The Perfect Location

Popping the sweet into his mouth, he put his head back on her chest and sucked contentedly. Looking up at the Madonna and Child hanging on the wall in front of her, she sent a little prayer up to the Patron Saint of Mothers to send her own little child to her one day.

‘Milo, bloody hell, we have been looking for you everywhere. You’re bloody hopeless, I’m very cross with you.’ A man came into the room, followed by two older boys, about six and eight.

Hearing his father’s voice, Milo started to cry again and clung to Rose.

‘I just wanted to give her a drink,’ he whispered in Rose’s ear.

Rose was unsure what he was saying and was about to ask him when the child’s father interrupted again.

‘You cannot run away from me, do you understand, do you?’ the father said, tearing the child away from Rose’s body and standing in front of him. Towering over the child, the man’s face was flushed. The two other boys looked at the floor.

‘Dominic and Jasper have been searching everywhere, as have I. Not good enough, Milo, really! Hopeless, hopeless, and where’s your drink bottle? You’ve lost that also, I see,’ said the man.

The small child stood frightened and shaking. ‘And now you’ve bloody wet yourself. Jesus Christ, Milo! Can’t you do anything right? When we get home, you will spend the rest of the day in your room. Do you understand me?’

Rising from the bench, Rose stood in front of the man. ‘Excuse me …’ she began.

The man snapped his head around to look at her. ‘Yes?’ he said, his voice slightly menacing. Rose recognized an English accent and thought she knew him from somewhere but wasn’t sure. Was he an actor? A politician? She stopped trying to place him when she looked at the small child’s face in front of her.

‘It’s not his fault he wet himself …’ Rose smiled at the child who was clearly traumatized.

‘Really? Well, if he had listened to me when I said he needed to go to the toilet then he wouldn’t be here all wet and embarrassing himself, would he?’

Rose tried again, ‘Well, accidents happen, nothing that can’t be fixed.’

‘Are you going to fix it? No? No. I’ll have to fucking fix it, as I always have to fix everything. Always up to me, and what do I get from them? Nothing. Just more fucking jobs to do and nothing in return. Christ! You’re all bloody useless.’ He directed this to not only the children, but also Rose.

Where her rage came from, Rose wasn’t sure. Was it because he had blasphemed in front of the Madonna and Child, or was it because she felt so motherly towards this little boy? Or was it that his words reminded her of Paul, yelling at her, telling her she was hopeless and then ignoring her as this man wanted to do to the small child?

‘You’re a bully. No wonder he ran away from you. I don’t blame him. I’d want to run away from you, too. And as for wetting his pants, well …’ She looked down at Milo and held his hand.

‘I would have wet myself too, if you had yelled at me that way, and I’m a lot older than him. You should be ashamed of yourself!’ she shouted. ‘I’m sure their mother would be shocked if she saw the way you speak to them. I think I should meet her or at least discuss your bullying of these kids or is she just like you also?’ Rose challenged.

‘Well, good luck, because she’s dead!’ the man shouted back at her.

Rose saw the middle child start to cry now. She felt awful but this man was too much for anyone to bear. She composed herself and put on her sunglasses. ‘Well, I suggest you get some therapy, for you first and then for the children just so they can have some strategies to learn to live with you.’

Bending down, she took Milo’s face in her hands. ‘Don’t worry about anything. Your tongue will heal and you will have an excellent excuse to eat yummy Italian gelato now. Never mind about wetting yourself. I wet myself all the time till I was seven. No shame in it, many clever people wet their pants,’ she said confidently and Milo looked up at her, his eyes wide.

Milo smiled shyly and Rose stood up. ‘Goodbye, boys,’ she directed at the children as she walked out of the room.

The man picked up the little boy and hugging him close, he cried, ‘I am so sorry, Milo Schmilo. I’m so sorry. Don’t run away again, okay? Daddy promises to be nicer, I just get a bit sad and angry sometimes.’

Milo nodded and put his arms around his neck. ‘She smelt nice, Daddy.’

He looked at the door she had just exited through. This was going to be complicated, he thought.

Rose, still shaking, headed down to the bathroom in the entrance of the gallery. Composing herself in front of the mirror, Rose was surprised at the venom in her outburst to the man. She did feel awful mentioning their mother but she justified it to herself when she remembered the trauma on Milo’s face.

