Long Story, page 11
And with that, he was gone. He’d left a hundred-dollar bill for two happy-hour drinks and a dish of olives, and disappeared on to the street. I felt like I’d been ambushed, but in a good way. Potentially a very good way.
The server came to clear the table and beamed at the cash. ‘Mr Jones is the best tipper. Would you like another cocktail?’ She grinned at me. ‘On the house, of course. You look a bit overwhelmed. A lot of his companions look freaked out after he leaves.’
I nodded, trying to communicate gratitude with my expression because I felt too stunned to speak. And people said New Yorkers were unfriendly!
Moments later, another Americano 2.0 appeared in front of me. ‘What’s your name?’ I asked the girl. She was so pretty, with long, red, curly hair and freckles.
‘I’m Mona, thank you for asking! So many customers don’t even look up when they’re ordering.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mona. I’m Alex. Does Mr Jones come here often?’
‘Not really, maybe once every couple of weeks? But he always leaves an impression. He’s so cute, and friendly too. It’s usually guys he meets, though.’
‘I feel like I’ve just been speed-dating and at a business conference all at once.’ I laughed.
‘Girl, enjoy it. He’s not a sleazy dude, trust me. I’ve been trying to think of a way to give him my number without getting fired!’
Pleasantly buzzed half an hour later, I said goodbye to my new pal Mona and decided to walk some of the way back to Tara’s. For the end of February, it was very pleasant out.
I love New York. It’s a place where I’ve always just felt at ease whenever I visited. I adore the efficient grid system of streets and avenues, the chic little boutiques along Bleecker, how some things there are forever changing and others are eternal. I even love the weather – the natives complain about freezing winters and stifling summers, but the city has actual seasons, unlike home.
Could I really spend some time here working? It had been a dream, a sort of hazy, unformed one in the back of my mind since I first came to visit Tara in 2009, but it always felt too scary to actually take seriously. Living in London had been a lot for me, and it was a place I now identified with stress, burn-out and the kind of daily commute that almost-thirty-eight-year-old me would loathe; I always hated the mass trudge to the Tube, everyone shuffling like automatons. New York was even more fast-paced, even busier, even more expensive than the English capital. And it was so far from my parents, my apartment, my car …
But really, what was tying me to Dublin besides Deirdre and Eamonn? I could rent out the apartment and make a killing, and let my dad have a loan of the Mercedes (he’d been hinting). I didn’t have a boyfriend, nor a wide circle of friends. I didn’t even have a pet, ostensibly because of the allergies, but really because I was becoming more and more aware of the cat-lady proclivities. Did I want to live alone in the city where I was born for the rest of my days, safe in my own bubble, but also hiding myself away from possibilities?
No, I was losing the run of myself. How could I even think of taking Jordan up on his offer? After all, I had no proven track record in front of the camera and a history of clamming up at big moments. But I couldn’t deny there was a buzzing in my veins at the thought of it. Sometimes, it was hard to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety in my brain, as they both produced the same physical response.
School was letting out in the Village, and a group of teenage girls spilled on to the street in front of me. They couldn’t have been more than thirteen, chattering away and brandishing their phones excitedly, but the sight of them made me uneasy. Even as an adult, packs of girls intimidate me, and their giddy ease with one another just reminded me of how lonely and isolated I’d always felt at school. How I was forever the odd one out.
I overtook the giggling gaggle on the sidewalk, and as I did I smelled a familiar, cloying perfume that felt like a time machine. Happy by Clinique is known for its zesty fragrance and had been a favourite of teenagers since my day. It was also my biggest bully’s signature scent. A memory came to me then, from a remote part of my brain I hadn’t accessed in forever.
I was twelve years old, and it was the week I was making my Confirmation. I’d been excited, not to receive a religious sacrament, but because my parents were throwing me a little party at the house to celebrate with family and some of the That’s D’Amore crowd. The rite of passage had also marked an ending of sorts for me – come September I’d be attending a new secondary school in the city centre, one without any of the girls from my current class. I felt like First Year would be a fresh start, one I was truly ready for.
