A Year Like No Other

by Pauline Lawless

  “That’s too many,” he told her. “Let’s keep it to eight. We can invite ‘the Irish’, as you call them, another time – and as far as I know Jazz is going to Germany at the weekend.” This was an outright lie. “We can have her with Ashling and Kieran another time.”

  Taylor was relieved. Jazz was too glamorous by half and for sure Marilyn would make a play for the Australian hunk. No, best to do as Brandon suggested.

  “Okay, that’s decided then,” she smiled.

  He wiped his brow. Phew, that was close!

  Jazz rang Ashling on Saturday. “Are you going to Taylor’s lunch tomorrow?” she asked her.

  “Didn’t even know she was having one. Are you going?”

  “No. Brandon mentioned it and I think he was a little embarrassed about it but maybe it’s for the best as Yves and Sophie are going.”

  Ashling couldn’t have agreed with her more. “Why don’t you come around to us for lunch tomorrow? Kieran is taking the girls to the circus in the afternoon. I hate circuses so we can have the afternoon to ourselves.”

  “Thanks, I’d like that,” Jazz replied. She’d declined to go out with Hugh and the gang. She just didn’t feel up to all that jollity.

  “Come around twelve,” Ashling told her.

  32

  Ashling was shocked to see that Jazz had lost weight and had dark circles under her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” she asked after greeting her. “You look stressed.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sleeping and I’m not eating. Love is great for dieting!” she laughed hollowly.

  God, love is not very good if does this to you, Ashling wanted to say, but of course she didn’t.

  Jazz wanted to talk about Yves all day. She really has it bad, Ashling thought, her heart aching for her friend. She was surprised to hear that they were meeting almost every night.

  “I don’t see Sophie at the school any more,” she told Jazz. “She’s back working full-time. Do you think she knows about you and Yves?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Jazz didn’t want to talk about Sophie or even think about her. The guilt and shame would be too much.

  To change the subject, Ashling told her about the novel she was writing.

  “Gosh, that’s great, Ash. You’ll be famous!”

  “I don’t think so,” Ashling laughed. “It’s not easy getting published but I do love it.”

  “I wondered what you did with your days, you dark horse!”

  Ashling was tempted to tell her about Corey but she didn’t. He was still her secret.

  “Please don’t mention it to anyone. I haven’t even told Kieran yet,” she admitted.

  Meanwhile, Brandon was welcoming his guests. Taylor, as always, fawned over Felicity. “My God, you look fantastic,” she gushed, stunned by the change in her. “I can’t wait for my friend Marilyn to meet you.”

  “You look lovely, my dear,” Brandon said, kissing her. He too was taken aback by the change in her. She looked downright chic!

  Felicity was surprised to see that neither Jazz nor Ashling had been invited. She was disappointed and wondered why they hadn’t been.

  Yves and Sophie were the next to arrive followed closely by Marilyn and Louis.

  “Hello, everyone,” Taylor clapped her hands. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Marilyn.”

  There was a stunned silence in the room as everyone stared at the vision before them. For a brief moment they all thought that it was the ghost of Marilyn Monroe. She was wearing an identical white halter dress to the one Monroe wore in that famous picture of hers with her skirt blowing up. Brandon half expected her skirt to blow up around her hips any moment. Now that would have caused a sensation. Thank God it didn’t!

  “Hi, everyone,” Marilyn drawled, her glossy red lips arranged in a Monroesque pout.

  Introductions were made all around and Brandon took an instant dislike to Louis. His tan was too orange, his suit too shiny and his long black hair too oiled. He was obviously wealthy, judging from the diamonds and gold he wore, but then Marilyn wouldn’t have been with him if he wasn’t. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. The poor fool was obviously besotted with her. This didn’t stop her zooming in on Yves whose dark Latin looks clearly attracted her. She flirted outrageously with him and he, recognising a fellow sex-lover when he saw one, played along with her. Brandon hoped that they’d get it together and that he’d leave Jazz alone.

