by Jon Teckman
‘I don’t believe this,’ said Bennett. ‘Why didn’t you tell him I want nothing to do with her? Why didn’t you tell him that I’ve never had anything to do with her and that, in fact, I think she’s insane? Are you completely useless, West, or is there still room for further development? Every time I think you’ve plumbed the depths of stupidity, you manage to outdo yourself with another bloody stunt. Are you deliberately trying to stitch me up – or are you just a fucking cretin?’
‘OK, steady on, Joseph,’ said Bill, saving me from having to answer his tricky question. ‘I’m sure there must be some method in West’s madness – although it’s hard to fathom what it is from where I’m sitting. I still think that the best strategy is for you to stay as far away from Ms Finch as possible, but West may have been acting in the best interests of the company, trying to keep Guttenberg sweet. Is that right, West?’
‘That’s it, Bill! That’s exactly what I was trying to do,’ I said. ‘I really don’t think it would be a good idea for you to miss the party. Buddy went to a lot of trouble to get the tickets and he’d be very upset if you weren’t there. We can get away with missing the film, but not the party.’
‘You’re right,’ Bill said, ‘but we’ll need a strategy to keep Madame Finch away from Joseph.’
‘I’ve got a strategy,’ said Bennett. ‘I’ll grab the first piece of crumpet that comes within arm’s length of me and use her as a human shield to keep that mad woman at bay. And you, West, can explain that to Goldberg, Finch and whoever else is interested. Shall we go?’
The party was on a private beach belonging to one of the hotels which, by day, served as an expensive and exclusive restaurant and, by night, provided a perfect backdrop for an event fit for the kings and queens of Hollywood. Half the floor space had been laid with boards to create a dancing and bar area, and beyond that the sand rolled away to the relentless sea. Somewhere in a distant corner, almost drowned out by the waves, a live band played soft rock. Two enormous heavies guarded the entrance to the covered walkway that led down to the beach. They eyed us suspiciously as they checked our tickets, presumably wondering what we were doing there so long before the film was due to finish. Another pair of bouncers waited at the other end. No one would be getting in without a ticket this evening.
The bar was virtually empty when we arrived. Pretty waitresses milled around with heavily laden trays of exotic treats and Bennett wasted no time getting stuck into the lavish offerings.
‘Take it steady,’ Bill said as Bennett took a third cocktail from a tray, ‘you’ve already had a few glasses of fizz and we really do not want any more unsavoury incidents tonight. Bit of FHB, please, Joseph – Family Hold Back!’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Bennett insisted although he was already starting to slur his words in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of me after he’d knocked out my teeth. ‘You know me, Bill. I get even more charming when I’ve had a couple of snifters!’
We had been there almost an hour, and had long since run out of things to say to each other, when a sudden rush of new arrivals signalled that the film was over. Buddy was one of the first to arrive, making his way slowly across the beach, stopping every few paces to speak to a well-wisher or grab something to eat. When he reached us, he greeted me with a huge bear hug, shook Bill’s outstretched hand and nodded peremptorily in Bennett’s direction. He exchanged a few pleasantries with Bill and then, grabbing an elbow, steered me to one side.
‘Joe, I need your help,’ he said when we were alone. ‘Olivia’s in the car but she’s refusing to come down. She’s really pissed that your pal Bennett didn’t turn up to see the film. Where the hell were you guys? Do me a favour. Go up there and persuade her to come down. This party’s costing me a fucking fortune and I need her here playing the room, looking like she’s enjoying herself. You’ve got to get her down here, then get that asshole to speak to her – put a smile back on her face. She likes you – you can persuade her.’
Getting out of the party proved even more difficult than getting in. A tide of glamour was sweeping down the walkway while I tried to rush up in the other direction like a spawning salmon. I emerged after several minutes with the painful legacy of a stiletto that had crushed two of my toes, and hobbled over to the huge limousine that had carried Buddy and Olivia the short distance from the Palais du Cinema.
‘Ms Finch?’ I asked the driver.
