A Girl Called Summer

by Lucy Lord

  Inside he was thinking fuck fuck fuck and wondering how Jack was going to react.

  ‘Hi, Summer,’ Jack said coolly, getting up to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Meet my fiancée. Summer, this is Tamara, Tamara, this is Summer – we met her at Bella’s pool party.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Tamara curtly, looking from one to the other, immediately wary. There was something not quite right in their body language.

  ‘Hi.’ Summer smiled and held out her hand. Tamara didn’t take it.

  ‘Dad, this is Summer,’ Jack continued quickly. ‘Summer – my dad, Filthy Meadows.’

  ‘Hi, Filthy.’ This time Summer smiled with genuine warmth. ‘I love your music.’

  ‘My God,’ said Filthy. ‘Are you real? Look at her, Justin, can you believe such a girl exists? Goddess of golden youth . . .’ His voice went all dreamy and Jack rolled his eyes.

  ‘And this is Justin, Bella’s father,’ Ben added quickly, seeing the look on Tamara’s face.

  ‘Hi, Justin.’ Summer smiled warmly again. ‘How lovely to meet you. Bella’s a great friend of mine.’

  ‘You’re a friend of Bella’s? My girl’s always had good taste! You Swedish, by any chance?’

  Summer nodded, laughing.

  ‘Thought so – you’ve got the look of a young Britt Ekland – I shot her, back in the day, you know – but I’d say you’re much more beautiful . . .’

  Ben and Natalia exchanged glances. Even though they didn’t know the situation, both old men were behaving extremely insensitively, given Tamara’s massive insecurities.

  Summer just stood there, tall, blonde and serene, smiling at the compliments.

  ‘Come and sit over here, darlin,’ Justin continued. ‘Budge up, Tamara.’

  *

  It was swelteringly hot on the dance floor and you couldn’t move for heaving, sweaty bodies.

  Poppy shouted something at Bella over the music, but it was impossible to hear her. By the look on her grinning, shiny face as she gyrated in clinging neon-yellow lycra, it was something to do with what a fantastic time she was having.

  But Bella wasn’t having a great time. It was too hot and cramped, her feet hurt, and she felt horribly old and dowdy in her Sixties-inspired frock, compared to the young, outrageously dressed clubbers all around her. Poppy and Damian still seemed to fit in, but she had moved on from this scene, she realized. Above all, she missed Andy and Daisy like hell. It was time to go.

  ‘Listen, Pops,’ she shouted in Poppy’s ear. ‘This isn’t really me any more. I’m going to call it a night.’

  ‘WHA . . .?’

  ‘I’M CALLING IT A NIGHT!’ Bella shouted even more loudly. Poppy opened her mouth to remonstrate, but Bella shook her head. Poppy gave a rueful grin, shrugging. ‘OK THEN. NIGHT, LOVELY.’

  ‘CAN YOU SAY MY GOODBYES TO THE OTHERS – AND TRY NOT TO WAKE DAISY WHEN YOU COME IN.’

  Poppy nodded, and Bella smiled and hugged her, relieved she could stop shouting. She kissed Damian goodnight and made her way through the heaving throng of sweaty clubbers towards the exit.

  As she looked at the sea of ecstatic, gurning faces, she acknowledged to herself that most of the revellers were off their heads on drugs – that was another difference between this and her old life, where lines of coke and Ecstasy pills had been pretty much obligatory for a night’s clubbing.

  She was almost at the door when somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and found herself face-to-face with Jorge.

  ‘Bella!’ He grinned, delighted to have bumped into her. ‘Wow! You look beautiful!’

  ‘Hardly,’ Bella gave an embarrassed laugh, indicating the scantily clad clubbers around her. ‘I feel so old!’

  ‘Pouf – they are children,’ said Jorge with a dismissive shrug. ‘You are a very sexy woman.’

  Bella smiled. ‘Thanks, but right at this moment I just feel like a very tired old mother.’

  Jorge laughed.

  ‘I mean it – I’m off now.’ Bella indicated the exit with her head.

  ‘You’re not going?’ Bella was flattered by the disappointment in his voice.

  ‘Yes, but the others are all still here – Poppy and Damian, Ben and Natalia, Jack and Tamara . . .’

