Love Lies Part 17

'Anyone you like.'

I'm quiet for about twenty minutes as I draw up my fantasy wedding guest list. The fantasy wedding guest list that is going to come true! Jess, Adam and I used to play a game a bit like this. As we sat eating baked beans on toast we'd often quiz one another on who would attend our perfect dinner party. Jess and I would plump for Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Matt Damon; pretty much the cast of Oceans 11 Oceans 11 to to 13 13, while Adam would swear that he'd prefer to have Christopher Wren, Dostoevsky and Queen Victoria to his party. Liar. Although the truth was, the idea of throwing a dinner party was a fantasy for us. Adam and I never once had people round for a meal. Least not what you'd call a proper one; pizza from a box does not count.

I'm glad I didn't call Jess earlier. Now, I have even more to tell her. I check my watch. Midnight here, that makes it 8 a.m. tomorrow back home. She'll be on the tube. I don't want to get her voicemail; this is too good to leave another message. I'll call her first thing tomorrow.

'You're happy, right?' asks Scott, somewhat superfluously since I keep giggling to myself and I have stood up to dance a short but expressive jovial jig around the room.

'Never more so.'

'I have another reason for wanting to rush the wedding through,' he adds.

'Oh yeah?'

Scott holds out his hand and finds mine. He gently pulls me back on to the sofa and puts his arm around me. 'I was thinking, you know, we've both had our fair share of partners in the past.'

'I had a fair share. You've had a veritable feast, gorged yourself silly from all accounts,' I point out.

'Yep, I know and that's what got me thinking. We need to be special.'

'We are are special.' special.'

'Different.'

'We are are different, we're getting married, neither of us has ever done that before.' different, we're getting married, neither of us has ever done that before.'

'I know and so I want to mark that in some way.' What, a party for a thousand isn't enough for him? I beam at him, waiting for him to explain. 'I was thinking maybe, since we haven't actually managed to have s.e.x yet, that we shouldn't.'

'What?' That stops me smiling.

'I don't mean we shouldn't ever ever. I mean we shouldn't have s.e.x until we are married,' says Scott.

'But that's two months.' The same two months that just minutes ago had seemed oh-so-brief (too brief to plan a spectacular wedding!) now seem an eternity. Two months with no s.e.x. It's a terrible idea. Somehow no s.e.x with Scott Taylor is a hundred times worse than all the no s.e.x I've had in the past.

'Yes. That way we'd be like vir-er-er-er-gins.' He sings the word 'virgins' like in the Madonna song. 'I just thought it was a way of making what we have truly special. Do you see?'

I do, sort of. The sentiment is darling but the actuality is going to be dreadful, truly h.e.l.l on earth. I thought that tonight what with the candles, the champagne and the log fire that were as good as screaming s.e.x s.e.x that tonight would be that tonight would be the the night. night.

'I don't know, Scott. It's been tricky resisting thus far. Tricky and frustrating and '

'Hot,' he adds.

'Yes, I suppose so,' I concede.

'I'm loving this delayed gratification thing. The novelty alone is mind-blowing. It's all about antic.i.p.ation and control and '

'Shouldn't it all be about love?'

'Of course it's that.' Scott's grin vanishes in a poof. He looks mortally offended.

'Oh OK, go on,' I agree, even though I really don't want to. I can't bear to see him unhappy. He looks so fragile. Like a child. I want to see his face brighten once more. 'Let's get married early early October, though.' October, though.'

Scott nods. 'Agreed. I think we'd better have separate beds until the wedding, otherwise this no s.e.x thing is going to be really hard.'

I nod, even though hard is just what I'm after.

41. Scott

My pad here in LA is awesome. Chock-full of style and luxury. I like it out here by the pool because nothing says rock and roll as eloquently as a private pool. I have a stunning infinity pool that seemingly flows out to an endless, lush garden which is as big as a public park. The size of the garden is not an indulgence, it's a necessity. The tabloid sc.u.m have long lenses and short consciences. You can sell my discarded chewing-gum on the internet for fifty quid, so you can imagine how much a pic of me s.h.a.gging a starlet fetches. Around the pool there are a number of heavy, broad wooden sun-loungers. The cream cus.h.i.+ons lie as inviting as giant marshmallows. There are green towels, rolled into neat Swiss roll shapes. There's the occasional marble table to be found snuggled between the beds, a comfy resting place for gla.s.ses of champagne and minted water which all my guests are furnished with within minutes of their a.r.s.es. .h.i.tting the seat. I have excellent pool staff. It's all very tasteful.

