‘Barneys,’ she said to the driver. ‘After that we’ll make a stop at Bergdorf’s.’
‘Yes, Mrs Patterson,’ the driver said, starting the car.
Sierra leaned back against the leather upholstery. What was she going to do about her life? How was she ever going to get away from Hammond?
The answer always escaped her.
Chapter Thirteen
The invitations were sent, and Bianca waited impatiently for the replies to come in. She’d left Moscow and Aleksandr for a Vanity Fair cover shoot in Madrid. It wasn’t the perfect situation, leaving her man by himself, but the Vanity Fair photos were to accompany a lengthy story commemorating her successful career and thirtieth birthday. Such excellent and prestigious coverage was very special.
Bianca had been a top model for almost thirteen years, ever since being discovered at the age of seventeen by a legitimate modelling agent, who’d noticed her waitressing at her parents’ deli in Queens, New York. The man had told her she had potential, then slipped her his card.
It had taken her two months to get up the courage to phone him. And when she’d set off for her initial interview, she’d asked her Latino gang-banger boyfriend to go with her. This did not please the agent, who’d insisted her boyfriend stayed in the waiting room, a move that didn’t sit well with her boyfriend at all. He’d scowled all the way back to Queens, and they’d broken up a few weeks later.
The day she did her first test shots, she’d taken her mom with her. Her mom was an attractive if slightly work-worn Cuban woman, who’d always kept secret her own ambition to be a model.
Bianca was a natural in front of the camera. Instinctively she had it down, posing this way and that, making love to the camera.
And so began her brilliant career. A career that hadn’t been without its ups and downs.
When Bianca started modelling she was young and striking, with a strong personality. It didn’t take long before she became the favourite of several top designers. This infuriated some of the older models who felt she was a pushy girl with way too much attitude for such a newcomer.
Her rise especially angered the small but tight Ethnic group of models. One in particular, Willow, did everything she could to sabotage Bianca’s photo shoots and modelling gigs. Willow was a great beauty herself, also of mixed race, and she didn’t feel there was room for the two of them. However, the more Willow tried to sabotage her, the more Bianca fought back. Eventually, when Willow realized Bianca was not going away anytime soon, they reached a truce, and after a while they became friends, even doing a cover shoot for Vogue together, posing side by side.
Along with Naomi Campbell, Tyra Banks and Beverly Johnson, they were the most famous women of colour in the modelling world.
Bianca embraced her new life. She soon got into drugs and men and parties, sleeping with whomever she felt like, doing whatever she pleased. They were fun times which included snorting cocaine for breakfast and clubbing the night away.
It didn’t affect her work. She was a star in her own world, and she enjoyed every minute of the decadent life-style she’d so readily embraced.
Her various affairs with rich, powerful, famous and sometimes titled men were the stuff the tabloids loved. She used men for her own pleasure, and when she was bored with them, she moved on.
In her late twenties she’d gotten hooked on heroin thanks to a world-famous rock-star boyfriend, who didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. Her family and friends – including Willow – conducted an intervention, and she’d ended up in rehab for a torturous six months.
It was while she was in rehab that she’d taken a long hard look at her life and decided it was time to think about what would really make her happy. It wasn’t fame – she had that in spades. It wasn’t all about money – she was quite comfortable in that respect. It was something more. She finally desired a real relationship that didn’t take place on the front pages of the tabloids.
Yes. She needed someone who cared about Bianca the person, not the fantasy image.
Then along came Aleksandr, and it was as if she was reborn.
Ah . . . Aleksandr. She smiled every time she thought of him.
Aleksandr had never touched drugs and he couldn’t care less about seeing his photo in a magazine – in fact, he hated it. He preferred to stay out of the limelight, although he’d had to get used to the fact that being with Bianca meant constant attention.
Aleksandr was a real man in every way. He cared about her for her own self – not the icon she’d created.
Now he’d invited a select group of people to join him on his new luxurious state-of-the-art yacht for a trip to celebrate her upcoming birthday, and she was excited.
