Kiss Heaven Goodbye (55 page)

He flicked through the first one casually, enjoying the tittle-tattle, the dress disasters, the celebrity meltdowns. He closed his eyes, relishing the cool breeze coming off the Indian Ocean, like a lake of shimmering jade in front of him. He had to admit, it had taken some persuading to get him to a private island. For many years he had been uncomfortable being by the sea at all. The year before, he and Melissa had had huge rows when she wanted to move to Malibu, because Alex was not sure if he wanted to wake up every morning to the sound of lapping waves. He hadn’t told Melissa the real reason about his preference to stay in their Hollywood Hills home.

Reaching across, he got his cocktail and sipped it slowly as he leafed through the magazine. He couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment he’d started drinking again, but it was usually only a couple of Budweisers every day and Melissa had been either on set or too self-absorbed to notice. Suddenly he stopped on the centre-spread story in
US Weekly
, his eyes wide.
Too Hot To Handle!
screamed the headline. There were two blown-up pictures on facing pages – one of Melissa and Justin in bed together, the curve of her breast and his bronzed, rippled torso totally visible. The other was a grainy long-lens shot of the two of them in deep discussion. That one made him feel like puking. In it, they were completely clothed, but Justin’s hand was held up to Melissa’s face, stroking the underside of her jaw. It was such an intimate gesture, it was like a punch to the stomach for Alex. Maybe Melissa could explain the bed shot away – although he had no idea how – but this one, this was unmistakably a photograph of two people who were in love.

He wanted to throw the magazine away, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the page, vainly hoping it would change. The chatter about an on-set affair between Melissa and Justin had been fairly continuous throughout the filming of
Next Door But One
, but Melissa had kept reminding him about Justin’s sexual preference. He only had her word for it, and even she couldn’t dispute the intimacy in these pictures.

‘Melissa,’ he said.

She opened one eye lazily. ‘What?’

He held up the magazine.

Melissa groaned.‘Not this again?’ she said, snatching it from him. ‘When are you going to get over being so damn insecure?’

‘A picture of you and Justin naked together isn’t really helping things, Melissa,’ he snapped.

‘Oh get real, Alex,’ she said wearily. ‘This shot is from the movie – the
movie
! It was leaked by Brett – it’s all part of the publicity.’

‘So now your publicist is whipping up trouble about our marriage in the tabloids?’

‘He released one on-set photo taken months ago.’

‘Of you having sex, which by the way I thought was supposed to be a closed set. Just you, Justin and the director.’

‘What is your problem?’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m getting sick of this jealousy, Alex. I’m an actress; sometimes I have to play parts that involve intimacy, and when I do, I do it well. And I’m not going to apologise for the way the studio does its publicity – that’s just ridiculous.’

Emotion welled up in his throat. Everything had gone so well over the past few years: his music career, his marriage to one of the world’s most beautiful women. He knew it was more than he deserved and in his darker moments, usually alone on tour, awake in the middle of night, he expected it all to come crashing down.

‘I just want us to be happy,’ he said sadly.

Her expression softened. She swung her legs around his body to straddle him, pressing her bare breasts against his back as she kissed the nape of his neck.

‘It’s just publicity, honey. I love you, Alex. I love you so much.’

He relaxed into her, feeling reassurance in her words and her warm skin brushing against his.

‘I want to try for a baby,’ she whispered.

He turned round to face her. ‘You do?’

The only time children had been mentioned before was on their honeymoon in Ireland. Sailing across Lough Neagh, a gorgeous blood-red sunset had settled over the water and, overcome with its beauty, Alex had turned round to his new wife and told her he wanted to have at least six children. Melissa had just giggled and said,‘We’ll see’. Alex had never pushed it because he knew her career came first.
Always
came first. But he had always wanted children, desperately wanted them. Perhaps it was some desire to make up for the failings of his own family, or a need to create something whose love would be unconditional, whose love he would never have to question.

‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ he asked.‘You start shooting another movie in a month, and I’ve got the European tour.’

He knew he was pushing her, testing her. A baby was exactly what he wanted – but he wanted her to want it just as much.

‘After this film and after the tour, then we’ll start trying,’ she said, nibbling at his ear lobe. ‘But in the meantime, why don’t we start practising?’

