The Modeliser

by Havana Adams

  “Sounds perfect,” Tamara replied. At £900 a bottle, Vassily’s tardiness was certainly going to cost him, but as she sat back in her chair taking in the murmur of conversation, watching the affluent, well-heeled clientele, Tamara reasoned, that he could certainly afford it.

  “Can I get a picture?”

  The nervous voice grated through Alex’s pounding headache as he sat at the bar at The Lanesborough hotel in Central London. He continued to stare into the glass of whisky hoping that it might deter this fan. “Hey, can I get a picture?” the voice came back again. With a burst of tension, Alex slammed the highball glass down onto the bar.

  “No!” He growled without looking up. There was a moment of silence.

  “You’re a real dick,” the voice snapped back and then mercifully, the sound of retreating footsteps. Alex looked up as the bartender came to stand in front of him.

  “Another?” He asked. Alex shook his head, jumping to his feet. Reaching into his pocket he removed a wad of pound sterling and slapped down three £50 notes on the bar. It was one hell of a tip and the bartender could barely contain the wide grin that sparked across his face.

  “Wow, thanks man.”

  “No problem,” Alex replied as he turned and walked out of the bar aware that too many eyes were on him. He emerged into the lobby of the hotel and made a beeline for the lifts, keeping his head down. His grandfather had just been buried for chrissake, he had no desire to sign autographs or take pictures. The lift was empty as he rode up in silence to the penthouse suite that Shay had reserved for him. He could have stayed at his grandfather’s or even at Helena’s and yet as he always did when in London, Alex had elected to stay in a hotel. Especially now, the thought of being around his sister or surrounded by his grandfather’s things made him feel guilty and uneasy.

  Though it was after midnight London time, Alex felt wired, drunk and wide awake, in LA it was still mid afternoon. He crashed onto the sofa and flicked the TV on, immediately muting the sound. He walked across to the floor to ceiling windows and looked out onto a view of Hyde Park at night. Morosely he turned back to face the room. Alex tracked through the massive sitting room into the bedroom and crashed onto the bed, as the events of the afternoon came flooding back. His sister’s accusation that he was turning into their mother didn’t sit easily with him. Turning into flighty, irresponsible Sula was the last thing he wanted and yet he knew that there was some truth in Helena’s words. Didn’t he shut people out when he grew tired of them? Hadn’t he slowly drifted away from his family, getting caught up in LA life? Alex climbed off the bed pulling off his shirt, which he dumped carelessly on a chaise lounge. He unclasped the Rolex wristwatch from around his wrist and turned it face down in his palm to read the inscription. His grandfather had given him this watch for his 21st birthday. Alex felt a shaft of pain as he thought about him; he should have been by his side when he died. In the dim light of the hotel room, Alex thought about Sula hitting him up for money after the funeral. As it turned out being a cultural icon didn’t really pay enough for the kind of lifestyle she lived and yet another lover appeared to have taken advantage of her. Alex stood up with a sigh. He shucked of his jeans and decided on a cold shower, the whisky was finally starting to get to him.

  Tamara was boiling with rage.

  It wasn’t the usual cold anger that she had perfected for dealing with her enemies. This was real, impotent rage that took her back to childhood. Vassily Romanov had stood her up. At first she had sat with a fixed smile, sipping the expensive champagne that she had ordered, but as the minutes had ticked by, a gnawing anxiety had set in. She’d glanced at her phone, obsessively making sure it was switched on. She’d started to do those stupid things that women did: perhaps he’d been in an accident. Perhaps she was sitting in the wrong restaurant, perhaps... Then she had stopped herself, there was no perhaps. She had been played. Tamara ignored the lascivious looks that some of the men around the room were throwing her and she glared at the women with their pitying glances. She nodded at a waiter.

  “The bill please.” The waiter a young man looked confused. “But you haven’t eaten,” he questioned.

  Tamara’s blue eyes were like chips of ice as she caught and held his gaze. “Bring me the bill now.” The waiter jumped as though a pistol shot had been fired at him.

