Private Lives

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘So have you heard from Sam?’ asked Jim, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

  Jessica had almost forgotten that the last time Jim had been here was to remove the last of Sam’s possessions. That all seemed so long ago.

  She shook her head.

  ‘He knows better than that.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on him, honey,’ said Jim. ‘Sure, he acted like a prick – I mean, who would risk losing someone like you? – but I think he’s hurting. You must have seen he’s gone a little AWOL?’

  She had read about Sam losing the Dreamscape contract and his crazy theatre production in Edinburgh. It did look as if he’d gone off the rails. But she wasn’t sure if that was grief or just symptomatic of whatever crisis that had made him jump into bed with that hooker in the first place.

  ‘You know, I think you two should get back together,’ said Jim softly.

  ‘Get real! Like that could ever happen.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘Think about it. Everything that’s gone wrong in your career has happened since you split: all that crap in the press about “Tragic Jess”, “Loser in Love”. You and Sam were happy together.’

  Jessica felt a lump in her throat and swallowed hard. It was true, they had been happy, hadn’t they? They’d certainly been the golden couple of Hollywood, but since then it had all gone downhill. She shook the thought away.

  ‘Is that what you think of me, Jim?’ she said, turning towards him. ‘I’m a loser in love?’

  ‘I think you’re an incredibly beautiful woman. But I think you deserve better than what’s happening right now.’

  She glanced away from him, feeling a sob rise inside her.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ said Jim, stroking his fingers down the curve of her neck. ‘None of this is your fault.’

  There was a long, electric pause.

  She turned back and gazed into his blue eyes, wanting someone to tell her it was all going to be okay, wanting someone to make it all better again. The mood in the room had changed suddenly, the air prickling with a sexual charge she’d not felt in years. Their eyes locked and she knew he was feeling it too. She touched his thigh and he took her fingers. Her mood changed from misery to defiance as she stepped off her stool and moved towards him.

  It was instantly clear where this meeting was heading.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he said haltingly.

  ‘Absolutely sure,’ she whispered, melting towards him.

  He pressed his hard, gym-toned body against her and kissed her neck, slipping his hands down from her shoulders to her breasts.

  ‘Not here,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘The bedroom.’

  He practically carried her on to the bed, falling on top of her, his mouth finding hers in a searing kiss. Impatiently she lifted her T-shirt over her head as his nimble fingers unzipped her jeans and pushed them down over her lean hips, taking her tiny thong with them.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he moaned, planting kisses all down her hard stomach, running his thumb up and down her wet labia, then twisting two fingers inside her.

  ‘Yes!’ she cried, pushing her hips towards him, groaning as his mouth moved down to pleasure her.

  With strong hands he turned her around, bending her over the bed. She heard the clank as he unbuckled his trousers, a fumble as he put on a condom, then pushed his hard cock against the curve of her ass, skin against skin. He gathered up her hair so that he could plant greedy kisses on the nape of her neck, then, losing patience, roughly parted her legs and sank into her with one thrust.

  ‘Yesss . . .’ she hissed, stretching out, her hands gripping the sheets as he rocked back and forth inside her. It felt so good, she thought, her breath catching as his cock reached some sweet spot she hadn’t even known was there. Sex had always been a commodity for Jessica, a means to an end, but this . . . this was something else.

  He grabbed her hips and pushed her up on to her hands and knees as he pumped from behind, deeper, faster now. His hands cupped her buttocks and she smiled, knowing that a full-body micro-dermabrasion the day before meant her ass looked like a peach.

  ‘That’s it, please keep going, please,’ she gasped. The ripples of pleasure were building, building, contracting into her stomach like a tight coil and then releasing back out around her body in electric waves of pleasure. She let out a deep cry, as much of surprise as desire, then collapsed on to the sheets, relishing his weight, his strong arms around her, two perfect post-coital bodies uniting as one.

  Finally catching her breath, Jessica stretched over to her bedside cabinet and pulled out a menthol cigarette. Her battle to quit had been a losing one, and with Jim Parker naked beside her, she needed one more than ever.

  ‘We shouldn’t have done that.’ She smiled, taking a long drag and blowing a smoke ring towards the ceiling.

  ‘Oh yes we should,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve wanted to do it for five years. But then I always knew we would.’

  She propped her head on her elbow. ‘You arrogant bastard,’ she murmured.

  He took the cigarette from her and had a drag.

  ‘It’s why I’m so good at my job. And it’s not arrogance, it’s self-belief. There’s a difference. You’re an amazing woman, Jess,’ he said, running a finger along her thigh. ‘That’s why I hate to see your career going the way it’s going.’

  The lazy smile faded from her face.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Jim pushed himself back up on a pillow.

  ‘Jess, I think we both know there have been a few wrong turns this summer.’

  ‘Wrong turns? You’ll remember it was your slimeball client who did the dirty on me.’

  ‘Sure, but you haven’t exactly made strong moves since then. What about the naked HQ shoot?’

  ‘How do you know about that?’ she asked, startled. ‘It’s not out for two months.’

  ‘Jose Silveira isn’t the most discreet man in the world.’

  She could feel her heart beginning to hammer.

