101 Pieces of Me

by Veronica Bennett

  During those days, everyone spoke to me except the one person whose company I desired. My mood veered from desperation when David turned away from me to excitement when he looked at me, from isolation within my own bleak thoughts to loud conversation and laughter in a group of people vying for my attention, all trying to outdo one another to entertain me. I was the star, the centre of attention; I was someone new, someone ignorant of film-making; someone they could impress.

  Simona Vincenza, however, resented me. She was only a little older than I was, and her Italian professional name disguised an Irishwoman from Liverpool, but the airs she gave herself were astonishing. My friends back in Haverth would have been merciless. One evening, Godfrey, the Scot, took everyone out to a nightclub in London to celebrate his birthday, and Simona and I found ourselves in the same car.

  “So you’re from Wales, I understand?” she said in her languid way. Everything about her was slow: the way she dipped and raised her head or her eyelids; the way she spoke; the way she drifted about the studios, trailing a wrap or a fur coat if she considered it too cold, though it was only September.

  “Yes, from a place called Haverth.”

  Her look was questioning.

  “Near Aberaeron.”

  Her eyes closed and opened again, slowly. They remained questioning.

  “Which is quite near Aberystwyth.”

  “All these Abers!” She began to smile a little. She always lipsticked a bow shape onto her real lips, and when she smiled her mouth looked to me like the fleshy open mouth of a chimpanzee.

  “I wonder you don’t get mixed up!”

  “Oh, we manage.”

  “And what does your father do?”

  I was tempted to ask her why she could possibly wish to know this, but prudence stopped me. This woman and I had to work together for the foreseeable future. If she could not be civil to me, I must at all costs remain civil to her. “He is a farmer,” I said. “We have cows, and we also grow grain and vegetables.”

  The chimpanzee smile widened. “Leeks, I suppose?”

  I did not grace this with an answer but turned to look out of the car window. After a short silence, Simona began again. “My ancestors were farmers too, in Ireland. Though of course that was long ago. My grandfather sailed to England and became a very successful businessman, and my father runs the business now.”

  “Fancy,” was all I said. I had no wish to play her game of “my family’s better than yours, so why are you the star and not me?”. She could resent me all she wished, it would not reverse our roles. Jealousy, I had learned by now, was as great a part of an actor’s existence as learning lines or having their face powdered. And how delicious it felt to be the object of it, instead of the victim!

  At the end of that uneasy drive with Simona I found myself in the intoxicated company of my fellow actors in a dark, smoky cellar full of noisy people and moody waiters. I ate and drank little; I had no appetite for food, alcohol or company. The thoughts in my head were alien from them, and from the place, as if my surroundings moved in a dream around the real, conscious me. I did not want champagne and dancing; I wanted only David, who was not there.

  Where was he tonight? He had not spoken to me except as director and actress for weeks. Had he avoided Godfrey’s birthday party because he knew I would be here? Was he now regretting having been so nice to me that night? Was he at his house on the island? Was Marjorie there too, or had she gone back to New York?

  I looked around me. Aidan, who was seated at the other end of the table, ignored me. Robert was at his elbow, and Godfrey at mine, while Simona, opposite Aidan, made eyes at him, which he also ignored. The woman who played Simona’s maid no longer appeared on the call list; she must have finished her scenes with Simona and gone. Having no scenes of my own with her, I had never even met her.

  Toying with my glass, I pondered on the haphazard nature of filming. There was something called a “shooting schedule”, but it was often disrupted by someone not appearing punctually or David changing his mind about what he wanted to do that day. Scenes were done again several times or filmed in sections, days or weeks apart. Kitty’s job of photographing the film set and the actors at the end of every scene was vital. Each evening David looked at the “rushes”, the bits of filming done that day. Each morning he wanted something done again.

  I found it baffling. The beheading scene had been filmed in the second week because the sun was out. As Eloise, I naturally would be in despair at Charles de Montfort’s death. But this scene had not been filmed yet, all these weeks later. It would probably be done indoors in the studio, with artificial light shining on me instead of the sun, and I would have nothing to show my despair to but the unblinking eye of the camera. The close-ups would be filmed separately, after a long session in the make-up room. Then the bits of film from the outdoor guillotining scene would be “spliced”, as they called it, onto the bits of film of me despairing, and the audience would think it was all happening at the same time. A film, I reflected despondently, was all lies.

  Fairyland indeed. And full of witches, like any children’s story.

  I sighed. Perhaps a little too loudly, because Godfrey turned his head, concerned. “Are you well, Clara dear?”

  “Yes, perfectly, thank you.” I tried to brighten my expression. “I was just … Godfrey, don’t you ever think that the way we do a film, cutting it in bits, then sticking them together, is just … lying?”

  His elegant features disappeared under a beaming smile. “Oh, Clara, you are wonderful! It is not lying, it is illusion, which is the essence of entertainment! Audiences don’t care if what they see is authentic. They only want to be moved, to tears or laughter or both. So that’s what we do for them: we give them what they want. And it’s not cutting up and sticking together, it’s called editing. Here, let me pour you some more bubbly. Good for a weary soul, don’t y’know.”

