Cherry Bomb: Forbidden Bad Boys

by Clara Leigh

  I suck my teeth. It’s that or knock his out, and then he’d only saddle me with the dentistry bill. What the fuck does he know anyway? No more than any of the other idiots who have attempted to give me unasked for love lessons recently. If he suggests I should go and shag someone else, he really is going to end up on a high calcium diet. The only woman I want is Flicka.

  I miss the way she smells. How crazy is that when we all spend so much time washing and scrubbing and trying not to smell of anything? I want her right now, hot and sticky and stinky, in my arms. Okay, not stinky stinky, just nicely fragrant from need. I want her to need me. I definitely need her.

  I want to hear her voice.

  “Has he given any indication when you’re allowed back?”

  I shake my head, not exactly grateful to Chase for cleaving through my thoughts with his question. “Haven’t heard from him. I’ll call Monty after the party and see if he’s heard anything. I’m letting him handle things.”

  “Wise, though given you’ve pissed him off enough to exile you, it wouldn’t surprise me if Jace has given you a CGI death scene and arranged for a new big bad to fill your shoes.”

  Yeah, because there’s a whole load of actors who could step into that role – not! Jace hired me as the villain for a reason.

  “Chase… Dare… you’re here.” Arrietty hurtles towards us and smashes into us at hip height. She wraps her skinny arms around our legs before peeping up at us with her infectious, gap-toothed grin. She’s wearing a tiara and is dressed as Snow White. The proper Snow White mind you, whose sister was Rose Red, not the animated version.

  “So, Ariel,” Chase teases, so that she can proudly proclaim he’s got it wrong. “If you give me some breathing room, I might have something for you.”

  “A present? Yay, a present.” The girl is clearly high on sugar, and they haven’t even started on the technicoloured food yet. Her smile waivers a bit when Chase hands her two bits of card. Her cute little button nose wrinkles. “What are they?”

  “Tickets for the ballet. Someone told me you wanted to go.”

  “Yes. Yes,” she laughs excitedly and bounces up onto tiptoes then raises a leg behind her for a millisecond before her balance is shot. “I’m going to be a dancer too. Lillianna said I can have lessons like Tilda.” Tilda appears to be one of three Tianas playing pin the kiss on the frog.

  “Tell you what, why don’t I hang onto these for a bit and give them to mum when I see her.”

  She lets Chase stow them back in his pocket. “You are going to take me, Chase?”

  “I’ll have to see, honey.” He nudges me with his elbow when her eyes narrow and a half-frown creases her face. “If I don’t, Dare will, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely. Cross my heart,” I agree, while making the appropriate actions. I may as well enjoy some quality time with my princess since making fireworks with Flicka is forbidden.

  “What did Dare get you?” Chase asks her. “He did remember, didn’t he?”

  Bonus of all this enforced downtime, I got to take her shopping yesterday.

  Delight brightens her expression again, and goes right to her eyes. My baby has the prettiest of eyes. I can’t claim responsibility, they’re her mother’s. Emilia’s one outstanding feature were her baby blues.

  “Oh, he got me guinea pigs!” Her hands clench like she’s clinging on to invisible chocolate bars as a means of containing her glee. “They’re only babies, but they’re fluffy. Want to come and see.” She grabs both of our hands and tugs us in the direction that the hutch has been set up. I bypassed attempting to assemble the thing and had one delivered intact. It’s palatial and has its own outdoor run for the critters to get their exercise in. “I got five girls. Dare said that’s best so that they don’t multiply, and they live in a chicken coop, but they don’t seem to mind it’s for chickens not guinea pigs. The brown patchy one there is going to be Nutmeg, and that one is ‘allo.”

  “Hallow?”

  “Aloe as in Vera,” Everly corrects, joining us by the hutch along with an assortment of Arrietty’s friends. She too is decked out in princess finery. Aurora, I think. I probably need to brush up on my princesses. “Food’s ready so everyone needs to go wash their hands. Big boys too.” She adds, pinpointing Chase and me. “Big boys always have dirty hands.”

