They’d gone out to dinner at the Moulin Rouge with Louis and Christophe on Saturday night and she didn’t know whether it was the sight of all that naked flesh or what, but the two men became very amorous as the evening wore on. Initially, they were both obviously rivals for Marilyn’s attention but somewhere along the line, she had decided that Louis was the one for her. After copious bottles of champagne and wine, Louis invited them back to his apartment for some more.
Taylor wasn’t too keen to go. She was tired.
“Come on girl,” Marilyn beckoned her into the ladies’ cloakroom.
Lining up some lines of coke, she snorted them and then laid out two lines for Taylor who’d become expert at it now.
“Honey, this is the last of my angel dust and Louis has promised me some more if we go back with them. Please, hon?”
Taylor, as the drug began to take effect, felt a rush of energy. She panicked at the thought that there might be no more cocaine left. It was what was keeping her going. She needed it desperately so she agreed to go along with them.
“Have you any cash?” Marilyn asked.
Taylor opened her purse and took out a wad of notes. There was €150 in it.
“Great, that’ll do,” Marilyn drawled, taking it from her.
“Where does he get it from?” Taylor wondered.
“Montmartre, I think. There’s where all the drug dealers hang out.”
Back at his place, Louis opened a bottle of champagne and then laid out some more lines of coke which they all snorted. Taylor felt wonderful – clearheaded and as light as air. This was great stuff! Marilyn and Louis were getting it off already and he had started to undress her. They moved to the bedroom.
“Come on, babe, let’s join them?” Christophe said, as he slipped his hand inside her blouse.
Taylor panicked. This wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to have sex with anybody. She hated sex. Grabbing her bag, she said, “I have to go.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport, honey,” Marilyn called out. “Come on, join in!”
Running faster than a cyclist on the Tour de France, Taylor bolted from the apartment and hailed a taxi. Trembling with relief she arrived home. It was four o’clock in the morning.
She was still sleeping at noon the following day when Brandon opened the door to a very dishevelled Marilyn dressed in a low-cut cocktail dress that clung to her every curve. For a brief moment he could have sworn it was Marilyn Monroe at the door. Brushing against him as she passed she gave him a sexy look, then blew him a kiss and smiled as she wiggled her way into her bedroom. He sighed. The sooner she goes back the better.
He’s so gorgeous, Marilyn thought as she showered before going to bed. She hadn’t had much sleep the night before. Whew, these French guys were some studs! Still, she’d rather be in Brandon’s bed any night of the week. Marilyn could hardly believe her luck when she received the phone call from her friend asking her to come to Paris. Taylor claimed she was bored. Can you imagine? I wouldn’t be bloody bored if I was married to a gorgeous hunk like Brandon. Taylor was so spoiled. She had Brandon and oodles of money, was living in the most beautiful city in the world, but she still wasn’t happy. She was bored! She was always whining on about her awful childhood. Huh! I could teach her a thing or two about awful childhoods! But what was the point dwelling on it? I wasn’t going to let my parents ruin my life and I haven’t.
Marilyn had been shocked when Taylor had admitted to her, early on in her marriage, that she hated having sex and intended to stop once her babies were born. Marilyn had thought that her friend was off her head. How could she not like sex? Taylor had stuck resolutely to her decision and Marilyn supposed that Brandon must have sought sex and solace elsewhere. Who could have blamed him? He was a young virile man and with his handsome good looks and irresistible sex-appeal, he would have had no trouble finding women willing to hop into bed with him. She’d hoped that maybe she’d stand a chance with him but despite letting Brandon know that she was available, he had shown no interest in her.
She hadn’t seen much of him in the intervening years as he’d been busy carving out his illustrious career and she’d been busy marrying and divorcing her various husbands. She and Taylor had met often however, mostly at charity functions and from what she could gather, their marriage was a sham. Taylor was a fool. Seeing their relationship first-hand, Marilyn knew it was only a matter of time before they divorced and then she’d be there, ready and waiting to console him and offer him her shoulder to cry on. She was nothing if not opportunist. After all, Paris wasn’t called the City of Love for nothing!
27
Meanwhile Ashling was enjoying a wonderful weekend. With Max gone, Kieran had no golf on Saturday and feeling guilty about the long hours he’d been working, suggested that they go to Versailles for the weekend. Ashling was delighted. Having heard how great it was from Felicity, she was very excited about the trip. They needed to spend some quality time together as a family. Besides, she wanted to see the very place that she was writing about every day in her novel. It would surely inspire her to walk in the selfsame salons and corridors of her characters. It was so exciting!
Kieran had booked them into the Trianon Palace Hotel, the most luxurious hotel in the region, and it was pure bliss. The girls were fascinated with their interconnecting room and their own phone on which they could ring their parents. The bathrooms were sheer decadence and all in all it was a great success.
There was so much to see that the kids were exhausted that evening. Ashling put them to bed at seven and, leaving them in the capable hands of the hotel baby-sitter, she and Kieran went for a meal in the beautiful dining room. It was a Gordon Ramsay restaurant and the food and wine were superb. She could see Kieran relaxing more and more by the minute.
