by JD Nixon
“See you in a week, Heller. Look after Niq and Daniel for me.”
“I will. You look after you for me.”
I smiled reluctantly. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to me.”
And then they were gone.
Chapter 20
Yoni stood for a minute staring at the closed door in reverie. Then she roused herself, turning around and noticing me for the first time.
“Who are you?” she asked in surprise.
I stifled my huge pissed off sigh. “My name’s Tilly Chalmers. Heller just explained that I’ll be staying with you twenty-four hours a day for the next week.”
She looked bemused. “You’re going to stay here with me?”
“That’s what you asked for, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know. My assistant organised it all.” She paused, twirling her hair in her fingers. “There’s no room for you here. It’s only a two-bedroom suite. And I need the second room for my clothes.”
“Where does your assistant sleep?”
“In another room. I don’t want her with me all the time! Jesus! Have you seen her? She’s uglier than a bucket full of assholes.”
“But where will I sleep?”
“I don’t care. Find a hole somewhere.” And she stalked off to her bedroom without another word, slamming the door behind her.
I watched her leave, devastated, my image of her popped in an instant. She’d been a huge idol of mine during my acting years – a local girl who’d made it big in Hollywood while keeping all of her downtown charm and humility. She specialised in rom com adventure movies and her roles were always the same – resilient, intelligent, sweet women who never threw in the towel despite many misfortunes, winning over the leading man in the end despite his initial attraction to the hot, shallow and dumb babe who was her friend/sister/co-worker. Yoni’s self-deprecating humour shone in interviews and she often expressed her undying love for her home country. I’d never imagined for a second that she’d turn out to be such a bitch.
The rest of the day passed slowly and I was bored. Yoni didn’t appear again, though I could hear her muffled voice from her room, talking emphatically on the phone for hours. I’d been left with no instructions, no welcome to be there, and nowhere to sleep.
The suite door opened and Yoni’s assistant poked her head in, her expression anxious.
“She’s not on a rampage yet?” she enquired cautiously, scanning the room.
“Haven’t heard a peep from her for hours. I’ve been bored out of my brain, to be honest.”
“Don’t expect her to provide you with entertainment. She keeps that strictly for the paying punters,” she advised sarcastically.
I held out my hand, sensing a potential ally. “Tilly Chalmers.”
She shook my hand warmly. “Wanda Wendell.”
I took an instant liking to her. She wasn’t ugly at all as Yoni insisted, but had one of those plain faces that became beautiful with every smile. A lot of her plainness came from her unattractive haircut and unflattering baggy clothing. They detracted from her clear skin, nice figure, well-shaped features and bright greenish-brown eyes that sparkled with promising mischief.
“I better go and check on her,” she sighed, knocking deferentially on Yoni’s bedroom door before quietly entering the room.
While they were occupied, I rang housekeeping and arranged for a rollaway bed to be brought to the suite. There was no way I was going to sleep on the lounge for a week. When it arrived I told the porter to charge it to Yoni’s account and to give himself a generous tip on top, and he left with a huge smile on his face.
I pushed the bed out of the way into the second bedroom, mightily annoyed when I saw the bed I should have been using piled untidily high with carelessly discarded designer garments. She’d only been in the suite since the morning, so I couldn’t believe the mess she’d made already. She must have tried on every outfit before deciding on the one she wore today. I wasn’t being paid to clean, so I shut the door firmly on the mess.
Wanda hastily exited Yoni’s bedroom, followed by a loud crash against the wall. I turned towards her on alert, but relaxed when she smiled guiltily at me.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“The usual evening tantrum. She threw her shoe at me.”
I frowned. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
“I enjoy riling her. It’s one of my few pleasures in life.”
“But she might injure you.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly safe. She has a terrible aim! Probably cause she’s completely drunk.”
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen her come out for a drink. She hasn’t touched the bar.”
