The Perfect Location (11 page)

‘Whatever you want, Jacky boy.’

‘Action.’ Called TG from off set.

Jack came through the door and saw Sapphira with her feet on the table but instead of walking around behind her he sat down at her feet, saying his lines. he started to give her foot a rub.

Sapphira stayed in character and kept her eyes shut while Jack rubbed her feet. He said his lines and she responded.

‘Cut,’ yelled TG.

Jack stood up. ‘I just felt he would rub her feet since it’s the first thing he sees when he walks into the room.’

‘Yeah fine, worked well from our angle. Let’s do it again for different shots, ok?’

Sapphira was panicking. Had he noticed her feet? She had tried hard to cover the track marks but did he know what they were?

She looked at him. He seemed not to notice anything unusual about her feet. They waited for the camera to move. ‘Sorry about my disgusting feet,’ she said arching her long foot. ‘They are covered in ant bites,’ she explained, laughing.

Jack didn’t look at her. ‘You take care of yourself Sapphira, ok?’

‘Of course, I always do, Jacky boy.’ She threw her head back again and laughed. This is what she felt the best at, luring her man in on her long line.

When her close-up had been shot, and Jack had come on set for his, she sauntered towards him. ‘Why don’t we meet tonight, Jack? I can come to your place and we can discuss characters, trade war stories, whatever …’ The open invitation hung heavily in the air.

‘I don’t think so. I don’t play with the talent.’ This was true, Jack always played with talent lower than him on the celebrity radar; he was always the racehorse and his new girlfriend was always the donkey. Of course, this wasn’t disrespectful but Jack’s ego and celebrity were too big for two stars, and Sapphira would be too huge a star to orbit. The pressure of them pairing up might bring the kind of publicity that opened closet doors and let the skeletons out, and this was the last thing Jack wanted.

‘That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. You are breaking my heart, Mr Reynolds.’

‘I’m sure it will mend, Ms De Mont,’ he said, laughing.

Sapphira felt herself relax. She refused to see not seducing Jack as failure. Instead, she understood his rules. She had her own set of rules she conducted her life by; there was a part of her which respected him.

‘Thanks for being honest, I guess.’ There was something genuine and honourable about Jack; she felt she could trust him.

‘Friends?’ asked Jack.

‘I guess, I don’t really have men as friends.’

‘What? Just for breakfast?’ Jack laughed at his own joke and Sapphira joined in.

Sapphira was quiet. ‘You want to know something?’

‘Sure,’ said Jack not looking up.

‘Today is my birthday. Please don’t say anything to anyone. I just wanted you to know.’ She stared into the distance, her face expressionless.

‘I am assuming then, there won’t be a party,’ Jack said, picking up on the change in Sapphira’s mood. ‘Well, have you heard from anyone? Family? Agent, at least? They’re always good for a useless gift and a sycophantic card.’

‘My father’s dead. My mother might as well be, we haven’t spoken in about eight years. As for my agent, he will ring tomorrow no doubt, being ignorant of the time delay.’

Staring out at the crew busying themselves, a warm breeze blew over them and took Sapphira’s mood with it. ‘Doesn’t matter, age is just a state of mind anyway.’

‘Do you worry about being older?’ asked Jack.

‘Never. I suppose I think about everything I want to do and I panic, as there’s never enough time. There’s so much to learn, to see, to experience.’

‘Amelia Earhart, look out, huh? Next thing you will need to learn is how to fly and you can see the world at your own leisure.’

‘I already know how to fly. I learned at the start of this year.’

‘Of course you did, why am I not surprised?’ he said as he crossed his legs. ‘I tell you what, I’m gonna break my own rule. I will throw you birthday dinner. I’ll send my car to pick you up at 6.00 pm. We finish early today, which will give us plenty of time.’

‘Six? I thought everyone ate later in Italy.’

‘Well, I want to take you somewhere special,’ he answered enigmatically. ‘A surprise, stay tuned, Amelia.’

Sapphira thought of another night in her library, reading and smoking and then thought of an evening with Jack. ‘It’s a date!’

‘Friends, remember?’

‘I remember,’ said Sapphira. ‘You have nothing to worry about. Your virtue is safe with me, Mr Reynolds.’ And she stood up and went to the set for her next close-up.

