Stardust

by Charlotte Bingham

  Jerome didn’t ring, but then Pippa didn’t expect him to do so. There would be too much going on, too much excitement after all that grief, as Jerome called it, too much celebrating. Pippa laughed happily, out loud, suddenly, infectiously, purely. She laughed because she was so happy. She was so happy because she knew Jerome would be so happy, and she was so happy because she knew her mother loved her. She could hardly wait to see Jerome and tell him.

  She had the train timetable in hand now, running a finger down the right page under the light of a table lamp she had just switched on. She saw the first train would get her there shortly after midday, just in time for a late lunch together, provided she could get a message to Jerome. But that proved impossible. There was no-one on the hotel switchboard, at least no-one was answering at such a late hour.

  Pippa put the phone down and lifted her dog back up on to her knee.

  ‘Never mind, Bobby,’ she said. ‘Even better, we’ll surprise him.’

  They avoided each other studiously at the party, except for when necessary, because since they had become lovers, they had lost their actors’ intimacy, something they realized as soon as they congratulated each other afterwards. They could no longer hold each other and hug each other and go kissy-kissy, as Elizabeth called it. As soon as they tried to do so, as soon as Jerome threw his arms around her, when Elizabeth emerged looking radiant from her dressing room, it was all he could do not to make love to her there and then. It was the same for Elizabeth, she was thrown totally. She allowed his embrace thinking it was going to be the same as all their other backstage embraces, a bear hug, a kissy-kissy, Jerome lifting her up in his arms off the ground, swinging her round in delight and telling her how marvellous she was, before releasing her to turn and hug and kiss and talk to someone else.

  This time, as soon as he touched her, she shivered and for some absurd reason found herself wanting to cry. She could also feel him against her, they were both only in gowns after all, Elizabeth in her silk underwear and pale pink robe, Jerome in just a towel round his waist, and his old make-up marked, black dressing gown barely tied. They had hugged like this often before, and although Elizabeth had been secretly thrilled, she had never been aware of him, never felt him up against her like that, never felt his sudden awakening excitement.

  It happened so quickly Elizabeth only just disentangled herself in time, as did Jerome, but if anyone had been watching closely they would have seen the look in their eyes, a look which told of some sort of fear, of some sort of loss of control.

  ‘Ozzie!’ Elizabeth called, seeing the writer just in time, although unable to resist giving Jerome one more glance over her shoulder, a glance which Oscar saw, and which he followed, finding a shell-shocked Jerome at the end of it, staring wide-eyed and straightfaced back at Elizabeth.

  ‘Ozzie darling!’ Elizabeth threw her arms round Oscar’s neck and still on the run from that moment of danger kissed him far too hard as a result.

  ‘Wow!’ Oscar exclaimed. ‘I’m made of the same stuff as all these other guys, you know, Lizzie. I bleed, I tickle, I laugh just the same, right?’

  Elizabeth laughed with well-feigned delight and kissed him again, and then Jerome was at his side embracing Oscar, both arms round him, looking over Oscar’s shoulder right into Elizabeth’s face, her mouth only inches away from his. Elizabeth just closed her eyes, that was all she could do, but it was quite enough for Jerome.

  ‘I have to take a shower, Oz!’ he said above the din. ‘Sorry – but I’m so hot!’

  Elizabeth laughed. She had to. She couldn’t help it.

  And now they were at the party they circled around each other, passing each other by, only talking to each other when others were present, making sure they were never alone for one moment because they knew companies, they knew how everyone in a company read faces for any sign of an affair, they knew how everyone always looked for signs. So they were extra careful not to give the watchers any, they gave them no signs at all, not even the smallest one, which was how everyone in the company knew they were lovers.

