Apocalipstick

by Sue Margolis

  “It’s OK, I’ll go outside.”

  She picked up her coat.

  “I’ll come with you,” Max said.

  Outside, the sky was heavy with rain, but it was holding off for the time being.

  He took the bottle of nail polish remover from her.

  “OK, hold out your hand,” he said.

  The liquid was ice cold on her skin. He began pulling gently at the pieces of plastic.

  “Tell me if this hurts,” he said.

  “It’s fine.”

  But it wasn’t fine. The pain of wanting him and knowing she couldn’t have him was unbearable.

  “So,” he said, “I think we’ve been set up here. Looks like old Charlie’s been playing cupid. Funny, he doesn’t seem the type.”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “No, he doesn’t. By the way, I thought your French nuclear piece was brilliant. I haven’t watched the film yet. But I taped it. And you were great with Paxman on Newsnight.”

  “Thanks, I was shitting bricks. Your story was pretty amazing, too. Did you get my flowers?”

  “They were from you? Oh, God, Max. I had no idea. They came without a card. That was a sweet thought. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And congratulations on this new job. Charlie told me. Sounds amazing.”

  “I know. I can’t wait to start. So, how’s Lorna?”

  “Lorna? I couldn’t tell you. Haven’t seen her for ages.”

  He stopped dabbing at her fingers and looked at her.

  “Just for the record, there was never anything going on between me and Lorna—at least not on my part.”

  “Oh, come on, Max, don’t try and pretend the pair of you weren’t sharing a room in Paris. The bloke on the desk was in no doubt about it. Then when I got through, I heard her call you honey.”

  “OK, I admit she booked a double room, but the moment I found out, the penny dropped, I realized she was trying to split us up and I unbooked it. Clearly the bloke on the desk hadn’t caught up with that. She only managed to get in because I’d been stupid enough to leave my door unlocked.”

  “So, why didn’t you tell me Lorna was going to be in Paris, too?”

  “Because I didn’t know.”

  Rebecca looked distinctly doubtful.

  “It’s the truth,” Max came back. “When I arrived at the hotel, Lorna and the film crew were already there.”

  He explained that the Channel 6 people had panicked after he’d told them that various interviewees were getting cold feet, and as a result they’d decided to bring the filming forward.

  “She spent the entire week coming on to me. I made it clear nothing was going to happen, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. After you phoned we had a huge row and I slung her out, but it still didn’t make any difference.”

  “And you really expect me to believe all this?”

  “Ask any of the crew—they’ll tell you what a hard time she was giving me. I bored them all stupid going on about it. When I wasn’t doing that or fending off Lorna, I was trying to reach you.”

  By now his face had taken on a strained, almost desperate expression. She was starting to believe him.

  “By the way,” he said. “You know that story she told me at the wedding about her godfather dying? Complete nonsense. I found out the old boy made a speech in the House of Lords the following Monday. It was just a ploy to get me away from you. Even on the train coming back she was all over me and refused to take no for an answer.”

  “But you and Lorna are still working together?”

  “Good God, no. When we got back to Waterloo, I got really heavy and told her there was no way we could carry on working on the film project together. If you’d watched it you’d see how the editor recut it in such a way as to get rid of her and I ended up doing all the voice-overs.”

  He began trying to dislodge the slab of rice, which was being particularly stubborn. “So, you still seeing this bloke I saw you with?”

  “Father Donal?”

  He grinned. “A priest? You’re seeing a priest?”

  “No, I er …” She was starting to feel embarrassed. “I snogged him to make you jealous. He’s Lipstick’s cousin, but I didn’t know he was a priest then.”

  “So, that means you’re not actually seeing anybody.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Not as such. No.” She paused. “Max. Have you spoken to Lipstick recently?”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I just thought that us getting together like this may not be entirely down to Charlie Holland.”

