The Sex Was Great But... (10 page)

Soon after, Nancy turned up to take me to the dentist, so I didn't get a chance to dwell on my abilities to hurt Holly much. Nancy was wearing combat trousers and madly high shiny black heels. But with her tightly tied-back hair and dark-framed glasses she hadn't managed to shake off her librarian look.

She slapped my arse as I climbed into her BMW. I acted like nothing had happened, like I used to with Auntie Lucy, who thinks all men's arses are there for the slapping. On the drive Nancy prattled on about what was involved in the makeover and how excited the team was to be working on me. It didn't seem to matter to her if I replied or not, so I fell into my own thoughts. I tried to imagine what Holly was doing. She said she was having a damage control meeting with her agent. For someone who was so obsessed with control, she spent a lot of time handing it over to other people.

The dentist's practice was in Beverly Hills. I was unnerved when Nancy insisted on coming in with me, and felt even worse when she looked into my mouth while the dentist poked around. He took some X rays and a mould, then declared my teeth in relatively good order but more crooked than any teeth he'd ever seen. He showed me a chart and asked me to choose a color for my caps.

I chose four shades off luminous white, in the hope that I could avoid looking like those tossers in toothpaste commercials, but Nancy overrode me and went for “ring of confidence” white.

I didn't feel I could argue, especially with a mouth still full of cotton wool. Even without a mouth full of cotton wool I don't think my opinion would have been welcome. On the journey back she started outlining the program for the next two weeks.

“It'll be intense, Leo, but once you march out of that surgery in two weeks' time you'll thank us. You'll have the confidence only a man who trusts in his own smile can rely on.”

“Ri-ght,” I agreed uncertainly, as an image of me marching out of the dentist with neon-white teeth flashed across my synapse.

Nancy had no doubts whatsoever. “You'll be able to use your new skills and your new look to take control of your own life. Find yourself a real horizon to aim for!”

I thought she must be taking the piss, with all her crazy management consultancy soundbites, and started laughing, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Her hands clenched on the wheel and she made a “humph” noise.

“Shit, sorry Nance—you weren't serious, then, were you?”

“You would think someone like you would be a bit more grateful,” she remarked. “After all, it isn't as if you had anything else happening in your life is it?”

I decided no response was the best response. I looked out the window as we passed a bloke in a Mexican hat, waving to us from his “Map to the Stars” roadside stall. “Hey, check it out—do you think Holly's house is on one of those maps?”

She ignored me. Unlike Holly's, Nancy's driving was aggressively competent. “I mean, you're the one who'll walk out of all this with a new wardrobe, Leo. You'll have new teeth, new hair, new attitudes.”

“A bit like Frankenstein, then?”

I thought she'd go spastic, but instead she winked. “You are impossible,” she said, but she was smiling now.

“So, who wants to be possible?” I replied, doing my best James Dean impression.

Nancy started laughing, and I laughed with her. “I don't know where you're from, or what you're after, but with an ass like yours I suspect you'll get it.”

“Thank you…I guess…”

She shrugged. “Don't get me wrong, Leo I wouldn't trust you for a second.”

“Right back at you, Nancy,” I told her, giving her a salute.

“But then I don't trust people, period. The two most overused phrases in Hollywood are ‘the check is in the mail' and ‘I promise I won't come in your mouth.'”

“Ah, but I am not from Hollywood.”

“You will be by the time we finish with you, Leo!”

We carried on our banter all the way back. Nancy didn't
come inside with me. She said she had an errand and would be back later with lunch. As she stuck her head out the window to say goodbye she reassured me once more that I wouldn't know myself by the time they'd finished with me. Deep down, I was afraid she was right.

Dinny was already waiting for me inside. He was sitting at the granite table in Holly's vast dining room, the scene for our cereal packet incident. “You must be Leo from London,” he sang brightly, extending his plastic-ring-be-jeweled hand out for me to shake. “Hi, my name's Dinny; I'm to be your personal speech therapist.” I shook his hand. Americans seemed to love shaking hands.

