Dazzled

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Well, it doesn’t help that your best friend looks like that,” said Polly, jabbing her finger in Miles’ direction. “What guy would want to compete with him?”

  “There isn’t any competition,” I sighed. “Miles is just my friend.”

  God, I was sick of saying that. I was so boring, I bored myself.

  “Wanna play a drinking game?” Polly asked.

  “Will it mean I get legless in the shortest amount of time?” I questioned her.

  “Probably.”

  “I’m in.”

  I didn’t remember too much about the rest of the evening, except that Merv admitted that there was another reason for his nickname. Too much information!

  So when I woke up lying face down on my bed, still in my posh dress and skyscraper heels, I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d got there. I staggered into the bathroom and shuddered at the nightmarish vision in the mirror. I could have given Freddy Krueger a run for his money – no SFX makeup required. In fact, the makeup I had been wearing on my eyes was now smeared down my cheeks, and any trace of lipstick had long since fled. I wondered if the gravitational pull that had been in effect while I was asleep would one day drag my boobs down to my ankles. On the other hand, if I could shift the fat from my stomach up to my boobs and around to my backside, I might be able to achieve that hourglass figure. Mind you, it would probably be the kind of hourglass that would take a whole day to empty, being blessed with a fuller figure.

  I realized that even as my mind was wandering and unable to corral my rambling thoughts, I badly needed a painkiller for the headache that was threatening to make my brain dribble out of my nose, in a manner not dissimilar to the way the Ancient Egyptians buried their dead. See what I mean? Bizarre rambling.

  I wanted Tylenol and orange juice.

  As I stumbled toward the kitchen, I couldn’t help noticing that Miles’ bedroom door was closed. I paused for a moment – in a totally non-stalkerish way – but couldn’t hear anything. I knew he must be back, because his door was only ever closed when he was sleeping. I just didn’t know if he was by himself.

  God, the skank could be in his arms right now. Guess I’d find out later in the morning. And yeah, I was going to buy a whip so I could take my self-flagellation from the metaphorical to the literal. Or maybe I’d just use it to beat the shit out of her bony backside. That sounded more appealing.

  When I went back to bed this time, I managed to wipe a washcloth around my face, and peel off the very expensive – and very crumpled – dress.

  Sigh.

  The next time I woke up, I felt a little better. I could imagine a gravelly voice saying, “She walks, she talks, she’s nearly human.”

  The vision in the mirror hadn’t improved much, but not having mascara over my face helped. And I was totally in love with the awesome shower in this new apartment. The four jets just about pinned me to the wall, and I had to fight my way back out when I’d finished. I was definitely awake after that.

  I dressed thoughtlessly in a pair of jeans and one of Miles’ old sweatshirts that was a gazillion sizes too big, but I loved it anyway. Of course I did. Oh, I had numerous ways to torture myself – each day I seemed to think of a new one.

  There was still no sound or movement from Miles’ room. I think I’d have thrown up in my mouth if I’d heard bedroom noises. Just thinking about it made me a little nauseous. It felt good to blame the skeaze, although, in truth, mixing tequila with champagne might have something to do with it, too.

  I munched through some toast and made a pot of tea while I started Googling pictures from the premiere on my laptop.

  But an unchewed piece of toast dropped out of my mouth at the photographs that I found.

  I jumped when I heard Miles walk into the kitchen behind me, and I tried to close the website down, but I was too slow.

  It hurt me to hear his strangled intake of breath.

  He was standing next to me and I risked glancing up at him. His eyes were wide, and all the color drained from his face. He stared, shocked by the wave of images that scrolled across the screen.

  Lilia doing a line of coke.

  Lilia offering the coke to Joe Blow.

  Lilia with her tongue stuck in another woman’s throat, her hand groping her boob.

  Lilia snogging some random guy.

  Lilia with her head in Joe Blow’s lap, his head thrown back and his mouth open.

