The O’Hara Affair (35 page)

‘
Comme ci
,
comme ça
,’ said Elena. ‘It’s like everything. We have our good days and our bad days.’ She shot Fleur an oblique look. ‘You have a thing going with Corban O’Hara, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Fleur, surprised. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Shane told me. He’s very fond of you, you know.’

Fleur smiled. ‘Shane and I go back forever.’

‘You were part of an arty clique, weren’t you? You and Río?’

‘Yes. You know about Río, too?’

‘Well, everybody knows about Río since that
Enquirer
piece spilled the beans.’

Fleur laughed. ‘The
Enquirer
is hardly a reliable source of information.’

‘For sure. But that rumour has been dogging Shane since his
Faraway
days.’

‘Has it done his career any harm, do you think?’

‘On the contrary. I think it’s been responsible for sparking a lot of interest in him. Every wannabe in LA is determined to be the one who’ll finally snatch him from the arms of his long-lost colleen.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes. It’s a perpetual source of speculation for the press. Every time he goes out in public with a hottie on his arm, Perez Hilton’s on his case.’

‘Poor Shane.’

‘We’re all stuck between the same rock and hard place in LA. We’re damned if they pap us, damned if they don’t.’ Elena cooed as she held up a periwinkle cashmere sweater. ‘Funnily enough, if Shane did end up with his childhood sweetheart, I think his stock would plummet. The tabloids and the paparazzi don’t like happy endings. They’re like a pack of jackals bringing down a gazelle: the more it bleeds, the more blood they crave.’

‘Does all the fuss bother Shane?’ asked Fleur.

Elena shrugged. ‘I don’t think he cares much either way. I’ve known Shane since we worked on
Faraway
– he’s one of the most laid-back individuals in la-la land. And one of the most respected.’

‘I’m glad for him. He didn’t have it easy in the early days. I guess none of us did.’

‘I certainly didn’t, coming from the wrong side of the tracks. I’m the first film star to crawl out from under Little Rock since Julie Adams.’

‘Of
Creature from the Black Lagoon
fame?’

‘Yep.’ Elena swooped on a fitted, knee-length dress with a scoop neck and a fishtail, and held it up against her. ‘This I gotta have!’ she said. ‘This is just perfect for my birthday party.’

‘When is it?’

‘Day after tomorrow. Wanna come?’

‘Thank you. I’d love to, but I can’t.’ Corban was due. Fleur suddenly found herself wondering why he hadn’t been invited to Elena’s party, but resisted the unmannerly impulse to ask. ‘Why don’t you go try it on, and I’ll bring the coffee out?’

Back in the kitchen, Fleur bit into a madeleine, then spooned coffee into the cafetière, all the time thinking about Shane and how he had spent his life yearning for Río the way Rhett yearned for Scarlett in
Gone With the Wind
. Stupid Scarlett hadn’t seen sense until it was too late, and she hoped that a similar fate wasn’t in store for Río. Elena Sweetman had spoken of Shane with real warmth, and she fancied that the actress might look very tasty in that scoop-necked dress. She was right. When she went back into the shop with the tray of coffee things, Elena was assessing her reflection in the cheval glass.

‘Wow,’ said Fleur. ‘You look just like Jayne Mansfield in the baby shower scene in—’

Elena finished the sentence for her. ‘
Promises! Promises!
’ she said.

Fleur laughed. Had she found a soul sister in Elena Sweetman? What a shame she couldn’t go to the party on Friday. Maybe she should suggest it to Corban, and they could turn up together? But then what would she do if Corban knew nothing about the event, and was miffed that he hadn’t been invited? It was better to say nothing. Besides, she hadn’t seen him for a while: it would be nice to have him all to herself.

Fleur set the tray down and reached for a straw coolie hat that had arrived in the morning’s consignment. Setting it on her head at a tilt, she turned to Elena and said: ‘Guess who? Clue:
Macao
.’

Elena didn’t miss a beat. ‘Jane Russell,’ she said, with a smile.

Having said goodbye to her NBF, who had left with her party dress sprinkled with rose petals and enfolded in a glossy Fleurissima carrier, Fleur chucked the cardboard boxes into the recycling cupboard and turned the sign on the door to OPEN. Within moments, the jangle of the little bell made her look up from the jumpsuit she was teaming with a silver belt.

‘Hello, beautiful,’ said Shane Byrne.