  “I spoke to her yesterday. I asked her if she thought there was any chance you’d agree to see me.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “Well, she was pretty cool with me until we’d gotten this Lorna business sorted. Then she said she’d see what she could do.”

  By now it was perfectly clear to Rebecca that Lipstick had gotten together with Charlie and orchestrated the meeting with Max. That’s why Lipstick had been so unusually interested in what Rebecca was planning to wear.

  The slab of plastic rice finally came away, but he carried on holding her hand.

  “The thing is,” he said, “I’ve really missed you. I haven’t slept for ages for thinking about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you a bit, too,” she said.

  “You have?”

  She nodded.

  “You see,” he said. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you and I’d like us to try again.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’d have to think.”

  “Fine, take as long as you need.”

  “OK, I’ve thought,” she said. “I’d like us to try again, too.”

  “What, you’ve decided, just like that?”

  “Yes,” she said, beaming.

  “How come?”

  “Because I love you too, you dope.”

  He came toward her, swept her fringe out of her eyes and kissed her.

  “I’ve lost my appetite all of a sudden,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “So, do you want to come back to my place?” he said. Then he lowered his voice. “If you like, I’ll show you my …”

  “Max, I have seen it before.”

  He grinned at her. “I was going to say, I’ll show you my documentary.”

  20

  I’m not sure I’ve got anything in for breakfast,” Max said, trailing his finger over her breasts. “How’s about I nip out and get some croissants?”

  “Great,” she mumbled, still half asleep. She pushed his hand away and began scratching her breasts, as if some tiny insect had been crawling over her and left her skin itching.

  “Or pains au chocolat?”

  “’K.”

  “Or I could get bacon and eggs—do us a fry-up.”

  He leaned across and began sucking at her nipples.

  “Gerroff.” She tried to turn over but he pulled her back and began planting tiny kisses all over her stomach.

  “Or kippers?” he said between kisses. “I know, croissants and kippers.”

  “Fine.”

  He kissed her again. On her cheek this time.

  “And when I get back,” he said softly, stroking her hair, “there’s something I really need to talk to you about.”

  She turned back onto her side, barely registering what he was saying. “OK, whaddever.”

  “Right,” he said, pulling on his jeans, “I’ll be twenty minutes.”

  She woke up slowly. The bright winter sun was pouring in through the window. She lay there, eyes still closed, feeling its warmth on her face. Just when she thought life couldn’t get any better, it had. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this happy. And it was Lipstick she had to thank. She felt another pang of guilt as she remembered how suspicious she’d been of her in the beginning.

  Eventually she pulled on Max’s dressing gown and headed for the shower.
A few minutes later, she was sitting on the sofa wrapped in a towel, reading the newspaper TV listings. She wondered if there was a Saturday matinee they could watch in bed later—preferably one of those made-for-TV tug of love courtroom weepies where the rich white liberal parents adopt a baby, only to have the dirt poor, black, ex-druggie birth mother reappear eight years later, claiming to have gotten her life straight and demanding the child back. She would start blubbing at the bit where the birth mother—having won the case—finally realizes how cruel she’s being depriving the child of the only parents he’s ever known. Max would comfort her, marvel at how sensitive and caring she was, fall in love with her even more and then they’d shag until it was time to order takeout, which they would eat while watching Cilla’s Moment of Truth. (Then again, maybe she should drop the Moment of Truth idea. She wasn’t absolutely certain her relationship with Max had reached a level where she felt comfortable confessing to a nonironic passion for Saturday night TV game shows.) But there weren’t any films she fancied. Maybe they’d go for a walk in Highgate Woods and get tea somewhere.

  She put down the paper and picked up the copy of Spin, which was lying on the coffee table. Assuming it belonged to Amy, she began flicking through it, smiling to herself as she realized virtually none of the band names meant anything to her.

  She’d just finished getting dressed when she heard a loud clanking sound from the kitchen.

  “Max? You back?”

  No answer.

