Just a Fan (25 page)

'Nice to meet you,' he said.

'Is this the girlfriend we've all heard about, then?' Michaela enquired.

When he nodded with a jaunty wink at me, Francis said: 'It was about time you got yourself a steady girl!'

'You're from England, right?' Michaela asked me avidly.

'Yes,' I replied, and her smile widened.

'Oh, I
love
the way English people speak!' she told me. 'It's so different from the way people talk round here...but you can still understand it, unlike the weird Scottish of Mr MacGowan here...' Connor laughed at this teasing remark.

'She has a point,' affirmed George, Michaela's boyfriend. 'When I first met Connor, I could not understand a
single
word of what he was saying. It was all like: "ah dinny ken whu ah'm deein' herrre, soo ah'll be off to ma hoose..."'

'Oh, you think that's hard to understand?' Connor countered with a challenging grin. 'Wait until you hear how I start talking when I'm back in Scotland...there's more "dinnae-ing" and "cannae-ing" there, I can tell you that!' We laughed, and I smiled affectionately at the notion that Connor's speech could reach unknown levels unintelligability. 'How about this: "Thier wis a wee bit o' stushie in the closie when ah gave a glaikit auld minker a Glesga kess.".'

About five long seconds of silence ensued, then George blinked and said: 'Not a word.'

'There...was...a little bit of...something...in the...something else...' I tentatively began, but then found myself completely lost.

'I'm not even gonna
try
!' Francis said in defeat.

Michaela was frowning perplexedly. 'I definitely got the word "kiss", I think...'

Connor laughed, taking obvious delight in the way that none of us had understood him. 'There was no kissing in that phrase,' he said, and Michaela shrugged in resignation.

'Was there the word "Glasgow" in there?' George asked, eyes narrowed shrewdly. 'I've heard you say it in weird ways before...'

'Three points to George!' Connor said with an impressed grin. 'You know me well.'

Michaela, myself and Francis all struggled for a while, then Michaela said: 'Aw, just tell us what you said!...In proper English, of course,' she added, when Connor opened his mouth with a glint in his eye. He sighed and shook his head in mock disappointment.

'Alright, then,' he said patiently. 'I said: "There was a little bit of trouble in the close when I headbutted an annoying idiot."'

I frowned. 'That makes it sound so easy,' I complained.

'How were we supposed to know that?' agreed Michaela.

Connor only grinned, and then teasingly turned away from us. 'I don't listen to bad losers,' he said lightly.

'I could have sworn you said "kiss"...' Michaela grumbled. 'And you said George was right when he said there was the word "Glasgow" in it, but there wasn't...'

'Aha,' Connor said with a smile. 'That's because we usually refer to a headbutt as a "Glasgow kiss".'

'That's nasty,' I laughed. 'That makes Glaswegians sound violent.'

'Exactly,' he replied.

'But
you're
not violent, and you're from Glasgow, aren't you?' Michaela said, voicing my own thoughts.

He laughed. 'Would you change your opinion if I told you that I once used that phrase I just said?' he asked.

Francis gave a chortle. 'Seriously? You actually headbutted a guy in an alleyway?' he said. 'Jeez, that's
awesome
!'

'Hmm...I'm not really that proud of it
now
, to be honest,' Connor answered vaguely. I could see the subtle hint of annoyance in those blue eyes of his, and I couldn't blame him; that young Francis person was a bit over-enthusiastic in his approach.

'When do you start shooting for that movie?' George asked Connor, tactfully changing the subject.

'Monday,' he replied. 'I'll be cramming in a lot of studio time, too...I'm afraid I might only see you on weekends, Lilly,' he told me.

'Too bad...' I sighed. 'But it's OK - you need to get your filming done.'

'Hey, you can hang around with us whenever,' Michaela told me kindly. 'It's your first time in the US, right? When I get let off work we can go places, if you like.'

I smiled in pleasant surprise at her kindness. 'That would be great, thanks,' I replied, then looked at her inquisitively. 'What job do you have here?'

She smiled. 'Oh, I'm a news anchor,' she said dismissively. 'Just the little morning news...I usually get the rest of the day off.'

'Wow,' I remarked, impressed, and Michaela laughed.

'Not
that
"wow",' she said modestly. 'It's George here who's more "wow". He's a casting director...he's found the right people for loads of films.'

'Wow again,' I repeated.

'And Francis here is the little brother of Jocelyn Tate who is a model and co-hostess of a few TV shows,' Connor added, and Francis grinned, nodding.

So Connor hung out with people like this? I knew he must have other minor celebrity friends, but it was still rather awe-inspiring to be sitting among people who were obviously recognisable to some members of the public.

