Fit For Purpose by Julian Parrott (scary books to read .TXT) 📗

character. She was able to compartmentalise her professional and personal lives and she focused on the play, only fully catching Tom’s eye when she bowed to the audience’s applause at the end of the play. She winked cheekily at him.

***

Tom waited for Nia in the bar. The crowd that remained in the bar long after the play’s end cheered when the actors came in. Tom had taken up his position at the end of the bar again, his back to the far wall. Observing. He saw the cast shaking hands, smiling, and laughing with friends and patrons in the bar. He watched the faces of the crowd around the actors and then he saw her. Then he saw only her. To Tom, she looked simply transcendent. She wore brown boots, jeans, and a baggy white shirt that looked like it was cut for a man, under a bright red wool wrap. Her hair was curlier and maybe a bit redder than it had been the last time he had physically seen her. She was smiling as she talked to people in the bar, but he noticed how the smile grew and her eyes blazed as she caught sight of him. He could tell that she quickly made an excuse to absent herself from her compatriots and made her way over to him. He carefully placed his drink on the bar and stepped towards her.

Tom didn’t know how to greet her, panicked and put out his hand for a handshake. Nia laughed and instead hugged him and moved to kiss him on each cheek. Very actorly. They held each other deeply and closely, far too closely for people who had only really met once before. They melded together, their bodies responding through some intangible code of chemistry. They both instinctively knew that the other felt it too which further heated both their excitement and comfort. Nia liked the way Tom smelled; clean and masculine.

“Tom, it’s so nice you came. What did you think of the play?” She asked with a genuine desire for a positive response from Tom.

“It was really enjoyable. You were bloody marvellous,” Tom said.

Nia was pleased and she kissed him lightly on his lips.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Err, thank you,” Tom said, pleasantly surprised by the kiss. “I haven’t seen many plays, especially in the West End. I should get out more.”

“Yes, yes you should,” Nia said and added, “Hungry?”

“Famished,” Tom replied.

“Okay, let’s get you out a bit more then. Let’s get out of here and grab a bite.”

It was late as they left the theatre and they walked hand in hand through the dark and emptying streets. They found a Thai restaurant that was still open even though the staff had begun to mop the floors. There were no other customers. The tired but kind waiter said the chef could knock up some pad Thai and Nia ordered a bottle of white wine. Nia talked about the play, her fellow cast members, Noel Coward, the small faux Italianate Welsh village of Portmeirion where Coward wrote the play, and Jamaica where Coward lived next to Ian Fleming his wintertime neighbour. She was clearly on a post-performance high, talking quickly, and delightedly to Tom’s ear sounding more and more Welsh. He didn’t really know this woman having spent, what, only ten or eleven hours with her, but he felt as if he had known her for years. And, in a strange way, he had. Having watched Nia on DVD, he now knew what she looked like when she was eighteen, twenty-four and thirty-eight. He had seen her laugh, had watched as she cried, had witnessed a variety of her hair styles, lengths, and colours. Now, he wanted to spend some time with the real her.

Nia took a long draw on her wine. Her face grew serious.

“So, you Googled me then.” It was a statement.

He put down his chopsticks, “I did. Yes.”

“And?”

“You’ve had a great career but I can only imagine how difficult things must have been to live in the public eye for so long.”

“The British press,” Nia began. “They love you when you’re new and fresh and obsequious. Then they try to destroy you if they feel you pissed them off. And I pissed them off and then they can be so cruel.”

She caught his gaze and held it.

“Tom, a lot of what is out there is not really me,” she said with such an intense earnestness that Tom felt sorry for what she must have been through.

“Nia. I don’t doubt it. I know the press can be shits and the internet is full of mistruths and lies. Look, we’re both in our forties and we both know that we had a variety of experiences, been round the block a bit, and that we’ve lived lives before this time now.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “I would much rather hear about you, your past, your present, and your future, from you.” He paused, “But, I did also watch some of your earlier work.”

“Oh my God, you did?”

“I did. I think you’re a brilliant actor.”

Nia half smiled. “Thank you, but it’s important to me that I want you to know that a lot of the stuff on the web, in the papers and magazines wasn’t me. Wasn’t all me. It isn’t me. Quite a bit of the stuff that’s been written about me isn’t true exactly,” she said.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I don’t want you to think you’re with one of my characters or the girl in some long ago and faded gossip columns. But I do want you to know a little bit about me.”

“I really do want to get to know you,” he said. “I’d like to spend time with you.”

“Okay, but hear me out,” Nia smiled wistfully. “I’m sorry, but I do need to talk through some of this with