‘No, she’s in the back,’ he replied. I explained to the wise-arse that Buddy had sent me to collect his passenger. He put down his newspaper, unfolded himself from his seat and led me round to the other side of the car. A thousand camera lenses peered over my shoulder as I leaned in. Olivia was curled up on the back seat, the life force that usually fizzed and crackled out of her apparently switched off.
‘Hey, English! Thank you so much for ruining my big night,’ she said as I slipped into the car and closed the door behind me. We were enveloped by darkness, broken only by the flashes from the cameras, clicking away at the tinted windows in the hope of scoring a money-spinning shot. ‘Buddy promised me you’d be there tonight. Where the hell do you get off treating me like this, asshole? Do you enjoy it? It’s like you’re two different people. One minute you’re incredibly kind and lovely and the next you treat me like a piece of shit. I just don’t get you, Joe.’ She turned away from me, her eyes full of tears.
‘I’m sorry, Olivia, truly I am,’ I said. ‘I had to wait for the other guys to get in from London and their plane was delayed so they were late getting to the hotel and, before we knew it, we’d missed the start of the film and we didn’t want to come in halfway through and cause a fuss.’
‘Nothing worse than causing a fuss is there, English?’ Olivia said, carefully dabbing a paper tissue to her eyes. ‘Well, it’s lucky the theatre was so dark. I cried my eyes out all through the movie. The people sitting around me must have thought I was a complete wacko. I’ve been so looking forward to this trip and I so wanted it to be a special night and now look at the state of me. Half the world’s press are lined up out there and I’m supposed to go into my own party looking like fucking Cruella de Vil.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘you look fantastic and it can still be a great night. It’s pretty dark out there and I can shield you from the cameras – I’ve done it before, remember? Come on, let’s go and enjoy the party.’
After applying some make up to her tear-creased features, Olivia followed me out of the car, hunched over as if trying to avoid a series of low beams. Cameras flashed around us like mortar fire as she took my hand and we negotiated our way back to the top of the walkway. One of the heavies blocked our path, demanding to see our tickets as we advanced, pursued by the paparazzi. I flashed him a look at Olivia and he let us pass, taking immense delight in blocking the human tide behind us, turning them around and pushing them back in a manner that would have made King Canute sea-green with envy.
I led Olivia across the dance floor and through the soft sand to the edge of the beach where the tide lapped across the shore. I found a waitress and relieved her of two glasses of champagne. ‘Cheers!’ I said, ‘and welcome to Cannes. What do you think of it so far?’
‘Oh,’ Olivia purred in reply, ‘I think it’s getting better all the time.’ She chinked her glass against mine and gave me a dazzling white-toothed smile, which I returned, with a flash of my own remodelled grin. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, looking at me closely under the glare of the halogen floodlights, ‘what have you done to your mouth?’
‘I had a bit of a training accident. My colleague Benn—’ I stopped myself just in time. ‘My colleague Ben-knee, Benny, er, Anderjets, I mean Anderson. Benny Anderson. My colleague Benny Anderson punched me, but, you know, it will be fine. This is just a temporary fix and …’
Olivia took hold of my left hand and held it up in front of my face. ‘And does that also explain why you’re not wearing your wedding ring any more, hmm? This Benny Anderson didn’t chuck you out of the house as well, did she?’ She sippe
d on her champagne and smiled, content in the warmth of her own misguided supposition.
My attempt to explain what had really happened was cut short by the unmistakable sound of Buddy puffing and panting his way towards us. His heavy frame wasn’t designed for walking across dry sand.
‘Hi Joe. Olly,’ he said when he’d got his breath back. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Hey Buddy,’ said Olivia, ‘Joe was telling me about his teeth. Isn’t he brave? I didn’t even know he boxed, did you?’
Buddy looked confused but carried on with his mission. ‘Hey, Joey, don’t you know someone who is simply dying to talk to Olivia? Why don’t you fetch him over here?’ He winked as subtly as an Italian footballer in search of a penalty and sent me off on my quest. By the time I found Bennett at the bar he was exceedingly well-oiled. One of the bouncers was watching him from a few metres away, itching to throw him out if he stepped out of line.
