Chapter 31

When I walked into the rehearsal room in time to eat on Tuesday everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me.

“What?” I asked, “what have I done?”

Without a word, Tony threw a newspaper onto the table, folded to show the showbusiness gossip page. It showed a close-up of me and Charlie, our heads very close together looking like we were about to devour each other.

‘Seventeen year old TV starlet in secret night club tryst with new man.’

“Well, I’ve never been described as a man before,” I said.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself young man?” Tony asked.

I looked at him and scowled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, “Last night a friend from work and I went out to enjoy ourselves for a couple of hours. We danced a bit, and had a couple of drinks, which were entirely soft. Our heads are so close to each other because it was bloody noisy in that club and it was the only way to have a conversation. If some scandal sheet wants to make something of that, then fine, let them. I’ve done nothing wrong, Charlie’s done nothing wrong, so if you want to know what I have to say for myself, you just heard it.”

I turned and walked out of the room into the corridor outside, seething. I was joined after a couple of minutes by Becky, our producer.

“David, come back inside,” she said, “we need to sort out our response to this.”

“Response to what?” I said, “I went out for a couple of hours with a friend from work, we drank pop. There’s nothing to respond to.”

“That’s why we need to respond,” she said, “if we don’t refute the implications in that story, then it will become true by default.”

“What implications are those?” I asked.

“The story under the headline, suggests that you and Charlie are more than just friends, that there’s something going on between you, and that you were drinking more than just diet coke last night,” she explained, “you’re fifteen David, if we don’t refute, Charlie could go to jail if the police get involved.”

“Why, we didn’t do anything. Apart from on the cheek she’s never even kissed me.”

“Come on inside, and we’ll get it sorted out,” she said.

I followed her back in, sat down and favoured Tony with a glare.

“Right,” Tony began, “let’s start thinking of how we can get out of this mess you two have landed us in.”

I slammed the palms of my hands down hard on the table in front of me.

“Just what mess are we in, Mr Palmer?” I asked, “a friend and I went out for a couple of hours last night. At no time did they do anything illegal, immoral, or for that matter fattening. How does that constitute a mess?”

I could see that the use of his last name rather than his first was not lost on Becky.

“Tony,” she said quietly, “perhaps it would be better if you let me do this.”

“I’d prefer to handle my own cast,” Tony objected.

“Tony, this is not an artistic matter, it’s business, I’ll handle it.”

She met his gaze with steely eyes, he looked away first.

“Right,” she continued, “the situation we have is that this story has appeared, we need to spin it so it doesn’t look bad, either for us, or, more importantly for David and Charlie.”

“Why do we need to spin it?” I asked, “Why not tell them the truth?”

“Because they wouldn’t be bothered about the truth,” she replied, “truth doesn’t sell newspapers.”

“So what do you propose?” I asked.

“I think the way we should approach this is to spin it as an on-set romance between the two of you,” she began.

“No!” I yelled, “no way.”

“Hang on,” she said, “hear me out. It doesn’t have to be a real romance, the pair of you just get seen out and about together, doing things any couple in love would.”

“And how do you propose ‘spinning’,” I made air quotes, “this to my girlfriend. Oh, by the way Kathy, if you see stories in the papers about me going out with my co-star, don’t worry, it’s just so the papers don’t put out stories about me going out with my co-star. Fuck that for a game of marbles. I don’t cheat, I despise cheating, ask my ex-girlfriend.”

We were interrupted by Tahsa White, the first assistant director coming in.

“Becky,” she said, “there are a bunch of reporters camped outside the front door asking for a quote on the story that one of the cast is having sex with an underage boy.”

“Oh shit,” Becky said, “can you tell them we’ll issue a statement shortly?”

“Yes, sure boss,” Tasha said.

“No,” I said, firmly, “I’ll come down and speak to them.”

“No David, you can’t,” Becky said, “we need to have a united approach to this.”

“That’s fine,” I said, “you have a united approach, while I go down and tell them the real story. The truth.”

“David, I forbid it,” she said.

“Really?” I asked, “and how are you going to enforce that? Ground me? Stop my pocket money? Take away my mobile phone? Lady my mother tried that, it didn’t work for her either.”

I stood up and started for the door.

“If you step outside that door, you’re off this production,” she said.

I turned to face her, looked at her and shrugged. Then Charlie stood up.

“If David’s off then I am too,” she said.

I walked out of the door and down the stairs to the front door of the building. Tasha was stood there with a group of five people. I walked out of the door and closed it behind me.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m David J Barker, I understand you want to ask me some questions.”

They all started talking at once, and I held my hand up for silence.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll answer one question, on one point from each of you. I will give you a full and truthful answer. I will then ignore any further questions from the same person. Before you ask your question, I need you to tell me your name and affiliation. I will choose the order in which you ask. Is that clear?”

There was a low murmuring from them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get that, are my conditions clear, and acceptable to all of you?”

Four of them said yes, the fifth took out a recorder.

“Are you and Charlie Hudson having an affair, and are you underage?” He asked.