  ‘And why the hell did you let the All Woman execs bring in another female lead?’ Jim continued. ‘If I had been your agent, you can be goddamn sure it would never have happened.’

  She stubbed out the cigarette and got off the bed.

  ‘Shit,’ she muttered, pacing across to the window. ‘Does everyone know every detail of my life?’

  ‘Hey, don’t blame yourself, kiddo. You just need better representation, someone who can actually deliver what’s best for you.’

  For years Jess had felt a strong loyalty to Harry Monk, the legendary agent who had plucked her from the other starry-eyed hopefuls stepping off the bus in LA and guided her to superstardom. The bond had surprised her ruthless instinct, but deep down she had always been grateful to Harry. Yet Jim’s words now struck a chord. Jessica knew she should simply not be in this position, and she could only hold her team to be responsible.

  ‘Better representation? Like who?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘Like me.’

  She barked out a laugh.

  ‘You’re kidding. What about Sam?’

  ‘What about him? Lots of couples have the same representation. You can build your brand as a couple. Look at the Beckhams; you can barely tell where one starts and the other ends.’

  ‘We’re not a couple any more, Jim. Or haven’t you noticed?’

  Jim paused for a moment.

  ‘And was that the right decision?’ he asked.

  She turned back towards him, fury on her face.

  ‘He cheated on me! What the hell do you expect me to do?’

  ‘I understand your anger, Jess. Hell, I’d have cut his balls off and made a smoothie. But the split wasn’t all bad. Everyone likes drama, and it’s made you more normal.’ He eyed her carefully. ‘Jess, this isn’t about how you both feel. It’s business, pure and simple. You have to think about it logically. Are you and Sam more powerful as individuals or as a conglomerate?’

  ‘So you think we should go back to be
ing Jess and Sam, the power couple?’

  ‘Think bigger,’ said Jim. ‘You don’t want to be one of the most popular couples in Hollywood. You want to be one of the most powerful couples in the world. You should be getting invitations to the White House, appearances at Davos, being courted by world leaders, like Angelina is. The sky’s the limit, baby, believe me. You just got to have the vision.’

  He got out of bed and went out of the room, returning a few moments later with the slim leather folder.

  ‘I’ve prepared a document for you.’

  ‘A document?’

  ‘A business plan. Taking your career to the next level. Taking the Sam and Jess brand to the next level.’

  Her anger rose again.

  ‘Is that why you came round? Is that why you fucked me? To get me to sign on some dotted line?’

  ‘No,’ said Jim calmly. ‘We had sex because we both wanted to.’

  He sat on the end of the bed and patted the space next to him. She glared at him for a moment, then shrugged and sat down. Jim reached out and stroked her hair away from her face.

  ‘Just read it, okay?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t need to.’

  He looked offended, but she smiled. ‘I mean I don’t need to read it because I know how good it will be. You’re the best, Jim. You know it.’

  His expression softened.

  ‘Believe me, honey, you and Sam could be great together, and I’m talking Liz Taylor and Richard Burton great. Legendary.’

  She picked up the document and started flicking through it. At first she was just humouring him. But as she read, she felt the hairs on her arms stand up. It was fantastic, even better than she had hoped. Lists of impressive brands who would be willing to pay multimillion-dollar endorsements, together with the name and number of each company’s CEO – Jim wasn’t just talking theoretically; he’d actually spoken to them to talk numbers. There was a list of the Forbes top twenty highest-earning couples – David and Victoria were there, Jay-Z and Beyoncé, but despite four hit movies between them, Jess and Sam hadn’t made it in. Jim was right: clearly they weren’t maximising their potential.

  Then she got to the big one: projections for the earnings of Brand Samica. Year one, $110 million. She’d own a Gulfstream outright before she knew it.

  Further on in the document were a raft of what Jim had labelled ‘options’, business ventures or franchises she could pick and choose from, each bringing in serious passive income, money she would have to do little or nothing to earn, each of them solidly ‘on brand’. A chain of chic restaurants, complete with branded cooking sauces for the supermarket, a range of swimwear bearing her signature, a movie production company ready-loaded with the rights to a dozen books Jim already knew the studios would kill for. A range of perfumes – Jim had already thought of a name: ‘Innocence by Jessica Carr’. Jessica had to admit she’d always found the idea of a personalised scent tacky, but looking now at the amount she could earn, it was phenomenal. A large chunk of Elizabeth Taylor’s fortune had come from perfume revenues – and Jessica hadn’t even known Liz had a scent!

  Half a billion dollars in ten years, that was Jim’s estimate, and Jessica could feel the flutter in her chest at the prospect. Money still mattered, it was all that mattered. She had never forgotten the humiliation of having to queue for free school meals or wearing unfashionable jeans because they were hand-me-downs. ‘Welfare! Welfare!’ her school friends had chanted. All because Daddy had fallen off some scaffolding.

  ‘You’ve not got to the best bit,’ said Jim quietly, wrapping a towel around his waist.

  She turned to the back of the business plan.

  ‘Internet TV?’ she queried, reading the proposal.

  ‘Baby, you’re not thinking big enough. All Woman, your little movies filmed during hiatus.’

