The Modeliser

by Havana Adams

  “The truth is you’re not the kind of woman I want in my life, in my daughter’s life.” The words were succinct and brutal and Tamara recoiled as though he’d slapped her. “After my wife died, I did all of that – New York is full of women like you - pretty, talented, smart women who have the morals of alley cats who just want to land a millionaire husband…” Vassily trailed off as Tamara stood up. She dabbed carefully at her lips with her napkin before she dumped it back down on the table.

  “You are so presumptuous.”

  “You set out to get me at the launch of Imperium,” Vassily shot back.

  “And as I recall you seemed more than happy to be got,” she snapped back. “You think a lot of yourself. I wasn’t looking for a husband, just to fuck a billionaire. You’d be amazed at the bragging rights of something like that, for a girl like me.” The last words were uttered dripping with sarcasm and Tamara grabbed her bag and began to stalk towards the door. Behind her she heard a sharp scraping sound as Vassily shoved his chair back. Tamara quickened her steps, moving from the dining room, past a large sculpture, through the opulent hallway as she heard his heavy footsteps behind her. He caught her next to the elaborate staircase and he grabbed her, spinning her round to face him.

  “And the painting, what was that?” Tamara spat at him and she saw Vassily recoil. Slowly his fingers uncurled from around her upper arms and he let her go.

  “That night at Ian’s, I thought I saw something real in you. For a moment you weren’t trying to play me.”

  For a long moment, they stared at each other in silence. And Tamara felt dizziness flood through her, as though she was staring out at an abyss, something frightening that would change everything. It was that same bolt of attraction that she had felt that night, in the lift, at the launch of Imperium. Tamara stepped back, unsteady in the spindly Manolo Blahnik heels but Vassily pulled her back.

  “I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind,” he admitted. Tamara raised an eyebrow.

  “Even with my alley cat morals?” She couldn’t resist sniping, even as she realised what that admission had cost him. Suddenly, she realised the power that she had over him.

  A faint smile crossed Vassily’s face and without thought, Tamara raised a hand to his neck. She stroked him - from beneath his ear to the top of his shoulder and back up again feeling the tense strength in him. She felt the tension drain from him.

  “I won’t be made a fool of,” he grated harshly.

  “And I won’t be played.” She told him, deadly serious.

  Vassily nodded and then slowly he kissed her, an unhurried and gentle kiss, totally unlike the heated moment of madness in the lift. And yet Tamara was up in flames almost immediately. Her libido had revved from zero to 100 in seconds. Their bodies were mashed together and Vassily’s hands pawed at her dress, he stroked her up and down, cupping her butt and then moving up past the small of her back to rub between her shoulder blades, as though he wanted to get under her skin. Vassily scooped her up into his arms.

  “No. Here,” Tamara demanded. She could not wait to reach his bedroom. Right now the stairs would have to do. She was fast reaching a point where she didn’t care who saw them. But Vassily shook his head.

  “The staff,” he murmured into her neck and slowly he carried her up the stairs. At his words, Tamara groaned her frustration. The Staff. She’d finally found one disadvantage to being filthy rich! They’d reached the top of the stairs and Vassily’s mouth came down hard on hers again. Tamara matched him beat for beat. Her hands ripped at his shirt and she slipped her hands against his warm chest and pinched his nipple hard, swallowing the moan he made as she switched her attention to his other nipple.

