The Modeliser

by Havana Adams

  “What the hell..” she began as she came face to face with Damian, the show’s executive producer. She had managed to successfully avoid him the last few weeks and she knew Casey had blocked his number and fielded the calls he made from an anonymous number. Tamara pasted a fake smile on. “Damian, darling,” she cooed kissing his cheek, before stepping quickly back. She had no time for his nonsense.

  “You haven’t returned my calls, you blank my emails. What the fuck Tamara?” Damian demanded. Tamara looked at him and wondered what on earth she’d seen in him. Then she rethought the question. Of course there’d been nothing appealing about Damian personally, merely his job title but now that he’d served his purpose she found she could barely stand to look at him.

  “Damian, now isn’t really the time,” she said firmly. But he tightened his grip on her arm.

  “I’m leaving her,” Damian said.

  “Leaving who?” Tamara asked.

  “My wife, I’m leaving her, for you.” Tamara gaped at him unable to hold back the snort of laughter.

  “Don’t be a fool,” she snapped, all pretence at civility forgotten. “Do you honestly think that you and I..?” Here Tamara trailed off, the thought of publicly acknowledging any kind of relationship with Damian boggled the mind. “Look Damian, we had fun but now that’s over,” she stated firmly. “Let’s not jeopardise our working relationship.”

  Tamara watched the stain of colour on Damian’s face. She noted the lines on his face and the reddened capillaries around his nose and mouth that told of too much booze and too many late nights. She watched as the redness spread across his cheeks and a belligerence entered his eyes.

  “It’s that pretty boy movie star isn’t it,” he lashed out. Tamara shrugged. “So that’s is it, you think you’re just going to walk away from me?”

  “I’ve already walked away from you,” Tamara replied matter of factly.

  “I did everything you asked, I fucked over Angelina for you, I let that storyliner get screwed….” Damian’s words rose and Tamara stepped close to him her finger jabbing hard into his shirt.

  “You keep your voice down,” she ordered, her tone steely. “You have a family and a good job, just think very hard before you jeopardise that, understand?” Tamara softened her tone now and rubbed his arm. “You’re a good guy Damian, just concentrate on making your wife happy alright.” She gave him a smile and began to walk away.

  “But I thought, I thought we had something,” Damian whispered brokenly. Tamara continued to walk away, rolling her eyes. Men, she thought, power was wasted on men. As she walked down the corridor, her pace quickened, her mind already back on track, back on Vassily and she failed to notice the door that opened to reveal Angelina Starling, on whose face was etched an expression of horrified realisation.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The shrill sound of curtains being violently drawn open followed by a painful burst of sunshine flooding into the room roused Alex from deep sleep.

  “Christ,” he gasped as the strong smell of hot coffee flooded his nostrils. Under his breath he swore again and wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed him to authorize the hotel to give Talia a keycard to his room.

  “Morning Alex,” Talia said in that false cheerful voice that he was quickly growing to hate.

  “What time is it?” he groaned gingerly, opening his eyes as Talia stalked back to the sitting room, leaving him to sit up in bed. Alex spotted a black lace thong, with red trimming, which he quickly stashed under one of his pillows. The last thing he needed was to worsen Talia’s already low opinion of him. As he swung his feet off the bed, Alex grabbed the Starbucks coffee that she had left for him on the bedside table and he took a sip, the caffeine hitting him like a live electric shock. He padded into the bathroom and was greeted by a telephone number scrawled in lipstick on the vanity mirror along with a message, Paloma – Call Me. xxx. Suddenly the night before flooded back, the model with the red hair. Alex smiled in recollection but his smile quickly turned into a wince as a hard rap sounded on the bathroom door.

  “Alex, do you want to go through the coverage any time today?” Talia called. With a sigh, he pressed the flush and wondered what masochism had compelled him to hire Talia. The woman was a dragon and schoolteacher rolled into one. As far as he was concerned, she took things too seriously.

