Behind the Film Star's Smile (13 page)

‘Are you going to tell her?’

‘That’s your place, love, not mine.’

Luke walked into the hallway and overheard the last bit. ‘Let’s make it easier. Why don’t both of you come for dinner at my place on Saturday? Bring your husband—and Shannon can bring hers, too.’

‘Oh, my God. Luke, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t angling for an invite,’ Carly said, looking aghast.

‘I know, but Jess is close to you, and of course you want to know more about the person she’s seeing.’ Luke looked at her. ‘Invite your parents, too, Jess. We’ll eat in the garden if it’s good weather.’

This was it: they’d be outing their relationship as a real one. It was a huge step. For both of them.

‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure.’ He paused. ‘Are you?’

She nodded. ‘I think so.’

When Carly had gone, Jess said again, ‘Are you really sure about this?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve invited my parents—what about yours?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not ready for you to meet them—and that’s not because I’m ashamed of you or anything remotely like it, but because my parents are a bit difficult and I think we need some time to get used to this thing between us before you meet them.’

She thought about what Monica said about his mother always being disappointed in him and it didn’t matter what his parents thought about her, it mattered what Luke thought. Not that she was going to tell him, because she didn’t want him to feel she’d been gossiping about him. Even though he’d been gossiping about her with her sister.

‘But I will invite Monica,’ Luke said. ‘The bathroom and garden are both on the ground floor, so she won’t have to negotiate stairs.’

‘What if it rains?’ Jess asked.

He smiled. ‘We’ll all just have to pile into my office. Or I can really annoy Mon by playing the superhero and carrying her upstairs.’

*

Everyone was free on Saturday. And Luke made everyone feel totally at home rather than that they were trespassing in a movie star’s pad.

He talked Jess into doing the performance she’d choreographed with Baloo, and everyone sang along with the song—and then made a huge fuss of the dog, who was in a state of utter bliss from all the attention.

Monica and Jess exchanged a glance. They both knew that Baloo had definitely found her permanent home. Luke just needed to realise that, too.

At the end of the evening, Jess’s parents dropped her home. ‘He’s lovely,’ Jess’s mother said.

‘And he’s good for you, which is the most important thing for us. We like him,’ Jess’s father added.

‘Yes. Luke’s special,’ Jess said, smiling.

They’d cleared the first hurdle with ease.

So maybe, just maybe, this was going to work out just fine.

*

‘She’s lovely,’ Monica said to Luke when everyone had gone. ‘And she’s good for you. She loves dogs. She’s perfect.’

He grimaced. ‘Mon, it’s still early days.’

‘I know, love,’ she reassured him. ‘The fact you’ve introduced her to me, and you asked me here when you met her family and best friend, tells me a lot. I like her.’ She gave him a hug. ‘I think she makes you happy, and you make her happy. And that’s all that matters.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HE
DOORBELL
RANG
insistently
.

Luke, presuming that it was a delivery of some sort, opened the front door. To his shock, flashlights started going off in his face and microphones were shoved at him. There were people six deep on the doorstep, all talking at once, and the noise was incredible.

‘So is it true?’ one of them called.

Uh-oh. If he was being papped, that could only mean one thing. Another story. A juicy one, this time. Had Fleur found out somehow that he was seeing someone, and implied to her tame journo that it was a relationship that predated the end of their marriage, to let her off the hook of her own perfidy? Oh, hell. If that was the case, he’d need to handle this quickly and carefully to make sure that Jess didn’t get hurt.

‘No comment,’ he said, and closed the door.

The doorbell rang again, but this time he ignored it. Instead, he grabbed his phone and flicked into the Internet to look at the news gossip pages and find out exactly what was going on before he called the publicity team at the film company and asked them to start damage limitation.

The headline leapt out at him:
Luke McManly?

Oh, God, no.

The story wasn’t about Jess, but that was small comfort. Because now the one thing Luke had spent the last year worrying about had actually happened.

Someone had broken the story about his infertility. And now the press was saying he was less of a man because he couldn’t father a child.

He scrolled through the story, his temper simmering more and more as he read. He wasn’t sure what made him angriest—the invasion of his privacy, or the way the gossip rag implied that the reason he’d not done as well in his last film was because he’d played a father and, not being able to become a father himself, hadn’t been able to get into the role properly. His personal life had got in the way of his job.

What made it worse was his inner fear that there was some truth in it. That maybe he hadn’t done as well in the role because he couldn’t identify with what it was like to be a father. That he’d done his research and knew what it would be like intellectually, but he hadn’t managed to transfer it emotionally. He hadn’t been able to feel it—or make his audience feel it.

Life on set was going to be unbearable. People would be whispering in corners and then going silent as soon as they saw him. Pitying him. And they’d make the connection with Fleur and pity him even more.

Luke
hated
this.

