Chapter 39
‘Oh my God.’ Damien stared at the packet of white powder in his hand. It had been dropped through his letterbox in an innocuous Manila envelope. No note, just his name and an “A” on the back.
He leant against the wall and shut his eyes.
Focus on your yogic breathing , said the Voice. Slow your heartbeat. Calm down. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Damien’s nostrils flared as he inhaled. He held his breath and exhaled slowly with an “ah” sound.
That’s it. That’s it, Damien.
‘Help me,’ he said to the Voice. ‘I’m in agony – blocked, can’t write. My mind’s asleep. The powder… it’ll wake me up. Don’t tell me to throw it away.’
I need to think about it , said the Voice.
‘That makes two of us,’ said Damien.
Gone. The effortless chain of words that flowed from his mind.
Gone. His imagination that drove his stories to an end that never failed to surprise him.
All gone.
He was lying on his bed, clutching the bag of white magic to his breast, when the phone rang.
‘Angus! Good to hear from you,’ Damien said.
‘Bullshit. Why haven’t you returned my calls?’
‘Because I know why you’re ringing me.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ his agent said. ‘Bloody fantastic offer, carte blanche, write what you like. Your take on Don Quixote . Brad Pitt and Leonardo Di Caprio. Tarantino. Who wouldn’t kill for the deal?’
Angus smelt the big one. Oscar time. Lots of offers, riding with his client in style, first class.
‘I’m not ready to start another project. I’m still working on the theme song for Writing in the Sand ,’ said Damien.
He was tired of his agent’s nagging. Every day, Angus called to say how lucky he was, how grateful he should be. The enormous fee that he would be paid to write the hottest project in film land…
‘For goodness’ sake, how long does it take you to write the bloody lyrics for a simple tune?’
‘Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not your workhorse,’ said Damien. ‘I’m having problems. I just can’t write at the moment. Nothing’s working. The words aren’t there.’
Shut it, Damien. He’s not your bloody therapist , the Voice said. Don’t drop your armour.
But he couldn’t stop.
‘You don’t have any idea what it feels like to spend night after night searching for something that just isn’t there. I’ve lost it, Angus.’
‘Pull yourself together.’ His agent hated histrionics. ‘You’re a professional with a deadline. Just finish the lyrics… it’s not bloody Shakespeare. You’re writing a few lovey-dovey words so Ariana Bianchi can show off her singing.’
Come on, Damien , the Voice said. Bastard. Show him who’s boss.
‘Fuck off, Angus. What do you understand about human frailty? You’re sacked.’
He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, utterly in despair.
Damien? said the Voice.
‘Yes.’
Don’t sabotage yourself.
‘I can’t carry on like this… I’m dried up. Finished.’
He stroked the packet of white powder that would open up the gates to his creativity again.
No, Damien. I’m your best friend. Listen to me. DON’T.
That white magic dust was so close to his heart. Open sesame.
Just as he tore the corner with his teeth, the phone rang again.
‘Oh, what the hell!’ He picked it up.
‘Hello, mate,’ Aidan said. ‘Did you like my gift?’
‘I was about to blow it when you called,’ Damien replied. ‘Trying to get me hooked again, are you?’
‘Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say. I just wanted to cheer you up. Heard that you were having probs with your brain.’
‘Who the hell told you that?’
‘One of my clients. Shouldn’t really welch, but as it’s you…’ Aidan paused. ‘Come on, Damien, have a guess?’
‘For fuck’s sake, get on with it. Who?’
‘Mrs Temazepam. You shared at an AA meeting. Said you had mind freeze, couldn’t find your mojo… Anyway, if the powder keeps your brain cells jumping, I’m very happy to supply you again.’
How kind of the little shit , said the Voice. Now take my advice. Just tell him to fuck off nicely and then, Damien, throw away the coke…
It was 11 a.m. Damien had migrated from his bed to the sofa in the living room. He’d even made the effort to wash and dress.
She’d left two messages.
Hi, Damien , Ariana said. How goes? I’ll see you at your house at noon. Please confirm.
Hello, Damien. Haven’t heard from you… I assume you’re working…
You jerk , yelled the Voice. What are you doing? NOTHING! Just sitting there paralysed. Stop with your mental constipation. Ring her!
Damien pressed the dial button.
‘Ariana,’ he said, ‘I can’t write the lyrics to your song. The melody is beautiful, but the words won’t come. I’m sorry.’
She’ll understand, said the Voice. What’s the betting she’ll want to save your creative soul?
‘I’m coming over,’ she said. ‘Let me inspire you.’
Told you, said the Voice. Now she understands human frailty. That’s the sort of woman you need.
Damien’s nose itched. He was dying to snort a line.
‘Fuck Aidan.’ Damien flushed it down the toilet.
I love you , said the Voice.
***
That afternoon Ariana arrived with her guitar looking irresistibly beguiling.
She wore a tiny white vest and a red gypsy skirt that flashed her bare, tanned legs. Her feet were slipped into gold-thonged sandals.
Damien held his breath.
This could be dangerous , said the Voice. Don’t start with the compliments. I can tell it won’t wash with her.
