Wicked Ambition

by Victoria Fox

  ‘I haven’t. But thanks.’

  ‘You just be doin’ your thing.’

  Robin smiled at him. ‘Always do.’

  ‘It’s since hookin’ up with the track team boys, he ain’t too happy about that. Can’t say I am either, but you gotta give it up for a good cause, you feel me?’

  ‘Jax Jackson’s idea, right?’

  ‘Dude’s a clown.’

  She couldn’t resist asking. ‘What about Leon Sway?’

  G-Money’s countenance changed. It was like a cloud passing over the sun.

  ‘None of us ever met the guy,’ he said flatly. ‘Guess he’d have a reason to get involved with the anti-weapon stand, though, huh?’

  Robin frowned. She thought Leon’s involvement with the charity venture was the stupidest, most hypocritical thing she’d ever heard. What would he know about the streets?

  ‘How do you mean?’

  But G-Money was taking a seat alongside Slink at the workstation.

  ‘You wanna get in the live room?’ Slink suggested. Barney fired her a thumbs-up. ‘Drop some sounds, see what’s up?’

  Robin put Leon Sway from her mind. She was playing with the bigger boys now.

  ‘You bet I do.’

  15

  Kristin’s home resembled one of her video sets. It was Friday evening, and in the vast mansion grounds an ivory marquee had been erected in the style of a Disney castle, its billowing fabrics and soaring turrets home to the most perfect princess in the land. On her fourteenth birthday, Bunny White was that princess. Bunny was the star of the show—and the show, it went without saying, had been orchestrated to a military agenda by their mother.

  ‘Those damn caterers, late as usual!’ bitched Ramona, rampaging through the mansion doors and slapping Kristin’s hand away from a platter of salmon tartare.

  ‘What? I’m hungry.’

  ‘Guests are arriving any second,’ she complained. ‘We’ve just this minute put the arrangements out and already you’re troughing. I thought you were dieting.’

  ‘I don’t need to diet.’ Kristin’s waist was miniature in a clinging peach Marchesa gown. Her face stung at the criticism.

  ‘Neither do I, but I do it all the same.’ Ramona lived like a bird, pecking on nuts and seeds. ‘It’s part of the job. Image, Kristin, you should know that. Bunny does.’

  ‘Bunny doesn’t need to lose weight, either.’

  ‘She will. Fourteen is the cut-off point for those puppy-fat excuses. It’s hard work from here on in. Alexis!’ The catering manager, no doubt hoping she could slip past unnoticed while Ramona was distracted, stilled in her tracks like a fox in the headlights.

  ‘Yes, Ms White?’

  ‘Where are the beignets?’

  ‘They went out with the buckwheat blinis.’

  ‘And have they been tasted?’

  Alexis looked harassed. ‘One of my girls said she ran them past you—’

  ‘Well I’m not going to do it, am I? Please! If I’d sampled every single canapé from every single party I’ve ever thrown I’d be the size of this house!’ She clamped her hands to her hips, bone on bone. ‘And if you turned up on time to your engagements then we’d be able to avoid these eleventh-hour issues, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘There are no issues, Ms White,’ said Alexis coolly. Alexis was tempted to reiterate that they’d arrived less than five minutes behind schedule, and that had only been because the ETV Birthday Brilliant! van and all its equipment had been blocking up the drive. The popular channel had agreed to come film because of the Kristin connection—Bunny wasn’t yet prominent enough—and Ramona was determined to put on a spectacular.

  Bunny appeared in the doorway. Ramona’s attention switched, as automatic and unthinking as a shark thrown fresh bait. Alexis scuttled off.

  ‘Why aren’t you wearing the wig?’ Ramona demanded. ‘We bought it specially.’

  Bunny looked to the floor. ‘I didn’t want to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s itchy.’

  Ramona rolled her eyes, exasperated. Not once did she tell Bunny how lovely she looked in her fairy-tale coral dress with delicate sash bow.

  ‘Wow,’ said Kristin, making up for it. ‘You look so amazing, Bun. Really grown-up.’

  Bunny smiled shyly.

  ‘Go and put the wig on,’ snapped Ramona.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘You don’t want to? What do you want, then? For everyone to think you look like a silly little infant? You’re a woman now, Bunny.’

