The company appeared moved by this conviction, and let the moment sink in: a movie director who had a heart. Glasses were clinked.
‘Wrong town to have a heart,’ said Barbara, with a dry laugh as she lit a cigarette. The catch of the flame, the quotidian ease of her inhale – Is this a line from a movie? thought Elise. Her timing was just too good.
They raised their glasses to Barbara’s observation. Then to Barbara, then to Heartlands, and finally to Connie – the heartiest toast, ‘because without you, Connie,’ said Bill, ‘none of this would be happening.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’d find another novel, Bill,’ said Connie, but Elise could tell she was touched and happy.
The appetizers arrived. Elise wasn’t sure who ordered them, but here they were – terrines and tiny salads and over-the-top architectures of mousse that could be snaffled in a mouthful. She thought about pasta. Maybe this would come next? Barbara declined it all: the prawn cocktail and the vodka tonic were apparently all she required.
‘Ursula Inning was keen to play your daughter,’ said Eric. ‘I didn’t think she was right.’
Barbara frowned. ‘Urse? She wanted to play my daughter?’
‘I’m glad we got Lucy Crenshaw.’
‘Who’s she again?’ said Barbara.
‘Oh, she’s beautiful,’ said Shara.
‘How old is she?’ said Barbara.
‘Eighteen,’ said Eric.
‘Going on twenty-eight,’ murmured Bill.
‘Have I seen her in anything?’ said Barbara.
Eric rolled his eyes. ‘You know, Barb,’ he said. ‘She’s Chubby Crenshaw’s kid. Left Juilliard early to film Red Destiny.’
‘Chubby Crenshaw?’ Connie snorted, covering her mouth to stop herself hooting.
Shara looked at her. ‘Charlotte Crenshaw – the model?’
‘No, I’m sorry. No idea,’ said Connie.
‘Married the movie composer, Tom Crenshaw?’ Shara persisted. ‘Retired years ago, runs a llama sanctuary in Topanga. Now her daughter’s making waves.’
‘How the hell do you know all that?’ said Matt.
‘Magazines,’ said Shara.
‘I’m just the one who writes the novels,’ said Connie heavily.
Elise felt as if they’d been sitting at this table for fifteen years.
‘So why isn’t Lucy here tonight?’ said Barbara. ‘If she’s my daughter?’
‘She’s finishing shooting out east. She’ll be back next week.’
‘And the men?’ said Barbara. ‘Have I got a lead yet, fellers? What’s the delay?’
‘You could take your pick,’ said Eric.
‘Baby, I always do.’ Barbara seemed congenitally incapable of not making her conversation sound like lines from a screwball comedy. ‘Let’s get some of the theatre men in,’ she said. ‘Please not the meatheads. It’s too much.’
‘Agree with you,’ said Eric. ‘I totally agree.’
‘It’s impossible to find everything in one man. I never can. I want one guy’s dick and another one’s mind, and I can never find those two things in the same damn place.’
*
To Elise’s delight, the main course was pasta; beef shin ragu farfalle or courgette and cannellini tagliatelle. She took portions of both. So did the men, and so did Connie. Shara took some of the vegetarian option and forked small discs of courgette into her mouth, twisting the strands of pasta round and round on the plate, as if she was preparing the meal, not eating it. The talk of actors faded, people moved places, lit cigarettes, ordered brandies and random desserts. They discussed Reagan and Thatcher in slightly detached tones, as if the food had sedated them and no one could be bothered.
‘Wasn’t he an actor once, too?’ said Elise.
‘He was better in his former job,’ said Barbara.
The evening began to lose structure. Connie and Barbara went towards the pool, arm in arm like ladies from an Austen novel. Elise watched as Connie said something to make Barbara laugh. Bill and Eric were still at the table, leaning back from the soiled tablecloth, discussing the script, which had been written by a new wunderkind called Daniel Stein, who lived out in New York. Matt was listening to them, and Elise wondered how he felt. Daniel Stein was twenty-six and already being feted. ‘He’s gifted,’ said Bill. ‘He’s taken Connie’s novel – he gets it, and he’s turned it into this script I wanna kiss. You know, Barb loved the novel, but she’d never have done it if it wasn’t for Danny’s script. He’s made it sing.’
Shara excused herself and went to the ladies’. ‘Honey,’ she said, placing her hand on Matt’s shoulder. But she didn’t say anything more.
Matt and Elise watched Shara disappear into the main building. ‘Do you write?’ he asked her, turning away from Bill and Eric.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Are you working on anything at the moment?’
‘Recently, it’s been mainly poetry,’ he said.
‘Wow. Have you been published?’
‘Small presses, based out here. You should come surfing one Sunday,’ he said. ‘If you’re bored.’
‘I’m not bored.’
‘You might get bored.’
‘I’ve never surfed.’
‘I’ll teach you.’
‘OK.’
Matt was not looking at Elise now, but across the pool to the stately progress of Barbara and Connie. The women were indifferent to everyone, their heads together, until a waiter came to whisper in Barbara’s ear. ‘My driver’s here,’ Barbara said loudly. The evening was over and it had only just turned nine o’clock. Shara returned from the ladies’, a smile laid on her mouth. They all stood to say goodbye to each other, but it felt natural that Barbara should be the first addressed. Each of them embraced the movie star lightly, like family members used to a certain ritual. Elise did it too, feeling the slightly damp touch of Barbara’s cheek, the scent of vanilla, the wisp of Marlboro.
‘Call me,’ Barbara said to Eric. ‘Connie!’ she cried, taking Connie’s hand. ‘It’s like meeting a soul sister.’
Connie smiled. ‘The pleasure’s all mine.’
‘I can’t wait to give Beatrice the passion she deserves.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And we’ll see each other soon.’
Barbara let go of Connie’s hand. She smiled at Elise. Then she was gone.
*
In the taxi home, Connie and Elise dissected the evening. ‘I think that was one of the most insane nights of my life,’ said Connie.
‘I didn’t know Matt was a poet,’ said Elise.
Connie laughed. ‘Matt and his fucking poetry.’
Elise recoiled at Connie’s tone, and Connie seemed to sense she’d gone too far. ‘Elise, you haven’t read them. He reads them out at dinner, sometimes. You literally have to put down your knife and fork and listen to him. Can you imagine if I did that?’
‘Shara seemed a bit strange,’ Elise said. ‘She seemed annoyed with Matt.’
‘She hasn’t been out that much,’ said Connie.