Orlando Bloom Central // fanfiction

The Way the Cookie Crumbles
Author: Marie
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Chapter 1

"So I'm not in, then?"
A pause. He nodded
	"Not right. Ok, sorry, could you just elaborate on the, uh, not right
bit?"
Another pause. He nodded again.
	"Yeah, I understand. No, that's fine. Yeah, you can't elaborate. Yes,
no, that's fine. Thanks, uh, anyway then." He put down the phone and ruffled
his hair.
	"Shite. Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
Orlando slammed his fist on the table then checked himself and sighed
loudly. He slumped in the comfy chair next to the phone table and
closed his eyes, ignoring the intrusive blare of the radio and it's
hourly traffic update. Talking out loud, he ran through the phone
conversation he'd just had and tried not to let his temper rise.
Another audition failed. This time, his faith had reached an all time
low. Six auditions in as many months and nothing. Not one job. He was
coming towards the end of his degree at Guildhall and Orlando still
didn't have a job, apart from the part time bar work he did at Origins
(which paid less than
peanuts). 
	Over the past few weeks, he was seriously considering packing it
all in, to stop trying and to accept the fact that he was destined to
fail. There was nothing stable in acting, after all. That's what he
needed; stability. So he'd had bit parts in minor films and TV
programmes, but hadn't everybody? There wasn't a job for him, he might
as well just face it. God knows how many auditions he'd done; videos for
this, recordings for that, Catch 22, NetLife, Dreaming In … (what was it?
Las Vegas?) Lord of the Rings… Two had rejected  him and the other two
hadn't even bothered getting back to him. The video audition for Catch 22
and Lord of the Rings had been six months ago. Six months! And then
there was there audition for Midsomer Murders…ugh. 
	"Face it, it aint gonna happen."
He said quietly to himself. 
	"Fucking pointless."
He could always go back to Canterbury - he'd find something there. But he
loved acting so much! Why was life so harsh? He knew he could act, or at
least he thought he could, otherwise he wouldn't have landed the lead in
Twelfth Night or got as far as he had done in Guildhall. And yet two years
of painfully hard work had amounted to nothing.  And then there was his
back…he didn't even want to think about that. He had no job, the tenancy
on his flat was running out and, maybe worse of all, he was single. Could
things get much worse? 
	"Don't answer that."
He whispered to himself. It could though, and it had. The dog hadn't been
fed and there was no Pedigree Chum left. Great. 

                             * * *

	It was two hours later (or was it? His watch had stopped) and
he had fallen asleep in the comfy chair. His picture of a sun drenched
beach in Bali and was rudely interrupted by the abrupt ringing of a
phone. It took several seconds for him to establish that he was no
longer dreaming, and that he in fact, was not sunburnt and it was his
phone that was ringing. Blindly picking up the receiver, he mumbled
inaudibly into it.
	"Mmnb … uh?"
	"Orli, it's Sam, what happened, have you heard?" 
Samantha, Orlando's sister, was on the other end and talking abnormally
quickly, made harder to hear by the fact that there was a rather loud
rendition of Whistle Down the Wind being rehearsed in the background. 
	"Uh…what?"
He opened his eyes and tried to make sense of the stream of words
pouring into his ear.
"Have you heard?"
She repeated urgently. 
	"Have I heard what?"
He asked slowly. Was this bad news?
	"From the agent, you know, the bloke who you auditioned for…the
film with the really crap title?" 
	"Oh yeah, no, I didn't get it."
Orlando had managed to forget about the failed audition and hearing about
it physically hurt. His tone was a morose drone and very, very unhappy. 
Sam sighed on the other end of the phone. After a brief pause ("Let your
voices carry, Drown out all the…" was warbled badly.) in which Orlando
yawned twice, Sam asked in a small voice,
	"So what are you gonna do now?" 
	"That's just what I've been asking myself."
Another more lengthy pause ("light a patch of darkness, treacherous and
scary…")
	"Well, you've got to finish Guildhall, you've only got a month
left and you can't throw away two years of training. Everyone gets
rejected once in a while, don't they?"
	"Yeah, Sam, emphasis on 'once in a while', right? Six auditions,
six, and not one of them was successful. And that's just official
auditions. If you count the videotapes, the grouped auditions and the
interviews, that's fourteen rejected. Fourteen. If I was so right for
acting, then somebody would have accepted me. Admit that, at least."
Orlando was getting miffed, and with good reason. They'd had this
conversation after he'd been rejected before, every single time, and
before, Sam had had a comeback, something encouraging to say that
would lift his spirits. But now there was just…silence. (Apart from
the bad singer of Whistle Down the Wind reaching a painful crescendo.) 
	"But some of them haven't got back to you, right? Someone
might be trying to get through right now, accepting you."
Orlando knew she was being serious, but a small, pitiful laugh escaped
his lips. She really was naďve. The worst part was, even Sam didn't
believe what she was saying; he could hear it in her voice.
Orlando leant back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. 
	"Orli, look, I've got to go, but I'll come round later and we'll
go out, OK? We'll go to JJ's and it'll cheer you up. I'll ring…"
All this time, Orlando was trying to protest, to tell her that he
really wasn't in the mood and that he'd rather stay at home and wallow
in his own self pity. But Sam wasn't listening. 
	"I'll ring Andy and Eliot and Jess, and we'll all go out and…and…
we'll all get drunk!" Suddenly, in the absence of Whistle Down the Wind
being screeched, Sam's name was called across what Orlando could only
distinguish as an auditorium. 
	"Oh, look, I've really go to go now, I'll pick you up at seven,
OK? And Orlando?"
	"Yeah?"
He mumbled half heartedly.
	"Don't worry about it. About anything. You've got me."
He smiled wearily and said goodbye. The phone clicked off at the other
end and he heavily replaced the receiver. He sat for a while in utter
silence and tried to muster the energy to go out. A soft 'pad, pad,
pad' was heard and Maude, his dog, appeared round the corner of the
kitchen door. She ambled over to him and nuzzled her head in the cup
of his hand, desperate to be stroked and fed.
	"Ah. You still haven't been fed. Ugh."
Orlando petted the dog then jumped out of the chair and stretched,
elongating his already tall frame. Pulling on a faded denim jacket and
his wallet from the table, he grabbed his keys and left the flat,
headed for the supermarket. This dog needed food.



Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

	Orlando yawned as he walked down the street towards Tesco's. He
had cleverly managed to compile a mental list of things to get there,
all on a budget of Ł15. (The other fifty had to be saved for that
night - Jess wasn't known for finishing until everyone's pockets were
empty, and she certainly wasn't a lightweight.) Apples, Soymilk, dog
food, (obviously) bleach, bread, beans and pears, and some more Quorn
sausages. 
	Half way down the road, his mobile rang. It was Eliot. 
	"Hey you, what're you doing?"
	"I'm on my way to Tesco's. What are you doing?"
	"I'm in the middle of having my hair done."
	"Oh, right."
Eliot giggled and Orlando cleared his throat, disguising a laugh. 
	"Listen, Orli, I got a call from Sam earlier, and she said you
were in desperate need of cheering up. I heard about the phone call.
I'm sorry, mate, you ok?"
	"I'll live."
Was all he wanted to say.
	"That's the fighting talk I know!"
She giggled again.
	"So, is it ok if I turn up at yours at about seven, yeah?"
	"Yeah, that's fine. Hope you're stocked up financially, cos
Jess's coming!"
	"Oh, God, is she? Argh! I'll have to take some money out!"
	"Would be wise!"
	"Oh, right, ok, I've got to go, I'm just going for a rinse, I'll
be round at yours at seven then!"
	"Ok, see you later."
	"Byeeee."
She rang off and Orlando gave a confused smile. Eliot was insane at
the best of times, but she was never usually that mad. Almost
immediately after he ended the call, his phone beeped, indicating that
he had a message. Still walking, he opened it and laughed.
	Rite m8, hope u'v 
got sum Ł - Jess's 
cumin & she's in a 
gd mood. Thought 
I shud warn u! 
B @ urs 7.
It was from Andy, the King of Abbreviators. So, it would be Orlando,
Sam, Andy, Jess and Eliot. Tonight would be exhausting, he just knew
it. 
Crossing over the road, the sun was warm and the bright rays lit up his
face, accentuating his cheekbones and dark eyes. Orlando gladly enjoyed
the balmy glow on his face and rubbed his eyes, dispelling any sleep
that still lingered.
He was still mulling over the rejection over the phone when he reached
the entrance to Tesco's and was rather caught up in his own world,
therefore not noticing the woman he was about to bump into as he pulled
the wallet out of his pocket. It seemed she wasn't paying attention
either, as they walked straight into each other, her head nudging his
chest as they collided straight on. They both pulled back quickly and
apologised profusely, each mumbling and not really paying attention to
what the other was saying.
	"Oh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't…"
	"No, it was my fault, I couldn't,"
	"I just was a bit caught up with…and I just didn't…"
	"Don't apologise, it wasn't…"
And then they both stopped short of each other and looked one another
in the face. Orlando's breath caught in his throat; she was beautiful,
really beautiful, and he hadn't even noticed her. 
She did the same and stopped fiddling with the plastic bag she was
holding. She had striking features; large grey eyes and long jet black
hair pulled up into a rough knot at the back of her neck. Her features
were defined too; soft yet prominent cheekbones that were stained with
a cherry blush and a small, button nose. 
She was dressed in low slung, tatty jeans with holes on the knees and
a dark blue shirt, which was clearly intended for men, open to the
waist. Her trainers were once clean and white but after years of
wearing were now scuffed and dirty. 
However, her fashion sense totally escaped Orlando's discern; he was
too busy getting wrapped up in her eyes. All he could hear was the
deafening sound of his own heart hammering against his chest and the
blood rushing through his ears. An embarrassing redness engulfed him
as the silence in which they stood lengthened. Orlando could feel his
cheeks burning and his throat dry up. However, curiosity captivated
him more than embarrassment. 
	Their surroundings melted into each other, colours merging to
form an indistinct blur of paint. After a few moments (that passed
like an eternity), the girl's phone beeped that dragged them both back
into the harsh light of reality. The woman in front of Orlando bowed
her head slightly and massaged her forehead whilst he coughed and
rubbed the back of his neck. Tilting his head slightly, Orlando peered
under his dark eyebrows to better view the woman standing awkwardly in
front of him. Out of polite conversation (and to prolong his presence
around her, he admitted later,) Orlando cleared his throat again and
spoke gently.
	"Ah…are you OK? I mean did you hurt yourself?"
The girl was clearly taken aback by his speaking and so she took a
moment to compose herself and reply;
	"No…oh, I'm fine. Thank you. No pain here. A pain free zone. I
am completely devoid of pain."
She sighed, a look of utter embarrassed pain muddling her dark features
and cleared her throat. Orlando noted that her voice was quite deep,
but honeyed, and had a hint of an accent to it, indistinct but
definitely there. He was entranced.  The girl realised she was babbling
nonsensically and sighed again frustratedly. Checking herself and
starting again, Orlando watched her with an amused curiosity.
	"No, I'm fine, thank you. Are you alright? It was a pretty…erm…
hard collision."
He rubbed his chest mockingly and declared with a smile
	"I'm…great, thank you. Yeah, fine. A pain free zone." 
He tried, testing waters with this strange, beautiful woman whose
company he didn't want to leave. 
She smiled a warm smile that lit up her face even more than before.
Another awkward silence ensued, with neither breaking eye contact for
the risk of the other disappearing. During this prolonged and
unnecessary silence, the woman's phone beeped again which this time
totally distracted them. Mumbling started again and much scratching
of their heads, which lead to excuses.
	"Well, I ought to go then."
	"NO! No, no, no, no, no!"
He mentally screamed, but nothing he could think of to say would make
her stay unless he wanted to sound as though he had a serious intellect
deficiency. 
	"Yeah, me too."
They both smiled a tight lipped 'so-what-now" type smile and rolled
their eyes. 
	"Ok then. Well…uh, bye?"
She said and made to walk past him. Using his quick thinking and
lightning reflexes, Orlando pulled out the sixteen foot lasso rope
that he kept in his pocket, spun it above his head and cast it around
the woman's waist. Expertly tightening and pulling the rope taught
round her slim waist, he effortlessly bought her back to his side…
	A passing trolley crashing into the flower stall jogged him
from his imaginary scenario in time for him to say "Thank you. Bye
then." At the woman's back. She turned around and waved, continuing
to walk away. He had just thanked someone for walking into him. Twat.



Chapter 3

	For a few moments, he didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't
even blink. Orlando just smiled. He stood and watched her back
disappear into a crowd of people. Looking down at the floor, the
smile didn't leave his face until he saw a bunch of bananas and a
purse laid by his feet. They were hers. Orlando recalled hearing
something fall before, but didn't, no couldn't look down. 
	He picked the items up and spun around, expecting to see her
walk back through the crowd again and give him that smile. That smile…
	"You've forgotten your…"
The plump woman at the tobacconist kiosk looked heavily at him - he
was, after all offering a woman's purse to thin air. Feeling heavy
himself, Orlando dropped his arms to his side and heaved a sigh. He
had to stop doing this. 
	Opening the purse, Orlando sifted through receipts and cards,
expired cinema tickets and train passes. The purse was old and worn,
quite small and very light, made of black leather and held together by
countless rolls of sticky tape and a strategically placed safety pin.
He was looking for a form of identification primarily and secondly was
merely curious. Some spare change and a library card were tucked neatly
into the side pouch, with which was a small slip of paper. It was a
new piece of paper, white and crisp, folded smartly and inserted
carefully behind the library card. On it was written in a fleeting,
graceful hand 

Jamey Ebani.  
14a St. Stephen's Field
Meredith Road
Notting Hill
	
Orlando's chocolate eyes widened in disbelief. She lived in the same
block of flats as him! How could he have never noticed before? He knew
someone new had moved in, a matter of days ago, but he didn't see the
removal van or meet her in the stairwell. Elated and confused, Orlando
tried to decipher the rest of the information.
Jamey, he presumed, was her name. Jamey. Jamey. He liked that name on
a girl. Ebani. Foreign name, hence the accent? European? He couldn't
tell. 
'Hold on'. Orlando said to himself. He was assuming again, presumptions
lead to disappointment; he'd learnt that from experience. He was
assuming that the purse was hers, and assuming she had dropped it
there, assuming she lived in the flats, and assuming she was foreign.
Nevertheless, he couldn't help but be a little bit keyed up. 
Waking from his stunned and confused state, Orlando realised he was
still standing in the entrance to Tesco's, talking to himself and
getting excited about a woman's purse. The tobacconist was still
looking at him as though he was something she had trodden in. Her
thickly pencilled eyebrows arched in great suspicion and her bulky
load was rested against the kiosk. Disgust turned to enticement as
she stared at Orlando and winked at him in a 'come here you tasty
piece of meat' type way. Orlando hastily pocketed the purse and
hastily rushed away down the fruit and veg aisle. That was too much
to deal with.  
The whole of the past scenario had only lasted ninety seconds at the
most, but it felt like an entire eternity had just passed. 
So, after a fifteen minute round trip of Tesco's trying to remember
his mental shopping list (and failing), Orlando walked out with nine
tins of Pedigree Chum, a fruit pavlova and some toilet roll. Typical.



