Dazzled

  But I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take being around him while he picked every woman under the sun, but he never picked me.

  I phoned the airline to change my flight and packed up most of my stuff.

  And now here he was, trying to persuade me that there was some reason for me to stay.

  “Perhaps you thought that I’d just sit around waiting for you? I do have a life, Miles, it’s not all about you!”

  What a lie.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I…”

  “No. You never do mean it. That’s the problem.”

  We’d never had a fight like this before.

  He stood watching me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He looked tired and his eyes were red, but he was still so beautiful it made my heart ache.

  I dropped the lid of my suitcase and tightened the straps. I was desperately hoping that he’d say something real. Anything. But he didn’t. He just carried on watching me in silence. He wasn’t even going to fight for me to stay. That about summed it up. I guess I’d stopped being convenient. I was the boring, fat friend who got in the way of him having a good time, and only served to make him feel guilty about it afterward.

  I pulled on my coat and he still didn’t speak.

  “Goodbye, Miles,” I whispered.

  And I kissed his sweet face for the last time.

  “Don’t go. Stay with me. Please,” he mumbled, his voice breaking.

  I shook my head.

  “Your world dazzles me but I don’t fit in here – I have to go.”

  I left him standing in his apartment, his face shocked and pale.

  And as I walked away I realized it wasn’t his world – it was him. I’d been dazzled by him my whole life. And it wasn’t enough. For either of us.

  As half my heart withered with each passing moment, the other half felt light and free. I was going home.

  Cinema Paradiso

  Miles

  I couldn’t believe that Clare had really gone. She’d really left me. At Christmas. And I only had myself to blame. I think.

  Yeah, so did I do the smart thing and go after her? Find her at LAX and drag her back? No, I sat on my arse on the couch and drank half a bottle of vodka.

  It was all that was left in the apartment. I guess I’d already drunk everything else.

  I woke up about 14 hours later face down on her bed in the guestroom, clutching the shit-hot blue dress that she’d worn to the LA premiere. She was so sick of me, she didn’t even want the dress to remind her.

  Just to heap another layer of shit on my complete fucking misery, I watched the Kimmel interview clip on Youtube over and over, tormenting myself with the stinking heap of crap that seemed to be my life. I watched the audience laughing as I slurred my stupid answers, and I felt sick. At the time, I’d thought they were laughing because I was so damn funny – now I knew they were laughing at me.

  Rhonda was furious, and sent me an email that made my eyeballs bleed just reading it. She also promised to drag me kicking and screaming to an AA meeting if I didn’t get my shit together and quit drinking.

  I really didn’t like the idea of sitting around and sharing my feelings with a bunch of strangers, so I decided to shape up. Which was easier said than done when all I felt like doing was wallowing.

  Talking to mum on the phone had been another really fucking humiliating experience.

  “And I’ve never been so ashamed of you! Making a fool of yourself like that on the telly! Drunk! So smug and full of yourself – just like him.”

  “Mum, I…”

  “Don’t you ‘mum’ me! It was a disgusting exhibition! And what the bloody hell have you done to Clare? That poor girl has done nothing but be a good friend to you, and she’s been in tears ever since she got back. In tears!”

  Shit! I’d only ever seen Clare cry once and that was when they shot Bambi’s mum.

  “I tried to call her today but she won’t…”

  “Of course she won’t, and I don’t blame her! Doesn’t she mean anything to you? The way she’s helped you and supported you!”

  “I know, but…”

  “Don’t you ‘but’ me! You get your sorry arse over here and make it right! Do you hear me, Miles Fletcher Stephens? You sort it out!”

  Yeah, so what does a grown man say when his mum reams him out like that?

  “Yes, mum.”

  But I had no idea how the hell I was going to make it right.

  Clare

  Christmas Day and I was back in London.

  It had been a long and miserable flight, and even the wide, comfortable seat in first class didn’t make me feel any better.

  I stared at the bracelet of diamond hearts that Miles had given me just a week ago. I’d considered leaving it in LA, along with the fabulous blue dress that I’d worn to the premiere, but I couldn’t be that cruel. Miles had given it to me in friendship, and despite everything, we had been good friends. Maybe we still were – sort of – although it seemed doubtful.

  But last night had been a huge kick in the teeth and a much needed reality check.

  I’d been through every possible negative emotion while I was waiting for him to come back to his apartment: anger, fear, loathing, grief. I also felt ridiculous, humiliated and utterly pathetic. It wasn’t as if Miles had cheated on me; we’d never been together that way. I told myself that over and over again. He hadn’t cheated on me.

  It just felt like he had.

  I took the bracelet off when I got home and put it away in its box.

  Mum knew straight away that something was wrong. Probably the fact I was home four days early was one giant clue.

  “Well, are you going to talk to me, Clare, or do I have to stand here trying to get blood out of a stone?”

  I sighed and leaned back on my bed.

  “We had a fight. That’s all.”

  She sat down next to me, her eyes confused but sympathetic.

  “It must have been a bad one for you to leave so suddenly.”

  “Yep. Pretty bad.”

  “Was it about the interview?”

