to control her excitement. “I’m dying to know.”

  Ossie leaned back in his chair and tried to put his feet on the desk, but they wouldn’t reach. He sat up again and began playing with the gold crucifix he wore on a chain around his neck. So, Ossie was a teetotaler and wore a crucifix. Was it possible that the loudmouthed, belching, “I don’t give a monkey’s arse” Ossie was religious? Surely not.

  “OK. Sid is about to stage a
new musical about the life of Peggy Lee. It’s called Peggy.” He brought his fingers together so that they formed a steep arch. “It opened on Broadway a couple of months ago to rave reviews. Then Holly Robbins, who was playing Peggy, had a stand-up fight with the director and they both walked out. Sid replaced them, but the magic had gone and they just couldn’t get bums on seats and the show closed. Now Sid’s bringing it to London with a completely new cast.” She could feel what was coming. She could just feel it. “It’s going to be the campest thing since his production of Judy a few years ago.” As Stephanie nodded and said she’d read about what had happened in New York, she started to tremble. God, Sidney Doucette wanted her to play Peggy Lee. By now her pulse was racing. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d allowed herself to imagine being offered a part like this, but she never thought it would actually happen.

  “It opens in a couple of weeks.” Trembling with anticipation, Stephanie gave an eager nod. “It’s fully cast. Katherine Martinez is playing Peggy.”

  The words fully cast and Katherine Martinez hit her like a wrecking ball. It took her a couple of seconds to regain her equilibrium. “Sorry, who did you say was playing the lead?” He repeated the name.

  “Oh, right,” she said, her excitement turning to numbness, “if it’s opening in a couple of weeks, of course it’s been cast.” She could feel her eyes stinging with tears. What had she been thinking? Katherine Martinez was a Hollywood superstar. Stephanie Glassman played the piano in hotel lounges. How could she have imagined even in her wildest dreams that Sidney Doucette would bring in an unknown to play the lead? And now that she thought about it, with blond hair, Martinez would be the image of the young Peggy Lee. Stephanie could feel Ossie looking at her, taking in her expression. His face broke into a soft smile. “Stephanie, I know you’re disappointed. It’s my fault. I know I led you to believe that this was going to be something really big.”

  Desperate to give him the impression that she was a trouper used to getting knocked back, she told him it was OK and that he shouldn’t worry.

  “No, it’s not OK,” he said. “I’m as disappointed as you are. I swear to you, I thought Sidney was auditioning you for the lead. He has a history of taking gambles and casting unknowns. You may find this hard to believe, but until he and I left the Blues Café on Thursday night, I had absolutely no idea that Katherine Martinez already had the part. I’m furious with him for not being straight with me, and I’ve told him so.”

  “OK, but you mentioned that Sidney still has a part in mind for me.”

  “He does, but you’re not going to like it.” There was a long pause while Ossie lit up a cigar. “Katherine Martinez may have been given the lead, but there is one small problem.” Stephanie gave a small frown. “The woman can’t sing a note.”

  “I can see how that might be a problem if you’re playing Peggy Lee, yes,” Stephanie said. Ossie cleared his throat. By now he seemed to be feeling even more uneasy. “That’s where you come in,” he said.

  “Where I come in? I don’t understand.”

  “OK, Sid is looking for somebody to record the songs and Katherine will lip-synch them on stage. He had a singer lined up, but she has come down with some virus that’s affected her voice.”

  Stephanie sat processing this for a few moments. “But the singer gets the credit, right? I mean, her name is on the billboard alongside Katherine’s.”

  Ossie took his cigar out of his mouth and flicked an ash into an ashtray. “Actually, no.”

  “What? You mean the whole thing’s a con? The audience is tricked into believing Katherine can sing?”

  “In a nutshell, yes. If you ask me, Sid’s seen too many reruns of Singin’ in the Rain. Anyway, the most important thing is that nobody must know. The cast and technical people have all signed confidentiality agreements.”

  Stephanie stared at Ossie and started laughing. “Sidney can’t be serious.”

  “That’s what I said, but I assure you he is—deadly serious.”

  “But he’ll never get away with it. Everyone will see Katherine’s lip-synching. You can always tell.”

  Ossie explained that, according to Sid, it had all been thoroughly thought through. The lighting was to be arranged in such a way that it would be hard for anybody not onstage to tell it wasn’t Katherine singing. She suggested it might have made life a lot easier if Sidney had simply taken on somebody who could sing.

  “Katherine’s a huge star. She even looks like Peggy Lee. People will flock to this show. Having her in the lead is tantamount to Sid’s company being given a license to print money. Look, I know the whole thing stinks. I’ve already told Sid I’m pretty sure you won’t agree to do it—and I really wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Too right I won’t,” Stephanie shot back. “For a start, it’s dishonest. On top of that, why would I let Katherine Martinez take all the credit, when it’s my voice the audience will be hearing? And what happens if it all goes pear-shaped and the press find out what’s going on?”

  “I have to say I don’t think anybody will leak this. Not for the amounts Sid’s paying them to keep quiet.”

