The Numbers Game

by Frances Vidakovic

  “No you don’t,” Jasper called, just as Serena had made it to the finish line. “Excuse me, fellows.”

  He patted a few pin-stripe suited men on the back, signed a couple more A3 size prints of his painting and made his way across the room to Serena.

  “Shall we?” he said when he reached her. Up close he looked tanner, cuter and more famous than ever.

  “Yes?” Serena gulped, not knowing if that was the right answer.

  “Good. Come along this way Tabitha.” A wink sealed the proof that Jasper was no longer angry at her.

  Removing the media pass responsible for this whole mess, Serena followed Jasper into another meeting-type room like he was the Piped Piper. She couldn’t quite describe the tidal wave of emotions that came crashing down upon her by this time: fear, nervousness, the latent excitement of stepping into the unknown. If she had had any prior notion of how to broach this meeting (and some game plan would’ve been nice) Serena lost it in the last three minutes.

  It was simply her, Jasper and a couple of unanswered questions.

  “So?” he said, sitting down on a giant mahogany conference table. For the record, Jasper looked very much like David Beckham in black Armani, his lean muscles surely knotting under the weight of the suit. On second thoughts, maybe there was a touch of Markie in him too. If one ignored the obvious differences (average height versus tall, lean versus bear-like, golden boy versus dark-haired prince)….Markie had a suit just like this one.

  “Yes?” Serena said, shoving the comparisons to the back of her mind.

  “You obviously came here for a reason. Care to share what it is?”

  “I think you know why I’m here,” Serena replied. She tried not to look into Jasper’s puppy-dog eyes (another thing he and Markie had in common). Keep it detached, keep it brief.

  “Not really,” Jasper shrugged. “I thought everything was made quite clear on the night that your boyfriend Markie called you up.”

  “He’s not my…I mean he wasn’t my boyfriend at the time.” Serena sighed. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. It was time to take it SLOW.

  “Look Jasper let’s put aside the fact that I perhaps failed to share with you my entire relationship history when we hooked up. The reality still was that you and I were seeing each other. We were in the beginning stages of what I deemed to be love. At least I thought it was love seeing as you said I love you too. I promise never to let you go Serena, remember?” Serena didn’t mean to mimic Jasper’s voice but she couldn’t help it.

  “And while I may not be an expert on such matters, it’s my understanding that when a problem crops up, boyfriends typically sit down and discuss it with their girlfriends. They try to resolve it or if it can’t be resolved they try to come up with some sort of mutual agreement. They do not run away, they do not disappear off the face of the earth. At least that’s my understanding.”

  Serena stopped to take a breather and noticed Jasper was smiling in that weird way at her again.

  “What? What is it? Is what I’m saying so horribly wrong?”

  “No, it’s just you look so cute when you’re passionate about something.”

  “Forget cute,” Serena bellowed back. She was angry now, she wanted answers. “I’d prefer it if you tell me why exactly you felt compelled to dump your home, your job, even your bloody cell phone? Was that all because of me?”

  Jasper was laughing now.

  “Serena, Serena.” He shook his head. “You should know me better than that. I may be immature and non-confrontational but I don’t consider you to be some stalker.”

  “You sure treated me as if I was a bloody stalker.”

  “If you look at it from the paranoid female way,” he grinned, biting his lip. Then came the pensive expression. “Look the reality is maybe I’m not that good with relationship conflict. Maybe I did run away but it was for the best, at least I got out before both our hearts got smashed to smithereens. I take it you’re with Markie again.”

  “Um…” Serena bit her lip until she almost drew blood. If she said yes would she be burying herself in her own grave?

  “You don’t need to say yes, because I already know. I called your place three days ago, just for old time’s sake. Markie answered, sounded like a nice guy.”

  “You didn’t?” Serena froze.

  “Wrong number I said. Don’t worry; I’m not about to rock the boat. Chances are we wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway.”

  “Oh really….because?” Serena asked. It worried her how Jasper seemed to have clairvoyant skills, in addition to all his other great attributes.

