by Victoria Fox
‘I’m tellin’ you, he’s gotta let this go.’ The voice was harsh, skating on a high pitch, and she recognised it as Principal 7’s. ‘You gotta do somethin’, man, I ain’t messin’.’
‘Chill, dog.’ That was Slink. ‘It was a long time ago. You think if I went to bed with crap in my pants over every little thing I’d done wrong I’d ever sleep again?’
‘He’s gonna spill and it’s gonna be soon. I know it.’
‘An’ I know G. He’s cooler than that.’
‘Yeah? Sway’s got a hold on him. Jeez, he likes the guy. They’re friends. Big Nate clocked them hangin’ at the weekend.’
Robin frowned. Were they talking about Leon? She tried to make out the rest.
‘Way he sees it,’ Principal continued, ‘we’re the guys to blame.’
‘An’ he’s right, I ain’t arguin’ different. You gotta take responsibility but I’m tellin’ you, man, I’ve paid my dues. I’ve looked karma dead in the eye and I’m still cruising.’
‘G wants to fess. That means us, too.’
‘Relax.’ Somebody exhaled heavily. ‘Marlon Sway got shot and that ain’t right, but bad shit happens, what else is there to say? Unlucky, he was someone’s brother and family counts, but it’s over. Over. You think I never lost someone close to me? That life works out roses and puppy dogs and piss smells like perfume? G knows the score.’
‘Maybe he needs reminding.’
‘You got your hand up?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘Cool it, a’ight? Take your lead from me. No reason Sway’s gonna find out.’
Robin fought to understand. What were they saying? What did they mean? Someone had died, someone close to Leon…and Puff City was responsible?
She remembered what Leon had said to her that night.
We’re from the same neighbourhood…
Mean streets of Compton, baby…
Robin retreated towards the exit. She could hear no more. Outside, the party carried on, heedless and careless, empty fun she could no longer engage in.
One thing was clear: she had to find Leon and she had to warn him. She didn’t know how, but she had to. She owed him that.
38
Pacific Heights Village looked even better in the sunshine.
As Jax Jackson swung his lemon Lamborghini into the expansive drive, he took in, with some satisfaction, the place he called home. It was an imposing white building, sweltering under the heat of an azure-blue sky, the green line of the sea visible behind, glinting like a jewel. A chain of palm trees linked around the entrance, their fronds applauding in the warm breeze. He’d worked hard for all this, worked his body till it was beat. He deserved his life, goddammit. And now even nature worshipped at his altar.
Leon Sway could go screw himself.
Barely a hundredth in it, guys, the coach had said after their latest mano-a-mano.
Fuck that shit.
Jax braked the car hard and jumped out. The fact remained that he had won. He always won. If the coach couldn’t see that, it wasn’t his damn problem. He ought to feel sorry for Leon, be the bigger man—Sway was too young; he couldn’t handle defeat. Jax smirked to himself. He’d learned a long time ago how to cope with defeat: never let it happen.
Before making his way inside, Jax marvelled at the wheels. He’d cruise downtown in a couple hours and see if he could pick up a cute ass or two. Grudgingly he remembered Kristin. Keeping a girlfriend had its drawbacks. Who knew they took up so much time? Girlfriends were meant to be fun, weren’t they? Kristin was a hot broad in the sack, but that was where it ended. All this talk about feelings and ‘the future’ was not on his agenda.
The lobby was filled with a new delivery of fresh flowers.
‘What’s that fuckin’ stink?’ said Jax, striding to the elevators. ‘Someone taken a dump in here or somethin’?’
‘Hello, Mr Jackson,’ the concierge said pleasantly, with a rigid smile. ‘You have a visitor.’ He gestured to the bank of leather futons.
A woman in a tight navy-blue skirt suit was flicking through a magazine, crisply crossing and uncrossing long, tanned legs. Her hair was blonde and coiffed into a chic but very rigid bob, as if it weren’t hair at all, but something hard, like plastic. A generous bust threatened to spill from the confines of her shirt.
‘Hey, Cindy,’ said Jax. ‘Wanna come up?’
