by Susan Lewis
“I said you were. I didn’t tell him Joel was coming as well, though.”
“He doesn’t expect . . .”
“Uh-uh,” said Ellamarie. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“He wasn’t too terribly cross about me going off with Joel when we were at the Ritz, was he?”
“He didn’t say he was. But I think he was a bit put out. After all, it was you who asked me to fix you up all those months ago.”
“Well, he certainly took his time getting interested,” Kate complained.
“He was seeing someone else.”
“Oh well, too bad. He’s missed the boat now, I’m afraid.”
“He’s a nice guy, Kate.”
“Oh don’t, you’re making me feel guilty. Have you spoken to any of the others today? I’m supposed to be meeting them in the bar.”
“Jenneen called earlier. She’s bringing Matthew. And wait for it, Ashley is bringing a friend.”
“No! Who?”
“Search me. Someone she met in a restaurant, I think she said.”
“But who is he?”
“No idea. But she says we’ll just love him.”
“I can’t wait,” said Kate. “Did she tell you what happened last Saturday, at the office?”
“No.”
“It was so awful. It was Julian. He got hold of her, apparently, and tried to kiss her. Told her that he was sorry, and could he see her again.”
“Jesus Christ! What did she do?”
“Well, apparently Conrad Thingummy broke them up. Just as well, by the sound of it, as Blanche was on her way up the stairs. Seems as soon as Julian heard Blanche’s name mentioned he turned white and disappeared, leaving poor Ash to contend with that philistine from New York.”
“What did Conrad say?”
“Plenty, all of it insulting. They had quite the most furious row. But then little Alex walked in on them, and Ashley said that Conrad’s manner suddenly changed, became something approaching human when Alex appeared. But what do you make of Julian, though? I mean, can you believe it? But at least even Ashley got mad this time.”
“He’s a selfish, egotistical bastard,” Ellamarie snapped, surprising Kate with her vehemence. There was a short pause.
“I was going to ask,” said Kate, a little less animated now, “but, well, has Bob said anything to his wife yet?”
Ellamarie sighed. “Well, if he has, he sure hasn’t told me. So I figure we can take it that he hasn’t.”
“Oh, Ellamarie. Are you cross?”
“As hell. But what I can say? And now is not the time. Not with the play just opening and all.”
“Where is he now?”
“Just coming in through the door. He’s been to get a takeaway.”
“You mean you can eat?” Kate cried. “Aren’t you terribly nervous?”
“Nothing stops me from eating,” said Ellamarie. “Anyway, I’d better go, he’s banging around in the kitchen to let me know he’s back, like a spoilt child. Needs constant attention, does Bob.”
“Like all men,” Kate laughed.
Ellamarie hung up and went into the kitchen to find Bob picking at the food.
“Can’t you wait?” she said.
“I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Well, let’s at least get it onto plates,” and she whisked the cartons from his hands.
He stood watching her while she banged the drawers open and closed, took out knives and forks, and salt and pepper, and all but slammed them on the table.
“Are you angry about something?” he asked.
“No.”
“Who was that on the phone?”
“Kate.”
“Is she coming tonight?”
“Yes. With Joel.”
“Oh, she’s still seeing him, is she?”
“Yes. Why not? You sound surprised?”
Bob looked at her. “Something’s eating you, Ellamarie. What is it?”
“Nothing’s eating me. I already told you.”
She reached the plates down from the cupboard, and dished out the meal. Then she turned on the oven, and put hers inside.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Keeping mine warm. I’m going to bath first.”
“And there was me thinking you’d got undressed for me.”
She didn’t laugh.
He shrugged and sat down at the table with his food.
When she came out of the bathroom, he was sitting in front of the TV, watching Ann Hollier and David Flood being interviewed by Terry Wogan.
“I’d forgotten they were on,” she said. “Have I missed much?”
“It’s almost over.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
He looked at her, blankly.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think.”
“I guess you never do,” she remarked.
“Ellamarie, will you stop this. If I’ve done something to upset you, why don’t you just spit it out?”
She looked away, and dug her fork into the food that she had brought in with her. But her appetite had vanished. She pushed the plate away.
“Something the matter?”
“Why don’t you quit asking me if something is the matter?”
“For God’s sake,” he said. “Suddenly I can’t say anything right.”
“People who don’t say anything at all, usually don’t.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it said.”
“Then forgive me for being stupid, but I don’t understand.”
“That’s just it, isn’t it, Bob. You don’t understand!”
“If I knew what it was that I was supposed to be understanding, then perhaps I could try.”
“Try understanding that you made me a promise before Christmas, one that you appear to have conveniently forgotten.”
“What promise?”
“Oh, that’s rich!” she cried. “What promise? You know what promise. The promise that you would tell your wife about us. The promise you made to me that we would be together. The promise . . .”
Bob stood up and switched off the TV. “Why have you suddenly brought this up now?” He turned round to face her, but she was staring out of the window. He walked over and pulled the curtains.
“Because I hardly ever think about anything else.”
“But now, before a performance?”
