Private Lives

44



Sam glanced at his vintage Patek Philippe wristwatch, willing it to run slower. Only two minutes to go until showtime. One fifty-nine. One fifty-eight . . .

He looked over at Mike, standing in the cool, dark wings of the Hummingbird, the peeling old comedy venue on Edinburgh’s Cowgate. Surely Mike should be feeling the pressure? It was seven years since he had performed anywhere other than the Oban pub, and yet he seemed completely calm, serene even.

Sam crept forward, peeking into the theatre at the packed audience, already buzzing from a foul-mouthed Glaswegian warm-up who’d got his biggest laugh by hitting himself in the face with a rubber brick. God, there were hundreds of them. He realised that this was infinitely more nerve-racking than the time he had presented a gong at the Oscars ceremony. Three billion people had watched him read the autocue at LA’s Kodak Theater, and right now there were fewer than three hundred waiting patiently for the ten o’clock headline act.

Back in London, when they’d been scripting the show, it had felt exhilarating. But right here, right now, with the second hand sweeping mercilessly round, he wasn’t at all sure, especially as absolutely nobody in the audience was here to see Sam Charles. They’d billed it as ‘Mike McKenzie: Back, Back, Back’, a one-night-only appearance of the fallen comedy genius, and it had been the talk of the festival. Even without being listed in the programme – they’d arranged their gig far too late for that – the show had sold out in minutes, and tickets were changing hands on eBay for hundreds of pounds a pop.

But no one except Sam and Mike knew that Sam would be part of the evening too – that in fact the whole show had been written around him, as a sort of comic satire on the perils of celebrity. Sam had been adamant that they should keep his name off the bill. They wanted the audience to be full of genuine Mike McKenzie fans, rather than press and rubberneckers there to see the notorious Hollywood f*ck-up.

‘You okay, buddy?’ said Mike, clasping Sam’s shoulder.

‘I’ll be honest, Mike, I’m shitting it.’

‘But why? This show’s the best thing either of us have written.’

‘They don’t want to see me. They’re all here to see you.’ Sam was having serious second thoughts.

‘You’re kidding. You’re the hottest movie star in the world.’

‘Most notorious movie star,’ Sam corrected.

‘Whatever,’ said Mike. ‘Their heads are going to frigging explode when you walk out.’

‘Maybe.’

Sam knew that in theory there were a lot of people who would love to see him at close quarters on the stage; over the years he’d been inundated with requests to appear in the West End, where a major movie star in the cast could treble ticket sales. But comedy crowds were more demanding, unforgiving. Especially drunk comedy crowds, he thought as he heard them roar. The Hummingbird MC, a curly haired Scouser with a great line in withering put-downs for the hecklers, had stepped on stage.

‘It’s time for the main event . . .’ he began, to delighted hoots and whistles.

Sam could feel his heart pounding. Usually he was surrounded by people reassuring him that he would be fabulous. But his manager, agent, publicist . . . none of them knew about the show. On a whim he had invited Anna Kennedy, but it was no surprise she hadn’t turned up. She was his lawyer, an acquaintance more than a friend. Suddenly he felt swamped by loneliness.

‘He’s been on TV,’ said the MC, ‘he’s been to Wembley, he’s even been in the nuthouse . . .’ The crowd crackled with excited laughter. ‘But tonight, here on stage at the Hummingbird, he’s back . . . back . . . BACK!’

Mike bounded on to the stage to a deafening roar. The applause went on and on as he bowed politely, then held his hands up in a faux-modest ‘What, me? This is all just for me?’ gesture. Finally he took the microphone from the stand.

‘Two nuns go into a bar . . .’ he said. The crowd were loving it.

Sam looked behind him to the illuminated Exit sign. It wasn’t too late to bail out. Mike of all people would understand, wouldn’t he?

‘First nun says to the other, “What are you having?”,’ said Mike.

He paused, the audience tittering in anticipation.

‘Second nun says, “Sam Charles, if I play my cards right.”’

