The Modeliser

by Havana Adams

  “What the hell?” She gasped out, hurriedly pulling the towel down from her hair and securing it around her body. She felt mortified heat spread up her neck and into her cheeks as finally Alex looked up to stare at her face. He was smiling and this infuriated her. “What the hell are you doing here?” She snapped, her voice shrill.

  “This is my house, you know,” Alex replied, his voice coolly amused.

  “Of course I know that but…” Talia trailed off, something about Alex’s intent gaze was sending her thoughts haywire. “Didn’t Helena tell you I was staying here?”

  “So?” Alex countered. “It’s a big house, I needed to collect some stuff, besides, it’s not my fault you were strolling around with your tits out.”

  “Grow up.” Talia snapped back.

  “I’m not the one stamping my feet,” Alex replied seeming to lose patience with her. “I have seen breasts before. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll have forgotten yours in a minute.”

  Talia felt a flare of anger. It was anger she told herself, she wasn’t disappointed, in fact she didn’t care what Alex Golden thought of her breasts. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she turned away and marched into her room, slamming the door shut. As she began to towel herself fiercely, she was sure that she heard Alex chuckling to himself as the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the stairs.

  For a man deep into his Eighties, his grandfather really had liked all his mod cons, Alex thought as he poured a cup of coffee from the expensive looking coffee maker that stood on the black granite marble work surface in the large kitchen. The clear out had gone surprisingly smoothly and though he had given several boxes to various charities and theatres, he had also kept far too much, sending several boxes into storage. As he sipped his coffee, Alex moved to the dining table, idly opening the Macbook laptop that lay on the table. He was greeted by an image of a handbag and he smiled at this small, unexpected concession to frivolity from Talia. Handbags and shoes. Women were all the same. It was nice to know that Talia wasn’t all that different. He heard a sound behind him and turned to see that she had thrown on some clothes and was watching him with a suspicious glare on her face.

  “You’re still here,” she asked moving slowly into the room as though afraid he might bite. Noticing her open laptop, she darted towards him, shutting the laptop and picking it up. “You can’t just read things on people’s computers,” she said. Alex smiled noting the way she held the laptop against her chest, like a piece of armour between them. He wondered if he should tell her that it would take more than that to remove the image of her wet, naked breasts, which were seared indelibly on his memory.

  “Why are you always so angry?” He asked. He saw her blink at the question.

  “I’m not…” Talia burst out and then stopped. She took a deep breath and continued in a more measure tone. “I’m not angry,” she finished.

  “Ok, not angry,” he agreed. “But defensive then.” She was silent and Alex let the pause lengthen.

  “What do you want Alex?” Talia asked. And for the first time he noted the signs of weariness, the shadows under her eyes.

  “Helena mentioned you’d been having some work trouble.” Immediately, Alex saw her start to bristle. She really was extremely prickly. Frankly he could not understand how she and Helena could have been best friends for so long, being so totally different in temperament.

  “She shouldn’t have done that,” Talia bit out. She felt a flame of embarrassment, the last thing she needed was the pity of someone like Alex, especially not when his ex-girlfriend, hook up, whatever, had caused her downfall.

  “Yeah well, she did,” Alex said slowly as though talking to a particularly slow child. “Anyway I have some scripts and general development stuff and I wondered if you could take a look for me.” As he finished speaking, Alex noticed that Talia was staring at him as though he had grown an extra head. What was it with her, he wondered in irritation. Every time he met her, she seemed angry and prickly and eager to fight with him. Couldn’t she just be like all the other women and fall into line?

  “You’re offering me a job?” Talia said slowly. “Why?” Alex gritted his teeth in irritation. This was why he never did good turns.

  “According to my sister you’re a great storyteller and you know about the development process. Talia, trust me it’s a job offer not a veiled attempt to recruit you for my harem,” Alex bit out letting his irritation get the best of him. He watched her recoil and immediately regretted his comment. Helena had warned him that Talia was vulnerable. “Look…” He started, but she waved her hand at him.

  “No thanks.”

  “What?” Alex asked incredulous, so much for her needing a job.

  “Look it’s great what you and Helena are trying to do, but seriously, we can’t work together and besides I’ve watched the kind of films you do, they’re not really my cup of tea.” Talia turned and poured a coffee for herself as Alex watched her. What a bitch, he thought as he watched her walk out of the kitchen.

  Hours later, in a small, unpretentious Italian café, Talia related the morning’s events to her friend Simone.

  “You did what?” Simone’s shriek echoed through the compact dining area and the other patrons turned to stare at them before looking away. Even in the small, out-of-the-way café, Simone drew second glances and not just because of her tendency to talk loudly. Having been friends since they’d met on the first day of secondary school, Talia was more than used to the attention that Simone drew wherever they went. At eleven, they’d both been short, bespectacled girls with neat cornrows, always with their hands up to answer questions in class but within three years, a growth spurt had seen Simone shoot up to model height and contact lenses a few years later had only served to emphasize her striking looks. Simone though had little interest in the world of modeling instead making her career as a documentary filmmaker.

