Page 72 of Hello Darling
“Yeah. And I’ll probably spend Christmas in Cornwall with my family. You’d be welcome to join.” Once I’ve brought it up, I can’t stop. “I’ll have a two week break between Christmas and starting rehearsals for a play I’m doing in London, but I have to stay on the continent because I have meetings here and there. So if you can come visit me for a holiday, that’s also an option…I’d also like you to come with me to the premiere of my next movie, in Los Angeles later in January, and to the wedding of a close friend of mine in February, in the English countryside.”
She doesn’t look too horrified, so I plow ahead.
“My work schedule is essentially full for the next two years. I usually get a couple of weeks or if I’m really lucky, a month off in between projects. Also, I’m a goodwill ambassador for the UN, so I visit Africa once a year and there are other international charity and publicity events like Comic-Con of course—but you don’t need to know about all that now. My career is mapped out for the near future, and I’d like my personal life to be a little less uncertain. That’s not true—I want it to be a lot less uncertain. I want you.”
She’s staring at me, wide-eyed. I hear her gulp. Her eyes get red-rimmed and wet again. She sniffs. “Um.”
“You don’t have to RSVP now, I just want you to know what I want, and I want you to think about it.”
“Okay,” she squeaks. “Thank you.”
I kiss her on top of her head and open the door. “Thank you. See you soon.”
I’m halfway home, about to turn off of Main Street, when I get a call from Henrietta’s mobile number. If she’s calling me from her own phone then it must be important. Either that or she’s pocket-dialing or drunk-dialing me. You never know with Hen.
“You’d better not be drunk,” I say, as I put her on speakerphone.
“I hope you are.”
“Why?”
“Oh it’s not a really big deal or anything, just some pictures of you and your friend the yoga instructor in a café, all over the internet.”
Fuck. I’d forgotten about that incident. So Kwas isn’t merely an idiot, he is also an asshole.
“I don’t think I want to know.”
“Well, if you like her, you might want to figure out how to placate her if she finds out.”
“Shit. Is it bad? Fucking hell. Why are people such ghastly evil fuckwits? How could anyone write anything bad about her?” I pull over to the side of the road so that I don’t accidentally hit the gas pedal and ram into some innocent local driver when all I want to do is mow down the internet.
“No need to throw a wobbly, at least whoever sent the video and photos out didn't know her name.”
“Why d'you say that?”
“Because none of the blogs mention her name. She's ‘unidentified natural-looking brunette woman.’”
“Interesting.” Is he protecting her? Or trying to keep her to himself somehow? Fucking Kwas. What an enigma.
“Comment-wise, there are just some unfavorable superficial comparisons to the other girls you’ve dated, of course, and people assuming you just happened to share a table with her because there was nowhere else to sit, or that you’ve been so gutted by Georgia that you’re dating down because that way you could never be sad when you leave her. That sort of thing. People put a lot of thought into your inner life, really.”
“Is that what you think, Hen?”
“Is what what I think, sweets?”
“That last thing. Because it’s the opposite of true.”
“I don’t think anything, Mr. Hunter, you know that. I’m the fuckwit you pay to tell people whatyouwant them to think. Oh, here’s a funny thing that Sandra found—there’s a Twitter account that’s been trolling anyone who makes rude comments about your girl. Been very busy, this…MoaningMona. She basically Tweet replies to all critical people to fuck off because this is the best girl you’ve ever been with and you’re clearly smitten.”
I laugh. Mona. I’ll have to sign a special eight by ten glossy for her as well as her gran.
“She’s right, you clearly are smitten. I just wonder…”
“What? I’ve got to get ready for a meeting.”
“Right, ho! Off you go then!”
“No, finish that thought—you just wonder what?”
