Poppy hobbled through the common. The night was closing in. Mother would be getting home about now. If she hurried, Poppy would only be a few minutes late. She wondered if Mother would be able to tell. She would kill Poppy if she found out what had happened, she would be in deep, deep trouble for leading a man on. She’d definitely be sent to boarding school if it ever got out. And how on earth would she explain another ripped shirt? Mother would think she’d been fighting again. Poppy knelt down by a large oak tree and retrieved a tissue from her bag. She spat in it and scrubbed at the dried blood on her thigh. Tears filled her eyes. She was hurting and confused. Her friends must never find out, they would hate her. They would say she deserved it for drawing attention to herself.
She scrambled to her feet and started to hum manically as she walked, hoping to drown out the vicious cackling voices in her head. She choked her tears back, anxiously singing the words to ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ as she struggled home alone in the dark.
Chapter 15
‘I’m so sorry about what happened, Sienna,’ comforted Rex.
‘Unfortunately, it’s just not a simple scenario – the media world’s a complicated beast,’ he sighed, turning back to his laptop.
‘So, hang on, let me get this straight. You told Tiger to tell her own side, right?’ persisted Sienna.
‘No, no, no. Bob Bell’s sub ed called me to warn me the story was going out. He gave me twenty-four hours to get Tiger to spill the beans in her own words. He had his own agenda.’ Rex turned from his desk to face Sienna.
‘Look, I’ll give you the abridged version. Some sewer rat journo’s got a lead on a scandal; I still don’t know how, I always thought Tiger was snow fuckin’ white and water fuckin’ tight. The journo has gone to New York to dig around and he probably offered a big pay-off to some crackhead, grudge-bearing dominatrix bitch for spinning a yarn about Tiger. Probably put the words in her mouth himself. Sewer rat journo then sticks in a load of his own fiction which is disguised in the final article with the words “our source said … blah.” The newspaper gives your big sis the golden opportunity to ’fess up in her own words – in the process they may also bluff her to hopefully give even more away. In the meantime the newspaper goes back to crackhead bitch and the original lead whoever that was, and says, “I’m cutting your fee,” from say, twelve grand to three; for example, telling each that there’s a better story from another source. Crackhead bitch gets screwed over, the original lead gets screwed over, Tiger gets screwed over, the winners are sewer rat journo and the newspaper. Got it?’
Sienna looked astonished. Rex’s face softened. ‘Hey, babe, I know she’s your sister, and it must have been a shock to find out about her being a former dominatrix, but this is a rough business, and I’m in a difficult position with you working here. You wanna learn, right?’
‘Right,’ squeaked Sienna.
‘In fact, I know you’re probably thinking your sister hid her head in the sand over this, but you know what? She handled this the right way.’
Rex failed to mention that the night they had their crisis meeting after the Vegas presentation he had urged Tiger to tell her story in her own words as a damage limitation exercise. Tiger had been incensed that Rex couldn’t see that the story had been wildly sensationalised, and he had worked hard to bring her back from the brink of a furious rage. He even thought she might have hit him at one point; he hadn’t seen such anger burning in her eyes before. He had to admit that he’d been massively turned on. He could have fucked her there and then over the dinner table if he didn’t think he’d end up with a London Ritz fine silver fork stabbed into his neck.
Tiger had given Rex the strict instruction to let the story run in all its fabricated glory. She stressed that she adhered to Katharine Hepburn’s infamous mantra – ‘Never complain, never explain.’ Shortly after, she’d mumbled something about ‘could have been worse’. Rex knew that for someone who took her clothes off for a living, however artful or glamorous, Tiger fully accepted she would always be subjected to people of a certain insecure mindset taking the moral high ground against her, and she vowed never to waste time attempting to convert such bigots or hypocrites. Instead Tiger voiced her instinct that with the great adage ‘today’s news is tomorrow’s chip paper’ in mind, the story would merely add to her mystique over time. As long as she gave it no credence by commenting, she would maintain her dignity.
Rex had to hand it to Tiger, she played her hand well, and her theory worked. Even Lewis, who had been furious at Rex about the story – like it was his fault – eventually conceded that Tiger’s strategy was spot on. Even though she had been really quite shocked at just how elaborate and seedy the story had been made, especially as the reality of a pathetic little three-day failed adventure was poles apart from what had been painted, Tiger was prepared to ride the storm. She had also let it be known that she had her suspicions about the culprit – she simply didn’t buy the ‘random dominatrix with a grudge’ as the informer.