My classmates and I had been in the church rehearsing for that weekend’s ceremony. The school decreed we’d all wear our school uniforms for the Mass itself, but the popular, pretty girls didn’t let that deter them. As we practised, they were chattering about the fact that a mobile hairdresser was coming to one of their houses to make sure their manes looked perfect for the bishop. I doubted the bishop would give a damn about the butterfly hair clips they’d bought in Claire’s Accessories, but I’d learned to keep my opinions to myself where the girls in my class were concerned.
As we finished up, I gathered my stuff and got ready to walk home in just my shirtsleeves. It was a balmy early May day and Tara was taking the bus over for dinner in my house so my spirits were high. I was skipping as I rounded the corner away from the church when suddenly the ground came flying towards me and my face made contact with the footpath.
‘Oops!’ a voice sneered, and I heard giggling. Seeing stars, I sat up, knowing instinctively who the laughing girls were. Sinead O’Neill and her cronies, Jessica and Amanda, were the meanest of my school’s mean girls, and had been tormenting me for years.
‘Now, Alex! You must learn to be more careful!’ Sinead said in a faux-concerned voice. ‘We know you think you’re great now off in stage school, but really, you’re obviously just as clumsy and embarrassing as ever.’
I remember seeing blood on my hands as my eyes tried to focus, and I started whimpering when I realized my face was cut and my glasses were broken. ‘You tripped me!’ I cried. ‘I’m bleeding!’
‘No, she didn’t,’ Jessica insisted. ‘You fell over your big stupid feet because you can’t see where you’re going, Specky Four Eyes!’
‘At least the cut on your face is a bit of colour, Alex,’ sneered Amanda. ‘The rest of you is so white!’
They all laughed at their stupid jokes, which were infantile even to my ears. But I was hurt, both physically and emotionally. I was worried my mam would go mad when she saw the state of me, and I hated to upset her. She told me every day I was her pride and joy, and not to mind the silly girls who must be jealous of me, but I knew she was just being nice; I’d heard her telling Darius that she blamed herself for me being bullied. ‘Maybe I coddle her too much,’ she’d said. ‘Those little bitches can smell how gentle and innocent she is a mile off.’
I was still stuck to the ground, trying desperately not to cry, when a shadow fell across me and suddenly Tara was there, helping me up. ‘Come on, Alex, thatta girl. Don’t let them see you cry,’ she whispered, folding my smashed frames and putting them in her pocket. She whirled on Sinead. ‘How dare you lay a finger on her?’ she seethed.
‘It was more like a foot,’ snickered Jessica, but Tara wasn’t having it.
‘Slagging her is one thing – you’re all too thick to even hurt her feelings with words. But violence? What kind of pathetic idiots want to make someone else bleed?’
‘What’s it to you what we say about Alex?’ Sinead countered. She was tough, not the sort to back down easily. ‘And who the hell are you?’
‘I’m someone that will kick the head off you if you don’t leave her alone,’ Tara said, her voice low and menacing. I had never seen my friend like that before; normally, she was sunshine personified. But in that moment, I wouldn’t have messed with Tara O’Toole. She seemed older than her years, and streetwise. In fact, she reminded me of Gloria.
‘Look, girls. Alex has some weirdo ginger sticking up for her! Where’d you find her to fight your battles, Alex? Is she another stage-school nerd?’
Tara’s eyes went hard. ‘See you, you little bitch,’ she snarled at Sinead. ‘You don’t want to mess with me, or you’ll find out just what kind of weirdo I am. If you ever touch another hair on this girl’s head, you’re mine. Do you hear me?’
Sinead wavered, but only ever so slightly. ‘Come on, girls,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to be seen associating with the local oddball and her pit bull.’ Tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, Sinead huffed off, with the other pair following her. I saw Jessica sneak a wide-eyed look back at Tara, though.
Tara took my face in her hands. ‘Ah shite, Alex. That’s a nasty cut.’
