Silent Truths (47 page)

Ava was getting that way too. The freedom to be this whole other person who didn’t have to worry about morals, or money – or much of anything, actually – was so exhilarating that she never wanted to come down from the high. There were certain substances guaranteed to keep her there, of course, and for a while now she’d been psyching herself up to try them, but for some reason she couldn’t quite bring herself to yet. Of course, it was Beth holding her back, for handing her look and lifestyle over to Ava was one thing, losing control of her mind was another altogether.

‘But that’s OK,’ Mitzi told her, sitting up on her
lounger to rearrange her towel. ‘You see, you got to know your limitations, and it sounds like you do. That’s good.’ Her tight, tanned limbs, hand-span hips and huge breasts were all bared to the sun, though her cotton candy hair was currently undergoing a touch-up inside a clipped-on plastic bag, while her forty-two-year-old face was fighting off the ageing process under a creamy white goo.

On the bed next to her Ava was massaging sun cream into her legs. ‘I’m not saying I don’t want to try it ever,’ she assured her, ‘and don’t think I’ve got a problem with you taking it –’

‘I don’t,’ Mitzi interrupted. ‘Now, how’re you feeling? Still sore?’

Ava looked down at her new D cup breasts and felt almost light-headed, even slightly nauseous at what she’d done. Not that she regretted it for a minute, for already, even though they’d only been out of bandages a week, they looked and felt fantastic. ‘I just wish I’d done it years ago,’ she confessed. ‘They’d have changed my life.’

Mitzi laughed. ‘They still will, girl, believe me,’ she responded, reaching over to answer her cellphone.

As she talked, Ava stared across the pool towards the beautiful golden mountains way out on the horizon. No matter what else was going on in this house, how many visitors they might have, how loud and raucous the parties or intense the writing, it was impossible to be unaware of the sheer loveliness of the scenery the place overlooked. It was so soothing and entrancing, it was almost transcendent. She recalled the day Theo had first brought them here, having collected her from
the Beverly Hills Hotel to drive her up through the canyons to a place she’d never have dreamt existed, right in the heart of LA. And that was where they were, for just along the road, almost hidden in the wilds of Franklin Canyon Park, was a small concrete plaque marking the geographical centre of Los Angeles. Theo had seemed to take great pride in showing them that.

She wondered where he was now, New York or Memphis. He hadn’t called for a few days, so she’d lost track of his movements, though the last time they’d spoken he was at his office in Manhattan. He took his work even more seriously than he took himself, she’d discovered, and with so many projects, at so many different stages of development, he almost literally never stopped. Which meant she’d hardly seen him since arriving – just the odd day here and there, and a few hurried phone calls as he moved from one city to the next, on a perpetual quest for investment, talent or just the need to expand his contacts. It was funny how she seemed to miss him, when she hardly even knew him. She couldn’t even say they’d connected particularly, though she guessed the warmth she felt towards him was because he was a kind of connection with home. A very nebulous one, it was true, but actually that was all she wanted – a virtually transparent thread to link her to where she had come from, but that didn’t make any demands or inspire any guilt.

‘So what were we saying?’ Mitzi said, dropping the phone back in the basket beside her.

Ava screwed up her nose. ‘Can’t remember,’ she responded. ‘But I was just thinking about Theo.
Have you heard from him lately? Do you know where he is?’

‘Still in New York, I think, and no contact suits me just fine, because the last thing I need is a producer breathing down my neck while I’m trying to create. Did you take a look at the scenes I did yesterday, by the way?’

‘Not yet. Where are they?’

‘Probably still on the printer.’

Ava stood up, stretched out her long, sun-bronzed limbs, then stalked over to the edge of the pool. The sun was so dazzling it was hard to look at the water as it rippled and shimmered and reflected the sheer blue of the sky above. She was wearing nothing more than a glistening gold thong and a pair of designer shades. The hot, arid air was like a fire on her skin, embracing every part of her with an intensity that was almost erotic. She adored the sense of freedom that this near-nudity gave her, as though shedding her clothes, in a way Beth had never even dreamt of, was somehow shedding her past. A slow smile started to curve her lips as she realized Mitzi was watching her and, putting her hands on her hips, she pivoted to treat her to a full-frontal view.

Mitzi’s eyebrows arched with amusement. ‘Gorgeous,’ she assured her. ‘I can’t even see any scars already.’

