by Maya Blake
‘Why don’t you drink alcohol?’ he asked abruptly once they were seated.
‘Do I have to have a specific reason?’ she prevaricated.
He shrugged. ‘Most people tend not to do it for two reasons—a natural aversion or an active life choice stemming from experience. I want to know which applies to you.’
Her fingers tightened around her chilled glass. ‘Why?’
‘Because one reason doesn’t require further explanation, but the other might warrant further discussion if we’re to work together.’
‘So you’re saying if I happen to be a recovering alcoholic it may ruin my chances at this imaginary job I’m yet to hear about?’
‘I’m saying situations and flaws can be dealt with if they’re known up front. I don’t want to be blindsided by issues further down the line.’
‘Mr Aguilar—’
His jaw tightened—a tiny movement, but she saw it nevertheless.
‘Gael,’ he intoned.
‘Gael.’ She stopped, unwillingly savouring the name on her tongue. Wanting to say it again. She cleared her throat and forced out a laugh. ‘We seem to be getting way ahead of ourselves. Can we start this whole thing over? Please?’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Goldie Beckett, graduate of Othello with honours in Acting and Musical Art. Currently unemployed and, yes, looking for a job.’
Gael stared at her hand. That mockery was swirling through his eyes once more.
After a beat, he took her bandaged hand in a firm but gentle hold. ‘Gael Aguilar. My accolades are too numerous to name, but suffice it to say I’m in a position to make your dreams come true.’
Ice drenched her. She snatched her hand from his as words from earlier in the day, albeit without the sleazy overtones, fell into her lap.
His expression turned brooding. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Yes. You presume to know what my dreams are when you don’t know me from a stranger in the street.’
‘You just stated that you are unemployed. My response only pertains to an attempt to reverse that. Unless you wish to remain in a state of unemployment?’
She swallowed the bile of distaste the reminder of the day’s earlier events had elicited and attempted to remain calm. ‘I’m sorry. You mentioned before that you’d seen some of my audition this afternoon. I didn’t notice you there, I must admit. Did you...did you see all of it?’ She fervently prayed that he hadn’t witnessed the sleazy exchange with the casting director immediately following the audition.
‘I saw enough to make up my mind. Enough to make me return to find you.’
She lifted her glass and took a sip of her drink, her mind frantically ticking over. If he’d seen enough of her performance to make him hunt her down, then did she dare think he’d only seen the acting part, not the unsavoury denouement?
‘You have a part you want me to play?’ she queried, making sure to bleed her voice of hope.
It was that vulnerable hope that the casting director had exploited this afternoon, to make that demand of her. She planned not to let this man even close to the feverish hope burning in her heart.
‘I have a part I potentially want you to play,’ he amended. ‘Subject to a few stipulations. And the usual auditions, of course.’
‘Stipulations?’
He nodded, the light bouncing off his jet-black wavy hair. ‘Very rigorous stipulations.’
‘Such as?’
‘We will discuss them later. Right now the broader questions concern your availability and your commitment to a long-term film project.’
Her heart skipped a beat, despite her promise to herself not to let hope take over. ‘What’s the role and how long are we talking about?’
‘Female lead in a psychosexual thriller. Three to four months, travelling all over the world.’
Excitement fizzed through her blood. ‘I’ll need to read the script.’
‘You’ll be given a full synopsis to familiarise yourself with the story. But first you need to tell me whether you’re free.’
About to say yes, she stopped when her mind veered to her mother. Despite the fierce ambition burning in her heart, the thought of leaving her mother on her own for four months made her heart lurch. But at the same time she knew this was what her mother wanted for her.
Goldie just hoped that pride in her daughter would make Gloria stick to the straight and narrow.
She returned her attention to Gael’s face and experienced a slight chill at his expression. ‘I’m sure I can work something out.’
One side of his mouth ticked with a hard twitch. ‘Time to put your cards on the table, Goldie. Are you married?’ he asked in a clipped voice.
She frowned. ‘What? No.’
‘Do you have a lover or a partner who will be displeased at your long absence from home?’
‘I...no.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘That hesitation doesn’t fill me with confidence. I prefer not to start any association with lies.’
Affront stiffened her jaw. ‘I’m not lying. The person I’m concerned about is my mother. I still live at home. With her. And she’s...’
‘She’s what?’
She swallowed. ‘Fragile.’
‘In what way?’
‘In ways I prefer not to divulge until something—if anything—comes out of this discussion. But I’ll make sure, if it comes to it, that my home life doesn’t interfere with my job.’
Silence ticked by as he stared at her. ‘You’re ambitious,’ he drawled, with a touch of censure that grated over her skin.
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing. Did you not get where you are today by pursuing your ambition?’
He nodded. ‘Sí, but I’ve come to learn there are various types of ambition.’
She opened her mouth to answer, but a church clock nearby chimed, reminding her of the lateness of the hour. Whatever Gael’s views on her ambitions were, they’d have to wait to be discussed some other time.
She placed her glass on a nearby table and stood up. He rose up before her, effectively blocking her from leaving.
‘Where are you going? We haven’t finished talking.’