  As she’d expected, Marilyn found Felicity boring. Ditto Max and Sophie. Yves was something else and she knew that she’d be seeing him again. He slipped her his phone number on the quiet. “Call me, please,” he’d whispered in her ear. She sure would!

  Sophie was very quiet today, Brandon noticed, and things seemed a little strained between herself and Yves. He wondered if she knew about Jazz. What a mess, he thought, not for the first time.

  The lunch went with a bang. Mimi had worked all day yesterday and again this morning, cooking a delicious meal. Taylor hadn’t lifted a finger to help. She even got Mimi to serve it up, afraid that she’d make a mess of it. Brandon was surprised that she seemed in such high spirits. She’d been moping around the house all week, probably because Marilyn was spending so much time with Louis. Thank God for that!

  Over coffee, Marilyn announced that she would be moving in with Louis, the following day. The poor fool looked delighted but not half as delighted as Brandon was.

  He noticed that Taylor had disappeared after that and when she hadn’t come back after twenty minutes, he asked Marilyn if she’d seen her.

  “I’ll go find her,” she offered.

  Going into Taylor’s bedroom she caught her friend in the act of popping a Vicodin into her mouth.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, grabbing Taylor by the wrist. She took the bottle of Vicodin from her.

  “Are you crazy?” Marilyn cried. “Do you know how addictive these are? They can kill you if you’re takin’ ’em with cocaine. It’s a lethal mix. Oh, Taylor! If I’d known you were on these I’d never have given you coke!”

  “I can handle them,” Taylor replied haughtily. “I’m just taking them for my headaches.”

  Marilyn now understood how her friend got so high so quickly. She’d been taking a cocktail of drugs, on top of all the alcohol they’d been drinking.

  “Taylor, you gotta stop! What you’re doin’ is dangerous.” Just then, to her horror, she spotted a bottle of Oxycontin on Taylor’s bedside table. “My Gawd, are you taking them too?”

  Taylor wrenched her hand away from Marilyn’s. “Leave me alone. I know what I’m doing. Go back to the party.” She went into the bathroom and banged the door after her.

  Marilyn didn’t know what to do. Taylor needed help. Should she say something to Brandon? Taylor would never forgive her if she did. But if anything happened to her friend, Marilyn would never forgive herself. One thing was sure, there’d be no more cocaine going her way.

  Brandon saw Marilyn returning. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” she lied, looking at him bleakly. “She’ll be back shortly.”

  Brandon didn’t know what had transpired in Taylor’s room but when Taylor returned he noticed the tension between the pair of them. Marilyn left shortly afterwards with Louis, and Taylor seemed in good spirits again.

  33

  Felicity was enjoying herself enormously. She hadn’t actually learnt to cook anything yet but was learning all about the basics of French cuisine. On Monday morning they had to be in at half past six as they were being taken to the market where the chefs from all the top restaurants in Paris were jostling together for the wonderful fresh produce on offer. As usual, she had teamed up with Sue and Becky and with the two older men on the course – Giles who was Moroccan and Jean who was French. They formed a merry group as their instructor pointed out what they should look for when shopping. It was an eye-opener and by the time they’d finished at nine, they went into a market café where the smell of croissants and freshly brewed coffee was tant
alising. Felicity ate twice as much as she usually did. All this studying was giving her an appetite and she was gaining weight, much to Max’s delight. He’d always thought she was too skinny.

  “Gosh, what will I be like when we start cooking food and tasting it?” she remarked to the others.

  “You’ll be lovely,” Jean said gallantly, which made her blush.

  “It’s all right for you,” Sue moaned. “You could do with a few extra pounds. I’m already overweight.”

  “Me too,” Becky chimed in. “You’re so slim, Felicity.”

  Felicity blushed again. She’d never received so many compliments. She was having a simply wonderful time. She felt like a new person. Cooking was her passion and she was now with others who understood and shared that passion. Nothing could burst her bubble.

  Jazz met Yves at lunchtime again. She couldn’t stay away.

  “I missed you so much, chérie,” he said, holding her close. They’d decided to meet in a café further away just in case they ran into anyone from the office in l’Excelsior.

