Taking Chances (30 page)

It was as though she didn’t trust any man to give her what she wanted, without giving them something in return. Yet she
had
given something to Forgon – the information that Ellen didn’t know who the father of her baby was – and in return Forgon had promised to do everything in his power to make sure Michael continued to work on the movie. So there had been no need for what had followed; no good reason for her to debase herself like that, nor to have subjected herself to his contempt.

Pushing herself away from the mini-bar she unbuttoned her jacket and walked to the bed. The ten-dollar bill was still lying there. Throwing her jacket over it, she turned back to one of the armchairs beside the desk. As she passed the mirror she stopped and gazed at her reflection in the pale orange light cast from a floor lamp. Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, though immaculately cut and highlighted; her turquoise eyes
glimmered
darkly in their circles of sky-blue kohl and her lips appeared pale and thin without their usual coating of gloss. She wondered what people saw when they looked at that face, and tried to work out what there was to see. Some days she felt so displaced and alone, and horribly cowed by the coldly determined woman she had become. She almost laughed at that, for it was odd indeed to think she intimidated herself – it was like a dog running away from its bark, or a bully cringing from his own fist.

Turning away she sank into the sumptuous armchair and pulling her feet in under her she tucked her hands inside the white silk straps of her bodysuit. Her skin felt soft and cool and she tried not to think of the last time it had been touched by a man. But there was no escaping that longing, for the memory still lived so vividly in her mind. Michael had made love to her in a way no other man ever had. There had been no payment for her services then, there had been only passion and longing and an almost insatiable need for more and yet more. It was why she had never slept with anyone since, for she knew in her heart that no-one could live up to Michael, or make her feel the way he had.

Hearing a knock on the door she instantly froze. Forgon had come back to test the slut again. How much would he pay her this time? Twenty dollars for the whole way? Fifty to do it from behind? She was cheap, so cheap. Not even during the days when she’d done it to survive had she been so cheap. So why now? Why was she allowing this to happen when she had risen so far and achieved so much? Was there something in her that needed this, that thrived on the humiliation and indignity? Wasn’t she worthy of real love and consideration? Didn’t she deserve what other women had? For her everything was a fight; a ceaseless challenge to win, a bitter confusion of morals, and conflict of conscience. It was as though she was on a lone
and
complicated journey to an end that would never come.

Tom knocked again and glanced along the hall as someone came out of a door further down. He was sure she was in there, but didn’t want to call out until the couple coming towards him had passed and taken the elevator to a place that no longer abutted his life.

They moved so slowly he could feel an irrational anger mounting inside him, making him want to yell at them to speed up for God’s sake. It was rare for him to feel such fury towards something so trivial, which perhaps went to show how trying today had been – much more than he’d want to admit.

Turning his mind from the couple he thought about Sandy and wondered what she was doing in there. Sitting alone in the darkness; sobbing into her pillow; staring out at the night; or maybe just taking a bath? He was vaguely intrigued, and even a little uncomfortable with his decision to seek her out, though he assumed it was because she was on her own too. She was also, apart from Matty and Ellen, the only other living soul who knew about the baby, and certainly the only one he could talk to. Except he had no desire to discuss, or even think about, the unholy mess they were all now in. Nor did he want to talk about Rachel, or the movie, or anything to do with his life. So quite why he was here was eluding him, unless the reason was no more complicated than a simple need to communicate with another human being.

‘Sandy!’ he called, knocking again as the elevator doors closed. ‘It’s Tom. Are you in there?’

He waited, but there was still no answer, nor a single sound from inside. So it looked like he had it wrong, she wasn’t there after all. Dropping his head, he started back down the hall, and tried to decide whether he should hit the bar or return to the wedding. He guessed the
wedding
was the polite way to go, and as it surely couldn’t be much longer before Michael and Ellen left, he shouldn’t have too long to wait to make his reappearance.

