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Olivia and I managed to compromise on my hair, allowing me to keep part of it down, while the rest was up on my head. She showed me how to section off the top, twist it once to create a small bubble on top of my head, and pin it, with the rest hanging down. It was elegant and simple, yet it suited a wedding, and it went with my dress. I even allowed her to trim the ends so it didn’t look so dead.

I practiced putting on the make-up every day leading up to the wedding. My first few tries were disastrous, and I ended up resembling the circus clown I was afraid of, but after that, with some tips from Olivia, I seemed to get the hang of it. When I finally got it to the point where I wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear it in public, I just stared at myself in my new bathroom mirror (Olivia’s gift to me), unable to believe that I actually wanted to see what I looked like. I couldn’t keep my gaze from the twisted flesh on the left side of my neck, but even that didn’t seem to bother me as much as it used to.

The night before the wedding found me a complete and utter nervous wreck. I paced my small living room anxiously, with my hair and make-up done for one last practice round, twisting my fingers and trying not to puke. The nerves that rolled and churned in my stomach just wouldn’t let me sit still, or focus on anything. I could barely eat, and sleep that night seemed an impossible task.

I was just about to scream in frustration when the phone rang. Hoping it was Olivia, I snapped it up eagerly. She might know what to do with the horrible nerves.

“Dominique?”

His voice startled me for a moment, and I was almost appalled at the shivers that raced down my spine. He sounded surprised, as I knew he would be, considering I was supposed to be out of town. It had been over a month since our last real conversation, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d call now.

“Hi Orlando,” I managed after a brief pause. My head was spinning as I tried to force the look on his face at the hospital from my mind.

“I didn’t know if you’d be home,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. I vaguely wondered how many times over the past month or so he’d wanted to pick up the phone and call me, but hadn’t. Something told me it was more than one.

“I, uh, just got back yesterday, actually,” I lied, though not as smoothly as I would have liked. Luckily he didn’t pick up on it.

“How was your trip?” he asked lightly, almost cautiously. “Did you get lots done?”

“I finished my new book, and now I’m in the editing phase,” I said, grateful that I could be honest with him about something at least. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy,” he said, and I heard him heave a huge sigh. He sounded tired. “One of my mates has been in and out of hospital lately, so that’s been pretty tiring.”

Well, that explained his visit to the hospital. I’d figured he wasn’t there for something to do with himself, because celebrities usually didn’t visit the National Health Service hospitals like the one I’d been in. Though, to give Olivia some credit, she’d taken me to one of the nicer, more noticeably funded, hospitals. I still doubted Orlando would seek treatment for his own problems there. He’d be more likely to use one of the private hospitals in the area, the ones that were more like hotels, and afforded their patients a bit more privacy.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying not to think about my hospital trip again.

“It was touch-and-go for a bit,” he said quietly. “He has a tumor that the doctors have said is cancerous, so he’s had surgery for it, and now we’re waiting to hear if they got it all.”

“That’s awful,” I said, finally able to stop my relentless pacing. I sank down onto my couch, shocked at the devastation that was coming through in his voice. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he chuckled softly, some of the tension momentarily relieved. “But thanks for asking.” He hesitated. “You know, it’s so stupid, but I wanted to phone you when I found out. Is that completely absurd?”

My breathing hitched at the naked need I heard now, and I had to shake myself to avoid giving in to the feelings that were swamping me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before carefully wording my answer.

“I think it’s nice that you thought of me,” I said, slowly, making sure I didn’t say the wrong thing. After his reaction to me at the hospital, whether it was intentional or not, I couldn’t let myself be drawn in again. I was just starting to feel decent about myself for the first time in years. An open rejection from him would shatter me again, and I didn’t need that the day before what was sure to be one of the most trying days of my life.

“I’ve thought of you quite a few times in the past few weeks,” he went on, apparently encouraged by my sparse answer. “I wondered what you were doing, where you were, who you were with. I wish you’d given me a mobile number so I could get in touch with you.”

“I don’t have a cell phone,” I said, as if that was the important part of what he’d said. I was still trying to process what he was telling me, to figure out how I was supposed to feel about it.