  ‘They’re not little, Jim,’ she objected. She’d worked her butt off to break into movies.

  ‘Jess, ten years ago, every two-bit actor on TV would have sold their grandmother for a big Hollywood career. But things are changing real fast. In five years, there’s hardly going to be anyone left going to the movie theatre, and you’re going to get left behind.’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Jim was on a roll.

  ‘Think about the brand, Jess. People love Jessica Carr because you’re in their living rooms, you’re part of their lives. That’s what they want from you, so give it to them.’

  She frowned.

  ‘Internet TV is small fry.’

  ‘Right now. But by the end of this decade, TV, movies and the Internet will be completely integrated. I want you to own that new medium, Jess, creating, producing and starring in your own show, watched by a global audience. I think you can be the female Seinfeld.’

  She didn’t need Jim to tell her how wealthy Jerry was.

  ‘What about All Woman?’

  ‘They’re screwing with you, honey. I’ve heard about Brooke Geller. Do this season and then ship out.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘I have a client, a writer who has come up with something that is perfect for you. There’s a great role for Sammy in there too. You know how great he is with comedy.’

  ‘You want me to work with Sam?’

  ‘We introduce him season finale. Think of the ratings, baby.’

  ‘He’d never go for it.’

  ‘He would if you were back together.’

  Two weeks ago, if Jim had suggested not only getting back with Sam Charles, but also working with him, she would have screamed, but now? Now it seemed like the only thing that made any sense.

  ‘So do you want me to set up a meeting with him?’ said Jim, coming up behind her, stroking his hand across her belly. ‘Somewhere romantic? Maybe that island in Scotland he vanished to after the story broke?’

  ‘But do you think he’ll want to get back together?’

  Jim didn’t speak for a moment, and she turned around, looking up at him anxiously.

  ‘Tell me he hasn’t met someone else?’

  Jim shook his head.

  ‘Absolutely not. It’s just he’s convinced himself he’s happy being back in London. You know, there’s this little trailer-trash streak in Sam. So I think you might have to do more of the running.’

  ‘I’m not gonna beg, Jim,’ she said angrily.

  ‘Sure, baby,’ he said soothingly. ‘Just go see him in England. Woo him. Once he feels wanted, he’ll see the sense of this too.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t bite?’

  Jim raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Then we might need a few additional incentives.’

  ‘You mean the document?’

  ‘I meant something even more persuasive than that,’ he said, cupping her breast. She moaned with pleasure as his fingers stroked her nipple. She felt hornier than she’d done in years. ‘So, we got a deal?’ he breathed into her ear.

  ‘Come back to bed and I’ll think about it.’

  ‘I can’t, sweetheart, I’ve got to get back to work,’ he said, nuzzling into her neck. ‘Especially if you want me to start on everything we’ve just talked about.’

  He held her face gently between his hands.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’

  ‘Let’s do it,’ she whispered. ‘I want you to represent me.’

  He placed a slow, lingering kiss on her lips.

  ‘I won’t let you down.’

  She lay back on the mattress. Sunshine streamed into the room, over her naked body, making her feel blissfully lazy and happy.

  ‘I’ll let myself out,’ winked Jim, already dressed.

  ‘Call me,’ she smiled, watching his tight ass exit the bedroom. She picked up the business plan and began to read it again, feeling turned on once more as she absorbed and visualised every little detail. She was so engrossed in the document, she didn’t notice that it was a few minutes before her front door closed. Enough time for Jim Parker to remove the bugging devices he had planted around her
house three weeks earlier.

  58

  The hire car wound through the hills behind Nice airport, up, up until the blue Mediterranean shrank to a thin silver strip and the smell of the air changed from sea salt to the pine and lavender that characterised this part of Provence. Mougins was one of the most famous foodie destinations in Europe, a medieval village that clung to the hillside just a twenty-minute drive from its bigger, ritzier neighbour, Cannes.

  ‘Sam, this place is just gorgeous,’ gasped Anna as they drove towards the sandstone walls of the town. It was like something from a fairy-tale. Honey-coloured townhouses with bloom-filled window boxes and red-tiled roofs crowding into winding streets, a clock tower tolling the hour, cypress trees soaring into the blue sky. Anna listened with excitement as Sam told her stories about the town: how Picasso had lived here, shooting the breeze with Cocteau and Man Ray, how Churchill had holidayed here and Dior came to be inspired. ‘It’s magical,’ she sighed.

  Driving past the town itself, they finally pulled up in front of an old watermill set in beautiful grounds.

  ‘Voilà,’ said Sam, taking Anna’s hand to lead her inside to the Michelin-starred Moulin de Mougins. It was chic yet casual, and Anna felt glad she had softened her smart aqua silk dress with bronze gladiator sandals.

  ‘Monsieur Shaarlz!’ cried the maître d’. ‘So good to see you again.’

  He led them to a table on the terrace outside and brought them glasses of crisp white wine, ‘especially recommended for you by the sommelier’. Anna wondered if there was a more delightful place to have lunch – and to think she’d wanted to stay in Sam’s bed watching old movies. Plenty of time for that later, she smiled to herself. And not so much of the movies, either.