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 naïve. 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 £15. (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 £ - 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 crème 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 crème 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 naïve. 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 déjà 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 naïve 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