  I put my hand over my glass. “No, thank you, Godfrey. And my soul is not weary, but I’m afraid my body is. Would you be so good as to call me a taxi? I simply must go back and get some sleep.”

  This speech was worthy of Jeanette or Simona or even, I supposed, Marjorie. It came out in a high, clipped tone I did not recognize as my own voice. Yet when I was with these people I could not help copying their speech. David’s “stuff and nonsense!” and Godfrey’s frequent unquestioning question, “don’t y’know”, would never find their way into the mouths of anyone at home, yet they seemed natural to me now.

  I was half proud and half ashamed. I longed to be accepted by these people, yet I did not feel comfortable in their world. I admired and despised them simultaneously. Even my infatuation with David did not smother the knowledge that his behaviour was erratic and sometimes unfathomable. And yet I wanted him desperately, as desperately as I wanted to be in, and yet not of, this topsy-turvy out-of-sequence world.

  “Oh, come on, Clara,” called Robert, who had overheard my request. “This place serves after hours. It’s got good strong doors and an excellent warning system, so don’t worry about the police and their silly licensing laws.” He raised his glass. “We’ll be here till dawn and go straight to Sheppers in the morning!”

  I used my new voice again, giggling apologetically. “But I need my beauty sleep!” I trilled, leaving unsaid the reason, but knowing it was implied: after all, I am the star!

  Aidan shot me an amused look, the first look of any kind he had given me that evening. “Better do as the lady wishes, Godfrey. When Miss Hope speaks, we obey.”

  Godfrey whispered something to a waiter, and we said our goodbyes, kissing cheeks as was the fashion in Paris, and therefore in London. Robert and Godfrey expressed their regret that I was leaving so early, but Simona said nothing. I was glad she was jealous of me. And if Aidan was truly what she wanted, she was welcome to him.

  As soon as I got back to the hotel I went to my room and slammed the door. And then, I am ashamed to admit, I sprawled on the bed and cried. I had been so certain
that David liked me. I had even persuaded myself that he would fall in love with me and that we would be married and live on the French Riviera, or wherever film stars lived. But his attentions to me might as well not have happened. It was as if we had acted a scene, and now that it was over he had forgotten all about it.

  He was interested in people like Marjorie Cunningham and the jewelled women who had greeted him at the Ritz, who hovered around the actors who hovered around me. But I did not care about any of these people with their shiny cars and cigarette holders and slicked-down hair, who looked like puppets when they danced that stupid dance that involved putting your knees together and kicking up your legs. I only cared about David. He would not make a fool of himself doing that dance, I was sure. He was sensible, grown-up and clever, and so beautiful that my heart raced whenever I looked at him.

  These thoughts brought on a new bout of tears. When I had recovered a little I went to the basin in the corner of my room, washed my face and gave my reflection a stern talking to. Of course he likes sophisticated women. He knows tons of people. He’s a well-known film director. He has a house on an island and is a member of a London gentlemen’s club. He is so much older and wiser and more desirable than you, Sarah Freebody. However can you think he might love you?

  But lecturing myself did not stop my love. Love is beyond logic; it is a kind of lunacy that rationality cannot penetrate. David had shown me attention, but he had given no sign of being in love with me. That was no barrier to my longing, though. I yearned for more nights like the one at the Ritz, when he had been so attentive and called me “princess”. And such fervent longing is so deeply painful, it is as close to madness as love itself.

  I dreaded the darkness. Summer was fading; leaves were thick on the lawns in the hotel grounds and on the roadsides. Tomorrow morning I would rise before dawn, and tomorrow evening I would return in a different, dusky September darkness. But every day, I lived in a darkness of my own making, at the bottom of a deep well of impossible, irrepressible love.

  “Clara, dearest, are you free this evening?”

  It was a murmur, close to my ear as I stood in the area behind the camera, watching Aidan and Robert do the same scene they had done five times already. But it was a moment of revelation, as if the studio lights had been switched on and shone with sudden, blinding brilliance. I stiffened with anticipation. David was so close to me I could smell the cigarette smoke and perspiration in his shirt. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “It seems so long since I’ve managed to get any time with you,” he said, still keeping his voice low. “But you are my best girl, you know. Did you miss me?”

  “Very much.”

  I did not ask why he had ignored me until now, when the film was almost finished. I did not ask why he had not come out in the evenings with me and the others. I did not ask where he went when each day’s work was done. The moment he spoke, it had ceased to matter. A girl in love is gloriously selfish, thinking only of the strength of her own feelings and anxious for a sign of his. He gave it in the form of a squeeze of my hand and a flash of a smile. “Shall I come to the hotel? You are not going out to dinner, are you?”

  “No, I am quite free.”

  “Then let us order dinner in a private room so that we can be together with no distractions.” He looked at me with the almost amused look I knew well. “You do not object to spending the evening alone with me?”

  My heart swooped. “No, of course not.”

  “I assure you, I am a gentleman.”

  “I know that, David.”

  “Then I will arrange it all. Shall you meet me in the foyer at eight o’clock?”

