Marbella Beauty

by Oster, Camille

  “Where are you going?”

  “Ducliege.”

  “Where?” Felix said, obviously not hearing. Alistair didn’t bother repeating it. It didn’t matter where he was going; Felix knew he was leaving. Alistair pushed his way out past cramped bodies, welcoming the fresh air when he got outside. The music still rang in his ears as he waved down a taxi.

  “Where the fuck are we going?” Felix said, appearing behind him.

  “Ducliege.”

  “Exciting,” Felix said, tarted.

  “Stay here, then.”

  Telling the taxi driver where to go, Alistair leant back against the seat. The taxi smelled like old plastic and cheap air freshener, but right now, he didn’t care to be offended. Well, he was offended, increasingly so during the night—more so the drunker he got.

  He held out some notes to the driver, unsure how much he ended up paying, but didn’t care. They got out and the bouncer in the bar gave them a dubious look. “I know the owners, fucker,” Felix said and the bouncer pursed his mouth then ignored them. Felix could be a right twat when he was drunk, but then so was everyone.

  They walked in. This was a more sedate drinking hole with cocktails, light Jazz music and all pretension. There was something honest about the tourist bars. They weren’t pretending. They were there to get drunk and get laid, and they made no pretence they were otherwise. Here it was all clothes and impressions, and what you drank mattered. It had to be a cool drink.

  Walking past the bar, he scanned around, not seeing her. He’d lose it if she wasn’t here. There were words that needed saying.

  “Any particular reason we’re here?” Felix asked, but Alistair ignored him.

  He found her and Parmi sitting at a long table with benches, at the edge of the balcony/patio thing. This was nice furniture, a nod at being informal in a very formal setting. A candle sat in a bowl in the middle of the table and the girls had cocktails. “Chicks,” he said, sitting down next to Parmi, on the opposite side of Terese.

  Terese gave him a look of disbelief. She didn’t say anything.

  “What? Not happy to see me?”

  Felix sat down next to Terese, who looked at her new neighbour with dismay. “Excuse the manners, ladies,” Felix said. “We’re slightly trolleyed.”

  “Slightly,” Parmi said sarcastically.

  Alistair turned to her and stared her into submission. “Thought we’d come see what my favourite girls were doing.”

  “Obviously, we’re having a drink,” Terese said, crossing her arms. Oh, he wanted to… he wasn’t sure what, but something probably unacceptable.

  “Who wants a drink?” he said.

  “No, we’re good. Just leaving, actually.”

  “Really, cause your drink as half full. You wouldn’t be lying to me, Terese, would you?”

  “Come to think of it, Alistair, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, if that’s alright with you.”

  “I might go to the toilet,” Parmi said meekly. Alistair ignored her.

  “Why don’t you get us a couple of drinks, Felix?” Alistair said dryly.

  Felix got up and went inside, leaving just the two of them. Alistair really was drunk, and staring at her. She wore a high-necked black tank top. Boring. “You’ve got shit clothes.”

  “You have shit manners. Guess that makes us even. What do you want, Alistair?”

  “You think you’re better than me.”

  “I am better than you.”

  “And I seriously want to strangle you.” He got up and came around, sitting down on the bench next to her. She didn’t like it; she leant away from him. “See, you think you can just drop everything and walk away.”

  “From the thing we did?”

  “From here. It’s so pussy. I’m going to run away and pretend to have a life elsewhere. You don’t get away from here, not really. This place is in here,” he said, pointing at her head, “and it always will be.”

  “You’re drunk and you don’t make any sense at all.”

  “I mean, you’ve been shitty to your parents, haven’t you?”

  She turned to him. “What do my parents have to do with this?”

  He sobered for a moment. “Aggie says I’m jealous of you.” He snorted. Things were shifting around him. He was really fucked up drunk. For a minute, he lost track of what he was doing. “Like there’s anything to be jealous of. Copping out and tucking tail isn’t something to be jealous of, is it?”

  “What? Because I choose to live in Berlin.”

  “Fucking Siberia. How is that cool?”

  “Oh, because I’m not some loser here, living on my parents’ money, the highlight of my day having lunch with my group of equal loser friends. Yeah, I forged a career for myself, away from you fucked up a lot. And you know what? I love my life. I am respected. I do work I enjoy. I have a fantastic apartment, and I don’t give a shit what my neighbours think of it, or the car I drive, or the clothes I wear. These clothes you hate so much; I love them. They represent something positive to me. So yes, I’m going to walk away and I’m going to keep going. If you don’t like it, I honestly don’t care.”

  He had his hand on her arm, practically holding her there. Then he had her by the neck and he kissed her. Grumbling, she tried to push him away. She looked angry.

  “But see, you can’t really escape, though,” he said. “You can tell yourself that, but not really. It’s all bullshit.”

  “No, Alistair, you can’t escape, because you have no balls.”

  Rage almost made him freeze over. It made him cold, because the harsh truth had just been spoken. He’d always done exactly what he was supposed to. She had done everything she wasn’t, and he had been the one to push her in that direction. His action had caused her to spin out of orbit and escape. Now she looked down on him and that wasn’t right.

