Love Lies

52. Scott

In absence of actual sex Fern and I turn each other on with our thoughts and words. We often talk through the night until the sun comes up. Ben joins us more often than not but that’s OK, he’s a great chaperone, and happily his presence doesn’t take anything away from the intimacy. We’re busy all day, doing our separate thing, but we come together at dusk like tired snow cranes flocking to watch the sunset. We three lie next to one another, outside in the hammocks or on the sun-beds, Fern and I holding hands across the gap. We listen to the sounds of Beverly Hills and watch the black sky turn purple, then red, then orange and finally a bright morning blue. I love studying the colours as they unfold. Ben says it’s like watching a bunch of flowers uncurl and bloom; Fern got that – they have this flower thing going on between them. I need to get into flowers more, maybe.

I sometimes read them the lyrics from Wedding Album. They both love everything I’ve written and Ben keeps begging me to let him come to the studio to listen to the recording. He’s so full of enthusiasm, Ben is. When I read to them he sits up, mind wide open and legs swinging, leaning towards me. If he likes something particularly, he can’t stop his hands gesticulating wildly to make a point; he’s like some jacked-up windmill. When Fern likes some

There’s always a stage in the night, sometimes two or three occasions, when the atmosphere, already thick with cigarette smoke, becomes denser still with palpable longing. As I open and shut my mouth I gulp in oxygen and want, and soon I don’t know which I need the most. I expel ideas and yearning; both are lapped up.

Inevitably we begin to fidget and struggle in our hammocks; uptight and edgy as we imagine banging out our need on each other’s bodies. I ache to pull at her clothes hungrily, to repeatedly and insistently grab, bite, lick, kiss and consume her. I’d like it deep and fast in illicit places, long and slow on one of the many beds.

I’d have it any old way. Then I think, screw stillness.

Why do I make these things so hard for myself? Mark is right, I should probably just fuck her and get it over with.

I can hear Fern and Ben heading my way; they’re in the corridor debating which champagnes they prefer.

‘I think I’m a Taittinger man, on reflection, it has a crispness to it that I appreciate. Bollinger and Moët are more yeasty,’ says Ben seriously.

‘Can you really tell the difference between all these champagnes?’ Fern asks. She sounds impressed.

‘Yes. Can’t you?’

‘Not really.’

‘Then don’t touch the Cristal, leave that for me,’ says Ben. The man has taste. Cristal costs upward of a hundred

I’m so glad Fern has Ben to play with while I’m busy. He’s good to have around. I liked him on first impression when he helped me fit out his shop with those flowers Fern likes. Frankly, I couldn’t have done it without him. He sourced the flowers, arranged delivery, sourced the vases and buckets and arranged the flowers. I paid. It was clear to me from the moment I first set eyes on him that he would do anything for her, and me, of course; but then everyone will do anything for me. It’s turned out that he’s a natural Los Angel. He is polite, polished, upfront and unapologetic. He’s becoming more camp by the second and when he’s not playing Professor Higgins to Fern’s Eliza Doolittle he’s at the gym or the tanning shop or the beauty parlour. Somehow he still manages to squeeze in almost daily calls to his florist shop back in the UK to check that his business is thriving.

They come into the den. ‘What have you two been up to today?’ I ask.

‘I’ve just picked up some zero fat frozen yogurts and a re-supply of E-boost dietary supplement from the bagel café,’ says Ben. Gone are the days when any of us would buy curry or a pickled egg at the chippie.

‘And now we’re meeting Colleen to talk about the wedding,’ says Fern. Of course they are.

I’ve been so busy in the studio that I haven’t been involved in the planning at all. Too many cooks spoil the broth and all that. But Mark says I have to show I’m supportive and interested. ‘How’s it all coming together?’

Fern looks delighted I’ve asked. She flips open her Smythson leather-bound wedding planning notebook. ‘Colleen gave me an updated status list this morning. Should I take it from the top?’

‘Go for it.’

‘Well, we’ve chosen the diamonds for my jewellery and for the bridesmaids’ presents.’

‘All very sparkly,’ chips in Ben.

‘We’ve confirmed the venue, menu, wines and champagne,’ Fern adds.

‘All very yummy,’ encourages Ben.

‘The booklets for the service are at the printers.’

‘We’ve ordered three thousand candles.’

‘Four hundred ornate birdcages.’

‘Packed with silk butterflies.’

I raise my eyebrows ‘For?’

‘For the tables.’

‘Right,’ I nod.

‘Yesterday we earnestly discussed feathers, tea-light holders, baubles and the exact shade of icing for heart-shaped biscuits for ten consecutive hours. We all agreed it was a great Hollywood moment and Colleen opened the champagne,’ says Fern with a full-on laugh.

Ben puts his hand on Fern’s shoulders and starts to lead her out of the door. ‘Speaking of Colleen, we’re supposed to be meeting her right about now and Mark sent us to find you, Scott. He wants you to come too.’

Mark has an A-list quota he’s keen to meet and is fanatically monitoring the replies as they come in.

‘But you can’t see the dress designs,’ says Fern, looking concerned. ‘It’s unlucky.’

‘It’s unlucky for the groom to see the bride in the actual dress,’ I correct.

‘Just stay by the door,’ insists Ben.