The following day, I dropped them in the postbox at reception on the way to meet Phil for lunch in the hotel’s main restaurant. I’d only been to bed for a few hours, but I felt absolutely fine. Years of working nights had given me the ability to function on just snatches of interrupted sleep.
‘Well, are we now besotted with our leading man?’ he asked.
That set my giggles off again. I swore him to secrecy, then told him about the encounter. I know it was indiscreet, but I had a gut feeling that he was trustworthy and it wasn’t often that I was wrong about people. Unless you count ex-boyfriends and actors. We were in hysterics the whole way through our meal, and afterwards, I reflected that it had been a long time since I’d had so much fun. I’d found a new mate.
Phil and I fell into the habit of meeting every afternoon when he wasn’t filming, then he’d come to the club in the evenings.
After work, we’d go down to the all-night coffee shop on the ground floor, eat a disgusting concoction that masqueraded as the hotel’s only brand of ice cream and talk until the sun came up. ‘We should get danger money for eating this stuff,’ I’d moan as I spooned another blob of creamy goo into my mouth. ‘They’re sucking the joy right out of my only pleasure here.’
I’m sure everyone thought that we were having a passionate affair (Dirk Chain fixed me with a wounded expression every time I met him), but it was purely platonic. I tried to set him up with a couple of my favourite new customers in the nightclub, two Australian beauties who loved to party, but he said it was too soon after his previous relationship and he was more interested in having conversation than romantic nights out. So that’s where I’d been going wrong all these years – I thought the best way to get over someone was to plough into another debacle. You know – the ‘get back on the horse’ theory.
We talked about everything. No subjects were taboo and he treated me with the same brotherly affection as Callum and Michael did. He was protective of me and we were both happiest in each other’s company. And oh, he made me laugh more than anyone I’d ever known. His one liners were brilliant, his timing was perfect and his satirical commentary on any subject made me howl. I implored him to swap to the other side of the camera and follow his stand up ambitions.
Every chance we got, we explored Shanghai. We shopped in the markets where we bartered over the prices with the vendors and wandered down the backstreets, talking to the locals with our hands because they spoke no English and our Mandarin was appalling. We tried eating chicken’s feet, a local delicacy, and vowed to become vegetarians thereafter.
A month after he arrived, he called my room half an hour before we were due to meet. ‘Cooper, hurry up. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got a surprise for you.’
I dashed downstairs and he ushered me in to a taxi. I couldn’t contain myself and begged him for a clue as to where we were going, but he gave away nothing. Thirty minutes later, we pulled up at a new hotel on the opposite side of the city. He put his hands over my eyes and walked me inside, into an elevator, then along a corridor. Finally, he stopped.
‘Are you ready?’ he whispered.
I nodded.
He took his hands away and I blinked, trying to focus. I looked around in astonishment. There, in front of me, was a recreation of an American ice cream parlour.
‘I knew that somewhere in this bloody city, there’d be decent ice cream,’ he said. ‘It just took me a while to find it.’
I blinked again, this time trying to fight back the tears. He’d spent a whole month looking for an ice cream parlour for me. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done. If only I fancied him, and he fancied me, it would be perfect.
The film crew were running eight weeks behind schedule due to inclement weather, temperamental actors and government red tape. I was delighted because it meant that Phil had now been there for four months and still had at least another month to go.
One Sunday, over chocolate chip and maple walnut, we pondered how great life would be if we were physically and sexually attracted to each other. Phil was cute, same height as me with short dark hair, huge brown eyes and a slight frame. I could see that he was appealing to women, but somehow he just didn’t have that effect on me. When he was around, the world was a better place, but my sex drive stayed firmly in the garage. Phil felt the same. He was drawn to the dark, petite, Asian girls with their beautiful eyes and shy smiles.
Nevertheless, we decided to put it to the test. That evening, after a bucket too many cocktails, we stumbled back into my room. We slumped onto the bed and cuddled up as we’d done on many nights before.
‘Carly,’ he slurred, using all the logic of a drunken man, ‘maybe we’re not into each other because we’ve never actually had sex. Maybe if we did, then we’d see each other in a whole new light.’
My logic was just as inebriated. I contemplated his suggestion.
‘Are you saying you want to try?’
‘Maybe. Do you?’ he
