Scandalous

by Martel Maxwell

  Max couldn’t help but feel angry with herself. During the six-hour flight, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him. Something about flying always made her horny as hell and she kept replaying fantasies in her head where he ripped her clothes off, told her he had to have her there and then… God, she so wanted that to happen.

  But what she really craved was just to be with him, have him hold her and make her feel there was no need to look for anyone or anything else any more. Those eyes, that smell.

  She tried to replace him with other guys in these imaginary scenes but it was useless.

  Max lay on her queen-size bed at the Wellington Hotel. The room was clean, modern and basic. There was no point in a luxurious suite that cost a fortune – New York was the one place where you never saw much of your hotel room. She didn’t unpack but wanted to get out and do something to stop thinking about him.

  She had always been able to move on, close a chapter and start again. It was a skill she had perfected – maybe to rid her of the memory of the sleazy things she’d done to get stories. And she had found it easy to all but wipe the memory of being with a man from the moment she decided she didn’t want to see him again. Alfie was the exception, but still, she hadn’t thought about him as much as she was thinking of Luke. And she hardly knew him. Shutting things out was her speciality. Why couldn’t she do it with him?

  Luke wasn’t the only reason Max did not want to be alone. The memory of what she’d done two nights ago still made her face burn in shame. Sure, she could blame it on wanting to forget about Luke. But the truth was she had gone too far. Max had been invited to London’s biggest radio station’s annual awards. It was a midday start, at the Hilton on Park Lane, and she hadn’t held back at the champagne reception or on the wine over lunch, when her glass had been steadily refilled. Afterwards, she made polite chat with rival reporters from the other papers at the free bar.

  ‘I heard Jade screwed you – didn’t tell you she had a story on your sister?’

  God, they loved it, the drama, the gossip – it’s why they were good showbiz reporters. Sure she was like them, like any girl who pored over Heat magazine to find out the latest on J-Lo or Madonna. But she never got star-struck, which was just as well. What was the point in meeting George Clooney or Julia Roberts if all you could do was dribble and tell them how wonderful they were, the most incisive question being what their favourite colour was? The secret was to think of a dinner lady who’d just finished work and was on the bus to pick up her son from nursery. What would she want to read – what would make her day? She was tired and worried about the bills. What would it take to make her forget all her problems? Max called it her ‘well, fuck me, I never’ line – the nugget of gold a star came out with during an interview. As soon as they’d said it, Max knew it would be the first sentence of her story – the line that would hook the millions who read it.

  No matter how big the star they were only human, and what separated the good reporters from the best was the ability to ask cheeky questions.

  The sub editors would take that ‘fuck me’ line and come up with a catchy headline. Sometimes their efforts fell nothing short of genius, like the time George Michael was caught with his pants down in a public toilet, inspiring the famous Sun front-page headline: ‘Zip Me Up Before You Go Go’, in place of his famous eighties song, ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’.

  There hadn’t been many stars at the Drum Radio awards. Max had spoken to a couple of soap stars and a finalist from Simon Cowell’s X Factor show before deciding to get smashed. One of her rivals, the tall slim brunette with a little acne who slept with stars’ lackeys to get her exclusives, told Max with her stale tobacco breath that she’d heard a great bit of gossip: Joe Jacobs, the Managing Director of Drum, London’s biggest radio station, was on the singles market after dumping his stunning Russian wife. Joe was in his late thirties, devastatingly handsome and a regular in the Guardian’s Top Ten of the most powerful men in media.

  ‘He’s not only the most eligible guy in this room, he’s the hottest thing in London. When word gets out he’s single… Shit.’

  ‘What?’

  Cat was grimacing, her face red. ‘I’ve only gone and told you, my fucking rival, about a great story. That’s my exclusive for tomorrow. Shit, I must have had too much wine.’

  Max touched Cat’s arm. ‘Don’t worry about it – your secret’s safe with me.’

  ‘That’ll be a first for a showbiz reporter,’ Cat replied, raising her eyebrows.