  He stood up to greet her and kissed her deeply, pressing her body close to his. “I missed you,” she whispered huskily, desire bubbling up inside her. If he’d asked her to go to their hotel with him right there and then, she would have. It was outside her control. She needed him so badly. They arranged to meet there after work and it took her all of her willpower to concentrate on her work that afternoon. No matter how much she wanted to be with him, her work was of paramount importance. She knuckled down to it.

  She’d asked Brandon that morning how the lunch party had gone.

  “Okay,” he’d said without much enthusiasm, so she hadn’t enquired further. “Felicity looked fantastic,” he added. “I think she was disappointed that you and Ashling weren’t there.”

  She was dying to ask how Yves had been but didn’t dare.

  “Sophie looked very strained,” he volunteered, watching her for a reaction.

  He got it. Her head shot up like a whip.

  “How do you mean?” she asked, her heart in her mouth.

  “Well, there seemed to be a lot of tension between herself and Yves.”

  Oh, God, she thought, putting her head in her hands. This is not what I want. I don’t want her to be hurt.

  Brandon pretended not to notice and lifted his phone to ring someone while she turned back to her computer, quaking inside.

  Sophie was Yves’s problem and if he didn’t mention her then Jazz wouldn’t either but she wondered where Sophie thought he was spending all his evenings. She must suspect that he had a new mistress. Please God she won’t find out it’s me, Jazz thought guiltily.

  Marilyn called for her things and when she had packed everything up she sat down for a last drink with Taylor.

  “Honey, please listen to me,” she said, her Texan drawl much more obvious when she was upset, as she was now. “You are dicing with death here. Coke is fine but not when taken with Vicodin or Oxycontin. You’ll shatter your liver, honey, if . . . if you don’t kill yourself. I won’t get you any more cocaine, Taylor. You have to stop.” She took Taylor’s hands in hers. “Promise me you’ll ease up, honey, please?”

  “Okay,” Taylor nodded. Anything to stop this sermonising!

  “Honey, I have to go. My taxi is waiting outside. You know where I am if you ever need me. Anyway, I’ll call you tomorrow.” She kissed Taylor and hugged her tight before going downstairs to summon the taxi driver to come and collect all six of her Louis Vuitton cases. (She’d arrived with five but with all the purchases in Paris, it was now six!)

  When she’d left, Taylor poured another glass of wine and, curling up in the armchair, wrapped her arms around her ever-more-skinny frame. She was losing weight fast but she just couldn’t face food any more. Tears rolled down her face. She knew Marilyn was right but she just couldn’t face life without her pills. She’d cut back, honestly she would, she decided as she brought the half bottle of wine closer to her.

  Ashling and Corey had decided to make their weekly excursions on a Tuesday as many museums were closed on Mondays. So, on Tuesday morning she met up with him in Les Deux Magots for their first museum outing. Even Remy smiled and wished them good luck as they left. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl playing truant from school. Ashling had decided that Napoleon’s tomb at Les Invalides was to be their first port of call. It was fascinating and stunning and she discovered that Corey was as big a fan of Napoleon as she was.

  “May I invite you to a special lunch, in honour of our first exploratory trip?” he asked when they’d finished, his dazzling smile lighting up his face.

  “Why thank you,” she replied shyly. “I’d be delighted to accept.”

  They walked across the Seine chatting companionably. He was a very imposing figure and she saw many women turn to look at him. She wondered how old he was. With his silver hair and beard it was very hard to judge but his skin was fresh and unlined.

  “I feel honoured to be escorting such a beautiful young woman to lunch,” he remarked. “Everyone is wondering how an old geezer like me could possibly have managed it.” He laughed heartily, throwing back his head as he did so.

  “How old are you, Corey?” she felt brave enough to ask, now that he had brought up the subject.

  “Too old,” he replied. “I’ll be fifty-four next July.”

  “That’s not so old,” she replied honestly.

  “Thank you, sweet lady,” he smiled at her.

