The Sex Was Great But... (16 page)

I
was (method) acting “casual,” hoping that by acting casual I would become the part in real life. Lying stretched out on the futon in the poolhouse, reading
L.A. Magazine
as if I didn't have a care in the world, as I waited for Leo to return. Of course the reality was my body was taut with stress, but I think when he finally walked into the poolhouse he was reasonably taken in.

“Holly. What are you doing here?” He was acting casual, too, only he obviously had casual mastered a lot better than me. He had his back to me when I turned around—a nice touch. He was hanging his tux up on the wardrobe door. “Hadn't you better start getting ready, then?” he suggested.

I was wearing my robe. I wasn't exactly planning a seduction scene, or anything as obvious as that, but just the same I was kind of surprised when he didn't throw himself on top of me. Only it wasn't a nice surprise and it turned to disappointment pretty quickly.

“What time are they sending the limo?” he asked, kicking off his shoes. The tassels seemed to taunt me now, and my face reddened at the memory of my petty behavior. I'd tried to make amends by ordering him a beautiful pair of Oxfords, but Leo hadn't let me off easily. The Oxfords remained untouched in a box in his wardrobe.

It wasn't just the shoes, though. His question spoke volumes about how much Leo had changed in the two weeks he'd spent with me. How much had I changed him? He talked about “they” and “them” now, like he knew who
they
and
them
really were. The numerous nameless, faceless people who managed my life and his. The girls and boys waiting for their big Hollywood break, filling in time as PAs, sending limos, making appointments, handling my fan mail and—when required—sending in the damage control squads.

I thought about how I'd wanted to send the damage control in to pack Leo off back to London after we'd made love that first time.

“They're sending the limo at six for six-thirty,” I told him, trying to keep a wobble out of my voice.

“Well…hadn't you better start getting dressed?” he suggested again. Leo didn't normally tell me what to do. He looked at me, only for a second, a glance more than a look, really—the way you look up at the sun as if fearing eye damage.

I tried to make my tone as even and casual as his. “So where were you today?” Only it came out all wobbly and shrill.

He was peeling off his pants as if I wouldn't care, changing into Ted's ridiculous swimming trunks. As if his naked body meant nothing to me at all. “If this is about Nile, forget it,” he snapped. “The guy's a prat. I figured it was probably best to avoid him in case I gave him a slap and got you a lawsuit. I don't intend to embarrass you tonight and after this is over I'm out of here, right?”

“Yeah, I guess I was just…”

“You've got me my passport; you've got my ticket?”

I'd sorted out his ticket and passport right at the get-go. It was his condition for the deal. “Yes, you know I have.” Why did I feel like
I'd
just been slapped?

“Fine. So let's get the show on the road, then.”

His crispness made it clear he wanted to be rid of me. The show on the road? Who says that—apart from everyone I know? But still, Leo isn't everyone I know. How Hollywood has he become?

He wasn't just avoiding me, he was pushing me away—the way I had been pushing him away these past two weeks. The pointlessness of both our lives engulfed me in that moment and I thought I would cry.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, willing him to say no, to reach out and grab me, to tell me that the thought of leaving me was unbearable, to hold me in his arms and beg me to let him stay in my life forever.

“Why wouldn't everything be okay? I'm just trying to make you feel I'm on the same page.” He almost laughed, but held himself back. Then he shook his head and it
struck me that there was something familiar about the gesture, and at the same time something fake, and my feeling of pointlessness was overtaken by a feeling of loss and sadness. He knew as well as me that a future for the two of us was never on the cards. Just the same I couldn't stop wondering, where had the Leo gone who once told me that he wanted to make me feel euphoric.

“You sound pissed about something, that's all.”

“Pissed. I'm not pissed. Why would I be pissed? I'm the luckiest guy alive.”

He was
so
pissed. “That's good, then.”

“It's over now. You've given me a break, helped me to assess my life, and I'm grateful, but it's time to move onward and upward.”

Why was he talking like this? There wasn't even a trace of bitterness or irony in his tone. He meant it. All these things he was saying—he meant them. And what was worse they were exactly the things I'd wanted him to say since he got here. Actually, he could have been reading from a script written for him by me.

“What about you, though, are
you
okay Holly?”