  She was already sitting at the desk when he entered the sitting room and he took another sip from the coffee she had brought for him.

  “Thanks for this,” he said noting the look of disapproval she shot him as she took in his shirtless state. “Didn’t we say midday?”

  Talia sighed loudly and pushed her glasses up on her nose. Alex looked to the clock and smiled inwardly, half past two.

  “My bad,” he said but she was already flicking through the notes before her. Alex dropped into a seat next to her. “Anything good?”

  Talia shrugged lightly. “Depends,” she replied. “I have three piles – worthy but dull, mindless but sort of fun and I liked it but didn’t love it.”

  “Ah,” Alex smiled. “Then we pass on all of them.” He said as she looked up to stare at him.

  “But you haven’t read the coverage or any of the scripts?”

  “I trust you,” he replied.

  “Don’t you even want to take a look?” Alex shook his head.

  “There’s a new pile for you to read, Avital sent over a whole bunch.”

  “Right,” Talia nodded slowly, and Alex was filled with the sudden urge to pull off her glasses.

  “Ok spit it out,” he said recognising the look in her eyes that said that she had something to say.

  “Well, this might be more useful, if you told me what you’re looking for. What kind of roles float your boat? What excites you? What’s the aim here – another Oscar or big box office…?” Talia trailed off as she saw Alex’s eyes glazing over.

  “You sound like Shay,” he accused dryly. “My old assistant,” he explained.

  “They are reasonable questions, any career takes planning,” Talia said primly. And once again Alex had a flashback to that moment, seeing her naked. Why did she do it he wondered, hide that body inside such ugly clothes? “I’ve watched all your films and I can’t find any real pattern,” Talia finished.

  “Did you like them?” Alex asked wondering at the impulse that drove the question out of his lips. Talia stared at him seriously and Alex found himself holding his breath. In a rush he realised that what she thought mattered to him.

  “That’s not the point, is it?” she replied.

  “That is exactly the point,” Alex pushed. He watched Talia take a deep breath before she finally spoke.

  “You were good, great even in Hiding Places,” she said gently and Alex resisted the urge to launch the Starbucks cup across the room. “Some of the other stuff Stormdrain, The Quest were interesting.”

  “You watched The Quest?” Alex asked amused.

  “I watched all of your films,” Talia replied.

  “And the only one you really liked was Hiding Places…” Alex trailed off for a moment. “Do you even like action films?” He asked archly.

  “This isn’t a genre issue,” Talia bit back snappily. “There are good action scripts and bad action scripts.”

  “And mine are bad?” Talia shrugged.

  “I figured you like that kind of role, rugged, action, shirt off…” she trailed off as she watched his face. “That’s why you make those films right?”

  “Sure. I enjoy it,” Alex answered testily. Talia’s probing had started to irritate him and for a man who’d spent the better part of a decade in the international spotlight, he suddenly found that this examination of his career was making him squirm. “It pays well,” he added defensively.

  “You don’t need the money,” Talia snapped back. “Look I’m not judging, if you want to be an action star, then we’ll find you good action scripts, but if you’re coasting along, thinking these films will get you another Oscar… You d
o read your scripts don’t you?”

  “Of course I read them, sort of. Besides I have advice, I trust Avi’s advice.”

  “She chose Hiding Places for you?” Talia asked.

  “No. She’s one of the biggest agents in LA. She came calling after the Oscar.”

  “Right, so how did you get Hiding Places.” Alex shrugged and Talia noted that he seemed uncomfortable.

  “My old agent Margot. She’s based in London.”

  “I see,” Talia muttered thoughtfully.

  “No you don’t.” Alex said firmly.

  “Sure I do, Margot was the agent who nurtured you and got you to the Oscars and then you traded up as soon as you could…”

  Alex rose abruptly and he watched Talia’s eyes widen and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “Look you’re paying me to read scripts not preach at you… me and my big mouth” she trailed off as he shook his head.

