He had yet to introduce them to Bianca, although in the following months he hoped to do so. It didn’t help that the last time he’d seen them, Mariska, his youngest, had said, ‘Mama told us you have an American whore girlfriend. What’s a whore, Poppa?’
Aleksandr was furious. Rushana had better learn to control her mouth. He would not stand for her insulting the love of his life.
* * *
After Madrid, Bianca headed for Paris and a full-out spending spree. She knew all the designers and they were delighted to accommodate her, because whenever Bianca was photographed in one of their outfits, sales soared. Bianca was adept at negotiating outrageous discounts, plus she also managed to get many things for free.
Her excitement was building about the trip. She had a feeling that something special was going to take place – she had no clue what, but knowing Aleksandr it would be major.
Bianca had legions of friends in Paris – mostly in the fashion business and mostly gay. She planned on flying on to Moscow the next day, but in the meantime she called several of her friends, and they all met up for drinks at the Plaza Athenée, before moving on for a decadent dinner at her favourite dining bistro, the well-established L’Ami Louis, where everyone pigged out on the heavenly potato cakes sautéed in duck fat, and the amazingly tender grilled beef. For dessert they indulged in dishes of wild strawberries piled high and topped with crème fraiche. It was a decadent feast.
Bianca ate everything. Usually she watched her diet, but tonight she felt like letting go.
After dinner her sometime hair stylist, Pierre, suggested they move on to a club. So they ended up at Amnesia, a mostly gay bar with incredible sounds.
Bianca danced the night away with no inhibitions. When she was out with Aleksandr she felt as if she had to behave herself, keep her wild side strictly for the bedroom. Tonight it was all systems go, and since the ever-lurking paparazzi had no idea she was in Paris, she was free to be herself.
Ah . . . freedom from prying photo lenses! Oh, how Bianca embraced it.
However, what she didn’t take into account was so-called friends with mobile phones. And while she was letting it all hang loose, one of them was capturing images that would soon be for sale.
Her friend, Pierre, might be gay, but did the rest of the world know it?
Absolutely not. So photos of Bianca hugging and kissing him, dancing in a skirt so short anyone could see she was not wearing panties, grinding on a stripper pole, and generally cavorting – well, those photos were pure gold. Soon they would hit the Internet with a vengeance.
In the meantime Bianca was blissfully unaware of the clandestine shots being taken. She danced the night away with a smile on her face, and had herself a fine old time.
Chapter Twenty
If there was one thing Ashley hated it was when her mother attempted to spew forth a mouthful of advice, as if Elise had any clue what she was talking about. Three failed marriages and a job in a department store at her age. Exactly who would listen to her?
Certainly not Ashley, for she considered herself streets ahead of her mum. She’d moved up in life, far far away from her humble beginnings. Not only was she married to a famous footballer, even more importantly she was part of a successful interior-design team. Partnering with Jeromy had been a clever move on her part. Jeromy had a stellar reputation, and now that they were working side by side, so did she.
Well, it was kind of side by side because they weren’t exactly equal partners, even though Taye had put money into the business. When she’d first started working with him, Jeromy had bestowed on her the title Creative Consultant. She’d been a bit miffed at first, but so far it had worked out. Whenever Jeromy had a celebrity client, he allowed her input. It was fun at first, but then she’d begun noticing that he always introduced her as Ashley Sherwin, Taye Sherwin’s wife.
It pissed her off. Wasn’t being Ashley Sherwin enough? Did Jeromy have to tag on that she was Taye’s wife? What was that about?
When this had happened a couple of times she’d brought it to his attention, pointing out that it certainly wasn’t necessary to give Taye billing.
Jeromy had gone all confused and gay on her. ‘I’m so sorry, sweet thing,’ he’d purred. ‘I would never do anything to upset you.’
After that he’d stopped bringing up Taye’s name in front of her, although somehow or other all the clients seemed to know.
