The Perfect Location (12 page)

He was strong with her but kind, which Sapphira appreciated. She was not an overly emotional person and responded to common sense and facts more than sentimentality.

Jack left the room and Sapphira looked in the closet. There were Juicy Couture tracksuits in several colours and several sizes. A Stella McCartney black dress. Underwear, socks, a few white Calvin Klein t-shirts and several pairs of Chanel ballet flats in varying sizes.

Sapphira pulled out the black track pants and top and a white t-shirt. Taking a pair of La Perla cotton underpants, she dressed and slipped on some black ankle socks. Weird, she thought, that he would have all of this. Maybe it’s from his last girlfriend.

The bathroom was more of a surprise. The cupboard was stocked with an entire range of Kiehl’s. The drawers were filled with the entire range of Nars make-up and there were hair straighteners, a blow drier, brushes and hair ties.

Sapphira washed her face and moisturized it. Brushing her hair, she tied it back in a bun and looked at herself. Not quite the image she was hoping to impress Jack with, but what the hell.

Taking the lift downstairs, she entered the lounge where Jack was standing, looking out the window.

Hearing her come in, he turned. His face was emotionless. ‘Time to talk, Amelia. Spill. You tell me your dirty little secrets and I’ll tell you mine. This way we’ll be even.
Si
?’

‘I don’t know what to say to you. I’m sorry,’ she said shamefully, her arms crossed over her chest.

Jack walked across to Sapphira and sat opposite her in the armchair. ‘There is nothing you can say which will shock me and nothing you say I will judge. I’m sorry for being so rough on you. The truth is, I had a lover many years ago who struggled with addiction. They fought it on and off for years. They were clean for quite a while but then got the urge and took a shot but took too much, forgot you can’t take the amount you used to take when you used regularly. I found them with a needle in their arm and dead in our bed.’

Sapphira was shocked. She knew of people outside her circle who had overdosed but no one close to her. ‘I didn’t know that, I’m sorry.’

‘Well, no one knows. It was the saddest time in my life and now I live for both of us. This is why I live the way I do. Life is too short to waste and when you stick a needle in your arm, you are wasting it. You have so much to offer, Sapphira, more than just the acting. Your talent and celebrity could do great things and perhaps, if you got clean, you could do something amazing. I feel you could, I know you could.’

While he spoke, Sapphira started to cry silently, not even aware the tears were running down her face. Then she started to sob and wail as all the years of pain poured out of her. Jack came and sat, holding her shaking body. ‘I know, I know, we can do it together. I can help you, trust me to help you.’

Finally she spoke. ‘I started ten years ago, I thought I could control it. I thought it was just to help me sleep. I have these dreams, these terrible dreams and the sleep comes when I take it. I know it’s crazy but it’s the truth.’

‘What are the dreams about?’

‘Nothing and everything.’

‘I understand,’ said Jack sympathetically.

‘I want to get off, I want to but I’m so afraid the dreams will come back.’

‘I think we are dealing with two different issues here. The addiction and the dreams need to be dealt with differently. I can help you with the heroin. Let’s do that first and see what happens with the dreams, okay?’

‘I can’t get off now, I’m in the middle of a film, Christ!’

Sapphira was becoming angry with Jack and his easy approach to something she had struggled with for the last five years. She stood up and walked to the huge, arched window and looked out over the canal.

‘I’m not saying now, but soon. If you stay here and do it, I can ensure privacy and can get you the best help in Europe. You can’t do it in the States. Those rehab centres are crawling with staff who leak to the media.’

‘What if I do get off, what have I got then? Who am I without this? Everything I do is to get the next hit. I fill my time with things to learn when I feel good but then I go down again. I know what you’re saying, I know I could do more with my life but not like this. I’m just so afraid. I feel like the smack is who I am. Does that make sense?’ Pacing the room now, she continued, not waiting for his answer. ‘I live a lie and I’m tired of it, tired of hiding it and freaking out all the time. When you massaged my feet on set, I was sure you would see the track marks between my toes. It’s so hard to cover myself and I look at what I project and what I really am and I hate myself. Do you have any idea what it’s like, Jack, do you? You live this free and easy life, Mr Fucking Playboy movie star, and have no idea what it’s like to live a lie like this. It wears you down, you can trust no one. Do you hear me? No one. I don’t even know if I can trust you. It’s just fucked, completely fucked.’