  “I’m almost thirty-three,” she grinned. “Same age as Jesus when he died.”

  He roared laughing at that, loving the way she volunteered her age so freely. Most women absolutely refused to tell their age until they got into their mid-eighties, when they started boasting about it.

  They walked through the beautiful Place de la Concorde into the Place Vendôme and, with a shock, Ashling realised that he was taking her to the Ritz. She’d always wanted to visit it and when Felicity had described how fantastic it was, she’d promised herself that she’d go there one day, if only for a coffee. I mean, how much could they charge for a cup of coffee! She had been a huge fan of Princess Diana and she recalled the last photos of her going through the revolving doors, not knowing she was going to her death, and she felt sad.

  The hotel was so opulent that it took her breath away.

  The doorman saluted them. “Welcome back, Mr Corey.”

  Ashling was puzzled. Why hadn’t he said Mr Danz?

  They walked down the luxurious corridor and into the grandiose restaurant. It was magnificent.

  Just then a very attractive blonde, another diner, came up to him. She spoke with an American accent.

  “Mr Corey, I can’t tell you how much I enjoy your books,” she simpered. “I wonder could I possibly have your autograph?”

  “Of course,” he replied graciously, signing the menu she held out to him.

  Ashling was puzzled. “Mr Corey?” she said, enquiringly.

  “Yes. I write under the pseudonym Dan Corey.”

  “Oh, my God. You’re not Dan Corey?” she cried in horror, bringing her hands to her mouth.

  “No, I’m Corey Danz but my readers know me as Dan Corey,” he said, laughing at her confusion.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve read all of your books. You’re very famous!”

  She felt foolish. All this time and she hadn’t realised that he was the best-selling author Dan Corey. She blushed with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry if I didn’t say anything, Ashling, but I prefer to be just Corey Danz to you. Now what are we going to eat?” he asked her, handing her the menu. “Champagne to drink, I think, to celebrate our first outing.” He called the waiter.

  She took her time reading the menu, trying to get back her equilibrium. She was having lunch with Dan Corey, one of the most successful authors in the world. Just imagine it. But no, she told herself, he wants to be himself and to me he’ll be plain Corey Danz, my friend. She gave him a dazzling smile as she told him she’d
like the scallops, followed by roast duck.

  “Thank God, no salad today,” he exclaimed, breaking into a hearty laugh. “I was beginning to fear you were a rabbit disguised as a beautiful woman, come to lure me away.”

  She pealed with laughter at the idea.

  The sommelier arrived just then with their champagne. When he’d poured it Corey raised his glass and said, “To my beautiful Irish colleen and to many more lovely outings like today. Thank you. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years.”

  “Neither have I,” she replied and she meant it, truly.

  Sophie knew that Yves was having an affair. When she asked him about it, he admitted it. She knew Yves needed to have other women besides her. They had an open marriage and it had worked perfectly well up until now. But something was different about this one. Before, he would meet his mistresses for an hour or two, once or twice a week, but this time he was staying out later and almost every night. When she asked him who it was he was seeing, he wouldn’t say and this worried her even more.

  He seemed distracted all the time and hadn’t wanted to make love to her in over a week. That in itself was very unusual. There was nothing she could do about it except sit and wait it out until he grew tired of the lady in question, as he always did. Still, she had an uneasy feeling inside and it scared her.

  After her wonderful day out with Corey, Ashling decided that she would have to tell Kieran about her new friend. She planned to tell him that night. She felt apprehensive about it which was silly as he was very much just a friend and she had nothing to be ashamed of. Still, she wasn’t sure Kieran would understand that. Men were funny about their wives having male friends, unless they were gay of course, which Corey patently wasn’t. She prepared a nice meal for Kieran and wrote another five hundred words of her novel when the phone rang.

  “Hello, darling, it’s me.”

  “Kieran, where are you? It’s almost nine thirty.”

  “Well, we had a bit of a crisis here this afternoon and Max and I have had to stay on here working to sort it out. Sorry, babe, but I’ll hardly make it by midnight. You go on to bed.”