by Natasha West
She’d had many options open to her. But what called to her in particular was acting. She’d been the lead in the school play in her final year and it had been the most fun she’d ever had. And the praise had rained down on her afterward, so she knew she had a talent for it. Drama school had been a natural choice.
But when she got there, she was suddenly surrounded by hundreds of girls and boys just like Amy, possessing the same gifts. For the first time in her life, Amy felt like one of the crowd.
Once she’d gotten over the shock, she’d decided that she needed to toughen up. She realised that, metaphorically speaking, she’d been playing tennis with people worse than her. Winning all the time had made her lazy. And now she actually had to try. She was willing to put in that effort, she decided. She knew that she could be a Wimbledon champion again if she wanted it badly enough.
So she worked hard. And with time, she managed to fight her way toward the front of the pack, getting praise, winning the best parts. Just when she felt like she was hitting her stride, it was graduation time. And then it was the same thing all over again.
Because now she wasn’t just fighting with the other students at drama school, it was a whole world of struggling actors, just like her. All as good as her, all brimming with the same magic Amy had, a magic that glittered a little less with every passing day.
After four years of waiting to audition in rooms with a dozen girls who looked just like her, she was worn out with it. She wasn’t getting parts and the part time job she’d taken to support herself until she made it big, as a hostess at an expensive restaurant, was starting to feel more and more permanent. She was spinning her wheels and she was sick of it. Twenty-five years old and Amy was jaded. She needed change.
And then she’d seen an advert.
‘Looking for actors to play the role of a lifetime. Call Gary for more information.’
It was a weird ad, not least because it was in the ‘Hospitality Jobs’ section of the newspaper. Amy thought that in all likelihood, it was probably just promotional work, selling shots of alcohol to idiots in nightclubs. Yet something about it had compelled a slightly desperate Amy to call.
But, of course, it wasn’t that at all.
‘We help people’ Gary had said at her interview. ‘That’s the first thing to know about this job. You’re a social safety net. And if you’re really good at it, you’ll be so much more than that.’
And Amy had thought, ‘What have I got to lose?’
It paid decently and she could choose when to work. She’d taken the first engagement three years ago. Her job had been to accompany Brian (a software programmer in his thirties) to a company Christmas party as his girlfriend. Brian hadn’t had a girlfriend in several years and every time one of these work functions came up, it made him keenly aware of it. It wasn’t really the lack of girlfriend that was his problem though. The problem was that when he wasn’t able to talk to his colleagues about work, he didn’t really have a clue what to say to them. He needed a buffer. And Amy had found out that night that she was very able to provide that social cushion.
It was as though she’d been training for it her whole life. It wasn’t like acting had turned out to be, a fight to stand out in a sea of the special and beautiful. It was like it had been when she was a teenager. People gravitated towards her, wanted to know her. But this time, she had a purpose. She was there for Brian. And she gave it her all. She was the hit of the party.
And a few weeks later, Gary had passed on an email from Brian. He’d said that after his workmates had seen him with Amy, they looked at him differently. There was a respect there that he’d never had before. He felt like a new man. It had given him the confidence to go for a promotion he hadn’t believed he could get before. And he’d gotten the job.
Gary was thrilled with her and began to send her on more and more engagements. And Amy killed it every time. Men, women, it didn’t matter. She was gifted and she began to see how she could use her gifts to help other people, to use them for a real purpose. And it was still kind of like acting. She ditched the hostessing job and took on her Rent-a-Date job full time. And she went on fewer and fewer auditions. She found that she thought about acting less with each passing year on the job.
After three years, Amy felt the ad had been utterly true. It was the performance of a lifetime. And she gave it several times a week.
And now here she was, giving it for another night. But something had happened. Something weird. She’d always been the mirror, reflecting what people wanted to see. And just for a second, the mirror had shattered. She’d let herself be seen. Her mouth had opened and words had come out. But not Lucy’s. Amy’s.
