Long Story, page 15
I started to laugh properly, and then Tara did too. It was contagious, to the point that we were soon jabbering like a pair of feral monkeys.
The door opened wide, and Darius and Storm stood there, gaping at us. Tara’s face was purple, and I was struggling to breathe.
‘See, this is exactly why I married a man,’ Darius cried. ‘You women are fucking crazy!’
15. Tara
By the time my big Covet shoot rolled around I was feeling slightly less unhinged, but still impatient to hear from Sean. The email from Rory had come as an enormous shock, but thanks to days of convalescence, face and body treatments and emergency sessions with both Samuel and Elspeth, I had pulled my shit together. I’d instructed my business manager to hire the most shark-like divorce lawyer imaginable and let them deal with it all. If I was going to end up as Mrs Sean Sweeney, of course Rory and I would have to formally end things eventually. I just didn’t think he’d get the ball rolling quite so quickly.
As I got myself up and ready to face what would surely be a big, busy day, I practised mindfulness techniques that were meant to ground me in the moment, but I knew it was no use. As I washed my face, all I could think about was the fact that my marriage was over and, today, a reporter was coming to talk to me about it.
How had it all gone so badly wrong? The early years of my marriage to Rory were idyllic. I was a relatively young bride, both of our careers were red hot, and I had tons of energy to devote to Storm and Xavier while simultaneously doing a million other things. Xavier didn’t actually take much raising – before long he was studying Visual Arts at Columbia and he didn’t hang around in New York after he graduated, preferring the peace and quiet of the house on the Cape. He’d always wanted a low-key life and has been content there, tinkering with his boat and worrying about the environment.
Storm and I always had an incredible bond, though. When I met her she was at the precise awkward age where she needed a mommy figure to tell her about boys and periods and pubic hair, and I loved that I could be there for her. She filled some gap in my soul, something that cracked open when Gloria died, and I guess I did the same for her.
I’d always heard that marriage was work, but mine never felt like it. It was easy between Rory and me, but I wasn’t going to rest on my laurels. I made sure to carve out time for the two of us, keeping our relationship romantic and spontaneous. We had the best sex life of any couple I knew, still as hot for one another as we’d been that first night.
Then I turned thirty-four towards the end of the pandemic, and my biological clock began to scream. It was physically deafening, like my ovaries were roaring at me for waiting too long – I swore blind to Rory that I could actually hear them, and dying eggs were all I could think of. All of a sudden, my body was telling me I needed to have children of my own immediately, that I had prioritized my career for too long and I needed to get cracking, like, yesterday.
So we started to try. Rory and I had always wanted more children in theory; he would have been happy to have ten kids. I had my IUD removed, started tracking my cycle and began pouncing on my gorgeous husband at any given moment. It was fun, at first. I’d meet him off the elevator in nothing but heels, surprise him at work for a quickie in his trailer.
But after several months, I still wasn’t pregnant. I was warned it could take a while, but I was impatient. I’d spent my youth being told that it only took one microscopic sperm, one unprotected dalliance, to seal my fate. We were riding like rabbits with zero contraception, and nothing was happening.
I started worrying that it was my fault. Rory suggested all sorts of fertility treatments and screenings, but I had a visceral reaction to the idea that I couldn’t produce children for my husband. After all, Rory’s virility was evident from his offspring; it must be me that was defective, useless.
Telling Rory we hadn’t conceived was awful every single time, watching his bright eyes dim with disappointment as I reached for the tampons in the bathroom cabinet. ‘Next month, babe,’ he’d say, putting on a brave face. I’d smile back, but inside I was terrified I was failing him.
Eventually the excitement of daily sex dulled; it went from fun and novel to automatic, timed, scheduled. After a while, it all did start to feel like work.
