Vanity

by Lucy Lord

  The entire crew looked over, Ben’s fists clenched as though he wanted to hit Amy, but all they could see were several coconut palms, swaying in the light breeze.

  ‘Hey, hey, babes, calm down.’ Guru Mogadishu sauntered over and put an arm around her uptight little shoulders, reminding himself that anything was better than Basingstoke, where he’d grown up, and he’d be back with his boyfriend in LA soon enough. ‘Karma, gorgeous. Beautiful trees, huh?’

  Amy looked at him and gave a snort of derision.

  ‘Fucking trees. Seen one palm tree, seen ’em all.’ And she stalked back off to her beachside trailer, her little bottom in its frilly red-and-white polka-dot bikini quivering with rage.

  Once he was sure that the rest of the crew was concentrating on the last take, on the massive digital video screens, and not taking any notice of him, Ben gave Eloise a brief hug that left her breathless with longing and sauntered over to the trees behind which he knew Natalia had been hiding.

  ‘Nat? Darling, where are you?’

  ‘Here,’ she whispered, waving a slender foot at him from behind a beach hut. Following the trail in the sand, he saw that she had slithered at least twenty feet, snake-like, on her belly, until she was sure she could sit upright without drawing attention to herself.

  Now she was absolutely covered in sand, trying to shake it out of her nose, mouth and long blonde hair. Her eyes were still shut, her shades and hat clutched in her hands.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Ben laughed. ‘Look at you!’

  ‘Pffffft.’ She spat sand out of her mouth and started moving her hands towards her eyes.

  ‘No, careful of your eyes. Wait till I’ve got the worst off, then you can open them.’ Ben started brushing the fine granules down her cheeks with extreme tenderness.

  ‘It’s OK, I am not made of porcelain!’ Natalia laughed. ‘But I thank you, sweetie. That is better.’ She opened her eyes, which drank him in unashamedly, just as they always did now when alighting on his face. ‘Have you finished for today?’

  ‘Pretty much. Actually, nearly finished full stop. All of my scenes with Jack Meadows are going to be filmed back in LA, on set. Can’t say I’m sorry, really. I’ll be glad to see the back of the insufferable Ms Lascelles.’

  ‘Yes, I can understand that. Does that mean you will be going soon?’

  ‘Don’t sound so sad, Nat. I can stay another couple of weeks, I’m sure, and then – well, surely you can come back to LA for a bit?’ Ben was still on Cloud Nine, full of that bouncy optimism where everything seems possible.

  ‘Yes, I could do that.’ Natalia smiled. They hadn’t discussed what might happen once filming finished, neither of them wanting to burst their beautiful bubble.

  ‘Actually, I’ve booked a table tonight at this fabulous place I know, up in the hills of Provence, away from all the paparazzi and stuff. I thought maybe we could have a bit of a chat about what we’re going to do after all this. I can’t bear to imagine my life without you, to be honest.’

  Sitting on the beach, her blonde hair and kaftan caked in sand, Natalia started to relax once more.

  Under the vine-covered trellis on the terrasse of the bustling restaurant, nobody was taking too much notice of Natalia and Ben in the corner, except perhaps to murmur sotto voce what an exquisite couple they made. Ben had instructed the crew on Natalia’s yacht to sail to St Maxime, where a driver had been waiting for them. Thence they were taken up winding lanes, past huge trees of vividly yellow and highly scented mimosa, until they reached Plan de la Tour, a little village surrounded by oak and pine forests, all narrow sloping streets, terracotta rooftiles and ancient churches.

  On the restaurant’s terrasse the lights were low, but enhanced by candles on every table and the extraordinary sight of fireflies glowing almost fluorescent in the distance.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ said Natalia, smiling and radiant in the candlelight as the cicadas decided as one to up their volume. ‘I thank you.’

  ‘So are you.’ Ben was aware he was being cheesy but he couldn’t help it. He had never been in love before and was now relishing every soppy minute of it.

