Chapter Thirty-Three
‘So,’ Duncan says, laying his serviette across his lap and grinning at Christina.
‘So,’ she responds, half-smiling back.
Despite looking forward to having dinner with Duncan, she’s now wondering if she’s made a mistake. She’s not really in a position to start seeing anyone romantically. Her life is still in flux.
Even if she stays in Sydney, she won’t be able to live with her mother forever, as much as Joni would like that.
Her money will run out eventually and the theatrical life – in some form – is calling her.
She’s considering trying to get an Australian agent who could find her some roles in plays – which would put her back in her old lifestyle, which is likely incompatible with having a relationship with a man who isn’t also in the business.
Christina’s never met a man who works a ‘normal’ job who has wanted to date her more than a couple of times.
They’d usually say they needed her to be ‘more available’, which she took to mean that they wanted her to cook and clean for them.
The idea of having an actress as a trophy obviously appealed, but not the practical side of it, which was that the actress had to go and act.
Duncan’s brought her to a restaurant in Double Bay. He picked her up and drove her across the Bridge, to the eastern suburbs, all so they could have dinner at a place he thought she would like. It’s flattering, and also elevates the stakes of the evening: for him this is clearly a date.
The restaurant is expensive and formal and Christina’s glad she wore the short-skirted Pucci suit she brought with her from LA.
It was the only thing in her wardrobe that looked like it might be appropriate for dinner in a nice place.
When Duncan picked her up he complimented her on it, and she appreciated that he noticed.
‘Finally I get you to dinner,’ he says now, accepting a menu from a waiter.
‘Finally?’ She raises an eyebrow as she scans her own menu. ‘I didn’t realise you were waiting that long.’
‘Only a few years,’ he says and she looks up, surprised, even though he’s already told her that he liked her while they were at school.
She makes a face. ‘You’re just saying that to be nice.’
He laughs. ‘Why would I? I could just say I like you now and we’d still be here having dinner. But I want you to know that this means a lot to me – you being here.’
The waiter reappears to take their drink order: Duncan orders a glass of red and Christina has a gin and tonic. When she was in LA she rarely drank alcohol – she couldn’t afford the calories – and she’s not drinking much here, but a dinner out seems like a good opportunity to relax her rules.
‘Why did you like me at school?’ she says. It’s the thing she really wants to know. She remembers herself as gangly and socially inept, with a fairly flat chest and acne. Not the sort of girl boys like. She barely liked herself.
Duncan’s smile shifts – he no longer looks like he’s laughing at a joke and instead as if he’s basking in a compliment. ‘You had this …’ He looks away and shrugs. ‘There was just something about you. But I’m not going to pretend I didn’t think you were beautiful.’
‘Beautiful!’ She almost guffaws and instead manages to snort her laughter.
‘Yeah.’ He sits back in his chair. ‘C’mon – you knew that, right?’
‘No! I had acne.’
‘We all did. It was high school, Chrissie.’
‘I was skinny. Awkward.’
‘Are you trying to talk me out of something I was thinking two decades ago?’ He grins cheekily.
‘Maybe.’
‘Not gonna work.’
‘No, but you can’t seriously –’
‘Are you Christina Clarke?’
The voice is at Christina’s right and she turns toward it. An older woman stands there, clutching a handbag to her chest and looking expectant.
Christina swallows. She knew that wearing the brightly coloured Pucci suit was a risk, but she thought enough time had passed since the scandal that she could get away with it.
‘Yes,’ she says, because often it’s easier than denying it and having to answer the follow-up questions that always come: Are you sure? You look a lot like her. Did you know that you look like her? Have you ever met her? Et cetera.
‘Ohmygod, I knew it was you,’ the woman screeches.
‘I told my Mario – he’s over there –’ she gestures to a table in the corner where a dark-haired man sits, waving – ‘that I was sure it was you. “I’d know her anywhere,” I said.
Even with your hair that colour! It suits you. Are you going to keep it?’
Duncan stands and extends his hand. ‘Hello, Mrs …?’
‘Cobolli. Fran Cobolli.’ She shakes Duncan’s hand but keeps staring at Christina. ‘Ohmygod, my niece is going to die when I tell her. She loves you.’
‘Where are you from, Fran?’ Duncan asks.
‘Greystanes,’ she says, naming a suburb a fair distance away.
‘Greystanes, eh? Long way to come.’
‘It’s Mario’s birthday. We wanted a fancy dinner.’ She’s now flapping a hand at nothing in particular. ‘Ohmygod – Christina Clarke.’
Fran glances around, as if she wants to see if people are watching, which is something Christina definitely doesn’t want.
Duncan catches Christina’s eye and she tries to not look panicked, but there’s often a point in these interactions when the fan starts acting like they’re going to move into her house and it’s very hard to extricate herself without sounding rude.