She dragged her gaze from his broad shoulders and imposing body to meet his gaze. ‘I can prolong our meeting, but first I’ll need to call my mother. I was just going to ask Pietro if I could use his phone.’
His mouth compressed for a second, then he reached into his pocket and brought out a sleek, ultra-modern-looking phone. One she hadn’t yet seen on the market. Not that she paid much attention to such trendy luxuries.
‘Use mine.’
He placed the phone in her hand. She swiped her hand across the screen. Nothing happened. He cupped her hand and performed something magical with his fingers. The phone buzzed to life.
‘How may I help you, Gael?’ a sultry voice queried.
Goldie’s eyes widened as he sent her a sly smile. ‘Guest call coming up,’ he said into the phone. Then he held it up to her.
‘Speak the number into it and you’ll be connected. When you’re done with your call come and find me.’
He left her alone on the terrace and headed back inside as she recited the number of her next-door neighbour. The time on the phone read just gone ten p.m. If by some miracle her mother was asleep, the last thing Goldie wanted to do was wake her.
Mrs Robinson, on the other hand, rarely slept, and was always glued to her TV screen, watching her favourite shows. Sure enough, the old woman answered her phone on the third ring.
‘Mrs Robinson, it’s Goldie. Do you mind checking in on my mother for me, please? I don’t want to wake her if she’s asleep, but I don’t want her to worry—’
‘Of course I will, dear. I took her a slice of peach cobbler earlier, and she said she’d be heading to bed ear
ly. I’ll go and peek in on her now. If she’s up I’ll stay with her until you get home. If she’s asleep I’ll call and let you know.’
Goldie bit her lip. ‘Um...you won’t be able to reach me, Mrs Robinson. I lost my phone earlier tonight. My phone and my purse.’
‘Oh, no—are you okay?’
The old woman’s concern touched her heart.
‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m so sorry, but do you mind checking on her now, while I’m on the phone, please?’
‘Of course. Hold on.’
Goldie breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the sprightly woman head for the door. Goldie had given her a key to their apartment years ago, when Mrs Robinson had offered to keep an eye on Gloria whenever Goldie was away. The arrangement had helped Goldie maintain peace of mind when she was at college, then later when she was out at auditions and at work.
She heard Mrs Robinson let herself in. After a minute she heard the soft snick of a door shutting.
‘She’s sleeping, dear. Don’t worry about her. I’ll keep watch. Now, what about you? Will you be okay to get home?’
Goldie hadn’t quite worked it out, but she wasn’t about to add to the kind old woman’s burden. She looked towards the living room, where the party guests milled around, some spilling out onto the terrace to enjoy the view. Gael Aguilar wasn’t one of them. When she found herself searching harder for him, she abruptly averted her gaze.
Crossing her fingers, she told a little white lie. ‘I’m with a friend at the moment. I’ll be fine.’
‘All right. I’ll see you later, honey.’
Goldie pulled the phone from her ear, not sure how to hang up. When the phone went dark she assumed it had shut itself off. She looked up to find one of the women who’d been in Pietro’s circle smiling at her from the bar.
Only her smile held a whole lot of speculation. The green-eyed kind.
‘So, you’re with Gael, are you?’ The slight slur, figurative and literal, was hard to miss.
Goldie forced herself not to bristle. ‘No, not really.’
The blonde took her answer as an invitation to stroll closer. Expensive perfume and the faint traces of alcoholic over-indulgence reached Goldie’s nostrils.
‘No? If you’re not together then why hasn’t he been inside with us?’ she demanded.
Goldie glanced towards the living room and shrugged. ‘He’s in there now, if you want to go talk to him.’
The blonde laughed—a brittle sound that spoke of more than just a passing interest in Gael Aguilar. ‘This may be a time of equality and all that, but a woman still likes to be chased by a man.’
‘Right. Okay.’
Wanting an end to the conversation, Goldie searched for her glass, only to find it had disappeared—probably taken by one of the super-attentive waiters dotted around the place. Sure enough, one of them saw her drinkless state and darted towards her with an eager smile and a tray full of drinks.
Goldie started to shake her head. ‘No, thanks. I don’t—’
‘She doesn’t drink,’ the blonde stage-whispered to the waiter. When he started to turn away she stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘Wait, this is fruit punch, isn’t it?’ She indicated a pink drink with a gaily coloured umbrella and a straw sticking out of it.
The waiter nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
The blonde snagged the glass and held it out to Goldie. ‘Here you go. Problem solved.’
Goldie took the drink, having no intention of drinking it. Her smile grew stiffer as the blonde examined her critically from head to toe.
‘Interesting boots.’
Again, the observation came with a smile that was meant to take some of the sting out of her words.
‘Interesting...dress,’ Goldie replied.
Her unwanted companion laughed. ‘You have a spine. I’m Heidi, by the way. And if you weren’t here with the man who broke my heart last year—the man who now looks at me like we’ve never even met before, never mind dated—I’d almost like you.’
Something tiny but sharp lodged itself in Goldie’s side. ‘You and Gael were an item?’ she asked, even though she told herself she didn’t care about the answer.