I like swimming and fooling about out here, although I don't like lying around on the loungers the way Gary (the ba.s.s) and Mick (drummer) are right now. Their drinks sparkle in the sun, leaving individual footprints a wet ring of condensation on the table. I'm unsurprised to note they are drinking Bollinger (mine) even though it's not midday. I wave to them but don't bother walking over. As I'm not drinking at the moment, I don't much like being around people who are. As Gary takes a sip I feel a twinge of longing so I dive into the pool and start to do lengths. I swim just three confident lengths before Mark appears. He sits down with the lads and says something to them, calls over one of my excellent pool staff and the champagne vanishes. Job done.

Then I spot Fern. She's peeking out from behind my huge cacti, which are bedded in large white plant pots the size of cauldrons. My cacti are bigger than anyone else's in Hollywood, Saadi checked. I also have enormous bushes of bamboo, with stalks as thick as my arms; they stretch upwards to tickle the feet of anyone hanging about in heaven. The sun is almost directly overhead now and pounding down ferociously, throwing short, almost undetectable shadows on the dark marble floors. Fern starts to drag a sun-lounger into the shade, I make a move towards her to help her but one of my muscle-bound pool guys beats me to it. Fern looks faintly embarra.s.sed but a bit chuffed as she watches his gentle exertion on her behalf.

Fern has a great body. Slim and toned without betraying a food phobia or gym obsession. I move towards her and am struck, the way I was the first time I met her, by her top-quality, pert, neat t.i.ts. Excellent. And that's from a man who spends a lot of time being underwhelmed.

I pull up a lounger next to hers and stand over her to let the cold drips of pool water splash on to her stomach. She jumps a foot in the air, squeals and then laughs when she opens her eyes and realizes it's me.

'Rat. I thought it was raining,' she says.

'Just blue skies for you from now on in, Petal, nothing but blue skies.' She beams at me. 'Sleep well?' I ask.

'I woke up at two in the morning and stared at the ceiling until eight.'

'Jetlag?'

'Excitement. I fell into a deep slumber at the exact moment I stopped debating huge romantic number wide enough to shelter an entire family versus simple s.h.i.+ft wedding dress, just wide enough to disguise my hips. I couldn't switch off,' she says with a grin. 'Hey, look what Saadi gave me.' Fern waves about a brand new iPhone.

'She's great, Saadi. She thinks of everything.' I yawn and sit down on the lounger next to Fern's. Let's see if I can stay put for twenty minutes. That's not a ridiculous target. I should be able to do twenty minutes with Fern to keep me company. Or at least fifteen.

'It's like something Q gives James Bond just before he goes on a.s.signment. Apparently, besides being a phone, I can use it to do my email, as a sat nav thingy, as an organizer.'

'If you want to be organized,' I chip in.

'I think the implication is that I ought to be. It has access to the internet, you can play games on it, or use it as a multi-media player or even a camera.'

'Can it tap dance?'

'Yes, and floss teeth,' replies Fern with a grin. 'Thoughtfully, Saadi has already bookmarked a number of websites that she thinks might be useful to me.'

'Like?'

'Like places I might want to visit in LA. There are so many places to choose from. Where do you want to start?'

'I dunno, Fern. I've been everywhere.'

'Well, I've been nowhere.'

'OK, so you choose.'

'Well, the Getty Center, Grauman's Chinese Theatre and Santa Monica pier are on my list.'

'Actually, I haven't been to any of those places.'

'But you've lived here for nine months. What have you been doing?'

'Working and drinking. Not necessarily in that order.'

'Great, we can do the tourist things together.'

'Cool.' We grin at each other. Isn't it cool, this couple stuff?

'Saadi has also bookmarked websites about weddings. You know, caterers, reception venues, dress designers, etc. Plus she's made a list of the names and numbers of other people who I might find useful: a hairstylist, a clothes stylist and a personal trainer. Do you think she's trying to tell me something?' Fern looks vaguely concerned. I grin at her, rea.s.suringly. Personally, I like her as she is, but I know that Saadi and her crew are already turning wheels and cogs in order to transform her into something, I don't know, glossier, I suppose. Mark and Saadi said to me that glossy is what's required and expected of my wife. I don't think this is something she needs to hear me say.

'She's just trying to be helpful. Justifying her obscene salary,' I say instead.

'She's arranged interviews for us to meet her favourite three wedding planners for tomorrow morning a Sat.u.r.day. I suppose there's no time to lose but how did she get anyone to agree to a Sat.u.r.day meeting at such short notice?'