“Yes, even now, before a performance. There are other things in my life, Bob, besides acting. And you happen to be one of them. At least, I thought you were.”
“You’re getting worked up about nothing, Ellamarie.”
“Don’t patronise me,” she shouted. “It might be nothing to you, but it’s not to me. And that’s it, isn’t it? It’s nothing to you. This whole goddamned thing, it means nothing to you. I don’t matter. You didn’t even call me over Christmas. You must have known what I would be going through. Joel came round to see Kate on Boxing Day, and do you know, when he knocked on the door I was actually stupid enough to think that it was you who had arrived. I was fool enough to think that you had kept your promise, that you had told her, and that you were coming to tell me everything was all right. How goddamned stupid can anyone get? But I should have known better. Jesus Christ, I should have known better. You’re weak, Bob McElfrey. You’re weak, and spineless. You thought you could keep me hanging on, dangling around like some brainless puppet. Well, I’ve got feelings too! I hurt too, you know. But then, why should you care? You’ve got her and her goddamned horses, and you’ve got me, and the theatre. Why should you want to lose any of it? You’ve got everything, you bastard! And don’t walk away when I’m talking to you!”
“I’m walking away,” he said, “because you are being irrational. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I don’t want a row before the performance; neither do you. We’ll discuss this later.”
“Like hell we will
!” she yelled. He stopped in the doorway, but didn’t turn round. “There won’t be a later,” she went on. “There is no later for me and you, Bob, do you hear me? No later! No more! I’m sick of it, and I’m sick of you!”
He turned back and she saw that his face had paled. “I think you should stop now, Ellamarie, before you say something you will regret.”
“I’m saying we’re through. Finished. Over! Do you understand? We’re through. Now there’s the door.”
“I’m driving you to the theatre.”
“I can drive myself. Now get out! Go!”
She saw his jaw tighten, and she knew that he was barely managing to control his own temper. “Go and get dressed. I’ll wait until you’re ready. Then I’ll take you to the theatre.”
“The theatre, sure, where the rest of your fan club is waiting. Maureen Woodley now, isn’t it?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t kid me. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and don’t tell me you haven’t. How much encouragement have you given her. Bob? Is she next in line? Get rid of Ellamarie Goold, bring on Maureen Woodley. You’re like one of them goddamned horses your wife keeps. You’re a stud! Well, this is one mare that doesn’t need servicing any more.”
Bob glared at her. “You’re disgusting, Ellamarie. And if that’s the way you feel, then perhaps you’re right, we’d better say goodbye now. See you get to the theatre on time,” and picking up his coat, he slammed out of the flat.
That night Ellamarie Goold gave the best performance of her life. Not that anyone noticed particularly; only she knew how she was feeling inside.
After Bob had left, she had thrown herself onto the couch and cried and cried. She knew she had gone too far. She had said so many things she didn’t mean. Something inside her had snapped, and she had lost control. She was terrified that he wouldn’t forgive her. That she had spoiled everything, and that he would never come back to her.
When she arrived at the theatre he was in his office and his secretary had told her that he didn’t want to be disturbed, so she went back downstairs and shut herself in her dressing room, and locked the door. She didn’t want to see anyone, not till curtain up. Oh yes, she would go on. After attacking him with her cruel and suspicious mind, she couldn’t let him down again.
Making up to go on, she looked at herself in the mirror, but could only see his face, hurt and confused, looking at her, not knowing why she was saying what she was saying. How could she have done it to him? Bob, who had only loved her, cherished her even, and would never deliberately do anything to hurt her.
There were three curtain calls, interminable, and prolonging her agony. She had to get off. She must get away, before she broke down again.
She ran back to her dressing room, and again locked the door. Somebody knocked, several times, but she didn’t answer. She knew it wouldn’t be him. He would have no more to say to her.
She lit a cigarette. It wasn’t often she smoked these days, Bob didn’t like it, so she had tried to give it up. But she needed something now, to calm her nerves.
She thought back over the past two years, and all the times they had spent together. But hadn’t she always known in her heart that one day this hour would arrive? When it would be all over. Married men never leave their wives, she had always told herself that, even though she had never wanted to believe it. Not men like Bob. He was loyal, and honest, and she had never considered what it cost him to cheat on his wife, even if he didn’t love her any more. Yes, she knew that this day would come sooner or later. And sometimes, in bleak moments, usually at the weekend, she had imaged how it would be. A tender, heartrending parting, with both of them doing the sensible thing. Not like this. They had never had a real fight before – and it was all her doing.
There was another knock on the door, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to see anyone. She knew her friends would be waiting for her out front, but she couldn’t face even them right now. If only she could see her father.
She knew she was fooling herself. Her father would be horrified to think that she had been committing a sin of the bible with a married man.
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Again there was a knock at the door. “Ellamarie! Ellamarie! Can I come in?”
It was Ashley. Poor Ashley, who had suffered, like she was suffering now. Who had tried to put a brave face on things, like she had done tonight.
“Ellamarie! Are you in there?”