In the dead of night since the separation, this was what was tormenting me – that I had ruined what Rory and I had by asking for too much. We’d been so happy, but it wasn’t good enough for me, I wanted more. I’d made our lovemaking boring and routine and, in turn, destroyed our beautiful marriage. No wonder he had left me for a nubile sylph who screamed sex, a younger woman who looked fit to burst with natural fertility hormones and primo eggs.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Really, you’d never be able to tell what was going on inside. I’m always good at getting my act together when it’s important, of turning on the Tara show. And it was true that Sean’s declaration on TV had helped me feel a little less frenzied and overwrought. Perhaps there had been no baby for Rory and me because it just wasn’t meant to be. We weren’t supposed to be together, so the universe was showing us that in a harsh and unavoidable way.
The fact that I now knew I was fated to be with Sean Sweeney made me feel calmer, less useless and redundant. And if Rory wanted to wash his hands of it all quick smart, that left the coast clear for my new (old) love.
However, Fate would want to get its fucking act together, because every day that went by without Sean and I together, time was ticking and eggs were dying off. I was turning thirty-eight soon. Maybe Sean and I would be a better fit, a more successful match.
Patience has never been my strong suit, though, and I was considering reaching out to him to get this show on the road. But every time I went to send a text or an email, I forced myself to rewatch the part of the interview in which Sean said I deserved a grand gesture. I wouldn’t deny him that, or ruin any part of the fantasy he clearly had in his head. All in good time, I told myself. It had become my most dearly held mantra.
Still, I wasn’t above moving things along a little if I could. The night before, I’d told Giulia that I would do the cover of People to promote the new Covet campaign, and also let the world know that I wasn’t some cuckolded, pathetic spouse. If the studio wanted Mind the Gap to be a summer romcom, then I needed to get some practice in before the publicity tour. The message would be clear – I was moving on, looking great and ready for whatever came next. Surely that would be a red rag to the bull Sean Sweeney? A green light of sorts.
Giulia quickly arranged for the magazine’s chief reporter to come and observe the shoot and interview me that evening right after we wrapped, probably in case I changed my mind.
When I arrived on set, Shanice was fussing over accessories and arguing with the make-up artist about my undertones. ‘She cannot wear a warm eye, Sabrina!’ she was shrieking. ‘Her palette is cool! Cool winter!’
I find it oddly comforting when Shanice goes off on my behalf. It means I don’t have to do it myself and get a reputation for being a bitch.
Alex had come with me, claiming to want to see the inner workings of a huge beauty campaign. I hoped she wasn’t getting any ideas about fronting one herself; ever since she had signed with this new agent, I was feeling territorial about my work. But that was silly, right?
‘Tara, darling,’ Alan the photographer cooed once I was all dolled up. ‘Pop into your little dress and we’ll start shooting.’ He was British, gorgeous and incredibly camp, which is just how I like my snappers.
I do three Covet shoots a year, and have done for ages. It was initially all about my hair, but the success of my endorsement meant we expanded, and now I’m known as the brand’s de facto face. There are other models, of course – the cosmetics industry today is all about inclusivity, and rightly so – but when people think of Covet, they think of Tara O’Toole, a fact that means I’m paid handsomely for my likeness. This shoot was a big deal, the summer season fast approaching. I had to bring my A game.
Much to my relief, I clicked instantly into model mode as I replaced my stand-in in front of the backdrop. There had been a niggling noise at the back of my brain telling me I couldn’t possibly perform as usual, not with everything going on. I needn’t have worried. I threw back my hair, cooed and smized for the camera, and did my very best to show off Covet’s latest launches in all their glory.
Before long, it was nearing the end of the day and time to capture the video close-ups required for television ads. Shanice, Sabrina and my hairstylist, Yan, were fussing around me, and I was starting to feel a little tired, the weight of make-up on my face becoming uncomfortable. This was no time for flagging, though – these were the money shots.
‘Covet covers, Covet comforts,’ I breathed, gazing down the camera. ‘Covet colours, Covet cares.’ I winked mischievously, blew kisses and laughed at nothing, all par for the course. Then it was time for the big catchphrase. ‘Covet Cosmetics. Crave What’s Yours.’
It was all nonsense, of course, but solid-gold nonsense nonetheless.
