Marbella Nights

by Camille Oster

  “Nothing,” Trish stated.

  “Trish hooked up with an Aussie dude,” Chrissy stated. “A friend of Nathan’s.”

  “Oh really?” Adelaide said. Trish wasn’t one to spread it around, so she really must like this guy.

  “He’s so hot,” Amber said. “Coriiieee’s his name.”

  Trish blushed. “Total player.”

  “So, not potential boyfriend material.”

  “God no, strictly a one night stand. Good to play with—not to keep.”

  Adelaide smiled, amused to see Trish blushing. “Naughty girl.”

  Dusk painted the wood of José’s beach restaurant, making everything glow. It had been a while since Adelaide had feasted on José’s food, and it was something she’d missed. They found a table and sat down. Minty appeared as she normally did. That was the wonderful thing about José’s: it never changed and it never would as long a José lived.

  “I did invite Nathan,” Chrissy admitted, looking sheepishly. “He really liked it here last time. I can’t believe he’s lived here as long as he has and never discovered it.”

  Getting up, Adelaide walked to the bathroom. It was nice to be off the boat and with her friends. Her life changed so dramatically from when Mr. Sumneroff was in town to when he wasn’t. He was like a hurricane that came through and reset the world how he wanted it. Then he passed and everything went back to normal.

  She couldn’t claim to understand him. His girlfriend was awful; she literally gave Adelaide the creeps. Stunningly gorgeous, but there was just something not right about her. But then none of this was Adelaide’s business; her job was to serve and make sure the guests had what they needed—even if it was a drunken kebab dash in the middle of the night.

  Quentin Cartright was a funny creature, too. She didn’t quite know what he was, swinging from rude indifference to heartfelt confessions—albeit alcohol induced. Everyone living on the coast knew who Quentin was. He was the ‘It boy’, the leader of that set—the one the newspapers focused their attention on, and for some reason, people were interested in what he did, which was an inordinate amount of partying, driving around in nice cars and picking up gorgeous women. He was a creature as far removed from Adelaide as socially possible.

  If she told anyone that Quentin Cartright had kissed her, their jaws would drop, but that was a little secret she would keep all to herself—predominantly because there would be endless explaining involved and Adelaide did not want to inspect that whole sorry episode in detail.

  Their table was more crowded when she returned, like it had exploded with people while she was gone—people she didn’t know. What the hell? “Uh, hi,” she said as she took her seat, now squeezed in with some guy she didn’t know. They were clearly Aussies and Adelaide realised this must be Nathan and his crew.

  The guy smiled at her like he was delighted at what had just turned up. “Hey,” he said.

  And her burger arrived. Just great. Now she had to eat this burger, which could be messy, squeezed in with her elbows at her side. Looking around, she saw that the table behind them was free. “I might just grab a bit of space while I’m eating,” she said, feeling like she had to explain what could be seen as incredibly rude. But she just hated eating sitting all squeezed up. It didn’t matter what her grandmother’s etiquette books insisted, not that she’d actually ever read one, but eating with your elbows squeezed at your sides just wasn’t comfortable.

  Sitting down on the far bench, she had a good view back on her friends as she ate. Hannah joined her, sitting opposite. “So these are the guys we met,” Hannah said. “They’re okay.”

  Adelaide scanned the table, spotting Trish sitting with cheeks flaring, looking uncomfortable. Now that was not a usual sight, which meant that the guy she’d hooked up with was here. Adelaide chuckled. It could only be the one Trish was adamantly ignoring; the hot one with super defined pecs. She studied him with his sun-bleached brown hair and perfect body. He was cute with a cheeky smile. He had that all-round awesome quality about him. Likely the most popular guy in school; the one all the girls wanted to get with and all the guys wanted to hang with. Not the ‘too cool for school’, like Quentin Cartright, just all round awesomeness. No wonder Trish was flaring red and flatly ignoring him—the one night stand that came back to haunt.

