Marbella Nights

by Camille Oster

“Fuck you, Jesus,” she screamed as the man gripped her arm. She pulled out of the grip sharply, taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get herself under control. It was like the world had gone down the rabbit hole and was now running on complete insanity. “You’ve completely lost it,” she accused. “This place is so over—done,” she said, pointing at him.

  She marched to the exit, shoving her clutch under her armpit. Who the hell did he think he was, throwing her out? She was fucking Cheyenne, and Jesus defended that little slut over taking her side. It was completely unreasonable. No doubt the whore was sucking him off. It was the only thing that explained what had just happened.

  Anger coursed through her blood; she could hardly walk. There had to be payback for this. She was not treated like this. Ways to damage Shine ran through her head. She would absolutely win if she took on Shine’s popularity. People listened to her. She was in all the papers. Every designer in the world asked her to represent them. Jesus was just some jumped up pretty-boy.

  Chapter 49

  Adelaide was shaking. She’d never experienced anything like that before, complete insanity unfolding before her. She wasn’t much for drama in any capacity, but this was ‘shit hit the fan’ scales and she was slightly freaked out. Not necessarily by Cheyenne’s bile, because she knew full well the bitch was crazy, but just being attacked like that out of the blue. It was freak-out central.

  “You okay?” Jesus asked, appearing at the door in the changing room.

  “Sure,” Adelaide said, suddenly worried that the mud Cheyenne had been slinging had stuck. “I really don’t know what her problem is.” That wasn’t true. “I think she blames me for Alexi dumping her.”

  “Her actions are responsible for Alexi dumping her, not you.”

  That was kind of big of Jesus, who had been complicit in those actions. Again, how could he have such bad taste he’d fuck her—she didn’t get it.

  “Black heart, that one,” Jesus said. “Don’t take it to heart.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” Adelaide stated. Like anything that gold digger said held any gravity. It was like Cheyenne was accusing her of all the things she was herself.

  Trish said, walking into the room after Jesus moved on. “That was full on loony bin crazy.”

  “You saw that, huh?”

  “What’s her problem?”

  “I think she’s unstable.”

  “At least Jesus had your back.”

  Adelaide nodded, taking a deep breath. “They’re not going to let her back in, are they?”

  “No, I think Jesus banned her. Seriously, how could he sleep with her?”

  Adelaide shrugged. Guys were incomprehensible sometimes.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if something like that happened to me. You handled it really well.”

  In fact, Adelaide hadn’t had a clue what to do. She hoped there hadn’t been anyone taking pictures. It would be right across the internet now if so. Quentin would be horrified—which was exactly the reason they weren’t together. She didn’t want to live her life wondering if some tabloid was hiding in the bushes, trying to make hay. Quentin and his gang were always fodder for that crap.

  “You wanna get a pizza after work?” Trish asked. “I think with a night like this, you deserve a treat.”

  “Sure,” Adelaide said with a tight smile. Adrenalin was still coursing through her, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep that night in belated offense. It had happened once before, some nut job calling the reception she’d worked one summer and yelled madness down the phone at her.

  They walked through the crowd of late night revellers through to the back streets, where the cheaper joints were. They’d found this place that did awesome pizzas for five euros. It wasn’t much to look at, just a hole in the wall, but the food was good.

  After ordering a margherita pizza and a couple of sodas, they sat down on a couple of stools, away from the drunk English guys trying to make them come over.

  “Hell of a night,” Trish said. “Unbelievable. You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Adelaide said, trying to convince her own adrenal system. She was still a little bit jittery after the confrontation. She really didn’t what to talk about it anymore. “What you’ve got planned for the weekend?”

  “Not much, I guess,” Trish said, looking away. Something was up. “Cory texted me,” she finally said.

  “What?” Adelaide said disbelievingly.

  “He just wanted to apologise for the way he acted.”

  “And so he should.”

  “I’m just a little freaked out, with the offering to drive us home and now the apologising. What does he want?”