  “Yes Madam,” he replied scuttling away quickly.

  As she left the restaurant, her head held high, Tamara had wrapped her cashmere shawl around her shoulders, noting how few taxis there were in sight, it was after all a Saturday night. She tapped a number into her mobile phone.

  “Casey, I want a cab at the top of Beauchamp place in 5 minutes, or you’re fired.” She ended the call before Casey could give her any excuses. She stared at her phone for a moment and then tapped in another number. She waited while it rang, until eventually a strong, lightly accented voice picked up the phone.

  “Romanov,” he said.

  “You bastard.” There was silence on the line and then he spoke again.

  “Tamara,” he said, “I trust you had a nice dinner?”

  “You’re playing games with me?” She snapped, his calm voice riling her further.

  “You inveigle your way into my launch and you disrupt my opening. It is you who should learn not to play games, especially not with me.” And at this there was a click on the line. He had hung up on her. Tamara resisted the temptation to smash her phone to the ground and stamp her feet. She watched as the car that had dropped her off approached, pulling up in front of her. Tamara didn’t wait for the driver to come out. Instead she opened up the door herself and dropped into the back seat of the car. She leaned her head against the headrest and wisely the driver did not try to engage her in conversation. It was a long time since anyone had bested her and Tamara felt self-pitying thoughts rise up in her. She’d been mad to play around with someone like Vassily Romanov. The man was a billionaire with a shady reputation to boot; she was out of her league. For a moment Tamara waded in this pool of self-pity and then she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the car window and something in her snapped. She was Tamara Fearson. She sat up straight in her seat and barked out an instruction to the driver. She knew exactly what she needed tonight.

  Alex was awoken by the sound of a hard insistent pounding on his door. For a moment he lay disoriented in the bed, a mix of jet lag and whisky having finally taken their toll on him. There was another hard rap on the door and he swung his feet off the bed.

  “I’m coming,” he yelled as the sleep quickly cleared. He padded naked through the suite. His eyes darted around for the towel he’d been wearing when he crashed onto the bed after his shower but he couldn’t find it. Besides he reasoned, as he flicked on a small orange lamp, whoever was banging on his door in the middle of the night, had to be prepared to take him as they found him. Another knock rang out and Alex reached the door and yanked it open.

  “What!” He said and then slowly a wide grin spread across his face.

  Tamara looked him up and down, a look of appreciation in her eyes. Her eyes drifted down his tanned perfect chest and then to the line of dark blonde hair on his abdomen that arrowed down towards…

  “My eyes are up here,” Alex drawled, interrupting Tamara’s shameless ogling.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she asked. With a shrug Alex turned around to walk back into the suite, leaving Tamara with a million dollar money shot of his incredible butt. He strode through the suite back into the bedroom, his eyes darting around the room for his overnight bag where he would retrieve his pajama bottoms. From the sitting room, Tamara called out. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to make myself decent,” Alex called back with a smile in his voice. It wasn’t as though Tamara hadn’t already seen everything he had before.

  “Don’t bother,” Tamara’s voice was closer and Alex spun around to see that she was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, slowly advancing in. He watched as she reached to her side and slowly
pulled down the concealed zip in her white dress. Alex swallowed hard.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Tamara replied as she let the dress fall to her feet and she stepped away from it, now clad only in a sheer, flesh-tone thong. She reached up to unclasp her hair and Alex’s eyes were drawn to the way this movement raised her breasts. God, he had forgotten just how beautiful she was. He watched as she let her blonde curls fall around her shoulders and she combed her fingers through her hair. Her eyes, Alex could see, were riveted to his cock and the erection that was growing fast.

  “How do you want me?” Tamara asked her voice husky and something in Alex snapped. He lunged forwards for her, grasping her face in both his hands as he kissed her hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth, and then biting her lower lip until they were both breathing hard. His hands drifted lower to grasp the back of her neck as he bent her backwards so that he could bite and suck at her neck. But Tamara wasn’t going to let him have things all his way. Her hands roamed his body, his shoulders, his arms and then she stroked down his chest, her hand between their bodies until she could grip his hard erection. Slowly she began to stroke him, until he groaned into her mouth and tried to pull away from her. She leaned down and began to suck on his nipples.

