Читать книгу The Perfect Location - Kate Forster, Kate Forster - Страница 18

Aware she had spent much of her time in Italy by herself, Sapphira was looking forward to meeting her co-star. Jack Reynolds was a big star. He was a renowned bachelor who spent part of the year in LA and part in Italy. Speaking flawless Italian, he was a spokesperson for Brioni suits and Longines watches, and had been voted Sexiest Man of the Year for the past three years. Jack was the male equivalent of Sapphira, according to one of the biggest gossip magazines back in the States. He worked only when he wanted to and chose his projects carefully. The role TG had offered him was perfect – a script which promised to create celluloid history, acting opposite one of the biggest female stars of the time and shooting in his beloved adopted country was an offer Jack could not pass up.

His affairs always made the news and he had dated many beautiful young women from all over the world, always brunettes and never for longer than a year. He never spoke about his love life, instead making witty and occasionally ironic comments about the celebrity fascination and culture. He was due on set that morning. Jack arrived on time and chatted freely with the crew, switching from Italian to English effortlessly. Sapphira came on to the set, walking like a panther and as if Jack was her prey.

‘Hello, I’m Sapphira De Mont. I’m surprised we haven’t yet worked together.’

‘Jack, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sapphira.’ He looked at her bemused, and stuck out his hand for her to shake it.

She leaned over and kissed each cheek while pressing herself against him. He stood, his head cocked to one side, his greying temples glinting in the sun.

‘Well, let’s get to work,’ he said and turned on his heel and walked to TG, where he proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes discussing character and plot.

For all his playboy reputation, Jack was a professional in every sense of the word, and when Sapphira sat in the make-up chair, she wondered about his reaction to her.

‘Is Jack dating anyone?’ she asked Kelly as she dabbed on her pancake base.

‘Nope, just broke up with a Swiss TV presenter. No word from her yet. I thought she may sell her story to National Enquirer and the like, but I haven’t heard a thing.’

Sapphira’s reputation preceded her, and Kelly and Chris had a bet on to see how long before Sapphira and Jack were an item, at least for the remaining duration of the shoot.

Sapphira wondered if perhaps Jack was heartbroken. Not fucking likely, she thought.

Walking into the trailer, Jack kissed Kelly, whom he had worked with before and sat next to Sapphira. She knew she looked good in the chair, make-up flawless and artfully applied. Her hair was long and out. She was wearing a strapless black dress, showing off her tattoos and her tanned skin. She was the kind of woman who knew what she wanted and Jack was in her sights. She smiled at him in the mirror. He smiled back and pulled out a copy of the local newspaper, La Nazione and started to read it, much to Sapphira’s shock.

The assistant director knocked on the door. ‘All ready, Sapphira? TG wants to do your close-up, then Jack’s. We’ll be ready for you.’

‘See you then,’ said Jack from the depths of his paper.

Sapphira stood up, unnerved. Heading onto the set, she went through the motions of the close-up, standing patiently while they sorted out the angles and focus measurements for the camera. I’ll just have to work harder, she thought, having never yet given up on a challenge. This is what she felt the best at, luring her man in on her long line.

TG came on set soon after with Jack and talked them through their first scene. They were inside the Villa and in the kitchen set. ‘Ok, so I need you, Sapphira, to have your bare feet up on the table and Jack, you come in. Sapphira, your eyes are shut for this scene. You are worn out from working on the Villa all day. Jack, you rub her shoulders and then you say the lines. Want to rehearse it first for marks?’

‘Nope,’ said Jack. ‘I think we are good.’ He smiled at Sapphira, who responded to him with one of her million-dollar laughs.

‘Whatever you want, Jacky boy.’

‘Action.’ Called TG from off set.

Jack came through the door and saw Sapphira with her feet on the table but instead of walking around behind her he sat down at her feet, saying his lines. he started to give her foot a rub.

Sapphira stayed in character and kept her eyes shut while Jack rubbed her feet. He said his lines and she responded.

‘Cut,’ yelled TG.

Jack stood up. ‘I just felt he would rub her feet since it’s the first thing he sees when he walks into the room.’

‘Yeah fine, worked well from our angle. Let’s do it again for different shots, ok?’

Sapphira was panicking. Had he noticed her feet? She had tried hard to cover the track marks but did he know what they were?

She looked at him. He seemed not to notice anything unusual about her feet. They waited for the camera to move. ‘Sorry about my disgusting feet,’ she said arching her long foot. ‘They are covered in ant bites,’ she explained, laughing.