  “And mouths.”

  “And minds,” we add.

  “Basically boys are disgusting,” she retaliates and there’s a chorus of “Euw!” from the kids. Everly sticks her tongue out at us and for a moment it looks as if things are about to turn into an impromptu game of tag, when there’s suddenly a screech of tyres and a van jerking to a halt on the drive. The side door opens and a team of people dash out. Before my brain has even processed what’s going on, there’s a microphone about two inches from my face and TV camera pointed at me.

  “Janice Long for Showbiz Exposé. Dare, is it serious?”

  What the holy fuck!

  “How long have you and Felicity Caine been an item? Would you like to comment on the growing feud between you and Tyler Beauford? Is it true that she dumped him to be with you?”

  Everly starts herding kids. Chase yells at them that this is private property and that they can’t be here. Can’t they see there’s a kiddy’s birthday party going on?

  They pay no heed. As far as they see it, the open gate is an invitation to step inside. Another crew arrives, and then another. It’s like taking the train home after the footie final – utter bedlam. In the space of a heartbeat, the number of the people on the lawn has quadrupled. There are too many strangers, too many confused kids. One girl gets knocked over by some imbecile with a boom mic and starts screaming. Then all the kids are crying and a dozen or more people are bombarding me with questions. I do what any right minded father would do when a mob has just ruined their child’s birthday party: I deck the moron with the mic and yell at the rest of them to get the fuck off the property unless they want bloodied noses too.

  After that things get crazily confused, until I eventually find myself in the kitchen, my back to the door, and Chase’s weight against me.

  “You could have fucking handled that better,” he yells.

  “She’s my kid!”

  “Shout it a bit louder and everybody will know it.”

  I suck in a deep breath and try to put a lid on my anger. Someday I want her to know, but not now, not like this. I need to be able to sit her down and explain everything that happened and to be able to make her understand that the decisions we all made were absolutely for the best.

  Letting my parents raise her was the sensible thing to do. I’d just like her to know who her real daddy is.

  Chase releases his grip on my shoulders. He shakes his head at me. His sunglasses are gone, lost in the fracas. He stumbles across the room and takes a seat at the worn kitchen table. “Fuck me with a teacake, way to ruin a party!”

  There’s no doubt in my mind the day has been utterly ruined. A vague memory of the party table being turned and Wolfie helping himself to the multi-tiered castle cake fills me with up with sadness. “Where are the kids? Where’s Arrietty?”

  “They’re safe. Mum and Everly got them all into the conservatory, so sit your arse down and take a few breaths.”

  I pull out a chair and do as instructed.

  “How are your knuckles?”

  Throbbing I realise when I look down at them. Red and swollen looking too. I wonder if I’m going to get slapped with an assault charge later. Then I can be known as the dickish thug who thinks with his fists. I guess it’ll make a change to them reporting about what I do with my knob. Although, as the secret of mine and Flicka’s relationship is apparently out, I can still expect plenty of impertinent questions about my private life. Not to mention a ton of other shit.

  Chase pours himself a glass of something. He bangs the jug down too hard when he returns it to the table, nearly upsetting the drink he’s just poured. He mops the puddle with his cuff, then starts scrolling
internet sites on his phone. “Who knows about your thing with Ms. Caine, because someone has sold you out?”

  For certain, if we’re discounting hearsay, only the tiniest handful of people. I trust my family, Lorne too, and it’s not in Jace’s interests to break this story. The fallout from it will probably end his film. That only leaves one possible snake – Tyler stinkin’ Beauford.

  “Oh, friggin” hell!” Chase pinpoints me with his stare. “There’s only a sex tape. Bravo, little brother. You might have loved her, but I can guarantee she won’t love you anymore. This is going to end her career.”

  “Plenty people survive sex tapes.”

  “Fuck ups like you survive sex tapes. Wholesome bubble-gum princesses definitely don’t. You’d better get on the horn to her and fast.”

  “All right,” I say, “but you call Monty.”

  Chase holds up his phone. “Already dialling.”