  “Bed,” he ordered raggedly, even as he was already forcefully propelling her towards the king sized bed. Tamara bounced as he shoved her onto the bed, her legs scissoring open. “What do you want?” Alex smiled and then without waiting for an answer, slowly he lowered his head to her body. First, he licked her nipples; slow, teasing licks that had her panting and begging for more and then he sucked them into his mouth, pulling hard on her before he used his teeth, bringing her to the edge of pain. Tamara was rocking against him, her hips rising and falling as she tried to get friction, where she needed it most. Slowly, Alex let go of her nipple and looked up at her face. Even after ten years, their bodies were still in tune, still remembered how good they could be together. He bent his head back to her, kissing her navel and then moving lower. With his teeth, he pulled down her thong and then slowly kissed his way up her legs, the back of her knees and then stopped to lick her inner thigh. She was so wet and ready for him and his cock jumped as he caught her scent.

  “Close your eyes,” he demanded as he looked up and saw Tamara’s eyes still watching him though they had grown hazy and unfocused.

  “No,” she moaned back at him. He continued to look up her body and their eyes met and clashed. Her eyes were stormy and even as she circled on the edge of orgasm, just waiting for him to push her over the precipice, he knew she wouldn’t obey him, wouldn’t close her eyes. Same old control-freak Tamara, Alex thought. And then with a small hoarse laugh, he bent his head to her. He stroked a finger through the tiny landing strip of blonde pubic hair and then he put his mouth on her in a wet open-mouthed kiss. He thrust his tongue inside her and Tamara’s hips jumped off the bed and she let out a long low growl as she came. He barely gave her a moment to come down from that orgasm, before he moved up her body and in one movement Alex thrust into her and Tamara spiralled into another powerful release. He thrust into her fast, without finesse, neither of them concerned with anything more than simply losing themselves in each other and within moments he too came, collapsing on top of her, their fast breaths mingling.

  As reality reformed around them, Alex pushed himself off Tamara, rolling onto his back. He turned to stare at her, her blonde hair spread across his pillow. He ran a hand across her collarbone, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Finally she opened her eyes.

  “That was exactly what I needed,” she said throatily a smile playing about her lips. Alex continued to trace his finger along her neck as she stared at him. Tamara pouted at his silence. “Dare I ask,” she said with a smirk, “how was it for you?”

  Alex shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve had better,” he said, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face, even as Tamara lashed out to playfully smack his chest.

  “You shit!” She laughed and with a burst of energy, she swung a leg over his body and propped herself up until she was straddling him. Her hand reached between them; he was already hard again. “Let’s see if I can’t make this time more satisfying then,” she said as she slowly sank down on him, taking him inside her and his eyes drifted closed.

  In the darkened room, Tamara crouched down next to the bed, locating her thong were Alex had carelessly tossed it hours ago. Retrieving the scrap of material she crushed it into her fist and dumped it into her clutch bag. She stepped into her now sadly rumpled dress, easing the zip up carefully. She’d switched on a small bedside lamp when she’d climbed out of the bed and now she stood and looked down at Alex, deeply asleep, his chest rising and falling. He was gorgeous and Tamara felt a warm moment of nostalgia. They’d been just children 10 years ago, her and Alex. He’d asked her to come to LA with him and she’d turned him down, assuming that like every Brit actor who headed across the pond, he’d soon be back tail between his legs, when it didn’t work out. How wrong she’d been. In the bed, Alex rolled onto his back, the sheet tangling even more around his hips. In as much as she could Tamara realised that she had loved him once, and she felt a buzz of affection for him. Slowly she bent down and placed a kiss on his pec and then she picked her cashmere shawl from the chair and walked out of the suite, shutting the door gently behind her.