“She’s drinking in her bedroom. She has a mini-fridge full of vodka that’s disguised as a piece of luggage. She takes it with her everywhere so she always has a supply without anyone knowing. Frankly, it’s about her only interest in life. Besides herself, of course.”
Oh great! A drunken client. That was all I needed. I bet Heller didn’t know about that.
“Why did she become so angry with you?”
“I told her I was going to order her some dinner.”
I was confused. “What’s wrong with that?”
“She never eats in the evening. She just drinks. So I told her she was an old soak who would never find another husband.”
I chuckled. “Ouch! No wonder she threw something at you. I would have too!”
Wanda snortled. “She’s been like this since her husband left her. You probably saw that video on YouTube.”
“Me and the rest of the world! I have to admit that it was bloody funny.”
“Wasn’t it? I peed myself laughing,” she said with a huge and heartless grin.
“Still, it seems sad that she’s taking her marriage breakup so hard.”
Wanda blew a raspberry. “She got what she deserved. She’d been screwing every man in sight for years. Even the pool man. She’s so predictably . . . trite.”
I raised my eyebrows, desperately wanting to hear more gossip but not wanting to seem overly eager or unprofessional.
Wanda continued. “There’s even a rumour she screwed the best man during her own wedding reception.”
“No!” I said, delightfully scandalised. “So, I should feel sorry for her husband then?”
“God no! He’s a self-centred arrogant prick. It was never going to last. Too much ego for one household.”
“Don’t they have a kid?”
“Yeah, an orphan they adopted from some African country about two years ago amidst a great deal of publicity. She didn’t want to spoil her figure by popping out her own kid.” She shook her head. “Poor kid. The novelty lasted about two weeks before he was permanently dumped with the nanny.”
“That’s terrible!” I was genuinely shocked. Kids shouldn’t be treated as a commodity or an accessory.
She shrugged. “That’s Hollywood. He still gets dragged out in public if she thinks it will make her look good. Neither of them can barely remember his name most of the time, but you just watch them both fight over custody of him. It will be ugly. The gossip magazines and TV shows are going to have a field day.”
“I don’t know how you put up with it all.”
“It’s a living,” she shrugged again. “Anyway, enough talk about the old hag, let’s order some dinner.” I chose the poached salmon and salad and she ordered the marinated pork belly as well as a very expensive bottle of wine. “Might as well do it in style, hey? Her royal hagness is paying for it all.”
I couldn’t argue with that and we enjoyed a pleasant meal together. Then over the last glass of wine, she filled me in on the planned activities for the next day. Yoni was scheduled to attend a charity event at a local children’s hospital in the morning, followed by an afternoon full of media interviews to be held in one of the hotel’s small reception rooms.
“The media pack is a problem,” I said.
> “Well, they’re not going away anytime soon. We’ll have to work around them. It’s always like this when she comes back here. She’s a fading star in Hollywood, but she’s worshipped like a goddess over here. Over in the States, the paps are barely interested in her any more, unless she’s doing something incredibly stupid. But they’re feral over here. That old hometown girl returning to her roots crap reels them in every time. I mean she lived here for about three minutes after she was born before her parents moved to the States! How does that make her one of you?”
“We love claiming celebrities as one of our own. It’s a national pride thing. And I think she lived here a few more years than that.”
“I wouldn’t know. Everything about her bores me. But anyway, make sure you’re careful about who comes to the suite. Those paps are the craftiest assholes you’ll ever meet. And they have absolutely no shame or scruples. They’d take photos of her using the bathroom if they could.”
And with those cheery words, she left me for the night with the invisible, and presumably fast asleep, Yoni. I pulled out the rollaway, some pillows and a doona from the second bedroom and set up in the lounge room. I used the bathroom of the second bedroom to take a quick shower. I watched TV for a while, sent some text messages, had a brief phone conversation with Heller, who sounded preoccupied, and curled up on the uncomfortable bed.