What she’d said to Charlie, it had just rolled out of her mouth like she’d been possessed. Why would she say that to Charlie, here, now? Was it even true? Had she wondered over the years what might have been? She didn’t think she had. Whenever she’d thought about it, it was always with simple remorse. It was only a feeling of pity for being a bitch to someone who’d been nothing but kind to her, not a yearning for the might-have-been with someone she’d secretly wanted. It hadn’t been love. It had been a fledgling friendship that had turned into a drunken roll in the hay at a weird moment of vulnerability.
For Christ’s sakes, what had Amy known about love then anyway? She’d been through a string of dickhead boyfriends when what she thought of as ‘The Charlie Incident’ had taken place and love had remained a mystery to her.
Not much was different now. She had to admit, things had never really come together in that department. It wasn’t that she couldn’t meet men. Or women for that matter. She’d figured out that second part at drama school. Charlie had not been an anomaly. Amy was bisexual. But meeting someone attractive of either gender was the easy part. It was harder not to meet someone, as far as Amy was concerned. They saw the big rack, the blonde hair and the beautiful face, usually in that exact order, and they’d come a-running, wanting her digits and the slight chance of getting to touch those epic breasts. Some of them had turned out to be good boy/girlfriends, though. There’d been the serious solicitor (female), the cultured banker (male) and the shy dentist (male). But it hadn’t worked out with any of them. She’d done her best to let them over her wall of reserve, but in the end, they just couldn’t hold her interest long enough to vault it.
But she was only twenty-eight. Sometimes it took time, according to every google she’d ever done on the topic ‘why can’t I fall in love?’
But that wasn’t a question to answer right now. She was here for Charlie, yes, but she wasn’t here for Charlie. She was here to do a job. She was going to do just that.
Amy sat on a closed toilet seat, breathing heavily, admonishing herself for acting like a prize tit. What did it matter why she’d said it? It was blip, a flash in the pan, a storm in a teacup, whatever other clichés sprang to mind. It had been nothing, she decided.
Now that silliness was taken care of, she needed to refocus herself. She tried thinking about the facts of her assumed identity. She was Lucy. Vet. Big family. Cat called Nutmeg. Charlie was her girlfriend of four months. That last part made her feel weird again. What the hell was going on here?
Chapter Eleven
Charlie had had five minutes to sit alone at the table and wonder what the hell had just happened.
Amy had expressed regret about the past. That was a nice thing. But it wasn’t just an apology for her behaviour. It had sounded like something else.
‘Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t been so stupid.’
It was one sentence, made of thirteen words. But the possible meanings seemed just about infinite.
Charlie turned the statement around in her head, trying to look at it from every conceivable angle. But what she kept coming back to, despite her best efforts, was that it had felt like Amy was coming onto her.
Charlie wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It seemed as though whatever she chose to feel depended entirely on th
e time frame in which the sentence was spoken. If Amy had said it nearer the start of the day, Charlie would have been furious. She would have thought it more head-fuckery from a woman who had a history of it. And if she’d said it eleven years ago, after they’d gotten back from the camp, when Charlie’s broken heart had been at its most fractured, she would have been ecstatic. But now?
Right now, Charlie was in a strange position. She was grateful to Amy for rescuing her when she’d needed it most. But she was still the first girl ever to curb stomp her heart. And where was her heart now? She supposed there was some warmth for Amy, that a sort of in-the-fox-hole camaraderie had developed between them. They’d been in this together, working for a common goal. Amy had won over her sister, warmed up her Mum, humanised her Dad and shut Lilah’s shit down. And all without a hair out of place. But Charlie had made herself a promise at the start of this day.
She’d sworn an oath that she wasn’t going to fall under the spell that Amy was casting. Because she knew who Amy was underneath it. She was the pillow princess who’d made her feel like nothing when term-time came around. Whatever good works she’d done today, they were part of her job. The real Amy had never made an appearance today. Charlie had no idea who she was, when you came down to it. Only the evil teenage version. And that girl was never getting another chance to re-break what had taken a lot of months (as well as a lot of chocolate, love songs played on repeat and shame-filled Amy-focused masturbation) to heal.