‘Fabulous, Tara!’ Alan beamed. I could tell from how he’d relaxed over the day that he too had been worried about my ability to give what was necessary. ‘Let’s just get that one or two more times from different angles. Everyone, reset the cameras!’
As even more sticky lip gloss and hairspray were being applied, I noticed some unusual activity behind the camera. Alex was reading something on her phone, one hand on her hip and looking serious. Shanice was gesticulating wildly, and Sabrina kept shooting me guilty looks as she painted lacquer on to my mouth. Felicia was on her laptop, iPad and phone simultaneously.
‘Sabrina, what’s going on?’ I asked, as best I could without moving my mouth. I sounded like a ventriloquist, but I knew she had heard me. The make-up artist was pretending she hadn’t, though. As soon as she finished her work, she flounced off away from me and my questions. Yan wasn’t so lucky, still coiffing my hair when I regained full use of my voice. ‘Tell me what’s happening, Yan, or you’ll never work with me or this brand again.’ It was dramatic, but it was intended to be. The poor guy’s eyes widened in horror.
‘It’s your, um, husband, I guess?’
My eyes narrowed. ‘What now?’
‘Alex!’ Yan called, clearly terrified and dying to get away from me. ‘Ms O’Toole has some questions!’
Alex approached me as you might a rabid dog, timidly and with great caution. ‘Spit it out, Curtis,’ I snapped.
‘Rory and Allegra are walking the red carpet as we speak at the Brit Awards in London. Together.’
‘And?’
‘And, well … it’s their first public appearance as a couple. She’s nominated for a rake of awards, and she’s giving interviews to the press about how madly in love she is with Rory. She’s performing the new single she wrote about him.’
‘Okay, thank you for being honest.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. Can we wrap this all up now?’
‘The journalist from People is due to arrive any minute. Felicia is on the phone to Giulia now. Should we postpone?’
‘Why on earth would we do that?’
‘Um. It just might not be the best time.’
‘No better time. If my estranged husband is out flaunting his new romance, there’s no point in me hiding away any longer.’
Alex shrugged, nodded at Alan, and I flipped my internal switch once again. Showtime.
Two hours later, I was sitting in the Polo Bar on East 55th. I much prefer the Polo Lounge in Beverly Hills, but this Manhattan outpost was good for interviews – quiet, reassuringly antiquated and expensive enough that the clientele weren’t the type to gawk at you.
People had sent Emily Rutherford, their top correspondent to the stars. I’ve known her for years, but it would be foolish to ever think a celebrity journalist is your friend. They all have an agenda, all are waiting for you to slip up. Still, Emily is a relatively good egg and I could feel ever so slightly comfortable with her.
At that moment, she was looking at me with naked pity in her eyes, and I was keen to disabuse her of the notion that I was the devastated party. I would not be ‘Poor Jen’ Aniston in this scenario, no siree. ‘Emily, let’s get the theatrics out of the way, shall we? I’m aware that Rory Vaughan is right now at a music industry event in the United Kingdom with his new … co-star, and that they are romantically involved. No, their relationship is not responsible for the dissolution of our marriage, and no, I will not be talking about what happened between us because, of course, the end of any relationship is complicated. It’s still a bit too fresh to go into detail, but I am doing well.’ I made sure my eyes were glistening with a hint of unshed tears, my expression brave yet humble.
‘I’ve always admired your balls, Tara. You’ve got chutzpah. What is the message that you want to send to the world?’
‘That I’m doing okay, I haven’t gone to pieces. I am looking forward in life. How things between Rory and me officially ended and came to light was a shock, and of course it’s never easy to see a former partner move on publicly. But really, our relationship had been over for a while.’ I lied with such ease, I almost believed myself. ‘Right now, I’m focusing on myself and making plans for the future. Rory and I had a wonderful marriage for a long time, and I remain utterly devoted to Storm and Xavier. That will never change.’
I could tell Emily was unprepared for my candour, but she seemed to be buying it and decided to chance her arm. ‘And what of the murmurs that your old friend Sean Sweeney may have been talking about you in his now iconic interview with Kelly Clarkson? After the details revealed in his new book, everyone seems to think you are the old flame that never extinguished.’
