The Sex Was Great But... (11 page)

Tom led me down a long corridor which had a brightly lit aquarium built along one side. At the end of the corridor we entered Holly's personal in-house gym, which makes the council gym I used at the Ironmonger Baths in London look like a graveyard for old gym machinery—which I suppose it is.

One entire wall of the gym was given over to a giant plasma television. Tom switched it on and Missy Elliot's latest hit blasted out. He grabbed a fluffy white towel from a pile of fluffy white towels and placed it around his neck and, not wanting to look like I don't know what's what, I did the same.

“I'll start by demonstrating how to use each piece of equipment,” he said, and set about moving professionally from machine to machine, demonstrating what he required from me. Wayne filmed me looking on like a dazed rat. Afterward Tom timed me as I stumbled inadequately from exercise bike to running machine to rowing machine.

Holly came in just as I finished my circuit and asked how it was all going; Tom's eyes lit up as he declared that we'd had a fantastic workout. I was spread-eagled on the rowing machine, every pore on my body leaking sweat.

“Yeah, fantastic—bloody brilliant. I might just go round one more time if that's okay, Tom?” I suggested.

I thought I was being sarcastic, but Tom agreed that if I was up for another circuit it would definitely be beneficial. Afterward he locked me in the solarium for half an hour. He made me wear the comedy swimmers that used to belong to Ted. I lay there in my artificial sunbox counting off the seconds as they ticked into minutes, wondering how I was to endure it three times a day. Only one day into my two-week job and I didn't know how I could take much more.

That evening Holly and I ate dinner alone together. We didn't say much, apart from when Conchita brought in the dishes or refilled our water, at which points Holly asked me polite questions like how I felt the day went. Even though we were eating by candlelight, the meal had the atmosphere of a formal business dinner about it. Or rather what I imagine a strained business dinner to be like—I've never actually been to one, obviously.

We both seemed to be playing a game of role-play—her playing the “together” girl in charge and me playing the student; but the way her hands nervously handled her wine glass and fidgeted with her hair relaxed me. She was no more comfortable in her role-play than I was in mine. I don't know why I played along, but I seemed to, when all I really wanted to do was reach over the vast expanse of granite and hold her fluttering hands in mine. Instead, I let her chat away about the makeover and her vision for the new me.

Nancy and she had already looked at the footage Wayne had taken so far and thought it brilliant. “You look really
rough, and we particularly like the way you struggled your way through your circuit,” she said.

I thanked her and pretended to be as interested and excited as her when all I was really doing was watching the way her mouth moved and wishing mine was over it.

After coffee she explained she was tired and asked would I mind if she went to bed early. I shook my head. She kissed me a cold good-night on the cheek, gave Conchita a hug and bustled out of the room. I stayed at the table, waiting for the candles to burn down, toying with the idea of walking out now while I still could. I was too exhausted to walk back into Los Feliz, and I probably wouldn't know my way anyway. The last candle burnt down, flickered briefly and drowned in a pool of wax.

I pulled myself out of my chair and made my way back down to the poolhouse, having decided to speak to Holly in the morning. Clearly as far as she was concerned I am just a bit of rough she's had a roll in the hay with. I'd be making my apologies in the morning and seeing about getting a lift back to Tifanie's. I wasn't cut out for this and it would be better I left before mucking Holly and Nancy around too much more. I noticed Joseph watching me enter the poolhouse. He didn't reply to my wave good-night, although I'm pretty sure he saw me.

I don't know why I wasn't shocked that, when I opened the door, I found Holly curled up naked in my bed. I just knew that it seemed like the only time I'd felt like me that day as I lay down on the futon and took her in my arms.

