Dazzled (40 page)

“She’s pissed at me.”

“No surprise there.”

“No, I guess not. But it feels like I can’t get a break – the hits just keep on coming.”

“I know. And I’m really sorry. I feel like such a bloody idiot!”

He sighed. “It’s not your fault, Clare. I’m the flaming tosser who carried that picture around with him. I should have just put your photograph in my wallet like a normal guy.”

We both laughed at that, although it had a hollow sound.

“Oh well. At least it’s given you the night off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were booked to do
Ellen
again, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

I counted to three before I understood his meaning.

“Shit, no! You’re not really going to go ahead and do the interview, are you? Not after – well, not after what’s happened?”

“Yep. That’s pretty much it.”

“Bloody hell, Miles! Is that really a good idea?”

“I don’t know. Rhonda seems to think it would be best to face this one head-on.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Oh… it wasn’t meant to be. I think it’ll be okay. Ellen’s cool. She’ll have a laugh and we’ll move on.”

“Are you going to say it’s not you?”

“You mean lie? Maybe. I’ll try and laugh it off, but if she asks me outright, yeah, I’ll probably lie. Like you said, no one can prove it one way or another.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

He took a deep breath. “So, we’re live on tape, and it’ll air at about seven. I’m not sure what time it’ll be on cable. It could be pretty late…”

“I don’t care – I’ll find out and set my alarm.”

Which is what I did.

“Okay,” he said, softly. “I love you. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck. I love you, too.”

At 3:55
AM
, my alarm rang. Normally, I’d have wanted to hurl it across the room, but in truth, I was so wound up, I’d hardly slept anyway.

Miles’ interview was trailed for nearly the full hour before he was finally introduced.

He strode onto the stage and bounced in his seat as the applause died down. At least they didn’t heckle him this time.

Ellen:
Miles! How are you? I’m so glad to see you – I thought I’d catch you off guard and you’d still be in your underwear!

Miles:
It was close – but it was your underwear anyway. Well, not
your
underwear, because that would just be freaky, [
laughter
]
but
Ellen
underwear. I should probably stop talking now.

Ellen:
No, don’t do that – it’s an interview.

Miles:
Oh, I always forget that bit. [
laughter
]

Ellen:
So, how have you been?

Miles:
Good, thanks.

Ellen:
Doing any interesting jobs at the moment? [
Audience noise
] Because that’s a pretty impressive, uh, résumé you’ve got there. [
Audience laughs
]

Miles:
Thank you very much.

Ellen:
I hear they’re remaking
Nine and a Half Weeks
, and that you’re going to be in it.

Miles:
That’s news to me.

Ellen:
I think they’re going to call it
Nine Inches
, I mean
Nine weeks.
[
Audience laughs
]

Miles:
Ha ha! I loved that movie. Kim Basinger is so hot.

Ellen:
Seriously, man, it’s been an interesting couple of days for you.

Miles:
I think the Chinese use that as a curse: ‘May you live in interesting times’.

Ellen:
Do you feel cursed? Because it seems like the gossip sites are on your case a lot at the moment.

Miles:
It is what it is. I can’t do anything about it. You’ve just got to have a sense of humor about it. I liked the whole CV thing – it made me laugh.

Ellen:
Really? You can just laugh it off?

Miles:
Sure.

Ellen:
Wow! That’s pretty amazing.

Miles:
Mind you, I haven’t spoken to my mum yet.

Ellen:
Will she be mad?

Miles:
Pretty much, yeah. She’s great though.

Ellen:
Wow, we don’t want Miles’ mad mom coming over here and kicking some butts!

Miles:
No, she’s awesome.

Ellen:
And I guess it’s not like anything she hasn’t seen before.

[
Audience laughs, Miles just smiles
]

Ellen:
Seriously, how do you cope with the intrusion into your personal life?

Miles:
[
shrugs
] What people think of me isn’t really any of my business. The fans are great – that’s all that matters.

[
Audience applauds
]

He was so smoooooth. Gayl Lemon would have been proud of him. But I sort of missed the guy who only opened his mouth to change feet. I guess we were both growing up.

The End of the Affair

Miles

It felt weird being back in LA without Clare.

We’d waited so long to be together. I was still kind of mad at her for not saying something sooner – about us. I wasn’t sure I understood her reasons. I mean, she’d wittered on about feeling inadequate and ‘not being good enough’, whatever the fuck that meant. It was so damn obvious that it was the other way around.

But, whatever, I was just glad that we’d got there in the end. So it really sucked to be apart
again
. I knew it was only for a few months, and then we could be together permanently. At least, I hoped that’s what it would be. She was my everything: my best friend, my lover, my yesterday and today, my tomorrow.

