Ordinary Joe

by Jon Teckman

  His eyes swivelled nervously in his head. He nodded, then backed away from me defeated. It must have been important to him to remain incognito for as long as possible; an insult to his craft that I had picked him out as an imposter so easily.

  I followed Olivia out onto the deck and we found a spot by the railings where the views down into the lush valley were at their most incredible. The cacophonic symphony of the gazillion insects living in the woods below filled the air, making it almost unbearably noisy, even when nobody was talking. Across to our left, some people had stripped down to their underwear and climbed into the hot tub. I took a deep breath of the warm air. Somewhere along the way – from being slapped to standing here – I had decided to tell Olivia the whole truth. To tell her that I was West not Bennett, and to apologise for the lying and all the hurt I’d caused her. That’s what I planned to tell her, but I didn’t get the chance.

  ‘Look over there, Joe,’ Olivia said, ‘in the hot tub. You see those guys? You may recognise a couple of them. Good actors but never quite made it. Guys who’ll do anything to land a part in a movie or TV show – even a commercial. You see them? I could walk over there now and take my pick of whichever one, two or three I fancied and steal them away from whoever they arrived with – just like that. And look in there.’ My eyes followed hers into the house. ‘You see all those people enjoying themselves? The studio chiefs? The players? The talent? I could have any of them too. All I’d have to do is click my fingers.’

  I didn’t like to spoil her speech by pointing out that pretty well anything in a skirt could have taken her pick of the drunks in the jacuzzi or most of the other guests. The comedy waiter returned with our drinks, which he managed to hand us without spilling, and then retreated again.

  ‘Heck,’ Olivia went on, ‘I don’t want to sound big-headed but I could walk into any home in the valley or over there in the city, or out to Santa Monica or across the whole of the USA from sea to fucking shining sea, and have more or less any man I choose. I could probably walk into the goddamn White House and pluck the President right out from under the First Lady’s nose.’ She paused and sipped her champagne. Then she looked me square in the eyes until I had to avert my gaze for fear of being caught forever. Turned into a pillock of salt. ‘But I can’t have you, Joe. I can’t have the one man I really want. Why did I have to fall for the one guy in this whole stupid industry with any morals? The one guy who really understands me, who’s interested in me for my brain and what I have to say as much as for my body and the way I look. I’ve spent most of my adult life being dicked around by guys who only wanted me as a trophy – something to stuff and mount and display on their Facebook wall. But you really seem to care for me, Joe – at least some of the time. When we’re together you are always so gentle and lovely and then we go our separate ways and I try to tell you how I feel and you shut me down.’

  I shuffled uneasily, afraid to look her in the eye. She seemed to read my thoughts.

  ‘I know you’re scared, Joe. I’m scared too. I swear I’ve never felt this way before. Right now I can’t decide whether I love you or hate you. Maybe I don’t even know what love is. I’ve known plenty of hate in my time, but not too much of the other side of the coin. You must love your wife and children very much, Mr Joseph “A is for Asshole” Bennett. They’re lucky people.’

  As she’d been talking, tears had pooled in her eyes and now they started to skitter down her cheeks. I wanted to put my arms around her, but was still scared my resolve would crumble if I laid as much as one finger on her exquisite form. I handed her a paper napkin and she used it to dab her eyes, which glittered like fresh frost behind the thin veneer of tears. ‘Yes I do,’ I said. ‘But I’m the lucky one, not them.’

  ‘Aw, don’t go all modest on me now, Joe. I bet they really miss you when you’re away.’ From somewhere deep inside, Olivia had found a character called Dignity and now performed her role with consummate skill.

  I looked out across the valley. ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘but nowhere near as much as I miss them – especially the kids. I miss Natasha too, of course, but that’s different. At least we can catch up on lost time when I get back. With the kids it’s different. When I’m away I’ll miss them doing something for the first time or saying something cute and I’ll never get that chance again. They grow up so much in a day, let alone a week. Still, I’m heading home tomorrow and I’ll see them the next day. And I’ll probably be sick and tired of them by the weekend.’