  “You did what?” Simone hissed again shaking her head at Talia.

  “Shush,” Talia urged her friend knowing that it would do no good.

  “You turned down a chance to be Alex Golden’s Development person, are you fricking out of your mind?” It was a fair question and one that Talia had asked herself all morning as she’d typed up her film review for Night of the Slayed Virgins 7. Her damned pride was always getting her into trouble.

  “Look I don’t like him, I don’t want to work for someone like that.”

  “Someone like what?” Simone countered. “A success? This could open doors for you, here and in LA.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Talia said wishing she’d not told Simone anything at all.

  “What’s complicated? Is there something here that you’re not telling me? What am I missing?” Simone demanded.

  “Nothing… it’s just..” Talia trailed off. She had no good excuse.

  “So what if he’s a Hollywood twat, this could be great for your career Tal. I’d kill to get in with some Hollywood hotshot. I’d sell my kidney, my grandma…. Anything,” Simone finished. Talia watched as her friend tucked into a Tiramisu dessert shaking her head. Like her, Simone had been working her way up the TV ladder as documentary director but she also dreamed of crossing over into making feature films, films that were watched not just by friends and family but also by millions of people all over the world. As girls in school they’d talked constantly about their dreams of making it in Hollywood, of leaving their dull inner London lives behind. Suddenly Talia knew what she had to do.

  Not for the first time, Helena resisted the urged to hurl something at Gabe’s head as once again another series of ideas were consigned to the dustbin.

  “We are running out of time,” she said, watching as he padded barefoot through his large, open plan Shoreditch studio. At first Helena had been uncomfortable with the explicit sensuality of Gabe’s space. She felt uncomfortable in the knowledge that he lived and worked here. One whole wall was entirely glass, flooding the massive studio room with natural light and on the other wall,
along the exposed brick work were photographs – raw and explicit and sexual, a sample of the type of earthy, no holds barred photography that had made Gabe a legend in the business. Helena watched as he finally dropped into a chair across from her. He leaned back watching her until Helena too sat down.

  “Why did you never model?” He asked and Helena was thrown by the question.

  “What do you mean?” She asked.

  “You have the height, the bone structure, the pedigree. You’d have made a good model,” he said.

  Helena shrugged; it was a question that she had been asked many times in the past.

  “No interest,” she replied. After a pause she turned to the matter at hand. “Gabe we have almost nothing so far for the centenary issue – I thought the Desire through the ages idea had something...” Helena’s face fell as she saw the dismissive look in Gabe’s eyes. If they didn’t come up with something, Helena feared that Tobias would help her pack her desk up and escort her out of Époque House. Gabe rose and once again Helena felt herself getting annoyed. What was it about Gabe? He never got riled, never got stressed and once she’d arrived early to find him practicing yoga on the mezzanine level of the studio. The view of his exposed torso had been enough to let her know that Gabe had a physique that any one of his male models would die for. Now he stretched his arms above his head, exposing a taut lower abdomen and a dark whorl of hair that narrowed down under the waistband of his low-slung jeans. Helena swallowed and turned away, these unexpected flashes of desire had begun to happen more and more whenever she was in his presence and the sooner they got the issue sorted and approved, the quicker she’d be able to get away from him. Gabe spun back round and came around the desk to stand by her chair.

  “Époque was founded by a mother and daughter, right?” He asked. Helena nodded.

  “Antoinette and Colette. They scandalised society with the risqué pictures, they published Anais Nin stories…”

  “Right. Right. That’s it.”

  “What?” Helena asked

  “That’s our theme for the centenary issues. Mothers and Daughters.” Helena’s brow furrowed as she processed his words. “Think about it, gorgeous mothers and their even more delicious daughters – we could find every past Époque model and see what their daughters are like. Or famous mothers and daughters.” Helena smiled as Gabe’s words began to work their magic and the ideas began to flow. This was exactly the kind of theme that would work with Époque – a mix of old and young, that could appeal to a wide range of readers.

  “This could be perfect,” she finally said and then she flushed as Gabe gave her a wide smile.

  Talia walked slowly down the plush corridor of The Lanesborough her eyes fixed ahead barely noticing the striking black and white photographs that lined the walls. Her feet seemed unwilling to carry her further and she had to force herself to keep going towards the Penthouse suite. Finally she stopped outside the door and with a deep breath she knocked hard. She had barely a moment to compose herself before the door was wrenched open from the inside and she was face to face with Alex again. He looked surprised to see her and not particularly pleased either.

  “What are you doing here?” He asked rudely.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” As soon as she saw him, all her good intentions had gone out of the window and the speech she had practised with Simone after lunch was all but forgotten. Everything about him made her want to slap his face. Alex was still staring at her as though weighing the options, like he genuinely might turn her away, when a thought occurred to Talia.

  “Oh god, you’ve got some groupie here haven’t you?” She said. Then an even worse thought came to mind. “Tamara isn’t here, is she?”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed.

  “And if I have?” Talia felt discomfited at the way his eyes probed hers and she found she couldn’t hold his gaze. “Oh get off your high horse and get in here,” he snapped already showing her his back and walking away from the door, going back to sprawl on the couch.