  Tamara was aware of him kicking a door open and slowly he laid her on a bed. She had eyes only for him – watching as he pulled off his shirt to reveal rock hard abs and a sprinkling of fine blond hair on his chest. His body was big and broad and totally unlike the lean pretty boy actors and models with their gym-honed bodies that she regularly encountered. Vassily was broader and wide - big like a boxer, his muscles straining now. He was cut like a god. And she told him so. Told him what she wanted to do to him, what he could do to her. Tamara was gratified to see that Vassily’s hands were shaky as he clumsily tried to unbuckle his belt. Tamara stared at him half naked, while she was still fully clothed and she shivered at this power that she had over him. Slowly, she moved toward him at the bottom of the bed, her own hands taking over the task of removing his belt. Unable to resist she bent her head to his belly and began to lick his hot, toned flesh. She felt his hand in her hair as she slowly eased his zip down. She pushed his trousers and the silk boxers off his hips just enough so that she could grasp the rock hard erection that leapt to her touch. She gripped him hard and smiled as she realised that her hand could not close completely around him. Vassily groaned, his hand tightening in her scalp. Slowly she began to stroke her hand up and down his length, she leaned forward and was about to take him in her mouth, when she heard the sound. For a moment she dismissed it but almost immediately, the sound began again. Slowly Tamara eased away from him.

  “What is that?” She asked.

  Vassily looked up at her, his eyes glazed. Once again the sound rang out, insistently and both their eyes were drawn to his mobile phone, which was discarded on the floor by the bed.

  “Ignore it,” he said. Tamara was inclined to agree with him but she reached down to switch the phone off and froze as she glanced at the caller display.

  “You’ll want to take this.”

  Tamara lay fully clothed, sprawled on the bed as she watched Vassily move towards his en suite dressing room speaking urgently into his phone. Slowly her breath was returning to normal and she banked down the haze of frustrated lust that surrounded her. Even as she cursed the interruption, her brain was already plotting a strategy. She’d been saved by that call, she decided. She recalled the words that she’d spoken to Katie weeks before. She would not allow sex to ruin her plans. She wanted Vassily, there was no doubt about that, wanted him more than she’d wanted any man in a long time but for now she had to make him wait.

  “Tamara.”

  She turned to face Vassily as he emerged from his bathroom. He was once again fully clothed and there was a look of regret in his eyes.

  “I have to go.”

  Tamara gave him a small smile and nodded. Another shaft of lust punched through her but she gritted her teeth. She must hold her nerve and make him wait because she wanted to be more than some temporary lover; she had big plans for her billionaire.

  On the outskirts of Paris, daylight was fading fast and the skyline was a canvas of reds and oranges, greys and blues – a beautiful summer sunset. For Helena there was little to rejoice about as the interminable shoot just seemed set to run and run. Sula had finally turned up, without explanation or apology and Gabe had finally had a chance to put his vision into action. There would be two covers for Époque’s centenary edition – celebrating old and new. The first would be shot at Versailles and the second, achingly modern, would take the Pompidou Centre as its location.

  Helena held her pose atop a makeshift podium, even as a series of makeup artists surrounded her mother, who was once again complaining about something. All day it had been the light, the heat, the lack of hydration…. And yet the crew had taken Sula’s whining in their stride, they’d seemed to expect it from a cultural icon and now they swarmed around her, determined to do her bidding. Helena grimaced as she watched her mother bestow a smile on the make up artist. To say that Sula had been cold to her was an understatement. She’d spoken to Helena only to criticise her gait, give directions on her stooping posture, or comment that her expressions weren’t right. It had taken every measure of self-discipline for Helena to hold her temper.

  In the one of a kind, couture Alexander McQueen dress – an intricate confection of gold and chain, which weighed a ton, Helena stood stiffly, they had practically had to sew her into the dress. She looked to whe
re Gabe was deep in conversation with a lighting engineer. Gabe was glancing at the laptop computer and Helena knew that they would be deciding if he had the shots he needed. Usually she would be a part of that process but today, in her model capacity she had felt detached from it all, had felt too that Gabe was distancing himself from her. Though he had given her directions, most of his attention and energy had been spent on Sula. Helena felt a frisson of unease but she pushed it back. Her mother always caused her to feel paranoid and uneasy. She looked up as she spotted Gabe turning to address the crew.

  “OK guys it’s a wrap for tonight, thanks everybody.” A smattering of applause broke out and relieved, Helena stepped carefully off the podium. She watched Gabe move to Sula’s podium and offer her an arm, which Sula clung to like a limpet.