Jack didn’t look at her. ‘You take care of yourself Sapphira, ok?’

‘Of course, I always do, Jacky boy.’ She threw her head back again and laughed. This is what she felt the best at, luring her man in on her long line.

When her close-up had been shot, and Jack had come on set for his, she sauntered towards him. ‘Why don’t we meet tonight, Jack? I can come to your place and we can discuss characters, trade war stories, whatever …’ The open invitation hung heavily in the air.

‘I don’t think so. I don’t play with the talent.’ This was true, Jack always played with talent lower than him on the celebrity radar; he was always the racehorse and his new girlfriend was always the donkey. Of course, this wasn’t disrespectful but Jack’s ego and celebrity were too big for two stars, and Sapphira would be too huge a star to orbit. The pressure of them pairing up might bring the kind of publicity that opened closet doors and let the skeletons out, and this was the last thing Jack wanted.

‘That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. You are breaking my heart, Mr Reynolds.’

‘I’m sure it will mend, Ms De Mont,’ he said, laughing.

Sapphira felt herself relax. She refused to see not seducing Jack as failure. Instead, she understood his rules. She had her own set of rules she conducted her life by; there was a part of her which respected him.

‘Thanks for being honest, I guess.’ There was something genuine and honourable about Jack; she felt she could trust him.

‘Friends?’ asked Jack.

‘I guess, I don’t really have men as friends.’

‘What? Just for breakfast?’ Jack laughed at his own joke and Sapphira joined in.

Sapphira was quiet. ‘You want to know something?’

‘Sure,’ said Jack not looking up.

‘Today is my birthday. Please don’t say anything to anyone. I just wanted you to know.’ She stared into the distance, her face expressionless.

‘I am assuming then, there won’t be a party,’ Jack said, picking up on the change in Sapphira’s mood. ‘Well, have you heard from anyone? Family? Agent, at least? They’re always good for a useless gift and a sycophantic card.’

‘My father’s dead. My mother might as well be, we haven’t spoken in about eight years. As for my agent, he will ring tomorrow no doubt, being ignorant of the time delay.’

Staring out at the crew busying themselves, a warm breeze blew over them and took Sapphira’s mood with it. ‘Doesn’t matter, age is just a state of mind anyway.’

‘Do you worry about being older?’ asked Jack.

‘Never. I suppose I think about everything I want to do and I panic, as there’s never enough time. There’s so much to learn, to see, to experience.’

‘Amelia Earhart, look out, huh? Next thing you will need to learn is how to fly and you can see the world at your own leisure.’

‘I already know how to fly. I learned at the start of this year.’

‘Of course you did, why am I not surprised?’ he said as he crossed his legs. ‘I tell you what, I’m gonna break my own rule. I will throw you birthday dinner. I’ll send my car to pick you up at 6.00 pm. We finish early today, which will give us plenty of time.’

‘Six? I thought everyone ate later in Italy.’

‘Well, I want to take you somewhere special,’ he answered enigmatically. ‘A surprise, stay tuned, Amelia.’

Sapphira thought of another night in her library, reading and smoking and then thought of an evening with Jack. ‘It’s a date!’

‘Friends, remember?’

‘I remember,’ said Sapphira. ‘You have nothing to worry about. Your virtue is safe with me, Mr Reynolds.’ And she stood up and went to the set for her next close-up.

That evening, she was dressed for sex. She wore a Blumarine leopard print silk strapless dress, with huge Moroccan wooden bangles she had picked up on her last shoot in Marrakesh and a pair of Yves Saint Laurent black suede ankle boots. Her hair was swept back into a bun, high on her head, and she wore minimal make-up and a liberal amount of her customized Lyn Harris perfume, leaving a trail of amber, musk and jasmine.

The helicopter that picked her up in Perugia landed at Nicelli Airport at 7.10 pm and Sapphira was whisked straight into a waiting water limousine and taken through the canals towards Jack. Venice was spectacular. The sun was still up and the canals were busy. The white, navy trimmed leather seats and the mahogany panelled walls and tinted windows gave her complete privacy to watch Venice without any interruption or distraction. It truly was an amazing city, she thought, as they sailed down the Grand Canal.

There was a bottle of French Champagne on the small mahogany table with a note written by Jack – Happy birthday, Amelia, enjoy the ride.