  ‘No, she isn’t,’ countered Kristin, her anger bubbling over. ‘And I don’t think she should wear the wig either. It makes her look like a drag queen.’

  Bunny giggled. Kristin joined in.

  ‘Stop it!’ shrieked Ramona, close to the edge. ‘Don’t you ever dare laugh at me!’

  The camera crew entered, a bunch of girls in DMs and guys with shaggy hairstyles and lumberjack shirts. Ramona composed herself.

  ‘We’ve done the interior shots,’ said the girl in charge. ‘OK if we step outside?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ramona, eager to please, and just a touch paranoid that they might have witnessed the tail end of her outburst.

  ‘We’ve got a team out front,’ the girl went on, ‘so we can catch the celebrities as they arrive. Did you say you had a carpet you wanted to lay out?’

  ‘Oh!’ Ramona’s bejewelled hands flew to her face. ‘What am I thinking? I completely forgot!’ She acted the loveable ditz but the oversight secretly slayed her.

  Kristin wanted to strangle her mother. Why couldn’t Bunny hang with her own friends, have a barbecue in the sun? This party wasn’t for her at all; it was for Ramona. Their mother was obsessed with having the best set, the best coverage and the best guests—where ‘best’ stood for ‘expensive’ or ‘most bankable’. There had been tears when Bunny had asked to invite her own friends, a request that had been swiftly declined because Ramona already had a list in place. That list comprised industry notables—celebrities known to Kristin, mostly—and none of whom meant anything whatsoever to the birthday girl.

  Except for Scotty.

  At least he was coming, and he’d also drawn Joey and Luke into attending, which Bunny would be thrilled about. In a few years’ time Kristin hoped her sister would get with someone like Joey—a sweet, kind boy who would adore her, and who understood the pressures of the industry. It was why Scotty was such an ideal boyfriend. As well as being madly handsome and talented and sexy, he ‘got’ the craziness of both their lives. You couldn’t explain it to someone on the outside.

  ‘Are you excited?’ Kristin asked, in an attempt to rally spirits. Their mother had darted off and Bunny was looking crestfallen, patting her hair self-consciously.

  ‘Maybe I should wear the wig,’ she murmured, adolescent gaze brimming with uncertainty and a longing for approval. ‘Do you think I should? Mom says my hair’s limp…and I just want to look nice, you know?’ She bit her lip. ‘‘Specially if the boys are here…’

  ‘You’re beautiful as you are.’ Kristin pulled her close. ‘Enjoy it, don’t let her get to you.’ But Kristin suspected that she didn’t know the half of what Bunny had to endure over the beauty pageants. At least by the time Kristin was eight Ramona had spawned another child to focus on: poor Bunny had been in the firing line since the day she was born.

  An hour later the party was in full swing. The marquee shone like a pearl in the fading light, bordered by the dark silhouettes of trees, bright as a unicorn coming to rest in a leafy glade. Twisting canopies strewn with fairy lights sparkled above the guests like stars, a fantasyland made real. Singers, actresses and TV stars sipped pink champagne and nibbled at miniature lobster wellingtons, while producers, moguls and managers smoked and drank brandy, posing for photographs with their rake-thin wives whose names no one remembered. The pool shone ultramarine, bordered by jasmine-scented flickering candles and next to which stood Ramona’s pièce de résistance: Bunny’s birthday cake. It
was a fourteen-tiered monster, studded with gold flakes and silver orbs and capped with a life-size moulding of Bunny’s very own head, her golden icing ringlets tumbling down the flanks. The head was wearing a glistening crown, which read, a touch prematurely:

  MINI MISS MARVELLOUS—WINNER!

  ‘Bitchin’, huh?’

  Kristin turned. She was relieved to be extricated from a stilted conversation with a French rap star and even more relieved when she came face to face with Joey Lombardi.

  ‘Hey!’ She hugged him. Joey was Italian-American with black, curly hair and twinkling brown eyes. As one fifth of Fraternity, he was easily second favourite to Scotty; girls went crazy for him. Up close he smelled of lemon sherbet. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Better now I’ve seen that.’ Joey raised an eyebrow at the cake. ‘It’s truly a thing of wonder. Did your mother make it?’

  Kristin grinned. One of the things she liked best about Joey was his sense of humour.

