by Cate Andrews
‘Hey Lucas,’ he whispered, thinking quickly. ‘Did you know cockroaches are the superheroes of the insect world?’
Lucas shook his tear-stained face, a similar goo now oozing out of his left nostril. ‘Don’t believe you,’ he whimpered.
‘What’s Spiderman’s secret weapon?’
Lucas sniffed. ‘Stringy cobweb thingy’s.’
‘And Superman’s?’
‘X-Ray spectaquales.’
‘Look down, Lucas, and tell me what you see.’
As if by magic, the terracotta tiles were awash with dozens of miniscule, squirming, ghost-white cockroaches. Lucas looked up at Michael in amazement.
‘Sometimes girl cockroaches make loads of babies at the point of erm going to heaven,’ he explained hastily. ‘Pretty cool, huh? Bet Clark Kent wishes he could do that in his telephone booth.’
Thank god Vincent had punctured the cockroach’s birth sac with his fist, reflected Michael. Inadvertently, the prick had gone and done something right for once. Hugging Lucas tightly, he ignored another trail of goo on his right shoulder. ‘How ‘bout we go tell your mom about it?’
Lucas nodded but he never once took his eyes off the impromptu cockroach maternity unit in the corridor.
‘Hey Lily, did you finish your notes ok?’ called out Michael, keeping his voice light as they entered her room and trying not to stare at the vast, Vincent-shaped dent in the duvet’s counterpane.
‘Nearly,’ she lied, swooping in from the bathroom. ‘Lucas darling, it’s so late. You must be shattered.’
You too, thought Michael, noting her red nose and swollen eyelids. ‘Have you much more to go?’
‘Oh, only another hour or so.’
‘Then you need your nanny here to settle Lucas,’ he said firmly, backing out of the door.
Storming into the bar, he headed straight for Charlene. The young Australian was a mess. She had more holes in her nose than the pool table she was dancing on and she appeared to be modelling herself on Venus De Milo’s ‘less is most definitely best’ approach to clothing. Wearing a purple bikini three sizes two small, her bronzed boobs were bouncing about all over the place.
‘Are you Lily’s nanny?’ he demanded, ignoring the well wishes being hailed at him from all around.
Charlene glared down at him from the pool table with all the insolence of a roomful of ASBO candidates.
‘Ye-ah, what’s it to you?’
He took one look at her pouting, petulant lower lip and lost his temper. ‘I want you back upstairs pronto. Lily needs to work and Lucas needs a babysitter. I assume that’s what you’re here to do?’
‘Piss off! You don’t pay my wages.’
Michael grabbed her arm then and yanked her off the table. ‘Neither will Lily if you don’t get your ass in gear. I’ll be only too happy to have a word with my father’s connection at the British Embassy too. Shouldn’t be tough to get your working visa revoked.’
Charlene’s teenage impudence fizzled out in a flash.
‘Oh alright, I’m coming,’ she snapped, stuffing her left boob back into her bikini, but as she made to follow she tripped over the Prop Master’s foot and pitched headfirst into Michael’s chest. Feeling a probing hand on his bum, he tensed and pushed her away. Charlene stank of cut-price booze, stale sex and cheap tricks.
‘Sor-rey,’ she giggled.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting a wad of Dirhams and a tube of juicy fruit at her. ‘You have exactly five minutes to sort yourself out. I suggest a double espresso, a shower and a personality change but I won’t expect miracles.’
Surprisingly, Charlene’s lower lip started to wobble then.
‘Ah zip it honey,’ he said harshly, turning to leave. ‘Save the crocodile tears for Mick Dundee but i’m betting he’d run a mile too. There aren’t many scarier sights than you lurking in the Australian Outback!’
Invoking Boss’ privileges, Michael insisted that Lily sack the rest of the evening off and join him for a drink in the bar, especially once a sulking, hiccupping nanny was re-installed in the adjoining bedroom. The gentle script supervisor was still making her excuses as he parked her on a bar stool next to him and ordered two whiskeys.
‘Hush Lily, the last section of the production report can wait,’ he said softly. ‘It’s ultimately for my benefit anyway and I, for one, have no interest in finding how under-scheduled and over-budget we are tonight. Think of it as a once in a lifetime get-outta-deadline opportunity.’ He indicated to the glass in front of her. ‘Now drink.’
