I finally twisted my thoughts away from the shadowy writer and back towards where I wanted them. Gethryn. That head-singing moment of absolute bliss when Gethryn had talked to me last night. That almost-promise of further talking. I rolled gleefully on the bed – it wasn’t my imagination, Jack had seen it too – Gethryn wanted me.
There was a knock at the door. I opened it. Felix stood there radiating a negatively attractive aura. He was horribly pale, his pupils were oscillating crazily and he seemed to have acquired a facial tic which caused his upper lip to wrinkle every few seconds. He had sand in his hair which fell like solid dandruff every time he moved, and either his eyes were extremely bloodshot or he’d been possessed by the devil.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Just don’t.’
Then he staggered into the bathroom and, without closing the door or taking off any clothes, turned on the shower and stood under it, eyes so wide open that his lids seemed to have been pulled up like blinds.
‘Fe?’
‘Is there any Valium left?’ he slurred through rigid lips. ‘And, please God, let the answer be yes.’
I fumbled two tablets from the little brown bottle and took them into the bathroom where he swallowed them, tipping his head back to let the water from the shower carry them down his throat. ‘Oh God. Oh God. I am wrecked.’
‘But you’ve been drinking …’
One solitary, counter-rotating eye glared at me. ‘Lover, you are looking at the walking image of habituation here. I’d have to swallow the entire bottle before I felt even a little bit peaky.’ He slowly closed his eyes, letting the water pound down on the top of his head, slicking his hair flat until he looked like a Brylcreem advert. ‘Oh, my Lord. How did Jack stand it? He must be made of fucking iron.’ One eye opened again. ‘And if you have any information on that, lover, then give it up. Don’t think I didn’t notice the two of you dogging it behind us.’
‘We were worried.’
‘Quite right, too. She is crazy. Christ, she’s got some serious issues and she is not afraid to take them out on innocent bystanders.’ He winced. ‘I really need to sleep. Seriously.’
‘Oh, Fe. I thought you’d come with me to the Q and A session.’
‘Sorry, darling.’ Felix flopped out of the shower and started pulling off his soaking clothes. ‘All I’m fit for now is to sleep it off. Q and A is at seven, that’s …’ he waved his watch in front of his eyes but was obviously focus-impaired at the moment, ‘hours away. I’ll try and fit it in before I get busy. Okay, lover?’ Stark naked he stood in front of me, swaying.
‘You’re a mess.’
‘Yeah. Trashed.’ A quick, glorious smile. ‘That’s how you know you’re on holiday.’ Then he took a few, faltering steps into the bedroom and collapsed, still soaking wet from the shower, face down on the bed. ‘Thank God for Valium,’ he muttered into the duvet, and either passed out or fell asleep.
*****
At five past seven I was hovering around inside the main doors to the motel. A few hardy fans were drinking in the bar behind me but the Q and A event and an impromptu Karaoke session, which had broken out in the diner, had soaked up most of the crowd. Felix was still out for the count on the bed and Jack was on the stage in Meeting Room One. A quick glance through the doors had seen him safely seated between a bearded special-effects wizard and a girl from the wardrobe department, holding forth in enormous detail on story-arc plotting.
Any other time I would have been entranced by just such a talk. To be honest, I’d have listened to Jack Whitaker reading from the phone book, under normal conditions. But, this was my only chance to get a glimpse of Gethryn, without Jack stomping around muttering psychological rubbish, or Felix’s hair-tossing attempts to be noticed. I’d got my breathing under control, slicked my hair with that miracle serum, covered my scar with a careful layer of make-up, and here I stood. Staring out through the tinted plate glass at the wide-stretched ridged brownness that was Nevada, heaped foothills on the horizon and air that smelled of boiled dust.
But there was no sign of Gethryn. I’d been hoping that he’d come to hang around the bar like so many of the other Fallen Skies crew members were doing, lounging around in their logoed T-shirts drinking cold beer and occasionally becoming involved in deep discussions with earnest fans. I knew he hadn’t dropped in on the Q and A; maybe he’d decided on an early night and was tucked up in the Winnebago with a whisky and a detective novel.