Eventually she’d complained a second time, causing Jeromy to adopt a more frosty attitude. ‘Is it my fault that you and Taye are photographed wherever you go?’ he’d said with an imperious curl of his lip. ‘People recognize you, dear. Besides, it’s good for business. Get used to it, or may I suggest that you stay out of the magazines.’
It was true, she couldn’t argue with Jeromy’s logic. She and Taye were a staple in every magazine. Heat and Closer often featured them on the cover. And Hello and OK! had done numerous ‘at home’ pictorials with her, Taye and the twins. As for the Internet – their photos were everywhere. Taye’s Facebook page had millions of followers, plus he insisted on Tweeting himself, and occasionally posting intimate family shots he’d taken with his favourite Nikon camera – a birthday gift she regretted giving him. He was always trying to catch her unawares, then posting the stupid photos of her asleep or half-dressed.
The problem was that Jeromy was right, she was in all the magazines, and that was good for business, so eventually she’d stopped complaining.
* * *
The moment Ashley invited Elise to stay at their house while they went on their trip, Elise had moved in, even though Ashley had insisted it was way too soon. ‘We don’t leave for another week,’ she’d pointed out. ‘No need for you to be here this early, Mum.’
‘I know,’ Elise had responded, thrilled to get out of her tiny apartment, ‘but I want the twins to get used to having me around. And you don’t mind, do you, Taye?’ she’d added, simpering at her handsome son-in-law, who – once she’d got over the fact that he was black – she absolutely adored.
Taye had nodded. Anything for a peaceful life.
Now they were sitting at dinner in their dining room, and Elise was droning on and on about how they should conduct themselves on their upcoming trip.
‘You have to change outfits three times a day,’ she instructed. ‘Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I read that’s what these fancy people do on their yachts.’
‘Really?’ Ashley drawled sarcastically. ‘Where did you read that?’
‘On the Internet,’ Elise said, then spitting up further gems she added, ‘and don’t be taking any ripped or torn knickers. They have people to do your washing, and you wouldn’t want them talking about you behind your back.’
‘Bloody hell, they’ll have a right old time with my drawers,’ Taye joked, letting forth a ribald chuckle. ‘Skidmarks galore.’
Ashley threw him a disapproving glare. ‘Don’t encourage her,’ she said sharply. ‘And stop being vulgar.’
‘Lighten up, toots, I’m only jokin’,’ Taye said, wondering if there was any chance of him getting a leg over tonight.
‘Well, she’s not,’ Ashley hissed. ‘She believes every word of it.’
‘Fine,’ Elise said grandly. ‘Don’t take me seriously, but I know of what I speak. I read all about it.’
‘Where exactly?’ Ashley demanded.
‘I Googled yacht etiquette,’ Elise replied, straight-faced. ‘Are you aware that you’re supposed to tip the staff at the end of the trip?’
‘Good to know,’ Taye said cheerfully. ‘I’d better go raid me piggy bank.’
‘It’s no joke,’ Elise said, wagging a stern finger at the two of them. ‘The staff talk, and the last thing you need is a reputation as a cheapskate.’
‘Watch it, missus,’ Taye smirked. ‘Nobody’s ever accused me of bein’ cheap.’
Ashley had heard enough. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she sighed.
‘It’s not even nine, toots,’ Taye objected.
�
��I’m tired.’
Too tired for a quick shag?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
‘I’ll join you then,’ Taye said, rising from the table.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ Elise whined.
‘I dunno,’ Ashley said. ‘Why don’t you go and Google some more useless information.’
‘All I’m trying to do is help,’ Elise said. ‘Although if you don’t appreciate it . . .’
‘You’re right, I don’t,’ Ashley said, before abruptly exiting the room.
Elise turned to Taye. ‘What’ve I done now?’ she asked plaintively.
Taye felt a bit sorry for her, because when Ashley was in one of her bitchy moods there was no stopping her.
‘I think she’s got one of her headaches,’ he said, making an excuse for his wife’s bad behaviour.
