Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? (15 page)

No, Jack Gordon is not someone you cross. The only person in the room he leaves alone is me. For the moment.

Come lunchtime and everyone drifts off their separate ways for the hour-long break. It was my intention to run out, grab a sandwich, then come back here while the rehearsal room was quiet and get stuck into some more line-learning on my own, but Liz stays glued to my side. So the pair of us stroll to the deli across the road, grab some take-out grub, then head back to the rehearsal room; Liz tucking into her bacon sarnie hungrily, as only someone with a crucifying hangover can.

God, I miss being young and carefree like her, when all it took to put the world to rights was an all-day breakfast roll, a packet of crisps and a cappuccino.

‘So what do you make of our Jack, then?’ she probes me between stuffing her face with mouthfuls of the bacon and cheese sarnie.

‘Jack? Well…I’ve a feeling that he’s just going easy on me for the minute,’ I half-grin back at her, ‘but I’m pretty confident my turn in front of the firing squad will surely come.’

‘No, you’re getting me wrong,’ she says, gulping the cappuccino. ‘I meant did you think he was attractive or not.’

There is just no right answer to that question, so I say nothing, just munch innocuously away on a ham sandwich. She’s looking at me expectantly though, so with my mouth full and making um-nom-nom-nom noises I rummage round for the right thing to say, then eventually mumble, ‘Seems very charming.’

‘Runs in the family. His grandfather was a snake.’

‘Stop taking the piss.’

‘Reason I ask is because I always think he’s one of those fundamentally unlikeable guys that women always seem to end up falling for,’ she goes on. ‘It’s hard not to, he’s just so completely sexy. Even I can see it, and I’ve just about zero interest in the guy. But come on, I mean paint him blue, stick a tail on him and he could ride a horse in
Avatar
, don’t you think?’

I don’t answer her, just wipe away a blob of mustard from my chin.

‘Personally though,’ she goes on, ‘I think he has nothing but disdain for all women. He excels at saying things that
he doesn’t mean. Like, “I’ll call you.” Tell you something, if I could have a proper chat with that little one from the box office he’s supposedly going out with, I’d tell her that the surest way to get the Jack Gordons of this world eating out of your hand is to treat them like shite under your feet. That’s the only proven way to guarantee that they’ll come running back for more. Which is why men like Jack always end up with such complete bitches.’

‘Listen to you, the dating oracle.’

‘Jack, let me tell you,’ she says, burping out loud then laughing, ‘is on my top ten list of guys that I categorically don’t fancy, who don’t fancy me back and yet I can see, clear as day, why they’re attractive as hell to other women. Oh, here’s a good one for you, name this one if you dare: “the first time you view a house, you see how pretty the paint is and buy it. The second time you look to see if the basement has termites. It’s the same with men.”’

‘Ahh, Lizzie, not the quotation game…not today! My nerves are shot, I can barely think straight!’

‘You’re only chickening out because you don’t know the right answer. Lupe Velez, FYI. I thought it was an apt quote because it kind of puts you in mind of our Jack, doesn’t it?’

The afternoon session is even more intense, as we block the second scene of the show, going through it over and over again exhaustively. Come half five, when we finish up, I’m bone tired, but ecstatic at how well my first proper day went. In fact, during the whole long drive back to The Sticks, all I can think is that I’ve got the luckiest, jammiest job on the face of the earth. No wonder they call actors players. Because that’s what it feels like: grown ups at play-time.

Anyroadup, come Friday evening, and the rest of the cast are all off to the local pub for a well-earned drink, to celebrate the end of a long week. We’re all standing out on the pitch dark, icy cold street outside the National and I’m saying my goodbyes to everyone, to cries of, ‘Ah, no don’t go home yet, Annie! Come for just the one!’

I’m just in the middle of protesting that I’ve still got the marathon drive back to Waterford ahead of me and that I’d better get a move on if I want to get home sometime before dawn, when next thing, Jack grabs my elbow and steers me across the road and right into the pub, brooking no disagreement.

‘Come on, one soft drink won’t kill you,’ he grins, flashing the megawatt smile at me. ‘Besides, I want to talk to you.’

