by Susan Lewis
Shelley watched her, and was shocked to see just how thin she had become.
When she was dressed Allyson picked up her bag and started to leave.
‘Don’t you want to discuss it?’ Shelley said.
Allyson stopped, and turned round. ‘What’s there to discuss?’ she answered. ‘You’ve already made up your mind. Based on a single report by one pretty young girl, you and Mark Reiner have decided to rub my face in …’
‘Oh Ally!’ Shelley groaned. ‘Don’t see it like that. It’s not …’
‘This programme is the one thing I had left to hang onto,’ Allyson cried.
‘Ally, it’s a cruel world, you know that, especially for women, and even more so for women in your field, where age matters – maybe even more than talent.’
‘But Tessa’s got talent too? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Probably. Possibly.’
Allyson’s face was tight with anger. ‘You know, I always thought you didn’t like her,’ she said caustically.
‘I don’t, much. But I don’t want to lose the show. It means as much to me as it does to you.’
‘But you get to keep it!’
Shelley looked as awkward as Allyson had intended.
‘Correction, reinvent it. Without me,’ Allyson added, fiercely.
Shelley was shaking her head. ‘Look, I know you think I’ve betrayed you,’ she said, ‘and if you want me to put up a fight for you to keep the Cocktails, I will. But trust my instincts on this, Ally. If I insist on you keeping the entire show Mark Reiner will just pull the plug.’
Allyson’s eyes went down. Emotions were building inside her, pushing her to a point where she might explode with the pain. ‘Why her?’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘There have to be a thousand other girls out there who could bring youth and talent and whatever else you’re looking for to the show, so why does it have to be her?’
‘If you didn’t have personal issues with her, you’d be suggesting her yourself,’ Shelley said.
Though she hated to hear it, Allyson knew it was true, but that didn’t change the fact that Shelley had to know how this was destroying her. ‘What about the baby?’ she demanded. ‘What are you going to do when it starts to show? And how the hell do you think I’m going to feel, sharing a programme with the kid who’s pregnant by my husband?’
Shelley’s eyes remained on hers. She’d already thought of that, and the truth was she didn’t know how Allyson would feel, because it would probably be worse than anything Shelley could imagine. ‘The baby could be a problem,’ she admitted. ‘I’ll need to discuss it with Mark.’
Allyson stared at her hard. Was Shelley saying what she thought she was saying? Shelley stared back, and though no words passed between them, Allyson felt that she might just have been thrown something akin to a lifeline.
‘Have you told her?’ Allyson asked. ‘Does she know she’s about to become a star?’
‘No.’
They were quiet then, Allyson standing rigidly at the door, Shelley perched awkwardly on the arm of a sofa. Allyson was still horribly worked up and terrified she was going to cry.
‘Ally,’ Shelley finally said.
Allyson looked at her, then without another word she turned and walked out of the door. She didn’t know where she was going, wasn’t even sure if she could drive, but she had to get away from Shelley, from this building, and from the beautiful, blissfully happy girl upstairs whose youth and good fortune were taking over her life.
‘So how did she take it?’
‘Badly, I think,’ Shelley said. ‘She left the building and I haven’t been able to find her since.’
Mark Reiner’s eyes were charting the wine waiter’s movements as he opened a bottle of vintage Bordeaux and poured some into a glass for Mark to taste. After approving it, Mark said, ‘Are you worried?’
‘A bit. She’s been having a rough time of it lately. Tessa Dukes is living with her husband.’
‘Allyson’s husband?’ he said, showing surprise.
Shelley nodded. Clearly he didn’t read the tabloids, though there was a good chance he’d been out of the country when the story had first broken. His expression was once again inscrutable, but she could see this news had made an impression.
‘Is she going to accept the Night Cap slot?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. She probably needs time to think.’
‘Of course. Have you spoken to Tessa yet?’
‘No. Not until I’ve found out what Allyson intends to do.’
He seemed thoughtful for a moment, then raising his glass he touched it gently to hers, and Shelley could sense the subject of Allyson’s position on the programme sliding down his list of priorities as he allowed his eyes to roam the smooth, candlelit planes of her face, while his imagination was hopefully taking him a whole lot further. She knew she intrigued him, as he intrigued her, and she wondered how ruthless he could be. How professional? How controlled? All the time she’d been dressing for the evening she’d felt the sharp bite of lust accompanying her decisions about what to wear. Her dress was knee-length, heavily sequined and halter-necked. Knowing the selection she had made to go underneath would drive him wild, were he to see it, was enough. She had no intention of seducing him yet, for toying with him this way, and with herself, both satisfied and intensified the desire. It also began adding an edge to their discussion that meant no matter how professional the subject, the personal was always there, flowing like a slow, sultry river through the double entendres of their softly spoken words and deliciously intimate looks.
‘I’ve looked at how you would spend the budget increase were you to get it,’ he said.
‘And?’
His eyes dropped momentarily to her mouth. ‘I’m impressed,’ he responded.
Her dark, sensuous gaze remained on his as the compliment folded its promise warmly around her. ‘So do I get the increase?’ she said.
