Between The Sheets (14 page)

'True.' Sylvie smiled in anticipation. 'Where will we meet?'

'I could pick you up—'

'No, that's okay,' she said hurriedly.

'Always so mysterious, Ms Parker. No wonder I'm mad about you. Meet me at eleven in the Horseshoe bar.'

'This place is crawling with celebrities,' Judy murmured, as she sipped her champagne cocktail. 'Do you know all of them?'

'Hardly any,' Dana said, looking around. 'We all nod and smile at each other but for the most part, I only know their faces from the papers.'

'Are there any press here?'

'God knows. I saw a gossip columnist on the way in. Patti Monk.'

'Yes, I saw her. She's great.'

'You think? The photographers aren't allowed in but as everyone has camera phones now, you're never safe.'

'It's a different world,' Judy marvelled.

'But not a better one,' Dana assured her. 'Don't be blinded by the glitz, Judy, it's not real.'

'But you always seemed to enjoy it so much. You were always full of chat about the celebrity gossip.'

Dana cringed inwardly. She had boasted to her friend about her glamorous life, exaggerating much of it. 'I suppose it just made me feel important.'

Judy stared at her. 'But, Dana, you're a famous author. Why do you need them to make you feel important?'

'I just get the feeling I always have to apologize for my books,' Dana admitted. 'In the US, they think what I do is great. In Ireland, I'm a producer of raunchy drivel. Oh, and Conall O'Carroll's daughter.'

'That's not true,' Judy said staunchly. 'You're a great writer.'

'I write trash,' Dana said sadly.

'Stop that,' Judy hissed, her face worried. 'You give enjoyment to a lot of women.'

'Maybe for an hour or so but most of them won't even be able to remember the title of the book a week later.'

'I never remember book titles,' Judy said blithely. 'Except the really good ones ...' she trailed off.

'Exactly.'

'Sorry. Can you just wait while I take my big foot out of my mouth?'

Dana hugged her. 'Don't worry about it.'

'I'm sure you could write more serious books if you wanted to. You just decided to write this type of stuff instead.'

'I didn't decide anything, Judy,' Dana told her. 'I was broke and I wrote what they told me to write and that's what I've been doing ever since.'

'Then change,' Judy said simply. 'Try something new, something completely different.'

The music cranked up, saving Dana from having to reply. She raised a hand to attract a passing waitress and ordered more champagne. As she did, Ian and Sylvie appeared. 'You'd better make that two bottles,' she told the girl. 'Judy, this is my PA, Sylvie Parker, and PR consultant, Ian Wilson.'

'Nice to meet you,' Judy said.

'What are you two doing here?' Dana asked.

'Moral support.' Ian smiled broadly and shook Judy's hand.

Judy opened her mouth to say something but Ian and Sylvie had already turned away.

'They're working,' Dana explained when she saw Judy's face. Tan's checking the room for important people that I should be seen with, or press that he wants to lick up to. And Sylvie is looking for a husband.'

'She's very pretty,' Judy said without envy. 'Although a little on the thin side. I wouldn't have thought she'd have any problem finding a man.'

'Oh, she's no problem pulling,' Dana agreed. 'They're just usually not rich enough for her.'

'I see,' Judy murmured.

'I am here.' Sylvie turned around and shot her boss a reproachful look.

Dana smiled. 'Now don't get touchy, you know it's true.' She paused as the waitress returned with the champagne. 'So, Ian, what's the plan?' she asked when the girl had left.

Ian took his glass and stood up. 'I'll work the room and then come back for you. Remember, if anyone mentions last night, you laugh it off and tell them you're going to have to build an extension for all the partygoers who end up crashing at your place.'

'Good line.' Judy nodded approvingly.

'That's what I'm here for,' he said with a small bow and was gone.

'So good-looking, and charming too,' Judy mused, wishing she was a few years younger and a few pounds lighter. 'Don't you think, Sylvie?'

The girl shrugged silently.

Judy and Dana exchanged glances. 'They would make a nice couple,' Dana agreed, 'if she'd only give him a chance.'

Sylvie took her glass and stood up. 'I think I'll have a look around. See you later.'

'Strange girl,' Judy observed.

