The Other Ida (11 page)

For one moment Ida wondered about popcorn before realising how hopelessly unsophisticated she was and feeling ashamed. They followed the woman through the doors into the dark cinema. There was a low mumble, broken by nervous laughs and at the front a band played some unfamiliar, sad music. It wasn't like the Odeon in town, all concrete and neon signs. Instead it looked like a theatre, with cherubs and fancy carvings all over the walls. Ida struggled to walk in her shoes, hold her glass, and look for famous faces at the same time.

“Ms Adair, you're in row G with Mike Saunders, and your daughter, well…” she scanned the crowd and Ida followed her eyes. There, in the row in front was the honey-coloured head she was looking for. Someone was whispering into her ear and she was laughing hard.

“If you don't mind I think you may need to sit over there, you lucky girl.” She pointed to an empty seat, where a pale pink handbag was lying.

“But…”

“Don't be shy, excuse me,” the woman stepped forward and spoke to the people at the end of the row and they began to stand up, giving Ida no choice but squeeze past them to her seat.

“I'm so sorry,” said Anna DeCosta, standing up and lifting her pink handbag off the seat as Ida brushed past her, pulling in her stomach as far as she could. “I didn't think anyone was sitting there, here, sit down,” she patted the back of the chair. “What's your name? I'm Anna, Annie to my friends. Nice shoes,” she whispered as Ida sat down, feeling very aware of her big hips, spotty chin and possible bad breath.

“Thanks. Yours are nice too.”

“Ha. Thanks. I wasn't sure. At home they would hate it, boots at a premiere, but in Britain you can get away with more. A refill?” She lifted a bottle from between her feet and without asking filled up Ida's glass.

As soon as the opening credits began Ida could tell it was going to be different to the play. She had imagined a slow and serious film, quiet with lots of silences, but instead it opened in a loud, nasty disco, with shots of different almost naked people sweating and dancing and kissing. And then there she was, Anna – Other-Ida – sitting crying in the loo, wearing a waitress outfit with her hands over her ears, scared of the noise and the people and her sleazy boss.

Ida could hardly breathe or blink and from the corner of her eye could see Anna's perfect long fingernails, her little fingers resting on her leg. She hoped she was happy with the way it was going and with how she looked on screen.

The scene changed. Other-Ida was going home from the club on the subway and there was no music now. Instead the only noise was the horrible screech of the train as the camera panned round slowly to show the miserable, scary faces of the people in the carriage: a homeless man with broken shoes, two ill-looking girls with matted blonde hair, a dirty woman holding a snapping dog. When Other-Ida got back home she tried to sneak in but the lights came on and there was her sister.

For the next twenty minutes she hadn't a clue what was happening. She noticed colours and faces, but couldn't join them up. Instead she imagined herself in the film – living with her sister in a house in New York.

She imagined she was thin, with sleek straight hair – that she was mysterious and tragic.

Occasionally she turned round and tried to catch Bridie's eye and felt anxious when, after half an hour or so, her mother disappeared. The thought of asking all those people to stand up and then showing her awful hips to the whole cinema was too much to contemplate so she stayed where she was, biting her nails, and gazing at the wonderful Anna on screen while trying hard not to look at the wonderful Anna right next to her. Then there were Anna's small round boobs, made massive on screen, and Ida couldn't resist subtlety touching her own for comparison while trying hard not to sneak a glance at the now famous breasts which were inches away from her.

She drank her champagne quickly and Anna noticed each time her glass was empty and filled it straight back up. “A girl after my own heart,” she whispered approvingly.

They were on the beach. It was nearly the scene Ida was waiting for and her palms were sweating. The two girls were naked – there were lots of shots of their boobs – and they laughed as they swam further and further out. And then it happened. On-screen Ida turned, and held her sister under the water, not flinching or pausing, a fierce, determined look on her beautiful face.

People around them gasped.

“Do you think my teeth are too yellow?” Anna asked as, on screen, she opened her mouth wide and screamed. As she moved away Ida could still feel the heat of Anna's breath on her ear and wondered whether any particles of spit or something would be left on her skin. Alice would know, Alice was good at science, but it wasn't a question she could ask, really. Just in case she decided she better not wash her face for a while.

