Act #10A Chapter by spence
Warning
This Chapter is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.
Act #10
Jerome Closer than Clara
By Ashleigh Richardson: Star Gazer
It can’t often be said that the male of the species is the most natural parent, but in the case of celebrity parents Clara O’Hara and Jerome Closer it certainly seems the case.
Their high profile and highly acrimonious separation was compounded upon by the revelation that that the split occurred when Miss O’Hara had beaten their seven year old son Godfrey Closer/ O’Hara. She then attacked the intervening Jerome. With a knife, no less.
Jerome escaped injury by following the course of action that any parent would take when protecting their child. Righteous violence, in case you missed the point.
That Miss O’Hara then attempted to press charges is almost laughable and I sincerely hope that the revelations about her conduct lead to the cancellation of her show ‘O’Hara’s Way’.
I have considered that it was professional envy that motivated the attack and I could hardly blame her if this proved to be the case. Jerome’s show, ‘Closer’ is miles ahead of Clara’s, in terms of entertainment, professionalism and content and this is fairly reflected in the ratings. Jerome outstrips Clara 5 to 1 in viewing figures and this fact recently prompted the beeb to move the Irish woman’s show to a none competing time.
For the moment though Clara has a child abuse case to answer to. Still, she is fortunate in the gregarious nature of her former partner and that he decided not to add the charge of attempted murder into the equation.
Jerome and his son are currently enjoying a well-deserved holiday and I can only extend my best wishes to them both and pray that there are no long term effects from the abuse. For either of them.
Ashleigh slammed the scrap book closed on the clipping before she had finished reading it entirely. She found it difficult to relive moments of a career that had been cruelly taken from her, but for some reason current events were acting as a painful reminder. Tears brimmed at the corner of her eyes as she took in the consequently blurred images on the television screen.
Jerome was leading the audience through the rigmarole of the noise defined judgment, though in this case it was nothing more than a formality. Paul won the ‘saint/sinner’ contest hands down and even though he was no longer on the stage, the ‘Jerometer’ and ‘Therometer’ filled blue and pink at the moral calling.
Jerome took the unilateral and unscripted decision to take the golden envelopes backstage into the green room where Paul cared for the baby. Theresa froze in fright as he made the decision,
‘Should we not try and bring him back to the stage?’ she asked weakly, but Jerome was caught in the rapture of the audiences applause and he simply shrugged off the suggestion.
‘Let’s go and find Paul’ he said to Tom the cameraman who followed him to the blue angel wing door.
Barry was beginning to think that Paul had run out on him and left him holding the baby when the small northern man finally returned from the lavatory,
‘Sorry mate’, Paul said as he came back into the room and reached for his son, ‘it took me ages to find the bogs’
Barry noticed that the man’s stutter had disappeared and that he looked far more animated than previously. It appeared that Paul liked to powder his nose with some variety of upper or other, but Barry wasn’t in a position to judge such actions. He had become rather partial to the odd snort himself; mixing with celebrity had few positive influences, he had learned.
‘No problem at all’ Barry lied in reply and then said to the man,
‘Are you ok now? It looked like you were having a really hard time out there’.
‘I kn...kn...know’, Paul stuttered, the very mention of the situation bringing his speech impediment to bear, ‘th...the sss...sss...stupid fat bitch c... could have k...killed the b...b...bairn’
Barry looked to the envelope on the table to hide the fact that he wanted to laugh at Paul’s stammer and brought it to his face as he advised,
‘You shouldn’t have any problem with custody after that performance- and look’
Barry gestured with the envelope that Paul look to the mounted TV’s
‘You’ve just won the audience vote’
Paul looked to where Barry pointed as the audience cheered loudly at Jerome’s intent to go backstage to find Paul,
‘Oh shit- I’d better make myself scarce,’ said Barry as he saw the camera follow Jerome toward where he waited.
Barry placed his whisky and the note back into the larger brown envelope and made to do the same with the smaller that contained the photographs. He took one final swig of his half cup of whisky coffee and it was then that he saw the image on the top sheet of photograph paper and almost choked in shock.
Paul gave Barry a confused stare as the reporter stood, his mouth agape and coughed helplessly. Paul walked to the man to pat his back and, in doing so, inadvertently took in the image that Barry held. He was still speechless when the subject of the picture entered the room.
