Acquired Tastes (32 page)

The lift reached their fellow passenger's floor and the doors opened. He hesitated and reached for the 'close' button but Vanessa's long finger reached the 'open' button first, and she kept her finger on it. With a sheepish look at Fergus, the man stepped out. Vanessa stabbed the button marked 'close' and then put her finger on the top floor button and kept it there.

Unfortunately, it left her vulnerable to Fergus, who now had her trapped in a corner. He moved in, sliding his hand under her short skirt and between her thighs, using his knee to force her legs apart.

Vanessa made an ineffectual effort to push him away.

'Don't, not here,' she pleaded.

Fergus grinned evilly as he thrust himself up against her. 'Go on, admit it, you like it.'

Vanessa shook her head. She would rather die than admit she wanted Fergus. But as the now familiar musty animal smell of his body filled her nostrils, she closed her eyes and buried both her hands into his hair, pulling and twisting as her body arched.

'Christ woman, you don't have to scalp me,' protested Fergus. 'Those talons of yours can do a man lethal damage when you get carried away like that.'

Vanessa opened her eyes and pulled her hands away, hastily smoothing her dress down.

The lift jerked to a halt and the door slid open. Vanessa stepped out and marched swiftly ahead of Fergus. There was only one door at the end of the corridor. Vanessa stopped and fished in her handbag for her compact, flipping it open to check her make-up and hair.

'Promise me you'll behave this afternoon,' she spoke in a brisk, business-like tone, as though nothing had happened in the lift. 'This friend of Hugo's we've come to see is one of the hottest stylists around. Most people would kill to have a session with him.'

Fergus snorted contemptuously. 'It's all appearances with you media lot, isn't it? Substance just doesn't count.'

Having retouched her lipstick, Vanessa turned to face him. 'Since you signed that contract this morning you are now one of the media lot you feign to despise, so you'd better get used to it.' She pressed the door bell. A buzzer sounded and the door clicked open.

Inside, a slender young black girl in a wispy short summer dress and four-inch high platform soled boots greeted them.

'Damien is expecting you, Miss Swift,' she said crisply, and pressed a button on her desk.

Double doors on the other side of the room clicked to reveal a large, open-plan room, one corner of which was set up as a photographic studio with lights and screens. In another corner was a work station, complete with a computer terminal and several drawing boards covered with sketches and photographs and draped with swatches of material. The centre of the room was lit from above by large skylights, beneath which three chrome and black leather sofas were grouped around a giant television screen. In front of the television was a glass-topped table whose base was the sculpture of a kneeling man, naked except for a bow tie. The table was littered with videos and glossy magazines. To one side was another sculpture of a naked man, this time standing and holding a tray that served as a mini-bar. Someone had tied a large pink bow around his erect penis.

Hugo and a bald-headed man were sitting on one of the sofas with their backs to the door as Vanessa and Fergus walked in. Hugo glanced around and then leant towards his companion.

'Looks like our little problem has arrived,' he said in a theatrical whisper.

They both stood and turned to face the newcomers.

Vanessa was surprised to see that the bald man was only about twenty-four or five. He had pale, coffee-coloured skin and features that looked as though they had been sculpted by a latter-day Michelangelo. The body under his black Levi's and sleeveless white T-shirt was tightly muscled and he moved with a dancer's poise.

'Damien, I'd like you to meet Vanessa Swift and Dr Fergus Archibald,' Hugo said.

Vanessa put on her most seductive of smiles and held out a hand.

Damien gave her a cursory nod, his dark gaze fixed on Fergus. He crossed his arms and walked over, looking Fergus up and down. Then he walked slowly around him, all the while making little 'tsk tsk' sounds and shaking his head.

'Oh dear, you were right as always. We do have a teensy-weensy bit of a problem, don't we?' He raised an eyebrow and looked at Hugo.

Hugo shrugged and perched on the back of one of the sofas.

