by Havana Adams
Alex was drained and exhilarated as he stood outside the theatre and looked onto the bustling London street. Distractedly he took a puff of a cigarette and grimaced. Something about doing theatre always brought back his nicotine cravings, memories perhaps of his early days treading the boards when sustenance had been cigarettes and booze. He flicked the stub to the ground and ground it out, just as Declan Holmes, the young director of the play strode out.
“They’ve worn you down,” Declan said with a nod to Alex’s cigarette stub. When they’d started rehearsals, Alex had been the lone non-smoker amongst the cast.
“Yeah I caved.” Alex had been impressed by Declan from their first meeting. At only 29, he was building a name tackling plays with big themes that did well both commercially and critically but Alex had quickly found that Declan had a plan for his career. Alex raised a hand to hail a passing cab.
“Where are you headed? He asked Declan as the cab pulled up towards them. Declan flicked his cigarette away.
“North,” he replied.
“You wanna share my ride?” Alex asked already opening the cab door and thrusting his overnight bag in.
“Sure.”
“St Pancras station, please,” Alex told the driver as they settled into the back of the cab.
“Where you headed?” Declan asked.
“Paris, lunch with my mother and sister.”
“Nice.”
Alex grimaced. “Knowing those two it’ll probably be a bloodbath.” Alex glanced out of the window as the cab navigated around the one-way system in the square.
“So how are you finding the rehearsals,” Declan asked.
“Amazing, fucking scary but I’m good.” Alex replied.
“Yeah but you must be missing LA?” Alex shrugged hearing the excitement in Declan’s voice.
“That your game plan?”
“For sure – look at Mendes, Daldry. Theatre is fun but I’m all about films, Oscars and the super model girlfriend. I want to live that dream.” Declan finished with enthusiasm. Alex gave a wry smile.
“It’s certainly something,” he said.
Tamara wondered if Vassily Romanov knew what he had let himself in for. As she brushed her hair until it shone, she was running through her mind the plans she’d already laid in motion. Sasha’s 17th birthday was approaching and she had convinced Vassily that he might build some bridges with his daughter by throwing her a birthday party. No ordinary birthday party but the kind of party that would ensure that Sasha’s new school friends accepted her. In short the kind of party that every teenage girl dreamed of. As she set down the brush, Tamara turned as Casey entered the room with the morning’s papers and her vitamins. There was something different about Casey and Tamara turned and stared at her trying to figure our what had changed.
“Have you changed your hair? She asked. Casey looked up surprised; it was rare for Tamara to pay any personal attention to her.
“Yes,” Casey said quietly, self-consciously touching her newly coloured hair, which was now less sandy and more blonde.
“It suits you.” Tamara said as she dropped into the chaise lounge and began to pop the vitamin pills before washing them down with the green liquid. Tamara’s mind once again drifted to Sasha’s party. She had never considered herself a child-friendly person but she’d found herself enjoying spending time with Sasha as they’d planned the party. Not that she’d personally done much organising. Her gift to Vassily had been to save him from making the mistake of gifting Sasha tickets to the opera for her 17th. Instead with Katie’s help, she’d procured the telephone number of Lindsay West party consultant to the most famous and wealthy youngsters in the world. Her client list was a closely guarded secret but it was rumoured that West had arranged parties on both sides of the Atlantic for the children of CEOs, Hollywood stars and Brunei Royalty. Thankfully, Vassily had directed Tamara to his personal secretary who it seemed held the chequebook for the project. Tamara was glad about this; she doubted Vassily would have understood the difficulties of bringing a teenage birthday party in for under a million. Tamara took another sip from her green liquid and set the glass down noticing that Casey was watching her.
“Casey,” Tamara said as she suddenly remembered something. “I’ve been a little bit hard on you lately. Things have been stressful but I don’t want you thinking I don’t care, so I got this for you.” Tamara plucked a bag from the floor and handed it to Casey, watching as the girl’s eyes widened. Tamara felt a fleeting moment of affection, Casey had lasted longer than any of her other assistants. Aussie girls really were made of hardier stuff, she mused proudly – watching as Casey burrowed into the Harvey Nichols bag to remove a rare python skin designer handbag. Casey gasped.
“Oh my god, Tamara, it’s beautiful.” Tamara felt satisfaction wash through her.
“Open it,” she instructed.
Casey stroked the bag and then opened it to reveal an envelope. She reached in and pulled it out and opened it and gasped again. It was a Harvey Nichols gift card, the receipt showing that it was for £1000.
“Why don’t you buy yourself a nice dress or something,” Tamara said rising from the chaise lounge. She was already running late and had to check in to see how the party preparations were progressing. Casey rose too. Her eyes were round.
“Tamara…,” Casey began. But Tamara cut her off, waving her away.
“Don’t be soppy darling, just enjoy it.”
Tamara’s mind was already back on Vassily as she drifted towards her en suite bathroom. She did not see the stricken look on Casey’s face as she clutched the bag.
Alex was blown away.
