Bad Girls

by Rebecca Chance

  ‘No, Dan, I—’

  But Dan was gone. Tears sprung to Petal’s eyes: tears of self-pity. She threw the phone onto her unmade bed, staring miserably out into the back garden. It was as shabby and dilapidated as the pool house. The pool tiles were chipped, the loungers showing signs of rust, the grass straggy and brown from lack of regular watering. The main house was a low red-roofed ranch-type bungalow, Spanish-style, and would have been lovely with a new coat of paint and fresh roof tiles.

  Bobby had got out of the pool and was towelling himself down now. As Petal watched, he struck some body-building poses, dropping the towel and flexing his arms in front of his chest, popping out his pecs, veins straining in his arms; he curved out and pointed one leg, looking down to appreciate the big lumps of muscle on his quad and calf.

  ‘Oooh! Sexy!’

  Petal’s mother tripped through the patio doors in her kitten-heel flip-flops, a white tank top and towelling Juicy shorts cut so high they were almost hot pants. From a distance, she looked very girlish; her blonde hair hung down her back like a teenager’s. It was only as she ran towards Bobby, jumping into his arms and twining her legs around his waist, yelping as he spun her around, that Petal could see the artificially shiny skin on Linda’s face and the cellulite on her upper thighs.

  ‘Petal!’ her mother screeched, as Bobby jerked her up and down, making lewd pumping gestures with his hips. ‘You getting ready for tonight? You want to go get your nails and hair done?’

  Reluctantly, Petal pushed open the screen door and emerged onto the porch.

  ‘I don’t do the whole mani-pedi thing, Mum,’ she said, glancing down at her short stubby nails, off which the black polish was chipping. ‘It’s not street.’

  ‘Men don’t go for chicks that don’t take care of themselves,’ Bobby offered. ‘Look at your mom!’ He twirled Linda round by the waist as she giggled appreciatively. ‘Nails all nice, hair all done – and I don’t just mean on her head, you know what I’m saying? You gotta work at it, babe. You’re in LA now.’

  If he says that one more time—

  ‘Maybe you should get your tits done too,’ he suggested, head tilted to one side as he looked Petal up and down. ‘You’re like a board there. Guys like two nice handfuls. I bet your mom knows a good tit doctor.’

  ‘Bobby!’ Linda screamed in reproach, grabbing her own 34DDs. ‘These are all real!’

  ‘I just meant, a lot of your friends,’ Bobby said. ‘They’re all siliconed.’ He reached out for Linda’s breasts. ‘Not like these big babies . . .’

  ‘Ugh, I’m going to puke,’ Petal said. ‘Can you not do that in front of me? It’s beyond disgusting. And totally inappropriate.’

  She pivoted on her heel, going back inside the pool house, slamming the screen door behind her as best she could.

  ‘Just make sure you’re ready by six!’ Linda yelled at her daughter’s retreating back. ‘We’ve got a premiere to go to!’

  ‘Ohmigod, this is the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever seen in my life,’ Petal muttered to herself a few hours later, sneaking out of the back exit of the Lizard Room to have a smoke and escape from the first episode of Cougar Hunt. She had only been able to bear fifteen minutes’ worth of her mother posing and preening in a minuscule bikini, in front of a testosterone-crazed group of baying twenty-something steroid-heads, before she made a break for it.

  No one should have to watch their mum sleazing around like that, Petal thought, diving into her bag for her packet of Virginia Slims. It’s like fucking child abuse. I mean, between my dad and my mum, I don’t know who’s worse. He ignores me, and she makes me watch this embarrassing bollocks.

  Gold hadn’t even deigned to communicate with her directly; his disapproval had been communicated through Jinhee, who had emailed Petal on hearing the news that Petal had been expelled from Cascabel. Petal was to stay at Linda’s and attend therapy every day with Dr Raf. After a few weeks, Dr Raf would assess Petal and report back. Petal could use her credit card up to a pre-set limit, and Linda would be helped with Petal’s expenses. One false step and Petal would be cut off completely.