His chuckle was amazingly pleasant as it jolted through me. “I thought everyone had one now,” he teased, and the tone of his voice made me ache from head to toe.

“Nope, I’m still stuck in the stone ages, I guess,” I replied, amazed at how easy the teasing still was with him. It wasn’t until my cheeks began to ache that I realized I was smiling like an idiot.

He turned serious again, and I found it was hard to keep up with the changes in him from one minute to the next.

“Seriously, Dominique, we need to meet,” he said, an edge of pleading in his voice now. “I’ve been working on the After Midnight script, figuring Jesse out, and he’s such a complex character, I want to meet with you and talk about him. And before you say it, no, it’s not something we can do over the phone.”

I closed my eyes again, fighting the urge to agree with him. He knew my weakness, he knew how to press just the right button to get me to do what he wanted. The idea of sitting down, face-to-face, with him, to discuss one of my favourite characters was all-too-tempting, and I had to remind myself why I kept saying no.

“Things are really hectic right now, what with my new book and the script revisions I’ve been doing,” I said, though it sounded thin to my own ears. I could just imagine how it sounded to him. The truth was, with my hair done and my make-up on, I almost felt like I’d be presentable for him. Almost. I was still fat, and my flesh was still disfigured, but at least I wasn’t completely plain.

But these thoughts were so ridiculous, I silently chided myself for even thinking them. Who cared if my face was painted and my clothes weren’t totally hideous? I was still me, I still had the same problems, I couldn’t just ignore those things. I forced myself to focus on a more believable answer.

“You know that’s a crock of shit,” he said, almost echoing my own thoughts about what I’d said. “Why don’t you tell me what is so wrong with meeting me? I know you know who I am, I know you know what I look like, so I can’t figure out what is so distasteful about the idea.”

That drew me up short. Could it be possible that he had some of the same insecurities that crippled me on a regular basis? Who the hell cared what he looked like? That’s not what I was worried about, but I couldn’t exactly tell him that. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what to say to him.

“That’s not it,” I managed weakly. “Yes, I know who you are, and yes, I know what you look like, but that has nothing to do with this. I’m just too busy, that’s all.”

“How long are you going to keep giving me that crap?” he snapped, sounding really annoyed for the first time. The easy charm was gone, and something raw was left in its wake. It made me sit up and take notice.

“As long as it’s true,” I said, for lack of anything else.

“Look, Dominique, are you involved with someone? Because if you are, you can tell me, and I’ll stop bothering you. Just, please, be straight with me, okay?”

“No, that’s not it, either,” I said, again relieved that I could tell him at least part of the truth. “I’m not sure why it would matter, though, if I was with someone or not,” I couldn’t help but add. He’d intrigued me now. Why the hell did he even care about that? “You were with Lauren when we first started talking. It’s irrelevant.”

“I was with her, but I’m not now,” he said, as though he were trying to explain a difficult concept to a dim person. “It’s not irrelevant.”

“Orlando, look,” I said forcefully, “I don’t know what you want from me, but whatever it is, it’s not going to happen. I’m glad you’re enjoying my character so much, and that you like talking to me, but the fact is, we’re strangers, there’s nothing between us but a few candid conversations which, let’s face it, don’t amount to much in the ‘getting-to-know-someone’ department. I’m not who you think I am, and I probably won’t ever be what you’re looking for, so can’t we just leave it at that?”

“You’re going to have to explain that to me, because I’m lost,” he said, though his voice was somewhat gentler than before.

I froze, knowing I’d said too much. In my writing I was queen of the cryptic statements, knowing that I could always write my characters out of whatever tight spot their words created for them. In real life, I wasn’t so lucky. I couldn’t just change the scene and make the conversation end, no matter how much I wanted to. And I certainly couldn’t explain what I’d said, I couldn’t tell him what I meant, because that would mean spilling the whole sordid story to him, and I wasn’t ready for that. I doubted I’d ever be ready to tell him that much.

“I just meant that you have no idea who I am,” I said, figuring partial truth was better than none at all.

“So enlighten me,” he said, and it sounded like a challenge. Everything in me shied away from that challenge, which is probably the opposite of what he wanted to happen.

