Dressed to Thrill

by Bella Frances

  ‘The persona that you’ve created that is actually nothing like you? Are you afraid people might see a woman with drive and talent—a real human being? Worried that they might see the real you, Tara? Whoever that is.’

  ‘That’s not fair. You’re just as much of a two-face as me.’

  He absorbed that one. Let it sink in. She had a point in some ways, but so much of his life was an open book. Facts—and fiction—were available, as she’d said, on every internet search engine. He couldn’t have lived the life he’d led and expected otherwise. But nobody really knew what had gone on in his head. No one had any notion how bad the carnage had been. Not even Angelica. And certainly not Fern.

  ‘You’ve tried that before, Tara. This isn’t about me. But I don’t have anything to hide. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Ask away.’

  For a moment she looked as if she was about to. She looked up from the screen and right into his eyes. Her mouth formed a question but the words didn’t come. He cocked his head in a question of his own, but she closed her lips and went back to the screen.

  ‘I think this would be a good chance to let the spotlight shine for just a moment on something other than the hedonism, Tara. Editorial control? I’m not going to promise you would have control, but I will promise that you will not be made out to be anything other than what you are.’

  He could feel her internal squirm starting up. It would be a major step forward for her if she could.

  ‘You know that I use the media. That’s no secret. But I’m not a big enough name for them to follow me everywhere, so when I do pop up it’s exactly how I want it to seem, I suppose…’

  ‘This isn’t sensationalist, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s art. I’m not in the business of offering free advertising. So what you need to ask yourself is if you’re comfortable with who you are in the downtime, when your beautiful smile and party antics aren’t there to keep everyone at bay. I’m not talking about showing yourself warts and all, I’m just suggesting adding another dimension. And, Tara, if you can, if you’re able to show people more of how you get your muse, how you organise your business, then people will warm to you and your profile will rise. All good.’

  She nodded. He could see every thought fly over her face as she worked it through.

  ‘It still doesn’t solve my cash-flow problems. My immediate need, five-grand-right-now, cash-flow problems.’

  ‘Not in itself. But I’m sure a contract with us would go a major way towards releasing funds. Hell, I don’t mind taking a look at your business plan, seeing if I can’t make it a bit more appealing.’

  He felt so responsible for her on one level—she was his sisters’ friend, a family friend. And she was his lover. For now. For today. Who knew where that would end up? But most of all she was a single girl in a big world with a lot of talent who just needed a little direction. Anyone in his position would help out.

  He could give her the cash right now—but if he even suggested that he knew what would happen next. And he definitely wasn’t going to force the issue. If she didn’t want to bite, he wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.

  ‘Ah. I don’t know. I really don’t.’ She sat running her fingers through her hair, twisting it over and over. ‘It could be good—it could be great! But you’ve already said that I wouldn’t have editorial control. I mean, what if I come across as a neurotic freak? What if it turns into one of those “how many bugs can the crazy girl eat” shows? I’ve been marketing myself in a whole different direction. That’s not who I am.’

  ‘But that’s the whole point, Tara—do you know who you are? Does anybody?’

  She looked startled for a moment, but then the defensiveness returned. ‘Good question, Michael. Do you?’

  ‘I’ll tell you right now who I am—I’m a survivor. And a damned lucky one at that. I was born to two parents who loved each other, and but for the world my father was caught up in they might still be together. But they’re not.’ He paused. Hearing himself speak about this out loud was almost shocking. She was the only woman he had ever spoken to about his parents before. And for some reason he trusted her enough to take the lead.

  ‘I’ll tell you it all, Tara—open book. Is that what you want to hear? Will that help you?’

  She was wide-eyed, watching him.

  ‘For years my mother and I were a team. Then when she met Carlos I felt abandoned. All over again.’

  She reached out an arm to him.

  ‘It’s fine. I had hours of therapy—enforced therapy—to help me see that. I was sent to therapy even before I needed it, that’s how considerate a mother she was.’ He laughed—an almost bitter-sounding laugh. But he wasn’t bitter. He was lucky. ‘Then I landed big jobs on the teen acting and modelling circuit. The shallow, vacuous world of how good everyone looks and how fake everyone is.’

  ‘Is that why you’re so against Fernanda getting involved?’

  He knew he was getting near to dangerous territory, but she deserved to know. It wasn’t personal, anything against Tara—it was loathing and fear of how that world could corrupt. Because he had first-hand knowledge.

  ‘Yes. But more than the pointlessness of that ‘industry’, for want of a better word, it’s the side issues—the drugs, the drink, the parties.’

  ‘And you think that I represent all of that? You think that I’ll corrupt Fernanda and lead her into a life of debauchery?’

  He shrugged. ‘I did. But I was seeing what you wanted me to see—what you want the world to see.’ He moved towards her—her and her scrubbed-clean naturalness that no one ever saw. ‘You’re not that person, Tara, but you’re still in that world. And you might be able to stay in control and manipulate the world to suit you, but others can’t. I couldn’t.’

