‘Ok, number one: my wife always has to be right about pretty much everything. If you’ve seen it, done it, or read it, then Angelika’s seen more, done more, and read more.’ He hardly paused. ‘Two: she despises me having any interests, polo being the main one, and resents the enjoyment it brings me; number three: she doesn’t listen. Having a conversation with Angelika is like talking to a cardboard box sometimes. She only ever hears what she wants to hear and can’t see an alternative point of view, just her own. She’s also always dragging me into situations or events which she knows I have no interest in attending and demands that I –’
‘That four things,’ Nate interjected feeling the need to prevent him from continuing. He could see the look on Angelika’s face.
‘No, please, carry on.’ Angelika felt her heckles rising. How dare her husband say these things about in front of everyone, so blasé. And also so unfair.
‘The second one,’ Billie-Jo said. ‘The polo … I can see you’re well pissed off about that! Am I right?’
Angelika shook her head. Rupert was clearly smarting about her dare and had wasted no time exacting his revenge.
‘One point to Billie-Jo!’ Rupert raised his glass to her.
‘Nice one!’ she squealed. ‘We’re winning, babe.’ She turned to Nate and he looked at her unblinking. Billie-Jo always had her eye on the prize.
‘What?’ she said. ‘It’s only a game!’
‘Your turn then, BJ,’ Joshua said, reaching for a card with his good arm.
‘What would be the one reason you would cheat on your partner? Would it be: a) money; b) fame; c) love. Your partner must guess your answer correctly for two points …’
Mia smirked. Ha! That had shut the girl up.
Billie-Jo’s mind revved like an F1 engine. She would have to be careful with her answer. She knew Nate would never believe that she’d cheat on him for love alone. He understood her too well and she didn’t want to forfeit because then that would look like she didn’t want to admit it would be one of the two former, as close a call as it was between them.
She glanced at her husband.
‘OK, I have my answer.’
Nate shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What kind of a game was this?
‘I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ Angelika said. ‘I think we should stop playing it.’
‘No,’ Billie-Jo answered, ‘I want to know what my husband really thinks. Nate …?’
He sighed.
‘Well, I’d have to say C then,’ He was lying and they all knew it.
‘Wrong!’ Billie-Jo shot back looking quite pleased with herself. ‘Because I would never cheat in the first place!’
JJ stifled a snigger. Yeah, right, and he didn’t have a hole in his arse.
‘But that’s cheating,’ Mia interjected. ‘That wasn’t an option! You’ll have to take a forfeit now.’ Mia was nothing if not competitive. She always played to win, even if she didn’t like the game.
‘For once I agree with you, Mia. Saying you wouldn’t cheat was not an option on the card,’ Rupert agreed.
‘Like Billie-Jo said, it’s only a game,’ Angelika said, still reeling from her husband’s invective.
‘All right, all right, I’ll do a forfeit then,’ she pouted.
Nate read the card, his expression was cloudy.
‘Tell each of your fellow guests your first impressions of them.’
‘Easy,’ she said, turning straight to Angelika. Nate squirmed in his seat. Careful Bee, he thought to himself. He knew his wife regularly didn’t think before she spoke. She wasn’t necessarily deliberately vindictive but she often hurt people through complete lack of consideration.
‘I thought you was a bit stuck-up; you know, up yer own arse cos you’re a journalist an’ that. Reckon you think yourself a touch above … you was nice and everything but I felt like you was looking down on me. And it’s obvious you two –’ she pointed at Angelika and Rupert simultaneously ‘– have got more issues than Vogue in your marriage.’ She switched to Mia. ‘I didn’t know who you were, though it seemed like you expect everyone to know exactly who you are. Thought you was glamorous though,’ she added, thinking it a great compliment ‘– and that JJ here was your son.’
Nate inwardly groaned. Billie-Jo had been steadily attacking the alcohol all evening and as a result her inhibitions had gone out of the window along with all sense.
‘Bit of a diva as well, but then I suppose you’re knocking on a bit and have been famous for like, ever, so why the fuck not, eh? I probably would be an’ all … and Rupert, well, you came across as a right stick in the mud, bit of grouch, old before your time … bit re– … what’s the word …?’
