JJ waved his good arm in the air.
‘Never better, dude,’ he laughed, amused by his own wit.
Billie-Jo giggled. Having already broken her promise to Nate – one she’d no genuine intention of keeping forever, if she was honest with herself – she felt the warm rush of the line of coke she’d secretly snorted before drinks circulate her bloodstream and resurrect the remnants of last night’s intoxication on its journey. Nate had made her promise that she would never touch the stuff again after he’d seen the remnants of it on the table but the truth was she needed it to get her through the night, and most of the day, or so it had become anyway.
‘Sound, I’m glad,’ Nate smiled, ‘we were pretty damned worried when they whisked you off on that light aircraft. I think I can speak for us all on that.’
JJ shrugged.
‘Don’t remember a thing, bro, from the moment we stepped on that plane and pretty much ever since, but hey, that’s rock ’n’ roll!’
‘Or being drugged up to the eyeballs,’ Rupert muttered.
Nate glanced at Angelika who appeared still deep in thought. Tonight she was dressed in a long, slightly translucent, white, maxi dress, the outline of her small breasts just visible through the flimsy, cotton fabric, delicate arms adorned with stacks of gold-and-silver bangles and her long wavy hair hung loose to her shoulders partially covered by a battered straw Stetson. She reminded him of a 70s love child, like she would rather have flowers in her hair than diamonds on her fingers and he resisted the urge to playfully steal her hat. It was childish perhaps but he wanted her attention, to see that smile of hers, get a glimpse of that snaggle tooth that did strange things to him. In direct contrast to Angelika, tonight Billie-Jo had opted to wear a Cavalli playsuit in acid brights, the plunging-neckline and tiny-hot pants combo as ever leaving very little to the imagination.
In that moment Nate understood the adage that less is more. Undeniably Bee turned heads, but her ‘look at me’ sartorial approach inevitably drew all the wrong kind of attention, but then again he suspected perhaps that was the whole point. Angelika, however, was more of a wrapped present that gave you just a subtle hint of the gifts inside. He thought about the time he had seen her naked, swimming down by the cove, lost in a moment of abandon, the curve of her belly and soft round hips, her small breasts and the arch of her back, her naked bottom as she had rolled over and over in the water …
‘Admiring the view, babes?’ Billie-Jo’s voice dripped with sarcasm. She’d been watching her husband stealing glances at Angelika ever since they’d sat down. Regardless of her own antics, the sight of Nate showing an interest in anyone else was enough to consume her with jealousy. Why the fuck was he interested in her? She looked at Angelika. Stuck up bitch looked like a fucking gypsy who wouldn’t know what to do with a cock if it came flat-packed with instructions.
‘Perhaps we should tell them, Ang,’ Nate said.
‘Oh, Ang, is it now?’ Billie-Jo sneered, unable to contain her green-eyed monster any longer.
Rupert’s lips curled. Angelika and Nate were clearly on very friendly terms and admittedly it bothered him. Whatever else Angelika was still his wife. These bloody footballers all thought they were God’s gift and could have any woman they wanted thanks to their extortionate earnings and the fame that went with it, yet he knew deep down Angelika was not the sort to have her head turned by either of those things. Rupert was about to say something when a scene from the previous evening flashed up in his mind of the tanned, toned, bronze Adonis that was Raj, naked and erect standing over him with that salt-white smile. Even if the man could’ve spoken, in that moment he’d not needed to say a word. He savoured the image for a moment until it was shattered by the recollection of Mia’s shrill voice ringing like a round of bullets through his mind: ‘Well now, aren’t you two a pair of very, very naughty boys …’
He took a slug of his Scotch miserably and kept quiet.
‘Yes, Ang, do tell us,’ Billie-Jo continued, her heckles raised. ‘Bit over …’ she struggled to find the word she as looking for and felt her anger accelerate. ‘Bit over … friendly … bit … familiar, ain’t it?’ That was it! Familiar.
Angelika shifted awkwardly in her seat.
‘Where’s Mia?’ Rupert asked suddenly. In spite of the knot of dread he felt in the pit of his stomach, he was surprisingly hungry and wanted to eat, only the rule was they all had to be seated before dinner could commence. ‘That bloody woman would hold up her own funeral,’ he muttered.