  I wondered how much of the truth to give her, because I really didn’t feel like conducting a post-mortem on the pathetic excuse for a life that was my existence.

  “Yeah. Mostly.”

  “But not completely?”

  I looked up, seeing nothing judgmental in her eyes.

  “I got tired of being in the way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged, unsure how to explain.

  “But what that woman did to him,” mum pressed. “Surely you should be with him, Miles must be in pieces?”

  “I know, mum, he is. But it doesn’t mean that I can fix him. In fact, I’m fairly certain I was making things worse.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  I ground my teeth in frustration.

  “I can’t fix his relationship with another woman. I never could. It’s up to him.”

  Mum nodded slowly, then sighed.

  “Well, I’m sure you can sort it out when he’s here for his premiere.”

  She frowned when I didn’t answer. But I had no intention whatso-bloody-ever of going to that premiere. I would be quite happy to never see anything to do with Dazzled ever again.

  I was relieved – I think – when I got a text from Paul and Nazzer saying that they were at the pub for a Boxing Day drink and did I want to meet them.

  I’d already had a couple of beers – okay, four – while I was recovering from leftover turkey curry and mum’s dose of girl time. So I was feeling pleasantly buzzed when I waded through the unwashed humanity that made up the majority of drinkers at the Stag Inn. Also known to regulars as the Stagger in and out.

  “Oi, Milton!” yelled Paul over the babble of people talking and drinking and enjoying themselves – selfish bastards. Didn’t they know I wanted to be miserable? “Over here!”

  They were sitting at a small table littered with empty bottles
.

  “Your round,” said Nazzer, looking expectantly at me. “Get the beers in.”

  “How’d you figure that? I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

  “Well, Paul and me have bought two rounds each, so you’re behind, you tightwad. Come on, get yer wallet out.”

  Grumbling, I forced my way to the bar and bought three bottles of Danish beer.

  “So, how’s our man in America?” said Paul, as I slammed the bottles onto the table. “Bet he’s still crying into his beer over that slag. If I was him, I’d have tapped every bint I could by now.”

  I winced.

  “Yeah,” said Nazzer, sadly. “It’s much harder to get women to talk to us now that Miles has cleared off.”

  “Like never,” Paul agreed, sighing heavily.

  “I’ll talk to you,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “But you don’t count,” Paul replied.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because,” he said, drawing out the second syllable as if he were a dentist, “because you’re off limits. I couldn’t get it up – you’re like my sister or something.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’ll do you,” offered Nazzer, after a short pause.

  “Aw, Naz, would you?”

  “Yeah, if you like. You scrub up okay – for a fat girl.”

  I must have been drunk because I was actually considering it for a moment.

  Nazzer looked at his watch.

  “So, we going to, or what?” he slurred through his lecherous smile.

  “I dunno?” I said, yawning. “Is there anything good on telly tonight?”

  “Yeah,” said Paul. “A Thunderbirds marathon.”

  “Oh, cool!” said Nazzer, enthusiastically. “Let’s get a kebab and go to your place. You coming, Milton?”

  There are many low points in a woman’s life, but when the bloke who’s been within a hair’s breadth of getting his hand down your knickers decides that he’d rather watch a children’s sci-fi program made with puppets fifty years ago, you can’t get much lower. Just saying.

  I went home alone, and the boys went off to eat kebabs and watch TV.

  If they’d cheered me up anymore, I’d currently be typing texts with my toes in a secure unit at Broadmoor hospital.

  Three days later and two days before the delayed UK premiere of Dazzled, and I still hadn’t returned any of Miles’ calls or texts. He’d even emailed me, but I hadn’t replied to those either.

  The Press were getting their knickers in a twist about the premiere and the coverage had been relentless. They were still harping on about the irony of the film’s theme of immortal love when Lilia hadn’t been able to keep her sticky fingers to herself for, well, however long it had been.

  Miles had originally planned to stay with his mum next door, but in the end it just wasn’t possible. I wasn’t sure whether or not to feel relieved that he wouldn’t be so close to me.

  In any case, it didn’t matter because I’d decided not to go to the bloody premiere. When I’d refused to answer my phone yet again, Miles had called my parents’ house on the landline. Mum had picked up the phone and tried to get me to speak to him. In the end, tired of her nagging, I’d taken the phone from her and simply replaced the receiver, cutting him off.

  Dad buried his head in the paper and turned up the volume on the TV when me and mum started yelling at each other.

  But the truth was, I had nothing to say to Miles, and I wasn’t ready to be friends with him either. It hurt too much.

  It didn’t take mum long to send for reinforcements, so I wasn’t surprised when I came home from work the next day to find Miles’ mum, Prue, sitting at our kitchen table with a mug of tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

  “Hello, Clare! It’s good to see you. How are you, love?”

  “Yeah, fine, thanks, Prue. How are you?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Miles,” she said, looking me in the eye, and ignoring my question.

  I sighed. I’d been expecting this. I just hoped I’d have a bit more time to get my head straight first.

  “He’s really sorry, sweetheart, I know he is. He hates that you won’t talk to him.”

  “Prue…”

  She held up her hands.