Cindy Shepard, PA to the big man, let her plump pink lips break into a smile. She angled her body towards him and folded one leg over the other, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of something on the way past—she hadn’t worn these crotchless panties for nothing. Cindy prided herself on a personal assistance that was very…personal.
‘Sure,’ she purred, standing. ‘I have some important business to discuss with you.’
Jax nodded in a bored way. ‘Right.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Tits look good.’ As the elevator slid open he delivered a quick wink to the concierge, who looked back with a blank expression. Jeez, fags were as touchy as girls these days.
Nailing Cindy was precisely what he needed. One woman had never been enough to satisfy The Bullet, and while it helped to have Kristin onside as a lady in the industry (becoming a credible hip-hop artist was proving trickier than he’d thought), when all was said and done Jax was a cocks-man who thought ‘Monogamy’ was an expensive brand of toiletries.
‘Get outta that suit,’ he instructed the instant they were upstairs.
Cindy batted her lashes. ‘You first.’
‘I’m not playing games,’ he ordered. ‘Do it.’ Moreover he had been disturbed by Kristin’s revelations concerning Scotty Valentine. The guy was gay? For real? With his manager, that flabby pensioner with spray-on hair? Sheesh, he thought, watching his PA unbutton her blouse, you could never be sure; had to watch your ass like it had an OPEN ALL HOURS sign bolted on to it. Why’d Kristin have to go telling him that? It creeped him out, not least because it reminded him…
No!
A tremor coursed through him as he thought of that fateful, shameful night. He had taken his first gold, smashed the record; he’d been on top of the world. In cruel fragments of memory he remembered being on top of an entirely different thing…
Danny Fu. The Chinaman who’d claimed gold on the parallel bars. A total blowout after the closing ceremony, liquor, drugs, some serious mind-altering shit, and that was the sole excuse Jax clung to. Never had he done anything with a guy before or since, it had never occurred to him because he was a red-blooded steak-eating dick-powered hetero any day of the week, and the insane confusion of that single erotic night would haunt him for all eternity.
Mercifully, his cell rang. Not so mercifully, it was his lawyer. Jax snapped it up from the side table just as Cindy was slipping off her heels.
‘What’s up, Logan?’
Jax winced as a torrent of abuse came streaming down the line. Turned out his gold-digger ex-wife was rinsing him for yet more alimony: there was a surprise. Last year he’d been wed for the princely sum of twenty-one hours—a lesson if ever there was not to marry a Vegas stripper in the Chapel of Love simply because it seemed like a good idea at the time.
‘Chill, dog!’ Jax exclaimed. ‘I know this looks like a situation but I got it under control—’ He turned his head from the phone as Logan delivered yet another speech about keeping him informed, taking responsibility for his actions, yadda yadda yadda.
Casually Cindy shrugged off her top, her eyes fixed on Jax, who was trying to work out whether it was in his best interests to listen to what Logan was saying or just cut him off and fuck her senseless. He felt himself stiffen when the bronzed curve of her tits came into view. Taking in that she wasn’t wearing a bra, he lamented, as he did every time, that these puppies weren’t the real deal. Still, you couldn’t have everything.
Peeling open the thin material, Cindy threw her head back and raised a manicured finger and thumb to her left nipple. Rolling the bud, playing with it, she allowed the tip of a pink
tongue to escape from her mouth and let out a gasp, as if taken by surprise. Jax looked on, interested by the display, then reached out and in one deft movement unzipped her skirt. It dropped to the floor, revealing a peach of an ass and—now they were talking—a pair of crotchless panties. Jax could still hear Logan going on about something or other and registered vague irritation that his attention was, once again, being fought over.
Next Cindy was down on her knees, fumbling to free his cock. He could feel her soft tits and lazily reached down to grab one, pinching a nipple with just a bit of force.
‘Not while I’m on the cell,’ he told her sternly, one hand covering the mouthpiece.
Undeterred, Cindy pulled him out and opened her mouth.