  “Maybe he’s just realised he’s a complete dick.”

  “Whose dick?” one of the drunk Englishmen yelled.

  “Not yours, sweetie,” Trish yelled back. The guys were still trying to get their attention, but they ignored the drunk morons. “So what do you think he wants?”

  Adelaide shrugged. “Who cares?”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s just …”

  “Don’t go there. Whatever he’s after, he’s a dick and he’s always going to be a dick.”

  “I know,” Trish said, sounding a little defeated.

  “Don’t be that girl that goes back time and again thinking he’s going to change.”

  “It wasn’t like we were ever going out,” Trish said, defending herself.

  Adelaide shrugged, completely uninterested in any conversation involving fucking Cory.

  Chapter 50

  The sun beat down relentlessly as Cory lay on the grass, watching the Gibraltar cricket team batting. They should have picked a shady spot, but it wasn’t too bad on the gently sloping bank they’d chosen. Crossing his legs as he lay on the grass, he reached for another beer. They’d stayed at one of the hostels last night and made their way over to the cricket ground after breakfast. The game would run all day and they had no plans other than to lay in the sun, drink and just chill. Cricket was good that way.

  And for once, they’d managed to do something without Chrissy. She was alright, but at times she was downright annoying. Not lease because she took jabs at Adelaide and Trish all the time. She was their friend, but she sure didn’t act like it. Loyalty obviously wasn’t foremost in her book.

  The thwack of a good hit echoed through the ground and the players set off running.

  Although it didn’t necessarily seem it, his life had gone from complicated to simple. Aggie didn’t really speak to him anymore, which, if he was completely honest, he wasn’t all that bothered about. There was no communication with Trish, although he found himself drawn to her name on his phone again and again. He’d even succumbed and sent her a text. He might have been a bit pickled at the time. There really should be a breathalyser attached to phones, because as soon as he was slightly uninhibited, talking to Trish seemed like a good idea.

  He wasn’t sure why Trish seemed to have such a hold on him. She was just a girl, and if Chrissy was to be believed, a bit of a slut—of late though, he’d begun to distrust Chrissy’s proclamations.

  “Nice throw,” Lachlan yelled, clapping his hands with the crowd. Cory checked his phone yet again, which he’d developed a chronic habit for of late.

  Lying back, he closed his eyes and just listened to the noises around him—the sounds of the game, the boys chatting, the beer caps popping. This was glorious, and it was interesting to see the skewed Britishness of Gibraltar. Apparently there was a town in China that had decided to be British, too. It was the oddest thing he could imagine. Maybe when he made his way back to Australia, he’d go by that way, see it for himself.

  Was it any more absurd than Marbella, really? The true identity of Marbella had given away to this artificial paradise for the rich and well-connected. Living there, one’s definition of absurd changed dramatically.

  “What are the girls up to this weekend?” Dion asked.

  “Don’t know. Shopping, whatever?” Nathan said.

  “So,
I hear Adelaide is single again,” Lachlan said. “And Trish. A pair I wouldn’t mind being squeezed between.”

  Anger crawled up Cory’s spine and he had to check his own reaction. Even a mention of Trish by someone else had him all in jealous rage. Leaning over, he pulled a blade of grass out of its husk. There was no denying he was wrapped up in this girl.

  “Are you going to invite them to your party?” Lachlan continued.

  “Probably should,” Nathan said with a hint of uncertainty—because Chrissy might throw a hissy. Why were girls so difficult that way? But Trish coming to Nathan’s birthday was news to him and suddenly he felt a rush of nervousness. Just the chance of seeing her made his stomach clench. It might be time he admitted his interest in Trish was more than some hook-up. Just the mention of her and his hands grew clammy.

  Chapter 51

  Felix’s house had a fire-pit with a tiled earth-moulded bench circling it. As not entirely uncommon, Felix was drunk, which was more usual than not. The sun had set and the gardens were lit up, showing dramatic scenes in the darkness around the glowing blue pool. The girls were talking not far away.