‘But I don’t want to,’ she protested. ‘I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since Lucas was born.’
‘Well, here’s to a night of breaking conventions then.’
Michael knocked his back in one hit. There was really only one reason why he had invited her for a drink. Fuck etiquette, he thought bleakly. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the pomp and ceremony of dressing up something so important with small talk.
‘How long have you been sleeping with Vincent?’
It slipped out almost as an after-thought, like he was offering Lily a bowl of peanuts to go with her untouched glass of whiskey. Once he’d said it, however, he didn’t dare look at her. As a result, he missed every last iota of colour draining from her face - a knocked TV contrast button in his tactless fingers.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she whispered.
‘Cut the crap Lily. I overheard Vincent in your room. I know he’s Lucas’ father.’ He was surprised how angry he sounded. Lily nearly toppled off the stool with fright.
‘Please Michael, please. You can’t tell anyone. He’ll ruin us.’ She sounded delirious, kneading his arm with her ice-cold fingers.
Michael took one look at her terrified face and was overcome with remorse. He was no better than Vincent bludgeoning that cockroach.
‘Honey stop, I won’t tell a soul. I only mentioned it ‘cos I wanted to force my services as agony uncle, slash, nosy parker on you.’ He put his arm around her. ‘Aw shit. I thought you might need someone to talk to, that’s all. It sounded pretty heated back there.’
Lily started trembling so violently that her bar stool was soon trembling along with her. She had carried the burden of this terrible secret for so long but now she found herself trapped between sheer relief and blind panic. As he watched, she began to slump sideways.
‘Drink this,’ he urged, raising a glass to her pale lips. ‘Booze is the only answer in this situation.’
Lily relented and took a sip but she spat it out almost immediately, lightly dusting the surface of the counter with droplets of golden liquid.
‘That’s revolting,’ she gasped.
‘It’s an acquired taste.’
‘I can’t think of ‘acquiring’ anything awful enough to warrant drinking that poison.’
‘Not even Vincent as a sugar daddy? Ah crap, the bar tender’s about to throw a shit-fit. He’s just spent ages polishing that counter.’
To Michael’s surprise she started giggling then but pretty soon giant tears were rolling down her face.
‘Lily honey, are you ok?’ he asked gently.
For some reason this made her cry harder and suddenly she was eking out six long years of hurt and pain in great, grief-stricken sobs. Michael pulled her tighter into his arms.
‘I’m not having an affair with Vincent,’ she sobbed. ‘It was a one-night thing years ago. I was old enough to think I knew better but still young enough to make the kind of mistake that turned my world three-sixty in a heartbeat.’ She pulled away, wiped her eyes and gazed out of the patio doors. Polly was sat on the edge of the pool dangling her feet in the water and laughing at something Rachel was saying.
‘I was flown out as a replacement to the Second Unit Script Supervisor on GBA’s first film,’ she went on softly. ‘I didn’t want it. My husband and I had just returned from our honeymoon…’ She swilled her glass and managed two more tiny gulps. ‘We needed the money though. The wedding bills were horrendo
us. Did you know most caterers double their prices for weddings?’
Michael said nothing. He was waking up with night sweats just thinking about it already.
‘It wasn’t easy at first. The crew had bonded over the usual pre-production catastrophes and everyone apart from Joe treated me like the new girl in class.’
‘Did they tie your shoelaces together?’ he teased her, attempting to keep it light.
‘Not quite, but I used to creep up to my room every night after dinner and accidently forget to return.’
‘Except Vincent. So how does his raging libido fit into all this?’
‘Oh it wasn’t until the wrap party that I showed up on his radar. He came over and insisted on buying me a drink for all my hard work. Seven hours later I woke up with the worst headache of my life and, well, you don’t need me to spell out the rest’. Lily felt sick just thinking about it. It was the same reaction she’d had that morning after waking up next to a fat, naked Vincent.
‘What a bastard! He got you drunk and took advantage!’
