Original Sin

by Tasmina Perry

  Liz stepped away from her mother and towards a podium at the end of the room. She took a sip of lemon water to steady herself. Liz was not gregarious by nature, but knowing the value of salesmanship she had taken acting classes at the Lee Strasberg Institute to make her both more outgoing in social situations and a better public speaker.

  The noise of the room hushed as Liz pinged a spoon against a glass and began to speak into a microphone.

  ‘I’d like to welcome everyone to the Skin Plus Day Spa,’ she said in a steady voice. ‘We have the greatest team of beauty professionals working with us and tonight I’d like to welcome another important member to the Skin Plus team. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Enrique Gelati.’

  Gasps and murmurs of approval went around the room as the hairstylist graciously stepped forward and took a bow.

  ‘We have spent many years getting to this point,’ she continued, ‘creating a comprehensive skin health system that will have you looking better, longer. We offer personalized treatments and skin diagnoses and nonsurgical procedures. When our store opens later in the year, we will be selling salon–quality products for you to take home … ’

  She kept the speech short. She understood what parties were like in New York – people came and people left to hop on to the next one, no matter how good you were. No one came to hear an executive read out a press release. Even so, when Liz finished, three hundred pairs of hands burst into loud applause. Her heart was beating wildly. If only she could bottle this feeling and sell it through the spa she’d be a billionaire for sure.

  Descending the podium she was swamped with well–wishers; important and influential people clamouring to tell her that her baby was beautiful. It was almost overwhelming. Needing a little space, she walked up the steps to the mezzanine area where the spa’s treatment rooms were located. It was officially out of bounds, although a few people had wandered past the velvet ropes. Liz sat on an elegant chair, took a sip of her cocktail, and tried to relax. She had spent the last few nights running on nervous energy and had barely had any sleep. Still, when she looked down at the spa, the sum total of eight years of hard work, she knew every minute had been worth it. The collapse of her marriage, the stress, even the erosion of her position within the company – she knew her single–mindedness on this risky project had won her few supporters on an already jumpy board; but they were all sacrifices she had been prepared to make and, given the enormous success of tonight’s launch, they had clearly been sacrifices worth making. Skin Plus was a hit, and already her mind was whirling with expansion plans. She wanted a Skin Plus Spa in every major capital of the world, plus a diffusion line in every big city from Pittsburgh to Prague. More importantly, her standing in the company would be unassailable. With Vital Radiance failing, and Skin Plus the talk of the town, she was sure her mother would finally be forced to acknowledge William’s repeated failings and make her CEO. And then Liz could really get to work. Watch out Estée Lauder, she smiled to herself. She envied their rival’s breadth in the market; from the most premium products like Crème de la Mer, to the lower–end made–for–TV beauty brands they quietly owned; the Lauder family name was synonymous with the entire cosmetics industry. It was the way she wanted to take Asgill Cosmetics. So lost was she in her thoughts and plans, it was a few moments before Liz realized there was someone standing next to her.

  ‘Hello Lisa.’

  For a split second she did not recognize him, but as she saw past the smart one–buttoned suit and the clean–shaven face, she remembered with rising panic that it was the guy from the Red Legs bar. She couldn’t remember his name; was he an actor, perhaps? She certainly remembered that dark bathroom, however. Urgent hands, teasing fingers, hot kisses. His thick cock inside her.

  ‘Lisa?’ she said casually, summoning up everything she had learnt at the Lee Strasberg Institute. ‘My name is Liz.’

  He lifted his finger to her face. ‘That cleft in your chin. It’s a Mendelian trait.’

  Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it.

  ‘I’m sorry, but this area is private,’ she said as evenly as she could. ‘I think you’d better go back downstairs.’

  ‘You can’t turn me away,’ he whispered. ‘Not after the effort it took to get me in here tonight. I owe my agent a big favour.’

  She began to walk away, but he caught her arm and spun her round, pulling her so close his mouth was by her ear.

  ‘How about another fuck?’ he whispered. She angrily jerked away and she saw he was smiling, only this time the sexy curve of his lips, the dangerous twinkle in his eyes, was menacing, not seductive.