  I have to do something, Petal thought miserably as she leaned back against a dumpster, lighting a second cigarette from the butt of the first. I can’t go on like this, with Gold – Dad – just pulling the strings and telling me what to do. I’ve got to get some more independence.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ exclaimed a high-pitched, whiny male voice as the back door of the Lizard Room banged open. ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘Zak—’ a woman protested.

  ‘No, Michelle, come on. You know what a steaming pile of shit that was!’ said the man. ‘You can’t put lipstick on a pig, girl. No one wants to see that ageing whore rubbing her lipoed flesh over a bunch of young man-meat.’

  Petal realized with dawning horror that she knew who these two people were, had been introduced to them by Linda: Michelle Lee-Glazer was the executive producer of Cougar Hunt, the person Linda was hoping would commission a reality series featuring her and Petal. And Zak No Last Name was the main TV writer for – fuck – Entertainment Weekly, one of the biggest and most influential magazines in the US.

  Petal slid back around the dumpster so they wouldn’t spot her.

  ‘We think the show’ll find its audience,’ Michelle said weakly.

  ‘Not on VH1 it won’t! What were you thinking?’ Zak said dismissively. ‘Maybe on Lifetime – but now they’re looking for the gays, and believe me, we do not want to see old lady snatch.’

  ‘Zak!’ Michelle started giggling.

  ‘That woman just isn’t interesting,’ Zak sniffed. ‘She comes across as some over-the-hill slut living off her past glories. This show is going to tank. I’d get out from under as soon as I could, if I were you. Find some flunky to pin the blame on, and make the rest of the episodes web-only.’

  There was a hiss as Michelle sucked the breath in through her teeth. Petal could hear someone rubbing their heel into the concrete of the parking lot, crushing out their cigarette.

  ‘I should get back there,’ Michelle said, sounding deflated.

  ‘Girl, I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know,’ Zak said as they re-entered the club.

  Oh shit, Petal thought. Mum’s been pinning her entire hopes on this.

  With a sinking heart, she walked back inside, through the darkened club to the big main room where Cougar Hunt was being projected on a backdrop in front of the stage. It was in its last minutes, as Linda rejected the first candidate, known only by his nickname Jackass. Jackass raged, threw a stool at another contestant and then mooned the camera before storming out of the mansion in which the show was set.

  But many of the invitees weren’t even watching the show; they were hitting the bar, knocking back the free drinks, mocking it to their friends. Linda, at the front, was surrounded by a small group of cougar friends who’d made appearances on the show, D-list ageing celebrity women with leathery skin, fake boobs and faker smiles. As the lights came up, they all whooped and applauded.

  ‘Go, Linda!’ yelled one of them, who had her hair in bunches and breasts so high they were practically on a level with her chin. ‘Go, cougars!’

  ‘Whee!’ Linda chorused, on her third margarita already. ‘Baby, we’re gonna be stars!’

  Linda looked round for Bobby, but he was standing with a group of his co-stars, all of them oiled up in tight tank tops from which their arms burst like gigantic swollen fruit. He saw Linda calling for him, and raised his hand, but didn’t go over to embrace her.

  He knows the show’s in the toilet, Petal thought. Bobby’s smarter than Mum. Fuck, everyone’s smarter than Mum. She and her friends are the only people here who don’t know that Cougar Hunt’s a disaster.

  ‘Cougar Hunt!’ screeched Linda and her fellow cougars, clinking glasses above their heads in a toast. ‘Cougar Hunt!’

  Petal glanced over at Michelle Lee-Glazer, who was staring at the credits as they rolled up agai
nst a black background. A round of tepid applause rang out, stopping almost as soon as it had started. And as Michelle’s name came up at the end, alone on the screen as Executive Producer, Petal clearly saw her wince.

  Oh God, Petal thought. This is really, really bad.

  Skye

  The Grafton was a dream come true. Skye loved the hotel with total passion. Set on a busy stretch of Sunset Boulevard, it dropped away steeply down the hill behind it to the salt-water swimming pool three storeys below. The pool was surrounded by white-upholstered loungers, a lime-green towel rolled up on each one, awaiting an occupant. Behind it was a tall orange-painted water feature, flowing into a small fountain around which the staff arranged decorative candles every evening. It was flanked by tall cypresses and palm trees; by day it was a suntrap, and by night it was dreamy with blue and fuchsia uplighters, turning the pool area into the sexiest of bars, trip-hop and trance playing enticingly on hidden speakers, the clink of cocktail glasses and the play of water in the fountain a lullaby that rocked Skye to sleep every night, because her room had a garden door that opened directly onto a sitting area by the pool.