Our night passed very nicely, and by the end of it, I was feeling quite optimistic. I liked Connor's friends, and they seemed to get on with me, too, especially Michaela, who had already arranged to take me to Central Park, wherever that was. Even though Connor would be absent for quite some time with his filming, I had the reassuring knowledge that I would not be alone...

A few minutes after the five of us had left the bar to go to our cars, there was a sudden explosion of flashing lights, and a whole group of photographers jogging to keep up with us.

'Oh, God...' grumbled Connor under his breath, and put his arm around my shoulders, murmuring to me: 'Keep close.'

'I wasn't thinking about wandering off,' I mumbled back, as video cameras mounted with bright lights shone in our faces. I could hear Michaela making some weary comment behind us to George; obviously one of the bar's patrons had tipped the paparazzi off about the location of this much-sought-out movie star.

'Hey, Connor! What movie are you working on now? It's Twenty Miles Below, right?' a paparazzo with a large video camera asked.

'Yeah, that's right,' replied Connor patiently as they all walked with us.

'How's working with Henry Young?'

'It's great, he's a brilliant director - it's really nice working on a movie of his,' answered Connor.

'Is this Lillian? Hi. Are you staying here with Connor?' another asked me.

'Yes, I am,' I replied with a detached smile.

'How do you find New York?'

'Um...very...neatly set out,' I told him, remembering my wonder at the grid-like arrangement of the streets. 'And busy.'

To my far left, I heard a paparazzo bump into a parked car and fall over.

'Ow.'

'Man, these guys really risk themselves for you,' quipped Francis, who had just bounced up to Connor's other side and was grinning at the video camera lights that were shining in his face. As we walked on, he laughed like an idiot to some of Connor's wry responses to the photographers' questions, and I began to wonder why the hell Connor let this guy tag along. Skipping along with his head not even above the height of Connor's broad shoulders, he just looked like a bumptious little twit.

'OK, my car's here, so we're going to have to go now,' Connor told the gathering of paparazzi as we arrived beside his car. George, Michaela and Francis all said goodbye as best as they could before going their own ways, and I managed to detach myself from Connor long enough to get in the car. Just before Connor got in himself, a paparazzo with a camera said: 'See you 'round, then, Connor!'.

Connor laughed. 'No offence, but I certainly hope not!' he said earnestly, then slammed the door shut. The photographers remained on either side of the car, still filming and taking their photos, until finally the car purred into life and we were off, leaving them behind.

* * *

'Apart from that little suprise photoshoot, I had quite a nice time,' I told Connor honestly on the way back. 'Your friends seem nice.'

'Glad to hear it,' he replied. 'I myself don't really care much for that wee Francis, even though he's a nice guy at heart.'

'Me neither,' I said, inwardly relieved that I was not the only one to mildly dislike him.

'You know, he first started hanging round with me because apparently his sister had a crush on me,' Connor said offhandedly. 'But seeing as he's a complete idiot and she's nothing special compared to you, it didn't exactly work.'

'Oh,' I remarked, with a little smile at his touching comment.

'Unfortunately, he's fascinated by the paparazzi around me and now sticks to me like a limpet,' he continued wearily.

'At least you have George and Michaela,' I told him.

He smiled. 'Yeah, they're great,' he replied. 'You know, they both really seem to like you. It really puts my mind at ease to think that you'll have someone to look after you while I'm off shooting.'

I frowned at him. 'I'm not a baby, I can take care of myself,' I grumbled. 'Anyway, I'm not being "looked after", I'm being "taken out".'

Connor was grinning teasingly.

'I'm only kidding,' he told me. 'My, you're grumpy all of a sudden.'

I sighed. 'Well, it's late.'

'How about I make you another coffee? You didn't get to finish your last one,' he reminded me with an all-too-arrogant smile.

'And whose fault was that?'

Connor laughed, and as we drove through the brightly-lit streets, weaving through hordes of taxis and passing gaudy advertisements, I suddenly felt wonderfully free. I was so far away from my boring old apartment, from crotchety Mrs Windsor, from my embarrassing mother, from my friends who I had always thought were better off than me...

I smiled to myself happily. I was having the time of my life...

Chapter 17

Home Alone

'I'll be straight back as soon as I can, I promise you,' Connor vowed, kissing me quickly on the lips. 'Tonight we might be filming a bit late, so if I'm not back by nine don't bother making dinner for me. Is Michaela taking you out today?'

'No, tomorrow - she said she'd call me,' I replied.

'Right,' he said, then smiled. 'You know, I'm really glad you two are getting along.' He picked up his coat and swung it over his shoulders, smartly straightening the stylish collar once it was on. 'If you get hungry, help yourself to anything in the fridge for lunch.'