  Oscar saw it straightaway. He had seen it as he followed Elizabeth’s look, and he could see it now every moment they were not together. Jerome and Elizabeth were usually inseparable at these bashes, holding hands, standing with their arms round one another, Elizabeth straightening Jerome’s hair, or shirt, Jerome teasing her, pinching her cheek, dancing and flirting. Now they were at opposite ends of the room, their backs to each other, talking to everybody and anybody rather than to each other. No-one said anything about it, because no-one was really that bothered. The more experienced members of the company had seen it all before in other companies, and although they had predicted it happening, previous experience told them it rarely amounted to anything. Infidelity didn’t count on tour, it was an unwritten rule. And if, as in this particular instance, it actively helped, if it made life better by making what they were all doing better, then it was to be positively welcomed, not actively discouraged.

  Elizabeth left long before Jerome, without, as far as Oscar could see, even saying goodbye to him. She waved to Oscar through a throng of people, her hands to her pretty mouth, blowing him a stream of kisses, mouthing to Oscar that she loved him, and then when he had picked up his glass she was gone. And Oscar still didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry.

  He took a long draught of his whisky and ginger ale and sank into a chair. What he had seen that evening, what they had all seen, what they had cheered to the rafters were two performances of such total brilliance that they defied description. In all his wildest dreams Oscar had never imagined that anything he wrote could ever be performed with such breathtaking artistry. He had thought Elizabeth brilliant in his first play, he had thought at that moment she could not be surpassed, nor that she could surpass herself. But All That Glitters paled into insignificance against what he had witnessed on stage tonight. Elizabeth and Jerome, both of them, they were every word there was in the dictionary which described brilliance, every word, he decided, and then some more.

  Jerome came and knelt on the floor beside him.

  ‘You look as though you’re about to burst into tears, Oz,’ he laughed. ‘What ails you?’

  ‘I think I am about to burst into tears, Jerome baby,’ Oscar replied, totally out of character. ‘Just don’t ask me why.’

  ‘I know.’ Jerome settled down slightly lower, sitting back on his thighs, but still kneeling. ‘I feel completely thrashed. Bouleversed. Back to front. Upside down. You’re a genius.’

  ‘No, pal, I’m a very good writer. You – are the goddam genius.’

  ‘We are nothing, Oz, without the words. Without you – we are dumb.’

  He said dumb dum-mer, Oscar noted, delighting as always in Jerome’s wonderfully idiosyncratic delivery.

  ‘Hey, tell me, bud,’ he said, ‘where did you learn to speak that way? I just love it. Evah. Dummer. Iyah. Lah-ve. Boy, is it great.’

  ‘Where did you learn to write like that, bud? Beautiful, wonderful, touching, funny. We can all learn to speak, Oz. What we cannot be taught – is how to write.’

  ‘Hell, there it is again,’ Oscar sighed. ‘To write-ah. Where did I learn to write? Where does anyone learn to write. I’ll tell you where. Wherever I go. Because wherever I go, I watch people, Jerry, old buddy. I watch ’em, and I watch ’em damn good.’

  He hadn’t meant to say that, but Oscar was drunk and no longer in control of his mouth. He was irritated, too, because he saw that Jerome wasn’t drunk, and he knew why that was. Because he didn’t want to disappoint Elizabeth. Lover-boy wanted to be able to keep it going, on through the night.

  ‘Keep it up, old boy,’ Oscar said in a terrible English accent. ‘What-ho.’

  ‘Oz – you are pissed,’ Jerome laughed. ‘You are completely drenched.’

  ‘Oh – you think I don’t know what’s going on, right?’

  ‘Is that a question or a statement, Oz?’ Jerome asked lightly, taking a cigarette from his packet as
he did so, so that his eyes wouldn’t meet Oscar’s.

  ‘I know what is going on, Jerry boy. And I shall tell you. What is going on is serious.’ He stared down at Jerome, who was looking up at him completely openly, so openly Oscar knew he was hiding the biggest secret of his life. ‘What is going on, Jerome Didier, genius, is that we have a stinking, great, socking big hit, you bastard.’

  He leaned over to Jerome, knocking his drink off the arm of his chair but not noticing, and put his arms around his neck, hugging the actor to him. Jerome was pulled off balance, forward from his kneeling position, but he caught hold of the front of Oscar’s chair just in time to regain his balance.