So I shrug and laugh and head into the pub with everyone else, under director’s orders it seems. Jack politely asks everyone what they’re having as Liz, Blythe, Alex and Chris pile into a quiet little booth and start peeling off layers of coats, hats and jackets, all giggling and laughing, all in great form and happy to be celebrating the end of a long, tough week.

‘Annie, give me a hand with the drinks, will you?’ Jack calls after me, so I obediently head back to the bar to wait with him there. The place is packed with Friday night boozers, students mostly, all in jeans, woolly hats and layers of scraggy jumpers. For a second it strikes me just how much Jack stands out against them, in his elegant tailored suit and pale blue shirt that somehow still manages to look as crisp and fresh as it did at ten o’clock this morning.

‘I didn’t want to say this in front of the others,’ he begins, not looking at me, intent on grabbing the busy barman’s attention, ‘but you really did a great week’s work, you know.
You’re bringing a whole plethora of new layers to the character that I think will work out beautifully. So I just wanted to say well done and keep it up.’

‘Wow…emmm…thanks so much,’ I manage to stammer, totally unused to positive reinforcement. And this from the impossible-to-please Jack Gordon of all people?!

‘I mean it,’ he goes on, waving impatiently at the barman now. ‘And believe me, I’m not a man who gives praise lightly. I think you’re bringing a whole fresh new dynamic to the show and I’m very happy I cast you.’

I’m stunned into silence at this. I glance over to where Liz is sitting and she throws me an are-you-OK-do-you-need-rescuing-type glance, so I quickly grin back to reassure her that all’s fine.

‘But let me assure you, my dear,’ he grins cheekily, ‘that’s probably the last civil thing you’ll hear from me till opening night.’

I smile back thinking that this sounds more like the Jack Gordon I know, but it’s almost a full month before I realise he’s actually telling the God’s honest truth. Anyway, the barman comes and he orders, then as we’re waiting, he turns to face me full on, propping himself up against the bar with one elbow and completely changing the subject.

‘So you really live all the way down in
Waterford
?’

He couldn’t have sounded more disbelieving if I’d said I happened to live on a halting site somewhere outside Pluto. I tell him yes and he interrupts me immediately.

‘And do you mean to tell me that you’ve been commuting up and down from there all week?’

‘Well…yeah, but it’s nothing really, I’m well used to it by now. Motorway for most of it, you know…’

‘I don’t particularly care if it’s a Grand Prix track for
most of it, I won’t have you tiring yourself out like that. That’s what, five hours a day you’ve been spending behind the wheel of a car? On top of working like a dog for me at the National all day? Not on.’

‘Jack, it’s fine, really…’

‘It most certainly is not fine. And next week is going to be even harder, because I want to start running each act as a whole. Can’t you stay with some friend in Dublin? How about Liz? She’s a mate of yours, isn’t she?’

I don’t actually say anything, just smile weakly at this. Mainly because if I were to stay with Liz for the week, chances are I’d end up crashing out on the passenger seat of my car, on the grounds that I’d probably get far more peace and quiet there.

He’s looking at me directly now, his sharp blue eyes expecting an answer.

‘You see, I’m afraid I can’t just stay up in Dublin, Jack,’ I eventually say. ‘It’s…well, let’s just say, it’s complicated.’

‘I’m reasonably confident that I can keep up with you. Go on, explain why.’

‘Well, you see…it’s our last week before we go away for so long and, emmmm…I’m anxious to spend as much time as I possibly can with my husband.’

‘Oh, your husband. Yeah. I keep forgetting you’re married. You don’t act married.’

I’m tempted to ask how exactly married women act anyway? Do they go around in a housecoat, a hairnet and rollers, phoning and texting their husbands forty times a day, whenever they’re not worrying about the gas bill? But I keep my mouth shut and unconsciously start playing with my wedding ring.

‘OK, well at least I see where you’re coming from. And
no doubt your husband will want you around as much as possible next week.’

‘Yeah, yes, he will. I mean, yes, he does, of
course
he does,’ I smile brightly.

Funny how easy the lie just tripped off the tongue.

Then my mind wanders back to all the Post-it notes that have been waiting for me on the fridge for the past few days and I half wonder if next week will be any different. This morning’s was a particular beaut: as I left the house at dawn, Dan had left a note for me that read, ‘Think the cat might be constipated. Can you monitor her litter tray and let me know?’