  And she was still wearing the white dress from the premiere. The pictures were just hours old.

  Miles hurled my mug of tea at the wall.

  I winced as the china shattered and the brown liquid splashed across his kitchen, staining the fresh, white paint, and dripping to the floor where it coalesced into an obscene puddle.

  Shocked at the sudden violence, I tore my eyes away from the wall, but Miles had gone.

  I didn’t know what to do. I hated the evil bitch. I hated everything about her. But right now, I didn’t want those pictures to be real.

  I looked back at my laptop, wishing to see something different. But every gossip website and most of the serious news ones said the same thing: Lilia was a drug-taking cheat.

  The slamming of the front door made me jump. I rushed to the window and was just in time to see Miles pounding down the road in his running shoes, sweats and a hoodie.

  True Lies

  Clare

  It was brutal. The Press couldn’t get enough of Lilia’s fall from grace. And yeah, they all used puns like that.

  Forbidden Fruit

  Trouble in Paradise

  Fallen Angel

  They were generally sympathetic to Miles, describing him as the innocent victim, which he hated, but happened to be true. He’d got his heart stomped all over, and in the most public way possible. He’d been hurt and humiliated by someone he trusted.

  The Press scented blood. I think they wanted to see him break down and crumble – preferably in public. Maximum meltdown.

  The studio’s publicity team didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, their precious movie was on everyone’s lips, with rave reviews in a dozen newspapers and every website; but on the other, those damning photographs of Lilia had overwhelmed the movie’s release. And, unsurprisingly, that story was whole-heartedly negative in the most prurient way – the image the movie sold failing to live up to the sordid reality.

  Rhonda’s agency was working overtime to deal with the increased interest in Miles. Less than an hour after I’d first opened my laptop, she’d been in touch. I wasn’t sure what to expect from her, so when she phoned to demand a meeting with him, I was anxious and on the defensive. Miles just looked sad and tired, a little beaten – although I could also sense a deep anger simmering beneath the surface.

  Thank God he’d returned quickly from his run, as soon as he realized he was being followed.

  Because by then the vultures had descended. Paparazzi surrounded our building, and the phone was ringing off the hook. That was easy to handle – I simply unplugged it, but the mass of bodies beyond the concrete walls had trapped us inside. It was a siege.

  I wondered if it was acceptable to throw buckets of cold water out of the window, seeing as spitballs wouldn’t have reached far enough. I restrained myself, although it wasn’t easy – you know, feeling so helpless and useless.

  Rhonda obviously knew the score because she arrived with a team of four security guards, who started moving some of the reporters away from the building’s entrance. At least she’d been able to get inside without being molested. But it was clear that we wouldn’t be able to stay in hiding for much longer. The apartment was tainted – and it didn’t feel safe.

  I unlatched the door for her and stood well back. There was no way I wanted my picture in the newspapers. God knows what they’d make of that. I quailed at the thought. I didn’t think reporters could get inside the building, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way.

  Rhonda shouldered her way inside and nodded briskly when she saw me lurking beh
ind the door.

  “Clare.”

  Her greeting was abrupt but not unfriendly.

  “He’s in the kitchen,” I said, gesturing toward the back of the apartment.

  I followed behind her slowly, not sure I wanted to hear whatever she had to say.

  Miles was still slumped over a cup of coffee, which by now must have been stone cold.

  “Hey, Rhonda,” he said, starting to stand.

  “Oh, sit, please,” she said, waving a hand. “How you doing, Miles? You holding up okay?”

  I’d never heard her sound so concerned.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said, his answer convincing no one.

  Rhonda looked around her. “Where’s Honey? She should be here helping you manage… things.”

  Miles shrugged. “I didn’t want her to fight her way through the sharks. She offered to come, but I thought it would be better if she stayed home.”

  He looked up as I hesitated by the doorway. I felt like I was intruding.

  “I’ll just wait in my room,” I offered, pathetically.