  “I take it that’s Cory,” she said to Hannah.

  “That’s him. Apparently a bit of a maverick in the sack.”

  “Of course, he is,” Adelaide replied with rolling eyes. Probably good at fucking everything.

  “Obviously, Trish won’t go anywhere near him now.”

  “Still burning like a beacon through, isn’t she?”

  Hannah turned back to look at Trish. “Poor thing.” She turned her attention back to her food. “They’re alright guys—better than some of the creeps around here.” Adelaide’s thought turned immediately to Quentin and she couldn’t help a gulping laugh, almost getting food stuck in her throat. “What?” Hannah asked.

  “I just thought of someone I met on the boat.”

  “One of Sumneroff’s special guests?”

  “They’re all special,” she said with a sarcastic nod. “Would you ever get with one of them?” She used them to indicate the people this town was built for, not the ones serving it, like all the people here.

  “I don’t know. I suppose if he was half decent, then maybe?”

  Well, that ruled Quentin out. Actually it didn’t, because underneath, when his tongue was loose and his inhibitions dropped, he was really funny in a self-deprecating way. He had been really charming. It was like the alcohol had waved away layers of pompousness and underneath was a real guy. There was a bit of beauty inside that beast. Or maybe she was just giving him too much credit.

  “Where are we going next?” Adelaide said. “I didn’t listen when we talked about it.”

  “I think we’re going to Emperor.” Emperor was a heavy dance club, with tighter music, whereas Shine tended to mix it up, play lighter beats. Emperor was where the serious partiers went. It was also more central to the party drug culture. Chrissy would have chosen it. It was okay, but it got a bit tenuous after a few hours, unless you actually were on drugs, which was an activity Adelaide had dabbled in, but never truly embraced.

  Amber came over and sat down. “So, we’ve been invited to the Blanca Beach resort. Apparently Cory has an open invitation, an in with the manager. Says he can get us on the list.”

  Blanca Beach report was the kind of place rich kids hung out. Designed by some famous London guru; the place where Alexa Chung and football stars hung out when they were in town. Images of uber-smart people, lounging around and adoring each other entered Adelaide’s mind. She didn’t even own a dress that would meet the dress code. “Why would we want to go there?”

  “Just to do something different. Haven’t you always wanted to go there? Lenny Kravitz was there last week. What if we see someone?”

  Adelaide rolled her eyes. Working on Sumneroff’s boat, she got to meet plenty of rich and famous glitterati, and there wasn’t that much to be impressed about when it came down to it. They were just people—often with atrocious attitudes.

  “For once,” Amber continued, “wouldn’t you want to hang out with those people and not serve them drinks?”

  A raised eyebrow conveyed how unimpressed Adelaide was.

  “Come on. It’s a place around here where we haven’t been. Who knows what will happen? It’s just a club and we’re on the guest list—pretty much VIP. We’re all going. You gonna stay home on your own?”

  “Fine,” Adelaide sighed, realising how excited Amber was. “We’ll go. I’ll just save up all my money for one of their ridiculously expensive drinks.”

  “Has to be a chocolate martini. Do you think they do those?

  “Only one way to find out,” Hannah said.

  Emperor was crowded and hot, music blasting and lights flashing. There was even foam at one point, covering the whole dance floor. A tired gimmick in
Adelaide’s book, but the crowd still seemed to like it. She’d danced, gotten a good workout in the process. Her cheeks were red and she felt like she was poaching inside her clothes. Making her way to the bar, she bought one of the vodka icicles, which tasted something close to gooseberry. It was heavenly and she made her way out the back where an open air area was set aside for people to cool and talk—which was impossible inside the club.

  Sitting down and closing her eyes, she let the icicles cool her mouth and lips. She was a bit drunk—nowhere near as bad as she had been on previous occasions, but enough that she wouldn’t feel one hundred percent in the morning. And they had to scrub the hull tomorrow—sitting out in the heat while they worked. She really should be going home. Tiredness was slowing her down.