“There’s nothing to say, really,” I said, stalling, trying to come up with something plausible that I could tell him. I was torn between telling him I was just out of a bad relationship, and telling him I was a lesbian, but I couldn’t make either lie come out of my mouth. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” he said, and the passion in his voice made my insides tremble. “This isn’t one-sided, Dominique. I know you like talking to me every bit as much as I like talking to you. Sometimes it seems like you want to get to know me, and others it seems like you’re shutting me out, and I want to know why you keep going back and forth.”

He had me there. This wasn’t at all what I’d expected when I picked up the phone. I couldn’t dissect whatever this was between us, or, more accurately, whatever this wasn’t, especially with my mother’s wedding looming on the horizon, and all the stress I knew that would entail. I needed to stop this, to put an end to whatever his expectations were, to put this whole mess back into the perspective it needed to be in.

“There’s no back and forth,” I said finally, deciding on a course of action. “There’s you wanting something I’m not willing to give you, and there’s me not wanting to hurt your feelings by telling you to get over it. But it seems like that’s what I’m going to have to do.” I took a deep breath, steadying myself for what I was about to do. “I tried to be nice about this. I tried to tell you I wasn’t interested without actually saying it. Hell, I even went away for awhile so you’d get the hint, but the fact is, you’re just not getting it. That means that I have to do what I didn’t want to, and it’s not going to be pretty.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about my feelings right now,” he spat, clearly picking up on where this was heading. “I just want you to tell the fucking truth for once. No bullshit, okay?”

“Okay, fine,” I snapped back, allowing myself to get angry. “I couldn’t care less who you think you are, or who Hollywood thinks you are. You’re a fucking hotshot who’s really a nobody, and in the grand scheme of things, you’re nothing to me. I’ve been nice to you so I don’t fuck up my movie again, given how you’ve already backed out once. I’ve never once wanted to be your friend, I’ve never cared what you have to say, and I’ve certainly never wanted to meet you in person. I avoid people like you, Orlando, because in the end you’re poison. You think you’re the centre of the fucking world, and it’s disgusting. You can talk about how shallow Lauren is all you want, but in the end, I’m willing to bet a sizable chunk of money that you’re the same way. That’s not the type of person I want in my life, and I definitely wouldn’t lose sleep if I never had to talk to you again.”

There, I’d given him my worst, said things that were beyond untrue, and hopefully hurt him enough that he’d get the point. I kept recalling his face when he’d seen me, just to fuel my anger, and luckily, it worked. I didn’t know why this was happening now, why he’d called me today, of all days, but I knew that after this conversation, I’d probably never hear from him again. It surprised me how much that idea hurt.

“That was quite a mouthful,” he said, and I could hear the pain in his voice. “If you think I’m anything like that, then you obviously haven’t been listening to a damn thing I’ve said.”

“You’re right,” I said cruelly. “I haven’t.”

“How could I have been so wrong?” he mumbled, and it sounded like he was talking more to himself than to me. “You seemed like such a genuine person, like someone I could really care – ” He cut himself off. “Okay, if that’s how you want it,” he amended quickly. “I won’t bother you again. And no, I won’t back out on your precious movie, so you won’t have to kiss my ass anymore.”

The click as he hung up on me was almost deafening. I threw the phone away, and it slid across the carpet, clattering loudly against the wall. Something wet streaked my face, and I realized I was crying, and ruining my carefully-made-up face, but that was the least of my worries. I dashed my hand across my eyes to clear them, and jumped to my feet, determined not to sit and wallow in my own self-pity.

So what if he hated me now? So what if I’d ruined any chance, however slim, I might have had to be part of his life? I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care, that he was just another pretty face I saw sometimes in my magazines, but I knew that wasn’t true. And to top it all off, now I had a huge knot of guilt and shame in the pit of my stomach, to go alongside the nerves that had been residing there before our disastrous phone call.

Without another thought, I ran to the bathroom and retched into the toilet. It was going to be a very long night.

A/N: Special thanks to The Silver Swan for help with the info about the UK’s health care system!