Chapter 4

	Returning home, Orlando walked along the deserted Notting Hill
street alone. Tall, white terraced houses arranged neatly in long rows,
each the same as the next; the usual black railings stapled three
quarters of the way up, with two bay trees framing the outsized black
doors made each as indistinct and bland as the next. The houses, Orlando
knew, were big. Entrance halls, en suites, studies, music rooms, cellars
and attics, all were contained within the well heeled shoeboxes.
Undoubtedly the houses were merely for show, each competing with the
next to see how superiorly they could hang their curtains, or how well
clipped the trees could be. But how superior were they inside? What went
on behind those analogous doors? Lying? Cheating? Infidelity? These
houses were just facades to the ordinary lives of underdogs going about
their daily business in about as much importance as one house to the
next. Never judge a book by its cover. It's true. 

                                * * *

	But Orlando didn't live in the aristocratic streets. No, he lived
in the Joe Bloggs areas - the flats in which the unashamed dwelled. Not
that his flat wasn't nice though, on the contrary. The reason he had
been able to afford it was inheritance from various family members,
otherwise he would still be slumming in Canterbury. Orlando was proud
of his flat - it was his. His identity, his space, his privacy,
something that he valued very highly…
	"Oi!"
	Orlando stopped walking, and his train of thought slipped away
beyond recapture. 'Oi?' Who said that? There was no-one else in the
street, so the impolite gesture must be directed at…
	"Oi! You're late!"
Orlando spun round, trying to locate the voices, but to no avail.
	"Orlandoooooooo!"
Looking up quickly, Orlando was able to place the names to the voices.
Hanging out of his kitchen window, Eliot, Jess and Andy were waving at
him frantically and, on the end of a broom were the novelty boxer
shorts they had given him for Christmas. Orlando's lips parted slightly
and he slowly sucked in air through his teeth. He was too used to this
to be angry. Looking down at his watch, he realised it was still
immobile and displayed 2.30, despite the fact that the sun was
beginning to set. 
	Picking up his pace, Orlando rolled his eyes and sighed. This
was going to be a heavy night, he just knew it. He wasn't even sure
he wanted to go out, but it didn't look like he had much choice. 
	There was no point in opening the security door, so Orlando
buzzed up to his own flat. That was weird. 
	"Helloooo? Marks and Spencer's lingerie department?"
	Orlando chuckled and replied to Eliot's telephone voice.
	"Let me in, bitch."
	"Alright bitch."
There was a loud buzz and the heavy door clicked open. 

                              * * *


	Entering his flat through the already open door, the smell of
burnt toast wafted out. Andy had been cooking.
	"Don't worry, I didn't use the brown crap."
Andy declared as Orlando walked in. 
	"The brown crap is, in fact bread. It's called healthy, mate.
Healthy food."
	"Whatever. Your clothes are on your bed and there's a drink for
you on the table. You've got fifteen minutes to get ready and then
we're going."
	"Yes ma'am. Do I have permission to feed my dog?"
	Andy nodded and tucked into a slice of toast heaped with Marmite.
Orlando looked at it and wrinkled his nose.
	"Don't know how you could eat that, it tastes of sewage."
	"Orli, it was in your kitchen."
	"Yes. In the cupboard labelled 'Andy's food'. You basically live
here anyway."
	"True, true."
Maude padded through from the lounge into the kitchen and nudged the
back of Orlando's knee with her nose. He looked down at the starving
dog and pouted.
	"Have I been neglecting you? Have you not eaten?"
	"Actually I have, but the beef gives me the squits. I prefer
chicken in gravy."
The dog looked at Orlando. Orlando looked at the dog. Jess stood in
the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding a can of dog food. 
	"Or tuna, I'm not fussy. How you feeling?"
Feeling about what? The audition. He hadn't given it a thought since
that meeting in Tesco's. And for that he was truly glad. 
	"Oh, yeah. Fine." 
Orlando dismissed the comment and bent down to feed the dog. Andy
signalled to Jess not to bring the subject up anymore. Orlando noticed
this - Andy wasn't exactly subtle, but he appreciated it all the same. 
	"Look, I'll do that, you go and get changed - you're late as it
is."
Jess playfully pushed Orlando out of the kitchen and carried on feeding
Maude. 
	"Ok, Ok, I'm going. Don't forget to put the crunchy stuff on
top."
Orlando nudged his thumb towards a cupboard under the sink and, picking
up his drink on the way, went to go and get changed. 
	Walking into his room, Orlando crossed to his CD player and put
on the radio. Andy was right - they'd laid out their choice of clothes
on the bed and even put a pair of trainers on the floor. He assessed
the selection of clothes and approved; a white long sleeved shirt and
his favourite Levi's. Worn, tattered, the stitching was coming undone
on the hem, but Orlando didn't care - they were comfort jeans. 
	Just as he was about to pull down his trousers he was already
wearing, Orlando leapt in the air and jumped onto the bed. As he
landed, there was a small squeal and the sound of scrabbling from
underneath.
	"Eliot, I'll give you five seconds to get out, or I'll do it
again."
He said, getting ready to bounce again. A pair of slim hands protruded
from the underneath of the bed, and pulled the rest of her body out
quickly. 
	"Ok, I'm here, I'm out, don't do it! It's just as well you have
a high up bed…"
Readjusting her hair in the mirror, Eliot giggled and turned around to
better view her best friend. Orlando and Eliot had known each other
since playschool and never knew anything different - they had grown
up two doors away from each other all their life, until they both went
to NYT and then onto Guildhall. They confided in each other about
anything and everything and never went a day without seeing each other.
They were like a married couple most of the time, and they both had
keys to the other's apartments. Eliot was Orlando's rock - she was
always there when he needed her for any reason. 
	Eliot changed her tune quickly though; she gave a sad smile and
hugged Orlando.
	"There'll be other auditions. Other chances. Don't let it get
you down."
Orlando wrapped his strong arms round Eliot's tiny figure and hugged
her back. 
	"I'm fine, really. Thank you."
Eliot pulled back, looked at him dubiously then ruffled his hair. 
	"You need a hair cut. Get changed."
Orlando smiled and put his hand to his forehead in an army salute.
His friends really were bossy. 
	"Good soldier, at ease."
She barked and marched out the room.



Chapter 5

CHAPTER 4


Orlando's room, like the rest of his apartment was spacious and
stylish. He had decorated it himself recently, plainly but
comfortably and had had built in wardrobes fitted (which he was
immensely proud of.) He had painted three walls a creamy white, and
the fourth a dark midnight blue which matched the night sky. The
double bed was draped with an indigo cover and the ceiling was dotted
with tiny spotlights that resembled stars when they were dimmed. Old
movie posters of Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn were edged in thin
silver frames and hung at random intervals on the walls, accompanied
by odd pictures of his friends on various days out and drinking
sessions. 
It was in this room that Orlando now mentally prepared himself for
the evening and debated whether to tell his friends about that chance
meeting in Tesco's. After much deliberation, he decided not to, after
all, they'd probably rip it out of him for being so hung up about
bumping into a girl. The setting was hardly romantic, either. No, he
decided, keep it to yourself. 
He emerged ten minutes later washed, dressed and ready for the night
ahead, wearing, what he admitted later as being a very decent outfit.
Jess and Eliot were sat on the sofa laughing at Andy who was sat cross
legged on the floor with Maude. Maude was renowned as being a flirt
with the men, especially Andy, whom she adored. 
"Aaaaahh, has Andy Pandy got a girlfriend?!"
Asked Orlando in a mock baby voice. 
"Yeah, actually, we're getting married. You ready?"
The girls giggled and got up, finding their coats. Orlando nodded and
grabbed his jacket from the table, stuffing his phone and wallet in
the pocket. 
	"Does anyone know where Sam is? She's definitely coming, mind
you, she's always late…"
Eliot asked almost negligently, when the buzzer went. Orlando quickly
answered the bell
	"Hel-lo?"
	"C'mon, c'mon, hurry up!"
	"Alright, calm down, be there in a minute."
	"Think that answered your question then…"
He said to Eliot, before rounding everyone up. 
	"Maude, be good for me!"
Called Orlando and Andy simultaneously before closing the front door
behind them. 
	Sam was waiting outside on the wall for the others to arrive.
She had jammed her hands deep into the pockets of her leather jacket
and folded the coat about her tightly. Orlando couldn't blame her -
the autumn evening had turned rather cold, and as they stepped out,
their breath escaped in tiny clouds before them. The chill nipped at
their noses and pinched their cheeks as they set off for a ten minute
walk to JJ's bar. 
	Sam stepped into stride with Orlando as they walked along. 
	"Sorry I was a bit late, the rehearsal went on for aaaages.
How you feeling?"
	"I wish everyone would stop asking me that, I'm fine!"
	"You didn't sound it on the phone."
	"I'm surprised you could hear me over all that screeching. It
sounded like a form of Japanese water torture. I didn't know Whistle
Down the Wind could sound that bad!"
	"Oh, I know! He was awful, wasn't he!"
	"He? It was a he?"
Sam giggled and grabbed her brother's hand in a 'you'll-survive-keep-
your-chin-up' type grasp. Orlando smiled sincerely and thanked her for
her concern, but insisted that he really was fine and just wanted to
enjoy the evening. 
	As the group descended upon the busy London streets, Orlando
felt happier and slightly more contented (even if he did dread tomorrow
mornings hangover…)

                                 * * *

	JJ's was, by day, a typical American diner, serving every type
of burger, milkshake and hotdog imaginable. It had the unique silver
chairs, red white and blue decoration and authentic US jukebox. By
night, however, it was transformed with the opening of the upstairs
level, which couldn't be more different. JJ's showcased all kinds of
art from all kinds of people; photography, paintings, sculptures,
pastels and prints adorned the walls of the huge bar which attracted
more people than a naked wrestling match. Dark blue walls, silver
chairs, fairy lights and a more than versatile bar completed the place
that had become Orlando's favourite.
	Walking through those doors lifted his spirits alone - he'd
leave his troubles outside and pick them up later. Tonight, he was
going to be cheered up whether he wanted to or not…



Chapter 6

Orlando had perfected the art of crashing home at an ungodly hour -
the skill had been honed to excellence, and he certainly did it in
style. 
	After leaving JJ's at around half one in the morning, the somewhat
canned group headed to a club so trendy it didn't have a name. There
they stayed for approximately enough time to become even more inebriated
(which took around twenty minutes) and went on a large club crawl before
parting ways at two thirty. 
	Eliot had accompanied Orlando home part way (as she lived on the
adjacent road) after many a drinking session before, and tonight was no
exception. Giggling like schoolgirls, they stumbled arm in arm along the
deserted streets, dancing in and out of the hazy light provided by the
street lamps. They reached Eliot's apartment before Orlando's, so she
left him to walk the last part alone after she emptied the contents of
her stomach into a drain on the north corner. It was widely known that
Eliot couldn't take her drink as well as the others, and frequented the
same drain on a regular basis. 
	When she'd finished (clumsily) vomiting on the street corner,
Orlando gave her a piggyback up the stone steps to her flat, then slid
down the iron handrail after stubbing his toe on the door. 
	The autumn air had unsurprisingly got colder in the early hours,
forcing Orlando to pull his jacket closer around himself and rush home
somewhat quicker than usual. Approaching the security door, Orlando
reached into his deep pockets to find his keys. It took a few minutes
to realise that he'd lost them, another few minutes to search for them
regardless, and another few minutes for him to start swearing.
	"Where the f…Bloody hell, it's cold…oh f…"
Fifteen minutes of drunken fumbling and a whole dictionary of
obscenities later, Orlando realised that he had, in fact, hidden the
key under the flowerpot before they left so that he wouldn't forget
them later. Despite this fact, it still took him a good few minutes
to locate the keyhole and recall which way to turn the key.
	Entering his apartment at near three in the morning, Orlando
chucked the bunch of keys, his mobile and (now empty) wallet onto the
telephone table and slowly staggered into the kitchen. Maude lifted her
head lazily and looked at him in a disgusted way, at his present
intoxicated state.
	"I know, I know. This is the last time. Last time."
Admittedly, Orlando had been staggering home a lot lately. This had to
stop. He brought his hands up to rub his eyes, and sighed.
	"This is bad. Very bad. You're talking to the dog. Even worse,
you're talking to yourself. "  
	In truth, the purpose of the evening had succeeded - he hadn't
thought about the audition all day. Whether this was due to the alcohol
or a certain woman he'd met earlier, Orlando didn't care. He smiled in
spite of himself at the memory of that meeting, the small secret he
kept within.
	In an attempt to stop the room spinning, Orlando made himself a
cup of coffee (without much care, resulting in a scalded finger and
burnt thumb) and slumped on the leather sofa in front of his TV. There
was a loud rumbling from upstairs resembling someone running across
the corridor. Someone heavy - it sounded like a heard of elephants.
Over weight elephants. With boots on. Very loud rumbling indeed…
Christ, he was falling asleep already.
	Thinking nothing more of the loud noise, Orlando wobbled into
his kitchen to compile his rescue kit for the morning. Bottle of
water, Alker-Seltzer, bucket (optional, not essential) - all
ingredients for a less horrific morning. Even though he felt
utterly inebriated, it was these rituals that prevented him from
insanity. He knew how horrendous he would feel, and he'd do
everything in his power to stop that feeling, hence the kit. Tucking
it all under his arm, Orlando headed off for bed - he'd only just
begun to realise how tired he was and he just wanted to curl up and
sleep. 
	He dumped everything by the side of his bed and slipped out of
his clothes, also left in a pile on his floor. "The next time that
bed comes round, I'm jumping on it," he thought to himself as the
whole room began to swim again (partly through tiredness, mostly
through his extreme alcohol consumption). He turned on the TV and put
it on low whilst he climbed into bed, enjoying the smooth clean sheets
he'd replaced earlier that day. They still smelt of washing powder -
clean and fresh. Settling back into his pillows, Orlando threw a quick
glance at his alarm clock. 3.24am. Too…late? Early? Either way, it was
an extreme. Tucking his arms behind his head, he tried to pay attention
to the black and white movie that was flashing around on the screen,
but he was so tired…



