‘One more straight ahead please, Tiger!’
… Rosemary Baby? Surely not.
‘This way, Tiger!’ What was Rosemary doing amongst the crowds? Tiger was convinced she had just seen her staring from the other side of the velvet ropes with that big ol’ ugly face of hers, fixated.
‘Yowsers! To your left, Tiger!’ Tiger’s smile faded as she felt her stomach churning. Was that really Rosemary? Why was she here tonight? What did she want?
‘One more over ’ere, luv!’ Tiger nodded politely and pulled away from the throngs of paparazzi at the entrance of the Paula de Paulson gallery. She motioned for Lewis, Blue, Georgia and Richie who had been hanging back to follow her in. As Georgia stepped up she smiled at the photographers, expecting them to take her picture, seeing as she was one of Tiger Starr’s group. The paps had already moved on to their next bill-paying fodder, some new actress who was already tottering along behind. Georgia’s embarrassed, blushing face went unnoticed as a trio of leggy hostesses appeared out of nowhere and descended upon Tiger, greeting her warmly and ushering her inside.
‘Blimey. Does she get that everywhere?’ whispered Richie up at Blue, who gazed into his big doe eyes with a warm smile as they were led inside.
‘This is an industry party, darling. It’s work,’ explained Blue. ‘Tiger is always on show for work. Around Waitrose? Not so much. Although the paps do hang about Regent’s Park for her when they’re feeling optimistic, maybe hoping to catch her jogging in a tracksuit. Although that’s about as likely as sighting the Loch Ness Monster,’ he said, patiently standing in line in the huge white marble reception until the hostesses had finished their small talk with Tiger. ‘So a party is work then?’ breathed Richie, almost in amazement.
‘I’d describe it as an event. I mean it’s not exactly a ‘party’ party is it? It’s not like she’s being paid to pop pills and get wankered.’
‘Yes, I hadn’t thought of it like that I suppose,’ mused Richie.
‘Hang on, you’re a photographer’s assistant,’ said Blue, quizzically, ‘you’re in the media world, you should know how it all works!’
‘Oh! Well, it’s all new to me actually; I haven’t been doing it for too long,’ stuttered Richie, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I guess I never like to talk to the photographers too much about things that go on outside the studio, I – I worry I might come across as unprofessional if I pry.’
Blue instantly melted. ‘Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to … it’s just, well I need to get to know you so much more. We both have so much to learn. This is just the beginning.’ Blue squeezed Richie’s hand.
‘God, listen to Barbara Cartland over here,’ complained Georgia bitchily from behind. ‘Anyway, move up, boys, those ladies are taking everyone’s coats.’ Georgia wriggled out of her new leopard-print trench, and held it out regally for one of the hostesses.
‘The cloakroom is over there, madam,’ said the hostess politely before protectively whisking Tiger’s silk cape away.
‘What am I, pleb class or something?’ fumed Georgia.
‘No, you’re just not Tiger Starr,’ retorted Blue. ‘Oh give it here for god’s sake.’ He scooped up Georgia’s trench and stalked over to the non-VIP cloakroom.
Georgia turned to a bored-looking Lewis for support, who merely shrugged and wandered off to catch up with Tiger, who was now being escorted up the huge staircase towards the star artworks by an eager busboy.
‘My, my, that’s a charming dress you’re wearing, is it Westwood?’ asked Blue as he returned and handed Georgia her cloakroom ticket.
‘Yes,’ huffed Georgia.
‘Red Label?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’
‘Darling, I’m a stylist. It’s my job to know,’ explained Blue patronisingly. ‘Besides, you may have noticed Tiger is wearing a remarkably similar Westwood Gold Label tonight.’
‘Really? Oh, I didn’t see her take her cape off.’ Georgia smiled.
‘Of course you didn’t.’ Blue smiled back.
‘Well, I’m sure Tiger wouldn’t fit in my dress at any rate.’
‘Maybe not,’ Blue beamed, continuing, ‘And the dress does suit you I must say.’
‘Oh! Oh thanks!’ said Georgia, pushing her breasts out a little.
‘Yes, I just love how Westwood gives shape to those girls who don’t have any in the first place,’ Blue said and immediately turned to Richie. ‘Champagne, darling?’
Richie nodded and the pair waltzed up the stairs, leaving Georgia standing alone with a foul expression.