‘She couldn’t decide what to wear,’ JJ said, slipping his hand underneath the large, wooden banqueting table and sliding it onto Billie-Jo’s bare thigh. He was still feeling horny even after the quick knee trembler he’d had with Mia over the sofa the previous day, who, he’d noted hadn’t seemed quite as into him as she’d previously been. This had pissed JJ off no end. Just a few days ago the old lady couldn’t get enough of him. He was getting the brush off from Grandma and it wasn’t a cool vibe, man. He put Mia’s fluctuating libido down to her age; she was probably having hot flashes or something. Being aware that their relationship had been purely based on her wanting a bit of young cock and him wanting to cash-in on her celebrity status, he wasn’t sure what his role was supposed to be anymore. Did this leave him open to being fair game, like if she didn’t want the goods any more would she be down with him going elsewhere?
Billie-Jo flinched a little as his hand connected with her inner thing but didn’t remove it. She had even more reason to keep JJ sweet now; he was her plan B, after all, and the way things were headed it looked like plan B may well soon need to be upgraded. Besides, she had the hots for him big time and was upset that she couldn’t remember if they’d already had sex or not.
The night had been one long blank, pretty much, which was exactly the excuse she’d given Nate that afternoon when he’d finally questioned her about it.
‘You were naked underneath that robe, Bee, not a stitch of clothing on … sprawled out on the couch opposite JJ and you’d been snorting coke! Coke, Bee! Where the fuck did you get it from? Did you bring it with you?’ Nate detested drugs, always had. He’d seen what they did to people, likeable people who started out decent enough and then turned into monsters with enough toot inside them. He’s seen that shit wreck careers, relationships and reputations over the years and as such had made a vow never to touch the stuff himself. Drugs really were for mugs. He’d suspected that his wife occasionally dabbled with the party powder but he thought she’d have more sense than to get a serious habit, or more vanity at least. Now, however, it was slowly dawning on Nate that he really didn’t know the woman he’d married at all.
‘I swear it was here when we arrived,’ she’d explained, honestly this time, ‘a fucking sugar bowl full of it. I never said nothing to you because I know how much you hate drugs, babe. Would you believe me if I told you it was just one line?’ She’d looked at him with saucer-like blue eyes, her lips subtly pouting. She had been wearing one of his shirts, unbuttoned, the curve of her high-profile implants visible on her chest. She’d played with her hair childishly as she’d posed on the bed, twisting and curling a lock around her finger, only the innocent baby-face routine hadn’t washed with him. When he’d looked at her that afternoon he’d felt nothing but indifference – pity, if anything at all. In contrast he only had to think of Angelika’s face to experience the exact opposite emotion. It had floored him how he felt more for a woman he’d known practically a matter of days than he did his own wife, yet he could not deny it. His thoughts had left him both elevated and depressed and in that moment he’d wished he’d never met Billie-Jo.
‘No, Bee, I wouldn’t,’ he’d replied sharply.
‘Well, I’m not bloody lying!’ she’d screeched. ‘It was here, in the cabana when we arrived … and last night … I don’t know.’ She’d shrugged. ‘It’s just a blank, babe, all of it. I don’t know what happened.’
This much Nate had believed. He’d felt like his own memory had exploded and random,
scattered fragments had been all that remained. He had, however, recalled his wife getting rather familiar with the injured guest of honour.
‘Anyway, you can’t talk,’ Billie-Jo had snapped, wrapping his shirt tightly around her naked body defensively, ‘you were all over that fucking Angelika bird like a rash.’ Attack had always been Billie-Jo’s first form of defence, as in most cases involving a guilty conscience. ‘Last thing I remember was you and her in the Jacuzzi making eyes at each other.’
Nate had shaken his head.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Bee,’ he’d replied feebly. ‘We were all drunk. Besides, I’m surprised you even noticed … you were so busy getting all up on Joshua.’
Billie-Jo had laughed. Some jealousy. Finally.
‘More your type, is she, Ang? Got one of them Octopus complexes, have ya?’
‘Edipus,’ he’d quietly correctly her.
‘Yeah … that thing where you wanna fuck your mum or whatever it is.’
‘She’s not old enough to be my mother,’ he’d said.