  Yanking her wrist out of his grip, she rose and marched into the bar, her slightly dark metallic capri pants glinted with the lights around.

  “Fuck,” Alistair said, and not really because he’d pissed her off, but because it made fucking sense now. Everything he’d been striving fruitlessly against and he wasn’t getting anywhere. And she accused him of not having the balls to break away. The accusation sat like sick in his mouth.

  Chapter 57

  The flight back to Marbella was tiresome. Cheyenne was obviously put out by his rejection and sat quietly with her arms crossed and her mouth tight in disapproval. Bridget did her best to lighten the mood, speaking of the clothes she’d seen.

  Paris did have some lovely clothes and the women dressed well. He tried to imagine what Miss Waters would look like in those clothes. She was by no means ugly; it was just how she presented herself that offended him.

  With a small chuckle, he wondered if she’d made a nuisance of herself on the building site. He could imagine her causing trouble, still protective of her little patch. Well, at least she had a business, a passion. Cheyenne, on the other hand, was trouble. Her passion was climbing, as high as she could get and she believed her beauty entitled her to any height she wanted.

  There was enough trouble in his life than to invite more in. Besides, he did not want to be the ticket to some woman’s ambitions. Beauty wasn’t that rare a commodity. Some men would appreciate being with a recognised beauty like Cheyenne, needing what it said about them and their prowess. Dominic wasn’t one of them. In fact, he found beauty in most women—when he bothered to notice.

  Bridget tried to bring Cheyenne into the conversation, but she only looked away, pursing her lips. Well, she certainly didn’t handle a setback in her plans with grace. Bridget wasn’t impressed.

  It was nice to be free of company when the plane landed. He’d ordered three cars to meet them at the small airport, and everyone parted company almost immediately.

  Dominic had his driver go past the site and he stopped to survey the progress. Miss Water’s Mini sat in the now reduced carpark outside her salon. She’d put some wooden screens up at the side to th
e building in an attempt to appear separate from the construction behind. It was pitiful, but it did hide some of it from anyone parking in front of the salon.

  He could see her in the salon, tending to a customer, blow-drying hair. She wore red heels, a black skirt and what looked like a silky leopard print top. Her hair was in a high ponytail, the whole thing one big curl. She was talking to her client and smiling intermittently.

  There was something about her he found fascinating, but he didn’t know what. Maybe because she was so different, so utterly focused on her own, and also because she didn’t really give a shit about impressing him. All she saw when it came to him was trouble and she wanted nothing to do with it. Instead of trying to achieve something, she just wanted him gone—out of her life to never return.

  Perhaps it was not a good state of affairs when the people who garnered your interest were the ones who wanted nothing to do with you.

  Doing a double take, she noticed him and a distinct frown crossed her features. She was finishing with her customer, showing them her work through a mirror. The woman was happy, checking the hair with her fingertips.

  Putting the mirror away, Cheryl walked to the desk and picked up a large manila envelope. She walked to the glass door and pushed it open, stepping outside. By the intent focus in her eyes, he knew she was coming to him.

  Her hips swayed as she walked with determined strides. She didn’t smile. “I have your contract for you,” she said. “My solicitor said it was fine to sign it. Do you want it now, or should I mail it to your office?”

  “I can take it. I’m heading to the office. How is business?”

  “It is down with the ruckus going on behind us. As you can imagine, it is not the most inviting sight.”

  “Yes, but you’ll probably have a new set of clients when we move in. I’m building a fountain there. Did you know?”

  “I didn’t,” she said. It was hard to read her expression. Once the office complex was built, he would see her every day, standing in her salon as he came and went.

  “Well, more of a water feature than a fountain.”

  “How is your daughter?” she asked.

  “In rehab in Thailand. There is no communication during the first month.”

  “Ah,” she said.

  “How are your boys?”

  Her face softened into a smile. “Good. They’re going to start football soon. They’re very excited. I should be getting back. I have another customer arriving.”

  “I thought for someone in your profession, it would be hard working in heels.”

  “A girl has to make some sacrifices,” she said, almost a little flirtingly. She wasn’t flirting, but it was the first time she’d actually spoken to him without a frown on her face. Perhaps there was a little bit of thawing in their relationship. It made him wonder what she was like with someone she felt comfortable with. By the look of her with her clients, she was quite chatty, or was that a professional manner she put on. He wanted to know.

  For a moment, he watched her walk back to the salon, the skirt doing its best to accentuate her figure, which was more curvy than most of the women around here. She had hips and boobs, and a thick, black, stretchy belt accentuating a trim waist in between. She was inordinately sexy, in a way.

  Chapter 58

  The change was immediate, Cheyenne noticed as she walked into the Hernvey’s foundation bash. She’d gone because it was the biggest thing on that week and she also knew Paul was going to be there, and since the disaster in Paris, she wanted someone to toy with.

  Women were giving her looks, their eyes travelling over her dismissively. At first, she thought it was some jealous bitch trying to preserve her self-esteem, but then it wasn’t just one or two; it was all of them, like they have gotten together and decided to give her the cold shoulder.

