Dazzled (29 page)

She was right. I was naked, hard… and about to hurl. Any second…
now
.

I managed to aim most of the vomit into a handy trashcan that was next to the bed. And even as I was throwing up, I couldn’t help noticing that there were a number of used condoms in the bottom.

What the hell had I done last night?

The woman – Sherry – didn’t look impressed. In fact, after my technicolor display, she looked a little green herself.

“Bathroom,” she said, pointing to my left.

I shuffled inside, wincing at the sight of my face in her mirror. I rinsed my mouth out and debated whether or not to use her toothbrush. In the end I didn’t. We may have fucked – which seemed likely given the evidence – but I didn’t know her
that
well.

I stuck my head under the tap and the shock of cold water woke me up more fully. All I had to do now was find my clothes, call a cab, and pray I had money in my wallet.
Shit
. And then I had to face Clare.

The fates were temporarily aligned in my favor, because when I slouched back into the bedroom, Sherry and the offending trashcan had gone. I heard someone moving around elsewhere in the apartment –
wherever the fuck I was
– but was relieved to find my clothes and phone in one piece.

I dressed slowly, hunting down each piece of clothing, wondering how the hell my shirt had ended up draped across the lightshade, and praying my head wouldn’t actually explode or fall off. Then I took a deep breath and walked out of the bedroom.

Sherry was standing by the coffee machine in the kitchen. I had to admit she was cute, but at the same time, I never wanted to see her again in my whole life.

“Coffee?” she said, smiling.

“Uh, no I’m good, thanks. I should get going. I’ll call a cab. Um, can you tell me where I am?” The cracks of my brain were starting to show.

Her smile slipped away and I felt even more shitty.

“North Hollywood, 27983 Victory Boulevard,” she said, in a small voice.

“Thanks. And, um, you’re beautiful.”

A hard look crossed her face and she yawned.

I kissed her on the cheek and walked out, closing the door quietly behind me.

“Merry fucking Christmas!” she yelled behind the door.

Ah, hell.

The cab arrived a few minutes later, and it wasn’t long before I was trudging up to the entrance of my apartment building. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, knowing that the inquisition would start as soon as I walked in the door.

Clare was sitting on the couch fully dressed, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She looked up but she didn’t speak and she didn’t smile. I’m not even sure she blinked.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” I started.

Her eyes narrowed, and mentally I began digging a trench.

“If I wanted to listen to an arsehole, I’d fart a tune,” she said, her voice hard and clear.

Then she stood up, put her coffee cup on the table and went to the guestroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Well, fuck
.

I slumped down where she’d been sitting. Idly, I picked up her cup and took a drink. Ugh, milky coffee with no sugar. But it was liquid, and still warm. I drank it quickly, hoping that rehydration would help improve my brain function.

I had a horrible feeling that whatever Clare said to me, I probably deserved it.

Of course, first I had to get her to speak to me.

Feeling too tired and hung-over to make that sort of effort, I headed for my room. I reeked of vodka, sweat, and sex – a combination that was making me nauseous.

I stripped off my clothes, and let the shower wash away the wages of sin, if not the sin itself.

Feeling slightly more human, I debated the wisdom of speaking to Clare immediately, or sleeping on it and hoping I’d make more sense when less hung-over.

I almost opted for bed, cowardice seeming particularly attractive right there and then, but I
hated
fighting with Clare. It didn’t happen very often. In fact, other than arguing over who was better at
Guitar Hero
, we hadn’t really had any serious fights.

I took a deep breath and knocked on her door. I stopped in my tracks when I saw that she was packing her case.

“What are you doing?”

She wouldn’t look at me.

“Going home.”

“But… but our flight isn’t for another four days. For the
London premiere. And it’s Christmas…”

My words faded out as she ignored me, and continued throwing clothes in her case.

“I’ve phoned for a taxi,” she said, her voice empty of emotion. “It’ll be here in a few minutes.”

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.
I couldn’t believe she was behaving like this!

“Shit, Clare. Don’t go. I know I’ve fucked up but…”

“Yeah, you did, Miles. Big time.”

I started getting angry. It wasn’t like I’d fucked one of her friends or something.

“Ah come on, give me a break. You know what I’ve been going through!”

“By the way, your mum rang.”

And the hits just keep on coming.

“What did she say?”

Clare straightened up and finally looked at me.

“She saw the interview.”

“Shit!”

“She said you reminded her of your dad.”

Fuck. That was like a knife in my chest – and she knew it.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It was dumb, getting drunk like that, and I’m an idiot, but I don’t want you to go.”

“Do you think my life is nothing?” she snapped.

“No!”
What?
“No, of course not!”

But she wouldn’t let me finish.

Clare

After the interview last night, some of the groupies waiting outside had been happy to drag an inebriated
Miles to a ‘party’. I tried to make him come home with me but he wouldn’t listen. He just sat and laughed at me, and went with the skanks. I’d waited up for hours, but he didn’t come home.

My silent vigil gave me plenty of time to think about what I was doing. Or not doing. After hours of weighing up the pros and cons, of hoping against hope that Miles would finally come home – to me – something inside me broke. And even though I felt sick at the thought of it, my decision was to leave.