  He wasn’t stupid. Given Natalia’s age, nationality, extraordinary sexual skills and enormous wealth, he realized it was highly likely that prostitution had featured at some stage in her past. It wasn’t rocket science; she was being blackmailed, for fuck’s sake. But he couldn’t bring himself to hold it against her. In fact, he rather admired her for making the most of herself and hauling herself out of what must have been seriously grim beginnings.

  But he was worried about her. Blackmail was no joke.

  ‘So do you really think you could come and spend some time with me in LA?’ Ben laid his hand on Natalia’s arm. ‘I should be able to travel a bit once I’ve finished filming, but I’m pretty tied up until then.’

  ‘I … I don’t know, sweetie. I can travel, for sure, but I think maybe it would be wrong for you to be mixed up with me. You don’t know much about me. You are about to be international superstar. You still not know why I am being blackmailed, though it is possible you have heard rumours about me, yes?’

  ‘Not really. But I think I can guess. Listen, Nat.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t give a fuck if you were the most notorious hooker in the entire Eastern Bloc. It’s something you had to do and you used your best assets …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘… your body and your brain. Anybody who has made as much money as you have, from nothing, has to be really fucking clever in my book. And you know how much I lurve your body.’

  He raised his eyebrows, faux-lasciviously, and Natalia laughed. How did this man manage to disarm her so thoroughly, every single time?

  ‘I thank you. But I will not give you the details, OK?’

  ‘I so don’t want to know the gory details, darling.’ Ben camped it up and Natalia laughed again, leaning forward to kiss him over the table.

  ‘I love you, Mr Movie Star.’

  ‘And I love you, Nat, from the bottom of my heart.’

  When they left the restaurant, they were too wrapped up in one another to notice the paparazzo lurking in the bushes.

  NEW BRIT ON THE BLOCK SQUIRES BLONDE WITH SHADY PAST ran the headline. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. Natalia looked in dismay at the gossip rag that Georgiou had placed in front of her, on one of the horrible Formica tables in the seedy bar on the outskirts of Saint-Tropez.

  ‘I think that this interesting new development makes my knowledge of your past all the more valuable. Do you not agree, Talia? I think perhaps it would not be so good for your pretty new boyfriend’s career if it came out that he is fucking a former teenage whore, hmmm?’

  ‘I had no alternative and you know it, Georgie.’

  He put his head on one side and pretended to consider. ‘Hmmm. I don’t think the big studios would see it like that. The movie-going public can be quite puritanical, and a scandal like this could ruin him.’

  ‘You are disgusting,’ said Natalia.

  ‘Still, you have done well for yourself, I will not deny that.’ He started drumming nicotine-stained and heavily ringed fingers on the table. ‘Now you have a nice life, a comfortable life. It would be a shame, would it not, to jeopardize what you have now? You can easily afford to keep me happy …’

  Natalia sighed, resigned to what she had to do.

  ‘OK, you bastard. How much do you want this time?’

  She had to write the letter five times as she kept soaking the thick cream paper, her tears mingling with expensive black ink to form rivulets that blurred her carefully chosen words. She had considered telling him it was all one great big lie, that she had never loved him, had just been using him for his beautiful body. But in the end she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so. She knew he’d never buy it; what they’d had together had been too all-consuming. And she didn’t want to hurt him unnecessarily, to cast a shadow on what must now remain just a wonderful memory for both of them.

  He had his en
tire life ahead of him, a future glittering with promise. He’d get over her soon enough.

  My Darling Mr Movie Star

  I have gone away. Please do not try to find me. I thought that maybe I could escape from my past, but I cannot, and it is not good for you to be seen with me. You must focus on your career now – you are going to be big, big star. I thank you with all my heart for the time we have spent together. I have never known such happiness, and I shall never forget you. I hope in time you will be able to remember me with fondness.

  Your Nat x

  Ben read the letter with mounting disbelief, then ran faster than he’d ever run in his life towards the vieux port. But when he arrived outside Sénéquier, there was an empty space on the waterfront.

  Natalia, and her exquisite little boat, had gone.

  PART 2

  Chapter 11

  As Sam arched her back, automatically thrusting her boobs out and pouting at the camera, she was running through the answers she had given in her last exam, in which she’d had to compare Nietzsche to Jung. She was pretty sure she’d done well – she had revised thoroughly and her essays were always insightful and well written.

