Mark Means Tested (Deff Book 3)

by Danni Fall

  "Really?"

  "Smell me and find out."

  Simon's expression pinches. "Like that's happening."

  "I'm showered, supple and I've snorted enough speed to set records, what more do you want? A written invitation? Get your arse in gear."

  "I'm gonna come back down here later," Simon says as he fixes his fringe. "To room 904. I'm gonna fuck so many girls in there."

  Mark smirks. "Lucky them."

  "Won't need an alibi then, they'll all be talking about it."

  "If you're giving yourself a pep talk, you can do that in the lift."

  He's relieved when Simon follows him outside.

  "What about you?" Simon asks. "What're you gonna do?"

  "I dunno, maybe have a nice sleep, it really is a lovely bed."

  Simon gives him a searching look as the lift ascends.

  "What?" Mark asks.

  "I can't tell if you're lying."

  "Good." Mark beams as the lift doors open. "Now look alive."

  Chapter 25

  Simon

  When everyone has assembled in the penthouse, Maiden play the video for Who Are Ya on the biggest television Simon's ever seen. He alternates between watching and looking out the floor length windows like the view is new to him.

  "Didn't think you'd be able to keep your eyes off yourself," Mark mutters in his ear.

  Simon steps further away. "Did Chris ever see the finished video?"

  "He's not dead, you know."

  "I'm just asking."

  "I dunno," Mark says, eyes glued to the screen. "Guess it depends if he's got satellite telly."

  The crowd applauds when the video ends and Mark leans in again. "Getting bloody sore hands from all this clapping."

  "Shoulda brought a football rattle."

  "I'll pretend to know what that is. Footie Simon's probably my fave," Mark says as the video loops with the sound off. "You look even taller with your pins out."

  "They're not pins. Girls have pins, I've got legs."

  "Amount of hair you've got on 'em, coulda fooled me. Nice and smooth, very aerodynamic."

  "Fuck off looking at them, s'weird."

  "One of these days, I'm gonna teach you what a joke is but for now, I'm gonna get another drink. Behave yourself, Sharp," Mark says as he peels off.

  Simon takes a Stella proffered by a waitress. He feels eyes on him and turns to see countless people looking his way.

  A girl with nice teeth and tits walks over. "I saw you at the Union last week."

  "Oh yeah? Why didn't you say hello?"

  "There were so many people, I couldn't get near the stage. They said you left with some girls."

  "I don't like sleeping alone," he says.

  "You should get a teddy bear."

  "Never needed one, I always find someone to keep me company."

  The chastising look she gives him reminds him of Leah. She stands closer regardless.

  "Are you scared of the dark?" she asks, watching the video.

  "If I say yeah will you stay wimme?" His hand works its way into the back pocket of her jeans.

  She doesn't pull away. "Maybe."

  "What if I said I've got my own room here, on the next floor down? There's a minibar and a bath and everything."

  She laughs and chatters about how nice the hotel is. He glances around, meeting the eyes of other women who keenly return his attention. He spots Mark talking to some people from Maiden and making them laugh. Minutes later, Mark peels away, nabbing a bottle of whiskey from a server before weaving through the crowds to the lift.

  The girl follows his gaze. "Is that your guitarist? Mike?"

  "Mark."

  "Oh yeah, The Mirror said that's his real name."

  "Yeah, he changed it for a joke, but now he's changed it back. Just a press stunt."

  "That's a bit weird," she says.

  "He's a bit weird."

  She laughs. "Where's he going? Is he leaving?"

  "I dunno." Simon pulls back his shoulders. "Why? Are you more interested in him?"

  "I don't think so."

  "You got any friends here tonight?"

  "Why?" she counters. "You more interested in them?"

  "I just love meeting new people," he lies. "Come on, introduce me."

  They make their way over to two more star struck girls who fall over themselves telling him how much they love Deff's music. Simon lets their compliments wash over him while he shoots looks back at the lift doors. They open as guests come and go but Mark doesn't return.

  His mobile buzzes while the girls are chatting about nearby bars. He checks it and finds a text from Ryan:

  did u talk 2 ur dad about the job? wot did he say?

  His thumb hovers over the keypad as he considers his response. When he senses the girls taking an interest, he puts his mobile away.

  "Wanna go somewhere less crowded?" he asks, flashing them a smile.

  "He's got his own suite," the first girl explains.

  "Where?" another asks.

  "One floor down," Simon says. "Wanna come see?"

  The girls are quick to agree. He smirks at Zoe as they leave and Zoe returns the look exasperatedly. Once they're on the ninth floor landing, Simon resists hushing the girls so he can hear what is happening in Mark's room.

  "Did you forget your room number?" one girl prompts.

  He thinks about knocking on Mark's door but pulls out his key card and unlocks his room. "No need to worry. After you, girls."