When Blue eventually found Tiger after a lap of the whole gallery, she was with Lewis looking at one of the installations. She was sipping her champagne, statuesque in her tight cream lace cocktail dress, and looking unusually ill at ease.
‘Hey darling, you okay?’ asked Blue cheerily.
‘Oh, you know,’ sighed Tiger. ‘It’s the same old shake and fake.’
‘What’s the matter? You don’t usually mind these events. It’s a stunning gallery. Have you been round yet? Beautiful art. Some of the special installations are fab. There’s one next door you’re gonna love.’
‘Oh come on. All these media whores are just knocking back Cristal and talking about what nail shape they’re going for this season. That could be the Mona Lisa up there and they’d still be more interested in discussing whether squared-off nails were passé enough to be ironic yet. Before you came up, I just saw some drunk heiress stumbling over to a Damien Hirst piece in the middle of the room, thinking it was a huge canapé display. She made a grab for it, then knocked it over. It smashed into a thousand pieces. It was cleaned up with a dustpan and brush like a dropped cocktail glass.’
‘Probably the best place for it,’ Blue joked. Tiger wasn’t laughing. Blue regarded her through narrowed eyes; she looked distinctly wound up.
‘Oh Tiger darling, that’s why we used to love coming to these things together – we used to have a laugh at everyone posing, pouting and scrabbling up the social ladder wearing their latest it-bag and sample sale finds, then we’d scoot off to Horse Meat Disco in our ball gowns for some proper grimy Vauxhall fun to the wee small hours. Remember?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, sweetie, I’m sorry. I think I lost my sense of humour somewhere outside. I swear I saw …’ Tiger trailed off, looking round at Lewis who was leaning in, listening.
‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘You carry on, I’m all ears. Actually I thought you’d been a bit off lately. Especially considering you’ve got some great things going on right now.’
‘A bit off? Oh thanks,’ deadpanned Tiger. ‘I can see you haven’t honed your witty repartee for some time.’
‘Wow, you really have lost your sense of humour, babe,’ said Blue, raising his eyebrows over at Lewis in sympathy.
‘Let’s just have this conversation later, okay?’ snapped Tiger.
‘What is wrong with you?’ hissed Blue out of the side of his mouth.
‘Oh, nothing. Just forget it. I’m sorry I’m not good company. I’ll take myself home after this drink. I have long rehearsals tomorrow anyway,’ Tiger mumbled.
‘No way, babes. I’m making you go to the fashion party after this, and then when we get home later, I’m coming to your room with a good Cognac and – well, I think we need to have a girl talk.’
‘No, you have other commitments, darling. Honestly, don’t worry about me. I’m really not in the mood for another party anyway.’
‘No way!’ protested Blue. ‘Richie can go back to his own place tonight. You’re coming out. Everyone wants to see you there. Besides I’m worried about you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the recent weight loss.’
‘What weight loss? I’m the same as always,’ Tiger lied.
‘Babes, you’re losing your arse. Big mistake. We gotta sort that out for a start.’
‘What was that about a fat arse?’ asked Georgia loudly as she came sachaying towards the little group, champagne flute in hand.
&nb
sp; ‘Ah, here comes the entertainment,’ said Blue, smiling over at Georgia and raising his glass to her in a sarcastic gesture.
‘What’s that all about?’ whispered Tiger.
‘Never you mind,’ muttered Blue through his clenched smile, ‘I just have a bad feeling in my gut about that girl.’
‘What, Georgia? Nah, I think she’s alright deep down. I thought she was a bit dodgy at first too, but she makes Lewis happy. I reckon she’s harmless. I think she just tries a bit hard, that’s all. It’s probably all Lewis’ fault. Can you imagine going out with him? He probably gives her marks out of ten and performance notes every time they have sex.’ The pair had a private little snigger into their champagne.
‘Did I miss the joke?’ asked Georgia, wrapping her arm possessively around Lewis.
‘No, darling, we were just talking about the installations actually,’ replied Blue.
‘Oh, right.’ Georgia scanned the room. ‘I don’t get them I’m afraid. All this arty shit, I think it’s all just a marketing ploy. They’re all just clever businessmen these artists.’
‘That’s quite a sweeping statement, Georgia,’ countered Blue provocatively.