Dinny was oppressively big, well over six feet, and large with it. Dressed in an acid-green silk suit teamed with an acid-blue silk shirt which perfectly matched his shoes, he looked like a giant boiled sweet. He had a slightly affected lisp that made him sound gay, and a twinkling smile that was always on.

There was another guy sitting at the table with him, but I didn't get to see his face, hidden as it was behind a large video camera. Holly had changed and was now dressed in red capri trousers teamed with a tight T-shirt with “Coca Cola®” emblazoned across the chest. Her hair was pulled back in a red scrunchy and she was smiling like an excited child as she introduced me to Wayne the cameraman.

“Hi,” he said, the camera glued to his face. “Just pretend I don't exist,” he suggested.

“Cool,” I agreed, turning back to Dinny, who suggested a “nice get-to-know-one-another chat.”

Conchita showed Dinny, Wayne and me up to Holly's office, which was at the top of the house. A life-sized card-
board cutout of Holly loomed in the corner of the room. The cardboard cutout Holly had her fists in the air in a pose of triumph.

“Don'chu touch anything,” Conchita warned Dinny and Wayne severely, before giving the Holly cutout a quick once-over with her cloth.

“You make sure they don't touch anything, Mr. Leo,” she whispered in my ear as she left. “Especially that one,” she warned, gesturing toward Dinny.

Dinny started off by telling me again how excited he was to be working on me, and then he explained that his job was to help me be a bit more polished in the way I speak and express myself. “This will include everything from introductions and handshakes to farewells and waves. We'll do basic conversation, including what to say and how much to say—or, as I prefer, how little to say without being mute.” He giggled, but what really distracted me was his disconcerting habit of rolling his chubby head around as he spoke. The worst part, though, was when I replied I found I was mimicking him automatically.

“Let's start with a basic do as I do exercise,” he lisped. “Just repeat each sentence after me, breathing as I breathe, with your hands on your diaphragm like this.” He placed his fingers over his chest as if there were imaginary breasts there, and even though I felt like a complete fool I did the same.

“Now, keep your back straight Leo—we don't want you slouching, do we?” he trilled.

I agreed that slouching was the last thing we wanted and stood up straight.

“What a privilege it is to meet you, Mr. Cruise.”

I did my best to mimic his camped-up singsong lisp.

“That was good, but I think you need to make stronger eye contact with Mr. Cruise, don't you?” He stared into my eyes and I stared back into his.

“That's better. You have a lovely stare when you put the effort in. Now, after me, this time follow my meter closely: The stores along the world-famous Rodeo Drive are legendary, and not to be missed by visitors to Los Angeles.”

After twenty minutes he seemed pleased with my efforts, rewarding me with an excited little fairy clap. “At least you speak English…well, more or less!” he added, before chuckling himself sick. “We'll have you speaking like the queen by the time we're done, won't we, Leo?”

I nodded, slightly worried that he'd actually said “a” queen rather than “the” queen.

“We simply have to round your accent off and soften you a bit around the edges, don't we?” He fluffed my shirt. “So, hold them with your eyes and let your mouth be your ambassador.”

“Right,” I agreed. I mean, the man was barking.

He laughed wickedly. “Don't look so terrified, dear boy, it shouldn't be
too
painful.”

I suppose he was nice enough, in a bizarre sort of way, but at the back of my mind I couldn't help worrying about why Holly wanted me to speak like Dinny.

After Dinny and Wayne had left, I joined Holly, who was with a tall willowy girl she referred to as Sienna, although she didn't bother to introduce us. Sienna didn't even acknowledge me, so I sat down and pretended she wasn't there as she went over items of business. I figured she must be one of the assistants Holly had told me about, but I
didn't like the way she spoke to Holly, in this hectoring voice with lots of exasperated sighing.

Eventually Nancy returned with food and we all sat down for lunch, which was an array of assorted salads from the Ivy. Sienna didn't speak to Nancy, either, but she moderated her tone with Holly. By the time she left she'd jotted down a million complicated instructions about people to call, people to cancel, and people to ignore.