That evening, she was dressed for sex. She wore a Blumarine leopard print silk strapless dress, with huge Moroccan wooden bangles she had picked up on her last shoot in Marrakesh and a pair of Yves Saint Laurent black suede ankle boots. Her hair was swept back into a bun, high on her head, and she wore minimal make-up and a liberal amount of her customized Lyn Harris perfume, leaving a trail of amber, musk and jasmine.

The helicopter that picked her up in Perugia landed at Nicelli Airport at 7.10 pm and Sapphira was whisked straight into a waiting water limousine and taken through the canals towards Jack. Venice was spectacular. The sun was still up and the canals were busy. The white, navy trimmed leather seats and the mahogany panelled walls and tinted windows gave her complete privacy to watch Venice without any interruption or distraction. It truly was an amazing city, she thought, as they sailed down the Grand Canal.

There was a bottle of French Champagne on the small mahogany table with a note written by Jack –
Happy birthday, Amelia, enjoy the ride.

Pouring herself a glass, she sat forward on her chair and enjoyed the view. The buildings and people floated past her and Sapphira imagined for a moment she was in a magical land filled with the most wonderful buildings the human mind could create, all floating and rocking their inhabitants to sleep each night.

Soon, they turned off the canal and the boat came to a stop. Sapphira heard the captain speaking Italian and then the door opened. She alighted and was standing on the edge of the canal in front of huge carved wooden doors, which opened. Jack stood with his arms open. ‘Happy birthday, kid!’

Sapphira walked into them and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Howdy, Jack. Look at this place.’

The palazzo was impressive. Built in the 15th century, it was one of the largest private residences in Venice. Spread over five floors, the palazzo had a perfect view of the Bridge of Sighs and a roof garden for the summer.

Jack was dressed in white linen pants, a black t-shirt and barefoot. His ease in his own home made him all the more attractive to Sapphira. He led her into the huge sitting room, with its high ceilings and three Murano glass chandeliers. The room was filled with antique and contemporary furniture and art. It was Jack in every way – elegant, stylish and urbane.

‘Venetian?’ said Jack as he opened up an art deco cabinet to reveal a fully stocked bar with every possible bottle of liquor imaginable.

‘I’m assuming that’s a drink,’ asked Sapphira, as she prowled the room studying its contents.

‘Yep. Campari, gin, vermouth, amaretto and a twist of lemon.’

‘I thought the Bellini was the Venetian cocktail of choice?’ said Sapphira as she stood back from a large Francis Bacon painting.

‘The Bellini is the choice of tourists, although it is a lovely drink on a hot night on the roof, but not too often.’

‘Are you a snob, Mr Reynolds? Are you not a tourist in this lovely country?’ Sapphira flirted with him as she crossed the floor to accept the drink he was bringing to her.

‘I may be a tourist to the Italians, but it feels like home to me. I love this place more than America, though I would never say so in an interview. The people, the history, the contradictions are what appeal to me. I like being so close to Europe and I like being out of the craziness of the US. Here, a celebrity is someone on TV or a politician or a model. Some American movie star means nothing to them and I’m just fine with that.’

Sapphira looked at his ease and relaxed demeanour and thought he had never looked more attractive. It was as though he was a drug and she wanted more of it, his contentment and satisfaction with life almost an elixir. Sapphira was hooked.

‘Grab your drink and I’ll give you a tour,’ he said.

Leading the way, he walked Sapphira through each level, with a story to tell about his art and furniture, the parties he had thrown there and the peace he felt when he heard the water at night. Finishing on the roof, Sapphira was entranced by the view and the sounds below of the water city.

‘Your life is very agreeable, sir,’ she said, sipping her drink. ‘You live how you want and you do what you want. I admire you.’

‘Let’s go back down now and talk shit, then we will eat, yes? Then later we can go out for a twilight tour of the canals. It’s amazing, it never stops.’

Sapphira smiled, but she knew she was ready for another hit. ‘It sounds wonderful. I might just use your bathroom, if you don’t mind.’

‘No problem, use the one downstairs I just showed you and then I will meet you back down where you originally came in. If you get lost, just holler and I’ll come with a search party.’

Walking with Sapphira down the stairs, he left her at the bathroom and then went down to fix more drinks.