“You’re finding this job stressful, aren’t you?” she asked him, as they waited for the dessert to be served.
“Very. You see, Ash, it’s not like Dublin. Here I’m working with the crème-de-la-crème of the international banking world and I really feel I have to prove myself,” he admitted. “Brandon is a genius and Max is pretty bright too. As for Jazz, she’s the most exceptionally brilliant woman I’ve ever worked with, so you can understand how competitive it is.”
Ashling patted his hand. She’d never heard him talk like this. He’d always been top dog in Ireland.
“So you see,” he continued, “as I’m not in the genius category, I have to work even harder to come up to scratch. So please understand it if I’m not always home as early as you’d like.”
Her heart went out to him and she cursed herself for being so selfish. The dessert trolley arrived just then and she had to restrain herself from choosing a bit of everything. She’d lost four more pounds and didn’t want to ruin her diet.
She’d been delighted to see the Muscat de Beaumes de Venise dessert wine on the menu as she’d had it before and loved it. They’d ordered a glass each.
“Mmmm . . . delicious,” Kieran remarked as he sipped it.
“I’m really looking forward to my wine course,” she smiled at him over the rim of her glass.
“Soon you’ll be an expert and leaving me way behind,” Kieran teased.
“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to that,” she laughed.
“Are you happy here, Ash?”
“Absolutely. I love Paris. It’s all I expected it to be.”
She still didn’t tell him about her novel or about Corey. Somehow, it wasn’t the right time. She didn’t want to spoil the mood. They went to bed and made gentle love and she swore that she wouldn’t complain any more about him overworking. He had enough to contend with.
Brandon was checking his bank accounts on Sunday afternoon and was shocked by how much Taylor had been spending. Not just on credit cards, but taking out of the wall too. €500 since last Tuesday! It was incredible. He would have to tackle her about it but their hours never seemed to match up any more. He was out at work all day and she was out gallivanting w
ith Marilyn every night. She’d spent all day Saturday in bed and hadn’t come in till four again this morning. She was now sleeping off the hangover that she more than likely had.
At two o’clock she surfaced looking like the Wrath of God. She came into the kitchen for a coffee and when he mentioned that he wanted a talk with her, she swore at him. “Not now, for God’s sake. Do I look in a condition to talk?” she snarled.
“Self-inflicted,” he couldn’t resist saying.
She stormed out and, after taking two Vicodin, soaked in a warm bath for an hour. Then she snorted two lines of coke which made her feel much better and went down to face the music. God, how did I ever exist without cocaine? she asked herself. Marilyn was still sleeping.
“How can you be spending so much?” Brandon asked her after she’d mixed a martini for herself.
“Well, Marilyn is broke. That skinflint of a husband hasn’t paid her any alimony recently, so as her friend, I have to help her out,” she explained irritably.
“May I remind you that it is my hard-earned cash you’re spending? I have no objection to supporting you in the grand style to which you’re accustomed but I’ll be damned if I’ll support your friends as well,” he said coldly.
She stuck her tongue out behind his back as he went to pour himself a coffee.
“And what’s with all this drinking? My drinks bill must be in the hundreds this month with all the alcohol you two are consuming.”
“Spoilsport,” she said. “You’re just jealous that we’re having a good time.”
He shook his head, perplexed. He was shocked as he saw her go to pour another martini for herself. It had only taken her five minutes to drink the first one.
Just then Marilyn surfaced, looking as bright as a new penny. How did she do it, he wondered? She had to be on something. She blew him a kiss as Taylor handed her a martini. This was their breakfast. It was going to be another long night of boozing, he guessed.
28
Ashling was thrilled when she stepped up on the scales on Monday morning. “Yyeeesss!” she cried. “One stone gone!” All her hard work dieting and in the gym had paid off. It felt so good to be able to fit comfortably into her jeans and skirts.
With a light heart and lighter body she skipped into the gym on Monday morning.
“Hi there, Ash!” Hugh greeted her. “You look hot, girl!”
Ashling laughed happily. “I’ve lost a stone to date,” she told him.
“It shows, trust me,” he eyed her appraisingly. “Okay, so we need to step up the workout now.”
“Slavedriver!” she complained, but in fact she found it was getting easier every week. She was now running on the treadmill – and it was tilted!
She was glowing as she entered Les Deux Magots. She stopped by Corey’s table and had a quick coffee with him. She felt energised and couldn’t wait to get stuck into her novel once more. She actually missed her writing at the weekends and was always anxious to get back to it again. The characters in her novel had become her friends and she missed being away from them.
As she settled down to write she wondered how Jazz had got on in Frankfurt.
Corey meanwhile was admiring her as she tapped away. He’d even found his writing had improved since he’d met her. She was his inspiration, his muse! He hoped her husband appreciated her.
Jazz looked strained after the weekend.
“How was Germany?” Brandon asked her.
“Fine,” she replied, not very convincingly.
“You okay?” He looked at her sympathetically, sensing something was wrong.
“Just about,” she replied with a grimace. “I finished with my boyfriend of thirteen years at the weekend, so I’m feeling a little sad.”
