Authors: Harriet Evans
A NERVOUS YOUNG man in a too-big suit shows me to my suite on the top floor. The view stretches west, across the park, framed by the white stucco enclaves of Bayswater and South Kensington. The last rays of the sun are bathing the city in an amber glow.
‘Artie’s on his way up,’ Sarah says. ‘You’re … OK?’ she says anxiously. I turn and see her face. She is pale, her eyes have delicate blue circles under them, like she’s not slept properly.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. I put the box of Eve’s papers on the bed.
‘What’s that?’ she says, curious.
‘Stories,’ I say, because I don’t know how else to explain it.
‘Why were you so late, then?’ she says. ‘Sorry. I really don’t mean to like, pry? It’s just, I was so worried …’
‘The car got a puncture. We were on the M4 for an hour. Didn’t they call you? I told them to give you a message.’
‘No,’ she says. ‘A puncture?’
I nod. ‘Yep.’
‘That’s really strange.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I say. ‘But then a lot of messages haven’t been getting through lately, have they.’ She looks up again, not sure what to make of it. ‘Never mind, we’re in town now, things’ll be much easier. I’ll be done here soon and then I can go home, get out of here.’
Sara curves her plastic hotel key card between her fingers. ‘Right,’ she says. The card is almost bent double, the sides touching, like a teardrop. I watch, in an agony of suspense, to see if it’ll break.
She’s weighing up what to say and eventually she says, ‘Sophie, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure,’ I say. I sit down on the bed.
‘When you get back – what – have you decided … is Tina coming back to work for you?’
I turn to her. ‘You know what’s going to happen, Sara.’
She is about to speak but the door swings open with such force that it bangs against the mahogany desk behind it and Artie strides in, arms outstretched.
‘Sophie honey, hello. How the fuck are you. Give me a hug. Come here. What the fuck. How are you.’
He pulls me into a hard, almost painful, grasp, then grips my shoulders and pushes me away from him, looks me up and down like I’m a life-size doll.
‘How you doing?’ he says. ‘You look good, great in fact. You been eating?’
‘Not much,’ I say. It’s true.
‘Your skin is great.’ He turns around. ‘All that rain. Sara? Be a doll and get me a diet Coke from downstairs, will ya?’
‘There’s some in the minibar, would you like me to …’ She trails off.
Artie stares at her.
‘Did you hear me? I asked you to get me one from the bar. I don’t want some fucking minibar shit.’ Spittle flies from his mouth. ‘Did you not hear that’s what I asked?’
‘Artie, don’t talk to her like that,’ I say. Sara’s eyes are fixed to the ground. ‘Is that OK?’ I ask her.
‘Sure …’ she says quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Sophie.’
‘She working out OK?’ Artie watches her go. ‘That Lynn’s assistant? The one who was obsessed with you, had all those postcards of you up over her desk?’
I swing round to look at him. ‘She what?’
‘Sure,’ Artie says, scratching his beard and looking out of the window. ‘Nuts about you. It was a joke. Shelby told me about it, the girls used to laugh at her. I told you.’
‘No … you didn’t,’ I say, looking wonderingly at him. ‘Why—’
But Artie’s moved on. ‘Listen to me. What is going on with you? What the fuck’s been happening? I told Tommy he ought to fire himself, if he’s in charge of your security. It’s one fuck-up after another, honey – not any more, anyway. I’m gonna see to it. It’s gonna be OK though. You shoot two more scenes, we have you here, secure, you fly home, they’ll catch whoever did this shit, bam. OK?’
Bam.
I look at the table, covered with glossy magazines.
Paris Match
at the top.
SOPHIE: SE MARIE?
on the front, and one of the photos of me and Patrick Drew having coffee. While I’ve been living in the Forest of Arden for the last few weeks, in some alternative celebrity universe Sophie Leigh is on the verge of marriage or break-up with Patrick Drew. Those photos must have had a good old airing, if that’s all they’ve got to go on, not that they need actual pictures to make up stories. They just do it anyway.
‘Where are they getting this stuff about me and Patrick from?’ I ask Artie, who’s sitting down and tearing at the little cellophane packets of complimentary biscuits.
‘No idea. We have a conference call with Ashley later on. Let’s ask her.’ Artie rips off the corner with his teeth. ‘It’s complicated – who knows where they get their ideas from.’ He raises his hands to heaven, thus admitting guilt and also dispensing with the topic. ‘I wanna talk to you, honey. Feel like I had to get on a plane to do it. You’ve been elusive and I’m concerned about you.’