‘Shane! How are you?’ Fleur stood up and presented her cheek for a kiss.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ He gave the smile of a proud paterfamilias. ‘My boy is back from his travels.’

‘So you’re a happy family again?’

‘We’re so fucking happy we could be a family in an advertisement for washing powder. What’s that?’ he added, nodding at the jumpsuit.

‘It’s a jumpsuit.’

‘Why’s it called a jumpsuit?’

‘Skydivers wore them, originally.’

‘I can’t see anyone jumping out of a plane in a flimsy yoke like that. They’d be in their nod by the time they hit the ground.’

Fleur put the jumpsuit on a hanger, and moved to the costume rail. ‘What brings you into my emporium, Shane?’

‘I want to buy a present for my leading lady. It’s her birthday.’

‘So I heard. What age is Ms Sweetman?’

‘She’s not saying, but my guess is she’s a deal older than she looks. Random fact: did you know that Americans spend more each year on cosmetic surgery than they do on education?’

‘Have you had anything done yourself?’ she asked.

Shane looked aghast. ‘Fleur! Get real! Don’t you know that I have a pathological fear of needles?’

‘But there must be serious pressure on you in your industry to look youthful.’

‘Of course there is. I swear by haemorrhoid cream for my eyebags.’

Fleur laughed. ‘Aren’t you embarrassed to be seen buying it?’

‘Nothing much embarrasses me, Fleur. I’m an actor. I played a horse’s arse once. What keeps you so youthful, beautiful?’

‘Good red wine, lots of butter and cheese and the occasional glass of champagne. You know we French women don’t get fat.’

‘You’re a gal after my own heart.’

The phone went. ‘Fleurissima: good morning!’ said Fleur into the mouthpiece.

On the other end of the phone was a journalist from the local newspaper, wanting to pick Fleur’s brains about the current trend for jumpsuits. ‘They’re incredibly versatile,’ said Fleur, segueing into fashionspeak. ‘They’re perfect for daywear, but can be glammed up for evening with heels and accessories. Stella McCartney does a fabulous one in silk, but it’s expensive—’

‘How much?’ asked the journo.

‘Over two thousand euros.’

Shane’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped in disbelief,
then, as Fleur blurbed on about jumpsuits, he reached for one of the glossy magazines on the counter.

‘What the fuck is going on in the world?’ he said, when she’d finished her phone call. ‘Take a look at this. One thousand two hundred and sixty euros for a pair of shoes! And see this ridiculous pair of hooves? They don’t even have the nerve to give the price. It just says, “Price on request”. I thought there was supposed to be a squeeze on.’

‘People have to be allowed to dream, Shane.’

Shane shook his head. ‘One thousand two hundred and sixty euros could feed a third-world village for a year. It’s obscene.’

Fleur didn’t like to think about it. The rag trade
was
obscene, but the pleasure she got from examining the detail on a couture gown – while morally reprehensible – was indescribably intense.

‘What had you in mind for your leading lady’s birthday present?’ she asked.

‘I dunno. Ooh. These are nice.’ Shane was fingering the polka-dotted silk knickers.

‘You can’t buy underwear for somebody unless you’re having an affair with them,’ Fleur told him, with authority.

Shane raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’s to say I’m not having an affair with her?’

‘What! Shane Byrne!
Are
you having an affair with Elena Sweetman?’

‘Sadly, no.’ He gave her a careful look. ‘How’s your affair faring?’

‘With Corban?’

‘Hello? Who else?’

Fleur flushed, suddenly. For some reason, she had thought that Shane might have been referring to Jake Malone, with whom, of course, she had no intention of having an affair.

‘Fine. I don’t see as much of him as I’d like.’

‘He’s pretty obsessed with his pet project. He’s one of the most hands-on executive producers I’ve met.’

‘He is?’

‘Yeah. Most of them just hand over the money and let the creatives get on with it. I suspect he’s going to want to direct something himself once this is in the can.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Fleur asked.

‘Well, he’s kind of a control freak, ain’t he? No disrespect.’

Fleur was a little taken aback.
Was
Corban a control freak? He enjoyed the power he wielded, that was for sure, but any Mr Big worth the name played power games.

‘“Control freak” is a little harsh, don’t you think?’ she said.

‘Sorry. I guess I don’t like taking direction from anyone but the main man.’

‘The main man being?’

‘The director, of course.’

‘You mean Corban tries to direct you?’

