The Morning After

I woke with a mouthful of Van’s hair. He was snoring like…well, nothing was comparable to the noise he was making. My mouth tasted vile, my head hurt and I ached everywhere. I thought I remembered everything that had happened last night, but I couldn’t be sure. I eyed up the coffee table suspiciously, my leg throbbing in response. I would be a big bruised mess no doubt.

          I got up as carefully as I could to assess the damage. It was still really early, so I may as well let him sleep while I go die somewhere. My head pounded out a rhythm any trance producer would be proud of. I filled a glass with water and downed it, following it with another two, hoping to wash the alcohol out of my body. I don’t drink! This boy was a bad effect on me. It didn’t matter that he was older than me, he was still a boy as far as I was concerned with his ‘Booyahs’, ‘dopes’ and ‘awesomes’, along with the t shirts he wore that were inappropriate for just about every situation (swearwords on most of them) and his one finger salute which I’m sure he probably even used on his mum…yup, he was a boy in a man’s skin. It was just one of a myriad of reasons that I adored him. The ‘making me drink’ thing was on the cons list.

          I looked through the fridge and cupboard to see what I could fix him for breakfast, but it was pretty pitiful. Sadder than my cupboards in fact and that was saying something because my freezer compartment on the fridge is bust. I found the most random things that wouldn’t work no matter what I tried. Hmmm….

 

It was such a shock to my system to meet a ‘building attendant’ who wasn’t a complete bastard! When I went down to the lobby to see if there was a shop locally, the guy couldn’t have been more helpful. He even offered to draw me a map (had he been warned about my useless sense of direction?) but I thought I could cope.

          The sun was ever present and shining so brightly, my headache was soon forgotten and I was grinning like a fool. I doubted I’d ever get sick of that sight; unending blue skies and very few clouds, and the sun! The actual sun! I sighed happily and almost skipped to the shop.

I grabbed all kinds of things, not sure what he liked; fruit juices, croissants, muffins, bread for toast, a grapefruit and a couple of boxes of cereal. I also grabbed coffee, milk, sugar, tea, some apples, bananas and Oreos (everyone loves Oreos) as his cupboards were so bare.

Another thing in America that I don’t get is the stupid paper bags. They don’t have handles. How is that any use? In England, you can carry like twenty bags because they have handles. Here, I was struggling with two. How in the hell did people open doors? I was also stung by the ‘tax’ thing when I got to the till. That I would never get used to. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

          I rushed back upstairs and let myself into the flat (I’d stolen the key mwahahahahahaha!) and put some coffee on for him, even impressing myself with working out the machine thingy that he had.

I cut the grapefruits, heated the croissants, put all the other bits away and set the table. When that was all done, I debated on how best to wake him. Was I kind or evil? He deserved evil as revenge for the god awful headache, but my stupid heart was all swollen with love for him and other vomit inducing crap, so I gently shook his shoulder.

          “Hey you.” I said, placing the coffee on the evil coffee table.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes over and over as though he couldn’t really believe he was actually awake. He stretched, yawned and tried to sit up. It was slightly pathetic, so I took his arm and yanked it.

          “Thanks.” He said as I handed him the coffee. At least I knew how he liked it, but I couldn’t  be sure I’d made it very well.

          “I got breakfast, but I don’t know what you eat so I got bits of everything.” I said feeling slightly pleased with myself.

He blinked several times, rubbed his eyes again and sipped the coffee.

          “Not bad.” He said, looking exhausted.

I could only imagine how I looked, I hadn’t showered or anything yet. I’d have to be careful not to breathe on him as if my breath was anywhere near as bad as my mouth tasted…well, he’d be running.

The croissants were attacked with the enthusiasm of a half-starved man, though it was a purely mechanical action. He didn’t seem to be completely awake yet. I snagged an apple and bit into it, sipping the tea I’d made. Heh heh there was soya milk in his fridge heh heh.

          “I don’t suppose you got cigs while you were out?” He asked, his eyes pleading.

          “Like hell I did.” I said with a laugh. “You want cancer, you feed it yourself. It’s my job to look after you and that includes your health. By the way, what is going on with the empty cupboards?” I was feeling brave, solely because he was too tired and out of it to tear me a new one, not that I thought he would.

He was the Zen master. Nothing seemed to bother him, apart from that whole ‘death threat’ thing yesterday. Just thinking about it made my stomach knot up.

          “Yes mom.” He said, ripping another croissant apart and popping a bit in his mouth. He chewed slowly as he considered what I had said.

          “I want you to know that…I like that you’re not afraid to tell me when you’re pissed off, or when you need to tear me a new one. I don’t want this to be a boss/employee relationship in the usual sense. That’s not remotely me. I’d rather we were…friends?” He said doubting himself now that the words had left his mouth. “You were such a shy little thing when we met, what happened?” He laughed.