Sapphira entered the bathroom and noticed there was no lock on the door. Fuck, she thought. Opening her bag, she pulled out her works and set up. She had been craving more than usual; this happened sometimes but she was careful, writing down in her little notebook when and what she had taken last.

Checking her book, she fixed up the hit and hitching up her dress, injected herself into her groin. The hit was instant; she felt the rush as she sat on the toilet. Maybe she had taken a little more than last time, she wondered, as she felt her legs heavy. She tried to get up but couldn’t stand. I’ll wait for a while and then I’ll go down, she thought. Sitting on the toilet with her head on her chest, the sleepiness was too much to bear and she gave in.

‘Sapphira, Sapphira, you need to walk, you need to walk. Come on, baby.’

She heard the voice in the distance but he seemed so far away. She shook her head; whoever it was speaking was annoying her. Come on. She felt herself moving. How? Did she have wings? Laughing to herself, she heard the voice again. ‘It’s not funny. Come on, goddammit, walk.’

He walked her around the room, up and down, up and down, until her head began to clear a little and she became more conscious of her surroundings. ‘Jack?’

‘Who the fuck else would it be?’

‘What happened?’

‘Well, I’m not sure, you tell me?’ The sarcasm was stinging in his voice. ‘You never came back down. I went to find you and found you asleep with a fucking needle sticking out of your cunt. Nice, Sapphira, nice. What the fuck were you shooting up in my house for? I mean, what the fuck?’

Jack was angry and Sapphira remembered visiting the bathroom.

‘I thought I was only there a little while …’ Sapphira was standing on her own now. Jack let go of her and crossed the floor to the bar and poured a straight scotch. He drained it in one mouthful then spat at her. ‘You’re a fucking junkie? How the hell did that happen?’

Sapphira felt ashamed of her addiction for the first time. Having hidden it so well for so long, she had never had to deal with the confrontation and the seedier side of admitting she was actually an addict. Picking up her bag and shoes, she walked towards the door of the palazzo and then she stopped. ‘You are so fucking judgmental,’ she said furiously. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to live with this and have to feed it. I started because I hurt from something and now it hurts too much to stop. If I could I would but I don’t know how, so don’t stand there in your perfect fucking playboy of Venice world and treat me like some pariah. You are so far removed from people with problems you have lost your heart. You are all style and no substance.’

The tears flowed down her cheeks and she felt alone and afraid. She turned on her bare feet and walked out the door. Standing alone on the side of the canal, holding her bag and shoes, it was now dark. She pulled out her phone and checked the time – 9.25 pm! Jesus. Maybe she could get to a hotel and get back to Umbria tomorrow?

Looking up the canal, she wondered if you waved to taxis like you did in New York. Christ! She heard the door open behind her and Jack was standing there.

‘Get your skinny ass inside, Amelia, and we will work this shit out, okay? I was a judgmental son of a bitch and I’ve ruined your birthday high. Come in and we will talk.
Si
?’

Taking his hand, she fell into his arms and they hugged tightly. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered into his chest.

‘I know,’ he said as he rubbed her bare shoulders.

Kissing her on her forehead, he opened the door and led her through.

Across in the building opposite, the lone paparazzo could not believe his luck. He had visited Venice for a wedding and thought he would head past Jack Reynolds’ palazzo on a whim in hope he would see him, knowing the chances were slim as Jack was very private. Waiting only fifteen minutes, he saw a lovers’ tiff between Sapphira De Mont and Jack Reynolds. These pictures were going to make huge money and be across the world within twelve hours.

Jack and Sapphira walked inside and she slumped on the sofa; she was tired and emotional. ‘All right, so first things first. You’ll have to stay here tonight and you cannot possibly walk around in a slip of silk and no underwear, it’s not decent. Come with me,’ he said and took them in the lift to the third floor.

Opening up the first door they came to, Sapphira walked into a bedroom, all white, minimalist and comforting at the same time. The only decoration in the room was a huge Venetian mirror, so old the patina was worn in places. The reflection that stared back at Sapphira was hazy. Or was that her eyes? She wasn’t sure and she felt terrible.

Jack crossed the room and opened the first door. ‘Bathroom, everything you need will be in there.’ He opened the door next to it. ‘Clothes, take what you need. When you are done, come down. I’ve taken your kit, so don’t even try, we’ll discuss this when you’re ready.’