Tiger remembered her pal Tiffany had brought the ghastly Rosemary Baby along with her the night they had all swapped their funny stories to cheer Sienna up shortly after the death of their parents. Tiger had a gut feeling even back then that Rosemary Baby was just a skidmark on the g-string of the showgirl world and was amazed that Tiffany was offering to bring her into her circle. After Rosemary was then arrested on suspicion of causing Tiffany’s accident in Vegas, Tiger had had her card marked. She was definitely a prime candidate for the source of the latest little drama.
Rex had been all ears when Tiger filled him and Lewis in on her hunch, this Rosemary certainly seemed quite a piece of work. Ultimately Tiger figured she may never get to the bottom of the news story, but the twist in the tale was that whoever the guilty party was had unwittingly done Tiger a favour. Incredibly, both Lewis and Rex had been inundated in the last day or two with enquiries for Tiger to make guest television appearances, attend radio panels and provide cultural comments once the initial shock had passed. Business had never been so booming.
Rex realised Sienna had been quiet for a few minutes. She looked pensive. He felt a strange mixture of feelings towards her. Sienna Starr had simply been a revenge fuck that had gone awry. He wasn’t really into her sexually at all – certainly not the way he was with Tiger. Neither had Rex bargained on Sienna moving a load of her stuff into his prized bachelor pad; she had obviously very naively taken his pillow talk to heart. The problem was, to finish with Sienna so soon would be madness – it would be so obvious what his motives had been all along. Plus there were a few perks to having her around. She provided sex on tap, she was always available to massage his ego, and she gave him no hassle about the odd ‘business trip’, so he could still service his little black book on the side when he got bored with her.
The only grit in Rex’s oyster was the unbridled lust he still harboured for Tiger. He tried not to torment himself too often, and kept himself from meetings in her presence pretty easily, she was always so busy anyway. Yet just having her on the phone several times a day could set him off. He loved catching her when she was on the run, then he would break off mid sentence to snatch a couple of seconds listening to her breathing heavily as she raced to her next engagement. Once he had a wank to her velvety voice as she read out her annual order for her hosiery sponsor. He had made her repeat the word ‘gusset’ until she had slammed the phone down in pique. Rex Hunter and Tiger Starr were meant for each other, they were a perfect fit, or so he had thought. Tiger was the one woman he would have settled down for – he never in a million years considered that the feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. Even her name would have sounded right when he finally made her his. Tiger Hunter. Synchronicity.
Rex reasoned that it was perversely fitting that Sienna Starr should help to numb the pain of Tiger’s reckless rebuttal. In a funny way he had begun developing some fondness for Sienna; and after the News of the World debacle he just felt sorry for the kid, even though empathy wasn’t his f
orte, particularly in family matters.
Rex Hunter had never had any siblings. That’s not to say he hadn’t frequently longed for the support of a brother or sister whilst his father was kicking seven shades of shit out of him most evenings. If his mother had stuck her neck out for him once in a while it would have made a nice change he had often thought, but the bitch had to go and leave him after ‘falling down the stairs’ face first onto a burning hot iron. An ambulance had taken her away. Rex Hunter saw his father leaving the house a week later in a suit. He remembered seeing curtains across the street being twitched. There were only two occasions he would ever be seen in a suit, and Dad hadn’t mentioned anything about a wedding. Most importantly, Rex knew to keep quiet and play the game to take care of business. He didn’t hang around too much longer after that, he ran away to London on the eve of his thirteenth birthday. His father never came looking. Fittingly, Rex viewed his current job as a PR guru with a similar philosophy; playing the media game to take care of business. With that thought he snapped his attention back to his office and the job of slowly educating Sienna in that very game.
‘Babe, it’s bound to be a bit raw when something like this is happening to your own sister,’ sighed Rex, looking over at Sienna earnestly, ‘but from a professional point of view it’s excellent experience for you to learn from. It can only benefit you long term. You’ll get this with other clients in the future, I promise you, maybe a lot worse. So you’ll learn how to play the game properly now. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’
Sienna’s face brightened. ‘Oh you mean, I’ll be allowed to deal with clients of my own soon?’ Rex smiled, noting how quickly she could look on the bright side.
