by Havana Adams
“I can’t believe you’d say that. I didn’t kiss you because you offered me money,” she snapped. “I can make my own money,” she practically yelled even as a voice in her head called her a fool. And yet she could not stop the words tripping off her tongue. She would never let any man treat her like a whore, not again.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said finally. “Thanks for the drink.” Tamara turned and stalked out of the house. She heard him call after her, heard his footsteps behind her but she kept on going wrenching open the front door. As she stepped out into the night, she had one thought - how had she fallen so far?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“It couldn’t have happened to a better person.”
The sun shone brightly as Talia and Simone sat at an outside table at a fashionable café close to Regents Park. In front of them was a selection of the day’s tabloid newspapers and they had read and dissected the Tamara story at length over smoothies as they’d waited for their brunch order to be taken. Talia snorted again as she read yet another quote from some minion that Tamara had walked all over.
“They should give you your job back,” Simone said as she firmly closed the last of the newspapers.
“They tried,” Talia admitted.
“What?”
“I said no, I’ve moved on now.” As she said the words Talia knew that they were true. Encounters felt like a lifetime away, small fry when she had her heart set on bigger things. What those bigger things were, she still wasn’t quite clear about but even as the mumbling, floppy-haired exec that had replaced Damian had tried to line up a meeting, Talia had realised that that ship really had sailed. She no longer cared enough to work on Encounters.
After they had ordered, in typical forthright style, Simone launched into a question.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she stated her eyes drilling into Talia’s. Immediately Talia began to squirm. Simone’s instinct for nosing out deception was uncanny and she hoped the glare of the sun would stop Simone from spotting her embarrassment.
“I’ve just been busy, re-writing the script. You know…” Talia trailed off, she’d always been a terrible liar.
“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve not been that busy. You’ve been avoiding me and it started after the Rough Draft party last week. What’s the deal?” Simone set down the tall glass she was drinking from and folded her arms across her chest her eyes narrowed and intent as she waited for her friend to speak. Talia gulped down her pineapple juice and weighed up her options. Even if she could stall Simone now, it would only be temporary because once she got her teeth into a mystery, Simone didn’t let go, which was why she was such a good documentary maker. Besides, Talia, admitted to herself, she was dying to confide in someone.
“You know how Alex and I shared a cab that night….” Talia watched as Simone nodded.
“Yeah so…”
“Well… something happened.”
“What happened?” Simone asked genuinely confused and Talia sighed.
“Something happened.” She hissed the words with emphasis, adding a small wiggle to her eyebrows to underline the point. Talia watched the expression of confusion clear to be replaced with one of stunned shock that froze Simone’s face. Her friend began to cough, spluttering up the breadstick she’d just been chewing. In her haste to grab a drink, Simone almost upended the carafe of water all over them both. Talia felt a beat of irritation. “It’s not that improbable, I’m not a monster,” she felt moved to say.
“Sorry, sorry…” Simone took a breath. “When you say something happened, what are we talking here? First base, second base…” Simone trailed off as though the mere possibility of anything beyond that was outside of her comprehension.
“I’m not great at American sporting metaphors,” Talia mumbled as another wash of warmth flooded her cheeks. Perhaps telling Simone hadn’t been one of her better ideas.
“Come on Tal,” Simone urged. “First, second, third, home run?” Talia gulped down her drink and spoke quickly.
“He hit a home run, several. Yeah he hit a triple,” She admitted. Her mortification intensifying as Simone let out a whoop.
“You nailed…” Talia’s look hushed Simone up. “Wow. Wow – when you let loose you do it in style.” Simone was smiling at Talia with a mix of bemusement and glee and then a look crossed her face.
“What?”
“Does Helena know?” Simone asked carefully.
“Of course not,” Talia replied quickly, she’d avoided thinking too much about how this gaping secret might affect things with Helena.
“You going to tell her?”
“No. I don’t know. There’s no need to. It’s not going to happen again,” Talia finished firmly.
“Hold on. It was a…”
“Yes,” Talia said firmly.
“You don’t do one-night stands,” Simone reminded her.
“Well I do now.”
“Alex is such a player.”
“Actually it was my decision,” Talia stated with as much dignity as she could.
“What! He wanted to see you again?”
Talia nodded.
“Then why not?” Simone was now looking at her like she’d turned into a whole new species.
“It wouldn’t go anywhere and besides I want to enjoy this.” Talia explained, wishing she’d not started the conversation at all.
“Enjoy what?” Simone yelped.
“Enjoy cutting loose, being out there. Do you know Max Maguire gave me his number that night,” Talia said.
“You’re on a roll.”
“I’m not going to call him,” Talia continued quickly. “But you know I’ve spent too long being a workaholic. Maybe I just need to have some fun, get a life like the rest of the world.”
“Well I think you’re crazy. I would never kick Alex Golden out of bed.”
Talia shrugged off Simone’s comments and the nagging feeling of doubt. She knew what she was doing, knew well enough that getting sucked in by Alex “The Modeliser” Golden could only ever end in tears for her.
