Temptation Island

by Victoria Fox

  Oh, she needed to get a grip! Linus might not be to her taste but it didn’t automatically mean he was evil. She had to get over feeling as if every man was a threat and she was on some crusade to save womankind from surrendering to his charms. She didn’t want to end up bitter and alone, but if she didn’t get over it then that was exactly the way she was going.

  Pocketing the card, Stevie scanned the room and landed on the guy who had been—and clearly was still—watching her. He mouthed ‘hello’ and she found herself mouthing it back. He was attractive, even though she knew the continually replenished glasses of champagne were likely contributing to that, and making his way over, taking her reciprocation as an invite.

  ‘Hi.’ He held his hand out. ‘I’m Will.’ He was maybe a few years older than her, with a dent in his chin that deepened when he grinned.

  She shook it. ‘Stevie.’

  ‘I like your accent,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’ She smiled, slipping into the groove of flirting though she’d left it to rust so long. ‘I like yours.’

  There was a lapse in conversation while Will’s eyes lingered on her. He smelled good, like cinnamon. Stevie found herself wondering if it might help: just to do it, to be with someone else, so the time with him wasn’t the last time it had happened, like listening once more to a song that caused you heartache because you had to face that pain and let it be before it went.

  ‘D’you want to get out of here?’ he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  Stevie glanced over at Bibi, who was happily chatting on at her agent.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, before she could change her mind. ‘Why not?’

  Will offered his hand. She took it.

  Maybe New York was looking up, after all.

  10

  Lori

  The hair got everywhere. Lori felt the coarse scratch of it beneath her nails, kept finding webs caught between her fingers, on her clothes, appearing on her pillow when she got into bed, bone-tired after another relentless day. She’d never imagined something so anodyne could cause her such torment. She was strangled by it, caught in a trap; it seemed to follow her, a constant reminder of the closed doors of her life, each strand thick as a chain.

  But not any more. Today was her last at Tres Hermanas. After these final few hours, she would be shot of this city for good.

  City of Angels. It hadn’t been for her. There had been no one watching out for her here.

  ‘Loriana!’ Anita’s summons sounded from the counter, where she was busy painting her talons, now so long they formed a corkscrew. ‘Go get us coffee, an’ make it quick, wouldya?’

  Lori was prepping foils. ‘I’ll be right there,’ she called, swallowing a biting response. If her sisters caught on, they could blow the whole plan with Rico apart.

  She headed to a local bar for the drinks, distracted as she put her order in. It was no matter: the Hispanic baristo knew it by heart.

  ‘There’s a mess out back needs cleanin’,’ commanded Anita when she returned, scarcely looking up to take the drinks as she pulverised a stick of gum. She was reading a magazine article about tearaway starlet Aurora Nash going into rehab—again. The way the young girl had so many opportunities and yet had flown in the face of all of them confused Lori. What did she have to be so angry about? Surely with a life like that there could be no room for unhappiness. Aurora had money, fame, success … and parents who loved her.

  Uncomplaining, Lori moved to her next task. Anita seemed confused by her lack of retort and threw in for good measure: ‘The john could do with a scrub while you’re at it!’

  A carton of juice had been spilled and left to congeal on the lino. It had attracted flies and Lori got to her hands and knees to lift the sticky, cloying mess, dousing it with hot water and towels, wiping the floor with one hand and the film of sweat from her brow with the other.

  She had given up complaining since the fallout with Angélica. Instead she had kept quiet, pretended her relationship with Rico was over and held her tongue over her sisters’ taunts. All that time, she and Rico had been saving what little money they had and planning their route across America. She didn’t care how it turned out—she was thinking only of tomorrow and what it would feel like to wake up in a different place. She could almost taste independence, could touch it, like something physical. It was close.

  The yard was dusty and Lori picked her way over the lot to the heap of stinking trash, adding her load to it with an upsurge of flies. A cockroach scuttled out and across her foot. She pushed thoughts of her father away, of what it meant to abandon him in this squalor and near-poverty. But she could not carry on like this. When she was settled elsewhere, working as many hours as she could, for nothing could be as backbreaking as the toil she had known here, she would send him the money he needed. It wasn’t abandonment; it was necessity.