  “If I’d wanted mild and tactful, I’d hardly have hired you,” Alex said as he turned and walked away from her, leaving her with another stack of scripts.

  Thank god for lie-ins. Helena rolled over in her cool Percale sheets and burrowed deeply under the thin covers. Not for the first time she luxuriated in the fact that she lived alone and could sleep in for as long as she liked without being disturbed. When she and Grant had briefly lived together, his obsessive desire to be up at first light had been one of the many clues that they just weren’t suited. Helena was beginning to dose back into sleep when she heard the doorbell ring. With a groan, she pulled back the sheets stepping out of bed clad only in an oversized Defender T-shirt that she’d liberated from Alex. As she padded downstairs, she glanced at the clock; it was already afternoon. Her feet slapped quietly on the exposed wood floors in her small West Hampstead flat, which she’d bought with the trust fund that her father had left to her. Reaching the front door, Helena pulled it open and her mouth went slack. Gabe Tynan was lounging on her doorstep his hip leaning against the outer door. She had no idea how he even knew her address and he’d caught her way off guard. From the smirk on his face she could tell that he was enjoying her discomfort. She felt his eyes move over her, taking in the T-shirt, which suddenly felt a bit too revealing on the thigh.

  “Do you always open the door dressed like that?” Gabe drawled, already moving past her into the house, without waiting to be asked in.

  “I thought you were the postman,” Helena muttered embarrassed, feeling her cheeks flame.

  “Lucky postie,” he drawled back, already nosing his way down her hallway.

  “The sitting room is this way,” Helena stated pointedly but Gabe ignored her and she had no choice but to follow him into her own kitchen. Her brain was still fuddled from sleep and she gratefully took refuge behind the tall breakfast counter, where Gabe wouldn’t have a clear view of her bare thighs and legs. She watched in bafflement as he flicked on the kettle and then opened and closed a few cabinets until he located two mugs and pulled them out. “Do you mind?” Helena finally burst out as Gabe began to spoon coffee into the two cups.

  “Not at all,” he replied calmly, walking towards the fridge. “You don’t take milk do you?” He asked as he reached into the fridge. With a burst of irritation Helena forgot about modesty and stalked across the room. She shoved the fridge door closed and spun around to confront Gabe.

  “Gabe we agreed that today was a free day. What do you want?” She snapped folding her arms across her chest in a defensive stance.

  “Well we didn’t exactly agree, you emailed to say you’d be having today off…”

  “Do I require your permission?” Helena snapped.

  “Stop being such a coward,” Gabe snapped losing patience. Helena banked down the desire to look away from his steady gaze; she was determined to hold her ground.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about," she replied sharply.

  “If this is about what happened in the pool…” Gabe began but Helena immediately cut him off.

  “Nothing happened in the pool,” she bit out.

  “Yes I know, I was there,” Gabe said tersely and now Helena did look away. Almost as soon as she had dived naked into the rooftop pool, she’d known she’d made a mistake. The cool water had been the slap of reality and common sense that she’d needed. But moments later Gabe had also dived in naked and extricating herself had been embarrassing to say the least.

  “Look I apologised about that. Sleeping with someone who is effectively my boss is just not something I do. I didn’t mean to be a…tease,” Helena finished looking anywhere but at Gabe.

  “Actually I didn’t come here to talk about that.” Embarrassment made Helena even more frosty than usual.

  “Oh?”

  “I was thinking about the cover,” he said. And Helena could see that he was serious, that the magazine was what was really on his mind. She pushed down her disappointment and tried to focus on what he was saying.

  “What?” Helena was startled from her musings by Gabe’s last words and realised she had missed what he was saying. “What?” She asked again.

  “Your mother, Sula – she was one of Époque’s most famous cover girls. She’s a living icon.” Helena began to feel a dull throbbing in her temple.

  “How does that fit in with our theme of mother and daughter?” She asked even as she knew the answer that was coming.

