The Out of Office Girl (26 page)

Once we’re inside, he knocks a pile of scripts and papers off his bed and pushes me down on it, climbing on top of me and kissing me again, while I run my fingers through his hair and down his back. We’re both still wet from the pool, but it’s so hot it doesn’t matter. Not that I’d care if it was twenty degrees below zero. I have never
been so turned on in my life. It’s as if I don’t have to think and
rules don’t apply. I feel completely relaxed and uninhibited, soaking in all the different sensations: his hand on my thigh, his hair and skin under my fingers, his lips on my neck, on my shoulder, on my breasts . . .

I haven’t slept with very many people, and when I have it’s often been awkward and forgettable. This is a completely
different experience in every way. It’s not just that he’s so incredibly unselfish, or that he doesn’t rush me, or that he’s so gorgeous and he keeps telling me I am as well. It’s not just that he’s confident enough to ask me what I want, but doesn’t have to ask all the time. It’s that, seeing him lose himself so completely in me, I feel that he wants me just as much as I want him; it’s totally
equal. I don’t think I’ve ever had that before.

TWENTY-FIVE

There’s light coming in through the window. I’m lying with my back to Sam, and both his arms are wrapped around me. My hair still feels damp, but the sheets are mainly dry. Which means last night was real, and not a drunken dream.
I am in bed with Sam
. Luther’s agent, Sam.
What the hell have I done?
I’m already regretting it: he’s
definitely
going to regret it. I begin to edge out
of the bed, wondering if I can just slip out and pretend it never happened.

‘Are you awake?’ he says softly. He kisses the back of my neck, and I’m relieved. Whatever else happens . . . I’m glad he still seems to like me.

‘Um, yes,’ I whisper.

‘So am I,’ he whispers back. He unwinds his arms slowly and checks the time. ‘Good. It’s early.’

‘I should go,’ I mutter, but he pulls me in close again
and kisses me. As soon as he does that, I’m completely undone: I can’t do anything but kiss him back. As he wraps himself tighter around me I can feel that yes, he really is awake . . .

There’s a noise. Someone is knocking at the door.

‘Hey, man, you there?’ Shit! It’s Luther!

Sam is gesturing for me to get under the covers, but I’m going one better; I roll off the bed, grabbing a sheet with
me, and roll right under it. And just in time, because Luther, who doesn’t stand on ceremony, has opened the door and come inside. From where I’m lying, I can just see his feet in the sandals he was wearing the other day. Oh my good God. What is he doing? Did he hear us? What if he sees me?

‘Hey, man,’ Sam says, sleepily. ‘You’re up early.’ He sounds totally relaxed. How is he doing that?

‘Yeah,’
Luther says. His feet pace over to the other side of the room and I frantically inch my feet back. Suddenly I see my nightdress, in a pile with Sam’s clothes, right by Luther’s feet. My bikini is hidden, but you can definitely see my nightdress. Oh, no! No!

‘Have you seen Alice?’ I hear Luther asking. ‘She’s not in her room.’

‘Sure, she’s stashed in my closet,’ Sam says. ‘No, of course I haven’t
seen her. Maybe she’s asleep. It’s early.’

‘No, she’s not in her room. I looked.’

You cheeky bastard!
I think.

‘I don’t know, man. Maybe she’s in the pool? Or went for a walk?’

‘I’ll go take a look. I want to do an interview.’ He sounds preoccupied, and he doesn’t make any immediate move to go.

I’m feeling incredibly cramped, and the floor is stone cold where my sheet has left gaps. I focus
on a small dust ball a few inches from my nose, trying to keep my breathing quiet. I hope I don’t sneeze. Oh, God, please let him leave. Just get him out of here and I’ll never do anything stupid again. Ever.

‘OK, well, I hope you find her,’ says Sam. I can feel the bed shifting above me. ‘Mind if I get some more sleep?’ He yawns.

Luther doesn’t say anything, but slowly the sandals turn
and
walk out. I let out a long, silent breath and count to ten, watching the door, just in case he decides to come back. I imagine Sam is doing the same thing, because he doesn’t say anything. When the coast seems clear, I slowly emerge from under the bed, clutching my sheet. To my disgust, Sam starts laughing.

‘
What
is so funny?’ I hiss. ‘That was horrific.’

