Chapter 23

I got home to find Maria and Sandy in the kitchen peeling vegetables.

“I take it we’re not eating out tonight,” I said.

“Nope,” Sandy replied, “Mom’s making moussaka. Oh, and your Mom wants you to call her.”

“I’ll have to do it tomorrow morning,” I said, “it’s gone midnight over there. Wait, you’ve been talking to my Mum?”

“Yes, she called,” she explained, “I told her that you were out at the studio, so we sat and chatted. She seems like a nice lady.”

“But you’ve spoken to her before,” I said.

“I know that,” she said, as though she was talking to a child, “but only to answer the phone and pass it on to you.”

“So, what did you talk about?” I asked, worried that I already knew the answer.

“You,” she said, “and Christmas.”

“Now there are two subjects that don’t really fit the same conversation,” I said with a smile.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, “I love them both.”

“Flatterer,” I said, kissing her softly, “keep that up and you might get lucky.”

“No, I already got lucky. But you could,” ‘she said smiling at me.

I wandered through to the living room and turned on the TV.

CBC at five o’clock is not the most fascinating TV channel on the planet, so I started to channel hop. Finally finding a documentary about whales on the Discovery Channel.

I’d just settled down to watch it when Sandy brought me a mug of coffee, for which I gave her the usual reward, a gentle kiss.

“To what do I owe the waitress service?” I asked.

“Got to keep my lord and master happy,” she said.

“If I’m the lord and master, does that make you the slave girl?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “it makes me she who must be obeyed.”

I decided that a quick change of subject would be best.

“You’re walking a lot better,” I said.

“I’m in a lot less pain,” she replied, “Dinner will be about an hour and a half. Oh, lord and master.”

She walked out laughing. It was good to hear her laugh.

That hour and a half gave me a chance to shower, change and have a quick read-through of the script of the first episode, which we’d be rehearsing the next day. Filming would then take up the rest of the week.

Dinner was delicious and we spent the rest of the evening with Maria telling us of growing up on a Greek island and of how she lost her heart, and her virginity, to a handsome American tourist.

“Don’t you miss your homeland?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she replied, “but it’s my homeland, not my home anymore. My mother’s still alive over there, and I think, once Sandy’s married and settled, I might go back and start a small Taverna, but until then, I’m a good New Jersey housewife.”

“And I’m a good New Jersey daughter,” Sandy added.

I couldn’t suppress a laugh at that remark.

“What’s funny about that?” Sandy asked imperiously.

“So good, you’re sharing my bed,” I interjected, “while your poor old Mother sleeps alone down the corridor.”

“You could always invite her to join us,” Sandy said.

The problem with that statement was that I couldn’t tell by looking at her whether she was serious or not.

Her mother and I both stared at her until, eventually, she raised her two hands in negation.

“Joking,” she said, “I was joking.”

I’m not certain, but I think there may have been a look of disappointment on Maria’s face.

I decided to change the subject to one that didn’t even remotely concern sexual activities.

“How did you get on at the hospital today?” I asked.

“She’s been declared clear by the cardiologist, so long as she carries on taking the blood-thinners,” Maria said.

“And the orthopaedics department says that my casts can come off in two weeks,” Sandy added.

“Just in time for Christmas,” I mused, “but, presumably you’ll need physio treatment.”

“Yes, I’ll probably be walking with a cane for a while,” she agreed, “but at least I’ll be able to come to work.”

“Just don’t rush it,” I told her, “I’d rather have you fit and well.”

“But I want to earn my money,” she said.

“I understand that,” I replied, “but don’t rush it, as I said I want you back fit and well.”

“But I just feel useless,” she said.

I stood up and held my hands out to her, she took them and I pulled her up.

“Come with me,” I ordered her.

She gave me a strange look and then obeyed, following me into the dining room. Once we were in there, I sat her at the head of the table and sat next to her, holding on to her left hand with my right.

“Sandy,” I began, “please don’t ever think of yourself as useless, you are as necessary to me as the air that I breathe.”

“Yes,” she said, “in the bedroom.”