As they’d anticipated, the crowd cracked up. Everyone knew that Sam and Mike were old friends, but to hear him take the piss was exactly what they wanted from the edgy genius. And in that roar of laughter, Sam took a deep breath and stepped out on to the stage. There was an almost audible pause, then the crowd went bananas, yelling his name, stamping their feet – they couldn’t believe their luck.

Grinning, his nerves all forgotten, Sam picked up his own mic and said, ‘Remind me next time that there’s no such thing as no-strings sex . . .’

The cheers from the crowd were still ringing in his ears as Sam ran into the dressing room and shut the door. A can of lager was waiting for him on the plastic counter and he opened it with a hiss, gulping it down greedily. The show had been an absolute triumph. From his first line, Sam had felt the crowd were in the palm of his hand. The jokes and routines they had written were pitched perfectly for this audience. They loved Mike’s anecdotes about bumping into an eighties pop star in rehab and singing a duet together, despite the fact that they were both heavily sedated. They lapped up Sam’s account of being trapped in a lift at the Chateau Marmont for an hour with Batman, Spiderman and the Incredible Hulk. And they clearly appreciated the effortless comic timing of two men who had been bursting each other’s egos since they were unknown teenagers. Sam couldn’t remember when he had felt so alive. It was partly the warmth and affection he felt from the crowd; after the endless outraged ‘Sam Charles Is Cheating Scum’ headlines, he’d convinced himself that he’d so pissed off Joe Public that his career – any career – was over, but now he felt them willing him on, a surge of goodwill perhaps born of the fact that they appreciated the huge risk he was taking. More than that, however, he was ecstatic at the reaction to his writing. They had been genuinely laughing. Yes, Mike’s comic delivery added a strong following wind, but it had been his jokes that had started the chuckles. And that was a revelation to him. Maybe there was life beyond LA after all.

‘Well, I think they liked that.’

He could see the reflection of his visitor in the illuminated mirror in front of him. Anna Kennedy was standing in the door frame, her arms crossed, a smile on her face.

‘Anna!’ he cried, turning around to embrace her like a long-lost friend.

‘You’re . . . choking . . . me,’ she moaned before he released her from the bear hug.

‘What are you doing here anyway?’ he asked.

‘You invited me, remember?’ she said, looking a little embarrassed.

‘Yes, yes, but I didn’t think you’d come.’

‘Well someone had to watch over you. You know what usually happens when you get in front of a crowd.’

‘I’ll have you know that the assault and battery charges against the photographer have been dropped.’ He grinned.

‘Does that mean I can’t charge you for danger money any more?’

He laughed and motioned to a rickety stool. ‘Sit down. Beer?

She waved her hand. ‘All yours. You deserve it.’

He watched her face, looking for traces of pity or sympathy, but she seemed genuinely excited. Even so, there was something reserved, impenetrable about Anna Kennedy; he never could quite work out what she was thinking. Handy for a lawyer, he supposed.

‘So. What did you think?’

‘Honestly Sam, you were brilliant. Both of you. And I’m not the kind of girl who gives compliments willy-nilly.’

‘And it was funny?’

‘Bloody funny. Smart, self-deprecating . . . I bet Eli and Jim are on the phone right now setting up Madison Square Garden and Caesar’s Palace.’

Sam took a pull of his beer and grimaced.

‘Actually they’re not. They don’t know I’ve done this.’

‘You’re kidding me! I thought you were joking when you said you weren’t going to tell anyone.’

He shook his head.

‘They’d have put me off doing it. Or even worse, turned it into a circus.’

‘Hey, it is a circus out there, a total scrum.’

‘So it was good?’

She chuckled. She had a lovely laugh. Knowing, tinkling, genuine.

‘Sam, I’m not here to massage your ego,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve got enough people to do that already.’

Suddenly the door burst open and in stumbled Mike McKenzie, wide-eyed happiness oozing from every pore. ‘We did it!’ he cried, flinging his arms around Sam and spinning him around, laughing. ‘You clever, clever bastard! I could never have done anything like this on my own. We f*cking rocked out there!’

‘No, you rocked,’ insisted Sam. ‘They all came to see you, after all.’

‘But it was you they loved, you daft pillock,’ said Mike.

