Chapter Four
My mystery man was occupying more and more of my thoughts, which was disturbing considering that I had no idea who he was. Tom wasn’t a lot to go on.
I did try looking up John le Carré adaptations but the only one listed on IMDb was Our Kind of Traitor with Ewan McGregor, Damian Lewis and Stellan Skarsgård, but that was post production, while the one Tom had got a job with was going into production next year.
A google search brought up a few articles about House and Loki joining up for an adaptation, but no details on other cast members.
I searched Our Kind of Traitor but the only Toms were in the crew, not the cast.
I tried to talk myself out of liking him, he could be a serial killer, or rapist, or thief, or a liar, or a cheat.
The list of what he could be was endless.
Unfortunately the list of what I knew he was, was very tempting. I knew he got my weird sense of humour. I knew he was kind, thanks to his compliments and willingness to forgive me. I knew he was charming, I knew he was intelligent and I knew he was funny.
Of course, I didn’t know if he was interested in me. Probably not, certainly not to the degree I was interested in him.
Maybe he was gay. I could live with that, we could be good friends and moan to each other about our respective boyfriends.
I did my best to put him out of my mind, spending my days painting in my studio, so I wasn’t always waiting by my computer for him to message me.
Besides, he was right, I should visit a few galleries again and for that, I needed some new original work because I’d been gradually selling most of them. I would probably never stop painting pop culture because I love it, but I was short on abstract work, so I definitley needed to bulk that area of my portfolio up before I visited any galleries.
Tom and I texted back and forth a little but nothing serious, and we didn’t get a good chat going like we had the last time. I sent him a meme I thought was funny, he texted back with a meme of his own. I suppose we averaged about two texts a day. I tried to start conversations with him, asking what he was up to and when he said he was working, I asked if he was filming anything fun. He replied that he was working on reshoots and had to have his phone off for most of the day.
I mean, he was perfectly nice about it, and apologetic even but for whatever reason (after all, he could be lying about work) he didn’t want to speak to me.
I tried not to take it to heart and got on with my life.
I thought the reshot thing was bollocks too. Please, I’ve met my fair share of so-called actors since I’ve been in London, or more accurately, barmen who call themselves actors. I didn’t call him out on it though, if his ego needed to tell strangers that he was an actor, then I wasn’t about to burst his bubble.
It did make me cringe when I thought about when I told him, that I didn’t want a boyfriend who was trying to prove something. Was that why he hadn’t ask me out? Had I put him off?
Truth is, as long as he was following his dreams and was happy, I couldn’t care if he was a professional extra or a mega star.
However I had told him the truth about my dog portraits, so why couldn’t he be honest with me too?
I had a run of orders on my geek shop and addition to my usual orders, I ended up selling one painting each of painting of each Avenger, as well as Fury, Coulson and Loki, plus a commission of Maria Hill (I’ve never been asked for her before) to a single buyer in London, which was very odd but not unwelcome. I assumed that he or she was an avid fan of the film.
I was a little sad to see them go as they were all six foot by three foot canvases (except the Hulk, his was six by four) so they were nearly life size and I loved them all.
But it was very welcome to know that my rent would be paid through Christmas and up until March (hey, paintings that size don’t come cheap). Now I only needed to worry about eating but I’d survived enough periods existing on baked beans on toast, so I knew that even if I didn’t sell anything else before the New Year, I’d survive.
Now I could concentrate on updating my portfolio (in between animal pictures) with the intention of visiting a few galleries in the New Year. And I painted new Iron Man and Loki portraits too. My studio didn’t feel like home without at least some Avenger’s pictures hung in there.
I knew December would be busy, as people commissioned last minute paintings of their dogs as Christmas presents. For some reason, hardly anyone stopped to consider that an oil painting wasn’t like a print, it took layers of paint and time for each layer to dry, then more layers, adding texture and detail each time, and then more drying time.
Sadly, I knew that I’d miss out on a lot of Christmas business, simply because the paintings wouldn’t be ready to ship by December 23rd. Why couldn’t more people think ahead?
Still, you can hardly complain while you’re busy, and I would certainly be busy. My Christmas shopping was already done, because I knew I wouldn’t have much time for it in December.
In between updating my portfolio, I painted backgrounds, which is what Tom caught me doing when he phoned one Wednesday evening. I put him on speaker phone so I could still work.
“So, what thrilling adventures are you having this evening?” he asked after we’d exchanged pleasantries.
“Are you implying that I don’t live a rock star life?”
“Never, darling. So, what are you up to?”
“I’m painting a wonderful midnight blue canvas.”
“All the same colour?”
“Well, it’s slightly graduated.”
“Right… is, uh, is there much of a market for that?”
