'And here's mine to you.' Lauren handed over a present, and Valentine ripped open the paper to reveal a gorgeous red silk tea dress that she'd coveted for ages from one of the Vintage clothes shops on Portabello Road.
Frank held up a sleek silver cocktail shaker and a bottle of vodka. 'Birthday Martinis all round?'
'Thanks all of you,' Valentine said, standing up and hugging her friends in turn. She was touched by the gifts and Frank's offer of cocktails, especially since he was a reformed alcoholic in AA. 'Even though I wonder what I've got to celebrate.'
Lauren rolled her eyes. 'Lucky for you it's your birthday or I'd tell you to stop being so sappy.'
Valentine ignored her and continued in a mock-dramatic voice, 'The audition was just another humiliating incident in my life as a failed actress. The only thing I want right now is oblivion.' She had a sudden flashback to the moment she'd kissed Jack. He had been an amazingly good kisser. Valentine always set great store on how men kissed. It was a failsafe equation: good kisser equalled good in bed. Bad kisser equalled invariably the opposite. If he didn't know what to do with his lips and tongue you could forget about the other bits.
'You got to snog a fit lad though, didn't you?' Lauren put in, as if reading her mind. 'And let's face it, it's been a while since you've seen any action.'
'That's right,' Lily piped up, 'it's been six months since your last romance.' And four long weeks since she'd last seen Finn, not that Lily knew that.
'He wasn't good enough for you,' Frank declared, vigorously shaking the silver cocktail shaker like a pro. The 'he' in question was Samuel – a lawyer Valentine had gone out with for two months in an attempt to snap herself out of her fixation with Finn. It was doomed from the start. He didn't get acting and she didn't get the law. Whenever Valentine socialised with Samuel and his friends she felt like a performing monkey, expected to entertain them with her 'hilarious' anecdotes about the theatre world. Valentine surveyed her friends' faces and said sarcastically, 'Thank you so much for reminding me on my birthday that not only am I a failed actress, but also that I'm single as well.'
'Sam wasn't so bad. He looked lovely in a suit. And he had that gorgeous leather briefcase – calfskin wasn't it? Quality product.' Lily and her accessories.
Frank poured out the cocktails and passed them round, commenting, 'Still, that Sam was much nicer than the one before – what was his name? Finn or something. He was a right bastard, excuse my language. No hang on, what was it? A gutless bastard who nearly destroyed you.' Bugger Lauren and her mantra. Valentine flinched at the mention of her Finn's name. Maybe one day she'd be able to hear it without feeling as if someone had punched her, but she wasn't there yet, not by a long way.
Lauren came to her rescue and said quietly, 'We don't talk about him, Frank.'
Valentine took a large slug of the Martini and nearly choked, it was so strong. Her mobile rang. It was bound to be her mother wishing her happy birthday and bombarding her with questions about the audition. Wearily she picked up her phone, steeling herself for another How did it go, darling? conversation and walked into the hall. But suddenly things looked up, because it was Sylvia telling her that she'd got the part. A surge of happiness washed over her. Hurrah! She would be working again! She was not the sad reject actress no one wanted! She was just single! She glanced back into the kitchen where everyone was looking expectantly at her and did the thumbs-up. They beamed back at her in response.
'You start rehearsing next Monday,' Sylvia told her. 'By the way,' she continued in what Valentine knew was her agent-pacifying-client voice. She suddenly felt wary, suspecting something was coming up that she wouldn't like.
'I did mention the nudity to you, didn't I?'
Valentine crashed. This was too cruel. 'Whose?' she demanded.
'Well, it's not full-frontal, but you and the other fairies will be wearing nipple tassels and thongs.' Not words that Kiera bloody Knightly had ever had to hear, Valentine thought bitterly. And before Valentine could reply that no it bloody well wasn't all right, Sylvia pressed on, 'Think of it as a burlesque performance. It's so now. And Valentine, it has been five months since you were last on stage. You need to be seen.'
Not all of me! Valentine wanted to say. But she knew Sylvia had a point. She really needed this part. 'Thank you, Sylvia, you're right. I accept the role,' she replied, in her actress-making-the-best-of-things voice.