'Money talks.'

'I suppose, and as you say, she thinks of everything everything.' Fern looks anxious, vexed almost. 'She told me she's going to pick up a d.i.l.d.o for me from some s.e.x shop on Sunset Boulevard.'

'Hustler.'

'Yeah, that's it. She says you have an account there.'

'Guilty as charged. It's a great store, we should go shopping together.'

'OK.' Fern doesn't look too convinced but she'll look great in one of their baby dolls or maybe t.i.tty ta.s.sels. Is she vexed because I've visited s.e.x shops? I'm a rock star, it's like a teenage girl visiting the makeup counter at Boots: essential shopping. I didn't have Fern down as a prude.

'Saadi said I'm going to need a d.i.l.d.o in light of our chast.i.ty vow. I hadn't realized you'd discussed our plan with her.'

Ah. So that's the cause of the vexation. I get it. 'I tell her everything,' I say smoothly, wide-eyed, innocent. It's true, I do tell Saadi everything; except all that which I keep secret. 'You don't mind, do you? Wasn't I supposed to?' I ask, showing concern. 'She thought it was really romantic,' I add with a smile.

I sense Fern does mind, because if there's one thing I know about women, it's that they are really funny about what you tell other women. I need to rush the conversation on to another subject, because it's too nice for a row or even a low-grade sulk and while I haven't seen Fern do either of these things yet, I know it's only a matter of time. Of course she has it in her to be irrationally narky; she's a woman.

I look at her hipbone and feel a twitch in my swim shorts. This no s.e.x thing is a mind-blowing experiment. It was Mark's idea. Fern was his idea too, as a point of fact. I've had lots of s.e.x and I mean lots lots an amount that no normal person can even perceive (not even desperate little slappers who live in ugly small towns, who in order to ease the tedium of their existence drop their knickers as often as they drop cigarette stubs and usually at the same time). More s.e.x than that. I mean lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of t.i.ts and a.s.s and legs and holes, well, the thing about that is it gets boring, doesn't it? Hand jobs in Jacuzzis, b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs in bars, gang bangs in limousines, s.e.x in yachts, s.e.x with geisha girls, s.e.x with starlets, s.e.x with models, s.e.x with aristocrats; it's all the same in the end. an amount that no normal person can even perceive (not even desperate little slappers who live in ugly small towns, who in order to ease the tedium of their existence drop their knickers as often as they drop cigarette stubs and usually at the same time). More s.e.x than that. I mean lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of t.i.ts and a.s.s and legs and holes, well, the thing about that is it gets boring, doesn't it? Hand jobs in Jacuzzis, b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs in bars, gang bangs in limousines, s.e.x in yachts, s.e.x with geisha girls, s.e.x with starlets, s.e.x with models, s.e.x with aristocrats; it's all the same in the end.

An endless stream of nightclubs, alcohol, drugs and meaningless s.e.x takes its toll. It's inevitable. I got fed up with waking up with an intolerable feeling of apprehension and fretfulness. Being on drugs and being intensely and inexplicably anxious come hand in hand after a while. I'm p.r.o.ne to anxiety anyway, and a feeling of uneasiness constantly shrouded me when I was using; especially when I woke up and the foul and sickening delinquency of the night before came crawling back into my mind. It didn't matter how much money I had in the bank or how many records I sold, I was riddled with the worry that I was just as desperate and pointless as everybody else. Sometimes I'd think I was insane. Other times things were easier I knew I was.

There comes a point when you realize that no life, not even my life, is wide enough to fit in s.e.x, drugs, rock and roll and and responsibility. It doesn't add up. I shared this observation with Mark, just over three months ago, last time I decided to get clean. Mark was relieved; my record company were starting to get a bit nervy about the number of times I'd missed studio sessions and insulted journos because of the said endless stream of nightclubs, alcohol, drugs and meaningless s.e.x. responsibility. It doesn't add up. I shared this observation with Mark, just over three months ago, last time I decided to get clean. Mark was relieved; my record company were starting to get a bit nervy about the number of times I'd missed studio sessions and insulted journos because of the said endless stream of nightclubs, alcohol, drugs and meaningless s.e.x.

I told Mark, 'Being surrounded by too much T&A is the same as being surrounded by too much luxury. You stop noticing it. It has a numbing effect.'

