In Love with a Superstar Ch. 02

"I'll have to introduce myself then," said the man with a cold and passionless salesman smile,

"Martin Lonsdale, Emmelle Associates," he handed her a business card in a practised fashion, "how are you doing?"

"I'm fine thank you," said Sarah, making a point of not saying her name.

"Go and get some tea Honey," said Bruce.

"Make mine a coffee, no sugar," said Martin.

"No need," said Bruce, "he isn't staying long enough for coffee, he didn't really need to take his coat off..."

"Oh come on Bruce, no need to be like that."

"No, really?"

"Bruce!" the man said exuberantly.

"What do you want Martin?"

"Just to see how you are mate," he said.

"Oh I'm just fucking peachy mate!" Bruce exaggerated, "I've got a criminal record now, how about you!"

Sarah made for the kitchen, straightening the top she had almost been out of before the annoying man called, pausing in the kitchen to re hook her bra strap.

"That whole racket was bloody paydirt Bruce, trust me!" The man was waaaay too exuberant for this late on a Saturday night.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Just a guess."

"A guess? If I find you've had this place bugged I'll..."

"Too many spy movies mate," said the man with a grin.

She stood in the kitchen listening to Bruce's discussion with the man.

"Nothing, I'm on Community Service remember?"

"Surely you can fit in a few PA's." said the man with just to much derision in his voice.

"What, you think I should open a few supermarkets or something?" he snapped, "Beggars can't be choosers, Bruce."

"This one bloody can. Let me just get shot of the Courts that you've so kindly thrown me in amongst and I'll be back earning you your ten percent before you know it, now will you piss off and leave me alone please."

"Bruce," the man's voice had a whiney resonance to it that carried through the serving hatch, "I only have your best interest at heart mate."

"I suppose not telling the Magistrate the truth back there was the best thing was it?"

The room went quiet and Sarah sipped her coffee intently. Martin's face appeared at the serving hatch,

"Fuck off home for the rest of the night eh love," Martin said to her with a horrible smile, offering a twenty pound note.

"Why should I?"

"That's it Martin, out!" Bruce was the serving hatch too. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are?"

"What?" Martin sounded incredulous, "Isn't this a..."

"How dare you! Get out!" Bruce roared.

Martin replied with equal vigour,

"Just how the... how the hell am I supposed to know who she is, ah? My best client goes off of the air for three weeks not answering my phone calls or emails. She could be holding you captive for Christ's sake!"

"Does it look like I was being held captive?"

"Bruce," he whined again, "In this business you are on the top or you're nothing."

"You saying I'm through are you? Three months without a hotel room getting smashed up means I won't get any work is that it?" Martin nodded his head at Sarah, as if Bruce had forgotten she was there. "Oh it's OK Martin, S... she knows all about our little secret."

"Does she?"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, we have no secrets me and... her." Bruce's continued secrecy was annoying Martin and she could see the devilment in his eyes. "She knows all about you trashing my hotel rooms, everything you do to make me seem like a wild child," he looked at Sarah, "don't you... Darling."

"Hmm!" she said with a grin.

"Don't believe him Sweetie," said Martin; he smiled and had a new light in his eye like he'd had a revelation. "this boy is an animal, he drinks to much, fights to much and has a terrible temper, and a string of broken hearts left behind him. Told you he loves you yet has he?" He looked at her, "not yet ah? Ah well Darling, give it time. Right Boy Wonder, my office Monday afternoon right after school, contractual stuff, You might not worry about your next movie, but I do and the scripts are on my desk waiting for you to read them." Bruce made to remonstrate, "You can read them while you're on Broadway with Whats-her-name."

"Oh yeah, learning a script while I rehearse Hamlet, just the thing."

"Reading Brucie, Reading remember, like I said? You insisted that you wanted to read through it before signing this time. Perfectly bloody good film."

"Yeah, if you haven't got to act in it."

Martin looked at Bruce as if he was a spoilt brat.

"Oh yeah, falling onto those mats in front of a green screen can be really dangerous for a serious actor like you, those computer generated machine gun bullets can take a man's pixels off at 100 yards, T'choh. You better not bite the hand that feeds to many times. Even Directors get bored with pretty boys."

Bruce looked exasperated,

"See you Monday night, Martin, at my place."

