by Havana Adams
She had one week to ensure that everything was perfect for her next date with Vassily and to that end, once again Tamara had called a style council of war with William. As her doorbell rang, Tamara swung her feet off the sofa. She resisted the urge to kiss her beloved painting and instead slipped her feet into a pair of flat Jimmy Choo gladiator sandals. She collected her Chloe tote and headed for the front door, opening it to William.
“Darling I’m just setting the alarm,” she called out to him as she tapped the code in.
“Oh Tamara – gorge as always.” William smiled as they air kissed one another before he tucked his arm into hers as they strolled down the road.
“So where to?” Tamara asked. “I’m entirely at your mercy,” she told William with a smile.
“Well you said a dress worthy of a billionaire, so I say we start at Harvey Nicks…” Tamara smiled with satisfaction. By the time Vassily returned next week, she’d be more than ready for her close up.
“The man is a total maniac,” Helena burst out with such uncharacteristic force that Talia paused with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth. She stared at her friend and the spots of colour on her cheek and slowly she put down the Hau Gau dim sum that she’d been about to sample. They’d decided on an early dinner in a small but popular Chinese restaurant close to Helena’s flat but from the start, Talia had seen that Helena was wired and on edge.
“It’s not like you to let work get to you.”
“He wants me to model, Talia and with my mother.” The horror was apparent in Helena’s voice.
“Has something else happened?” Talia asked gently.
“Happened how, what do you mean, nothing’s happened,” Helena’s rapid-fire response coupled with the fact that she then spluttered on her sip of water was more than enough to let Talia know that her instincts had been correct.
“Hel…,” che cajoled softly and then watched stunned, as the always so poised Helena blushed red. “Oh my god,” Talia exclaimed. “You’ve had sex with him.”
“Shush,” Helena urged as the couple in the next booth turned to them with interest. “I have not. Nothing’s happened. Well not nothing...”
“Oh my god. Who are you?” Talia laughed enjoying her friend’s discomfort.
“Look he took me skinny dipping, saw me naked and now has this crazy idea about me modelling.” Talia’s mouth dropped open but she resisted the urge to carry on teasing her friend, as Helena looked genuinely frazzled.
“OK, I’ll ignore the skinny dipping for now and deal with the modelling. Why is it a crazy idea? I know you don’t like to talk about things with your mother, but you’re the spitting image of her, this sounds like a no-brainer.” She watched her friend process her words.
“Give me a camera any day and I’ll take pictures for you. That I can do, that I love. But I hate having my picture taken. Hate it. I want to be editor not one of those people who thrusts themselves into the limelight at every opportunity. Besides Sula would never go for it, trust me.”
“Well maybe that’s your out then. Let them put it to her, she says no and you’re off the hook.”
“God I hope so,” Helena said as she drained the rest of her Jasmine tea. “So how’s it been, working for Alex?”
“Pretty good actually, interesting.” Talia lowered her voice and then leaned into her friend. “I have this idea and I’ve been thinking about writing a script myself.”
At this Helena squealed in approval.
“Good. Finally. Just do it and it’ll be amazing.” Talia shrugged at her friend’s words.
“I don’t know about that but it probably can’t be that much worse than half the stuff I’m reading by established and represented writers.”
“Just get it written and see how it goes. I’m so proud of you,” Helena said, before looking down to glance at her watch. “You don’t mind but I told Alex we’d be here tonight and he thought he might stop by. It might be nice for him to take a break from being on the cover of Heat or US Weekly,” Helena added rolling her eyes.
“Of course.” Talia smiled. And she realised that she didn’t mind, that somehow she and Alex had started to find a groove where they could get by without wanting to kill each other.
