Araluen (58 page)

The premiere of
Earth Man
loomed near and the whole of New York was buzzing about the movie.

‘The trade papers have been good to us, that’s for sure,’ Stanley remarked one day as he and Emma sorted through still shots of the stunts for a forthcoming article in
Time
magazine.

‘It was Michael’s interview with Oprah that got them all on side, though’ Emma replied. ‘He was brilliant. And the clips they aired from the Fiji shoot were stunning.’

‘Yeah, and of course we all know why the Oprah show caused such a stir, don’t we?’ Stanley said. ‘The whole goddamn interview was about Marcel’s murder.’

Emma nodded, ignoring his tone. Stanley always spoke sharply these days. She couldn’t help but notice that his attitude towards her seemed to have changed. He was surly and irritable. ‘Stanley, what’s the matter?’ she asked time and again. ‘Have I done something to offend you?’

‘No,’ he’d abruptly reply and then turn the conversation towards work. Lately she’d given up trying to communicate with him on a personal level.

‘The Oprah show was pretty vulgar,’ she admitted. ‘For once I agree with Franklin. It’s too soon and it’s tasteless. But at least Michael’s refusing to use any film footage of the assassination scene for publicity. All the networks have been asking for it.’

‘You can bet your bottom dollar it’s not due to
any finer feelings on his part,’ Stanley snapped. ‘He wants to make damn sure people realise they have to pay to see it.’

‘Yes,’ Emma had to agree, ‘he’s a bit of a monster when he’s making a movie. Everything and everyone’s fair game.’

‘It didn’t used to be people though - it used to be events. He’s changed and it sure as hell isn’t for the better.’

The subject of Michael also seemed to annoy Stanley these days and Emma usually tried to avoid talking about him.

‘The guy’s turned into a bastard,’ Stanley continued. He was more than surly today, Emma thought. He was tense, on edge.

‘Michael’s not well,’ she countered defensively,
‘you know that. He’s promised he’ll undergo treatment and after that he’ll be fine. He’ll be the same – ’

‘Bullshit! He’s doing it to appease the old man. He’ll never change - he doesn’t want to. He uses people and he always will.’

Emma felt her own anger start to burn. Stanley was talking like Franklin Ross. Franklin thought of drug addiction as a weakness, not as the evil disease it was. ‘Michael’s addiction is an illness,’ she said evenly, ‘it’s not a crime.’

‘Oh stop being so fucking self-righteous, Emma.’ Stanley slammed a pile of photographs down on the table and turned on her. She’d never seen him so angry. ‘He wants to be the way he is -can’t you see that? Franklin’s right, the man’s diseased and it’s all in his own brain. Why do you keep defending him?’

‘Because he’s my brother, that’s why!’ Her own voice rose in anger to match his. ‘He’s my brother and I love him!’

‘And how do you love him? Like he loves you?’ Stanley’s face was close to hers now and she could see the rage in his eyes. ‘Like a lover? Have you seen the way he looks at you? Is that the way you feel about him? Do you want him the way he wants you? Do you want to - ’

She hit him. With all the force she could muster, she struck him across the face and her hand stung from the impact.

Neither of them said anything for a while. There was a red mark on Stanley’s cheek; he didn’t touch it, he didn’t even seem to acknowledge the blow, but his anger had dissipated.

Emma’s anger, too, had gone. She was appalled by his words. But she was more appalled by her own action. She had never struck anyone before, she had never thought it was in her to want to.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

He sat on the desk, photographs spilling onto the floor. ‘You should have told me,’ he said. ‘You should have told me years ago.’

‘Told you what?’

‘That you were Michael’s sister.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh for Chrissakes, Emma, why do you think! The way Michael looks at you is the way I’ve looked at you for five years, maybe seven, who can tell, maybe the first day I met you - I don’t know and who cares. But the man’s in love with you and if that offends you, then tough.’

Emma remembered the night Michael tried to
make love to her, the night she told him the truth. And she knew, if she was being honest with herself, that she had seen him looking at her occasionally. Special looks. Looks that she’d chosen to construe as brotherly love. But they weren’t, and, deep down, she knew it.

‘Yes,’ she said, and her voice was a whisper. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

Stanley couldn’t bear the fact that she’d absorbed only one half of what he’d said. He could see that Emma was appalled by the knowledge of her brother’s incestuous desire but did Stanley’s own admission of love mean nothing? Did the fact that he’d stood by for five years, never declaring himself, accepting a relationship that had never existed, did that mean nothing?