He turned the final page of the script and his first instinct was to flip back to the first page and start reading it from the beginning again. Talia’s script had blown him away. He felt a surge of pride for her and then caught himself. They were friends, just friends – he did not share in her achievements. His first thought was to call her but the Eurostar train had already entered the tunnel and besides he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her. Since their dinner, he’d felt something shift in their friendship and that shift he feared was entirely one-sided. Alex Golden – the modeliser had started to fall for his little sister’s infuriating best friend and he wasn’t sure he liked feeling this off balance.
As he strode through the arrivals section of Gare du Nord station, Alex looked up and spotted the waiting driver that Helena had sent for him. The driver held a card on which was printed the name Lex Smells. He allowed himself a smile, the name was his regular pseudonym and it had always amused his sister.
By the time he had settled into the back of the car and it was speeding towards the Marais, Alex had made a decision. He might not be ready to speak to Talia but he knew something he could do that would help her. Alex pressed a button and in a second his iPhone flicked into life. He scrolled through his emails opening the email that Talia had sent him with her script attached. He attached the script and then he clicked send – forwarding the script to the biggest screenwriting agent in Hollywood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The air was thick with tension.
Alex leaned back in his chair and not for the first time he wondered what had possessed him to think he could try to broker some kind of peace between his mother and sister. Sula was what could kindly be described as a man’s woman. All women were potential competition, no woman could ever be trusted and the fact that the woman in question was her own flesh and blood, her own daughter, made not one bit of difference. Perhaps, Alex mused, that made it worse.
“Oh darlings, I really must dash. I promised Segolene I’d come with her to view that apartment,” Sula finally burst out. Alex allowed a small smile to cross his face. Sula had been excited to meet him for lunch but when she’d learned that Helena would be joining them, her enthusiasm had waned. “Your sister is just such a stick in the mud,” she’d complained to Alex. Alex allowed his mother to press a brief kiss to his cheek. She waved across the table
at Helena and in a waft of Chanel No 5 perfume and a stroke of her silk Hermes scarf across his cheek, she was gone. No doubt glorying in the fact that every head in the restaurant swivelled around to watch her leave.
“Well that was fun,” Helena muttered and Alex finally allowed himself to relax. At least they hadn’t descended to blows.
“I tried,” he replied.
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
They were silent for a moment and then Helena spoke.
“Only one more days shooting and we are done, thank god. I am just so fed up with all of it,” Helena burst out in frustration. Uttering the words seemed to dissipate her irritation and she relaxed into her chair, plucking an olive from the dish in front of her.
“You’ll be back home soon.”
“Christ Alex, I can’t wait,” she said popping the olive into her mouth. “Speaking of home, how have things been with Talia?”
Alex felt warmth spread up his cheek but he shook it off.
“Good. She’s a great reader, sharp insights...”
“Opinionated,” Helena replied.
“She is that,” Alex said and they both smiled. “Actually she’s more than a good reader, she’s a great writer too.”
Alex watched the startled expression spread across his sister’s face.
“What?”
“She let you read her work?” Helena asked.
“Yeah, why not, she sent me her script.” Alex wondered why he felt defensive. He watched as his sister placed her fork down and dabbed delicately at the corners of her lips with her napkin.
“What exactly is going on with you and Tal?” Helena demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t bullshit me Alex. Talia has never shown her writing to anyone, apart from Simone and I. What is going on?”
“You’re being stupid. She sent me the script for some feedback that’s all.” Alex fought to keep his expression neutral as Helena scrutinised him. After a moment she seemed finally to accept that there was no story.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that Talia’s my best friend and a really nice girl.”
“And?” Alex snapped affronted.
“Seriously Alex, Talia deserves someone who won’t fuck her about. I love you. You’re my brother but the last thing my best friend needs is The Modeliser.”
Alex shook his head, irritation warring with another more complicated emotion. Everything Helena was saying was right and yet he wanted to contradict her.
“Besides,” Helena continued. “Tal is not your type is she?”
“And what’s my type?” He asked sarcastically.
“Long legs, fake boobs and nothing upstairs. Cheerleaders. Women who stroke your ego but never ever challenge you.” Helena finished as she picked up her fork again and speared another olive. Alex smiled; he’d forgotten how blunt his little sister could be.
“Well that’s pretty spot on,” he said. He shook off the discomfort and turned back to his sister. “So, this Epoque shoot you and mother are doing, are there going to be any other hot models there?”
“Whoever said there were no ugly women only lazy ones, definitely knew what she was talking about.” Simone made this pronouncement sprawled on the sofa surrounded by the shopping bags that were the fruits of hers and Talia’s frenzied excursion around some of London’s most fashionable shopping streets. After she had invited Simone to be her plus one to the Rough Draft party, Talia had begun to panic and in the end they’d decided that this party called for some new clothes.
“Simone get up,” Talia called as she emerged from the shower clad in just a towel. We only have a couple of hours to do make up and get ready and look at my hair.”
“I’ll get into the shower,” Simone said.
“I’m already knackered and we haven’t even left home,” Talia complained.