And right now there was a pack of journalists and photographers waiting outside his front door. No doubt there would be a gaggle of them at the entrance to the set, too. This was a nightmare. Just like it had been when he’d split up with Fleur; he’d been shadowed every minute of the day and everyone had wanted to dig, dig, dig into his private life and his feelings.

As if Baloo could sense his mood, she whined and lay on her back at his feet.

‘It’s not you, girl,’ he said.

He couldn’t take the dog out through the back gate; it would mean having to take her on public transport during the rush hour. So they were going to have to drive out of the garage at the front of the house, as they normally did, and he’d have to hope that the paparazzi were sensible enough to get out of his way.

Thank God he always reversed into his garage rather than driving straight in.

He put the dog in her crate in the back of the car, put a pair of dark glasses on as he got behind the wheel of the car, then opened the garage door with the remote control.

The photographers crowded round him as the door opened, bulbs flashing everywhere. He opened his side window just enough to tell them to get out of his way or he’d call the police and have them removed from the street for causing a public obstruction.

One of them made a snippy comment and his temper snapped. ‘Or maybe it’d be quicker to just drive over the lot of you,’ he snarled.

By the time he got to the set the pictures were on the Internet from this morning—describing him as ‘mean and moody’. And there was a headline to go with it:
Un-Daddy Un-Cool
.

The scumbags, he thought, gritting his teeth. They were so busy thinking of snarky words and poking fun at people, congratulating themselves on their cleverness, that they ignored the fact there was actually a person behind the story. Someone who could get hurt.

Sticks and stones may break my bones...The old rhyme ran through his head. And how wrong it was. Because names could hurt. Words could cut deeper than anything else, seeping into your head and freezing you.

This was a total nightmare. Luke was used to press conferences and interviews and photographs, but he hated this side of the business—the muck-raking and the way the press acted as if the public owned you and you had to live every last little detail of your life under the glare of a photographer’s flashlight.

As he walked onto the set, Luke could tell that everyone had seen the article. The way they stopped talking as soon as they saw him, the pitying glances. He did his best to ignore it and walked into the production office—but even Jess was looking anxious when she saw him, treating him with kid gloves.

He couldn’t handle this. Jess was the one person he’d told about this, the one person he’d expected to understand—and yet she was behaving like all the rest of them, pitying him.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

His temper finally snapped. ‘Of course I’m not OK! My private life’s being dragged through the gutter yet again. How the hell do you think I feel?’

Her face went white. And then she lifted her chin. ‘Does it not occur to you that maybe I’m concerned about you?’

Luke knew that he was completely in the wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth was on a roll. All the pent-up anger and bitterness of the last year poured out of him. ‘Maybe I don’t need your concern. Maybe I don’t
want
your concern.’ And then the words he knew he shouldn’t say came out anyway. ‘Maybe I’m better off on my own. Without you.’

She flinched as if he’d struck her physically. ‘If that’s the way you feel,’ she said quietly, ‘then you probably are.’ She looked over at Ayesha, the production manager. ‘I’m sorry to let you down, but I’m afraid I can’t work today.’

And then she simply picked up her things and walked out.

Baloo whined and tugged at her lead, desperate to be with Jess, but Luke didn’t move a muscle to stop Jess leaving. Even though he knew he was in the wrong and should apologise, he was too angry to focus on anything else but how he felt right at that moment. He glared at the dog. ‘You’ll have to be on set with me today, and if you so much as look at a single shoe, let alone steal one and chew it, you’re going back to the dogs’ home as fast as I can drive you there.’

‘Mr McKenzie,’ Ayesha said, ‘just leave the dog with me for now.’

The cool, clipped tone of her voice registered, and he looked at the production manager.

‘Baloo’s used to me,’ Ayesha said. ‘She’ll be fine.’

Luke was about to thank her when she cut in. ‘It’s none of my business,’ she said, ‘but I think you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said coldly. Because maybe he
was
better off on his own. And, from this evening, his aunt would just have to pay someone to look after Baloo until she could find the dog a new home. He didn’t need anything or anyone in his life. Not now, not ever.

*

Anger kept Jess going until she was inside her flat. Sure, she could understand that Luke was angry and hurt by the story—but that didn’t give him the right to take it out on her. Would this be what their life would’ve been like had they stayed together, Luke going off at the deep end whenever something upset him in the press? She didn’t want to have to spend the rest of her life treading on eggshells. She wanted an equal partnership, like the one she’d had with Matt. Of course she wasn’t looking for someone to be a carbon copy of her late husband—that wouldn’t be healthy or reasonable to expect. But she didn’t want a tempestuous relationship either; an on-again, off-again showbiz drama really wasn’t her idea of a happy life.

Right now, it hurt that Luke could turn on her like that and dump her just because he was in a bad mood. But it would’ve been far, far worse if she’d actually married Luke and maybe adopted a child with him before something like this happened.

‘I’m better off without him,’ she told herself briskly.

And if she kept telling herself that, eventually she’d believe it.