"Can't you come to the office?"

"Yeah, I'll leave Cathy on her own for an evening while I drive to London shall I?"

"You've only got to do five hours a day! Anyway, can't you get that gormless family to babysit for you again?"

"Don't start Martin," Martin frantically nodded his head sideways in Sarah's direction at the mention of the little girl's name. "It's all right, she knows about Cathy too; look Martin, whatever you happen to believe about our relationship, at the moment I employ you; so if you want a meeting, you come to me!" Bruce jabbed his finger in time to the discussion.

"I made you Bruce," said the man with a wobble in his voice, and turned on his heel, snatching his jacket from the rack.

"And what? Going to unmake me are you?"

The man looked at Sarah now standing at the doorway of the kitchen. She smiled at him.

"Until Monday Bruce, it's OK, I'll put out one of the poor people so I can chase around after you."

"Yeah, because you have so many other clients to let down; make a great story in the press Martin, wonder how long it will be before I read it."

Lonsdale shook his head and hissed derisively through his teeth and Bruce hissed something under his breath, an expletive that Sarah could only guess at, as the front door slammed.

"So," she said, "other than that you two get on just famously normally do you?"

"Oh like a house on fire," he said looking, "right down to people calling out the emergency services. Going to get that lock changed. Who put the chain on?"

"I did," she said.

"Why?"

"Dunno, force of habit really, always put mine on at home, and Cathy I suppose." she said putting down her coffee cup and wrapping her arms around his neck, "Perhaps I was worried that someone was going to snatch you away from me."

"Could never happen."

"No?" she said coyly.

"No chance," there was a pause, "I'm too much in love with you for that..."

"In..." her face creased with smiles, "Oh Bruce," she pulled his face down and started kissing him. He responded by swinging her up into his arms and carrying her across the room towards the bedroom.

"Oh," she put a hand to her forehead dramatically, "Why Bruce you are so... so... so manly." She gasped melodramatically.

"Woman come with Bruce," he grunted Tarzan-like.

"Oh Bruce," she whimpered, "Be... be gentle with me," she gasped twisting her face away, then she pulled his face down to meet hers as he swung the door shut with his foot, "Only... not too much..."

The sun coming through the curtains woke them early; she'd begged him to keep them open, along with the patio doors, so she could see the stars and breathe the night air fresh from the park. At something after three in the morning he suggested she step onto his balcony and see London, his London, all lit up. She slipped on her kimono and did so. It was as amazing as he said it would be.

She rolled over to look at him, he was gorgeous. And he loved her; although they hadn't discussed the matter, he'd said it to her twice now, although the first time he could have gotten away with it.

"Hey sleepy," she said running a soft index finger through his hair. He opened his eyes, and smiled at her.

"Hey Baby," he grinned kissing her.

"In all of the err... rush last night, there was something I forgot to say."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, "I love you too."

He leaned forward and kissed her, pulling her into his arms and over on top of him.

After making love again, she lay cooling and getting her breath back,

"Must be your turn to get breakfast," he said.

"Hmm," she grinned looking at him, "And I bet that tea and toast won't be enough will it?"

"What?" he said looking shocked, "Not a full English on a Sunday?"

She thought back to his visit to the cottage,

"OK, you cooked me breakfast at my place so it is only fair."

"No sugar in mine Darling..."

As she flipped bacon, sausages, eggs and made toast, little Cathy appeared being carried by Bruce. They all devoured fantastic food, with big smiles and only limited conversation.

As Bruce wiped his face with a napkin he said,

"OK then Cathy, where are we taking Sarah today?"

"To see the dinosaurs!" she burst out.

"Sarah won't want to see dinosaurs!" he teased, "YOU want to see the dinosaurs!" he laughed and tickled her, and she giggled back, hopping to Sarah's lap for some protection.

Already Sarah knew that she would do whatever Cathy wanted, such was the hold the gorgeous little thing had on her heart. Finally Bruce had his way though.

"How about Madam Tussaud's," he said.

"Yeah!" Cathy burst out, "It's great there Sarah, they've got a model of Daddy there!"

"Oh well," said Sarah, as if taking on board the tiny girl's advice, "we'd better go there then hadn't we."

Bruce phoned the museum and said that he was coming along and was there any way he could come in without having to queue for several hours seeing as how he was, so to speak, already in there.

