Rumours have also circulated that Jessica was spotted smoking what appeared to be a marijuana joint on the balcony of her Malibu beach house last Tuesday. LAPD declined to comment over whether they would investigate.
Jessica felt faint as she clicked on the four-page photomontage and timeline – stunning photographs of herself dated a year ago, that became increasingly unflattering as the story went on. ‘Unhinged’, ‘ageing’, ‘can’t hold on to a man’? Even worse, the article was illustrated with a huge long-lens pap shot of Jessica leaving the Primrose Gym on Mulholland, her face puffy and pink. How the hell did they get that?
Why hadn’t she known about this? Why hadn’t Sylvia known about this? Mentally she calculated how long she’d been on the island. They had arrived Tuesday – the day Celeb magazine hit the news stands.
‘Holiday my ass!’ she sneered. ‘That bitch Sylvia knew all about this.’
She jumped to her feet and stormed through the villa and back to the pool, where she found Sylvia was on the phone. Jessica grabbed the cell from her hand.
‘Jess!’ squealed Sylvia. ‘What the hell?’
‘We need to talk. Now,’ said Jessica, grabbing her arm and virtually dragging her back inside.
‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’
‘I’ve just read the Celeb magazine story, that’s what’s wrong with me.’
Sylvia looked out towards the pool, where the whole crew were watching, then closed the patio doors.
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ spat Jessica.
The PR glanced at her, then down at the floor.
‘I heard they were running it, yes,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think it would help to tell you about it – looks like I was right.’
‘You think you can hide things from me? How dare you?’
‘It’s just a gossip story; there’s no substance to it. All we need to do is keep our heads down . . .’
‘Bullshit!’ cried Jessica. ‘Celeb has like five million readers. The media are like sheep. One prints “Tragic Jess, she’s losing her looks”, the others are all going to do it.’
‘This will blow over.’
‘You said that three weeks ago, and it’s only getting worse. Why don’t you do something?’
‘We have to stick to our strategy, Jess,’ said Sylvia firmly.
‘Oh yeah? Well it looks to me as if your strategy is to do nothing.’
‘I’m doing the best I can, Jessica,’ said Sylvia. ‘And I’m not sure how much I can help you when you go off-piste, arranging your own long-lens photography. Do you think I am stupid? I know that was you.’
‘So now this is my fault?’ said Jessica, her eyes wide.
Sylvia sighed. ‘Okay, we should both calm down here.’
‘There’s no “we” any more, Sylvia,’ said Jessica, hands on hips. ‘You’re fired.’
The older woman looked at her in disbelief.
‘Jessica, please . . .’
‘I said you’re fired!’ she screamed.
Sylvia looked at her for a moment, then nodded, turned and walked out of the villa. As soon as she had left, Barbara opened the patio doors and stepped through.
‘Honey, what’s going on?’ she asked, her face full of concern. ‘Jose told me you were having some almighty screaming match with Sylvia. What’s happened?’
‘Celeb magazine, that’s what happened. A four-page photomontage of my misery.’ Jessica began to cry through narrowed eyes. ‘This is your doing, isn’t it?’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I never speak to the media, you know that. Not unless you ask me to.’
‘Someone’s been talking. How else would they know Joe Kennington turned me down, except from you?’
‘I didn’t know, honey.’
‘You saw him at the house. You know he didn’t stay over . . . Admit it, you’ve been selling stories to the press, haven’t you?’
‘No!’
‘Well explain why all this has only been happening since you moved in, Mother?’
‘It’s a coincidence,’ said Barbara, flustered. ‘I swear to you . . .’
Jessica pointed her manicured finger towards the door. ‘Take the next flight back to LAX and get out of my house,’ she said, her voice trembling in anger.
‘Honey, no,’ said Barbara, tears beginning to run down her face. ‘I’m your mom. You can trust me.’
‘From now on, I trust no one. From now on, I’m going to be in charge of my life. Me.’
Jose put his head around the door. His eyes were sparkling and his cheeks were flushed. It was obvious he was loving every moment of the drama.