Finally he noticed that Anna was in the room. ‘Oh, sorry, not interrupting anything, am I?’ he said, extending his hand with a playful smile.

‘This is my lawyer, Anna.’

‘Dammit,’ joked Mike. ‘I thought we’d got our first groupie.’

‘I’m sure there’s plenty to go round. They were practically drooling,’ replied Anna.

‘Excellent news,’ boomed Mike, turning to Sam. ‘You back off, pretty boy. I get first pick of the scrubbers, okay?’

Sam laughed. ‘How about we get out of here and find a drink?’

‘It’s a bit mental out front,’ said Anna. ‘Is there a back way?’

Sam put his hand lightly on the back of Anna’s shoulders and led her through the corridors towards the stage door. Already they could hear a rabble in the street behind the theatre. ‘Mike! Sam!’ came the chant. ‘Mike! Sam!’

Anna turned to Sam, her face half frightened, half excited.

‘What do we do now?’

Sam slipped his hand into hers, enjoying the feel of her smooth palm. ‘When I say run, put your head down and leg it, okay?’

‘Just like the old days, eh?’ laughed Mike, flinging open the metal door and charging out, arms outstretched like some cult leader meeting his followers. He was immediately swamped by bodies patting him on the back, thrusting programmes at him to sign, holding up mobile phones to get a snap. For a moment Sam thought they had managed to hide in Mike’s shadow, but suddenly the night was lit up by flashbulbs, hands were grabbing at his clothes, people were screaming his name. He’d been through this before, of course, only a matter of months ago, even if it seemed like a lifetime. But this was different. In Hollywood, he had been like some exotic creature paraded in front of the fans, something fantastic and unreal. Here the fans weren’t just here to worship at the altar of celebrity; they wanted to speak to him, to make a connection, tell him how much they had enjoyed what he did. It was a completely different energy: supportive, encouraging, a sense of a shared experience. Sam wanted to cry with happiness.

‘You go on, meet your public,’ whispered Anna into his ear. ‘I’ll get a taxi.’

Sam looked around for her, but he was surrounded. Grinning, he took the proffered pens and began scribbling dedications, posing for pictures.

Then, above the hubbub, he heard a loud whistle and turned. Anna and Mike were standing next to a black cab, waving their arms.

‘Come on, you twonk!’ shouted Mike. ‘I think we all need some booze.’

Muttering apologies to the fans, Sam dashed across the road and jumped inside, laughing. Anna slammed the door as the cabby pulled away at speed.

‘Well how about we head on down to the Midnight Mash?’ said Mike, pulling a flyer from his back pocket.

‘What’s that?’ asked Anna.

‘“Irreverent humour in a crypt”,’ read Mike in a Christopher Lee-style baritone. ‘Probably wall-to-wall goth birds mad for some comedy celebrity lovin’.’

Sam glanced over at Anna nervously.

‘I should probably lie low, to be honest,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to undo all the good work we put in tonight.’

‘I don’t know how you live like this,’ said Mike, whistling between his teeth. ‘Come on, I’ve been living on an island for seven years. The ladies have been pining for me. I can’t let them down.’

Sam laughed.

‘I would love to be your wingman tonight, but I’m in enough trouble as it is. I’m just waiting for my agent to call me and ask why I’ve gone rogue.’

‘Come on, Anna,’ whined Mike. ‘Tell him he needs to come to the crypt.’

Anna pulled a face. ‘I agree with Sam. “Hollywood Heart-throb in Vampire Sex Orgy” on the front of News of the World might be slightly counterproductive at this stage.’

‘Right then, you pair of old fogeys,’ said Mike as they pulled up outside the hotel where Mike and Sam were staying. ‘Out you get. Mind you don’t break your hips playing Scrabble,’ he added, flashing Sam a mischievous grin he hoped Anna missed. Once they were standing on the pavement, Mike turned to the driver and cried, ‘To the crypt, my good man! Adventure awaits!’

As the lights of the taxi disappeared around the corner, Sam turned to Anna. ‘Do you think he’s got his confidence back?’ he asked.

‘I think he’ll do fine,’ chuckled Anna as a couple walked past, nudging each other.