“Speak of the devil,” Helena said and Talia looked up to see that Alex was striding through the restaurant. You could tell the moment that the other diners started to recognise him. There was silence, a tangible, loaded silence and then the whispering, which carried around the restaurant. They’d chosen a table at the back of the room and Alex had to traverse the length of the restaurant to reach them. Talia watched him as he walked towards them, his head held high, his eyes slightly vague, never settling on any one person for more than a split second. She felt a moment of compassion for him; she could not imagine what it must be like to always be under scrutiny, for nothing to be private. But she squashed the thought down quickly, Alex Golden, multi-millionaire moviestar didn’t need her compassion.
“There you are,” he said as he dropped into a chair at their booth, even as the other diners continued to stare, snap pictures and chatter excitedly about his presence.
Tamara was perched on the sofa in the private personal shopping section of Harvey Nichols. She sipped from a Champagne flute but ignored the tray of macaroons and fresh fruit that had been placed on the coffee table in front of her. Strictly speaking, a mere television star wouldn’t normally warrant this level of VIP treatment, which was usually reserved for Saudi Royals but the stylists had jumped into action as soon as William and Tamara arrived. William was a celebrity stylist who’d worked with Oscar winners and supermodels and this was enough to command the lavish attention of the Personal Shopping team at the famous department store. Tamara’s recent dalliances with Alex Golden, which had been breathlessly covered in the weekly magazines had also propelled her higher up the food chain, in recent weeks.
Tamara sighed and shook her head as yet another gown was consigned to the pile of rejected ones. From Philip Lim 3.1 to Alexander Wang, to Lanvin, Jason Wu and Stella McCartney – no dress, no designer, no style had yet come up to the lofty image that Tamara had in mind and even the ever-perky William was starting to wilt.
“Tam hon, with someone as beautiful as you, you know it’s not about the dress. You’d look amazing in anything.”
As much as she liked being flattered Tamara shook her head – she had always trusted her instincts and she knew that nothing had been right.
“I’m exhausted,” she announced placing the Champagne flute down and rising to her feet. Even after hours of shopping she still looked fresh and unrumpled.
“Of course Tam. I’ll have a think and come up with a new strategy,” William said.
As Tamara swept out of the room, the personal stylists watched her go.
“What a bitch.” One of them muttered. The other stared enviously after Tamara’s retreating back and nodded.
“That bitch apparently has Alex Golden on tap and I’ve heard she was out with Vassily Romanov.” The two assistants sighed.
“Bitches always get to live the dream,” the first assistant finally said. And then, they began the task of tidying away the dresses that Tamara had deemed beneath her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“She’s really pushing herself hard,” Alex commented to Talia as they watched Helena pacing outside the restaurant her mobile phone jammed to her ear.
“This issue is a big deal and she might make editor on the back of it,” Talia replied watching as Helena weaved her way back through the restaurant towards them. Helena looked frazzled.
“What’s up?” Alex asked.
“That was Tobias on the phone, I need to go in,” Helena said with an irritable sigh as she grabbed her handbag.
“Now?” Talia asked.
“Yep apparently he’s had Gabe on the phone telling him about his brilliant idea.” Talia grimaced in sympathy with her friend. “Looks like if I want to keep my job and get a shot at editor, I’d better be ready for
my close-up.”
Alex smiled at his sister. “Some women would kill to be a cover girl, it might not be that bad,” he finished.
“You understand that they want me to model, to spend time, with our mother,” Helena hissed, lowering her voice as once again the other diners turned to stare at their group with interest.
“My bad,” Alex said, raising his hands in a placating gesture.
“Sorry to bail out on you Tal.” Talia nodded sympathetically as she watched her friend grab her handbag and slip into her jacket.
“Don’t worry. Take care and call me if you need to,” Talia said as Helena walked away towards the exit. Talia looked up awkwardly as she suddenly took in the fact that she now found herself alone with Alex Golden in an intimate booth.
“So what next?” Alex asked.