Pouring herself a glass, she sat forward on her chair and enjoyed the view. The buildings and people floated past her and Sapphira imagined for a moment she was in a magical land filled with the most wonderful buildings the human mind could create, all floating and rocking their inhabitants to sleep each night.

Soon, they turned off the canal and the boat came to a stop. Sapphira heard the captain speaking Italian and then the door opened. She alighted and was standing on the edge of the canal in front of huge carved wooden doors, which opened. Jack stood with his arms open. ‘Happy birthday, kid!’

Sapphira walked into them and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Howdy, Jack. Look at this place.’

The palazzo was impressive. Built in the 15th century, it was one of the largest private residences in Venice. Spread over five floors, the palazzo had a perfect view of the Bridge of Sighs and a roof garden for the summer.

Jack was dressed in white linen pants, a black t-shirt and barefoot. His ease in his own home made him all the more attractive to Sapphira. He led her into the huge sitting room, with its high ceilings and three Murano glass chandeliers. The room was filled with antique and contemporary furniture and art. It was Jack in every way – elegant, stylish and urbane.

‘Venetian?’ said Jack as he opened up an art deco cabinet to reveal a fully stocked bar with every possible bottle of liquor imaginable.

‘I’m assuming that’s a drink,’ asked Sapphira, as she prowled the room studying its contents.

‘Yep. Campari, gin, vermouth, amaretto and a twist of lemon.’

‘I thought the Bellini was the Venetian cocktail of choice?’ said Sapphira as she stood back from a large Francis Bacon painting.

‘The Bellini is the choice of tourists, although it is a lovely drink on a hot night on the roof, but not too often.’

‘Are you a snob, Mr Reynolds? Are you not a tourist in this lovely country?’ Sapphira flirted with him as she crossed the floor to accept the drink he was bringing to her.

‘I may be a tourist to the Italians, but it feels like home to me. I love this place more than America, though I would never say so in an interview. The people, the history, the contradictions are what appeal to me. I like being so close to Europe and I like being out of the craziness of the US. Here, a celebrity is someone on TV or a politician or a model. Some American movie star means nothing to them and I’m just fine with that.’

Sapphira looked at his ease and relaxed demeanour and thought he had never looked more attractive. It was as though he was a drug and she wanted more of it, his contentment and satisfaction with life almost an elixir. Sapphira was hooked.

‘Grab your drink and I’ll give you a tour,’ he said.

Leading the way, he walked Sapphira through each level, with a story to tell about his art and furniture, the parties he had thrown there and the peace he felt when he heard the water at night. Finishing on the roof, Sapphira was entranced by the view and the sounds below of the water city.

‘Your life is very agreeable, sir,’ she said, sipping her drink. ‘You live how you want and you do what you want. I admire you.’

‘Let’s go back down now and talk shit, then we will eat, yes? Then later we can go out for a twilight tour of the canals. It’s amazing, it never stops.’

Sapphira smiled, but she knew she was ready for another hit. ‘It sounds wonderful. I might just use your bathroom, if you don’t mind.’

‘No problem, use the one downstairs I just showed you and then I will meet you back down where you originally came in. If you get lost, just holler and I’ll come with a search party.’

Walking with Sapphira down the stairs, he left her at the bathroom and then went down to fix more drinks.

Sapphira entered the bathroom and noticed there was no lock on the door. Fuck, she thought. Opening her bag, she pulled out her works and set up. She had been craving more than usual; this happened sometimes but she was careful, writing down in her little notebook when and what she had taken last.

Checking her book, she fixed up the hit and hitching up her dress, injected herself into her groin. The hit was instant; she felt the rush as she sat on the toilet. Maybe she had taken a little more than last time, she wondered, as she felt her legs heavy. She tried to get up but couldn’t stand. I’ll wait for a while and then I’ll go down, she thought. Sitting on the toilet with her head on her chest, the sleepiness was too much to bear and she gave in.

‘Sapphira, Sapphira, you need to walk, you need to walk. Come on, baby.’

She heard the voice in the distance but he seemed so far away. She shook her head; whoever it was speaking was annoying her. Come on. She felt herself moving. How? Did she have wings? Laughing to herself, she heard the voice again. ‘It’s not funny. Come on, goddammit, walk.’

He walked her around the room, up and down, up and down, until her head began to clear a little and she became more conscious of her surroundings. ‘Jack?’

‘Who the fuck else would it be?’