Chapter 7

Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause. Thump thump. Long pause. Thump thump thump
bang thump bang thump…
	Orlando opened his eyes wearily as his head played drums in his
skull. Turning over tiredly, his bleary eyes clocked the time. 3.58am.
Was that it? 34 minutes sleep? Seemed like much longer…The TV was still
on, this time showing a re-run of Whose Line Is It Anyway? Lying in
disturbed and erratic silence, it took a few moments for Orlando to
realise that the thumping wasn't emanating from his head. It was coming
from…he didn't know, but it was definitely getting louder. Propping
himself upright (and then regretting moving so quickly), Orlando
concentrated his hearing on the banging that was now getting even
louder and more frequent. 
	Pushing the sheets off, he crept out of bed and pulled on his
grey t-shirt and trackie bottoms and began to check his apartment for
any sign of…anything. It was only when the shouting started that he
realised that the noise was coming from upstairs on the next floor. 
	"Open the door! Get out here now…I'm warning you…"
It was a man's voice; harsh and abrasive and very, very angry. Orlando
kicked on his trainers that were left in an untidy pile by the front
door, and, for some unknown reason (for which Orlando would later be
thankful) he grabbed his baseball bat and opened the front door. No
one else seemed to be able to hear the noise - all the other doors
were locked and bolted, with not a sound of anyone stirring. He didn't
know what to do - it sounded as though someone was in trouble, and he
couldn't just let whatever was going on continue, especially if someone
was going to get hurt. Orlando hesitated at the bottom of the stairs
for a moment, then began to ascend them slowly, careful not to make
any noise. 
The shouting got worse as Orlando crept up the lavishly carpeted stairs,
and was spurred on by the loud crash that accompanied the shouting.
Orlando felt like an engine running on a mixture of adrenaline, alcohol
and courage (or was it sheer stupidity?) Not knowing what he was going
to find was only half the problem - what he would do when confronted
with it was another matter. 
Reaching the top of the stairs, the view that greeted him made Orlando's
stomach lurch. The door to apartment 14a was open and in the doorway
stood a heavily built man who appeared to take up the entire hall. He
was tall, very tall, around six and a half feet and was shouting
obscenities at someone Orlando couldn't quite see. The woman was stood
in the doorway, giving as good as she got, but she was no match for his
physical strength. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her against the wall,
lowering his voice and breathing right into her face. She was screaming
for help, but the man just held tighter. Tightening his grip on the
baseball bat, Orlando gritted his teeth and shouted. 
"What the fuck are you doing? Let her go!"
He still couldn't see the woman, but her screaming had diminished to
whimpers. Orlando strode up to the guy who seemed to be getting angrier
by the minute. The woman seemed to sense something foreboding and
started talking quickly and loudly 
	"No, Ewan, don't do it, leave him, please, don't do anything…"
	"Shut UP!"
	The man yelled, and thrust the woman into her apartment. She must
have hit something, because there was a crash and the sound of broken
glass. Orlando didn't feel scared at all, far from it. No, he was
absolutely petrified. Luckily, the alcohol seemed to have blunted his
reason and he carried on walking towards the burly guy in the hall. 
	"Get out of here, now"
	"And are you going to make me?"
Good question, thought Orlando. Do what Andy told you, don't be scared
about it, just do it…
	"No, but the police will."
He said, his voice shaking. The guy's eyes narrowed and he stepped
closer to Orlando, his putrid hot breath seeping over his face. He'd
also been drinking. Heavily. 
	"What did you just say?"
	"I said the police will. I called them when I heard the noise,
which means they'll be here in about 2 minutes. Now I suggest you fuck
off before I make you."
He said, drawing the bat up to his side. The man sneered maliciously
and placed his heavy hands on Orlando's slim shoulders, and, pushing
hard, he shoved Orlando violently against the wall. His shoulders
smacked painfully against the wall, and a swift wave of agony pulsed
through his every bone. Orlando felt as though he'd been hit by a truck
as his knees gave way, leaving him slumped on the floor. The guy swept
past him and descended the steps, anxious to go before the police
arrived.
	"Just do what Andy told you…lie." It worked. For once, Andy was
right. In hindsight, Orlando didn't know whether the fact that he was
drunk out of his mind in any way dulled the immense rush of pain through
him, but at that precise moment he didn't really care as he was forced
to sober up very quickly. Pushing himself up from the floor, wheezing
agonizingly, he dragged himself through the open door and into the
apartment. The woman was laid face down amongst scattered flowers and
broken glass. It must have been a vase he heard break, as the pine
floor was glistening with a silvery sheen of water. Orlando bent down
and carefully turned the woman over, cautious to not hurt her further.
As he brought her up slightly, he moved his hand to see it was covered
in blood. The woman had a small but deep cut above her left eyebrow
and a cut on the back of her neck, both of which were bleeding
profusely. However, she was conscious. Just. Pushing her dark hair
away from the woman's face, a realisation hit Orlando harder than
the blow against the wall. He knew this woman.



Chapter 8

	It was her. It was Jamey. Orlando was stunned- never for a moment
did he think it was her being attacked. Thank God she was still awake -
a blow to the head like that could send someone into coma for who knows
how long. As he turned Jamey over, she started crying, her breath coming
in panicky gasps as she struggled to sit up. 
	"Is he gone? Where is he? Is he gone?"
Orlando could feel her slim body tensing in his arms, intense fear
gripping her every muscle. 
	"Hey, hey, ssh, he's not here, he's gone." 
Jamey bought her hand up to her forehead as her face creased in fresh
tears. 
	"Oh God, oh God, no…" 
Now is not the time for getting hysterical, thought Orlando as Jamey
began crying uncontrollably. 
	"I think we ought to get you to hospital"
He said for his own benefit more than hers. Grimacing, Orlando pulled
himself and Jamey to their feet, despite the agonising throbbing in his
back and neck. She obviously noticed his pained expression, which sent
her into more hysterical sobbing, making Orlando's job of helping her
much harder. 
	"He got you, he got you too…What did he do to you?"
Jamey wrenched herself from his grasp and knelt down in front of him,
oblivious to the wounds to her forehead and neck. She brought her hands
up to his arms and started feeling for any sign of damage. Despite his
still inebriated and panicked state, even Orlando found this surreal.
Jamey looked right into his eyes, desperately searching for something he
couldn't tell. Tears spilled over her dark lashes, running quickly down
her pale face. She was still trembling uncontrollably - the shock of what
had happened seemed to have seriously affected her. 
	Surveying the cut on her head, Orlando ripped off the sleeve of his
grey shirt and pressed it to her forehead in a feeble attempt to stop the
bleeding. Trying to calm her down, he tried talking to her, to stop her
panicking so much. However, Jamey protested through tears that she wanted
to go home. Racking his brains for an answer to this awkward situation,
he scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her out of the apartment.
Seeing the blood on the shirt sleeve, Jamey panicked again and put her
left hand to her forehead. Orlando watched her take her hand away and
glimpse the blood staining her long fingers. That was the last thing she
saw before she passed out.



Chapter 9

	Orlando awoke to the sound of metal clanking, trolleys rolling by
and someone lightly shaking his shoulders. Opening his eyes slowly, he
couldn't remember where he was or why. It was only when the woman shaking
him introduced herself that he realised he was laid on an uncomfortable
bed in the middle of a hospital corridor. The woman was middle aged, but
kindly looking, plump and smelling of antiseptic. Heavy blue eyeliner
framed her small, piggy eyes and was magnified by thick, gold glasses.
Her stocky arms were outstretched and grasped his shoulders loosely,
which caused more pain than she knew.
	"Excuse me, Mr. Bloom? Jamey's awake now."
Orlando sat up slowly, his neck and shoulders aching painfully and his
head throbbing even harder. It took a few moments for him to remember why
he was in this strange, unwelcoming place smelling of TCP and stale urine.
And then it all came flooding back - the fight, Jamey, her passing out and
the injury he sustained. All this woke him up immediately, and brought him
round to what was happening.
	"Jamey, how is she?"
He asked lethargically, rubbing his dark eyes.
	"Oh, she's fine, she'll have some slight bruising but there are no
serious injuries or fractures, and she's had some stitches to her forehead,
but apart from that, she's just tired. It's quite an ordeal she went
through though, have you considered legal action? I mean, it's obviously
not the first time this has happened…Ooh, which reminds me, you might want
some painkillers too, I don't think you came out of this unharmed, either.
I'll put your prescription in with triage nurse, just pick it up on the
way out." 
And with that, Janet, the plump nurse waddled off with a stained bandage
in her thick hands. Orlando leant back on the trolley for a moment then
scanned the whitewash walls for a clock - he didn't know what day, never
mind what time it was. A large white clock was hung above the doorway,
displaying the time 6.00. Was that am or pm, Orlando wondered. He stopped
a passing nurse and found out that it was, in fact 6.oopm, the day after
the night before. It was 6pm, on Thursday, the twenty second of October
and he was sat in a hospital after being beaten up by a seven-foot gorilla.
Fantastic. Now that he had ascertained the date, time , and most
importantly, place (Guy's Hospital, London), he slid off the trolley and
searched for Jamey's bed.

                                 * * *

	"Hey…How are you feeling?" 
	"Oh, erm…fine, thank you. A bit sore, but I'll live." 
Awkward silence. Orlando surveyed her. Big melonin plaster. Slight
bruising to cheek and left eyebrow. Hair left loose, slightly straggly.
	"Oh, I'm so sor…Orlando. Orlando Bloom."
Orlando stiffly offered a hand to Jamey apologetically, as if the first
rule of conduct in a hospital wing is to introduce yourself. 
Jamey smiled and offered her own hand.
	"Jamey. Jamey-"
	"Ebani."
He finished. 
	"How do you…hold on."
Jamey paused and frowned, confused. 
	"I know you…you…you stole my purse!"
She raised her voice angrily, then grimaced form the effort of volume.
	"Oh, no, no, oh no…"
Orlando began, but he was interrupted.
	"Yes, in Tesco's, you…stole…my…"
She crawled forward in her bed and started grappling at his pockets,
searching for the purse he had 'stolen'. Suspicious nurses walked past,
eyeing the action carefully, with Orlando rolling his eyes in a 'typical
woman-what-do-you-do-with-her' type glance.
He stepped back abruptly and left her sat on the bed, crouched angrily
like a sulking child.
	"Woah there…let me explain. OK, at Tesco's, yes, we bumped into
each other…"
	"And you stole my purse, I want it back, now…"
	"No, no, no, stop! You dropped your purse. And some bananas. I
picked them up because you left and I found out your name by looking
for some identification to return it to."
Orlando spoke slowly so as not to anger her further, as though it might
be the worst mistake of his life. He dropped his hands in front of him,
outstretched as if to protest his innocence. His coffee coloured eyes
widened, trying to persuade her. Orlando suddenly remembered that he
had the same jacket on from the night before, so pulled out the bananas
and the purse and put them on the edge of the bed, then stepped away. 
Jamey's eyes softened as she leant forward to search the alleged purse,
then she knelt down again and put her head in her hands. 
	"I'm so, so sorry. I thought you'd…"
Orlando smiled and scratched the back of his neck then sat down next to
the purse and bananas and the edge of the bed. 
	"Lets start again."
	"Lets."
	"I'm Orlando Bloom. Hero, rescuer, purse-picker-upper and all
round good guy."
	"I'm Jamey Ebani. Purse-loser, damsel in distress, jumper-to-
conclusions and hospital patient."
They both smiled and rolled their eyes at their stupidity. Jamey's
smile quickly turned to a frown though.
	"How are you? The nurse said you were sleeping outside and that
you had some injuries? I'm so sorry for whatever happened, I can't
remember much, nurse said slight amnesia was inevitable, after a knock
on the head and the passing out, it's hard to…to…"
Her head started lolling and Jamey started blinking heavily.
	"Are, you…are you ok? Jamey?"
	"Mmm, oh, just a bit dizzy…"
Orlando passed her a glass of water from the bedside table and watched
her sip the cool liquid. He gave her a few moments to compose herself,
then spoke again.
	"Is that supposed to happen?"
Jamey laughed softly and leant back in bed.
	"Yeah, the nurse said dizziness and tiredness were all part and
parcel of being beat…of having a blow to the head."
Orlando watched her intensely, as she corrected herself for his sake.
It was as though she didn't want to admit to being a victim.
	"I know what happened, Jamey. I saw it all."
	"You, you did? Right."
She quickly averted her eyes to the ground and kept them there, ashamed
or scared to look at him.
	"Don't be ashamed, it's not your fault. Has…has it happened before?" 
Orlando tentatively crept along the bed so he could be closer to her, so
he could hear her. She bowed her head and nodded it. From underneath dark
curtains of hair, Orlando saw a single tear fall onto the starched bed
sheets.