Heidi’s nose wrinkled, but Goldie saw the dart of pain in her eyes.
‘An item? How quaint. We were lovers. I shared his bed for six glorious weeks. Then I hit my inevitable use-by date and was bade, Hasta la vista, baby.’
‘Inevitable?’
Her laugh held more of the pain that was slowly emerging from the bottom of her champagne glass. ‘As regular as clockwork. No one, to date, has exceeded Gael Aguilar’s famous month-and-a-half dating limit. So don’t get your hopes up.’
Goldie frowned at the umbrella and the straw. ‘You’ve got things completely wrong. I only met him tonight.’
Heidi’s eyebrows went up. ‘And he already looks at you like that?’
‘Like what?’ she asked, growing a little hot under the blonde’s scrutiny.
‘Are you serious?’
Uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, she lifted the drink to her mouth and took a long sip.
When Heidi continued to stare at her as if she was dim, Goldie shrugged with more than a hint of irritation. ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t think you have anything to worry over...you know...if you want to...um...rekindle things?’
This time the laughter was pure white-hot bitterness. ‘Second rule of dating Gael Aguilar. There is no second chance. Once he’s done with you, you’re finished for good.’
She took another drink, then hiccupped. Then grimaced as if she was in actual pain.
Goldie wanted to tell her to stop. That she really didn’t need to know any more unsavoury details about the man who’d come to her aid—the man who seemed taken enough by a fraction of the ten-minute performance he’d seen today to pursue her.
But Heidi was on a roll.
Goldie sipped at her drink and racked her brain for a convenient excuse even while she kept one eye on the living room doorway. Now she was sure her mother was safely asleep there was no need for her to rush back home, but she still needed to come up with a way to get home that wouldn’t mean tapping into the emergency money she kept in her closet at home. She’d already used too much of it earlier this month, when her mother had been too depressed to go to work.
With each minute that passed Goldie saw her choices dwindling. It was too late to make her way back to Othello to ask to stay with one of her friends there. Just as with each passing minute she was learning way too much about Gael Aguilar. His preference in women—sleek, tall blondes. How many homes he owned—eight at Heidi’s last count. His love of fast cars—immeasurable. His favourite food—authentic Spanish-made paella. His bedroom skills—
Um...no!
‘I think I’m going to head back in now,’ Goldie interrupted, before she could be made privy to gossip she didn’t want to hear. ‘Will you be all right?’
Heidi waved her empty glass at her. ‘Of course! Go get my... I mean your man. Enjoy your six weeks!’
The statement ended with another hiccup that sounded uncomfortably close to tears.
Her heart went out to the woman. She started to reach out, wondering why her arm felt so heavy. ‘Heidi—’
‘Is everything okay here?’ Gael’s deep voice enquired.
They were both startled, and both swayed on their feet as they turned to face the source of their conversation. Gael reached out for her arm and Goldie gasped with surprise at the dizziness that assailed her.
But even in her confounding state she saw how he completely ignored Heidi.
‘I...yes. I’m fine—’
‘I thought you said you didn’t drink?’ came the sharp, cold query.
Goldie frowned. Or at least
she attempted to. Her face suddenly felt funny. ‘I don’t. This is fruit punch.’
He calmly took his phone from her, then her glass, eyeing her with deep censure. ‘It is fruit punch. Laced with rum and vodka.’
‘Wh-what?’ She turned her head with growing difficulty, met Heidi’s unrepentant gaze. ‘But you said it was...’
Too late, she realised what had happened.
Gael turned to his ex. ‘Are you responsible for this, Heidi?’ he gritted, his voice filled with black ice.
‘Oh, so you do remember my name,’ Heidi retorted waspishly.
‘Santo cielo! Word of advice: playing stupid games like this with me is guaranteed to put you even lower in my regard. Grow up!’
Tears welled in her eyes. ‘Damn it, Gael. Do you have to be so cruel?’
‘Only when you pull stunts like this. I suggest you find a quiet place and get yourself together. Goldie—we’re leaving.’
Goldie, beyond stunned at how easily and gullibly she’d fallen into such a dangerous situation, could only nod. She couldn’t even summon pity or anger for the other woman as Gael led her past the avidly gossiping guests, a protesting Pietro, and back into the lift.
The buzzing in her ears and the thumping of her heart prevented her from speaking as she walked, plastered to Gael’s side, to the limo. He helped her in, secured her seat belt as her mind reeled.
‘Oh, God, I can’t believe I was so... That she just...’ She started to shake her head, then stopped abruptly when her vision swam.
‘Believe it. Some people tend to regress into childish behaviour when they feel slighted. Heidi has perfected the art.’
She wanted to ask then what he’d seen in the woman to make him date her, but the question was redundant. The blonde was a goddess. And, according to her, just the type of woman Gael favoured.
The car started to move, turned a corner. Goldie slapped a hand to her mouth as her stomach roiled. When he passed her a white paper bag she grasped it gratefully.
When the car had steadied, she risked a glance at his wavering figure. ‘I’m sure you think me...naive and gullible.’