‘Okay then. You tell me what that one means over there,’ she challenged. ‘You see it? The naked bloke hopping from foot to foot under a spotlight.’
‘Oh come on, we’re supposed to be having fun,’ moaned Blue.
‘No. Come on, Mr Know-It-All, deconstruct it, I dare you.’
Blue was silent for a few seconds as he swilled his Cristal in his mouth. He took a deep breath. Lewis, Georgia, Richie and Tiger all leaned in, eager for his response. Blue took a few more moments, adjusting his stance theatrically. He began:
‘In a literal sense it references torture methods, with the artist attempting to recreate the alarming muscular spasms achieved over a long period of time of being constricted in a small area; whereas metaphorically the artist’s nakedness refers to our own struggle for dignity, with the artist’s silence symbolising the process of being stripped bare, whilst masking the ultimate truth via our loss of communication. The black bandages about his face are a damning historical reference to slavery and hence the violence we inflict upon our own kind, whilst the shaft of light is the oxymoron binding the whole piece together, at once an investigative measure, yet simultaneously a graphic symbol for our redemption, and ultimate ascension. Against a textured backdrop of modern cultural icons, celebrities, fashionistas and drunken social climbers, liggers and blaggers, the audience is subsumed into the artwork to provide the setting of hypocrisy, materialism and apathy prevalent in our modern culture.’
Georgia was silenced and took a moment to gulp her champagne loudly. Richie looked stunned. Lewis cleared his throat. Tiger burst out laughing.
‘Where on earth did that come from!’
‘I knew I could make my baby smile.’ Blue winked in her direction.
‘I need a cocktail,’ snapped Georgia in defeat, dragging Lewis with her over to one of the waiters circulating with silver trays full of mojitos.
‘Blue, I’m impressed, I feel a new career for you coming on,’ said Tiger, warming a little. ‘Right, Mr Art Critic, please provide your analysis of Mary Dubonnet’s installation of Girl, interrupted,’ she asked, mimicking holding a microphone up to Blue’s mouth and looking over at a tall pile of filthy mattresses in the opposite corner with a woman precariously balanced on the top one, apparently asleep. Blue braced himself, a smirk creeping across his face as he slipped into his groove.
‘Well, at a first glance it appears to be a simple modern reconstruction of the ‘Princess and the Pea’ fairytale. However on closer inspection, the pea clearly relates to the clitoris, and the piece reveals itself to be at once about a woman’s literal distancing of herself from her own sexuality; the mattresses are representative of society’s overly multi-layered and complex taboo systems, whilst the audience is left uneasy with the uncertainty of whether the princess can feel the pea through the mattresses, thus providing the central sexual tension of the piece. Perhaps this is a message to us all that the artist clearly needs to masturbate more often.’ Both Tiger and Richie were now clutching at each other and giggling.
‘Now it’s your turn, Ms Starr,’ announced Blue. ‘Go take a look at the Esther Williams piece in the next room in the huge tank and give me your critique.’
‘Wow, I haven’t seen that one,’ said Tiger excitedly as she moved into the next room, starting to enjoy the game. As she approached, she stopped dead in her tracks. Before her was the most incredible scene of an extraordinarily beautiful woman swimming in a huge tank of fish, naked except for hundreds of yards of pearls strung about her, trailing and undulating around her as she writhed and propelled herself around the enormous tank with her white hair billowing out around her, each strand caressed by the water. Tiger was mesmerised. As she drew nearer, she let out a piercing scream, and ran to press her face against the tank.
‘Blue! Look, it’s Ocean!’ Blue stood back and scratched his chin. Of course. He knew he would recognise that exquisitely muscled figure anywhere. It was indeed Ocean, Tiger’s real-life mermaid confidante. Every girl needed one. The pair had met in New York way before Tiger’s now well notorious three-day foray into the world of domination.
Tiger was tapping manically on the tank, creating a stir amongst the party goers. Ocean was up at the glass looking confused. Realising Ocean would have blurred vision through the water, Tiger scrabbled in her purse, retrieved a red lipstick and scribbled backwards as best she could on the glass in huge capital letters, ‘It’s Tiger! Talk 2 me!’ Cameras flashed as Tiger defaced the artwork. Blue rolled his eyes and yanked her back from the piece, nodding and motioning at the burly security men who were steaming forwards towards her. Within seconds, there was a huge splash as Ocean appeared ten feet up at the surface of the huge tank. ‘Hey girrrrrl!’ she shrieked in her fabulous throaty Brooklyn accent. ‘I shoulda known the pink hair belonged to you!’
