Marbella Neat

by Camille Oster

  “Maybe I’ll see you later,” he said, opening the door to the storage cupboard and leading her out, back to the dance floor. It was unlikely he would see her later, but he’d keep the option open. It also made her feel better, thinking that there could be an encore, more interest. It was a nice thing to do. He wasn’t one of those guys looking to degrade girls for putting out. He appreciated them – sometimes too much, but what a tough problem to have.

  Returning to the platform, he went to work again, lining up new tracks. It was time to take the tempo up again, share the afterglow and celebrate being fucking alive. Why not share? It was a jubilant night, after all.

  Looking out at the crowd, he surveyed his domain with a smile on his lips. Man, he loved this job.

  A girl caught his attention along the side, gorgeous face and long, dark hair, the most delicious body he'd ever seen. He'd wished he'd seen her before, but had been too distracted by the blonde cutie who was now chatting with her friends, smiling and laughing, giving him a little wave with her fingers. She was happy; he was happy, what was the harm?

  His eyes returned to the dark one. She was utterly gorgeous. He’d never seen her before, but he hoped to see her again. He’d be keeping his eye out for her.

  Chapter 10

  Felix walked onto the roof terrace of one of the newer hotels in Marbella. A turquoise pool was set in the centre, tables and chairs surrounding it, arranged tastefully. Glass barriers ran along the length of the edge, providing an unobstructed view along the coastline. He saw Aggie first, sitting in one of the cabanas, her golden hair shining in the sunlight. She was tanned and looked good as she always did. Others were there, as well. Jasmine, Clara, Miles and Esme. Somehow, over the last year, he and Esme had adopted the same social circle. He didn't necessarily like it, but he accepted it. As screwed up as he was, it gave him an opportunity to keep an eye on her. He couldn't entirely trust Esme to be a good girl these days. Perhaps she was over her rebellious stage, but it was still a good idea to keep her in sight.

  There was also someone else at the table, that cousin of Aggie’s, sitting like a sack of coal and seeming to contribute just as much.

  Felix approached the table, spotting a seat next to Esme.

  “Hello, Felix. What’s up with you?” Aggie asked. “It's almost noon and you look nowhere near drunk.”

  He gave Aggie a scathing look and took his seat. “I guess I’d better get working on that,” he said. “I'm running late.” With an indication of his finger, he ordered the waiter to come take his order. “A whiskey,” he said.

  “Really, Felix? Try a coffee,” Esme said. “Darling little beverage a lot of people swear by. If you try it, I think you’ll like it,” she said tartly.

  “Are you being a teetotaller now?” he asked. “That’s turning over a bit of a new leaf for you, isn’t it?” It would certainly make his job easier if she was. No, he couldn’t see her giving up her vices. She sat forward and crossed her thin arms on the table, ignoring his statement. She did that whenever she was annoyed with him.

  Aggie’s cousin, Inns, was watching the exchange. There was nothing affable about him; he just sat there, silently observing everything. Felix didn't know what his deal was, but he was something. As charming as a fanatic churchman.

  “So how is working with Shania?” Esme asked. “Did you speak to her?”

  “I have not,” Felix said, refusing to say anything more. The last thing he wanted today was to discuss Shania. That was an episode in his life he wanted to forget entirely. He wished Esme would drop it.

  His glass of whiskey arrived and he took a swig, feeling the smooth heat at the back of his throat.

  “Does she have somewhere to live?” Esme asked, a hint of concern in her voice. Esme had always set herself up as Shania’s protector—a girl who absolutely didn’t need protection, but Esme refused to see that.

  “Of course, she does,” he said and groaned at having to continue this conversation. “Father put her up in an apartment.” He knew full well that sounded worse than it was; sounded salacious. He didn't bother correcting the meaning. Esme should stay away from that girl. She was trash in every possible sense. If people jumped to the conclusion that Dominic was supporting her, Felix wouldn't bother correcting the conclusion they jumped to. After all, in a way Dominic was by taking an uncalled for interest in Shania’s career. Felix couldn’t understand why.