‘Don’t tell my mam how I got it,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ll just say I tripped.’
‘No, Alex. We’re telling the truth, and we’re telling the school too. You’ll have to wear a plaster on your face for your Confo now. You might even need a stitch!’
Tara’s expression softened as she saw the horror on my face. ‘Ah, look. It’s not that bad. Maybe we can convince Darius to do the Phantom of the Opera for the next show. You can wear a mask, hide your hideous scar.’ She stuck her tongue out at me, and I managed a laugh through my tears.
I shivered on the street corner in New York, touching my cheek, where a tiny mark was all that remained of that incident – on the outside, at least. Remembering my school days was never easy, and I bore a lot of emotional scars long after the cuts healed. One thing was constant, though – Tara O’Toole had always been there for me.
I knew in my soul that I was no longer the frightened little girl who never fitted in. But I also knew that Tara had been my saving grace, the person who bolstered me when I needed it the most. Could I really step out of her shadow and into the spotlight on my own steam? Did I have it in me to conjure what kids today call Main Character Energy?
The sun was disappearing, so I ducked into 14th Street subway station to catch the 1 train uptown. As soon as I descended the stairs, I was greeted by a poster advertising Higher Power’s summer gig at Madison Square Garden. Sean Sweeney stared out at me from the life-size image, and it felt like a taunt. I could never escape him, could I?
I boarded the train feeling utterly flummoxed – excited, scared, sick, horny and angry all at once.
US WEEKLY
28 February 2025
DEATH OF A SUPER-COUPLE
A look back at RORA’s relationship over the years
2011
Fresh-faced Irish actress Tara O’Toole has been making waves in Hollywood, and releases back-to-back movies thanks to a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nod for gritty British drama Geezers in ’09. A new fashion idol, young fans and paparazzi mob the starlet shopping on LA’s Robertson Boulevard and hitting the star-studded clubs of West Hollywood.
Rory is also riding high on the A-list with the release of action megahit Helicopter, but tragedy would strike his family with the death of his wife, Lana, and unborn baby before the year was out.
2013
After high-profile flings with Usher and Robert Pattinson, tabloid darling Tara is introduced to older man Rory through mutual friends. The dazzling new couple go public in late summer, prompting widespread glee from watchful fans. Tara was hot property after winning her Oscar for Rita, while Rory was back to work after taking time off to be with his kids, drawing rave reviews in the musical spectacular VIVA!
2014
The couple marry in an intimate ceremony in LA, and Tara cements her chick-flick-queen status leading the star-studded romantic comedy Going to the Chapel. Endorsements for Neutrogena, New Balance and Möet & Chandon for Tara, and Lexus and Omega (Rory) mean the newly-weds are rarely out of the spotlight and are making bank.
2015
The couple star together in the sexy thriller All For You to great box-office success. They buy their family home in Beverly Hills, which was formerly owned by the late Liz Taylor, and Tara is frequently photographed with her teenage stepdaughter, Storm.
2016
Tara wins a Tony Award for playing Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire on Broadway, and steals hearts in the smash-hit comedy Two Can Play at that Game. Rory takes on the iconic role of Lex Luthor in the dark and twisty reimagining of Superman helmed by Guillermo del Toro.
2019
RORA appear together in a series of sexy ads for Armani fragrances and celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary with a joint cover of Vogue. Tara’s appearance on James Corden’s ‘Carpool Karaoke’ is a revelation, showcasing a singing voice she’s kept hidden all these years. She hints at a possible single release.
2022–4
As the movie world opens up again post-pandemic, both stars busy themselves on myriad postponed projects. Tara shoots the detective adaptation Cuckoo, romcom Try Me and Steven Spielberg’s war epic Protest, while Rory works on Superman: Extraterrestrial and the presidential action flick Oval Office.
2025
The world is stunned as Rory separates from his wife and romances his co-star, Allegra, on the set of Embroiled. Meanwhile, singer Sean Sweeney lifts the lid on a previously unknown years-long tryst with fellow Irish star Tara before she met her husband.