Her curtains had been drawn closed for days, since her meeting with Vassily. But finally Tamara had decided that enough was enough. She put on a simple shift dress and a heavy layer of make up to conceal the dark circles that marred her usually perfect skin. With a flash of her old spirit, Tamara walked across her sitting room to dramatically draw open the curtains. They had stayed closed for too long, she decided. She started in surprise as she saw that it was almost dark outside. The day had passed by, without her even realising it. She’d been licking her wounds for far too long. As she sat in a wide armchair, she flicked on a lamp when she heard a key in the door. Her eyes narrowed. Only one other person had a key to her house. Tamara turned towards the sitting room door as footsteps moved down the hallway until finally Casey appeared, hovering in the doorway. Tamara stared at the girl in silence for several long moments. She had balls. She’d give her that. There was a hint of defiance in Casey’s eyes as she moved into the room. She’d had her hair cut, an expensive cut, Tamara could see.
“I thought I should give these back,” Casey said, placing the bunch of keys down on the coffee table. Tamara continued to stare at Casey in silence and she could see that the girl was spooked. Perhaps she’d expected to find Tamara broken and in tears. This thought brought a smile to her face – she was made of sterner stuff than that. She leaned back in the chair and allowed a small smile to curl across her face. She was never better than when she had an enemy in sight.
“Don’t you want to know why I did it? Casey asked. There was a plaintive note to her voice and Tamara could have laughed. Poor confused Casey, even now still seeking her approval.
“Not particularly,” she replied. “You’ve returned the keys, you can go.”
Casey hovered uneasily in the doorway.
“I bet you wish you’d been nicer to me. Be careful who you walk over on the way up because, you’ll meet them on the way down.” Tamara made no attemp
t to conceal the snort of laughter.
“Is that what Angelina told you? Did she tell you she’d help you? Get you some auditions?” From the flare in Casey’s eyes, Tamara knew she’d hit the mark. Slowly she rose and she felt her strength returning to her. These amateurs, they’d struck a lucky blow but she would take them on and win. “Poor Casey. You’re on the cover of every paper selling me out. How much did they pay you? 5 grand? Do you think anyone will ever trust you again? Or take you seriously?” Tamara watched Casey pale. “I would say you should head back home to the other side of the world but you know I have friends there too. Your name is mud. Your dreams, they’re dead. Trust me Casey, you should have been loyal to me.” Tamara moved toward Casey and saw that the girl flinched as they stood toe to toe. Tamara reached out and stroked a finger across Casey’s cheek and saw that the she was close to tears.
“You can go now,” she said. And Tamara watched as Casey jumped and all but ran from the room. As she heard the door slam, Tamara took a deep breath, her strength was coming back, her confidence, her conviction it was all coming back. Somehow, she would find her way back, of that, Tamara had no doubt.
“It’s here.”
The squeal broke into Helena’s daydream and was followed by a thud as the 300 page plus Centenary issue of Époque was dumped on her desk by Chloe, who was bubbling with excitement.
“Tobias just sent this down for you. And god Helena you look amazing.”
Helena glanced down at the cover and the breath caught in her throat. The cover photograph was one of the dawn shots that they had taken at Versailles. The photograph was hauntingly beautiful and with her editorial eye, she could see at once that Gabe had succeeded; the cover was exquisite. Somehow, Gabe had managed to capture a look between mother and daughter that seemed so natural, as though they were utterly in tune with each other. Helena gave a small harsh laugh; well everybody knew that the camera lied.
“Nice,” she said.
“Nice? IT IS AMAZING! The blogs are already going crazy.” Chloe was practically hopping from foot to foot in her Manolos and Helena wondered why this level of enthusiasm eluded her. “Anyway,” Chloe was continuing, “champers on the 17th floor. Apparently Tobias is in such a good mood he’s cracking open the Bollinger.”
Helena watched Chloe race out of the office and she leaned back in her chair. She felt a now familiar ennui settle over her. The feeling had been present since she returned from Paris, before that even. Since her grandfather’s death, she’d not been able to ignore the feeling of being stifled, which she now realised had been with her for a long time. Her eyes drifted across the walls on which were mounted many, many of Époque’s past covers. She remembered when aged 8 she had started flicking through her mother’s copies of the magazine, drawn first to the photographs and then later to the articles. She had spent all her working life at Epoque, the editor’s chair her goal and yet she was happiest when off working on her occasional freelance photography commissions, away from the stifling bitching and affluenza that ruled Epoque House. Helena knew that this afternoon she’d finally have her dream job, that her scheduled meeting with Tobias would see him offer her the editor’s position and suddenly, she knew it was time to leave.
“You’re doing what?”
Alex’s bemused question was perhaps not the reaction Helena had been hoping for. Once her decision was made, she’d acted on it at once. For once the grass wouldn’t be allowed to grow under her feet, she would not give practicality the chance to quell her impulsive decision. She had marched right up to the 17th floor and had watched the colour drain from Tobias’ face as she had broken the news to him. She was leaving Époque to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a photographer.
