‘Oh, it’s just a private dinner with a friend.’
‘Well, we will do our best to get you back to your apartment on time.’
I arrived home just before eight, with a shoulder that ached from having to hold my arm in exactly the right position until they got the perfect shot of the watch. I was relieved to see that Tommy wasn’t in his usual spot – he normally liked to see me home and safe before he left. The last thing I needed was anyone spotting Mitch walking into my apartment building, although he was a master of disguise, with a closet full of fake beards, moustaches and wigs. After the porter let me into the penthouse, I ran to the tub to fill it then surveyed my post-shoot make-up to decide whether it was worth keeping on. I knew Mitch preferred me au naturel, so I scrubbed it all away then sank into the water, careful not to get my hair wet. How I longed for real naturally silky hair. Maybe one day I’d have mine razored off like Alek Wek – another model whom I’d met a few times on the runways – which would be so much easier.
Once out of the bath, I padded to the kitchen to add some ice to the Goose to water it down.
‘Shit!’ I said, seeing that Mariam had been right when she’d said my refrigerator was empty; Mitch could barely go for more than a few minutes without a shot of iced green tea.
On the other hand, who gives a shit what he drinks? I told myself as I went back to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. He dumped you, remember? He broke your heart.
‘Too right!’ I added aloud to my reflection in the mirror as I dabbed some Vaseline on my lips. In the living room, I looked at the clock and saw it was a quarter to nine. As I wasn’t getting dressed apart from my towel, there was little else to do except fill an empty plastic water bottle with vodka so I had emergency rations at hand without him realising what I was drinking. Grabbing my portfolio, I pulled out the best of my recent shots and arranged them haphazardly on the coffee table to make it look as though I was trying to choose one. Then I went over to the sound system, but couldn’t decide between Springsteen – who Mitch idolised – or eighties pop, which I loved and he hated. So, I compromised on nothing.
‘Jesus! I’m stressed,’ I muttered as I sat down on the couch. I detected a hint of acrid sweat and immediately went back to the bathroom to wipe myself down and spray on more scent. I hadn’t been this nervous since my first trip down the catwalk in Paris.
And what if he does want you back? Will you just go to him like a lamb?
You know you will, Electra . . .
I had no further time for self-illumination as the concierge phone rang to tell me a ‘Mister Mike’ was downstairs in the lobby.
‘Yeah, send him up,’ I said, then slammed down the receiver, ran back to the bathroom and sprinkled my shoulders with some water from the bath. Checking my reflection, I waited for the doorbell to ring. It didn’t for ages, and then I heard a familiar voice from the living room.
‘Electra? Are you here?’
Jesus! Mitch was in my apartment!
‘Just coming!’ I made loud swishing noises with the bathwater, dribbling more of the scented water over my shoulders as I did so. I checked that the white towel was positioned seductively before walking into the living room.
And there he was, as large as life – the guy who had left me heartbroken. He’d taken off his baseball cap and false beard and looked (irritatingly) as tall and sexy as I remembered him, in dirty jeans, a checked shirt and the cowboy boots he always wore. If any man was all American male, it was Mitch. I noticed his hair was longer than the last time I’d seen him and he obviously hadn’t shaved in a while because his chin was covered in stubble. I just wanted to reach for him and tear his clothes off.
‘How did you get in?’
‘The door was wide open,’ he shrugged. ‘You obviously hadn’t closed it properly.’
‘Jeez, I’m always doing that. One day I’ll get murdered in my bed.’
‘I sure hope not.’ His eyes briefly looked me up and down before he averted them. ‘I’ve obviously disturbed you. You wanna go get some clothes on?’
‘I . . . oh, yeah, sure. I’m just out of the tub. The shoot ran over.’
‘It’s okay, I’m in no rush. You go ahead.’
‘Okay,’ I said and walked into the bedroom, kicking myself. Somewhere inside me I’d believed that the sight of me half naked in a towel would be enough for him to grab me immediately and rip it off. But we obviously had to go through some kind of getting-to-know-each-other-again dance before we got there.