  “My career for starters. The apartment and job had to go anyway thanks to my upcoming Asia-Oceania tour later this year. ”

  “Wow that’s very convenient,” Serena mumbled. What better way to get over heartbreak than an international tour?

  If truth be told, by this point something wasn’t quite sitting right with Serena. For starters Jasper didn’t look like he’d just had his poor fragile heart smashed to tiny bits. To the contrary he looked like he didn’t give a hoot. Which would call for a miraculous recovery, wouldn’t you say?

  Then it crashed upon her like a tidal wave from hell.

  “Oh my gosh, you were planning to leave me anyway! That whole overreacting about the call from Markie, the whole ‘you have betrayed me’ scene - it was just an excuse, the perfect way to get out of the relationship without looking like the bad guy. I’m right; tell me how right I am.”

  Serena stared at Jasper, her ears burning red at the tips. Jasper didn’t need to say anything; he didn’t even need to put on that guilty look as some sort of congratulatory consolation prize. Because the truth, the real truth was, one did not spend hours upon hours with someone without learning something. Call it women’s intuition, but there was a knowing within her that no amount of contrary evidence could ever dispute. And Serena had just tapped into that resource.

  At least Jasper had the tact not to try and deny it.

  He had never really loved her. If he had he wouldn’t have left her the way he did. Jasper was simply going through the motions of love, like an actor reading from a well-versed script. At the end of the day when his work was done he’d dropped that script, stepped out of his costume, shedding along with it his last shreds of feeling as he walked away.

  There was no reason why Serena could not do the same.

  “Look it was nice speaking to you; it was also nice seeing you one last time. But now I have to go. Goodbye Jasper.”

  With that Serena stormed out of the room and out of his life forever. Mission completed.

  Chapter 37

  Traditionally the wrap party marked the completion of principal photography on a movie.

  Now by no means was the movie complete at this stage: there was a great deal of tedious editing and post-production for the director and sound engineers to get through. But by and large the work of all the Important People (think actors and general crew) was over and the studio - generous folk that they were - liked to give a little back to their faithful workers after taking oh so much away.

  The good thing was ninety nine times out of a hundred they did it in grand style (though of course Serena had the misfortune of attending one with Pizza Hut pizzas and only wine, beer and Coke for drinks.) Fortunately with the big budget of “Never, Ever Again”, they couldn’t afford not to make a scene. Not only did they secure the Pavilion room out at The Ritz-Carlton (located in the prestigious Nob Hill it was the only hotel in North America to capture both five stars and five diamonds apparently) they also gave the guests an option to take up a suite for a substantially reduced price (next best thing to free).

  Upon hearing the offer Markie jumped at the chance.

  “Yes, yes,” Markie clapped his hands excitedly, “tell them you want to confirm it right now.”

  This was the same man who usually cringed at attending wrap parties, due to the serious kiss ass factor. He handed Serena the phone and n
udged her ever so slightly with his elbow. “Go on, what are you waiting for?”

  Well…nothing really. Serena took the cordless, idly made the call and crossed it off her to-do list which also included finding the perfect dress and coordinating a hair stylist, masseur and beauty therapist to work on her back to back on the day. Serena was no fool; she knew all that the wrap party symbolized. The death of one era, the birth of another… Once the party was over, she had less than thirty-six waking hours left in San Francisco.

  Serena was determined to make the most of them.

  Amazingly enough finding the dress of her dreams was not that hard given that Markie insisted she “just this once not take one look at the price tag.”

  “Honestly forget about rationalizing whether you are going to get your money’s worth. Find a dress which makes you feel like a million dollars.”

  So Serena did just that. When her eyes casually fell on the jade-green Versace strapless dress and she slipped it on, she momentarily felt the joy that must come from being a movie star or having tons of money. The utter freedom in declaring “I’ll take this and that and that as well”.” So what if the dress could fund a school for a year back in Ethiopia, she was allowed to splurge. Markie had given her permission to be a completely gluttonous pig for once. It was her Make Up After Their Break Up gift after all.