  -32-

  Felicity Caine

  I don’t want Dare to be gone, but the reality is that he is, and it’s like the whole life got sucked out of the movie when he left. Everyone is constantly tetchy and on edge. Summer is pissy every morning and frequently forgets to be gentle with the hairbrush and straightening irons. Trisha talks to me as if I’m a piece of dog shit. Not sure what I did to her. I guess she’s holding me responsible for Dare’s absence. Everyone knows there was a scuffle between Dare and Tyler that involved me.

  Meanwhile, Tyler and I struggle to put aside our differences to make our on-screen relationship work. We’re supposed to be a team, but I find it hard not to growl every line I have to say to him. I can’t believe that someone who is supposed to be my friend would deliberately attempt to destroy the only real relationship I’ve ever had.

  The worst part is that Tyler’s not even prepared to apologise for it. Instead he swans around like he’s my almighty saviour. Seriously, you’d think he’d snatched me from the jaws of death. In response, I start carrying around a pin, so it’s on hand for popping his overinflated ego. I come close to actually stabbing him with it more than once or twice.

  Things are made irrevocably worse by the fact my phone disappears at the same time Dare does. One minute it was right where it ought to have been and next, poof. Nobody’s seen it.

  I’m not dumb enough to think it’s a coincidence. Next time I get a few minutes to run into town, I’m going to buy a burner. Although, I guess that will only help if I scavenge Dare’s phone number from somewhere. Idiot that I am, I never wrote it down, but I bet Jace Jones has it to hand.

  It’s after eight, a little way into the second week of Dare’s absence that I manage to find my way into Jace’s office while he’s elsewhere going over script changes with his brother Alfie. There’s no sign of Dare’s phone number anywhere. I guess Jace stores his contacts on his phone like the rest of the damned universe, but I do find my missing mobile right in the top drawer of his desk. Bastard!

  I reclaim my property then scarper back to my trailer to give the phone some juice and say a big hello to the outside world. Forty-seven missed calls. Most of them are from Flo, but there are also several from Dare. His are easy to spot. With the odd exception, they’re all made at 4A.M.

  Rather than try to speak to anyone while the phone is charging, I go through my missed messages instead. These included an “I’m sorry things got screwed up,” from Dare, and a whole catalogue of them from Flo over the last few hours, culminating with,

  Flo: The words weren’t mine. I just read what was put in front of me.

  What the heck? I have no idea what that means, so I scroll back to this morning.

  Flo: Morning. I’m skipping going to the studio today. Demo tape is all done. We can use it as a roadmap once you’re finished filming to get the actual tracks recorded using real instruments. You’re gonna love it. Missing you xx

  Then two hours later.

  Flo: Holy shit! What have you done? We’re so done for.

  Followed by,

  Flo: There’s footage. OMG! They have video of you.

  And about an hour later,

  Flo: I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. I had no choice.

  Flo: Flicka, are you there? Do you hear me? I had no choice.

  Flo: Shit!

  Flo: Warren’s on his way to you. Don’t talk to anyone before he gets there.

  This brings me right up-to-date with the last message she sent, and the first one I saw. Not that I’ve in any way been enlightened. Shite happened, that’s perfectly clear, but as to the exact nature of the poo pile, that remains to be determined. I’m just about to press dial and speak to Flo when someone takes a fist to my door.

  “If you’re in there, fucking well open up.”

  Eep! Looks as if Jace Jones is about to chew me up and spit out the bones. Phone still in my hand, I open the door and let him in. Guess that’s me caught red-handed.

  The words of an apology – though hell knows why I’m apologising for retrieving my own property – tumbles from my lips as Jace pushes his way into the trailer and bolts the door behind him. The weird thing is, I don’t think he hears me.

  “Grab your handbag. You need to get out of here now.”

  “Wait. What? Why?”

  My guts churn. Much as I’d like to babble on about the phone and being sorry for rifling through his office, I know that’s not what this is about. The clues are there on the warm device in my hand. I glance down, but the screen has gone dark. “What’s happened?”

  “Someone has sold you out big time, that’s what.”

  “Is Dare okay?”

