* * *
—
The vacation Hamish took Antonia on was like a fairy tale for her. After a brief trip back to London, he picked her up in his plane at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, and stopped just long enough to refuel and take off again with her for Saint Bart’s. He had rented a villa with a private pool from the best hotel on the island. They spent ten days there, on the beach and in their pool, in bed, where she lost her virginity to him. He was an exciting, adept, and gentle lover, wise and mature enough to be attentive to her as he introduced her to wonders she had never imagined before. Their lovemaking brought them even closer together, and they learned more about each other in the ten days they spent together night and day. She realized that his simple middle-class origins had given him a burning desire to become successful and not lead an ordinary life in an uninspiring job he didn’t like. And he was blessed with enormous talent. As a boy, he had loved going to movies as much as she did. He remembered almost every detail of every film he’d ever seen, and said he had learned from all of them, as she had. He was fascinated by the human condition and the intricacy of relationships in real life, and on the screen.
She loved his handsome, strong masculine looks, the salt and pepper hair, his piercing electric blue eyes, and his long lean body. She thought he was the sexiest, most attractive man she’d ever seen, better than all the usual actors she’d now seen so many of, obsessed with their own looks. They seemed like cardboard figures to her compared to him. Hamish had a brilliant mind, a tender heart, and a soul.
When they flew back to New York, reluctant to leave their idyllic villa in Saint Bart’s, Hamish checked in to a hotel in SoHo, to be near her for a few days, and she stayed with him. She came back from her classes straight to their hotel, where they made love. They ordered room service for their meals, and he worked on his computer while she did her homework. He smiled when he saw her pull her books out of her backpack.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a girlfriend who had to do homework.” He grinned at her, and she curled up next to him on the couch in the suite to do one of her reading assignments. It was hard to concentrate with him in the same room. She wanted to talk to him, and make love with him. He had given her the script to read for his next movie while they were in Saint Bart’s, and she loved it. And he was right. The supporting part was perfect for her. And if he got all the talent he wanted, she would be working with some major actors and actresses in the cast.
Before he returned to London, he had arranged to introduce her to an agent, as he thought it vital for her to have one. There would be many contracts in her future, and he felt that anyone involved in the film industry, in whatever guise, should have an agent. Fred Warner was one of the few he trusted, and he hoped she liked him. He had already discussed Antonia with Fred, and he was curious to meet her. He’d never heard Hamish speak of a woman like that. It was obviously a serious attachment. She wasn’t just a talented young actress he wanted to help, or a passing fancy, or a diva like his two ex-wives. He said she was a real person, a woman of substance, and he had never known anyone like her, and warned Fred that she was very shy. He was sending her to the agent’s office on her own, so she wouldn’t feel pressured, and he didn’t unduly influence her. If she hired him, Fred would be her agent, and she had to feel comfortable with him and trust him without Hamish there to make it work.
* * *
—
Antonia went to see Fred Warner on her second day of classes after they got back. She wanted to stop at the dorm to change, but she didn’t have time, so she showed up in boots and jeans, with a heavy fisherman’s sweater and hooded parka, and she was so small that she looked like a child going to the park to play in the snow. There was still snow on the ground, and her cheeks were flushed after she walked from the subway to his office, and took off her mittens to shake his hand when she was led into his handsome wood-paneled office, with extraordinary art on the walls. He represented some very big-name artists.
Fred was a tall, heavy-set, portly man. He was in his early fifties but looked older. He was wearing a well-cut tweed jacket made by his tailor in London, a blue shirt, and an Hermès tie, and smoking a Cuban cigar. She wasn’t at all what he had expected, as she took off the parka and sat down, with a shy smile. He smiled at how young and innocent she seemed, with a halo of soft blond curls framing her face. He was shocked to realize that Hamish Quist was in love with a baby.
“Hamish has been telling me about you,” he said after his secretary brought in a cup of tea for her. It was freezing outside. “He tells me you want to be an actress.”