Jack sighed. ‘Sapphira, I’ve more idea about this than you realize. Things are never quite what they seem. I know about living a lie, I know about covering your tracks and making sure people don’t get too close. It is a shitty way to live your life. I get it, but you have something you can change. You are fortunate to be able to do this. Some people don’t have a choice, doll. Take it and run.’

Jack seemed so sad that Sapphira stopped thinking about herself for a moment and kneeled down beside him on the Persian rug. ‘What is it, Jack? What is your lie? I’ve bared my soul to you.’

‘You did more than bare your soul to me, honey, I saw the whole enchilada.’

Sapphira laughed, embarrassed; it felt good to laugh again.

‘Tell me, Jack. Come on, you know my dirty little secret, time to spill your guts.’

Jack reached over to the glass coffee table and opened an ebony carved box. ‘Cigarette, doll?’

Sapphira took one, and Jack lit it for her and one for himself with the marble lighter on the table. Drawing back the smoke, Sapphira became nervous but wasn’t sure why. Jack blew out the smoke, creating a perfect smoke ring in the room. He looked even more elegant with the cigarette. Like Cary Grant or William Holden, she thought, remembering the old movies her mother used to make her watch as a child.

Jack seemed to be contemplating his words, and then he turned to Sapphira, held her beautiful face in his hands, and said simply, ‘I’m gay.’

He shrugged his shoulders and laughed a little awkwardly. ‘So, the “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” time is over. I think a drink is in order.
Si
?’

There were two things Rose was having trouble putting to rest in her mind. One was that small child’s delicious smell and the other was the man’s voice, bawling the child out in front of her.

‘Who the hell speaks to a child like that?’ asked Rose as Kelly applied her make-up for the day.

‘I don’t know. I try not to judge.’

‘Bullshit, Kelly, you judge all the time.’

‘I mean I haven’t had kids yet, so you know, I can’t say anything about his parenting skills. Maybe he was having a bad day. Head up, please.’

‘I don’t think you should ever yell at a child like that, ever. Especially when the person is vulnerable and three feet high.’

Kelly stood back to assess her handiwork. ‘My mum always yelled at us. But then again there were six of us and my dad and the animals. I don’t think I ever heard her
not
yell when I was a kid,’ laughed Kelly. ‘Maybe he’s stressed out about something.’

‘Well, he did mention his wife was dead,’ said Rose not meeting Kelly’s eyes. She had purposely edited this part out when reliving the story to Kelly.

‘Okay, big plotline hole, babe. How the hell did that come up? Close your eyes.’

Rose closed her eyes. ‘When I asked to speak to his wife and then accused him of child abuse. Yeah, I know, I see the look on your face and my eyes are closed. Not one of my finest moments. I’m now staying out of town to avoid seeing him and his children again. I hope he didn’t recognize me. Although he did seem pretty self-involved.’

Rose had not left her villa; she was ashamed of the way she flew off the handle although not sorry to have stuck up for the small boy. If someone had stuck up for me when I was married to Paul, then things may not have gotten so awful, she thought as Kelly finished her face.

Rose walked out towards her trailer. They were shooting in the Piazza Del Comune, in the town of Assisi in the early morning. The piazza had been closed since 3.30 am for the crew to set up and now they were waiting to get the perfect shot of Rose’s character alone, praying at dawn. Rose and Kelly had been on set since 4.30 am for hair and make-up.

Crossing the set, TG waved at her to stop. ‘Hey, Rose, got a minute?’

‘Sure, walk with me to my trailer.’

‘So … Sam, who I hired for the role opposite you, has fallen off the wagon again.’

‘Oh, shit, poor Sam. That’s awful, he was trying so hard. Janet will be devastated. I’ll call her tonight.’

Sam Lowerstone and Rose had never worked together but Janet, his wife, was British and she and Rose shared an affinity for all things English and found solace in each other’s accents and sense of humour.

TG opened her door to her trailer for her. ‘Well, I knew last week and was hoping he might be able to get it together. But Janet just called to say he’s going to Promises to dry out. So I’ve had to make a call and hire a new actor. I hope you don’t mind me not clearing it with you first but Janet asked me for complete privacy and the producers have been freaking out.’