She squealed with laughter as Alex scooped her up and rolled on to the floury-white sand. Lying half naked on the shore, a wave of surf washed over them.

‘From here to eternity.’ She giggled.

God, I hope so
, thought Alex, pulling at her bikini briefs.
I really do
.

54

March 2008

Sitting outside a café on the Left Bank, Alex had an old Frank Sinatra tune in his head. What was it? Something about loving Paris in the springtime? And it was true: Paris seemed idyllic whether it was covered in blossom or frost, but Alex particularly loved it for the simple reason that he couldn’t do this in any other city in the world. In London, New York or Berlin, he would have been mobbed by fans and star-struck tourists, but the French were too cool to bother you over lunch. A leisurely
moules frites
was sacrosanct in Paris. Alex offered a chip to his manager, who politely declined. Ted Sullivan was a straight-talking Brit – something of an anomaly in an industry which seemed to produce foul-mouthed ball-breakers on a production line – but he had been with Alex ever since he had become Al Doyle and Alex trusted him implicitly.

‘So how’s Melissa?’ asked Ted.

‘Great.’ Alex shrugged. ‘Well, as far as I know, anyway.’

Alex was coming to the end of his European tour and Melissa was currently shooting her latest movie on location in Vancouver, so it was hard to find time when they could talk on the phone, let alone see each other. Melissa had managed to fly out to see him in Rome a few weeks earlier, but they had been living separate lives for months. Ted looked at him awkwardly.

‘Look, I didn’t want to bring this up, and part of me thinks it’s none of my business, but as your manager and your friend, I think you should know.’

‘Know what?’

‘The rumours about Melissa and Justin Coe having an affair.’

Alex smiled and took a sip of his beer. ‘I appreciate your concern, Ted, but Melissa and Justin are not having an affair.’

‘How do you know? Those red-carpet pictures of them together on the
Next Door
promo tour looked pretty cosy.’

‘I just know.’

‘How?’

Alex sighed. ‘Because he’s
gay
.’ He hadn’t wanted to say it; if it was Hollywood’s best-kept secret, then he respected that. But when he was starting to get grief from his manager, who was a discreet, no-nonsense man, it was time to put the record straight.

‘Are you sure?’

Alex rolled his eyes. ‘No, I don’t have CCTV link-up into the man’s bedroom. But I trust my wife, Ted.’

Ted went back to his burger. He took a bite, then put it down again, distracted. Alex looked at him.

‘What is it? Come on, Ted, tell me.’

‘Are you sure she’s up in Vancouver filming the new movie?’

‘She’s got a couple more days’ shooting,’ said Alex, feeling a flurry of anxiety. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because a friend of mine saw her in New York last week.’

‘Oh, big deal,’ said Alex with irritation. ‘So she had a couple of days off and went shopping. You know what women are like.’

‘New York
State
, Alex, not Manhattan. Some fancy hotel in the middle of nowhere.’

It was hard keeping tabs on his wife’s movements when he was on the road, but he was sure Melissa hadn’t mentioned being in New York at any point over the last month.

‘Well maybe she ...’ stuttered Alex. ‘Maybe she just needed a break,’ he finished lamely.

Ted took out his wallet, pulled out a business card and put in on the bistro table. ‘As I said, it’s probably none of my business, but if you’re concerned, give this guy a ring. Mike Stone’s his name. Tommy, the drummer from Kool-Aid, was having concerns about his wife last year. They had a pre-nup, with a no-cheating clause. Anyway, he got this PI to check out Suzie’s movements. Turns out she had some guy tucked away in Vegas and was about to file for divorce.’

Alex was incredulous. ‘Are you suggesting I put a private detective on Melissa?’

‘At the risk of sounding like your mother, Alex, I just don’t want you to get hurt. Emotionally or financially.’

Back at the hotel, Alex called the Vancouver house Melissa was renting during filming. The housekeeper answered and said that Miss Melissa had not been at home for the last two days. Fetching himself a large Jack Daniel’s, he picked up the business card that Ted had given him and made the call.

If Alex had been expecting evidence of Melissa’s infidelity, he was disappointed. According to the investigator’s meticulously logged reports, over the next two weeks Melissa went to the gym, to her hairdresser or out to the Ivy for lunch with Christopher Hayes. The PI managed to get close: they were talking about a new script Hayes had in mind for Melissa. In the end, the matter was settled by an unexpected source.