The way he said my name like he'd never made love to me hurt, but I grinned like a maniac to set his mind at rest. “Never been better.”

“You really should start getting dressed, you know. Did your dress arrive? Are they coming to do your makeup?” He smiled again, only this time it was a beautiful smile, like the first one he ever gave me after I knocked him into the bus stop, and I wanted to turn the clock back. To stop this madness. To throw the ridiculous tasseled shoes off a
cliff, to muss his hair and have the real Leo with his crooked teeth and lazy natural smile back in my arms.

That day on Vermont Avenue, all he had wanted from me was some spare change, but over the past two weeks I'd felt like he wanted much, much more. Not in terms of money, but in terms of me. Giving your spare change to a street person is one thing. Giving him your heart is another. He must understand that.

He peeled off his shirt, revealing his sculptured muscles. Two weeks under the sunbed had seen off the white pallor of his complexion. The first night when I'd come to his bed he had looked like a marble sculpture.

He walked past me. “I'm going to take a swim,” he told me. “Then I'll get ready.”

I watched him go—the perfect man, a godlike figure, charming, funny, and smart. Nancy and I had done our finest makeover. Tonight we'd film him at the party, chatting to celebrities and big shots as if he was one of them, and our show would be complete. The job was done. Leo was right. There was nothing left to do after tonight. Only here was the thing: I wanted to do so much more.

He unclipped his Rolex and flung it on the bed. I picked it up and turned it over. “Where's the watch I bought you?”

He didn't look at me. “You're holding it.”

“No, this is the one your mother gave you.”

His tone was cold, clipped. “Look, I gave it to Kev, okay. Consider it a fee.”

I looked at him then like he was someone I'd never met before. “A fee? A fee for what?”

He turned away and hung his pants up. “Oh, give me a break, Holly. You can afford to buy a hundred Rolex watches and Kev needed the money.”

I so wasn't believing this. “You're kidding right? You gave Kev the Rolex I bought you as a gift?” I knew I sounded like a spoiled star but I couldn't help it. I was beyond caring about my celebrity image.

“Whatever. Just leave it will you?” He walked out of the poolhouse and turned on the shower.

“No, I won't leave it,” I told him, following him out. I knew that I was shouting, I knew I was out of control—and I am never out of control. I spend a lot of money to be sure that I will never be out of control. “Leo!” I screamed at him over the noise of the shower, knowing Joseph would hear. “I fucking bought the watch for
you,
Leo! It was a gift for
you!
”

“That's a load of crap. You bought me the watch because the one my mum gave me embarrassed you.”

He turned off the shower and turned to me, challenging me to deny the accusation. I'd never known him like this. I dropped my gaze first.

“Like I said, you can afford it.”

I watched his lips moving, trying not to think about how much I wanted to throw myself on him. “I don't care about the money. I bought it for
you.
Not your deadbeat friend.” I believed what I was saying. Even if it wasn't entirely true, it felt true now. Also, I wanted it to be true.

Leo looked so angry that I started to feel afraid. “Be careful what you say, Holly.”

“Be careful what
I
say?” I was shrieking so hard my throat hurt. How could he give the watch I bought for him
to Kev? “You go and give an expensive watch I gave you to some street bum and
I
should be careful?”

“Yes,
you
should be careful.” His voice was calm now, his tone reasonable. “That street bum helped to get your bag back, just like I did. Only he wasn't good enough, was he? I was bad, but at least I was passable.”

I stood there stunned for a second, flicking back over the memory of that morning on Vermont. “No, he didn't. He told you to leave it, as I recall. In fact, he picked up my diaphragm and made some sick remark about it.”

“He went out into the traffic and picked up a whole pile of your junk. Anyway, he didn't make a sick remark. He said it was big. That's all—big. It was a remark. A comment. That's all.”

“How dare you?” I screamed in a pitch I've never reached before. “You Limey good-for-nothing bastard.” And then I pushed him into the pool and stormed up the slope. I'd never been so furious in my life. I was shaking.

Joseph was standing on the slope watching me, holding a weed-killer spray that I knew for a fact wasn't something he used in the garden at this time of year. It was a prop he'd grabbed from the shed so he'd have an excuse to take a prime position to see and hear our shouting match.