“I’m sorry, I introduced myself when we started, you didn’t have the courtesy to do the same. Now you,” I pointed at a blonde haired young woman at the back, “Do you have a question?”

“Thank you, Hannah Cardwell from E! magazine, the photograph of you and Charlie shows you getting awfully close, are you romantically involved?”

“Hannah, have you ever been to Mr. Smiths night club?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t why do you ask?” she replied.

“It’s very loud in there. The reason our heads are so close together was to enable us to carry on a conversation. To answer your question, the only romantic involvement I currently have is with a young lady back home. My girlfriend, and I do not cheat. Does that answer your question?”

“Thank you,” she said, “yes.”

“You haven’t answered my question yet,” the first reporter moaned.

“Nor will I unless you meet my conditions.”

I pointed my finger at a man in the front.

“Steve Beckett, AP,” he said, “is it true that you and Miss Hudson are living together at the Midland Hotel?”

“It is not,” I answered, “however, I can see where your story came from. Owing to a mix up over Miss Hudson’s name, the production company booked her in as Charlie rather than Charlotte, the hotel thought it had two teenage boys staying with them. They therefore allocated us a two bedroom suite. Charlie has one bedroom and I have the other. If you call that living together then I suppose it could be, but no, we do not occupy the same bedroom, or indeed bathroom.”

“What about bed?” the man at the back yelled.

“Right question four, you,” I pointed at a mousy looking man at the back.

“You’ve had only two questions,” the voice from the back said.

I looked at him, frowning.

“There was yours which I ignored, then Hannah asked one then Steve, that makes three. I could call it four since you asked two, but we’ll stick with three.”

I turned back to the man I’d just pointed out.

“Your question?”

“Barry Foster, freelance. Is everything you’ve told us true?”

“It is the absolute truth, if you four would care to meet us at the Midland later, we’ll show you our living arrangements. The rest I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for.”

The one at the back complained that I hadn’t answered his question.

“You heard my conditions you didn’t meet them. Now lady and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, we’re rather busy in there, and I need to get back to work. This really is a non-story, just two friends out for an evening’s dancing. Thank you and good day.”

I’ll give them their due, they didn’t make a fuss, just nodded their thanks and left.

I went back inside and trudged up the stairs and into the conference room where we usually ate lunch. Everybody was still there, sat silently. I walked over to where I’d left my messenger bag and began to pack my things into it, leaving the script on the table. Once I finished, I started to say goodbye to everyone.

“David,” Becky said, “what are you talking about?”

“I’m off the project, you said so, so I’m saying goodbye to my colleagues before I leave,” I replied.

“No, no, you’re not off the project, you misunderstood what I said,” she insisted.

“‘If you step outside that door, you’re off this production,’ would you care to explain which particular part of that statement it was that I didn’t understand?” I asked.

“Well, yes that is what I said, but there’s no need for you to go,” she said.

“Why?” I asked, “You made a clear statement that I was off the project if I did something specific, I did it. In my book that makes it final.”

She looked like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Tony,” she said, “do something.”

“What?” Tony asked, “lock the door, chain him to the table? Sorry Becky darling, you made the statement, you do something.”

Her face turned a deep shade of red.

“David, be reasonable,” she pleaded, “I made a mistake, please can’t we just forgive and forget.”

“Yes, we can,” I replied, “if you’ll answer one question without any get-outs, ifs buts or maybes.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it. What?”

To my mind she agreed too quickly.

“If I’d gone down there and not got them to go away peacefully, accepting my explanation, would I still have been off the project?”

She hesitated before she started to answer, presumably trying to think of some way to ‘spin’ her answer.

“Of course not,” she said, “it was just a heat of the moment statement I never meant it.”

I noted that she didn’t once look at me while she said this. I paused, a long pause.

“Please David, you can’t leave, replacing you would be difficult, and take too long, it would cost us a fortune,” she pleaded.

“But I would still have been off the project if I hadn’t pulled it off wouldn’t I?”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but instead her eyes went to her shoes.

“Actually David, while you were downstairs she was on the phone to the London office trying to get a replacement,” Charlie said.

“I’ll tell you what Becky,” I said, “I’ll make you one last offer. I’m going back to the hotel now, I’ll wait until six o’clock this evening. If, by then I hear from my agent that you’ve made me a decent offer to stay, and matched that for Charlie, I’ll be here tomorrow morning, but at one minute past six, I’m ringing my father to come and get me. And first thing tomorrow, our lawyer will be on the phone to your head office discuss when you’re going to pay my contract up.”

I turned, and this time walked out of the door. The last words I heard as I walked away was Tony telling Becky that he wasn’t going to lie for her again.

I’d just reached the lift when Charlie caught up with me.

“Did she send you as a go-between?” I asked, “because if she did, she’s failed.”

“No, she didn’t,” she replied, “they’ve cancelled the rest of today.”

“Oh, good,” I said, “I’m glad you didn’t walk out.”

“Why?” she asked, “You know I would have.”

“Yes, but one of the things I learned in Hollywood is that if they fire you from the production, they have to stump up the whole of your contract, but if you walk out, not only do they not have to pay you, but they can sue you for the cost of replacing you.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

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