Most bits were totally different to the play. She went to a clapped-out fairground by the sea where the sounds of the games were very loud, and the camera moved so jerkily that it made Ida dizzy.

Exhausted, she walked back down to the beach, strode into the sea, spread her arms wide and confessed what she'd done to the grey sky and suddenly Ida imagined she was there, at that beach, with the warm American sea on her legs and the tinkling sounds of a fair behind her.

The champagne had made Ida feel strange and, closing her eyes, she found she could actually feel the sea on her ankles, the painful crunch of shells beneath her feet, and a wind so strong her hair wrapped right round her face.

But instead of fairground rides there were peeling beach huts, a small girl, shivering in her nightdress, and hundreds and hundreds of furious gulls. “My breath is the slow creep of the tide,” she whispered to herself, and opening her eyes, noticed Anna had turned to look at her. She felt herself blush.

‘The End' appeared before Ida expected it to, and the audience broke into loud applause. There were cheers from the balcony and all around her people stood and clapped, so she got unsteadily to her feet.

“What did you think, kiddo?” Anna whispered, turning around and waving at people behind her.

“I loved it.”

“Aren't you sweet? What's your name? I didn't catch it.”

“Ida,” she said.

“I'd heard you existed! They said you did. I wanted to meet you, you know, for research. And here you are! It was meant to be.”

People cheered, hoping Anna would wave again or something, but instead she held onto Ida's arms with both her hands and stared right into her eyes. Her face was so small and she looked so excited, that Ida almost hugged her.

“You've got to come out with us, to the afterparty. Wow. The real Ida. Right here. That's neat, you know?”

“Yes,” said Ida, “I suppose so.”

Because she was sure it was meant to be, and because she was drunk and hungry and very tired, Ida didn't protest. She was led happily outside and into a waiting car, and felt she had about as much control over the situation as she'd had over the action in the film they'd watched. Somehow these events had begun and she was powerless to stop them.

“Hey Shirley, look at her coat! It's kind of fifties. It's cool.”

Anna was pointing at Ida's mink jacket.

The girl, Shirley, nodded in agreement from under her heavy fringe. She offered Ida a cigarette, which she gladly took.

“So where's good to hang out in London, Ida, where's good to just hang?” Anna sprawled across the seat with her legs open and she and Shirley started laughing.

“Um, I don't live in London. I'm not sure.” Her own voice sounded stupidly posh. She felt dizzy again.

“I don't live in London,” Anna said in a fake English accent and she and Shirley laughed. Ida tried to as well. The way Anna was saying things was the way mean girls at school said them, but oddly this was a kind of nice mean – she wanted Anna to tease her.

“I'm kidding Ida, you know that, right? Jimmy's taking us to the afterparty now anyway, aren't you Jim?” A small dark-haired man in the passenger seat turned around.

“That's right, Annie, as long as you keep your legs closed and your boobs in. We've all seen enough of them for one night.”

“Yeah right, Jim, you love my tits,” she leapt into Ida's lap, pulled down the top of her dress and there was one small breast, just inches from Ida's face. She was so light that Ida had the inexplicable urge to jump out of the car, pick her up and run away with her. For what felt like the millionth time that day she thought she was hopelessly weird.

“She looks petrified! Doesn't she look petrified!” shouted Shirley.

“Shut up Shirl. I don't blame her.” She pulled her dress back up. “We'll be better behaved from now on in. Scouts' honour, namesake.”

She smiled, as if she and Ida shared a secret, and Ida felt, on some deep level, they really, actually, probably did. She was about to say just that when the car came to a halt.

“Alright girls, we're here. Mike and the others are in there I think, walk straight through the lobby to the Grill Room.”

Nothing about the Café Royale Hotel's concrete façade had prepared her for the Grill Room. It was Annie's first time there as well.

“Fuck me. Fuck me!” she said as they walked inside.

“Fuck me,” repeated Ida, and immediately felt like an idiot.

