Baby Be Mine (28 page)

This town is too small to stay hidden for long. Kitty is going to find out on the celebrity circuit that I’m back, even if we do manage to keep Barney a secret from the press for a while. People talk. I’d rather she heard it from me. I just hope she’s the same person she was when I left.

I call her on a Saturday morning. Her number is the same; so she’s still working for Rod Freemantle, a middle-aged actor who has had almost as many wives as Brad and Angelina have children. He’s currently on his fifth.

She answers the phone: ‘Rod Freemantle’s office.’

‘Kitty.’

‘Yes, can I help you?’

‘It’s Meg.’

‘Meg!’ she cries, dropping all formality. ‘Long time no hear! How’s it going?’

‘Good! Really good.’

‘How’s your little boy?’

‘Barney is great,’ I say, just in case she’s forgotten his name. ‘He’s almost one and a half, can you believe?’

‘Jeez, no, I can’t believe it. I’m so ashamed that I haven’t met him yet.’ I’m about to tell her she can make up for lost time, but she moves on. ‘How’s Christian?’

‘Er, not so good,’ I reply.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘We split up.’

‘Oh, man!’ she exclaims. ‘That sucks. What happened?’

‘It’s a long story . . . Too long to explain on the phone.’

‘Well, I ain’t coming to London anytime soon . . .’

She doesn’t even know I’ve been living in France. ‘Just as well I’m in LA, then,’ I reply.

‘Are you kidding me?’

‘Nope.’

‘What are you doing back here?’

‘That is part of the long story. Listen, when can we hook up?’

‘I’m free this arvo?’

I hesitate for all of two seconds. Johnny’s going out tonight, so he can hardly have a problem with me going out today. He’s got Dana for company – and that’s something I won’t fight him for.

‘Sounds good.’

Kitty and I meet on Melrose Avenue at one of our old haunts, an Italian coffee shop which does some of the best pasta dishes I’ve ever tasted. She’s already there when I walk in, struggling to carry Barney and my oversized bag.

‘Oh my God!’ she cries, getting to her feet and rushing over. ‘I cannot believe you gave birth to that!’

I laugh. ‘He wasn’t this big when I squeezed him out.’

She checks me over. ‘You look amazing!’

‘I tried not to let myself go,’ I joke. I’m wearing skinny jeans, brown leather boots and a fitted navy-blue military peacoat, which Mum bought for me as an early birthday present.

‘Here, let me help you.’ She relieves me of my bag and leads the way through the cramped space to our table. I sit Barney on my lap because there are no high chairs. He immediately reaches for the salt and pepper shaker.

Kitty still looks the same, albeit a little older. She’s wearing a stripy chocolate, beige, army-green and hot-pink dress, teamed with a purple cardie and a chunky green belt. She must be thirty-three now; she was thirty when I met her three years ago, and I was only twenty-four then, so she’s always been older and wiser than me. She stares at Barney and shakes her head, her dark-brown ringlets bouncing around her shoulders.

‘He’s so big now! He has your hair.’

‘And Johnny’s eyes,’ I say. I wasn’t planning on dropping the bombshell in quite such an offhand fashion, but it just sort of came out. It takes a few moments for the news to sink in, and, when it does, her jaw practically hits the table.

‘Pardon?’ I’ve never heard her say pardon before.

‘He’s Johnny’s,’ I tell her. ‘Strictly confidential, of course.’

‘He’s . . . He’s . . .
Johnny Jefferson has a son
?’

‘Yep.’ I lift my fingers up and point at the top of Barney’s head.

‘Holy shit, Meg!’

‘Oops, no swearing.’

She clamps her hand across her mouth and her wide-open eyes stare at me. ‘He’s
Johnny’s
?’

‘Yep.’

‘What about Christian?’

My nonchalance dries up. I take a deep breath and sigh. ‘I thought – hoped – Barney would be Christian’s. But as you can see, he looks nothing like him.’

‘Is that why you split up?’

‘It’s a pretty good reason, don’t you think?’

‘So what are you doing back here?’ Again she clamps her hand over her mouth. ‘You’re not back with Johnny?’

‘No, no,’ I brush her off. ‘No, he’s with Dana, hook, line and sinker. But he didn’t take the news about Barney as badly as I thought he would. He wanted us to come here and spend some time with him.’

Bump goes her jaw on the table again.

‘Sorry, are we talking about the same Johnny Jefferson?’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I smile wryly. ‘It came as a surprise to me, too.’