  She had spent the last week sunbathing, eating lunch on the little terrace overlooking the pool – they did a chopped salad to which she had become addicted – working out in the gym, dining in the restaurant, drinking in the hotel bar, relishing the luxury of putting everything on the National Investigator’s bill. Margaritas by the pool, endless gossip magazines to read: for the first few days, Skye had been in such heaven that the days and night slid into each other as easily as she floated in the salt water of the pool.

  In the last twenty-four hours, however, she had been getting restless. The Investigator had run the story of her encounters with Joe in Cascabel, complete with a couple of glamour photographs of her that they had shot by the Grafton’s pool; it had come out the day before, and she had been hoping – stupidly, she supposed – that Joe would see it, miss her, and track her down.

  I’m an idiot, she thought sadly, stretching out on her bed and admiring her freshly painted toenails. I’m the last person he’d call. He knows now I betrayed him.

  Her cellphone rang, and – again, like an idiot – she snatched it up. Joe had tons of people working for him, people who could easily track down someone’s cellphone number.

  But, of course, it wasn’t Joe. It was Jada, who had just seen the Investigator and was bubbling with excitement.

  ‘You look fantastic, too,’ she said excitedly. ‘Your body’s sick in those photos. You should totally get a publicist.’

  ‘With what money?’ Skye sighed. ‘I never got that big bonus from the Investigator because they didn’t break the story.’

  ‘They still paid you, didn’t they?’ Jada said.

  ‘Yeah, but most of it went to paying off my credit card,’ Skye admitted. ‘And the rent I sent you.’

  ‘Hell, girl,’ Jada said. ‘You gotta get your ass out there and start working!’

  ‘Why don’t you come visit?’ Skye suggested. ‘You could stay in my room, we could eat here and charge it all to the Investigator.’

  As soon as Skye said it, she was charged up with excitement. Having Jada here – why didn’t I think of that straight away? It would be so cool – we could hang out, hit some clubs together—

  ‘Girl! Stop!’ Jada wailed. ‘You’re killing me! I just can’t swing it – my cards are maxed out. I gotta work like a demon the rest of the month just to make the minimum payment . . .’

  ‘How do we spend so much?’ Skye asked hopelessly. ‘When we think of how much we make in a night . . .’

  ‘Blow and shopping, baby. Blow and shopping,’ Jada said.

  ‘I’m outta that loop now,’ Skye said firmly. ‘That’s one thing rehab was good for.’

  ‘Ooh, I Googled your hotel,’ Jada said. ‘You got one of those rooms with the orange walls and the zebra-print bedspread? They’re gorge.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Skye said, looking round her complacently at the afternoon sunshine pouring through the white-louvred blinds, the blue of the pool beyond. ‘And the free toiletries are amazing. Blood-orange scented.’

  ‘Hey, I just had an idea,’ Jada said. ‘Go on some auditions while you’re there!’

  ‘I never took an acting class in my life . . .’

  ‘So what? I bet Pamela Anderson never took a class either!’ Jada said encouragingly.

  ‘You’re right,’ Skye said slowly. ‘You’re absolutely right. I’m calling Kevin right now.’

  Well, I really didn’t need an acting class for this, Skye thought ruefully a couple of days later, staring down at the two-page script on her lap.

  Kevin had been more than happy to fix Skye up with an agent, and the agent had been more than happy to send Skye on a series of auditions. Skye was currently sitting in the waiting room of her fourth appointment of that day, reading over the brief lines that the character she was auditioning for – Girl In Bar – would be called upon to say.

  GIRL IN BAR (blonde, spilling out of a too-tight top, halfway to drunk): Hey, cutie! My name’s Princess.

  NICK: Princess, huh?

  GIRL IN BAR: Yeah! What’s yours?

  NICK: King, baby. I’m the king.

  GIRL IN BAR: (giggles) Wow! Cool!

  STRIDER’s men start firing into the bar. NICK pushes GIRL to the ground while returning fire.