  Still thinking it was Max making the noise, she stood up and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Max, that you?” She opened the kitchen door and gasped. A girl, fifteenish at a guess, was rummaging through the bread bin. She looked up at Rebecca and slammed the bread bin shut.

  “There’s never anything to bloody eat in this place,” she said sullenly.

  Rebecca blinked. Then her face broke into a smile. “Of course. You must be Amy.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Max’ll be back soon. He’s gone out for kippers.”

  “Yuk. I hate kippers.”

  “I’m not sure you were being offered any,” Rebecca said brightly, while at the same time thinking this was one stroppy teenager.

  She was, nevertheless, exquisite. Smooth alabaster skin, shoulder-length red hair, wide dark blue denim jeans, which were so long that the bottoms were frayed and grubby. A crocheted cloche hat with candy stripes going round it was pulled down to her eyes.

  Amy turned and opened the fridge. The back of her hooded top said, “I hate my life and want to die.”

  “Empty,” she groaned. “It’s always bloody empty.”

  “I think there’s some bread in the bread bin,” Rebecca ventured. “Might be a bit stale, but I could make some toast.”

  Amy shrugged. Rebecca took that as a yes and opened the bread bin.

  “I’m Rebecca, by the way.”

  “I know,” Amy said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

  “Oh, Max has told you about me, then?” Rebecca dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.

  Amy stared hard at Rebecca.

  “He tells me everything.”

  Rebecca frowned. “He does? So, Amy, where do you live?”

  “Islington.”

  “I love Islington. Loads of trendy shops.”

  “So, how long have you two been going out?”

  Ah, so he didn’t tell her absolutely everything.

  “Oh, you know,” Rebecca said. “A while.”

  “So, is it serious?”

  Rebecca was beginning to feel a tad uncomfortable being cross-examined by Amy. Why was she so interested in her relationship with Max?

  “Could be,” she said.

  Amy turned away and opened her rucksack. She took out a stick of strawberry-flavored lip balm and began coating her lips. Rebecca noticed a CD sticking out of the bag.

  “Oh, you’re into Papa Roach, then. I saw his new album got a great review in Spin.”

  A definite look of disdain from Amy. “He’s crap. The CD belongs to a friend. She left it at my house. I’m into Tupac.”

  “Tupac?” Rebecca came back tentatively.

  “Tupac Shakur.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “But only the albums since he died.”

  “Of course.”

  The toast popped up. Rebecca took it out and began buttering.

  Just then Max’s key turned in the door.

  “Hi, Dad,” Amy said as he walked in with the shopping.

  Rebecca’s arm froze in midbutter. Dad? Did Amy say Dad? She turned round slowly.

  Max looked like he’d been caught nicking the cutlery at a royal garden party.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said to Amy. “I … er, I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”

  “I know,” she said, “but I just wanted to check out where we’re going tonight. I really fancy seeing the new Coen brothers movie. Then we could get Chinese afterward.” She stared pointedly at Rebecca, shoving the point home that she intended this to be a date for two, not three.

  “Listen, Ames,” Max said, his eyes still fixed on Rebecca, “do you think maybe you could go in the living room and watch TV for a bit? Rebecca and I need to talk in private.”

  “What about my toast?” she said grumpily.

  Rebecca held out the plate of toast. Amy took it and trudged off.

  “A child?” Rebecca hissed. “You have a child? And you didn’t even bother to tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice this third person coming to visit? And not only do you keep her a secret, but you tell me she’s your goddaughter. Max, what is going on here? How could you lie like that?”

  “Look, I know it was wrong, but it’s complicated. I wanted to be sure about us before I said anything.” He was standing inches from her now, his hands gripping the tops of her arms. “I’d planned to tell you today. Amy was the big thing I wanted to talk to you about over breakfast.”

  Rebecca stood, shaking her head. “Max, last night you told me you loved me and still you didn’t tell me about Amy. Tell me, just tell me, what sort of a future have we got if there’s no trust between us?”

