Not long ago I'd been approached by high rising film director Jean-Paul Moreau who was after a famous non-actor (as he put it) to star in one of his films. I'd been to the pictures, I'd seen some of the French new wave films like Breathless and Pierrot le Fou. I knew the kind of style of acting he'd be after. I wasn't sure.
Angie was very green in the face, her eyes widening in astonishment when I broke the news to her. She's shoved my arm and told me I didn't deserve the role. I was only half sure she was joking. "I'm going to do it," I crossed my arms adamantly across my chest, raising my chin high in the air. "Can you believe it? I'll be a film star."
"No," she grumbled, lighting up a fag. "I bloody can't."
I went to Spain where he was shooting in the beautiful climate, bursting warm skies and a trickle of a breeze. This was my first time in Spain. I wore big sunglasses and a large, floppy hat but I was still recognised by photographers. At least they weren't as persistent or tactless as they were back home.
Jean-Paul was in very tight, little shorts with frayed hems and his bright button up shirt was half undone revealing a particularly hairy chest. He grasped my hand in his, grinning as he pulled me in, planting a kiss on each cheek. "Beautiful, beautiful." He chuckled and handed me a glass of sangria, lots of fruit bobbing around at the top. "This will refresh you."
"Wow," I sipped at the drink, my eyes still drinking in the rocky landscape, the aqua pool and the large chalet with pillars adorning it. "This is so...magnificent."
"Oh my love," Jean-Paul gave my arm an excited squeeze. "This is just the start. Trust in me. This movie becomes a hit and you'll be an actress, it's as simple as that."
Once I was shown around the set and allocated a room at the back of the building with an undisturbed view of the mountains and skyline I rang my dad. The walls were exceedingly orange like I had nestled inside a pumpkin. Dad cleared his throat and boomed out a hello.
"Dad, it's Ruby. You'll never guess where I am, I'm in Spain! It's so beautiful and hot! I've never felt sunshine like this before. How are you? How's home?" I gabbled at a hundred miles and hour barely pausing for breath.
He laughed, "Calm down! I'm fine, everything here's fine. Raining though."
Filming commenced the next day shortly after breakfast. The night before I'd been handed a few bits of paper with a limited script but it mostly was an outline of the film's plot. How the actors reached those points was pretty much down to us. I sat out on the terrace in a bikini and a sheer robe, drinking orange juice and eating fresh fruit and pancakes.
"My love," Jean-Paul called from his small table where he puffed on a thin cigarette. "So the scene opens with you and Shelley in the pool, topless. Adrien will enter, you get out, the argument happens, Shelley comes to defend you and he pushes her in rage accidently murders her."
Topless? I tried to subtly look down at my breasts. Jean-Paul was still staring at me, wincing as he cowered against the face of the sun. I nodded once still feeling uncertain. With breakfast out of the way, Shelley and I pulled our bikini tops off, had our hair and makeup styled and eased into the pool. It was shockingly cold compared to the hot, dry air. Shelley's hair was white it was so blonde and her small, cutesy face reminded me strongly of Marilyn Monroe. Adrien wasn't the classic tall, tanned and muscular type that Hollywood demands but was quite short with a large hooked nose. He had vibrant blue eyes and strong arms but he was by no means conventionally handsome.
I eyed the cameras all angled from the edge of the pool directly at Shelley and I. How did people manage to act and pretend that nobody was watching or filming them? I could already feel shyness flood my cheeks and the pull of the lens on my eyes. With an effort I forced myself to smile at Shelley, Jean-Paul bellowed action and all pressure mounted on our shoulders.
When the moment came where I had to argue with Adrien I became so wrapped up in the moment I almost believed it was real. I began to cry, he shook my shoulders and I slapped him round the face. Shelley came, putting a wet hand soothingly on my shoulder and tried to get in between Adrien and I. They argued. He shoved her and she went down. I gasped thinking for one split second he had actually forced her to the ground so hard she'd gone unconscious. I didn't know how they got fake blood to seep from the back of her head but it did and was so thick and gloopy as I bent down, getting it all over my hands.
We continued filming over the next couple of days and when the final "and that's a wrap" was called out we all hugged and got very drunk. Jack had flown out for the last day of shooting. He hadn't watched any of the action, though, he was off doing God knew what but returned stoned for the after party. He pulled me into his arms, swaying us from side to side and planting kisses on top of my head.
"Well done, Rubes."
