The Girl on Paper

  ‘You’ll have fulfilled your promise when you finish the third book. Some things are easy to start, but it’s only once you’ve completed them that they take on their true meaning.’

  I was just about to ask her to stop the lecture, when there was a knock on the door.

  I opened it without thinking, assuming it would be room service, or a chambermaid, but I was wrong.

  We’ve all had a similar experience, when it seems as if some higher power has engineered invisible links so that we get exactly what we need, at the precise moment that we need it most.

  ‘Hello,’ said Carole.

  ‘Hi, buddy,’ Milo shot at me. ‘Good to see you again.’

  21

  Love, tequila and a mariachi band

  She was as beautiful as another man’s wife

  Paul Morand

  The hotel gift shop

  Two hours later

  ‘Come on! Stop acting like a child!’ Billie ordered, tugging at my sleeve.

  ‘Why do you want me to go in there anyway?’

  ‘Because you need some new clothes!’

  She gave me a shove and I found myself swallowed up by the revolving doors, before being spat out into the plush hotel store.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I exclaimed, stumbling. ‘What about my ankle? Sometimes you act like a total airhead!’

  She crossed her arms like an angry schoolteacher.

  ‘Listen, you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, you haven’t seen the sun in six months and, judging by your haircut, your hairdresser died last year.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, you’re going to have to look a bit sharper if you want to get your woman back! So follow me.’

  I limped grudgingly after her; a long shopping trip was the last thing in the world I felt like. The room was vast and airy, covered by a glass dome, and was more reminiscent of the chic Art Nouveau stores I had visited in London, New York and Paris than anything I had come across in Mexico. Immense crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and large black and white, vaguely artistic, photos adorned the walls, all of celebrities, such as Brad Pitt, Robbie Williams and Cristiano Ronaldo. The place was all about vanity and ostentation.

  ‘OK, we’ll start with skincare,’ Billie said firmly.

  Skincare… I groaned inwardly.

  All of the impeccably turned-out make-up girls looked as though they had been cloned from the same model. They offered their help, but Billie, who seemed to know exactly what she was doing, declined.

  ‘The seven-day beard, caveman thing really doesn’t work for you,’ she announced.

  I decided not to argue. It was certainly true that over the last few months I had let myself go a little.

  She grabbed a basket and dropped the three tubes she had just picked up into it.

  ‘Cleanse, tone and moisturise,’ she chanted.

  She moved on to the next shelf, continuing her running commentary.

  ‘I really like your friends. Your buddy, he’s a funny guy, isn’t he? He seemed so pleased to see you. It was really something.’

  We had just spent the last two hours with Carole and Milo. Seeing them had done me good, and I felt I was getting back on my feet.

  ‘Do you think they believed our story?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘It’s a bit difficult to believe the unbelievable, isn’t it?’

  *

  Hotel pool

  Jimmy’s Bar

  The bar, with its straw roof, looked out onto the swimming pool and boasted a spectacular view of the sea and the golf course, whose eighteen holes ran along the edge of the beach.

  ‘So what do you think of this Billie girl?’ asked Carole.

  ‘Great legs,’ answered Milo, taking a sip of his cocktail, served in a coconut shell.

  She looked up in irritation.

  ‘One day you’ll have to explain to me why you insist on making everything about sex.’

  He shrugged dismissively, like a child who had just been told off. The barman shook his shaker vigorously, making a show of mixing the ‘Perfect After Eight’ that Carole had ordered.

  Milo tried to carry on the conversation.

  ‘So what do you think of her? Don’t tell me you bought all that stuff about her being a character who’s fallen out of one of his novels?’

  ‘I know it seems crazy, but something about the story appeals to me,’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘The resemblance between her and the character is uncanny, I’ll give you that. But I don’t believe in magic, or fairy stories.’

  Carole thanked the waiter with a nod of her head. The pair left the bar to go and sit on two deckchairs overlooking the water.

  ‘Like it or not, there is something magical about the Angel Trilogy,’ she said, gazing at the ocean.

  Feeling enthused, she shared her theory with Milo.

  ‘The trilogy isn’t like other bestsellers. Readers relate to the flaws of the characters, but it also helps people discover an inner strength they never knew they had. The story changed my life all those years ago, and it changed the course of all of our lives for good. It got us out of MacArthur Park.’

  ‘Carole?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This girl who’s claiming to be Billie, she’s just a gold-digger. Some chick trying to take advantage of Tom so she can bleed him dry.’

  ‘Bleed him dry?’ she cut in. ‘What’s left to take? Thanks to you, he’s stone broke!’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep bringing that up! Don’t you think I feel bad enough about it already? I’ll never forgive myself for screwing up like that. I think about it constantly; for weeks I’ve been trying to come up with a way to make it right.’

  She got up from her chair and looked down at him coldly.

  ‘For a guy consumed by guilt, I’ve got to say you’re looking pretty comfortable lying there with your feet up and your coconut cocktail!’

  She turned her back on him and marched off in the direction of the beach.