At last she got to her feet, and unlocked the door. She turned away, and let Ashley open it herself. But it wasn’t only Ashley who came through the door. There were bundles and bundles of flowers as well, with Ashley tucked in behind them.
“What were you doing?” said Ashley. “I was beginning to think you weren’t here.”
“Just taking my make-up off.”
Ashley dumped the flowers on the tiny couch in the corner, and went to sit beside Ellamarie at the mirror. “The others are in the bar getting a drink. They’ll meet us out there. Thought I’d come and give you a hand, and tell you how marvellous . . .” She stopped as she saw Ellamarie’s red eyes. “What’s the matter, Ellamarie? Have you been crying?”
“No. Just got cream in my eyes.”
“Oh.” There was a brief silence before Ashley spoke again. “He’s waiting outside, you know. He wants to know if it’s all right to come in.”
Ellamarie looked at her, hardly daring to believe her.
“Well, what do you say?”
Ellamarie looked towards the door. Then her hands flew to her cheeks and she turned back to the mirror.
“Here,” said Ashley, passing her a tissue. “Blow your nose, and wipe the make-up from under your eyes. I’ll go and tell him the coast is clear.”
Ellamarie stared at her reflection in the glass, doing nothing to cleanse her eyes. She wondered what he was going to say. He would have calmed down by now, Bob never stayed mad for long. But did he want to see her just to finalise everything? To make things more civilised, so that they could continue to work together? Maybe he was going to ask her to quit the production. Her understudy could take the part until they found someone else. Oh God, not that. Please not that.
She turned round in her chair and saw that he was standing in the doorway. She looked at him, tall and dark, with fine grey lines through his beard and around his temples. His face was inscrutable, but she noticed that his jaw was set and his knuckles showed white on the handle of the door. He looked back at her across the room, and she knew she had never loved him more.
She looked down to her hands, and found that she had pulled the tissue into tiny pieces. “I know I can’t expect you to forgive me,” she whispered, “but I am sorry for all those things I said. I wish I’d never said them. You must hate me now . . . and I can’t blame you, but I’m sorry, oh Bob, I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
“I love you, Ellamarie.”
She looked up. “What did you say?”
“I said, I love you, Ellamarie.”
In a moment she was in his arms. “Oh Bob!” she cried. “I love you too. I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t know what made me say it. Oh Bob! Don’t ever leave me, I’m sorry.”
He held her tightly, and let her cry on his shoulder while he stroked her hair. “Sssh, now, don’t cry, hen.”
She looked up into his face, and he smiled. “You look terrible,” he said, tracing the little white valleys that her tears had made through the make-up on her cheeks. Taking her by the hand he led her back to the mirror, and dipping the tissues in the cold cream, he wiped her face, sometimes kissing her, and sometimes laughing at her as she pulled faces at him, or cried. Then he pulled her to her feet, and undressed her.
“Did you bring something to wear for dinner?”
She nodded, and pointed to the dress hanging on the back of the door.
He took it from the hanger, and slipped it over her head. Then he turned her round, and
zipped her up.
“Shoes?”
“Over there.”
He pushed her back into the chair, and replaced Maria’s shoes with Ellamarie’s.
She was looking down at him, and reached out her hand to stroke his face. “I don’t deserve you.”
“It is I who don’t deserve you,” he said. “It was my fault, Ellamarie. It was all my fault. I should have realized. Things haven’t been easy for you lately, and I have been selfish, and uncaring. It’s a lot for you to put up with, what with the play opening, Christmas, and not seeing your parents. And me. It has all been too much of a strain on you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner. And I’m sorry that I haven’t said anything to my wife. But I will, my darling, I promise you, I will.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, Bob,” she said, throwing her arms round him. “As long as we’re together, at least some of the time, it’s enough. I shouldn’t have tried to push you. I tried to make you do something that I know is against your nature. I understand now. You don’t want to hurt your wife, I can see that now. And I love you for it.”
He kissed her, tenderly, tracing her lips with his, and his heart was full of love.
“Are you ready for dinner?”
She nodded. “Do I look OK?”
“You look beautiful.”
“You’re biased.”
“Of course.”
As he led her out of the dressing room, he leaned back inside the door to tum off the light. He didn’t see Maureen Woodley slip back into her dressing room. And he missed the look she gave Ellamarie.
TWELVE
Kate braced herself and waited for the next blow. It came. Followed by another. And then another. She cried out, then stifled her scream with her hand, biting into her flesh until she could taste blood. And then she felt his lips on her skin, and his fingers, gentle and soothing, as he stroked her buttocks. She turned over and looked up into Joel’s eyes. They were bright and excited. He pushed his hips forward, and grabbing hold of her hand he rubbed it against his penis. It was hard, like rock almost.
He turned her over onto her face again.
“No,” she whimpered, “please. No more.”
She felt his weight sink down on the bed beside her, and then over her. Using his knees he parted her legs, then moving his hands round to her belly, he lifted her from the bed and with one quick move he had entered her. Thank God, the sadistic pantomime was over.