  ‘Did you say Tamara?’ Jorge’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Oh, I forgot, you haven’t met her yet – yes, upstairs in the first-floor VIP lounge.’

  ‘Thank you, Bella!’ Jorge said warmly, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Goodnight, and have a safe journey home.’

  *

  Tamara was seething. Summer, after a couple of vodkas, had begun to open up to the assembled company, giving advice about the best beach bars and little-known restaurants around the island in that annoying, candidly humorous way of hers. The old men were hanging on her every word, tongues hanging out, practically drooling. Ben and Natalia tried to keep Tamara in the conversation, for which she was grateful, but she couldn’t help but notice how quiet Jack had become since Summer’s arrival, nor the fact that he kept glancing over at her when he thought that she, Tamara, wasn’t looking.

  Just as she was thinking that now may be the time to play the spoilt film star and demand to be taken home, an extremely good-looking man approached the table.

  ‘Hola!’ he cried out. ‘Quelle coincidence, eh? Ben, Natalia, Jack! Oh my God, it is you – Tamara! The Tamara Gold! You are even more beautiful in the flesh.’

  Tamara smiled. This was more like it.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But who are you?’

  ‘I am Jorge, a friend of Bella’s – and I met these guys at Bella’s pool party a few days ago.’

  ‘Sounds like it was all happening at Bella’s pool party,’ said Tamara tartly.

  ‘It was,’ said Summer. ‘Hi, Jorge.’

  ‘Oh hi, Summer,’ said Jorge casually. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  Yes! At last somebody who seemed immune to Summer’s Scandinavian charms. Tamara could have hugged him. Instead, she said, in her most charming voice,

  ‘In that case, it’s lovely to meet you, Jorge. Why don’t you come and sit down here and tell me all about yourself?’

  *

  Summer was finding it very difficult to act normally. It had been silly of her not to have envisaged the possibility of bumping into Jack and Tamara, especially in one of Pacha’s VIP areas, for God’s sake. But Ibiza was her territory, and being waved past the hoi polloi, both at the club’s entrance, and at the velvet rope, was second nature to her. She was hot and sweaty after dancing her heart out and had needed to escape from the crowds for a while.

  When she’d seen Bella, her first thought had been just to say hello to the others, then make her excuses and leave. But Tamara had been so rude to her, refusing even to shake her hand – as if being a film star meant even such basic manners were beneath her – that Summer’s stubborn streak had come to the fore. No, she’d stick around, check out the competition.

  Tamara was stunning, she had to admit that, but she couldn’t see how she could ever have been right for Jack; the intellectual, nature-loving, outdoorsy Jack she knew and loved. Everything about the girl was fake, from her breasts to her lips to her hair. And what a stroppy little madam, too – sitting there with that petulant expression on her face, all because for once she wasn’t centre of attention.

  Thank God Jorge had turned up to distract her. He did have some uses, she supposed, watching as he flirted outrageously with Tamara, buttering her up, making her prink and preen.

  ‘Why that’s sweet of you to say,’ she was now saying coquettishly, giggling like Scarlett O’bloody Hara and brushing an imaginary piece of fluff off Jorge’s T-shirt.

  Being so close to Jack without being able to touch him was torture. She remembered every second of their lovemaking, and as she recalled his mouth on her bare skin, she flushed. She glanced up and saw that he was looking straight at her, smiling slightly. She realized he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she felt a rush of heat to her groin. Any doubts she
’d had earlier in the evening had gone. They were meant to be together, and that was that. The Tamara business was unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. Her brattish behaviour certainly made Summer feel less guilty.

  Summer was sitting between Filthy and Justin, who were hilarious company, despite their overt lechery. And it was kinda cool to be chatted up by a Rock God, if a bit weird. A bit weird? She laughed at herself internally. This had to be the weirdest situation she’d ever been in. And Jack looked horribly uncomfortable, bless him. She glanced over again, loving the way his curly black hair fell into his thickly lashed eyes, the awkward expression on his gorgeous face. Dressed down in baggy shorts and a plain navy-blue T-shirt, he was, as far as she was concerned, the most handsome man in the world.

  ‘So – Summer.’ She jumped as he addressed her directly, speaking quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.

  ‘Uh-huh?’

  ‘Do you have a personal favourite beach here?’