‘Let’s get in,’ whispered Sam, feeling conspicuous all of a sudden. ‘Do you mind if we go up to my room? The hotel bar will be swamped with tourists.’

‘Okay, but behave yourself,’ said Anna with a wry smile. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

They rode up silently, glad that the lift was empty. Anna was his lawyer, of course, so Sam could easily claim she was in his suite for a conference. A beautiful lawyer, all on her own? Pull the other one, sunshine, his brain mocked. He glanced at their reflection in the lift’s mirror – they did look good together, he decided as the doors hissed open. Outside the Royal Suite, he fumbled with the key card, finally opening the door and letting Anna inside.

Anna cooed for a few moments as she looked around the elegant space. While Sam mixed their drinks, she walked over to the window and looked out at the skyline, the castle just visible towering over a city peppered with light.

‘Mike’s great, isn’t he?’ she said, gazing through the glass as if she was looking for him.

Sam surprised himself at how disappointed he felt. ‘Oh, I forgot, you were his biggest fan, weren’t you?’ he said, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice. He walked across and handed her a tumbler, the ice cubes chinking. ‘Should I call him back? He is single, you know.’

She swatted his arm playfully.

‘I meant that I liked his work. Not that I fancied him.’

‘Don’t feel bad. Everyone fancied Mike when we were at college.’

She gave him a sideways look.

‘More than they fancied you?’ she said sceptically.

He nodded. ‘He had that tortured artist thing going. I was the pretty, stuck-up twat from the drama department. That’s what one ex-girlfriend told me, anyway.’

She laughed, that tinkling bell of a laugh again. For some reason it made him feel sad, and he took a slug of his whisky. They fell into silence, just watching the humped outline of the capital, a sleeping giant.

‘You know, in some ways, I feel like I’ve come full circle.’

‘How do you mean?’

He gestured towards the city with his glass.

‘The first time I came to the festival, we were straight out of uni. Mike and I had cobbled two grand together; you know, bar work, some modelling, scrimped and saved to put on a show. We stayed in a little hostel just down there,’ he said, pointing beyond the Old Town. ‘And you know what? I never thought I’d make it up here to the Royal Suite. Not deep down.’

‘And here’s me thinking all thespians were crazed egotists.’

‘Oh, we are. But we tend to swing between hope and despair: one day we believe we’re going to have a star on Hollywood Boulevard, the next we think we should chuck it all in and get a job in Starbucks. But in my more realistic moments, I sort of hoped I might get like a Persil ad or a part as the wacky neighbour in some Channel Four sitcom. You see too many failures and almost-theres to really believe you’ll make it to the Oscars.’

‘But you did.’

He nodded.

‘Past tense.’

‘You’ll make it back,’ said Anna.

‘I’m really not sure I want to any more,’ said Sam honestly. ‘Not after tonight. It felt good, you know? Maybe when you come full circle, it’s best to start a new adventure.’

‘Perhaps you could go back to the modelling?’ she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

He laughed. ‘You don’t want to see those photos.’

‘I do,’ she teased. ‘Go on, give me your best Zoolander face.’

‘Only if I can see your Blue Steel.’

Laughing, she sucked her cheeks in, put her hands on her hips and strutted across the carpet as if it were a catwalk.

‘Terrible,’ he said flatly. ‘This is how an expert does it.’

He stuck out his backside, dropped one shoulder and began skipping around the room like a deranged Mick Jagger. Anna doubled up with laughter.

‘Stop! Stop! You win!’

They sank back on to the huge sofas, laughing.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Anna as the giggles subsided. ‘I’m your lawyer, I should be more professional.’

‘Rubbish. I wish every lawyer was like you.’

Her gaze fluttered away from his and she took a nervous sip of her drink.

‘I went to see Amy Hart’s family,’ she said, a little too quickly.