The night before he was due to fly back to LA, Alex was in the make-up room at the BBC, having powder applied to his nose by a camp young man named Will. He was due to appear on a late-night chat show and was enjoying the make-up artist’s endless string of gossip.

‘You know, I can’t wait to see that new film your wife just did with Justin Coe,’ Will said.

‘Me too.’ Alex smiled, not wanting to reveal too much. He was aware that some celebrity make-up artists and hairdressers supplemented their income by tipping off the tabloids.

‘You know my boyfriend used to date Justin,’ said Will boastfully.

The news made Alex sit up. ‘I didn’t know Justin was, er, gay.’

‘Not good for business, is it?’ Will laughed. ‘Dan, that’s my boyfriend, was a hairdresser in LA for a while. When they split he had to sign a confidentiality contract thicker than his dick. Nice pay-off. Used it as a deposit for his house in Santa Monica.’

Alex put in an awful performance on the chat show. Usually he was a natural on screen, affable, funny and open with his rock-industry anecdotes. But that night he was distracted and anxious. Part of him felt flooded with relief, while the other part felt wretched about his suspicious and irrational behaviour. Setting a private investigator on his wife! What was he thinking?

Back at his hotel, he called Mike Stone, the private investigator.

‘Hi, Mike, it’s Alex. Listen, I’ve been thinking about the investigation, and I think it’s time to stop ...’

‘You got my photos, then?’ said Stone.

‘No, what photos?’

‘You near a computer? I sent them to your email.’

Quickly Alex opened his laptop and clicked on his inbox – immediately he was confronted with a grainy shot of Melissa coming out of an anonymous office block. In the background, he could just see part of the sign; it read ‘Clinic’.

‘What’s this?’ Alex frowned. ‘A cosmetic surgeon’s?’ It wouldn’t have surprised him. With the advent of High Definition, every actress in Hollywood over twenty-five was freaking out over every visible line and open pore.

‘Uh-uh,’ said Stone. ‘Try ob-gyn.’

‘An obstetrician?’ Alex said with delight in his voice. ‘That’s the best fucking photograph I think I’ve ever seen.’

Alex took the first flight back to LA. His driver collected him from Santa Monica airport and he went straight to Neil Lane, Melissa’s favourite jeweller’s, picking out a twelve-carat eternity ring that sparkled like the ocean in summertime. Back at their Hollywood Hills home, he rolled his sleeves up and got to work preparing his wife’s favourite meal of cold poached salmon, and gave Ana, their housekeeper, the rest of the day off. By the time he saw Melissa’s Prius turn into the drive, he had already laid a table with starched linen, crystal goblets and candles out by the pool. He had hidden the ring clumsily under a napkin, but the velvet box was peeking out.

‘Hey, stranger.’ She smiled, coming through the door and kissing him on the cheek. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked as he led her out to the table.

‘A surprise welcome home.’

‘Oh now you’ve made me feel guilty,’ she said coquettishly. ‘Sorry I couldn’t have been back earlier, but you know these meetings run on and on. Oh look, Ana’s made my favourite poached salmon salad.’

‘My own handiwork, actually.’ He smiled.

‘My, my. You should go away more often.’

‘So how’s it been without me?’ he asked as they sat down.

‘Wretched, of course,’ she said in a faux British thespian accent. Her next movie was a period piece and she had just started working with a dialogue coach.

‘Oh shit,’ said Alex suddenly. ‘Can you eat salmon?’

‘What? Why not?’ she said.

‘You’re not supposed to eat fish, are you?’ he babbled. ‘Bad for the baby, I think. Or is it just raw fish?’

‘Babies?’ she said with a weak smile.

He leant over and grasped her hand. ‘Sorry, honey, I heard you were at the ob-gyn yesterday,’ he said, hoping she wouldn’t think to ask how he knew what she was doing yesterday. ‘I just put two and two together ...’ He trailed off, seeing the downturn of her mouth, the way she avoided his gaze.

‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ he said slowly, trying not to let his disappointment show.

‘Yes, I am,’ she said simply.

‘You are? That’s fantastic!’ he cried, picking her up and spinning her around. ‘Was it that night in Rome? That’s so romantic! Maybe we should call him Gino if it’s a boy, what do you think? Too Dexy’s Midnight Runners?’