I
have a horrible secret. I'm pretty certain I killed my pet rabbit, Ruben, when I was five. I didn't mean to kill him, obviously; it wasn't like I was Rosemary's baby or anything. I adored Ruben; he was my best friend. I was just trying to teach him to jump down stairs. He was really enjoying his trick, too. For a rabbit he was very talented—a genius, even. One minute he was jumping for Connecticut and I was giving him a little push for encouragement, and the next he was tumbling down the stairs. I poked his lifeless form a bit, but it was clear he wasn't going to move again. Even at five I knew he must be dead. I had killed Ruben.

I was devastated, but terrified of what might happen. I couldn't imagine what they did to rabbit killers, so I just
left him at the foot of the stairs, snuck outside and played normally as if nothing had happened. When my mother found Ruben she called me inside and, pointing to his lifeless little body, asked if I knew what had happened. I shook my head vehemently and said that I had no idea, and then I burst into tears. I guess I was hoping that would be the end of it, but my mother, being the bitch she is, wasn't having that.

My mother remembered that little Robbie from next door had been playing with Ruben when his mother came over for a coffee the morning earlier. My mother was always really competitive with our neighbor, and had been gunning for little Robbie since he took a sip of her “special tea” and told everyone she was “drinking booze.” She wasted no time in taking her revenge, marched straight over and accused Mrs. Prince of having a rabbit murderer for a son. Little Robbie was always a bit of a pest, so no one doubted for a moment that he was the culprit.

I hadn't meant for Robbie to be punished for my crime; he was the only kid my age in the area and on that basis my only human friend. His mother was so ashamed of her four-year-old killer that she gave away his dog and grounded him for two weeks. My mother banned him from our house and as counter-revenge Mrs. Prince banned me from hers, effectively ruining my social life. I've never told anyone that story and I've never stopped feeling like a really bad person for what I did to Ruben and to little Robbie. But that isn't my secret anymore, because I told Leo about it last night.

Nancy is always saying that celebrity secrets are the new pornography. (If she knew I was keeping secrets she'd fall apart at the seams.)

Now my secret is Leo.

I am obsessed with having sex with Leo. Actually, it's even worse than that…I stay after the sex and talk to him. I talk to him about everything. And, even though every morning I promise myself that it can't happen again, it's been going on for over a week now. He knows all my secrets; he even knows where I keep my stash of cheap white chocolate. If the press knew I ate cheap white chocolate they'd have a field day. I have publicly declared I don't have a sweet tooth when given half a chance I'd eat nothing but dessert.

I told you I am a bad person. But I have to stop being bad. Every morning as soon as I wake up in Leo's bed I wriggle out of his arms, pull my clothes on and waste no time rushing back up to my own bedroom before Joseph and Conchita are up. I have to stop this before I get caught. I can't allow this thing with Leo, whatever this thing is, to keep happening.

The network has called Nancy and me in for a meeting to discuss the show's future. When a network calls you in to discuss the future, when you thought the future was certain, it's always ominous. Nancy isn't bothered about this, because the meeting is set for after the unveiling of Leo. I'm worried, though; according to rumor, Jack is talking about making “sweeping changes” to the station's programming.

More than ever, everything depends on this show with Leo. Nancy is certain that it's all going to work out but we've only got four more days to complete the makeover, which means that Leo will soon be going back to his own life and taking my secrets with him. I'm already terrified of losing him, but every time I try and wean myself off him I find I am being drawn back out to the poolhouse.

I have considered the prospect of sending Leo to Nancy's, so I won't have to deal with the temptation of having sex and talking about my secret self with him, but I know I would die of jealousy.

Nancy calls to inform me that she's decided to hire an acting coach for Leo, to get him psyched for the big night at the Mondrian for the finale, when we will pass Leo off as a famous London DJ.

I don't understand why we are hiring an acting coach but Nancy doesn't brook any questioning, warning me that, “Unless you want to die like a drowned puppy at the finale, you want Nile. He's the best.”

Nile has a bit of reputation. I still remember when he wrote his book
The Book of Nile.
Even for someone as egotistical and shallow as me, his ego pronouncements seem a bit overblown.

