Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? (25 page)

I nod and smile, unable to imagine a control-freak like Jack being dictated to by any studio head and feeling sorry for any poor misguided eejit who’d dare try.

‘Like
American Beauty
, that’s the kind of project I’m looking for,’ he goes on. ‘You know, a small film, but with a cracking screenplay and terrific roles for the cast. And where I’d get to rehearse with them for months in advance of shooting.’

‘Spoken like the true successor to Ken Loach.’

‘Well, now you’re just flattering me, Miss Cole.’

Don’t quite know what to say to that, but just then Liz finally, finally, finally gets back from the bathroom, dragging a gorgeous looking black guy in her wake.

‘Everybody, this is George, George, meet everybody. We just met outside the loo. Isn’t he a fine bit of stuff, as we say back in Ireland? Georgie, turn around so everyone can see your tight little bod.’

George looks faintly embarrassed at this and in fairness, would you blame him? But Liz insists on twirling him around, then pinches him playfully on the bum, all the while looking adoringly up at him. Then, in a flash, she notices the empty table and her whole expression suddenly becomes thunderous.

‘Hey…where’s the champagne?’ she demands, thudding her bag down. ‘Didn’t I ask you to order me champagne
when I was gone? I want champagne and I want it now! Jack darling, can you make that happen?’ Another instantaneous gear-shift in her mood and now she’s looking at him flirtatiously and almost purring, ‘You’re so good at making things happen.’

A waiter passes and Jack takes his time ordering; a guy who sure as hell knows his way around a wine list. A second later, Liz disappears off to the still-empty dance floor with George in tow, then about two minutes into Eminem and Rihanna singing ‘Love The Way You Lie’, she starts to flagrantly kiss him, all tongues and hands disappearing down the back and pretty soon the front of his jeans, not giving a shite that we’re all staring at her, aghast.

Hard not to, the girl’s a complete sideshow.

‘Emmm…you know, I’ve never seen her like this before,’ I tell Jack, feeling that I should say something, that somehow not acknowledging her carry-on is somehow only making it worse.

‘Oh really? Because I’ve
only
ever seen her like this.’

Suddenly he turns away from the floorshow she’s laying on, then swivels back to me, the satyr eyebrows slanting dangerously downwards. ‘So tell me something and I’d like the truth, please. How long has Liz been doing lines of coke for?’

‘
Wh
a
t
did you say?’

‘Oh, you heard me.’

‘She’s not…I mean, she isn’t…come on, Liz is clean, she doesn’t do drugs!’

‘Really, my dear? And since when?’

‘Since…well I don’t know, since forever. Yeah she likes a drink, but then don’t we all?’

‘You haven’t exactly been hanging around with her that much lately though, have you? Or with anyone else for that matter. So tell me this. How exactly would you know what she’s shoving up her nostrils in her spare time?’

‘No,’ I say firmly, shaking my head. ‘She wouldn’t do drugs, I know she wouldn’t.’

‘Open your eyes, my deluded little innocent and take a look. The wildly dilated pupils, the voracious behaviour, not caring that she’s making a complete exhibition of herself, strutting round the place looking like she belongs on a truck mudflap…she’s coked off her head. Believe me, I’ve seen enough snow in my time to know.’

I stare back at Liz, which is actually hard not to, half the club is as well. Now she’s temporarily abandoned George and is gyrating like a pole dancer up against a short, wiry guy, letting him run his hands all over her arse and boobs while she throws her head back and laughs lustily, blonde hair extensions swishing enticingly, knowing she’s the centre of attention and lapping it all up. And now George is at her back, grabbing the G-string from behind her jeans and roughly kissing her neck…Honest to God, it’s like watching a soft porn threesome in the making.

Christ Alive, I think, Jack’s right. This isn’t just Liz being wild and carefree and abandoned like she normally is on a night out. It’s coke. Has to be. Suddenly I realise that what he’s saying makes perfect sense.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you,’ he says, leaning into me closer still, ‘but believe me, I know high when I see it. The question is, what do we do? What the girl does in her own free time is, after all, her own business and thankfully no concern of mine. But if her personal habits ever start to
affect the show, then that’s when I’ll be forced to step in. If her behaviour, even for one minute, threatens to jeopardise things…’

There was no need for him to even finish the sentence. Because we both knew exactly what would happen next. She’d be on the next plane home and an understudy would take over, rave reviews or no rave reviews. Jack’s not someone you mess with. What he says, he means.