"Where did you go?" I asked, slightly disentangling myself so I could gauge his face.
He shrugged, "I went and got you a gift, didn't I? It's waiting in your room."
After he'd told me that there was no way I was staying down with the rest of the crew. I laced my fingers with his and sprinted to the stairs. On the freshly made bed, there were a massive bouquet or orange, yellow and red roses. There was easily fifty of them. I gasped, hands over my mouth and with watery eyes turned to grin at my boyfriend. Beside the roses lay a gorgeous sheer dress with a plunging neckline. It shimmered as I approached it like there was gold stitched into the fabric.
"The dress," he said in a gruff voice, "Is for the premier." He came up behind me, wrapping his arms tightly around my middle, planting deep kisses on my neck under my jawline. I turned, still in his arms and kissed him back passionately until somehow we were on the bed and ripping each other's clothes off.
****
"So we're planning on an American tour this year," Jack was saying once we were back in our flat. "The only problem is Brian."
I rolled my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. When was Brian not a problem to the band? I thought they were being harsh on him, he clearly wasn't very happy. I hand a hand on my chest trying to soothe the heartburn. I just felt so nauseous. It was probably the remnants of a hangover.
"Ruby?" Jack tapped my arm, "Are you even listening?"
"Yes," I responded tartly. "You were moaning about Brian as per."
"Hey," he recoiled, scowling. "All I was trying to say is that we can't go on tour because the U.S.A won't allow him in with his convictions. So until the lawyers can sort everything out we're kind of just stuck here. Which isn't good."
I burped but it did little to make me feel any better. "Why's that bad? Can't you just go on holiday, take a break? You've been working nonstop for so long, maybe this is actually a sort of blessing in disguise." I began rolling myself a fag, enjoying the monotonous of it.
Jack made a disbelieving sound. I obviously wasn't responding how he'd pictured I would. He spoke in a level tone, "We're on a roll! Literally. If we just stay where we are, stay stagnant and don't break the U.S then the Stones' ain't gonna meet it's full potential. We could be so much bigger than we already are." He shook his head and got to his feet. He shoved his shoes on and grabbed a jacket. "I can't stay in here all day. I got to get out." He moved like a puppet as he bent down, planted a kiss on my head and left the flat. I waited for the sound of the front door to slam.
The following day my mother came to visit. "I want you to take me shopping in Harrods," she exclaimed. She wore bright red lipstick and a very short dress that clung to her figure.
"Really mum?" I huffed, "I'm not really in the mood to go out."
"Nonsense," she dismissed, moving over to the mirror and patting at her hair, turning her face each side to admire herself. She came back and offered me her hands. Begrudgingly I took them and let her pull me to my feet. She dropped my hands. Her eyes were wide and all the colour had drained her face. My heart began hammering at her abrupt reaction. "Dear Lord!" She whimpered, putting her hand over her mouth.
"What?" I hugged myself feeling self-conscious. "Why are you staring at me like I sprouted horns?"
"You should have told me!"
I growled, "Told you what?"
She spluttered, shaking her head in utter disbelief. "That you're pregnant."
It was my turn to splutter and guffaw over the situation. How ridiculous. I stared down at my belly and refused to believe what she was suggesting. I shook my head trying to reason my way out of this. "That's absurd mother. Jack and I have always been pretty good about protection."
She swallowed, wafting a hand dramatically in front of her face. I stared with a growing sense of panic and annoyance brooding. "I guess we're going to the doctors instead."
"No, I'm not pregnant," I snapped. It took a long time and a lot of persistent nagging but in the end, I agreed to go to the doctors with an emergency appointment just to shut my mother up. Once she realised she'd made a mistake and panicked us both for no reason then I would send her packing back to Kent to ignore her for a good three months.
But the doctor only confirmed it. "Yes, you're most definitely pregnant," he said after the urine sample and he pursed his lips together and held his hands neatly in his lap. I blanched.
"I told you so," mum said haughtily, "You should always listen to your mother, Ruby, I always know."
"Mum," I held a hand up, "This really isn't the time." The doctor examined my 'bump' which I could no longer deny or put down to being bloated or gaining weight. It was small but undoubtedly there. He guessed it was around three months.
"That would mean it was conceived around Christmas time," mum calculated. I nodded and sorted my blouse out. The smile on my face felt like it was going to pop and everyone would see how I truly felt. Then mum's words hit me a second time. Around Christmas. This baby might not be Jack's.