‘So is this incest a two-way street?’ he asked. He was goading her. He wanted her to strike him again. He wanted her to stop thinking of Michael. He wanted to force her into acknowledging his admission. It worked.

‘Stop it, Stanley! Stop it!’ He said nothing but sat glaring at her. ‘Why are you tormenting me?’ she asked. ‘Why do you want to hurt me?’

‘Because you’ve wasted five years of my life, that’s why. Because when I tell you I love you, you don’t even acknowledge me, that’s why.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I never knew.’

‘Oh, come on, it must have crossed your mind once or twice, surely? Maybe when we were horsing around in a pool half-naked together,’ he added sarcastically, ‘or - ’

‘No,’ she said, ‘never.’

‘Well, it should have,’ he said impatiently.
‘Jesus, you’re a woman - where the hell’s your female intuition?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘If I’d known I would have…’ Her voice tailed off wretchedly.

‘You would have
what,
Emma?’ He was demanding an answer. ‘You would have what?’

‘Oh Stanley, how do I know? I’ve always cared for you. You know that. How can I tell what I … ?’

‘How much have you cared, Emma?’ He rose and took her by the shoulders, his grip painful. ‘How much?’

‘Stanley, please … ’

‘This much?’ And he kissed her. His mouth was rough and demanding and she was so completely taken by surprise that she didn’t fight back. She accepted the kiss, brutal as it was. And when he’d finished, he took her face in his hands and said quietly, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I won’t again, I promise. But if there’s any chance of making up for lost time, I’d like to give it a try. Think about it, Emma, that’s all I ask. Think about it.’

A week later, Stanley asked her out to dinner and Emma accepted. It was a pleasant evening, the conversation warm and comfortable, the companionship that of close friends. Neither of them mentioned the confrontation of the previous week. At least not until coffees at Emma’s apartment.

She’d wondered about asking him in and whether he’d misconstrue the invitation but it seemed unbelievably rude not to offer coffee after
he’d driven her home. Besides, she was enjoying his company, wasn’t she? And she had to admit, when he refused a second coffee and took her in his arms instead, she enjoyed the kiss and the feel of him. Strange as it was.

But, somehow, it was too strange. She drew away from him. ‘Stanley…’

He stopped her. ‘It’s okay, I don’t expect a miracle after five years.’ But, as he rose from the sofa, his grin was confident, happy. ‘We know where we stand now though, don’t we? And, believe me, I’ll keep trying.’

She started to say something but he interrupted again. ‘Don’t worry, you can always tell me to butt out. See you.’

He left, quietly closing the door behind him, and Emma couldn’t help smiling. The Stanley Grahame arrogance was back and it was very attractive.

Over the next fortnight, as the premiere drew near, there wasn’t much time for Stanley to press his suit, but there was a special feeling between the two of them and he was content not to force the issue.

Everything was set for the big night. And the big night didn’t disappoint. Michael’s publicists had gone mad setting the stage. Red carpets and searchlights abounded and, in the foyer of the theatre, a sixteen-piece orchestra played the haunting theme music from
Earth Man.
Michael’s special police contact, once more in the form of Captain Matthew ‘Mac’ Macfarlane, closed whole
inner-city blocks to all traffic apart from the stretch limos and the Rolls-Royce limousines which arrived bearing the star guests. Thousands of fans lined the pavements and screamed their approval as their favourites alighted, waving to the cameras and shielding their eyes from the glare of the flashlights.

Inside the theatre, when the guests were finally seated, Michael made his introductory speech. It was perfect. A touching tribute to Marcel Gireaux. ‘What you are about to see tonight is a timeless record of one man’s commitment to the planet and his fellow man. And we, as a team,’ he looked at Emma and Stanley and Derek and Mandy, ‘are proud that this film is proof of the fact that Marcel Gireaux did not die in vain and that, indeed, he and his ideals will live forever.’

He didn’t acknowledge the applause as he returned to his seat - the applause was, after all, for Marcel Gireaux. Michael was pleased with himself. He hadn’t built up to a high before the screening; the ecstasy and coke in his top pocket were for the all-night celebrations which would follow. Yes, he thought with satisfaction, his speech had gone down very well, with just the right degree of humility. He did indeed feel deeply grateful to Marcel.

As the lights dimmed, he caught Franklin’s eye. The old man gave a curt nod of approval but Michael knew he’d found the speech hypocritical. So what? he thought. Too bad - the crowd had loved it.