  The apartment she was living in would be exactly the same as the one given to anyone who moved here on the company's behalf, but with Shania, it all felt worse.

  The food arrived, and Felix didn't immediately take his share. Neither did Inns, who just sat there in what seemed like frustrated disapproval. What was his deal? The guy had zero charm. Couldn't even make conversation at a lunch, it seemed. How he was related to Aggie, Felix didn't know. In the end, Felix did eat some lunch and after, made his way to the bar. Aggie joined him, ordering something disgusting with wheatgrass, which was presented in a lurid green colour a drink had no business being.

  “What's the story with your cousin?” Felix asked. “He's staring at us like we killed his puppy.”

  “He doesn't like dogs either, which is ironic as he’s all about the horse and hound scene,” Aggie said tartly. “In general, he disapproves of everything. I'm sorry, my parents made me bring him. Sounds completely juvenile, but I suspect they want to be rid of him for the afternoon. As you can imagine, he's a ray of sunshine.”

  “I could see how he could be accused of that.”

  “Hopefully with the start of school, which he is here for, we’ll see a whole lot less of him. In an ideal world, he would find some other awful person to hang with there. Someone more of his sensibilities.”

  Felix didn’t quite know what she meant and couldn’t care less. They grabbed their drinks and walked back to the table.

  “It seems you two will be running in the same circles,” Felix said, looking between Esme and Inns. “Both diligent students at this business school.”

  “Oh?” Esme said, looking surprised. “What are you studying?” Esme always tried to see the best in people. Maybe now he had to worry about Esme trying to rescue a loser like Inns, like she had Shania. It was an awful habit his sister had.

  Inns almost looked annoyed that the conversation was directed at him, requiring him to reply. “General,” he said and refused to add anything more. Verbose guy, isn't he? Felix thought. Maybe he was mentally deficient in some way.

  Chapter 11

  Birds were chirping outside as Aggie sat on the outdoor seating. Water trickled over the infinity pool. She always liked that sound. It calmed her. It had been a busy day; lunch with the gang, then shopping. She made Inns follow around a whole score of stores, just to grievance him that little bit more—because she was saddled with him. In each store, he would find the inevitable seat and wait, clearly hating every second of it. Which was why she’d done it, primarily to discourage him from wanting to come with her—not that for a minute she believed he did. It was more that her parents had insisted. It would be juvenile of her to refuse their request to be a good host, but he should be man enough to stand up for himself.

  She heard him approach, a drink in his hand. Really, he wanted to spend more time together? Looking up, she smiled tightly as he sat down.

  “How did you enjoy the day?” she asked, knowing he would probably rather had done himself some harm than spend time with her friends. But that requirement of politeness was always there.

  “It was tedious,” he said. He spoke in this slow fashion, drawing out words, ending each with despondent exasperation.

  Aggie gritted her teeth. The need to be polite obviously didn't extend to him. “I'm sorry you felt that way,” she lied. She couldn’t quite manage to make her face look concerned, because she couldn’t remotely care what he thought.

  He looked around, before looking back at her. “Your friends are just a bit gauche,” he said.

  “Gauche? Now there’s a word you don�
�t hear every day. Doesn’t it belong back in the thirties? You know, the era when fascism was very popular among your set.”

  “Your set too, or have you forgotten?” He stared at her, refusing to look away when she stared back. Was he trying to tell her something? Of course he was: her friends were not to his approval.

  “Just really a vacant bunch, aren’t they? You can do better. Slaves to every jumped-up Italian designer on the planet.” His eyes roamed down her dress as if to prove his point.

  Aggie's eyebrows rose. “As opposed to your country chic?” Country was, of course, a euphemism for wealthy and entitled, which was how he saw himself—the right way of being wealthy, which he didn’t extend to the people here. In the scheme of things, he basically had it all, but he was entitled and his kind saw themselves as apart from everyone else, as better. Centuries of being better.