I eventually drifted off to sleep, but was woken suddenly in the early hours by a loud crash, followed by some very fruity language. I sat up, not knowing where I was for a few beats before gaining my bearings. I followed the cursing to Yoni’s bedroom, where I found her lying on the floor, entangled in a floor lamp that she’d knocked over. I separated her from the lamp, pulled her to her feet with some difficulty and righted the lamp, which fortunately didn’t appear to have been damaged by the collision.
“Who put that fucking lamp in my way?” she demanded in a slurred, tired voice.
“It was in the corner of the room,” I pointed out and perhaps I could have been a tad more tactful.
She staggered around and peered at me with bleary eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”
I sighed. “I’m Tilly Chalmers. Remember? I’m security. Here to look after you for the next week.”
“Well, get me some champagne then.”
“I think you need to get some sleep, Ms Lemere. You have a charity event tomorrow morning.”
“Fuck! Why didn’t that ugly bitch tell me? Will the media be there?”
“I don’t know. It’s at a children’s hospital.”
“Those assholes never give me a break.” Taking in my words, she groaned. “Oh shit, a kids’ hospital? They’re not dying, are they? I hate that. It’s so depressing.”
“I don’t know. I’m not your assistant,” I said, not successfully hiding the repugnance in my voice. Without another word to me she stumbled into her bathroom. I was about to return to the rollaway when she yelled out.
“You! Bitch! Whatever your name is. Come here. Now!”
I flipped her the finger before entering her bathroom, my helpful face on. She was throwing things haphazardly out of a giant toiletry bag.
“I need the stuff. Help me find it.”
“What stuff?”
“It’s in a green bottle with a black lid. Find it for me,” she ordered and parked her butt on the toilet seat to watch. I methodically looked through her bag, shocked by the array of pharmaceuticals it held. I didn’t care to examine any of the labels too closely, but finally found the bottle she wanted buried at the bottom. I handed it over to her, and she grabbed it rudely, drinking directly from the bottle.
“Shouldn’t you measure that out properly?” I asked with concern.
She ignored me, and slammed the bottle precariously onto the counter, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. I rescued the bottle and put the lid back on. After a minute she started looking extremely unwell and began to dry heave. She sprang off the toilet and opened the lid, bending over to vomit copiously into the bowl. I wasn’t sure what to do and whether she even wanted me to do anything. Eventually she finished puking and leaned back on the wall, her eyes closed, breathing heavily.
I found a glass and filled it with tap water for her. She snatched it and gulped greedily, handing it out for a refill. I obliged. She took some little red pills from the toiletry bag and swallowed them with the water. She swilled the water in her mouth, spat, then brushed her teeth, seeming immeasurably more sober.
“Get lost,” she said to me, looking at me in the mirror. “I need to sleep.”
“Are you going to be all right?” I wasn’t sure if I should call an ambulance or not. I’d never witnessed anyone sucking down drugs with such abandon as she just had.
“Of course I fucking am! I do this all the time. What are you waiting for? I told you to get lost.” So I went back to my lumpy squeaky bed for a few final hours of sleep, secretly hoping she would choke on some more vomit during the night.
I woke up early the next day and did a workout utilising nothing but my own muscles and some resistance bands I’d packed. I took another quick shower and dressed in my Heller’s uniform, tying my hair back tightly. I ordered breakfast for both of us, guessing that she would be a fruit and dry toast kind of gal. I’d scoffed my poached egg and fruit and gulped two cups of coffee before she deigned to appear for the day, wearing a glorious multi-coloured silk bathrobe and 1950s-style high-heeled morning slippers. She looked unbelievably gorgeous, not even a hint showing of her nocturnal excesses and sickness. I envied her natural beauty, well aware of how terrifying I would look in the same circumstances.
She eyed her breakfast, sitting down to nibble on half-a-slice of dry toast and a tiny piece of rockmelon, pouring a cup of unsweetened black coffee.