The walls and ceiling were gold and completely covered in mirrors, and around the edge of the room there were mirrored tables surrounded by red velvet seats. There were candles and oil lamps but no other lights and the band from the cinema was playing music from the film in the corner.

Applause erupted as they stepped into the room and a handsome, fair-haired man stood up and bowed. He signalled to the band to stop.

“Our glorious Annie,” he said and everyone clapped again. A girl took their coats and Annie took Ida's elbow and led her towards the man. As she walked Ida could feel people's eyes on her dress and her shoes and her hair but it wasn't like at school. Instead of judging her they wanted to be like her, or at least they were wondering who she was. A warm feeling of pure wonder rose from her stomach to her cheeks, and she felt like Lucy must have done when she first went through the dark wardrobe and found herself in the snowy woods of Narnia.

Everyone loved Ida. They asked her questions about her life and her mother and her house and repeated all the British expressions that she used. They were Americans, most of them, and were sniffing drugs from the table through a rolled-up ten-pound note.

First they'd cut it up using Mike's American Express card, slicing it then pulling it out to make lines. It looked difficult, and Ida was both shocked and fascinated but tried hard not to stare. From the corner of her eye she carefully watched how they did it, in case they offered some to her.

“Is your Mom okay do you think? I hope she wasn't too upset. I figured she might not like the mad Catholic angle, I know she's kind of into religion,” said the blond man.

“I'm sure she's fine. She, well, she sometimes does things like that.”

“She's a wino, isn't she?” asked Shirley, giggling, her angular head lolling under her dead-straight hair.

“That's enough,” said Annie, then, “don't listen to her. Here…” She passed Ida the rolled-up note and Ida took a quiet breath for nerves, then leant over Annie's thin legs and snorted the thick line of white powder. She felt like someone had poked her right in her brain, and she couldn't help but jerk up her head and open her eyes, wide. Everyone laughed. With a ‘pow' the wonder she'd been feeling spread, from her head to her arms to the ends of her hair. This is what heaven feels like, she thought, catching her glowing reflection in the gilt mirror to her right and grinning.

“Wow. No you're right, Shirley, she's a wino, my ma,” said Ida, blinking. “She's a wino. And a fucking bitch.”

Everyone roared with laughter.

“So I guess she didn't like the film,” said Annie shrugging, scraping together another line with the card, “but did you like it? Really? That's what I want to know.”

“Yes – I loved it. It was intense and dramatic.”

“Exactly. It's all about the mood, it's sinister and strange. You have to be more mature to get it completely,” Mike continued.

Ida nodded.

“I wonder how many people have snorted coke from this very table,” said Shirley, almost inaudibly, her chin on her chest.

“Lots and lots,” said Mike. “Maybe even Oscar Wilde. You know he used to bring his boyfriend here – to this exact club. They would have been sitting where you two are, Ida and Annie, holding hands, looking lovely, making out.” He raised his eyebrow at Annie, a private joke Ida didn't understand.

“Come and dance,” said Annie, rubbing her nose and squeezing Ida's hand.

The band was playing a jazz tune and the two girls waved their arms about stupidly and pulled faces. Ida was glad that Annie was being so silly, she'd never danced outside her bedroom and wasn't sure she could. Round the edge of the room good-looking people stood and watched them. Annie took her hands and they both leant backwards and span round and round ‘til the gilt and the mirrors became one gold blur.

Panting, they stopped and leant towards each other. Annie touched Ida's elbow.

“You want to know a secret, Ida? I thought the film was kind of shitty and confusing,” she breathed hotly onto Ida's cheek. “It might just be me. I mean, I read your Mom's play but I couldn't make it out. It's just that bit on the beach, man, that has some honesty. There've been loads of times I wanted to walk right into the ocean and let it all out, you know?”

“I know,” said Ida.

“Fancy some air?” asked Annie.

Ida collected their coats while Annie hid in the loo and they ran together, the sweat cooling on Ida's skin as they hurtled past the doormen and round the corner into an alley. Annie took her arm. She was so small Ida felt like more of a giant than ever.