“Helena and I were going to the cinema,” Talia confided and immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Great! Off to the movies it is,” he said already raising his hand to call for the bill. In her seat, Talia squirmed as she noted the glances that she and Alex were getting from the other women in the restaurant. She had dressed for a quiet evening with a female friend but as she tugged at the sleeves of the old shirt dress that she’d thrown on over leggings she suddenly wished that she was one of those women who made a bit more of an effort. She could feel the looks, almost hear their assessing comments, who was this ordinary girl dining with the god that was Alex Golden? Talia smiled discomfited as Alex turned to her.
“You ready?" He asked her and she nodded rising to her feet. She and Alex were going to the movies together. Life just got stranger and stranger.
Tamara had allowed William to coax her into a quick drink and they’d strolled into the VIP area of the Knightsbridge club Valhalla. Tamara could tell at once that this new hotspot wasn’t her scene. The queue outside of pre-teen girls who looked like WAG wannabes had been off-putting, but at least they had been kept out. Inside though, things were scarcely any better. Sloaney types of 19 and 20 danced to hip-hop music whilst footballers reclined on the zebra print sofas that dominated the space. One particularly confident looking Premiership player had even sent over a bottle of Cristal. Tamara had been impressed but not enough to pursue it beyond a nod of thanks across the room. After a rather messy relationship with a football player in the early Noughties, she had sworn she would never date another one again, perhaps not even a professional sportsman. Sportsmen, she’d reasoned, were just far too unpredictable and none more so than footballers. Sure they had oodles of disposable cash but everything, everything revolved around the game, match day and the season and the club not to mention how fragile knees and ankles could be. A footballer had only a limited shelf life and even then injury could cut that time in one fell swoop and then one would be stuck with defective merchandise and no source of income. Businessmen were better bets. Tamara had sipped the champagne with a gracious nod at the player before turning back to William who was glugging the stuff down like it was water.
As moist heat, spread through the rapidly filling club and a footballer at the next table began spraying Champagne over a pair of barely clad girls dancing on a table, Tamara realised that it was way past time that she exist this party. William had found himself a couple of playthings and Tamara eased out of the club making sure to exit through a side entrance – she had no desire to be papped leaving this place. She was grateful for the jacket she’d brought with her and she draped it over her shoulders walking towards the bank of taxis lined up outside the Park Lane Hilton. The cool breeze was a welcome balm to her skin and she resolved to have Casey book her a facial the very next day. As she walked past another club, the Bourbon Mix nightclub, which had become one of the most talked about new spots in London, Tamara’s eyes were drawn to a couple, who appeared to be locked in some sort of argument. The man and woman stood toe to toe with each other and though she could not hear their words, Tamara could discern the aggression in both their poses. The man’s back was to her but the girl Tamara could see was young, with coltish long limbs exposed to perfection in a very short Chloe playsuit. The girl waved her arms in anger only to be grabbed by the man, who took her arm and began to frogmarch her towards the street. As they turned towards her, she finally caught a full view of the man’s face. It was Vassily Romanov.
Tamara was frozen as the couple moved quickly towards her. The girl’s arms sulkily folded across her chest, as Vassily strode beside her, his own face betraying annoyance. Tamara had nowhere to go and within moments they had reached her position.
“Tamara!” Vassily said, his expression betraying surprise and something else. Guilt, Tamara thought. Vassily looks guilty. She watched his eyes shift to the girl who stood alongside him and who was now glancing between Vassily and Tamara with interest.
The girl spoke, “How do you…” But Vassily cut her off with a curt nod.
“Get in the car.” Sulkily, the girl climbed in to the car, a black Mibok with tinted windows that had silently pulled up alongside them without Tamara noticing.
Vassily moved towards her and Tamara stood her ground, trying to school her expression into one of blank amusement, trying to hide the bitter disappointment that was coursing through her.
