Photographic (45 page)

She spoke in a quiet voice to the dogs. “What’s a pretty doggy doing? Huh? What’s a pretty doggy doing? It’s a very pretty doggy. Yes it is. Two very pretty doggies. Fuzzy-wuzzy was a doggy, fuzzy-wuzzy was very very fuzzy."

The door creaked again and Cecelia was back. “She’s in. She’s going to come join us for tea.”

“Great.” This wasn’t part of the plan, either, but oh well. She and Cee Cee chatted until the door creaked and there she was. 

Jane set her cup down on the coffee table. The dogs swarmed over to Marta, wagging their fanlike tails. She wore a black tank top and white clamdiggers, white sneakers, and had sunglasses perched on her head. She was thinner, giving her a somewhat gaunt look, with hollows under her cheekbones. The dogs circled her, looking up. 

“Hi,” she said to the room, and sat down in the empty chair. Once she was seated, patting the dogs, she glanced up at Jane. “What brings you to L.A.?”

“Ian’s premiere.
Odysseus
.” She was trying to assess this different, distant Marta.

“Of course.” 

The warmth she remembered from her last meeting with Marta, when she had offered the flat in the kitchen of the farmhouse, was gone.

“I wanted to thank you again for the use of the flat. It meant a lot to me. More than you can know."

“No problem.” Marta sat back in her chair after sufficient patting of the dogs, who now circulated, looking for likely scratchers. 

“I’ll just see about the tea.” Sensing the discord, Cee Cee swayed out of the room.

Jane continued her stare-down with Marta. Finally she spoke. “Beezer told us you leaked the information about Ian and Vaughn to the press.”

Marta licked her lips. “Don’t you ever talk to your husband? Or do you just fuck? The make-up sex must be epic.”

Jane sat, stunned. "I know you talked to Ian." She was at a loss where Marta's fury came from.

"Told you all about it, did he?"

"He told me you gave back all the pictures. I'm so grateful. Whatever Beezer said, whatever really happened, I'll always be grateful for the flat and the pictures."

"You're welcome." Marta's flat delivery was as unsettling at her outburst about Ian.

"Marta, what's wrong?" She wasn't quite sure she wanted to know. The little dogs made increasingly smaller circles until they splayed on the floor. Lying down, they looked like fluffy area rugs.

"Nothing."

Jane smiled at her child-like responses. "You seem angry."

"You threw me out with the rest of the rubbish."

"Rubbish?"

"The paparazzi. The horrible, awful paparazzi, who make your lives so difficult."

"It's not so bad." That wasn't true, but having been through what they had, she felt she'd seen the worst. It was survivable.

"Trial by fire. Taught you all you needed to know?"

"I guess it did. It taught me a lot."

"Glad I could be of help."

Jane lost patience. "Will you spit it out, Marta?"

She shifted gears. "So did you believe Beezer? What he told you?"

"I don't know. You both said the other one did it."

"He's here, you know. For the premiere."

Holy hell. "I didn't know."

"He thinks you'll make it, another ten years at least, if you made it this far. Who'd have thought Beezer was such a romantic."

"What are you talking about?"

"I said, 'I don't give them six months, after the premiere.' It's going to be relentless, after the movie comes out. You know that. Every actress he works with is going to be after him. All the ones who want to fool around. They know what he's capable of. They'll get to see film proof of it."

"So you did tell the tabloids. It was you."

"I did you a favor. If you could have seen yourself! The saddest sight in the world. You were miserable. Or don't you remember?"

"I don't think I was miserable."

"Then you must have had quite the horrible childhood, to think that was contentment. You were so desperate for a fucking conversation you invited me in. Do you know how insane that is?"

"I thought I was helping you."

"You help someone by calling an ambulance. Only a desperately lonely person would let a tabloid in for the sake of tea and sympathy."

Jane had to look down at the floor. "Maybe I was desperately lonely, sometimes. That's not something I'm ashamed of."

"Well, you were pathetic."

"You never liked me?"

Marta made a humpfing sound. "I liked you all right."

"But you don't like me anymore? You leaked the story for the money. It wasn't because you didn't like me."

"I like your husband a lot."

Jane took this in. "I like him too."

"You haven't been a very good wife."

"Not always. He hasn't always been a very good husband. It was you? You sold the story?"