‘I’m sorry, Alice. You just looked so
spooked – and the way you scooted under the bed – it was like something out of a French farce.’ He holds out his arms, trying to take me in them. ‘I didn’t mean to laugh at you. I know you must’ve been freaked out. You look very cute in that sheet, by the way.’ He puts his hand to my face and pulls me towards him to kiss me. But I can’t kiss him back; I’m still too shaken.

‘Sam, do you know what
would have happened if he’d caught me here? He would have been furious! He would’ve fired us both!’

Sam sighs and lets me go. ‘Maybe. But he didn’t, so . . .’

‘I’m serious! We’re just lucky he decided to knock. Imagine if he’d –’ I can’t even say the words ‘walked in on us’. How the hell would I explain that one to Luther – or, God forbid, Olivia? I wouldn’t just be given the boot; I would be
hung, drawn and quartered. ‘Sam, I think this was a mistake. We should never have done this. If Luther found out . . .’

‘It’s none of his business.’

‘Well, it is, isn’t it? I mean, I’m his editor, you’re his agent – isn’t it a little – unprofessional?’

I can see him flinch slightly at that. But then he leans back and looks at me.

‘Is that what you really think? Or do you just not want to be
here?’ he asks.

I’m about to reply when there’s the sound of footsteps
going past us in the corridor. It sounds like Luther again. We both freeze, and I crouch down, preparing to duck back under the bed if necessary. But then they go past, leaving me limp with relief and delayed terror.

I get up, still clutching my sheet. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Alice,’ Sam says in a low voice. ‘Come on. I understand
your concern, but can we just talk about this for a second?’

I shake my head. He’s about to say something, but then he stops, and just reaches out to grab my nightdress from the floor and hand it to me. I don’t want to drop my sheet to get dressed. He seems to get the message and looks away, while I pull the nightdress on awkwardly. I get up and walk over to the door.

‘Wait,’ says Sam.

I turn
around expectantly, but all he says is, ‘I’ll check the corridor.’ He gets out of bed – now he’s got a sheet around him – opens the door and glances out, then closes it.

‘All clear.’

‘Thanks.’ I slip out, avoiding his eye.

TWENTY-SIX

I run myself a cool shower, and shiver under it while I give myself a firm talking-to.
What was I thinking?
Do I actually want to be fired? I’m in enough trouble as it is. If Luther had found out, it would have been a
catastrophe
. He could easily have heard us, or walked in on us – if he’d been any later, God knows what he would have seen . . .

But that thought just leads me right
back to Sam. What he was like. Being so near him, so intimate with him. It was so intense. I wouldn’t have dreamed he’d be so passionate, but, actually, it isn’t surprising at all. My entire body feels like it’s humming or vibrating or something. I can still feel his kiss on my lips, and everywhere else.

I turn the shower water to cold, and start scrubbing myself energetically. Yes, it was –
great, but it was still a bad idea. We were both drunk, and I was traumatised from my conversation with Olivia, and I did something incredibly stupid. I should never ever
ever
have slept with Sam. It was a total error of judgement and it’s never going to happen again.

And if you weren’t working together?
a voice says inside me.
Would you still feel the same?

I think I would. It’s too much too
soon, and also, I feel ashamed now, because I don’t know whether he’s still going to respect me. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I do. But I also
meant what I said about it being unprofessional. I don’t know why he reacted the way he did. What did he mean when he said, ‘Do you just not want to be here?’

I go out to meet Luther feeling extremely nervous and convinced that he’ll be able to see what
I’ve been up to. I’m relieved to find he seems oblivious, just very depressed. He’s on the back terrace, except that instead of lying in his usual position on the sunlounger, he’s looking at a script with his agency’s logo on it.

‘There you are. I was looking for you,’ he says sadly.

I decide not to make any excuse in case he sees through it. ‘Sorry. Is that the script for the pilot? Is it any
good?’ I ask him, sitting down.

‘I don’t know. I’ve been flicking through, but I can’t bring myself to actually read it.’ I’ve never heard him sound so downtrodden.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Pity. The writers sound good.’

‘Yeah. Anyway, I’d better face it. This is what the future has in store for me.’

‘How do you mean?’

I’ve had more than enough of my own dramas; I’m quite happy to listen to one of Luther’s
instead. He sighs and doesn’t reply at once.