The receptionist said that if he really was who he said he was, he should report to the Commissionaire at the gate and they would see what they could do. They did just that; the receptionist said that she wasn't convinced it really was him at first, but they were allowed in once he'd signed an autograph for her.

They walked around the place, marvelling at the waxworks - at one point Bruce stood next to the

dummy of another famous Hollywood Actor and froze.

Cathy and Sarah giggled as a few visitors walked past him, one looking really closely at him. Bruce slowly and mechanically moved his hand up to scratch his nose, his facial expression not changing.

"Cor," said the girl to her companion, "this one moves and everything..."

They sat in a Refreshment hut in Regents Park, still chuckling about the two young girls taken in by his trick. Eventually he'd given up and signed autographs and posed for a picture with them, next to his own dummy, even talking on the phone to one girl's mother, a huge Bruce Young 'Detective' fan.

It was tea and cakes followed by ice cream, and then a tour of the Zoo in the afternoon.

By four o'clock they were back in the car and heading north for home and work the next day. They stopped for tea at his place, before he drove her home, standing in her doorway snogging for ten minutes while the car ticked over with little Cathy asleep in the back seat.

Her work clothes were arranged for tomorrow morning, her shoes polished and she fell into bed, dreaming the whole weekend through again. There could be no doubt about it, they were in love. Little Cathy was a dream and Sarah's hormones cried out for her.

On that next morning she noticed a car being loaded on to a small transporter, the logo on the side announced that it was from a local body repair shop.

Her neighbour, a nice woman ten or so years her senior was standing and watching as the small Peugeot was dropped off and her Renault was loaded on.

"What's up Dawn," she said walking past her neighbour, "broken down?"

"No such luck Sarah, some little shit poured brake fluid all over the bonnet and the roof, knackered the paint work completely." The lady was obviously still cross.

"Oh no, they have any idea who it was?"

"No, happened Friday night, probably someone on their way home from the pub. Looks like they were trying to write letters and numbers, an eight and a 'T' by the look of it. Reported it to the police but they said there was nothing they could do, they said it was probably some new gang marking their turf. Gave me a crime number so I could get it fixed and that's that."

"Just your car?"

"Yep."

"How rotten!" said Sarah, sharing her neighbour's annoyance at the pointless crime.

"Ah well," said the neighbour, "You away again the weekend?"

"Yes," said Sarah, "London with a friend of mine, had a great time." As the transporter pulled away, it stopped level to her car, another Renault parked some distance from her flat. Hers was dark green, her neighbour's was dark blue. The cars were the same year and had two letters the same in the registration as well. Sarah looked at the damaged car strapped to the back of the sloped transporter; the angry letters on the bonnet and roof, It wasn't an '8' and a 'T' - it was a 'B' and a 'Y'.

She told Bruce when she got to school.

"Oh no," he sighed, "I'll call the police."

She spent the next week moving her car around, at one stage parking it at her parent's house overnight. She hardly ever drove it to school preferring to walk, but the weather had been inclement and it was a pain having to resort to the umbrella when her perfectly good car was only a mile away.

But the week passed without it getting damaged and she met Bruce in the usual place; such was the routine they could do it without speaking, he would get in first, and she would follow after a minute or two. The door was locked and their lips would lock together seconds after. They would kiss passionately for a few minutes stopping on cue, and not saying a word until he rang her in the evening.

That weekend she had promised to meet him and Cathy in town to do some shopping. Cathy had complained about his choice of clothes, while he complained that both sets of grandparents tried to dress her like a doll.

Sarah had promised to give Cathy the benefit of her advice and buy her some clothes somewhere in between. She checked her watch and walked down stairs to the front door and collected the mail. There was the usual collection of junk mail, bills, statements and one pastel blue envelope with her address typed. Looking as different as it did, she opened it first and her blood ran cold.

"I thought I warned you to stay away from the Bruce Young" it read, "You'll have guessed by now that I know just where you live and how to reach you, the next time I get in touch it'll be a lot worse than this - it might be a letter bomb, a ticking parcel or even some petrol through your letter box. YOU'LL never know until it's too late. The only way you can live is if you stop seeing Bruce Young and leave your job and leave town and never, I repeat NEVER come into contact with him again. If you do, I swear you will be dead or WORSE before that day is out."

