by S K Quinn
‘Danny.’ I march up to him.
‘Uh oh.’ Danny adjusts his heavy body against the camera. ‘So you slept with the new girl, right? That’s what your problem is.’
Fucking perceptive Danny.
I glance back to see if Cassandra is watching us.
She is.
‘Say no more.’ Danny holds his hands up. ‘That look tells me everything. Okay. We won’t linger too much on the kissing scenes. All right?’
‘Appreciated.’
‘Marc?’
‘Yes Danny?’
‘You sleep with half of Hollywood, you’re going to leave ghosts all over the place. And ghosts come back to haunt you. Remember that. LA is a small town, when all is said and done. Same old places, same old people.’
15
Ghosts. I have plenty of those.
When Sophia and I go public tomorrow, some of them are going to come out of the woodwork.
Sophia says she loves me for who I am. Including my past. But she doesn’t know all of my past. Not yet. She doesn’t know what went on with Cassandra that summer …
16
I’m in my trailer.
Someone is knocking softly at the door. But I’m pretending not to hear.
Filming was tense – mainly because of me. I did everything I could to avoid talking to Cassandra.
I know it looked odd, but I didn’t care.
There’s a part of me – a dark, aching part deep inside – that wants to explore what Cassandra has to offer. And I’m terrified that I won’t be able to hide it for much longer.
The knocking gets louder.
I put my feet up on the sofa and lie back, squeezing my eyes closed.
When I open them, I see Cassandra in the doorway.
‘Hi.’ She smiles.
I frown. ‘When someone doesn’t answer, it means they want to be alone.’
‘Nice place. Nicer than mine.’ She closes the trailer door. ‘You don’t want to be alone.’
‘Yes I do.’ My voice is stern. ‘Cassandra, perhaps I should make myself clear. I’m a man who sleeps with a lot of women. You’re one of many. I’m sorry to put it that way, but there it is. So if you could kindly—’
‘You’d never done it before, had you?’
I laugh, jerking upright. ‘There have been hundreds of women—’
‘But what we did. It was your first time.’
I look away from her.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? You were so good, though. I’ll give you that. A natural.’
‘How did you know?’ I ask, and my voice cracks a little. I still can’t look at her.
‘I told you. You get to know the types. I can tell that just by looking at you.’
I put my head in my hands. ‘I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to hurt women.’
Cassandra sits beside me. ‘You don’t hurt women. You give them pleasure. As long as you pick the right women, there isn’t a problem.’
‘It’s a problem for me.’ I pull my head from my hands, and know my eyes are red. ‘Christ.’
‘There’s more. So much more to learn.’
‘Cassandra—’
‘Let me show you.’
‘No.’
‘You can’t resist this Marc Blackwell. It’s stronger than both of us. The more you try, the more it will pull you in. I should know.’ Cassandra puts a hand on my leg. ‘Get changed. And come with me.’
And god help me, I do.
17
Cassandra and I end up in the White Room – a restaurant I’ve been to many times.
It’s well known in Hollywood, and we see plenty of famous actors eating their lunchtime salads.
Cassandra is more famous than I realise. She’s greeted effusively by the doorman and immediately offered a table.
Before we take our seats, a bucket of champagne is placed on the table.
‘Compliments of the management, Ms Kilburn.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ Cassandra takes red lipstick from her purse and applies it.
‘They know you here,’ I say.
‘Yes. Drink some champagne.’ Cassandra pats the corners of her lips with a napkin, leaving bright red stains on white cloth. ‘You need to relax. Let go. You’re tense.’
‘I don’t drink champagne.’ I take a seat.
‘Well today you can make an exception. Out of politeness to your female companion. Share the bottle with me.’
‘Given what you like in the bedroom, it’s ironic that you’re so domineering.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. Nice place, don’t you think?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ever been here before?’
‘Yes. But clearly you’re a regular.’
‘I love it. Come at least once a week. A new guy on my arm every time.’
‘The management seem to like you.’ I nod at the champagne.
‘Manager. I meet up with him every month or so. For fun and games. So …’
‘I’m paying for dinner,’ I say abruptly.
‘Neither of us need to pay,’ says Cassandra, stretching her long legs under the table. ‘This will be on the house.’
‘They must be some fun and games you have.’
‘They are.’
Her legs reach mine, and she arranges her long, slim calves so they lie between my ankles.
We watch while the waiter pours champagne.
‘Thank you.’ Cassandra nods.
‘Very good Ms Kilburn.’ The waiter darts away in a manner that tells me he knows Cassandra very well and realises our conversation will be private.
I tap the leather menu on the white tablecloth, looking around the restaurant, out of the window – anywhere but at Cassandra.
‘So.’ Cassandra folds her long, white fingers together. ‘Why are you here, Mr Marc Blackwell? Since you find me so repulsive.’
She’s teasing me.
‘I don’t find you repulsive. It’s not you. It’s … what I am. What I found in myself when I was with you.’
‘What you found was there all along,’ Cassandra rubs her legs back and forth, creating friction along my calves.