‘It takes two to tango, all the way to the pregnancy test aisle in Boots,’ she said quietly. ‘I flew home the next day and confessed all. My husband was devastated but we pulled together and chose to stick it out.’
‘I guess Lucas changed all that?’
Lily nodded and picked up her glass. She needed all the courage she had to get through the next bit.
‘The cross on that positive pregnancy test proved to be mine to bear and mine alone. My parents disowned me, Andrew left the same day. I refused to consider an abortion and he couldn’t face the thought of raising another man’s child.’
Michael scowled. He wanted to punch her gutless, wife-abandoning ex-husband right in the mouth. ‘So what happened?’
‘I told Vincent.’
‘The devil incarnate! Where did you find him? Lounging in some Soho den of inequity?’
‘I turned up at GBA’s London office unannounced.’
‘Same difference.’
‘He made me wait hours. He called me a whore.’ Lily’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘At first, he denied everything. I think he was panicked at the thought of some obligatory Sunday tabloid expose. He threw me out after that and I didn’t contact him again. Then four months after Lucas was born he showed up on my doorstep spouting nonsense about paternal rights. At first I couldn’t get my head around it.’
‘Probably stoned, I presume he offered you some sort of visitation deal?’
Lily nodded. ‘In exchange for access, a full-time nanny and my silence, he offered to keep me on the GBA payroll permanently. I had no choice. I was broke. It was the worst decision I’ve ever made.’ A lone tear trickled down her cheek and smashed into the counter. ‘Oh dear,’ she sniffed, wiping it away with the sleeve of her mushy-pea green M&S V-neck, ‘i’ll be kicked out at this rate.’
‘Not if i’ve got anything to do with it,’ said Michael, glaring at the advancing bartender. The guy beat a hasty retreat.
‘After I let him into our lives he didn’t stop until he had full control over Lucas.’
‘Did you try reasoning with him?’
‘Only once.’ Lily trembled at the memory. ‘There was a confrontation over Lucas’ fourth birthday party. We fled to a cottage in the Lake District, the furthest my old car would go before overheating. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with us but I cherished every moment’. She left out the part that had resulted in a three-day hospital stay for her and a broken jaw.
‘But what’s to stop you leaving now?’ said Michael suddenly. ‘My dad’s jet is still sitting at Erizo Airport. It’ll fly you anywhere you need to go, Barbados, America, Australia... He’ll never find you there.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that to Lucas. He needs his father.’
‘But he’s Vincent Edwards!’ said Michael, gaping at her. ‘Surely NO father is better than him!’
‘Please lower your voice,’ she pleaded. ‘If he found out you knew our lives wouldn’t be worth living.’
‘But can’t you see? You and Lucas are just pawns to him, to be manoeuvred and man-handled however and whenever he sees fit.’
‘We’ll be ok,’ she said shakily. ‘We’ve survived this far, and when all’s said and done I don’t regret having Lucas for a second.’
‘Then let me pay some lawyer to get Vincent out of your life forever?’ he begged her.
‘I could never accept that.’
‘But there must be another solution. Just give me some time to figure it out, ok?’
Lily looked away again. Michael was the kindest, most generous man she had ever met but beneath the suntan she sensed more turbulence than a jumbo jet in freefall. For the briefest of moments she wondered if Maisie Peach had felt it too.
The bartender wasn’t Lily’s only bristling bystander that evening. Through the patio doors, Fifi was watching the scene unfold with growing indignation. Lily was sitting a little too close to Michael for her liking. Everyone knew producers fingered runners but had shameless affaires with their Heads of Departments. Namby-pamby, drippy script supervisors didn’t usually have a look-in.
‘Get a gander at that’ she said, nudging Rachel in the ribs. ‘Michael’s going above and beyond the call of duty for Miss Drippy. He’ll be taking Grandpa Moore on set visits next.’
Rachel followed her gaze and raised a curious eyebrow. ‘I do believe that’s the first time i’ve seen Lily in the company of anything other than a lever arch file.’
‘Fat lot of good it’s doing her,’ sniffed Fifi. ‘Her expression is more ‘funeral’ than ‘fun fun fun’. Lily looks more like a wet lettuce leaf than her namesake this evening.’