As we write, Tara has yet to break cover, having fled the London set of her latest film. Another A-list couple crumbling – are any of our faves safe?
11. Tara
On Thursday morning, I left the apartment for the first time to go and see Samuel at his office. I didn’t really feel up to it, but Storm insisted, and I’d rather die than let her down.
My stepdaughter was still sleeping at the Alphabet City walk-up she shares with two make-up artist friends but coming over to drag me out of bed and cook me whatever I could stomach each day. Sadly, I was only interested in toast or Irish chicken curry, so she was mostly preparing sachets of McDonnells sauce I’d ordered online.
I bathed and washed my hair, but I drew the line at glam. My cashmere sweatpants were hanging off me, and it felt strange stuffing my feet into outside shoes, but I managed to leave the building safe underneath a baseball cap and my biggest sunglasses. The blacked-out town car I preferred was waiting for me kerbside and whisked me away without anyone seeing me. Ramon is my favourite driver – he talks when I want to talk, stays mute when I don’t feel like conversation. Today he remained quiet, and I thanked him silently.
‘You look brighter,’ Samuel said as I entered his cosy office. The mid-morning light was soft and pretty, and I sank into my favourite chair.
‘I don’t know how. I dream so much every night, I wake up feeling exhausted.’ I took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and wood. It actually felt good to be in Samuel’s office and out of the apartment. Storm had been right.
‘Tell me about the dreams,’ Samuel encouraged.
‘Well, there are two different types. The first are about Rory and that woman. I’m walking in on them, catching them in the act, and Rory is sort of nonchalant about it. And I’m always trying to lash out at them, physically, but I can never touch them. It’s so frustrating, and I wake up missing him so much it hurts, and also wanting to strangle him.’
Samuel nodded in the way I’d come to know means that I should continue.
‘The other dreams are about a guy from my past. I hadn’t really thought about him in a long time, but he’s come back into my life … sort of. Anyway, in the dreams he’s singing to me from the stage in a crowded arena, but I can’t reach him. I can’t get through the crowd.’
‘What do you think all that means?’
‘I don’t know, Samuel. You’re the professional here.’
‘I’ve never held much belief in dream theory.’
‘Then why ask me about it?’
‘Because your subconscious mind is trying to tell you something, Tara, and you should try and work out what it is.’
‘Jeez, Samuel. That’s what I pay you for.’
He laughed, a rare occurrence. ‘Okay, let’s practise some CBT techniques, shall we?’
By the time Ramon deposited me at Lorraine’s brownstone on East 62nd two hours later, I felt depleted and was regretting agreeing to lunch at my friend’s house. She ushered me inside in her usual brisk fashion. ‘Honey, you look a wreck,’ she exclaimed as I unwound my scarf and removed my shades. ‘Do you want me to send Dr Markarian over? You could do with a little filler under the eyes, maybe some of those salmon-sperm injections in your neck. You’re getting sort of haggard, God forgive me for saying so!’
Darius appeared, his hands flapping. ‘Leave her alone, Lorraine. She’s been through the wringer. Well done for leaving the house, sweetie.’ He enveloped me in his great girth, and I instantly felt a little better. Darius always smells amazing, like a bouquet of fresh flowers.
He led me through to Lorraine’s palatial dining room, which was set for afternoon tea. She thinks that all Europeans love finger sandwiches and tiny cakes, and I’ve never had the heart to tell her that I’d prefer a cup of Barrys in a chunky mug. Darius was in his element, though. That man loves fine bone china and a floral centrepiece.
‘Alex not with you?’ Lorraine enquired. ‘I wasn’t sure, so I set her a place just in case.’
‘She’s not. I actually haven’t seen much of her the last couple of days; she’s been in and out.’
‘Is she not meant to be providing moral support?’ Lorraine’s tone strove for innocence but didn’t quite get there.
‘Sure, but that doesn’t mean she has to be glued to me. I think she and Storm have determined I’m no longer a risk to myself,’ I said grimly. ‘Others, though? It’s possible.’