  “I’m fucking bored of Marbella,” Felix said, flicking the ash off his cigarette. “Nothing ever changes here. Sometimes it feels like purgatory, just waiting.” He had a lopsided smile, but it didn’t hide the truth underneath the seemingly joking statement.

  “Waiting for what?” Quentin asked, taking a sip of the gin and tonic he had in his hand. It was a bitter drink, but he’d started to get a taste for it. Felix did have a habit of getting philosophical when he’d had a few.

  Felix shrugged. “For something.” Purgatory might be a bit strong. Sure, they were all here together, like they usually were. Looking around, Quentin surveyed his crowd, the same people he’d known for years, which changed very little; peripheral people came and went, but the core group stayed the same. Entanglements within the group started trouble, like Jasper and Natasha, who were currently fighting, effectively walking around each other like hissing cats. Then again, those two lived on drama. Quentin supposed it was a good stand-in when there was nothing else going on.

  His thoughts turned to Indonesia, a topic he’d been avoiding as much as possible. He just couldn’t get excited about it, telling himself it was the red tape involved that really put him off, but it was more than that. It was boring and it would mean spending a lot of time over in Asia, by himself, and for what? So people wouldn’t look at him as one of these rich kids living off their family’s money, like everyone else here tonight. But he was one of these kids, even if the urge to grow up had grown a little stronger.

  But did he want to spend the rest of his life inside a boardroom, like his father had? His father had all these wonderful toys: boats, houses—mistresses—but he didn’t have time for any of them. Maybe being a rich kid was better than that—boredom included.

  Felix was obviously feeling it at the moment. “Let’s go somewhere,” Quentin suggested.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere we haven’t been.”

  “Mongolia maybe?” Felix uttered sarcastically. Quentin got the point: there were precious few places they hadn’t been.

  “I don’t know. Mexico?”

  “Why?” Felix said with a shrug. “Itchy feet all of a sudden?”

  “You’re the one who said you were bored.” If Quentin wanted to travel, he should go to Indonesia and get stuck into building that deal—do the boring shit.

  Clara came over, wearing a short coral-coloured dress, which went nicely with her slim, tanned legs. “Hello, darling,” she said and sat down in Quentin’s lap. She’d obviously had a few, too. Not enough to be drunk, but enough to be daring. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Where have you been?” He’d known Clara for years. They’d had a weekend together once, but nothing had ever come of it, mainly because Aggie had been there. And when Aggie had called, he’d come running.

  Clara was pretty with silky dark brown hair and an elven face. The progeny of an English peer and a beauty contestant mother. She had looks and money, but still lacked a certain degree of confidence. She was okay, but her sitting on his lap did absolutely nothing for him.

  “I’ve been around,” he said.

  She turned her attention to Felix. “And how are you, Felix, being obtuse as always?” Clara and Felix, on the other hand, had always had a contentious relationship, stemming back to something Felix said years ago that Clara had taken offence to. Quentin couldn’t remember what it was, but Clara had never truly forgiven him.

  “Can’t help it; it’s in the genes.”

  She snorted and turned her attention back to Quentin, leaning her body into his. There was no question what she was suggesting, and she had a hot body, but it stirred nothing in him. It would be cruel to lead her on; he just didn’t know how to shut this down. Or maybe he shouldn’t—maybe he should just get laid and stop feeling so moonish.

  “We were just talking about going to Mongolia,” Felix said, perhaps not done with heckling Clara, which could turn nasty. Felix really could when he was bored.

  “God, why?” Clara said, confusion written all over her face.

  “I’m sure there’s oodles of unexplored shopping in Ulan Bator.”

  Clara gave Felix her petite middle finger. She was the vacant kind of girl that drove Felix up the wall, obsessed with shopping, her tan, her nails and texting her friends. The burgeoning staring match was interrupted by Megan, who stepped into the circle and sat down, as if she knew trouble was brewing and came to dissipate it all—ever the diplomat. “How are you lot? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

  “How have you been, Megan?”

