The Perfect Location (10 page)

‘Now you have to tell me,’ said Calypso, her eyes widening. Sapphira shook her head. ‘Come on, just give me something so I know what I’m up against.’

Sapphira put down her phone and thought for a moment. ‘Just watch him, okay? Don’t get caught up in the charm. He’s a snake.’

Calypso heeded Sapphira’s warning and was careful around Raphael. Whatever Sapphira had intimated was enough for Calypso to be aloof on set and keep him at arm’s length, which was no easy feat. He flirted constantly with her. She tried to be pleasant but he was wearing and trying her patience.

The chemistry between them was not evident on the shoot and TG was at a loss to understand why Calypso was being almost rude to Raphael, who seemed to be trying hard to win her over. This shoot was harder than he had thought. Shooting on location, they were at the mercy of the weather, the planes flying overhead and the ants that crawled up the actors’ legs and bit them.

That morning on set, Calypso was constantly slapping her legs, as the ants seemed immune to insect repellant. In fact, she thought they preferred it.

TG walked over to her. ‘Calypso, you have to stop slapping your legs. All I can see is red hand marks up and down your thighs. It looks like you’ve been beaten up.’

‘I can’t help it, it’s these fucking ants,’ she said, slapping her leg again.

‘Okay, let me deal with it.’ He called out to the second assistant director. ‘Can you find the fucking ants’ nest and pour coffee down it, please? Do something about the ants!’

The assistant director, who was Italian, laughed outrageously. ‘You not get rid of the ants, TG. Impossible.’ He kept laughing like TG had just told the funniest joke in the world.

TG stomped back to his chair. Calypso tried in vain not to slap her leg. Standing with a grimace, TG looked up, and walked back over to her. He looked at her legs, reached down and flicked the soft white skin inside her thigh. ‘Ow!’ she yelled.

‘Maybe you should flick them off instead of slapping, okay?’

‘Jesus, ow, okay, that hurt,’ she said, rubbing her leg.

‘Sorry,’ said TG, not really meaning it. He didn’t know why he was angry with Calypso. Because she largely ignored him, was rude to Raphael. Always running off set as soon as filming started to be with that Italian he had seen on set occasionally.

He walked back to his chair again. He could still feel her soft skin on his fingertips.

Calypso stood confused. Was he physically abusing her now? What an asshole, she thought.

The day’s shoot was tense, to say the least, and Calypso was happy when it was finished. As she walked over to her car, Raphael ran up to her. ‘Tonight I come to town, you show me a good time.’

‘Ah no, I have plans,’ said Calypso wearily. She wished he would return to his villa or Rome, whichever was easier.

‘What are your plans? I can come,’ he said as though his presence was a gift.

Inwardly Calypso groaned. The last thing she needed was this guy sharing her car and trying to hit on her all the way back to the hotel. ‘Umm … I’m seeing my boyfriend.’ she started.

‘You have a boyfriend? Ah, I want to meet the man who vies for my love,’ he said dramatically, jumping in the front next to the driver.

Calypso got in the back, relieved she wouldn’t have his roaming hands all over her. Surprisingly, he didn’t speak to her at all on the way back, talking in rapid-fire Italian to her driver, and her driver talking just as fast back and gesticulating wildly. Calypso prayed he would keep his hands on the wheel and get her back to Marco alive.

Calypso’s relationship with Marco was all the talk of the set. He visited her and brought her flowers, much to TG’s chagrin, hanging about and talking to the Italian crew. He and Calypso went out with his friends almost every night and even spent time with his parents on their farm, looking for white truffles in the woods, with no success. What had been successful was the sex they had on the floor of the woods, with Calypso never having felt as free before in the open air, abandoning herself to Marco and the nature all around her. None of the boys back home had been so passionate and intense as him. He was insatiable; he wanted her constantly and made her feel incredible.

After he’d asked her so many questions about America one night as they lay in her hotel bed, she suggested he move there to find out for himself what America was like.

‘No, no,’ he said as he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I will never leave Italy. This is my home. Perhaps I will visit.’

Inside Calypso was disappointed; she knew he wouldn’t want to move there. But in her fantasy, she imagined him being a hotshot LA lawyer, her being a successful actress and presenting the Best Foreign Film nominations at the Oscars and being able to say the Italian nomination flawlessly.