‘JAX JACKSON!’ Logan bellowed down the phone. ‘Are you paying attention to me or not, you little prick? Here I am working my ass off for you day in, day out, fending off the army of suckers you’ve reeled in and you don’t listen to a damn word I’m saying! Help me out here, Jax; you know it ain’t my job to wipe your black ass the rest of my life.’
‘All right, all right,’ Jax conceded. With two fingers he pushed Cindy’s head, dismissing her to the floor. ‘I see we got a problem, big L. Throw some money at it, yeah? How much? Yeah, yeah, I realise that. Yeah, that’s right. Uh-huh. Transfer the cash, then. OK. Cool. Sure thing. Ciao.’
Jax punched some buttons on his phone then one-handedly flipped it shut. He was fuming. Who did that bitch’s people think they were messing with, some jackass? It was time they realised this was Jax Jackson they were ripping off. Grudgingly he admitted it’d teach him not to be taken in by a nice pair of titties and an imaginative trick with a string of pearls. Taking a wife was not for him, no sir—in fact, getting tied down in any capacity was rapidly losing its sheen.
Once he was done with Cindy he’d buzz Kristin and tell her it was over. She was sweet, but what could you do? End of the day, women were the same: no matter what they told you, they had an eye for the money. Next time he wasn’t making the same mistake. Jax was a born bachelor and there was nothing else for it.
Cindy was groping around on the floor for her clothes.
‘Hey, baby, what’s the rush?’ Jax suddenly engaged with the fact there was a half-naked blonde in his bedroom. On her hands and knees.
‘You’re an asshole,’ said Cindy, getting to her feet and tugging her shirt on.
Jax looped an arm round her waist and pulled her to him. ‘So they tell me.’
‘I mean it. I come here trying to help you, trying to sort you out, and all I get is this bullshit. I’m sick of it. You can’t fuck me one minute and turn me away the next.’ She gave a pout. ‘How dare you make me feel like some cheap…prostitute?’
Jax was reminded of the panties and dipped a finger between her legs, gratified, though not surprised, to find her wet. He applied a knot of pressure and heard her intake of breath. Sure, she’d whine on him a bit longer but he knew he’d just given her a one-way ticket to heaven and back. He had to: he was pushing so hard against his shorts it hurt.
‘I’m your PA, Mr Jackson,’ she breathed. ‘You can’t keep treating me like this.’ She licked her lips. ‘This is a professional arrangement.’
He kissed her hard on the mouth and after a weak show of resistance she began to respond, slowly at first and then with greater urgency.
‘Stop,’ she breathed, showing no sign of wanting to stop.
Jax pushed her back on to the bed and pulled her knees apart.
‘Take that fuckin’ shirt off,’ he commanded. ‘Or you’re really gonna get in trouble.’
39
Over the years Turquoise had learned what it meant to be incognito. On the appointed day she asked to be dropped a short walk from Cosmo’s house and tipped the driver generously, securing a cap over her ears as she watched the car trickle reluctantly round the corner.
Once it was safely out of sight she took the couple of streets to Ridgedale and met the mansion she had spent so long avoiding. It was massive, brash, unnecessarily pleased with itself: a fortress for Cosmo, never a home, and despite the fact he shared the dwelling with Ava Bennett it had the Angelopoulos stamp all over it. All the dinners Ava had invited her to, all the parties Donna had suggested they make, all the industry gatherings Cosmo had hosted and she’d declined because of the vow that she would never again set foot on his property if it meant adhering to his rules.
Now, all that changed. She had the rules, right here in her pocket.
An enormous wrought-iron gate fitted with cameras and a system of locks greeted her with all the warmth of a snarling Doberman. ANGEL RESIDENCE, announced a gold-plated sign by the security intercom, as though Cosmo’s living arrangements were blessed by divine intervention, a philosophy she had no doubt he adhered to.
Turquoise pressed. A voice from the gatehouse came on the line.
‘Yes?’
‘Cosmo’s expecting me,’ she replied, and though her breath was painful and ragged in her lungs she managed to sound professional. Slipping back into it was all too easy.
‘One moment, please.’
After a brief intermission the gate clicked open and Turquoise entered, at the same time checking to make sure it was still there. Why wouldn’t it be? All the same its contours calmed her, the edges of her bargaining tool, because without it she was helpless.