  As she was turning to go back inside she heard the rumble of an engine.

  Rico. He pulled into the yard on his bike.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lori cried, gesturing frantically for him to cut the ignition. ‘If someone sees you …!’ She didn’t dare finish.

  Obligingly Rico jumped off the bike and wheeled it towards her. Lori kept the door to the salon open and pulled him into the shadow behind it. She was about to reiterate her anger before she saw how pale he looked. The white vest he was wearing was covered in mottled dirt.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, putting a hand to his head. ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘I’m not sick.’

  ‘What’s the matter? You look bad.’

  ‘Nothin’.’ He seemed to be in a hurry.

  ‘It’s all right, they’re inside,’ said Lori, misreading his concern. ‘Even so, we shouldn’t risk it—you can’t stay. Is everything ready for tonight?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  Fear seeped through her. Rico wasn’t bailing—not now, when they were so close.

  ‘I’ll be late,’ he said. ‘An hour, maybe. There’s somethin’ I gotta do first.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It don’t matter. It’s just I can’t make midnight. I didn’t want you waitin’ around, thinking I wasn’t gonna show.’

  Lori searched his eyes. ‘Is everything cool?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’

  There was something he wasn’t telling her.

  ‘OK,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Same place?’

  ‘Same place.’ He grabbed her hands. ‘I love you, Lori.’

  ‘I love you, too.’

  ‘Do you?’ He met her gaze, and there was desperation there. ‘Because we’ve never … you know, we haven’t. I’ve never loved you properly. In the way you know I mean.’

  Lori looked away. ‘We’ve talked about this.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I can’t say sorry.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘I just have to make sure you’re not holdin’ out on someone else. Someone better? Like I’m not good enough.’

  She shook her head. It wasn’t a question of being good enough. But if it wasn’t that …

  Fairytales don’t exist, remember?

  ‘Take this.’ He fed a hand into the pocket of his shorts and produced a modest silver band. She let him slip it on to her ring finger. It glinted in the afternoon light and reminded her of a ring her mama had once bought, years ago when Lori was a little girl, but they’d been forced to sell it when the business began to fail.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a promise.’ He kissed her fingers again and she saw he wore a matching one. ‘Between you and me. OK?’

  She was confused. ‘OK.’

  ‘Whatever happens.’

  ‘Rico, what is this—?’

  ‘Shh.’ He touched his forehead to hers. ‘I’ll see you tonight, yeah?’

  Lori kissed his cheek. ‘Yeah.’

  Noiselessly he moved across the yard and mounted his bike, seconds later vanishing in a cloud of bitter dust.


  It was cold. The moon shone bright in the clear sky like a pearl, an occasional gossamer cloud drifting across its spotlight.

  Lori pulled her cell from her bag and checked the time. He was supposed to have shown up half an hour ago. Where was he?

  They had arranged to meet partway down the Santa Ana Freeway, where Rico had organised a car to take them out of the city. Lori had planned her exit from the Garcia house with precision. She’d gone to bed early, leaving the volume on the TV high while she grabbed her stuff and hauled up the narrow window, which always stuck halfway. From outside she’d clicked off the set, tossing the remote back through. They wouldn’t be any the wiser till daybreak.

  Lori wrapped her jacket more tightly around her. She looked up at the star-punctured sky, the dwarfed outline of an aeroplane silhouetted against the giant moon.

  Several cars stopped. Each time she was aware of her vulnerability—either the driver thought she was looking for business or she was hitching to the Southside. She moved between states of fear and upset at Rico’s no-show and anger at him letting her down. What was he doing? Why hadn’t he called or messaged?

  What if he’s changed his mind?

  I should never have pushed him into it. It was me who wanted this, not him.

  She twisted the ring on her finger.