“Why did you finish with him?” He guessed he knew the answer to that.
“I realised that I didn’t love him enough to spend the rest of my life with him.”
“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” he asked gently.
She nodded her head.
“Be careful, my dear. I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”
The look in her eyes worried him. He wanted to protect her from Yves. She didn’t deserve to be messed around and he had no doubt that she would end up hurt.
Yves came into the office just then. He looked rumpled and as if he hadn’t slept all weekend. Jazz thought that he’d never looked more desirable.
This time he’d come prepared and he slipped her a note which said, ‘Please meet me in l’Excelsior at lunchtime’. This was the bar around the corner.
She debated for about thirty seconds whether she should go or not but she knew that she would. She wanted to see him more than anything. She tried not to look at Brandon, not wanting to see the sympathy she knew would be in his eyes.
Yves was waiting for her when she came into the café. The look of relief on his face lifted her heart. She slid onto the banquette seat beside him.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said, raking his hair with his hand. “Why didn’t you contact me last Thursday? I was worried sick all weekend. I haven’t been able to sleep. Did I do something to upset you?” He looked wretched.
Her heart melted.
Pulling her close he whispered, “I missed you so much.”
She was lost. Looking into his smouldering eyes she was transported back in time. Her feelings for him were still the same. She should never have left Paris all those years ago. They might have been married by now with children if she hadn’t run scared. They were meant to be, she was sure of that. The chemistry between them was electric. She knew he felt it too. She tried not to think of Sophie.
“Please meet me tonight?” he begged, after she’d ordered a sandwich and a coffee.
“Okay,” she agreed, without hesitation. She wanted it as much as he did.
Felicity was hugely excited at having the girls in Paris. She found that she was enjoying their company enormously. They were thrilled with the apartment and ran from room to room exclaiming loudly at everything they saw. ‘Cool’ was the utmost compliment and she heard them say it frequently.
“I’ve been looking things up on the internet and I have a whole pile of things I want to do,” Alex informed her on their first evening. Secretly, Felicity was happy that she’d dumped her boyfriend, Harry, so it would be just the four of them for the week. She’d had a major job persuading Pippa not to invite the whole of her class at school.
“You can bring two friends for the New Year,” she’d promised her younger daughter.
Now, as they sat around the table on their first night, Felicity shared her plans for the week with them.
“I thought we’d have a girls’ night on Thursday night,” she told them excitedly, “so I’ve invited some of my friends for supper. Dad is going to disappear for the night.” She smiled at Max.
“I have offered to play barman,” he said, “but unfortunately, it’s strictly girls only.”
They could see from the way he was beaming at Felicity that he was okay with it.
Brandon sighed with relief to find that Marilyn was out for the night. “I presume she’s met some poor sucker who’s been taken in by her charms,” he remarked sarcastically to Taylor, who was sitting nursing a martini when he came in.
“Don’t be so mean,” she glared at him.
There was no sign of any dinner in sight so he went into the kitchen where Mimi had left a beef stroganoff ready for reheating. She’d also set the table with three places.
“Are you eating with me?” he asked Taylor.
“No, I’m not hungry, you go ahead,” she replied, as she poured herself another martini.
“Taylor, you have to eat,” he said with concern.
“I’m not hungry.”
Come to think of it, he thought, as he ate his dinner, I haven’t seen her eat anything much lately. He wondered if it was because she was burning the candle at both ends. She seemed to be surviving on alcohol. He’d have to keep an eye on he
r and make sure she was eating. Bloody Marilyn! She wasn’t helping matters. He would have to do something about her. She couldn’t stay indefinitely with them. She’d have to find a place of her own.
Coming back into the living room, he poured himself a whisky and sat down opposite his wife. She seemed listless.
“Taylor, do you know how long Marilyn is planning on staying?” he asked.
“Dunno.”
“She can’t stay here indefinitely. I think two weeks is quite long enough to put somebody up. If she wants to stay in Paris longer she’ll have to find a place of her own,” he said, trying not to sound too hostile.
“You’re cruel,” Taylor cried, spilling her drink as she rushed from the room, stifling her sobs.
Lord, I can’t even have a conversation with her any more, he thought, a worried frown on his face. Sighing, he sipped his drink and turned on the television.
Taylor came in thirty minutes later, in her dressing gown, and she seemed like a different person. She mixed herself another martini and sitting down opposite him said, “Okay, I’ll talk to Marilyn about moving out.”
He was mystified. She appeared to have had a personality change. She was bright-eyed and lively. He couldn’t understand it. Not for the first time he wondered if she was taking something. He would have to keep a closer eye on her from now on.
Jazz arrived at the hotel where Yves was waiting in the room for her. She fell into his arms. The world fell away and all she cared about was being with him. He was like a drug, a drug she couldn’t give up. She was transported with love and pleasure. When they made love it was very intense and even better than the last time. They didn’t talk very much but kept whispering sweet nothings to each other. It was sheer bliss and she could barely bring herself to say goodbye when it came time for them to leave. She hoped he felt the same way but she couldn’t say.
A Year Like No Other Page 16