‘Hey, Westy,’ he said, ‘you’re just in time. It’s your turn to get the drinks in. But don’t worry – it’s all free. You won’t have to hand over any of your own precious shekels.’
‘Buddy wants you to come and have a word with Olivia,’ I said, meerkatly passing on the message, even though I could see disaster looming if Bennett acceded to this request.
‘Oh, does he now? Is that what your pal Buddy wants, is it? Well, that’s great. There’s a few things I’d like to say to him and Ms Finch.’ He knocked back the rest of his drink in one swig and attempted to place it on a waitress’s tray, but missed and it shattered on the temporary wooden flooring. ‘Let’s go.’
Bill put a hand up to Bennett’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. ‘Come on now, Joseph, be sensible. You’ve had quite a bit to drink and this might not be the best time to make Ms Finch’s acquaintance. Let’s go back to the hotel, there’s a good fellow.’
But Bennett was having none of it. He eased himself past Bill’s hand and closely followed by myself, Bill and the bouncer, he strode out across the beach. When he arrived at the edge of the sea, he swept past Buddy and straight up to a shocked Olivia, grabbing her by one arm and pulling her away from the rest of us, towards the sea. Buddy, fancying himself in the role of Nurse to their Romeo and Juliet, wore the self-satisfied look of a man whose plans were finally coming together. He stepped in front of us and marched us back up the beach away from the action.
‘Come on, fellers. Let’s leave the two love birds in peace. I tink they vant to be alone.’
I stepped back, being careful not to tread on the bouncer’s feet. Over Buddy’s shoulder, I could see Bennett talking to Olivia, animatedly, taking charge. Too arrogant to be star-struck, he saw Olivia as just another pretty face – and he knew how to handle pretty faces. She looked back towards me – small, confused and alone. A few words were exchanged and she turned to walk away. I saw him reach out and grab her by both arms. She struggled out of his grasp and tried to run back up the beach towards us, but the sand was heavy and her heels high and Bennett had no trouble catching hold of her again. Instinctively, I went to intervene, pushing past Buddy to get to them, but I was too late. When I was still some yards away, I saw her draw back her right arm and smack Bennett around the face with all the force she could muster. He stumbled drunkenly on the uneven ground, then fell backwards into the soft sand just as a small wave broke at the edge of the sea and swept up over his prostrate form, drenching him from head to toe. A fusillade of flashes lit up the night sky as the photographers stationed back up on La Croisette captured the unfolding drama in the sights of their long lenses and shot away like a snipers’ convention.
Before anyone else could react, the well-trained bouncer leapt into action. He grabbed Bennett under the armpits and yanked him to his feet, before pulling his arm behind his back in a half-nelson, and frog-marching his dripping form up the beach and out of the party. Bill hurried after them, threatening to involve the British Embassy if anything happened to his colleague. Olivia stormed over to us, shaking with fury. I was the first to reach her, putting an arm around her shoulders as she pressed her face into my chest and started to sob uncontrollably.
When Buddy reached us, he brushed me to one side, clasping Olivia to his far more substantial chest and using his bulk to shield her from the photographers. ‘Hey baby,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I thought you’d want to see him. I’m sorry – I got it wrong. Here, take a sip of this.’ He handed her a glass of champagne and she took a drink. Then she took several deep breaths, trying to get her emotions back under control, but still her frame was wracked by sobs, the aftershocks of the eruption.
‘What? Why in God’s name did you think I’d want to see that arrogant prick? Who the hell does he think he is? Guys like him make me puke. Expect you to fall into their arms when they flash you a smile? I’m telling you Buddy, I have completely had it with assholes like that. This is the kind of guy I want to be with from now on. Ordinary guys like Joe here.’ She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. I could feel the wetness of fresh tears on my face. Buddy smiled at us paternalistically in a ‘yeah-but-girls-like-you-don’t-really-go-for-guys-like-him-unless-they’ve-got-money-like-me’ sort of way. People were milling around us, looking belatedly for the action as if the whole thing would now be repeated in slow motion.