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  He jumped up from his deckchair and ran after her, trying to stop her getting away.

  ‘Wait for me!’

  As he ran, he slipped on a wet tile and went flying.

  Damn it.

  *

  Hotel gift shop

  ‘This is what you need: a moisturising soap with goat’s milk extracts. And then this gel to exfoliate with.’

  Billie continued dropping items into her basket, firing recommendations and beauty tips at me as she moved from aisle to aisle.

  ‘You should also start using anti-wrinkle cream. You’re at a crucial stage in your life in terms of skincare. Up until now, the surface of your skin has held up, but not for much longer. Your wrinkles are going to deepen. And don’t tell me that women find wrinkles attractive, because they don’t!’

  Once she got going, there was no need to respond. She kept up both sides of the conversation and talked enough for the two of us.

  ‘And your eyelids are drooping. With those bags and dark circles, you look like you’ve been out on the town three nights running. You know you need at least eight hours’ sleep every night to flush out all your toxins?’

  ‘Well, for the last two nights, you haven’t let me get much sleep, have you?’

  ‘Oh, so it’s my fault, is it? Oh! And some collagen serum. And some self-tan lotion, just to give you a bit of colour. If I were you, I’d spend some time at the spa. They’ve got these really hi-tech machines that blast fat cells. No? Sure? How about a manicure? Your nails look pretty horrible.’

  ‘My nails? You’re finding fault with my nails now?’

  Suddenly, as we turned into the perfume aisle, I found myself face to face with a life-size cut-out of Rafael Barros. Sporting a whiter-than-white smile, toned pecs, broad shoulders, smouldering eyes and James Blunt-style designer stubble, the Hispanic Apollo was the face of a luxury brand’s new fragrance, Unstoppable.

  Bi
llie gave me a moment to recover from the shock, then attempted to comfort me.

  ‘I’m sure that photo has been airbrushed to death,’ she reassured me gently.

  But I wasn’t in the mood for her sympathy.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Refusing to let me wallow in self-pity, she dragged me along in her wake, determinedly pursuing her treasure hunt.

  ‘Look!’ she exclaimed, stopping in front of a display unit. ‘Our secret weapon to give your skin a bit of a lift – an avocado face mask!’

  ‘I am not slapping that all over my face, like some pansy!’

  ‘Well, don’t blame me for your dry, dull skin!’

  And, just as I was starting to get really annoyed, she added fuel to the fire.

  ‘And as for your hair I give up completely – good luck dealing with that mop! We could always just buy some keratin shampoo, but I think it would be better to make you an appointment with Giorgio, the hotel hairdresser.’

  Carried along by her enthusiasm, she moved toward the men’s fashion section.

  ‘Right, now for the serious stuff.’

  Like a master chef carefully selecting ingredients for an elaborate dish, she plucked items from various shelves.

  ‘OK, we’ll try this… and this… and… that.’

  As she pulled it off the shelf, I snatched a fuchsia shirt out of her hands before it could reach the basket, along with a mauve jacket and some satin trousers.

  ‘Um… are you sure these are for men?’

  ‘Oh please, you’re not going to have some kind of male identity crisis, are you? These days, real men care about what they wear. See this fitted shirt? I gave this to Jack as a present—’

  She stopped herself mid-sentence, realising too late that this was the wrong thing to say.

  She was right. I threw the shirt back at her and stormed out of the shop without saying another word.

  Women… I sighed to myself as I stepped into the revolving doors.

  *

  Women… Milo sighed to himself.

  He walked out of the hotel’s in-house clinic with a bloody wad of cotton in his nose and his head tilted backwards to slow the bleeding. Thanks to Carole, he had completely humiliated himself by the pool, falling flat on his face in front of ‘Orion and Cassiopeia’, smacking into the thighs of one girl and oafishly spilling his coconut cocktail all over the other.

  I can’t do anything right lately.

  As he reached the forecourt of the shopping area, he slowed his pace; the floor was slippery and there were people everywhere.

  Now would definitely be a bad time to go flying again, he thought to himself, just as a man came shooting out of the revolving doors at top speed, crashing straight into him.

  *

  ‘Hey! Look where you’re going!’ he grumbled, wiping dirt from his face.

  ‘Milo!’ I exclaimed, helping him up.

  ‘Tom!’

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll explain what happened.’

  ‘Where’s Carole?’

  ‘She had a hissy fit; you know what she’s like.’

  ‘Wanna get a beer and a bite to eat?’

  ‘Do you even need to ask?’

  The Window on the Sea was the hotel’s more informal restaurant. Spread over three levels, it provided a buffet with specialities from twelve different countries. The terracotta walls were decorated with paintings by local artists – still-lifes and vividly coloured portraits reminiscent of María Izquierdo and Rufino Tamayo. Diners could choose to sit inside the air-conditioned dining room, or outside on the terrace. We sat outside at a table that gave us a stunning view of the sun-drenched swimming pool and the sea beyond it.

  Milo was obviously in a good mood.