As I didn’t have a plan B clothes-wise, I dropped the towel on the floor then stood in my closet, not having a clue what to put on. In the end, I went for my favourite pair of jeans and threw on a green vest top – Mitch was a southern boy at heart and he had a thing for a tight-fitting pair of denims.
Breathing hard and fanning myself because I was still sweating with nerves, I walked back into the living room and found him sitting on the couch looking at my shots.
‘I swear you get more beautiful every time I see you. And I’m talking about the real thing, not these,’ he smiled at me.
‘Thanks. Can I fix you something to drink?’
‘Do you have a Coke by any chance?’
‘I thought you only drank herbal tea?’
‘It’s been a stressful day, and sometimes a guy needs a shot of caffeine.’
‘I’ll take a look,’ I said, walking into the kitchen and seeing that there were a couple of cans of Coke in the door of the refrigerator.
‘Here you go,’ I said, handing him the can – he never drank from a glass. It was far too girly.
‘So,’ I said, placing myself at a distance from him on the couch and picking up my ‘water’ bottle. ‘How have you been?’
‘Busy with the tour. I worked out that tomorrow night will be my hundredth gig.’
‘Wow, right,’ I said as I sucked hard on the straw and filled my mouth with neat vodka. I swallowed and nodded at him. ‘Well, it’s nearly over.’
‘Yeah, it sure is, and I can’t wait to get back to my place in Malibu to have some downtime. And you, Electra? How have you been?’
‘Good. Busy, like you, but good, yes.’
‘That’s great to hear, and as I told you, you look fantastic.’
‘You look great too.’
‘Well, thanks for that, but I sure don’t believe it. Months of not sleeping in your own bed can really take a toll. I’m gonna step back for a few months after tomorrow night. I’m getting too old for this shit,’ he said, smiling lazily at me – a smile that regularly brought millions of women to their knees.
‘Don’t be an idiot, Mitch. Old rockers never die, you know that. Look at the Stones for starters.’
‘Yeah. I rest my case.’ He gave me a roll of his eyes. ‘Hey, darlin’, come and give Mitch a hug.’
I needed no further bidding. I sank into his outstretched arms, waiting for the moment when he would tip my head back and kiss me. Instead, he stroked my hair.
‘Compared to me, you’re a baby, aren’t you?’
‘Hey, I am so not. With my line of work, I had to grow up fast. I feel old, probably older than you.’ I looked up at him, my lips parted in readiness, but he just looked down at me with an odd expression in his eyes.
‘So, no hard feelings?’
‘Why would there be?’
‘Because . . . I let you down big time.’
‘Yeah, you did, but that’s all in the past. You had your reasons. I understand.’
‘Well, you’re being mighty generous, Electra, but that sure doesn’t make me feel like any less of a jerk. It wouldn’t have been right to carry on when I knew it just couldn’t work.’
I waited for the ‘but’, but it never came.
‘I’m real glad you’ve moved on,’ he said instead. ‘I never wanted to hurt you.’
‘I told you, I’m okay.’
This conversation really wasn’t going the way I’d imagined it would, so I pulled out of his arms, reached for the ‘water�
�� bottle and took another swig.
‘Looks like you’re clean too.’
‘I am,’ I agreed as I swallowed a large gulp of vodka. It was time to cut the crap. ‘So, why are you here?’
‘Because . . . because I have something to tell you.’
‘Oh, what?’
‘Well, I wanted you to know before it was officially announced. I kinda felt I owed it to you.’
I stared at him silently, having no idea what it was he wanted to tell me but that it sure wasn’t going to be a declaration of undying love.
‘I’m getting married,’ he announced, ‘to a wonderful lady I met on the tour. She’s a backing singer and from the South like me. We just fit together, y’know?’
I’d heard descriptions of blood turning to ice, but until this moment, I’d never experienced it.
‘Congratulations,’ I managed, almost choking with the effort.
‘Thanks. Now I feel stupid coming here to tell you in person, because it’s obvious you’re doin’ just fine.’
