Crystal Balls (31 page)

“Thanks, Kate. We’ll be in touch.”

“No worries, Larry. Great to see you again.”

I hear the artificial smacking of lips and picture the Thespian air kisses synonymous with the industry.

“Larry, there’s one last girl then it’s a wrap,” I hear the admin lady say.

“Where is she?”

“Oh. She was here a minute ago.” But I can’t move in case Kate sees me. Maybe she’s gone? I don’t hear her voice but I can’t risk it. She’d kill me if
she knew I’d even contemplated coming here and although her success has been without question from the day she graduated, she has warned me frequently to steer clear and to focus on my
business. “
It’s where you belong,”
she told me. “
I’m surrounded by coke heads and wankers for a living but you don’t need to be.”

The sound of soft footsteps pricks my ears and my fingers and toes cross together as I pray for it not to be Kate.

“Her bag’s here!” the admin woman calls to Larry. “Maybe she’s gone to the loo?”

“We’re about to wrap, Karly – tell her she’s got two minutes.”

Okay, Tina, hide and you miss your chance. Come out and you risk confrontation with Kate. Take your pick.

It really is the lesser of two evils but I can only make one decision.

I make deliberate noises under the table, grunting loudly and sighing impatiently. A soft padding sound heads in my direction and its volume increases with close proximity. I lift my head an
inch to see two feet in rather worn shoes eyeing me up, peering underneath the table. Unshaven ankles bare themselves from beneath a three-quarter-length A-line skirt and a scattering of varicose
veins lie exposed without a care.

“Found it!” I cry in exhilaration.

Backing out from beneath the table, bottom first and most unladylike, my eye squints effectively as I hold down my eyelid dramatically while clambering to my feet. No sign of Kate. Grabbing a
tissue, I dab the corner gently and roll my eyes around the back of my head before settling and composing myself.
A couple more squints and that should satisfy her.
Admin Woman stares at me
strangely but still with that kind expression, although she does look a little confused.

“Contact lens,” I tell her. “Little sucker fell out, took me ages to find it.”

I’m desperate to laugh at the ludicrousness of it all. Leaving Brian partially naked with a massive hard-on. Casting for a production I know nothing about. Well overdue a shower in terms
of cleanliness, and hiding under a table to avoid conflict with my best friend. And to top it all, my vision is twenty twenty – but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I couldn’t audition without it,” I explain with utmost seriousness. “I wouldn’t be able to read the script.” I laugh a little too hysterically. “How
bad would that look?”

“I know how you feel. You should consider getting that laser treatment done,” she tells me excitedly. “My friend said it changed her life!”

“Wow!” I can’t think of anything further to add so I simply gesture to the door. “Shall I go in?”

“Yes, go ahead,” She smiles at me. “And good luck!”

“Thanks.”

“Oh wait!” she calls after me.

I freeze. She knows I’m a phoney and that I’m here under false pretences. And a false pretence it is. Let’s face it, I’m never going to get a part in a high-budget
production. If I couldn’t do it then, straight from university when I was young and wrinkle-free, I’m never going to have success now, am I? Besides, even if in a bizarre twist of fate
I actually landed a part, I wouldn’t take it anyway. I’ve a business to run.

Why are you here then?

For the same reason that you go shopping. You don’t have to buy anything, you can just browse. That’s why.

Not convinced!

Who cares. It’s a practical experiment. Nothing more.

I turn to see why she called me to a halt with such authority.

“Your form.” She wafts the sheet of paper at me. “The director won’t see you without this.”

The room is bare but for a camera perched on its tripod and a piece of tape stuck to the floor. I walk confidently towards the two guys, extending my hand, dazzling them with my smile. Unbeknown
to them a smile of combined salivation, a smile that was just moments ago in the throes of passion.

“Thanks for seeing me.”

I was about to apologise for keeping them but my business skills quickly reacted and thank heavens. Never use negative words. I could easily have put the idea into their head that I’d kept
them waiting or that my timekeeping lacks just that: keeping time. Instead, I’ve turned a negative into a positive attempt to display an immaculate set of manners for our first encounter.

“I’m Tina.”
Not Christie. She’s history.