‘I don’t know why she thinks she can take it out on me,’ Elise grumbled. ‘I’ve done everything for that girl, made sacrifices you wouldn’t believe. And let me tell you, when her father walked out on us, Ashley was six, and I didn’t give up, I kept on going for her sake.’ Elise’s lower lip began to tremble. ‘My little girl never lacked for anything. Singing lessons, dancing, piano, she had it all. I used to drive her to all the auditions. And look how it paid off. If she hadn’t married you, she could’ve been a big star.’
‘I bet,’ Taye said, wondering how to make a quick getaway before Elise continued her story of sacrifice. ‘Anyway, you know what, luv – Ashley’s a big star to me, so that’s all that matters, right?’
And with those words, he was out the door.
Chapter Twenty-One
I’m coming to Paris early, Xuan texted Flynn. Please book me a hotel.
No way, he texted back. You’ll stay with me. Send details of your arrival.
Which is how he found himself at the airport waiting for her flight to arrive.
He got there early, spent some time perusing the magazine stands, picked up a copy of Newsweek and settled back to wait.
Xuan’s plane was an hour late. She emerged from the gate with a purposeful stride, attracting attention wherever she went. She might be petite, but she was certainly a beauty with her almond-shaped eyes, full cherry lips, and sweep of straight black hair that fell way below her compact bottom.
Men paid attention, so did women.
Well, they would, wouldn’t they? Flynn thought, waving at her. Lesbian signals are surely wafting in the air.
Xuan headed towards him with just an oversized shoulder bag filled with everything she might need.
‘Any more luggage?’ Flynn asked, giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.
‘Nope,’ Xuan replied, indicating her bag. ‘This is it.’
Flynn attempted to take it from her.
She shrugged him away with a caustic – ‘What? You think I can’t carry my own bag?’
He shook his head, amused. When it came to Xuan, nothing ever changed. She was fiercely independent. Whenever they’d been out chasing a story in war zones or other dangerous places, she’d always insisted on being treated like one of the boys.
So be it.
They took a cab back to his apartment. Flynn didn’t own a car; he was never in one city long enough to be bothered with the responsibility.
His apartment was a small one-bedroom. He’d already decided that Xuan could have the bed, and he’d bunk down on the couch.
When he told her, she laughed in his face. ‘No, Flynn. You can keep your bed, the couch suits me fine.’
‘Still as stubborn as ever.’
‘This is true,’ she answered with a slight smile.
Later they left the apartment and dined at a nearby bistro Flynn frequented when he was in town. Xuan drank red wine and regaled him with stories of her adventures in Vietnam. She told him about the children she’d visited and the women who’d had to put up with so many incredible hardships.
Flynn listened sympathetically. He understood. There was so much misery in the world, and it never saw the light of day unless someone dedicated – like Xuan or even himself – grabbed a platform to write about it.
‘Maybe you should write a book,’ Xuan announced, devouring a plate of spaghetti, the tomato sauce dribbling down her delicate pointed chin.
‘I wrote a book,’ Flynn reminded her, although he couldn’t remember if he’d ever mentioned it before.
Apparently not, for Xuan looked surprised. ‘What book?’ she asked.
‘Bullshit travel stories,’ he replied, slightly embarrassed. ‘When I was younger.’
‘I want to read it.’
‘Not your style.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You wouldn’t like it.’
‘Why not?’
‘I wrote it when I was very young.’
‘Ah,’ Xuan said, her eyes shining bright. ‘And now you’re so ancient.’
Flynn laughed. ‘You’re the one who should write a book,’ he said, leaning across the table and dabbing the sauce from her chin with his napkin.
She stiffened, and snatched the napkin from him.
‘Okay, okay,’ he said, throwing up his hands. ‘I know you don’t like to be touched unless it’s sexual.’
‘You and I, we’re never going there,’ Xuan stated, as if it was a well-known fact.
‘You’re so right,’ he retorted.
The bistro-owner’s daughter, Mai, who was waitressing, approached their table. Mai was a pretty girl who could not understand why Flynn had never invited her out. Tonight she was not pleased to see him with a woman, for he usually dined alone.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Mai asked, shooting Xuan a dirty look.