‘Let’s get you back to the hotel, Angel,’ Buddy said to his star attraction with genuine affection, prising her out of her one-sided embrace. ‘The press are going to be all over this now – the sooner we get you out of here and back to the States the better. Come on, let’s go find our car.’
He wrapped an enormous arm around Olivia and guided her towards the exit. I could hear her faint protests as she asked to take me with her, but Buddy was too busy comforting her to listen to a word she said, repeatedly muttering ‘there, there’ as if he was dealing with a frightened child. I suppose, in many ways, he was. He guided her up the gangway, flanked by the bouncers’ guard of honour, towards the safety of their car and away from the limelight that was her lifeblood but also her Kryptonite.
She had been at her own party for less than fifteen minutes.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny. A typical Cannes morning, just as the mornings when one woke to dark, rain-filled clouds were also somehow typical of the French Riviera in May. I lay in bed, hoping that the ice caps would melt a few years ahead of schedule and carry me off to a watery grave. I sensed the walls closing in around me. At that precise moment, or one just like it, Olivia would be telling Buddy that the nutter who accosted her at the party had claimed to be Joseph Bennett, which he couldn’t possibly be because I was Joseph Bennett. In another hotel, Bennett would be telling Bill what had happened and more pennies would be dropping. My goose was cooked and all that remained was for someone to lay their hands on some apple sauce.
As I lay there with my head under the grey, tobacco-smelling pillow, trying to find the guts to suffocate myself, I heard my mobile phone ringing from inside my jacket. I let it ring itself out so I could check who was calling, then put on my glasses and read the display: ‘You have one missed call from Bastard’. Reluctantly I pressed redial and waited for the verbal barrage. What I got was a very flustered Bill Davis.
‘West? Glad you’re there. It’s Bill, Bill Davis. Listen, the smelly stuff has really hit the fan here. The place has gone crazy. Have you seen the papers? They’re all running Joseph’s contretemps with that madwoman as their lead story, pictures and everything. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, poor soul. He hasn’t a clue what’s going on – one minute she’s sending him erotic texts, the next she’s sending him to the canvas. The woman is clearly crackers.’
I took comfort from the fact that he wasn’t, as yet, pointing the finger at me. ‘Where’s Joseph now?’ I asked, surprised to find that I was genuinely concerned for Bennett’s welfare as well as my own.
‘He’s here with me. We’re getting out of this madhouse, first plane we can get on. What a bloody shambles! I want y
ou to stay here and sort things out with Guttenberg. But not a word to the press, d’you hear? Strictly no comment. If they ask you about anything, just tell them to mind their own bloody business, right? When are you flying home?’
‘I’ve got a ticket for Tuesday evening.’
‘I want you in my office first thing tomorrow. Got that? We have to sort this mess out once and for all.’
I nodded in that inane way we do sometimes when we are on one end of a phone line, invisible to our interlocutor. I ran through the engagements I would have to cancel to comply with this demand. On balance, it was better for me to be in London than in Cannes right now. I had to be at home with Natasha when the story broke. To be there to comfort her and explain myself and apologise for my stupid, destructive actions as best I could. To do whatever I could to save my marriage. Either that or go and hide deep in the Amazonian rain forest.
I took a quick shower, threw on some clothes and headed down to La Croisette. I stopped in the lobby of one of the big hotels to pick up copies of the trade papers. All of them were running the events of the previous night as their front-page headline, illustrated with full-colour photographs of Olivia landing the blow or Bennett hitting the deck. I tucked the papers under my arm and took myself off to a small café where I bought a coffee and a croissant and sat down in a dark corner.
I folded out each of the papers in turn. Above a picture of Olivia’s right hand connecting with Bennett’s shocked face, Variety ran the headline: FINCH BEAU KO OK FOR BO? I had to read four paragraphs before I worked out that, in Variety speak, they were wondering whether Olivia knocking out her unnamed suitor would boost the film’s box-office prospects. Beneath this headline, Buddy was quoted as saying that Olivia was very upset about what happened and would be cutting short her visit to Cannes.