  It’s a promise …

  The wind was picking up. She would wait another half-hour. What else was she going to do? She dumped her pack on the ground and settled on it, huddling her bare knees up under her chin. Every time the glare of headlights filled her vision, each time a vehicle seemed to slow, her heart soared in hope, only to be dashed when it quietly passed by.

  She waited half an hour. She waited another, then another. Three a.m. came round. She knew he wasn’t coming.

  She put out her arm and waited for a ride to stop.

  Rosa was making breakfast when Lori emerged next morning.

  ‘I heard you come in last night,’ she commented.

  Lori fetched a glass of water and didn’t reply.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’ Rosa slathered her pancakes with syrup and bit into them, releasing a clear grease that ran down her chin.

  It was six. Lori had barely slept, maybe for an hour when she eventually collapsed into bed. Tres Hermanas opened shortly. The thought of returning to the salon she thought yesterday she would never have to see again was unbearable.

  ‘I know you were out meetin’ Rico.’ Rosa slurped her coffee. ‘Hope he was worth it. Because when Mama and Tony find out.’ She raised a painted-on eyebrow.

  Lori turned her back, stared blankly at the wall. ‘Tell them what you like. I don’t care. Tell them to send me to Corazón if that’s what they want. It doesn’t matter any more.’

  Rosa pouted, mocking her. ‘He break up with you or somethin’?’

  Lori didn’t know. It was possible. Maybe he hadn’t found the guts to tell her and that was what the ring had been about. She found it with her thumb.

  ‘Quit feelin’ sorry for yourself.’ Rosa flicked on the radio. ‘You’ll get over it.’

  The news reporter’s voice filled the kitchen.

  ‘In the early hours of this morning a young man was shot dead outside a convenience store in Santa Ana, California. Police have arrested twenty-year-old suspect Enrique Marquez, believed to have connections with the El Peligro gang, who were linked last year with six acts of violence in the area, two of which were fatal. Reports suggest Mr Marquez is the younger brother of Diego Marquez, thought to hold high rank in the organisation. The victim’s family have been informed and a spokeswoman for them is expected to talk to the press later today …’

  The pancake Rosa was holding fell to the floor with a slap.

  ‘Lori, what the hell—?’

  The item had moved on but the reporter’s words looped hideously through her mind.

  It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

  Lori fell into a chair. Thought she was going to be sick.

  ‘You were there,’ babbled Rosa, backing away. ‘You were there!’

  ‘No,’ she managed to mumble, ‘I—I wasn’t. He never showed up.’

  ‘Oh, you wait till Mama finds out,’ Rosa spluttered. ‘Rico Marquez, a murderer! We always knew it would happen, that he’d go the exact same way as his brother and the rest of that useless family—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘—and now he’s proved us right. What did Mama tell you? We were right!’

  Lori put her hands over her ears. ‘Shut up!’

  Rosa gave a burst of hysterical laughter. ‘You’re in so much shit it’s not even fair! Loriana Garcia, in love with a murderer—’

  Lori stood and slapped her sister round the face. It made a clean, sharp sound and left Rosa’s cheek burning pink. She wanted to do it again, and again, till Rosa was silenced and she could be left in peace to think straight. It was impossible to focus. Her vision was swimming.

  She remembered Rico’s words in the salon yard: There’s somethin’ I gotta do …

  The floor seemed to bend and shake till Lori realised it was her legs that were giving way. She collapsed against the wall. Rosa went for her, pulling her hair, calling her a bitch, a killer, clawing with her nails, but Lori didn’t feel a thing.

  11

  Aurora

  Rehab was a total waste of time. Aurora had known it would be—after all, she had only gone to please her parents and to help her mother get over the trauma of walking in on her young daughter in a state of such disarray, and everyone said that rehab only worked if the person genuinely wanted to change. She’d had a blast that day with Sebastian, got horny even now just thinking about it, and while it was unfortunate—and just a tad embarrassing—to have Sherilyn walk in at such an inopportune moment, she didn’t regret it.

