The Brand

by M. N Providence

  In New York, Miss Vermuelen had not decided where exactly she wanted to settle, so she contented herself with staying in a suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. Whenever she could break away from the hectic WTA schedule, she and Byron Taylor could be photographed by eager paparazzi in the most beautiful places of the world…shopping on Fifth Avenue in the Big Apple…at the Trevi Fountain in Rome…the Arc de Triomphe in Paris…on a yacht in Monaco…surfing in Hawaii…with elephants and lions at Zimbali Lodge in South Africa…at the entrance of The One & Only Hotel in Cape Town…

  Although it was barely five months since she had moved to America, by the time Jansen Vermuelen flew to France to take part in the French Open tennis tournament, she had people managing her life, some of whose names she did not even know, but all of who were paid from her increasing fortune, money which mostly came from endorsement deals because Miss Vermuelen had earned no prize money from the professional tennis circuit since winning the US Open of the previous year.

  Miss Vermuelen travelled to Paris, France, alone. Her current boyfriend was currently preoccupied with the rigorous demands of shooting a spy movie in the Netherlands, the European country that is sometimes also referred to as Holland, but he did manage to get a break from the shooting schedule and fly over to Paris to watch and support Jansen as she played in her 2nd round match against a determined Russian opponent. The officials at Roland Garros almost fell over themselves to please this special guest at their clay courts, and he was treated with the honor and reverence fit for royalty, even though this pampering should’ve been exclusively and solely directed to the Prince of Monaco, who was attending the match at the behest of his South African-born wife.

  While her lover was enjoying the simple perks of being a Hollywood star, the rising tennis star was facing one of the toughest and most determined opponents of her short career. The evening papers in America would report later that day that after being on the verge of a seemingly painful exit, № 4 seed, Jansen Vermuelen made a remarkable recovery to beat Sandra Navratilova 6-7(6), 6-0 and 6-4 to advance to the third round of the French Open. Vermuelen, choking back tears of pain, needed to leave the court for a medical timeout at the end of the tie-breaker after having twisted sharply for a swinging backhand volley on the final point and appearing by all visible signs to have injured either her stomach or groin. She returned for the second set with her right thigh heavily strapped in bandages and dominated over Navratilova. The two battled it for the third and final set, with Navratilova striking 3 aces that whizzed past a helpless Vermuelen, but Vermuelen fought with steely determination to triumph in the third set and win the match.

  Chapter 5

  By virtue of his celebrity status and his ability to turn any film project into a commercial success, Byron Taylor was honored on the film set with the biggest trailer. He was also being paid $20 million to appear in the film, and not surprisingly, considering that she was virtually unknown for her acting skills, Joelyn Smith would be paid just a tiny fraction - $500,000, to be precise – of her co-star’s asking fee, and she had to content herself with one of the minimalistic trailers on the film set. She swallowed her pride and took it all in her stride, because she knew that all great people must start somewhere undignified.

  However, her “trailer situation”, as she thought of it privately, improved in a conventional and not-entirely-unexpected method. As time progressed, workers on the film set realized to their amusement that Ms. Smith was spending very little time at her trailer and spending most of her time when not in the shoot at Byron Taylor’s trailer. Speculation was rife on the film set that these two were not helping each other memorize their respective script lines but engaged in a secret romance. It got to a point where the rumors reached director of the film, Chris Woodyard. Upon hearing the news, Woodyard was elated, and because he realized the potential benefits this romance might have for the film’s pre-release publicity, he came to congratulate the couple.

  ‘Guys, this is very good news for the film. There’s nothing the public loves like a real off-screen romance between co-stars. It’s good publicity! Let’s get word out in the tabloids and follow it up with confirmations from both of you on Twitter. By the time the film’s released, everyone will want to see the two of you together on screen.’

  Both Byron and Joelyn begged him not to publicize their affair. Naturally, they each had differing reasons why they didn’t want the affair spilling into the public domain. Joelyn feared the catastrophic consequences that might arise if it was found out that she had “stolen” her ex-sister-in-law’s lover. Even Byron himself was not aware of Joelyn’s relation to Jansen, because she had wisely kept that part of her life hidden from him. On the day that they had first slept together, she had said to Byron, ‘I was once involved with Chris…nothing major, just a once-off thing, and it was months ago, but I don’t want him to find out about us.’