  But Max had no intention of shafting Cat. The circuit was too small – she’d no doubt need her help at a premiere in the future. Many a time, Max had been desperate to go to the toilet or make a phone call but was too scared to leave the line-up of journalists waiting to talk to the stars so had stayed put. If only she’d had a friend to keep her place, she might never have peed herself in front of Tom Cruise.

  ‘Look, I promise. I’ve got a couple of little stories – the Britain’s Got Talent guy Jimmy has signed up for Chicago, the musical. So there, you know my secret too and you’re to keep schtum as well, OK?’

  Cat laughed and held out her hand. As they shook on it, Max decided what she was going to do next: pull Joe Jacobs.

  She was more than a little drunk, not to mention bored, so why not? Max cast aside the reality of the situation – that she was doing it to make herself feel better. An hour didn’t go by when she didn’t think of Luke. Her heart jumped every time she received a text, thinking it could be him. Of course, it wasn’t. If he had felt half the chemistry she had on their date, a fraction of the attraction, he would have been bewildered as to why she had blanked him. He must think her an utter shit.

  A challenge was what she needed and Drum boss Joe was it. If she couldn’t have the man she wanted she would have the man everyone else wanted. Then maybe she’d feel better.

  It had been easier than she imagined. She spotted Joe at the other end of the room. Buoyed by the mix of bubbly, wine and a couple of gin and tonics, Max confidently walked over, tapped him on the shoulder and said hello. He smiled at Max as he took her in and said he was sure they had met before. As always, he looked dapper in an immaculate suit – pinstriped navy, Max guessed Armani – with a crisp open-collared lemon shirt and trendy brown lace-ups with slightly pointed toes. His hair was dark brown, an inch or two longer than that of most men in the room, with a slight curl. It gave him the look of a suave Italian.

  Max was glad she had opted for a glam look despite the early kick-off. She was wearing a Miss Sixty short black dress with a light fringe at the hem, which swished at the top of her thighs as she moved. Shiny black tights and black Carvela heels with a slight platform completed the look which flattered Max’s petite frame. Her make-up was a little heavier than her normal minimal daytime look, with a hint of black eyeliner and pink blush to accentuate her cheekbones.

  ‘A couple of times,’ Max replied. ‘Not properly, though; we’ve just said hello.’

  Max could tell by the way Joe was struggling a little to focus that he was drunk too. Maybe he was letting his hair down after his split.

  The rest of the afternoon and early evening were a blur. Joe had told her he was delighted she had interrupted the chat he was having with an utter bore of an accountant who worked for Drum. As late afternoon slipped into early evening, Joe suggested they get something to eat in Whisky Mist, a restaurant and bar in the hotel. They skipped the food and ordered mojitos. Max lost count after three.

  ‘Where are you staying tonight?’ Max asked.

  ‘Here, at the Hilton.’ Max had figured so – the big media bosses were often booked into the swankiest of London hotels, even though their own homes were a few miles away and their town pads even closer.

  Max’s next memory was waking up next to Joe in his hotel room – a surprisingly boxy room.

  ‘Morning.’ He smiled lazily, leaning on his pillow, his chin resting on his hand.

  ‘Morning,’ Max managed. Why exactly had she do
ne this? To make herself feel better. And did she? What bit of sleeping with a still-married man was it she’d imagined would make her feel better? And no, consuming enough alcohol for ten guests was no excuse. She couldn’t actually remember having sex with him but she had a sketchy memory of pulling each other’s clothes off when they got to the room. Now they were both naked and his smile was saying, ‘That was fun last night.’

  ‘I don’t normally do this,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Do what?’ Joe was still grinning, a little smugly Max thought.

  ‘Sleep with men I’ve just met.’

  Joe raised an eyebrow as if she’d told him something amusing.

  ‘And I’ve never…’ Max felt her voice trail off, conscious suddenly of a huge lump in her throat. ‘I’ve never… slept with a married man.’