  Talia walked gingerly into the suite, still not convinced that some model wouldn’t emerge from the bedroom clad only in her underwear.

  “Well,” Alex asked and Talia blushed as she realised that he was staring at her, waiting for her to explain why she had shown up at his hotel.

  “You weren’t picking up your phone?” She said and winced at how accusing she sounded. “I was thinking about what we talked about today?” Alex folded his arms across his chest and she knew he wasn’t going to make it easy for her. “You offered me a job and I might have been…” Talia trailed off.

  “Yes,” Alex prompted. He didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was enjoying watching her squirm.

  “I was a bit ungracious and I wanted to say if the offer is still there I’d be happy to be your development person," Talia finished in a rush, staring at a spot behind Alex’s head, unable to meet his eyes.

  “So you want to work for me,” he drawled. “You want to be my development bitch do you?” Talia gritted her teeth, she would not give him the satisfaction of losing her temper. “Well…” he said. And suddenly he rose from the couch and he filled her vision, moving slowly towards her until he stood directly in front of her. His chest, covered in a tight white shirt, that wasn’t fully buttoned, blocked out the rest of the room and Talia had to raise her chin to meet his gaze. “Your duties will include reading scripts, writing coverage, sourcing books and plays, dealing with producers in LA night or day.” Talia nodded as she felt herself back on safe ground. “Of course sometimes you’ll have to make my coffee, draw my bath and maybe even suck my…”

  “Go fuck yourself," Talia burst out as Alex began to laugh. He glanced at his watch.

  “That meek act lasted all of 2 minutes,” he laughed. Talia looked down shamefaced, why did she always let him get to her? “How much do you want me to pay you?” He asked.

  “As your exclusive development person, £700 a week plus expenses,” she said firmly, though inside she was holding her breath.

  “At that rate you’d better be good,” he replied.

  “I am. Do we have a deal?” Talia asked as her foreboding was overtaken by excitement. She was about to get back into the game.

  “Deal,” Alex replied. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he leaned in towards her. “Kiss on it?” Talia immediately stepped back and put her hand out to shake his. After a moment, he took her hand in his and as he gripped it, Talia felt something shift between them and she let go quickly as though she’d been scalded. She watched Alex walk towards a desk in a corner of the suite and she took a moment to gather her composure, unwilling to question why a simple handshake should unsettle her so much. Alex was coming back to her and he dumped a pile of 8 or so scripts in her arms. “That’s for starters,” he said and then he slumped onto the sofa flicking on the TV, letting Talia know that she had been dismissed.

  Stowing the scripts in her bag. Talia walked awkwardly towards the door to exit the suite. She could do this, she reminded herself. As she opened the door, she heard him say something and turned back to look to where he sat on the sofa staring at the television.

  “What?” She asked.

  “I lied,” Alex said, his eyes still fixed on the football game, playing out on the screen in front of him.

  “About what?” Talia asked confused.

  “Your breasts. I’m not likely to forget them anytime soon.” And then he turned his full attention back to the TV screen.

  For a moment Talia stared open mouthed at him, the breath had died in her chest and she felt warmth spread all through her. It must be embarrassment at his crassness she told herself. But as walked down the long corridor towards the lift, the sound of his quiet laughter chasing around her head, Talia was filled with a sense that somehow in presenting herself at Alex’s hotel and begging for the job, she had made an error of judgement and she was now squarely in the lair of a big bad wolf.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tamara relaxed in the make
up chair as a thick layer of pancake-like foundation was applied to her face. Her character on the show, Melanie Weaver, wouldn’t know the word subtle if it stood up and barked at her.

  In the last few days, Tamara had been positively friendly, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by her colleagues and the rest of the crew on set. There had been whispers about the reason for this uncharacteristic good mood and they’d all concluded that the reason must be the return of Alex Golden. Tamara had been photographed with Alex several times, a fact that had most of the young starlets on the show and all the make up and costume girls swooning.

  “You have such great skin,” the make up girl said as she liberally slathered on some lurid eyeshadow onto Tamara’s eyelids. Tamara flashed the girl a dismissive smile. She expected this kind of flattery, had demanded it even but since the night of Katie and Ian’s party, she had already mentally left the building. She was already putting Encounters behind her and had begun to imagine what life would be like as the lover, maybe even wife of a billionaire. She had Vassily Romanov exactly where she wanted him.

  The very next day after the party, she had woken to a bouquet of flowers. She had known at once that someone on Vassily’s team had done their homework. The bouquet of lush roses was mixed with the exotic Australian Plumeria rose bouquet, her favourite flower, a species rarely found outside of remote areas of Australia. Tamara had been impressed at the effort but would not deviate from her plan. She’d sent him a single sentence of thanks on her personalised Smythson stationary. Days later, another bouquet had arrived, this time at work. Her colleagues had assumed that it was Alex bombarding her with flowers and Tamara hadn’t bothered to correct this mistaken assumption, she always played her cards close to her chest. By the sixth day, her home and dressing room at work were fragrant with the smell of roses and other more exotic flowers.