‘You know, one of the best things about them,’ Ava said, cupping her new breasts in her hands, ‘is how sexy they make you
feel
, never mind look. It’s a whole other world, having boobs like this.’ She smiled warmly to herself, wanting to add how Colin would love them. But they never spoke about
him, so the thought stayed with her.

‘Did you tell Theo yet?’ Mitzi asked.

Ava looked surprised. ‘No. Why would I? I can’t imagine he’d be interested.’

Mitzi shrugged. ‘He’s a strange guy, isn’t he? I’ve known him for a couple of years, but I still can’t say I
know
him. I thought he might be gay until I found out he had a wife and kid. Not that that means anything, I suppose, and they’re not together any more anyhow, so maybe he is.’

Wading down to the first wide shallow step of the pool, Ava sat on the edge and began splashing water on to her skin. ‘So what have we got going on tonight?’ she said.

Mitzi yawned and stretched. ‘Couple of parties,’ she answered. ‘A few of the guys are dropping in to watch the sun set. I guess we need to mix a pitcher of margatinis for that.’

Ava slipped into the water and started to swim, carving a slow, smooth path through the water, feeling its coolness glide over her like a loving caress. This was truly paradise, and right now she could feel in love with Theo just for bringing her here.

Mitzi sat on the lounger watching her, and wondering what was really going through her mind. It was hard to tell with Ava, for she’d never met such an unusual woman, and rarely taken to one so warmly. As a writer Mitzi was fascinated by the contradictions of her character, which went way beyond her change of name and altered look, for she was an introvert who was an exhibitionist, a chameleon who seemed to thrive on being noticed. She almost never talked about her life in England;
it was as though the husband who was in prison for murder had ceased to exist. There were no letters, no phone calls, no pining or longing, or none that she ever confessed to. As far as Mitzi was aware she hadn’t spoken to her parents since being here either, though she had some, because Mitzi had read about them in one of the articles she’d dug out during her research. She hadn’t even returned the calls from her agent – or her closest friend, Georgie, whose messages were starting to sound so worried that Mitzi was considering ringing back herself, just to reassure the poor woman that Beth, as she called her, was alive and well and having a ball.

And she was having a ball. She was like a spirit that had been trapped in the wrong body, the wrong time, for so long that now she was free everything had to be experienced to the extreme. She was Carlotta in her book, Mitzi was certain of that, though how similarly the fiction resembled reality she had no way of knowing. She hadn’t asked, because Ava had made it clear from the start that she wasn’t Carlotta, that the book had nothing to do with her life, it was just a story.

‘I know I’ve said this before, but you’ve got a really cool way of describing Carlotta’s feelings,’ Mitzi said, after Ava had finished her swim, and gone into the house to retrieve the new scenes.

Ava’s pleasure showed as she lay down on her lounger. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘All that stuff she’s thinking,’ Mitzi continued, ‘you know, about who she is, and what she’s doing in a place she doesn’t understand. It really gets to me every time I read it. It goes right to the heart of loneliness, in a way that’s so raw and uncompromising …
I’ll have to put it in narration, because I sure don’t want to leave it out. Did you ever try any of that regression stuff yourself? You know, going back to a past life? Was that how you got the idea?’

Ava shook her head. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I just found while I was writing it that Carlotta needed to become someone else – someone who was her, but not her, if you know what I mean. Then one morning I was listening to a programme on the radio about past lives, and their effect on the present, and I thought, that’s it! That’s what’s happening to Carlotta. All the marital abuse, and emotional repression she’s suffering in the eighteenth century, the way all those corrupt and powerful men in her husband’s circle turn him into a monster, is setting the scene for her eventual breakdown in the twenty-first century.’

‘Wow,’ Mitzi murmured. ‘That’s so cool. And it really works. And I just love how the husband comes good second time around, the way he wakes up to who she really is.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ve got to admit, if you hadn’t told me yourself, I’d still be in the dark over some of that. All those men, that poor, wretched girl, the one who died, so innocent in it all … the sacrificial lamb.’ She hesitated, wondering if she’d gone too far, but Ava’s expression was benign, so she said, ‘I’d love to know what gave you the inspiration for Carlotta in the first place.’