‘Not as much as you’ve asked for, but I imagine you figured that into your request.’
Shelley’s eyebrows flickered upwards.
‘If you’re going to be basing one programme a month out of a European city,’ he said, ‘I should put you in touch with the other side of my organization. We have several hotels on the Continent that could offer special deals.’
‘I’ll inform the programme manager,’ she said, still holding his eyes with her own, and feeling the blend of their awareness as her breasts rose and fell with her deepening breath. She took another sip of wine and watched him watching her. Though there was an unquestionable irony in his eyes, his features, she thought, were more austere than she’d first noticed, and the harsh masculinity of his body was inviting her imagination to experience the force, maybe even the violence of his passion. A small sigh of anticipation shuddered through her, and her eyes fluttered briefly closed.
‘How did you become a producer?’ he asked.
‘The usual way. Through researching.’
‘You didn’t want to present?’
‘If I’d chosen presenting, what’s happening to Allyson would be happening to me now,’ she said.
‘But you’re not married.’
‘I was referring to the programme.’
‘Were you ever? Married?’
‘No.’ Then she added, ‘The last significant relationship I had ended eight years ago.’
He was clearly surprised. ‘I find it hard to believe that a woman like you has lived all that time without a man.’
Her eyes were burning. ‘I haven’t,’ she said.
He cocked a single eyebrow, telling her he had received the message, then their food arrived and as he watched her eat, the fork gliding smoothly from her lips, the wine moistening them, her fingers circling the stem of the wine glass, she knew the power of her sensuality was affecting him deeply. He probably hadn’t expected her to turn him on this much, and though she hadn’t started out with the intention of going this far, she was finding very little reason now to continue holding back.
However, she was in no rush, so they continued to talk, about the programme, about life, until their plates were taken and they were offered a menu for dessert.
He declined for them both. She looked at him in surprise then felt her skin start to burn, as he said, ‘I think it’s time I fucked you.’
Her lips parted as her breath became suddenly heavy. ‘Yes, I think it is,’ she said.
He drove them to her apartment. Neither of them spoke, except for her to give him directions.
She led him up the single flight of stairs and unlocked the front door. Her heart was pounding. She was on fire for him, and the moment they were inside he grabbed her, bringing her harshly against him. She looked into his eyes and continued to look into them as he crushed her mouth with his and drew the hem of her dress up to her waist. His hands moved over the gossamer-fine rubber straps that were binding her body, and as she sensed the sudden charge to his lust, she began tearing at his shirt, pushing it with his jacket from his shoulders and biting his neck.
He spun her round and rammed her back up against the wall. His cock was so hard it hurt. His trousers were undone, and as she slid down to her knees he pulled the dress over her head and saw more rubber straps.
She sucked him hard and bit him. Her tongue was all over him. He grabbed her shoulders and brought her to her feet. The black straps circled her waist, her breasts, and disappeared between her legs. They covered nothing. She was totally revealed to him in a cage of black rubber. It was blowing his mind.
In her high heels she matched his height. She took him by the hand and led him to the sitting room. Everything was as elegant and benign as she was bewitching and brazen. He took hold of her breasts in their triangular black frames and groaned aloud as she grabbed his cock, scratching her nails along the length of it. The pain was exquisite and intense. He bit the hardened flesh of her nipple. She cried out, but didn’t push him away.
Then she was walking across the room. Her buttocks were bare, two tight ribbons of rubber held the cheeks apart. She reached the sofa and glanced over her shoulder. Her dark eyes were smouldering with immeasurable lust.
Parting her legs she bent over the sofa. She was speaking to him now, telling him what she wanted in a language that was inflaming him beyond any point of control. He came up behind her, stooped and bit into her flesh. She moaned and writhed and bent more steeply. He stood up, raised a hand and brought it crashing down on her buttocks. He did it again and again.
The stinging pain was electric, sparking through her genitals, rushing to her clitoris. Wave after wave hit her, pushing her through one orgasm to the next to the next. She was dizzied by lust, breathless with pleasure. He widened her legs more, pushed a hand between them, his fingers right up inside her. His fist was like nothing she’d felt between her legs before. She could hear herself screaming, begging him for more and yet more. She came into his hand, gripping it over and over. Then suddenly he thrust his cock to the core of her and her legs lost power. He held her up and rammed her.
His orgasm was explosive. It pounded into her with unmerciful force. She was bucking beneath him, coming again and shuddering with the might of it. He pulled out of her quickly, spun her round and pushed her to the floor. He lay over her, entered her and began a new journey to the end. Her legs and arms entwined him, her mouth and tongue assailed him. She stayed hot for him all night, matching the vigorous slamming of his hips and harsh demands of his body with her own.
The next morning she woke him with fresh coffee and croissants. As he ate she did things to him, and to herself, that stole his appetite for food and concentrated it solely on her. He could see how harshly he’d used her through the night, but she seemed to want more, only more.
When the time came it was all he could do to drag himself away. He watched her dress and became aroused all over again. She was sensational. She oozed more femininity than an overcrowded harem. She walked him to the door, kissed him, and before he knew it he was inside her again. She was incredible. Indescribable. Insatiable.