I knew it was unreasonable of me to be so upset. Miles and I weren’t dating. We weren’t anything. And that was the point. If I’d been a guy friend, I’d probably just have patted him on the back when he came home still drunk and smelling of sex and cheap perfume.

But I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take being around him while he picked every woman under the sun, but he
never
picked me.

I phoned the airline to change my flight and packed up most of my stuff.

And now here he was, trying to persuade me that there was some reason for me to stay.

“Perhaps you thought that I’d just sit around waiting for you? I do have a life, Miles, it’s not all about you!”

What a lie.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I…”

“No. You never do mean it. That’s the problem.”

We’d never had a fight like this before.

He stood watching me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He looked tired and his eyes were red, but he was still so beautiful it made my heart ache.

I dropped the lid of my suitcase and tightened the straps. I was desperately hoping that he’d say something
real
. Anything. But he didn’t. He just carried on watching me in silence. He wasn’t even going to fight for me to stay. That about summed it up. I guess I’d stopped being
convenient
. I was the boring, fat friend who got in the way of him having a good time, and only served to make him feel guilty about it afterward.

I pulled on my coat and he still didn’t speak.

“Goodbye, Miles,” I whispered.

And I kissed his sweet face for the last time.

“Don’t go. Stay with me. Please,” he mumbled, his voice breaking.

I shook my head.

“Your world dazzles me but I don’t fit in here – I have to go.”

I left him standing in his apartment, his face shocked and pale.

And as I walked away I realized it wasn’t his world – it was him. I’d been dazzled by him my whole life. And it wasn’t enough. For either of us.

As half my heart withered with each passing moment, the other half felt light and free. I was going home.

Cinema Paradiso

Miles

I couldn’t believe that Clare had really gone. She’d really left me. At Christmas. And I only had myself to blame. I think.

Yeah, so did I do the smart thing and go after her? Find her at LAX and drag her back? No, I sat on my arse on the couch and drank half a bottle of vodka.

It was all that was left in the apartment. I guess I’d already drunk everything else.

I woke up about 14 hours later face down on her bed in the guestroom, clutching the shit-hot blue dress that she’d worn to the LA premiere. She was so sick of me, she didn’t even want the dress to remind her.

Just to heap another layer of shit on my complete fucking misery, I watched the Kimmel interview clip on Youtube over and over, tormenting myself with the stinking heap of crap that seemed to be my life. I watched the audience laughing as I slurred my stupid answers, and I felt sick. At the time, I’d thought they were laughing because I was so damn funny – now I knew they were laughing
at
me.

Rhonda was furious, and sent me an email that made my eyeballs bleed just reading it. She also promised to drag me kicking and screaming to an AA meeting if I didn’t get my shit together and quit drinking.

I really didn’t like the idea of sitting around and sharing my
feelings
with a bunch of strangers, so I decided to shape up. Which was easier said than done when all I felt like doing was wallowing.

Talking to mum on the phone had been another really fucking humiliating experience.

“And I’ve never been so ashamed of you! Making a fool of yourself like that on the telly! Drunk! So smug and full of yourself – just like
him
.”

“Mum, I…”

“Don’t you ‘mum’ me! It was a disgusting exhibition! And what the bloody hell have you done to Clare? That poor girl has done nothing but be a good friend to you, and she’s been in tears ever since she got back.
In tears!
”

Shit! I’d only ever seen Clare cry once and that was when they shot Bambi’s mum.

“I tried to call her today but she won’t…”

“Of course she won’t, and I don’t blame her! Doesn’t she mean
anything
to you? The way she’s helped you and supported you!”

“I know, but…”

“Don’t you ‘but’ me! You get your sorry arse over here and make it right! Do you hear me, Miles Fletcher Stephens? You sort it out!”

Yeah, so what does a grown man say when his mum reams him out like that?

“Yes, mum.”

But I had no idea how the hell I was going to make it right.

Clare

Christmas Day and I was back in
London.

It had been a long and miserable flight, and even the wide, comfortable seat in first class didn’t make me feel any better.

I stared at the bracelet of diamond hearts that Miles had given me just a week ago. I’d considered leaving it in LA, along with the fabulous blue dress that I’d worn to the premiere, but I couldn’t be that cruel. Miles had given it to me in friendship, and despite everything, we had been good friends. Maybe we still were – sort of – although it seemed doubtful.

But last night had been a huge kick in the teeth and a much needed reality check.

I’d been through every possible negative emotion while I was waiting for him to come back to his apartment: anger, fear, loathing, grief. I also felt ridiculous, humiliated and utterly pathetic. It wasn’t as if Miles had cheated on me; we’d never been together that way. I told myself that over and over again.
He hadn’t cheated on me.

It just felt like he had.

I took the bracelet off when I got home and put it away in its box.

Mum knew straight away that something was wrong. Probably the fact I was home four days early was one giant clue.

“Well, are you going to talk to me, Clare, or do I have to stand here trying to get blood out of a stone?”

I sighed and leaned back on my bed.

“We had a fight. That’s all.”