  NICK: It’s bedtime, Princess.

  Skye sighed. Today she’d read for Girl on Beach, Cheerleader #3, and Lindsay (ironically, the character with the actual name had had the least to do). It wasn’t that the parts were small; she couldn’t exactly expect to walk into leading-lady status with no past credits to her name. It was that every single casting agent had made it very clear exactly why they had agreed to see her – and spent more time discussing her and Joe’s sex scene, which had gone viral on the net by now, than they had auditioning her. Two had leered; the third one had told her she’d get the part if she gave him a blow job.

  It’s nothing I didn’t get in the Midnight Lounge every damn night, Skye thought. But I wanted to leave that behind me. This is just more of the same. And the money’s worse.

  Skye had already spent tons on cabs getting to all these appointments. With nothing to show for it. She might have paid off her cards, but she was starting to rack up their balances again.

  A girl came out of the office Skye was waiting to enter, an opaque glass door with ‘Julie Tanaka’ etched across it. The girl was ridiculously stunning, with a sleek dark ponytail and exotic features.

  ‘Skye Simmons?’ she said. ‘Julie will see you now.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Skye said, rising from her seat.

  Julie Tanaka had a mass of orange curls pulled back behind her head, a cheerful smile, and a curvy figure clad in a grey business suit that didn’t do much for it. She came out from behind her desk to greet Skye, taking Skye’s hands in both of hers.

  ‘Skye! Sit!’ she said, gesturing to a couple of suede armchairs in the corner of the office, a glass cube between them. ‘How nice to meet you! You’re even prettier in the flesh. So! Tell me about yourself!’

  There’s no point bullshitting. After that sex tape, and all the press, everyone knows who I am and what I’ve done.

  Skye launched into a brief summary of her life to date, trying to be as entertaining as possible. She sensed quickly that Julie Tanaka wasn’t really listening to her words, but that was OK; why should she be interested in what Skye had to say? The words weren’t important. She was checking out Skye’s voice, how expressive her face was as she talked, her body language.

  ‘And then you got to Hollywood and met Joe,’ Julie said, when Skye paused for breath. ‘And it looked like you had a lot of fun together!’

  Skye nodded awkwardly. Everyone’s seen the damn video clip by now, she thought wearily. They know it’s there, I know it’s there – why do they have to keep mentioning it?

  ‘So, Skye,’ Julie continued, ‘I think you’d be perfect for this role
. I’d love to send you to meet the director and get his OK.’

  Skye sat bolt upright with surprise. After her previous encounters that day, she had given up any idea that she might be taken remotely seriously as an actress.

  ‘That’s great!’ she stammered, feeling light as a feather with elation. ‘But, uh, don’t you want to hear me read the lines?’

  ‘We’ll put you in front of a camera when you meet the director,’ Julie said, smiling. ‘I’ll be there too.’

  ‘Shall I take them away and work on them?’ Skye asked, flapping the two meagre sheets of paper.

  ‘Sure! That’d be great!’ Julie leaned forward. ‘And tell me, do you like Japanese food?’

  ‘I love sushi,’ Skye said promptly, not sure where this was going, but happy to follow someone who’d just given her a callback.

  ‘Great! Maybe you’d like to join me for an early dinner, and we can talk more? I’m booked solid with appointments today, but I’ve got a really good instinct about you and I’d love to grab some dinner.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Skye said.

  ‘And I’ll see if my husband can make it too,’ Julie added.

  She nodded over at a large framed photograph on the desk, presumably of Mr Tanaka. He was standing on a beach, wearing a black wetsuit, holding a surfboard, smiling at the camera, the sun in his eyes.

  Julie smiled proudly. ‘He works out a lot. He’s in really good shape.’ She looked meaningfully at Skye. ‘He’s seen your video too, and he can’t wait to meet you.’

  Skye’s stomach began to sink.

  ‘We’re very open as a couple,’ Julie continued, leaning forward and touching Skye’s knee. ‘Seeing him happy makes me happy, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Um, I just remembered I’m busy this evening,’ Skye said, pushing her chair back a little, and standing up. ‘I have to see someone from the Investigator. Sorry about that.’