  ‘Yes, but you were—what?—sixteen?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And you made your own choices. I made my own choices at sixteen. You’re not giving her a chance.’

  ‘I’m giving her the benefit of my experience. Tara, this is way beyond choices—this is about personality types and what can happen. Fern is like I was. We both get hooked into things, obsess about things until we master them, and then move on. Which is fine when the things are positive. But I got hooked into things that I don’t want her anywhere near.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes—oh.’

  She would know exactly what he meant. But she still didn’t know the extent of it. No one did, really.

  ‘I went down. Crashed. Burned. The lot. Tara, I tried everything—everything. Sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll. But I left out the rock ’n’ roll.’

  She nodded. ‘We’ve all had those offers, Michael. It’s part of life. All kids get those offers when they’re at any nightclub—it’s not just the media kids.’

  ‘Yeah, but when the offers get wilder, and when the people making them are controlling you, supposed to be looking after your interests…’

  ‘Oh.’ Again.

  The dawning look on her face told him she knew what he meant. And she hadn’t been expecting it.

  ‘I lost six months of my life. But I didn’t lose myself. That’s what I mean about being lucky. No one really knows this, Tara. I had dropped off the face of the earth when I got the news about my mother and Carlos. Their accident. And it came on the front of a newspaper that someone had left lying in a flat I was living in. I think it had been there for two weeks by the time I saw it. I’ll never forget the feeling—I thought it was some kind of trip. I couldn’t understand it or rationalise it. And I’d missed it—missed my mother’s death. I realised that my two baby sisters were completely alone. So somehow I got myself out and I turned myself around. Realised that I had to and, even more, that I wanted to protect those that needed protecting. Like Fernanda. And…you.’

  ‘Me? But I don’t need p
rotecting from that kind of world—I get offered things, but I know my limits. I know who and what to avoid—I know my way round the scene. I take care of myself. And I would never lead Fern into those situations. Never.’

  She didn’t get it. She just didn’t get it.

  ‘I know that. And I’m not saying you need protecting from pimps and pushers. But you need someone at your back. And you seem to bring out that part of me, Tara. You call it control freak? I prefer to call it my sense of responsibility.’

  Her eyes were totally wide now.

  He smiled at her. ‘Yes, querida. Whether you like it or not, I’m that kind of guy. Maybe it was the fact that my father sacrificed so much for love, or maybe it was the years with my mother, but it’s part of me and, like I said, you bring it out.’

  He had to lay it out for her now. Saying the words out loud was making sense to him. He hoped it was making sense to her too.

  ‘And I trust you enough to hold this close. Between us.’

  He couldn’t stop himself. Did not want to stop himself. So much for keeping it all business. That had lasted—what?—ten minutes max? She was his drug of choice right now. No debate.

  He closed the gap and cupped her face, just the way he liked to. Drew the pad of his thumb across her still incredulous mouth. ‘I am one lucky guy.’

  Her big blue honest eyes were staring right back at him. ‘You are… You are?’

  ‘Sure. You’re such a beautiful woman.’ He pulled another kiss from her. Opened his eyes and drank in the scrubbed-clean version of her. ‘This face. This body.’

  He couldn’t get enough—could not stop himself dragging kisses from her, running his hands over her skin, under the robe. But he had to step back. She needed to see what was so obvious—that she was way more than image. She was talented, kind. And much, much softer than she ever made out.

  ‘You’re a survivor too, Tara. But your path is narrow—maybe this is a chance to open up. See if there are other ways to be Tara Devine.’

  She cast her eyes down again. Her hand went to her hair. Twirling strands round and round. ‘This is such a tough call, Michael. Taking me so far out of my comfort zone.’

  He shrugged. ‘We’re looking at options just now. You seemed like a natural fit. But not if you’re not comfortable.’

  ‘I need to think about it and…and I don’t have enough time to do that. I take risks—but every risk is thought through and measured. I don’t know. I don’t know…’

  ‘Don’t do anything you’re not sure of. But, Tara, you need to prioritise some things in your life. You’re holding yourself back. And what you started to tell me earlier—about your family, your mother.’ She opened her mouth but he shook his head, shushed her. ‘You need to deal with that. Or start to deal with it.’

  ‘That was just a comment I made, I don’t let that get in the way of anything.’

  He couldn’t stop the double-take, held his hands up. ‘OK. Whatever you say. My only advice, for what it’s worth, would be that you might want to book some time and talk it through with someone.’

  ‘It’s my business that’s important to me,—not what some sad old man thinks about me.’

  ‘The sad old man being your grandfather?’

  He watched as her face flushed and tightened.

  ‘He has nothing to do with me or my life any more.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  He wanted to shake her. Gripped her arms instead and held her there. ‘Tara. You’re running so fast, but you can’t see that you’re still tied down. Take some time—think instead of trying to blast your way through life. You’ll get there faster in the end.’

  She was retreating. Defending. Right in front of his eyes he could see the walls going up again. She was moving back into her safety zone. And the worst of it was how close she had come to taking a really big step out of it.