‘I am, oh yes, I really am,’ I said, using every ounce of self-control I’d ever possessed not to pick up the heavy bronze statuette that stood on the glass coffee table and crash it onto his handsome, arrogant head.
‘So, I guess that’s it. I’m gonna tell the fans tomorrow night on stage – pull Sharon forward and just put it out there.’
I watched him nod at the rightness of the scenario he was clearly imagining. I remained silent, sucking hard on my straw, but there was nothing left to suck.
‘I can get you VIP tickets for tomorrow if you’d like.’
‘Sorry, I’m busy tomorrow night.’ I gave him a nonchalant shrug.
I watched him stand up. ‘Well then, I’ll leave you in peace. Gotta grab some sleep tonight. It’s a big day tomorrow.’
‘Sure sounds like it,’ I nodded, not moving.
He looked at me then, and maybe something in my expression gave him a hint.
‘Did I do the wrong thing by droppin’ by? I just—’
‘Mitch?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Will you get the hell out of my apartment? Now!’
I rose from the couch then and stood toe to toe with him.
‘Sure, I’m going. I’m real sorry, Electra,’ he said as he walked towards the door. ‘The last thing I meant to do was upset you.’
‘Well, guess what? You have! Big time!’
I marched ahead of him and held open the door.
‘Bye, Mitch. Have a nice life with your new wife,’ I spat.
Luckily for him, he said nothing else, because if he had, I may well have ended up doing time for murder. As he passed through the door, I slammed it behind him so hard that the glasses rattled in the kitchen cupboard. Then I slid down the wall and burst into great heaving sobs of anger and pain.
‘Can I get you anything, Miss D’Aplièse?’ the cabin attendant asked.
‘Yeah, a glass of tonic water with ice.’
‘Will you want lemon with that?’
‘No thanks.’
‘What about something to eat?’
I looked around my seat for the menu card.
‘Don’t worry, I have one here.’
He handed me the card. My head was spinning so hard, I could hardly focus.
‘I’ll take the stir-fry noodles and a side of salad.’
‘Perfect. Any wine to accompany that?’
‘No, just the tonic water.’
The attendant nodded and glided away down the first-class cabin. I opened up the bin in which my purse and duty-free were stored, and making sure no one was looking, screwed the top off the bottle of Grey Goose I had bought and took a swig. When the cabin attendant came back with my tonic, I’d drink half of it and fill it up with my private vodka stash. I lay back in my seat and closed my eyes, but there were weird bright lights pinging against my eyelids. I knew I’d done too much coke last night, and ecstasy didn’t suit me. It had been seven in the morning before I’d begun to come down, but by then, I’d taken a couple of sleeping pills. The next thing I’d known, I’d heard someone calling my name and had dragged open my eyes to see Mariam staring down at me, telling me it was time to leave for JFK.
‘Hi.’
Talk of the devil, I thought as Mariam appeared beside me from her seat in business class.
‘Hi,’ I said, looking up at her.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked me.
‘I’m okay, thanks. It was a late one last night, that’s all.’
‘Well, the flight to São Paulo takes ten hours, so hopefully you can catch some sleep before we board the private jet up to Rio. You have a full day on the commercial shoot tomorrow.’
‘I know. I’ll be just fine, really,’ I assured her.
‘Did you contact your sister, by the way?’
‘No, I haven’t yet.’
‘Well, you can definitely see her tomorrow night, or on Thursday before we take the night flight back.’
‘Yup, I’ll get in touch with her when we land.’
‘Great. Okay, well, if there’s anything you need, just send the attendant to get me,’ Mariam smiled.
‘Will do,’ I nodded as my tonic water arrived with some cashews.
‘Thanks,’ I said. As soon as both of them retreated I downed half the tonic water then topped it up with some Goose as planned.
