Picture Perfect

Chapter 9

‘He doesn’t need a bloody assistant!’

Will was yelling at Maggie, who sat at the far end of the enormous seventeenth-century oak dining table, bought when they were still married.

‘You said I could do whatever it takes to get him out of the house, so this is what it’s gonna take, Will,’ she yelled back.

‘I am not paying her wage,’ he said firmly.

‘I will,’ she stated.

‘And she can’t live here,’ he said.

‘She needs to live here in case Elliot has writer tasks that need to be done,’ she said vaguely, unsure what they were exactly and hoping to God Will didn’t ask her to elaborate.

They stared at each other at a stalemate, just like when they were married.

Maggie tried a different tack. ‘He wants to write a book, he needs help and he needs a friend, what’s the harm in that?’

‘He needs to go back to college.’

Maggie bit her lip and then spoke calmly.

‘He hates college,’ she said.

‘Too bad,’ Will snapped.

Maggie stood up. ‘Will, you nearly lost him once; don’t make him leave you this time. You may not get him back again.’

Will looked up at her. ‘Do you really think this is the right thing to do?’

Maggie nodded. ‘He wants to meet Dylan, the person I think is right for the role, and how can that be a bad thing? I mean, at least he wants to do something. It’s all part of the process, isn’t it? Trying stuff?’

Will sat in silence. Maggie glanced around the large airy dining room. This was where she and Will had planned to entertain their friends when they first bought the house. But their busy schedules hadn’t made it easy to create those Martha Stewart at-home moments Maggie had dreamed of when she was younger and living in a boxroom with another hypocritical foster family.

He frowned at her, but his tone was softer now. ‘You do know you’re nuts, don’t you?’

‘I know. Completely.’

Their eyes met for a moment and then Maggie looked away. She could read the pain on Will’s face and the guilt of leaving him was still too much to carry.

The sound of a knock broke the moment and Elliot stood in the doorway, clasping and unclasping his hands.

Maggie smiled at him. His hair was still damp from the shower and despite the swelling in his face from the anti-rejection drugs, he looked like any other young guy about to go to a job interview in his navy blue linen shirt over pressed chinos and decent sneakers.

‘You ready?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’m ready.’ She walked over to Will’s chair and hugged him. ‘Just because you hate me, don’t take it out on El,’ she whispered in his ear.

‘I don’t hate you, Maggie,’ Will said in a low voice and he looked up at her, ‘not even a bit.’

‘Where are we going?’ asked Elliot, as she pulled out of the driveway and drove past the manicured lawns and the perfect houses of the rich and famous.

Maggie had hated living in Beverly Hills when she was married to Will. All the bullshit homes and the lack of community made her feel isolated. Everything was always the same, without any personality. At least when she looked out at her view each morning, it changed with the tides.

‘I’m taking you to meet Hugh Cavell,’ Maggie said, as she turned off onto the Pacific Highway and passed a sign reading Malibu.

‘Who? I thought I was meeting the assistant today,’ Elliot looked unimpressed by the name.

Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘You will, but first you need to meet Hugh. He’s only the best author I ever read. He wrote an amazing book about his wife and her death, you must have heard of it? It’s called The Art of Love.’

Elliot shrugged and shook his head and Maggie sighed.

Elliot fiddled with the car stereo, flicking through stations until Maggie snapped, ‘Just choose something, for Christ’s sake.’

Elliot laughed and sat back in the seat as the sounds of an English rapper came through the speakers.

They drove in comfortable silence, the music adding to the backdrop of the beauty of the coast. This would make a great scene in a film, thought Maggie. She often thought like that, seeing scenes and directing in her head. It was a shame the other actors in her life didn’t follow her internal script, though, she thought with an inner laugh.

‘What did you say to this dude about me?’ Elliot asked.

Maggie tapped the steering wheel in time to the music. ‘I didn’t say too much,’ she said carefully as the Pacific Ocean came into view.

The water was calm and glittered invitingly. Maggie never tired of the view of the ocean, as the seagulls flew over them and down towards the water.

Elliot lowered his window and put his head outside, like a dog sniffing the possibilities of the day.

Maggie glanced at him and she smiled. Then she turned up the music and drove a little slower. Some days were worth slowing down for, she thought, as Elliot turned to her, his face flushed from the wind.

‘It’s good to be out,’ he cried over the music.

Maggie beamed back at him, relieved. Stage one of her plan was working out, she thought as she turned into Hugh’s street.

Pulling up, she turned to Elliot. ‘Now, don’t freak out if he seems a bit angry.’

‘Why would he be angry?’ Elliot looked concerned.

Maggie looked at the closed gate. ‘He doesn’t actually know we’re coming,’ she admitted.

‘What? Jesus, Maggie, you can’t just turn up and say, “Hello, this is my ex-stepson, can you teach him how to write a book?” Does he even know you?’

‘He knows me,’ she said firmly. ‘And he owes me a favour. Now come on, get out of the car.’

Maggie pressed the intercom, feeling nervous. People didn’t usually say no to her, but then Hugh Cavell wasn’t most people, she thought, remembering their brunch.

Hugh had swung wildly between charming, morose and fascinating and never once did he hit on her. Instead, he regaled her with stories about his childhood, his family. He never mentioned Simone.

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