‘I’ll talk to her tomorrow,’ I say, already dreading it. Wondering how in hell I’ll even bring up the subject and already half-knowing what her response would surely be. To laugh at me first, then accuse me of being a prematurely middle-aged aul frump. But I’ll still try talking to her anyway, I silently vow. Maybe this is just a one-off thing, maybe she’s only tried it because she’s got a few nights off from work…maybe it’s all perfectly OK and I don’t even need to worry.

Jack expertly cracks open the bottle of champagne and pours each of us a glass.

‘But of course, Liz is far from being my only concern among the cast.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Annie, I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but the trouble is that I’m neither blind nor stupid. I hear things. And I want you to tell me honestly if everything is alright with you. In your private life, I mean.’

‘Who said anything to you about…?’

Then I break off, thinking, oh holy shite. I don’t even need to finish the question. Could have been Liz or Chris or any of them, on one of those long boozy nights in Sardi’s when I was home with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s and the TV. No secrets in showbiz, none. And if it’s one thing I’ve
learned of late, it’s this: in the Shubert Theatre, there seems to be more leaks than a winter vegetable medley.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking keenly at me. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. Just checking that you were OK, that’s all.’

‘I’m fine. Absolutely fine.’

Probably no need for the absolutely, makes me sound so
not
fine.

‘I felt such anger on your behalf on the opening night, I really did…’

‘You know something? Bad old subject.’

I hard-wire my mouth into a smile and half raise my glass of champagne, as if to say, let’s find something else to talk about. Anything. Because frankly, this feels like he’s probing at scar tissue that hasn’t yet had a chance to heal.

But Jack’s looking for answers and isn’t letting go till he’s got some.

‘I did try to warn you, remember? Back in Dublin, at the end of our first week’s rehearsals. Long-distance relationships are a disaster. I did tell you. I’ve been there myself and I can tell you from bitter experience that after a while, it’s pretty much akin to banging your head off a granite wall. Would you agree, my dear?’

I give a rueful shrug, thinking…he’s right. Banging my head off a granite wall was almost exactly what it felt like.

‘Which is precisely why I don’t do relationships,’ he goes on smoothly, topping up our champagne glasses. ‘But then I’ve always found the whole business of Eros to be such a bloody nuisance.’

I take a sip and cast around for something else to talk about. But Jack’s on a roll now and there’s no deflecting him.

‘You see, I’m not the marrying kind,’ he goes on, ‘but believe me if I were, there’s no way on earth I’d let any wife of mine take off on her own for a full year. At least not without either coming with her or else doing everything in my power to try and stop her. Otherwise, what’s the point of even being married in the first place? What I’d very much like to know is this: what was that Dan guy even
thinking?’

Dan. Usually I’ve got lightning quick at booting him out of my thoughts or affections on the rare occasions when he creeps in, but…maybe I’ve drunk too much, maybe it’s the way Jack is questioning me so keenly, so interested in everything that’s going on, that slowly makes me want to open up just a bit.

‘If I hadn’t taken this job,’ I tell him slowly, trying to articulate thoughts I haven’t allowed to bubble up to my conscious mind in a long, long time, ‘then…then, I’d have felt like a shipwrecked passenger who let the only rescue boat sail by. If that makes any sense.’

‘Things really all that bad at home?’ he asks, his voice full of genuine concern now.

Which is touching and sensitive of him, but still I don’t answer. It’s not rudeness, I just can’t bring myself to.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says simply, squeezing my bare arm with his ice cold hand.

‘I fully apologise and withdraw that last sentence. It was ungentlemanly. Never quite know when to pull back, do I? I just wanted to make sure that you were OK, that’s all.’

A conciliatory statement, so I meet him half-way.

‘It’s not that things were that bad at home,’ I tell him, glugging back a mouthful of champagne for Dutch courage, ‘not at all. But at the time, before this job came along and
rescued me that is, it really did seem that way. I used to wake up every single morning knowing exactly how the day ahead would pan out and feel like I was suffocating. As surely as if someone had tied a plastic bag over my head. In fact, there were times…I mean…I often used to think…’ and that’s when I break off.