  Things had felt a bit flat since term had ended, though. She loved studying, and life had been looking up considerably since Sienna had taken her under her wing, protecting her from evil Josh and his cronies. The Camden scene was proving to be great fun too. But Sienna was now on holiday in her family’s newly acquired fourteenth-century palazzo in Tuscany, and Sam was one of the only students staying in halls over the summer.

  She missed her family like crazy, but staying in halls made more sense than the long, expensive daily commute to and from Essex while she was still working – her agency had set her up with back-to-back jobs for the next couple of months. Also, reading between the lines, her little brother Ryan was being more of a handful than ever, and the last thing her parents needed was another of their children to worry about under their roof.

  Still, she went home most weekends, and at least Marky was back now from his work trip to Saint-Tropez, which had seemed to go on forever. As she thought about him, her eyes softened with love and her nipples stiffened still further in the cold air blasting from the wind machine, lifting her improbably pneumatic tits at least another inch.

  The balding photographer, who had a faintly repulsive ginger goatee, thought he might just explode in his pants.

  ‘Oh, God, yeah, Sammi-Jo. Sexeeeeee. Hold it just like that, babe. Oh, yeah. Oh, God, yeah.’

  Nikki, the other girl on the shoot, was on all fours. She thrust her bum even higher in the air, hating Sam. In the flesh she looked a lot older than the 21 she claimed to be, with harsh, dyed-black hair framing a hard little face with piggy eyes that she tried in vain to enlarge with smoky black eye shadow and false lashes. The heavy make-up just about worked in photos, but compared to the phenomenally pretty Sam, Nikki was nothing, and she knew it.

  Around 6.30 p.m, the shoot was over, and Sam went to get dressed. She stepped into a white denim button-through miniskirt and pulled a red, strappy vest top over her head. It was far tartier than anything she’d wear at college, or even in Camden, but she was meeting Mark for dinner in less than an hour and he liked her looking a bit tarty. Besides, it was 30°C in the shade today and she loved the feeling of the heat on her bare shoulders, arms and legs.

  Nikki, who had been flirting in the studio with the photographer for the past five minutes, pranced in, still topless in her hot-pink thong and stripper shoes, and made a beeline for Sam. Sam wished Nikki would put some clothes on. Even though she took her own off for a living, she found Nikki’s piercing-flaunting brazenness a bit disconcerting – almost as though she were challenging everybody with whom she came into contact with her hard little body and even harder little face.

  ‘Babes,’ said Nikki, her voice full of faux concern. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your fella. How are you bearing up?’

  ‘What? Why? What’s happened to him?’ asked Sam, with alarm. The glamour-modelling world was small, and Mark, as Stadium’s ex-art director, was a fairly big cheese. She was sure Nikki had been jealous of her relationship with him, but maybe she’d been doing her a disservice.

  ‘Oh, my God. You didn’t know? Oh, babes …’ Nikki put a hand on Sam’s arm, her long, squared-off nail extensions an acid orange against Sam’s smooth skin. Sam shook it off.

  ‘Didn’t know what? Nikki, you’re scaring me now. Please, just tell me what I don’t know about Mark.’ Sam tried to stop her voice rising in panic. Had he been in some sort of accident or something?

  ‘Karolina Kristova. Saint-Tropez. On the Linda Lovelace boat.’ Nikki could barely keep the glee out of her voice. ‘They were at it all night. If it’s any consolation, hon, she’s a right slapper …’ That’s rich coming from you, thought Sam numbly. ‘She’s hardcore – anal, rimming, roasting, whatever …’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Oh, babes.’ Nikki looked at her pityingly. ‘Everyone knows.’

  Sam pushed her away, and, after picking up her handbag, walked out of the studio with all the dignity she could muster.

  ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ Nikki shouted after her. ‘She spells her name K-R-I-S-T-O-V-A …’

  Once she had put some distance between herself and the bitch from hell, Sam tried to decide what to do. Should she call Mark, confront him with it? No, she was meeting him shortly anyway, and she wanted to see his face when she asked him if it was true.