‘How long have you been married for, then?’

‘Almost five years.’

‘You must have been very young when you took the plunge.’

‘We were both twenty-four. But we’d been together ever since we were fifteen. I was his first girlfriend and he was my first boyfriend. And until this job came along, we’ve basically never been apart, in all that time.’

TMI as Jules would say about people who tweet too much. Too much information. Don’t even know why I bothered telling Jack all that, he doesn’t even seem to be listening to me, he’s just staring into the middle distance, miles away. All I know is that he’s making me nervous and I don’t know why. For some reason, I don’t act like myself when it’s just him and me, alone.

‘So you were childhood sweethearts,’ he eventually says.

‘Yeah, we were. I mean, yeah, we are.’

‘Very romantic.’

‘Yeah, it was. I mean…of course it is.’

‘Never had the urge to tie any knots and get married
myself, you know. Just couldn’t see the bloody point. All that stuff about till death do us part? In this day and age? Marry in your early twenties and I can guarantee that by your mid-thirties you’re two completely different people. Because people change over time. We all do.’

‘When you meet your one true soul mate, it’s different,’ I say, flushing and getting a bit defensive now.

‘How quick married people are to justify the ties that bind them.’

‘It’s not like that, Dan and I aren’t in any way…
manacled
to each other…’

‘So he’s called Dan then?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘And you seriously expect me to believe that you and Dan are both exactly the same people you were at aged fifteen? That neither of you has changed one single iota in all this time?’

‘It hardly matters whether you believe it or not, the fact is that it’s true,’ I smile back at him. ‘Just because you don’t happen to believe in marriage doesn’t mean that it’s a useless institution.’

‘Marriage is punishment for shoplifting in some countries, you know.’

‘Tell me you don’t really believe that?’

‘Oh please. So you believe in marriage? And tell me, do you still believe in the tooth fairy as well?’

‘We’re talking about love, not Santa Claus or the tooth fairy, of course I believe in it.’

He’s teasing me now, I know right well he is, and I also know I’m flushing to my roots. I just don’t get it; why is this guy turning a perfectly ordinary conversation into a duel of wits?

‘Look, it’s like this,’ he says, scrutinising me carefully, the satyr eyebrows knitted sharply together. ‘Getting married is a bit like saying, I know exactly what I’m going to be wearing in twenty-five years’ time. But you can’t possibly know that, no one can. To torture the metaphor, it means that flares would still be in fashion. Not a life for me, I can tell you.’

‘Jack, let me just get this straight. You’re honestly comparing marriage to flares?’

‘No, I’m just saying, commitment isn’t for everyone. Particularly a long-distance one. Then you’re really asking for it.’

‘When you really love someone, you’ll move heaven and earth to make it work,’ I say primly.

‘Glad you seem to think so, my dear,’ he replies smoothly. ‘And I’ll be watching your progress throughout the coming year with the greatest of interest.’

Chapter Six

And now, somehow, it’s the night before I’m leaving and I can’t quite believe it. My very last evening. Two suitcases are all packed and neatly lined up in the hall and I’m wondering if it’s stabbing Dan as much as it is me, just seeing them sitting there. Looking like two twin accusations.

You turned out not to be such a great husband after all and now look what’s happened. You see? This is the price you pay for neglecting your wife. You may have thought this whole going to New York thing was no more than an idle threat but look…HA! Here we are, proof that it wasn’t. So now the laugh’s on you, mate, isn’t it?…
they almost scream in my head every single time I walk past them, driving me so out of my mind with guilt that I end up shoving them into the boot of the car, just so I don’t have to look at the shagging things any more.

I have a totally irrational Pavlovian response to packed suitcases, you see; they never fail to give me an instant memory flashback to when I was five years old, freshly back from an overseas posting with Mum when out of the blue, my dad casually informed us that he was about to move out.

Course I was too young to take it all in; how could this
be happening? Me and Mum and Dad were the three Musketeers, why would Dad want to leave us? D’Artagnan and Aramis wouldn’t be any use without Porthos, would they? Vivid memory to this day; the enormity of the whole thing not even hitting me until I saw his packed suitcases waiting by the hall door. Then I came crawling back upstairs and cried myself to sleep, knowing then that my dad was really, really going for good.