I slide my chair back. ‘Cassandra—’
‘Can’t handle it?’ She raises a teasing eyebrow.
‘No. I can’t. I should go—’
‘Wait.’ Cassandra clamps her hand on mine. ‘Just one minute. Please. There’s someone I want you to meet.’
I frown at her. ‘You’re playing games with me.’
‘Maybe. But aren’t they fun?’
‘No.’
‘Just you wait. Things are about to get really fun. Ah! Here she is.’
I follow Cassandra’s gaze and see a tanned blonde moving through the restaurant.
She waves at Cassandra, then favours me with a flirtatious smile.
The girl reaches our table.
‘Cute,’ she tells Cassandra, her eyes on me. ‘Where did you find him?’
The girl is pretty, with natural blonde hair cropped to her ears – so unlike the other blondes around here, who have acres of store-bought hair.
‘You could say he found me,’ says Cassandra, giving me a sideways glance. ‘Right Marc?’
‘Wait – Marc Blackwell?’ the girl asks.
Cassandra nods.
The girl puts a hand to her mouth. ‘No way.’
Oh Jesus Christ. Another crazed fan.
‘Cassandra.’ I flash warning eyes. ‘What’s going on?’
Cassandra ignores me, standing to greet the girl. ‘Good to see you Jessica.’ She kisses her on both cheeks. ‘Glad you made it.’
Jessica grins. ‘Me too.’ She turns to me, extending her hand. ‘Jessica Goldberg. And yes – before you ask, I am one of those Goldbergs.’
The Goldbergs are movie royalty – headed by Jerry Goldberg who owns Goldberg studios.
I should have known Jessica came from an important family. Everything about her screams Hollywood princess. Her confidence. Her flawless skin,
perfect teeth, immaculate clothes and hairstyle.
She sits and grabs a menu. ‘Have you ordered yet?’
‘Not yet,’ says Cassandra, leaning back in her chair.
‘So.’ Jessica smiles at me. ‘What are you having?’
‘Actually I was just about to leave.’
‘Oh perfect.’ Jessica is still smiling. ‘Cassandra – your place or mine?’
18
I could have said no. But I didn’t.
One air-conditioned limo ride later, we arrived at Jessica’s mansion. It was owned by her parents, who were visiting friends in New York that evening.
I’d never been in the company of the super-rich before. People who could jet off to another city for a night out.
For Jessica it was all perfectly normal. The marble floors, the flawless blue swimming pool, the jet-setting parents.
For me, it was a whole new world – in more ways than one. I was about to awaken an even darker part of myself. A part I would come to detest …
19
I’m awkward on the suede sofa, balancing a tumbler of whisky on my knee.
Jessica has disappeared upstairs to ‘prepare’ something or other – the thought of which both terrifies and excites me.
Cassandra sits opposite.
Nothing of consequence was said in the limo, but we all know why we’re here.
I just can’t help myself. That’s the god’s honest truth. I need to have more. I need to know just what I’m capable of.
When I was growing up, my dad drank. A lot.
I always wondered why he didn’t just stop. Why did he do it, even when it was clearly so bad for him? When he said and did stupid things, lost jobs, got into fights and humiliated himself. Why put himself through all that when he could just choose not to?
Now I understand compulsion. Addiction. It takes you over. Your body wants what it wants. And there’s nothing to do but to go along with it.
I look up and see Cassandra smiling. But it’s not a kind smile. It’s a watchful, predator’s smile – the cat that caught the mouse.
I’m nervous. It must be obvious to Cassandra, with my stiff body and the way I take jerky sips of whisky every other second.
‘Can I smoke in here?’ I ask.
Cassandra lounges back in her suede chair. Her long, pale legs are crossed at the ankle and her hands stretch behind her head.
‘You can smoke.’ She nods at the gold ashtray on the coffee table between us.
‘You’re sure?’ I take cigarettes from my suit pocket.
‘Positive. The Goldbergs aren’t what you call clean living. Jessie’s been doing coke since she was twelve years old.’
‘Then I’m sorry for her.’
‘You don’t do drugs?’
‘No.’
‘Oh that’s right. Of course not. Because you like to stay in control.’ That teasing eyebrow again.
‘My father drank too much. That was enough to see the damage addiction can do.’
I wonder if my father was a decent man once upon a time. Maybe he was just like me. Wanted to do right by people. And then the drink took hold and it made him a monster.
If I take this path, will the same thing happen? Will I become a monster too?
This is already spinning out of control. I don’t want to be with these girls. I don’t want any of this. And yet here I am.
Cassandra must be reading my thoughts, because she says, ‘Does it frighten you? That you can’t stop yourself?’
I light up a cigarette.
‘Yes.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with exploring sex.’ Cassandra snatches a cigarette from my packet.
Instinctively, I flick my lighter for her.
‘Ever the gentleman,’ she smiles. ‘Even at sixteen. Was your mother English?’
‘Yes. She was.’