  That had always been a deal breaker for Max, sleeping with men who had a girlfriend, fiancée or wife. What right did she have to break exclusives of ‘cheating rats’ if she cheated with said rats? Mind you, it didn’t stop half the showbiz reporters she knew from exposing stars for taking cocaine even though they struggled to make it through a showbiz bash without several discreet trips to the toilet.

  ‘Really?’ Joe said, stroking her arm lightly. ‘I’d have thought that was pretty common in your job.’

  Max looked at Joe, unsure she’d heard him correctly. She swallowed and the taste of pure alcohol was still in her mouth.

  ‘In my job? I’m a journalist, not a hooker.’

  Joe laughed. ‘Some might say they’re not so different when it comes down to it.’

  He stopped as he registered that Max looked deadly serious.

  Max sprung out of bed, ignoring the dizzy spell as her feet touched the thick carpet. Pulling on her pants and clothes, she picked up her bag and stopped at Joe’s side of the bed.

  ‘Max, I was only joking.’ Joe was sitting up in the bed. ‘Anyway, we didn’t actually have sex. We just fooled around. I left you for a couple of minutes to order champagne on room service and you passed out.’

  Well, at least that was something, Max told herself. But she still felt pretty low.

  She tried to smile but couldn’t. Why should she pretend nothing bothered her, as she always did? When Max told Joe she had never slept with a married man, she had expected him to say, ‘Oh but I’ve split up with my wife and I really like you.’

  How stupid. Act like a tart, then expect to be treated like one, Max told herself. Not that she wanted to see Joe again. But she wanted him to somehow assure her he wanted her.

  Joe looked at Max’s face, his expression quizzical. Max didn’t give him the chance to ask whatever question he was forming in his mind.

  She walked out of the hotel room and ran to the lift, struggling to see the button for the tears that had filled her eyes.

  Here in New York, Max still felt the sting of shame when she thought about that night. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell Lucy. She knew her sister wouldn’t judge her as harshly as she was judging herself. But she would know it was something Max would never normally do and she would worry about her.

  As if almost sleeping with a married man wasn’t bad enough, Max had since learned he had a three-year-old son. Joe kept his family life pretty private but a story about him in a media trade mag had jumped out at her. When asked what the most important thing in his life was, he had answered his little boy.

  When Max wasn’t beating herself up about Joe, she was dreaming of Luke. What a mess.

  Max looked at her watch. It was 7 p.m. Too late for shopping but just right for partying.

  One of Carlos’s exes worked at Soho House, one of the most exclusive members’ clubs in the city, originally set up as a place for media types to hang out. Media didn’t extend to tabloid reporters and staff went out of their way to stop hacks joining, but her entry along with a few friends was guaranteed, thanks to Carlos. Max had only met Carlos a couple of times but they had taken to each other straight away, swapping celebrity gossip. He seemed to think so much of Lucy that nothing was too much trouble to help Max. When Lucy had mentioned to him that Max was going to New York, Carlos had insisted he guest-list her for a couple of clubs. He knew what Lucy and Max had been through with Marj’s news and wanted them to know he was thinking of them.

  But Soho House would wait. She was here to catch up with real friends in real bars. Max was never short of good company in New York. So many of the childhood pals she had got to know over the summers when she visited her dad’s relatives in Ireland had moved to the Big Apple.

  She hadn’t seen Sean, Connor or Cath for a couple of years but had kept in touch with their news through friends and their drunken pictures on Facebook.

  New York was full of Irish – from clubs and bars to the police department and fire service. If you knew enough of the right Irish people, you could get anything you wanted twenty-four hours a day – alcohol, great food, dancing. Jeez, no wonder she liked to party – being half Scots and half Irish, what chance did she ever have of leading a quiet life and ordering a Diet Coke at a free bar?

  Just a few streets away in a Manhattan bar, friends awaited with a pint of Guinness with her name on it.

  LUCY MAKES AMENDS

  Lucy wondered how she couldn’t have noticed Max had been down. When she looked back over the last few weeks it was obvious. Max had been quieter, deflated even. Lucy may have had more drama in her life than she ever imagined possible, but it was no excuse.