In the kitchen Frank was high-fiving Lily and Lauren. 'Hey, why that face?' Lauren asked as Valentine walked back into the kitchen and once more slumped down at the table. Slumping was all she seemed to do these days.
'I might have to do it practically nude,' Valentine muttered, picking up and draining her seriously strong Martini.
'Is that all?' Lauren scoffed. 'Stop making such a thong and dance about it! She paused to look at Frank, checking he'd got the pun. He winked and Lauren carried on, 'What's the big deal? Remember all those men who have stripped off, like Daniel Radcliffe in Equus? It's much worse for men to do naked than women. Just think how they get judged on the size of their dicks.'
'Two words – shrivelled members,' Frank said wisely. 'You know how cold theatres can be sometimes and how bright and unforgiving the lights – a lady's always going to look better in the buff.'
'I'll be a laughing stock,' Valentine persisted, 'and I might have to wear . . . she hesitated, the full horror only just beginning to sink in – 'nipple tassels! I may as well go the whole hog and sign up to be a lap dancer at Top Totty.' Top Totty was a lap dancing club round the corner and when times had been particularly hard both she and Lauren had considered signing up – well only after they'd both drunk too much wine. They'd always changed their minds by the morning.
'Don't be silly,' Lily put her oar in now, 'you are going to be performing Shakespeare; you will be naked for art! I've done it! I bared all as Cleopatra!'
Valentine and Lauren exchanged eye-rolls, knowing that this was a signal for Lily to take a long and meandering walk down memory lane, or rather mammary lane. Ten minutes later as tumbleweed was blowing through the flat and Lily was finally coming to the end of her story, Valentine's phone beeped with a text message. 'It's probably Vince telling me I have to have group sex on stage with the fairies and Bottom,' she said darkly, opening the message, 'and I expect you'll all tell me that's no big deal so long as there's no actual penetration involved.'
But it was from Jack – sexy, arrogant, too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good Jack. She read the message out loud to her friends. 'Happy Birthday Valentine, so glad you got the part, looking forward to working with you, Jack x.'
'Oh, how smooth can you get?' Valentine scoffed, secretly disappointed that it wasn't from Finn.
'He sounds lovely!' Lily exclaimed. She was like a bloodhound in trying to sniff out a potential love interest. 'A new play and maybe a new man. I imagine your eyes will lock when you see each other across the rehearsal studio and that will be the start of a great love!' She really was incorrigible.
'I know where his eyes will be locking; I bet he can't wait to see you in your nipple tassels!' Lauren teased. 'I've got some Agent Provocateur ones in my bedroom if you want to practise.' That wasn't all knowing Lauren, who had a comprehensive selection of sex toys in her bedside cabinet. Valentine gave her the finger.
Lily piped up again, 'If you're worried about the lack of costume you really must take up pilates, so good for your core muscles and your pelvic floor. And if you look after the pelvic floor . . .' she paused, searching for the word.
'What? I'll be able to shoot ping pong balls from my vagina? I don't think Vince has thought about that yet, but give him time,' Valentine retorted, adding, 'Sorry Frank.'
'No offence. Saw a great show like that in Bangkok when I was on tour with the boys. Never forgotten it. Never to this day.' Frank became unusually animated. 'She shot the balls right across the room, with such velocity, nearly took my eye out with one. And that would have taken some explaining to the missus, God rest her soul, wouldn't it?
Sorry love, some bird blinded me in one eye with a ball she fired straight out of her—'
'Right, I think I get the picture,' Valentine intervened.
'I wish I had!' Frank replied. 'But my flash didn't work.'
Cue much giggling. Valentine picked up the now-empty cocktail shaker. 'I need more alcohol to numb my senses. Any requests? I'm going over the road.'
Fortunately (or unfortunately for their livers) the off-licence was opposite their house. It stood defiant, painted a poisonous shade of green in the middle of a row of designer shops. On the right was a chi-chi shop selling unnecessary accessories to pampered pooches, and on the left a horrifyingly expensive clothes shop which was so extortionate it only ever had one garment displayed in the window, but you never knew how much it cost because it carried no price tag. The off-licence owner had been the victim of several armed robberies and had recently turned his shop into a fortress where the wine and the staff were behind bulletproof glass and you had to point out what you wanted. Every time Valentine walked in she felt like some kind of addict getting her fix. Still, it was cheap, and the two students who worked there in the evenings were such sweethearts. They were behind the glass now, listening to XFM – Robbie, a tall, blonde surfer type who was studying philosophy and Tom, a dark-haired, chocolate-eyed Johnny Depp lookalike, who was studying English.