  “Dare will be fine. He’s not the one with a morality clause in his contract. You’re fucked, Flicka. And I don’t mean that as a joke, though it’s pretty clear from that clip you’re not pure anymore.”

  “Wh-haat clip?” My voice cracks as I try to form the words. Deep down in my gut, I already know the answer. Somehow, someone has recorded video footage of Dare and me together. Footage I now need to watch. I’m going to be asked about it, so I’d better have my facts straight.”

  “Where is this footage?” I demand. I expect Jace to produce it exactly as he seems to conjure everything else out of thin air. I don’t anticipate the grim set of his jaw or the hard stare right along the plane of his nose.

  “Where isn’t it? Even the major networks are reporting on it. Not showing it mind, because it’s way too risqué. Once we’re past the nine o’ clock watershed, though, I’m sure the nation will be enjoying all the best highlights.”

  Good God, how long is this video if there’s the potential for cutting it down to highlights?

  It only takes a couple of seconds in a hotspot to find the offending piece, since it’s trending. Jace is right. I am fucked. Completely, from every angle you look at it. The world is about to come crumbling down around my ears to the tune of every penny I’ve so far earned and am ever likely to earn. And more than likely, Flo won’t get out unscathed either. We’re twin sisters, and we’re a brand, so obviously, we’re going to be tarred with the same brush.

  Chinchilla are going to snap the pair of us, take everything we own and leave us for the vultures.

  “Someone recorded us while we were here,” I say. Jace nods his head. Behind his thick rimmed spectacles, his eyes are narrowed. The fact this privacy breach occurred on his watch, galls him. I don’t doubt that when he discovers who is responsible, they’re going to pay dearly. It’ll be too late for me though. “When you first mentioned a tape, I figured someone had seen us at Dare’s club and it would be fairly innocuous.” Instead, I’m clearly the doxy giving a movie star a hand job before he bangs me senseless in what looks on film like the shittiest trailer park in Christendom.

  Jace sighs and offers me an unreassuringly smile. “I did warn the both of you, but nobody ever listens. Well it’s out there now, and there’s nothing you can do about it besides own it. Meanwhile, I suggest you take yourself somewhere remote until the press have got tired. Unless you’ve a particular d
esire to wade straight into a media frenzy.”

  “I’m not sure I have anywhere to go. Are there reporters already here?”

  He shakes his head. “Not yet. I believe they’re labouring under this mistaken impression that, like Dare, you’re also in the City and not here on set.”

  “How come?”

  I don’t need him to answer. I’ve already figured it out for myself. Flo’s messages are just about starting to make a horrid kind of sense. I’m not being bombarded with shitty questions because Flo’s dealing with the fallout instead. We’re identical twins, and the press aren’t exactly bright when they’re hunting as a pack.

  “I need to speak to my sister.” I need to speak to Dare too, but Flo first.

  He nods. “I’ll give you some privacy and go and arrange some transport. I’ve a place in the West Country you can hole up if you’ve nowhere else. It’s not ideal, but…”

  “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

  He pauses, hand on the sliding bolt. “Listen, don’t open the door to anyone but me. I won’t be long.”

  I nod. I’m incredibly grateful to Jace. He’s a good guy, even if he’s a workaholic and a bit gruff on occasion.

  “Hang on. My agent is on his way here.” I don’t want to, but I’m going to have to talk to him and work out some kind of strategy for dealing with this. Assuming there’s anything that can be done other than, as Jace suggested, owning it. It’s not as if there’s a convenient rewind button for my life over the last couple of months, and I don’t know that I’d press it even if there was. No way do I want to erase Dare from my life.

  Still, the look Jace throws me from over his shoulder is black enough to make me pause. “That slime ball isn’t and has never been on your side, Flicka. Unless you enjoy being continually butt fucked, in this industry you need someone representing you who has your best interests at heart, not theirs. West’s only priority is milking you for profits. If he hasn’t severed your relationship yet, it’s only because he still sees a way of manipulating this to his advantage.”

  “I guess he’s on his way here to cut his ties then.”