  Her heart started beating faster as she glanced over at Tamara, but she seemed to be totally engrossed in whatever Jorge was saying to her. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked back at Jack.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘Where’s that, babe?’ asked Filthy.

  She turned to him and smiled.

  ‘It’s this tiny little cove, on the northern coast. It’s so small it doesn’t even have a name, but it’s beautiful. I have never been happier than I’ve been there.’

  When she looked at Jack again, he was smiling broadly.

  Shit, thought Ben. These two are sailing perilously close to the wind.

  *

  ‘So. How do you know Summer?’ Tamara’s tone was deceptively honeyed.

  ‘Oh, we go way back.’ Jorge tried to brush it off, but Tamara was having none of it.

  ‘I said – how?’

  Madre de dio, she was like a terrier. A very sexy little terrier though. Jorge sighed. ‘I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts.’

  ‘Really? I wouldn’t put you two together . . .’

  ‘Porque no?’ Jorge gave a crooked half-smile.

  ‘Well, not being rude or anything, but isn’t she kinda . . . uptight? Loves herself a bit too much? You seem much more of a free spirit . . .’ Tamara put her perfectly manicured little hand on Jorge’s well-muscled thigh and he felt a stirring in his loins.

  ‘That is exactly right! Wow – you are as perceptive as you are beautiful.’ Tamara smiled. ‘Yes, Summer was too serious, too controlling. She tried to restrict me, but I am – as you say – a free spirit.’

  ‘Sounds like me and Jack. He won’t let me smoke, even though it’s the only vice I have left.’ Tamara sounded petulant again.

  ‘Quieres fumar?’ Jorge’s voice was low and conspiratorial. ‘I have plenty.’ He patted the back pocket of his tight white jeans.

  Tamara laughed. ‘So have I!’ She patted her diamond-studded Gucci clutch bag.

  Jorge laughed too, his teeth gleaming in his mahogany face. ‘You wanna come upstairs to the roof terrace?’

  Tamara gave a little half-bow, Scarlett O’Hara again. ‘Why, kind sir, I can think of nothing I’d like more.’

  *

  ‘Ahhh, that’s better.’ Tamara inhaled deeply on a Marlboro Light and looked around approvingly. They were sitting under the stars in a chill-out area with an almost Moroccan vibe – all silk cushions, low tables, atmospheric lighting and stunning views over the floodlit Old Town. A bikini-clad model sitting in a giant cocktail glass was drawing little attention from the seen-it-all-before clubbers, although a few heads were turning discreetly in Tamara’s direction. She was aware of, and enjoying this.

  ‘Cool place,’ she said.

  ‘Pacha is always the coolest.’ Jorge smiled at her, and she felt something quicken in her chest. He really was handsome, with his limpid dark eyes, wide, high cheekbones and full, pink lips, his longish dark hair falling around his face. ‘But you, Señorita Gold, are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’ He stared deeply into her eyes and she felt a throbbing sensation begin, low in her stomach. The attention of a handsome man was simply irresistible. Jack treated her more like a naughty little sister than a lover most of the time, and Tamara had always been powerless in the face of temptation. She gazed back at Jorge through dilated pupils, subconsciously licking her lips. Jorge felt himself harden in his tight white jeans.

  Jesus, he hadn’t seen this coming. He had been more than happy to hang out with the Hollywood stars – to flirt a little, sure – Jorge was a born flirt – but was Tamara Gold actually coming on to him? He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  ‘Jack and I have an – uh – open relationship,’ she said coyly, looking up at him from under her eyelash extensions and twirling a lock of shiny dark brown hair around her forefinger.

  ‘Madre de dio!’ Jorge glanced around, thinking quickly. They practically had the terrace to themselves now, and nobody was paying them much attention. He needed to strike while the iron was hot. ‘You wanna come somewhere more private with me?’

  ‘Oh yes, baby.’

  Tamara felt powerless, her sex addiction and adrenaline taking over where common sense left off.

  ‘Follow me. And look cool.’

  Jorge sauntered towards a door marked No Entrada and pushed it open. Tamara followed, her lustful gaze fixed firmly on his tight, white-denim-clad buttocks. Halfway down the narrow, dimly lit corridor he opened another door, switched on a light, then locked the door behind them.

  ‘Where are we?’ Tamara asked.

  ‘Store cupboard.’ Jorge grinned at her. ‘Staff entrance. I worked as a cleaner here when I was a boy, so I know my way around.’