As soon as they realised it was Valentine the two boys went into one of their favourite routines of pretending to be in a Texan jail on death row with Valentine as their firm but fair female governor. They had a number of scenarios they liked enacting with Valentine, mainly inspired by films set in prisons – it really was very boring working in the store. They'd spent the previous week working on their homage to Silence of the Lambs, with the boys playing Hannibal to Valentine's Agent Starling, holding up bottles of Chianti and exclaiming how well it had washed down the brains they'd just eaten. Valentine really wasn't in the mood right now, but felt she couldn't really stop them. They put their hands up in supplication against the glass and assumed hangdog expressions. 'We've been real good, ma'am. Promise you'll put in a good word for us at the parole board,' Tom said.
'And ma'am,' Robbie added, 'may I say how awful pretty you look today.'
'You may not,' Valentine replied, doing her best Susan Sarandon accent. 'You should only be looking at the Bible.'
'But ma'am,' Robbie put in, 'respectfully we haven't seen a female body in a real long time. Couldn't we just look at you a while longer in case our appeal is rejected and we get sent to the chair?' Robbie managed to put a quiver in his voice and Valentine made a big deal of putting her hand to her head, to show that she wasn't unsympathetic, but she was also firm, so she said, 'Just tell me if you still have the three for two offer on?'
'Oh yes ma'am, for you ma'am, definitely.'
'Very well then – I'll have a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon and step on it. I have to go to church with my husband for evensong.'
'Yes ma'am!' the boys exclaimed in unison, then raced round the shop collecting the bottles. As she paid they all dropped out of character as Tom asked hopefully, 'How's Lauren?'
'Do yourself a favour and forget about her,' Valentine replied.
'I can't,' Tom said with feeling. Valentine smiled ruefully. Lauren had a rule that she never went out with younger men or arts students, so Tom failed on both counts. He had even promised to switch from English and go to medical school, a sacrifice indeed as apparently he couldn't stand the sight of blood. But there wasn't much he could do about his age. It was a case of complete unrequited love.
'And Valentine?' Robbie called out, just as she was leaving the shop, 'You really do look pretty tonight.' In turn Robbie carried a bit of a torch for Valentine.
'Thanks Robbie,' Valentine replied as neutrally as possible – she liked him, but not in that way, and she couldn't afford to upset him because of where he worked. God forbid she might have to walk further to get her liquor.
Upstairs Lauren had dealt out the cards ready for a game of Hearts. The four of them regularly played and were fiercely competitive. Lauren and Valentine had first got into cards when they'd toured round Holland with a student production of A Winter's Tale, staying in a number of different Center Parcs. Even now, five years on, the adverts for the British Center Parcs still had the power to give both the girls nightmares. It was off season and they were practically the only guests staying at the camps. It felt a little bit like being on the set of The Shining – well, there was no snow, no Jack Nicholson, no child saying 'redrum' every five minutes – but apart from that it was exactly the same with the ominous feeling that they were the only people for miles around and that any moment one of their number might go stir crazy and get a bit wayward with a bread knife . . . Cards was just about the only thing that kept them sane as they had no money – that and learning to drink very, very cheap wine. It had been a joy to discover that Lily and Frank shared their passion for cards.
They played a couple of rounds, Frank for once losing.
'You might have lost at Hearts,' Valentine told him, 'but at least you'll never have to wear nipple tassels!'
'Who says I don't, young lady?' Frank teased her.
Lily rolled her eyes. 'Honestly Frank, you'll give her nightmares.'
'I'll let you know in the morning; I'm going to bed now,' Valentine announced.
'To sleep, perchance to dream of sexy Jack,' Lauren said wickedly, adding, 'The tassels are in the top drawer. I've probably got some ping pong balls as well.'
'Pervert,' Valentine answered back, but waved sweetly to Lily and Frank.
