Runaway Actress (8 page)

‘Will I?’

‘Oh, yes! Only make sure you’re wearing something dark and dog-proof.’

Maggie led the way upstairs and turned into a bedroom to the right of the landing. ‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘The Connie Gordon Fan Club HQ.’

Connie stood looking dumbfounded and Maggie watched her eyes roving over everything from the magazine clippings on the noticeboard to the movie posters on the walls. There was a shelf filled with Connie’s films on DVD and there were framed postcards of the films too. Everywhere she looked, her own face smiled right back at her.

‘It must seem a bit strange,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s not all mine, though. The whole fan club collects little bits and pieces. Hamish – that’s my brother – he buys the posters from an online site. He just adores your films. He’d love to meet you.’

‘You’ve got an Oscar!’ Connie said.

Maggie giggled. ‘Well, it’s plastic,’ she said, picking it up and showing it to Connie. ‘We bought it when you were nominated for best actress for
Just Jennifer
. Which you should have won, by the way. You were completely robbed that evening.’

‘Completely,’ Connie agreed jokingly and then gave a little smile and handed back the plastic Oscar.

‘What would you have said?’ Maggie asked.

‘What?’

‘If you’d won the Oscar. What would your speech have been like?’

Connie took a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m not sure.’

‘You mean you didn’t plan one? I thought everyone planned them in case they won and then forgot everything in the excitement of winning.’

Connie shook her head. ‘Not me. I really didn’t think I’d win so I just went along for an evening out.’

‘Oh,’ Maggie said, unable to hide her disappointment. ‘But, if you had – what would you have said?’

Connie looked thoughtful. ‘I’d probably have burst into tears like Gwyneth Paltrow and Halle Berry.’

‘No,’ Maggie said. ‘I think you would’ve given a beautiful speech. Go on,’ she added, handing her the plastic Oscar again, ‘give your speech.’

‘Maggie – I—’

‘Go
on!
’ Maggie said, a pleading look on her face.

Connie didn’t look too happy to be clutching the fake Oscar again and, for a moment, Maggie thought she was going to leg it out of the HQ altogether and never be seen again. Had she pushed things? Was it all a bit daunting for her to be trapped with a nutty fan and asked to give a speech? Maggie was just about to apologise when Connie suddenly started talking.

‘I’m determined not to cry tonight because I don’t have my waterproof mascara on but I would like to thank all the people who’ve helped me on my way. First, my mother, who has pushed and pulled me from the age of four, plastering my face with make-up and dragging me to endless classes and auditions even when I wasn’t well. Remember when I’d cracked a rib from falling off a horse doing that remake of
Black Beauty
? You thought I was fooling and made me go tap dancing. Luckily, the teacher could see I was in pain and got me to the hospital in time. If it hadn’t been for you, mother, I might’ve had a slightly more normal upbringing and not be suffering from exhaustion after working tirelessly for so many years. I might also have made a few real friends too. Perhaps even gotten married and had kids. I wasn’t really a person to you, was I? I was a commodity. Connie the commodity! To be sold to the highest bidder.

‘But it’s not just my mother I want to thank. I’d like to thank my agents past and present. The ones who have ripped me off, thinking I’m too thick or too busy to notice, and those who’ve put me forward for inferior jobs because they’ll bring in the big bucks. I’d also like to thank the men in my life – all the slimeballs and the cheats I’ve had the misfortune of dating. I can safely say that they’ve behaved even worse than some of my stalkers. At least stalkers usually adhere to their injunctions. And, finally, I’d like to thank my fans. Some of the letters I receive are truly mind-blowing and I’d just like to settle some matters here and now if that’s all right. No, I won’t drop everything and marry you, Mr Complete Stranger, nor will I send you photographs of myself naked. So, please stop asking me and leave me alone.’

Connie stopped, her face red and her eyes looking slightly glazed. She blinked, as if suddenly remembering where she was.

‘Right,’ Maggie said, her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Well, that was some speech.’

Connie handed back the Oscar. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure where all that came from.’

‘The very pit of your being, I imagine,’ Maggie said. ‘Would you like that cup of tea now?’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a skinny latte?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. But I make a really good cup of tea.’