  Olivia looked at me, a faint glimmer of hope in her sparkling eyes. ‘Really?’

  ‘No, just joking. It’s a shock when they come bouncing in on you at God knows what time in the morning but I wouldn’t want it any other way.’

  ‘I will never understand your English sense of humour, English,’ Olivia said, sadly.

  I looked back towards the room – anything to break eye contact with Olivia – and noticed the red-haired comedian hovering in the doorway, training his beady eyes on us and rudely brushing aside requests for drinks from thirsty guests. I pointed two fingers at my eyes and then jabbed them towards him, the internationally acknowledged signal for ‘I’ve got my eye on you, buster’.

  From behind him, Buddy came ambling towards us. ‘Hey Olly, Joe! How’s it going? Enjoying the view?’

  ‘Hi, Buddy,’ Olivia replied, through clenched teeth, ‘you didn’t tell me Joe was going to be here tonight.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I? Well, I wasn’t 100 per cent sure he’d make it. We didn’t firm up the dates for our meeting until pretty late in the day. You know this man has come up with the goods for us again? You, young lady, are going to be a few million dollars richer thanks to this young man, so be nice. OK?’

  ‘Aren’t I always nice to our English friends, Buddy?’ she said with a humourless smile.

  ‘Just don’t you go smacking Joey here, OK?’ Buddy said. ‘He can’t afford another set of teeth, can you, pal? Is everything OK out here? Want me to knock the humidity down a couple of degrees for you? Tell the bugs to shut the fuck up?’

  ‘Everything’s fine, thanks, Buddy,’ I said. ‘Great party. When’s the comedian coming on – or is this his whole act?’

  Buddy looked back at me, puzzled.

  ‘That guy over there in the badly fitting outfit. Is he going to do a bit of stand-up or is impersonating a dodgy waiter his whole act?’

  ‘I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Buddy said. ‘I’ll find out who he is and what he’s doing. If he’s goofing off on my time, I’ll have him chucked off the fucking terrace.’

  Olivia smiled as Buddy disappeared back into the house and we were left alone again. Some of the hot-tubbers were climbing out, whooping and laughing as, still dripping wet, they got themselves dressed and headed back to the party.

  ‘Where were we?’ I asked.

  ‘You were at home with your wife and family having a wonderful time,’ she said. We stood in silence for a couple of seconds, then she carried on. ‘It’s just not fair, Joe! I really, really want you! I don’t want to sound like a spoilt-brat bitch actress, but I am kinda used to getting what I want. You’re the first man I’ve met that I’ve ever really liked, let alone loved. And that includes my two fiancés. Is what you’ve got back at home really better than this?’ She struck a glamorous pose, one long, sleek leg pushed forward to expose a perfect thigh, but she was smiling rather than pouting, acknowledging the irony of attempting to use her beauty to entrap the man she wanted because he respected her for so much more than that. ‘We could be Tracy and Hepburn, Bogart and Bacall. We could be anything we wanted to be, Joe. I could give up all this shit and we could go live on a farm out in the Midwest, and you could write your brilliant novels and I’d learn to paint and we’d have dozens of kids and we’d raise buffalo and make amazing pizzas using our own fresh mozzarella! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

  For a moment – one terrible, tantalising, tempting moment – that image filled my mind, pushing what I knew to be right
into the wings. Domestic bliss and the freedom to do what I wanted to do, be who I wanted to be without the chains of a mortgage or the pressures of everybody else’s lives to deal with. And all the fresh, delicious home-made pizza I could eat! The chance to write meaningful words instead of counting meaningless numbers, to fulfil my dreams, not work to help other’s fulfil theirs. There was just one problem: beside me in that perfect idyll wasn’t Olivia, sitting on a stool milking buffalo in her Versace gowns and Jimmy Choo stilettos, but Natasha, and the gentle murmur of animals in the pasture was punctuated by the cries and laughter of happy children – my children.