Chapter 10

	"And next on This Morning, ten ways to shift ten pounds, from the
cabbage diet to electrolysis…"
	"A nice model, a little on the sharp side and the suspension can
be a problem on very steep hills, but apart from that, the Mazda scores
highly in my books…"
	"Add the milk and stir until smooth, then once that's done, pour
it into the greased tray, making sure it's nice and level…"
	"I hate daytime TV"
Muttered Orlando, out loud, as he took another sip of his coffee. Black,
no sugar - strong and rich. It was 12.30pm and he was sat on his settee
with Maude on his lap, drinking coffee and watching daytime TV. Chat
shows, car reviews, cookery programmes…all so boring! He was supposed
to be learning his lines for a re-call (yes, a re-call…shock, horror),
but he had heard Jamey stirring and wanted to stay alert in case she
needed anything. 
He felt split with Jamey. Was he a friend? Was he a father figure? He 
felt like one - he went to check on her more often than necessary and was
listening out for her a like she was a baby. 
	Trying to push all this to one side, he drank the last of his coffee
and nudged the dog off his lap. Orlando, yawning widely, strode into the
kitchen to rinse his mug and do the washing up. He was in a slob mood
today - grey t-shirt, black jogging trousers and messy hair. He'd clean
himself up later…
	"Morning."
Orlando looked up from his washing duties to see Jamey standing in the 
doorway. She was wearing one of his blue shirts and a pair of shorts and
her dark hair was roughly plaited into a braid at the side of her head,
with small, straggly strands dropping gracefully to her shoulders. Pulling
at the shirt, she said 
	"Hope you don't mind, I didn't have anything else."
Orlando shook his head with a smile.
	"Not at all. How you feeling?"
Jamey gave a so-so expression and wrinkled her nose. 
	"I'm ok, what about you, your shoulders?"
	"Stiff. I'll live."
There was a moment, an ange passé. They looked at each other, took each
other in; in their full, rough morning glory. Suddenly, Orlando felt
ashamed of his appearance and his complete lack of charm. Mornings really
weren't his forte, yet here he was in worn jogging bottoms with ripped seams
and a t-shirt so old it you could tell his age by how many stains there 
were painted on it.  
Reflecting, he couldn't tell what he felt and why in this moment, but
something changed inside him, words to describe it couldn't come near, so
he left it to his heart.
	Physically shaking himself from this lock between them, he put down
the mug he was holding and spoke.
	"Now, enough of this morning crap. I think you need breakfast. When
was the last time you ate?"
Jamey sighed and touched her eyebrow gingerly, before reclining and grimacing
at the pain she had self-inflicted. There was also a dressing on the back of
her neck, a plaster the size of Wales covering the underneath of her hair.
The covering on her forehead, above her eyebrow was smaller but more padded
and needed changing as the corners were peeling away. 
	"I honestly can't remember."
	"Well, ok, how about raspberry and crčme fraiche muesli, wholemeal
toast and a glass of…wait for it…freshly squeezed orange?!" 
Jamey laughed out loud and smiled broadly. 
	"That would be lovely, thank you."
Orlando nodded proudly, pleased at having made the right breakfast decision. 
Jamey pulled up a tall stool at the breakfast counter next to where Orlando
compiled the morning's specialities and watched him contently. 
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she spoke, her delicate voice
carefully choosing the words she were to use.
	"Orlando?"
	"Hmmm?" 
	"You know…I want to say thank you."
Orlando looked up and raised his eyebrows.
	"That's…ok."
	"No, really. You've done so much for me so selflessly and we don't
even know each other!"
Her grey eyes sparkled despite the bruising that blossomed on her forehead
as she smiled widely at him. Her smile was so beautiful, so warm that
Orlando couldn't help stop and admire for a moment her beauty. It made her
cheeks blush a pale pink and her eyes grow lighter, as though reflecting
the light of the moon. 
He was getting too hung up on her, and he knew it. 
	Dragging himself away from watching her, Orlando bent down to the
fridge and concealed himself behind the heavy white doors. He felt his own
cheeks flush now, overwhelmed by the situation he was in; he was preparing
breakfast for a stunning woman whom he didn't even know, as she had pointed
out. 
Pulling out the tub of crčme fraiche, he felt a sudden surge of bravery
pulse through him. 
	"Well what would you like to know?"
He had a mischievous grin plastered over his face and he felt like a five
year old chasing girls through the playground. 
	"I'm sorry?"
Jamey creased her nose in what Orlando could only determine as confusion.
	"You said we don't know each other, so lets find out. What would you
like to know?"
	"Ok, erm. How old are you?"
	"Twenty Two. And a bit. The bit's very important."
He declared proudly and plopped a handful of raspberries onto the bowl of
muesli he was preparing. With a flourish, he placed the breakfast in front
of her and bowed formally. 
	"Et voila! A masterpiece!" 
	"Thank you very much."
She said politely and began eating. A soft padding was heard as Maude
entered the kitchen, disgusted at not being fed first.
	"Ah - you don't mind dogs, do you?"
This could present a problem. However, Jamey shook her head emphatically
as she hungrily ate her food.
	"Not at all - I love them. My brother used to have a bulldog called
Maisie…"
Orlando unsuccessfully stifled a laugh.
	"Oh, I know, what a name, but she was gorgeous. Some people can't
stand them, my Mum used to think Maisie was ugly, but everything has it's
own beauty - you just have to find it."
He was enthralled by her again. She had such faith in life, such energy,
nothing could destroy that. She was a world away from the victimised 
Jamey he met the other night…
	



Chapter 11

	"Orlando?"
He had been daydreaming. 
	"Yes, sorry. Agree, totally."
And he did. He just couldn't articulate right at this moment.
	"How's the breakfast?"
	"Really, really good. You're a genius!"
Orlando suddenly felt very embarrassed again and felt the need to
run and hide in the fridge. He would have done if the dog wasn't
sat on his feet.
	"I think she was wants feeding. What's her name?"
	"Maude."
It was Jamey's turn to giggle this time.
	"Maude? That's…unusual. Different."
	"Not as unusual as Maisie on a bulldog."
Orlando joked as he kicked the dog off his feet and started to
feed her. 
	"Right, I'm done."
Jamey declared as she dropped her spoon into the empty bowl in
front of her. 
	"Now where were we? Oh yes, your name's Orlando…Bloom?"
	"Uhuh."
	"And you're twenty five."
	"Corrrrect"
	"And how do you earn a living, Mr. Bloom?"
Orlando didn't know how to answer this without being typecast.
	"Well, I'm an actor."
	"Really? Wow. In what?"
She wasn't the person to typecast, obviously.
	"A bit of everything, really. I've done TV, done a little
bit of film, but my passion, I mean real passion, is theatre."
	"I love theatre! What have you been in? Have you done any
Shakespeare?"
	"I don't know what else I'm supposed to know. There are
questions that I have to wait until I've known you for longer to
ask. That's the way it works."
	"Like what?"
	"Well if I ask then it'll kinda defeat the purpose of
waiting!"
	"Don't wait then."
He said plainly, looking her straight in the eye. Jamey smiled
back curiously, unafraid by his suddenness. 
	"Ok. Are you single?"
For some reason Orlando couldn't define, his heart skipped a beat
at this moment. He stood up and put the dog bowl down on the floor
as Maude strolled over.
	"Yes. Young…ish. Free…to a point. And single."
	"Really?"
Jamey asked, her voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. 
	"No, I'm lying, I'm married."
Orlando replied sarcastically as he effortlessly pulled himself
onto the worktop.
	"Oh, I just…I didn't mean… I just find it hard to believe
that someone as good looking and nice as you hasn't been snapped
up already."
Orlando didn't know whether to take this as a compliment or not.
Nevertheless he blushed. 
	"I know, it's a travesty."
He replied, placing his hand across his forehead in a 'woe-is-me'
stance. 
	"I just haven't found anyone at the moment. That's all."
Orlando said simply. Jamey slid her eyes to the table and sighed. 
	"What time is it?"
She asked.
	"Uh…10.56 and 24 seconds"
	"I suppose I should…"
She jerked her thumb to the ceiling, indicating her own apartment. 
	"Oh. You don't have to."
Jamey looked puzzled as Orlando tried to recover himself.
	"What I mean is, don't feel as though you have to leave on
my behalf."
	"But this is your apartment…"
She said slowly, deliberately.
	"Oh, no, not in that…if you don't feel ready to, you know,
go and start, whatever, at your place, cos you can stay here as
long as you need. Want. Like."
Orlando sighed at his own inability to construct a sentence. 
	"This place is yours until you feel ready to sort out
your…stuff."
He said plainly, frankly. 
Jamey looked utterly relieved, as though the weigh of the world
had been lifted off her shoulders. 	
"Really? Oh, thank you so much. I didn't want to say anything,
but you know, he might…"
She trailed off, once again returning her eyes to the work
surface and concentrating hard on her bowl. 
	"He being your boyfriend?"
	"Ex. Ex boyfriend."
Orlando's heart leaped. 
	"Ex. Oh. I'm sorry."
	"Don't be. He's a bastard."
	"I must admit, I didn't find him the most pleasant
gentleman in the world.
Jamey agreed and rolled her eyes. There was a slight pause
between them as Orlando wondered whether the subject was up
for discussion.
	"Do you want to talk about it?"
He said, shuffling his weight on the worktop so he could face 
her. 
	"What is there to talk about? We broke up, he didn't want
to, now he doesn't seem to get the message we're…finished, and
he won't…he won't…"
Jamey's voice turned thick with tears and her words faltered.
She bought her hands up to her eyes and wiped away the tears
that began to fall. Orlando jumped off the worktop and grabbed
a Kleenex, the only offering he could think of that would console
her. 
	"Hey, hey…ssh, I'm having none of that in my apartment, 
thank you very much."
Orlando gave her the tissue as she sniffed a laugh and blew her
nose. 
	"I'm sorry, I'm not usually like this."
	"Don't apologise, I cry all the time."
He said sincerely.
	"Really?"
Jamey bought her head up to look at him. He nodded and sighed.
	"It just gets to me, you know, when they leave and
they're parted and then he gets caught by the scientists…E.T
always gets me going."
She laughed this time, and tried to dispel her sadness. 
	"No really though, he just needs time. From what you've
told me, he's just a bit raw, needs time to adjust to the change
and then he'll leave you alone."
Jamey listened intently and nodded. Orlando lowered his voice
slightly, as though there were others who could overhear. 
	"The other night…you said he'd been violent before."
She nodded and slowly started to speak, trying not to cry.
	"That wasn't the first time. It's never been serious though,
not like some. He's never left me with anything to prove - he's
clever when it comes to that. No scars, no lumps. Although I
caught him out once."
Orlando raised his eyebrows, curious with her.
"He threw a glass at me. It missed, but smashed on the wall next
to me. A piece of glass got caught in the top of my arm…"
At this point, Jamey pulled the left collar of the shirt she was
wearing down to reveal her bare shoulder with a scar on it. Small,
but significant. Her voice changed too, she became quieter, weaker
and she placed her hands between her thighs and bowed her head. 
	"Earlier, a couple of weeks before, a friend told me that if
I could prove what harm he was doing to me, then I could get a
restraining order… So I picked out the glass but didn't put a
plaster on it or get stitches. I didn't let it heal. I irritated
it by, quite literally, rubbing salt into the wound…so it left a
scar. Evidence. Backup."
Jamey ran her finger over the scar gently, then tugged the shirt
and slid it back over her shoulder. Orlando was astounded. She
had endured so much, and had resorted to pain to get herself out
of a violent relationship. But she was brave, and clever. But one
thing was nagging at him.
	"Why didn't you just leave him? Walk away, move out?"
	"You don't think I didn't try? But I didn't have anywhere
to go. I couldn't move away because I had a an exhibition at the
Tate and I couldn't abandon it, I'd worked so hard…"
Orlando nodded and sat on the stool next to her tentatively, as if
not wanting to disturb her recollection.
	"And I couldn't move into any of my friend's houses, because
Ewan, that's my ex, knew here I'd be. I didn't have enough money to
buy myself somewhere so I had to stick it out. He drove me to that."
She pointed to the scar under the light blue shirt. Orlando watched
her assiduously, caught up with her, in her…
	"So did you both live together upstairs?"
Jamey shook her head and turned to face him.
	"No, we lived in the better end of Holloway. As soon as I got 
paid from the exhibition, I collated that money with all my
savings, took out a small loan and moved upstairs….Huh, I moved
most of my things out when he was at work one day, did it all behind
his back…God knows how he found me…"
	"But, he doesn't know you're here now, does he?"
A small smile formed on her lips that broke into a grin. 
	"No. He doesn't."
	"So…maybe it's better that you stay here for a while then,
until he gets bored and crawls back into his…shell. Thing. Whatever."
Jamey smirked at his bad choice of imagery. 
	"Thank you, Orlando"
	"Just call me Orli. Sounds less prescribed."
	"Orli."



Chapter 12

	So, Jamey moved in. It really was as simple as that. A matter
of days was all she needed to insert herself into Orlando's life, and
she blended in as though she had always lived there. All her things
went into the spare room that was now termed 'Jamey's room' and that's
where they stayed, for she was surprisingly tidy. Despite the masses of
foreign brown boxes that seemed to accumulate in his hallway, Orlando
enjoyed having Jamey there. He got to know very quickly, however, that
Jamey had certain strange quirks that made her…her.

The first being that she hung a small wind chime in each room, sometimes
where you couldn't even see it. She made space on Orlando's bookcase for
her own books - arts, poetry, novels, all battered and dog-eared despite
her immaculate tidiness. The old bookshelf was already fit to burst with
Orlando's own collection of Shakespeare, Keats and Marlowe plays, plus
all the poetry he read for auditions and with Jamey's superfluities, he
had to support one shelf with steel brackets.

The bathroom became full of small shells, bottles of brightly coloured
liquids (half of which Orlando suspected to be toxic) and little boxes
of bath balls and pearls that went everywhere if knocked out of place,
as Orlando found out on more than one occasion. 
The odd painting was hung on a bare wall, of which Orlando was glad -
it made the place look snug. In a corner of the room, by the long, floor
length windows rested Jamey's painting kit. It consisted of a large
(maybe 5 foot?) easel on which normally leaned a huge canvas, and two
pine boxes on a small table on the floor, which held all her paints,
brushes, sponges and palettes. Orlando could spend hours watching Jamey
paint. She was so passionate about what she did; you could see that in
her eyes. When she painted, she would sing softly to herself, old jazz
songs of the greats, like Aretha Franklin and Frank Sinatra. That was
where Orlando felt comfortable. Sat at the table opposite her, working
on a script or monologue and listening to her sing whilst creating the
most wild and images from mere memory. It was like she was inventing
stories with colours that expressed her thoughts and feelings. If she
was angry, she would paint. If she was happy, she would paint. She could
produce masterpieces based on a yoghurt pot. That's what Orlando admired
about her.  