‘Is everything okay in here?’ he asked. ‘Is just we’re ready to shoot again.’
Jess inhaled sharply and looked at her mother.
‘Barbara’s just going,’ she said, ignoring the other woman’s sobs and stepping out into the sunshine. ‘But I’m ready when you are. And why don’t we try a few shots with that blue shirt?’
Jose clapped his hands with delight.
‘Oh darling, that’s a marvellous idea.’
Jessica went into the pool house they were using as a changing room and slipped out of her clothes. Naked except for her lace thong, she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Long tanned legs, flat stomach, toned arms and the best goddamn tits in the business. Ha! Tragic Jess? Such crap. She had never looked more beautiful in her life.
She pulled on the shirt the stylist had left for her and rolled up the sleeves. The tails just skimmed the top of her thighs and, at the back, gave just a hint of her ass. She had to admit, that dorky guy Daniel was right: she did look pretty hot.
‘Oh honey!’ purred Jose as she stepped out. ‘You look soooo beautiful.’
He came over and positioned her next to the pool, before stepping back to fire off some shots. ‘Give me more tiger, baby.’ He bent to check the shots on his laptop. ‘Wow, you’re sensational, Jessie.’
Jessica looked across at Daniel and fingered the material of the shirt.
‘But is it sexy enough?’
‘Oh yeah.’ Daniel blushed, unable to take his eyes from her. ‘You look great.’
‘Only great?’ she said. ‘I think we can do a little better than that, don’t you?’ She reached up and, one by one, undid the shirt buttons.
As Jose carried on shooting, Jessica shrugged the shirt off one shoulder, flashing her golden flesh at the camera. She felt sexy, liberated. For once, she was in control, and that was all that mattered.
‘How about a little more?’ she laughed, turning away from the camera and letting the shirt slip from her arms and on to the floor.
‘That’s it!’ said Jose. ‘Give it to me, baby!’
She crossed her arms across her chest and looked back at the camera with a toss of her hair and a mischievous smile that said ‘Come and get me.’
Tragic Jess? she thought, laughing. This would be the hottest, sexiest shoot of the decade. No one would be pitying her now.
41
‘Pow, gotcha! Pow! Argh no, you’re dead, you’re dead. Haha!’
Matt groaned and threw down the video game handset in disgust.
‘You’re too good for me, Jonas,’ he said, genuinely embarrassed at how easily his son had beaten him.
‘Well if you come round more often, you can practise,’ laughed Jonas. ‘So long as you remember that I am still the king!’ he added, leaping in the air and landing on Matt’s back.
‘Oh yeah?’ chuckled Matt, wrestling the boy to the ground. Gosh, he was getting big. Matt remembered the days when rough-and-tumble tussles like this had been a daily occurrence. He would lift Jonas in the air and Jonas would pretend he was Superman, squealing, ‘Higher, Daddy, higher!’ Now it was all Matt could do to wriggle out from beneath him.
‘Come on. Bedtime, young man,’ said Matthew, ushering Jonas out of the playroom and up the stairs towards his room, a shrine to cartoon character Ben 10. Matthew had agreed to babysit in a moment of weakness, but h
e was glad he had. Initially he had been nervous about it; partly because he’d never been inside what he still thought of as David’s house, having always dropped Jonas off at the doorstep, but mainly because he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea giving Jonas all these mixed messages. For three years, David had been playing Daddy to his son, and as much as he had hated it, Matthew had been forced to accept the status quo, watching Jonas grow from a distance. But just because David had gone, that didn’t mean Matthew would be stepping straight back into his old role. Indeed, Carla was out at some fancy party tonight and could well come home with another substitute daddy for Jonas – and there would be nothing either of them could do about it. Even so, he had loved spending quality time with Jonas in his own home, rather than at some café or playground. It was wonderful to see how he lived.
Matthew bent to tuck Jonas in and kiss him on the forehead, surprised but grateful when he didn’t protest. His little boy’s face was beginning to take shape; he had his mum’s nose and mouth, but he had Matthew’s eyes. Matthew liked that.