‘Does she still live in England?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I don’t talk about her.’ I hope she hears the warning in my voice.
‘Why not?’
‘I just don’t.’ I inhale smoke, then blow it high into the air. It dances around the art deco chandelier.
I hear bare feet on marble and Jessica pads into the room.
A cold hand falls on my shoulder. ‘We’re ready.’
20
Cassandra never went to the press. She could have done – especially as my fame grew. She could have made a fortune. But she didn’t.
‘There aren’t many people like us,’ she told me once. ‘We have to look out for each other.’
She was loyal. Even when she got heavily into heroin and probably needed the money, she never sold my story.
I appreciated that.
21
I follow Jessica up a sweeping staircase. It wraps around a dripping crystal chandelier and a marble lobby.
I’ve never been in a house like this before, unless you count film sets built to look like Bel-Air mansions.
Photos of the Goldberg family line the staircase – all tasteful black and white shots. Some are signed.
Jessica’s picture sits between a grey-haired man and a Vogue cover shot. She sits backwards on a wooden dining chair, grinning at the camera – all wholesome freckles and sparkling blue eyes. Every bit the Hollywood princess.
‘When was that picture taken?’ I ask, as we reach the top of the stairs.
‘On my eighteenth birthday,’ says Jessica. ‘I was desperate to show off my new nose. There isn’t a picture in the house of me before my nose job. I had them all burned.’
I hear Cassandra treading the soft carpet behind me.
I catch myself thinking about the times Cassandra must have been here before. And who was with her …
‘This way,’ says Jessica, leading me down the hall.
To a room.
23
It was probably a bedroom once. There’s an amazing view over the swimming pool and grounds, and a faded patch on the carpet where a double bed must have been.
But now the room is something else entirely.
I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in films, not on TV … and definitely never in real life.
I can’t take it in. I’m turned on and terrified all at once.
I don’t even know what half of this stuff is for. But from the brutal look of it … I can guess.
The bed, if you can call it a bed, is metal – with chains strung across. Leather straps hang from the wall. And manacles.
I close my eyes and feel the rush of blood. I can’t stop it.
This is who I am.
Christ, I hate myself. I fucking hate myself.
Jessica begins to undress. Her rolled-up jeans and white-striped t-shirt – typical Hollywood casual – fall lightly to the ground.
Her underwear is simple.
White. Sporty.
She sits on the edge of the metal bed and grins at me, looking for all the world like she could be modelling some family brand of laundry powder.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be this person. But I know I won’t leave. I can’t. It’s as simple as that.
I’m strapped to a rollercoaster going up, up, up towards the sky. Soon I will come plummeting to the ground.
Cassandra puts a hand to my chest, smiling at my beating heart.
‘Ready to have some fun?’
‘I’m not ready for any of this. Not in any way, shape or form.’
I feel dizzy. The world is caving in on me and I don’t know up from down. The only thing I know for certain is that I want to fuck someone in this room.
Cassandra gives a low laugh, her eyes dropping to my waist. ‘Oh, I think you are.’
‘Cassandra—’
‘Trust us, Marc. Let us show you.’
My heart thumps harder in my chest. ‘Do your parents know about this room?’ I ask Jessica.
She laughs. ‘Of course. It’s their room.’
‘Your parents—’
‘Oh they don’t know I use it. I have to be
totally careful that everything goes back where it came from. That’s why I went upstairs. I needed to take Polaroids so I can match everything up when we finish.’
Oh Jesus Christ. If I thought things were fucked up a minute ago …
Jessica takes down a leather whip and strokes it between her fingers. ‘This room is locked usually. But I know where they hide the key.’
‘So your parents—’
‘Kinky as hell.’
‘Does your mother …’
‘She was the one who had the room built.’
‘They lock the door …’
‘To keep the cleaner from seeing. But they don’t mind me knowing. My mother told me all about it. We’re a very open family.’
‘But you don’t tell them you use their room.’
‘Well that would just be weird.’
I laugh. ‘Wouldn’t it just?’
A thought occurs.
Jerry Goldberg. An upstanding citizen who runs billion-dollar businesses and is known for his charity work. He’s not an alcoholic or a drug addict. Nor is his wife.
Maybe everyone likes this kind of sex. But no one talks about it.
I haven’t met a girl so far who hasn’t liked me taking charge. But then, like Cassandra says, maybe I’m getting to know the types.
‘Can you manage two of us, do you think?’ says Cassandra. ‘I wouldn’t usually try this. With someone as young as you. But you’re something special.’
Christ.
What have I got myself into?
24
Oh Sophia, Sophia.
Sex with you … it has never felt unclean. Even when you submit to me. When you let me dominate you.
We fit together. We belong together.
It is pure and beautiful.
God, I love you.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
I can’t believe I was ever afraid of loving you.
You awakened me to it all – these real feelings. You were never some glassy-eyed girl, staring at a movie star, a fantasy man. It’s me you love. The real me.
When I first saw you playing Lady Macbeth and making that speech about light and dark … I was terrified.