‘I was angry with you after the whole
Bachelorette Party
thing,’ I say. ‘But I haven’t been elusive.’
‘Yeah, you have. The number of messages I’ve left with that damned assistant – she says you’ll call back right away, and you never do.’
I close my eyes. ‘Yeah. Well, that’s going to be sorted. Don’t worry.’
‘Never returning my calls, etc., etc.’ He slams his meaty hands across his thighs. ‘But it’s fine, I love ya, you’re my number one gal, aren’t you? So let’s talk. And I want us to nail down your next project. We got great feedback on you in
Second-Best Bed.
You’re doing some amazing work. Really great. It’s gonna get you an Oscar nom.’
He says this nonchalantly. I blink. ‘Seriously?’
‘Oh, yeah. I’m working on it. It’s what people want from you now. We made a good call with this movie. If they get Eve Noel it’ll be huge.
King’s Speech
meets
Shakespeare in Love
. Meets … I don’t know. Yu-huge.
Cleopatra
?
Citizen Kane
?’ He spreads his arms wide. ‘I want my diet Coke.’
‘She’ll be back soon,’ I assure him.
‘OK. Now you know, and I know, these kind of movies ain’t tent poles. But they go on and on. And it gives us a calling card. “She’s shown you what she can do. Sophie Leigh can do anything.”’
‘You said it’d be a big mistake.’ I don’t look at him. I move around the suite picking up ornaments, putting them down again. The sun has almost disappeared.
Artie blinks, throws another tiny biscuit down his throat. ‘I said that? I don’t remember it like that, honey. So what’s next? OK, so we couldn’t go down that road with
The Bachelorette Party
, but I have a lot of interest in you for Patrick’s next film. It’s a great role. Lot of heat. A
lot
. Really it’s a beautifully written part, and that’s what’s made me think I have to talk to you about it first, too, then you and Patrick should hook up and talk it through.’
‘Great,’ I say. ‘What’s it called?’
He laughs, then wrinkles his nose. ‘Are you ready? Huh? Are you ready for this?’
‘Yes.’ I am surprised to find I’m annoyed. Bored, almost. Is that crazy? I wish he’d go.
‘You’re ready! OK.’ Artie pushes up one jacket sleeve, then the other. ‘
Surfer Dude 2
. It’s kind of similar to
Surfer Dude
, in fact. OK, so he’s a surfer, and he won’t grow up and commit, he’s totally obsessed with the waves, hanging out around Pismo. He has this girlfriend, and she wants to get married, and he’s like – no way – and he goes to Australia with his friends for one massive final party.’ Artie chuckles. ‘Hilarious. Kind of the
Hangover
meets …
Point Break
. It’s great.’ He nods at me. ‘So we need to get you signed. They’ll start shooting after Labor Day.’
‘Sorry, what’s my part?’ I say.
‘You’re his girlfriend. You are like the moral heart and compass of the film.’
‘Do I go to Australia?’
‘No, you’re at home. Like … calling him up and giving him hell!’ Artie smiles. ‘You know how to do that!’
‘The long-suffering girlfriend,’ I say.
‘Sure, but it’s more than that, honey. She’s a clever woman, she’s educated, she’s totally focused on her career … she’s pretty humourless. It’s almost a dramatic role, in fact …’
I stand up and smile at Artie. ‘No, thanks.’
He picks some more biscuits off the plate. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Totally.’
‘Nine out of last year’s top-ten grossing pictures were sequels, Sophie.’ He eats a biscuit whole. ‘They’re offering five mil and it’s only for three weeks’ work – it’ll be the biggest movie of 2013. You get five mil for douche-all, we get you back up there, people know you’re a player again.’ He wipes his forehead. ‘Plus there’s rumours, you know. You’re cracking up, that’s why you dropped out of
The Bachelorette Party
. You’ve made up the whole stalker thing.’
‘What?’
He’s shaking his head. ‘I know. It’s crazy. But that’s what they’re saying. Think about it.’
I laugh. ‘I’ve already thought about it, Artie. I’m serious. I don’t want to be the girlfriend any more. I want to be the person in my own right. I’m sick of being defined by someone else. Every single movie I’ve been in.’
Artie’s jaw clenches. ‘You – what? Honey, that’s not what I’m saying—’
‘I’ll dance in mud and fall over, I’ll eat fake shit and make out with a horse – I don’t have a problem with any of that. I don’t mind looking stupid, I’m just not doing shitty films about drippy women any more. Sorry.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? What’s made you start talking like this?’ Artie demands, as the door opens and Sara comes in bearing a tray.