Ava inhaled deeply, writhed a little, then, sitting up, she gazed out at the mountains, seeing them as though they were the hills surrounding a far distant place that she loved. ‘I was in Italy, on
holiday,’ she said. ‘Do you know the lakes?’

Mitzi shook her head. ‘Never been to Europe.’

‘Well, the lakes in Northern Italy are a very special kind of place. They’re not just steeped in natural beauty, the mountains, the trees, the lakes themselves, of course, they seem to hold a sense of mystery, and an enticement, or maybe it’s a challenge, to find out their secrets. One day I was visiting an old house, on the south-eastern shore of Lake Maggiore, and I came across a small painting of a woman sitting at a piano with a half-written musical score on the stand. She was looking out, towards the artist in a mournful, yet slightly surprised sort of way. The only words on the unfinished score were Carlotta Gaspari. I couldn’t find out anything about her, if the name was even hers, but the longer I stared into her eyes the more I realized I was seeing, even feeling, things about her life that felt as though they were a part of my life too. There was this kind of synergy that went beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. I could almost hear her speaking to me, which I know sounds crazy, but I swear that was what it was like. I even felt tears on my cheeks when I sensed she’d lost a child, because I’d recently lost one too. I stood there absorbing terrible details of her pain, not only about the child, but about the husband she adored, who loved her, yet beat and humiliated her, and the dreadful loneliness she felt at having no one to turn to. Have you ever been beaten by a man?’

‘Once,’ Mitzi confessed. ‘What about you?’

Ava shook her head. ‘Never,’ she answered. ‘Yet, when I was looking at that woman, Carlotta, I truly
felt as though I had been. I honestly don’t know what happened to make me connect with her like that, but by the time I left I knew that I had to write something about her. Even if I had to fictionalize most of the story, I just had to tell it.’

‘Have you ever been back to see the portrait?’ Mitzi asked.

‘No. To be honest, I’m almost afraid to, in case she’s gone, or doesn’t speak to me again. I’d feel as though I’d lost a part of myself if that happened.’ Then smiling, she said, ‘If she is still there you’ll meet her when we go to film.’

‘Sure,’ Mitzi responded, drawing out the word. ‘And what a privilege having you make the introduction. After all, whoever she was once, she’s your creation now.’

Ava nodded slowly, but said nothing.

‘What about the husband, did you kind of, like,
see
him at all?’ Mitzi asked. ‘You know, while Carlotta was talking to you?’

‘Not really,’ Ava answered. ‘Images of my own kept getting in the way.’

‘Is there any similarity between the two men?’

‘Maybe. In certain ways. But not all.’

Mitzi waited, hoping she’d say more, but she didn’t. So Mitzi said, ‘You know, I’m going to talk to Theo, because I reckon we should be over there now, writing this in the place that inspired it, and where we’re going to shoot. I could experience all the atmosphere and stuff for myself. It’s got to help.’

Ava smiled and nodded, then picked up the script as the phone inside started to ring.

Mitzi was intrigued by the way Ava seemed to
tune out the sound, as though it either wasn’t happening, or couldn’t be anything to do with her. ‘You know what, that could be your friend Georgie,’ she said. ‘She generally calls around this time.’

Ava’s eyes remained on the script.

‘Why don’t you go talk to her?’ Mitzi pressed gently. ‘She sounds really worried about you. Just tell her you’re OK.’

Ava continued staring at the script, but Mitzi could see her eyes filling with tears.

‘What is it, babe?’ she said softly. ‘Why won’t you talk to her?’

‘Actually, I’m afraid to,’ Ava answered, not sounding like Ava at all.

‘Why?’

‘Because of what she might tell me.’

Inside the answerphone clicked on. Mitzi sat very still, as though any slight movement would chase away the confidence that, like a frightened mouse, was hardly out of hiding.

‘I want to talk to her,’ Ava said. ‘I miss her so much, and I know she’s worried …’

‘What are you so afraid of?’ Mitzi prompted. ‘What do you think she’s going to tell you that can be so bad?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve given up guessing, because it’s never what I’m expecting.’ Her eyes were on an unfocused place ahead of her, seeing only she knew what. ‘And what if he’s changed his mind about seeing me?’ she said. ‘Should I go? Or should I stay here, and let him pay for what he’s done? All the hurt he’s caused, the pain and anguish … that poor innocent girl, the sacrificial lamb.’