Connie nodded and slumped into the chair by the computer.

‘Coming right up,’ Maggie said, leaving the room and returning downstairs to the kitchen. Once there, she stood staring into space. What had just happened there? A famous Hollywood movie star had just let rip about the whole business, dispelling all the myth and magic. It had been the very last thing Maggie had been expecting. But then, what
had
she expected? She’d never really thought Connie Gordon would turn up in Lochnabrae at all and yet here she was.

‘Poor Connie,’ Maggie whispered, smiling at the irony of the words. She’d never thought those two words would ever be placed next to one another because not only was Connie one of the highest paid movie stars in Hollywood but she was incredibly lucky too. She was beautiful, intelligent, gifted, and she was happy, wasn’t she? All those things made a person happy – that’s what everyone believed. Yet there she was up in Connie HQ with a face as dark as December.

‘But I can do something about it,’ Maggie suddenly said, putting the kettle on and making two cups of tea. ‘She came to me. She needs my help.’

Maggie stared into space, thinking about the enormity of her situation. The most beautiful actress in the world was upstairs and needed her help! It was a huge respon-sibility. Was she up to the challenge? She nodded. Yes, of course she was.

Stirring an extra large spoonful of sugar into her tea and leaving Connie’s black and sugarless so she could add whatever she wanted, she returned to Connie HQ upstairs.

‘Here we go,’ Maggie said, entering the room. ‘Two teas.’

Connie was sitting at Maggie’s desk, her back to the door.

‘You all right?’ Maggie asked but Connie didn’t answer. Maggie put the two mugs down on the adjacent coffee table and it was then that she saw what Connie was looking at. She’d found the folder.

‘Maggie, what are you doing with all these photographs?’

‘Oh, they’re for the fans.’

‘
My
fans?’

‘Yes,’ Maggie said, nodding. ‘Well, I don’t get quite as much fan mail as you do.’

Connie didn’t laugh. ‘My fans write to you here?’

‘Yes. The address is on the website – look.’ Maggie woke the computer up and found the relevant page. ‘The fan site’s going from strength to strength. We get so many visitors now and I do my best to keep them coming back with the journal updates.’

Connie began reading the contact page of the website, her face slowly turning to a menacing paleness.

‘You charge for the photographs?’

‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘Ten pounds. They’re beautiful – real value for money – ten by eight glossies. Here,’ she said, opening the folder.

‘I’ve seen them.’ Connie said, looking at the screen again. ‘It says here that they’re signed.’

Maggie nodded, biting her lip. She had a feeling she knew what was coming.

Connie turned to face Maggie. ‘Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?’

‘It’s the fan club,’ Maggie said. ‘We send out signed photographs of you to those who ask for them.’

‘But who signs them?’

There was a pause before Maggie answered. ‘Me,’ she said.

Connie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You?
You
sign the photos – in my name?’

‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m very good. Look,’ she said, pulling a piece of paper out from a drawer and signing across it with her big black pen before handing it to Connie, who studied it through narrowed eyes.

‘Good?’ Maggie asked.

Connie looked up. ‘You forge my signature?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t call it forge—’

‘And sell these photos – these copyrighted photos – for money?’

‘Oh, the money isn’t for me!’ Maggie said quickly. ‘It’s for the LADS.’

‘What lads?’

‘The Lochnabrae Amateur Dramatics Society. We have a hall – it’s really run-down – and the profits from the signed photographs go towards its upkeep.’

Connie slowly shook her head. ‘But this is all wrong, Maggie. You can’t go on doing this. People think these photos have been signed by me.’

‘Isn’t my signature good enough? I thought I’d got it about right now.’

‘But that isn’t the issue here!’ Connie said. ‘People are paying because they think
I’m
signing the photos.’

‘But you’re too busy. We didn’t want to bother you with them. And I’ve heard of movie stars’ secretaries signing things for them or awful photocopied signatures being sent out too.’

‘I’m not arguing with that. That happens a lot but – well – this just doesn’t seem right. You’ve got to see that!’

Maggie looked down at the carpet and shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Is your tea all right?’

‘Maggie!’

‘What?’ She looked up. Connie’s face had turned quite pink.