“How did your phone call go then?” Brian asks with friendly concern. He’s fully dressed and possibly even showered by the looks of things.

“Really well, thanks, Brian.” I’ve almost convinced myself I’m telling the truth. “Sorry for rushing off like that.” I look up at him with my best Bambi eyes,
hoping to win him over. “I clean forgot about the teleconference. I simply couldn’t let him down – he was expecting my call.”

Brian nods with quiet understanding. “Quite,” he says absentmindedly “Quite.” He walks over to the bed, pulling open the top draw of the bedside table. “Your mobile
bill must be worse than mine, Miss Harding.”

“It’s astronomical,” I tell him, relieved that he’s coming round and even smiling at me now.

“Do tell me then how on earth you managed to spend over twenty minutes on a phone conference?” He pulls out an object from the drawer, holding it up before thrusting it towards me.
“Without a damn phone!”

Oh shit.

“It fell out of your bag when you snatched it so quickly. I shouted after you but you’d gone.” His piercing blue eyes show hurt and anger and once again my careless spontaneity
has caused a situation.

I never used to be like this.

“Tell me the truth, Tina, what were you doing?” He sits on the bed. His body language is defensive and his arms are folded tightly across his chest, exaggerating his pumped-up
biceps. “What can be so bad that you have to lie to me?”

What do I say? Do I tell the guy who is paying for office number two the truth, and risk the ruin of my reputation?
You’re doing a good enough job of that yourself, Tina!
Do I tell
him I used the payphone? I’ve a great head for figures, his number is in my head actually, Brian. Do I quickly think of another lie? Well, I was trying to find my old school pal, Hazel
Topping, to see if she wanted to join us for a ménage a trois!
Where is she then? On top of some bloody trifle?
Don’t tell the truth. You’ll open a can of worms and you
don’t know him well enough yet. I say nothing. I can think of nothing to say. What about ‘I’m on drugs’? Okay, not drugs as such, more medication. I lost my inhaler?
I’m insulin dependant? I’ve got women’s problems. Liverpool are playing at home – come on, you Reds, and all that! I’m on Prozac? Now
that
he would believe.

I join him on the bed, sitting close but giving him a degree of space.
Take one.
My head hangs low and I snuffle with remorse. My shoulders stoop with embarrassment and my eyes well with
artificial tears. To the untrained eye I am disconsolate. Dejection hangs from the tip of my tongue and each time I go to speak, I halt deliberately as though it’s just too difficult.

Pull yourself together, Tina!

It’s not real, you fool!

“I am so sorry, Brian.” I dab the corner of my eye with my sleeve. “I panicked.” I risk a fleeting glance at him. His eyes have softened a little, giving me the
confidence to continue. “I’ve ruined it so many times for us. Firstly with the rug, then the hospital trip, then double booking the viewing and giving us unwanted intruders.” I
begin to snivel and reach out, touching his hand gently before retreating with shame. “I just panicked under the pressure of getting it right this time . . . so much so it overwhelmed
me.”

You’re doing great, Tina.

I do feel like such a wimp that it’s killing me. Any type of admission is not my thing, so, to fabricate this makes me cringe so much I could curl up in a ball and die. But needs must. I
have to get out of this unscathed.

“Can you forgive me?” I sniff dramatically, maintaining eye-contact with the floor, waiting for Brian to make the next move. And he does.
Bingo!

“You fool!” he laughs. “I have to hand it to you though, Tina. Trouble seems to follow you around, doesn’t it?” That impish grin returns once more and a flicker of
wickedness adorns his eyes. “You have to be one of the most fallible people I’ve ever met.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “But for some reason,” he leans forward,
planting his soft full lips on mine, “I can’t get enough of you.”

It worked. It worked. Fallible? What? He really is gullible for a business tycoon.

“I was beginning to think you were a bad omen!” he adds.

Okay, that does it. That woman was so right. He is a little divorced from reality but tame him I will!

“Do you believe in soul mates, Brian?”
Did I say that out loud?
Christ, I did!

“What?” He looks at me quizzically.

“Nothing.” I jump up quickly, ignoring him and silently kicking myself for thinking out loud. Me and my big gob. “Come on.” I grab his hand, yanking him off the bed.
“I need a drink.” He raises his eyebrows.