  ‘If it was Bunny’s actual head on top then I might consider that a serious question,’ she said.

  He laughed.

  ‘Where’s Scotty?’ she asked, searching over his shoulder.

  Joey ran a hand through his unruly hair. Kristin remembered when Scotty had wanted to leave his to its natural wave (he straightened it) and the label had told him he couldn’t because curls were ‘Joey’s thing’. ‘Beats me,’ said Joey. ‘I haven’t seen him.’

  Kristin spied Luke talking to a circle of Hollywood socialites, her mother hovering on its periphery and plunging into their conversation every so often like a wasp on food, rooting about a bit before buzzing off. Wouldn’t the boys have arrived together?

  She checked the time. ‘He said he’d be here by now. You haven’t heard from him?’

  Joey shrugged. ‘Nah, sorry. Can I get you a drink?’

  Kristin was worried. ‘What if something’s happened?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Maybe he’s crashed the Lexus.’

  Joey touched her arm. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Scott knows what he’s doing. He probably got held up someplace; it wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘Oh?’ She was surprised. Scotty had always been punctual with her.

  ‘Sure,’ Joey replied easily. ‘He’s drifted behind schedule on a few things recently. Said he’s tired. It’s nothing to write home about.’

  A vague sort of dread clutched Kristin’s heart.

  ‘I think I’ll call him,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

  Inside, she closed the door to Ramona’s office and dialled Scotty. It rang and rang but there was no answer. She tried again, then once more. Nothing.

  Kristin tapped the phone against her jaw. Scotty had said he’d be here, and he’d never let her or Bunny down. Something must have come up and he had forgotten to let her know, that was all, nothing to get alarmed over, just as Joey had said. And yet…

  Emerging into the hall, she heard a ripple of giggles coming from the kitchen and instinctively backed up. Moments later, Luke came into frame and swaggered out on to the swarming patio, bottle of beer in hand, his hair dishevelled at the back. Kristin went to follow him out and almost ran straight into her mother.

  ‘Mom?’

  Ramona’s lipstick was smudged. The top buttons of her silk blouse had been done up incorrectly. It took less than a second to work out what was going on.

  ‘Are you insane?’ Kristin cried, outraged. ‘He’s twenty!’

  Ramona smirked. ‘So?’

  ‘He’s Scotty’s friend! He’s my friend!’

  Ramona patted her chignon. ‘Well, then I suppose I’m his friend now, too.’

  ‘How long?’ Kristin whispered.

  Her mother smiled coyly. Drunkenly she arched an eyebrow. ‘Long enough,’ she growled, and she actually put her tongue in her cheek. Ew! It was beyond gruesome!

  ‘I meant how long has it been going on?’

  Ramona sighed with exasperation. ‘Oh, darling, relax!’ she sang, wafting out to play the hostess. ‘I am a hot-blooded woman, you know. What does it matter?’

  Kristin was rigid with fury. It mattered a lot. Not because her mom was old and Luke was barely clear of being a teenager, not because her dislike for her mom sometimes bordered on hatred, but because Luke and Fraternity were her thing. She’d been made to share it all with her mother; from the earliest point, nothing had been hers, every move had been down to Ramona. Except for this. The boys were hers. How dare she steal this, as well?

  ‘I’m leaving.’ Kristin had to get away. She couldn’t stand this house any more. She couldn’t bear to look her mother in the eye. ‘Tell Bunny I’ll be back later.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Ramona commanded. ‘We need you for the ETV shoot!’

  ‘Fuck the shoot.’ She hauled open the door. ‘Bunny doesn’t want to do it anyway.’

  ‘Kristin! You come back here this instant!’

  The door slammed behind her. There was only one place she wanted to be, only one person who could make her feel better.

  If Scotty wouldn’t come to her then she would go to him.

  16

  Scotty Valentine rolled over, straight into the loving arms of his manager, Fenton Fear. Fenton’s chest hair nuzzled his cheek and gently he kissed the older man’s collarbone.

  Bliss. It was heaven to have Fenton in his apartment, his home…his bed. It had never happened before, Fenton was always terrified they would be seen, but on this occasion temptation had found a way. He’d only meant to drop by Scotty’s to discuss a forthcoming timetable, and within minutes the men were making up for the lost weeks since Tokyo.