‘What else has been going on here?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you been selling other things?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Buying knickers and selling them as having been worn by Connie Gordon?’

Maggie looked as if she’d just been punched. ‘No! I’d never do anything like that!’

‘Are you sure?’ Connie got up from the chair and started looking around the room. It was then that her eye caught something and her face instantly froze.

‘Mortimer!’

‘What?’ Maggie said.

‘What are you doing with Mortimer?’

Maggie turned and saw what Connie was looking at. ‘The teddy?’

‘Yes! What’s it doing here?’

‘I bought it online last year. The seller said you’d auctioned it for charity and they’d bought it.’

Connie’s face now changed from pink to a frightening shade of red. ‘That’s a lie!’ she said, crossing the room and grabbing the stuffed toy from the shelf. ‘I never sold this bear. It’s a childhood toy and it went missing two years ago along with other personal items. I was suspicious of my housemaid and fired her. Things stopped going missing after that.’

‘Oh, Connie! I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’

‘Really?’

‘I’d never have bought it if I’d known. Or, rather, I’d have bought it to return to you.’

Connie nodded her head vigorously but she didn’t look as if she believed Maggie. ‘Sure you’re not going to sell it on yourself ?’

‘What? No!’

‘God almighty!’ Connie exclaimed. ‘I’ve flown all this way to try and escape this sort of thing.’

‘But I didn’t know he’d been stolen.’

Connie wasn’t listening. She’d made up her mind.

‘I can see now,’ she said, ‘that everyone’s the same. Everyone’s just out to get a piece of me.’

‘Connie!’ Maggie called in desperation as she left the room, teddy in hand, and thumped down the stairs. ‘Don’t go!
Please!
’

But it was too late. Connie left the shop, slamming the door behind her.

‘Oh, dear!’ Maggie said. ‘That didn’t go quite like I’d imagined it would.’

Connie marched back to the bed and breakfast, Mortimer clutched in her right hand. It had been the very last thing she’d expected to find in Lochnabrae – dear sweet Mortimer – the one remnant of a childhood that had lasted so brief a time.

For a moment, she thought about how lonely her childhood had been. She’d hardly ever met any other children because she’d been working most of the time. In fact, the only other children she’d met had been other child actors and, when they hadn’t been acting, they’d been spending time with their tutors on the set, desperately trying to cram in schoolwork between takes. It had been a sad and strange time and Mortimer the bear had had more than his fair share of tears showered upon him.

She looked down at the yellow face of the bear and sighed at the scuffed black eyes and the fraying ears. He wasn’t much of a bear, she thought, and she was bemused that anyone would seriously want to pay good money for him at an online auction but, then again, stranger things had happened. One of her actor friends had heard of a yoghurt pot that had been taken out of his trash can and sold. Fans were a bizarre breed.

Reaching the bed and breakfast, Connie did her best to pull herself together. The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of Isla. She couldn’t face that now so she opened and shut the front door as quietly as she could and was just about to make her way to her bedroom when a heavily-powdered face peered around the kitchen door.

‘Is that you, Connie dear? Can I get you anything?’

‘No, thank you. I’m just going up to my room. I have a bit of a headache.’

‘Oh, dear! Let me get you—’

‘No! Really. I don’t need anything. I just need some space, okay?’ Connie said, racing up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door. So much for sneaking in and acting normal, she thought, berating herself for her hot temper.

Connie sat down on the end of the bed, her hands holding onto Mortimer as if her life depended on it. ‘What are we doing here, Morty? We don’t belong here, do we?’

The worn glass eyes looked back up at her questioningly. And then she realised that
she’d
just stolen the poor bear. Whatever way she looked at it, Maggie had paid for Mortimer – whether it had been innocent or calculating – and Connie supposed it was only fair that she reimbursed her.

‘What a mess!’ she said, placing Mortimer on the bed. She walked across to the window and gazed out at the loch. She’d come here to escape and she couldn’t help feeling frustrated and disappointed that things weren’t panning out as she’d imagined. She tried to think back to what she’d expected when leaving LA for Lochnabrae. Peace. Well, it was certainly peaceful here. Solitude. Not as long as Isla Stuart and Maggie Hamill were on the scene. Escape.