Rose sat on one of the chairs in the trailer. ‘Gosh, TG, I understand. I’m sure you’ve had a terrible time. I know you would use the best person available. Who did you end up getting at such short notice?’

‘He’s an English actor actually, but has done quite a bit of West End and done a bit of Broadway this last year, a Pinter play, I think. And he does theatre in London. You probably know him anyway.’

‘I doubt it, I haven’t been back to London to see theatre for ten years and I didn’t see the Pinter play. What’s his name?’

‘Max Craydon.’

‘The name rings a bell. Maybe I’ve read his name somewhere. Well, I’m sure that if you’re happy then I will be, TG. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pull any diva-style behaviours on you, although I wish I could sometimes, it might make my fee go up!’

‘Your fee is plenty high enough,’ laughed TG.

‘You know I’m worth it,’ said Rose, batting her eyelids dramatically.

TG stood in the doorway of the trailer and laughed even more. ‘Sure, sure. Well, I thought you should meet, since it must be weird for him coming onto a set where there was another actor cast. Perhaps a dinner tonight at my villa, or maybe a drink if you’re too tired?’

‘Lovely. Maybe a drink at 7.00 pm?’

Just after seven o’clock, Rose arrived at TG’s villa. TG met her at the door. ‘You look great!’ he said as Rose smoothed out her dove grey satin Roland Mouret cocktail dress. ‘Please come in. Max is already here. He seems a bit nervous, so if you could relax him, I think it would help. You’re always good at that stuff.’

TG opened the door to the salon. ‘Max, meet Rose. I hope you have a good time together on this shoot. Max is thrilled to be working with you.’

Rose looked up and saw her enemy from the Galleria Nazionale in Perugia. He was tall, with a thick crop of black hair hanging almost to his shoulders, reminiscent of a Victorian poet. He was older, perhaps forty-eight or more and his face was handsome, but looked tired or drawn. He didn’t look at all surprised to see Rose who, however, was shocked to the core. Embarrassment and indignation flushed through her body, and then she composed herself quickly.

‘Max, how lovely to meet you. Thanks for stepping in so quickly. TG tells me great things about your work,’ she said, thinking she had already seen his rage at work.

Max looked at her quizzically, then decided to follow her lead and pretend not to have met her before.

‘Thank you so much. It’s great to be a part of this. The script is fantastic,’ said Max sincerely.

His voice sounded melodious, the voice of a man who had worked on the stage for years. Deep, resonant and strong, quite different from when he yells, she thought, looking at him, unmoved by the charm in his voice.

‘What can I get you to drink?’ asked TG, unaware of the tension in the room.

‘White wine, thank you, TG,’ Rose replied as she settled on a red velvet chair.

‘Same for me, thanks,’ said Max, still standing.

‘This is a gorgeous room, TG, I feel quite regal sitting on this chair,’ Rose said, looking around the room.

Oval in shape, it had enormous French glass doors, which opened onto an oval balcony overlooking the perfect gardens of the villa. Painted frescos covered the curved walls leading to a red and white marble fireplace. The room was filled with furniture, creating little conversation corners; the high ceiling stopping it from feeling cluttered.

‘I guess so, it’s a little too formal for me, although I like the walls,’ said TG as he handed her a glass of the local Orvieto.

‘I think this room is an addition to the rest of the villa, probably in the 18th century,’ Max said. ‘I read that the owner, many eons ago, married a French aristocrat and she missed home, so she created her own little Versailles in Italy.’

‘How do you know that, man?’ asked TG, laughing.

‘I trained to be an architect before I fell into acting. I like to read about different buildings and the areas they’re situated before I visit a region. I feel like the buildings are telling me their own story of the history and who lived there and why they survived. I must say, I was thrilled to come to Umbria. I’ve been to other parts of Italy but not here before. The region is incredible.’

Rose remained impassive. What a shame he was such a prick to his kids. He might have been good company, she thought.

‘
Pranzo
,’ a voice called from the doorway.

Rose turned to see Lucia in the doorway. ‘Lucia, what are you doing here?’ she asked surprised.

TG laughed, ‘Everyone said Lucia does the best traditional cooking so I asked her to do dinner for us.’