Cock-gate had been embarrassing, but as most people seemed to think it was a spoof, I’d got off pretty lightly. The experience, coming on top of all the other dungheap worth of shit, had made me a hell of a lot more careful. I started locking my phone when I wasn’t using it, and didn’t carry anything personal around with me except my driver’s license and credit cards. I was more wary of the people around me, too.

Hilda had tried to hook up, but I’d blown her off and found myself a new personal trainer. I was surprised to find that working out was addictive. Who’d have thought I’d like that shit?!

But I hated, really fucking hated, what they were still saying about Clare. Lilia had come up smelling of roses. Some people were even suggesting that the photographs of her and Joe Blow were fakes, which was even more irritating. I tried not to care, but I did. I really did.

At least Clare was away from the worst of it, and she hadn’t got papped back in the UK. No one was sure whether or not she was the ‘mystery brunette’ from New York, and as we hadn’t seen each other in months, she was safe. I was followed and photographed everywhere I went. But the only shots they got were of me going to the gym, buying groceries, and hanging out with Earl at the Sam Ash music store.

I was also having to rethink where I lived. Several times, I’d come home to find teenage girls waiting outside. That wasn’t too bad, even if it annoyed the other residents, but once a couple of girls had got inside and were waiting at the door of my apartment. I don’t know how they got there, but it wouldn’t have been that hard to wait until someone was going out, or to press all the entry buttons and see if someone buzzed them in. I’d had to call the supervisor when they’d refused to leave after getting the usual autographs and photos.

Honey had helped me find a place to buy that had better security. It was strange to think that I was going to be a homeowner. Mum had moved into her new house a few weeks ago, and she said she was happy. I loved the idea that no one could ever make her leave that place: it was hers. I’d tried to get her to come out here, but the only time she’d been on a plane was a package holiday to Malaga when I was 12. She’d said Hail Mary’s for the entire flight – and she wasn’t even Catholic. So as for her coming out to LA to visit, I was still working on that.

My new place was a Spanish style bungalow, with five bedrooms and a swimming pool. Bloody hell! I would be a homeowner with a swimming pool. It took some getting my head around that. But as soon as I’d seen it, I knew that Clare would love it.

I couldn’t wait for her to come out here and be part of this new life with me. I didn’t want to do it without her.

I missed her.

Clare

I was in a filthy mood, but what was new?

I hadn’t seen my boyfriend, the love of my life, in five, long, lonely, celibate months. I’d been studying between ten and fourteen hours a day for the last six weeks, and now I was being dressed up in a cap and gown that made me look like a mortician at an Addam’s Family makeover party.

Mum and Dad were disgustingly happy, so proud that their only child was the first person in the family to leave university with a degree. Yeah, and I was pretty pleased, too, especially as I’d been awarded a double first, but I’d worked hard for that. I’d sacrificed a lot: money, sanity, and a social life being the key things.

But what really had me channeling my inner Hulk was that I hadn’t been able to talk to Miles
on my special friggin’ day!
He’d sent me a text while I was still asleep apologizing like mad, but saying that he was filming somewhere remote where there was no cell phone signal, and he’d call me tomorrow.

That was a real bummer and explained the bad temper.

I knew I’d see him in a couple of days when I flew out to LA, but it still wouldn’t be the same. I know, I know. I was being a whiny emo bitch. I should just be grateful that mum and dad hadn’t disowned me and sent me to an orphanage like a chunkier, better fed version of Oliver Twist, but I was still moaning and asking, “Please, sir, may I have some more.”

Prue was coming to my graduation ceremony, too, so I’d be surrounded by family. Paul and Nazzer thought they might come along to the after-party in the pub, but as I’d told them there was no free bar, I had my doubts as to whether or not they’d show.

The academic gown was black, of course, with a purple hood – a strip of material hanging around the back of the robe, making it look like a monk’s cowl. Which was not inappropriate bearing in mind my solitary sexual pleasures of the last five months. The mortar board was the typical square cap with a tassel hanging in your eyes. I kept trying to push it to one side, but it insisted on falling to the front, like a third eyebrow. Apparently, the mortar board was supposed to mimic a Roman Catholic biretta, but I wasn’t feeling very Godly, and I’d been swearing under my breath all morning.

“For goodness sake, Clare!” snorted mum. “You sound like a cross between a docker and a navvy! Is that language really necessary?”

“Yes,” I said, sullenly. “I have Tourette’s. Didn’t I mention that?”

“Don’t be flippant. You’re spoiling a special day. Me and your dad are very proud of you.”

I sighed. “I know. Sorry, mum. Just wishing… you know.”

She smiled. “Ah well, only a couple of days to go. Then
I’ll
be the one missing you.”