  It was rich of him criticising what people were wearing, considering he was wearing a dull-as-dishwater chequer shirt and pants made for gentile agricultural pursuits. “Not everyone dresses like they’re farmers,” she said tartly. “As you noticed, I'm sure, there are not that many farms around here. Hence, you look like a bit of an idiot, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I think that depends on what your values are."

  “Around here people extend themselves a bit more than your typical classics studies, public boarding school mentality, and dedicating their life to defending the musty old pile. In the new millennium, there's more to life,” she said pointedly as if talking to a child. Seriously, if he wanted to take this to bitchy, he was thoroughly outclassed. “No one can be bothered caring about how turned on you get looking at tractors here. Could you try not to be such a joke of a cliché while you’re here? I know that works with you and your socially stunted friends back home, but you’ll be flying that flag all by yourself around here.” She smiled and gave him a dismissive look. His mouth was tight, clearly furious that she hadn’t bowed to his disapproval, which she suspected was supposed to be very stinging. Really, he hadn’t grown up with the girls of Marbella. If you wander into a bitch fight, you need better tactics, darling, she thought. Seriously, Esme could take you out and she’s a pushover. “Maybe you should go rest,” she suggested, her voice cold in dismissal.

  Perhaps she was a bit harsh on him. He had led a cloistered life, surrounded by this crap some back home were still peddling—conformance with tradition, dogged acceptance of antiquated values and strict exclusion of strangers. On some level, it wasn’t his fault. Inn's parents had bought into that lifestyle a little bit more than her own had, and worshipping at that altar made one a bit of a fruitcake in more mixed crowds.

  Inns hadn’t quite given up his guns, though. “Can you in all seriousness say there is a brain cell between those people we met today, those people around the table at lunch? They have no purpose whatsoever.”

  “And you're saying you do? The Queen is unlikely to call you into service to defend the realm anytime soon, is she? Some would say your purpose is more questionable than anyone else's. You are, after all, going to dedicate your life to a decaying house better left in centuries past, serving what purpose exactly?”

  “It just makes the wrong impression,” he said, his mouth drawn tight.

  Aggie smiled. “The world is larger than the tiny part you know. Guess you’ve been cut from your myopic crowd. That must burn. If I could bring myself to care, I would sympathise, but the thought counts, doesn’t it?”

  They both knew his future life would be to run the estate, and the business it had to implement to keep it afloat—working farm, a café, guided tours, garden parties, etc. Inns, and his type, were small business owners these days, slaves to the roofs on their decrepit manors, halls and castles. Somehow they were sold on the fact that it was a fate worth being proud of.

  Even so, where was he getting off making judgements about her lifestyle, her friends? As far as Aggie knew, as much as he belonged to what he deemed the right crowd, he didn't have any friends. Maybe a whole bunch of boys as backward and insular as he was, stuck in the past with values that hadn't even seen the modern world.

  “You can live whatever way you want, Inns,” she said, getting up. “Here, though,” she said pointing up and down his clothes, “you look ridiculous. Adapt or don’t, I don’t care, but don’t come spouting that you have the vaguest notion you understand how the world works. You’ve been raised not to.”

  Chapter 12

  Taking a box from the driver, Megan followed as Ricky walked in through the entrance door and up the stairs to what was his new flat. He’d told her that morning that he had leased a place for himself, claiming he needed his own space. It was tiny, a little shoebox with wooden floors and white walls. Nothing could be said about the place other than that it was nondescript. The kitchen was tiny, made of the cheapest materials. It had a little balcony overlooking a sea of townhouses and apartment blocks. This was one of the new areas, built really densely with these little cubbyholes. But this was what he’d chosen.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. This move had taken her a little bit by surprise, but he claimed he couldn't live with her parents. She'd anticipated that they would. “You know there's plenty of space at mum and dad's. You are most welcome to stay with them. Obviously, it would be rent free.”