Listening to the hysterical laughter of her co-star and the driver, she wondered what they were laughing so hard at. What could be that funny?

The car pulled up in front of the hotel and the doorman opened the door for Calypso. She saw Marco waiting for her, leaning against the front wall. ‘
Ciao, bella
,’ he said sexily. Calypso felt her insides melting, perhaps she loved him, she thought.

The doorman opened up the front passenger door and Raphael jumped out. Seeing Raphael, Marco was instantly star-stuck. Rushing over and shaking his hand and talking in Italian, he gesticulated and pointed to Calypso.

‘I didn’t know that Raphael Perini was in this movie. He is my favourite actor. I love him,’ he said earnestly to her.

Calypso smiled thinly. Perhaps if he knew what an utter dick Raphael was, then he wouldn’t be so in love, she thought.

Raphael, always ready to greet a fan, grabbed Calypso around the shoulders. ‘It is decided then, we shall break bread together tonight.’

Calypso frowned. She wanted Marco all to herself, not to share him with this self-lover of the highest order.

That night they all ate together at a local bar. Every ten minutes someone came to the table to say hello or get an autograph from Raphael. He was like a god and the Italians were his worshippers. Marco and Raphael spoke Italian most of the night and occasionally interpreted for Calypso, when they remembered she was there.

Towards the end of the dinner, Marco pulled out his phone, rang two numbers and spoke fast down the phone. Calypso looked at him, questioning him with her eyes. ‘I’ve rung some friends. They will come and meet us and then we will drink,
si
?’

‘Not for me. I’ve gotta shoot tomorrow and we have to be on set at 6.30 am,’ she said, looking at Raphael.

‘
Si si
, but one drink. Come on,
bella
.’

She looked at Marco. He was not paying any attention to her, just looking at Raphael in adoration. Calypso sighed. ‘Well, I’m going back to the hotel. Good night.’

She left the bar, expecting Marco to come after her but deep down knowing he wouldn’t. She had been usurped by Raphael and she was pissed off. Heading back down the road to her hotel, Calypso was surprised how she felt. She really liked Marco; in fact, she thought she could even love him. His parents loved her and, let’s face it, the sex was incredible. Now he seemed like a fawning loser. Fuck it, she thought as she went up to her hotel room. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.

After taking a long bath and drinking a chamomile tea, Calypso hopped into bed. It seems too big without Marco, she thought drowsily, as she dropped off to sleep.

She was woken by a loud knocking at the door. She opened her eyes and looked at the clock next to her bedside – 1.00 am. ‘Fuck!’ she said as she went to the door. ‘Who is it?’ she called, not fully awake.

‘
Ciao, bella
,’ she heard.

Marco! Padding over in the dark, she stubbed her toe on a chair. ‘Oww,’ she cried, hopping on one foot. Opening the door, her foot throbbing in pain, she hobbled back to the bed and jumped under the covers, lying on her stomach. ‘It’s late, don’t talk to me. I have to be up in three hours,’ she said as she started to drop off to sleep again.

She heard him undressing and felt the covers pull back and him start to caress her back. ‘Hmm, that’s nice, but I’m really tired, baby.’

He continued, rubbing her back and buttocks. She felt her legs spread open involuntarily. He placed his fingers down between her thighs and started to feel her. She was wet and ready. Climbing on top of her, he entered her from behind, slowly thrusting and grinding. ‘Mmmmm,’ she said sexily.

He pulled her up onto her knees and then leant down and held her breasts, fucking her harder and harder until Calypso felt uncomfortable. He started to slap her ass and pulled back on her hair. ‘Yeah,
puttana
, you like it!’ he cried.

And then he came. Calypso turned around, shocked. In the darkness, she could just make out that it was not Marco who had just fucked her but Raphael. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she screamed. ‘Oh my God!’ She started to cry, pulling the bed sheet up around her.

Raphael got up off the bed, the semen dripping from his cock. ‘What do you mean? You knew it was me when you opened the door naked.’

‘I thought you were Marco,’ she said, crying on the bed.

‘Well, Marco said you were a great fuck and he was right. He said the American
puttana
will do anything. I like American girls.’