Below that was a title block cut from an envelope - her parents' name and home address.

"You'll see I also know where your parents live, you wouldn't want anything to happen to them would you? SO STAY AWAY FROM BRUCE YOUNG!! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!!"

"We found nothing on the last letter," said the Inspector, "Which is worrying. That kind of effort would have left some trace; The person would have been hunched right over it so I would have expected hair, dandruff, skin cells, something. But this person had swept it clean. Nothing, not on the fishhook, the glass. They didn't even lick the envelope, must have used tap water and a sponge or something."

"What about the scissors?" said Bruce.

"The what?"

"The scissors," said Bruce, "in 'The Hound of the Baskervilles', Sherlock Holmes knows it's a woman because she cut the letters out of the newspaper with small nail scissors; what did she use?"

"Single swipe from big scissors," said the Inspector, "But you said 'She' cut the letters out - how do you know?"

"I don't," said Bruce, "I just can't think of a reason why a man would want Sarah to stay away from me."

"OK," said the Inspector looking again at the typed letter, "But let's stick with 'The' rather than 'he' or 'she' can we? Keeps the investigation clearer in everyone's head. Don't suppose you ever played Sherlock Holmes Mr Young?"

"No, I was in a TV special of the Hound of the Baskervilles when I was younger and less well known,"

"Who did you play?"

"Seldon," said Bruce with a grin, "the criminal."

"There is one thing Inspector," said Sarah.

"What?"

"Someone did warn me to stay away from Bruce."

"Who," both men said together.

"It was Tom..."

"Bastard!" hissed Bruce.

"Enough Mr Young! Tom who, Sarah?"

"Tom Campion, Deputy Head at St Johns." She sighed, "Bruce, are you going to tell him the story or should I?"

Fortunately for Sarah and her career prospects, the police chose not to arrest Tom, instead carrying out some initial investigations into several teachers at the same time and where they had been at the times when the letter was sent.

At school the next morning she met cordially with him again, and leaving him to his work while she went back to arranging the music for the Cavalcade. She had announced the show's theme at the Monday morning assembly and there had been some interest, particularly when a year 10 girl had asked if Mr Young was running it this year.

At lunch they sat together joined by Colleen and a few other teachers, all of who were warming to Bruce the same way the children had. Their initial warm but careful welcome to the convicted criminal was now replaced by the respect given to a colleague, a colleague that happened to be bloody good at his job. Bruce had been good to his word to Sarah, and to the Magistrates for that matter.

He planned, ran and did all of the follow up work for his lessons, including the marking. He was doing his five hours a day easily, in fact more often than not twice and in some cases three times what was required by the Magistrate.

They met in the store cupboard for the daily snogging session at the end of lunch, which kept them both from insanity during the day.

"I don't think I can keep all of this up," he said as they broke breathlessly.

"You have to," she said, "Just remember who's in charge."

"Sorry Boss," he said returning to kissing her again. They broke again,

"Remember that chummy," she said, "Anymore trouble from you and it'll be back to The Scrubbs for porridge and mail bags." The bell rang and they straightened their clothes and headed back to work.

Her mobile rang, it was Bruce. "Bruce," she yawned, "What time is it?"

"It's a little after two a.m." he said, "Look I know we agreed that we wouldn't go to each other's houses but I can't, I just have to see you."

"But Bruce," she yawned again, "We have school in the morning."

"I know; look, no sex or anything, I just need to hold you, I promise I'll be gone before daybreak."

"Where's Cathy?"

"Mum in Law's, been to a cousin's party. I miss you, you know? I'm just no good at being on my own."

"OK," she sighed, "How long will you be?"

"About thirty seconds, I'm outside on the bike,"

He had been mostly true to his word, he undressed and climbed in bed next to her and held her close. It was wonderful and she admitted to herself that she missed him as much, if not more, than he seemed to miss her.

His expensive watch alarm beeped at five o'clock and he woke, and she pulled him close and kissed him one last time before he got up. However, the kiss became two kisses and then a most wonderful cuddle until they were lost in the primeval momentum that ended with her clinging to him as he made the most wonderful love to her. They lay together and the last thing she remembered was his kissing her on the nose and saying he would see her at school.