So it didn’t matter what she’d meant, Charlie told herself. Because it would be insane to ever go there again. There was only one thing for it. She had to pretend Amy had never said anything.
And there was a possibility she’d gotten it wrong anyway, that Amy hadn’t meant anything by it. Maybe it was just something people said to be nice when they knew they’d kicked your love into the gutter. Perhaps it was just Amy’s way of saying that she knew she’d hurt Charlie and she wanted her to know that she’d given a shit too. Maybe only five percent of the shit Charlie gave, but when someone had left you in the dust, it was still something. Perhaps she was simply giving Charlie the gift of feeling like she’d mattered to Amy eleven years ago, if only a little.
Well, thought Charlie, if that’s how it was (and by now Charlie was warming to that idea) then she could fuck her gift. Charlie didn’t need it. She was over all that.
It was back to Plan A. Amy was here to do a job. Charlie was paying her to do that job. And that was that.
Amy was in a similar headspace as she headed out of the toilet. She’d managed to compartmentalise what she’d said, considering it an error in her software that she’d now taken the time to run diagnostics on and fix. She was now a fully operational Lucy again.
Meanwhile, the staff were bringing out the cake, ready to be admired for its beauty and the hours of workmanship that had created it, just before it was sliced into seventy pieces.
Maddie and Josh positioned themselves at the cake, and the guests dutifully assembled, in viewing positions commensurate to their relationship to the newlyweds. Parents at the front, assorted uncles and aunts somewhere in the middle, friends from university at the back.
Amy was just in time to join Charlie, who had a reasonable ability to see the cake cutting from somewhere toward the front.
‘I didn’t miss it, did I?’ asked Amy as she sidled up to Charlie.
Charlie turned and smiled, sweet as pie.
‘No, just in time.’
It was a brief exchange, but both of them seemed to understand what it meant. Whatever malfunction had occurred; it was being kicked into the weeds.
They both turned their full attention to the newlyweds, watching as they pushed the knife into the cake, hand over hand, to cheers and claps. All things considered, it would have appeared to any visiting aliens like an overreaction to the ruin of baked goods.
Once two small pieces had been put on plates, both Maddie and Josh picked up their segments and the crowd wondered which way this would go. A sensible placing of a modest piece of cake into each other’s mouths? Or would they go all out and shovel it into each other’s faces? The answer to that question tended to rely on the bride’s willingness to have her make up ruined. To Maddie’s eternal credit, she took a face full of cake with aplomb and everyone laughed as she did the same to Josh. Charlie couldn’t help but love her as she cackled through the Tahitian vanilla buttercream frosting smeared all over her professionally applied lipstick. It was as though the last few months of anxious Maddie were gone, replaced with her old self. Charlie was delighted to see it.
‘Your sister’s cool’ said Amy with a smile.
‘She is, yeah’ Charlie said, fondly.
Over in the corner, on the small stage, the DJ was setting up. Charlie looked at her watch. It was six already. The ‘evening do guests’ would be filing in shortly, those considered good enough to celebrate the romantic union with, but not quite meriting the cost of a meal.
That could mean only one thing, Charlie thought grimly. It was dancing time.
Chapter Twelve
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please gather around the dance floor for the first dance.’
Maddie and Josh walked onto the dance floor as though to the guillotine. Amy felt for them. Not too many people looked forward to this bit. Dancing in public was one thing. Having everyone you care about assembled in one room and forced to watch you while you do it? Quite another.
But for everyone else, there was only one question on their minds. What song would they choose? Would they pick some cool classic? A cheesy song from their youth? A current hit?
They waited with baited breath as the first orchestral chords of ‘At Last’ by Etta James filled the air.