  ‘What do you care if he finds out?’

  ‘I don’t want the three of us to have an awkward tension between us. The shooting must go on smoothly. And frankly, I don’t want Chris to think I’m a whore. It matters to me that he doesn’t.’

  ‘Are you one?’ Byron taunted.

  ‘I sleep with whomever I have decided to, just like you do. If that makes me a whore, then you’re one too. The rules shouldn’t change just because I’m a woman.’

  Their conversation, bordering on dangerously volatile territory, had ended there, and they had made love.

  Now, as they lay in each other’s arms, after Byron’s return from Paris, he said seriously, ‘I’m worried about her.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hurt your feelings, but I find that hard to believe,’ Joelyn said truthfully. ‘Since when do you get emotionally attached to pussy? I thought you said you get in, hit it hard and enjoy the sweetness while it lasts and get out before things become complicated.’

  Like most people with an aversion for commitment in a relationship, Byron Taylor had hopped from one bed to the next in a series of relationships that had left him emotionally detached. But as it always happens to even the most skilled players in the game, there comes a time when the champion player comes across someone who gives a whole new meaning to their life, and all of a sudden the player doesn’t know how to handle the situation because the rules of the game have been unexpectedly altered. Byron Taylor found himself emotionally drawn to Jansen Vermuelen, and he cared about her more than he cared to admit, but he had already sacrificed a lot of things in the past for his public image, including love.

  ‘I’m not joking,’ he reprimanded softly. ‘I held her in my arms at the hotel room after the match; she couldn’t stop crying, both from the relief of winning the match and from the pain at her ribs and pelvis bone.’

  The image those words conjured up in Joelyn, that of a strong male holding a frail, weak girl in his strong arms and comforting her sorrowful sobs, touched Joelyn’s heart and brought tears to her eyes, but she fought them back quickly. She said in a steady voice, ‘She’ll be okay. She looks like a strong girl. Did you send her flowers?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘Of course. You men are so clueless,’ she chided. ‘Send her a bunch of red roses, together with a card telling her that you love her and you wish her good luck for her next match.’

  He gave the suggestion a contemplative thought and then threw it out of his mind. ‘Nah. She’ll be okay.’ He grabbed her breasts. They were round and firm and beautiful. He couldn’t get enough of them. He sucked on them alternately until he felt the power of his penis pulsating fiercely. He kissed her lips and smiled at her big, round eyes. ‘I want to drink from your ocean of delights. Look, my cock’s ready for action again. Isn’t it amazing?’

  She grabbed him and stroked him with her hands. Moments later they were both moaning in delight, their bodies locked together and dancing rhythmically to a beat heard by only the two of them.

  Chapter 6

  Because famous people and celebrated individuals are usually surrounded b
y people who have private agendas separate from those of the celebrity they purportedly work for, it soon emerged into the public fold that Byron Taylor and Joelyn Smith were having a love affair, and that it had happened on the set of the movie in which they co-starred, slated for an August release date. This piece of information generated a lot of sales for the tabloids in America and elsewhere, because Byron Taylor was a man on people’s minds, and any mention of his name attracted readers’ interest. Consequentially, the tabloid frenzy over the romantic liaison between one of Hollywood’s hottest stars, who had twice been voted the Sexiest Man Alive by People magazine, and a new entrant into the Hollywood scene, a smoldering beauty of South African origin, culminated in a major publicity storm for Chris Woodyard’s latest film project.

  While Taylor and Smith’s publicists issued statements contradicting what the tabloids were saying, Jansen was devastated. She had broken hearts before, but never had hers broken, until now, and she was learning how painful an experience it was. And because she was a rising star worthy of mention in her own right, she had at the same time become the third party of a publicly interesting love triangle, so the media was possessed with learning her side of the story. She did actually go into hiding for a period of three days, during which her handlers organized a team of bodyguards to protect her from further harassment by the paparazzi, and during which she used a cellphone number not registered in her name to make a call to her brother’s ex-wife. It took her a while to get to talk to Joelyn herself, because all her incoming calls were being screened by an assistant, but when Jansen identified herself by name Joelyn’s familiar voice came onto the line almost immediately.