‘Repressed?’ Mia offered helpfully.
‘Yeah, and pretty horrible about your wife too, but then again maybe she deserves it.’
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Bee!’ Nate felt the need to stop her but she was having far too much fun now. She had been given legitimate carte blanche to say it like it was and wasn’t about to waste a golden opportunity.
‘I haven’t finished yet. And JJ –’ she looked at him and smiled ‘– well, I thought you were an arrogant knobhead who thinks way too much of himself but then again you are a rock star so and you’re cute so you get away with it. I also wondered what the fuck you’re doing with her,’ she pointed at Mia like she wasn’t really there.
‘Her!’ Mia pulled her chin into her chest.
‘Well, thanks for such an eloquent insight into us all Billie-Jo,’ Rupert was amused rather than offended. He couldn’t give a rat’s arse what this dumb little tart thought of him and had been called a lot worse both in and out of the courtroom. He was also on his fourth brandy and drunk as a Lord.
‘Let’s stop now, yes?’ Angelika pleaded. However, she was rather hurt by Billie-Jo’s observations, especially as some of them were true.
‘My go!’ Mia snatched up a card.
‘Actually it’s my go,’ JJ said. He was kinda enjoying this in a perverse way.
‘What would you be prepared to give up for a glittering career: money; motherhood; or your looks?’
Mia flinched.
‘All three by the looks of it,’ Billie-Jo muttered underneath her breath.
‘What did you say?’ Mia was almost out of her chair. The question had hit a raw nerve. ‘Were you born a spiteful little bitch or has it taken years of practise! She looked at Nate. ‘How did a lovely boy like you end up with a viper like this?’
Nate wasn’t quite sure how to answer her himself. Bee really was her own worst enemy, especially when she’d had a drink. She was so full of venom sometimes that it worried him. He knew she’d been a messed up kid and that this hard-faced act was little more than a façade, but making friends with people wasn’t high on her agenda, unless of course they could be of benefit to her. She really did herself no favours.
Mia picked up a half-finished glass of champagne and threw it at Billie-Jo. It was a knee-jerk reaction and the aim wasn’t exactly spot on target, covering as much as Joshua as it did Billie-Jo.
‘You stupid old bag,’ she hissed. ‘This is fucking McQueen, don’t you know!’ She dabbed at her dress with a spare napkin.
‘Yes, dear, and you make it look like cheap tat. What is they say … ? You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear!’
‘Ladies, please.’ Joshua was laughing; he couldn’t help it. Billie-Jo was something else and Mia was a pretty good match for her. It was almost turning him on.
‘Look, I think Angelika’s right. I really think we should stop this,’ Nate interjected.
‘I agree,’ Angelika reiterated.
‘You would,’ Rupert remarked. ‘But then again by the sounds of it you more than would.’
‘Oh, do shut up, Rupert,’ she retaliated, ‘hardly in a position to start calling the moral high ground; any more rapists you want to set free?’
‘Rapists?’ Mia sneered.
‘Peter Cheshunt,’ she informed her, ‘he k
new he was a guilty as sin yet still he managed to get the bastard off.’
‘Amazing,’ Mia gave a wry smile, ‘and you couldn’t even get me out of a contract.’
‘You didn’t answer your question, Mia,’ Rupert’s eyes were ablaze. ‘So, which would it be, money, looks or motherhood?’
‘Fuck you,’ she screamed, ‘and fuck this!’ Mia scraped her chair back and flounced from the terrace, the click-clack of her Jimmy Choos amplified by the canopied acoustics.
McKenzie watched with a grin on his face. He had added that particular question especially for Mia’s benefit and her reaction hadn’t disappointed.
Similarly, Super8#6 was basking in self-satisfied glory.
‘Not bad viewing, eh, Super8#3?’ he typed on screen.
‘So, so,’ he responded, though he had to concede it had all been rather fun to watch and terribly awkward.
‘Well, I think we can say that certainly broke the ice,’ Rupert snorted after a moment’s silence.
Angelika stood. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, excusing herself.
‘Me too,’ Nate followed.
‘Not together I hope,’ Billie-Jo grimaced.
