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  Melanie loved watching Davey work. He controlled the set with absolute authority but managed to do so in such a way that no one felt controlled. A lazy smile permanently played across his lips, as if he knew secrets that amused him.

  On set they nicknamed Davey the Big Chill. He was so laid-back it had a positive, calming influence on the cast and crew, who sometimes struggled with the emotive material.

  To her great shame Melanie developed a crush.

  She knew it was a crush. It had all the hallmarks. Uncontrollable admiration – check. One-dimensional knowledge of subject – check. Full-time resident of romantic fantasyland – check.

  During the day Melanie was a professional, but alone at night her imagination spiralled out of control and she was having a steamy affair with Davey in a variety of tropical beauty spots, his strong hands discovering hidden pleasures. She would lie in the dark and sweaty room, listening to the chattering monkeys pierce the overwhelming silence, and think of what Davey would be like in bed.

  Occasionally she did feel tinges of guilt about Jonathan. He was her boyfriend, the last man she had slept with, a token goodbye fuck the day before she left. But if guilt and Jonathan ever interrupted a fantasy she couldn’t make herself stop.

  Melanie and Jonathan had met almost two years ago during a torturous weekend party at the country house of a mutual friend. By Sunday afternoon they were an item. If it had been a better party instead of one they were both desperate to escape, Melanie and Jonathan probably wouldn’t be together.

  At first it had all been wine and flowers and every Sunday in bed or in a romantic city far away from real life. Melanie fell a little bit in love after that very first weekend in the country when, out of all the women there, Jonathan had chosen to escape with her.

  Jonathan was the strong silent type and she was deeply smitten. He was a theatre director, which sounded artistic and adorably low key. Then one day, almost overnight, strong silent Jonathan began to talk. And talk. For an affluent white male he sure did have a big chip on his shoulder. Jonathan found someone else at fault for every personal failure and soon, when he ran out of people to blame, he blamed Melanie. The lust-match had disintegrated into a resentful relationship of convenience where neither had the energy to work it out or the good grace to walk away. Sex and loneliness had brought them together, and once the two needs were satisfied there was little left to work with.

  When Melanie finished this film she would deal with it, she had to. There was nothing more depressing than a couple who were faking it.

  So she was practically single, and meanwhile where was the harm in a few sexual fantasies about another man?

  Her dreams of Davey were so strong; the nights were hot, intensifying her sensations. But then one night her dream felt dangerously authentic and she almost drove herself nuts remembering it. She was lucid and proactive in her dream. Instead of the usual leisurely romance, making love under the sun-spotted diamonds of a fantasy waterfall, it was raw, urgent sex in the darkness of her own bed. Davey grabbed her and was deliriously rough with her and the whole time Melanie was silently screaming ‘Wake up!’ because she was sure that this time her fantasy was real. When she woke she remembered the dream so vividly that she checked her sheets for traces of him and felt inside herself for his calling card.

  Melanie watched Davey closely the next day, as she always did, but this time for a hint that he had crept into her room last night, that he was as consumed with reverie and desire as she was and had to have her as a release. He kissed her brow that day when she had finished a gruelling scene; it remained the only time he kissed her, albeit a brotherly kiss, and for days she wondered if that was his sign.

  For these final days of production they were on night shoots. Everyone finished at dawn, as the red sun filtered into shot. Melanie would spend the day trying to sleep through the noise and heat and wake for work at midnight. Her body clock was all out of whack and when Ella told her that Davey’s wife had arrived for the last day of shooting Melanie thought she must have misheard.

  ‘His wife? Davey’s married?’

  ‘Oh come on! He married Mary Ann Simpson last year. You knew that.’

  As Ella said it Melanie realized that she did and her head conjured a picture of Mary Ann, the skinny young model. Their wedding pictures had been in a magazine, the edgy director from Texas and the cool blonde debutante from New York City, whose skeletal figure was the subject of endless criticism in the first-person columns and graced eight-page spreads on the fashion pages.

  ‘I can’t believe I forgot,’ said Melanie. ‘I suppose I hardly even knew who he was then. You never see them together.’

  ‘They never go out,’ Ella said. ‘They have this amazing ranch in New Mexico and are all kind of zen about it.’

  Melanie had only recently awoken from a very erotic dream about Davey in which he had thrown her to the floor of a faceless hotel room and felt her up until she moaned herself awake. She felt a rare blush flood her face.

  ‘Oh my God, are you guys fucking?’ said Ella.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Melanie. ‘Jesus, Ella, I’m sure if we were you would have found out and told half the crew by now.’

  ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s married.’

  Davey was just a crush after all, her way to while away the lonely hours on location, a common reaction for an actress who found herself the centre of attention. But when Melanie pictured his wife she felt first sick and then desperate to see what Mary Ann was like. She checked the mirror twice before returning to the set and knew that couldn’t be good.

  Mary Ann Simpson sat perched on a canvas chair at Davey’s shoulder, sulking beneath an inappropriate black beret and looking like a teenage Faye Dunaway. She was stunning. Melanie wanted to scratch her eyes out. When Davey saw Melanie and smiled at her, she knew that she was lost.