I laughed. ‘Oh, Emily, you devil woman. Sean and I do go way back. But I don’t comment on gossip and rumours. You know me better than that.’
‘Fair enough.’ She knew when she was beaten. ‘So what’s next for you, Tara? I’ve heard Mind the Gap is coming out earlier than expected?’
‘Yes, the studio is so impressed with it, they want to share it with the world in July!’
‘And do you have any projects in the pipeline?’
‘Of course. I’m always developing something, Emily. I’m reading scripts, in talks with my agents. As you know, just today I shot the Covet Cosmetics campaign that’s dropping this month.’ It didn’t sound like enough to my seasoned ears. I wanted to sound so booked and busy there wasn’t time to mourn my soon-to-be ex-husband. I had a brainwave.
‘I’ve also just decided to take the Academy up on their offer of presenting an award at the Oscars this year. I’ll be heading to Los Angeles very soon and attending all the big events and parties. A girl deserves a good time, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know anyone more deserving, Tara.’ Emily beamed at me, delighted with her scoop and totally taken in by my tall tales. I had just in that moment decided to go to LA, and I prayed the Academy would be receptive to me presenting. I made a mental note to get Giulia on that the second I left the interview.
As for being in California for the tail end of awards season, well, why the hell not? If Rory and his side piece were walking red carpets as love’s young dream, why couldn’t I as an independent, successful and highly in-demand star?
I smiled at Emily as she prattled on, making lists in my head of everything that would need to be done before I headed west. It was time to come out of hibernation, time to reclaim my life.
@TMZ
Thumbs up emoticon 14,576 Likes
SPOTTED! Actress Tara O’Toole was photographed leaving the Polo Club in New York City, radiant in purple Prada and all smiles. Rumour has it she’s back in action and has just shot her latest campaign for @covetcosmetics.
@RoryLover1987_: Tara looks amazing!
@trickster77 @RoryLover1987_: are you insane? She looks ancient
@trickster77: Team Allegrory!
@susansmith64526: I love Tara’s movies. I feel sorry for her.
@RORA4eva: I am sooooo sad about RORA, I might k word myself
@brentwood_babe_99: Who is this
@heroinchic1994: She looks fat ew
@marymag2024: I’m worried about Tara, very thin
@godisgud2me: Godless heathens, all of them. Satan’s minions.
@preciousbabyyyy: chill out dude
@seansweeneyscanadiangf: Slut
16. Alex
On Saturday morning, my mother arrived in New York. Darius insisted on picking her up from JFK, a task I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but he owns a vintage Volkswagen Beetle that he loves to take for a spin every now and then, caring not a jot that he barely fits in the thing. It’s pale lemon and very cute and often makes an appearance at his events and weddings.
I was waiting in the guys’ apartment in Chelsea with Francisco when Deirdre and Darius bustled in, my mother raving about everything she laid eyes on. ‘Alex, my love! You look fantastic!’ she said, holding me to her like she hadn’t seen me in months. ‘New York agrees with you, pet.’ She was so elated to finally be here; her big trip in 2020 for her sixtieth birthday had been cancelled due to Covid.
‘Oh my god, the sights I’ve already seen!’ Deirdre said, her eyes wide. ‘Darius took the scenic route, so I got the full effect of the city skyline, and wowee. The last time I was here, your father made me get a manky train from the airport.’
‘It’s not every day my oldest friend comes to stay!’ Darius shrieked. ‘I went absolutely arse-ways, across the Queensboro bridge, to give my visiting queen the best view.’ He blew a kiss at Mam, and she blushed.
Deirdre and Darius have been close since they met in secondary school when Mam was head girl and Darren, as he was known then, a sweet little first-year. He’s always been the flamboyant person that he is now, and Deirdre was instantly protective of him. They formed a bond that carried them through their teens and twenties, Mam meeting Dad and getting married (Darius was Man of Honour before such a thing was commonplace), and Darius setting up That’s D’Amore.
