Chapter 13
This is all my fault. I have indicated that I am a woman of questionable morals without a care in the world, albeit in a foreign language but it still counts, and now I have to backtrack out of it.
I stare up at him in panic as he climbs out of the hot tub, ahead of me. I try not to be distracted by the long, long legs, or the massive cucumber, or the six-pack, or the chiselled jawline, or his hand waiting for me to take it.
Oh, God. How embarrassing is this?
Relief floods my body.
‘Yes! I knew that. That’s what I thought you meant.’
He pulls me up the final step of the hot tub so that we are standing close enough for him to whisper in my ear, ‘I’m a gentleman. If you want me to have sex with you, I’d at least expect you to buy me dinner first.’
I’m not sure what to say. I have no rebuff. My eyes are glued to his. They are bright and dangerous and utterly sexy.
‘Besides, who would be crass enough to have sex in a hot tub?’ He wrinkles his nose at me.
Yes, who would be that crass?
‘I’ll give you a knock before five.’ He dips his head to bow.
I watch him stride away. He is in expert shape. He has an incredibly tight butt. It’s like watching two bowling balls rubbing together.
What is wrong with me?
Pull. Yourself. Together.
* * *
As I race past the receptionist in my fluffy dressing gown, she waves me over with a flustered look. ‘I’m very sorry but your dress is not ready for you this evening.’
‘What do you mean my dress isn’t ready?’ I say through tight lips.
She explains about the dry-cleaners shutting early, without warning, with all of my costumes trapped inside.
‘But what will I wear tonight on stage? I have nothing to wear!’ I am trying my best not to create a scene. After all, it isn’t her fault. Although, in a way, it sort of is.
As she tries to calm me, a few elderly patrons sitting in the lobby have the nerve to peek over the top of their newspapers to shush me.
Panic is rising from my stomach. It is mixing with the alcohol that I shouldn’t have had at lunch and the encounter with Luke in the hot tub that should also not have occurred.
A quick check of the time tells me it is already four o’clock.
‘So, when can I have my costumes? I need at least one of them right now. And the rest of them sent to the theatre by nine. I have to do costume changes because I change character during the performance. And the costumes match what I’m singing.
’ A picture of the Maestro pops into my head.
He’ll explode if I get into any more trouble.
I’m not sure his frail frame and fragile temperament could take it.
‘I will be sacked if I don’t have any costumes to wear. Sacked!’
‘I’m sorry, madam. Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough. The dry-cleaners are closed. They aren’t picking up the phone. We have no way of retrieving your costumes before tomorrow morning.’
‘But I need to wear something!’ I bellow petulantly. A crowd is starting to gather at the fracas. I am creating the scene I said I wouldn’t create.
The receptionist looks startled. ‘My friend has a boutique. It does bridesmaid and evening wear. Maybe she can help. I’ll ask her to bring some dresses round. Or I could get a driver to run you over there?’
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
‘Yes. Take me to the shop. Thank you.’ I take in a large gulp of air. ‘Give me two minutes to change.’
I charge up to my room like a heifer boiling with rage and yank on the first things I can find.
Some joggers and a hoodie. This is 100 per cent my fault.
I am to blame. I have taken my eye off the ball and allowed it to wander, and this is what I get.
Just as I lock the door, I remember my dinner date with Luke.
I knock on his door. No answer. I knock harder. Still no answer.
Bugger it! He’ll just have to dine by himself. I’ll leave a message with reception. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Just as I’m about to leave, the door swings open. Luke is standing dripping wet, clutching a small towel around his waist. He looks surprised to see me.
Keeping my eyes trained on his, I say, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to take a rain check on dinner. An emergency has come up. I can’t make it.’
His face falls.
‘Can I help?’
‘No. No, it’s a costume thing. They’ve lost all my dresses, and I have nothing to wear tonight.’
‘Oh, shit. We are due to leave at six thirty.’
‘I know,’ I say, speedily backing away. I simply do not have time for this. ‘Go without me. I’ll see you at the theatre.’
* * *
‘This is all you have?’ I’m too upset to yell.
The lady is keeping the shop open for me especially, and I feel rude and desperate and unbelievably annoyed at myself, so I’m going to have to choose three dresses from this scrawny selection.
They don’t all come in my size, so my choice is further limited.
My heart is sinking as I rifle through the racks, silently mourning the lack of my ruby dress.
‘I’ve got this pink satin fishtail in your size. This high-collared, frilly gold lamé, pleated knee-length,’ she says. ‘Or this billowy, lemon satin puff?’
‘No satin, if at all possible, please.’ They are three of the most horrific dresses I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m only just keeping it all together.
‘What about this sheer, peach blush, chiffon floaty one?’
At last. Something half decent. It is after four thirty, and I have less than two hours to buy the dresses, get back to the hotel, do my hair and make-up and make my way to the theatre. I usually need three to four hours at least.