Sam’s heart sank. Was this the real reason behind her visit to Edinburgh? Had she come to discuss her findings rather than to support his debut on the stage? If he was honest, he’d always found Anna’s theory of a cover-up a little far-fetched. Nevertheless, he found himself getting drawn in as she spoke, her face becoming more serious as she told him about Amy’s missing mobile phone and her best friend Louise who had gone travelling days after Amy’s death. It was fascinating, and Sam began thinking what a good movie it would make, before he remembered that Anna’s murder investigation was a real one, with an actual dead body.

‘I’m convinced Louise knows something,’ said Anna. ‘If Phil can just call round a few more hotels, maybe he can find her.’

‘But she could be anywhere,’ said Sam frankly. ‘India’s a big place to get lost, and from what you’re saying, that seems to be her plan.’

‘I think she knows something about Amy’s death,’ said Anna passionately.

‘Just because she skipped town after she died?’

‘And left her dream job and her family . . .’

Sam considered it, sipping his whisky.

‘You still think this has got something to do with me? The cover-up and all that?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Well I am paying for this,’ he joked.

‘I’m aware of that, boss,’ she replied, and when she smiled, Sam felt a sudden stir of longing. What was it about her? She wasn’t even his type. She was too sharp, too knowing, too unforgiving of people’s failures. Or maybe that is my type, he thought, remembering Jessica. But there was a controlled passion about Anna he found strangely attractive. He had seldom met a woman more difficult to work out. He’d spent over a decade in a city where women made ‘shallow’ a career; they were obsessed with money, fame and their own looks to the exclusion of everything else. But a woman like Anna? Sam suspected that you could spend years in her company and only begin to scratch the surface.

‘Listen, I want you to get to the bottom of this, I really do,’ he said.

He wasn’t lying. He had never met Amy Hart, and could barely even remember what her photograph had looked like. But he knew the type of girl she was: the sort who mixed with powerful men and who suddenly found themselves disposable.

‘Thank you, Sam,’ Anna said softly. ‘Phil thinks the best way to find out more would be for him to travel to India, but that’s obviously going to cost money, and his fee is being billed to you.’

Sam looked at her, and all he could think about the next twenty-four hours was that he wanted to spend them with her.

He began to feel another surge of excitement: another adventure, another circle beginning.

‘This girl, Louise. She’s in Kerala, right?’

Anna shrugged. ‘We think.’

‘Have you got your passport?’ he asked urgently.

‘Yes.’ She frowned. ‘I flew up here.’

‘Good,’ he said, reaching for his phone. ‘Then let’s go and find her.’

‘What?’ said Anna, her eyes wide. ‘How?’

‘On my jet. Well, it’s not actually my jet, I’ve got a share in it,’ he said, waggling the phone. ‘But I can call the pilot right now and check that it’s available.’

‘You’re joking,’ she gasped.

‘I’m deadly serious. I think you’re right. This Louise is lying low and her mum’s telling porkies; why would she hide unless she knows something?’

‘But I can’t just go to India. I’ve got to be back in work on Monday.’

He grinned at her, feeling giddy and liberated. The thought that by this time tomorrow he could be on some unknown hotel balcony, sipping cocktails with a beautiful, complex woman made him feel like Cary Grant in his own real-life Hitchcock movie.

‘Okay, it’s Friday night,’ he said. ‘If the jet’s fuelled and ready, we’ll be in Kerala by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. We fly back on Sunday and you’ll be at your desk at nine o’clock Monday telling everyone that you had a nice quiet weekend.’

Anna still looked hesitant.

‘I thought you wanted to find out what happened to Amy?’

‘I do,’ she said passionately.

‘So let’s go.’

‘What time would we leave?’ she asked, looking more confident about the idea.

‘I’ll need to speak to the pilot, but we’ll get the first slot out of the airport.’

‘So like, now?’

Sam could see this was freaking her out and didn’t want to scare her off.

‘Let me make a few calls,’ he said, getting up. ‘You just relax and have another drink. It might be easier if you stay here. There are two bedrooms,’ he added quickly.

‘But my bag and passport are at my hotel,’ said Anna, with a look of panic. ‘I’d better go.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Call me when you know what the arrangements are,’ she added, opening the door to the suite.

‘But what about that . . .’

The door slammed.

‘. . . other drink?’ he said to empty space. Then he burst out laughing.