  The story was a good one – it was just that the casting was all wrong.

  ‘But you can’t have me, Olivia,’ I replied after a long pause, risking taking another look into those incomparable eyes. ‘You can’t have the me that you want because that me is the ordinary guy who does a dull job and lives a dull life with his ordinary, average family. Ordinary to everyone else, I mean, but not to me. To me they’re everything and without them I’m nothing. Without them I couldn’t be the person you want me to be. So even if you did have me, as soon as I left my family – the one thing that actually makes me me – to be with you, I’d stop being me. Do you follow me? I’d be despised by everyone and especially by Natasha and the children. And I’d hate myself for making haters out of the people I love the most. I’d lose any remaining trace of what it is that makes me who I am. I’d still be Joe West – I mean, Joseph Bennett – but I wouldn’t be the man you thought I was. The man you think you want.’

  I finished my champagne and placed the empty glass on the top of the railing separating the terrace from the precipitate drop into the valley below. ‘So, if it’s all the same to you, Olivia, I’ll leave now. I’ll go home to my family and every time I watch one of your movies, I’ll have the wonderful private excitement that will be my special secret until the day I die. Or until I get so old that I can’t remember whether that incredible night in New York really happened or I just imagined the whole thing.’

  Olivia looked back at me, her eyes wet with new tears. ‘Oh, go on then!’ she said eventually. ‘Go back to your precious family and I hope you all bore each other to death. No, I don’t mean that, English. I’m sorry. But somehow I have to convince myself that I don’t need you if you don’t want me.’ She paused and her hand sought out mine. Our fingertips touched and it felt electric – there even seemed to be a flash of light at the edge of my vision. For a moment it felt like I was falling in love. Then the mood was broken. ‘Shit!’ Olivia said, ‘I think that guy’s a pap!’

  ‘Which one?’ I asked, but I should have guessed.

  ‘That funny-looking waiter over there. Either he’s got a camera hidden under his tray or he’s got a fluorescent tip on his winky, because something sure as hell keeps flashing.’ She smiled at her own joke. ‘Still, we’re only talking, aren’t we, Joe? It’s not as if we’re doing anything wrong, is it? It’s not like we’re lovers or anything like that.’ She put down her glass and straightened her back as if a golden thread was pulling her upright – as if she was suddenly transported to the centre of a stage, with bright lights shining on her and everybody hanging on her every word. Ready for her close-up. ‘But it is a shame he is standing there, English, because, if he wasn’t, I would love to give you a nice friendly hug, wish you well and send you on your way. Because I am Olivia Finch, a classy sophisticated lady and the greatest actress of her generation. And you should be fucking glad that it is Olivia whose heart you’ve broken, Joseph Bennett, because I know a girl called Cadillac McAllister who would have kicked your sorry Limey ass all the way back to England if you’d pulled this shit on her.’

  Olivia forced another smile onto her lips but her eyes told a different story. I said goodbye and walked away from her (though not, as it would turn out, for the last time). I found Buddy at the door, where he was organising the eviction of the phoney waiter. He gave me a bear hug, thanked me again and wished me well. I walked out into the warm evening and straight into one of the elegant white limos that Buddy had laid on so that nobody would have to worry about being too drunk or stoned to find their way home. I could get used to this way of life, I thought, as the driver pulled away from the kerb, but right then what I wanted – what I really, really wanted – was to be back with my wife and children in the dull comfort of my ordinary home.

  MILL HILL, NORTH LONDON

  I flew out of LA the next afternoon, arriving back in London the morning after that. I slept most of the flight, feeling more relaxed than I had for months. Natasha and the kids were delighted to see me – especially when I handed them their expensive, well-thought-out gifts rather than the usual cheap last-minute tat – and Bill Davis was equally delighted with my report from my meetings with Buddy. He was already hinting that my promotion would be made permanent. I had managed to sort out the situation with Olivia – and Bennett, although harshly treated, was at least out of my life.