Also, once he made fun of my show on Leno, placing it as number one on his list on places stars should never be seen in Hollywood.

As my luck would have it, Nile turns up just as Leo walks in with my bra.

To be fair he probably doesn't see Nile when he walks in and holds it out to me, but I'm furious with him anyway. I snatch it and throw it straight in the trash, even though it's from Agent Provocateur's new range. I mutter something about it probably being Conchita's, even though the cups wouldn't even fit one of Conchita's nipples. Nile has a sly expression on his face. I know he will file this incident away until he can dredge it up and use it against me later, when the time is right.

It is clear that Leo hates Nile as much as I do, but now
that he has the bra thing on us I can't exactly get rid of him. Also, I don't want to end up like a drowned puppy at the finale. It is a well-known Hollywood rumor that Nile has slept with most of the power in the business—or, as Nancy puts it, he knows where all the bodies are buried. He seems to imply his power in the way he speaks to Leo and me, in this mocking “I-know-all-about-you” sneering way.

“I am the most superior person you are ever going to meet,” he drawls in his Texan accent. “The biggest and the baddest shark in the pond. And I'm here to help you become one, too.” Well, actually he might have said something more Hollywood, but it amounts to that. I have a very bad feeling about Nile.

He's wearing a white kimono, white chinos and T-shirt and little black popsocks without shoes. Just looking at him makes me feel like there are insects crawling up my neck.

I feel uncomfortable about leaving Leo alone with him, so I stay.

Nile explains that he prefers to work outdoors, so he can feel the sap of the earth under his feet, so we all traipse outside. I'm really glad that Joseph has just watered and that Nile's little popsocks will be all soggy. Leo and I make eye contact as we watch Nile squelching across the lawn.

I am so relieved that we've already decided not to have Wayne film the method-acting classes, because as part of his self-empowerment coaching he has Leo bark like a dog. I can't believe Leo submits. The bad feeling in my stomach intensifies. After the dog-barking Leo has to swim around the garden like a fish, and then graze on the lawn like a goat. Leo is reluctant, but Nile says this will put Leo
“in the zone” and enable him to move into any character at will.

I am so ashamed of my life.

Nile claps his hands. “Okay Leo, enough grass for you. Now it is your wish to take over this entire room.”

“Wait a sec—it is my wish?” Leo shakes his head. “Who says stuff like that?”

“As I said,” Nile repeats, his face clouding over. “It is now your wish to take over this room.”

Now who's the goat? I ask. Okay, I don't actually ask out loud, but I should. It's certainly what I'm thinking.

Leo looks around the garden and scratches his head. “Erm, this is a garden, Nile,” he points out reasonably.

Nile looks down his nose at him. “It's an expression, dufus. I want you to use your imagination.” I hear him mutter under his breath, “If you've got one, that is.” He rolls his eyes at me and I stare back at him blankly.

“Just imagine that you own this estate. You are the master of all you survey.” He looks around the garden and points out Joseph who is disinterestedly snipping away at a hedge—in other words listening in. “Tell that servant over there you want him to bring you a frond from that tree and fan you. You are hot. You wish your servant to fan you.”

Joseph is staring at us now. I know he has heard. I want the earth to swallow me up.

“Well isn't that a bit…?”

“A bit what?” Nile snaps. “I am the master!” He actually says that, too.

“I thought Leo was the master?” I say.

“Correct.” He gives Leo a condescending little bow.
“You're the master, Leo.” I hate the way Nile sneers. “This gardener is your servant. Your will is his command.”

“Right. Still…it's a bit crap, isn't it?” Leo looks to me for support.

I am acutely aware that I am doing nothing to stop this madness.

“Or are you afraid?” Nile challenges.

“It's nothing to do with fear. I'm just not as big a prick as you.”

“Erm, is this entirely necessary?” I ask, only not with much gravitas. I could be doing more. I should be doing more, but I don't.