  ‘How could you? What have I ever done to you to deserve this?’ Both questions were delivered with such spiteful venom that Joelyn’s mind froze for a moment.

  ‘I’ve always known that you’re a selfish bitch, but I never knew you could be this evil,’ Jansen spat out heatedly. ‘What did you possibly hope to gain by stealing him from me? God, I hate you!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jansen…Please let me explain—.’

  ‘Fuck you and all your fuckin’ explanations. I hate you, and I wish never to see or hear of you ever in my life. Were you not satisfied with the money my brother gave to you? Did you really have to go on and steal my boyfriend?’ she fired quickly, not giving the recipient of her abrasive attack a chance to respond or defend herself. ‘Well, you can have him all to yourself. And when you go to sleep every night just know that I had him first.’

  She cut the call, abruptly ending the one-sided conversation, and threw the small gadget at the nearest wall with such force that it crashed into the wall and disintegrated into pieces. Then she burst into tears and cried sorrowfully.

  When she stepped out onto the tennis court to play in the final of the AEGON International, Jansen Vermuelen was in such a bad state of mind that she uttered so many nasty profanities whenever the game seemed to deviate from her will, eventually earning a cautionary rebuke from the match referee. In the third and final set of the match, Jansen broke two rackets on two separate occasions by slamming them to the ground in anger after a match decision had gone against her, earning loud jeers of disapproval from an increasingly hostile crowd. She did, however, silence the crowd into stunned disbelief by winning the last set of the match, picking up the trophy and the prize money.

  The newspapers would report that it was a new, mean side of Vermuelen that had never before been seen, that Vermuelen had played with such bad attitude and forceful drive that she had bullied her opponent into submission and sent messages about her intent of purpose to her future opponents. The Evening Standard, with tongue in cheek, stated that the match had been a delightful spectacle to watch.

  At her next match, at Wimbledon, Jansen Vermuelen played with such biting aggressiveness that she was quickly earning a reputation as the bad girl of modern-day tennis. Few people realized that this powerful drive to win matches stemmed from a self-destructive force that had captured her since her betrayal by Byron Taylor, and one of them was Gary Speckman, though he dared not discuss this aspect of her life with her, respecting the agreement held between them that he would stick to coaching duties and not be her personal advisor.

  Had he known what would happen next, Gary would certainly have ignored that moral agreement and prevented a calamity of great magnitude from occurring. He would have offered her a sympathetic ear and given her a shoulder to cry on that she so badly needed. But he didn’t, so Jansen Vermuelen stepped out to play in from of a sold-out crowd in her next match, and handled herself with such vicious intensity that she tore a tendon in her left foot towards the end of the first set, losing two games that nevertheless did nothing to deny her victory in the first set. She returned for the second set limping, her left leg bandaged below the knee, and played with the same characteristic malice of the evil spirit that had possessed her for recent weeks, until she was forced to pull out of the match and the tournament with a broken wrist.

  It was the end of the road for her, and at his first ever press conference on behalf of the star he had created, Gareth Speckman actually shed tears of grief for his beloved Jansen. The sports writers quickly rolled out their eulogies for Jansen Vermuelen’s short-lived tennis career. She had been a breath of fresh air to the sport, but like spring, it had come to pass.

  Chapter 7

  The executive producers of the Chris Woodyard film were business people; they were not arrogant enough to believe that the tabloid hype brewing in America concerning the imminent release of the movie would actually translate to buttocks on seats in theaters. Therefore, they poured millions of dollars into marketing the film. They sent Byron Taylor and the de facto next-big-thing-to-happen-for-the-movie, Joelyn Smith, on a tour of world cities to promote the movie. The two, surrounded by an entourage of assistants, publicists, advisers, agents, managers and PAs, went to five countries in Europe: Germany, UK, France, Italy and Spain. They also went to Japan, Hong Kong and South Korea, and, at Joelyn’s insistence, they also visited South Africa.