Of course they’d argued about who to invite, until eventually she’d given way to Aleksandr’s suggestions. He didn’t want any of what he referred to as ‘trashy people’. He insisted that they invite only the crème de la crème.
So be it. Whatever Aleksandr wanted, he got. Although she had insisted on inviting her best gay friend from way back, Latin singing sensation Luca Perez. And she’d also invited Ashley Sherwin, who’d helped decorate her London apartment.
Aleksandr hadn’t argued about Ashley, for he was a longtime admirer of her footballer husband, the very handsome Taye Sherwin.
With a slight flash of guilt Bianca remembered hooking up with Taye some time ago, long before he’d met and married Ashley. It was a one-nighter at an out-of-control party in London. She doubted if Taye would even remember, and she’d certainly never mentioned it to Ashley or Aleksandr. God forbid!
Aleksandr’s choice of guests was more sedate. They included the movie star, Cliff Baxter, and his current girlfriend. Renowned Senator Hammond Patterson and his wife, Sierra. And Flynn Hudson, a writer whom Bianca had never met, although Aleksandr spoke highly of him.
It promised to be quite a stellar group. Bianca was all set to make this one special trip to remember.
Chapter Fourteen
Ashley could not stop gazing at the invitation. It was so elegant and simple, yet at the same time it reeked of money and class. She couldn’t wait to tell Jeromy that they too were on the guest-list. Mr and Mrs Taye Sherwin. Jeromy had tried to one-up them as was his way, only now they had a legitimate invitation of their own.
She wished Taye had given her the invitation last night before they’d had dinner with Jeromy. For some unknown reason he’d held back, not showing it to her until they got home. Then he’d had the nerve to expect sex.
Too bad. She wasn’t in the mood.
Sometimes Taye could be too demanding when it came to sex. She’d discussed it with some of her girlfriends and to her surprise they’d all said the same thing. ‘You’re lucky he gets it up at all.’ It seemed that most men who’d been married for over five years allowed their sex-life to slip. Or at least their sex-life with their wives.
Ashley did not consider herself lucky at all. Taye’s never-ending pawing at her in bed was an irritant, one she could well do without.
Actually, Ashley did not find sex that appealing these days. It was messy and dirty, a chore she forced herself to do every so often simply to satisfy her husband. As far as she was concerned, Taye was insatiable. However, he was also a famous footballer, so she knew that if she didn’t oblige, there were plenty of women who would.
Football groupies. They were everywhere, with their shorter-than-short skirts skimming their tight little bottoms, skimpy tops, ridiculously high heels, over-the-top makeup, and a burning desire to hop into bed with one of ‘the boys’ as they referred to their prey.
Yes, Taye was one of the boys all right. He was Top Boy. The big prize.
Ashley sincerely doubted he’d cheat on her again, not after the last time. The incident with the page three girl had almost cost him his marriage, and one thing she was sure of – he adored her and the twins, and he wouldn’t risk it, for she’d warned him countless times that if he ever cheated again, they were over. Finito. Goodbye. She�
��d take the twins and half his money too. She meant it, oh yes, she certainly meant it.
After turning the invitation over in her hands, she decided that it must’ve cost a pretty penny to print. She wondered how many people were invited, and who they were other than Luca Perez and Jeromy.
Maybe royalty might be on the list. Kate and William. What a coup that would be, sailing the high seas with bloody royalty!
Perhaps she’d text Bianca and enquire who else was going. Or was that bad manners?
Probably.
There was a reply card enclosed, stamped and ready to go. No cheesy Evite for this couple.
Bianca had landed herself a winner, and Ashley was pleased for her. They’d become vaguely friendly when she’d been involved in helping to decorate Bianca’s London penthouse a couple of years ago. They’d found that they had something in common. Bianca was famous, while Ashley was married to fame.
Sharing a few gossipy lunches, Bianca had regaled her with stories about some of the men she’d bedded. It was exciting stuff, and although Ashley hadn’t seen Bianca since the supermodel had hooked up with the Russian billionaire, she was obviously still on her radar, hence the invitation.
