Lost In The Starlight

by Kiki Archer

  “You’re back?!” The body flew out of the bedroom at speed.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Obviously not or I’d be out here finding out what the hell happened! You’re back early! She knew! She’s telling the papers! You’re fired! Can you make the rent if you’re fired? You’ll be unemployable, I bet. Like those journalists with that phone hacking.”

  “She kissed me.”

  The mouth dropped open. “What? Was she desperate?”

  “No she wasn’t desperate! And you said I looked great.”

  “A kiss from Judas Iscariot then? For the one who needs to be killed? An act of kindness before she kicked you to the curb?” Jo started to pace. “I knew there was a reason for the invitation. I’m not being funny, Meg, but why else would Honey Diamond invite you for dinner?”

  “She likes me.”

  Jo stood still. “As if.”

  “She does!”

  “She obviously doesn’t know you’re the founder of SlebSecrets then?”

  “That doesn’t change who I am.”

  “Of course it bloody does!”

  “Not in terms of what drew her to me.”

  “What? Your hot looks and riveting personality?”

  “I think we’re quite similar.”

  “You and Honey Diamond?” The snort was mocking. “In your dreams!”

  Meg folded her arms and slumped back into the cushions. “She thinks I’m Margaret Rutland.”

  “That old bird you replaced?” Jo laughed. “Well there’s a compliment for you.”

  “I’m there worrying she knows about the site, worrying that her mother’s going to pounce and confront me, so much so that I don’t fully comprehend what she’s going on about when she says I know Liza. And I’m confused, not because she doesn’t know I replaced Margaret, but because she doesn’t know I’m Meg Rutherton of SlebSecrets, and this piece of paper does know I’m Meg Rutherton of SlebSecrets.” She reached out and grabbed the document. “No one knows I’m Meg Rutherton of SlebSecrets.”

  “They do now.” Jo sat down next to her flatmate. “But you said it yourself, it’s just a piece of paper, it’s just a threat. They don’t know for sure who’s behind the website. Now obviously if you hadn’t used our student flat address—”

  “I had to pay for the hosting. I used a fake name, but maybe my online payment account was registered there.”

  Jo was frowning. “Were we even on the electoral role? Wasn’t it that really crappy place we sub-let off that fourth year weirdo? They’ve probably traced so many students from there.” She clapped her hands as enlightenment struck. “They didn’t know our names! That’s why baldy was sifting around through our post. I bet they’ve handed letters to everyone who’s ever lived in that shit hole hoping they’d strike lucky and somehow the site would shut down.”

  Meg shook her head. “They’ve got me. However they’ve got me, they’ve got me. I can’t sit here clutching at straws. They were probably just confirming our names before they handed over the letter. Making sure it ended up in the right hands.”

  “What do you mean our names?”

  Meg flapped the document. “It’s addressed to both of us.”

  “Oh no. Oh no no no no no.”

  “What?”

  Jo's head was shaking violently. “No, you don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Involve me. I’m not taking the blame.”

  “I haven’t shut down the site because of this letter. I’ve shut down the site for Honey.”

  “Try telling her that.”

  “She may never find out,” the slow pause turned expectant, “but if she did…”

  “What?”

  “Well if she did…”

  “What?”

  Meg’s eyes were wide and encouraging.

  “What? Just say it. I take the blame?”

  “Oh listen, Jo, this letter’s only a cease and desist. It’s a demand to halt purported unlawful activity. Purported.”

  “And what the fuck does that mean? Stop talking to me like I’m stupid.”

  “It’s a threat. They don’t like the site so they’re trying to get it shut down.”

  “I thought you shut it down?”

  “It’s offline, but anyway, they’d have to take me to court and prove the site was unlawful. I don’t name names. It’s not slander. It’s just gossip. I’m not sure they’d win. But the fact they have my name means they’ve already won. I don’t want to be exposed. Well, maybe I wouldn’t care if it wasn’t for Honey.” She paused. “But Honey’s in the picture now and I can’t have her finding out it was me. It would ruin everything. Oh, I’ve been such a fool, Jo. I thought I was doing the right thing trying to out the sleazeballs and the secretly gay. We need good role models, people who are honest and true to who they are, and Honey will be that role model; she wants to be that role model. I had no right to try and rush that. It would have happened with or without me.”

  “Would it?”

  “Regardless, I’m the one in the wrong and, yes, while the letter could be standard procedure, I’m not sure I can take that risk.”

  “You can’t tell her, Meg.”

  “So what do I do? Ignore it and hope Honey never gets given my name?”

  “Why would she? Honey’s lawyers, or Diana’s lawyers, or whoever those men answer to, wouldn’t realistically bother her with paperwork and names would they? Surely they’d just inform the Diamonds that the site’s down?”

  “Do you think?”

  “SlebSecrets was nowhere near as offensive as some things out there. I’m sure the Diamonds have enough on their plates without worrying about little Meg Rutherton’s gossip column from Clapham.”

  “I just want a chance to show Honey who I truly am.”

  “Wait a second, you’re seeing her again? You don’t tell me about the interview and now this?”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you. I’ve been trying to tell you she kissed me. And the interview was last minute. You weren’t around.”