It was only when she was in bed at midnight that she finally got the text she'd longed for. Happy Birthday V. Can you come over? x. She didn't hesitate for a second.
3
Can't Get You Out of My Head
'I was beginning to think you weren't going to turn up.'
It was after one, Finn was leaning against the doorframe of his Richmond flat looking sexily dishevelled, his white shirt unbuttoned showing his toned, tanned chest. Valentine's heart flipped over in love and other relevant parts tingled with lust. The rational Valentine thought that not turning up was much more Finn's style. But then Valentine the addict lightly kissed Finn on the lips and murmured, 'I'm here now.'
'God, I want you,' he said, pulling her to him and kissing her. A hard, passionate, hungry kiss. Clearly talking wasn't on Finn's agenda. Valentine never knew how to play these clandestine meetings. Sometimes (say four out of ten) Finn wanted to drink wine, talk and then get down to it; the other times it had been straight down to it. Now he was undoing the buttons on her dress, the one Lauren had just given her for her birthday, and when he got frustrated he ripped them open, causing several to fly off and the delicate silk fabric to tear.
'You've got such fantastic big tits V,' he said throatily. This was possibly the only time Valentine liked hearing big linked with her name. She didn't think her tits were that big – a thirty-two D to be precise – but Finn's girlfriend was waif-thin and flat as a pancake in that department. Finn caressed her fantastic big tits, then ducked down and sucked her nipples, igniting a white-hot fire in her Agent Provocateur silk briefs. For a few minutes she enjoyed the feeling of being so turned on, but she knew Finn too well. She knew what was expected.
She slid down to her knees and, unbuttoning his fly, released his stiff cock, or his 'fantastic big cock' as she told him. A good average, in reality. Though saying that would not go down well – definitely not as well as her. If she was really honest she thought blow jobs were overrated, but try telling a man that. She supposed it was a turn-on feeling so powerful, knowing how much the recipient was being aroused. But on the other hand there was always so much to think about – watching the teeth, making sure you didn't gag if they became too enthusiastic, trying to avoid lockjaw if it was going on too long, then the whole to swallow or not to swallow . . . She liked it best if it was quick. But right now she wanted to make love, wanted
to feel the connection with Finn, wanted him inside her. Sneaking out of the flat so Lauren didn't know what she was up to, crossing London, giving him a blowie and then going on her way (which had happened twice out of the ten times) did not make her feel sexy and empowered, but slightly sordid, as if Finn had dialled for a delivery BJ in much the same way as a pizza. He was enjoying this one a little too much. If she wasn't careful it would go all the way. But suddenly he put his hand on her shoulder and said, 'Come into the bedroom. I've got something for you.'
He had spread red rose petals all over the bed, and there was a bottle of champagne on the bedside cabinet. 'Happy Birthday V,' he said, leading her on to the bed. Valentine winced at the sight of the red petals. The rational Valentine wondered if he had remembered it was also the anniversary of their break-up. But the addict Valentine took over again, helping Finn pull off her dress and stripping off his clothes. She lay wantonly back on the bed, drank champagne with him, then writhed with pleasure as he trickled it over her body and kissed and licked it off, and by the time he reached her Agent Provocateurs she really didn't care. And then he was inside her and they were fucking. Everything else melted away as waves of pleasure rippled through her and the thought went through her mind that for now at least he belonged to her. And oh, this was going to be so good, this was so good, she was nearly there and it was going to be so good coming together. But, hang on! That was quicker than usual, she thought as Finn groaned and oh babied and oh Goded to his climax. Maybe he had something else in mind for her? But after the briefest of kisses he disengaged and flopped down on the bed next to her.
'That was fucking amazing, V,' he murmured, peeling off the condom and throwing it on the floor. Then to Valentine's deep disappointment and frustration he fell asleep. It had been four weeks; she had expected more. She lay next to him for a while, enjoying the feeling of his body next to hers. He was so gorgeous, his skin golden-brown all over and without a blemish; his face was so handsome, resembling Jude Law in The Talented Mr Ripley. Some people, Lauren for instance, thought his looks were too pretty-boy, but Valentine thought he was just perfect. She couldn't resist him. Knew she should, but couldn't.
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