‘Not just me. He tries it on with Elena, too. We tend to ignore him.’

Oh! Fleur found this information not a little embarrassing. Was Corban unpopular? Maybe she should ask Río what she thought – after all, she was on location every day.

‘How about jewellery?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘Take a look at these earrings – aren’t they gorgeous? Or this dinky charm bracelet. Or how about this perfume atomiser? Isn’t it sweet? And you can never go wrong with a scarf. Just look at this beauty!’ Fleur unfurled a length of shimmering silk chiffon.

Shane was looking at her with amusement. ‘You’re such a girl, Fleur, aren’t you?’

‘Unapologetically so.’

‘Which option would you go for?’

‘The earrings.’

‘Aren’t they a bit
über
dangly?’

‘Earrings can never be too dangly or too glittery,’ Fleur assured him. ‘They draw light to the face and add radiance.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Shane took his card out of his wallet and handed it over.

‘You’ll be wrapped on the film, soon, won’t you?’ she asked.

‘Yep.’

‘Are you heading back to LA?’

‘No. I’m thinking of hanging on here for a while longer. I might have a look at some property.’

‘It’s the right time to buy.’

‘Sure is. I’ll pick Dervla’s brains.’

‘If she has any left. She’s half demented, you know, looking after her demented mother-in-law.’

‘No shit. I thought she paid someone to do that?’

‘The carer’s gone on holiday. And Christian’s gone off to France.’

‘Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten. Dervla shouldn’t really be taking on that kind of responsibility.’

Fleur nodded. ‘That’s what I think. But she really has no other option.’

‘Why not put the mother-in-law in a care home?’

‘Christian won’t hear of it. You should pay Dervla a visit, Shane. She’d be delighted to see you.’

‘I’ll try and find time. You know my mother suffered from dementia?’

‘Río mentioned it, yes.’

‘Caring’s a highly specialized job. I forked out a small fortune to have Ma cared for, and I felt lucky to be able to afford it.’

Fleur sucked in her breath. ‘I know it’s an awful thing to say, Shane, but sometimes I feel lucky that my parents died
when they did, before something like that could happen to them.’

‘It’s not an awful thing to say. I hope I have the nerve to take things into my own hands when the time comes.’

‘Oh!’ Fleur shuddered. ‘Let’s not think about it! Let’s think about something lovely instead.’

‘Like chiffon scarves. And dangly earrings.’

‘And pink poodles. And champagne.’

‘Pink champagne?’

Fleur shook her head. ‘Not my style. I’m a Laurent-Perrier girl, myself.’

‘Nasty Harris is big into pink
prosecco
. The fridge in her trailer is crammed with the stuff.’

Riondo Pink Prosecco Raboso
. The label on the bottle that Audrey had chucked into the recycling bin a couple of weeks ago flashed across Fleur’s mind’s eye. Audrey had said she’d found it in Corban’s apartment. Could it be that Anastasia Harris was the woman having the affair with the assistant director? But no. Corban had told Fleur that the woman in question was a local. And then she thought back to what Jake Malone had said to her on the phone last night.
What’ll I bring to drink? Pink fizz?
Was Jake the male half of the couple whose affair Corban was facilitating?

‘You’re looking very thoughtful,’ Shane observed. ‘Sorry.’ Fleur snapped out of gumshoe mode and resumed giftwrapping Elena Sweetman’s birthday present. ‘I was just wondering about something that Río told me about. I think she called it “Doesn’t Count On Location”.’

‘DCOL, yeah.’

‘Affairs are commonplace among movie people, then?’

Shane shrugged. ‘Always have been, Fleur. It’s a cliché as old as the casting couch.’

‘The casting couch? Is that still going on?’

‘Yep.’

‘Sheesh. I remember the story about Marilyn Monroe. When she signed her first major contract she said, “Well, that’s the last cock I’ll ever suck”.’

‘Unfortunately, some poor girls are still doing a lot of cock sucking.’

‘
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose
,’ she said.

‘You wha’?’

‘It’s a French proverb. It means, the more things change, the more they stay the same.’

‘Oo-er. That’s a bit profound for me. I’m only a dumb actor.’

‘Not so dumb, Shane.’

Fleur completed the transaction, then handed over Shane’s credit card and the pretty package. She’d taken extra care with the giftwrap, seeing as how the earrings were for a bona fide movie star. Maybe she’d see them on the red carpet some day!