  ***

  Mark

  The noises from Simon's room are indiscernible as soon as Simon shuts the door. Mark drinks whiskey on the toilet and tries to convince himself he can make out what's going on through the wall. He wonders how many women Simon shepherded into his room and guesses which women he picked from the crowd.

  He thinks about going back to the penthouse, grabbing some women and doing the same. He imagines the headlines but the distance from his room to the penthouse feels insurmountable.

  Mark settles for undressing and getting under the covers, easily avoiding his dried come thanks to the size of the bed. He props himself up and drinks more whiskey. When he opens his eyes again, sunlight is pouring through the window.

  He looks around, half expecting to see the contents of Chris's bedroom, but his eyes light on the empty bottles, nestling in the crusty patch of duvet. He sinks back against the pillows for a moment before hauling himself out of bed and walking over to the adjoining wall. After a few seconds pretending he can hear breathing or snoring, he sticks on his clothes and heads out.

  He checks his phone in the lift and finds texts from Will and the Oes, asking where he's gotten to. Interspersing their questions are crass requests from random women that make his imagination wander.

  As he enters the lobby, he zips up his jeans. An idea strikes as he makes for the exit and he swerves over to the reception desk instead, manned by a different receptionist who gives him an unfamiliar look.

  "I'm checking out." He hands over the key. "It's on Maiden Records' tab, they're my label."

  "Thank you sir. I hope you enjoyed your stay."

  "It was delightful, ta. Can I get my car keys? A valet took them last night. He didn't bugger off and sell my Audi, did he?"

  "Of course not, sir." She squirms subtly as she clearly decides whether to ask for his details.

  "Please, call me Simon."

  The name does the trick. She pulls the Audi keys out of a pigeonhole and hands them to an approaching valet.

  "My colleague will bring your car around to the entrance. We look forward to seeing you again soon."

  "Cheers m'dear."

  Minutes later the Audi pulls up and Mark climbs in, trying to keep his expression neutral. Once he's set off, he roars with laughter. He makes it to Shoreditch before spotting the hands free kit. At the traffic lights, he fiddles around and plugs in his phone.

  It takes a moment before Simon answers, sounding croaky and clueless. "What?"

  "Morning
sunbeam, how's the head?"

  Mark overhears a muffled conversation as Simon apparently covers the microphone and talks to one or more women.

  "You still there?" Mark asks.

  "Yeah, I'm here. Why're you calling? What's up?"

  "Oh, nothing, just checking you hadn't choked on your tongue, or anyone else's. How many women you got with you?"

  "Two," Simon says, sounding unsure. "You heading back to HQ?"

  "Yeah, I'll meet you there. I need to tart up some more lyrics, then we're ready to record. Don't wanna keep Maiden waiting, they'll have our heads if we don't give them an album yesterday."

  "Yeah, yeah, fine."

  "Can I expect you some time today? You need to learn all this lot, remember? I've tried to keep it to words of one syllable where I can."

  "Funny. I'll set off soon." Simon yawns loud enough that Mark half expects to be swallowed. "Where did you go?"

  "I'm going to Southend, I just said."

  "No, I mean last night. You took off early, where did you go?"

  "Wynsors World of Shoes."

  "Where actually?"

  "Are you seriously asking where I got to when there's two pairs of tits in your vicinity?"

  "Keep it down," Simon mutters.

  There's more muffled chatter. The conversation is mostly incomprehensible but Mark catches the words guitarist and drunk.

  "I'm clear headed and sober, thank you very much," he tuts.

  "I wasn't talking about you."

  "Yeah, right. Is it titillating your lady friends, hearing about me? Should've said, I could've swung by and shown them a properly good time."

  "I don't need any help with that."

  "Oh yeah? I suppose you're good with your hands since you're a keyboardist and all."

  Simon sounds ready to agree before catching himself. "Quit being weird about it."

  "I will, provided you get your arse here before the day's done. Don't want Simeon spanking you for fucking up in the studio and wasting Maiden's precious money, do you?"

  "I'll get down there."

  "When? Gimme an ETA."

  "What time is it now?" Simon asks.

  "About noon, they ought to be turfing you out of the room soon."

  "Fine, I'll be there later."

  "Nice and vague Si."

  "I'll be there," Simon insists before ending the call.

  Mark listens to the radio as he drives, humming along when Who Are Ya comes on. Simon rings again when he's approaching Southend.

  "Morning sunshine, you dressed yet?" Mark asks.

  "You nicked my fucking car!"

  "Language! Nicked's strong – I've borrowed it."

  "You pretended to be me and took off with it!"

  "They ought to sack that receptionist, she didn't know who you were." Mark says, imagining Simon's moody look.

  "It's her fault, is it? You could've just not taken it!"