  ‘You know I couldn’t believe it when I found out my lovely Lisa was really Liz Asgill, multimillionaire director of Asgill Cosmetics. I saw you in some paper, the business pages, actually; quite a pleasant surprise, I have to say.’

  ‘I’m calling security,’ said Liz, but he just chuckled.

  ‘I think they’re just down there,’ he pointed down the stairs. ‘Next to the journalist from Page Six who I think might be interested in talking to me. I can give them a new spin on their coverage, spice up another boring product launch. I’m sure they’d love to hear how the president of this smart, chic new cosmetics company likes to fuck strange men in basements.’

  Liz looked at him sharply. She could see he wasn’t bluffing. After all, what did he have to lose? Russ, that was his name, she thought randomly. Russ Ford. Not that knowing anything about him would do her any good now. He held all the cards, and he knew it.

  ‘Okay, so we had sex,’ she said carefully. ‘Once. It’s no big deal.’ Her voice was low and controlled although her stomach was churning. Of course, Liz had considered the consequences of getting caught doing what she did, but like a compulsive gambler with a house riding on each hand, she couldn’t resist the risk. And the more times she had met men in bars for sex and then never seen or heard from them again, the more her actions felt detached from real life.

  ‘Once, you say?’ asked Russ, a note of triumph in his voice. ‘That’s funny, because after I saw you in the paper, I saw you at the sports bar on Tenth Avenue. It was as if me and you have some sort of destiny.’

  Liz was now starting to feeling physically sick.

  ‘You were with some blond guy, kind of a rugged, redneck type. You left with him after about ten minutes.’

  ‘I’m sorry if this is about a broken heart,’ she hissed.

  Russ shook his head, laughing slowly. ‘Seriously honey, I don’t think so.’ He took the martini glass from her hand and took a slow sip of her cocktail. Liz caught her breath. She hated this man, feared him and what he could do to her. She wanted to kill him, erase him from existence. Yet she was surprised to find how much that one, haughty, arrogant action of snatching her drink had affected her. It had turned her on.

  ‘So I went back to the sports bar the next day, spoke to Blondy,’ continued Russ, draining Liz’s drink. ‘We swapped notes about what a great fuck you are. Except he knew you as Julie. And that’s when I knew for sure.’

  She turned on him. ‘You knew what?’ she spat.

  ‘How you forget about your fancy Upper East Side life and just play the whore with faceless fucks you never have to see again.’

  He grinned and held up his hands. ‘Well honey, I’m home.’

  ‘All right. You’ve gloated enough,’ said Liz fiercely. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Keep it up, Lisa. You’re making me hard.’

  He trailed his finger down her tanned, toned arm so she felt the familiar roughness of his fingertips.

  ‘Don’t worry, you can afford it. I just want some incentive to keep our little secret. Because I kinda doubt the Billington family are going to like this either.’

  ‘There are laws against blackmail,’ she snarled. ‘My lawyer is here tonight and by the time the cops are finished with you, you’ll wish you’d never seen my face.’

  He snorted, brushing the threat away like an irritation. ‘B
lackmail?’ he said with a note of surprise. ‘Oh no, I was thinking of it more like patronage of the arts. Me, struggling actor. You hotshot businesswoman.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me,’ she growled.

  ‘I think we’re past that point already.’

  Russ put the martini glass on a chair and fastened the button on his suit. ‘Why don’t I give you a couple of days to think about it? But don’t take too long … Just to give you a little hint, I was thinking somewhere in the region of two hundred thousand dollars.’

  As he walked away he smiled. ‘Well, I know where you are now,’ he said, gesturing at the Skin Plus logos on the doors of the treatment rooms. ‘Maybe I’ll book an appointment. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be able to afford it real soon.’

  Liz opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. For the first time in a long time, she just didn’t know what to say.

  *

  Tess wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep when her mobile started ringing. She groped across her bedside table, grabbed the phone, and squinted at the time on the glowing screen. Two thirty a.m. What the hell? Calls at this time were never good news, unless it was from London, in which case some selfish sod hadn’t factored in the time difference. She sighed. Which probably meant it was Dom.

  ‘Do you know what time–?’ she began to croak, but she was quickly cut off.

  ‘Can you come round?’ The voice was female.