The titles rolled, the theme music swelled to a crescendo and the audience sat, spellbound, for the
following two hours. There was a hushed silence in the build-up to the assassination scene and an audible gasp when the gunshot rang out.

The final credits were rolled in silence and, at the end of them, a tribute to Marcel Gireaux appeared on the screen. When the houselights were finally brought up, people were weeping. Some unashamedly, others surreptitiously, trying to repair their make-up. Silence continued to reign for a full minute, and then the applause began. It went on and on. People rose to their feet. And, finally, the entire audience was standing in tribute.

The reverence and awe didn’t last long, of course. In the foyer, as they mingled, the guests once more reverted to their standard premiere behaviour. ‘A masterpiece, my darling.’ ‘Brilliant, bound to carry off best film.’ ‘Got your Academy Award speech ready, Michael?’

He basked in it. He’d popped an ecstasy halfway through the screening and he was floating on a wonderful cloud. Life couldn’t possibly be better.

He continued to bask in his glory all through the festivities that followed. A crowd of them went on to Au Bar and then Doubles. Then it was four o’clock in the morning and still the pace was furious. By this time it was mostly the hard-core film crowd. Those who’d worked on the movie were all on a high. It was their night. Most of them had taken ecstasy. Even Emma had been persuaded.

‘Come on, Emma,’ Mandy had urged, ‘it’s that
sort of night.’ Mandy had been as high as a kite from the outset of the evening. ‘The sort of night that might only happen once in your life.’

‘But I’ve never taken one before - what’s it like?’ The champagne had gone to Emma’s head and she was wondering whether she should go home before she made a fool of herself.

‘Like coke, only it’s gentler,’ Mandy said. ‘It’ll keep you going all night - stop you getting drunk too.’

‘Oh.’ That sounded tempting.

‘Come on, just a half’ll do you.’ Emma looked at Derek who was nodding his approval. Derek had surprised himself by accepting an ecstasy from Michael two hours ago and he was feeling no pain. Hell, Mandy was right, this was a once-in-a-life-time occasion.

It worked. Just half a pill and, an hour later, Emma wanted to dance until dawn. And she loved the feeling of Stanley’s arms around her.

Stanley was enjoying the sensation too but he was getting tired of dancing. Emma was being so unashamedly sensual. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her, to make love to her. Was tonight the night? But then, he thought, he was pretty drunk -it was probably just wishful thinking.

‘Let’s go outside and get some fresh air,’ he said.

‘No, no, I want to dance,’ she insisted. ‘Listen to the music - it’s sensational.’

‘But I want to kiss you,’ he murmured in her ear, smelling her hair and feeling her body close to his.

Then kiss me here,’ she said, offering her mouth to his.

He looked at her. Her eyes looked distant, and it finally occurred to him. ‘Have you taken something, Emma?’

‘Just a little half a pill, that’s all. It’s wonderful.’

Stanley decided he’d better lay off the booze for a while, she might need some looking after. ‘Oh well,’ he shrugged, ‘I guess I’m the only one here who hasn’t. And I might as well take advantage of you while you’re bombed.’

They swayed to the music and he kissed her. And the kiss to Emma was delicious. It went on and on and on. His tongue gently explored her mouth and his lips moved on hers, sometimes engulfing her upper lip, sometimes her lower, then his whole mouth, open on hers, as their bodies seemed to meld into one. Everything was in unison with the music, she thought. It was a dream, a wonderful dream where every sensation was perfectly matched.

Both she and Stanley were oblivious to the fact that Michael was staring at them through the crowd, his euphoria fading into thin air as he watched them. No, his mind screamed to him,
this can’t be happening.
He’d danced with Emma himself earlier and he’d been aware of her sensuality. He knew she’d popped a pill; he’d told Mandy to give her one. But her sensuality had been for him. Not Stanley. He made his way through the crowd.

‘Mind if a brother cuts in, Stan?’ he asked, his voice like ice.

‘Oh. Sure.’ Stanley stepped aside, feeling a little foolish, aware that they must have been making quite a spectacle of themselves. He looked about
self-consciously but nobody was taking any notice, so he watched Michael and Emma whirl about the dance floor. The tempo of the music had quickened and Emma was laughing and enjoying the pace of the dance. Michael was forcing a smile but Stanley could tell he was displeased. Christ, the man was possessive, he thought. Poor Emma. It was sick.