Chasing Rainbows
Part Nine

Thanking the air stewardess, a typically glamorous woman with rather a lot of immaculate makeup, for her third gin and tonic since boarding the flight three hours ago, Emma ignored the accompanying look of distaste and sipped the drink gratefully. She felt like she needed a drink...even after the amount she’d consumed the night before, even after the hellish disaster that night had become.

No, Emma needed something to calm her nerves, desperately. Her hands had been shaking since she’d read the words, “Certificate of Marriage” earlier that morning as she escaped Jacob’s bedroom. She gulped, even his name made her feel sick. As she’d staggered down the corridor to the lifts, she couldn’t comprehend the gold band that adorned her finger, or those printed words.

She’d crossed the strip to their Bellagio suite in a complete daze, legs quaking. Fortunately the whole of the suite was in disarray. Apparently Angelina had failed to come home too, so whilst the questions and enquiries had flown around erratically from the hung over twins, Emma, who was sure she superseded how bad the two sisters felt, managed to deflect all the attention onto the fourth woman.

Emma sighed, despite her attempts; nothing seemed to calm her anxiety. As she gulped at the bitter gin, grimacing slightly, the voice from her right startled her out of her reverie.

“Are you going to expand on things then Ms Evasive?” Isobel was looking at her intently.

Emma closed her eyes, savouring the bitterness of the drink as it scorched her dry throat. Fortunately with the chaos of packing, the checking out, and everyone’s sore head, she’d had little time to dwell on the realisation that she’d actually married Jacob the night before.

Married Jacob! A complete stranger.

She shuddered, what a disaster. And she couldn’t hide from that fact anymore. The quiet hushed environment on the aeroplane, the close proximity of her curious and very perceptive friend were all making her come out in a cold sweat. She had nowhere to hide. A little earlier she’d tried to absorb herself in an in-flight movie, but the irony was the choices were ‘Mr and Mrs Smith’, ‘Bridesmaids’, and probably the most ironic ‘What happens in Vegas’, a film where strangers Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcherwake up one morning in Vegas married. As if that could happen! She rued with irony before turning it off.

Emma had no idea what it all meant, not really, but she knew that she was desperate to leave Vegas. But now as their plane zoomed miles above America, nothing was feeling any better. She’d imagined that she’d relax, feel calmer, but she didn’t. She felt sick. Was the marriage legal? Was it consummated? The fact that she couldn’t remember anything spoke volumes, and embarrassed her.

But she realised by lunchtime that she was fighting any memories. If anything she was trying to pretend it hadn’t happen. And now as she sat with only her drink for company she’d hated the memories, vague recollections that invaded her consciousness. The kiss in the back of the limo, bare foot splashing in a fountain...then she could picture the Elvis, what she presumed was the wedding, her and Jacob laughing, kissing...he’d hardly coerced her. But the alcohol had lowered her defences and she was now well and truly in a mess.

And she couldn’t share this with her friend, not yet. She had to decipher what this meant to her first - and how she got out of it! She was ashamed, too ashamed to even tell Isobel, and there was nothing she couldn’t tell her. That was how low she’s sunk.

Attempting a smile at her friend she brushed off her concern, “tired, a little stressed. Nothing else.”

Isobel was never one to be easily appeased, “and last night?” She waggled her eyebrows questioningly.

With a groan Emma replied, “ok, so I spent the night with Jacob, the poker player. Then snuck out of his room for the walk of shame this morning, and that’s it!”

“Just walked away? You hussy you!” Isobel smiled, she was unconvinced, Emma could tell that. “Seriously, that’s not like you. You ok about it all?”

Emma nodded, “of course! I’m hardly a naive virgin!”

Isobel shrugged, her friend was anything but, but she was also a long, long way from being someone who had meaningless one night stands with strangers. Emma wasn’t ready to take, and Isobel wasn’t about to push her, instead she watched her friend out of the corner of her eye for the rest of the journey.

“So how was the trip?” Matthew from the post room peeped over her desk a devilish grin on his face. Then he froze as he saw the pale face looking up at him. “OH! That good, hey? You should have given it another day to get the impurities out of your system girlfriend.”

Emma groaned, she hadn’t slept the previous night. The nausea, the panic, the anxiety were all overwhelming, and finally being alone made everything a million times worse. She was scared, she didn’t know which bit of tying herself to stranger fuelled that fear, but it had taken over her life since the moment she’d escaped from his room. The previous night she’d finally plucked up the courage to unfold the certificate she’d only glanced at after replaceing in her bag. Reading it she groaned, and then began searching the internet - the reliability of Google when all else failed, and it told her that The Little Chapel was a bonafide wedding venue, and the marriage was official and legally binding.

Despite a desire to bury her head in the sand - Emma was barely able to function, she knew she had to act, do something. But what? She knew so little about the man she married, Jacob Coren. Google had been a little less forthcoming with any details on her h...she couldn’t even bring herself to think of him as her husband, that was plain ridiculous.

Shaking her head, she smiled at Matthew, and retrieved the lighter she’d bought him from her bag, purposely ignoring the wedding ring that still sat in her purse blinking at her in a ‘look what YOU did’ kind of way.