“But, but, but…” Tobias had said over and over as words failed him. By the time she had left the building for lunch, the news had spread like wildfire. Already the jockeying to be next in line had begun and Helena had caught some of the pitying glances from women who would have killed for her job. Privately they would be saying that they’d known Helena couldn’t hack it, that she wasn’t up to the job. And yet she did not care, as she told Alex as they sat on a bench in a private garden off Sloane Square.
“I’m quitting Époque,” she repeated firmly.
“You love that job,” Alex said.
“I loved the idea of that job but what I always really loved was photography. I want to do what I love,” Helena finished, her eyes pleading with Alex to understand.
“What happened in Paris?” Alex asked quietly and Helena was quiet as she contemplated the question.
“I decided to stop hiding in your shadows – yours, dads, mothers and start living my own dreams.”
“You weren’t hiding?” Alex said.
“Yes I was.” They were quiet for a moment and then Helena felt Alex reach for her.
“You’ll always have my full support,” he said enveloping her in a hug. Helena felt the tension drain from her, she’d taken a step out into the unknown and yet it felt right, if a tad overwhelming. Pulling away, she glanced at her watch.
“Shouldn’t you get back to rehearsals?” She asked.
“I should,” Alex said as they gathered the remnants of their lunch and began the short stroll back to the theatre. “What are you doing now?
Helena smiled. “Camera shopping, I’ve already got my first commission,” she said proudly.
Talia had just received the telephone call of a lifetime.
The call had come as she and Simone had strolled through the grounds of Regent’s Park. They’d been power walking up the hill in an attempt to burn off some of the calories from their massive brunch, when Talia’s mobile phone rang. She’d stared at the display, which showed that the caller’s number was not available.
“I’d better take this,” she said as she tapped on the display to answer the call. “Hello,” she said. Talia’s brow furrowed as a broad American accented voice spoke. Within moments her life had changed.
“Hey Talia Blake? Joshua Levine here.” Talia felt the breath catch in her throat. Joshua Levine was the Hollywood agent to some of the biggest screenwriters in the world. Mentally, Talia was reeling as she tried to keep track of what Joshua was saying. He’d read her script and he wanted to sign her, in fact her script was a perfect vehicle for one of the stars in his agency and several producers and a studio were already showing interest in the package.
Talia and Simone had practically cartwheeled through the park and by the time she arrived home, matters had moved further along. Her email inbox was filled with messages from her newly appointed agent, they had a bidding war on their hands, and the script was about to sell. By the time Talia finally closed her email down for the night – she’d sold her first screenplay for low six figures. Though it was close to midnight, Talia knew that there was only one person that she wanted to talk the news over with.
As she rode in a cab towards Alex’s hotel, she allowed her mind to drift back to their night together. Perhaps she had been hasty in cutting off what they had started. Perhaps she’d been wrong about Alex and too quick to judge him. Talia rode up in the lift and as she caught sight of herself in the lift mirrors, she quickly touched up her lip-gloss and then felt foolishly vain. She stepped out of the lift and then froze. Emerging from Alex’s room was a young woman. Tall and beautiful, definitely not model thin but still strikingly beautiful with a mass of blonde curls, like an image from some Pre-Raphaelite painting brought to life. Talia forced her legs to move and as they passed each other, the tall woman gave her a smile. Talia turned back and watched the woman step into the lift. For a moment she hovered outside Alex’s door, she felt a sick feeling well up in her stomach and she wished that she’d been wrong about Alex. Slowly, Talia turned and moved back to the lift, punching the call button with more force than was necessary. As she stepped into the lift, she comforted herself with one thought, Alex had helped her get a script deal, he might be lousy material for any kind of relationship but in this
at least, he’d proved himself a friend.
No publicity is bad publicity. Tamara was quickly re-learning the old adage and finding it to be true. Slowly she had started to emerge back into her life. She’d returned some of the calls that she’d ignored and had been grateful too that Alex had taken time from his rehearsals to come and visit her. But in the end, she reminded herself – she was on her own and she had to find her way out of the quagmire.
It was her agent who had first directed her attention to the blogs. Long and involved posts and petitions to save her character from being axed had been quickly followed by features in some of the classier magazine supplements. Was Tamara the face of the new bitch? Would Encounters survive without her? Tamara had read the articles with some bemusement. The publicity and unexpected support was good but what did it mean? Online petitions would not keep her in Dior, after all. But quickly too, the offers had started to come. One broadcaster had suggested the possibility of her own reality TV show, a book publisher was interested in her autobiography and most exciting of all was that Simon Cowell had called for a sit down meeting – Tamara would make an excellent judge on his new talent show format.
That afternoon Tamara and Katie had lunched at The Wolseley. Tamara, unmissable in a red Valentino dress that made every head turn, had been late and she noted that the maître de had seated them at the most prominent table in the restaurant. The waiters could not be more attentive and by the end of lunch, Tamara and Kate had been interrupted by no fewer than eight executives and TV industry players just stopping to say “a quick hello” to Tamara and trying to pin her down for a meeting. Tamara leaned back as she sipped the sparkling water and gave a small smile. Her stock was up and she had every intention of capitalising on every opportunity that came her way. The bitch was back.