  People parted in front of her and Adelaide caught sight of Trish, mauling or getting mauled by the lifeguard she’d been so uncomfortable around earlier that evening. So much for a one night stand, Adelaide thought with a smile. It seems Trish liked him a bit more than she let on.

  Shaking her head, Adelaide got up, feeling a bit unstable for a moment. Okay, she really needed to get home and into bed. All she wanted right now was a chocolate milk, but first had to see if anyone else was ready to go, so they could share a cab.

  Chapter 14

  It was late by the time Cheyenne arrived in Milan, making her way up to the fifth floor where her hotel room was, holding the white swipe card in the hand carrying her large Louise Vuitton carry case. Her green leather jacket hot as she carted the bag into the room. Sometimes she wondered about getting one of those four wheel bags that tourists and stewardesses used, but they looked so pedestrian. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  The room was cold when and she sat down on the bed. It was a nice room in muted bronze and golds. Yet another trip to Milan, another runway to walk. She couldn’t wait until she could give this all up and just be rich and aimless. Things were going well with Alexi, but they weren’t going anywhere fast. She did kind of miss him—well, she missed the sex. There wouldn’t be any for a while and that was the worst with having an absent, jet-setting boyfriend.

  It was out of the question her joining him in Moscow until he’d made their relationship more permanent. She wasn’t stupid enough to give up her career for a guy who could potentially dump her next week.

  He hadn’t strictly asked, but she suspected he wouldn’t be displeased if she turned up. But she wasn’t going to. The adage was true: why buy the cow if you could get the milk for free. The sex was free when she cared to join him, which was never at his home base, but getting her with him on a permanent basis he would only get by buying the cow—and that would be with a ridiculously large diamond—big enough to make the bitches in Marbella’s eyes pop.

  Cheyenne called her agency, letting them know she had arrived and would be there in the morning for the Fendi show. Hunger nipped at her gut, but she decided not to eat. No point being bloated and gross for the show in the morning. She would be asleep soon, so she wouldn’t notice the hunger. Instead, she cleansed and moisturised her face, applying the perfect amount of the high-end Japanese products, which were impossible to get in Europe. Checking herself out in the mirror, she searched for any wear and tear on her face. Sea, sun and salt were all enemies, but a good tan never hurt. It was a fine balance—luckily there was Dr. Hansom, the Harley Street dermatologist, to help her manage that fine line.

  Megan was already at Fendi backstage by the time Cheyenne arrived, sitting like a lanky giraffe with her blond hair framing her face like a silken curtain. The girl had obviously forgone the cooling compress Cheyenne applied to her eyes, ensuring nothing puffy or irritated distorted her visage. One of the make-up artists approached and started pinning back her hair with large clamps so they could start on contouring her face.

  Pulling out a copy of W magazine, Cheyenne lost herself in the spreads while the artists endlessly went on sculpturing her face. She looked like an improved version when they were done.

  “It was such a good weekend,” Megan said, sitting down next to Cheyenne, crossing her bony legs. Cheyenne looked up without expression.

  Just because we happened to be on the same boat for a weekend, doesn’t mean we are friends, Cheyenne thought. Obviously Megan had different expectations. Cheyenne hated people who didn’t know their place. Smiling tightly, she acknowledged Megan, then returned to her magazine.

  “Are you doing Burberry as well?” Megan continued.

  “Uh huh,” Cheyenne confirmed, feeling an uncomfortable niggle as Burberry was where Megan shone. She was typically first on, signifying she, more than anyone, represented the brand. And she was right down their alley—British, wealthy, part of the cool kids. While Cheyenne had beauty and the oligarch boyfriend, she would never be an insider. Marriage to Alexi would make her surpass such details—too high to touch in the social structure of life. Annoyingly, Megan didn’t actually understand such things, just ploughed cluelessly along.