‘Or I have it in champagne mist?’
‘Yes!’ I grab the dress off her and charge into the changing room. I yank off my hoodie and joggers. The dress fits very snugly. I rip back the curtain and walk over to the full-length mirror. The material shimmers and swishes as I move, which is a good sign.
I stand, taking it all in. It has an empire-line bodice, elbow-length sleeves in beaded chiffon and a Pride and Prejudice vibe about it. It would do for the romantic ‘Mi Amore Mi Amore’ duet section.
‘Do you want the veil and wedding gloves to go with it?’ she asks.
What is she not getting about this horrendous scenario?
‘I’ll just take the dress. Do you have anything more formal in a dark colour, floor length?’
She screws her forehead into a frown.
‘Anything at all.’ Tears are prickling the backs of my eyes.
Suddenly, her face changes. ‘Yes! We had a delivery last week that I have yet to unpack. Winter Brides. There’s bound to be something for you in that.
’ She races off down some stairs, and I hear lots of banging while I continue to search for the showstopper outfit.
The dress I’ll wear for the finale and the curtain calls.
It needs to scream ‘Top of my game!’ like my ruby-sequined, whale-boned, take-your-breath-away dress.
I hear her thumping up the stairs.
‘I’ve got a peacock blue in full skirt and feathers and an emerald-green strapless sequined ballgown.’
She holds them both up.
‘Are they my size?’
She nods. ‘Almost.’
Good God. I’ll look like a 1980s pantomime dame.
I haven’t even got the heart to try them on.
‘I’ll take them,’ I say, whipping out my credit card.
The amount almost reduces me to tears. Who would have thought three ugly dresses would cost so much?
I hope the hotel will compensate me. I have barely anything left on my credit card as it is.
And I still need something nice to wear to Las Vegas.
At this rate, I’ll be turning up in these peacock feathers.
‘Thank you so much. I really appreciate it,’ I gush, rushing out of the shop.
* * *
It’s like a nightmare. After repeatedly interrupting my vocal warm-ups with a ‘What was that? Did you say something, love?’ my taxi driver finally stopped asking every time I opened my mouth to do my scales, my lip trills, my humming chants.
I’ve arrived at the theatre to find the entire crew and cast have the hump; literally everyone is ignoring me.
I race through the glazed stone arches of the colonnade, through the old Georgian folly behind the stage and round the medieval well.
Dolly is waiting for me in my dressing room.
‘You’re late!’ she barks. ‘The Maestro is furious.’
‘I know. I know,’ I say, racing in with all of the outfits in garment bags and my suitcase full of make-up and hair things. ‘There was an issue with my dresses and—’
‘You haven’t even done your hair and make-up!
Too busy enjoying the high life, were you?
I wish we could all stay in a fancy hotel and have room service and spa treatments.
’ Dolly takes the outfits from me and unzips the covers.
‘What the fuck are these awful things? You can’t go on stage like this!
This underskirt is like a hot-air balloon, for Pete’s sake! ’
‘That’s what I’m trying to explain. The hotel made a cock-up, and now the original dresses are locked away at the dry-cleaners until tomorrow.’
She stops to eye me suspiciously.
‘I’ve been racing around trying to find replacements. These were the best of a bad bunch. It’s them or my jogging pants.’ I fly over to the mirror and plonk myself down. My face looks worn out and haggard. That’s the last time I daytime drink before a performance.
I get to work, furiously brushing foundation over my face and slapping on blusher and eye make-up while Dolly hangs the gowns up.
‘I suppose it’s better than nothing.’ Dolly comes over to give me a hand. ‘The dresses will be the least of your worries tonight anyway.’
I put down my mascara wand and make eye contact through the mirror as she teases my hair up into an elaborate chignon.
‘What do you mean?’ I frown.
‘The Maestro is livid that you and Luke have disappeared off to stay in Gray’s Court Hotel. Livid. And so are the chorus girls. Mind, they have been bitching behind your back since the newspaper scandal. They’re jealous of all the attention Luke is paying you.’
‘But I didn’t ask for his attention. If anything, I have spurned him.’ I feel flushed at the memory of today in the hot tub and how close we came to doing something I’d bitterly regret.
Dolly gives me a disbelieving huff and helps me into the first of my three disgusting gown options – the champagne-mist chiffon.
We hear the bell ring to indicate I’m due on stage in three minutes.
We scurry down the rabbit warren of corridors and take the stairs two at a time with me trilling warm-ups at the top of my voice, just as the Maestro introduces me.
Out of breath, I take two steps forward onto the stage, only to feel Dolly pull me sharply backwards.
‘A word of caution,’ she says. ‘That dress is completely see-through under these stage lights.’
Fuck me!!!
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.