He’d already called the elevator when he heard Sandy’s door open. It was a moment or two before she stepped out into the hall, and when she did he felt himself starting to smile. Gone were the expensive high heels, the designer jacket, and greasy coating of lipstick; in their place was a strikingly lovely young woman with an amateur kind of finesse, an endearingly unpractised mystique and a truly great pair of shoulders.

Seeing the antagonism in her eyes his smile widened and he held out the champagne and glasses. ‘I thought maybe you could use some company,’ he said, taking a step away from the elevator as the doors swept open.

She continued to glare at him, hard enough to stop him coming any further, but not so hard that he turned and got into the lift.

‘OK, it’s me who’s looking for the company,’ he confessed, letting his arms drop to his sides. He shrugged. ‘I guess I’m being too presumptuous …’

He assumed his best forlorn and abandoned expression, then peered at her from under his lids to see what effect he was having.

Catching him looking she struggled not to smile.

‘I can sing,’ he offered, and promptly broke into a bawdy little ditty that caused her to laugh.

‘You’d better come in before the men in white coats find you,’ she said, and turning back into her room she held the door open for him to follow.

Returning to the chair she’d been sitting in, she pulled her legs under her again and looked up at him in the warm amber light. He was standing at the foot of the bed, apparently assessing the room.

‘Great place you’ve got here,’ he told her.

She rolled her eyes and tried again to stop herself
smiling
. ‘It certainly beats the first room I lived in,’ she responded, thinking of the damp, grimy little bedsit she’d rented when she’d first arrived in London. ‘Not quite up to your suite though,’ she added.

‘Ah, but I’m living here, you’re just staying,’ he replied, by way of justification. ‘So, are you going to help me with this?’

Sandy looked at the bottle of champagne, then returning her eyes to his she nodded. ‘OK,’ she said.

After popping the cork he handed her a glass and was about to propose a toast when some kind of commotion started up outside. He guessed the time had arrived for Ellen and Michael to leave.

Going to the window he pulled aside the drapes and looked down at the champagne-crazed euphoria. Sandy came to stand beside him, and together they watched the wedding guests swarm around the decorated limousine, clamouring to get one final embrace or photograph with the happy couple. More rice was thrown, so was confetti, and the single women of the crowd called for Ellen to send her gorgeous bouquet of white flowers their way. At last she flung it high in the air, so high that at one point it was closer to Sandy and Tom than it was to the ground. Then it started to fall, and as three dozen arms reached out to catch it, Ellen and Michael quickly got into the car.

The bouquet was caught by a young girl neither Tom nor Sandy recognized but whoever she was, even from where they were standing they could see her flush of pleasure. Then all the attention was once again on the white limousine as it started to pull away, dragging a colourful and noisy arrangement of cans, ribbons, boots and black cats behind it. Because of the tinted windows Ellen and Michael were already lost from view, but Sandy and Tom, just like the rest of the crowd who trailed the car to the road, stood watching as it entered the traffic on Doheny, waited for the red lights to turn
green
, then began heading south along the lamplit, palm-lined street towards the international airport.

Tom turned to look down at Sandy. Her features were lost in shadow, so it was impossible to read her expression. Tapping his glass against hers he said, ‘Let’s drink a toast to me.’

Sandy blinked. ‘To you?’ she queried.

He shrugged. ‘Why not? Do you have a better idea?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s drink one to me,’ she said.

‘To you?’ he responded, as though amazed by the notion.

She grinned. ‘OK then, to you,’ she conceded, and lifted her glass.

‘To you,’ he chimed in, and waggled his eyebrows comically as she started to laugh.

After taking a sip she moved back to the chair and watched as he made himself comfortable on the bed. He was sitting with his back against the headboard, his elbows resting on his knees and his cravat hanging loosely down his shirt-front. He’d left his jacket in his own room, and his shoes he’d kicked off before climbing on to the bed. It was really too dark over that side of the room for her to see him clearly, but she knew very well how good-looking he was. An image of Ted Forgon suddenly flashed through her mind, and she felt her soul sink at the knowledge of what had happened less than an hour ago, right there on the bed. What on earth would Tom think if he knew? Which would appal him more: what she had done, or why she had done it?

