Barbara thought this was hilarious, of course. But despite mocking him, she went along with it. She preferred this new name, she said, as it was less hideous than his real one. But between you and me, I think the idea just appealed to her sense of the perverse.
That evening, over a bottle of champagne, he was christened Elliot Chase.
I was born.
And then, with perfect timing—Lana appeared.
4
I have forgotten many things in my inebriated life. Numberless names and faces, places I’ve been, whole cities, have fallen into a void in my mind. But something that I will never forget until I die—forever emblazoned on my mind, engraved upon my heart—is the moment I first met Lana Farrar.
Barbara West and I had gone to see Kate in a play. It was a new translation of Hedda Gabler at the National. It was the first night, and though the production was a pretentious stinker, in my humble opinion, it was received with wild acclaim and heralded as a triumph.
There was a first-night party afterward—which Barbara begrudgingly agreed to attend. Any unwillingness on her part was pure bullshit, believe me. If there was free booze and free food on offer, Barbara was always the first in line. Especially at a party of luvvie theatricals, who would queue up to tell her how much her writing meant to them, and generally kiss her arse. She loved all that, as you can imagine.
Anyway, I was standing next to her, bored to death, concealing a yawn, idly casting my gaze over a motley crew of actors and wannabe actors, producers, journalists, and so on.
Then, I noticed, across the room, a large group of people, admirers and hangers-on, gathering around someone—a woman, judging by the glimpse I caught through the jostling crowd. I craned my neck to see who it was, but her face kept being obscured by the shifting bodies surrounding her. Finally, someone moved, a gap was created—and I caught a momentary flash of her face.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was it really her? Surely not.
I craned my neck to get a better look, but I didn’t need one. It was her.
Feeling excited, I turned and nudged Barbara. She was midlecture to an unhappy-looking playwright, about why he wasn’t more commercially successful.
“Barbara?”
Barbara waved away my interruption. “I’m talking, Elliot.”
“Over there. Look. It’s Lana Farrar.”
She grunted. “So?”
“So, you know her, don’t you?”
“We’ve met once or twice.”
“Introduce me to her.”
“Certainly not.”
“Go on. Please.” I looked at Barbara, hopefully.
She smiled. Nothing gratified Barbara more than refusing a heartfelt request. “I don’t think so, duck.”
“Why not?”
“Yours not to reason why. Go and get me another drink.”
“Get your own fucking drink.”
In a rare act of rebellion, I left her. I knew she’d be furious and make me pay for it later, but I didn’t care.
I walked across the room, straight up to Lana.
Time seemed to slow down as I approached her. I felt as if I were departing reality, entering a heightened state. I must have pushed my way through the crowd; I don’t remember. I was oblivious to everyone but her.
I found myself there, in the inner circle, standing to one side of her. I stared at her, starstruck, while she listened politely to some man talking. But she couldn’t fail to notice me standing there. She glanced at me.
“I love you,” I said.
These were the first words I ever said to Lana Farrar.
The people around her were all startled. They burst out laughing.
Thankfully, Lana also laughed. “I love you, too.”
And that’s how it began. We kept talking all night—meaning I successfully fended off interruptions from would-be competitors. I made her laugh, making fun of the overwrought production we had just been forced to endure. I let it slip that Kate was a mutual friend; a discovery that made Lana visibly relax in my company.
Even so, I had my work cut out for me. I had to convince Lana I wasn’t some weirdo, or obsessive fan, or potential stalker. I had to persuade her I was an equal, at least in intellect—if not in fame, or fortune. I badly wanted to impress her. I needed her to like me. Why? I don’t think I knew myself, to be honest. Dimly, subconsciously, I wanted to keep hold of her. Even then, it seems, I couldn’t bear to let her go.
Lana was cautious, at first, but receptive to my conversation. Now, I’m not quick-witted at the best of times—I can supply you with a witty riposte, but only if you give me three days to write it. However, that night, miraculously, the stars all aligned in my favor. For once, my shyness didn’t get the better of me.