  “Sorry, it makes no difference.”

  “OK, but I think I should tell you that he is offering you a thousand pounds for every week the show runs. I got him up from seven fifty. After all, you’d be carrying the show and getting none of the credit.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “A thousand? … A week?”

  Ossie nodded. “And Martinez has signed a year’s contract.” That meant the deal was worth fifty thousand pounds. Stephanie sat thinking about what she could do with money like that. She could get rid of her worn-out old VW, put down a deposit on a decent flat, take a holiday, and she would still be free to work on any other project Ossie found for her. She was aware she was sitting there with her mouth open, not saying anything.

  “Look,” he said, “don’t make your mind up now. Go home and think about it. I want to make it clear, though, that if you go for it, I’m not going to take any commission from you. I can’t say I approve of what Sid’s doing, plus I gave you the impression this gig would be a turning point in your career. I feel I’ve let you down by offering you something this tacky.”

  Then he said he was in a hurry because he had another client due any moment. “Let’s talk. And also, why don’t you let me buy you dinner? Then maybe we could go on somewhere. A club, perhaps.” His voice softened. “You know, Stephanie, you really are a very beautiful woman.” Then he rolled his cigar in his mouth and did the Groucho Marx eyebrow thing again, just as he had at the Blues Café. It was only now that the light went on and she realized he fancied her.

  It was too much to process at once: Sidney Doucette’s insane plan, the thousand quid a week and now Ossie asking her out. He was clearly a fundamentally decent bloke, and judging by the earrings he’d bought Sheila, he wasn’t without a tender, sensitive side. But she didn’t remotely fancy him. He was still pushy and loud and he had the table manners of Henry the Eighth. Then there was the height thing. Was it politically incorrect to admit that men of three foot nine didn’t turn her on? Either way, she couldn’t possibly admit to Ossie that his size was an issue. It would have been too cruel. Of course, she could always tell him about Albert and how she wasn’t interested in any romantic involvement right now. But she was certain that he wouldn’t believe her. He was bound to assume that she’d rejected him because of his size. God, how did you turn down a midget who asked you out, without it looking, well, midget-ist?

  “So, do we have a date?” Ossie prompted.

  On the other hand, maybe he would respect her more if she was honest. “The thing is, Ossie … you see, the thing is.” She shifted in her chair, groping for something tactful and kind to say. Of course, nothing came. “What I mean is … what I’m trying to say is … That sounds great. I’d love to have dinner.”

  “Excellent. I know this amazing Austrian place where you can sit and eat Wiener schnitzel until you think
your name’s Wolfgang.”

  “Wow. Great,” she said, hoping her lack of enthusiasm wasn’t showing. Just then the phone rang. “Ah, Your Royal Highness,” Ossie said, giving Stephanie a conspiratorial wink, “I thought you might call back.” Then he covered up the mouthpiece. “I’ll call you,” he said, puckering up his lips and making soft kissing noises.

  She walked briskly toward Leicester Square tube, her head down against the bitter wind, cursing herself again and again for being stupid enough to think she might have been offered the lead. But she couldn’t do what Sidney was asking. Not even for a thousand quid a week.

  On the tube, a woman was sitting next to her, reading this month’s Vogue. Stephanie peered over her shoulder, her heart sinking to her scuffed Faith boots as she stared at the razor-cheeked models draped in itsy-bitsy floaty things costing thousands. She yearned to treat herself to something pretty and just a bit extravagant. Not that she would have bought anything itsy-bitsy or floaty, even if she could have afforded it. She wasn’t tall enough or sufficiently emaciated for either itsy or bitsy, and floaty made her look like a Druid. She carried on staring at the magazine, practically salivating at the La Perla underwear, the cutesy Lulu Guinness handbags, a particularly spectacular pair of green satin Jimmy Choo slingbacks. She began fantasizing about going clothes shopping with Cass, being able to have a massage or her highlights done, knowing she didn’t have to panic or feel guilty about breaking the bank.

  By the time she reached the Park Royal, her position on the Sidney Doucette offer had taken a distinct shift. Was there some way she could get past the dishonesty issue and accept it?

  Since she was more than an hour early, she headed for the hotel coffee shop.

  She sat scraping the chocolate off her cappuccino foam and thinking about Sidney’s proposal. OK, maybe there was an argument that duping the audience didn’t constitute such a major crime. As consumers, the audience would still be getting a decent product. An exceptionally decent product, even if she did say so herself. Plus, it wasn’t as if anybody was going to get hurt. But what if it all went wrong and the press found out? Ossie had said it was unlikely, but he couldn’t be sure. So, what would happen? Nothing—at least not to her. It wasn’t as if anybody could destroy her reputation, since—let’s face it—she wasn’t famous and didn’t have one to start with. It would be Sidney and Katherine Martinez who would end up taking the rap. What did she have to lose? Absolutely nothing. Yes, it meant handing over all the glory to Martinez, but for the kind of money Sidney was offering, maybe—just maybe—she could live with that.