  Oscar still had hold of him, and was whispering in his ear.

  ‘You bastard,’ he was whispering. ‘You bastard great son of a bitch.’

  When he eased Oscar back into his chair, and took the still smouldering stub of his cigarette from his fingers before Oscar could burn himself, Jerome saw that Oscar was crying.

  During the night while Pippa slept, the lovers were reunited. Jerome had wondered what to do when he got back to the hotel, but his instructions awaited him in a note slipped under his door, and he obeyed them, slipping into Elizabeth’s room once there was nobody else about.

  ‘You’re having doubts, J,’ Elizabeth said as he came and sat on the edge of her bed in the dark. ‘I feel it. I know you are.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘I have no doubts at all,’ she replied. ‘At least not as far as you are concerned.’

  ‘What about the other people who are concerned?’

  ‘They needn’t know. Not ever.’

  She put a hand out to him, resting it on his arm when he wouldn’t take it. After a moment, he got up and took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bethy,’ he said, after he had walked over to the window and looked out at the silent city. It was time to be brave. ‘But I don’t think we should go on with this. We’ve broken down that famous door of yours, we’ve got through to each other, we have the play now. We have our characters. So I don’t think we should go on.’

  ‘I disagree.’

  The voice behind him was so icily positive, Jerome spun round, his cigarette still in his mouth.

  ‘I mean it, Bethy,’ he said.

  ‘I mean it, J,’ she replied. ‘It’s a condition of doing the play.’

  Jerome stared at her, and stared at her, and then laughed, as if she were joking, turning back to look out of the window.

  ‘No, no, Bethy,’ he said, drawing on his cigarette and shaking his head. ‘There are no conditions. Particularly ones which come wrapped in emotional blackmail.’

  ‘You don’t understand, J.’ He heard her slip from the bed behind him, and pad across the room to stand beside him. ‘This isn’t emotional blackmail. It’s a fact. I can’t do this without you.’

  She had put her arm through his and now rested her dark head on his shoulder.

  ‘Bethy darling!’ he whispered as he looked round at her, her beautiful face lit pale by the moon. ‘I can’t do it without you either! That goes without saying!’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ She sighed, deeply, keeping her head on his shoulder, but tightening the grip she had on his arm. ‘I can’t do this play without you.’

  ‘Without us making love you mean?’

  ‘Don’t sound so astonished, my darling. I can’t do this play, I can’t do any play – I can’t do anything now – not without you.’

  He wasn’t aware she was crying, because her voice was quite level, but when he turned her round to him he saw the glint of tears on her cheek. He put a hand up to her face, but she took it, holding it away from her.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Kiss them away. Please. Kiss the tears away.’

  ‘I can’t.’ It was hopeless, he knew. She just had to touch him, to look at him like that, and it was quite, quite hopeless. So he let go of her, or rather he made her let go of him.

  ‘We know how to do the play now, Bethy,’ he said. ‘We’ve found out how to do it. We simply have to be responsible.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘no, no, no!’ And turning away from him quickly, she threw herself down on the bed, face down, burying her head in the pillows. He had to go over to her, he had to take her up in his arms, gently, carefully, he had to hold her while she cried, and cried, just as she had planned to do earlier in the theatre with Muzz. If he suddenly gets an attack of conscience, she said, I think I shall cry, Muzz, don’t you?

  ‘Bethy, darling,’ Jerome said, stroking her thick silky hair. ‘Of course you can do Tatty without – without me.’

  ‘No, I can’t!’ she cried into his chest. ‘I can’t, J, I simply can’t! If you suddenly stopped loving me—’

  ‘Loving you?’ He had her by the shoulders, gently but firmly, so that he could hold her away from him, so that he could look at her. Even through her tears she was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful. ‘Loving you?’

  ‘Yes, J,’ she whispered, putting one hand to her mouth, ‘loving me. And if you stopped now, I don’t know what I’d do.’

  ‘I haven’t said I love you, Bethy. I never said that.’