  There was nothing she’d done that would warrant this, except maybe if everyone knew Dominic had rejected her in Paris. Bridget must have blabbed and the maliciousness had snowballed. Now everyone had decided she was passé and didn’t belong in their company.

  This was utter bullshit. She was Cheyenne. Designers used to fall over themselves to have her on their runways. She still got calls. These bitches never got a call from anyone.

  Men didn’t know. They never knew what went on with female politics. Their eyes still followed her for an entirely different reason.

  How dare these cows try to gang up on her? They were nothing. Just a bunch of useless, boring barn animals who’d achieved nothing in their whole, boring life. That was why they hated her, why they’d always hated her. She stood on her own two feet; they’d never taken care of themselves.

  She spotted Alexi first, then Paul, lastly the little mouse, who was also utterly oblivious to the female boycott in the room.

  “Cheyenne,” Paul said. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you, but I can’t.” And Paul, so caught up in his own useless little problems.

  “Oh, shut up, Paul,” she said. She felt like crying, but she never cried. Crying was weakness and she did not do weakness. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to leave, because this was the only semblance of safety there was, even though all of these people hated her. “What do you know about anything?”

  Paul’s mouth was a thin line, but she didn’t care. There were bigger issues to deal with than his ruffled feathers. Frantically, she tried to think through what this all meant for her. By the looks of it, her shunning seemed ubiquitous. All her invitations would dry up and she’d be a persona non grata before the month was out. Fuck, she swore to herself. There had to be some way of getting around this, but it was too big. They had united against her.

  “Can you drive me home? I’m not feeling well,” she said to Paul.

  His eyebrows raised, then he mumbled, “Of course.” He handed his champagne glass to his sister and dutifully followed her out. Well, she wasn’t going to leave here alone. Paul was perhaps not the best image, but he was clean cut, respectable and intelligent. At least, she wasn’t slinking away with her tail tucked between her legs. No, she was walking out with her head held high. Alexi was still richer than any of these cows in the room, and she was still a fucking baronessa.

  A valet collected Paul’s car and they had to wait. It was embarrassing having to wait. A man with a driver would have been picked up immediately, but then Paul wasn’t a man with a driver. He was some poor academic loser.

  The car pulled up and the valet went to open her door for her. She stepped in and sat down, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Those fucking bitches,” she said, unable to stop a tremble in her voice. “They’re uniting against me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Closing her eyes, she shook her head in annoyance. “Bless you, Paul, but you wouldn’t know World War Three if it happened around you. I was just given the cold shoulder by all of Marbella’s society.” Her voice bordered on neurotic, but she didn’t care what Paul thought.

  “Of course, you weren’t.”

  “Yes, I really was. You walk around in a state of utter oblivion to everything around you, so don’t tell me I don’t know what’s going on. They’re all jealous of me, always have been, and they think their disapproval means something.”

  Paul drove and was smart enough to shut up. “Well, you do terrible things.”

  She chuckled. “Fine, I’m sorry I ruined things with your little mouse. But this isn’t about anything I did; this is about Dominic Dunbury rejecting me, and these whores are all taking their lead from that. It’s fucking Bridget’s fault. I knew she hated me. I bet she’s gloating now.”

  What was she going to do? This was disastrous. “These nobodies are ruining my life,” she said as desperately as she felt.

  “Chickens do eventually come home to roost.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Paul. Your pettiness isn’t helpful right now.”

  “Maybe it isn’t pettiness. Maybe the way you treat people accumulates, and gets to the point where people don’t want y
ou around.”

  She needed some kind of coup, some way of restoring the balance, something that would make her untouchable from their vicious snipping. Ideally something that would make them shut up for good. Dominic would have done that for her. It would have been so good. Why did he have to go and ruin it all?

  With her forehead resting on her wrist, she stared out the window, trying to think of what she could do, but nothing came to her. She was retired from the modelling world. There was little she could find in terms of ammunition there. Alexi was unwilling to help her, and the uncomfortable truth was that she might not be able to shake his little mouse off him.

  She had to soldier on, had to find a way. No one could hold someone like her down.

  The urge to eat was hitting her hard—craving sweet and savoury, both at the same time. She wanted to stuff her face, gorge on fattening and revolting food. Cheesecake and Pringles. Even those Spanish crème caramels. A chink in her armour and the weaknesses flooded out, threatening to overwhelm her.

  Chapter 59

  Unable to get back to sleep, Terese shifted, refusing to get up. It was so nice to just lay there and pretend she was asleep. Another day in fucked-up Marbella. Alistair returned to her thoughts, and the weird evening with his even stranger revelations. On some level, she wasn’t surprised; on another, she was utterly dumbfounded. Alistair unhappy as his reign of king of the cool crowd.

  She’d gloat a little if what she’d been saying back had all been true, but there was a tiny bit of untruth in there. Yes, she loved her job, loved the energy in her industry and her company. But the fact that she was a foreigner in Berlin was something she would never quite get past. There was something disconcerting in not having solid roots. It used to not bother her, but as she was getting older, turning her thoughts to the future, it did bother her.