'OK.' I walked him to the door, and before he went out he turned to me, putting his hands on my shoulders.

'You sure you'll be fine, here on your own?' he asked me, with a slight hint of worry and guilt in his voice.

I smiled at his fussing. 'Of course I will, Conn,' I reassured him.

'No going out by yourself - I don't want you getting lost or mobbed by the 'razzi."

'No, Connor.'

'If you get bored, feel free to watch TV or something...'

'
Yes
, Connor.'

He stopped his fretting and teasingly narrowed his eyes at my tone. 'Are you patronizing me?'

'Of course not! Now stop
worrying
about me - I'll be just fine,' I consoled him, wrapping my arms around his chest in a reassuring hug. Connor chuckled, his arms embracing me too.

'I'm sorry, it's just...when I go off shooting, I don't usually have a second person to think about,' he confessed. 'I've never really left anybody waiting for me at home while I'm out.'

I smiled, feeling touched by this, and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him briefly.

'Well, you don't have to worry, because I'll be staying right here until you come back,' I promised. 'You go and get some filming done.'

He grinned at me, then went out of the door with a cheery wave and a goodbye once I had released him from my tight hug. Once he was gone, I went over to the sliding glass doors that were a part of the huge windows on the main room's wall, and went out onto the lovely little black-railed balcony outside. On the other side of the soundproof glass, the rumble of traffic rose up from the streets down below as I walked to the railings and looked down.

After a few seconds of waiting, I saw the roof of a familiar sleek, black car as it pulled out of the building's garage. I grinned fondly, watching Connor's car join the stream of morning traffic on the road. I began to wonder: what would the people in the cars around his think if they only knew that they were driving alongside a world-famous actor? But then I realised that it might not matter that much to them; after all, so many famous people lived in New York - they were bound to be used to seeing well-known faces here and there. Leaving the balcony once Connor's car was out of sight and on its way to his filming location, I stretched luxuriously as I walked back through the doors. To think life could change so quickly...only a matter of months ago I had walked into Connor on the street, and now here I was in his gorgeous Manhattan penthouse. It was amazing...

Two hours later, I was still busy inquisitively touring Connor's rooms in great detail. The bedroom, of course, I knew very well, and the bathroom - where my toothbrush stood lovingly next to his in the little ceramic pot - was also familiar to me, with its immaculate, sunlit tiles. The door across from it revealed to have some kind of small office-room behind it, containing a desk and some empty shelves. Curious, I went over to the desk, and saw that it had a lot of paperwork all over it. Most were letters and official-looking documents, but here and there I noticed an old script lying about. I smiled, picking one up carefully from beneath a pile of paper. It was thick - so thick that it was a wonder the staples had managed to punch through - and the front page was blank apart from a title printed in formal-looking typewriter letters. "
Waiting For Rain
", it said. My eyes widened in surprise and excitement. This must be an old script for the film that had come out last year - the film I had watched several times and had the DVD of somewhere on my shelf at home. I smiled at the memory of seeing Connor dressed in dusty khaki, sliding over sand dunes and squinting in bright sunshine. That movie was one of my favourites...I flicked through the script, beginning to read avidly.

Most of the technical notes and directions didn't make any sense to me at all, as they were full of professional terms, and as I turned the pages, I began to wonder how on earth Connor had managed to remember all of these lines.

I read on, getting just as engrossed by the script as I had by the film, following with great enthusiasm the story of the five explorers lost in the Sahara. I got as far as the mirage scene before I realised that it would take me
days
to read this script from cover to cover. Reluctantly, I closed it and put it carefully back upon the desk, leaving the room to go downstairs once more.

To my disappointment, Connor's penthouse seemed to have very few personal touches to it. Of course, it was exquisitely furnished and decorated, but there was nothing lying around that seemed to mark this house as unquestionably
his
. It would have been nice to come across a framed photo or two, or even a little souvenir from one of his many trips abroad...but there were none. This wasn't really a home for him, I supposed - just a place to stay. After all, he had said that he travelled around a lot, going from house to house. I wondered whether he ever felt like settling down, slowing his pace and making one particular place his home, his
real
home...

As I sat myself down on a lovely white sofa, I fondly wondered what Connor was doing right at this moment. He would definitely be at his shooting location by now, and probably already filming. Or maybe not...I had heard that costume and make-up took a very long time...

After a while, I got up and went over to the flat-screen TV, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the silence. Once it was on, I found myself with over five hundred channels at my disposal. Smiling to myself and spoilt for choice, I went back to the sofa and began to methodically trawl through them.