‘I’m glad you’ve seen our house, Daddy,’ said Jonas.
‘I’m glad too,’ said Matthew quietly.
Jonas’s eyes widened in the dark. ‘Maybe if David lets Mum keep the house, you could move in, ’cos it’s loads bigger than your flat.’
‘I like my flat,’ he said, trying to laugh off the suggestion. ‘But if your mum agrees, I’ll be round to visit more often. I can’t have you blasting me to death every time, can I? I’ve got to practise.’
‘Good idea.’
His son looked at him more seriously.
‘Are you and Mum friends again?’ His face, that perfect combination of Matt’s and Carla’s features, looked hopeful.
‘We’ve always been friends. How can we not be when we have such a brilliant thing in common as you?’
He hated lying to his son, but he knew there was some truth in his words. He and Carla had been getting on much better lately. More importantly, because of their son, there would always be a deep bond, a connection between them.
Jonas’s eyes were starting to close.
‘I love you, Dad,’ he said drowsily.
‘I love you too,’ Matt replied, enjoying the simple, sweet moment of saying good night to his son in the place that he called home.
He closed his son’s bedroom door softly and stood at the top of the stairs, listening to make sure Jonas was asleep. He peered up the stairwell to the second floor and beyond that, a third. This house is huge, he thought, padding towards the master bedroom and peering inside. I’m not being nosy, just interested. And for Jonas’s safety, I need to know where the fire exits are, don’t I?
He moved from room to room, past a library, a bathroom with his-and-her wash basins and a dressing room as big as his corner office at the firm. He wasn’t surprised that there were no photos of David in any of the rooms he looked in; Carla could be ruthless like that. Once she had moved on, she moved on. But there were reminders of the ex-master of the house everywhere. The study with his captain’s chair and golfing memorabilia, the weights machine and the muddy green wellingtons by the back door. Even though David had gone, Matthew still felt as if he was intruding in a stranger’s home – which he supposed he was.
He moved downstairs, to the basement and the gym, the laundry and the media room. His son had been living the life of luxury, he thought with bittersweet emotions, looking at the rows of velour seats in front of the cinema screen.
He walked over to the popcorn machine and turned it on. It hummed to life. He watched mesmerised as the kernels bounced along the bottom of the steel base, then began to pop like machine-gun fire, the glass drum filling with pale golden bubbles of corn.
‘Waste not, want not,’ he mumbled to himself, scooping the popcorn into a stripy red carton, then went over to the racks of DVDs and looked for something to watch, running his fingertip along the thin spines. Most were cartoons or children’s movies, with a few mainstream action films thrown in, certainly nothing Matthew hadn’t already seen. To one side were a group of boxes with neatly handwritten titles: exotic place names or occasions that had no meaning to him. Christmas – Barbados. Isabel’s 40th, Cap Ferrat. The Hamptons – Jake’s House.
‘Who’s Jake?’ he wondered aloud, cracking open the case and putting the disc in the machine. The huge screen immediately came to life, footage of a blue ocean and creamy white sand, a much smaller Jonas running away from the camera, then stopping and waving, before disappearing behind a palm tree. Then a jump-cut to a new scene: David walking along a wooden pier, his arm around Carla; she wearing a poppy-red dress, he wearing a straw hat. Tinny laughter, shaky footage, the sign of an amateur home video.
‘I’m not sure you should be watching those.’ Matthew turned, startled, sending popcorn all over the floor.
‘Bugger,’ he muttered, grabbing the remote and punching the eject button. ‘I thought I’d watch a movie,’ he said, trying to scrape up the spilled popcorn. ‘Wondered what Hamptons – Jake’s House was. Don’t get to the cinema much . . .’ He cursed himself for getting caught out like this, but in the low light he could see a smile curling at the edges of Carla’s glossy lips.
‘You’re early,’ he quipped guiltily.
‘I was tired. Or bored. Maybe both. How was Jonas?’