The past two weeks had been the worst of my life, literally, ever, I thought as I took two large gulps of my drink. Everywhere I’d gone, there were photos of Mitch with his Very Plain Fiancée plastered on the front of magazines and newspapers, the TV replaying the moment he’d announced he was going to marry her onstage at Madison Square Garden. Everyone was talking about it on shoots, their voices disappearing to a hush when I appeared. Just like the news on CNN, the whole nightmare circus went round and round in a reel inside my head. And of course, I couldn’t even begin to look as though I cared. Any hint of the sad ex-girlfriend about me would give the media what they wanted. So I’d partied: every night I’d been seen at a movie premiere, a nightclub or a glitzy gallery opening. I’d called up any high-profile male friend I could find to accompany me – Zed had come in handy and there’d been pics and column inches debating whether we were officially ‘an item’. I’d done all this because there was just no way anyone was going to see me cry.
‘No one,’ I mumbled as I drained my glass.
‘Your noodles and salad, Miss D’Aplièse,’ said the cabin attendant, appearing like Tinker Bell beside me. He pulled out my table and another attendant arranged a tablecloth and silverware on it before the food was put in front of me.
‘Can I get you anything else?’
‘Maybe I’ll have a glass of champagne,’ I smiled up at him.
‘Why not?’ he agreed, then moved to clear away my almost empty tonic water glass.
‘I’ll have a refill of the tonic too, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not, Miss D’Aplièse.’
Christ, I thought, it was tiring being me. Even thirty-two thousand feet above the earth, I was still pretending to be someone I wasn’t. A me who was clean, sober and in control.
After the noodles, I had another vodka tonic, then flicked through the movie selection. Halfway through the latest Harry Potter (rom-coms were definitely off the menu right now) I fell asleep and then woke up when everyone else had their lights turned out, their duvets wrapped around them and their seatbelts strapped on top. After getting up to use the restroom, I arrived back in the cabin, and with the eerie blue lighting thought it resembled a flying space lab. Sleeping humans are so vulnerable, I mused as I climbed back into my own area, which had magically morphed into a bed while I’d been away. And the one thing I could never show was vulnerability; any sign from me that I was struggling and the media would broadcast the sordid details around the world. People from Tallahassee to Tokyo would nod at each other across their dinner tables and say that they’d seen it coming and they’d be glad it had come because,
they’d say, that was the price of success.
Maybe it was, but, I thought as I looked out of the window and saw the lights of what must be South America below me, I hadn’t ever asked for it. So many ‘celebrities’ I’d met had told me that they’d dreamt since childhood of getting rich and famous. I just dreamt of a world where I didn’t feel like an outsider, a world where I belonged. Because that’s all I’d ever really wanted.
‘Jeez, it’s hot! Can we take a break now?’ I asked the director. It was three in the afternoon and I was seriously flagging.
‘Just one more take, Electra, and I reckon we can wrap for today. You’re doing great, honey.’
Biting my tongue hard – I’d never yet broken my golden rule of doing anything more than complaining mildly on a shoot – I walked back across the soft sand of Ipanema Beach to stand on my marks. The make-up lady was ready for me, caking more powder on my face to mop up the perspiration.
‘She’s good to go!’ she shouted above the strong, burning wind on the beach.
‘Okay, Electra!’ the director boomed through his megaphone. ‘Three paces forwards, then start to raise your arms until I say cut.’
I gave him a thumbs up.
‘And . . . action!’
Off I went again for maybe the twentieth time, praying it would be the last and I could strip off the white chiffon robe – with its bulging hood that shot out like a parachute behind my head, the underslip clinging wetly to me – and throw myself into the massive waves roaring behind me.
‘Okay, cut!’
I stood where I was, waiting for the director to check the frame.
‘People, that’s a wrap for today!’
I almost tore the robe from my body and stumbled across the sand to the wardrobe tent.
‘Anyone for a swim?’ I asked as both the director and Mariam poked their heads inside.
‘I’m not sure the insurance covers you for swimming in the sea with that kind of swell, Electra,’ the director cautioned me.
‘Oh, come on, Ken. I can see little kids swimming further along the beach.’
‘How about tomorrow afternoon when we’re done? Then I’ll happily allow you to drown,’ he quipped. ‘Joaquim has just arrived, so it’s all looking good.’
The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters) Page 8