“I said
a
drink, Mr Steen!” Tutting with disgust, I take my phone from him, shoving it deep into my Radley bag. “‘A’ means singular! Honestly, Brian, oh ye
of little faith!”

I’ll have a magnum of champers with one straw, please. What? It’s still ‘a’ drink . . . just in a big bottle!

As expected, the restaurant is exquisite. It truly underlines the term ‘
fine dining’
and belongs in a league of its own. I take a sneaky peek around,
spotting a few familiar faces. A bloke from
Coronation Street
and a group of guys I recognise from a reality TV series. A blonde tanned bimbo type from
Footballers’ Wives
with
an actual footballer, not the acting type. Brian, however, is the main focus of my attention this evening. After what I put him through this afternoon, the least I can do is give him my undivided
devotion. I think about our first date, where I drank too much and played around with my food. Tonight feels so far removed from that night but good, bad or indifferent I can’t decide. To
Brian, it’s probably been fun and games from the start with my theatrics and unfortunate series of ridiculous events. Perhaps he even thinks me moronic and a bad omen as he clearly said
earlier. Or maybe he just likes a challenge and is tired of pretty girls eager to please.

“Are you ready to order, Tina?” he asks, closing his menu. The choice is not extensive but the mouth-watering recipes are causing frequent mind changes.
It’s a woman’s
prerogative!

“I think so.” I laugh. “Do you think they’ll give me a little bit of everything?”

“If you really want that, I’ll ask for you.”

He’s serious. Really, his face is deadpan.

“You’d do that. For me?” I feign appreciation but for some reason I just want to laugh. “
What would Madam care to eat this evening?”

“Oh, just chuck a bit of everything on a plate for us, mate. Ta!”

He sips from the elegant flute, holding the stem to stop the content suffering the warmth of his hand. Champagne should simply be chilled and served in frosted glasses.

“If that’s what you want, then yes.”

I laugh. “Of course not!”

He beckons to the waiter.

The waiter glides to the table like a puck floating on an air-hockey table, lightweight and effortless, although his journey is a little less erratic and he manages to avoid banging into the
other tables quite successfully. His black attire has been pressed with immaculate precision and his sleeves and trousers carry symmetrically perfect creases.

“Sir?” He bows slightly, tilting his head with humble subservience. “What can I get for you this evening?”

Brian conveys his order with ease.

Isn’t it ladies first?

Frantically opening the menu, again, I scan the content to remind myself which dishes I chose.
Was it the beef or the fish? Oh God, I can’t decide.
My eyes run up and down as both
men wait patiently for me to choose. It’s so difficult and the pressure of their attention isn’t helping.

Aha!
Rummaging in my bag I quickly pull out an aid. A tool for easy decision-making. Holding the string at the top, I swing the brass ring around waiting for it to decide its clockwise or
anti-clockwise direction, while muttering under my breath.
Clockwise, beef. Anti-clockwise, fish.
Looking up, I take in the startled faces of Brian and the waiter.

“Nearly there,” I pacify them, watching the speed of the string slow down to tiny circular motions. It almost hypnotises you.

Brian swiftly glances around our neighbouring tables, the occupants of which appear to be keeping themselves to themselves. It suddenly dawns on me that he looks a little embarrassed.
What’s he like!

“Fish,” I conclude. “I’ll have the fish, please.”

There. How easy was that?
I put the dowsing pendulum back into my bag. “You should get one of those, Brian,” I advise him. “It really makes decision-making so
simple.”

Brian picks up his camel-coloured, leather holdall and opens the door. I don’t understand it. Things are going so well yet he’s leaving.

“Please keep the room on, Tina. I’ll send my driver to collect you tomorrow.” He points to the sideboard. “His card is there. Just phone him when you’re ready to
check out.”

I can’t believe it. He’s leaving me. Me. Here, alone at a five-star hotel.
Why?

“Why?” I ask him with incredulous disbelief. “Why on earth are you leaving? And at this time of night?”

Brian, still hovering by the door, just sighs. He sets down the holdall, using it as a door prop, and steps inside the room.