‘Ooh, ’ark at you, defending her.’ Billie-Jo was enraged. How could Nate possibly fancy that plain Jane in favour of her? While Angelika had been nothing but pleasant to her throughout the duration of their stay so far, and admittedly she had been the one to comfort her during the aftermath of the crash, she was hardly Nate’s type. If anything she was a bit bland really, certainly not brimming with charisma, sexiness and charm like Billie-Jo was. ‘Well, you know how the saying goes, why go out for McDonald’s when you’ve got filet mignon at home?’
Nate began fumbling with the small plastic device in his pocket that Angelika’s beady eye had spotted in the bushes up by the affinity pool.
‘If I catch you doing coke again, Bee, I’ll divorce you,’ he’d said flatly. ‘I think you should go into rehab when we’re back in London. Get cleaned up, get that shit out of your life once and for all because I’m telling you, there’s not room for both me and the coke. Do you understand? I want to help you, Bee; that shit will destroy you from the inside out.’
The D-word alone had sent fear down her spine like a hot rod. Rehab? Fuck that shit. There was no way she was checking into some glorified nut house to have it all washed out of her arsehole and brainwashed to boot. She knew friends who’d done the whole Priory thing, and they’d all claimed it was a living hell. Besides, her habit wasn’t that bad, was it? He was overreacting as usual. She’d immediately switched to charm offensive mode. Allowing his shirt to fall open and expose her full-frontal nakedness, she’d smiled sweetly as she had walked towards him on her knees across the bed. Looking up at him, eyes wide, she had slowly begun to pull his shorts down and had taken him in her mouth.
‘You won’t, babes. I promise,’ she’d said, winding her tongue around him, watching as his head rolled back onto his shoulders and he began to stiffen. Catch me, I mean. This was nothing a half-decent blowie couldn’t put right, she’d decided as she set her lips and tongue to work around him. After a few seconds, however, he had sharply pulled away from her.
‘Get dressed, Billie-Jo,’ he’d said, his erection floundering. ‘We’ll be late for dinner.’
At dinner Nate ignored his wife’s comments and kept his eyes fixed on Angelika’s. Frankly he was done with Billie-Jo; if JJ wanted to take her off his hands, he was more than welcome to. In fact, he secretly hoped he would. They were better suited and far more compatible; they even looked right together, the inked-up rock muso and his Barbie-doll arm candy: perfect tabloid fodder. Much the same as Nate knew that Bee had only been interested in him for his status, the same could be said of JJ and Mia. It was obvious to everyone, no doubt even Mia herself, that Joshua Jones was only stepping out with her to garner publicity for himself. Mia Manhattan may be knocking on a bit and hadn’t had a record out in years but she was still something of an institution, and the press had always had a fixation on her. They were both social climbers; users; cut from the same tree. It would be a match made in heaven for them, and hell for everyone else.
‘Tell us what exactly?’ Rupert’s eyes shifted between the pair of them, butterflies gently settling upon his empty stomach.
‘I think we should wait until Mia arrives,’ Angelika said. ‘I think this is something we should all see.’
34
Mia Manhattan had always insisted on making an entrance wherever and whoever she was with, and tonight she’d decided would be no exception. In fact, in light of what had happened the previous evening, from what little she could recall, it was imperative she put on an unrepentant display of self-confidence, however mortified she felt. She was a professional after all. Mia closed her eyes. Images of limbs intertwining, naked flesh and erect penises – though whose exactly, she could not be sure – had been coming back to her in sharp, unpleasant, little flashbacks, growing in clarity throughout the day as the fog had gradually lifted from her mind. How on earth had she participated in something so … so sleazy? And with Rupert Deyton of all people! Had she gone temporarily insane?