‘Oh darling Ocean, I can’t believe it’s really you. I didn’t even know you were in town!’
‘Tiger baby, I’m only meant to come out of the water for air, so just tell me where I can see you after.’
‘Well, come to a Dolce and Gabanna party with us when you finish. Get a cab to Whitehall, and where you see the velvet ropes and photographers, just walk up and tell the door bitch you’re with me. You’re officially my guest as of ten seconds ago.’
‘You got it, baby! See you there!’ Ocean took a deep breath and plunged back into the water, darting and swirling amongst the fish like a vision.
‘Blue? Let’s cut loose,’ declared Tiger. ‘We’re going to the party. Let’s get our coats. Oh, by the way …’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘I tried to tell you earlier … I don’t know if I dreamt this, but I’m sure I saw that crazy redhead amongst the photographers earlier.’
‘Who?’ Blue asked, knowing exactly who she meant. He had spotted the unmistakable face too.
‘You know, that psycho Rosemary Baby who was stalking Tiffany Crystal all that time ago?’
‘Oh that Rosemary Baby. Noooo. You must have been dreaming. No, I’d recognise that face anywhere. Come on, let’s go.’
Of course Blue had seen Rosemary, but he wasn’t going to tell Tiger that and add to her worries. It didn’t matter how much she tried to hide it, Blue knew Tiger was spooked by the pink letters and the press story. So was he.
‘Oh my god! There’s someone pissing in the coke room!’ came an almighty screech from the other side of the toilet cubicle. Tiger tutted and curled her lip by way of reply, smoothed her dress over her hips and burst through the door ferociously.
‘Eeuww, Tiger Starr!’ shrieked a lanky brunette as Tiger exited the cublicle, catching a whiff of the brunette’s pungent champagne breath on the way past.
‘Tiger, it’s me! Katie Jakes!’
Tiger gritted her teeth and spun round, knowing full well who the talentless actre
ss was, and realising she couldn’t get away without a bit of polite small talk before getting back to the party. Tiger switched on her professional smile mid turn.
‘Katie, hi, how are … Sienna?’
Tiger gasped as she caught sight of her sister, half hiding behind Katie.
‘Hi, sis,’ said Sienna meekly.
‘Oh my god! It’s so funny seeing you here. Sienna said you were at some art thing instead, we had no idea you would be coming!’ squealed Katie.
‘Evidently,’ said Tiger. ‘So, Sienna, how did you meet Katie? I had no idea you were coming to the party actually?’
‘Rex got me an invite,’ replied Sienna flatly.
‘Oh my god, isn’t Sienna’s dress divine?’ garbled Katie loudly like a gameshow host. ‘In fact I spotted her across the dance floor because of her Fendi shoes. Major.’
‘Why, look at those, Sienna,’ remarked Tiger. ‘Very chic, very expensive. Rex is treating you well I see.’
‘Yes.’ Sienna blushed. ‘Anyway I was here on my own and Katie was friendly enough to—’
‘Bring you into the toilets for a line of chang? How original,’ said Tiger, raising an eyebrow.
‘Don’t be silly, Tiger!’ laughed Katie. ‘She just needed … ah, she just needed a Tampax, didn’t you, darling?’
‘Lovely. Well I’ll see you in the party then,’ said Tiger, boring a hole into Sienna’s eyes before turning on her heel. She knew that even if she marched Sienna from the toilets that very second, her sister would still find a way of sticking coke up her nose. Tiger just hoped that her special glare would be enough to make Sienna feel too guilty to want to get high. As Tiger made her way back into the blaring noise of the party, she seethed inside. There was no way on earth she was going to let Sienna turn into some dismal coke fiend like so many of the talentless social climbers and bitter has-beens on the media circuit. She wondered if Rex knew what Sienna was up to. Tiger needed to have a word; ask him to keep an eye on her, without him accusing Tiger of trying to meddle in their relationship. As she crossed the room to find her table Tiger tried to keep her anxiety down. Sienna’s renewed friendship with cocaine was one more thing on a long list of troubles for Tiger right now.
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