Chapter 7
Erica
True to his word, Yanny arrived at her front door within twenty minutes.
“Yanny, thank you for coming,” Erica said, her shoulders sagging as soon as she closed her front door.
“So far, no one knows that your ex-husband has been a dickhead, but there is gossip on why you were like a rabbit caught in the headlights. The narrative is more about you and Jack Nicholson than anything else.”
“Thank goodness for that. I can cope with speculation about being linked with a man twice my age. But it will get out that my ex-husband, who the world thinks I’m still married to, has knocked up a teenager. She looks so young.”
“Have you got any milk?”
“Probably. The housekeeper takes care of that.”
“I need coffee, let’s go into your kitchen, and we can go through your schedule.”
Erica had never been so pleased she had Yanny as a manager. Nothing fazed him. He took everything in his stride and never lost his temper or his cool. She made them a French press coffee, and they sat at her kitchen table. They were facing each other across one end of the table like playing battleships with the laptop lids back-to-back.
“I had a complete meltdown when I woke up. The beautiful dress I wore to the ceremony is ruined. I tore it off me. Gregg made a mockery of our marriage. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but to keep her a secret? He would’ve known she was pregnant when he asked for a divorce. I can’t imagine it was a one-night stand.”
“I’ve been single since I was born. I don’t have any advice. Now, your next movie doesn’t need you for another two months. What will you do with your time, apart from learning your lines and morphing into a synchronised swimmer?”
“I think that’s enough to handle. I can swim, but I’m not used to holding my breath underwater or staying in the water for long periods.”
“It’s possible that is something you should’ve considered before you accepted the role to play Esther Williams in her biopic?”
“Possibly.”
“Should I arrange a season pass for the local swimming pool?” he said and laughed.
“That’s not going to work. I need to find a private pool.”
Yanny was silent as he tapped at the keyboard. Then, her intercom buzzed, making her jump.
“Don’t answer that,” Yanny said.
“Why?”
“Do you want to know that your husband was in LA and not in London when you collected your award?”
“Seriously? ”
“Yeah, there’s another thing too,” Yanny said, frowning at his laptop screen.
“That’s not a good expression. What’s going on?”
Yanny turned the laptop screen to show her a video on a popular online gutter press magazine. Her ex-husband and Monica were kissing like teenagers on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Erica didn’t have to check that they were standing on her star.
On the third cycle of viewing the video, the doorbell rang with urgency. Erica knew the press was brazen and stepping onto her property.
“I’ll just check it’s not the postman, lovely,” Yanny said quietly while Erica stared dumbfounded at her ex-husband’s audacity. She wanted her private life kept away from the public, and he displayed it in full view. Worse still, everyone would think he was cheating on her.
Another thing occurred to her. Gregory Potter, her husband of five years, had never kissed her as passionately as he kissed Monica. Not even in the heady first few weeks of dating. Sadness gripped her for a few moments until Yanny returned to the kitchen.
“It was the postman. I’ve left it all in the hallway.”
“Thanks, Yanny. Where’s a good place to run away to?”