Her heart was thrashing. She could hear the blood in her ears.
You’ve got this. He can’t touch you; you’re not that girl any longer.
But there would always be a part of her that was that girl. It would never go away. How could it, when it was such a part of her life? And though she wished with all her might that her journey hadn’t been what it had, that her parents had lived or that Emaline had survived or that she had never been sent to Ivan Garrick or got into the car with Denny that day, she couldn’t deny it because that was the same as denying herself. All that had made her.
Walking to the portico entrance was like treading through a dream, one she had visited before on countless feverish sunsets, unable to tell what was real and what imagined. Was she even here? Was she inventing it?
A swift sharp breeze gave her certainty. Through the still, sultry day, turgid with heat, it blew like a reminder. This is a necessary fear.
Abruptly the door opened. And with it, everything Turquoise had rehearsed was knocked out of her in a single solid punch.
‘Hey!’ Ava stepped out to hug her. ‘What an awesome surprise! Wow, I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you for so long, I was worried you’d started avoiding me!’
Ava? Turquoise’s mouth went desert-dry. Her brain tried to unscramble something decent or acceptable to say but she found she was unable to speak.
‘Are you going to just stand there?’ Ava waved her through, casual and carefree in a loose silken pantsuit with a tie-waist, her feet bare. ‘Come on in!’
‘Thanks,’ Turquoise managed, following, removing her cap and feeling the cold interior prickle through her scalp. What the fuck was Cosmo playing at? What was Ava doing here? Perhaps she had misread his message; if she was clever she could claim she’d dropped in on her friend on a whim and escape without having to see him—
‘Ah, there she is.’ Cosmo stepped out of his office, a tumbler cradled in the palm of his hand and that crocodile grin perfectly in place. ‘Just in time.’ At the foot of the grand staircase, winding in carved cherry wood like a corkscrew through the floors, his eyes glinted with the kick of the game. Ava was smiling. What did she know? What had Cosmo told her?
‘Let me get you something to drink,’ offered Ava, at last.
‘No, please, I’m fine.’ She waved Ava away, battling to keep her composure but feeling it slip through her grasp with every passing second. ‘It’s a flying visit, it’s just…’
Assume nothing. Ava was here by mistake—it would be as much of a shock to her husband as it was to Turquoise. Cosmo wanted to talk through business, something to do with the movie. Yes, th
at was it. It was the line he’d choose to run, too, lest his wife find out.
‘…Cosmo, I’ve brought the proposal you wanted to discuss.’
It was a gamble. Ava was watching her beatifically, her hands in front of her waist, the fingers touching. Behind her, mounted on the wall in an unnecessarily elaborate frame, was Sassoferrato’s The Virgin in Prayer, and the echo was unnerving.
Cosmo examined her with dead eyes. ‘What proposal?’
Hate swelled in her belly. ‘We discussed this when you asked me over.’ All she could think was: It sounds like we’re having an affair. Of all things, after all this time, it sounds like we’re having a goddamn affair.
It was an eternity before Cosmo spoke. He swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘I don’t remember,’ he said blankly. ‘Remind me.’
There was a protracted pause. Turquoise’s face flamed furiously, from the swollen rock in her throat to the burning tips of her ears. ‘Actually—’ she smiled at Ava, fighting to get things back on track ‘—I will have that drink. A Perrier, if you’ve got it?’
‘I’ll be right back.’
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed at him the instant his wife was gone. ‘You never said Ava would be here. Are you mad?’
Cosmo rested against the wood panelling. The thought occurred that he had secret passageways in this place, underground corridors hidden behind bookshelves whose spines were hollow plastic; empty inside, as much a fake as he was.
‘You sound jealous.’ The corners of his mouth were twitching in amusement. ‘What were you expecting?’
‘You said you had a surprise,’ she said grimly, knowing she had mere seconds before Ava reappeared. ‘So do I. Evidently now is not the time.’
‘What were you hoping my surprise was?’
‘That you were walking the fuck out of my life and promising never to look back.’