“If you want him to have any confidence it is. I mean, look at the guy—he's a schmuck.”

There is a minute where I'm afraid Leo is going to hit him. I can already see the headlines. “Holly Klein's Street Bum Strikes Celebrity Acting Coach.”

But Leo doesn't hit Niles. He whistles to Joseph. “Hey Joseph, come here for a second!”

Joseph, still brandishing his hedge trimmers, strides over, looking to all intents and purposes as if he is the master. He looks furious.

“Si?”
he spits.

In perfect Spanish Leo asks him to remove the idiot in the white kimono from the premises. He urges Joseph to use whatever force is necessary. Nile, who clearly doesn't understand a word that's been said, looks on smugly.

Joseph gives Leo a fancy little bow and, turning to Nile, he holds up his hedge trimmers, opens them and snaps them shut in Nile's face.

Nile looks confused. “Er, what's he doing?”

Joseph repeats the action.

“Hey, come on, fella—easy,” Nile urges, taking a step back. He is visibly rattled and looks to me for support. I smile and flick a lock of hair from my shoulder.

Joseph takes another step forward. The hedge trimmers go snippety-snap as he brandishes them in Nile's face. He backs this intimidation up with a stream of Spanish abuse.

“Hey, buddy!” Nile looks to Leo and I again. Leo and I shrug. I don't know how we're managing not to laugh.

Nile keeps walking backward, his hands in the air like a criminal giving himself up. Joseph matches Nile's backward retreat step for step until eventually Nile is running backward. At one point he trips and falls, but Joseph doesn't give quarter. I can hear him wheezing, but he's not put off. I know I should say or do something to stop him—I mean I really can't afford an incident like this—but I am laughing too hard. Also I know Joseph wouldn't hurt him…I hope.

Nile is already babbling about lawsuits as he turns on his heels and runs toward his car. Joseph is wheezing too hard to keep up the chase, so he joins Leo and me, both of us unable to stand for laughing. Conchita dashes outside to see what the noise is all about. Joseph takes a suck on his Ventolin.

As Nile's car tears off down the road Conchita takes Joseph to her bosom. She is not impressed.

“Don't worry, Conchita,” I assure her. “He won't be coming back.”

Five minutes later I have to eat my words. Nancy is on the phone, furious with me. She warns me of Nile's reputation for revenge and what Jack will do to us if we get
any more bad press. I find myself agreeing to one more class with Nile. I hate myself for it.

I tell Leo about it that night in bed. I explain the position I'm in, and how I don't have any choice, but he's completely unsupportive and mean. I want to tell him how immature he's being, but he just lies there on his back looking up at the ceiling.

I can't believe he's being such a baby, so I go back up to the house and spend a horrible night alone in my bed. I'm conflicted on almost every level. I know Nile is a jerk. I don't want him back either. But sometimes you have to be professional and put personal feelings aside, I tell myself. I toss and turn for hours. I try all my mantras. I call Wilhelm, who tells me to declare war on my emotions and giggles uncontrollably down the phone. I can tell he is high as a kite. In the end I take a sleeping pill and wake up feeling like hell.

There are only three more days before the finale, and so when Emmanuel, his dog, Curly, and his assistant, Tina, arrive at ten to cut and style Leo's hair I am furious to find that he is still asleep. I have Conchita go out to fetch him, but when she doesn't return I go out myself.

Conchita is at his bedside, fluffing his pillows.

“Mr. Leo say to tell you he is
knacked,
Miss Holly.”

Leo does look like he hasn't slept, and I almost apologize, but I don't. Conchita is flapping about, and the fact is with only three days to go before the finale Leo
has
to get up. “You can't send an artist like Emmanuel away,” I reason. “Besides, Emmanuel is really nice. I know you'll love him.”

Leo looks unimpressed, but I can tell he's holding back
a smile. He's forgiven me. I know it will be all right. And anyway, Emmanuel always knows exactly what to do.

I only wish I did.