  “Not so last minute that you couldn’t get your hair cut or switch in your contacts.” Jo shook her head. “And what do you mean she kissed you? She actually kissed you? The Honey Diamond kissed…” she frowned, “…you?”

  Meg bit gently on the inside of her lip as the sweet sensations came flooding back. “I really like her.”

  “Well, let’s hope she never finds out.”

  The huff came quickly. “I didn’t take the site down because of the threat of exposure. I took it down through personal guilt. The site would be offline now with, or without, this letter.”

  “Like I said, try telling her that.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Diana Diamond’s mouth was wide open, staring in shock at the vision in front of her, the low-lighting and chiming music doing nothing to alter the scene.

  “Do it again, Svetty,” giggled Liza, lying face down on the massage table, naked from the waist up with six small glass cups sucking on her skin.

  Svetty Sokolova, whose white uniform had somehow come loose at the collar, plumped up a substantial bosom that was now out in full force. “Svetty be rough this time.”

  “Oooh yes,” came the muffled giggle.

  The bandana was tightened before the big hands banged together, a mini haka performed before the forward thrust of breast and yank of cup, pulling it free from the skin.

  Liza’s moan was feral.

  “You like Svetty be rough?”

  The PA growled. “Liza like Svetty be rough.”

  “Svetty be fired,” said the loud voice filling the room, “if I find out this isn’t how the ancient art of suction cupping goes down.”

  The holistic therapist stepped away from the table. “Ma’am.”

  “Ma’am!” gasped Liza, rolling off the bed and crouching behind it as if she was hidden, a difficult belief given that she looked like some kind of prehistoric reptile with bulges and bumps and half of the glassware cupboard stuc
k to her back.

  “Oh don’t you ma’am me, Liza. How can you be locked away in here and still cause such a commotion?”

  “Was I growling too loud?”

  “No, you weren’t growling too loud,” yelped Diana. “Your highly recommended, we can count on her, she’s perfect for the job journalist from The Beacon has only gone and snatched Honey’s heart.”

  Liza shot straight up, the glass cups chinking, forgetting about her bare breasts. “What?!”

  “Svetty! Will you please cover those!”

  The Russian woman lifted her large hands to shield the offending bosom.

  “With a towel!” Diana screeched.

  The nod came quickly. “Svetty getting towel.”

  “And get those bloody cups off her back.”

  Liza lifted the proffered towel to her chest as the holistic therapist tugged on the glassware.

  “Focus, woman!” said Diana, noticing the way Liza’s eyes rolled erotically each time a cup popped away from her skin. “Your journalist! She came round for tea! She could still be there now! Sofia’s at the spa; I phoned to find out how the afternoon had gone and she told me. She said Honey cooked. She cooked! She never cooks.”

  Liza’s head was shaking. “Maybe they needed more time for the interview?”

  “All done and dusted apparently, so much so that they nipped out on a jaunt in the journalist’s car while we were all busy dousing you in smelling salts.”

  “She’s too old for Honey.”

  “I don’t care if she’s Zsa Zsa bloody Gabor reincarnated. It’s unprofessional. Plus we’re only day one into this public personality outpouring and here she is with a girlfriend.”

  “I very much doubt that, Diana.”

  “Why? What makes you, standing there in your towel, titties and cups, the fountain of knowledge?” The spiked hair was vibrating. “Sofia said she was enamoured, full of it, impassioned by this woman.”

  “She’s sixty-five.”

  “Oh don’t exaggerate.”

  “At least.” Liza shuddered. “And the moles. So many of them. Like rough terrain on her face sprouting hairs.”

  “Wonderful. The pictures of my daughter and her first girlfriend sound perfect. I wonder how much Hello! will pay for the wedding? The princess and her wicked old bag of a wrinkled, stinking hunchback witch.”

  “She hasn’t got a hunchback.”

  “Will you just sort this out!” shouted Diana.

  “I’m free to go?”

  “Of course you’re bloody well free to go!”

  “Oh.” Liza glanced at Svetty. “We were moving on to the hard water spray next.”

  The therapist’s large hands came together in front of her even larger body, grasping themselves around an imaginary hose. “Svetty Sokolova spray water hard, very hard.”

  Liza quivered. “I should stay the night. You were right. Who knows why I fainted.”

  Diana lifted her chin before turning on her heel. “I’ll be at Honey’s tomorrow evening. I need it sorting by then.”

  ****

  Sitting on the sofa in her lounge, Honey brushed her fingers across the fabric. Margaret had laughingly suggested it was white mink, whereupon her carpet Buddha pose had taken shape. She smiled, remembering the image before leaning back into the cushions and turning to her godmother, now returned from the spa and insisting on a full rundown of the evening. “She was breezy in lots of ways,” said Honey, thinking back to Margaret’s wonderful handling of her godawful curry, “yet uptight in others,” she added, unable to ignore the anxious arrival and awkward departure. “As if showing me glimpses of her true self, before recoiling into the safety of her professional persona.”

  “Probably just nervous, dear.”