‘I’ve been talking to some people.’ I’m almost laughing. ‘Artie, don’t worry. I just want to know there’s something better out there.’
‘There isn’t.’ He slaps the coffee table promptly. ‘OK?’
I smile – I’m not anxious or tense. Like I say, I don’t care any more. I know it’s nearly all over for me. I know sooner or later they’re going to get me, and whether it’s a knife or a gun or a 0.1 per cent rating on Rotten Tomatoes or being booed at the MTV Movie Awards, I can see my time’s up in some way. It’s been working towards this and it took seeing Eve and Rose for me to realise: sometimes you don’t have any control over what happens. You have your own mind and that’s it. And if you can sleep at night that’s fine.
Sara puts the diet Coke down on the table. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Sara, while Artie’s here I thought it’d be best to tell you. I think I’ll be going back with Tina when we’re in LA.’
I face her, watching her eyes move. ‘I know that’s not a surprise—’ I hesitate. ‘She’s keen to carry on. I just wanted to thank you for everything.’
Artie’s flicking through his BlackBerry, occasionally darting glances up at me as he does. Sara looks at him, then at me. She smiles. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I thought so. I hoped not but – hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying.’
I walk towards her. ‘Look,’ I say. ‘You’re really talented. I want to get Artie to help you. Set you up with an agent, get you to some auditions again.’
Artie is half listening. ‘Sure,’ he says. Then he stops. ‘What? No.’
‘Artie, as a favour to me,’ I say. ‘She’s really good. You’ll thank me. She could be in
Surfer Dude 2
, no problems. She’d be better than I ever could.’
Sara inhales sharply. Her eyes dart over me. ‘Serious?’
I nod. Swallow, painfully, in the back of my mouth.
She steps away from me. ‘I don’t know if—’
A shrill ringtone makes me jump. Artie looks at his BlackBerry. ‘Jeez. I have to take this. It’s Patrick, honey. He’ll want to know you’re here! I’ll be one second.’ He steps outside, and we’re alone. I turn to her.
‘I know it’s what you want.’ I keep my eyes on hers. My voice low. ‘You should be me. It’s fine. I think you could. It’s not too late for you.’
A curious expression comes into her tired eyes. ‘It’s too late for me,’ she says.
‘No, it’s not,’ I say. ‘You’re good. Just – no more crap any more, OK?’
‘What do you mean?’
I clench my hands into fists at my sides. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, Sophie, I don’t, I’m sorry.’ She’s knitting her fingers together.
‘I know it’s you who’s been doing this stuff. I know you messed up the house, and I know you set up the trap at the hotel. I know you’ve been leaving the white roses.’
Sara’s back teeth clack furiously together, like she’s chewing, a little rabbit movement. ‘That’s not true. How do you know that?’
‘The cops showed me the CCTV from my security gate, the time the first rose was delivered. I didn’t put two and two together. It was you, wasn’t it? You convinced Denis to let you in, you were dressed like me. I remember he said, ‘You’re back so soon,’ when I arrived home that first time. It didn’t make any sense, and then I remembered, earlier today, when we said goodbye. You were wearing the same top today as the girl on the CCTV. Striped. Red trim.’
‘That’s all you’ve got?’ She’s laughing. ‘Seriously?’
‘No. Eve Noel. She recognised you when I showed her your photo. And she showed me a fax she wrote to … a friend. All about your visit to her.’ I shrug. ‘I don’t have any proof, and I don’t know how you did it all. Just a feeling. I think you’re angry about everything and you’re taking it out on me. You want me to fail because you don’t think I deserve it. And you’re right, you should have my career, I’m sure you’re a better actress, but I can’t help it, it’s mine. LA screws you up if you don’t know how to handle it, but it’s not my fault, OK?’
Sara rubs her eyes. ‘This is crazy. I love you. You’re amazing. Why on earth would I want to hurt you, Sophie?’
‘I don’t think you do really want to hurt me,’ I say, holding my sweating hands behind my back. ‘I think you’ve been festering away for so long that now you’ve got what you wanted, you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t know what to do with the plan now it’s in action.’
She laughs. ‘This is stupid.’
‘I’m not going to tell anyone,’ I say.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘I’m not. I made a lot of mistakes. I was a cow to you too. That summer, at Jimmy Samba’s? When I slept with Bryan … he was properly your boyfriend, wasn’t he? I only just realised recently. I’m sorry. I didn’t really get it, before, didn’t notice. It must have hurt you a lot. I was selfish.’