‘More wine,’ Flynn said. ‘And maybe a look at the dessert menu.’
‘Oui, monsieur,’ Mai said, suddenly going all French and formal on him. ‘Tout de suite.’
Flynn caught her attitude. So did Xuan.
‘She likes you,’ Xuan said with a knowing smile as Mai walked away.
‘And I like her,’ Flynn responded. ‘What’s not to like?’
‘Ah yes,’ Xuan added. ‘Only you like her as simply another girl. She likes you to jump into bed with.’
‘No way,’ Flynn objected. ‘We’re friends.’
‘You’re so naïve when it comes to women,’ Xuan said, shaking back her long hair.
‘Not naïve, merely careful,’ Flynn replied. ‘Haven’t you heard the expression – don’t crap where you eat?’
‘You mean shit,’ Xuan said succinctly.
‘I’m being polite.’
Another knowing smile. ‘After all we’ve been through together you’re being polite? I’m one of the boys – remember?’
‘Sure,’ Flynn said, deftly switching subjects. ‘However, has it occurred to you that maybe she likes you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Why? You’re not feeling the vibe?’ Flynn teased.
‘No,’ Xuan said with a casual shrug. ‘I am not.’
‘I told you,’ Flynn said, continuing to tease. ‘Feel free to take the bedroom whenever you want, it’s all yours.’
‘It seems to me that you’re very evasive when it comes to women,’ Xuan said.
‘How’s that?’ Flynn answered vaguely.
‘I’ve observed that wherever we are in the world, you might allow yourself one night with a woman, only never more than one night.’
‘And you’re so different?’ he retaliated.
‘I’m a loner, Flynn, I always have been.’
‘So am I.’
Mai returned and thrust menus at them.
As Flynn studied the menu, he realized it was the most personal conversation he’d ever had with Xuan, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like anyone poking around in his so-called love-life. It was nobody’s business but his.
‘Dessert?’ he asked stiffly.
‘Coffee,’ Xuan relied. ‘Black. Nothing fancy.’
‘It’ll keep you awake,’ he pointed out.<
br />
‘My problem, not yours.’
Standing by the table, Mai tapped her foot impatiently.
‘One black coffee, Mai,’ Flynn said, glancing up at her. ‘And do you have any of that delicious pie you keep for special customers?’
Mai softened as she sensed there was nothing going on between Flynn and the Asian woman. ‘For you,’ she said softly, ‘bien sûr.’
‘Thanks, Mai.’ And he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to sleep with the young French woman. She was certainly pretty enough, and from what he could tell she had a nice personality.
No – it wouldn’t work out. After a few weeks he’d end it and she’d be upset and hurt. Random hook-ups were not worth the trouble. Besides, he planned on still frequenting the bistro when he was in town, and like he’d told Xuan – do not shit where you eat. A firm rule to believe in.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Did you come?’ Cliff asked as he rolled over to his side of the bed. He wasn’t that concerned; on the other hand, he was not averse to a rave review.
‘Oh my God, did I!’ Lori responded, full of fake enthusiasm. She didn’t believe in lying unless it was absolutely necessary, only why tell one of the biggest movie stars in the world that once again he hadn’t hit a home run?
Cliff was okay in bed, although he was certainly no Superman. He was almost fifty years old and a textbook lover. Five minutes of foreplay, followed by a quick fuck, followed by her going down on him until he came in her mouth and woe betide if she didn’t swallow – that really pissed him off.
She knew why. He’d once relayed the story of a famous tennis player who’d allowed a random date in a restaurant to slip under the table and suck him off. But Random Date was smart: she hadn’t swallowed, she’d spat his sperm into a paper cup and rushed it to a friendly doctor who’d inseminated her, and voila! One successful paternity suit.
Cliff Baxter had to know exactly where his precious sperm was headed. And who could blame him?
It was almost a week after the coyote/sprained ankle incident. Lori was fully recovered, for that’s all it had been, a light sprain.
The Power Trip Page 8