  “I know, love, it’s none of my business, but you and Miles have been friends ever since you were nippers. It worries me to see you both like this – Miles is terribly upset.”

  Nice move, Prue. She was deliberately making me feel bad for upsetting her.

  “He knows he was a first class idiot, getting drunk like that, and he’s so sorry. Can’t you forgive him? For me?”

  “Prue… I have forgiven him. I just can’t be around him… when he’s like that.”

  She looked slightly mollified.

  “Well, will you tell him that you forgive him? He needs to hear it from you, love.”

  Emotional blackmail. She ought to do interrogations for MI5 or some other spooks.

  “He said he’s phoned and emailed you. If you could just give him a chance…”

  Her face was so hopeful, I couldn’t refuse.

  “Fine. I’ll email him. Happy?”

  She smiled. “He’ll like that. But it’s his premiere tomorrow. I know he’ll want you to be there.”

  Ugh!

  “No, I don’t think so…”

  “Oh, come on, love, it’s his big night! I know you wouldn’t want to miss that. Now Sheila and Graham can’t come, you’ll be representing the Miltons.”

  I threw mum a jaundiced look. “You’re not going either?”

  “It’s your Aunt Paula’s 25 wedding anniversary that night, so we’re double-booked,” said mum. “When they changed the date of the premiere, there was nothing we could do.”

  “Don’t worry, love,” said Prue, patting mum’s hand. “I’m sure Clare won’t let us down. Besides,” she said, turning to face me, “these things are always best fixed face-to-face.”

  I wasn’t sure it was something that could be fixed, face-to-face or otherwise. But as Prue didn’t know the real reason for me not wanting to see Miles, it was impossible to explain how I felt.

  Wow. I didn’t want to see him. The knowledge hurt my chest.

  “No, Prue. It’s not the right place… to talk.”

  “So you will talk to him?”

  Jeez, she was relentless.

  “Give him a chance, love,” she said, as she gripped my hand and pressed home her advantage. “It’s not like you to be angry with him. I’d always thought that you two… well, I’m sure whatever he said to upset you, he didn’t mean it. He’s a man – he can’t help it.”

  My phone beeped in my pocket, but I resisted the urge to see who the text was from.

  “Is that him?” asked Prue, an eager expression on her face.

  Fuming quietly, I pulled the phone out and looked at the message. My traitorous, hopeful heart plunged again. It wasn’t from Miles.

  “Nope. It’s from Polly. She worked on the film with… us.”

  “That’s nice, dear,” said mum. “What does she say?”

  “Nosy much!” I snorted.

  What was with these two?! If they set up their own detective agency, they’d be solving mysteries from Jimmy Hoffa to the Loch Ness Monster.

  “I didn’t know it was a secret,” said mum, sharply.

  Rolling my eyes, I opened the message.

  “She says she’s coming to the premiere and wants to meet up. Happy now?”

  “That’ll be nice,” said Prue. “You two can go to the premiere together.”

  “I’m. Not. Going. To. The. Premiere!” I said, gritting my teeth.

  Yeah, that was the plan, but after another 45 minutes of having my brain dragged out through my nostrils by Glinda and the Wicked Witch of West, um, North London, I would have given them my firstborn just to shut them up.

  They hovered over me while I sent a text to Polly agreeing to meet at her hotel, so we could go to the premiere together.

>   I thought I’d probably be safe doing that. For one thing, if it was at all like the last premiere, I wouldn’t even get a chance to talk to him.

  Prue winked at me as I pressed ‘send’, and mum just looked smug.

  Harpies.

  Then the Press descended.

  The first we knew about it was an hour later when a couple of cars and a van pulled up outside, and I saw the telltale long black lenses of cameras pointed at Prue’s house next door.

  “They’re here,” I said, in an eerie sing-song voice.

  ‘Poltergeist’ had scared the hell out of me the first time I saw it.

  “Who’s here?”

  “The press. Reporters. They’re waiting for Miles,” I added, quietly.

  Prue peeped out through the net curtains and went pale.

  “Is this what it’s like for Miles?” breathed mum.

  I pulled a face. “Worse.”

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  “I think you’d better go out through the backdoor,” mum said to Prue.

  “And you should call Melody,” I said. “You know, Miles’ agent? Tell her what’s happened. He won’t be able to stay here now.”

  Prue looked shaken but she promised she’d make the call as soon as she got next door.

  She slipped out through the back, clutching her cardigan around her like a security blanket. I understood how that felt.

  Before Miles’ plane had even touched the tarmac at Heathrow airport, the whole of our road was mobbed with press.

  All the neighbors had their noses pressed to the windows, waiting to see a guy that they’d seen a hundred thousand times before, and had grown up playing in that street.

  Thirty minutes later, Prue phoned mum to say that Melody had booked her and Miles into the Dorchester, a hotel used to handling the security needed by celebrities, and that a limousine had been sent to pick her up.

  We watched through the curtains as an enormous black car swept up to the pavement – or as near as it could get with 30 reporters and a dozen TV crews milling around. A pair of burly security guards cleared a route through the heaving bodies for Prue to exit safely, and she was whisked away into the night.