As a professional attendee of weddings, it wasn’t the first time Amy had seen a couple dance to this song. But originality wasn’t the point of this moment, she thought. Sometimes, all you want is something that works. And it seemed to get everyone in a certain mood, from what she could see. As Josh and Amy slow danced while pretending not to feel like they were doing it at gunpoint, Amy glanced around to see many eyes becoming misty. Ed in particular was wiping subtly at his eyes with a handkerchief, while his daughter did her best not to trip on her dress. It was funny how little this part was ever enjoyed by the married couple. And yet the tradition steadfastly refused to die. She supposed it was somewhat like a funeral. It wasn’t really for you. It was for your family to have a chance for a cry.
After the requisite minute of dancing, the DJ spoke again.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, would all the couples please join the bride and groom on the dancefloor.’
From the moment that Charlie had seen the DJ putting his gear together, she’d known this was coming. So had Amy. And they’d both avoided thinking about what that meant. But there was no avoiding it now. They had to dance together. Logistics aside, they both felt a twinge of panic. Neither of them wanted to touch the other right now. Neither of them wanted to examine why.
But Amy had developed a simple way of dealing with fear in her adult years. She tended to run toward it. She turned to Charlie and put her hand out.
‘May I have this dance?’
Charlie had an urge to bolt. But as she looked over to see both of her parents watching, she knew there was no way out. She took Amy’s hand and let herself be led onto the dance floor.
Once they were on the floor with the other couples, Amy turned and placed her hands on Charlie’s shoulders, near her neck but not quite touching it. Charlie slid her arms around Amy’s waist, keeping them firmly above the line of her bum. Their faces were pointing in each other’s direction, but they weren’t quite looking at each other. Instead, both fixed their eyes on the sides of each other’s heads as they began to sway robotically.
Charlie was trying desperately to concentrate on the music, the quicker to make it through this dance, when she became aware of a powerful desire to vomit. She thought she might have to cut this short any second so she could puke her
guts up in the toilets. It was the bloody fish, probably. As she cursed the fish, she suddenly remembered, she’d barely had any. She’d swapped with Amy’s tart. And half the room had eaten the fish and everyone else looked OK.
When had it started? Before the cake? No. She’d been fine then, she thought. It was around the time she’d noticed the DJ. It was when she’d started to think about the dancing. And then it had suddenly gotten a lot worse. When they’d stepped out onto the floor.
Charlie suddenly realised what the problem might be. It had happened enough times. As she cycled through her memories of this particular ailment, she was horrified to remember the thing they all had in common.
The last time she’d had it, she’d been standing in a bar, trying to work up the courage to talk to the real Lucy. And similar situations with other girlfriends/one night stands/flirtatious possibilities, had also yielded a similar complaint. It was a classic case of attraction nerves. It tended to indicate the moment that Charlie realised that she liked someone, just before she made her move. It was a physical symptom of Charlie’s desire to make something happen with a girl she’d decided on. And she was having it right now. With Amy.
‘You smiled and then the spell was cast’ sang Etta James and Charlie wanted to bang her own head against a brick wall. She was furious with herself. She’d been doing so well all day, stating and restating her promise to herself that she would not get sucked in by Amy. And she’d meant it. But none of it had counted for shit. Because her bloody body had gone and betrayed her.
Fuck, thought Charlie simply.
Meanwhile, Amy’s own body wasn’t obeying orders either. She couldn’t seem to find the beat of the music. Ordinarily, Amy was good at this bit. The clients were always very firmly forewarned about exactly what touching was acceptable and what was off limits. A hand on the waist was OK, a kiss on the cheek was within bounds and slow dancing was fine as long as you left room for Jesus. Everyone knew where they stood. She was usually able to feel safe with this exact level of touching. She’d let the music take her. No flashy shows, just good solid dancing. But she couldn’t do it this time. Every time she found the rhythm, she promptly lost it again. It was taking all her concentration just to avoid stepping on Charlie’s feet.