  At least now she could try to make amends.

  Lucy had also been blind to the fact that Max and Luke were well suited. Hell, maybe it would end in tears, but who was she to put a stop to things before they even started?

  Any guy would be lucky to have Max. So she’d broken hearts along the way. Luke was probably no angel either; she just didn’t know every intimate detail of his love life as she did with Max.

  Lucy had arranged to meet Luke at Selfridges for lunch and a little Christmas shopping. The huge department store reminded her of the excitement she felt as a child at this magical time of year. Lucy wrapped up against the December chill in skinny jeans, Max’s Armani coat, which she had left behind for Lucy to wear while she was in New York on account of having lost so many expensive pieces of clothing on her travels, and a cream-cashmere polo neck. Wait until she told the girls in the office she’d picked it up for £30 while food shopping in Tesco.

  Sitting at a small table in the bustling café, picking at their shared platter with chopsticks, Lucy noticed her normally carefree brother seemed a little awkward.

  She had told him all about Kirk Kelner and how she was going on a date with him in a few days. He had laughed and clinked his glass of fresh orange with her glass of sparkling water. He had told her how he was trying to curtail partying over the Christmas holidays to study for his next bar exam. But behind the pleasantries something was missing.

  ‘Luke, I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just blurt it out and hope it comes across OK.’

  Luke studied his sister’s face like a poker player trying to read his opponent. ‘OK,’ he said slowly.

  Lucy took a deep breath.

  ‘I know about you and Max.’

  She paused, hoping this would clarify the situation.

  ‘Me and Max?’ Luke was calm, as if mulling the words over in his head. He smiled wryly. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I got the message a while back – after she ignored my umpteenth text and call.’

  Lucy sat up straight in her chair. ‘That’s it. She didn’t ignore you. Well, maybe she did, but it was all my fault.’

  Luke cocked his head slightly to the side, quizzically.

  ‘You see, I told her to stay away from you. God, I was such a bitch. I told her to go after any guy she chose but not you.’

  Luke narrowed his eyes. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, but not because of you… I mean, you’re great. But that’s my point. I didn’t want her to hurt you or for things to go wrong and our relationship to
suffer. I mean, it wouldn’t be the most pleasant of situations if two of the people I love most in the world ended up hating each other…’

  Lucy let the words trail off, unsure what to say next.

  Luke had put his chopsticks on the table and was sitting back in his chair. ‘Right. OK. I think I understand. But Luce, Max has her own mind. She could have persuaded you, talked you round, if she thought enough of me.’

  ‘No,’ Lucy blurted out, ‘that’s just it. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t give her that option. I was so caught up in my own problems – I’d just come back from Scotland having had the most awful time and I’d split up with Hartley. Max knew I was on the edge. She felt guilty because it’s always me helping her – well, it’s not, but that’s how she sees it. She was scared of hurting me.’

  Luke was resting his chin on his hand. His expression had softened. Lucy sensed he wanted her to continue.

  ‘It’s only when I look back over these last few weeks that I realize how down she’s been. She’s always so happy – singing, partying, laughing. That’s all been missing. My own little sister and I’ve been totally unaware. Trust me, for a guy to do that to Max she’d have to feel a lot for him. And she does – for you.’

  Lucy paused.

  ‘I feel like a prize bitch.’

  Luke laughed loudly. It felt like a release of emotion he had tried so hard to bottle. He had convinced himself that the way he felt about Max had been in his imagination. Or, if it had been real, patently it had been one-sided. Suddenly, he caught the sadness on Lucy’s face. He took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

  ‘Lucy, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because I’m happy to hear what you just told me. You are anything but a bitch. This is probably the first time in your life you’ve not been aware of everyone else’s feelings before your own. And to be fair, you have had a crazy time of it.’

  Lucy looked relieved and smiled back at Luke.

  ‘Really? You don’t think I’m awful for warning her off you like that?’