  ‘Melanie,’ said Davey. ‘Come and meet my wife.’ He put his arm around his wife.

  His wife the supermodel.

  Melanie smiled and exchanged hellos with the emaciated slut. She was so jealous it was physically painful. Her eyes fastened like a close-up on Davey’s hand around Mary Ann’s waist. Four tanned fingers and a tanned thumb cruelly curving into the line of her waist, her teeny tiny waist. Mary Ann didn’t look a day over nineteen.

  Melanie knew that she wouldn’t be able to concentrate at all as long as The Wife was watching. She felt as if she was involved in some silent game against a girl who didn’t know that she was playing.

  Davey noticed Melanie was off form and tried to coax one last performance from her, but when the crew whistled at the final cut, Melanie felt as if she had let herself down and drifted past the popping champagne corks down to the beach. The ocean stretched towards the horizon, broken by green islands just like this one, scattered like jewels across the blue.

  London and Jonathan seemed so far away. Jonathan. She could close her eyes and not quite remember what he looked like. She had been dodging the issue at hand by focusing all her sexual energies on Davey. With the illusion stripped away, she was forced to look at the harsh angles of her own failing relationship. It was over.

  She heard someone call her name and turned to see Davey walking along the surf towards her. She dipped her head, embarrassed, not by her crush, but by her poor performance.

  ‘Davey, congratulations, it’s over, you can go home.’ Melanie tried to keep her voice even and friendly despite the drumbeats that were pounding in her heart.

  ‘The light’s still good, let’s do some shots of you down here.’ Davey wasn’t ready to stop.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ll do some DV stuff, it’ll be perfect. Stay there.’ He ran off towards the base and grabbed a lightweight camera, plugging the battery pack in and assembling the lens as he walked back towards her.

  ‘Just stay as you are, that’s it,’ Davey said as he lifted the camera to his shoulder and captured the warm breeze off the South
China Sea lifting the cloud of hair from her face. He had watched Melanie today become more detached from her performance than she had ever been. It must be because they were at the end of the shoot and Melanie had let her character go too early, involving herself in the real world and the future.

  Davey was disappointed not to get one more day of first-class work. If the rushes were anything to go by she’d been so outstanding in this film that even Bob Rosenburg would be forced to admit it would be difficult to find better. In his camera she looked like an arrogant angel. He would find it hard to say goodbye to Melanie Chaplin.

  6

  After their party line Max Parker developed a thing for Lynsey Dixon. An interest. Lynsey was flattered. Jim Taylor was jealous.

  ‘So,’ Max said when she returned his first call. ‘Tell me about Melanie Chaplin.’

  ‘Melanie’s the best. Are you thinking of her for something?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Lynsey. ‘What is it? Who’s it for?’

  ‘Easy, tiger.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No,’ said Max, ‘don’t be. You’re very direct.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Across the world, Max grinned. ‘Okay, Lynsey, it’s a series. A major primetime-but-edgy kind of thing.’ He reeled off all the facts she wanted to know without having to hear the questions. What, when, where, who was paying for it, who was directing, who’d written it. ‘Do you know Fabien Stewart?’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’ Crikey, Fabien Stewart, yum.

  ‘He’s the male lead.’

  ‘What’s the part for Melanie?’

  ‘The female lead. But it’s really a boys’ show. Explosions, car chases, conspiracy theories, the usual stuff.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘Lawyers.’

  Lynsey sent tapes of Melanie over to Los Angeles in the weekly CMG Fedex pouch. Max saw one very rough scene of the Davey Black movie. After a few days Lynsey followed up on a decision and an assistant from Max’s office returned the call to say Max would get back to her as soon as he could. It sounded like a brush-off.

  ‘I don’t know why I let you handle it,’ said Jim. ‘I might have known you’d mess it up.’

  Lynsey couldn’t help thinking he was probably right. She never let her lack of experience hold back her enthusiasm. She struggled with her job most of the time and often thought that if she was good enough she would be out of the office by seven every night. She resolved to try harder but in the days that followed nothing changed.

  ‘Jim Taylor’s office?’

  ‘You work too late.’

  ‘Max!’ It was the first time he had called in over two weeks.

  It was ten o’clock at night and despite the overtime Lynsey hadn’t actually done much at all. She had moved things around, made colour-coded notes on the top of faxes about what she needed to do with them, things that she didn’t really need notes to remember. She had sorted her in-tray but not dealt with any of it. She had made a list of contracts and booking notices that needed her immediate attention but she would still have to hide under her desk tomorrow if anyone from accounts came into the office. How could it be that she had stayed so long and achieved so little?

  ‘When is Melanie Chaplin due back?’

  Thanks to her earlier efforts Lynsey was able to reach into her in-tray and instantly lay her hands on Melanie’s faxed movement order. With colour-coded notes. She had never felt so organized. ‘Tuesday evening, Heathrow.’

  ‘How do you think she’d feel about a little diversion over here? We’d love to see her.’

  Lynsey tried to match his tone, casual but businesslike, brisk but not hurried. ‘Let me speak to her. I’m sure that will be fine. Are there scripts?’