And if the actor or actress sounds rude, the fan not only stops being a fan but tells everyone she knows about it, which then somehow gets back to the publicist of whichever production the actor or actress is working on or promoting, who in turn tears strips off them.
Duncan smiles and nods once, as if he understands, but he can’t. No one can unless they’ve gone through it, because it’s so odd, being famous.
‘Would you like an autograph?’ he says to Fran, and Christina feels a flash of annoyance – who is he to offer this? Then she realises that by suggesting it he’s given her a way out. Once the autograph is signed, the interaction can be over.
‘Ohmygod, really? Mario! Mario! Do you have that notebook?’ Fran is flapping her hand again, then she takes off to her table.
‘Is that okay?’ Duncan says quietly to Christina, who finds herself feeling quite calm. Is it because he’s taking charge? She’s enjoying that. For once, she doesn’t have to look after everything herself.
Fran is back, waving a notebook.
‘Great work, Fran,’ Duncan says, taking it from her and extracting a pen from his inside jacket pocket.
He holds out pen and notebook to Christina, who smiles and takes them.
‘Shall I make it out to you?’ she asks Fran, who is almost bouncing on the spot.
‘Yes, please!’ Fran squeaks. ‘I’ve seen all your movies, Christina. All of them. I hope you’re making another one. But you can’t be if you’re in Sydney? Are you going back soon? I hope so. You’re amazing.’
‘She’s here on some R and R,’ Duncan says as Christina writes To dearest Fran – so lovely to meet you! Christina xo.
‘Of course she is! R and R! Great!’
By the time Christina hands back the notebook, Fran is hyperventilating.
‘My friends are never going to believe this,’ she says, then grabs Christina in a hug before Duncan pats her on the shoulder.
‘Great to meet you, Fran,’ he says. ‘I think Mario’s looking a little lonely.’
‘Ohmygod, yes! Sorry! It’s Mario’s birthday. Did I say that?’
Duncan smiles. ‘You did.’
‘I’d better go.’ She stares at Christina one last time. ‘Thank you!’
Duncan watches her leave then takes his seat again. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks Christina, who nods.
‘She’s fine. Harmless. Just a little excitable.’
‘I suppose you’re used to it.’
‘Um … I don’t think you ever get used to it.’ Christina takes a sip of her drink. ‘It’s a weird thing to try to get used to.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He holds her gaze for a few seconds. ‘Now, let’s have a look at this menu.’
They order a main course, and later a dessert – an indulgence Christina rarely allows herself – and the evening passes easily and quickly. Fran and husband wave their goodbyes as they leave, and Christina returns them, smiling. Always smiling for the fans.
When Duncan drops her home he walks her to her door, and she feels a nervous first-date anticipation that she hasn’t felt in a very long time.
It’s the will-he-or-won’t-he moment, and Christina knows that if she’s feeling like this she definitely wants him to kiss her.
Which is not what she expected from the evening.
‘So,’ Duncan says, taking her hand. ‘I had a wonderful time.’
‘I did too. Thank you for dinner.’
‘You’re welcome. And I’d like to do it again soon, if you’d like to as well.’
She knows she wants to. She also knows she’s meant to play hard to get – but who knows where her life will go, what she will do? In ten years’ time she may regret that she didn’t agree to another dinner.
‘That would be lovely,’ she says.
He drops her hand and steps toward her, putting one hand to her cheek, then the other.
‘It’s good to see you, Christina O’Flynn,’ he murmurs, and her nervousness intensifies.
Will he or won’t he?
Then he does, his lips meeting hers, his hands properly cupping her face.
She puts her hands on his waist to let him know that it’s okay, that she wants this, and she does, because he’s an excellent kisser – better than any actor she’s had to kiss, better than her LA boyfriend.
As the kiss deepens she feels herself yielding to him, and vaguely wonders just how far she should go with this man she knows and who knows her.
This feels safe – he feels safe – and it’s been so long since she’s felt that.
In this phase of her life, with everything that’s happened, it’s a narcotic.
Which means it could be too much for her to handle right now.
She should pull back, she thinks dimly, before she goes under.
Except he’s the one who stops, and her lips remain parted as she blinks up at him in surprise.
‘See, I was right,’ he says and she frowns, questioning. ‘You are glorious.’
He kisses her once more, quickly, then lets her go.
‘I’ll call you about our next dinner,’ he says, then steps away. To give her the distance to say goodnight, she thinks.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she says breathily, still giddy from the kiss.
He smiles before he turns to go, out the front gate, back to his car.
She waves goodbye as he drives off, then opens the door and walks quietly past her mother’s room.
Once she reaches her room, she flops on the bed, touching her lips, knowing that even if she wanted to say no to him, she can’t. She’s already gone under.