  ‘You’re such a handsome boy.’ Fenton kissed his hair over and over. Scotty thought he would drown in happiness. ‘I’ve missed you more than you know.’

  ‘I do know,’ Scotty said as he sighed, ‘because I’ve felt the same.’ He reached under the covers for the other man’s hand, holding it tight. ‘Fenton, I have to tell you…’

  He stalled, frightened that the words wouldn’t come back to him; that they’d just hang there, embarrassed in their solitude, and his declaration would ruin every thing.

  ‘Shh.’ Tenderly Fenton stroked his back. ‘You don’t need to.’

  Scotty could hear his manager’s heartbeat beneath his cheek. When he was with Fenton it was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. They could be anywhere so long as they were together; it was cliché, but true. In Fenton’s arms he was no longer Scotty Valentine, poster boy for teenage dreams and squeaky-clean advocate of healthy whole-bran pop; he was simply Scott, the man behind the media machine. He could let his guard down, be adored for the person he was, not the person he was imagined to be.

  From beneath a heap of clothes on the floor, his cell buzzed for the eighth time that evening. It would be Kristin. He had promised her he would make Bunny’s party but it was almost ten and things would be wrapping up by now. He’d made all her other ones over the years: he deserved a break, didn’t he? Shit. Who’d have a girlfriend? Fenton never put demands on him—at least not any he wasn’t happy to meet…

  ‘Shouldn’t you get that?’ Fenton murmured. ‘It might be important.’

  Scotty tilted his head to kiss him. ‘Let’s pretend a little while longer.’

  ‘Is it Kristin?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Fenton winced. No matter how many times Scotty reassured him that he felt nothing for his girlfriend, her name still twisted like barb between them.

  ‘I don’t desire her,’ comforted Scotty. ‘You know that.’

  ‘How can you want me,’ Fenton replied. It wasn’t a question, merely an expression of how he felt. He wasn’t after reassurance because no matter how much of that Scotty gave him, he never took it in. Scotty’s affection for him was a miracle he couldn’t understand.

  ‘I’m old,’ he went on. ‘And I drink too much.’ Fenton motioned down to his belly, covered in a downy fuzz of hairs. ‘Then there’s you. Exquisite. Radiant. Adonis
.’

  ‘Come here,’ Scotty choked, overawed with love. Why wouldn’t Fenton believe him?

  The men lay together, bodies entwined, every so often sharing a sweet, fragile kiss, until Fenton’s attentions grew fiercer and his mouth moved lower. Scotty hardened, stiffer and stiffer till he thought he would burst. Fenton’s moustache grazed his balls, his tongue wrapped around Scotty’s length, teasing the tip of his erection and using his hands in a rhythm of almost unbearable intensity that sent ripple after ripple of unfettered pleasure chasing up Scotty’s spine. Delirious with yearning, Scotty groaned as his dick slid into paradise. His ardour, as always, was tinged with envy. How many other men had Fenton done this to? At his age he must have had countless boyfriends, and it tore Scotty apart to picture him for one second with anyone else. Fenton was the only man he’d been with.

  ‘I have to be inside you,’ croaked Scotty, extricating himself. Obligingly Fenton turned and Scotty set to work, dipping his fingers into his own mouth before using them on Fenton, and then, with a single, hard thrust, he entered, both of them crying out and plunging forward on the sweat-bathed sheets. Scotty gripped Fenton’s buttock with one hand, snaking the other round to grasp his manager’s hard-on, working it up and down as he built a rhythm, feeling his abdomen contract and the pleasure rushing through him like liquid flames…

  He didn’t hear the door open.

  But he saw. As Fenton bucked to ejaculation beneath him he saw the shape in the entrance. It was Kristin, a sharp blank look of shock slapped across her stricken face.

  ‘Fuck!’ Fenton cried in orgasmic frenzy.

  ‘Fuck,’ Scotty replied, frozen with horror. The blood drained entirely from his face and in that second he knew it was over. Everything. Over.

  17

  Turquoise regularly took on ten-thousand-strong audiences and thought nothing of it. She made TV appearances in front of millions and didn’t bat an eye. She’d addressed royalty, politicians and the world’s elite, holding her own against the most powerful on the planet.