‘So what shall we talk about?’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. You choose.’

He thought for a while, and was about to speak when she said, ‘Aren’t you even interested to know if that baby is yours? I mean, doesn’t it piss you off just a little bit to think that she’s gone off on honeymoon with another man, while carrying your child?’

He didn’t answer right away – instead he thought of
the
way she had phrased her question, and how swiftly she had gone from the possibility of the baby being his, to the certainty that it must be. Another indication of the way she tried to make things the truth simply by declaring that they were. It was a strategy that many a spiritualist would claim to have almost foolproof results; though in this instance he doubted Sandy’s self-delusions had much to do with affirmations and Universal feedback.

‘Have you ever made a study of metaphysics?’ he asked.

Sandy’s eyes immediately went down, but as she sipped her champagne, stalling for time, he knew from the faint colour in her cheeks that she didn’t understand the term.

‘It’s a subject that fascinates me,’ he said. ‘You know, what it is that draws us together as human beings. Whether there is some kind of supernatural force that weaves its magic on us all, taking us through time, linking us to the planets, the galaxy, the entire universe, before reintroducing us to each other in future lives, other guises, other conflicts or resolutions … I guess I’m getting into karma now, but why not? Doesn’t it interest you to know if we’ve ever met before? Or what the purpose is of us being here, now, in this room? Do we have some unfinished business from a previous existence? I wonder if you knew me when I was a Vietnamese pirate; or if it was when I was a Parisian whore?’

A wary humour was creeping into Sandy’s eyes. Was he teasing her, or had he already had too much to drink?

‘It could be you had the pad next to mine on Mars, a couple of dozen millennia ago,’ he mused. ‘Or maybe you were the cat I chased when I was a dog in South Carolina. I don’t know, I just get the feeling that there’s more to us, here tonight, than the mere escape of a wedding. Don’t you?’

By now Sandy was grinning. ‘If you say so,’ she answered. She knew, from the dinner conversation they’d had a few nights ago, that she was out of her depth with Chambers, for his humour was so much more sophisticated, his world so much wider and knowledge so much greater, than the narrow horizons imposed by Hollywood and showbiz. But oddly she wasn’t feeling daunted by the enormity of his experience, nor cowed by his superiority of intellect. Instead she was feeling vaguely intrigued by all he could teach her, and definitely flattered that he would choose to spend an evening with someone like her.

‘I’ve got to hand it to you,’ she said, reaching out for the champagne to refill her glass, ‘you’ve got a pretty neat way of changing the subject.’

He nodded as he thought about that. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right,’ he finally agreed.

‘So what about the baby?’ she said.

He drained his glass, then looked at her. ‘What about Michael?’ he responded.

Again she flushed. ‘What about him?’ she said.

‘As far as you’re concerned, what about him?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Sure you do. When are you going to let it go? He’s married to Ellen now …’

‘Who’s carrying your child.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. The only definite carrying around here is your torch for Michael, which is nowhere near as bright or as pure as you like to think it is.’

Her face started to tighten. ‘What …?’ she began.

He held up a hand. ‘Getting it wrong isn’t a sin,’ he told her. ‘We all do it, and then we move on.’

‘You mean like you did after Rachel?’ she snapped.

His eyes seemed hard for a moment, but she didn’t look away. ‘Touché,’ he responded, and getting up from the bed he went to replenish his own glass. As he poured he
glanced
down at her and noticed the delicate points of her nipples through the sheer silk of her top. But he was more interested in her vulnerability than her sexuality.

Returning to the bed he sat down again and looked at her in the semi-darkness. She was staring at her drink, but he guessed she knew he was watching her. ‘Tell me the three most important things about Sandy,’ he said.

Her head came up.

He smiled and saluted her with his glass.

‘Are you serious?’ she said. ‘You want to know the three most important things about me?’

‘It’s why I asked.’