‘Well, not just yet, but I don’t see why I can’t slip in a little promotion if things keep going well like they have been. Let’s get past your birthday first, then I’ll take a review. Good to see you’re turning it into a positive. Well done.’
‘Cool!’ beamed Sienna.
‘Babe, that’s an expensive-looking dress you’ve got on there,’ Rex remarked, changing the subject. ‘Is it new?’
‘Oh! This! Er, well …’
‘And Louboutins if I’m not mistaken.’ Rex was already guiltily imagining Tiger on her back with her legs in the air wearing only those towering stilettos.
‘Hmm, sexy outfit!’ he murmured. ‘Your sister must have bought that lot for you I’m guessing. I know the Hunter Gatherers’ intern wages aren’t good enough for Louboutins!’
‘Er, yeah! That’s right. Good old Tiger.’ Sienna grimaced, the full humiliation of being fobbed off with a measly few grand for her story by Bob Bell finally sinking in. She could have had herself a nice little nest egg by now if only she hadn’t been so naive. To add insult to injury the story had barely touched the sides; Tiger had bounced back like the jammy cow she always had been. If anything she was even more of a mysterious femme fatale now, damn her. Rex was right about one thing. At least Sienna now knew exactly how to play the game for next time.
‘Oh my god, did you read that bit about the men in nappies?’ shrieked Frankie, slapping the table as she creased up with laughter.
‘Ugh, it was the cheese grater thing that made me throw up,’ giggled Samara.
‘Yuk! And all the orgies? Sick! I just can’t believe it’s the same Tiger,’ screeched Frankie, her voice getting louder by the second.
‘Shhh, girls! Bloody ’ell, people are staring!’ admonished Nikki, looking round sternly at the group of girls as they all tucked into their lunchtime prix fixe meal of steak frites.
‘I agree.’ Blanche nodded. ‘Show some respect. We’re all on the Tiger Starr payroll. She’s our boss. I love being a Starlett, I get chatted up loads, all the time.’ The girls all gasped, ‘yeah’-ed, and nodded madly in agreement. ‘And let’s face it, being a Starrlet pisses over being stuck in some bland West End musical doing eight mindnumbing shows every single week for a crappy four hundred quid. If we were in “Shitty Shitty Bang Bang”, none of us would be able to afford nice lunches in French restaurants like today you know,’ continued Blanche gravely, ‘and we wouldn’t be as cool. As it is, all the girls want to be us. Why d’ya think it’s so hard to get in to the harem!’
The girls all agreed loudly in unison.
‘Well, I’ve got news for you,’ announced Nikki. ‘Our new girl, Honey Lou, over here has yet to sample the delights of the West End,’ she pointed out, smiling over at the pretty, fresh-faced, mixed-race girl at the end of the large table.
‘No way!’ said Frankie. ‘You’ve not done a proper run yet?’
‘Er, no,’ said Honey Lou coyly.
‘Wait for this, she’s straight from the Rambert School.’ Nikki winked.
‘Bloody ’ell, Tiger doesn’t usually take girls straight out of dance school,’ cackled Frankie, ‘says they need to get the poles out of their arses and find their passion!’
‘For god’s sake, she doesn’t exactly put it like that,’ interjected Briony in her cut-glass tones, ‘anyway, Honey Lou’s the new girl, we need to make her feel one of us, not like some student understudy.’
‘Exactly, girls, and let me tell you; I saw Honey Lou’s audition piece. I can assure you …’ Nikki paused for dramatic effect. ‘She’s one hot, sexy byatch on stage!’
The girls all whooped as Honey Lou blushed and chewed awkwardly on a mouthful of minute steak.
Within seconds, the girls reverted back to bondage story swapping, and although desperate to join in, Honey Lou decided she was far too embarrassed to mention how her parents had gone ape when Tiger’s story was splashed all over the News of the World at the weekend. They had been dubious about her being a showgirl in the first place, and she knew how hard it was for them to steel themselves to congratulate her for making it into the Starrlets straight after graduating. They knew being a showgirl was all she’d ever dreamt of since school. And everyone knew how good you had to be to become a Starrlet. Tiger took great care to handpick her girls, and her criteria were so different to those of regular theatrical shows.