  “I’ve got an apartment right in Knightsbridge, well, actually it’s my family’s, but you can stay if you want.”

  “I’ve already got a room booked, but thanks for the offer,” Cheyenne said, reining in the sarcasm. It didn’t pay to completely distance someone like Megan. People like her had their uses, and she needed a back-up plan in case things with Alexi fell through.

  The bright lights shocked when Cheyenne stepped out on the runway, perfectly executing the sharp walk that swung her hips and accentuated the defined lines of her thighs. Every eye in the room was on her. It was a shame the dress she was wearing was a drab, deconstructed grey thing that looked like a glorified sack, but design was design, and at times it danced to the beat of its own tune. Everyone in the audience pretended to get it, or did so within the confines of what was currently fashionable—even this shapeless thing.

  Throwing a look to the photographers at the end of the runway, she turned sharply and walked back, arms back and hips forwards. It felt awkward, but it looked awesome—and that’s what it’s all about. It was at one of the Milan Fashion Week after parties where she had met Alexi, but he wasn’t here this season. He wasn’t a fashion groupie—he’d just happened to be attending that once.

  She wished he was here. She wanted the feeling of untouchability she felt when she was near him. It hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed that the Fendi people weren’t quite as excited about her as they were last year. If they started commenting about her look being tired, or not in line with their image, she was done for. It was a fast downhill in the modelling industry. Word spread and a model was passé. No one wanted to be left with last season’s uncool themes, and that included models.

  Breathing in, she tried to release the pressure, ensuring she performed perfectly until the very point where she stepped off the runway. She wasn’t Naomi Campbell who could fall over and be forgiven. She had to be perfect.

  The short Asian man, Fendi’s illustrious designer, stood in the curtain surveying everything and waiting for the end when they would take their bow and act shy and surprised that people wanted to see them up on the runway. Bending down, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, and last year he had smiled warmly at her, this year his gaze moved on behind her before the cheek-to-cheek kiss was even completed. Suddenly Cheyenne felt a raging jealousy seep through her, at these people who would have careers that would last more than five years. The end of Cheyenne’s career was approaching and there was little she could do about it. She used to think how pathetic girls were who sucked up to the designers, or alternatively the magazine editors to try to prolong their careers. They should just accept they were old news, she used to think, firm in the knowledge that she was young and hot. Suddenly that awful fate was creeping up on her, too.

  This relationship with Alexi had to work. It was her salvation.

  Chapter 15

  Trish sat at the bus stop again, her heels hanging off her fingers as she waited. She’d done it again—gone back for a good, hard one. There was no debate t
hat he had delivered. Her stomach flipped even thinking of it, remembering his scent and the firm and strong curves of his body.

  It hadn’t been something she’d planned—he’d just sided up to her at the club and they were dancing, hidden in the dark amongst the throng of bodies. His body was just irresistible and he’d been so close, making it obvious he wanted her. Firm hands had slid around her back and down over her backside, drawing her to him, their hips joining. Hearts beat wildly and they teased for quite a while before actually kissing, relenting to a soft and all-encompassing kiss. It had been utter heaven and endorphins, or whatever it was, had flooded her brain like a drug.

  Alright, she had done absolutely nothing to say no. He was a damn drug and she was hooked. The adage that you couldn’t get hooked on one hit was definitely not true in this case. And he’d taken her number that morning. A seed of hope flared in her chest. What if this was more than a one night stand thing? What if he really was into her?

  Trish bit her lip and looked down the gravel on the side of the road. She shouldn’t, but she felt like she was on a cloud. Maybe she was still drunk and over-tired, but the world and the bus ride seemed to blissfully pass by, until she made it to her room and crashed. A shower was an option, but she liked that her skin smelled of him. Maybe after a nap, she would emerge from her room clean and fresh.

  They’d ordered a pizza late that afternoon. Working that night, they needed calories to burn. Chrissy was home for once, so luckily she wouldn’t be causing trouble with her tardiness again.