*

‘Right. Cut.’ George, the director, rolled his eyes. ‘Go home, Luke. We’re not going to get anything filmed today. You’ve messed up every single take so far.’

Luke could taste the bitterness in his mouth. His whole life was on the brink of collapse. He couldn’t even do his job any more. And how long would it be before the media picked up on that? How long would it be before directors decided that Luke McKenzie had passed his sell-by date—that Luke McKenzie was no longer a virile male lead but an infertile man, an object of pity?

‘Go and get your head sorted out. Talk to your girl,’ George advised.

‘My girl?’ Luke prevaricated. They’d been careful to keep their relationship quiet, on set.

‘Everyone knows you’re seeing Jess.’ George rolled his eyes. ‘Just let her talk some sense into you.’

Except Jess wasn’t his girl any more, was she? Luke had blown it. Pushed her away. Lashed out at her.

He’d lashed out at Baloo, too. Threatened to send her back to Death Row. And he’d called the press scumbags when his own behaviour had been far, far worse. Shame flooded through him. How could he have been so selfish? How could he have hurt the woman he loved like that?

‘Luke?’ George asked.

Luke rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘Sorry. I’ve screwed a lot of things up today, and not just these takes.’

‘Yeah, I heard you’d had a fight with Jess and she’d walked out of the office,’ George said.

‘I’m an idiot,’ Luke told him. ‘And I’m not sure she’s going to give me the chance to explain myself.’

George looked sympathetic. ‘I reckon you’re going to need something a hell of a lot better than flowers or chocolates to fix this one.’

‘You’re telling me,’ Luke said wryly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. And I’m sorry, George. I won’t screw up tomorrow.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ George said. ‘It would’ve been helpful if you’d given us some kind of warning about the situation, so the press office could’ve had contingency plans in place. But the damage is out there, so you might as well go and sort things out with your girl first.’

But before that Luke needed to pick up his dog and apologise to the production manager.

Baloo whined when she saw him, but she stayed by Ayesha’s feet, almost cowed.

He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, girl. And I apologise for the way I behaved to you, Ayesha.’

‘Water off a duck’s back. I’m used to stroppy thesps throwing a hissy fit,’ Ayesha said. ‘But I think there’s someone else who deserves a hell of a lot more of an apology.’

‘There is,’ Luke said. ‘And I’m going to be eating humble pie, believe me.’

‘If she’ll let you.’

‘If.’ Luke sighed. That was the crunch question. ‘Thank you for looking after my dog. And, again, I’m sorry, Ayesha.’ He stooped down to make a fuss of Baloo. ‘Let’s go, sweetie. I’m going to fix this.’ Even if he had to sit on Jess’s doorstep all day and all night, he’d get her to talk to him. He’d apologise. And hopefully she’d let them start again.

He tried calling her from the car park. There was no answer from her landline or her mobile. Well, that wasn’t so surprising. In her shoes, he wouldn’t want to talk to him, either. Leaving a message felt too impersonal, so he just put Baloo into her cage so she was safely secured in the back of his car.

What was it Jess had once told him?

When you’ve had a day of dealing with people you have to be civil to, but really you want to shake them until their teeth rattle and tell them to grow up... That’s when a good run with a dog at your side will definitely put the world to rights.

Maybe it would clear his head, too. And he could work out the right words to convince Jess to give him a second chance.

He managed to evade the paparazzi by using one of the back entrances to the set, and found a park a few miles away where nobody would bother him. Not if he had his beanie hat and glasses on. It would give him just a little while of anonymity. Space to work things out.

He texted Jess before he let Baloo out of the car.
Sorry, I was wrong, please can we talk?

There was no answer by the time he and Baloo had finished their run. The endorphins had made him feel better, but the guilt was like a heavy sack on his back, weighing him down.

‘What am I going to do, Baloo?’ he asked.

The dog whined, sat up and put both paws up. Just like in the routine to the song she’d done with Jess.

I love you.

Three simple little words.

OK, Jess was angry with him—and rightfully so—but maybe she’d listen to the dog.

He frowned. It was a long shot. Totally crazy. But if there was the tiniest, tiniest chance, he’d take it.

He downloaded the song he needed and looked at the dog.

‘I,’ he said, ‘am going to teach you something. Something that you’ve taught me, Baloo, and I’m sorry it took me so long to work it out.’

The dog looked quizzically at him, her head on one side.

‘We’re going to dance,’ he said.

Not at his place—the paparazzi would have it staked out and he wanted a bit of privacy for this, not someone snooping into his house with a telescopic lens—but he could work with Baloo at Monica’s. He called his aunt. ‘I need help,’ he said. ‘I’ve been an idiot. And I’m being papped so my house is a no-go area right now. Please can I borrow your living room—and maybe ask for a bit of advice?’

To his relief, it turned out that the one other person in his life who meant something to him was still talking to him. Though Monica, too, wasn’t impressed with him when he explained what he’d done.