  I nodded and stood there trembling as David turned calmly back to the rehearsal. “All right, everybody, let’s try a take. Maria, where are you? Aidan’s nose is shining like a lighthouse. Bernard, get the board.”

  While Maria was powdering his face, I sensed, more than actually saw, Aidan’s eyes slide in my direction. He had probably noticed my whispered conversation with David. Well, I thought carelessly, if he wished to spend his time being jealous, then he was at liberty to do that. The notion made me smile. Having made Simona jealous of me and Aidan jealous of David, why should I not be amused? The entire thing was folly of the first order.

  David had ordered champagne cocktails. “You like these, don’t you?” he asked, raising his glass and smiling at me across the table in a charming first-floor room the hotel hired out for private parties. It had swagged curtains and a view of the river. I realized it must be above the main dining room, where I had eaten that uncomfortable meal with Aidan.

  “I love champagne cocktails!” I raised my glass too, watching the sugar lump at the bottom sending its spray of bubbles towards the surface. “They are so pretty!” I took a sip. “And sweet, too!”

  “Are you speaking of the drink or of yourself?” asked David archly.

  Thrilled by this gallantry, I laughed. “I do not consider myself pretty, or sweet. But if you care to think I am, that is your business.”

  “Then I will cherish that belief.” He drank some of his cocktail. “As I cherish your company, my dear.”

  I drank too, and we grinned at each other. I had never known such happiness. I was full of an energy and restlessness I could not explain. I felt as if I could spread my arms wide and fly out of the window on a cushion of pure contentment. David – my darling, beautiful David – was here with me instead of somewhere else, with someone else. My feelings had no boundaries; the certainty that I did not love in vain filled the universe. “And I yours,” I told him.

  As we began our meal, which I scarcely ate, David explained why he had been so busy. “I had things to deal with at the house,” he said, “you know, this place I’ve recently bought. It needs renovating and modernizing. The bathrooms are a nightmare. I’m living there, but it’s not fit for visitors.”

  I dismissed the memory of Aidan telling me that David held parties there. Jealousy again. Aidan lived in a flat in London. I did not know what it was like, but it could not possibly be as smart as a house on an island with, apparently, more than one bathroom. The houses in Haverth, I reflected uncharitably, had no bathrooms at all.

  “So now, thankfully,” David was saying, “those infernal architects and insurers and heaven knows what have left me alone, at least temporarily, and I can devote this evening to my favourite pastime: having dinner with a beautiful girl.” He twinkled at me, sipping wine. “Now that the filming is almost done, and I shall be shut up in that stuffy editing room with those tedious men and their little machines for God knows how long, I must get my fill of my dear Clara while I can, must I not?”

  I smiled shyly. I never knew how to behave when he said such things. “Um … so how much longer will filming last, do you think?”

  “Well, the money men are satisfied with progress so far, and I think I’m satisfied with what we’ve already done. There’ll be a break over Christmas and New Year, of course, but we’re scheduled to finish at the end of January, and provided nothing goes drastically wrong, I think we will.”

  Christmas was two weeks away. January was thirty-one days long. I had only about six weeks before my reason to be with David would disappear. Unless, of course, there was a different, more permanent reason for us to be together. “What will you do next?” I asked conversationally. “Another film for David Penn Productions?”

  He considered for a moment, his eyes on my face. “Actually, Clara my dear, I am thinking of following in Marjorie’s footsteps and trying my hand in California. Of course, I have a better chance of success than she ever did. She is quite deluded, you know.”

  I was dismayed. “America! But you are a success here!”

  “Exactly.” He leaned forward eagerly. “So I can be a greater success there. California is where the future of film-making is. They have a lot of space, fine weather and people who are prepared to put money into the industry and make it into something really big. I have some contacts there who are ke
en to introduce me to the men who matter. I really feel I should take the opportunity.”

  Seeing my disappointment, he took my hand. “We’ll have to see how this film does,” he said gently, “but I’m willing to wager that there will be plenty of other opportunities for Clara Hope, here and in California. If she wishes to seize them, of course.”

  Did he mean he might take me with him? I could not ask. “Clara Hope is ready for anything!” I blurted.

  He laughed. “In that case, I am very glad to be in her company.” He took the bottle of wine out of the cooler and filled my glass. “Drink up, my dear.”

  After dinner, the waiter set down a tray of coffee on a low table by the fireplace and left the room, closing the door noiselessly behind him. David sat on a small sofa and patted the cushion next to him. “Let us enjoy ourselves for a moment, shall we?”

  I did not need such an invitation. As he spoke, I was already plumping myself down like a schoolgirl. My head felt light; my spirits were high. “Enjoy ourselves?” I repeated coquettishly. I felt as if I were acting in one of the scenes where I had to tempt Charles de Montfort with Eloise’s feminine charm. I saw other girls flirt all the time, but I was not sure if David would consider it unbecoming.

  It seemed not. He grinned charmingly. His hand went to his jacket pocket and he drew out an embossed box, unmistakably a jeweller’s box. “But first, my dear,” he said, “I implore you to accept this as a token of my regard.”

  My ears buzzed with wild thoughts: It will not be a ring. It cannot not be a ring. If it is a ring, what will I say? Breathless, I opened the box.