Kate surveyed all regally from the top of the table, not a platinum-blonde hair out of place. She was quaffing wine and wore a slightly worried look, though it was difficult to be sure since she’d obviously gone for another lift, so taut was the skin around her eyes. Lana felt like a bitch for noticing.
‘And so I turned to this guy, never directed a movie in his life, and I just said, “So make me!"’ Cole was cruising through the evening, enchanting the company with anecdotes from his extensive on-set back catalogue. He sat back and roared with laughter at his own joke, and naturally everybody else followed suit. Lana had to admit he was good. The best.
The starter came and went, with Cole still holding fort. Felix Bentley, a cocky London music producer with an affected trans-Atlantic accent, kept trying to interject, but it was a losing battle. Lana tried to make conversation with the singer next to her but the girl kept leaving to visit the bathroom. Though she couldn’t be sure, Lana suspected she was throwing up.
‘Cole, tell us again how you and Lana met,’ said Harriet Foley, editor of fashion giant In. She was a formidable woman with a severe black bob and tortoiseshell glasses.
Cole savoured the moment. ‘I gotta tell you, Harriet,’ he said, looking adoringly at his wife, ‘it was love at first—’
The dining-room door slammed open. A tall, lanky figure bustled through, somewhat dishevelled in a dark suit. His hair was messy and his tie skewed.
Jimmy Hart. Lana thought he looked like a child’s drawing.
‘Apologies, everyone,’ he said with an easy grin. ‘Kate redecorates so often I can forget which part of the house I’m in!’
It was a pathetic excuse. Nevertheless everyone laughed politely, the reason for his lateness quietly dissolved. Kate looked flustered as she allowed herself to be chastely kissed then quickly motioned her husband to sit down. Lana noticed the stony glare that followed his back as he came to take a seat opposite her.
‘So I was saying …’ resumed Cole, who didn’t like to be disturbed.
Jimmy pulled back his chair with a shriek. Lana felt, rather than saw, Cole grit his teeth.
‘Sorry, mate,’ said Jimmy, sloshing wine into his glass.
Lana hid a smile. Despite his shameless behaviour, she liked Jimmy. There was something so brazen about him, a kind of unapologetic mischief. Though she had never told Cole, just last year they had been at a similar gathering during which Jimmy had tried to get her to touch his hard-on under the table, while maintaining a conversation with his wife about the versatility of cannellini beans. Lana had been shocked–not just at the advance but at how suddenly Jimmy’s cock had swollen to frankly unreal proportions. She was surprised he hadn’t pulled the tablecloth off with it.
‘Excuse me,’ she said quietly, pushing back her seat.
Cole broke off, drawing unnecessary attention. ‘What is it?’ he said, a slight snap to his voice. Nobody else would notice, just her.
‘Excuse me while I visit the bathroom,’ she clarified.
Relieved to get away, Lana made her way through the hall.
After washing her hands and re-applying some lipstick, she stood for a while at the mirror, trying to recognise the person looking back.
She wanted to spend the weekend by the ocean. No cameras, no contracts, no obligations–just the ocean … and the man she loved.
But that man wasn’t Cole Steel, her husband. And it wasn’t Parker Troy, her lover. It was Robbie Lewis, the boy from her childhood, now a multi-billionaire and the most handsome man in the world. The man who had saved her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the memory of the trailer park in Belleville, of the childhood that had been stolen from her. That awful night. The raging fire. The escape. And the beautiful boy she had left behind.
Robbie Lewis, my Robbie …
Shaking her head, trying to clear it, Lana took a deep breath. She had to stop thinking about the past, playing it over and over. It was gone, dead, buried. Robbie Lewis was gone from her life and he wasn’t ever coming back. Why would he? She had ruined him. Her marriage to Cole might feel like a prison, but it was nothing compared with the real thing.
Forget him, Lana. He doesn’t exist any more. He’s in Vegas, baby. Get over it.
On the way back to the table Kate passed her in the corridor, careening on her heels. She stumbled into the wall, her full glass of wine slopping over the rim.
‘Lana Falcon,’ she slurred, adjusting her hair as it attempted escape from a tightly wound chignon. ‘America’s sweetheart.’
Lana forced herself to engage with the present. ‘Kate, I think—’
‘Don’t tell me what you think. Why would I want to know that? Get back to your fucking husband.’ Then she leaned in close so Lana could smell the alcohol on her breath. ‘But not to fucking your husband, isn’t that right?’ She laughed cruelly. ‘I know the score, and don’t you forget it. I’ve been there before you. Things aren’t quite as perfect as they seem, now, are they?’
Lana didn’t know what to say.
‘Tell me something, darling,’ Kate spat. ‘I’m dying to know. Can he get it up for you?’
Lowering her gaze, Lana tried to skim past her host before she could embarrass herself further. Kate would never know that Cole was the last man on her mind right now–for nothing and no one could chase the memories of Robbie away.
Belleville, Ohio, 1992
In the back of the station wagon, Laura Fallon sat quietly with her small hands held together in her lap. She looked out the window at the driving rain and tried not to be sad. Next week was her ninth birthday and she knew she should feel like a special little girl, just like Arlene, her foster mom, had told her. But instead she felt frightened.
‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked. The woman driving was wearing a brown skirt and jacket and had greasy hair. Earlier, when she had collected Laura from her foster family, she had ticked off lots of boxes on a piece of paper. Arlene had been trying not to cry, which didn’t make sense because Arlene had told her there was nothing to be sad about.
When they stopped at a red light the woman turned round and smiled. Laura saw that a tooth at the back of her grin was missing, a grotesque detail she hadn’t noticed before.
‘You’ve been waitin’ long enough, huh, cupcake. We’re finally takin’ you home.’
Home. That was the word Arlene had used as well. But she had already known two homes and now both of them had been taken away–what would make this one any different?
The first had been with her parents, before the accident. She squeezed her eyes tight shut when she thought of it. The policemen with their kind eyes and their smart uniforms, who had come to get her out of bed in the middle of the night and had sat her down and held her hand. One–he had a shiny head and a thick brown moustache that drooped at the edges–had told her in a quiet, gentle voice that her mommy and daddy had died. A truck had gone into their car as it waited to turn on to the freeway. He’d looked so sad.
Grown-ups didn’t get sad; they sorted things out, which was just what her big brother Lester would do. Lester was fifteen and brave and strong, the tallest boy in his class. He always promised that he would look after her, his best little sister. She idolised him.
But some time that night, in the darkest hours, the Lester she knew and loved had