  Finally when the big night came, Serena couldn’t help but make silent comparisons to the Academy Awards. Maybe it was the dress or the full-on body treatments, or maybe it was the warmth in the air, but something about the evening made Serena feel totally like Gwyneth nervously anticipating her first Oscar win.

  “You’re just nervous about the move,” Markie assured her, looking rather smart himself in a new Versace suit (why not match perfectly was his rationale in buying it.) “Tonight we’re going to eat, drink and be merry and when we’re done we’ll retreat to our stunning Ritz-Carlton suite to continue a night of unbridled passion.”

  “Sounds like a perfect end to a perfect day,” Serena smiled.

  And it was. Only thing was to get to that final point many things – like the party and saying goodbye to her friends - had to also be over. But such was life…wishing away lesser moments for the bigger ones, the bigger ones for others that never come.

  Needless to say once they arrived at the hotel and flashed their gold-trimmed invites, all those worries and more got washed away in an instant. It was funny how a terribly flash location could do that to you. Now if one has never been to the Ritz Carlton in San Francisco or any of the sixty odd Ritzs around the world, then the best way to describe the sight you’ve missed out on is: Palace of Versailles. Most people were familiar with the extravagance of the palace which housed the Kings of France from 1682 to 1790 (so grand and luxurious it was impossibly expensive to maintain. Historians estimate that maintaining the palace cost as much as 25% of France’s entire national income).

  As they climbed the grand stairs up to the second level Serena and Markie half-expected to cross paths with Clara Bow and Greta Garbo or any other 1920’s glamour icon. Such was the atmosphere at the Ritz or more particularly in the Pavilion room, home to “Never, Ever Again” wrap party; five hundred and seventy five square meters of Victorian décor, velvet drapes, crystal chandeliers and original 18th and 19th century portraits.

  “Gosh do you see anyone you know here?” Markie asked nervously.

  His edginess was justified. When Serena said “Never, Ever Again’s” crew was made up by no more than sixty people, Markie expected to see no more than sixty people. What he got instead was about ten times that amount plus media frenzy and shameless self-promotion at its worst. Everywhere they turned there was some sad actor trying to get his or her picture taken by the tabloid photographers, another giving his or her expert critique on the movie just completed, though having never seen or read “Never Ever Again” script.

  It was Hollywood away from Hollywood or so Serena thought.

  “Better get used to it,” she sighed. “These are the sort of people we’re gonna have as our neighbors soon.”

  “Perhaps but who said anything about leaving the house?”

  After a quick initial scan with zero radar hits on Violet or Champagne, Serena and Markie made their way to the buffet table and grabbed a plate, beginning to fill it with all sorts of goodies. That was another thing the Ritz was famous for – food prepared in the old grandeur style. Imagine appetizers like seared Sonoma foie gras, lobster salad and artisanal pasta with prosciutto. Then follow it up with even more succulent mains like sautéed squid, salt baked scallops, roasted squab breast and duck pot-au-feu. What this all added up to was a very sated, much indulged tummy.

  “Oh my gosh, you aren’t by some chance preggers are you darling?” Serena heard a voice boom from behind just as she felt a strange hand giving her tummy a well-deserved rub. It could only mean one thing - Champagne. No one else had such lack of tact.

  “I wish,” Markie beamed, putting his right hand forward for a shake. “Let me guess, you must be one of trailer girls.”

  “Twenty points for correct answer,” Champagne nodded, accepting the hand limply. It was as if she half expected it to be lifted to Markie’s lips and kissed. When he didn’t, she smirked and whispered to Serena, “at least he didn’t say trailer trash.”

  “So I gather you two have been here for a while? Is it any good?” Serena asked, observing Violet emerge from the crowd with a half-filled hot pink cocktail in hand.

  Champagne and her shadow shrugged nonchalantly.

  “If you’re into jazz bands and harpists,” Violet replied, “which we are so not. At least the grog is free.”