  Miles’ eyes widened slightly and he looked panicky. “Please stay,” he said, softly.

  I glanced at Rhonda and she gave a small, discreet nod.

  “Okay.”

  I walked over to the coffee machine and made a fresh pot, glad to have something useful to do.

  “Well, this is a real bum fuck of a situation,” she said.

  Miles gave a small smile. “You’re a poet, Rhonda.”

  “I’m not going to soft-soap you, Miles, so I’ll tell you what options you’ve got. You can deal with it head on – put out a statement – give your side of the story…”

  Miles looked at her in disbelief. “My side of the story? What the hell does that even mean? My girlfriend…” he seemed to choke on the word, “cheated on me. Fuck knows how many times, or for how long.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him. What did he mean, for how long? What wasn’t he saying?

  Rhonda sighed. “I have to ask, Miles: did you and Lilia ever do coke together? Pop some pills? Smoke a joint? Anything?”

  He shook his head tiredly. “No, but she had some coke with her once. I said I didn’t want any because speed gives me headaches.” He looked up at me and shrugged. “Jimmy – and me – we used to get high when we were in the flat in London. And drunk – a lot.”

  I wasn’t really surprised.

  Rhonda frowned. “Would this Jimmy guy say anything to the press, if he was approached?”

  Miles looked startled, then an expression of resignation passed over his face.

  “Probably. He’d say pretty much anything for twenty quid.”

  Rhonda sighed.

  “So, basically, if reporters do some digging, your pal in London could make you look like a cokehead with a drinking problem… who led Lilia astray.”

  I was furious – that was such an evil distortion of a limited amount of truth. But I knew Rhonda was right. You couldn’t win against this shit – there was no way of fighting back. It was like wrestling with mist. The truth was whatever people wanted to believe.

  “As I said, Miles, your options are to issue a statement distancing yourself from her…”

  He shook his head, his eyes fierce.

  “Or you keep your head down until it blows over. Which it will – eventually.”

  “I’m definitely preferring option two,” said Miles, decisively.

  Rhonda nodded. “Okay, but you have contractual obligations to market the movie – you have several interviews booked for next week and…”

  “I’m not going on all those fucking talk shows!” he snapped at Rhonda.

  “I didn’t think you would,” she said, calmly. “I was simply offering you the chance to make the decision yourself.” She rubbed her forehead. “The studio is going to bring forward the London premiere to December 30, and hope things calm down after that so everyone can refocus on the movie. Between you and me,” she continued, “they’re hoping you and Lilia will sort things out – as a couple. But apart from anything else, they want you seen together.”

  He looked at her disbelievingly. “They’ve got to be fucking joking!”

  “Stranger things have happened. Besides, they’ve got several million dollars riding on this so they don’t give a shit about your personal life – only how it affects them.”

  “Yeah, well it’s not going to happen,” he growled, sitting back in his chair.

  I felt a huge weight slide off my chest at his assertion that Lilia was history. And then I felt guilty for being relieved when Miles was so unhappy.

  “But as I said, you’re contracted to do several TV interviews with Lilia, too,” Rhonda continued, looking straight at him.

  His lips tightened and he shook his head.

  “Not going to happen. They can sue the shit out of me – I won’t fucking do it.”

  “Agreed,” Rhonda conceded. “That would be best for now. Besides, Jo-Anne Moody has already offered to do your slots. I think everyone will accept that.”

  Miles looked relieved. “Really? Thanks, that’s good to know. Tell Jo-Anne… never mind. I’ll text her. That’s cool of her.”

  Rhonda gave a small smile. “She likes you. You’ve got a lot of goodwill out there, Miles.” Then she took a deep breath and switched her twitching eye to me. “But it would be best if Clare wasn’t here,” she said, flatly.

  “What? Why?” I gasped.

  “Because,” she continued, leveling me with a look, “everyone will assume that you’re the reason for the breakup.”