I’d give it another five minutes. I stood near the windows, my palms sweating, trying to look as though gazing out over the desert was my preferred way of spending time and hoping that Gethryn might at least choose to waft through with his posse once tonight. Thanks to the open-plan reception area with the bar at the back, I could look as though I was lost in thought and Nevada scenery whilst keeping my entire body on alert for his appearance in the reflections in the window. Just a little peep, I thought, longingly, just let me see him, and I promise I’ll go to bed without a fuss. Just a sight of those well-muscled hips striding through reception, maybe another of those saucy winks thrown my way? Was that too much to ask?
And then, suddenly, there he was.
I watched his reflection saunter across the carpet, unacknowledged. He was wearing jeans with interesting slashes down the thighs revealing toned muscles and tanned skin, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to elbow height. A few of the drinkers greeted him, I saw his transparent self raise a hand in acceptance, but he remained unaccompanied as he approached the bar. Ordered a glass of something, then turned around.
I carefully kept my eyes front, still appearing to gaze out on the rapidly darkening landscape, but in reality unable to focus on anything other than Gethryn, who was staring at my back view in a very considered way. The expanse of tinted glass, silvered with night, was a perfect reflective surface and I could see every nuance of expression on his face, the slightly raised eyebrows and the half-grin that curled his mouth as he watched me. When I saw him ignore his glass and push off from the bar, I hastily wiped my hands down my skirt and made sure that I had a far-away look on my face.
‘All alone?’ He spoke behind my left shoulder, and now I allowed my eyes to refocus, seeing his reflection embossed on mine. ‘You not wanting to hear all the backstage slander then, bach?’
Play it cool, Skye. I didn’t turn around, but spoke to him whilst keeping my eyes on the desert. ‘It’s more interesting here, listening to everyone chat.’
‘Ah, they’re all talking bollocks, girl. We both know there’s more to the world than Fallen Skies, don’t we?’ His ghostly self stretched its arms wide and I felt the brief, thrilling press of his chest against my back.
My heart scuttered and my voice had to work to get past it. ‘But they’re here because Fallen Skies means something to them. It’s touched them in some way.’
I felt Gethryn’s hands come down from their stretch and lightly rest on my shoulders. Our reflections kept their eyes front. ‘Oh, our Jack is one fine writer, I’ll give him that. He gave me speeches that have stayed in my head; that one about “the horizons of all worlds are reachable by all races –”, not a pair of eyes without tears on set when we recorded that. But …’ he lowered his voice and his accent became stronger and thicker like good coffee, ‘at the end of the day, bach, it’s just a TV show.’
I turned around. Over at the far side of the bar a small knot of women had realised Gethryn was in the room and a fumbling search for cameras and autograph books was underway. ‘Whoo-hoo, Gethryn honey!’ One of the women held up a pen. ‘Could you come over a minute, my friend Dorinda here wants to get your picture?’
Gethryn still had his hands on my shoulders. ‘Uh oh,’ he said lightly, close to my ear. ‘Bunch of menopausal matriarchs want some cuddle-shots. Better go, lovely.’ The hands ran away down my arms, skimming lightly over the skin and raising hairs as they went. ‘But
, look. You go outside, I’ll get rid of the sci-fi Saga girls, and I’ll meet you out there. There’s this tree, out beyond the car park, wait by there.’ Then, as if he hadn’t just arranged an assignation that was making my skin heat up all over, he sauntered nonchalantly across to the bar where waiting hands seized him and pulled him into the centre of attention.
Oh God. Gethryn wanted me alone. Nevada, despite the perpetual brownness and heat, was now officially Paradise. A real-life, tawny-headed, lion-eyed bona fide TV star wanted to talk to me! Alone! Surreptitiously I watched him pressing flesh with the good ladies in the corner, and there was, despite their collective age, quite a lot of flesh on display. Low necklines, high hemlines and some well-preserved tanned skin on the peripheries, hair colours that could surely never be natural, and mountainous heels. Coral lips offered up kisses he couldn’t turn down and I had to grin. He turned, in the midst of it all, saw me watching and gave a heart-melting smile, raising his eyebrows to indicate the ridiculousness of it all.