He looked worried as he asked if I was okay, and I told him to fuck off. Then I looked back and watched Leo swimming the length of the pool as if nothing had happened. I started to cry and Joseph put his arm around me and soothed me, and I let him lead me back into the house where Conchita was waiting.

Joseph and Conchita exchanged a look as she sat me down. “You sit, missy, and Conchita make you tea like you like it.”

“I'd rather have a tequila, Conchita,” I told her, but she already knew what I needed and was placing one in my hand.

“The poor little thing,” Joseph said, shaking his head at Conchita.

I downed the drink in one and put my glass out for another.

I am so lucky to have Joseph and Conchita.

I
knew Holly was going to go ballistic over me missing my acting class but I didn't expect Human Ballistic. I suspected Holly Ballistic: a long, quiet silence of ballistic thought vibes.

Instead she yelled, screamed and swore like a biker—for a finale she pushed me in the pool, then stormed inside with the trusty Joseph at her heels. I was kind of relieved that she threw such a scene over the watch and pushed me in the pool. It made me feel less guilty.

We hadn't spoken since.

I went up to the house when I was dressed in my evening finery to find Conchita banging things around. When
I went to pour myself a juice she slapped my hand away. “That Miss Holly's juice. You buy your own, mister.”

“Fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted, Conchita.” I was only joking, but it soon became abundantly clear that Conchita wasn't.

She waved an egg whisk at me. “Oh, sure, you Mr. Big Man now, with your hair all nice, your teeth all straight.”

“Okay. Maybe I'll get out of your way.”

Conchita looked satisfied with this. “Miss Nancy upstairs. You fix her a drink.”

“Sure,” I told her as I made my retreat. Maybe I'd fix myself a drink as well.

Holly always goes on about Nancy having an alcohol problem. By this I figure she means Nancy drinks. In L.A., a problem with coffee means you enjoy coffee, and a problem with chocolate means you enjoy chocolate.

I've tried to argue that enjoying something doesn't necessarily make it a problem. In fact, in some parts of the world, enjoying something might even make it a pleasure! But the weight of L.A. logic is against me.

Take Kev. He drinks like a fish, but if you asked him if he had a problem with booze he'd laugh in your face. Besides, Kev has so many problems that drinking is way, way, way down on the list. Kev wouldn't be Kev if he didn't drink. If Kev didn't drink, he'd have to find new friends, new pastimes, a new identity, even, and you have to wonder would it even be worth it? Would it help? Would a booze-free Kev be a better member of society?

Nancy kissed me on the lips when I came in with her drink. I tasted the booze on her breath—in fact, she wouldn't have had to kiss me for me to taste it. The fumes
were strong enough to be absorbed by my skin. You'd start a fire if you waved a match around her mouth.

Studying me in the light of the chandelier, she announced that I had the cutest eyes she'd ever seen, and so for a laugh I rolled them round in their sockets for her.

“They're like cat's eyes in the night,” she purred.

I mean, seriously, what do you say to something like that…? Cat's eyes in the night? Give me a break.

“So, Leo,” she continued. “I hear you missed your class with Nile.”

I shrugged. I didn't really fancy discussing how much I hate the guy.

“Well don't worry about that now. I'm sure you'll be fine. You certainly look like Ideal Hollywood Man.”

“Yeah, well, as far as I can tell this Ideal Hollywood Man geezer is an absolute wanker, and I don't know why any girl in her right mind would want anything to do with him. I really don't. Especially Holly, who's been fucked with by Ideal Hollywood Men since she got to L.A.”

Nancy raised one eyebrow at my outburst. I loosened my tie and sat down, grabbing the remote. I was thinking of what Auntie Lucy and my mum would say if they saw me in this penguin suit.

“What are you trying to prove in that getup?” Mum would say, in a really loud voice in a public place, so as every bloke with a pit bull terrier for half a mile round would turn and check me out.

“Love the tux,” Nancy remarked, moving toward the window to check out the city below. There was a strong wind tonight, and the tall thin palms outside were blowing around chaotically like seventies disco dancers.

I grabbed a handful of olives from a bowl on the table and started feeding them into my wide-open mouth. She edited me with a look, so to wind her up I started chewing with my mouth open until she eventually snapped at me to be more refined. The way she pronounced the word “refined” made it sound especially grim.

I grinned at her and she laughed.