          “I don’t want you to get sick and you don’t look after yourself properly. You have a son. You owe it to him to be sensible with your wellbeing.” I bit into the apple again, almost bracing myself for the moment where I pushed him too far and he fired my ass.

          “Are all English women as scary as you?” He asked, snarfing the rest of the pastry.

          “They’re worse. I’m behaving at the moment so you better look after yourself. I don’t care what movies you’ve been in, I will kick your ass if I have to. You’re the only friend I have out here and I’m damned if I’m letting anything happen to you.” I hid behind the mug, sipping the tea slowly so I didn’t have to look at him.

That’s it girly, tell him too much, why not propose while you’re at it? That would be a great way to start the day!

          “Do you mind if I take a shower?” I asked, keeping my distance from him due to how disgusting I felt.

He nodded, chewing, and pointed the way.

 

OMG his shower is the best thing in the whole world. The one in my apartment is weaker than spring rain, but this…wow. I could actually wash all the shampoo out without using the sink! And I felt cleaner than I had since I’d got to this country. I felt so good! And my headache was easing too. Once my teeth were clean, I felt almost human. I just needed to hurry him along a little or we’d be late.

          “You didn’t need to buy me food.” He said, looking a little misty eyed as he looked through the cupboards. “That’s really sweet Iana.”

          “If you die, I have to find another job.” I said, biting my lip.

He snorted back a laugh and headed for the bathroom.

I did the washing up whilst he was in there, tidying up the breakfast bits and ensuring all my junk was packed up for us to leave. We had a photo shoot today that would most likely take several hours. I would need to find a coffee shop nearby to keep him dosed up and somewhere to buy real food for lunch. He had a habit of skipping meals, and regardless of whether that’s what ‘Hollywood’ did or not, I wasn’t going to accept it. The bitch was back (though I’d never been one for her to leave if I was honest) maybe I was being a Tiger mother like in the books I’d seen. The fierce women who ensured their kids were on the straight and narrow. Sometimes he was so childlike I felt the need to protect him, and other times he seemed so much older than me, closer to my parents’ age than my own. Once everything was tidy, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My hands were twitchy and I felt useless if I didn’t keep busy.

          He appeared looking too perfect to be true, practically sparkling with how clean and shiny he was. His hair was still wet and tendrils of it curled aga

forehead making him look really young again. I just wanted to…I don’t even know. Look after him? Kiss him? Pinch his cheeks? Kick his ass for not looking after himself?

          I checked the time and hurried him out the door, bagging up the fruit and croissants for him to eat later. I was turning into such a little house wife mother hen type. Urgh! Vom!

 

The photo shoot was taking place in an empty warehouse -the kind that usually graces every horror movie in the last twenty years- but in the blazing sun, it looked half passable. The crew was already there, setting up lighting and cameras. I was so excited! This was the first ‘proper’ photo shoot I’d been on, and I had to be careful to stay out of the way. The last one had been tiny in comparison to this, there were so many people here! Van had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, but he hadn’t lit it yet, watching me like I might snatch it out of his mouth. He’d been so good I couldn’t really begrudge him, besides, he could just fire me! I think he was forgetting that he was the boss in this relationship. Urgh, just using the word ‘relationship’ about us made my heart do little flips. Urgh, urgh, urgh.

          The photographer greeted us both, steering Van away to the wardrobe section, showing him what they would be doing. Was I supposed to follow? Crap. Van caught my eye and inclined his head for me to join them.

          “What do you think?” He held up two suits, both of which wouldn’t suit Van one jot. Was I allowed to say that? I looked at the rest of the rack and saw a couple that might do better.

          “I’m not going to claim to have a clue, but I think he’d look amazing in one of these two. Those ones will wash him out with his colouring.”

The photographer arched an arrogant brow, puffing himself up as though about to launch into a rant before he saw Van nodding in agreement with me. He let out a deep sigh and plastered on the fakest smile I’d seen, and I worked in Hollywood now. It seemed real enough when he looked at Van, but it turned to a sneer when he met my eye. I twisted a strand of hair around my finger and tried to look ditzy and unthreatening. He took the suits and left to talk to one of the lighting people.

          “Thank god you said something. They were awful!” He said, laughing and lighting the fag.

          “They really were! My half blind grandfather wouldn’t have been caught dead in either of those. Everything about them was wrong, the cut, the colour, the style.” I cringed.

Van laughed happily, glad to have someone on his side. I was a timid little mouse of a thing usually, but his faith in me was giving me a voice. I had no clue about fashion, but I knew Van and having spent entirely too long staring longingly at him, I knew what suited him and what didn’t.

          The photographer came back, his smile a little more convincing now.

          “Good choice on the suits, I’m inclined to agree with you now.” He admitted. The smile widened and grew warmer. I returned it, feeling like a bunny in headlights.

          “She’s the best in the business.” Van said, his face completely serious.

I snorted back hysterical laughter, covering it with a coughing fit. He was so full of shit sometimes, but I loved him for it. I really hoped he didn’t genuinely think I was of any use because he was seriously disillusioned if he did.