  In America, it was the pair’s involvement in promotional tours of Miami, Las Vegas, New York, Dallas, Atlanta, Chicago and Denver that generated more social buzz and interest in the film’s release for a single date across the globe. On the night preluding the worldwide premiere of the film, Byron and Joelyn had both agreed by mutual consent to spend the night at her Malibu residence. Joelyn, helped by a hired chef and his assistants, went out of her way to prepare a candle-lit dinner for two on the wide terrace outside her living room, overlooking the ocean. Unknown to her, Byron had forgotten about their arrangement. Instead, he had driven himself in his Mercedes Benz SLS Gullwing to a party in Brentwood, hosted by a friend of his who was the star of a hit TV series.

  In Hollywood, there is a group of young women who don’t belong to any particularly identifiable association but can be classified into one by their actions. These young women, some of them remarkably intelligent, some from proper and wealthy families, and most of them very beautiful, dedicate their lives to entertaining Hollywood stars, be they male or female. They make it their mission in life to know where all the crazy parties are taking place. Then make their presence felt by offering themselves up for the carnal enjoyment of the celebrity of their choice. At the party that Byron Taylor went to on the eve of the worldwide premiere of his latest movie project, incidentally a night on which he was meant to be socially bonding with Joelyn Smith, there was such an abundance of alcohol, drugs and sex that it was a justifiably chaotic environment. The music was loud, and the levels of intoxication immoral.

  Amidst it all, he found himself being propositioned by a slender thing in a body-hugging black dress and long blonde hair that went all the way to the small of her back. She pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, exposing a succulent pair of breasts, and invited, ‘They’re yours for the taking, Byron Taylor. I’m young and talented. Do you wanna find out?’

  All the blood in his body raced to hi
s penis.

  ‘I have a tight pussy and an even tighter asshole – whichever you prefer,’ she continued, giving him a wide smile as another slender thing that was a spitting image of the blonde joined them. ‘And I have a twin – for double the delight.’

  Byron had the power to perceive through his inebriation that he was senselessly high, to be seeing double. But soon afterwards, as he lay on a bed in one of the many rooms inside his friend’s mansion, he realized that his mind was not playing tricks on him; the girls were two and they were identical twins and they were beautiful and they were young and they were active and they were delicious and they were getting ready to service him! They took turns to suck on his him, then they pushed up their dresses to their waists and pulled off their matching G-strings. They went down on their knees and pushed back their nude behinds invitingly at him.

  He came to his knees before the two proffered buttocks and took turns to bury his sexual member into a hole of his choice, until the repeated heat applied to his organ brought forth a powerful ejaculation that was discharged into the twins’ mouths. They sucked him dry and swallowed his ejaculation. It was an experience they would later brag about to their friends on Facebook, and a sexual liaison whose existence Byron Taylor’s publicist would be forced to deny. For now, though, as he lay sandwiched between the two eighteen-year-old twins, Byron’s phone had rung incessantly, countless times, but he did not hear it because it was buried deep inside the pocket of his jacket, which was locked in a closet in some part of the big house.

  By the time Byron Taylor drifted to sleep, Joelyn Smith, née Smit, had decided to stop calling him. She closed the living room’s sliding glass doors and left the food to its peril on the terrace. She curled herself up on a sofa and listened to the album Thank Me Later, by Drake, in particular the songs Karaoke and The Resistance, while she consoled herself with a box of premium Swiss chocolates and a full bottle of Moët et Chandon champagne. She had promised herself earlier on in the night, when she had begun to worry that Byron had forgotten about their rendezvous and had begun to call him and he had not been answering his phone, that she would not cry over this incident. She held on to that decision resolutely. He was a fucking worthless son-of-a-bitch, and he didn’t know what he was missing…The brainless-fucking-cocksucking-cuntlicking-pussyeating-dickheadshit of an asshole!