  ‘Who is this?’ asked Tess suspiciously.

  ‘Liz,’ came the testy reply, as if it were perfectly natural for Liz Asgill to call in the middle of the night.

  ‘Oh. Er, hi,’ said Tess. Her brain felt foggy and she felt slightly sick. One too many Manhattans, perhaps. She struggled to sit up in bed.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Tess had only left Liz a few hours earlier at the launch. She had not said goodbye before she’d left – Tess hadn’t been there to handle the launch PR; her job was to keep an eye on Brooke and ensure her photographs got in all the right magazines and newspapers. When Brooke had left just after eleven, Tess had quickly followed. She badly needed the sleep; the two weeks since she had landed in New York had been a blur.

  ‘I need to see you,’ said Liz urgently. ‘Right away.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be in the office at seven,’ said Tess blearily. ‘Let’s grab a coffee as soon as we both get in.’

  ‘No, I need to see you now.’

  There was an agitated, desperate edge to Liz’s voice that made Tess reach over and switch on her bedside light.

  ‘Liz, it’s two thirty,’ she said, immediately regretting the words the second they were out of her mouth.

  ‘This is not a nine–to–five job, Tess,’ snapped Liz. ‘I wouldn’t be calling you unless it was urgent.’

  So far, Tess had had very few dealings with Liz and she had been rather relieved that their paths hadn’t crossed. Tess had met many formidable women in her time, but Liz was something else. There was a chilliness about her that made Tess feel as though she was treading on eggshells whenever they met. She was certainly not a woman to piss off before the day had even begun.

  ‘Okaaay,’ sighed Tess. ‘Give me your address.’

  Unable to find a pen, she wrote it down with lipstick on the front of a magazine.

  ‘I’ll see you in thirty minutes.’

  *

  Liz lived in a two–bedroomed apartment in one of the most luxurious condominiums in the city. Fifteen Central Park West, a huge wedding–cake of a building overlooking the park, was home to some of the most powerful people in New York: celebrities, CEOs, and money–men; people who could afford to pay up to one hundred million dollars for the privilege of living there. At three a.m., the building’s lobby was silent and stately with its oak panelling and marble pillars, the only noise the occasional crackle of the huge log fire. Tess took the elevator to the twenty–fifth floor where she found the door to Liz’s apartment slightly ajar. After two tentative knocks, she walked in. Her first thought was that Liz’s home was not as stark or minimalist as she was expecting. Sophisticated and tasteful, yes, but Tess had expected an ice queen like Liz to go for chrome and exposed brick. In the dim light, however, the living room actually felt quite warm and comforting, although she supposed the spotlessness of the big white sofas and cream carpet, along with the complete absence of clutter, did reflect the perfectionism of its owner.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ said a voice, and Tess jumped. Liz was standing by the windows overlooking the park, half hidden in the shadow. She was still wearing her slate–grey cocktail dress from the party, her arms wrapped tightly in front of her as she nursed a tumbler of amber liquid and gazed out at the city lights twinkling in the dark. What a view, thought Tess. New York looked so majestic and peaceful, she could see why people were prepared to spend so much to live here. Liz, however, looked anything but at peace. As she stepped into the light, her face was as pale and expressionless as a corpse’s.

  ‘This is uncomfortable for me,’ she began, ‘so I only want to say it once.’

  Tess nodded. ‘I’m listening,’ she said quietly.

  Liz took a deep breath and let it out. ‘I am being blackmailed.’

  Tess simply stood and listened. Years spent interviewing a whole range of people, from aggrieved neighbours to political protestors to celebrities, had taught Tess not to interrupt her subjects; to let them simply talk until they had nothing left to say.

  ‘A few weeks ago, I had sex with someone, an actor called Russ Ford,’ continued Liz. ‘I didn’t use my real name and I didn’t see him again afterwards, but tonight he showed up at the party and now he is asking for money.’

  Tess frowned. She had been expecting a much bigger revelation given Liz’s grey–faced demeanour. It wasn’t good, of course, but neither was it a disaster. Liz having a one–night stand was hardly going to derail the Asgills’ social standing.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, trying to sound both sympathetic and businesslike. ‘What’s Russ Ford threatening you with exactly? I don’t mean to be rude, but the newspapers aren’t going to be too interested in a single woman having a one–night stand.’