  What she did regret was that Julieta had got fired from her housekeeping duties. On top of that being a rough ride for a poor Mexican family, it was also the end of any rough rides she could expect to enjoy with Sebastian again.

  She’d spent a month at the Tyrell Chase Center with her consultant, a gnarled old shrink called Dr Lux, but it was always ‘Call me Ed’—it wasn’t the first time she’d been. Dr Lux went over the same tired ground: her reckless behaviour was down to overindulgence, hedonism, lack of boundaries, blah blah fucking blah. Sherilyn took this diagnosis as a personal affront and always wept heartily after a meeting with Dr Lux: she hated Aurora going into rehab as much as Aurora did. Had she been a bad mother? Where had she gone wrong? Was Aurora suffering from being an only child? While Aurora sat and picked her nails, wondering when the hell they could get out of there.

  By the time she did eventually get out, it seemed Sherilyn had just about recovered from the shock. Her father informed Aurora she’d been upping her sessions with Lindy the Therapist—no doubt Lindy would have several things to say about the pool-table episode—and had some new pills to pop that came in a fancy pink packet and sat serious as a Bible by her mother’s bed.

  Today was the eve of Aurora’s sixteenth birthday party. They’d had people attending the mansion all week: caterers and planners, stylists and organisers, even a horse trainer attempting to map a route from the drive to the pool, where a white stallion would enter with the birthday girl on its back. She even suspected Tom was sorting a guest appearance from the Black Eyed Peas, and MTV was coming to film a special all-star Super Sweet—it was going to be amazing!

  ‘You’re lucky we’re going ahead with this,’ Tom had said when they’d talked about the celebrations. ‘After the trouble you’ve got yourself in.’

  ‘I know, Daddy,’ she’d said, eyes wide. ‘You and Mom are so kind and generous—I know I don’t deserve it!’

  ‘As long as you’ve learned your lesson,’ Tom had gone on, as stern as he’d ever be and always with a twinkle that suggested he didn’t think whatever she’d done was that bad, ‘we’re not going to deny you your sweet sixteen.’

  He’d ruffled her hair, and that had been tha
t.

  Ramon, her hair stylist, arrived. He was doing a colour before her big appearance tomorrow. Sherilyn had insisted on sitting in on the session: Dr Lux had told her she wasn’t to be left alone with men—the girl had a sex addiction that temptation did nothing to ease.

  ‘Mom!’ she yelled up the stairs. The word bounced hollowly off the high ceilings, precise as a tennis ball. ‘Ramon’s here!’

  Upstairs, Sherilyn Rose applied a flush of rouge to her alarmingly pale complexion. She looked bad. The lighting in her dressing room was unflattering, but, even so, she was tired, overworked and under-slept. Opening a drawer in her vanity table, she extracted a bottle of little red pills. She chucked a handful into her mouth and took a slug of water.

  ‘All right, sweetheart!’ she sang, her soft Alabama tones melting down the stairway to her waiting daughter. Sweet-As-Pie-Mom was a hard act to maintain, she thought grimly. It used to come to her naturally—recently she felt like a gruesome monster wearing a little girl’s skin. Ugh, that was horrific. But that was the sort of image residing in her head these days.

  It was hardly any wonder her nerves were shredded. The pills Lindy had given her were the only things that allowed her to sleep at night. She had been enduring terrible dreams of late: memories that she’d thought were buried deep in the past. And yet every time Aurora misbehaved—this latest episode the worst yet—they returned to her in vivid, appalling detail.

  The vast Indian Ocean. The island. That man …

  If it ever came out, the reasons why they’d done it, her life would not be worth living.

  Another couple of tablets, that was all. Shakily she chucked them down her white throat.

  Was her life worth living now?

  Sherilyn took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, just as Lindy had taught her. She tried to smile, making her way slowly down the mansion stairs, one step at a time. As always, she shuddered when she passed the open games room, its equipment cleanly polished and disinfected on her instruction. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her daughter in that context. It disgusted her.