“Sorry, I guess I'm just worried about what we've let ourselves in for. Last-minute nerves,” she explained, downing her drink in one. “Just promise me you won't embarrass us,” she muttered as if she didn't want me to hear.

“Yeah, like I'd be the first guy in L.A. to do that!” I threw in for good measure. Despite a mouth full of olives I laughed at my own cleverness and bits went everywhere. I ignored her glare and brushed the olive pieces off my jacket. I knew I was being a prick but, fuck it. I've had enough and I'm out of here after tonight.

“You've been told about keeping your mouth shut when you chew, Leo.” She took the olives from me and took them over to the bar.

I flicked through the channels.

I Love Lucy
reruns—seen them all—flick.

Sister, Sister
—hate them both—flick.

Are You Being Served?
—urgh—flick.

Fawlty Towers
—still funny—(pause)—but, nah, not in the mood—flick.

Road Chase
—(pause)—gripped despite myself until the high-speed police chase moves onto Highway 10—flick.

Absolutely Fabulous
—(pause)—but only long enough to see if it was the one we watched yesterday. It was—flick.

Tweety Bird
—blah—flick.

Larry King
—flick.

Roseanne
—puke—flick.

Real World
—I love it; Nancy hates it—flick.

Nancy plonked herself down beside me and grabbed the remote. She switched to the millionaire dating show and tossed the remote in between my legs provocatively. Great, that's all I need—a drunk producer on heat.

I kind of know she'd sleep with me after tonight if I gave her the okay. And she kind of knows I won't.

My auntie Lucy was always rubbing the inner thighs of men. None of them ever seemed to mind—until she got fat and desperate. Now they take her hand and say, “Come on, love, let's not ruin our friendship.” I think about saying this to Nancy, but I know it never went down well with Auntie Lucy.

Holly's theory is that where men are concerned Nancy gets the losers while she gets the bastards. I think my mum used to say the same about herself and Auntie Lucy, but I don't think that it's true in either case.

My dad isn't a bastard. Not compared to some. As far as I know he was generous enough while he was around—even my mum concedes that much. He was always good to me. Apparently he even changed my nappies when I was a baby and carried me on his shoulders round the market.

Whenever I see kids on their dad's shoulders I think of Mike Monroe. I want to go up to those kids and warn them not to believe the hype. Those shoulders you're on, that man, your father—don't depend on him, kid—don't trust him. I know it seems like fun now, up there above the crowd. I know your dad seems like the best guy in the world, your hero. But that doesn't mean he won't walk out
on you and your mum tomorrow and destroy your life in a heartbeat.

“So, dark horse, your father's in L.A.?” Nancy remarked as if reading my mind.

“I suppose,” I told her. “Not really sure, to tell you the truth.”

“Didn't Holly tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He went round to your old apartment. Some girl called Tifanie phoned here today while you were out.”

So that was what Tif had wanted to tell me. My dad was trying to find me. I figured as much. I ignored Nancy and switched back to MTV, where Liv Tyler was being interviewed about her dad. She said something, but I didn't hear what. She looked happy, content, pleased with her life—and her dad.

“She said your dad used to be a rock star?” Nancy added, and looked at me to say something.

“I didn't really know him.” I flicked stations to cartoons. “He left us when I was a kid.”

She snatched the remote back and flicked back to Liv Tyler. “Don't you think her face is too long?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I agreed. “Anyway, give it here.” I made a grab for the remote. She gave it up without a fight because she knew from experience that I'm the sort of guy prepared to resort to tickling, and she's not the sort of girl who wants to get mussed up.

I flicked back to
Tweety Bird,
praying that we'd finished discussing my dad. I can count on one hand the enquiries Holly and Nancy have made about my past, and I'm not complaining. As pasts go, it doesn't rank like Liv's. Let's face
it, if it was that great I wouldn't be going through this makeover shit.

I'd already be made.

“Still, it's nice to know he's looking for you don't you think?” she probed.

My father was looking for me. It made me feel weird, rather than pleased. I wasn't sure if I wanted Mike “Bad Ass” Monroe looking for me after all those years he'd spent trying to lose me. I loosened my bow tie some more and flicked through the stations like someone strung out on speed, unnerved by the idea of my dad being in the same town as me. Suddenly I was aware of his presence where previously there'd only been an absence.