It's true you can be totally done-in by the absolute monotony of faultless and never-ending excellence. Who'd have thought? Maybe Mark wanted to make a sarkie comment about his heart bleeding for me but no one close to me is ever sarcastic with me nowadays; they know it hurts me and I'm mean when I'm hurt. Instead, Mark said, 'So you've done all there is to do with abundance, how about practising a bit of partiality now.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you know, once you've been to every fancy restaurant there is in town and you've eaten your fill of seared carpaccio, pan-seared venison and sweet duck cooked with plums and star anise, it's nice to stay in and have simple steak and salad. I'm not suggesting a burger. I mean something cla.s.sy and straightforward.'

'Like?'

'Like marriage.'

'Marriage!?'

'Yeah, you could do it all properly, meet a girl, like her, hold off s.h.a.gging her and then do her in a big white frock.'

He might have been joking, but I thought about it and he was right. It would be true to say that I've never s.h.a.gged a bride before; least not one married to me. I'm going to enjoy doing things properly with Fern. She's different. A hotty (although not as hot as many I've had). She's quite normal (but not so normal as to bore me, as many have). I don't quite understand it yet but she has something really special going on. Or rather, we have something really special going on between us.

Mark has all the best ideas.

42. Fern

'If you want to go anywhere let me know and I'll get Saadi to introduce you to our stateside driver, Barry. He'll take good care of you. He's a pro. You could go shopping; Saadi's arranged for you to have access to all of my accounts and I pretty much have an account anywhere you might imagine,' says Scott.

I know he's trying to change the subject. I allow him. Let's face it, offering me a chauffeur-driven trip to designer stores with unlimited credit is quite an impressive diversionary tactic. Normally, I'd have to settle for Adam suggesting we change channels.

'Yeah, Saadi already gave me a list,' I say with a big smile. 'How did she organize all of this in such a short time? It's unbelievable.'

'I know. Hats off to her she is an excellent excellent PA.' PA.'

Scott drops his sunhat over his eyes and we both fall silent. He reaches for my hand and we hold on to one another across the loungers. His touch sends shock waves ricocheting through my body. I fight the instinct to leap on him. d.a.m.n this no s.e.x plan! I try to dampen my l.u.s.t by watching the old Mexican gardener as he endlessly clears the leaves from the pool. No sooner does he scoop a net of bamboo leaves than the same amount fall back into the water. It looks a pretty thankless task but not too arduous; the repet.i.tive action calms me. Bebop jazz pipes out of the state-of-the-art stereo that is hung on the lime green wall behind us. It's the sort of music that makes you nod your head rather than shake your hips. I can make out the clink of china and rattle of cutlery in the distance, proving that the kitchen staff are being far more industrious than we are. They're clearing breakfast or maybe setting up lunch. It's very peaceful until suddenly Scott sits bolt upright.

'What's up? Were you stung?' I look around for the offending wasp.

'No. The thing is I find it hard to relax. Sort of unnatural. Doing nothing is something I'm saving for when I'm dead.' Scott looks around for something to amuse. 'What are you thinking, Fern?'

'About the agony of not having s.e.x with my s.e.x G.o.d fiance,' I reply frankly. Scott laughs but doesn't jump me, which is what I was hoping he'd do. He's very serious about this chast.i.ty thing. Couldn't we at least fool around? I suppose neither of us would be able to stop if we started; still, would that be so awful? My throat becomes parched and scratchy and my hands become damp as I indulge the idea of us flinging ourselves in among the bamboo in order to pull off each other's clothes. We'd speedily slip out of our swimwear and slowly, oh so slowly, his tongue would venture over my body. His tongue, lips, hands would uncover zones of delight; I'd burble and flood. He'd caress my shoulders, kiss the back of my neck, nibble at my jawline, lick between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. But this time we'd finally get past the delicate discovery. He'd thrust suddenly, deeply, certainly. He'd fill me, pus.h.i.+ng, burning, grabbing, pulling, taking until I moaned and screamed with a smarting, scalding desire.

I realize I'm making odd mewing sounds when the pool guy asks if I've swallowed a fly? Am I choking? Do I need a drink? I do. I need him to throw it over me. I'd better think about something else.

'I have to keep giving myself a mental pinch,' I tell Scott. 'I need to keep reminding myself this is real, these are the sights and sounds of my home now. It's a leap. I never, even in my wildest dreams, imagined that my home would have a view like this.' I sweep my arm out towards the blue skies and tall trees. 'Or that I'd listen to the sounds of staff preparing lunch. Kids yelling, a dog barking, TV blaring was as much as I dared hope for. It's surreal.'