‘I just know.’
‘How?’
Alex sighed. ‘Because he’s gay.’ He hadn’t wanted to say it; if it was Hollywood’s best-kept secret, then he respected that. But when he was starting to get grief from his manager, who was a discreet, no-nonsense man, it was time to put the record straight.
‘Are you sure?’
Alex rolled his eyes. ‘No, I don’t have CCTV link-up into the man’s bedroom. But I trust my wife, Ted.’
Ted went back to his burger. He took a bite, then put it down again, distracted. Alex looked at him.
‘What is it? Come on, Ted, tell me.’
‘Are you sure she’s up in Vancouver filming the new movie?’
‘She’s got a couple more days’ shooting,’ said Alex, feeling a flurry of anxiety. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because a friend of mine saw her in New York last week.’
‘Oh, big deal,’ said Alex with irritation. ‘So she had a couple of days off and went shopping. You know what women are like.’
‘New York State, Alex, not Manhattan. Some fancy hotel in the middle of nowhere.’
It was hard keeping tabs on his wife’s movements when he was on the road, but he was sure Melissa hadn’t mentioned being in New York at any point over the last month.
‘Well maybe she ...’ stuttered Alex. ‘Maybe she just needed a break,’ he finished lamely.
Ted took out his wallet, pulled out a business card and put in on the bistro table. ‘As I said, it’s probably none of my business, but if you’re concerned, give this guy a ring. Mike Stone’s his name. Tommy, the drummer from Kool-Aid, was having concerns about his wife last year. They had a pre-nup, with a no-cheating clause. Anyway, he got this PI to check out Suzie’s movements. Turns out she had some guy tucked away in Vegas and was about to file for divorce.’
Alex was incredulous. ‘Are you suggesting I put a private detective on Melissa?’
‘At the risk of sounding like your mother, Alex, I just don’t want you to get hurt. Emotionally or financially.’
Back at the hotel, Alex called the Vancouver house Melissa was renting during filming. The housekeeper answered and said that Miss Melissa had not been at home for the last two days. Fetching himself a large Jack Daniel’s, he picked up the business card that Ted had given him and made the call.
If Alex had been expecting evidence of Melissa’s infidelity, he was disappointed. According to the investigator’s meticulously logged reports, over the next two weeks Melissa went to the gym, to her hairdresser or out to the Ivy for lunch with Christopher Hayes. The PI managed to get close: they were talking about a new script Hayes had in mind for Melissa. In the end, the matter was settled by an unexpected source.
The night before he was due to fly back to LA, Alex was in the make-up room at the BBC, having powder applied to his nose by a camp young man named Will. He was due to appear on a late-night chat show and was enjoying the make-up artist’s endless string of gossip.
‘You know, I can’t wait to see that new film your wife just did with Justin Coe,’ Will said.
‘Me too.’ Alex smiled, not wanting to reveal too much. He was aware that some celebrity make-up artists and hairdressers supplemented their income by tipping off the tabloids.
‘You know my boyfriend used to date Justin,’ said Will boastfully.
The news made Alex sit up. ‘I didn’t know Justin was, er, gay.’
‘Not good for business, is it?’ Will laughed. ‘Dan, that’s my boyfriend, was a hairdresser in LA for a while. When they split he had to sign a confidentiality contract thicker than his dick. Nice pay-off. Used it as a deposit for his house in Santa Monica.’
Alex put in an awful performance on the chat show. Usually he was a natural on screen, affable, funny and open with his rock-industry anecdotes. But that night he was distracted and anxious. Part of him felt flooded with relief, while the other part felt wretched about his suspicious and irrational behaviour. Setting a private investigator on his wife! What was he thinking?
Back at his hotel, he called Mike Stone, the private investigator.
‘Hi, Mike, it’s Alex. Listen, I’ve been thinking about the investigation, and I think it’s time to stop ...’
‘You got my photos, then?’ said Stone.
‘No, what photos?’