4: Tough Love

"I don't think he's going to make it," Leo said quietly. Max screwed up his whole face - actually he seemed to be screwing up his whole body, which looked painful - and Leo held his breath. One of these days Max was going to give himself a coronary, doing that. "He's over an hour late, Max - should we just start without him?"

"Damn him, damn him, damn him," Max muttered almost - but not quite - under his breath.

"Okey-dokey!" Ulla, zillion-kilowatt smile firmly in place, stepped between her husband and imminent disaster. "Max, stop that, please, before you explode us all. And don't you worry, my little flower," she added, turning to pinch Leo's cheek, "Ulla and Scott take rehearsal. Ulla take care of everything, no problems. Yes? And Max and you can go to Roger's and - "

"Kill him," Max growled.

"Make sure he's dandy and fine," said Ulla, firmly.

Leo almost smiled. He caught Ulla's eye as he and Max gathered up their coats and hats, and raised one eyebrow in a silent question. Ulla, understanding him perfectly as always, gave him a rueful smile and shook her head, ever-so-slightly. No, she seemed to be saying, it's not the time to tell Roger where Carmen is. Not yet. She was probably right. If they told the director now, he'd probably go flouncing round to Leo and Ulla's apartment and drag poor Carmen back to the Upper East Side townhouse when Carmen really wasn't ready to even see him yet. It wouldn't do either of them any good, in the long run.

Leo sighed. The trouble with the long run was ... well, that it was long. Much as he had come to like Carmen a whole lot since they'd met, back in the good old Springtime days, having him as a houseguest was ... to be honest, it was driving him nuts. Especially the way things were at the moment. Carmen in a good mood was something to behold: manic, overexcitable (to put it mildly) and very, very loud; Carmen in a bad mood was pretty much the same, if a little louder; but a depressed Carmen was something Leo had never expected to encounter. And now it was something that was camped out on his sofabed.

He was like a stranger. He didn't make any noise, which Ulla didn't seem to mind but which was starting to freak Leo out. It had been Leo who'd found him, Leo who had brought him back to his and Ulla's apartment, Leo who now felt ridiculously responsible for him. Leo had literally bumped into him in the street - Carmen, who rarely drank (and then only the finest champagne), had been weaving down the street clutching a bottle of gin, and it was a miracle that Leo had managed to grab him before he went under a bus. He hadn't known what to do with him, but he had figured Ulla would, and so he had somehow gotten Carmen into a cab. Apart from begging them - once he had sobered up enough to realise where he was - not to say anything to Roger, he had hardly spoken. He never went out. He merely sat staring into space, and he didn't blink much. Leo had watched him for a whole hour, once, and counted maybe twenty blinks the whole time. That couldn't be normal. They found themselves talking in whispers around him, as though he were sufferering from some incurable illness. All the bounce, all the joy, all the weirdness they had come to take for granted; all of it crushed out of him by Roger's betrayal.

Leo could understand it, to an extent - after all, if Ulla ever - don't even think it, Leo, knock on wood - did the same to him, he'd probably ... well, he'd probably be in a nice room with padded walls by now. But what Leo couldn't understand was ... it wasn't as if Roger hadn't done this before. Let's be honest. This was the third time since Leo had known the pair of them that Roger had cheated; and every time, Carmen would throw a wobbly, Roger would beg forgiveness, and things would carry on as before. Until the next time. But this time ...

This time it was different. Maybe even Carmen's patience had limits. But Leo hoped fervently that they'd find a way of working things out soon. Because he couldn't bear to live with the ghost of Carmen Ghia for much longer.

: : : : :

"That's wrong!" Leo blurted, and clutched at Max's arm in horror. "Max, that is so, SO wrong! Whatever happened to I Feel Pretty?!"

"All right, calm down," Max said, patting Leo's hand in a comforting manner. "I'm sure it's not as bad as - "

"But it's - " Leo's other hand was edging towards his pocket. Max, quick as a flash, made a grab for the hand and halted it before Leo could produce the dreaded blue blanket and embarrass the life out of them both. Leo squeaked but didn't fight back, and of course, Murphy's Law being what it is, that was the point at which the door opened. Roger gave them both a very pointed look and said, sarcastically, "Oh, sweet. Holding hands and everything. How charming."

"We weren't - "

"We're not - "

"Darlings, really." Roger stepped back and gestured for them to come in. It felt completely wrong, Leo thought. It should be Carmen opening the door for them, offering to take their hats and coats ... he had a sudden vivid memory of the first time he and Max had ever come here; the look on Carmen's face as he had oh-so-politely offered to take their swastikas, and he almost laughed. Almost cried.

Roger was still talking; but it sounded less like a conversation and more like someone desperately trying to fill the silence. " ... now, I must admit," he babbled, "and no offence to your beautiful Ulla, Leo, but you and Max really would make an adorable couple ... no, seriously, as if I'd believe for a single second ... coffee?"

"Coffee? What?"

"Coffee, Max," Roger said very seriously. "It's a drink made from roast beans. You never know, you might like it. I'll put the kettle on."

Max was growing dangerously red again. "I know what bloody coffee is, Roger, for God's sake! We're not here for coffee!"

"No, I realise that," the director said, sadly. "I know I'm horribly late for your rehearsal, Max, and I'm sorry. I just ... I know you think it's for the best, but I don't know ... I don't know if I can face it." He glanced over his shoulder as though he was expecting someone to be there, listening. Leo was reminded of someone, but he couldn't think who it was. And then he remembered, as Roger did it again - it was Leo himself. The old Leo, back in the hateful Whitehall & Marks days, waiting - always waiting - for the blow to fall. Always expecting to get caught. Always afraid.

"Of course you can!" Max sounded over-the-top hearty, and Leo winced. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.

"What happened to your doorbell, Roger?" he asked, and immediately wished he hadn't. Roger went white. "I thought ... " he began, and slumped into the nearest chair. "It reminded me too much of Carmen," he said, very quietly. "So I changed it."

Oh, crap. Now it was Max's turn to wince. The two producers stared at each other helplessly over Roger's bowed head; and then, suddenly, Max grinned. Leo blinked at him in wide-eyed ignorance for a couple of seconds, and then he cottoned on. He grinned back. Before Roger had a chance to protest, they each grabbed one of his arms, as hard as they could, and marched him to the door. He wouldn't need his coat; Max's car was outside waiting. They hustled the astounded director out of the house and down the steps and into the car, and ordered Max's driver to head as fast as he could to the rehearsal rooms.

"Tough love," Max declared proudly. "Works every time."

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