I felt a stab of guilt. I’d been wallowing so much, I hadn’t stopped to think how mum and dad would feel, what with me moving 6,000 miles away. I
should
have considered it: I knew how much Prue missed Miles. And he was a bloke, and rubbish at staying in touch. Except with me. He texted or phoned every day. Sometimes, if our schedules were compatible, we Skyped, too. (And, as a side note, Skype-sex is even better than phone sex. Just saying.)

In the end, Miles had come out of the various scandals pretty well. In fact, the denting of his ‘angelic’ image had brought him some interesting work. For the last two months, he’d been filming a thriller up in
Toronto, and had been playing the part of a rookie cop who’d got involved with the Mob.

Lilia was still a pain in the rectum. She’d signed on for a sequel to
Dazzled
and, after long and tense negotiations, Miles had decided to do the same. He was still doubtful it was the right thing to do, but he felt he should show some gratitude to Laura Dorien, and to Jo-Anne, who had also signed on for directing duties. Filming would start in September. At least I’d be around to keep Lilia’s sticky paws away from Miles.

I’d officially be his PA. So I’d be paid to be with the man I loved and to have wild, abandoned sex with my boss every night. I couldn’t see a downside.

Honey was still on the team, but she spent more time with Rhonda these days – the agency had become increasingly busy because of the success of
Dazzled
, and both women were now working exclusively for Miles. I also wondered if there wasn’t a little bit of a love interest
thang
going on there. But I’d recently developed an aversion to gossip, so I didn’t ask questions.

Polly had also signed up for the sequel, and I was looking forward to hanging out with her in LA. And we’d all been invited to Mildred and
Leon’s wedding – no merkins involved – which was taking place in Santa Monica in August.

I was starting a new life – and I couldn’t wait.

I’d be living in LA with the man I loved. And I fully intended that we’d spend as much time as possible shagging like bunnies. It was good to have ambition.

But first, I had to graduate.

So, as a graduand of University College London, I sat with my peers for two hours, and listened to the Provost’s address and various other speeches. I was already feeling nostalgic for the end of my academic career but I still didn’t think it had been necessary to order the DVD of the event. But Miles had insisted, as he wasn’t able to attend in person.

The Royal Festival Hall was filled with students in their robes, and friends and family in their best clothes. I wasn’t sure where the parentals were sitting, but I knew they’d be able to see me when I picked up my degree certificate. Except it wasn’t even the real thing – I had to pose for my graduation photograph with something that looked like a wooden rolling pin, and was told that the certificate would be posted to me within the next six months! That was rubbish!

The ceremony finished, having moved with the speed of an arthritic snail, and at last I joined the academic procession as everyone started shuffling out of the hall. I’d arranged to meet mum, dad and Prue at the graduation reception for the kind of wine you could cheerfully put on your fries if the vinegar ran out, and canapés that could chip your teeth, but when I turned my phone back on, mum called me immediately.

“Oh, Clare, love! I’ve left my purse under my seat. I was in row 33F. Can you go and get it for me? I can’t leave your father – you know how he gets at these things.”

I grumbled a bit, but hurried back into the hall, worried that her credit cards might currently be paying the bar bill for some other cheapskate UCL student – not that I wanted to think badly of my fellow graduates.

But as I made my way through the auditorium, my heart began to beat faster.

Someone was sitting in the exact seat mum had sent me to.

He turned his face toward me, and my heart leapt and flopped around like a newly landed cod. He smiled, and I swear the lights dimmed in comparison as my eyes met his.

“Hey, baby,” he said, softly. “Did you miss me?”

My voice got tangled on the way out of my throat.

“What are you doing here?” I spluttered.

His smile got even wider. “Surprise,” he whispered, as his arms wrapped around my waist.

His warmth, his touch, his lips against my neck. I was beyond words, choked by the joy that flooded through me.

And then he sank to one knee, and I stopped breathing.

“Clare: you’ve been my best friend my whole life. I love you. And I want to tell you that every day for the rest of your life. Will you marry me?”

In his hand rested a small, aquamarine box with
Tiffany & Co
inscribed on the lid. He opened it, and nestled there in the silk was a solitaire diamond ring that threw rainbows around the hall.

I looked down into his beautiful gray eyes. He looked so nervous. Did he really think I’d say no?

“You want to marry me?”

He nodded, his expression tense.

“But I’m a complete cow. I nag you all the time. I’m moody and bad-tempered, and I can eat a whole box of chocolate éclairs in a single sitting. I watch daytime TV, and eat toast in bed so it’s full of crumbs. I eat kebabs with cabbage and chili sauce, and use all the hot water in the shower.”