Unaware of her turmoil, Matthew grinned at the gift, and she managed to palm him off with a few stories of drinking and gambling escapades. He left the office a few moments later satisfied. If only everything was that easy. Emma knew that she had to speak to him, Jacob, try and annul the marriage. There was no way they could stay married, they barely knew each other, and they lived on different continents. There was absolutely NO way that there was any option other than ending it, as soon as possible. And before anyone else found out about it.

But replaceing a missing person didn’t come cheap. Within ten minutes of looking she realised that a private investigator could cost thousands, and there were no recognisable profiles on facebook, twitter or MySpace.

Sighing Emma logged off her computer, never more relieved at making it to the end of the day than this day. As she walked to the bus stop to get a lift home to her quiet and lonely home, her phone rang. When she looked down she saw the office number of Clarence Wellington, the eccentric middle aged man that was her agent. She’d signed with him because he promised her a lot, but also because she loved his flamboyant ways, the first time she’d met him he was wearing an ice blue crushed velvet suit , complete with purple frilly shirt, black patent winkle picker shoes and a hat complete with huge plume, that was worthy of a theatre. And it was a glorious summer’s day, at least thirty degrees. He was a real theatre lovie, and knew everyone and everything to do with the London theatre scene, and he had a lot of contacts in Hollywood too.

The only downside was that every conversation with him ended in disappointment, so she gilded herself for yet more rejection as she connected the call.

“Emmmmmma! Darrrling!” The greeting was always the same.

“Clarence! How are you?”

She smiled as his voice rose an octave in excitement, “well, it’s always a grrreeat pleasure to talk to you! I had a phone call just ten minutes ago from the...” he hesitated and she could almost visualise him rifling through the clipboard he always carried. He avoided technology as much as he possibly could. “West Coast Company!” He announced as though she should instantly know what he was referring to. When there was no response from her he laughed, “silly girl, ‘Dieter’s Luck’, the rather gorgeous director Mr Samuel wants you, YOU to play the part of Marian Anderson. This darrrling might just be the break you are searching for!”

Emma rapped excitedly on the door in front of her, by the time the door opened she was about to explode. Isobel smiled at her friend, then spotted the bottle of champagne that she was waving wildly around. “Hey chick! Are we celebrating?”

Emma nodded for a moment she was rendered speechless and couldn’t quite vocalise her news, it was so exciting. Isobel chuckled as she led her silent yet animated friend through to the kitchen. Nathan was in the adjoining dining room some sort of plan or map laid out on the table in front of him.

He looked up and smiled, “Hey Ems, glad to see you’re in one piece too. I hear Vegas was wild...for some more than others!!” With that he gave a theatrical wink, before he too spotted the champagne. “Wow! Celebrating?”

She nodded, smiling at him then spun around to face Isobel. “You know I did an audition, a few weeks back,” when Isobel’s eyes widened in humour - she was always auditioning, Emma groaned, “No, the HOLLYWOOD one!”

Isobel looked at her through eyes half closed, almost in dread, “the Theo Samuel one?”

Emma nodded, “just before we went to Vegas I got the call back?”

“I knew you’d had the audition...the one when you told him how to kiss? You never said it was a call back! That’s amazing!”

Too happy to explain anything in any greater detail at that moment, Emma offered, “it was a busy time...then there was the holiday...anyway...I’ve only got the bloody part!”

Isobel’s mouth dropped open in amazement. She’d been so worried about her friend since coming home from Vegas; this could be the news that re elevated her friend’s spirits. She admired Emma, for her dedication. She had so many knock backs, both from directors and her own family and friends, but she’d followed her dream with a dogged determination. And this was the moment she’d waited years for.

No words explained that, and none were needed between the two girls, instead they pulled each other into a close embrace then danced and squealed spinning each other around. It was dizziness that caused them to separate, and when they did, a laughing Nathan was opening the champagne.

Sitting a few minutes later, Isobel was still stunned, “so tell me all about this role then! Who are you?”

Emma was sat across the dining table, the remnants of a take away scattered between the three of them. “Well Theo plays a man whose daughter travels back in time to warn him about his future. I play his childhood sweetheart.” She explained the plot as she knew it to the couple.

“It sounds amazing! Theo Samuel hey? I bet Clarence is in a swirl of hormones at the thought of dealing with his team!” Her agent’s sensibilities were legendary.

“You should have heard him on the phone. He was almost apoplectic! He’d gone through every emotion in one phone call. I thought he’d have a coronary! ‘Darrling! It’s JUST amazing! Mr Samuel himself requested you...in person. He called me himself!”

Isobel laughed, “the old pouf! I bet he made that a face to face meet so he could drool! He really is so un-PC!”

“Says the woman calling him a pouf! But you’re right; it was on the short list of his greatest moments ever!”

“SO when do you start?” Nathan asked, his hands linked over his full stomach, leaning back against the chair and watching the women gas.

“That’s the mad thing. It’s kind of perfect timing. I go out for a few screen tests in a couple of weeks, then the filming starts the week after your wedding! Imagine if the six weeks I’m needed meant I missed that!”

Isobel shook her head, “I cannot even begin to imagine that. I’d kill Theo bloody Samuel myself if he suggested it!”

Later that night, Emma headed home with thoughts on a trip to LA buzzing in her head, but at the back of her mind was the knowledge that when she was in California she HAD to replace Jacob...she couldn’t use the ‘H’ word, after all they weren’t really married. Were they?