She was no sooner out the door than a guy called Brad arrived, bearing a plethora of gifts and samples that had arrived at the office for Holly. I wasn't introduced to him, either, and he spoke to Holly with the same condescending tone. I just sat there shoveling leaves into my mouth while Holly and Nancy watched unenthusiastically as Brad held up the booty for inspection.

“Calvin thought this would be cool for one of those ‘beauty products you couldn't live without on a desert island' slots?” he explained, holding up a pot of sparkled rouge. The girls seemed excited by it. Holly opened the lid and took a sniff, then passed it to Nancy who did the same.

“We could team it with one of those great bikinis Stella McCartney has out?” Holly suggested.

“And those sandals that Jimmy Choo has,” Nancy added.

“Yes, get on to that will you, Brad? Sandals from Jimmy and bikini from Stella for a ‘I wouldn't be seen dead on a desert island without…' slot.”

Brad made a note. “Okay, so next is an item without which, if you don't have it this summer, you will die a painful death,” he trilled, holding up a putrid plum string vest. Holly and Nancy looked at each other, unconvinced.

“Okay, so what about this? Color
du jour!
Color
du jour!
” He spread a bunch of puce-toned swathes over the table.

The girls clucked and tutted.

I helped myself to their leftover salads.

The rest of the afternoon brought more assistants and more life-death decisions about color and face creams. As I seemed superfluous I went out to the pool and did some laps. Joseph came and watched me in a vaguely threatening way, although maybe it was just the hoe he was holding.

Holly and I ate dinner separately in our own rooms. She told me that unless Conchita cooked for us or we were going out I could choose what I wanted to eat from a vast array of take-out menus. I'd already worked out that if I hung around the kitchen Conchita would fuss, so I headed back to my poolhouse for a night alone.

I couldn't shake off a self-conscious feeling that there was a hidden camera somewhere as I ate my won-tons and moronically flicked through the channels. I was just about to decide that I would turn in when I looked up and saw Holly standing over my bed.

“Hi,” I said suddenly embarrassed by the state of the poolhouse.

I knew words were coming out of my mouth, but I felt strangely disconnected from them. I couldn't help feeling weird, after being in a Holly Siberia all day, to see her back at the scene of our breakfast passion. I heard myself apologizing for the mess, and then she got into the bed with me and I felt stupid for all the negative things I'd been thinking about her all day. She snuggled into my chest and I kissed the top of her head.

We fell asleep without making love, but later in the night I had my dream that I'm getting a blow job from a fan. Only it wasn't a fan and I really was getting a blow job. But then the next morning Holly was gone, and I started to think that maybe it was only a dream after all.

The next day Wayne was already inside when I went in for breakfast. Conchita had made him an enchilada and the day maid was vacuuming the hall.

“You want enchilada, Leo,” she asked brightly as she gave me a kiss.

“That would be great, Conchita,” I said.

“She's the best cook in L.A., this lady.” Wayne grinned, stuffing the last of the enchilada into his face.

“For sure,” I agreed “Where's Holly?”

“Said she'd be back later. She left a message that you've got your personal trainer here in half an hour. She was going to try and get back for that, apparently.”

“She with her shrink-head,” Conchita explained, giving me a look that could sink hopes.

“Cool,” I said and Wayne gave me a knowing wink. I wasn't sure what it was I was supposed to know, but I gave him one back.

Tom, my personal trainer, arrived wearing a tiny pair of white shorts. He had a matching pair for me, which were two sizes too small. He had also gone to the trouble of providing me with some shiny white trainers, which, when I tried to wriggle my feet, I discovered were also two sizes too small.

When I came out wearing my kit I could tell that even with a video camera Velcroed to his face Wayne was pissing himself.

Tom ran his eyes up and down me like a searchlight, muttering darkly about muscle groups and my lack of them. “We'll need to get you under the sunbed straight away,” he declared sizing up my lily-white legs with a sneer. It seemed strange to me that with all the natural sunlight outside I should have to tan under artificial ultraviolet, but with the watchful lens of Wayne's camera on me I decided to keep my bright ideas to myself.