As she walked out of the bathroom, she glanced at the sculpture where she had first spoken to Milo and saw a flash of blue she hadn’t seen before. At the woman’s feet was Milo’s drink bottle that he had carefully carried before.

Rose felt like crying. Bless him, she thought, the little man had given the thirsty woman his drink. She closed her eyes for a moment to control the tears that threatened and picked up the drink bottle and put it into her bag.

Driving back to her villa, she was shocked at how angry she still felt, but realized she was happy to have not had children with Paul. No doubt that’s how he would have spoken to their child if she had let him. She could still feel the warmth of the little boy’s body on her lap. ‘He smelt nice,’ she said to no one in particular and she took the drink bottle out of her bag and placed it in the cupholder of the car. It looked right, she thought, the clash of the cheap plastic against the luxury of the car. God, how she wanted her own child’s drink bottle in her life, she thought. More than anything else in the world.

CHAPTER NINE

Calypso was having trouble keeping her co-star’s hands off her while filming and she figured if anyone had advice, it would be Sapphira.

Calypso sat on her sofa in the trailer drinking her spirulina shake.

‘Hmm, smells like toxic waste to me,’ said Sapphira, waving away the drink Calypso offered her.

‘He’s gross,’ said Calypso, sipping her drink, which left a faint green moustache on her top lip. ‘I swear he had a hard-on today when we were shooting and I’m pretty sure he wanted me to know it.’

‘Got waste?’ she asked, in reference to the famous milk ads showing stars with milk on their upper lip. Sapphira had shot one years ago and it still made her laugh when she thought about the shoot, trying to get the paste which supposedly resembled milk onto her lip.

‘What?’ asked Calypso, confused.

‘Your lip, babe. It’s green,’ said Sapphira, lighting another cigarette with the one she was smoking.

Calypso, embarrassed, rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand. Sapphira was like the cool older sister she never had and spending time with her had made her realize how much she wished she had siblings to deflect Leeza’s focus and to share things with.

‘Raphael’s a fucking asshole,’ said Sapphira, frowning. ‘I met him at Cannes last year. He was promoting some movie but it was more like he was promoting himself.’

‘I know a lot of actors like that,’ laughed Calypso.

Sapphira paused. ‘Listen, I’m not one for gossip and I hate to be indiscreet, but he is bad news. I’m surprised TG cast him. He’s seriously fucked up,’ she said as she checked the text message that rang through on her cell phone.

‘Now you have to tell me,’ said Calypso, her eyes widening. Sapphira shook her head. ‘Come on, just give me something so I know what I’m up against.’

Sapphira put down her phone and thought for a moment. ‘Just watch him, okay? Don’t get caught up in the charm. He’s a snake.’

Calypso heeded Sapphira’s warning and was careful around Raphael. Whatever Sapphira had intimated was enough for Calypso to be aloof on set and keep him at arm’s length, which was no easy feat. He flirted constantly with her. She tried to be pleasant but he was wearing and trying her patience.

The chemistry between them was not evident on the shoot and TG was at a loss to understand why Calypso was being almost rude to Raphael, who seemed to be trying hard to win her over. This shoot was harder than he had thought. Shooting on location, they were at the mercy of the weather, the planes flying overhead and the ants that crawled up the actors’ legs and bit them.

That morning on set, Calypso was constantly slapping her legs, as the ants seemed immune to insect repellant. In fact, she thought they preferred it.

TG walked over to her. ‘Calypso, you have to stop slapping your legs. All I can see is red hand marks up and down your thighs. It looks like you’ve been beaten up.’

‘I can’t help it, it’s these fucking ants,’ she said, slapping her leg again.

‘Okay, let me deal with it.’ He called out to the second assistant director. ‘Can you find the fucking ants’ nest and pour coffee down it, please? Do something about the ants!’

The assistant director, who was Italian, laughed outrageously. ‘You not get rid of the ants, TG. Impossible.’ He kept laughing like TG had just told the funniest joke in the world.

TG stomped back to his chair. Calypso tried in vain not to slap her leg. Standing with a grimace, TG looked up, and walked back over to her. He looked at her legs, reached down and flicked the soft white skin inside her thigh. ‘Ow!’ she yelled.