  “Think about it,” Gabe said. “The iconic Sula as beautiful now as she was then and her daughter Helena, one of Époque’s own.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Helena burst out. But Gabe was shaking his head. Firmly, he gripped her shoulders forcing her round to face him.

  “You and your mother, you’re going to be our cover girls.” Helena’s jaw gaped open as Gabe stared at her. For a moment she was robbed of speech as the full horror of his suggestion slowly sank in. Her modeling. And with her mother. Finally she spoke, her blue eyes clear and unwavering.

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  Talia typed another script log line onto the script coverage form. Chateau is the heartwarming story of an American father who inherits a French Chateau and uses the renovation as a chance to bond with his troubled teenage daughter. She sighed. It was a shame that the script had been such an utter cliché – poor characterisation, no dramatic tension or conflict and a predictable ending. She glanced down at her pile of already read scripts, which had been growing steadily all day. She’d averaged 3 scripts a day since she’d started working for Alex and she’d quickly found herself getting into the groove of things. How had she forgotten how much she loved film scripts? Saving the document on the computer, she shut the laptop and picked up a copy of Screen international. Alex had a selection of the industry papers and magazines delivered and Talia had taken to reading them cover-to-cover, getting sucked into the deals, the industry moves and the script sales. For the first time since she’d lost her job at Encounters, she felt excitement again, she woke each morning not with a sense of disappointment or trepidation but ready to start the day. She didn’t dwell too much on the fact that she’d even started to look forward to the afternoon de-briefs when she’d talk Alex through the pile of scripts that she’d read, not that he’d been much help so far. Most of the time, once she’d given him the run through Alex would disappear out and Talia had no idea where he went. Though she could probably get a complete rundown of his movements around London’s exclusive bars, restaurants and hotspots, if she started reading any of the weekly gossip magazines but she’d deliberately avoided doing that. Talia flicked to the next page of Variety and then she decided to call it a day. She was beginning to pack her laptop away when the phone rang. She reached for the receiver and picked it up.

  “Hello.” Talia said cautiously. Several times she had almost been caught out by sneaky journalists and Alex had taught her never to mention his name until she was sure that she actually knew who the caller was.

  “Who is this?” The voice on the phone dem
anded.

  “I’m sorry who were you trying to reach?” Talia countered.

  “Listen up sweetheart, get Alex on the phone – I’m his agent and he’ll want to to talk to me.” Talia felt her face go warm, Alex had warned her about Avi and from reading her emails, she had formed a vivid impression of Avital for herself.

  “I’m sorry Ms Silver, Alex isn’t here. I’m Talia, I work for him.”

  “Work for him doing what,” the woman sneered, immediately putting Talia’s back up.

  “Reading scripts,” she burst out indignantly.

  “You.” Avital spat out and Talia wondered what she could have done. “You’re the one telling him to pass on everything.”

  “I’m not telling him to pass…” But Avital broke in to her sentence.

  “Listen, I don’t know what it is you do, but I’d leave script decisions to people who actually know what they’re doing, you understand?” Talia gritted her teeth as she tried to find a responses that wasn’t inflammatory. “Anyway tell Alex to call me.” And Talia was left with a dialling tone.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Modigliani was even more exquisite hanging in her sitting room as the late afternoon sun filtered into the room. Tamara reclined on a chaise lounge, in a flowing Issa maxi dress and simply stared at it. To think the painting was likely worth more than her entire house! God only knew how she would afford the insurance. Tamara had dispatched another note to Vassily, a thank you note but this one warmer than any of her others and she’d even been so bold as to suggest dinner. Another stunning bouquet of flowers had been sent, Vassily had apologised that business would keep him out of the country until next week but then a dinner would be arranged.

  Tamara fought a burst of frustration: she wanted him now! Though Katie had invited her to go to the opera, Tamara had declined. Frankly she found the opera dull and usually she only attended such events in the hope of being thrown into the path of very rich men. Today she had no desire to play that game.