  It occurred to Serena that maybe a jazz band wasn’t the most appropriate choice of entertainment for an assemblage of funky divas but she didn’t dare mention this to the director Max. Let him ride his crimson wave because if it was an archaic mood he was after then he got it. It wasn’t as if Serena expected to be dancing on tabletops and getting sloshed at any rate; the wrap party simply symbolized just that, a wrapping up of the life she had in San Francisco. It gave Markie a chance to meet a few of the people she worked with and Serena a chance to say her goodbyes.

  “So I forgot to ask, did you girls manage to have a wild night on Tuesday?” Markie was querying her comrades when Serena sunk back into reality.

  “On Tuesday?” Champagne wrinkled her forehead, looking completely about to fluff up Serena’s alibi. “What in the world did we get up to on Tuesday?”

  “Oh you remember,” Serena cut in, giving her the evil eye. “Our last girl’s night out on the town, the one you said you’d never ever forget.”

  It took another death look or two for Champagne and Violet to catch on but once they did, they more than made up for their prior cluelessness.

  “Oh that wild night!” Champagne laughed, slapping her thigh. “Damn it was crazy, when you and that guy started ripping off your clothes on stage I knew we’d gotten you pissed enough.”

  “What?!” Markie exclaimed. His eyes went into rapid eye movement, shifting quickly from one face to another to determine which one was serious. Serena looked half-about to faint.

  “Sorry girls but can you excuse us for a moment?” Serena grabbed Markie by the arm and begun to drag him out of the dreaded Pavilion Room.

  “Hey Serena, please tell me they are joking…” Markie said when they came to a stop outside the party. “They are joking right? Promise me they are…”

  “Of course they are,” Serena insisted, thinking that a secret meeting with Jasper suddenly didn’t sound half as bad. “Champagne and Violet are just always like that, mucking around, spewing crap out of their mouths.” She sunk into the golden settee alongside the wall, smoothed out her gorgeous dress and gave a loud sigh. “For some reason I feel terribly, terribly tired. Would you mind so much if we didn’t go back inside and instead escaped to our suites?”

  “Would I mind?” Markie sputtered. “Are you crazy? I’ve been waiting for t
hat point all night.”

  What Serena didn’t know as the pair retreated upstairs was that upon securing the rooms, Markie made all sorts of queries with regards to upping the romance factor. He discovered there were two appropriate packages available: the Romance package and what they called the Bed of Roses Comfort Essentials. And yes because he asked nicely enough they would combine the two because such a pairing would upgrade their deluxe accommodation to views of the city skyline and include a romantic gift basket comprising of scented candles, bath salts, Ghirardelli Chocolate, the book "The Best Places to Kiss in Northern California" plus a rose petal turndown. But wait there was more: it also got them a Baffle Box feather bed protector, two King Egyptian cotton flat sheets by Frette; two pillow shams by Frette and an American Breakfast for two ordered from In Room Dining and served in bed.

  Markie had stared slightly bewildered at the brochure, not quite sure how impressive half of the goodies were, but decided nonetheless that “this would be perfect”. It had to be. He wanted it, their almost last night in San Francisco, to be one they would never forget.

  “Allow me,” Markie said, once the swipe card opened the door to their suite. He reached down and scooped Serena up, so that she was cradled like a baby in his arms. His baby. “I’ve always wanted to carry a woman I love across the threshold like this.”

  “Does that mean the only women you’ve carried up thus far are those you hated?” Serena joked back, happy to be taken off her four inch Mui Mui heels.

  “Never, this is a first for me,” Markie smiled, gently lowering Serena onto the feather bed and then flopping down beside her. “So don’t tease.”

  “I won’t,” Serena promised. “Even though teasing is a sign of love.”

  Both of them took a minute or two to take in their exquisite surroundings: the plush green carpet and walnut dresser, the king size bed with an overflowing gift basket sitting overhead and yellow with pink trimmed drapes opening up to a million dollar view of the city. Serena wondered whether she couldn’t have picked a more perfect dress to go along with the scene. I look like I belong here; she thought to herself, I look like there’s nowhere else I’m supposed to be.