Too hard to put into words. Not something I can articulate, and certainly not right now.

‘It’s no use, Jack. I don’t think you’d understand.’

‘Try me. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.’

‘Well…let’s just say…I often thought that because I’d married so ridiculously young, that I’d missed out on a huge chunk of my life, the best years in fact, the fun, single years and somehow, this job seemed like the best possible way to somehow reclaim all that missing time. If that makes any sense to you.’

He’s looking at me so intensely that I find myself trailing off a bit.

‘Never mind, it’s impossible to explain. Maybe I’ll try and explain it to you someday, but not here and not now.’

‘I might just hold you to that.’

‘Oh, but just for the record, in spite of what you may have heard, here’s the truth straight from the horse’s mouth. Dan and I haven’t broken up, we’re just taking a bit of time out, that’s all.’

‘Time out?’

‘That’s right. A marriage sabbatical, if you like.’

He whistles. ‘New one on me.’

‘A bit like a gap year.’

There’s a long silence now, one I make absolutely no attempt to fill and eventually Jack cops on that this really
isn’t something I particularly want to discuss in a Forty-Sixth Street dive bar with a relative stranger. He leans in and takes my hand, but tenderly.

‘You know, I think I owe you an apology, Annie,’ he says more softly. ‘It’s your first night out in a long time and the last thing I wanted to do was to upset you in any way. And I faithfully promise not to mention your private life again, unless expressly given permission by you. Am I forgiven?’

Funny thing: I’ve known Jack to be tough, acerbic, brilliant, sarky and passionate, but he sure as hell keeps this side under wraps. The kinder, gentler, more concerned side, that is, that I’m only really seeing for the first time tonight. A man with leagues and fathoms of depths to him, I decide there and then. A guy who really takes some getting to know, if women ever really do get to know the real Jack Gordon.

I say yes of course he’s forgiven and thankfully, he changes the subject.

‘So how are you liking New York then?’

The satyr eyes slant downwards as his expression relaxes and he winks at me. ‘That a safe enough subject for you?’

I smile a bit.

‘Yes, good and safe. And I love New York, at least the little bit of it that I’ve seen.’

‘Have you done the Empire State yet?’

‘Nope.’

‘The helicopter tour at sunset?’

‘Never even knew there was one.’

‘Strawberry Fields at Central Park?’

‘Ehh…’fraid not, sorry.’

‘The Hudson River in the moonlight?’

‘The river? Oh come on, do I look like Mark Twain?’

He laughs at this, but keeps on questioning me.

‘Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty?’

‘Emmm…no. Though according to Blythe, there’s a great discount store near it called Century Twenty One.’

‘Annie, what in God’s name have you been doing with your free time here?’

Watching telly, I want to say. Moping. Trying to do anything other than think about Dan. I’m too ashamed to tell him that, like a guinea pig trapped in a wheel, the only bits of the city I’m familiar with are all within a tiny three-street radius of the theatre.

‘Right then,’ he says firmly. ‘That settles it.’

‘Settles what?’

‘Well, you’re at a loose end during the day and I’ve got all this free time until the right movie project comes along. So, in the meantime, why don’t you and I become tourists?’

Much, much later, Liz and I are in the ladies loos together.

‘I need to talk to you,’ I hiss at her into the mirror as she piles lip gloss on top of yet more lip gloss.

‘Shit, what is it with this fucking mirror?’ she says, ignoring me and squinting at her reflection up close and personal. ‘Some mirrors are our friends, but not this one, sadly. All I see looking back at me is a big pile of O.L.D.’

‘Liz, will you please listen to me?’

‘I am, I am. As it happens, I need to talk to you too, babe. So what’s the story with you and Jack?’

‘No story, we’re just talking,’ I say defensively, then drop my voice so as not to be overheard. ‘Now what I want to ask you is…are you by any chance doing lines of coke tonight?’

‘Oh shit, sorry,’ she says lightly. ‘Did you want some? It’s
right here, in my bag. Should be enough for a couple more lines, at least.’

‘Liz!’

‘What’s your problem? Everyone does it, for feck’s sake.’