                                 * * *

Orlando was enchanted with every aspect of Jamey. Not just by appearance,
which made quite a change for him, but in her character, her mannerisms,
her habits and her personality. He loved the way she was confident but
never brash and without being pretentious, the fact that she knew what
he was thinking without even needing to ask and that she was always so
relaxed. He loved the way that she didn't care what other people thought
of her, but without being careless or ignorant. He loved the way she was
always there, for any reason, no matter what he needed and that she
laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones. He loved the way she
could cheer him up and speak fluent Italian with an Irish accent. He
adored the little things about her, the things no one else knew about,
like the way she sings in the shower and thinks no one hears, the way
she dances when she thinks he's not watching and the way she has to
tiptoe to reach the top cupboards. The things that make Jamey, Jamey,
were the aspects he fell in love with - like the way she cried at old
movies, and the way she was shameless in her love of old things, like
antiques and books and clothes. He even loved the way she wore two thumb
rings on each thumb, but no others, and the way she wore her socks
inside out 'for good luck'. He came to love the smell that she left when
she wasn't in the room, of honeysuckle shampoo and fresh cotton. He also
loved the way she got on so well with his friends…

                                 * * *


	"Jamey, this is Andy, Andy, this is Jamey."	
Orlando announced proudly.
	"Pleased to meet you, Andy. I've heard a lot about you."
	"Likewise."
He threw a sidelong glance at Orlando.
 "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…?"
	"Ebani. Jamey Ebani."
	"Well, Miss Ebani, you've taken on a huge responsibility by living
with Orli here, you do realise that he…"
	"Jamey!"
Orlando interrupted Andy in before he charged into full swing and ruined
his own reputation. 
 "This is Jess, Eliot and Sam, my sister."
	"Oh, Sam, I remember. Hi, I'm Jamey."
The three girls all smiled and introduced themselves as though they'd
known each other for years.
	Phew. 'That went well' thought Orlando. In truth, he had been
dreading introducing Jamey to everyone. There were so many things that
could go wrong. One, they could hate her, two, she could hate them, three,
they could really really degrade him in front of her…the list was endless.
But, thank God, it didn't come to that. They got on so well it was like
they'd been friends for a lot longer than five minutes. 
	This had all been carefully planned for a Friday evening a couple
of months  after Jamey had moved in and settled down. Orlando and Jamey
had become inseparably close over this short period of time, and he decided
that updating all his friends on the phone about Jamey was getting boring and
costly, so it came that they would all have a proper introduction over dinner
at Orlando's place. Jamey, being the perfect woman she was, offered to cook
for the six of them. Orlando, Eliot, Jess and Jamey (much to Orlando's
surprise and delight) were vegetarians, so she concocted a delicious
traditional Italian pasta meal, to be washed down with a bottle of Valpolicella
red wine and mango sorbet for dessert.
	Orlando's idea of keeping the evening casual yet sophisticated was kindly
put aside by Jamey who came up with the conventional idea of a large, circular
table by the floor length windows. She decorated it with a clean, white
tablecloth and crystal glasses and served the food from a huge porcelain pasta
bowl in the middle. 
	("It reminds me of Italy, at the big family gatherings we used to have,
with about ten different dishes in the middle, and everyone feeding themselves.
It was wonderful…")

The meal itself went even better than the introductions. Orlando was honestly 
surprised at how well Jamey and the girls got on. Jess and Eliot could tend
to have a rather… 'critical' streak, and Orlando feared that perhaps Jamey
wouldn't be very welcome in their little clique. He couldn't be further from
the truth. They talked, giggled and laughed through the evening, with Andy
and Orlando occasionally allowed to participate in the conversation. 
Jamey entertained them all with her ability to speak Irish-Italian and Jess
'entertained' Jamey by dislocating all the fingers in her left hand. As it
was beautifully dark outside, Orlando fished out some white candles to use
and placed them round the table and on the bookcases, creating a small warm 
glow.

Jamey faced up to the dodgy questions with the amazing humour ("No, Orli
doesn't leave the loo seat up, although the wet towels on the bathroom
floor are a problem…") and confidence that became her trademark.
However, it wasn't just her amusing anecdotes that kept Orlando riveted
to her all evening, it was the way she fitted in so perfectly. She could
get on with anyone, anywhere despite their race, creed, religion and she
wouldn't hold any judgements. She was one of those people who would start
talking to you on the tube even if you'd never met her before, or would
strike up a conversation in a library if it wasn't forbidden. She looked
beautiful, too. She wore a fitted black shirt with ruffles round the cuffs
and a pair of dark blue jeans that dragged slightly on the floor. Her ebony 
hair was let down and curly, the small ringlets framing her face and
shoulders, somehow making her look taller. Although the cut on her forehead 
was healed, it was still red and you could see dots where the stitches were
taken out. However, Jamey had cleverly concealed this with the use of some
makeup that Orlando didn't really understand. All in all, she looked amazing.
The topics of conversation that night varied. They started off with how Jamey
met Orlando, and she openly and unashamedly talked about her relationship with
Ewan. She didn't cry though, didn't once admit defeat in any way. However,
she did embarrass him immensely when telling how he had bravely rescued her
from the clutches of the evil ex, how he had looked after her, even how he
tolerated all her bad habits (which Orlando intensely denied). 
When the night wore away, the candles burning down to syrupy pools of liquid
cream, Sam, Eliot, Andy and Jess all left. The girls, including Jamey (to 
which Orlando was immensely pleased) all made plans for the day after next
'to go out and get ridiculously drunk and sing bad songs at karaoke', and
Andy offered to help Orlando with his lines. They said good night at around
twelve thirty and left Orlando and Jamey alone in the apartment. 
Orlando closed the door after Andy and turned to Jamey. 
"That went well."
He sighed.  



Chapter 13

	Jamey and Orlando sat up late that night, partly out of the need
to clear up and partly because they were too tired to crawl all the way
to their bedrooms. They were sat on the front room floor, with the TV on
silent, watching infomercials and dodgy adverts for kitchen cleaner with
men who had orange faces. Jamey sipped quietly on her steaming mug of
coffee as Orlando flicked through channel after channel of adverts. 
	He seemed at peace, or at least he appeared so, but something had
been nagging at his mind for weeks now and the only way to settle those
unanswered questions was to ask them. Trying to sound casual, he approached
a subject he wasn't really sure he should.
	"Jay?"
They even had pet names for each other now, it was ridiculous.
	"Hmm?"
	"Don't think I'm being nosey or anything…"
	"Ok…What is it?"
Inhaling slightly, Orlando started.
	"What happened between you and Ewan? I mean, why didn't it work out?"
Jamey blew out slowly through her lips, as if in a silent whistle.
	"Well…erm. That was out of the blue! Where do I start?"
Orlando settled back against the sofa and watched her closely. She didn't 
seem so afraid to talk about it now, which was comforting - he was
obviously doing something right.  
"When I first met him, he was this charming, intelligent, funny guy who
had his own company at the age of twenty five and a Mercedes…Not that
I'm materialistic, you know, but that was attractive…"
Orlando smiled despite the anchor that now weighed down his heart - he
didn't have any of that…
	"But as time went on, he changed…"
She paused here, and chewed her bottom lip absent mindedly, as if in deep
thought. Her voice softened slightly as she carried on, but showed no sign
of fear.
	"I can almost pinpoint the exact day it was that he turned. 3 days
after my birthday, and he came home late. Eighteen months ago, maybe. It
was a Thursday. By 1am he still wasn't home and I was worried. He was never
normally that late - not even when he'd been down the pub. I can remember
sitting on the kitchen floor with my cat and thinking the worst."
Orlando's eyes widened slightly, as he watched her recall the events that
changed her life. She seemed to adjust slightly, from the Jamey he knew to
someone who was stronger in mind than in strength, slightly more diffident,
but still determined. 
	"He came home at 2.30 that night. Drunk. As soon as I heard the doo
 click open, I felt such relief, but I was naďve. He walked through the
kitchen, past me and went straight into the bedroom. I called after him,
and went into the bedroom to see what was wrong, but he just swore at me
and told me to leave."
Orlando was beginning to regret asking her now - he didn't want to upset
Jamey by making her remember the things that hurt her so much, but he was
still curious and she didn't stop, so silently he listened to her.
	"And from then on, he never went back to how he used to be. He would
swear at me constantly, hit me, never let me out…I felt caged in. For
eighteen months I endured so much, but I thought it might change back to
how it was, with the flowers and the unexpected days out. I thought it
could go back as quickly as it had changed.
I never found out what happened that night - I thought it might be drugs,
but he was too clever for that. I don't know, and to be honest I don't care.
He was too possessive and I couldn't deal with that. So, I left."
She sighed, drank the last of her coffee and then looked up. Orlando was
astounded. 
	"Oooh, that feels so much better. I haven't talked to anyone about 
that in ages. You should be a therapist!"
Orlando was confused.
	"I'm sorry? I haven't done anything!"
	"Yes you have. Since I've been here…oh, never mind."
	"No, what is it?"
He shuffled closer, determined to drag out of her what she wouldn't tell.
	"It's nothing."
	"Tell me! Or, I'll do it. I'm not frightened to use my weapon. I
will do it."
Jamey started laughing and begged him to not to, but Orlando ignored her
pleads and grabbed her feet, tickling them rigorously. Never had he met
anyone in his life who was so ticklish. Jamey squirmed around on the floor
in fits of giggles, desperately trying to push him off. 
	"Now…tell me!"
	"Ok, OK!"
She yelled between gasps of air. He dropped her feet and ruffled her hair,
making it stand on end. Orlando's dark eyes glimmered and his dark features
creased into a huge grin as she sighed loudly and pulled her hair out of
it's loop at the back of her neck.
	"Well, I was just going to say, that since I've been here, it's the
happiest I've been in years. Even before I met Ewan, I wasn't truly happy,
because my life was a bit…I don't know how to describe it. Empty? Yeah,
empty. But living here with you has made me so content and comfortable.
But I won't say that now that you've done this."
She declared fiercely as she pointed to her messy hair. 
Orlando couldn't describe how he felt then. Happy? Comfortable? Pleased?
None of those words covered it. All he knew was that he was getting a big
rush of something good.  
 	"And I just want to thank you…"
	"You don't need to.."
He tried to interrupt unsuccessfully. 
	"No, listen, Orli. I want to thank you. You've changed my life around
since I've known you, and for the better. Without that meeting in Tesco's,
and you saving me and all that, God knows where I'd be. I owe you, big time."
Jamey flung herself forward and threw her arms round his neck, hugging him
tightly. He wrapped his arms round her, which wasn't so hard because she
was so slim. She fitted perfectly into his embrace, as though she belonged
there. He could smell the shampoo in her hair, the perfume she wore and
the washing powder on her clothes.  He could stay like that forever, so
secure and protected…
	She pulled back and looked at him. Her grey eyes appeared so dark,
yet up close, you could see every colour in them - flecks of green and
blue and tinges of brown made her eyes look so luminous. Gently, she
kissed him on the cheek then knelt back again.
	"I'm thirsty. Another coffee?" 
Orlando nodded, speechless. He had fallen in love. 

                                * * *

	"So now it's my turn, right? Columbian or Costa Rican?
She called from the kitchen. 
	"Your turn for what? Costa Rican please."
	"Well, you've been asking the questions for ages, now it's my turn."
Orlando rolled his eyes. 
	"Go on then. Shoot."
	"Weelllll, I've been here, what, four months?"
	"Ish."
	"And I haven't seen you with a girl throughout that time. What's
going on? Surely a drama student as good looking as you would have girls
swarming all over you!"
He was glad Jamey was in the kitchen so she couldn't see him blush. In
truth, he hadn't thought about his own relationships since Jamey moved
in because he was so utterly captivated by her. She was everything he
needed and he didn't want anything else, even if he had only just
realised this. However, he obviously couldn't let Jamey know this.
	"Or are you one of those typical male types - terrified of
commitment with only one thing on their minds? Where's the coffee
filters?" 
	"In the cupboard."
	"Orli, there are fourteen cupboards in here, you'll have to be a
bit more precise."
	"Hold on."
Orlando wrenched himself from his spot on the floor and padded into the
kitchen, the bottom of his pyjama bottoms shuffling on the wooden
laminate. Jamey was kneeling on the floor, petting Maude who was laid
in her bed.
	"In this cupboard."
He said, opening the cupboard above the oven.
	"You still haven't answered my question. What's with the women
drought?"
	"I dunno. I haven't had the time for relationships recently,
that's all."
He lied.
	"Oh, come on. I'm not just talking about relationships. You're
a bloke; surely you can fit the occasional shag in your busy schedule?
Four months and no humpty dumpty? I don't think frustrated would define
you!"
Despite the fact that he was intensely embarrassed, Orlando couldn't
help but laugh out loud.
	"Humpty Dumpty?! Bloody hell, I hope you don't ask all men for
a nursery rhyme in bed!" 
Jamey giggled and stood up, stretching. She seemed a lot taller now,
with legs up to her armpits. "stop looking" he thought to himself.
	"Seriously though, Orli. I don't want you to think that just
because I'm here, you can't bring other people back home. Go for it,
I honestly don't mind. It'd be good to see you let out some of that
frustration."
	"Well, we'll see. Thanks though, Jay."
	"No need. I think I'm gonna take this to bed."
She picked up her coffee and sipped it.
	"I think you should get yourself to the land of nod as well.
You look knackered."
	"Thank you, and may I say that you look particularly stunning 
as well."
Orlando retaliated. Jamey giggled, shuffled over, and kissed Orlando
on the cheek.
	"Night Orli."
	"Night Jay."



Chapter 14

	"Andy, mate, it's Orli."
	"Are you aware of the time? Orli, it's 6am."
	"Yeah. I can't sleep. Listen. Meet me at JJ's at 10."
	"Orli, I'm…"
	"Please, it's urgent."
A slight pause. A sigh.
	"Fine"
	"Cheers, Andy."
Click. The phone cut off. That's the great thing about friends; you can
call them at 6am and they don't mind. Much.