‘Get out, get out! I’m calling the police, get out!’

Raphael picked up his clothes. ‘You liked it,’ he said arrogantly.

‘Get out!’ she yelled again and threw him out into the hallway naked.

She sat back on the bed, sobbing. She knew she should call the police but she could not deal with the intrusion. Once the press got wind of this in America she would be exposed as a slut and her career ruined. She started to shake, uncontrollably. Who could she ring? Not her mother. Maybe Rose or Kelly?

The thought of being on set with him in the morning made her start to vomit. She rushed to the bathroom but didn’t make it, throwing up all over the floor next to the bed. Picking up her phone, she dialled the one number she knew would answer.

‘Hello? TG? I need you.’

Aware she had spent much of her time in Italy by herself, Sapphira was looking forward to meeting her co-star. Jack Reynolds was a big star. He was a renowned bachelor who spent part of the year in LA and part in Italy. Speaking flawless Italian, he was a spokesperson for Brioni suits and Longines watches, and had been voted Sexiest Man of the Year for the past three years. Jack was the male equivalent of Sapphira, according to one of the biggest gossip magazines back in the States. He worked only when he wanted to and chose his projects carefully. The role TG had offered him was perfect – a script which promised to create celluloid history, acting opposite one of the biggest female stars of the time and shooting in his beloved adopted country was an offer Jack could not pass up.

His affairs always made the news and he had dated many beautiful young women from all over the world, always brunettes and never for longer than a year. He never spoke about his love life, instead making witty and occasionally ironic comments about the celebrity fascination and culture. He was due on set that morning. Jack arrived on time and chatted freely with the crew, switching from Italian to English effortlessly. Sapphira came on to the set, walking like a panther and as if Jack was her prey.

‘Hello, I’m Sapphira De Mont. I’m surprised we haven’t yet worked together.’

‘Jack, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sapphira.’ He looked at her bemused, and stuck out his hand for her to shake it.

She leaned over and kissed each cheek while pressing herself against him. He stood, his head cocked to one side, his greying temples glinting in the sun.

‘Well, let’s get to work,’ he said and turned on his heel and walked to TG, where he proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes discussing character and plot.

For all his playboy reputation, Jack was a professional in every sense of the word, and when Sapphira sat in the make-up chair, she wondered about his reaction to her.

‘Is Jack dating anyone?’ she asked Kelly as she dabbed on her pancake base.

‘Nope, just broke up with a Swiss TV presenter. No word from her yet. I thought she may sell her story to
National Enquirer
and the like, but I haven’t heard a thing.’

Sapphira’s reputation preceded her, and Kelly and Chris had a bet on to see how long before Sapphira and Jack were an item, at least for the remaining duration of the shoot.

Sapphira wondered if perhaps Jack was heartbroken. Not fucking likely, she thought.

Walking into the trailer, Jack kissed Kelly, whom he had worked with before and sat next to Sapphira. She knew she looked good in the chair, make-up flawless and artfully applied. Her hair was long and out. She was wearing a strapless black dress, showing off her tattoos and her tanned skin. She was the kind of woman who knew what she wanted and Jack was in her sights. She smiled at him in the mirror. He smiled back and pulled out a copy of the local newspaper,
La Nazione
and started to read it, much to Sapphira’s shock.

The assistant director knocked on the door. ‘All ready, Sapphira? TG wants to do your close-up, then Jack’s. We’ll be ready for you.’

‘See you then,’ said Jack from the depths of his paper.

Sapphira stood up, unnerved. Heading onto the set, she went through the motions of the close-up, standing patiently while they sorted out the angles and focus measurements for the camera. I’ll just have to work harder, she thought, having never yet given up on a challenge. This is what she felt the best at, luring her man in on her long line.

TG came on set soon after with Jack and talked them through their first scene. They were inside the Villa and in the kitchen set. ‘Ok, so I need you, Sapphira, to have your bare feet up on the table and Jack, you come in. Sapphira, your eyes are shut for this scene. You are worn out from working on the Villa all day. Jack, you rub her shoulders and then you say the lines. Want to rehearse it first for marks?’

‘Nope,’ said Jack. ‘I think we are good.’ He smiled at Sapphira, who responded to him with one of her million-dollar laughs.