At dance school you were taught to blend in with the rest of the chorus line, but Tiger looked for personalities and sensuality. She wanted her troupe of Starrlets to be as legendary as the famous Crazy Horse girls. She also worked with Pepper in the auditions to ‘undo’ some of the classic poses taught in dance school, and introduce more period movement and kitsch poses, with some of the exaggeration and campness that the old Paris shows had. Tiger even made the girls arch their backs at all times so their crotches were always directed away from the audience. If Margot Fonteyn had seen the postures of the Starrlets she’d be spinning in her grave.
If the girls were lucky enough to have a re-call, they would then be made to wear cumbersome, heavy headdresses and the tightest corsets to see how they could dance and high kick with so much restriction. Honey Lou had nearly fainted in her audition, her corset was pulled so tight. She had got to the point of seeing stars, but she was determined to go the distance and make her mark. Honey Lou had always dreamed of working with Tiger Starr, and to see her heroine splashed all over the tabloids in such a cheap story had distressed her, especially as now, after the glory of her big achievement, her parents were even less keen on her being a Starrlet. As Honey Lou finished her last mouthful, Frankie was asking for the dessert menu.
‘Steady on, Frankie, you’ll get a right old barge arse if you keep eating like this,’ said Nikki.
‘I’ve got a fast metabolism, I can eat what I want.’ Frankie sniffed.
‘Not if you keep packing the bread away like you were back there,’ teased Nikki with a sparkle in her eye.
‘Oh sod off, you lot. You’re just jealous that I’ve got hollow legs.’
‘Speaking of which, where’s Georgia?’ asked Blanche. A barely detectable murmur swept round the table, more of a groan than appreciation.
‘Oh she’s with Lewis and Pepper this afternoon learning our routine for the rocking horse show,’ replied Nikki.
‘Shame, I hoped she’d give us more of the gossip on the News of the World thing. I bet Lewis has a load of inside information!’ said Frankie.
‘Yes, well, knowing Georgia, she’s always one step ahead on any gossip that might bring Tiger down,’ snapped Blanche.
‘Oh? Know something we don’t?’ asked Frankie.
‘Nope. Just a hunch,’ replied Blanche tartly.
‘Well, we’ve all had a laugh today but let’s not get carried away. We know Tiger’s no hooker. My mum and dad said you should believe none of what you hear and only half of what you see,’ proclaimed Nikki.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Samara, ‘my folks still think Tiger’s alright you know. I think my dad secretly fancies her.’
‘God, don’t tell your mum,’ gasped Frankie.
‘As if!’ muttered Samara.
‘Right. So let’s just move on, Tiger’s been good to us, now’s our chance to show our support. Right girls?’ asked Nikki.
Honey Lou sighed, wishing her parents were as cool as Nikki’s and Samara’s.
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ conceded Frankie, ‘anyway, Tiger’s doing this four-day press junket in Vegas soon, and I wanna be on that plane with her! She can only take four of us you know!’
‘Well in that case Georgia’s a definite, so that leaves room for three of us …’ said Samara.
‘Ooh I’m keeping everything crossed. I heard it’s a private jet! Can you believe it?’ cooed Frankie.
Honey Lou quietly sipped at her Diet Coke, knowing that as the new girl it was a long shot that she’d be chosen. Even if she was, her parents were hardly going to let her go after this week’s scandal. Still, she could dare to dream. After all, it had been a dream to be a Starrlet and here she was. She just hoped at the very least she could hold on to her prize now she had it.
Tiger carefully tucked a rogue strand of coiffed pink hair underneath her Chanel headscarf and with immaculate manicured hands grabbed her shades before heading for the front door, python handbag in tow. Her nail technician had already been to the house that morning to sharpen her talons, along with hairstylist Mario, brandishing his hot tongs. In fact Tiger had spent the last few days hibernating and restoring herself, sweating it out on the exercise bike in her basement for hours on end and kicking the crap out of the punchbag as she let her mind take a wander. On top of the press story the anonymous letters had kept coming. One thing Tiger despised was cowardice, and whatever mysterious game playing was afoot was starting to grate. She was determined not to let the first tendrils of paranoia creep into her mind. A good hard workout was the ultimate therapy in her opinion. After all, the best way to fight back was to come into the outside world looking fucking fabulous.
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