  He felt her body stiffen, and she suddenly threw back her head and those famous green eyes glittered up at him dangerously. ‘What do you think you’re doing, J? What do you think you did this afternoon? You made love to me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course we made love, Bethy! But—’

  ‘So what else is making love, J! But loving! At least that’s what I understand by making love!’ The eyes narrowed, and she tried to pull herself away from him, as if she suddenly sensed real danger. ‘Unless—’ she faltered, ‘unless that’s not the way you see it. Perhaps it isn’t, J!’ She was beginning to struggle harder now, but Jerome had a tight hold on her, he was determined not to let her go, he was afraid of that look in her eyes. ‘Oh God – perhaps it isn’t! Perhaps you didn’t see it as making love – perhaps you just saw it as – as having me! Oh God!’ she moaned. ‘Perhaps that’s all it is to you, Jerome Didier! Perhaps I’m just another person for you just to have!’

  ‘No, Bethy! Don’t say that! Don’t be such a damn fool!’ he said, still holding her as she began to struggle against him now with all her strength. From next door someone shouted at them to keep it down, to shut it up, that some people were trying to sleep, so Jerome frowned darkly at her, and told her to hush, to sshhhh.

  ‘I’ll scream,’ she said, her eyes fixed on his. ‘If you don’t say you were making love to me, that you were loving me, that you weren’t just doing the traditional thing, laying the leading lady, I warn you, J, I shall scream.’

  ‘Of course I wasn’t, Bethy!’ He didn’t want her to scream, he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a scandal, he didn’t want his career to be hurt, not now, not ever. So he eased her down on to the edge of the bed, slowly and easily while he changed his pitch to soothing, to soothing reassurance, to calm her, to keep her from screaming. ‘Of course we were making love,’ he said. ‘Of course I was loving you. I couldn’t just – oh Bethy – if you thought I was the type of man who could just—’

  He got no further because she had suddenly started to giggle, and then to laugh, to laugh with such delighted relief he had to clap a hand to her mouth and hush her once again. He kept his hand there while she rolled her eyes at him, over his hand, which she then softly bit, before sliding her tongue through his fingers, and kissing the palm of his hand slowly and softly while catching his eyes in hers.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she whispered, easing his hand from her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, I really thought for a moment you meant—’

  ‘Sssshhhh,’ he whispered back, ‘it’s all right. It’s all right.’

  She kissed him, and he made no effort to stop her. In fact he welcomed it, kissing her in return, slipping his arms round her tiny waist, drawing her down beside him on the bed.

  ‘I need you so much,’
she gasped, ‘I can’t do without you. I can’t do the play! I promise I can’t!’

  ‘You won’t have to, Bethy my darling.’ He was opening her robe, exposing her beautiful body to the moonlight, kissing her white breasts. ‘You won’t have to, I promise.’ Her nipples were so perfect, they were little pink buds. ‘You won’t have to,’ he said, ‘because the truth is I can’t do it without you.’

  ‘I would die,’ she said, her back arching under the delicious thrill of him kissing each pink bud. ‘If Tatty were to fail now, if we couldn’t take it, now that we have it right, if we couldn’t take it into town.’ Now she gasped, as his hand eased down her stomach. ‘But we couldn’t, it just won’t be possible, not unless oh—’ she groaned quietly, ‘oh no, not unless we keep loving each other, my darling. So that we don’t ever lose it – Oh!’

  ‘Ah—’ Jerome whispered, ‘yes, my darling, oh my God yes, Bethy darling, yes!’

  By the time dawn broke, as Jerome was creeping back to his own room and bed, he knew there was no way he could stop now, not until the play was over, not until the play had come off and they had then to part, there was simply no way. Because Jerome was hopelessly addicted.

  Pippa’s train arrived on time at Manchester Central, from where she took a taxi straight to the hotel. Pippa had intended to ring Jerome from the station to warn him of her arrival, but when she saw the queue for the phones as well as the growing one for cabs she decided otherwise, knowing that it wouldn’t matter because Jerome loved surprises. They were always surprising each other.