Rachel shrugged. Like the final resting place of Atlantis and Scorsese’s Oscar snub for Goodfellas, Lily was still an unfathomable mystery to her. For all her talent at rooting out scandal, she couldn’t for the life figure out what sway Vincent and GBA Pictures had over the timorous woman. As they watched, Michael lent in to peck Lily’s cheek and she flinched away as if scalded.
‘Ha!’ crowed Fifi in delight. ‘Not exactly romance of the century behaviour is it?’
Rachel frowned and pulled out a small square plastic bag from her pocket, out of sight from Polly who was nattering away to Joe over by the sun loungers. ‘Give it a rest Fi. Those two are about as likely to copulate as George Clooney and Dot Cotton.’ She tapped the white powdery contents onto her notebook. Fifi’s eyes lit up when she saw it.
‘Ooh, give us a snort Rach’
‘Keep your voice down. I don’t want Polly to see.’
‘Why? Still trying to delay the inevitable? Give her another month and she’ll be as screwed up as the rest of us.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ said Rachel grimly. She was determined to bottle up Polly’s innocent ambition and preserve it like an aromatic marmalade.
Deftly divvying up the powder into two lines, she inhaled one in a single hit, gasping as the blood vessels in her nose ignited with all the old familiar fireworks.
‘Are you trying to be ironic snorting off your local video shop card?’ observed the Make-Up Artist wryly.
Rachel dabbed at her streaming eyes. ‘What can I say? I like to lump all my film-related habits together.’
‘By anaesthetizing the torture of working here with another industry staple?’
‘Oh make it quick, would you,’ snapped Rachel, ‘this conversation’s boring me already.’ These days a quick snort tended to be accompanied with an unpalatable combo of guilt and self-loathing. ‘Sod this, i’m going to bed’ she announced, jumping up. As she did the remaining line tipped all over the flowerbed.
‘You selfish cow,’ squealed Fifi.
Polly glanced over then to see the revolting Make-Up Artist sink to her hands and knees with a rolled up twenty clamped to her nostril.
Chapter Seventeen
Maisie squealed as the silver jaws of the lash curlers snapped shut like a guillotine. The
device slackened immediately and there was a horrified pause. The spider leg remnants of three whole eyelashes were stuck fast to the white plastic trim.
‘You stupid bitch!’ she screamed at the terrified trainee make-up assistant. ‘How dare Fifi send such a novice to my trailer! And where the hell’s Gemma? I want my hair curled, NOW!’
‘I’m so sorry, Ms Peach, I’ll find her right away.’ The young girl shot out of the trailer only too happy for the excuse to leave.
Maisie picked up a box of false eyelashes and hurled it at the mirror. The box exploded and the contents flew in all directions. One stuck fast to the glass, a wispy black blob, obscuring her reflection, before it worked itself loose and landed in amongst a bowl of cotton buds. The mirror had suffered worse abuse in recent weeks. There were the inch long fractures next to a photograph of her and Zach Roberts, as well as the surfeit of smeary white dribbles of some cream or another. Objects didn’t tend to stay put on the counter when Maisie’s temper flared which was happening more and more often. Lately, her much lauded ‘Queen of Cool’ PR persona was showing every sign of abdicating.
It was all because of that stupid article thought Maisie, gazing moodily at her reflection. One glance at it and she’d chucked up her breakfast, lunch and dinner - all thirty-eight calories of it. Damn Hot! Hot! Hot! The very thought of marrying Michael was at best intolerable and at worst unsustainable. All the stress was accelerating the nasty business of aging and she’d already had to fly out her Botox Whizz a month earlier than scheduled.
Leaning forward to examine a new wrinkle, she made a mental note to call her PA, Bitsy. She better make the necessary arrangements to fly him out again first thing tomorrow.
To Maisie, the very idea of a multi-million dollar wedding to anyone other than Stephen was as flawed as last year’s hemline. Her whole world revolved around him. He was her Heathcliffe, her Darcy, her Mel Gibson from Lethal Weapon, but without the mullet. Beneath the thick layers of fake tan and foundation, her pretty face hardened. There had to be some way to ditch Michael and declare her love for Stephen publicly without damaging her relationship with Global.