  "I thought you said I'd nicked it?"

  "Nicked, taken, same thing! Don't make me ring the police on you again."

  Mark grimaces. "Best not, those railings by the front are freshly painted. The community's already been thoroughly served by yours truly."

  "There's other stuff they could have you doing. You could do up some old folks' gardens."

  "What, they'd trust me not to steal their garden gnomes?"

  "Guess not. If they're not nailed down, you'll run off with them, won't you?"

  Mark's mind drifts to Simon, heavy and warm on top of him. "How well you know me, Si."

  "They oughta throw you in jail and chuck out the key," Simon says.

  "You needn't sound so pleased at the idea. I'm your songwriter, remember pretty boy? You need summat to sing if you wanna get those girls in bed, your sparkling personality alone won't do the trick."

  "Remind me who wrote our top three single?"

  "One song in an album of ten, don't get cocky."

  "I worked on the others too," Simon says defensively. "I'm getting better at song writing, you're just intimidated."

  "Oh, quaking in my boots, me," Mark half lies.

  "Where are you now?"

  "Told you before, I'm heading back to HQ. Cadge a taxi home on Simeon's credit card while Maiden's buttered up."

  "Think they'll agree to that?" Simon asks.

  "They booked taxis last night, didn't they?"

  "You better not scratch my car."

  "Please, I drive it a damn sight better than you. But enough about my roguish ways, did you have a good night? Got a sore tongue?"

  Simon splutters. "You're sick."

  "I'm only taking an interest. D'you need an alibi? What should I be saying if I'm asked?"

  "I don't need one."

  "You've got two happy customers, eh? Nice work," Mark says.

  "Three, actually."

  "I thought you said two?"

  "There was another one," Simon says cagily.

  "Lurking in the wardrobe, was she?"

  "Bathroom."

  "Are they still there? That why you're talking in code?"

  "That one is."

  "You're a right little slag, aren't you?"

  "Little?" Simon scoffs.

  Mark resists agreeing. "Get your taxi booked, I'm not waiting around all day."

  "Hold on."

  Mark goes back to humming while Simon presumably dials reception.

  "You can't carry a tune in a bucket," Simon says, before having a hasty conversation with the receptionist. "Done, booked, I'll be there in a couple of hours."

  "Can't wait."

  "Where did you go last night? Were you next door?"

  "I told you, Wynsors World of Shoes."

  "Why did you spend the night alone?" Simon asks.

  "I dunno, fancied a rest after a long day. Woulda been a pity not to use that bed, bet that room cost a fortune."

  He hears muttered conversation and laughter down the line.

  "Gotta go."

  "Got a better offer than talking to yours truly?"

  "Yeah," Simon says distractedly.

  "Can't you multitask? It's not like you'll be the one with your mouth full."

  "Don't crash my car."

  The call ends and Mark pulls up outside HQ. His stomach lurches when he sees the thin paper parcel leaning against the doorframe.

  Chapter 26

  Mark

  Mark toys with climbing back in the Audi and driving away. Instead, he makes himself walk up the garden path, shooting looks up and down the street but seeing no-one. When he turns the parcel over, he spots the message scrawled on the paper:

  I know you said you'd figure out some other artwork but I wanted to finish it. Take care, Chris

  To his own surprise, Mark walks back to the car, places the parcel on the passenger seat and drives a short distance down the front. He parks by a low wall running along the beach, retrieves the parcel and walks down the sand to a dry, empty spot.

  He watches the sea lap lazily at the sand, parcel resting on his lap. Then, with a look to confirm no-one is in range, he unwraps it.

  The artwork has changed since he last saw it. The piece is still a collage, but instead of Simon's reconfigured face, it's a blend of Simon's features and his own. The result is hideous. He looks from one of Simon's washed out blue eyes to his own blood shot, yellowed one. Sandwiched in between is a slither of his oversized nose, ending in the handsome tip of Simon's. Below that, Simon's sullen lips rest above his own weasely chin.

  Mark sets the picture down beside him and goes back to watching the water inching closer. He thumbs at the edge of the collage, tempted to march to the water's edge and throw it in the sea. He stands up, tucks it under his arm and deposits it back in the car instead.

  He drives back to HQ, checking each room is empty before crossing the threshold. When he gets to the bedroom, he crouches beside his bed and, after a last, lingering look, pushes the artwork underneath.

  For a while, his mind drifts to thoughts of Simon with three faceless
women crawling over him, all mouths and openings, girlish whines and gasps. He feels the eyes of the artwork, staring up at him through the mattress as he wastes time. It motivates him to take out his notebook and flick through his lyrics. He gnaws on his pen as he stares at the words.

  "C'mon Mark," he mutters, pen poised to cross out the truth and replace it with lies. "Let's give the people what they want."