I changed channels to
South Park,
knowing that it would shut Nancy up. She loves that show and she started laughing even before she'd heard any dialogue. When she laughs, her face opens up and she almost looks attractive. Holly is always going on about Nancy's sophistication, but personally I still think she looks like a librarian. Only not when she laughs—then she reminds me of Diane Keaton.

Holly reckons that a therapist would say the reason I like the company of women is that I am attempting to recreate my childhood with my mum and auntie Lucy in order to work through unresolved issues. But that's bollocks.

The only “unresolved issue” I've got with my mum and auntie Lucy is their vegetarian stage, when all they fed me was mungbeans and red kidney beans. You try trading a mungbean and alfalfa sprout sandwich with the other guys at school when you're farting like a tramp.

I heard an attention-grabbing cough behind me and turned to see Holly framed by the doorway. She looked
amazing, like one of those porcelain dolls that they sell in Islington (only without the tam-o'-shanter and the petticoats). She was wearing pale, almost not-there makeup, and kitten heels. (She's taught me all there is to know about girl's shoes and their heels.) I recognized the dress, by Alexander McQueen, because I'd helped her choose it despite the protests of her stylist.

She looked ethereal—vulnerable and untouchable in equal measures as she stood there, looking straight through me, waiting for Nancy to turn and notice her. Nancy roared with laughter at something on
South Park.

I wanted to say something. Something she really wanted to hear. I wanted to take back anything I'd ever said or done to hurt her. Holly looked at me and appeared to shrink. It was the first time she'd looked at me since the fight this afternoon. We looked into one another's eyes while Nancy, still oblivious to Holly and me, laughed again at something on
South Park.

I could see Holly wanted me to compliment her on what she was wearing and, given how she looked, it shouldn't have been such a chore. This was my moment, my chance to say the right thing. But the pressure was just too much.

With Mum and Auntie Lucy it's easy to say the right thing. Besides, they're always half-cut by the time they've finished tarting themselves up. When they walk out and do a spin for “the man of the house”—with a few too many snakebites under their belts—all I have to say is—“You two look like a right couple of slappers!”

But I don't think such irreverence would work on Holly—although for the life of me I couldn't think what
else to say. She gave me a small smile, and I gave her a small smile back.

I hate this.

Something inside my chest contracted. Maybe it was because no one had ever needed my approval before.

She was wearing that same expression when the bag-snatcher ran off with her Gucci. Save me, it pleaded. Look after me. Protect me. Rescue me. And for the first time in my life I felt like I was of real consequence—as well as in real danger of failing. Like the universe had singled me out for special duty. Me? A guy in a black woolen hat with earflaps? A guy with no visible means of support who begs spare change on Vermont? You need
my
help?

She coughed.
“Tell me I am beautiful and worthy and wonderful and that you want to kiss me,”
she says. Well, maybe she didn't actually say that. Not in so many words. But it was what her whole being cried out.

“Oh, my God…you look stunning. Wow, Holly, you look amazing.” I heard the words, and I really meant them. Only it wasn't me saying them. It was Nancy, a look of rapture and approval on her face.

And I knew I'd lost my chance. “Yeah,” I agreed, “shit-hot!” But it came out sounding half-hearted—mealy-mouthed, almost.

“You don't think the necklace is too much?” she asked, fingering the diamond choker around her neck that some jeweler on Rodeo lent her—it spells out the word “SHALLOW.”

“I'll wear it if you want,” Nancy teased, and Holly rewarded her with a kiss.

I knew I shouldn't feel jealous, but I did.

When we piled into the limo Nancy and Holly sat in one corner and I sat in the other on the other side of the compartment. If you've ever been to limo Siberia you will know that nowhere is as cold and inhospitable. Give me a street corner any day.

The atmosphere chilled the moment I spotted the limo's faux wooden fridge. I think I said something normal—like, “Weh-hey, a minibar!”—and went to grab a beer.

Holly slapped my hand away as if I were a child and slammed the fridge door shut with her foot. Shaking a dark red fingernail about a centimeter in front of my face, she told me she didn't want me drunk. Actually what she said was, “I don't want you to get drunk and disgusting and embarrass me at this dinner tonight, Leo. Do you understand?”