Admittedly Mia had made some mistakes over the years, not least at the height of her fame when she’d indulged in a few extra marital flings predominantly fuelled by a mix of ego, booze and blues, but this particular epic moment of indiscretion spectacularly stole the cake. At the pinnacle of her career Mia’s status had given her access to some of the world’s most-eligible bachelors (and some not-so eligible), a position of which she had occasionally taken full advantage, though in hindsight sometimes it had also been the other way round. Dickie had always turned a blind eye to her ‘misdemeanours’, the ones he knew of anyhow, the golden rule between them being never to be seen in public with anyone else, never in the marital bed, and never, ever, give the heart along with the body. They’d even indulged in a few ménages à trois together back in the day. Well, it was the 70s, after all – who hadn’t – and they had been so terribly young, beautiful and rich. But the truth was she’d only ever truly loved Dickie and had always stuck to the rules. How ironic then that in the end, all those years later, he would be the one to finally break them. Mia felt the resentment of her ex-husband’s deceit resurface once more. Dickie had committed the ultimate betrayal by abandoning her at an age where it was particularly difficult for a woman to start again. She was past her ‘best-before date’ – even she had to admit it – and while she was still considered ‘famous’ of sorts, her kind of celebrity was no longer relevant to today’s movers and shakers. She’d slipped into comparative obscurity, defunct, a dinosaur, trading on the last of her faded-and-jaded looks, staring down the barrel of fifty with the menopause knocking at the door.
Mia looked at herself in the mirror and swallowed back self-loathing; surgery could only do so much. She inspected her face critically, now predominantly constructed from fillers and Botox, the mini facelift she’d undergone as a post-divorce gift to herself giving her a smooth finish, but it couldn’t turn back the clock. She looked like an older woman ‘in good nick’, as her father would’ve said, and had been forced to concede that there really was no magic procedure or potion to give you back what time had robbed you of. No matter how much shit they stuffed into your cheeks and lips, puffed you out, sucked you in or tightened you up, that fresh-faced 25-year-old plump, youthful, glow could never truly be recaptured, gone forever in an underappreciated and painfully short-lived moment in time.
Mia sighed heavily. Who would be a woman? she asked her reflection, engulfed in a moment of self-pity largely brought about by a post-chemical comedown that she wasn’t even aware of. It was all right for men; they were allowed to age, many even improving with the onset of time. There was no ticking, biological clock for those bastards; no career breaks to have children, which subsequently left you out of the game and saw you spending the next ten years playing catch up while you watched your tits go south. There were no periods or menopause for them, watching as a slew of younger, more-fertile females climbed up the ranks behind you, nipping at your heels and your husbands, waiting to
replace you while you hurtled towards tan tights and TENA Lady, gradually becoming invisible.
Mia thought of Billie-Jo then, the girl’s pretty-but-not-especially-remarkable face flushed with the springy firmness of youth, although she had seen the hardness behind the girl’s eyes that had made her think she would not age well. Though they were aesthetically very different and she hadn’t much taken to the girl, Billie-Jo reminded Mia of herself in some ways. There was a steely determination to her that she related to, even admired. Billie-Jo had only one destination in mind: planet fame. She was hungry for it, focussed, obsessed with getting on, just as she herself had been and Mia sensed the girl was prepared to do anything to get it. No doubt she’d do well as a result of such tenacity, but the industry, even more cut-throat and unforgiving than it was in her heyday, would chew her up and spit her out by the time she hit thirty, if she wasn’t careful.
Mia sighed as she thought of JJ and Billie-Jo’s brazen flirting in the Jacuzzi the night before; they’d been all over each other like herpes. She supposed she had been somewhat jealous, though not especially surprised. They were, after all, far more suited age-wise and she had to admit that they made a rather-attractive pairing. Why hadn’t she just invited the girl back to their cabana – there was enough of JJ to go round, after all – instead of getting embroiled in a Caligulan nightmare with Rupert and Raj? Stupid, stupid old woman, she berated herself. Still, she imagined she couldn’t feel any worse than Rupert did right now; if she was filled with dread and regret, she could only imagine the velocity of his self-loathing. Good job his wife had been preoccupied with Nate and vice versa, by the look of things. It had not escaped Mia’s watchful eye that Nate Simmons had something of a crush on Angelika Deyton and the very idea left her tickled pink.
‘Oh, the wicked webs we weave when we choose to deceive,’ she muttered underneath her breath. Last night had been little more than one, big, seedy, swinger’s convention. Perhaps it had been too much for them all, the sun and alcohol and the euphoria of Joshua’s return, a touch of post traumatic-stress maybe, or perhaps it had been something else, something in the air, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Whatever the reason for their collective tawdry antics, she suspected tonight’s dinner would at very best be awkward as hell.
Pleasure Island Page 21