                                   * * *

	Orlando and Andy met, as 'planned' outside JJ's, for what Orlando
loosely termed as 'brunch', despite his absence of ordering anything.
Andy, being the brilliant timekeeper that he was, arrived ten minutes
late, with the excuse that he had a flat tyre. 
	"You don't own a car. You walked here."
Said Orlando.
	"I might do."
Andy replied vaguely. 
	"Anyways, Lord Bloom, to whom it appears I answer every beck and
call; what is the matter?"
	"I'll explain in a minute."
Orlando dismissed, looking around nervously as though he was wary of
being followed. Andy looked him up and down.
	"Mate, you look awful."
The sad thing was, Orlando knew this. He'd hardly slept after last night,
he hadn't shaven and his hair was as unruly and untamed as ever - brown
curls entwined themselves round his ears and the back of his neck. 
Orlando merely mumbled something inaudible in reply, then ushered his
friend into JJ's. 
	Orlando much preferred night time JJ's to day time JJ's - the day
time encompassed all the commerciality of a fifties American diner that
some people loved and some hated. No, he favoured the Jazz at night, the
dark blue anonymity of the bar and the paintings and photos that told
hidden stories, all of them different and original. It was there he
thrived. However, he was not there now. 
	No, he was in the harsh daylight, the strip lighting and the
chrome chairs, with Elvis providing the soundtrack to everyone's lives
while they lounged in the American café.
	Andy ordered two 'footdogs' (a foot-long hotdog, which, in some
countries could be considered offensive to those with a sensitive
disposition) and a jumbo strawberry milkshake, complete with two straws.
When Orlando questioned the sheer volume of Andy's order, he simply
replied;
	"Well, you're the one dragging me here - I may as well make the
most of it."
Orlando shook this aside, and perched himself on one of the tall silver
bar stools by the counter. 
	"Andy, I've got a biiig problem."
Andy could tell his friend was anxious - he'd started drumming the beat
of 'Blue Suede Shoes' onto the beer mat in front of him. His eyes were
twitchy and he constantly darted looks towards the door- looking for
what or whom, Andy was not sure. 
	"Hold on, is this bigger than the biiiig problem of locking
yourself out of your apartment at the four in the morning needing a
piss?" 
The barmaid standing behind the counter, who had previously been wiping
glasses, ineffectively tried to disguise a giggle as a cough at the
ridiculous story she'd just heard.  Orlando shot her a look of
unadulterated spite, his brown eyes narrowing to dark openings under
his brow. She, nevertheless, backed off and resumed the menial task of
glass wiping. 
Orlando, returning to his conversation, blurted out 
	"Much. I think I love Jamey."
Before Andy could answer, Orlando checked himself and began again.
	"Let me re-word that - I'm in love with Jamey. I think." 
Andy's expression was unchanging, as if he were expecting more. He
didn't say anything, he just sat still. Orlando looked at him
sceptically.
	"Please take this seriously."
	"I am. I know you're in love with her."
	"How the fu…I only found out…"
He ceased his incessant drumming long enough to glance at his watch
and then resumed.
	"I only found out eight hours, four minutes and…thirty…one
seconds ago."
	"Oh purlease."
Andy exclaimed, in what Orlando could only categorise as excessive
gay. 
	"It's obvious. Ok, I've only seen you together once, but she's
all you ever talk about, and you behaved like a love sick puppy at
the meal last night."
	"I was not."
Orlando retaliated defensively, then paused.
	"No I wasn't, was I?"
Andy nodded solemnly.
	"Plus, you've been counting the hours, minutes and seconds since
this 'amazing' revelation came about. You haven't just fallen in love
with her, it's that you've only just realised."
Orlando dropped his head into his hands then slowly started to bang
his head purposefully against the bar.
	"Modammy honna doo?"
Orlando's voice was muffled by his hands that covered his tired face.
	"Come again?"
	"I said, what am I gonna do? I can't tell her, she can't know…"
	"Well, she might. How do you know she doesn't want to know. How
do you know she doesn't feel the same waaay…"
Andy's eyes widened as a plate full of hotdogs was placed in front of
him, accompanied by what seemed like an endless milkshake. Orlando's
emotional gabble washed over him like Muzak in a fourteen-storey lift
as he made light work of half a footdog in (almost) one mouthful.
	Orlando seemed almost totally oblivious to the fact that he was
being ignored, so carried on.
	"Well, two reasons  - one, she's hiding out from her violent,
possessive and frankly damn scary ex, leaving me to suspect she doesn't
want a relationship right now, especially with her flat mate, and
secondly, it'd just make things awkward between us, particularly if
she doesn't feel the same way, and, besides, I like things the way we
are now. It's comfortable."
He rushed out, flailing his arms around. Looking up, however, he saw 
Andy gorging himself on a hotdog smothered in ketchup, and realised
he wasn't getting anywhere.
	"Andy, please."
Orlando stressed exasperatedly.
	"Ok, ok."
Andy struggled between mouthfuls. Swallowing heavily, he then gulped
down an obscene amount of milkshake, then wiped his mouth.
	"Lets establish some facts."
Orlando nodded, eager for some input.
	"You realised you loved her…when?"
	"8 hours, 6 minutes, aaaand…"
	"Ok, so early this morning."
Andy interrupted before the exact time was revealed, in full, to the
nearest mille-second.
Orlando nodded.
	"How many bottles of wine did we get through last night? As
precise as possible, please."
Orlando mentally counted for a few seconds, then replied.
	"5. And a bit. Between 6 of us."
Orlando was confused, but then again, this was Andy's logic, it was
slightly different. 
	"Which means you were tanked up on three quarters of a bottle
of red wine, two Heinekens, and a sip of that gone off Archers. 
Meaning you were inebriated." 
Orlando couldn't believe this.
	"No. Do not try and pass this off as some drunken…some drunken…
obsession."
He paused and sighed, the anger being replaced by tired exasperation.
His eyes seemed so dark and troubled, yet he was in love - surely he
was meant to be happy?
	"I've just…never felt this way before."
	"Yes you have, it's called a hangover."
Orlando's anger was back, and he really wasn't in the mood to be
patronised. He thought he'd be able to gain some clarity from Andy,
which obviously wasn't going to happen.
	"Fuck it, I'm leaving."
Orlando slid off the stool effortlessly, scowling at his friend's
lack of sympathy.
Andy stuck out his arm and grabbed Orlando's wrist, dragging him
back to his seat.
	"Ok, Ok, look, I'm sorry, just couldn't resist that one.
Just -sit."
Orlando reluctantly and heavily sat back down, eyes glaring like
hot coals under dark brows. 
	"Right. Listen."
Andy began, clearing his throat.
	"You love her. You don't think she loves you, plus she
admitted she's not ready for a relationship after her last one."
He wasn't telling his friend anything he didn't already know.
	"In my eyes, you've got two choices. One - you could tell
her how you feel, possibly igniting a new relationship between
you, which would be fine because you are comfortable and already
know each other."
Nodding slowly, Orlando could sense a 'but' approaching.
	"But if she doesn't feel the same way, you may jeopardise
the already good relationship you have with each other, ending
with…?"
	"Nothing."
Orlando admitted glumly. Andy paused for a moment, and looked
Orlando in the eye, checking he was following everything. He 
was sat perfectly still, his chocolate eyes wide and anxious.
	"OR."
	"Ooooor?"
Asked Orlando.
	"Or, secondly, you could keep it to yourself. Play it cool,
don't let her know, and just let the situation lie for a while.
Keep the relationship you already have comfortable and stable,
losing…?"
	"Nothing."
Orlando finished.
	"It'll be hard, very hard, but it'll be worth it in the
long run if you definitely know she doesn't reciprocate."
	"Andy, do you even know what reciprocate means?"
	"Of course I do, I…"
He was cut short by the abrupt ringing of Orlando's phone. Sam
insisted he kept one on him "just in case" and gave the mobile
as a Birthday present. Orlando hated it.
	"Hel-lo? Oh Jay, hey. I know, I had to grab some stuff…"
He paused. He absent-mindedly licked his lips and ruffled his
uncut hair. Andy watched him intently.
	"What? Now? It's not serious is it?…Oh, good. Well, give
me ten minutes. I will! Taters."
Orlando switched his phone off, replaced it into the deep pocket
of his jacket, then stood up.
	"Taters? What does taters mean?"
	"Laters."
Orlando replied obviously. Andy looked bemused.
	"Oh never mind. Look, I've got to run, Jamey says there's
something urgent. Listen, cheers for that, Andy."
He peeled a ten-pound note from his wallet and placed it on the
table next to the empty plate. 
	"You'll pay? That's so sweet!"
Andy exclaimed camply. 
	"Thanks mate. I'm still confused, but thanks."
 


Chapter 15

	"Honey, I'm home!"
Orlando called as he dropped his keys onto the table and pulled
off his denim jacket. He could hear Jamey signing along, slightly
out of tune to 'All That Jazz' from the small radio in the kitchen.
He smiled despite himself, as the indescribable butterflies that
disrupted his stomach kicked in. Nervous jitters. His hands were
sweating, and his heart was hammering painfully in his chest. Now
would be the first time he'd see her after he fully understood the
extent of what he felt, and, Orlando thought to himself, it's going
to be weird.
'How do I act around her? What if she finds out?' 
He asked himself. 'What do I do?'
It was like stage fright. Dear God. 
	Trying to sound casual, he sloped into the kitchen, wiping
his hands on the beige khakis he was wearing, trying to disguise
the fact that he was nervy about seeing her.
	"What was so urgent then?"
He asked quickly, making himself a coffee. Jamey was sat on the
work surface, eating yoghurt and swinging her legs in time to the
music. She was in her dressing gown and her wet hair was loosely
plaited at the side of her head, leaving small trails down her back.
Completing the look were a pair of thick white socks worn on her
small feet. Perfect.
	"You alright?"
She asked, cocking her head. Orlando's acting was obviously slipping
- she could tell something was wrong. 'Cover yourself, get through it.'
	"Yeah, I'm fine. You worried me earlier though - I thought
something had happened, y'know, an accident or something, cos if
it had, that'd be bad and I'd have to be back really quickly…"
	'SHUT UP'
He mentally screamed. Stop making an arse of yourself. Arse, arse, 
arse…
	"Orli?"
Jamey was trying to disguise the fact that she clearly found this
hilarious, and made out she was concerned.
	"Are you sure you're alright? You've gone really pink and
you're shaking. Are you ill?"
	"Touch of the cold, that's all. Now, what is this thing
then?"
'Nice recovery' Orlando thought to himself.
	"Oh, yeah, right. It might be nothing, but your agent sounded
pretty excited."
	"Fiona? What, did she call?"
Orlando forgot everything about how he felt for the moment - this
sounded important. 
	"Yeah, she left a message, but as you can probably tell, I
was in the shower."
She finished off the last of her strawberry yoghurt and lifted
herself gracefully off the surface. She was going to drag this
out, Orlando knew it.
	"So…"
He encouraged her to tell him what this news was.
	"So she left a message."
Jamey answered simply and cheekily.
	"And what did it say?"
	"Well, go listen to the message and you'll find out."
Orlando sighed and hurried over the answer machine that was
blinking silently. Pressing play, he knelt down beside the machine
and strained his hearing, despite the fact that he could hear
perfectly well what was being said.
	"Hey Orli, hun, it's Fi. I don't know if you've got it yet,
after all it is early and you're probably still in bed, lazy sod,
but there should be a letter arrived this morning…"
	"Oh yeah, there was some mail for you…"
Jamey teased from the kitchen. Orlando rolled his eyes. 
	"…about that audition you did for the part of Faramir in The
Lord of the Rings a couple of months ago. Call me when you get the
letter and we'll discuss it. Chow, hun."
	"Is that it? Is that all she said?"
He asked out loud, disbelievingly. 
	"Well, obviously, yes."
	"Well then, where's the letter?"
	"In here."
This was like a wild goose chase. Exhaling deeply, Orlando stepped
in and found the letter, unopened, on the barstool in the kitchen.
Jamey was stood next to it. Again, the nervousness returned. Had he
got the part? Had he failed again? Could he bear another rejection?
Hesitating, he backed up and ran his hand over his unshaved chin. 
Jamey evidently realised the importance of this and left her teasing
front behind.
	"Do you want me to open it for you?"
Orlando wrung his hands together. 
	"Yes. No."
Nausea swam round him as the anxiety became unbearable.
	"Yes, go on then…No, don't."
	"Sod it, we'll never got it done at this rate…"
Jamey declared, ripping the envelope open in her delicate hands.
Pausing slightly, she breathed in deeply.
	"Ok, even I'm nervous now."
She brought her eyes up to look at his, deep and scared. He looked
changed - anxiety weighed down on him, yet this meant more to him
that she knew.
	"Ok….Right…"
She began, trying not to sound too nervous.
	"Dear Mr. Bloom. Thank you for auditioning for the part of 
Faramir in upcoming movie trilogy The Lord of the Rings. Blah
blah…appreciate your time and effort,...blah…blah…"
And then she stopped. 
	"what is it?"
Orlando asked urgently, timidly.
	"Unfortunately, we are not able to offer you the part of
Faramir…"
	"Jesus. Fuck it."
He swore loudly, purposefully and violently.
	"Fuck. Oh shit."
Jamey watched him as he broke down. Seven failed auditions. He
pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes, willing the 
world to just leave him alone. Her grey eyes didn't change, however.
She didn't move to hug him or console him. Instead, she lifted the
paper up again and read slowly and clearly.
	"However, due to your clear capabilities and acting style,
we would like you to audition for the part of Legolas. You will
be required to audition at the arranged place and date as noted
below, and the details of your auditions are included on a
separate sheet attached."
Orlando slowly looked up and his gaze met hers. Jamey was beaming,
the smile reaching her eyes.
	"You did it!"
She squealed, and leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly.  He
was completely speechless, all he could do was laugh. 
	"Oh….Jesus. Holy shit."
He wrapped his arms round her, easily encompassing her whole
body in a hug that was so welcome, he didn't want it to end.
Jamey brought her head up and kissed him on each cheek. 
	"Oh, you sooo believed me!"
She teased, rolling her eyes. 
	"Hum, yeah, I really didn't appreciate that, Jay. Dear God.
I'm still shaking!"
She loosened her hug and stood tall, beaming hugely at him.
	"This could be it, Orli. You can really do it! Stardom,
fame, celebrity status… just imagine!"
Orlando closed his eyes and sighed, relieved.
	"I can't, y'know, Get my hopes up. If I don't make it…well…"
Jamey stepped close to him and cupped his face in her small hands.
	"Believe me, I know you can do it. And even if you don't,
you can pick yourself up and do it all over again."
	"I don't know. Maybe. I don't want to think about failure.
I just want to concentrate on this audition, and getting it right.
Which reminds me, I've got to ring Fiona."
	"And I've got to get changed"
She announced, as though her news were equally important. Kissing
him again on the cheek, Jamey danced into the living room and
stood by the floor length windows, singing to herself as Orlando
dialled his agent's number. Still shaking, his fingers were
reluctant to push the right numbers. 
	"You do realise, Mr. Bloom, that if you do make it big,
I'm gonna sell my story to some big glossy magazine, and reveal
all your bad habits."
She called, leaning a cup of hot coffee to her lips as she gazed
out onto the busy London street below. 
	"I don't have any!"
He retaliated, as he tried dialling again. 
	"Well, the wet towel thing is a habit I've noticed, and…
and…"
And then Jamey broke off.
	"Yeah, and what else? There is nothing!"
She didn't reply.
	"Jay?"
Nothing. Looking round the corner into the living room, Jamey
was knelt beside the window, coffee stains surrounding her as
she sobbed into the cream curtains.
	"Jesus. Jamey, what's the matter? What's happened?"
The phone receiver dropped from his hands as he saw the state
Jamey was in. Orlando ran over and knelt beside her, as she
cried wildly, clinging onto the curtain as though it would
save her life.
	"He's…he's down there. He saw me."
	"Who? Jamey, who saw you?"
Even as the words escaped his mouth, Orlando knew who was
down there and why she was so upset.
	"He's coming."
She sobbed.
	"Ewan"