          “Ok, Mr. Murphy, would you mind going and popping one of these on. I’ll talk to Ms. MacManus about other options.”

Van nodded and headed off.

          “If you ever, ever, show me up like that again, I will ensure that you never work in Hollywood again.” The photographer had my wrist in his hand and was squeezing it so tightly I cried out. What the hell!

I remembered one thing from self-defense class at school. Just one thing. If someone grabs you, twist under their arm and pin it to their back. It was instinct. I might usually be shy and scared of my own shadow, I might be weak and mentally unstable, I might also be the most fucked up person in Hollywood (and that was saying something) but no one touches me. I pushed him to the wall, almost having blacked out whilst doing it. I had no recollection, just the adrenaline kicking in.

          “If you ever, ever touch me again, I will break your arm and you won’t be able to take photos, then you won’t ever work in Hollywood again.” My mouth was at his ear, shaking with panic and fear, though it sounded like barely contained rage. “I’m not fucking kidding.” I pushed him further into the wall and let go, walking away calmly and smiling at the crew I passed. No one had seen that thankfully, and I doubted my ‘new friend’ would be telling. Beaten by a skinny little thing like me? No, he’d take it to the grave. As would I. I couldn’t tell Van, it would sour the shoot or get it cancelled, and I couldn’t do that. Besides, I was utterly elated at my little ass kicking routine. Maybe I wasn’t as weak as I had always thought. Maybe I was worth something after all? Meh, we’d see.

          Van stepped out of the changing room like he was on a catwalk. The suit was a perfect fit. A little too perfect from the back if you know what I mean. I had a Vietnam style flashback of me throwing myself down on that ass last night when I was drunk. I bit back a smile, but it was hard. I really hoped he didn’t remember that, or me falling asleep on him. Or any of it if I’m honest. Bad times.

He had somehow managed to dress himself whilst still smoking. An impressive, if useless skill.

          “What do you think?” He asked, turning in front of me self-consciously.

          “Perfect.” I said unable to manage anymore. “It looks amazing on you.”

He began to preen in front of the long mirror they’d rested against the wall, fussing over imaginary fluff and straightening thing that were fine.

          “Seriously Van, you look great, don’t worry so much.” I adjusted the black tie and pressed the collar back down around it. Any excuse to be touching him.

The camera man called him over then, his eyes narrowing when they fell on me. Van missed it thankfully. I simply fluttered my eyelids at him and blew a kiss. What a complete bitch I was today! Maybe I still had some alcohol in my system, because this was not me.

          The second the camera was pointed at him, Van was like a man transformed. He stood straighter, shoulders back, chin held high. It was crazy that he became this professional, confident creature when the job needed it. He posed in all the ways they asked for, then posed some of his own, each straight from the pages of a glossy mag. He was a natural. I could see why all the fashion houses wanted him; graceful, beautiful, poised and oozing charisma through the lens…

 

The morning dragged. Van was growing restless, but was always perfect when the camera started snapping. I ran back and forth to the coffee shop I had found, and forced him to eat an apple and croissant, threatening him with violence if he didn’t eat more later. He laughed happily, giving me a warm, affectionate smile that melted me entirely.

The other outfits they had chosen were equally vile, and Van called me over to save him again. He must be desperate as I was grasping at straws. I agreed with what he suggested and picked out a couple of things that I knew I would want to see him in if I were a rabid fan girl. (if?) I chatted politely to the lighting crew when they weren’t working and found I was getting better at small talk. They all thought my accent was ‘too cute’ and asked a thousand questions about the royal family like they thought we were on first name terms. It was fun though and passed the time. Van grew more weary as the hours passed. Of course he was perfect, but it was evident to me that he hated it. He was an actor -that was his love. This was an unfortunate side effect he had to endure as part and parcel. I plied him with muffins and caffeine and told him embarrassing stories of when I was at school. It was so easy with him now, I just opened my mouth and was able to form complete and coherent sentences which had been impossible when we first met.

          He seemed a little happier when we’d been chatting, distracted enough to endure a couple more hours. What a long day for him! And it was repetitive and dull work; turn your head, click, to the left, click, head back, click. He was a brave man to put up with it, because I would have thrown a strop and flounced off the set by now.

He’d gone the whole day on two cigs and I was incredibly proud of him, and told him as much. He gave me a lopsided smile that was shy and proud in equal parts. So damned cute.

          It was dark by the time we were done, and he was barely conscious, yawning and stretching to stay awake.

          “Come on you, let’s get you home.” I said, handing him yet another coffee as we got to his truck.

He nodded, unable to manage anymore. Poor boy. He looked completely disheartened and fed up, unable to muster even the enthusiasm to flip the radio on.

He dropped me home and the journey passed in silence. What could I do to cheer him up? I’d never been happier in my life, but the one who made me that way was morose and depressed. I needed to fix this, but how?