Ashley picked up the phone and called her mum; she had to tell someone about the invite. Besides, she didn’t want Taye’s annoying parents moving into the house while they were away. It was better that her own mother was in residence to keep an eye on the twins, even though they had a live-in nanny.
Elise was less than thrilled to hear from her. ‘You only call me when you need something,’ she whined.
So? Ashley thought. Isn’t that what mums are for?
* * *
‘Take a look at this,’ one of Taye’s fellow players said, thrusting a mobile phone at him. ‘Get a load of those knockers.’
Taye took the phone and stared longingly at the photo of a naked, extremely busty brunette, sitting in a chair facing the camera with her legs spread. She was pretty in a tarty way, but it was her tits that caught his attention. They were huge, with dark extended nipples, so very different from Ashley’s – although since she’d had the boob job, hers were pretty spectacular. He couldn’t complain.
Taye felt the rise of Mammoth (a name he’d given his penis when he was twelve) and attempted to hide his embarrassment at getting a hard-on simply from checking out some random woman’s tits.
‘Who is she?’ he muttered.
‘A fan,’ his fellow player replied. ‘Sends me a new filthy photo every week. Nice pair of bazangers, right?’
‘Better not let your wife see ’em.’
‘My wife wouldn’t give a fast shit. You’re the one who’s under the cosh.’
‘Watch it,’ Taye warned.
‘C’mon, mate,’ his teammate said with a knowing chuckle. ‘Everyone an’ their dog knows Ashley’s got you by the bo-jangles.’
‘Do me a favour an’ give it a rest,’ Taye mumbled, glaring at him.
‘Go have a wank,’ his teammate sniggered. ‘Looks like you need one.’
Mammoth was definitely on course. Taye made it into the men’s toilet, locked himself in a stall, and helped Mammoth do its thing.
Balls! This wouldn’t be happening if Ashley ever let him within ten feet of her precious pussy. She was depriving him of his conjugal rights, and that wasn’t fair. He needed sex. He craved sex, but what was a guy supposed to do when his wife’s thighs were locked together tighter than David Blaine’s handcuffs?
Fuck! It was a shitty situation.
He loved his wife, that was for sure. But did she honestly think that he was going to sit back and accept her once-a-month sex rule?
Bullshit. He was Taye Sherwin. Women lusted after him. They wrote him adoring and explicit letters, flooded his fan Facebook and Twitter, hung around outside every match hoping to get lucky. He could get laid twenty times a day if he so desired.
Things would have to change, and what better time and place to sort everything out than on the upcoming Kasianenko trip.
Yeah, it was confrontation time, and Taye was finally ready.
Chapter Fifteen
Xuan sent Flynn a terse text. Of course, it read. Where and when?
In ten days’ time, he texted back. Meet me in Paris, we’ll go together.
Flynn was pleased that Xuan had agreed to come with him on the trip. He found her company stimulating, and he had a feeling that Aleksandr would too. For once he had something to look forward to that didn’t involve work. It made a welcome change – he badly needed the break.
He’d first crossed paths with Aleksandr several years previously when he was in Moscow investigating a notorious criminal gang. The mastermind of the group, Boris Zukov, resided in a luxury apartment just outside Moscow with his French stripper girlfriend, who wasn’t averse to giving anonymous interviews in exchange for money to feed her secret drug habit. Flynn had a contact who put him in touch with her, and during the course of an extremely interesting and informative one-on-one, he’d discovered that apart from drugs and arms-running, there was a kidnap plot afoot to abduct one of Aleksandr Kasianenko’s three daughters for an enormous ransom. Six months previously, another rich man’s daughter had been kidnapped, and even though that ransom was paid, the child had ended up brutally murdered.
Flynn absorbed the information, and instead of going to the police, he’d done what he considered to be the right thing, and gone straight to Kasianenko. It was the smart thing to do, and it turned out to be a wise move, for the Russian oligarch had handled things in his own way and no kidnapping had taken place.