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s time I can’t afford right now. Same as I can’t afford to stay here and chew the fat. I need to get going—get this show back on the road.’

  He nodded. Maybe this was for the best.

  ‘Of course, baby. No problem. The offer still stands—if you want it. We’ll be finalising the schedules quite soon, but don’t feel under any pressure.’ She looked so uncomfortable, so vulnerable, so desperate to get away. It made him ache for her. ‘Tara…’

  ‘I’m fine, Michael. Thanks for the offer. It’s a great offer. Ehm… I’m going to head off now. Can you call a cab?’

  ‘The car’s here—I’ll phone down; it’ll be ready to go. Take the car.’

  She tried a full smile. He wanted to comfort her but she was away, out the room, off down the hall. Tiny and fragile-looking in the big white robe.

  He watched her try and fail to pull off a confident stride. Knew without looking that the emotions would be rolling over her face. Maybe there would be tears in her baby blues. But the heavy black weight in her heart was a definite.

  TEN

  With her phone charged, Tara was confronted with a stream of notifications—texts, tweets and posts. Wow! And one call from home. With voicemail. She ignored it. Could not even think about going near that right now.

  Lars hadn’t been at the party after all, but he was still in town and still looking for assets. You had to love a guy who went shopping on that scale—retail therapy for billionaires. Luckily they needed to offload ‘pick-me-up’ cash too.

  Tara started to read through the stuff on her phone. She’d figured she’d be an easy target on social media for her less than elegant exit from the club with Michael, but she’d totally, totally underestimated the volume of traffic it had generated.

  Even driving out of the underground car park of Michael’s apartment building had been a shocker. The driver had warned her there might be a squad and he’d been right—at least half a dozen snappers had stuck their cameras to the window of the car as it had eased over the ramp. Those pictures—flat hair, bare face and hangover—hadn’t appeared yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.

  But even without them she seemed to have rocked straight to the top of the ‘what’s hot’ gossip columns. This was easily the most publicity she’d ever had.

  Tara Devine—London’s newest It Girl?

  She warily opened up the link on a tweet from the bitchiest blogger in town.

  Answer—no! What’s happened to party girl Tara? One week at Camp Cruz and she hits the scene looking like an homage to the Flintstones. Sorry, Tara, but you’re def not rockin the It Girl look. Is this what happens when you hook up with a man? Last week you launched a kickass collection to the world. Grown-up Girlpower. This week? The wrong dress, the wrong hair and under the arm of the wrong man. Not sayin’ any of us would kick Michael Cruz out of bed, but, girlfriend…what you doin’, letting yourself be dragged home like carrion?

  Well, she could have predicted that—but it still hurt. As did the dozen or so posts below it. There was no such thing as bad publicity? Really? In her position, with another fashion week to go, she couldn’t afford to be making mistakes. She might even have made a Worst Dressed list somewhere. Where was her head at? What had she been thinking? So much for her carefully constructed image. Fashion designers just did not make bad fashion choices. She needed to get this sorted. And fast.

  The wrong man.

  Why on earth had that even got a mention? They were reading so much more into this than was real. Michael wasn’t her ‘man’. She didn’t have room in her life for a man. And there was no doubt in her mind that he didn’t see it that way either. He was…

  Her mind rolled with images: of herself choking on her drink when she saw him that first time at the after-party, watching him wal
k away after he’d kissed her, him handing her the glass of rum and laughing at her nervousness as she knocked it back. Staring at their reflection in his bathroom mirror as he held her against him. He was…

  He’d been vile. He’d been amazing. He’d been offensive and sweet and kind and loving.

  His dark intense eyes as he handed her coffee, held her face in his hands, kissed her…

  Then, this morning, sitting on the bed with a glass of water. Offering to film her for a documentary. Asking her about her mother. And listening to her answer.

  She breathed in and closed her eyes, letting the memories wash over her.

  Him leaning up on his elbows, filling her and gazing into her eyes. Complete. Replete.

  He was too much. Too intense. Too close.

  He was the last thing she needed.

  She scanned more posts.

  She needed to clear her head.

  There was so much fallout after last night. Could she really blame him for it? Maybe not, but he hadn’t helped.

  So, the documentary—definitely not. And Lars—definitely.

  She jumped up. She just needed to come clean—maybe tweet about wardrobe malfunctions. Laugh at herself online and then get back on the couture wagon. Slip into something from her current collection and stalk Lars.

  There was no way the last ten years were going to be ruined by an ill-chosen dress and a moment of weakness. OK, Michael was more than a moment of weakness—he was a seismic shift who had taken her on and trusted her with so much. He was everything—handsome, smart, the most sexually perfect partner she could ever imagine having. He was kind, trusting. But for these last few days she had lost herself in him. Lost who she really was. And she couldn’t afford to do that. Couldn’t afford to get knocked any further off track. Couldn’t afford to fixate on him or dwell on the past the way he was suggesting.