Damien took a tuft of Fergus's beard between his thumb and forefinger and pulled a face. 'Do you want to keep this?' he inquired of Hugo, completely ignoring Fergus's glare. 'I personally think beards are a hygiene risk.' He turned Fergus's face into profile. 'The problem is, they so often hide a multitude of sins - a weak chin or possibly no chin at all.' He prodded Fergus's face where his chin ought to be. 'Perhaps we can trim this one down and give it a more sculpted shape so that it makes a stronger statement. At the moment it just says woolly wild man to me.'

He stepped back and crossed his arms again.

'The hair will have to be thinned out too, and I would recommend it being relaxed just a tad, with maybe a little highlight here and there? This boy looks as though he ate all the crusts on his bread when he was little.'

Hugo snickered.

An angry dark flush crept up Fergus's neck. 'Now look, you little …'

Damien held up an imperious hand. To Vanessa's astonishment, Fergus lapsed into a bad-tempered silence.

'You're going to have a bit of a problem with his complexion under the lights, Hugo,' Damien continued. 'He has the dreaded beetroot tendency. I suggest a little green in his make-up base to tone down the red. I would also suggest a good facial and liberal use of a toner on that skin as he's got a real problem with his nose.' Damien sighed, 'If only men would look after their pores better. You could drive a juggernaut through the potholes on the average Englishman's face!'

'I'm a Scotsman, you ignorant son-of…' snarled Fergus but stopped as Vanessa's long nails bit into his arm.

Damien gave Fergus's beard a little tweak. 'I should have known. That northern climate does nothing for the complexion and less than nothing for the figure.'

He turned to Hugo. 'Did you know that the Scots have the most unhealthy diet in Europe, if not the world, and that's
your
biggest problem,' he said, pointing to Fergus's large stomach. 'I can paint and I can primp, but you can only disguise so much, and I'm no miracle worker. I can recommend a super personal trainer, but we're still talking months, if not years.'

Fergus's throat began to emit noises that sounded like a volcano ready to erupt. Vanessa decided it was time to intervene.

'I think we should be practical. We've got a tight budget and an even tighter schedule. We're in the studio in one week's time, so I think we should concentrate on the things we can actually change, like clothes.'

Damien looked at Hugo, who nodded agreement.

Damien shrugged and draped an arm around Hugo's shoulders. 'For this little love bunny, anything.' Then he walked across to his drawing board and started sorting through swatches of different coloured material.

'Much more of this and I'm going to do something one of us is going to regret,' Fergus growled to Vanessa.

'You are going to do no such thing,' Vanessa hissed. 'We have an agreement and I'm going to hold you to it.'

Their eyes locked for a long moment before they were interrupted by Damien.

He draped swatches of material in shades of gold, green and brown over Fergus's right shoulder.

'There, I was right. He is most
definitely
an autumn person.' Damien wagged his finger at Fergus. 'You really shouldn't wear blue. It isn't your colour, far too cold.'

Fergus brushed the pieces of material off his shoulder and dug his hands into his pockets. A vein on his right temple began to throb.

Damien linked his arm through Hugo's and they both considered Fergus. 'When you said Freud to me, Hugo, I immediately saw high collars. But now I've seen his neck, I think the casual college campus look. You know, chinos, button-downs and loafers would be better. Such a pity as I found this darling Edwardian-style bottle green suit, so
very
Freudian, but one really can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. What do you think?'

Hugo shrugged. 'Anything you can do will be much appreciated, Damien, but I have a problem with greens or browns as I want the dominant colour theme of the set to be fuchsia pink. I talked it over with Gabriella at lunch yesterday and she simply adores the idea, but I just can't see how he will blend in. There's something so very unpink about him.'

Vanessa gave Hugo a sharp look. She did not like the idea of Gabriella and Hugo getting on well. It edged the balance of power further away from her. She wondered what else they had discussed over lunch.

'Now there's a woman who's a star down to her toenails, ' Damien said approvingly. 'Since you had lunch with Gabriella yesterday, she's called me three times to discuss designers and we're having a little tête-à-tête tonight in her hotel suite with a few samples.' He walked over and patted Fergus on the shoulder. 'However, in the meantime, I will try to do my best with this chunk of unreconstructed northern man here.'

