“Very good,” said Belinda.
“So all this replacing and these holograms...where are they coming from? Who’s doing this?”
Belinda said, “Do you want to know what happened to me?”
Wendy gulped. “I think so.”
The shadows in the narrow launderette seemed to squash in, drawing the three of them closer. They knew it was only the sun going in over dowdy Leith Walk, but the effect was remarkable. “Jesus God,” whispered Astrid, over the shunt and squelch of the washer.
“It was l964. Edinburgh Airport. Picture the scene.”
Astrid and Wendy concentrated. They put their imaginations to work. Wendy pictured a generic airport. She could see Belinda there, decades younger, not an ounce slimmer, in a mini dress of course, and dashing about, excited about her first trip abroad. It was quite a trek, down to Spain.
It was chilly in the waiting lounge, her thick arms and thighs were mottled red. Still she wore sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and already she had blown up her beach ball.
“And we were delayed and delayed all of an afternoon...and all for a private jet, buggering up the schedules. So we knew it was someone famous coming in.”
“Who was it?” asked Wendy.
“Yes, who?” chimed Astrid, though she already knew.
“It was Marlene Dietrich,” said Belinda, smacking her lips on the name. “And I met her on the runway, when the press went out to greet her and she came down off the little staircase from her jet, holding onto the arm of her swanky beau, and clutching her hat onto her head and her bag to her side. I had been dragged along with the press because my boyfriend at the time—Alastair, a pimply boy who was taking me to Spain—worked at The Scotsman, and he threw caution to the winds, wanting a few words from Ms Dietrich.”
“You met her!” said Wendy.
“More than that,” said Astrid, pursing her lips, knowing what was coming.
Belinda took a deep breath. “Marlene and I were kidnapped. The two of us, together, taken against our not inconsiderable wills. I was in my holiday clothes...and Marlene was in baby pink Chanel. And she had on a wig of the brightest, tackiest yellow nylon. Which came as a surprise. She had on shades so dark you couldn’t see those famous eyes. She howled and yammered like nothing on earth when...when they insisted that she removed them.”
“When who insisted?” said Wendy.
“Just wait,” said Belinda.
“Jesus,” said Astrid.
“The men from space,” said Belinda.
Astrid gave a small cry. She pointed at Belinda’s washer. The door hadn’t been properly closed and glistening soap was spilling out onto the floor. Wendy dashed over to jam it shut.
“Well done!” called Astrid.
Belinda looked piqued that her story had been stalled.
Wendy wasn’t sure that she wanted to hear any more. She couldn’t believe her ears. The calm, easy way Belinda was telling them this. She herself felt responsible, as if she’d pushed Belinda into a corner and demanded the full story. She’d only done it to call Belinda’s bluff. Now here was Belinda apparently believing herself. It was a shame.
“Shall I go on?” Belinda asked. It was dark again in the launderette. Rain had started up on the Walk. “There was, of course, a ban and a hush-up in the Edinburgh press and then the world-wide press. It was, potentially, a very big story. Imagine telling the whole world in l964 that a nice Edinburgh lady and the world-famous movie star Ms Dietrich had been taken off together in a terrible flash of unearthly...”
‘”I believe,” said Astrid, “that the word they use in the world of today is ‘abducted’.”
“This wasn’t the world of today,” said Belinda ominously. “This was back even before man walked on the moon.”
“You’re saying you were kidnapped, with Marlene, by aliens?” asked Wendy.
“I was amongst the gentlemen of the Scottish press and the people who worked at the airport and who were looking after Ms Dietrich. We clustered round her. One minute she is saying, in her ever-so famous tones: ‘I am here to make a movie! I am to be Mary Queen of Scots! I love Scotland! I have always loved Scotland!’ Next thing we all know a great big black shadow rolls over all of us, obscuring the brilliant sunshine. We all look up. Everyone gasps. Big space craft overhead. Shouts. Yells. Then a big flash of light. Like the space men are taking a gigantic Polaroid of us. But they weren’t. They were kidnapping—abducting—Marlene and me. The only ladies present. When the glaring light died down and everyone could see straight again...we were well and truly gone. And so was the space craft.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Wendy.
“Every word she says,” said Astrid, “is gospel.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Astrid came with me to Paris,” said Belinda.
“What’s Paris got to do with it?”
“In l990 I went to Paris,” said Belinda. “To catch Marlene before she died. I had to see her one last time. Astrid came with me.”
“You went with her?”
“It was marvellous. Jesus God, it was a life’s ambition realised. She had fallen on...what you call it...hard times, old Marlene...but she was a remarkable woman still and nevertheless.”
“And you believe all this story?” asked Wendy.
“All of it is true!” cried Belinda. “True true true!”
Dear Timon,
I’ve passed your address on to someone I’ve met here. Today she told me a real humdinger of a story. I said, write and tell it to my friend Timon, because he’s a famous writer, or he will be one day, and he can tell the story to the whole world. So now she’s very keen. She’s called Belinda and now she lives downstairs, but she says that in