‘We had a great time. You should have stayed here. Tiring and yet never boring.’
‘I won’t hear the last of it tomorrow.’
He stood up, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the media room.
‘Excellent popcorn machine.’
‘Amazing what money can buy you.’
‘I’m sorry for being nosy,’ he said finally.
‘I’d have done the same.’
‘I doubt it. I’ve got no media room. A thirty-two-inch telly and some Sly Stallone DVDs, that’s all you’ll find at my place.’
‘Don’t give me the sob story. You’re senior partner of Donovan Pierce now, you can afford the trimmings.’
She unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off, revealing a pale pink slip dress, silky, slim-cut and short, showing off her long, tanned legs to perfection. He tried hard not to stare too hard; then again, he defied any man to be able to tear their eyes away from Carla when she looked this good.
‘So why was the party dull?’
‘Everyone asking me about David, pulling faces like someone had died.’
She was drunk, he could hear it in her slightly slurred words and see it in her glassy eyes. He felt a pang of sympathy for his ex-wife. He knew how much she would have hated that: being pitied in some Knightsbridge society salon. She’d have knocked back the champagne to forget about it and then made her excuses as soon as it was polite to leave.
‘Do you want me to make you a coffee?’ he asked.
‘That obvious, is it?’ she said with a crooked grin. ‘I’ll do it, there’s an espresso machine just over here.’ She pressed the side of a cabinet and it popped open to reveal a bar. ‘Open sesame,’ she said. ‘Just like magic.’
She perched on the back of one of the velour chairs beside him.
‘Well I’m sure you won’t be single for long,’ said Matt, trying to make her feel better. He quite enjoyed having a pleasant conversation with his wife; being friends, as Jonas had rightly put it. It was a change from the years of bitter snipes and exchanges that invariably came when a marriage had gone sour.
‘I think you’re wrong,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Good men get snapped up so quickly. Women are ruthless. A whiff that a marriage is in trouble and they hover, console, move in before the divorce lawyers have been called in half the time.’
‘I never had that.’
‘Good,’ she said softly.
Their eyes locked and he had to look away.
‘I’m not sure how well I’d have taken it if you’d got married again,’ she added as the coffee machine gurgled in the background.
Matt smiled to defuse the tension that was building in the
confines of the dark room.
‘Well, I’d like to think I’m not on love’s scrapheap quite yet.’
‘So you’re looking?’ She turned to face him.
‘I never said that.’
She gave a little laugh, shaking her head gently. ‘Why am I jealous?’
The pace of his heart quickened. ‘We were married. It’s only natural.’
There was a long silence. Matt knew it was time to leave, but he couldn’t tear himself away from his spot beside her. He could sense she had something to tell him, and curiosity, ego, his pride that had been so bruised when she had betrayed him made him want to hear it.
‘I was wrong to leave you,’ she whispered finally.
When the words came, he could think of nothing in response.
She lifted her hand and brushed the back of her fingers across his cheek. He reached up to stop them, but as his hand gripped hers, the cool softness of her skin made something in his stomach flutter.
‘Don’t,’ he said, feeling the situation galloping out of control.
‘Why not?’
She stood up and stepped towards him. In her high heels they were almost face to face. At this distance he could see the tiny vein beneath her eye trembling like it did when she was nervous. He could smell the light scent of expensive wine and lipstick inhabiting the air space between them. Her mouth was inches away from his, her lips parted, waiting.
He couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t kiss her. Then again, logic always did fly out of the window when he was faced by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
His hand cupped the soft, silky curve of her waist, slowly, carefully, pulling her towards him, and he kissed her on the mouth, on the soft fold of her ear lobe, on her long, smooth neck. He had forgotten how sweet she tasted; and yet the smell and taste of her were so familiar, it was as if the three years since any physical contact had contracted into nothingness.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered, responding to his touch.
His hand brushed the thin spaghetti straps of her dress off her shoulders, one and then the other, so that the flimsy fabric slid down over her slim body and rustled to the floor.
Private Lives Page 32