  “That was wonderful, darling,” Gabe said. Helena felt bile rise in her as she caught the flirtatious look in her mother’s eye.

  “You flatterer,” Sula replied as they continued to walk towards her waiting car. Helena bristled at the way Gabe had totally ignored her. And then she turned and marched as best she could in the heavy dress towards a second waiting car.

  Hours later and Helena lay in her bed straight as a board as tension simmered through her. Dinner at the on-trend Paris eatery with the rest of the crew had been a nightmare. Sula had made a point of excluding Helena from every conversation. She’d cut her off whenever she spoke and had monopolised Gabe’s attention. Suddenly all the old insecurities from childhood had reared up. Helena had excused herself early and had hoped that Gabe might follow her. He didn’t. So now she lay awake at 1am in Paris, alone in her hotel room. In the days before Sula had turned up, she and Gabe had spent most waking hours together and some of the sleeping ones too. They had made love everywhere - his room, hers and on one occasion in the hotel lift. Helena had been surprised at how quickly she’d opened up to him, telling him things about herself that she not even told Grant in their two years together. She’d answered Gabe’s questions about her dad and even told him of the dream she’d once held to be a photographer just like her father.

  Helena smacked a fist heavily down on the bed and took a deep breath. She felt vulnerable, she’d exposed too much of herself to Gabe. At least, she'd made sure to delete those incriminating naked pictures from his camera. She patted down her pillow and closed her eyes but with her thoughts still uneasy, she knew she would not get any sleep. With a burst of energy, Helena jumped out of bed. She was going to have this out with Gabe now.

  Several long minutes later, having pounded on Gabe’s door, Helena returned to her room. It seemed she’d misjudged Gabe. She gave a bitter laugh, she hadn’t misjudged him, everyone knew Gabe was a player and no doubt at this time of night he’d found one of the more than willing members of the crew to satisfy his needs. She flicked her light off and willed the morning to come. She simply wanted to finish this shoot and get back to her life.

  Though it was a cooler day than had been typical for London over the long hot summer, the sun still shone brilliantly as Vassily and Tamara strolled alongside the Thames taking in the view of the Houses of Parliament and beyond that the London Eye. They’d had breakfast in Sloane Square and it was Vassily who had suggested the walk. Tamara glanced around and caught sight of two men a few paces behind them – Vassily’s security. It was the first time they had been together since the interruption two nights ago.

  “How’s Sasha now?” Tamara asked. She saw Vassily’s jaw harden.

  “Sullen,” he answered shortly. “She and her friends get arrested for underage drinking and somehow I’m the monster.” Tamara allowed a small smile but concealed it quickly.

  “Vassily, she’s 17. That’s what young girls do.”

  “Not Russian girls,” he growled back. Tamara rolled her eyes. “Since we moved from New York, she’s been unpredictable, unreliable and her grades are dropping,” Vassily continued.

  “She’s in a new country, a new school and trying to make new friends.”

  “She’s turning into someone else,” Vassily said. There was something ominous in his tone and Tamara stopped and turned to him.

  “What do you mean?” She asked.

  “Her mother,” he said heavily. Tamara was quiet as she sensed that he was about to confide in her, tell her something of this mysterious dead wife on whom there was so little information. “She died of an overdose.”

  Tamara was quiet as he continued. “I was always working, building up the business and she would leave Sasha with a nanny. She had some lover in Brooklyn. I covered it up,” Vassily said bitterly. “Paid off her dealer, the lover, I didn’t want my daughter’s life to be blighted by this…”

  Tamara leaned up and enveloped him in a hug. She felt the battle within him as he tried to hold himself stiff but eventually his arms came around her and he took the comfort that she offered.

  “This isn’t what you signed up for,” he said as he finally let her go. Tamara smiled as she acknowledged that he was giving her an out. Tamara had wanted a rich man; it was why she had sought Vassily out. She’d sought out a union that would be logical, financially profitable. She wanted to set herself up for life. This was not supposed to be about emotions. As she stared up at Vassily she felt herself being pulled out of her depth. What did she know about families and teenagers? And yet even as she felt herself losing the control she craved, she realised that since that first moment in the lift, nothing with Vassily had gone according to plan. Slowly she placed her hand in his much larger one and they began to walk again.