Chapter 16

Orlando nearly panicked as much as Jamey did. He really did
not welcome the idea of walking away with broken bones and
bruises like he did from their last meeting. What should they
do? His first instinct was to run, his second to protect
Jamey. Settle for second, thought Orlando as the thumping
of heavy feet on stairs could be heard from outside.
Switching to defend mode, Orlando took charge of the situation
with as much guts as he could muster in the midst of absolute
panic. 
	"Jamey, I need you to listen to me. Go to my room, open
the door and hide by the post on the balcony. Do not make a
noise, do not come out until I tell you to OK?" 
He held her by her slim shoulders as she gasped her breaths,
shaking. Jamey looked so vulnerable, so scared, Orlando
immediately hated Ewan for all the pain he'd caused her. 
	"Jamey, will you do that?" 
As soon as he had spoken those words, hard fists started
hammering on the front door. Jamey's eyes darted to the door
and back to Orlando as she started crying again.
	"I can't…I can't…Please don't…"
	"Jamey, just go, you'll be fine, he'll leave."
As she crawled into his room, Orlando couldn't help but feel
a sense of déjŕ vu and utter dread come over him. 
He peered round the door of his room and made sure Jamey was
out of sight and safe before he approached the front door
that was shaking violently from the thrashing on the other
side. Orlando grabbed her empty easel, and as much of her
painting equipment as he could and threw them into his
bedroom, closing the door behind him. Scanning the room
quickly, he tried to conceal as much of the 'Jamey-ness'
in his apartment as possible so that the brute wouldn't
suspect her. As if he didn't already. 
	"Jamey, get out here! Jamey!"
Ewan started shouting. Trying to act as calm and naďve as
achievable, Orlando advanced towards the door slowly.   
	"JAMEY, GET OUT HERE NOW! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"
Taking one deep breath, Orlando casually slung open the
front door, ready to greet the aggressive man as
diplomatically as possible. However, he was immediately
slammed into the wall by the force of the heavy door opening
into him. This was getting a little repetitive. The force of
the wall against his back was enough to wind him, but not
fell him. Orlando knelt down briefly to catch his breath
while the burly intruder made his way through his apartment,
treating the place like a bull in a china shop, crashing
his way through room after room, slamming doors and
hitting furniture. 
	"Excuse me, would you like to explain what the fuck
you think you're doing?" Orlando managed to muster as he
crept back up the wall, breathing heavily.
	"I know she's here, JAMEY!"
	"No one's here, it's just me. I promise, just leave."
	"Don't lie to me."
Ewan yelled as he rounded the hallway again where Orlando
was getting to his feet. 
	"I saw her, she's here somewhere."
Despite the extreme throbbing in his back and shoulders
again, Orlando knew he had to draw on every last drop of
acting to survive this little escapade. Trying to look as
sincere as possible, he stood up and faced the man that
was wrecking his apartment and terrifying the girl in his
bedroom. 
	"I can promise you, I'm alone. The person you saw
was probably in the apartment above - they're a couple
and have an apartment facing the same way as this one."
	Ewan approached him rather too quickly for his liking
as it dawned on him that he had in fact met this man before.
	"I know you. You were there before, upstairs, with
Jamey. You said you called the police…"
'Oh shit' Orlando thought to himself. 'He's gonna kill you.'
	"She is here, isn't she? WHERE?"
	"No-one's here..."
He said, clenching his fist at his side. Ewan raised his
own hand to hit him, but Orlando was quicker, lifting his
fist and punching his attacker hard and deliberately in the
face. Immediately blood poured from his nose, streaming
down his face and staining his white t-shirt. He momentarily
stopped and wiped his nose, before lifting his head.
	"Don't fucking lie to me, WHERE IS SHE?"
He roared, pushing Orlando into the door again. Pain coursed
through every vein in his body, every muscle seized up,
every nerve screamed in agony as his back was slammed into
the hard wooden door. Memories of breaking his back all came
flooding back, and the sensitivity that was left now caused
him so much pain that he was close to passing out.  
	"She's not here. Please, just leave."
Distantly, through an open window, the faint swirl of sirens
could be heard flowing through the streets. Just as Ewan was
about to lay a punch into Orlando's already hurt head, he
stopped and strained his hearing. 
	"You fucking bastard. You called the police again."
'Thank God' he thought to himself, relief sweeping over him.
Lifting his head heavily from his chest, he looked Ewan in
the eye and said slowly and quietly;
	"Now fuck off and never come near me or my flat again
because I swear I will kill you."
The sirens that had been getting louder and louder stopped
abruptly outside the block of apartments and three uniformed
policemen spilled out onto the pavement before sprinting
though the door and up the stairs. 
	"I will find her."
Ewan growled before throwing Orlando off the door and across
the hall floor. Wrenching the door open, he darted out and
jumped the first set of stairs before running into the
policemen who instantly handcuffed and arrested him for a
night in the cells.
	Inside, Orlando pulled himself to his knees and leant
against the door to the front room, his body stiff and aching
and his knuckles grazed. The bedroom door creaked open quietly
and Jamey's small head poked round the frame, her face tear
stained and red. Seeing Orlando collapsed against the door,
she started crying again, fearing the worst for him.
	"Orli…"
He looked up slowly and saw her rush over and kneel beside
him, tears streaming down her face. 
	"It's ok, he's gone"
He smiled weakly.
	"I'm so sorry…"
She sobbed, throwing her arms around him. Orlando reclined
quickly, her powerful embrace proving too painful to bear.
	"Oh God, it's your back, isn't it? What's he done?"
	"I'm fine, I'll just need some rest. I think he's
fairly damaged though."
He whispered, showing her his bleeding knuckles. Jamey
sniffed a laugh, then, realising that he was bleeding on
the carpet, ran and got a wet towel to cushion the wound.
When she returned, a woman police officer had entered the
apartment and was knelt next to Orlando.
	"Are you both alright? That man didn't look too happy.
What happened?"
Deciding to do things officially this time, Orlando and Jamey
told the policewoman everything, right from the very
beginning. One would fill in the gaps the other had missed
or forgotten, or would talk over each other at the important
bits. The policewoman noted everything down after moving
Orlando to the sofa so he could lie down. A paramedic van was
called to stitch up his knuckles briefly and to assess his
injuries after they both gave a full statement. 
	"Well that was a rather long tale."
The policewoman sighed after finishing her notes and closing
her notebook. 
	"Are you sure you're both OK? That's quite an ordeal
you've both been through."
Jamey looked at Orlando, who was laid gingerly on the sofa,
nursing his bandaged knuckles and smiled. 
	"I think we'll be fine."
	"Just one last question in that case then. I can
request for a restraining order to place on Mr. Hartnell
to prevent him from further harming you. I will need your
permission, obviously, but I would strongly recommend it
in your situation."
Jamey looked unsure for a moment, apprehensive of what
this could mean for her.
	"Oh, don't worry, it won't involve you directly.
Basically, we will suggest a certain distance in which Mr.
Hartnell is not allowed to be near you. A likely example is
that he would not be allowed within a mile of you. If he is
found violating this restriction, then he will be arrested
immediately, and any further legal action will be entirely
your decision. The application for restriction will have to
be applied for in court, but it will be a short pleading
and you have a more than strong case."
Orlando looked at Jamey and held her shaking hand, nodding
for encouragement. 
	"It would not only protect you, but Mr. Bloom as well.
Indeed, he has suffered from this ordeal as much as you."
	"I'm alright, I'm hard, me."
Orlando joked as he took Jamey's hand..
	"I think that might be good idea then."
Jamey replied quietly.
	"I'll leave you alone now so can have some peace. I'll
need both of you to come down to the station soon to sign
your statements and to arrange the details of the restraining
order and court dates, but for now I'll leave the number of
the station. If you need to talk to me directly, ring this
number and ask for PC Karen Walderslade." 
The policewoman handed Jamey her card and stood up, taking
her notebook and hat with her. Jamey stood to show her out,
but insisted she'd let herself out.
	"I won't trouble you any further. Good bye."
	"Thank you so much."
Jamey said, smiling. Orlando propped himself on his
shoulders and peeked over the edge of the sofa and called
	"Thanks very much."
They heard the door click quietly in the hall and were both
left in silence. 
	"Thank God that's over." Jamey sighed under her breath.



Chapter 17

Jamey and Orlando spent the rest of the day in his bed, eating
ice cream and watching black and white films. Each felt in more
than need of a little indulgence after the trauma of the day and
lay talking until the early morning. Orlando's back was
relentlessly painful and every muscle throbbed in protest to
the way it had been treated.  Breaking your back, Orlando found,
had more than a few afflictions in later life.

They both fell asleep half way through 'Some Like it Hot' at
around one thirty, but Jamey awoke before Orlando, due to the
thunder storm that had ruptured the sky. She wasn't surprised
that he hadn't woken - the painkillers the paramedic had given
him were strong and must have knocked him out for the night
Jamey pulled the duvet tight around her neck and rolled over
to face him, watching the lightning flicker across his peaceful
face.

Thunder rolled across the sky in the distance, a deep rumbling
that seemed to vibrate through everything in its path. But she
wasn't scared.  She didn't need to be, Orlando was there. Her
knight in shining armour, her guardian, defender, whatever you
wanted to call it, Orlando was it. Never could she remember
being as happy as she had been over the past few months, living
with him. Even he first few weeks with Ewan, before he turned,
hadn't been this comfortable, this happy.  And it was all down
to this one man laid beside her. 
Jamey had never met a single person who was so willing to get
beaten up for her, to face someone so violent just to protect
her. And what did he get in return? A hug and a thank you.

Jamey realised, while laid in bed so peacefully, that there
was nothing she could do that would sufficiently thank Orlando
for everything he had done for her.

On many occasions, Jamey had thought about telling her mother
about Orlando, but if she told her that, she'd have to explain
about the break up with Ewan, and she would not be happy about
that. It was Ewan who had (in her mother's words) "Taken you
away, made you live in that dirty place, away from your family"
(the dirty place being London). She could her hear Mother's
thick Italian voice reverberating through her head.

If she admitted to her mother about the violence, the
unhappiness, the break up, she wouldn't hear the end of it.
"I told you, he no good! But, no, you no listen, off you go,
too trusting, you always were! I told you, he no good, it end
sad, but you too stubborn, ai, mama…"

But if she told her about Orlando, her response, Jamey was
sure, would be very different. "Oh, he lovely, so handsome,
I can tell he has Italian blood in him, no? Why you not make
an honest man of him, Jamey? You get married, have lots of
babies, live in Italy, it be perfect!"

Jamey laid in bed, studying Orlando's face, right down to
the creases, and discovered that maybe her mother would
have a point. He is handsome, very handsome. His eyes,
despite being closed, were so beautiful, she could remember
every detail of them with her own eyes closed. Orlando,
the impeccable dresser would certainly impress her mother,
and always impressed Jamey. His character in itself would
be enough to fall in love with - he's caring, has the most 
mazing sense of humour, he's brave (especially facing up
to Ewan) polite, helpful, sensitive, thoughtful…everything
about him was perfect. 

                         * * *

Perfect /adj 1 entirely without fault or defect; flawless 
             2 an ideal standard 
             3 Orlando Bloom

                         * * *



Why then, did she not feel anything then? Why did she not
love this 'perfect' man? Within the second of asking herself
these questions, laid next to Orlando at 4am, Jamey realised
she already knew the answers and needed no-one else to tell
her.



Chapter 18

	The unrelenting buzz of Orlando's alarm clock awoke him
from his deep slumber, and continued its offensive attack on
his ears until he located it and threw it against his wardrobe
door, abruptly silencing the racket. He didn't remember
setting the alarm. The painkillers certainly worked - he
could hardly remember anything about last night, and although
the aching in his back was still prominent, it was nothing
compared to yesterday. Opening his eyes fully, the hazy,
November morning gently ruffled his curtains, the sky a steely
grey with no hint of warmth. He would much rather stay in bed
than face that unwelcoming weather.

Shifting his weight in bed, Orlando turned over, trying to
alleviate the stiffness that settled in, and his eyes
immediately settled on Jamey.

In his bed.

Taking a few moments to establish the reason for her being there,
he ended at a loss. He honestly couldn't remember anything about
last night - the paramedic said slight concussion or even mild
amnesia was inevitable, especially with the painkillers he had
been given and the blow to the neck and head. But he couldn't
remember a thing. Why was Jamey in his bed? Then the possibility
that Orlando really didn't want to face up to dawned on him -
what had happened last night for Jamey to end up in his bed?
If he couldn't recall any events from last night, then anything
could have happened…

Momentary panic eclipsed all reason, as Orlando tried to figure
out what to do. Jamey was still asleep, so he had to figure out
what happened damn quickly if he was going to redeem any dignity.
The first and most logical idea was to do what he does in all
crises - phone Andy. Carefully wriggling out of bed, and taking
the utmost care not to wake Jamey (as any meeting at this stage
could be rather…interesting) Orlando tentatively padded into the
front room, and grabbed the phone. Dialling Andy's number, the
number that appeared most on his phone bill every month and
cost him most money, Orlando waited for a dial tone. During
this small period of waiting, Maude waddled over and pushed
her nose into the cup of his hand, demanding attention. 

"Hello gorgeous."
Orlando cooed.

"Hello beautiful"
Andy replied. Orlando hadn't even noticed Andy had picked
up the other end.
	"Not you, I meant Maude."
	"Oh, well thanks."
	"I think I slept with Jamey."
	"Well, get to the point, why don't you? What do you
mean you think? Surely you'd know if you slept with someone,
even by your standards."
Orlando realised that none of this would make sense unless he
gave a full, if rather revised version of yesterday's events
(or what he remembered of them). Beginning with the Lord of the
Rings letter (that had nearly escaped his thought) he ended
with waking up six minutes ago. 
	"Jesus. "
Andy remarked simply. Orlando knew his friend so well that he
could tell which facial expression he was now wearing, and he
didn't like it.
	"Don't give me that look, Andy, it's hardly my fault.
I'm the good guy here. What do I do? If we did do it, then
she might just think I did it because she was vulnerable after
yesterday's events, and then she'll hate me. And be quick,
she'll wake up soon."