  The studio was in Hoxton, conveniently close to the bar/restaurant/club they were planning to meet at that evening (Divine Comedy was owned by Bella’s brother, Max, and it was the place to see and be seen). Sam had time to kill so decided to stop at a greasy spoon for a strong cup of tea to try to get her thoughts together.

  Would Marky really cheat on her? She wasn’t naïve – her exposure to the seedy glamour world had left her with few illusions about men. But Mark had told her time and time again how much he loved her, and he never seemed to tire of her ripe young body. She had a vivid memory of him lazily kissing her all over, just after they’d both had the most amazing orgasms, and saying, ‘Fuck, man, I am the luckiest geezer in the world.’

  Then something occurred to her. Taking out her phone, she tapped Karolina Kristova – thanks, Nikki, for the spelling – into Google. After a moment she added: porn star. At least she could prepare herself by checking out the competition. If what Nikki was saying were true, this KK bitch sounded like a raddled old slapper.

  But when the images opened, Sam’s heart plummeted. There, staring sultrily out of the screen at her, were picture upon picture of one of the sexiest-looking women she had ever seen. Fully clothed, topless, naked – it didn’t matter. That mischievous, mocking face. That body. That body? Oh, God, she was everything Sam wished she could be – all lithe, sinuous curves and feline grace, with perfect little boobs. Sam instinctively crossed her arms in front of her own ample chest, feeling like a freak of nature again for the first time since she’d met Mark.

  Unwelcome tears came into her eyes, and she pushed them away angrily with the edges of her fingers, trying not to bugger up her mascara. No, she’d wait and see what he had to say for himself. She finished her mug of tea, then walked out of the cafe into the beautiful sunny evening.

  Mark was waiting in the restaurant on the first floor of Divine Comedy, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot standing proud on the bare wooden table in front of him. The restaurant was modishly rustic and minimalist, a stark contrast to the insanely over-the-top bar downstairs. After spending a good twelve hours fucking Karolina on the Linda Lovelace boat (during which they had ordered in three times for more coke), he had felt so guilty that he’d checked into a small hotel on his own, until he had felt ready to face Sam again.

  He had been so sexually enraptured by Karolina that, had he not caught her, red-handed, trying to pinch all the cards out of his wallet, those twelve hours could have stretched much longer. Now, thoug
h, he felt an enormous rush of love for his sweet Sam, and wanted to show her how much he cared. He also had the ineffable rush of having got away with it.

  As Sam entered the restaurant, looking absolutely gorgeous, all legs, tits and long red hair, Mark rose to his feet, smiling. Until he realized that Sam wasn’t smiling.

  ‘Hello, beautiful,’ he said nervously. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mark. Is it?’ He’d never heard her sound so cold. And then she did something that made him go cold. She held her phone up to his eyes, and – oh, fuck, bollocks and cunt – there was a naked picture of Karolina on it.

  ‘Just tell me you didn’t do it.’ She looked at him steadily, her enormous dark brown eyes gleaming with intelligence.

  ‘I …’ He faltered, and realized, at that moment, that the game was up.

  Sam’s eyes darkened and hardened. Mark was never to know that it was to stop her crying, the only thing she could do to hang on to her last remaining shred of pride.

  ‘Never – ever – try to contact me again. You cunt.’ She was grateful to Sienna for making the word come more easily to her lips than it might have otherwise.

  And she walked out of the door with her head held high.

  Once she had descended the wrought-iron spiral staircase, though, she allowed herself to cry. Sobbing so hard she could hardly breathe, she stumbled through the downstairs bar until she had made her way outside. The sun was still hot and she just wanted to go home, to have a proper, comforting hug, but she knew she couldn’t burden her parents with her trivial problems, when they had so much more on their plate. Not knowing what to do for the best, she just stood there and let herself cry for a bit.

  Bella and Andy, enjoying an early evening drink at one of the mismatched tables outside Divine Comedy, both saw Sam at the same time. She cut a woebegone figure, standing against the wall on her own, sobbing her little heart out. Bella jumped to her feet and ran over to her.

  ‘Sam, are you OK? What is it, sweetheart?’