  “What am I going to do?” He asked. Tamara stared ahead for a long moment.

  “We’ll work it out,” she finally said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I fucking love it!”

  The words were yelled down the phone, forcing Talia to pull the mobile phone handset away from her ear for a moment but she was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Seriously?” She asked, even as Simone launched into her thoughts about Talia’s script.

  “Babe, it is brilliant, full of suspense, loads of brilliant turning points and Act 3 is dynamite. This is a big one Talia, this isn’t low budget Indie shit, this is a studio movie.”

  Talia let out the breath that she hadn’t even realised that she was holding as she processed Simone’s praise of her screenplay. With Alex occupied with play rehearsals she had totally thrown herself into her script, writing into the unknown. She’d not been sure if the script was genuinely the start of something or if she’d find that she simply didn’t have what it took to write a movie and yet she had pushed on, continuing to write every night, long into the night until finally she’d got to the end. She knew it was good, felt it in her bones that this script had something but this certainty was tempered too with fear and she’d stepped back and done what she’d always told her own writers to do. Writing is re-writing. So she’d started the re-write not stopping until she finally thought she’d cracked the story and made it as strong as it could be.

  “Thank you.” Talia’s voice was weak and she heard Simone laugh down the phone

  “You don’t have to thank me, it’s better than almost everything I read in my script days.” You know what you have to do, don’t you?” Simone was silent. “You have to get it to someone in LA. Give it to Alex.”

  “I can’t,” Talia said.

  “You have to. This isn’t the time to be all British and hide your light under a bushel. This is your career,” Simone insisted.

  Though Alex had asked to see the script, Talia was still filled with doubts, still worried that it would be asking too much.

  “Promise me you’ll ask him,” Simone demanded. “Promise!”

  “Ok, Ok, I’ll show it to him,” Talia finally agreed.

  After she’d showered and dressed in a fitted pair of jeans and a loose yellow blouse that complimented her skintone, Talia sat with her laptop on her knees, simply reading through the script again. She’d weighed up the pros and cons time and time again. Sho
uld she send Alex the script? Would she ruin their friendship? Would he think she was being pushy, abusing her position? With a decisive sigh – Talia clicked the print icon, listening as the printer started up and it began to spew out her script.

  The old Talia might have chosen to value this new friendship with Alex more but this was a new and improved version of Talia. If she’d learned one thing from Tamara’s machinations and from the way the Encounters crew had cut her loose, it was that she must always put herself and her career first. If Alex could help place her script, then she would get his help. After all, she thought, Alex was only playing. Soon he would go back to LA and their friendship would be little more than a distant memory. As the pages continued to grow, Talia placed the laptop down. From the hallway there was the heavy sound of letters hitting the wood floors – the postman was here. Talia padded barefoot into the hallway and picked up the letters. Most of the mail that arrived was for Alex and Helena’s grandfather and Talia was surprised to see a padded white envelope addressed to her. Curious, she immediately tore it open and pulled out a heavy gold piece of paper. The paper was mocked up to look like a golden ticket and Talia quickly scanned the page. A wide smile spread across her face. The Gold Ticket was an invitation to the legendary annual summer party of Rough Draft productions. Talia had heard about this party, had seen mentions of it in magazines like Tatler and Vanity Fair, but she had never dreamed that one day she might find herself invited. Her brow furrowed – why was she being invited? Could Sara have put her on the list? Talia quickly shook off this thought; Sara would sell her own ovaries before she helped anyone out.

  Talia padded back into the sitting room and gathered up the pages of her newly printed script. She laid it down on the table and looked again at the golden ticket in her hand. Whatever the reason for the invitation, she had every intention of going to the party. Talia glanced back at the invitation and a smile spread across her face, she knew exactly who would be her wingman for the evening.