I laughed. “I’m painting backgrounds for my pet portraits.” I explained. “I get a run in December so I thought I’d get ahead of myself. It’s also very soothing, surprisingly enough.”
“Like a palate cleanser?”
“Exactly!” I loved how he just understood me (when I gave him the chance and wasn’t teasing him). “How’s your week going?”
“Oh, fine.” He was good at evading questions.
“Still doing the reshoots?” You can't say I haven’t given him plenty of chances to come clean with me.
“I am. It’s quite nice in a way, a taste of a movie without all the month’s of slog that usually goes in to them.”
“Oh?” I hoped to draw some more information out of him. Maybe I was wrong and he did act fairly regularly.
“Yes.”
Well, that didn’t work quite as I’d planned. I decided to drop the pretence. “Are you ever going to tell me what you’ve been in?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“What about the reshoots, what are they for?”
“Oh, just a small indie film.” I could hear the humour in his voice as he thwarted me. Again.
“Indie films do reshoots?”
“Um.” A-hah! I’d caught him in a lie. “I, uh, well, some do,” he hedged his bets. “Indie just means they’re not attached to a major studio.”
“Uh huh.” I was smiling as I nodded.
“So…”
“So…”
“How’s work?” he asked again. It wasn’t like him to repeat himself, so I guess I’d freaked him out by asking too much about him.
“Told you, I’m painting backgrounds.”
“And sales?”
“Sales are really good, actually. A mega fan must have found my store, they bought ten Avengers paintings from me!”
“That’s amazing, he must be a huge nerd.”
“I prefer the term geek.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Nerd implies a lack of social skills.”
“Wow, I never knew that.” I could just imagine him scratching his neck, looking confused. Given his voice, vocabulary and other indicators, I guess he probably wasn’t often corrected on language, especially not by a dyslexic.
“You learn something new every day,” I quip.
“So you do,” he agreed. “So who is this fan?”
“No idea. He had the paintings sent care of someone called Luke, to an office address in London. I have no clue if Luke is the buyer or not, but you’d hardly send a package care of yourself, would you?” I asked rhetorically. “Sellers don’t get to see credit card info or anything, just their checkout details.”
“You must be happy to have such a big fan.”
“Actually, I’m a little sorry to see them go. I kind of liked having them around. It can get a bit lonely, painting all day.”
He laughed, able to tell that I was joking. Well, half joking.
“Maybe you’ll see them again one day,” he offered.
“Maybe.” I couldn’t see how, but I wasn’t about to argue when he was trying to be nice. “Anyway, despite the impression I might have given you, I’m not actually a total social leper, I do leave the house sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Oh, once a month, maybe, if it’s a good month.”
He laughed.
“Actually I’m going out tomorrow. There’s a new exhibition at the V and A I want to see.”
“Oh?”
“The photography of Horst.”
“Phew, for a second I thought you were going to see the wedding dress exhibition!”
“Excuse me, Captain Hammer, but a woman’s biggest desire in life is no longer to get married.” I sounded suitably aghast. “Besides, I saw that back in July.”
He laughed before admitting, “I’ve seen it too.”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? To see the detail on some of those gowns. I think I’d have worn my fingers to bloody stumps sewing some of those by hand. And they must have been so heavy, like wearing a small child around.”
“I’m not sure wedding dresses have changed that much, I’m sure some of them still weigh a ton.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “I’ve always preferred the simple ones though. Something classic with simple, flowing lines, you know? I think Kate Middleton’s dress was almost perfect, not too ostentatious.”
“‘Almost perfect’?” he sounded incredulous. “They’ll revoke your woman card if you don’t love her dress, you know.”
I laughed. “Yeah, but I’m dyslexic, which always comes with a degree of dyspraxia, which in simple terms is balance and coordination issues. That dress may have been perfect for her but for me? That train would kill me before I’d even got to the church.”
He had such a rich, warm laugh, I could listen to it forever.
We chatted a bit more, then he told me his plans for the evening was to watch Much Ado About Nothing, Joss Whedon’s film of the Shakespeare play.
“Oh no, please tell me you aren’t a Shakespeare freak?” I literally begged.
“Who isn’t?” he sounded incredulous that I would even dare to suggest such a thing.
“I have a hard enough time reading regular English, let alone Middle English. It’s just mean to do that to a dyslexic!”
“I see your point,” he said, seriously. “I’ve never asked before, is your dyslexia bad?”
“Well, not as bad as some,” I admitted. “I can read quite quickly these days but only because I found Star Trek novelisations when I was a teenager, which gave me a reason to want to read.”
“You weren’t given any specific help?”