“Do you ever eat?” I queried, curious.
“I don’t want to get fat,” she replied, regarding me disdainfully. I immediately bristled. Was she implying I could lose a few kilos? Fortunately for her Wanda arrived then, dressed in a hideous overly-long brown shift dress that swallowed her body and washed out her face.
“We have to get moving in a few hours,” she advised Yoni, who glared back at her with acrimony.
“Why didn’t you fucking tell me about this morning? You know I hate visiting sick kids.”
“It must have slipped my mind,” she replied innocently.
“Lucky for you this person told me about it,” Yoni said, nodding her head in my direction. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be ready.” She abandoned her half-eaten breakfast and strode off haughtily into the second bedroom, presumably to choose an outfit for the day.
As I cleaned up the breakfast dishes, my phone rang.
“How’s it going?” Heller asked.
“I hate her. She’s an absolute bitch,” I stated bluntly.
He sighed. I was getting sick of his sighs. “Matilda. Why can’t you get along with other women? There’s no need to be jealous of Ms Lemere and me.”
Furious, I hung up on him, ignoring the phone when he rang back.
“Problem?” asked Wanda sympathetically.
“Only that my boss is a complete jerk.”
“I know that feeling! Is he the ridiculously yummy man with you yesterday or the scary one who looked like a gangster?”
“Mr Handsome.”
“Should I pity you or envy you?”
“I honestly don’t know. He’s giving me the major shits. He thinks I’m jealous over him.”
“Are you?”
I shrugged evasively and changed the subject. We chatted for the next hour waiting for Yoni to get ready. There was a loud knock on the door and I went to open. It was my old friend, Rumbles.
“Hey, Mr Rumbles! How’s it going?”
“Couldn’t be better, Miss Tilly,” he replied, as pleased to see me as I was to see him. An old hand at Heller’s, he was Clive’s second-in-charge and one of the nicest men I’d ever met. “Just wanted to let you know that the men are downstairs waiting for Miss Lemere to de
part.” He checked his watch. “We need to leave soon if she’s not going to be late.”
“Thanks, Rumbles. We shouldn’t be too much longer, fingers crossed. See you soon.”
He winked at me and left to go back downstairs. I detoured to the second bedroom to knock gently on the door.
“Ms Lemere, it’s time to leave.”
“Fuck off! I’m not ready. Stop bothering me,” came the muffled reply.
“There’s nothing you can do about her, Tilly,” counselled Wanda. “She’ll keep everyone waiting, as usual. She’s such an inconsiderate bitch.”
“How can she take so long to get ready?” I exclaimed in frustration.
Wanda laughed. “This is nothing. I once waited for five hours for her to get ready for an Oscars ceremony. She almost missed her own nomination as best actress in some crappy rom com movie that everyone hated. She played a dance teacher in a poor downtown school who inspires her students to enter a dance recital, despite them having no gear or skills, winning the heart of the stern but hot principal along the way. And surprise, surprise, her students win the recital. So original. Not!”
“I saw that movie. It stank.”
“Almost as bad as her breath after one of her benders. It had the most hackneyed, recycled script ever seen in Hollywood and she danced like a drunk hippo in it.”
“Yeah, I remember! That solo dance scene of hers was the only time I laughed in the whole movie.”
Wanda grinned. “She didn’t win the Oscar, of course. Lost to some fresh, young talented woman from Britain who gave a wonderfully moving performance as a blind amateur pianist who’s asked to play before the Queen. I loved that movie.”
“Oh, me too! She was brilliant in it. It was so inspiring. I cried my eyes out at the end.”
“I cried at the end of the hippo’s movie too – from sheer relief.” I giggled. “She has made one good movie though.”
I wracked my brains, but nothing sprang to mind.
“Her first movie. She was young when she made it and played a woman who’d been given up for adoption as a baby searching for her natural mother. She finally finds her only to learn that she’d died the week before. Her performance was extraordinary.”