  As she waited for the lift, Tamara stared at herself in the reflective doors, she’d not showered and her hair looked liked that of a woman who had been thoroughly ravaged. Despite the fact that it was 4am in the morning, she reached into her bag and pulled out her mobile phone, making a call.

  “Casey,” she snapped barely giving her assistant time to process what she was saying. “Call Terry at the Daily World, let him know that I’ll be leaving The Lanesborough Hotel any minute now. Coincidently Alex Golden is also staying at the hotel.” Tamara terminated the call and stepped into the lift with a smile. It wasn’t the first time that she’d alerted the press about her movements. She wasn’t one to leave things to chance and by morning she wanted Vassily Romanov to know exactly what he had missed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Talia slammed shut her laptop and glanced around at the people sitting at the other tables in the Starbucks coffee shop. It was just as well that she was sitting in a public place or she might have given in to the overwhelming urge to throw her computer across the room in a fit of anger. Yet another email and once again the same message: Sorry. No positions at the moment. Good Luck. In the last two weeks, she had learned that her devious former boss, Damian had been more than true to his word. She had sent out her newly updated CV, had emailed old contacts, colleagues and friends and the response had been demoralising. Those who had even bothered to respond had not been at all encouraging; she’d pissed off a very big fish and in the current climate, jobs were thin on the ground. Talia thought about the stupid impulse that had led her to call her mother the night before, in the hope of securing a small loan to tide her over. Her mother’s response had been the usual negative one.

  “Why don’t you stop messing about with this TV stuff and go and train to be a teacher.” Talia bit her lip hard as she packed her laptop away, stowing it in her battered old satchel.

  As she exited the coffee shop winding her way through the back streets of Mayfair towards Oxford Street, she felt more drab and invisible than ever. In the bright midday sunshine it seemed everybody had got the memo but her. All around her, girls with long highlighted hair and slim limbs exposed in shorts and playsuits and skirts, strolled down the road, all summer ready, seemingly without a care in the world. In her dark jeans, t-shirt and heavy blazer, Talia sweltered. Her heavy laptop bag weighed her down, she felt like an elephant amongst swans. Since she’d been sacked, she’d paid even less attention to her appearance. At first she’d barely been able to lever herself out of bed in the mornngs and even after the funeral, after she’d committed to finding a new job and getting back o
n her feet, her appearance had been the last thing on her mind. As she arrived outside Aqua, the stunning new Japanese and Spanish restaurant where she had arranged to meet Helena for lunch, she wished she’d made more effort with her clothes today. The statuesque young woman on the door, looked like a flawless young Naomi Campbell.

  “I’m meeting someone for lunch,” Talia said. The woman’s eyes barely took her in.

  “Take the lift to the 5th floor,” she said to Talia with a brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes. As she trudged into the lift, Talia felt her mood sink even further.

  The interior of Aqua was stunning, the kind of fashionable, sophisticated space that seemed straight out of an episode of Sex and the City. Having checked her bag in at the cloakroom, Talia walked stiffly through the circular bar, which even at 1 in the afternoon was filled with beautiful looking fashionistas sipping tall, cool cocktails. Talia moved towards the Japanese restaurant, raising her hand to wave as she spotted Helena already sitting at the sushi bar.

  “Hey,” Helena rose to give her a kiss and Talia embraced her friend back, noticing that as always Helena looked exquisite and unruffled even in the hot weather.

  “You look great,” she said as she perched on the high stool, hoping that her jeans wouldn’t gape and reveal the elastic on her underwear.

  “How are you? Any news?” Helena asked expectantly, her face falling as she saw the expression on Talia’s face.

  “Nothing. Absolutely, bloody nothing.”

  “These things take time, it’s only been two weeks,” Helena said. Talia shook her head. How to explain to her friend?

  “I know things take time, but I was storylining one of the biggest shows on TV and no one even wants to sit down for a meet and greet. The jobs are never advertised, you go in for a chat and when something comes up they remember you.” Talia shook her head again, taking a sip of the tall cold drink that had materialised in front of her. “He said he’d screw me over and he has,” she finished.