“I wasn’t diagnosed until my third year of college and even then, I’m not sure how much help would have been around in the 80s and 90s. I mean, I get by and everything, it’s not like I’ve been held back, but my Mum has to proof any official type letters I want to send, and yes, things like Shakespeare and films with subtitles are a real chore.”
“Have you ever tried watching Shakespeare?”
“We had to watch some 70s recording of Romeo and Juliette in school. It was better than reading it, I have to admit. If only the acting had been a little better, I might even have enjoyed it. No, scratch that, I think that’s a stupid play.”
He gasped theatrically. “Sacrilege!”
“Oh please, a grown man dates a thirteen year old girl and they’re both so stupid they, die needlessly. That’s not my idea of romance.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” He sounded defeated. “Have you not even see Joss’s film?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to.”
“Look, I won’t badger you about it or anything but I beg you, please give Shakespeare another shot. Those plays were never meant to be read, only watched and I’m sorry to say, schools have a lot to answer for when it comes to killing passion about Shakespeare. I beg you, watch Joss’s version and if you still can't understand it or don’t like it, then that’s the last you’ll hear about it from me. Can you do that, for me?”
He sounded so earnest that I felt bad for wanting to say no. Still, a night with Shakespeare was my idea of hell.
The silence stretched out between us.
“Okay, I promise I’ll watch it if, and only if, you tell me something you’ve acted in. Deal?”
He actually hesitated. Damn lying toe rag! He had no business telling me he was an actor if he couldn’t at least show me one thing he’d acted in.
“Fine, but I’ll only tell you after you’ve watched it.”
“Ooh, you’re sneaky,” I teased.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked.
“We do.”
“Fantastic!”
I shook my head at the enthusiasm in his voice.
“I can send you a copy, if you want,” he offered.
“Thanks, but I’m sure Netflix has it. Besides, I still have no proof that you aren’t a serial killer.”
“Good point. Let me know when you’ve seen it and once I’m sure you haven’t just wikied a synopsis of the play, I’ll tell you something I’ve been in.”
I looked at my canvas, and the other six blank ones I wanted to start tonight. Suddenly I didn’t have the heart for it.
“I can hear you thinking,” he said.
“I’ll watch it tonight,” I said on impulse. “Give me half an hour to wash up and cue the movie, then call me back and we can watch together.”
“Brilliant idea, darling. I’ll talk to you soon.”
***
Tom was right, watching Shakespeare, especially a slick production such as Joss Whedon’s, was far better than reading the plays. I always understood what was going on, even if I didn’t understand the exact language used.
I did have some issues with the plot though. Seriously? Mistaken identity? Faked death? Well, I suppose I’d overlooked worse plot holes in the past, and Tom helped to make it fun too.
Once the movie ended, we continued talking.
“You should really see it on the stage, there’s a presence, a magnetism that you get with a quality stage production, that film can't always convey.”
“Are you asking me out?” I teased.
“Um, yes, I suppose I am.”
It’s a good thing we weren’t on webcam, because I was grinning like a loon. “Well, I suppose I can see if I’m free.”
“The next good production that I’m in town for, we’re going, even if I need to drag you there, kicking and screaming if I have to.”
I considered saying ‘It’s a date’ but worried I’d scare him off.
I went with “Deal!” instead.
“Great.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“And now, I believe you owe me the name of something you’ve been in.”
I heard him sigh and felt bad for pressing but seriously, what was his issue? He knew what I did. I’d even be happy to give him my full name now (I was 99% sure he wasn’t a serial killer) so why was he so hung up on me not seeing him?
“Wallander.”
“You were in Wallander?” I asked. I had watched some of the show but I couldn’t remember many details.
“I was.”
“Okay, which episode?”
“Oh no, you asked for the name of something I’d been in, and you have it.”
“Fine.” I’d Netflix the whole thing if I had to.
We chatted for a little longer and when we hung up, I immediately went to my laptop and looked up Wallander, pulling up the complete cast listing and searching for any Toms.
There was Tom Hiddleston. Yeah, right, like he would spend his days talking to a nobody like me. Tom Beard, who played Svedberg and looked a bit older than I’d pictured my Tom. Wasn’t he the detective who killed himself? Then there was a Tom McCall, who played someone called Peters in one episode. That sounded suitably bit part-ish slash jobbing actor to be my Tom, so I clicked through to his profile. He didn’t work much, only 6 shows listed but he could be making his living on the stage.
A google search for a picture of him proved fruitless, so I was still no further forward. I’d just have to watch the episode, so I queued it up on Netflix.
Unfortunately if there was a character called Peters in it, I didn’t notice him. Must be blink and you’ll miss it part. Still, I’m sure his Mum was proud and he sounded like he enjoyed his job.
Oh well, I’d gone this long without putting a face to the name, I could go a bit longer.