'She's fine when you get to know her. Just a little preoccupied with money. But then, look around you — she's not alone. How many people do you see engrossed in conversation? None. They're all busy looking over each other's shoulders to see who's who, who's
with
who, and whether they could be talking to someone richer or more important.'

Judy laughed. 'You're funny. Actually, that's what you should do: write something funny.'

Dana pulled a face. 'Comedy isn't really me, especially the mood I've been in lately.'

'Do you know that most of the most brilliant comedians are manic depressives? Robin Williams, Stephen Fry—'

'I thought he was bi-polar?'

'Same thing, I think. Anyway, don't split hairs. You know what I mean.'

'What? Because I'm miserable maybe I can write something brilliantly funny?'

Judy shrugged. 'It's worth a shot.'

'So you do think the stuff I'm producing at the moment is rubbish,' Dana accused.

'I never said that!' Judy glared at her. 'I'm going to the loo. Cheer up before I get back or I'll be looking for someone more interesting to talk to as well.'

Dana sank back in her chair with a sigh as she mulled over Judy's words. She wasn't sure she could write anything any more. Occasionally she felt the creative urge, but as soon as her fingers touched the keys her mind went blank. She'd scanned the chapters of
The Mile High Club
and felt slightly sick. It was as good as if not better than her other books, but it just didn't do it for her any more. It seemed so meaningless, empty and trivial. Maybe she should try her hand at non-fiction. Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile. Maybe she should write her father's life story. How cathartic would that be?

'At least you're smiling.' Judy sat back down beside her.

'I was just thinking that I should write Dad's biography.'

Judy stared. 'You wouldn't!'

'Why not?'

Judy shot her a worried look. 'Come on, Dana, don't go down that road.'

'Why not?'

'There might be an initial feeling of triumph,' Judy said gently, reading her mind, 'but once you let that particular cat out of the bag, you can't take it back.'

'You're right,' Dana whispered.

Judy took her hand and held it tightly. 'It's over, darling. Don't start brooding about it again.'

Dana smiled wanly. 'I suppose I do have enough to brood about at the moment.'

Ian took the seat across from them looking like the cat that had got the cream. 'I am so good at this job/ he murmured, rubbing his hands together. 'What would you do without me?'

Dana raised an eyebrow. 'No idea. So, tell me?'

He leaned closer. 'As we speak, Sylvie is talking to Jack Dawson about how Ryan not only conked out on your sofa but threw up on your cream Kashmir rug first.'

'Who's Jack Dawson?' Judy asked.

'He works for Patti Monk/ Ian explained.

'Ooh, this is all so exciting and glam.' Judy giggled.

'I hope she hasn't told him Ryan's name/ Dana said worriedly.

Ian looked affronted. 'Of course not. Actually, our Sylvie's quite a good actress. She's looking reluctant to be gossiping about her boss, but enjoying the attention of the press at the same time. Trust me, Dana, this is working out perfectly.'

'Good.' Dana relaxed slightly. 'So can we go now?'

'But I thought we were out for the night/ Judy protested.

'We are,' Dana assured her, 'but let's go somewhere a little less false.'

The karaoke bar Dana took her to was both busy and loud. A woman with a shock of blonde hair and an enormous bust was belting out 'Stand by Your Man'.

'Bloody hell, she's going to pop out of that dress any moment.' Judy watched transfixed.

'That's what they're hoping.' Dana nodded at the line of men standing at the bar. She ordered two beers and two packets of crisps, and led Judy towards a small table at the back of the room. 'It's slightly quieter here.'

'Is it? I can't believe you're drinking beer.'

'You wouldn't want to drink the wine served in a place like this.' Dana clinked her bottle against her friend's. 'Cheers.'

'How on earth did you find this place? It's not really your sort of thing now, is it?'

'Sylvie's been to a few hen parties here and she always seemed to have a good time.'

'Does she get up and perform?'

Dana laughed again. 'If she has she's never admitted it. At least we're highly unlikely to meet any press here, unless it's their night off.'

The blonde finished her song to tumultuous applause and was immediately replaced by a couple, rather the worse for wear, performing a tuneless version of 'Hopelessly Devoted to You'.

The crowd booed and laughed and the couple were hustled off stage.

'This is fun.' Judy took a slug of beer and grinned at her friend. 'We need to get together more often.'