  “Of what? Of me?”

  “Your mother thinks it could be deemed somewhat unprofessional, taking you out in her car, accepting your invitation for dinner.”

  “Oh Sofia! You’re telling tales on me? You’re meant to be on my side. And we both know mother would be fine if she were a he.”

  The older woman reached out to rub Honey’s hands. “I’m always on your side, dear, you know that. It just slipped out. I was happy for you. There you were, cooking, all carefree and—”

  “Crap. My cooking was crap.” Honey straightened. “Maybe that’s why she dashed off. Maybe it didn’t agree with her?”

  “The curry?”

  “It really was pungent. You hear of these things don’t you? Dates ruined by sudden… sudden urges.”

  “It can’t have been that bad.”

  “Oh, it was.”

  “Maybe it was a sudden urge for you? Maybe she didn’t want to rush things, so she made her escape before crossing that line?”

  Honey shrugged. “She didn’t even tell me her real name, well not her real name, the shortened version of her name.” She lifted her eyes to her godmother. “You know Pia, the cleaner at the hub?”

  “Yhesh, yhesh.”

  Honey laughed. “Well she cleans for Margaret too. And if Margaret lets her cleaner call her Meg, then why didn’t she tell me I could call her Meg? We’d even had a conversation about nicknames,” Honey sighed, “and she wasn’t worried about crossing that line. She saw me step over it first. In fact I jumped. I bounded forward, leapt and lunged myself right onto her side of the line.”

  “You kissed her?”

  “I tried to, but you know how useless I am at things like this. Something was wrong. She wasn’t comfortable.”

  “Could it have been the lunge, dear?”

  “I thought she liked me. I’m sure she liked me. I caught glimpses; I saw…” Honey’s voice tailed off.

  “Find her for me.” Sofia reached into the arm of the sofa and took out the iPad. “I’m a good judge of character.”

  “Her picture?” Honey took the tablet and started to type. “Margaret Rutherford? Rumerton? I’m so useless with names.”

  “Just go to The Beacon.” Sofia pointed at the screen. “Arts and Entertainment correspondent. There. Margaret Rutherton.”

  Clicking on the link Honey enlarged the photo of the journalist. “She wasn’t wearing glasses today.” The nod was decisive. “Her eyes look better without glasses.”

  “Yes, she is younger than Liza described.” The nod was approving. “She’s certainly got a bold, capable look.”

  “And her hair’s a bit shorter and neater now.” Honey squinted. “That’s not the best picture.”

  “She looks nice. Strong.”

  “She’s the same height as me.”

  “In an intelligent way.”

  “Oh Sofia, do you like her or not?”

  “Of course I do.” The pause was thoughtful. “Possibly not quite the exquisite princess your mother was hoping for, but she’s interesting.”

  “I think she’s very good looking. Striking. And her smile’s so naughty.”

  “This woman here? She gave you a naughty smile?”

  “That’s obviously just her professional pose.”

  “Read her bio, dear. Tell me more.”

  Honey warmed at the interest. Sofia was always there, by her side, listening, encouraging, paying attention. She was the one who’d spent endless hours playing the new board game at Christmas. She was the one who’d sat for weekend after weekend watching class after class of singing, dancing and acting. She was the one who’d read every single night at her bedside. She was the one who was always there.

  Honey scrolled back and cleared her throat. “Margaret Rutherton is The Beacon’s new Arts and Entertainment correspondent, taking over from Margaret Rutland earlier this year.” She lifted her head. “Wait, what?”

  “Carry on, dear.”

  “She’s not been there for years?”

  “Carry on.”

  Honey struggled to find her place. “Joining us from HotBuzz, Margaret brings the passion of…” She stopped herself. “Wait, what? Liza said she was… she said she was…” Honey shook her head. “She obviously thought she
was Margaret Rutland. The old one.” Clicking on the other name Honey gasped.

  “Wow!” said Sofia. “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Margaret Rutland.”

  Sofia grimaced. “Slightly difficult to look at.”

  Honey stared at the old and moley Miss Trunchbull look-alike. “We need Liza on the phone. Poor Meg. This all makes sense now! No wonder she was hesitant. There I was going on about her Pulitzer Prize and what a seasoned journalist she was and it wasn’t even her. She obviously felt inadequate. Filling this woman’s shoes must be hard enough without people like me comparing them, or even worse, assuming they’re the same person. Oh, I’m so foolish. This explains everything. I need to apologise. I need to let her know that I know.”

  Sofia tapped her mobile to life. “Didn’t she correct you?”

  “I got confused with the names. Liza had obviously told me she was called Margaret so I didn’t directly call her this old woman,” Honey shook her head remembering, “but I went on about her age. I’ve obviously confused her. She must think I think she’s this moley old... Is it ringing?” She took the phone from Sofia. “Liza? Is that you? Where are you?” The pause and grimace were severe. “Svetty who? A deep tissue what?”

  Sofia patted her hand. “Put her on loudspeaker.”

  The holistic chiming music loudly filled the lounge. Liza’s voice was slow and groaning. “I’m having a deep tissue massage. Svetty’s using her toes.”