  ‘I’m so happy to see you again. You’re feeling a bit better, right? Well, anyway, you look better than you have done in ages. Is it to do with that girl?’

  ‘It was her that got me out of my depression,’ I admitted.

  A host of waiters was hurrying from table to table, carrying trays of champagne, California rolls made with foie gras, and langoustines.

  ‘You shouldn’t just have taken off like that,’ he said reproachfully, stopping a waiter to grab two glasses of champagne and a plate of canapés.

  ‘But it’s this trip that saved me! Anyway, if I’d hung around, you would have had me committed!’

  ‘Maybe the sleep-therapy idea was a mistake,’ he conceded, looking ashamed. ‘But I was so desperate to do something, anything, to help you that I panicked and went straight to Sophia Schnabel.’

  ‘Let’s just forget it.’

  We clinked glasses in a toast to our future, but I could see something was still bothering Milo.

  ‘Just to make sure…’ he said finally. ‘This woman, you don’t actually believe she’s the real Billie, right?’

  ‘As unbelievable as I know it sounds, I’m afraid I do.’

  ‘Maybe having you committed wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all,’ he quipped, swallowing a mouthful of langoustine.

  I was going to tell him where to go, when my phone vibrated with a text message.

  Hi Tom!

  The name of the sender sent shivers down my spine. I couldn’t ignore it.

  Hi Aurore!

  What are you doing here?

  Don’t worry, I’m not here for you, if that’s what you think.

  Milo got up from his seat and, true to form, stood behind me so he could shamelessly read the messages over my shoulder.

  Well, why are you here then?

  I’m taking a vacation. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve had a difficult year.

  I hope you’re not trying to make me jealous with that bimbo I saw you with in the shop.

  ‘She’s got some nerve, that chick!’ Milo interjected angrily. ‘Tell her she can go screw herself.’

  But before I could start typing a reply she sent another missile my way.

  And tell your friend not to be so rude about me.

  ‘What a bitch!’ snarled the friend in question.

  And not to read other people’s text messages over their shoulder.

  Milo looked as though he’d been slapped in the face, and scanned the tables surrounding us.

  ‘She’s down there!’ he said, pointing to a table tucked away in a little alcove near the open-air buffet.

  I looked over the balustrade. Aurore, in a pair of ballet pumps and a silk sarong, was having lunch with Rafael Barros, her eyes glued to her BlackBerry.

  I wasn’t in the mood for her games. I switched off my phone and told Milo to calm down.

  It took another two glasses of champagne for him to do so.

  *

  ‘So, now that you’re feeling a bit better, what’s next for you?’ he asked, looking worried.

  ‘I think I’m going to start teaching again,’ I said. ‘But not in the States. There are too many bad memories in Los Angeles.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Maybe France. There’s an international lycée on the Côte d’Azur that seems interested in taking me on. I might try my luck there.’

  ‘So you’re leaving us,’ he concluded bitterly.

  ‘We have to grow up sometime, Milo.’

  ‘And what about writing?’

  ‘I’m done with writing.’

  He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything all hell broke loose behind me.

  ‘What do you mean, done with writing? What about me?’ yelled Billie.

  Everyone on the terrace turned to look at us reproachfully. What with Milo’s cursing and Billie’s sudden explosion, we weren’t fitting in very well with the clientele of billionaires and celebrities. We belonged back in the projects, barbecuing sausages, drinking beer and shooting hoops on an abandoned basketball court.

  ‘You promised to help me!’ said Billie angrily, still standing at our table.

  Milo decided to put in
his two cents’ worth.

  ‘It’s true that if you promised to—’

  ‘That’s enough out of you!’ I interrupted, holding my hand up to silence him.

  I grabbed Billie by the arm and led her over to one side.

  ‘We’re both in denial,’ I said. ‘I can’t write. I won’t write. That’s just the way it is. I’m not asking you to understand, I’m just asking you to accept it.’

  ‘But I need to go back to my life!’

  ‘Well, maybe your life is here now. In this damned “real world” that you claimed you were so in love with.’

  ‘But I want to see my friends.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t have any friends!’ I shot back.

  ‘At least let me see Jack one more time.’

  ‘If you want someone to screw, you’ll find them by the dozen here.’

  ‘You’ve got problems, you really do! And what about my mom? Am I going to find dozens of them here too?’

  ‘Look, I’m not responsible for what happens to you.’

  ‘Maybe, but we had a contract!’ she said, pulling from her pocket the crumpled piece of tablecloth that had sealed our deal. ‘You may have a lot of faults, but I at least thought you were a man of your word.’

  Still holding her by the arm, I made her walk with me down to the buffet by the pool.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about contracts – you haven’t honoured your side of the deal either!’ I said, gesturing toward the table where Aurore and her boyfriend were sitting watching our little show.

  I’d had enough of deluding myself.

  ‘Our pact is null and void. Aurore has moved on – you’ll never get her back for me.’

  She looked at me defiantly.

  ‘Wanna bet?’

  I shrugged in confusion.

  ‘Go ahead, I guess.’