It was the middle of the afternoon. Allyson hadn’t made an appointment. She simply turned up at Mark Reiner’s office and demanded to see him. She’d worked out everything she was going to say, was determined to deliver it as calmly and succinctly as possible and then listen quietly, unhysterically to his response.
Despite this inner coaxing of discipline, she was horribly agitated and not entirely sure she wasn’t verging on the dreaded nervous breakdown. Last night had been one of the worst of her life. If it were possible, literally, to cry oceans, she felt she’d shed every one of them, and her entire body felt bruised now from the power of the storm. Around midnight she’d driven to Tessa’s flat half-demented with grief, so desperate to see Bob she hadn’t cared what kind of scene she might cause. When she’d got there she sat outside, feeling herself filling up with so much hate and despair that all she’d wanted was to go in and kill them both.
All the way home she’d tried to think of a way to get Tessa out of their lives. Murder seemed the only solution. But unless she could come up with a perfect plan she’d never get away with it. And even if she could, she didn’t have what it took to go through with it. Maybe she could pay someone else, but she had no idea how to go about that, and it upset her even more to know that these were nothing more than the wild, deluded ramblings of a rejected, middle-aged woman who was thrashing around all over the place in a desperate bid to keep her life together.
She’d spent this morning at home, working frantically on the plan to save her career. Today was Friday, there was no programme, which was why she was able to be here in Mark Reiner’s office now.
The last time they’d met was when she’d interviewed him. She remembered almost nothing about it now, so he obviously hadn’t made much of an impression. She was glad, because if she hadn’t been intimidated then, there was no reason for her to be now. Of course she hadn’t been fighting for her life then.
He kept her waiting more than half an hour. She didn’t care. He hadn’t known she was coming, and there was no point going in there already worked up over something he might have been unable to avoid.
His assistant made no attempt to talk to her. She was glad about that too. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to put on her smiley, presenter’s face today. There was a pile of newspapers on the coffee table. She wondered if he’d seen them yet, if he’d read the bitterly incisive article on how even women like her, at the top of their professions, could be brought to their knees by a husband’s desertion. Allyson’s pain was showing, it said. The programme was suffering.
She noticed a box of Christmas trimmings on the floor, but Christmas was something she just couldn’t think about.
Suddenly his door opened and the jolt of her heart made her queasy. She turned round to look at him and immediately felt worse, for his towering height, dark good looks and inscrutable manner were reminding her of his power, and she felt appallingly wrong-footed and diminished by it.
‘Allyson,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you. I was on a conference call to New York. Did you get some coffee?’
Allyson shook her head. Oh God, she remembered now, he was younger than her, only by two or three years, but those years were suddenly frightening her, as though they were a tangible threat to her existence. Then struggling past her misgivings she said, in her best affable voice, ‘How are you? It’s good to see you again. How’s the house? It was in Devon, wasn’t it?’ Too much. Too many questions.
‘It still is. It belongs to my wife now. Soon to be ex. Come in.’
She followed him through, and smiled politely as he waved her to a chair. She was OK now, past those initial ravings, and slipping calmly back into the steadying grip of poise and control. For some reason his eyes had made her feel better. They were narrow, unreadable, and disturbingly knowing, so why they’d soothed her she wasn’t entirely sure. She thought he seemed a good match for Shelley and she wondered how they’d got on last night.
But she didn’t really care. All she cared about was saving her job, which in the end was going to mean her sanity.
As he watched her sit down he could see how much this was costing her. There was so much pain etched in her eyes, and fear, that he was reminded of what Shelley had told him, that her husband had left her, for a younger woman, for Tessa Dukes.
Trying not to flinch under his scrutiny, Allyson wondered what he was seeing. But it wasn’t important. All that mattered was how she should begin. He didn’t seem annoyed that she had barged in on him like this, as she had expected, if anything he seemed curious, interested even, which should have been more encouraging than it was. ‘Shelley’s told me about your plans for the programme,’ she said, her voice sounding oddly harsh and discordant.
He nodded, and waited, politely, for her to continue. She’d said nothing that he could adequately or helpfully respond to – when she did he would reply with the truth, which he knew was going to be brutal for her. He wished she’d spared herself this, but could see the desperation in her eyes. He sensed that there was something about this fight that was going to be make or break for her, and he had a momentary vision of her being escorted out of his office, screaming hysterically, begging to keep her job. He hoped that didn’t happen. He was at least going to try to spare her that.
‘I think,’ she said, ‘that you’ve probably got a point. The show does need a younger image.’
His surprise showed. ‘I hope that means you’re willing to stay with the Night Cap,’ he said.
‘Maybe.’ She took a breath. ‘I would like you to consider using someone else to host the Cocktails,’ she said. ‘Happy Hour,’ she corrected.
‘You mean instead of Tessa Dukes?’
She nodded.
He didn’t answer straight away, so she continued.
‘I’d also like to become one of the new-style programme’s producers,’ she said.
His eyebrows went up, then, looking at the pen he was holding in both hands, he said, ‘Have you discussed any of this with Shelley?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’