She sat down next to me, her eyes confused but sympathetic.

“It must have been a bad one for you to leave so suddenly.”

“Yep. Pretty bad.”

“Was it about the interview?”

I wondered how much of the truth to give her, because I really didn’t feel like conducting a post-mortem on the pathetic excuse for a life that was my existence.

“Yeah. Mostly.”

“But not completely?”

I looked up, seeing nothing judgmental in her eyes.

“I got tired of being in the way.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged, unsure how to explain.

“But what that woman did to him,” mum pressed. “Surely you should be with him, Miles must be in pieces?”

“I know, mum, he is. But it doesn’t mean that I can fix him. In fact, I’m fairly certain I was making things worse.”

“I don’t see how.”

I ground my teeth in frustration.

“I can’t fix his relationship with another woman. I never could. It’s up to him.”

Mum nodded slowly, then sighed.

“Well, I’m sure you can sort it out when he’s here for his premiere.”

She frowned when I didn’t answer. But I had no intention whatso-bloody-ever of going to that premiere. I would be quite happy to never see anything to do with
Dazzled
ever again.

I was relieved – I think – when I got a text from Paul and Nazzer saying that they were at the pub for a Boxing Day drink and did I want to meet them.

I’d already had a couple of beers – okay, four – while I was recovering from leftover turkey curry and mum’s dose of girl time. So I was feeling pleasantly buzzed when I waded through the unwashed humanity that made up the majority of drinkers at the
Stag Inn
. Also known to regulars as the
Stagger in and out
.

“Oi, Milton!” yelled Paul over the babble of people talking and drinking and enjoying themselves – selfish bastards. Didn’t they know I wanted to be miserable? “Over here!”

They were sitting at a small table littered with empty bottles.

“Your round,” said Nazzer, looking expectantly at me. “Get the beers in.”

“How’d you figure that? I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

“Well, Paul and me have bought two rounds each, so you’re behind, you tightwad. Come on, get yer wallet out.”

Grumbling, I forced my way to the bar and bought three bottles of Danish beer.

“So, how’s our man in
America?” said Paul, as I slammed the bottles onto the table. “Bet he’s still crying into his beer over that slag. If I was him, I’d have tapped every bint I could by now.”

I winced.

“Yeah,” said Nazzer, sadly. “It’s much harder to get women to talk to us now that Miles has cleared off.”

“Like never,” Paul agreed, sighing heavily.

“I’ll talk to you,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“But you don’t count,” Paul replied.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because,” he said, drawing out the second syllable as if he were a dentist, “because you’re off limits. I couldn’t get it up – you’re like my sister or something.”

“Huh.”

“I’ll do you,” offered Nazzer, after a short pause.

“Aw, Naz, would you?”

“Yeah, if you like. You scrub up okay – for a fat girl.”

I must have been drunk because I was actually considering it for a moment.

Nazzer looked at his watch.

“So, we going to, or what?” he slurred through his lecherous smile.

“I dunno?” I said, yawning. “Is there anything good on telly tonight?”

“Yeah,” said Paul. “A
Thunderbirds
marathon.”

“Oh, cool!” said Nazzer, enthusiastically. “Let’s get a kebab and go to your place. You coming,
Milton?”

There are many low points in a woman’s life, but when the bloke who’s been within a hair’s breadth of getting his hand down your knickers decides that he’d rather watch a children’s sci-fi program made with puppets fifty years ago, you can’t get much lower. Just saying.

I went home alone, and the boys went off to eat kebabs and watch TV.

If they’d cheered me up anymore, I’d currently be typing texts with my toes in a secure unit at Broadmoor hospital.

Three days later and two days before the delayed
UK premiere of
Dazzled
, and I still hadn’t returned any of Miles’ calls or texts. He’d even emailed me, but I hadn’t replied to those either.

The Press were getting their knickers in a twist about the premiere and the coverage had been relentless. They were still harping on about the irony of the film’s theme of immortal love when Lilia hadn’t been able to keep her sticky fingers to herself for, well, however long it had been.

Miles had originally planned to stay with his mum next door, but in the end it just wasn’t possible. I wasn’t sure whether or not to feel relieved that he wouldn’t be so close to me.

In any case, it didn’t matter because I’d decided not to go to the bloody premiere. When I’d refused to answer my phone yet again, Miles had called my parents’ house on the landline. Mum had picked up the phone and tried to get me to speak to him. In the end, tired of her nagging, I’d taken the phone from her and simply replaced the receiver, cutting him off.

Dad buried his head in the paper and turned up the volume on the TV when me and mum started yelling at each other.

But the truth was, I had nothing to say to Miles, and I wasn’t ready to be friends with him either. It hurt too much.

It didn’t take mum long to send for reinforcements, so I wasn’t surprised when I came home from work the next day to find Miles’ mum, Prue, sitting at our kitchen table with a mug of tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“Hello, Clare! It’s good to see you. How are you, love?”

“Yeah, fine, thanks, Prue. How are you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Miles,” she said, looking me in the eye, and ignoring my question.

I sighed. I’d been expecting this. I just hoped I’d have a bit more time to get my head straight first.