'I'd like that.' Dana too was enjoying herself, her earlier blues forgotten. She realized that she felt more relaxed in Judy's company than in anyone else's. Perhaps that was because she could be herself.

Judy stood up and wolf-whistled as a young guy climbed on to the stage, opened his shirt to the waist, and started to do an Elvis number, his gyrations challenging those of the King himself. She signalled a waiter for two more beers. 'I like it here. Although it's not exactly the kind of place you come to if you want to have a quiet conversation,' she yelled.

Dana grinned. 'No, it isn't, is it?'

Judy shrugged good-naturedly. 'I came up here because you needed me. Whether you want to talk or not, that's up to you.'

'Thanks, Judy.'

'What?' Judy cupped her hand to her ear.

'I said thanks!'

'Any time, pet. Any time.'

'Where's Dana?' Sylvie asked, slipping into the seat beside Ian.

'Gone.'

'I've been working my butt off trying to get her off the hook, and she leaves without even saying goodbye or thank you. Charming.'

'But she did buy us another bottle of champagne before she left.' Ian indicated the ice bucket and two glasses on the table in front of them.

Sylvie grinned. 'Oh, well, then, I suppose I'll forgive her.'

'So, how did it go?'

'No problem. I'm pretty sure he swallowed it hook, line and sinker. But I could do with a shower after the way he was mauling me.'

'You're some woman,' he murmured, pouring the wine and edging closer. 'We make quite a team.'

Sylvie took the glass he proffered. 'A good working team,' she corrected.

'Nothing wrong with mixing business with pleasure occasionally,' he said, running his fingers along her bare arm.

Sylvie shivered slightly. 'Stop that.'

'Come on, let's dance.'

'Why on earth would I want to dance with you?'

'Because Jack Dawson is on the way over and he has a lecherous look in his eye.'

Sylvie put her hand in his. 'Lead the way.'

On Wednesday evening Gus stood outside the train station wishing he was somewhere else. He would have cancelled the date if he could, but his only way of contacting Terry was by ringing that bloody newspaper, and there was no way he was going to do that. Not knowing where she was taking him, he'd opted for black jeans, a black T-shirt and a leather jacket.

'Hey there.'

He turned to see Terry standing across the road, smiling. She was also wearing jeans and had a denim jacket slung over her shoulder. Immediately he felt better. 'Hi. Where did you come from?'

She nodded to a distant apartment block. 'I live down there. Did you take the train?'

He shook his head. 'No, it was such a nice evening I decided to walk. So, are you going to tell me where we're going?'

'No,' she grinned. 'But don't worry, it's not far.'

'Greyhound racing!' he exclaimed as they turned into the entrance of Shelbourne Park racetrack.

She shot him a nervous look. 'Are you disgusted?'

He laughed delightedly. 'Not at all, it's a lovely surprise. I haven't been here since I was a kid.'

Terry insisted on paying and buying programmes for both of them and then led him upstairs to the sitting room. While Gus fetched them a couple of beers, Terry nabbed two stools near the window looking down on the course.

'You're going to have to help me out here,' he said, as he sat down beside her and bent his head over the programme. 'The last time I did this I wasn't allowed to gamble.'

She explained how to read the form of the dogs and the different kinds of bets. 'I usually just do a reverse dual forecast. That's where you pick two dogs and once they come in first and second in any order, you win. You can put on a bet up here.' She pointed to a wall of kiosks at the end of the corridor. 'Or if you're a real gambler, you go down there.' He looked down at the line of bookies standing on boxes along the edge of the course, scribbling odds on blackboards.

Gus nodded. 'It's all coming back now. I remember the last few seconds before a race there would be a big scramble to put on a bet to get better odds.'

'That still happens and you see some very large notes change hands. I usually stay up here and place fifty-cent bets but don't let me stop a high-flyer like you from blowing your fortune.'

He laughed. 'I think I'll stick with you for the moment.'

In the first race, she put a bet on five and six and Gus put a euro on number four. Hers romped home in first and second place. Four was last.

'Oh, come on,' Gus yelled at the dog. 'What kind of a performance is that?'

'Waste of time and money betting on a dog like that,' the man next to him said. 'He's only ever won in track six.'