Rupert threw back the remainder of his fifth digestif and waited until Angelika had disappeared from view before standing.
‘Well, it’s been fun,’ he said, adding, ‘not.’
He made to place his glass heavily onto the table as a parting shot but missed and it smashed onto the expensive, wooden decking.
‘Oops,’ he said abandoning the mess with an unconcerned wave of the hand.
JJ turned to a rapidly sobering Billie-Jo. She was smoking a cigarette with a triumphant smirk and draining the last of her glass.
‘I’m seriously pissed, man. No one got to ask me a question,’ he said, indignant.
‘Aww, didums,’ she mocked him playfully. ‘Well, I got one for ya –’ Billie-Jo smiled flirtatiously as she reached for the bottle of champagne ‘–fancy another drink?’
20
Billie-Jo didn’t do hangovers. You had to stop for one of them, and she was well on the way to being off her tits once more thanks to an entire morning spent quaffing champagne and snorting coke while indulging herself in a plethora of pampering treatments. Nate had barely said a word to her that morning and had scowled at her when she’d attempted conversation. She realised she may have overstepped the mark a touch at last night’s little icebreaker but so what? Who were these people to them anyway? She couldn’t remember what she’d even said, and as far as she was concerned if you didn’t remember something, it didn’t happen, right? Still, she thought it prudent to keep out of the way for a bit. She’d woken with a headache and thought a day of pampering her pretty ass would be just the antidote she needed. That and a bit of the two C’s. She was on holiday, for fuck’s sake.
The spa had been so impressive that Billie-Jo felt like pinching herself, all marble and mosaic tiles, mirrored ceilings and inviting chaise longue daybeds with huge, lush cushions … if only she’d had her beloved Samsung she would’ve flooded Instagram with a million smug selfies.
‘Bit of all right this place, ain’t it?’ she said to herself scanning the sumptuous treatment room and the comfy-looking white massage bed, the floating water lillies in decorative glass bowls, soft, scented candlelight and hundreds of beauty products stacked neatly on shelves. A full-body aromatherapy massage was just the thing to round off what was fast becoming the perfect morning for Billie-Jo; she’d already done thirty minutes in the state-of-the-art gym followed by a dip in the heated, marble pool. Then she’d headed off to the floatation tank to chill out before treating herself to a deluxe paraffin mani-pedi, a wax and exfoliation, and an intensive anti-aging facial that had left her feeling like a million fucking bucks. Hey, she was worth it, right? This must be how the likes of Kim Kardashian lived, she thought, straight-up luxury on tap twenty-four seven, minions refreshing your glass every five minutes and catering to your every whim. They’d probably have wiped her arse for her is she’d asked them to.
‘Where do you want me?’ she enquired, sizing up the insanely fit-looking masseur. His dark smouldering looks bore a striking resemblance to that underwear model who was going out with that blonde one from that girl band she liked, David someone or the other. Hotter than a radiator on the blink, he was. Such a pity he was a fucking mute; she would’ve liked to have indulged in a little flirtatious banter with him. Billie-Jo glanced at him, doe-eyed, appreciating his impressive guns and the six-pack visible through his thin, white T-shirt, his large, masculine hands as big as shovels as he carefully prepared the oils he was about to rub all over her naked flesh. Happy days.
He nodded towards the bed.
Billie-Jo knocked back the remaining champagne from the ever-full glass she’d enjoyed throughout the morning. She was feeling more than a little light-headed and was glad of a lie-down. She couldn’t be sure exactly how much champagne she’d thrown down her neck but was beginning to suspect it was far more than she’d thought. She opened her white, fluffy robe, displaying her naked body save for a tiny Victoria’s Secret neon G-string, and let it drop to the floor.
‘Front or back first?’ she enquired breathlessly as she climbed up onto the table, aware of his eyes as they settled upon her impressive, enhanced breasts, and not in the least bit perturbed by it. She was exceptionally proud of her 32EEs, of her entire body, in fact, and with good reason. Getting naked was second nature to her, thanks to plenty of practise, and she enjoyed the reaction it provoked. After all, what was the point in looking as shit-hot as she did if no one could appreciate it? It didn’t occur to Billie-Jo that her body might remain exclusively viewed by her husband in private. She was out to glean as much affirmation about her good looks as possible and judging by this fella’s grid she would not be left wanting.