“No,” I insisted, “I am not paying you for what we do in the bedroom, or for that matter in the kitchen, the dining room or the shower. I’m paying you to be my Personal Assistant, to keep me grounded. You’re already working.”

“I am not,” she spat.

“Really?” I asked, “then who arranged my parents visiting for Christmas, was that me? Or your mother?”

“That was me,” she said.

“There you are, I’d have had to do that if my PA hadn’t,” I said, “look, Sandy, if you don’t feel happy with the sleeping arrangements, if you feel you’re only here for sex, and that I’m paying you for that, then I’ll move into the spare bedroom and you can literally be nothing more than my PA, who happens to live-in.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said, “I just felt.”

“What?” I asked, “that I was using you for sex?”

“No, Yes,” she said in confusion, “Oh, I don’t know. Have you seen Pretty Woman?”

“The film with Julia Roberts?” I asked.

“Yes,” she agreed, “I felt like I was the woman in that film. I felt like you were buying me just for sex.”

“Two things,” I replied, “that is totally not true and, remember what happens at the end of that film?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes looking down at the table.

“Well, tomorrow see if you can find me a fire escape.”

She looked at me and the smile broke out again. It was like the sun had peeked out from behind heavy, dark clouds.

She leaned into me and kissed me, long and passionately.

“I love you, David J Barker,” she said when we broke the kiss, “now if you’d care to help me upstairs, I’ll show you how much.”

“Are you sure we should?” I asked, “this soon after your erm, episode?”

“I asked the doctor at the hospital, he said so long as you don’t expect me to swing from the chandelier, we’ll be all right,” she replied.

“Do we even have a chandelier?” I asked.

“Nope, so we just need to be careful and not make it too physical,” she answered.

Do you know the one bad thing about having a misunderstanding with your girlfriend, then taking her to bed to make up? It’s having to get up a six-thirty the following morning to go to work. That was, however, tempered by the fact that she decided that regardless of any opinion I may hold to the contrary, she was coming with me and being my PA.

The studio people were brilliant, as soon as we were through the gates, one of the security team went to the stores and got her a golf cart to get around on and promised to keep an eye on her while I spent the morning with the on-set teacher, going over my Calculus. Yes, I was keeping up with my A-level work, and they provided a ramp into my trailer, so she didn’t have to climb steps. When I got to my trailer after I’d finished with ‘school’ she was waiting.

“Ready for lunch?” I asked.

“What time do you have to be at your rehearsal room?” she asked.

“Two-thirty,” I replied, looking at my watch, “why?”

It was twelve-fifteen, so we had just over two hours to kill. I think I’d worked out how she wanted to kill it.

I had the presence of mind to insist on getting food first, so we got into her golf cart and drove round to the studio commissary. The commissary had the reputation of offering great food, the head chef had been head-hunted from a high-class Montreal hotel and had a Michelin star.

She parked the cart with skilful ease outside the commissary and we walked hand in hand into the dining room.

I immediately spotted about half the cast of my show, already eating and led Sandy over to the table where they were sat.

After making the introductions, I took our choices from the menu across to the servery and placed our orders, which, ten minutes later were brought out by a waiter who introduced himself as Simon. He placed our plates on the table with a smile plastered on his face, you know the sort, the ‘look I’m really friendly and smiling at you, even though I despise you, now don’t forget the big tip’ type of smile.

I’d introduced Sandy as my PA, rather than as my girlfriend, primarily because I didn’t know what the rules were about friends and family visiting the set and it wasn’t long before Tony Dixon, our senior cameraman moved across the table to sit on the opposite side of her to me.

“I didn’t see you around yesterday,” he said to her, “where were you hiding?”

“At the hospital,” she said, tapping her leg cast.

“Well,” he answered, “I hope I’ll see a lot more of you from now on.”

“I’m sure you will,” she replied, an air of disinterest in her demeanour, “I’ll be here every day with David.”

“How long are you in that thing for?” he asked indicating the cast.

“Another two weeks,” she replied, “and will I be glad to get rid of it.”

“Itching?” he asked.