  “You know I can't be a kept man,” he said, tiredness over the issue laced into his voice. “And it's not fair to your parents. I haven't lived at home since I was a kid and I don't want to live in someone else's home either.”

  “Still, though, if you’d wait, we could've gotten an apartment for you and me. Something nicer,” she said, looking around the small space. This seemed like a crazy notion, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “You know our relationship isn't ready for that step,” he insisted. “I hope we get there some day, but I don't think we’d be doing ourselves a service to rush things. Besides, I need my own space and you need yours. I can't hang around with your parents as you pop in and out of town.”

  “Of course,” she said, placing the unopened box with his new toaster on the small breakfast bar.

  “It’s just that I worry about it,” she said, “you being here all alone.” She was worried about him, feeling bad at having taken him out of London and away from his friends, to leave him here on his own when she had to fulfil the contracts she'd agreed to. She’d cut down on them as much as possible, but there were still jobs she had to take. If it wasn't for Ricky, she wouldn't mind at all; she enjoyed catching up with the people she knew and worked with. But now she was worried about leaving him on his own in a town where he didn’t know anyone.

  He walked over to her and put his arms around her. “It’ll be great, you'll see. It's like we're settling into real life,” he said. “Before it was all a bit of a holiday, but now it's more real, you know?” he said with a smile. Leaning down, he kissed her and Megan ran her hands up his muscled arms. They were about to be inundated with burly men moving in the furniture he’d just bought. While she wished they could lock the door and christen the new bed, it wasn't an option. She had to go fairly soon, make her way to the airport. “Will you miss me?” she asked.

  “Like crazy,” he responded. “I'll be thinking about you up on the runway—my hot girl.”

  She felt happiness bubbling over in her at the comment.

  “You better go or you’ll miss your flight,” he said, letting go of her.

  Tumultuous noise sounded in the hallway outside, which meant the moving men were here. The tiny space exploded with people and large packages and there wasn't enough room for them to get out of the way. It required some juggling of people, but they eventually made it into the room and Ricky was directing them, telling them what went where.

  “Alright, I'll call you later,” she said, but Ricky didn't notice. He was helping men place the sofa along one of the boring walls.

  The furniture wasn't to Megan's taste—cheap and tatty, but Ricky hadn’t listened and had gone ahead an
d bought it. Obviously, he couldn't afford the kind of furniture she was used to. She understood this. Still, she didn't quite understand this decision he insisted on. She got that he needed some space, but there was a part of her that still thought they should have something together. Maybe he was right and they had to take things slowly. She knew she could be a bit full on, at times.

  The lights of the runway were hot as she did her sharp walk down the runway to the mellow little twirl in the end and the walk back. She had names for the different type of runway turns she had in her repertoire, now unable to remember how many times she’d done this.

  After the initial meeting with everyone, the tedious part started, the sitting in makeup and hair, getting dressed and waiting around for the show to start. It was an extreme amount of work for a mere eight and a half minutes of fashion show. But that was the business. Ninety-nine percent prep, one percent performance. Maybe it was time to get out of it now that she was no longer starry-eyed and excited about it. Young girls came every season, their eyes as big as saucers, taking everything in. That had been her once upon a time, but those days were gone. Maybe it really was time to move on.

  Taking the steps down in the back area, she ran over to her hanger and started changing into the next set. She had mere seconds to complete this to ensure the flow of the show was unbroken. Someone was dabbing powder on her forehead, while someone else was changing her shoes for her. Her heart was going a hundred miles a minute. You couldn't say these shows didn’t have a decent bout of stress involved, but this was the job. There was also an excitement she couldn't deny.

  The bright lights threatened to blind her as she stepped on the runway again. The most important people in the world were sitting in the audience, eager to see what the designer’s envisioned this season. For a while, this was the centre of the universe and her excitement surged when she was walking, but as soon as she stepped off, it fleeted away. The rewards were becoming scarcer. Perhaps it really was time to only do the odd editorial here and there.