  ‘Yeah, the first one. Call my office and let me know where to send them.’

  ‘I’ll do that. I’ll call you back when we’ve spoken to Melanie.’

  ‘Great. And Lynsey?’

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘It’s quite a big deal. This show. She should know that.’

  ‘Okay, sure,’ said Lynsey, although she wasn’t quite certain what he meant.

  She checked with e-bookers that it was possible to fly from Jakarta to Los Angeles and that there were seats available on both that flight and ongoing flights from Los Angeles to London, She wrote down the figures. To switch the flights would cost somebody an extra couple of hundred but if the film company were accommodating they might pick that up. She checked all the timings to make sure that Melanie wouldn’t be too tired and drafted a proposed schedule, checking first with Max’s office that he was provisionally free.

  She did all the grunt work that night but when it came to the fun stuff, actually telling Melanie that she had a hot audition, she knew that Jim would want the glory.

  ‘We like her,’ said Max the following Tuesday a few hours after meeting Melanie Chaplin. ‘We’ll be in touch. Thanks for setting all that up so quickly.’

  ‘No sweat,’ said Lynsey.

  ‘You should try working out here for me sometime, I’d make you sweat.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Lynsey, although the conversation had taken a flirty turn that felt slightly uncomfortable.

  Two days later Jim beckoned Lynsey into his office.

  ‘Shut the door.’

  Shutting the door alone was enough to raise eyebrows in the outer office. Lynsey tried to think of anything major that she had fucked up lately.

  ‘I’ve just been on the phone with Max Parker.’

  Lynsey waited for the axe but it didn’t come. Instead the universe offered up an interesting twist for her consideration.

  ‘They want to offer Melanie the part. Four out of six with the option to pick up for a further six plus a two-year option. That means…’

  ‘A guaranteed four episodes out of the first six and two and a half chances to renew her contract every year for the next three years.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Jim smiled for the first time.

  When Jim smiled it always made Lynsey suspicious. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Max Parker seems to have a thing about you. He’s come up with this idea to hire you in his office for a few months if Melanie accepts the part. He has the impression she may need special attention while she settles in. He also thinks you might know a face or two on the UK scene.’ Jim made notes on his list as he talked to her, giving the impression that this sort of thing happened all the time. Like a great adventure was just another task to delegate.

  ‘He wants me to go and work for him? In Los Angeles?’

  ‘Yeah. He thinks it’ll make him look more international. Or CMG. Something like that.’

  ‘He asked you before he asked me?’

  Yes. Of course.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to say anything right now. This is all only if Melanie takes the job.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t mind?’

  Jim looked at her as if she was insane. Would it kill him to give her a compliment? Melanie Chaplin had just been offered a big-money, high-profile gig largely thanks to her efforts (okay, and Melanie’s talent might have had a hand) yet Jim was acting as if he would be glad to be rid of her. And Hollywood beckoned. How crazy would that be?

  ‘Don’t get too excited. Like I said, it’s all up to Melanie.’

  ‘But she’ll accept the job, surely?’

  ‘I don’t know. Apparently Max offered her the part on the spot and she was kind of freaked out.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Who knows? But it obviously got Max thinking that she might need special attention. She got back yesterday. When she calls in you’re not to take the call. This is Melanie’s choice and I won’t have you pressuring her.’ He paused and smiled. ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘So I’ll just wait and see?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Do you know how long?’

  ‘Two weeks.’
<
br />   ‘Two weeks for Melanie to make up her mind?’

  ‘Until they start shooting.’

  ‘Right. Wow.’

  ‘Max said you should call him.’ Jim looked up. It signalled the end of the conversation.

  ‘Can I ask a quick question?’ said Lynsey and hurtled ahead. Max Parker’s not… Sometimes he’s, well –’ her voice reached for an appropriate word and couldn’t find one – ‘flirty. I mean, he’s a straight-up guy, right?’

  ‘Not quite so straight. I wouldn’t worry about him trying to get you into bed. He’s a confirmed bachelor.’

  Lynsey looked confused.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, he’s gay. You need to lose some of that northern naivety. If this happens you’d better not let me down, no more of your stupid mistakes. I won’t have Max Parker calling in a few weeks saying I gave him a dud. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, Jim. Thanks.’ Lynsey backed out.

  She called Max’s office and was put straight through.

  ‘Jim talked to you?’ said Max.

  ‘He did.’

  ‘I had to run it by him first. I hope you understand. It’s okay to poach clients but not staff. At least not from your own colleagues.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘Anyway, Jim says you’re a great assistant. A fast learner. And he thinks you would benefit from this opportunity.’

  ‘Really? He said that?’

  ‘Yes. Why? Is he wrong?’

  ‘No,’ said Lynsey, partly to convince herself she was up to this. ‘No, he’s not wrong.’

  That night she tried not to get too excited but it was impossible. She had only ever been to Tenerife. She wouldn’t deprive herself of the anticipation just in case it didn’t work out. Her head was full of sidewalks and drive-ins, ice-cream floats and baseball, diapers and garbage. When she finally fell asleep her fingers were crossed. Above all things in life she valued adventure.