Orlando could hear giggling at the other end. Eliot was there. 
	"Eliot? Put her on."
'She'll be more use than you' he thought to himself. Giving
another revised version of events, Eliot squealed with
excitement at the Lord of the Rings audition, almost cried when
she heard of the fight yesterday and nearly wet herself laughing
at today's events.
	"Please take this seriously, El, I'm fucked here."
	"Well, you don't know yet!"
Eliot burst into fist of giggles at her 'hilarious' joke.
	"Ok, ok, I'm sorry. You want my advice? You've got to think
logically. When you've slept with people before, what do you
use?"
	"Come again?"
Orlando was, needless to say, slightly confused. 
	"You could have used slightly better wording there, mate,
but I'll let that one slide."
Eliot giggled. 
	"Protection. Condoms. You do use them, right?"
	"Always."
	"Well, look for evidence then. That'll be the only way
you'll be able to tell if you…y'know or not. If there's not
one there, you can't have done anything, if there is…"
Laughter crackled down the phone again as Eliot creased up. 
	"But, Orli, I really do think you'd remember, even if
you are concussed, especially with Jamey. But when she wakes
up, you'll be able to tell whether you did or not by the way
she behaves. That might be simpler. Honesty is always the best…"

The rest of the sentence was consumed by raucous laughter, so
Orlando put the phone down and sighed. His friends were the
bonus and burden of his life. He might have slept with the
woman he loved and not even remembered. How ironic. 

* * *

Sighing, Orlando lifted himself from the chair and went to
feed the dog and make himself and Jamey some coffee. Walking
into the kitchen, he saw the Lord of the Rings letter laid
solitarily on the table, and all the excitement returned.

Out of habit, he boiled the kettle, and after realising there
was no water in it, filled it and began reading the letter.
Attached to it were details of what his audition would require,
when and where it would be and how he should prepare. Orlando,
not realising, read aloud:

"…Due to the nature of the piece you are auditioning for, we
require you to prepare one classical Shakespearean piece of
no longer than three and a half minutes, preferably in dialogue.
There will be a trained actor / actress according to the needs
of the piece present at your audition, who will play the
secondary character in your dialogue piece. You will need to
provide a copy of the script for them…blah blah…your audition
will take place on Wednesday the third of January at the address
below…blah…Improvised piece for the camera involving dialogue
from the film you are auditioning for…wow…that's a lot of…
movement session with a character initializer…what's an
initializer?"

At this point, the kettle boiled, so Orlando made two strong
cups of coffee as best he could with bandaged knuckles, and
took them through to his room, where Jamey lay sleeping.
Before waking her, he observed the woman so peacefully
sleeping before him. Her dark eyes were shut and although
her face held no expression, she looked utterly serene.
She wasn't just pretty, she was beautiful. 
	"Jay."
Orlando whispered, as he sat on the edge of the bed. 
	"Jay, hun, I've made you a cup of coffee."
Jamey blinked her eyes open, then squinted them against
the light. Looking up at Orlando, she smiled and rubbed
her eyes. Yawning widely, she took the steaming cup from
him and sat herself up in bed.
	"Morning Orli. How you feeling?"
She croaked, in what she called her 'morning voice' 
	"Hmm, so-so. A bit achy, but those painkillers
certainly do work."
	"Tell me about it! Those pills knocked you out
last night - you didn't move once. I had to check on more
than one occasion to make sure you hadn't passed out!"
Relief swept over Orlando like a wave - if he didn't move
once, then he couldn't…
	"So I didn't move? Not at all? No strenuous movements?" 
He asked ambiguously, trying to sound casual. It was hardly
a situation he'd been in before though - even if he had slept
with someone who wasn't fantastic in bed, he certainly wouldn't
totally forget about them…
	"Not one. Why?"
Jamey asked, amused.
	"No reason at whatsoever. Just couldn't remember,
that's all."



Chapter 19

	"Do you have any plans for today?"
Jamey smiled cheekily and licked her lips.
	"Well, no, apart from the small fact that I have an
interview for the Tate Modern. But nothing else."
Orlando was surprised she hadn't told him earlier, but with the
events of yesterday, he guessed she didn't really have the time.
Tucking her dark hair behind her ears, Jamey explained that she
had got a call asking if she was still willing to put together
an exhibition of 'new, talented artists'. Obviously, her being
self-employed, she had no reservations about time or money, so
agreed to meet for an interview to explain her ideas. Orlando
watched her, entranced. Something right now made him want to…
just touch her. She seemed so delicate, yet so confident.
Something so appealing drew him in and he didn't want to go.
After the revised version of events (that Orlando found very
hard to follow) Jamey sighed.
	"And I guess we're both going to be rich if we get these
little jobs, aren't we?"
Orlando rolled his eyes.
	"Here's hoping. Right. When's your interview?"
	"One."
Jamey drank the last of her coffee, slid out of bed and threw
open a window, letting a blast of ice-cold air penetrate the
humid warmth of his bedroom. 
	"I will meet you at two thirty then, on Tower Bridge.
We'll tube up to Oxford Street; have a late lunch and then
walk up to Hyde Park, in which you can tell me how your
interview went. Okay?"
	"Yes Sir."
Jamey saluted, standing straight. 
	"But first, I'm having a shower. Oh, and Orli."
	"Hmmm?"
	"Get a haircut."
	"Right."

* * *

Right now is one of those moments that I'd like to treasure.
It holds promise, security, excitement and comfort and I want
to remember it forever.

I'm waiting at the front, everybody can see me. It's like
standing at the front of a queue - you know everyone can see
you, but you think you'd be selfish to turn round. Trying to
remember my lines, I run over and over them in my head.
'You've got it, Orli. God knows you've practised it enough.'
My palms are sweaty, I'm shaking ever so slightly and I can
feel my heart hammering against my chest, which suddenly feels
so fragile. Despite these symptoms, I want this moment to last
forever because it's the best day of my life. The music starts,
I step forward and try to balance on my unsteady feet. I can
hear everyone gasp behind me, sighs of admiration as light
footsteps follow me. The music stops after what seems like a
pleasant eternity, and I look to the person to the left of me.
That person looks so different, yet so familiar. The old man,
wrinkled and kindly in front of me begins, 'Friends and relatives,
we are gathered here today to witness the holy matrimony of
Orlando Bloom and Jamey Eliza Ebani.' 

But my eyes open to a different scenario. The all too familiar
blue walls, the white ceiling, the faded movie posters. My room.
Despite the reality of my imagination, everything is eventual,
including the inevitability of waking up. My only respite from
the comfortable everyday life is dreaming of what I want. It's
the only place I can be selfish without being reprimanded.
Dreaming provides the strength to carry on and accept that
next audition, ignoring the all too real possibility of rejection,
to meet that person who could make or break your heart and,
ultimately, to try and achieve your ambitions.  

* * *

Maybe Jamey was his dream. 

* * *

	Approaching the bridge, Orlando saw Jamey leaning against
the heavy steel rails, her slim forearms resting gently as she
looked down into the murky waters of the Thames below. Briskly
walking up the bridge, the wind thrashed round his face,
stinging his ears and making him squint against the bitter breeze.
Jamey's hair whipped around her, the dark, shiny strands
rebelling against such cold air. 
	"Don't jump!"
Orlando shouted as he neared her. Turning round, Jamey giggled
and threw her arms round him, hugging him tight. 
	"I only went and got the God damn job!"
She squealed, squeezing him tighter. Orlando lifted her up in
his embrace, swirling her round in the breeze, making her hair
dance round her slim shoulders. Her legs gracefully caught the
ground as she jumped up and down, unable to keep still from the
adrenaline pumping through her. Orlando treasured the embrace a
second longer than she did, then turned to her and smiled so
broadly he thought his cheeks would seize. 
	"You are bloody fantastic, you know that?" 
	"Yes!"
	"And do you know what else?"
Jamey, still obviously ecstatic, shook her head violently.
	"I'm freezing."
	"Let's get some lunch then!"
Jamey then did something that made Orlando go weak at the knees.
She gently leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on his cheek,
her soft lips like silk against his skin. In those precious few
seconds, the world melted away into a blur. He could smell her
shampoo, her perfume, he could feel the softness of her lips
 he could hear his own heartbeat, but everything else became
a pleasant haze in her arms. 
	Orlando lingered in that moment for as long as possible,
then looked at her. Her glassy grey eyes seemed so full of
warmth and happiness that it made him happy just to look at her. 
	Jamey and Orlando heard two women walk by, their voices
carried on the breeze.
	"How gorgeous, young love."
Unmoving from his embrace, and still with her cheek to his,
Jamey whispered quietly
	"Orlando, they think we're a couple."
	"We are, in a way."
	"Do you think we look…y'know…together?"
	"Erm...right now, yes."
Jamey reviewed their present situation, hugging, hell, almost
kissing on the Tower Bridge in the middle of London, then giggled
lightly.
	"Well, come one then, Mr. Bloom, treat me like your lady
today and we'll see whether we are a couple!"
	"Only if you do the same."
Replied Orlando coyly, slightly surprised at Jamey's change of
attitude.
	"What, treat you like my lady?"
	"You know what I mean."
	"Ok, then. Come on, it'll be fun!"
Orlando looked at Jamey curiously, even more drawn to this new,
adventurous Jamey and agreed with a nod.
Holding his arm out in a gentlemanly manner, Orlando adopted a
typical cockney accent and declared proudly,
	"Well, m'lady, shall we?"
Arm in arm, the couple walked along Tower Bridge in their own
world, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of everyday life.



CHAPTER 20

	The very thing that made this façade, this "couple" so
easy was the very reason that Orlando both loved and hated London.
Anonymity. All these people walking past them in the streets
stepped into his life for a few seconds, then left again, leaving
him wondering their stories, their lives and their thoughts. Then
again, that wasn't so much a plus - if everyone else was a passing
blur to you, then to them, you were just that. You made no difference
in the grand scheme of things, they probably didn't even see you.
Such unbelonging was unsettling; the idea that you meant nothing
to anyone was slightly depressing.

All these people glanced out of their occupying worlds for a second
to see this couple, leaving them with the blatant impression that
they were just that - a couple. And, in truth, neither Jamey nor
Orlando minded. They liked pretending to everyone else, and, if
they were really honest, they liked being an 'other half'. They
liked belonging to someone again, they adored the idea of being
able to say they're with someone, and the security and comfort of
having someone there. And if they were truly, heart-rendingly
honest, then it was a chance to be with the other. Each had thier
own secret feelings, unbidden to the world, maybe only whispered
to the cold blanket of night, and this harmless lie between them
that they were pretending to be a couple, gave them a few precious
hours when they could live their secrets. For the fear of ruining
what they had - their friendship that was so perfect, neither let
on. But they were acting this lie very well. Maybe too well.

* * *

Orlando squeezed Jamey's hand slightly tighter as they pushed
themselves through the unrelenting crowds in the Underground. The
long, cool platform seemed endlessly stretched ahead, and the
stale air swirled around them as a tube train glided past on its
gritty steel rails. 
	"Christ, I hate the Tube."
Jamey nodded as she was pushed from behind by a small but vicious
pensioner. The woman snarled at Jamey, and started mumbling
something inaudible about the youth of today under her breath as
she continued to take out more unsuspecting tube travellers with
her walking stick.
It took fifteen minutes for them to force themselves out of the
mouth of the tube station, and the bitter wind that greeted them
made them both inhale sharply.
	"Right, let's prioritise. Food."
Orlando declared, importantly. Jamey smiled and nodded again
	"Most definitely. Where do you want to go?"
After a few seconds of hesitation, Orlando smiled broadly.
	"I know. Follow me. It's a surprise."
He grasped her hand again, and felt her small, warm fingers
entwine with his, holding tight. 

It took about ten minutes to lead Jamey to the mystery place, by
which time the crowds had dispersed slightly. They talked
continually, with not one awkward silence disturbing the flow of
conversation, which varied from donuts to the state of the British
Government.  
	As they turned into a small back street, Orlando told Jamey
to close her eyes.
	"C'mon, look, I'll hold both your hands, just trust me ok?"
Jamey nervously nodded, then fluttered her glassy eyes closed,
trying to suppress a giggle. Taking her hands in his, Orlando
slowly led her down the street, careful not to go too fast. Given
this quick opportunity, Orlando studied her face as she concentrated
hard on not tripping. Her lips were curled into a small smile, and 
er cheeks turned pink against the frozen air, her eyes desperately
trying to sneak a peek at her whereabouts. Orlando, after all
their time together, was still left breathless at her beauty and
found it increasingly hard to resist her charm and temptation. 
Relentlessly giggling, however, Jamey was unaware of his intense
scrutinisation of her face. 
"Okaaaay, nearly there. Just a few more steps…"
Orlando, trying to suppress an unexplainable attack of laughter,
let go of her hands and stepped behind her silently. For a few
moments, Jamey stood still and silent, still with her eyes closed. 
	"Hey, Orli. Don't leave me. Woah, where are you? Bloom? I'll
bloody kill you, I swear. Hey?"
Orlando bit his lip to stop him from bursting out laughing, then
placed his hands over her eyes.
	"When I count to three, open your eyes, okay?"
Jamey sighed and agreed.
	"1...2...3. Open up."
Slowly, carefully, Orlando slid his hands away as Jamey opened
her eyes. In front of them was a small Italian restaurant, with
a large bay window and red doors, a white fascia, and in black
script, along the top, was painted elegantly 'Maria's'. Two tall
bay trees flanked the door, and the irresistible smell of Italian
food floated out of the open kitchen window. On one side of the
restaurant was a tiny antique shop, its lopsided window crowded
with small trinkets and boxes, mirrors and books. Jamey gasped
in admiration, then whirled round to thank Orlando who was stood
quietly behind her, hands behind his back.
	"Happy New Job… Day…Thing."
He declared proudly. Her eyes watering, Jamey flung herself
forward into his embrace, squeezing him tightly.
	"Oh thank you, thank you Orli."
She whispered excitedly. Drawing back slightly, she looked him
in the eyes curiously
	"Did you know my mama's name is Maria?"
	"Lucky guess, I suppose…"
He smiled the smile that reached his eyes, a true smile at 
having made her so happy. A flutter of excitement streamed
through his stomach, kicking himself into talking quickly.
	"I think we should go in then, you know, get a good
table." 
Jamey smiled, and, taking his broad hand in hers, entered the
warmth of the restaurant. 



Chapter 21

Smiling secretly, as though holding a highly lucrative piece
of information, Orlando took another sip of his wine. Holding
the warm liquid in his mouth for a moment, he tasted every
flavour in the red wine he could find - strawberries, oak,
blackcurrant, all mingled in the crystal glass. Swallowing his
gulp, Orlando looked up at Jamey, who was studying the menu
carefully. The soft candlelight reflected in her eyes, small
dots of hazy, golden light that da