As Jerome rounded the corner that lead to the green room he saw a man coughing and spluttering in the hallway. He was so caught up in the act that he failed to recognise the reporter, but patted his back as he passed and then said to the camera,
‘I take every chance to do a good deed’ and opened the door to the green room.
Ashleigh spluttered her tea as she saw Barry Little appear on her screen,
‘I hope you choke, you bastard’, she coughed out at a strain
‘What the hell’s he doing there Oliver?’ she asked the fretful cat who had remained in his litter tray rather than return to his tormentor.
‘There must be something going on if that little shit’s there. Maybe I should go down too?’
Ashleigh paused at the thought of ‘outside’ and fought the panic that had blighted her life since the final days of her career as a journalist. A career that Barry Little had callously usurped,
‘Ruthless cunt!’ she yelled as the camera focused on Paul.
‘Hi Paul’, Jerome said to the young man in greeting
‘We’ve got a surprise for you’
Jerome waved the two remaining golden envelopes toward the man.
Paul could only stare as Jerome approached him.
‘You might have heard that you got the ‘Saint’ vote and I’ve come to give you the prize for your exaltation’
Paul stared still, looking at Jerome as if he were in a dream,
‘Are you ok Paul?’ the host asked in mild confusion, then said sympathetic realisation,
‘I know it’s been a difficult time my friend, but we hope that you’re now on the road to recovery’
He thrust the envelopes toward Paul,
‘Starting with this’
Paul looked at the golden paper and snapped back to awareness,
‘Th..th...thanks’, he said as he took the one on the right.
He began to open it, his hands protruding from arms that held a gurgling baby David.
‘What’s it going to be?’ Jerome said to the camera, his eyes wide in feigned anticipation and excitement.
Paul brought the inner card free and looked at it blankly,
‘What did you get there Paul?’ Jerome asked
Paul looked sad and bowed his head.
‘Hey there Paul’, said Jerome gently,
‘What’s the matter my friend?’
Paul looked up at the host, tears in his eyes,
‘I c...c...can’t r...read’ he confessed
Jerome bowed his head now,
‘I’m so sorry Paul’, he said- disappointed in himself, and then held his hand out to take the pink and blue card from the young father.
Jerome scratched his head and frowned as he read the details. He spoke slowly, annoyed at the revelation,
‘This says that you have won a weekend for two in Pontins, but, quite frankly, I think Paul and David deserve better than that’
Jerome ripped up the card,
‘So I tell you what I’m going to do Paul- just for you. I own a beach villa in a secluded part of Spain and I’m going to offer you... one holiday a year there, at my personal expense, until baby David is 18’
Paul looked at Jerome and burst into tears of gratitude and said, as Jerome embraced him,
‘Th...thank y...y...you, I h...hate P...Pontins any...anyway’
The audience who watched the relayed exchange from within the studio burst into thunderous applause and beat out a foot beat as they chanted Jerome’s name.
Theresa wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled, all the while wondering how, come tomorrow morning, Jerome could make good on his promise.
‘Come here Oliver’ Ashleigh pleaded as the tears fell from her chin.
‘That’s the real Jerome Closer’, she sobbed as her tabby tentatively heeded her plea.
Ashleigh beckoned that Oliver sit on her lap and began to applaud with the audience as Theresa called the commercial break,
‘I’m crying here’ Theresa laughed as the camera found her in its focus.
‘Jerome is such a good man- we’ll see you after the break’
‘First genuine thing you’ve done all night’ Ashleigh wept out as the Theresa and Jerome logo filled the screen.
As the adverts began Ashleigh reached over for the scrapbook marked ‘THIS WAS YOUR LIFE’ and opened it to the final entry, two-thirds through.
She had the courage to read it now. It was the last column she had written before she was rendered unemployable. It marked the beginning of the five years of secluded hell that had followed her breakdown.
Oliver took the opportunity to run before the scrap book was placed on top of him.
© 2009 spence
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Added on August 17, 2009 Author
spenceDurham City, EnglandAboutI'm a 30-something author of poetry and prose spanning genres from socio-political poetry to fantasy fiction novels. I was, up until recently, a youth and community worker, but left the profession in .. [more]Writing
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