"
- and that's why I decided to stop -
"

Click.

"
- now please put your hands together for the new -
"

Click.

"-
the African fire-ant prefers to -
"

Click.

"
- Get out ma house! Dontchu sass me, brutha, or I'll -
"

Click.

"-
and I was like "No waaaay" and he was like "Yes waaaay!" and then I said -
"

Click.

"-
south-east of Kirkmichael, Straiton lies on the River Girvan -
"

Click.

" -
for best result, use twice daily on
-"

Abruptly, my brain registered what my ears had just previously heard, and I quickly flicked back to the documentary that showed rolling green hills and stormy grey skies.
Straiton, Straiton
...now where had I heard that?

"
- is often overlooked, because there is also a village named Straiton in Edinburgh -
"

Of course! It suddenly came to me. Straiton was the name of the Scottish village Connor was born in! I stared avidly at the images of lovely hills and moors, and pretty stone houses with slanting grey roofs. Connor and his family had lived in one of those very houses! I smiled to myself excitedly as the narrator of the documentary talked about the large hill called the Craigengower that overlooked the village, apparently crowned by a monument to Colonel Blair of Blairquhan. Seamlessly the documentary progressed to Blairquhan Castle, a mile west of Straiton, and then showed more lovely images of the nearby lochs. I watched with great interest, wondering if I was looking at fields and hills Connor had known as a child. I grinned fondly at the thought of a much younger Connor running through those lush green fields, oblivious to the fact that by the age of thirty he would have risen tremendously in popularity all over the world. My eyes glazed over slightly as I tried to imagine him as a child. He had probably been a cheeky little thing, blue-eyed and curly-haired, getting into fights with his sister and tramping around moors by himself. He could never have known, then, that he would live through a horrible period of complete failure as a young adult, and then barely years later begin to appear in award-winning films...

My mind drifted as the documentary focused on another village some way north-west of Straiton, still under the same deliciously brooding, stormy skies.
Scotland
, I thought. Connor was so much like the country he came from...both of them had a sense of wild beauty, both of them had a troubled history...Maybe one day we'd be able to go there? After all, it would be fun to visit a country where everybody spoke like Connor...

My thoughts were interrupted by my stomach gurgling. I hadn't had any lunch yet, and my hunger was making itself known. Grudgingly, I left the sofa and went over to the kitchen to see what I could cook up for lunch.

* * *

It was eleven p.m and he still hadn't come back.

I lay on my side in bed, feeling very alone even though I had been sleeping by myself for many years. It hadn't been like this in my flat; despite the fact I was on my own, there were still the familiar sounds from the pipes in the walls, and the people living upstairs. Here I was in a big double bed, in a dark, very silent and unfamiliar penthouse. The soundproof glass shut out all the quiet noise of traffic I was accustomed to, and I was feeling very alone indeed.

Childishly, I had taken as long as I possibly could cleaning my teeth and getting ready for bed, hoping that Connor would come back and be able to comfort me with his reassuring presence again. But he hadn't come, and now I lay in bed waiting and waiting. It was foolish of me, I knew that, but I simply missed him and longed to be held. I was still unsure of myself in this new place so far away from all I was used to...but of course, it was better to see Connor only occasionally than not at all. I certainly didn't regret coming to New York with him...but I just wished he would hurry up and come home.

I refused to let myself fall asleep, staring at the ceiling instead. Midnight came and went. So did the half-hour after that, followed eventually by one o'clock.

It was only at quarter-past one in the morning that I jerked myself from my glassy-eyed doze, hearing the bedroom door gently close behind a familiar, dark silhouette. I smiled blearily, half-asleep as the one I had been waiting for dragged his feet across the carpet, discarded his shirt, pulled off his socks and trousers, and then collapsed as he was upon the bed beside me.

'Connor!' I softly greeted him in a joyful murmur, turning over to put an arm around his warm back.

'Mmmph,' came a groggy reply.

'You're finally back,' I said with a sleepy smile, cuddling up to his prone form.

'Aye, 'n ah'm so, so
tired
...' Connor mumbled, barely coherent.

'Aw...' I murmured sympathetically. 'Me too. Hold me?'

'Sure,' came his deep, inarticulate grumble. His arm lifted and he drew me closer to his side, making me feel finally at rest. His warmth and the soothing sound of his steady breathing beside me comforted me immensely. I found that he had some unfamiliar scents clinging to his skin; wood, cloth, and some chemical that was either hairspray or some makeup remover. He had obviously had a busy day, which he would tell me about tomorrow. For now, we would sleep close to each other, with him occasionally giving soft, snuffling snores against my hair as we drifted...