  That Saturday we took Helen and Matthew into town for a spin on the London Eye and a movie at the BFI IMAX cinema. Then we went up to Hatton Garden and bought a new wedding ring for me – flasher than its predecessor, with three colours of intertwined gold – and a matching pair of diamond earrings for Natasha. For the first time since I’d slipped through the screen into my own private pornographic disaster movie, it was starting to look as though, somehow, things might work out all right.

  But that would be a pretty boring end to the story, wouldn’t it?

  The next morning, I was sitting trying to concentrate on the Sunday Times while Matthew clambered all over me, flying model aeroplanes into my ears and landing them on the sleek runway of my head, when my mobile phone rang. The screen said ‘Private number’. The voice I heard was horribly familiar.

  ‘West, is that you? It’s Joseph, Joseph Bennett. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Shit!’ I thought. ‘OK,’ I replied, hesitantly, ‘I’ve got a few minutes before we take the kids swimming. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Not on the phone,’ he hissed, ‘I need to see you in person. When can we meet?’

  I wasn’t especially keen to see him mano e mano, given the reasonable probability that he would take the opportunity to rip my head from my scrawny shoulders. ‘The thing is, Joseph, I’m just back from LA and things are completely mad at the office. After swimming, I was planning to pop in for a few hours to go through the backlog. Then next week it’s meetings, meetings and more meetings. You know how it gets. How about next weekend?’

  ‘Yes, I know exactly how it gets, thank you,’ he replied. ‘But I have to talk to you urgently – today.’ He heard my silence and quickly identified my concern. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, West, I promise. I’m in enough shit already. We can go somewhere where there are plenty of other people if it would make you happier.’

  NEAR HENDON, NORTH LONDON

  I agreed to meet him at a public golf course a few miles from the house. I got there first and, about ten minutes later, Bennett arrived in his sporty little Audi, still clinging to some of the trappings of his former life. He was dressed immaculately in a navy blazer and dark slacks, but he looked a shadow of his former self. His normally grenadier-straight back was bent and his eyes were cast down as if he was looking for loose change on the pavement. The uncharacteristic stubble on his face suggested that his last shave had been several days ago. We grunted our ‘hellos’ and shook hands. We had never known what to say to each other at the best of times – and this, for him at least, was not the best of times. I went to the bar and ordered us both a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich. Before I’d paid, Bennett appeared at my shoulder and asked for a double whisky as well. We found a table and sat down in silence. Bennett stared at me as if he was mulling over various opening lines in his head but, not knowing where to start, said nothing.

  To break the permafrost, I began to tell Bennett about my visit to LA. I was careful not to mention Olivia, but the damage had already been do
ne.

  ‘Buddy Guttenberg! Don’t talk to me about Buddy bloody Guttenberg! Loathsome fat bastard! Jesus Christ, West, I wish I’d never set eyes on him. Why did I ever leave oil? What was I thinking of?’ He sounded like a modern-day Lear, railing against the inexplicable forces that had brought him down. He was speaking loudly, inviting everyone else to look round to see what was going on.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, West, I really wouldn’t mind any of this if I’d actually done something wrong. You know I haven’t always been whiter than white. But I swear I never touched that ruddy woman. I’d never even spoken to her before that night on the beach and look where that got me. She’s a bloody psycho – ought to be locked up. It’s just not fair, is it, West?’

  I held tightly onto my coffee cup, trying hard neither to nod nor shake my head. Bennett stood up abruptly and sauntered to the bar, returning a minute later with a tumbler half full of whisky and ice. Perhaps that should be half-empty.

  ‘Well, is it, West?’ he said, getting rid of most of his drink in one gulp. ‘Is it fair? Come on, you should know. I reckon you know more about this than anyone, don’t you?’ His tone had changed. From being self-pitying and abject he had suddenly become aggressive and accusatory.

  The barmaid arrived and placed our bacon sandwiches on the table in front of us.

  ‘Bacon, West? Bennett sneered. ‘You really are full of surprises, aren’t you? And I don’t just mean your eating habits.’