‘Hang on, hang on, let’s backtrack a bit. What happened? Was it just a one-night stand?’

‘No, it was more than that.’ I explain to her about the whole shebang and finally come to the part about him asking me to go and live with him in LA.

‘And you said no?’ She looks at me like I’m mad.

I screw up my nose. ‘You wonder why?’

‘But he’s Johnny Jefferson, Meg! How could you have said no to him?’

‘I didn’t manage to say no to everything.’ I indicate Barney with my fingers once more. ‘As you can see by Exhibit A.’

‘Holy shit! Sorry.’

The waitress belatedly comes over to take our order. We’ve been too busy talking to realise we’ve been ignored all this time. I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu so I order an old favourite – lasagne – plus some penne pomodoro for Barney.

‘What’s been happening with you?’ I ask casually when we’re alone again.

‘No. Uh-uh.’ She shakes her head. ‘Nothing’s been happening with me. Nothing that even remotely compares to what’s been happening with you.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true. Still working for Rod?’

‘Yep, but who cares, right? You’ve got Johnny Jefferson’s son on your lap! I cannot believe this hasn’t hit the press yet.’

‘Shh! It’s only a matter of time with you talking that loudly!’

‘Sorry!’

I giggle, then fall serious. ‘Really, though, I’m sure it is only a matter of time. Not something that I’m happy about.’

‘Jeez Louise, are you ready to be flung into the spotlight like that?’

‘What do you think? Don’t you remember that time Johnny took me to the Ivy when I was just his PA and the paps thought I could be “somebody”? I looked like a rabbit in the headlights!’ I shudder at the memory. ‘No, I am definitely not ready to be flung into the spotlight.’

When I get home, Johnny has already gone out. I put Barney to bed and go downstairs. Lena doesn’t work on Saturdays unless there’s an emergency, so I’m on my own. I wander into the kitchen and aimlessly look in cupboards, even though I’m not hungry, before making myself a tea and heading to the office. I stand inside the door. It really doesn’t look any different to how it was years ago; there are even a couple of sacks of fan mail propped up against the wall. I never managed to make a dent in them. More letters would always replace the ones I’d dealt with. It’s actually insane that Johnny doesn’t have a fan club. Maybe he thinks that’s a bit too ‘pop’ for him. I might try to convince him otherwise, because I’m sure Lena has enough on her plate without replying to his often demented fans.

I have a weird urge to tackle some fan mail now. I know Lena wouldn’t mind. If anything she’ll be grateful – I would be. I put down my tea on the spare desk and try not to remember how Christian once sat there working on his Johnny Jefferson biography. I dig into the nearest sack and pull out a handful of letters.

I work quickly and quietly and find it’s soothing being back in this frame of mind. I locate standard fan-mail responses on the server and adapt them appropriately, then print them out, attach a signed photograph and stuff everything into addressed envelopes. The time flies and I don’t even notice Johnny at the door until he clears his throat.

‘Hello, there!’ I say. ‘What are you doing home so early?’

‘Couldn’t be arsed,’ he replies with a shrug and I remember he always did have the attention span of a gnat.

‘Is Dana with you?’

‘No, she wanted to stick around.’

I stifle a sigh of relief. I haven’t enjoyed my encounters with her these last few days. Luckily she hasn’t been here too much.

‘What are you up to?’ Johnny asks, standing by my desk.

‘Sorting through fan mail, would you believe?’

‘Are you billing me for this work?’

‘Consider it a freebie.’

I may have been irritated initially about Johnny’s credit-card comment, but, in all seriousness, I do want to earn my keep. I’m not, and have never been, a freeloader. I didn’t like relying on Christian to bring in the dough once we had Barney, but it was preferable to paying someone else to look after him while I went out to work. In any case, what was I going to do? I dallied with waitressing for a while when I returned to the UK, but, in truth, I was a good PA. Organisation has always been my forte. I just couldn’t bear the thought of running anyone else’s life for them after I left LA.

Johnny pulls up a chair and sits down next to me, just as he used to. I lean back in my chair and put my arms on the armrests.

‘It’s weird seeing you here,’ he says.

‘It’s a bit strange being back,’ I admit. ‘But everything’s different now. It’s the way it should be.’

‘Definitely different,’ he agrees, looking away and raising his eyebrows. I don’t know what he means by that so I move on.

‘I sat in on those interviews with Lena yesterday.’

