BooksBarbecue
Back The Actresses
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. THE ACTRESSES
  3. About The Actresses
  4. Contents
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. About Barbara Ewing
  49. Also by Barbara Ewing
  50. An Invitation from the Publisher
  51. Copyright

And walking past the tube station and the little rotunda and the few people there, some of them quite alone, Izzy’s eyes ached, tears just behind them. Emmy Lou had stood for all the things Izzy Fields admired in their profession: the talent and the hard hard work and the absolute dedication. All the things that Izzy Fields knew in her heart that she did not have enough of.

Emmy Lou had been, despite the fact that she had not in the end been able to carry the weight of it any more, an Actress.

Izzy Fields walked slowly home to the dishes.

*

Juliet Lyall spent Christmas Day in her hotel room in Los Angeles. She had declined an invitation to a Christmas barbeque with members of the film company: she pleaded tiredness. The film company had sent her masses of yellow roses, Bud Martin had sent her some exotic orchids, the hotel gave her Christmas dinner in her room. She did not want to go anywhere or see anyone: she was dealing with something inside herself and she needed to be on her own.

She had followed the story of Terence Blue’s rape trial, and the story of Nicola Abbott which she knew already, on CNN news and in the English and American newspapers. There had been no mention at all of Juliet Lyall and her part in all this story. It was as Harry had said: who could tell the story except those who were there? And Terence had chosen not to tell. Her damehood would be announced in the New Year honours.

But something had changed, some self-knowledge had come to her at last after that terrible night in her hotel room. Not just the knowledge that she could have sex, after all, like any normal human being. That was gained (she understood as she covertly watched Bud Martin on the set, off the set, disappearing with young girls, occasionally catching her glance, smiling almost slyly at her across the studio floor) at too high a price. Over and over again, tossing and turning on the same bed, she thought of Bud Martin watching her: clear-eyed, harsh, quite still, getting intimate private information about her. Looking for age and desire. As she thought of these things she burnt with pain and disgust and shame.

She understood that her ‘cure’ had come too brutally and too late; she did not believe she would ever want sex again.

But she could live with that: had lived with that.