She glanced at his crotch. He was semi-hard already and extremely impressive with it, but while his obvious arousal gave her a sense of satisfaction, she had no real intention of acting upon it. Billie-Jo was the original cock-tease. As much as her outward portrayal suggested otherwise, she hadn’t been as promiscuous as one might’ve naturally assumed. She’d not really been big on one-nighters, unless it was with someone with some serious clout, in which case she made an exception. After all, sex was just sex at the end of the day, a bargaining tool she had learned to use to her advantage.
But she was mindful of the adage, ‘why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’ Giving up the goods too early made you disposable before you’d had the chance to milk anything out of them yourself. Sex was just a commodity as far as she was concerned, enjoying it merely a lucky bonus. She’d once read in a magazine somewhere that there was supposed to be a big difference between the act of sex and making love but not as far as she bleedin’ well knew. There’d been no ‘deep spiritual connection’ or whatever it was the deluded writer had reckoned, at least not for her. Sure it was nice enough fucking her husband and all of that, but that’s just what it was at the end of the day – a means to an end, or a new handbag at least. She didn’t understand why people made such a fuss about sex and love being mutually exclusive. It was a lie that society enforced to stop people enjoying themselves as far as she could see. That saying, Billie-Jo had never cheated on Nate, not yet anyhow, though this was largely due to the fact that she knew if he found out she’d been messing around behind his back he would divorce her, and she didn’t fancy that idea much, at least not until she had something better lined up. Besides, Nate had showed her something none of the others ever had – kindness – and it was a feeling she rather liked, if only it didn’t scare the living shit out of her so much.
Locking the door and dimming the lights, the masseur flicked the switch on the stereo, and soft elevator music piped into the room.
‘Oooh,’ she said as his warm hands got to work on her, firm but gentle, just the right amount of pressure, ‘that feels goooood.’ Billie-Jo relaxed as he began to silently manipulate her skin
with expert fingers.
‘You’ve done this before.’ She sighed, her nipples stiffening in response to his touch. With one eye open she saw him smile and stifled one of her own as she closed her eyes and allowed the sleepiness she was feeling to begin to claim her. He set about her legs in long, soft, strong strokes, rubbing and pressing her calf muscles, easing away any tension in them, causing her to groan a little as he softly brushed her inner thigh with his magic fingertips, making the lightest contact with her intimate region as he stroked, so light in fact that she could not be sure it had happened at all. Billie-Jo began to drift off, her mind closing down as her body entered a state of such relaxation that she felt like she’d taken drugs, which she had of course, but this was different to the manic coke buzz she so favoured … this felt more like opiates or a sleeping pill or something. She felt strangely euphoric, small rushes of ecstasy flooded her system, causing her heartbeat and temperature to soar, her skin suddenly almost too sensitive to the touch. As she found herself falling into a strange, euphoric slumber, the masseur switched his attention to her torso, gradually working his way up towards her breasts, pressing his hands into the soft malleable skin, his palms brushing against her nipples as he worked on her, pressing, pushing, kneading her like a piece of dough. Billie-Jo felt a tightening between her legs as the blood began to flow. Fuck, what was happening? She had never felt so turned on in her life! She giggled softly, enveloped into a dream-like state, unsure of what was taking place; was this a massage or foreplay? She wasn’t quite sure. Suddenly she wasn’t quite sure of anything, only the sound of the music and his fingers, the touch of him. She felt herself float off somewhere in her mind as he took his time with her body, rubbing, pressing, his fingers dancing all over her skin, every imprint setting her on fire. She didn’t, couldn’t resist when after a while he turned her onto her belly and began rubbing oil into her firm, peachy buttocks, manipulating them, squeezing them, causing her to exhale deeply as the rushes became stronger and harder, her chest heaving, beads of sweat prickling the surface of her skin. She almost didn’t notice his fingers at first as they gently slid inside her, it felt so completely natural, a logical progression, and she groaned in pleasure, entranced, paralysed by the intensity of it.
Pleasure Island Page 13