  “Working.”

  He felt Clara tense ever so slightly in his lap. As beautiful as Clara was, the modelling industry didn’t want her. Too conventional and nowhere near tall enough. Megan, although the least ambitious, was also the one of the girls who was truly gainfully employed. Clara had a blog, where she wrote about the things that interested her, and called it a profession. Quentin wondered if any of them would survive if it wasn’t for their family’s money. It made him feel guilty about Adelaide, who worked continuously to pay her rent and they all looked down on her. Intense discomfort washed through him and he urged Clara off his lap. “I need a drink,” he said and got up. It might not be the best idea to leave Clara and Felix together, but please, develop a sense of perspective already.

  Maybe Felix was right and this would never change. They’d be doing this forever and Quentin would end up marrying someone like Clara. A shudder went through him. Clara was okay, but the idea of listening to her for the rest of his life left a chill through his blood. Or maybe someone like Aggie—although that particular ship had sailed already—someone who underneath it all, ultimately felt like they were competing with him.

  The future stretched out before him. Endless nights like this, complaining of their boredom, fighting for the sake of creating some drama, and the constant underlying current that they were undeserving. Maybe that was why he couldn’t be with someone like Clara, who fully accepted that she deserved the shoes, bags and dresses, and this lifestyle.

  He poured himself a whiskey at the bar, where some invisible girl was stacking shelves, just like Adelaide had done on Alexi’s boat. A person dressed in waiters black, paid to serve, who none of them noticed.

  “I’m Quentin,” he said, reaching his hand over the bar. The girl hesitated for a moment, holding an empty cardboard box.

  “Shanna,” she said and tentatively shook his hand.

  “You’re American,” he said with surprise.

  She smiled. “My accent gives it away, huh?” Suddenly a world opened up with this person who stood in front of him, someone he’d seen as completely void of anything a couple of seconds ago.

  “What brings you to Marbella?”

  “Just travelling around Europe.”

  “On your own? We don’t see a lot of Americans travel through here,
I don’t think.” Sure there were socialites and rock stars, but American backpackers, or whatever version she represented, were not as common—not like the Aussies and Kiwi’s, like Adelaide and her gang.

  She grabbed a lemon and started slicing. “I suppose you could say I’m off the beaten track.”

  “Daring,” he said, impressed that this girl had just wandered out into the world alone. Obviously no money behind her or she wouldn’t be catering to some rich kid’s weekend bash.

  “I suppose. Things got messy at home. Kind of fell in with the wrong people, so had to get out for a bit.”

  “So you decided to see the world.”

  “Beats rehab. Can I get you something? You seem to have run dry,” she said with a smile. She was cute and obviously had a much more complex background than he’d imagined.

  “A whiskey. These are my people,” he said, turning back to the space where everyone stood around in groups.

  “I can tell,” she said and handed him a glass of whiskey neat.

  “At times I hate all of them.” He wished the statement was false, but it really wasn’t. He loved his friends, but on some level, he hated every last one of them. Still, he couldn’t imagine just setting off on his own, abandoning everything and existing on his wits and labour. Could he even get a job?

  But his intentions had never been on getting a job. If he was going to be someone, he had to be one of the rulers in this community, which came with the absolutely massive risk of failing—probably the reason most of the kids around here resigned themselves to just spending their family’s money. The chance of making it, becoming someone here was slim and required ultimate dedication—or resign himself to being just another bludger rich kid, never evolving to truly growing up.

  And he had kind of escaped for a little while; he’d stepped out of it all with an awesome girl. There had been no pressure, competition or status with her. It had just been him—‘come as you are’. They’d just been—hung out and fucked, and it’d been absolutely brilliant, until he’d let all this shit encroach and ruined it. Then again, maybe he had let it fail because he couldn’t step away and ignore everything—even as the temptation had been so very strong.