“Don’t worry, the minute we see all those stars, you’ll be fine,” Simone replied, gathering her bags and heading up the stairs.
Talia followed her up and entered her room. On the bed, she’d laid out the dress that she had chosen. There had been several contenders but the minute she had seen her reflection in this dress, she had been sold. She’d barely winced at the price tag as she handed her card over to the sales assistant. The dress was simple and yet a perfect foil for her newly toned curves. Somehow without realising it, her runs on the heath and her squats and press-ups had yielded results. She would never be model tall and thin but her newly toned physique showcased her hourglass curves perfectly. The dress was perhaps the most expensive clothing purchase she had ever made. It was lace, rather demure at the front and then veered low at the back, scooped almost to the bottom of her spine. She wouldn’t be able to wear a bra and Talia was grateful for the secret support that was built into the front of the dress.
She turned towards the vanity mirror and began to painstakingly straighten her hair, until it hung poker straight, framing her face just as it had in the salon. Spread on the dresser was an array of make up that had been newly purchased that day. Talia reached for the moisturiser and began to smooth it over her skin, when her mobile phone began to ring. She reached for it and froze. The called display read Angelina Starling. Talia stared at it for a moment and then decisively clicked a button to reject the call. It was the third time in as many days that Angelina had called her and each time Talia had ignored the call. Her few friends at Encounters had melted away after she was sacked. Not one of them had reached out to her. She had moved on now and she had no interest looking backwards. Talia determinedly pushed Angelina to the back of her mind and then she continued to apply her make up. Finally satisfied. She moved towards the bed and picked up the dress. Carefully she stepped into it, pulling it up and arranging herself into it. She straightened the dress and then clasped the thin Gucci belt around her newly svelte waist.
Talia turned to the full-length mirror and she gasped. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful, worthy. She smiled in wonder at herself and for a moment she wished that Alex was here to see her but then she shook off the thought. She, Talia Blake, had been invited to the Rough Draft party; she was finally living the life that she had dreamed of.
Alex stared blankly out of the window as the Eurostar train emerged from the tunnel on the English side of the Channel. His whistle-stop lunch with Helena had thrown up questions that made him uneasy. Helena was right, Talia wasn’t right for him, any more than he was right for her. They were too different, they lived different lives, it could never work and yet Alex found his thoughts drifting more and more to her. His phone beeped and Alex glanced down at the calendar reminder alert. He had forgotten that he had planned to attend the Rough Draft summer party that night. Fuck it, why not attend the party, there’d probably be models there he thought with a cynical smile. Alex thought for a moment and then he remembered someone else who would doubtless kill to attend such a party. He scrolled through his contacts and then connected a call.
“Declan,” Alex said. “What are you doing tonight mate?”
Talia and Simone had died and gone to heaven. They’d arrived with some trepidation at the nondescript West London warehouse. After being dropped off at the bottom of the road by the taxi, they had tottered in high heels down the dark street with some concern. This shabby London street was not where one might expect the film industry party of the season to be happening.
“This does not look promising,” Simone had muttered looking like a stunning Amazon in a dramatic red dress that showcased her tall, slim body to perfection.
“This is definitely what the invite said,” Talia replied. They continued forward and then suddenly as they turned the bend in the road – two flame torches swung into view.
“That looks more like it.” As they approached a doorway at which two burly guards flanked a girl who held a clipboard, suddenly, the party atmosphere was in evidence. Ahead of them, in the short procession towards the entrance, were women dressed in sexy dresses and men in a range of attire from jea
ns to one man in black tie.
“Christ isn’t that…” Simone muttered and Talia cut her off.
“That’s Kesha Andover.” They both watched impressed at the Oscar winning British actress and screenwriter who was gliding into the doorway in a sensational sequinned jumpsuit.
“Bloody hell,” Simone muttered as Talia handed over their golden tickets and they were waved into the hallway. Talia stood stock-still as she took in the massive space that had been converted into a decadent wonderland. Gauzy strips of white silk and chiffon draped the walls, a white baby grand piano took centre stage spinning round on a revolving podium, even as the pianist played on. In a corner, a bar was serving bright cocktails but at closer glance the bar was revealed to be a tricked out double decker bus. Talia gazed around the room, which was quickly filling up and she blinked wondering if she was about to wake up to find that it was all a dream. Dotted around the room were some of the biggest names and talents in the film industry. Cassidy Roberts, Sadie Willis and was that… Talia heard Simone’s sharp intake of breath and realised it was indeed – the lady herself, a bona fide British supermodel with a fierce catwalk persona and an even fiercer temper.
“This is… this is something else,” Simone said and Talia had to agree with her friend. She felt as though she had turned down the wrong road and emerged into someone else’s life. The life of the beautiful and charmed.
“Let’s get a drink,” she said determined that they would enjoy every moment of the party. Talia turned toward the bar, plucking an already filled glass from the counter, when she felt Simone grab her arm. Talia looked up at her friend who had gone quiet. “What?” She asked following the direction of Simone’s gaze and then she froze too. Max Maguire was staring straight at her.