Marta's shining certainty had crumbled a little. "No. I didn't. Beezer did."

"Why didn't you?" Jane's voice had lowered.

They both jumped when the doorbell rang, loud and echoing. The dogs barked and surged from wherever they had been lounging to the front door.

Marta went in silence to answer it. When she came back in with Beezer, Jane wished for the ability to faint on cue. 

"Jane, what a pleasure." Beezer wanted kisses. She complied, going through the motions. Had Marta called him? But if they blamed each other, why would she want him in the room, at the same time as Jane? 

He sat down, chatting to the dogs and huffing breaths in between sentences, just as he used to. 

"We were just talking about you," Jane said.

"Oh? He looked brightly between them. "Something good, I hope."

"Marta says you're the one who sold the story about Ian."

"Which one, luv?"

"About Vaughn."

"Oh, that. She says that, does she?"

"Yep."

"That's a little unfair, isn't it, Mart?"

Marta shook her head at Beezer.

"What, you don't want the truth to come out, is that it? Don’t want to hurt your friend here?"

"I don't know if Marta considers me a friend, anymore."

"You know why that is, don't you?"

"No."

"Now listen." Beezer scooted to the edge of his chair, leaning toward her. "Both of us want to keep some friendly ties to the Reilly family, don't we? You're a paycheck, guaranteed. I don't know why I'm telling you this. It doesn't do me any good for you to know the truth. But maybe I'm sick of having my name blackened by Éponine, over here."

"Shut up, Angus." Marta's voice broke over his.

He gave her a look that seemed to hold an unspoken threat.

"I'll tell her." She spoke to Beezer as if Jane weren't there. "I was about to tell her when you came in."

"Like hell you were. But go ahead."

Marta's eyes shone, not with unshed tears, Jane thought, but passionate conviction. “I did care about you. I wanted the best for you. I saw your life and what I did was with your best interests at heart.”

“What are you saying?” Her mouth felt thick and slow.

“I did it for you.” Marta’s face was blank, cool, her sharp cheekbones cut like marble, her eyes burning. “So you’d know what kind of person you’d married. I thought you’d have the sense to get out. I don’t know why you’ve stayed. This was supposed to be your freedom.”

Jane sat still for what seemed a long time, a buzzing sensation in her forehead making it hard to think, trying to comprehend what she was hearing. “That was wrong of you. It’s not your decision.”

"It was my job. It happened to be the right thing to do, as well."

Beezer cleared his throat.

Spurred on by this, Marta went on."Plus, there was another reason. I felt…"

Beezer and Jane hung on her silence.

"I care about Ian. He was good to me. He's been very sweet. He even sent a plane for me." Her eyes flashed at Beezer, as if in retaliation. "A private jet. That feels like a little bit more than a friend."

Beezer made a scoffing noise. "Don't let her worry you, " he said to Jane. "She's got it bad, this one."

"Why would you want to hurt him, then?"

"Don't you see it?" Beezer wheeled back in mirth. "She wanted the scandal to break you up."

Jane lost her breath. "Oh."

The jovial Beezer and defiant Marta were too much, as a team. A team. 

"You did it together." It all fell into place. "And you blamed each other."

"Can't say we're not honest now. No advantage to us about telling you." Beezer was amused.

"I'm sure you'll think of one." She stood up. The dogs did too, from the shadows where they had lain.

"I think I speak for both of us when I say we're fond of you, Jane. Honestly. You can take that to the back." Even in the light of this revelation, she saw no malice in Beezer's face. 

"Like the money you made off us."

"Yes." 

Jane dug the key to the flat out of her pocket. She held it out to Marta, who wouldn't take it at first. At last, with a slow movement of her arm, she raised up her open palm. Jane put the key there. She turned to leave.

The dogs escorted her down the hall. She opened the door. No one came to say goodbye, which was a relief. She walked down the cobbled pathway to the waiting car, never so glad in all her life to leave a place or two people behind.

The phone call to the suite, the receptionist saying simply a caller for Jane was on the line, had brought Jane to the phone wondering what else could happen today. 

“Jane, I wonder if I could have your ear for a second.” Vaughn’s unmistakeable husky growl filled her ear. “I’m downstairs in a little room off the lobby. It’s private. Go to the concierge, he knows where I am. It’s just for a moment.”