I dashed outside and headed out across the car park. There, just beyond the ranks of cars, stood one of the few trees in the area, a species I didn’t recognise with scrubby, brush-like leaves. In fact, it didn’t so much stand as squat, as though the heat and dust had beaten a perfectly normal tree down over decades. I went and sat beside it. The heat pushed my head down onto my chest, and my breathing felt like artificial respiration by hairdryer.
I sat for a while, during which I lost track of time. Darkness thickened around me and there were weird noises floating through the air, but, to be honest, I was more worried about being discovered by Jack than I was about being eaten by wolves. His utter condemnation of Gethryn was so inexplicable and profound that I wondered if it was a form of jealousy. Perhaps he was tired of losing out to Gethryn’s burnished perfection, tired of his scratchy nature and persistent smoking habit being compared to Gethryn’s easy temperament.
I shook my head. Jack was attractive with all that dark hair and those intense eyes: I’d seen plenty of the women at the convention watching him. He could have taken his pick of a bunch of the hangers-on, wannabe writers and TV groupies. But he clearly wasn’t a groupie kind of guy. A little voice whispered in the back of my head ‘and you really want to find out just what kind of guy he is, Skye, don’t you?’
‘Hey, lovely.’ I shook my head again and raised my eyes to the skyline. ‘Sorry to take so long, got caught up. And the girls wanted to buy me a drink, would have been rude to refuse, wouldn’t it?’ The rise and fall of his accent was almost edible, like chocolate drizzled over cream, blunted just a touch by alcohol. He was carrying a bottle. ‘Fancy joining me in another?’
‘Well …’ Gethryn Tudor-Morgan is offering you a drink! ‘Just a bit, maybe.’
‘Good girl.’ The bottle swung my way, dark liquid slopping at the neck. ‘Haven’t got a glass though, bach, we’ll have to drink it out of the bottle.’
It was sharp, whatever it was, and rolled down my throat like a razor blade. As I drank, Gethryn came and crouched beside me, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree. I watched as his eyes traced the line of my scar under the make-up down to my cheekbone, didn’t stop but wandered across the neckline of my shirt and halted at the depths of the V formed by the open buttons. Then his gaze moved up to my face again and his eyes were molten. ‘So,’ he said, taking the bottle back, ‘what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ I’d only managed to sip at the liquor. He gulped it as though it was water.
‘Oh, you know. Felix got tickets, thought I’d like to come.’ I wasn’t going to go into Felix’s treachery, my stupidity at believing him. Not with this sensational man leaning companionably close in the shelter of the little tree, passing me the bottle again and brushing my fingers with his as he did so. I managed a bit more alcohol this time; the sharpness was gone and the fire that replaced it was welcome. Gethryn’s touch had made me shiver.
‘Thought you might have been a friend of Jack’s.’ He watched me drink. ‘Has he warned you off me yet?’ My mouth was full so all I could do was shake my head. ‘Fucking Jack.’ His voice was sour now, accent hard. ‘Thinks he’s so fucking clever, and what is he? Just a jumped-up storyteller, that’s what.’ The hand that grabbed the bottle back had white knuckles showing. ‘If they really knew what he was … Well, who is he to dictate what we can and can’t do?’
Nearly all of the bottle’s contents had disappeared. I pinched my leg hard to keep concentrating. I was here sharing a drink with Gethryn Tudor-Morgan. It was like my own personal heaven. ‘What’s Jack got against you, anyway?’ My tongue felt heavy in my mouth and the words were imprecise.
Gethryn looked sideways at me. ‘He doesn’t like it that I’m a star, that’s what it is, cariad. I’m heading up his precious show, while all he can do is scribble away in the dark and smoke his fucking fags. And he hates it that I get the girls, oh yes, he hates that. Hates that all he can do is ruin ’em, when I know how to love ’em proper, like.’ A finger extended, ran down my throat towards the neckline of my shirt and when I looked up into his face I saw the heat in his eyes. ‘Skye,’ he whispered. ‘You are beautiful. Is it all right if I kiss you?’
Whoa. Oh … no, I mean … what? Gethryn wanted to kiss me? Captain Lucas James, hero of the Shadow War wanted to kiss me … ‘I’m not sure.’ The words came out as a whisper, but he’d already moved in for the clinch, both hands wound into my hair holding my head steady.