  Just then Amy walked back in. Max’s hands shot into his pockets.

  “Forgot the honey,” she said. She went over to one of the cupboards. “Oh, and Dad, I’ve seen these brilliant Bolt jeans. I could really do with some new ones. These are totally shot.”

  “Look, Ames,” Max said, looking down at the floor and running his hand over his forehead, “this really isn’t a good time.”

  “No, you two carry on,” Rebecca said, picking up her coat from the back of the chair. “’Bye, Amy. Nice to have met you.”

  She virtually ran to the front door. Max came after her and took hold of her wrist.

  “Rebecca, I know this whole thing has come as a shock, but please don’t go.”

  “Max, just leave it. I need to think.” She pulled her wrist away.

  Amy had come out of the kitchen and was hovering in the hall. “’Bye,” she said, her smile smug and victorious. “And thanks for the toast.”

  Back home, Rebecca lay on her bed staring into space. Part of her was still reeling with shock. He had a child. She still couldn’t believe it. But why lie about it? He’d said it was complicated. But what could be so complicated he couldn’t tell her? Why hadn’t he trusted her? Maybe there were other things he’d lied about, too. His relationship with Bloody Lorna, for example. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck.

  Just then the intercom went.

  “OK, Max, I think it’s time we got this thing sorted.”

  “It’s not Max, it’s Amy.”

  “Amy?” She was the last person Rebecca expected. “Come on up.”

  The girl’s sweatshirt was soaked. The sunshine had been short-lived and it was now bucketing outside. Rebecca offered to dry it on the radiator.

  “Thanks,” Amy said, peeling it off to reveal a sleeveless T-shirt. Rebecca offered to fetch her a sweater,
but she said she was fine.

  Rebecca led her into the living room.

  “Wow,” she said, glancing round the room, “this place is fantastic. So much cooler than where my dad lives. His flat is totally tragic, with all that ancient pine.”

  Rebecca thanked her and offered her a seat.

  “So.” Rebecca smiled, inviting her to explain the reason for her visit.

  “I found your address on Dad’s PalmPilot.”

  Rebecca nodded.

  “He doesn’t know I’m here. I mean he didn’t send me or anything. Probably kill me if he found out. I said I was going to Camden Market.”

  “Did you get the jeans money out of him?”

  “No way. When I left him he was in no mood to be gotten round. Look, he told me everything. About how he lied. He knows he shouldn’t have done it. And I was pretty pissed off, too. It’s not very nice knowing he couldn’t bring himself to tell you about me. But it isn’t all his fault.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I can be a total cow. Every time Dad gets a new girlfriend I get jealous and play up.”

  “Like you did back at the flat?”

  “Oh, that was nothing,” Amy said brightly. “I can be much worse than that.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. There was this one time when Dad was just about to leave on a weekend trip to Venice with this woman he really liked and I pretended to break my arm. By the time we got home from the hospital he’d missed his flight.”

  “Wow, I bet Max loved you when he found out what you’d done.”

  “Mum and Dad grounded me for a month.”

  “And what happened to Max and the woman?”

  “They had a huge row about me and she left him. It’s the same every time. I get jealous of his girlfriends. They get jealous of the time he spends with me and it ends. Mum keeps telling me I have self-esteem issues and that I have to stop sabotaging his life. She talks like that. She’s training to be a psychotherapist.”

  Rebecca looked at Amy. “So,” she said, “what’s made you change your tune all of a sudden? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because when you left him I saw what a state he was in. I’ve never seen him like that. I could see how much he loves you and now he thinks you’ve gone for good. Anyway, I rang Mum because he was so upset. She said Dad had been a prat. Actually she said he’d lied about me because he’d panicked and ignored his inner adult voice, but she meant he’d been a prat. Then she said if I didn’t acknowledge my part in all this, I would be putting my relationship with Dad at risk. She also said I should come and apologize to you.” She paused. “So here I am. I’m really sorry for being so rude back at the flat.”