  “But that’s crap! I mean we’re not… we haven’t…”

  “It’s how it’ll look,” she insisted. “Think about it: Lilia appears to go off the deep end, then the Press find out that Miles has a new woman who’s been living with him for the last week. They’ll go after him with long knives. You’re not good for him right now, Clare.”

  I felt sick. And she was right, again.

  I looked at Miles, horrified by the position I’d put him in.

  He shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Clare. And I don’t care what they say about me.”

  Rhonda smacked her hand down on the table. “Do you care what they say about her?” she barked, pointing at me. “Because they’ll say she’s a homewrecker – splitting up Hollywood’s golden couple.”

  I swallowed nervously, and Miles ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

  “Now I can’t even have friends? This is so fucked up!”

  “So…” Rhonda let the word hang in the air. “What are you going to do?”

  He gazed out of the window.

  “What if I disappear for a while,” he said suddenly. “Just take off.”

  Rhonda chewed over the idea. “Maybe,” she said, at last. “Although you’re damn recognizable at the moment – ironically Dazzled is turning out to be the hit that the studio was hoping for. Your face is on a lot of billboards, and what with the present coverage of…”

  Her words trailed off, their meaning clear.

  Miles shook his head. “It’s gotta be worth trying.”

  “If you leave LA, you’ll be on your own. I can’t protect you out there.”

  He snorted and waved toward the front of the building.

  “Anything’s got to be better than being a fucking prisoner in my own home.” Then he smiled – a real, genuine smile. “And I think I know what I’m going to do. I need to make a call.”

  He stood up quickly and pulled his phone out of his jeans. I saw him delete about 20 messages, his eyebrows knit together in a frown as he walked out of the room.

  “Do you know what this is about?” said Rhonda.

  “Nope. No idea.”

  “Has Lilia called?” she asked quickly, making sure her voice didn’t carry.

  Just hearing her name made me want to commit violence on the soft furnishings, however innocent they were.

  “He hasn’t said anything, but the way his phone has been lighting
up like Christmas, I’d guess she’s been calling or texting non-stop. I don’t think Miles has spoken to her, but I can’t say for certain.”

  Rhonda sighed. “Well, despite what I said about you getting gone, I’m glad you’re here.”

  I nearly fell off my stool, and stared at her disbelievingly.

  She gave me a small smile. “Yes, it’s better for the studio – and his career – if you’re not seen with him, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t point that out. But it’s better for him that you’re here. Miles is just too damn nice for his own good.” She sighed. “He’ll need his friends.”

  We both heard him walking back into the kitchen at the same time, which ended our conversation immediately.

  “Sorted,” he said, his face determined. “Rhonda, can you give us a ride to Earl’s place? I don’t want to use my car.”

  “Who the hell is Earl?”

  “One of the studio drivers. He’s a friend.”

  Rhonda shook her head, but a grudging smile crept across her face, too.

  “Another friend, huh? What did you have in mind?”

  Miles attempted a small grin. “Nothing much, but it’s probably better that you don’t know.”

  “Fine,” said Rhonda, conceding defeat, “but let me get you out of here first.”

  “What about Clare?”

  I was touched that his main concern was for me.

  “Give it an hour and by then, I hope, all the paps will have left. Ten minutes down the road there’s a cab company and…”

  Miles started to protest but Rhonda was adamant.

  “It’ll be more discreet: better for her, better for you.”

  “It’s fine, Miles,” I said, quietly. “Just tell me where to meet you.”

  He scribbled down an address and I squinted, trying to decipher his horrible handwriting.

  “Pack some clothes,” he said. “Nothing fancy.”

  That I could do.

  “And bring my sax.”

  Miles left with Rhonda shortly after that. It had taken him all of two minutes to toss some clothes into his gym bag.

  Reverently, he had placed the black case containing his sax by the door, and I looked at him questioningly.