‘It’s fine, bach.’ His breath smelled of alcohol and felt hot against my lips. ‘Nothing to be afraid of, just a little kiss, yes?’ And then, before I could answer, he fastened his mouth onto mine in a bruising, hard kiss that battered against my lips. I stood up, trying to loosen his mouth but he rose with me, keeping his lips locked onto mine and dropping his hands to grip my shoulders. His tongue slipped between my teeth and licked the roof of my mouth and as a current of night air became more intrusive it dawned on me that he’d moved his hands, his fingers were unbuttoning my shirt, one hand hooking itself around the cup of my best bra. I was in a sweat of gratitude that I’d at least thought to put on my decent underwear, but disturbed that he was actually going to see it with so little preamble.
I struggled back and jerked my head away. Felt his tongue slide down my cheek as he aimed at my mouth again and missed. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know …’ My heart was beating faster and I could hear a high drone inside my head. Lust or fear? Couldn’t be sure.
‘Oh, come on now.’ Gethryn moved in again and his grip tightened. ‘I’m not gonna hurt you, am I? Let’s just … see how it goes.’ And the hand was on my bra again, fingers fumbling at the cup, until the tiny embroidered flowers that I’d thought so pretty began cutting into my skin. ‘No-one’s watching, you don’t need to worry.’
I could feel the rise of the panic now. Was I misreading this? Was he being flirty – a little over-forceful maybe but that could be my fault – or was this going further than I wanted? He was blocking my airway, his mouth not allowing enough space for breathing and the passage of his hands over my skin was getting dangerously close to needing a passport. But this was Gethryn Tudor-Morgan! Captain Lucas James …
‘Geth?’ Jack’s voice sounded like a klaxon above the noise of my pulse. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Oh, fuck.’ Fingers unwound from my underwire and the air came as a relief against my skin. There was suddenly a much larger gap between us and a hastened attempt to pull my shirt straight. ‘What’s up?’
‘Skye?’ I could see him now, silhouetted against the flickering neon of the motel sign, fingers flicking ash from a glowing stub. ‘Are you all right?’ He was moving towards me at the same rate that Gethryn was moving away; it was like standing in the middle of a weather-house. ‘Hey.’ The calmness of his tone steadied me and I breathed carefully, feeling the panic balance itself somewhere in the centre of my chest, pivoting on the moment. ‘Skye.�
�
‘I’m …’ A sudden flare of pain as the wind reached the scoring along my cheek that I hadn’t realised was there. Gethryn’s picturesque stubble had rubbed my skin raw. ‘I …’
‘Get away from her.’ Jack’s voice was harsh now, sounding as though he needed a drink. ‘Geth. I’m warning you.’ A quick, angry movement of one hand. ‘Get inside.’
‘Or what?’ Gethryn had stopped moving now. I could see the shadow the moonlight gave him, stretching long and dark towards me from where he stood behind my left shoulder. ‘Eh, Iceman? What’s the bottom line here? What can you do that you’ve not already done?’
Jack stopped walking too. He was near enough for me to smell the smoke on him, to see the individual strands of his hair as they blew, reaching for me across the sand, as though they wanted to wrap around me. ‘Nothing. That’s the point, no threats, nothing. Just Leave. Her. Alone.’ And the words were like weapons in their own right.
The shadow moved and there was the sloshing sound of liquid moving on glass, a swallow. ‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. Scared that you’ll lose another one, are you, Ice? You know you’ve got nothing. Tell you this, Skye can see sense, she can see who’s got something to offer, who’s the fucking Hollywood star and who’s the punk loser.’ The shadow dwindled and his voice was more distant. ‘She’ll find out about you, boy. Sooner or later, she’ll know. And then … I’ll be waiting. But I will tell you this, Ice …’ There was a temporary strength in his words as though he’d turned back to face Jack or raised his voice, ‘She’s got a fantastic pair of tits.’
I didn’t move and neither did Jack, although I saw his fists twitch, just once. A few seconds passed and then Jack held out a hand. ‘Did he hurt you?’
Star Struck Page 13