  Liz paused again. ‘He saw me again a few nights later in another bar with another man.’

  ‘And he was jealous?’ asked Tess, still confused.

  Liz remained silent.

  ‘Liz, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything,’ said Tess with a little irritation. ‘I really don’t see how a one–night stand–’

  ‘I like casual sex, okay?’ Liz interrupted. ‘Very casual sex. This guy Russ says he is going to the papers with details. “Sex Addict Liz Asgill screws men in bathrooms of seedy clubs”: do you think that’s the sort of headline the tabloids might be interested in?’

  Tess nodded. She understood better than Liz knew – after all, covering up the story of her brother Sean’s overdose at an orgy was what had brought her to work for the Asgills in the first place. It’s a funny old family, she thought, almost smiling at the understatement. Ten years ago, Tess would hardly have believed that a successful, elegant woman like Liz Asgill would have such a sordid sex life, but years on Fleet Street had opened her eyes to what went on behind closed doors. And, of course, some of the most hair–raising stories – the breakfast TV presenter who let her Alsatian lick dog food off her naked body, the cosy soap actress who could only have sex after her boyfriend blew cocaine up her arse, the supermodel who was a thirty thousand pound–a–throw hooker – they never saw the light of day thanks to prompt behind–the–scenes intervention of lawyers and publicists, who made deals and threats to keep it all quiet.

  ‘Listen Liz, having a couple of one–night stands doesn’t make you a sex addict,’ said Tess soothingly.

  Liz shook her head. ‘It’s more than just a couple,’ she said, a slight catch in her voice.

  ‘How many?’

  She shrugged. ‘Once, twice a week.’

  ‘A week?’

  Tess hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, b
ut it was crazy – and amazing that she hadn’t been caught before. What was Liz playing at? Russian roulette with men she hardly knew? Tess had a sudden sinking feeling.

  ‘Do you ever pay them?’ she asked.

  ‘No!’

  Liz glared at Tess for a second, then closed her eyes, trying to gain control. She sat down on the corner of the white sofa and lit a cigarette, her long legs crossing in front of her.

  ‘I don’t want to get Patty Shackleton involved,’ she said, blowing the smoke out in a long stream. ‘And I certainly don’t want my mother to know. Can I trust you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Liz looked down at the sofa, brushing imaginary crumbs from the material. ‘Good. I haven’t got time to give you a lesson on Asgill family politics. But let’s just say my mother won’t like it. She’ll make me suffer.’

  Tess had a sneaking suspicion that she was the one Meredith would make suffer if she ever found out that Tess had been colluding with Liz to keep secrets, but she knew that she didn’t really have a choice. She had enough problems with the Asgill family already, without making an enemy of Liz.

  ‘So tell me what you know about this guy,’ said Tess, sitting on the opposite sofa.

  ‘Hardly anything,’ said Liz. ‘As I said, we didn’t exactly talk the first time I met him.’

  ‘And do we know what he wants?’

  ‘He says he is going to call you to arrange a meeting. He says he can get two hundred thousand dollars for his story.’

  As Liz spoke, Tess was calling up the Internet on her BlackBerry. She typed ‘Russ Ford’ into imdb.com. He had a very short list of credits in some minor made–for–TV productions; he was hardly Tom Cruise. It figured.

  ‘Do you know if he’s spoken to anyone yet?’ she asked.

  ‘He could have spoken to everyone for all I know,’ snapped Liz. ‘Forgive me for not going into too much detail with him at my company’s launch party. What are we going to do?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Tess confidently, ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  As she said the words, she felt a real surge of adrenaline. She had spent the last two weeks constantly on the phone or taking meetings in fancy watering holes around the city like Per Se, Michael’s and Tao, simultaneously buttering people up and playing hardball. It had paid off, of course – she had managed to swing a cover for Brooke in Vanity Fair, without allowing her to be interviewed, which was no mean feat. But this sort of publicity work wasn’t rocket science, especially given Brooke’s white–hot social standing. This, on the other hand, felt like real drama, a real challenge.