‘Come on, Alice,’ he says. ‘I’m not where I could be. I mean, yeah, I’ve made some good movies, but I’m not Matt Damon. I’m not Clooney. I’m not Brad Pitt. I’m a go-to guy for shitty action movies. And in a few years, I’m going to be too old for those.’

I’m genuinely confused. It is true that Luther has done a lot of action films. But he’s still a
big star. Isn’t he? He’s just done
Roman Holiday
with Natasha Pullman – that’s bound to be huge. And
Total Kombat
wasn’t shitty, it was a big success.
The Last Legionnaire
was a monster. What is he talking about?

‘Did you see
Star Trek
?’ he says. ‘The kids in that were half
my age. And they didn’t even have to move around that much. With all that stuff I did in
Total Kombat
, I massacred my back.
I can’t kick-box. They don’t want me, they want Shia LaBeouf.’

‘That’s ridiculous! The people in
Star Trek
aren’t half your age. They’re seven years younger than you. You’re thirty-three, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah. But the kids are just coming up faster and faster, and getting younger and younger. I’m not like that. I’m not on Twitter. I’m not best friends with Lindsay and Paris. But I’m not one of
the indie people, or one of the huge leading men either.’

‘But what about your new comedy,
The Deep End
? That’s bound to be a big hit.’

‘I hope so, but who the hell knows? Nobody. Maybe it’ll tank. Maybe they’ll cut my screen time to zero or leave me off the posters. Maybe everybody will say how great my co-star was and how much I sucked.’

Poor Luther. Suddenly I get it: I get what it must
be like to live the way he does – to be so exposed and never to know how much longer your career will be viable.

‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘
Roman Holiday
was great, and I hope it does do well. I want to develop. I feel like there’s more to me than just action. I feel like my image has just become a straitjacket. I want to do parts that reflect more who I am, you know?’

‘Have you spoken to Sam about
all this?’

‘Not really. I think he’s worried I’m not bankable, and that’s why he wants me to do TV. You know what? In ten years’ time they probably won’t even need actors. It’ll all be done with CGI. You’ll get holograms picking up Oscars.’

‘Oh, come on. You’re not—’

‘It’ll be all about the blue people. James Cameron will generate an army of blue actors, and he’ll franchise them out
everywhere.
They’ll have their own union. It’ll be the Blue Screen Actor’s Guild.’

He seems to be spiralling into more and more of a depression, and we’ve wandered completely off the topic of the book. If only Erica were here to give him one of her pep talks about how he should be glad he’s not an orphan, etc.

‘Luther, you’re just awfulising. I do that a lot,’ I tell him. ‘You’re thinking of one bad thing
and it’s turning into hundreds. You have a lot of fans. You know we’re all incredibly excited about the book. It’s going to be huge for us – our biggest non-fiction title of the year, easily.’

This seems to cheer him up, temporarily. I decide to begin our session, and I make sure he sees me switching on the Dictaphone.

‘Luther, could we talk about what happened when you – disappeared?’

‘When
I went to Hawaii, you mean?’ he says unexpectedly. ‘I know there are all these rumours, but that’s basically all I did. I went to Hawaii for ten months and I learned to surf, and I worked in a bar. I grew my hair and a big ridiculous beard. I also got this tattoo.’ He points to the dragon tattooed on his right bicep. ‘People would recognise me, but I just said I was researching for a part, or on
vacation – whatever I thought would get me off the hook.’

I can’t believe it. The big revelation, and that was all it was. He was a beach bum for ten months.

‘It was pretty peaceful,’ he continues. ‘I got very into surfing. I sat on the beach, smoked a lot of dope, went to parties. It’s beautiful, Hawaii. It’s volcanic, like here.’ He points to Mount Etna behind us. ‘It probably saved my life,
to tell you the truth, except the dope started to make me feel even more depressed and paranoid, so I cut back.’

‘But what made you go?’

‘Everything,’ he says. ‘It was everything. The break-up with
Dom, and the intensity of rehab,
Summer Rain
being such a flop . . . and my performance being pasted. I thought it was a good movie, and that it wouldn’t have flopped, if they had cast somebody else.
I felt like I ruined it. All these years I’d been thinking I was an impostor, and suddenly I had been unmasked. But what was I going to do? Move back to Queens and work in a store? I couldn’t do it. So Hawaii was an escape hatch, a kind of a nowhere place.