“I thought you were away on business.” Tamara winced as she heard herself speak. She was not that type of woman; one who made scenes over men and certainly not in public places. And yet she felt this disappointment lance through her with an unexpected force. She was thrown. Vassily had surprised her and it was a long time since any man had managed to do that. They were all cheats and liars. No woman with any sense trusted her wellbeing to any man. It was a lesson that she had learned at an early age. She was not like other women, she wasn’t fooled, was never sucked in by the talk or the feelings. But now she realised that Vassily had wormed his way past her defences. The painting. It was the painting that had let him in.
“Look Tamara, this is…” Vassily floundered for a moment and he uttered a word that Tamara assumed must be an expletive in Russian. “Things are complicated.” Tamara allowed a peal of laughter to ring out.
“Aren’t they always,” she replied dryly, still chuckling. Slowly she backed away and then glanced down at the waiting car, where the young girl had wound down the window to glare up at them. She really was beautiful, Tamara thought, and so very young. “I’ll leave you to your evening’s entertainment,” she finished and then turned on her heel.
Vassily would not see the pain in her eyes. He would not know the disappointment that dashed through her. The girl could not have been more than 18 or 19 and Vassily it seemed like all rich men was simply another cliché. Tamara’s walk was purposeful and confident. Within minutes she had stepped into a cab that carried her north of the city towards her home. In the back of the cab she closed her eyes and though it was dark she pulled on her sunglasses forestalling any conversation from the cabbie, whom she knew had recognised her. When she arrived home, Tamara slowly removed all her make up and then showered the smell of the club from her body. At her vanity mirror she brushed her hair until it shone. She brushed her skin vigorously with the Elemis skin body-brush and she drank a tall glass of water. She did not deviate from her nightly routine, slowly compartmentalising her disappointment, crushing it over and over in a mental vice until she lobbed it into the waste bin in the back of her mind, where so many old hurts and disappointments resided. By morning she would have everything back in perspective. She had never much liked the idea of being the second string mistress. But, for a billionaire, well, perhaps needs must.
When she finally fell into bed, her last thought was that Vassily Romanov really was a class-act, a billionaire breed apart, willing to give a million pound piece of art, for a woman who was simply just one among many.
The late showing of the film spilled out into the quiet street. The road was largely deserted; the shops and bars already past closing time as Talia and Alex began the walk back to the house.
“I’ll w
alk you back,” Alex had insisted and so they fell into step along the High Street.
“What did you think of the film?” Talia finally asked breaking the silence.
“I liked it,” Alex replied. “Cora is a great director.”
“You know her?” The incredulity in Talia’s voice suddenly reminded Alex how far he was from LA.
“Sure. I met with her a few times about some projects,”
“And?”
“And nothing. Avi and I decided that she wasn’t yet big name enough.” Alex watched as Talia’s brow crinkled but she stayed silent.
“Well, tonight was fun,” Talia said as they approached the top of the street that would take them to his grandfather’s house. Alex was surprised at the warmth in Talia’s words and he suddenly realised what had shifted in the weeks that they worked together.
“You know that almost sounded friendly,” he said and watched the look of embarrassment on Talia's face.
“So I guess we’re friends now,” she retorted.
“Friends,” Alex repeated slowly as though the word were alien to him.
“Friends, you know….” Talia trailed off and she came to a halt on the pavement turning to Alex who had also come to a standstill next to her. “Alex, tell me that in the 21st century you do have some female friends?” Alex felt his cheeks warm in the night air and was grateful for the dim orange street lamps, which at least meant she probably couldn’t see the stain of colour rising along his cheekbones.
“Well,” he prevaricated, “there was Dina… Back in primary school but she used to beat me up… and then Suzy, but Suzy was my imaginary friend.”
“Your imaginary friend was a girl?” Talia asked. Alex nodded with a small laugh at the incredulity in Talia’s voice.
“I started early.”
“So no female friends. None at all? All those women you’re photographed with, surely you haven’t….” Talia trailed off. And as Alex opened his mouth to answer her unfinished question, she put her hand up. “I don’t want to know.”