  Tamara smiled slowly. ‘Well, well. You do take me to the best places.’ She was so aroused she felt she might come in her pants if he didn’t hurry up and screw her.

  ‘You wanna bit of rough, Señorita Hollywood Princess?’

  ‘Hell, yeah.’

  His hands were running up and down her body now as he nuzzled her neck, whispering and breathing in her ear. She could feel his silky dark hair brushing the tops of her breasts.

  ‘You like it hard?’ He bit the side of her neck. ‘You like it dirty?’

  In response, Tamara slithered out of her dress in one quick move. She was wearing nothing underneath and Jorge took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her incredible young body.

  ‘Bend over.’

  She did as she was told, balancing herself against a grubby wall with the palms of her hands. Her flexibility was impressive, and for a couple of seconds Jorge savoured the view of her high, peachy buttocks, before grabbing her by the hips and thrusting roughly inside her.

  Within less than a minute, they’d both come, Jorge pulling out at the last minute and shooting his load over Tamara’s back.

  Tamara sank to the floor, and turned around, wiping her damp sweaty hair away from her face.

  ‘Wow!’ she laughed. ‘Thanks. That was awesome.’

  ‘Awesome,’ Jorge repeated, grinning down at her. He could hardly believe what had just happened. She looked delightfully wanton, naked on the floor of the dingy store cupboard, her hair falling in tendrils over her bouncy breasts.

  ‘But – ewwww.’ Tamara jerked her head to indicate the sperm running down her narrow back. ‘What are we gonna do about that?’

  Jorge laughed. ‘This is the great advantage of making love in a store cupboard.’ He reached up to a shelf to pull down an industrial roll of loo paper, and handed it to her.

  ‘I can’t reach,’ Tamara pouted. ‘Can you do it?’

  Well, it wasn’t every day you got to wipe your own spunk off a Hollywood starlet’s back.

  They both got dressed, and Tamara took out her compact to redo her face.

  ‘How do I loo—’ she started, stopping when she saw that Jorge had chopped out two chunky lines of coke on one of the cupboard’s shelves. ‘Erm . . .’ she said. ‘If that’s for me, you’re barking up the
wrong tree, mister. I’ve been clean for nearly ten years now.’

  Jorge’s face fell.

  ‘I thought that was only a story for the Press. Surely everybody likes to indulge occasionally?’

  Tamara glanced at the parallel lines, silently calling to her like sirens luring sailors on to the rocks.

  ‘Not me.’ She shook her head a little less decisively than she had before.

  ‘This is quality stuff,’ Jorge wheedled. ‘Wow – you’ll feel like you’re flying . . . One line won’t hurt you . . . No?’ He shrugged. ‘OK. De nada.’ He bent his dark head and took a long, deep sniff through a straw. ‘Mon dieu. Formidable!’

  As he bent his head to hoover up the second line, Tamara grabbed him by the shoulder.

  ‘Stop! I’ve changed my mind . . .’

  *

  ‘I have to get to see you again – alone,’ whispered Jack to Summer. They had taken advantage of Tamara’s disappearance, and the general prevailing drunkenness, to manoeuvre themselves next to one another on the white leather banquette.

  ‘I know – me too – but shhh.’

  ‘I love you,’ Jack mouthed.

  ‘I love you too,’ Summer mouthed back. It was dark and crowded, even in the VIP area, and nobody seemed to be paying much attention to them, sitting side by side in the Stygian gloom, each of them acutely aware of Summer’s naked midriff and thighs – so tantalizingly within Jack’s reach.

  They didn’t notice Tamara coming back to the table until she was almost upon them. Her eyes were glittering, her hair a wild tangle, her scarlet lip-gloss badly applied, way over the edges of her collagen-filled lips.

  ‘Sorry to break up the party,’ she said sarcastically, hands on her green sequinned hips. ‘But I was under the impression that Jack was my fiancé.’

  ‘And where have you been for the last hour, honeybunch?’ asked Jack, immediately on the defensive, but trying to keep his voice down. People were starting to stare at them.

  ‘Checking out the sights.’ Tamara cackled madly. ‘This is a pretty cool club, as you’d realize if you could tear yourself away from that . . . that . . .’ Her voice faltered as she glared at Summer.