‘For the cook?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Opinion?’

‘Honestly? I liked Eddie.’

‘The guy?’ He sounds surprised.

‘Yeah.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Very grounded, young and upcoming. He can turn his hand to different styles, but it’s all good home-cooking, not too wanky.’

‘Wanky?’ He looks amused.

‘Not wanky, I said.’

He laughs. ‘What did he look like?’

‘I should have known that would be your next question.’

‘And?’

‘He was alright.’ I play it down, because, actually, he was pretty damn fine.

‘I want to meet him before he starts.’ Shame. ‘Not that I don’t trust you,’ he adds. ‘On hiring a cook, at least.’

I purse my lips at him and he gives me a slightly defiant look. ‘That was a bit below the belt,’ I say, because I’m sad to have lost his trust, even if I deserve it. ‘I won’t lie to you again,’ I add seriously.

He leans forward in his chair. ‘You won’t lie to me again?’

‘No.’ I stare back at him, confused.

‘I am
so
going to use that against you.’

My face heats up and he chuckles. I look away to the desk. ‘I think I’ll call it a night.’

‘Change the subject . . .’

I glance back at him and smirk. ‘Can you blame me?’

‘Did you fancy the cook?’

‘He was alright.’

‘You’ve already used that word to describe him.’

‘Because it’s true. Not a lie, you see.’

‘Yeah, but would you?’

‘Would I what?’ I laugh, outraged.

‘You know.’ He whistles to signify naughty business.

‘Get out of here, Johnny Jefferson.’ I poke him on his arm.

‘I thought you were leaving?’ he says.

‘Maybe I’ve got a bit more work in me, but hey, if we’re both staying, let me show you this one.’ I riffle through the stack of fan mail and pull out a red envelope. ‘It’s freakin’ hilarious.’ I’m already sounding more American. I open it up and show Johnny the photographs that one bonkers fan has enclosed of her five previous boyfriends. Each and every one of them has a strikingly bad resemblance to Johnny.

‘Check out this guy.’ I show him a picture of a skinny forty-something dude with wiry dyed blond hair and leather trousers.

‘Fuck me,’ Johnny says, studying it.

We both crack up laughing.

‘Is this the best you’ve got?’ he asks when we’ve calmed down.

‘It takes some beating,’ I reply, digging into the stack for another one of my favourites, this time from a foreign fan who tries to describe what she’d like to do with him in bed, but who can’t speak English to save her life. I put on a silly accent and read it to him and soon we’re both in hysterics again.

‘That is fucking funny,’ he says. ‘We should be drinking while reading these.’ He looks at me. ‘Actually, I could do with a whisky and a fag. Come to the terrace with me?’

I hesitate.

‘Nutmeg, you’re not going to be able to stop me from drinking,’ he says. ‘So you may as well join me.’

I sigh and smile. ‘Alright, then.’ The truth is I could do with some down time with Johnny. And a drink wouldn’t go amiss, either. I haven’t had one for ages.

I follow him out to the terrace and in the direction of the outdoor bar. The pool fence has been fitted – if you can call it a pool fence; it’s so far removed from the metal bars that I envisaged. It’s clear glass with very few joins so there’s hardly any interruption to the view. No wonder Lena thought these installers were worth waiting for.

Johnny opens up the outdoor fridge and light spills onto his face.

‘What’re you having?’ he asks. ‘Bubbles?’

‘Ooh, yeah, that sounds good.’

He cracks open a bottle of Dom Pérignon Rosé without even blinking. I shudder to think of the cost.

‘What do you want me to do about the car, by the way?’ It’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask for ages.

‘Which car?’

‘The GTI.’ I left it with my parents in Grasse. It was such a manic time getting ready for our trip that I forgot to ask Johnny if he wanted me to sell it.

‘Oh, that. Nothing. Your parents can have it.’

‘No, Johnny, that’s too much.’

‘It’s fine. Darn sight better than that shitty pile of junk that they drive.’

I smile. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘Yep. How do you like the Panamera?’

‘Amazing. Seriously amazing.’ I drove the family-sized Porsche this afternoon when I went to see Kitty. Scared the hell out of me at first – it’s properly powerful and there’s a weight behind it that I’m not used to – but I loved it. ‘Thank you so much, again.’

‘S’okay. Wanted my boy to be safe.’

I smile at him. ‘You’re an old softy, really.’

‘Shut the fuck up and pass me the whisky.’