But it was Ariana, in the spirit of the role of Sandra, who played the seductress.
She took his hand and led him upstairs to the living room. ‘Let’s sit together, we need to be close. This is the melody.’ She strummed her guitar and hummed a wordless song, her voice soft and warm like a cashmere blanket.
Damien closed his eyes. His mind calmed.
That’s lovely , said the Voice. Could almost put you to sleep. But don’t get too cosy – remember you’re working.
‘Let’s improvise,’ Ariana said when she’d finished playing. ‘You’re Samuel, I’m Sandra. Okay, let’s take it from when you tell me you’re going to leave. You’ve been separated from your wife for three years and now she’s back in your life after a failed suicide attempt. You’re drawn to me, but your history is with her. You grew up together. The marriage fell apart because she was always depressed. Okay, let’s go,’ Ariana said.
‘You start,’ said Damien timidly.
She moved closer, in character; Sandra, the Seductress.
‘Why, Samuel, why? You said that we’d spend the rest of our lives together. Don’t leave me. I love you.’ Her chestnut-brown eyes fringed with curly black lashes looked so sad that even Damien wanted to cry.
Oh boy, she’s really into this . I can see we’re in for a heavy session , the Voice whispered. Okay, your turn. Remember you’re trying to resist her.
‘She needs me, Sandra. You’re beautiful and gifted and there will always be some lucky man to adore you. My life is complicated. I have a history with my wife and I swore never to get divorced till she died. That’s not fair to you.’
‘I don’t care if we never marry. I’ll take you any way I can.’
She flung her arms round Damien’s neck and hugged him to her breasts.
Mummy didn’t do that! said the Voice.
‘I can’t hear you,’ Damien mumbled. ‘I’m on full charge.’ He crossed his legs. ‘Okay, Sandra.’ Holding her face in his hands, he gave her a passionate kiss. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I adore you – I’m staying.’
Ariana drew back.
‘I’m sorry,’ Damien said. ‘I got carried away.’
‘No. That’s good! Now you’re aroused, let’s switch roles. You be Sandra.’
This is kinda weird , said the Voice. A bit too gender fluid for me.
‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t do it,’ Damien said. His head throbbed. His throat was dry. He poured himself a glass of water. ‘I’m not an actor. All this is a little bit too much for me. Too much drama.’
Go on, you tell her , said the Voice. You’re a fella and that’s it.
Ariana picked up her guitar and kissed his cheek. ‘You don’t trust me yet. That alpha-male armour is closed around your heart. But next time it will become easier. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Dusk on the river will be beautiful,’ she said, and left.
Damien was exhausted. His mind was frayed. He didn’t sleep well that night.
What the hell is she going to try next? said the Voice . I tell you, she’s a brainwasher.
‘Well, it’s a new adventure.’ Damien reached for his alarm clock and set it for 8 a.m. A morning run would clear his head.
‘Please let me get some sleep. Give me some space. Or I’ll start omming.’
Okay , said the Voice, but it’s all a bit LA to me . All this malarkey just for a few corny lines .
‘Come on. She’s great. A real turn-on,’ Damien said.
And she was funny. The following evening, she came dressed as a troubadour and serenaded him from the pavement.
Damien leant out of the balcony window. The night was warm. The sunset cast its gossamer orange light over the sky as it descended into dusk.
Magic can happen at any time.
Damien was in the moment, part of the cosmos. That unexpected happiness when everything comes together, as rare as a shooting star.
Even the Voice was silent.
A group of passers-by had gathered. They stood bewitched as Ariana cast her spell. When the song ended, there was a hush. And then the spell was broken as the people clapped and cheered.
Ariana looked up at Damien, her eyes glittering diamond bright.
‘ This is how love feels!’ she said. ‘Write with passion. Be Sandra! Leave a lasting memory for Samuel, your great love. It’s okay, you can be vulnerable with me. Find your feminine energy! You know who your characters are. You understand Sandra – she’s part of you.’
The onlookers clapped again.
Ariana sat on the bonnet of Damien’s Jaguar and continued to talk in soothing tones as she gently strummed low chords on her guitar.
‘She loves Samuel, but he’s going to leave her, go back to his wife, who needs him more than she does. Sandra is a powerful woman, the darling of her generation. But to be left by the man you love is a terrible thing. Finally, through the song, she persuades him to stay. She has kept love alive. So when it is she who disappears, that is the mystery.’
Watch it , the Voice said. She’s messing with your head. But, then again, that’s probably a good thing in the circumstances.
Damien could only hear a faint whisper.
Ariana had fused his mind. He took out his notebook.
His heart beat in time with her rhythmic chords. Up, up he went, and then his pen flew.
He didn’t have to think. He only had to follow.
Art, music, poetry, dance, born of the same magic.
She had kindled the flame.
You’re getting there, Damien , said the Voice. Clever Ariana.
He wrote the first verse, tore off the page and made an aeroplane. Caught by a summer breeze, it wafted down into the palm of his muse. She put it in her pocket, blew him a kiss and walked away.