“Why are you always doing this to me?” Jane turned to look at the half-open bathroom door where Ian was getting into his evening clothes. 

“I know it’s last minute. Just a mo.” 

“Good Lord. All right.” She slammed the phone down and checked herself in the mirror. Everything seemed to be in the right place. She poked her head in the steamy bathroom. “I’m ready now. I’m getting kind of antsy. I’ll meet you downstairs at the car.”

Ian looked a little forlorn. They didn’t like being parted, lately. It didn’t strike either of them as odd. It seemed like the best kind of sense. 

“Oh…okay.” He set down the cufflink he was fumbling with and kissed her. “I love you.” She picked up the cufflink and fitted it through the stiff fabric of his cuff, locking the platinum end in place. The figure on the front of the cufflink was a Celtic knot: symbol of eternity, the ever-flowing nature of love, of cosmic connection. She twisted it round with the tips of her fingers, feeling the satisfying weight of it as she looked in Ian’s face. He smiled at her, his eyes warm and green, and she basked before she kissed him again.

“I love you, too.” 

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

W
HEN
THE
CONCIERGE
opened the discreet door, almost hidden by a large potted palm, Jane found Vaughn pacing alone by a darkened floor-to-ceiling window. She crossed the room, slender and shiny in a golden charmeuse gown, dropping her chin as she got close, bringing her eyes more level with Jane’s. 

“I thought you should know. I’m writing a book.”

“What? Vaughn.” Jane tried to think where to begin. There was no doubt in her mind what Vaughn would write about. She looked skyward, searching for something, an answer, or the strength to convince Vaughn. “What about your pact? What happened was going to be between the three of you, remember?” The irony of finding this out right now, this evening, was not lost on Jane, as they were about to see on film what happened in the cave—the supposedly secret cave. Yet for the personal details of the whole event to come out, the human side, the complicated and painful background; it was too much.

“What’s really the point, now?” Vaughn shifted guiltily. “Listen, Jane, we’ve been straight with each other. I wanted to give you a head’s up. The thing is, it’s a chance for me to really explain. All about my life, everything…” she glanced in the direction of the door, which Jane took to be a reference to Salossa. “I could even be a role model, of a sort. There aren’t many women in our profession, romantic lead types, who are up front about their sexual identities. I’d like to have the scope of a book.” She touched Jane’s arm. “Plus, they’ve offered me simply pots of money. More than I can earn in ten pictures. I’m not in Ian’s league, money-wise, you know. But I’ll have to give some details, you see. And I didn’t want to hurt you again, without…without you knowing. So I wanted to say sorry, in advance.” She stood there hunched, like a graceful crane, clutching her little sparkly bag, looking unhappy. “I’m not strong like you. I need things. I need people to understand me. So I have to tell them how it was. You see, don’t you?” She squeezed Jane’s arm, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, looked at her hard for a moment, and hurried out of the room.

Jane stood rooted to the spot. Her mind tumbled, reeling with the consequences and after-effects of such a move. Was this just the beginning? Would the three of them all end up taking this route? Confessing for the sake of the money, which Jane had no doubt would be resolve-weakening, but even more for the sake of forgiveness, for expiation from the public each of them courted? She walked toward the window. Her foot bumped a chair and she sank into it in slow-motion, as she saw cause and effect and a possible future playing out before her.

As much as one might say it was for the money, Jane thought there was a deeper clue hidden in what Vaughn had said. She needed people to like her, to understand her, and accept what she had done. Whatever the press said about Ian, what they said about her was harsher. Homer hadn’t described the sexual nature of his nymphs and goddesses with the venom reserved by the modern press for a woman in a sex scandal. 

Ian might be a few degrees less needy on the scale, Tor even less so, but they weren’t condemned in the same way, either. Would any of them have gotten into this business if they didn’t care what people thought, if they didn’t want the attention, ergo the adulation of the public? What wouldn’t they give up in order to maintain the image they had all sacrificed to achieve? Even the extreme nature of what they had done, the risk they had taken, might in retrospect have been a win-or-lose gamble for the biggest payoff in their combined careers. They had tried to create what they thought would be a transcendent moment on film. A career-making moment. The kind of moment that makes legends.