Twenty-four hours later, Boris Zukov had accidentally fallen to his death from a fourteenth-floor window in his tony apartment building.
Nobody seemed too concerned about the ‘accident’ – nobody except Boris’s younger brother, Sergei, who’d been outraged that the police had done nothing. It appeared that they didn’t care. To them, the death of Boris Zukov was a bonus. One less vicious criminal to deal with.
It occurred to Flynn that although Aleksandr was a legitimate businessman, he was also a man who knew how to take care of things in a don’t fuck with me kind of way. Flynn admired him for that.
They’d met several times over the following years, and bonded as only two strong men can. Neither wanted anything from the other, and that suited them fine.
It had been a couple of years since they’d last got together, and Flynn was looking forward to seeing Aleksandr again. He still admired the man. Ruthless but honest. An interesting mix.
He’d been surprised when he’d read about Aleksandr hooking up with the famous super-model, Bianca, since he’d been under the impression that Aleksandr was a happily married man. Apparently things were different now.
The last time he’d seen him, the Russian had taken him to a fancy club around the corner from his hotel, and offered to buy him one of the gorgeous women lounging on bar stools and sitting at tables. The place was full of stunning women and very few men.
‘Is this a brothel?’ Flynn had asked, faintly amused.
Aleksandr had chuckled. ‘If it was, it would’ve been shut down years ago,’ he’d said. ‘This is a private club, and if a man should rent a room upstairs for the night, then it’s between him and the lady in question.’
Flynn had laughed. ‘I’ve never paid for it, and I’m not about to start now,’ he’d said. ‘But you go ahead.’
‘Me?’ Aleksandr had replied, stony-faced. ‘I am a happily married man, Flynn. I do not cheat. Too expensive. Too complicated.’
And now it wasn’t so complicated any more.
* * *
Spending half her life on a plane was nothing new for Xuan. Besides, she enjoyed flying. One of her unfulfilled ambitions was to take lessons and obtain her pilot’s licence. It was something she had promised herself she would do sometime in the future.
Martha, a Dutch woman who resided in Amsterdam, had offered Xuan anything she wanted if only she would give up travelling the world and move in wi
th her. ‘Including flying lessons,’ Martha had promised.
‘When I am seventy-five,’ Xuan had joked.
Martha was fifty, divorced, affluent and attractive, with acceptable bedroom skills. Xuan was not tempted, she relished her independence too much.
Finished with Deshi, she hailed a taxi and visited a group of impoverished women and their children who lived in nothing more than a jumble of run-down shacks on the edge of Saigon. She took food and clothes and as much money as she could spare, then spent several hours with them, playing with the children, laughing and chatting with the women who were – in spite of their circumstances – surprisingly upbeat.
Back at her hotel she thought seriously about Flynn and their trip. It was bound to be excessive and over the top. Spoiled rich people vacationing knee-deep in luxury.
Would she be able to stand it?
For Flynn’s sake she’d try. And if it all got too much she’d simply take off. That was the cool thing about having no roots – when it was time to go, there was no one and nothing to stop her.
Chapter Sixteen
Lori made a firm decision. She was not allowing herself to give in to fear; she was a survivor, she could deal with this. It wasn’t like she hadn’t dealt with enough crap in her life, so why be frightened of two mangy, red-eyed wild animals?
She stared the two coyotes down with a purpose, then – when they didn’t move – she started yelling and frantically waving her arms in the air like a crazy person.
‘Fuck off, you little monsters!’ she screamed. ‘Get the fuck outta here!’
It was as if she had an angel watching over her, for the two coyotes suddenly turned around and slunk back into the bushes. Just like that.
‘Holy shit!’ she marvelled. ‘I did it!’
Then, just as she was about to use her cell phone to call for help, a young jogger appeared. He was wearing board shorts, a cut-off UCLA tee, and a sweatband to keep his blondish hair from falling into his eyes.
The Power Trip Page 6