Damien indicated one of the sofas to Vanessa. 'If Madam would like to make herself comfortable, I shall now wave my magic wand and see if I can turn a pumpkin into a gilded carriage so that Cinderella here
can
go to the ball, but I'm not promising miracles, just a little sprinkle of fairy dust.'

Vanessa settled herself on to one of the sofas. Hugo sat down beside her.

Damien pulled a dust sheet off a rail of clothes and pushed it into the centre of the room. 'You said large Hugo, so I asked for everything in extra large just to be sure.' He selected a mustard yellow velvet jacket and turned to Fergus. 'Right, strip off, and God forbid, let's take a look at the bare canvas.'

Fergus glared at him. The tic on his temple was now executing a pulsating duet with a vein on the side of his neck.

'Fuck off.'

'Oh, come now,' Damien said, impatiently advancing on Fergus with the jacket in one hand and a shirt and a pair of trousers in the other. 'We're all friends here. I don't suppose you've got anything the rest of us haven't seen before and if you have, I'm sure we'd all enjoy seeing it.'

Damien addressed this last remark to Hugo, so he didn't see the large fist which hit him on the side of his face, lifting him off his feet and landing him flat on his back on the floor.

He lay still for a moment, a surprised look on his face. Then he shakily raised himself on one elbow and put his other hand to his nose. When he took it away he saw blood.

He gave a low moan and fainted.

'Gabriella,
please.
I thought this was something we could settle like old friends over a drink,' pleaded Philip, and then hesitated as his chest started to constrict.

He searched hurriedly for his pills and popped two into his mouth. His face involuntarily screwed up with disgust at the unpleasant taste. He drank a mouthful of mineral water, but it didn't help much. What he really needed was some good malt whisky, but his doctor had ordered him to avoid rich foods, alcohol and stress. So much for his doctor understanding a television executive's life, Philip thought bitterly.

Gabriella sipped her champagne cocktail, avoiding Philip's hurt look. A waiter delivered their main course. Gabriella's was a large pink-brown crab artfully arranged on a sea of feathery endive, surrounded by carrot starfish, radish sea anemones and pasta shells in a creamy sauce. Philip looked morosely at his undressed green salad and unseasoned steamed fish.

Gabriella gazed around the restaurant as she thoughtfully munched a carrot starfish. They had come here at her insistence, Philip had suggested a quieter and less expensive place, but she wanted it known she was back in town. People were nodding in her direction. She raised her glass at a table occupied by a group of men she had known as junior production staff, and who were now the heads of their respective companies. They smiled and nodded back.

Gabriella noted their receding - and in one case vanished - hairlines with pleasure. At least two of them were younger than her. Her choice of restaurant had been perfect.

She turned back to Philip.

'People still admire and respect me. What do you think it would do to my credibility rating if it got around that I had agreed to share the billing with an amateur quack on what is rapidly turning into some cut-price show?'

Before Philip could reply, Gabriella switched on a gracious smile for two more suited men walking by their table. They stopped to shake her hand and murmur greetings, barely acknowledging Philip's existence.

'Did you see that?' Gabriella asked triumphantly after they’d gone. 'I'm still a big name in this town. I'm sure I could get a better deal elsewhere.'

Philip massaged his chest with one hand. Had Gabriella been away so long that she had forgotten what celebrity culture was like? Even a faded celebrity was worth a handshake if it meant some grey suited nonentity to later claim her intimate acquaintance in private.

He watched her graciously acknowledge several other people. Not one of them would take a chance and employ her at the moment, he thought, but if she was a success on his show, they would come swarming round her like sharks at a feeding frenzy, all wanting a piece of her.

'Gabriella.' Philip tried to recapture her attention. 'Gabriella,
please.
I simply can't offer you a better deal at the moment because my budget is very restricted. But if we get the ratings and I promise you we will, then we can renegotiate.'

Gabriella's voice was business-like, even as she smiled radiantly at someone walking through the door. 'I want that in writing - an agreed rise for every percentage point I push up the ratings after the first show.'

'I wouldn't like to be quite as specific as that,' Philip said hastily, 'but I'm sure we can come up with a form of words that we will both find agreeable.'

Gabriella picked up a crab claw and with the silver pincers provided, expertly cracked it open, exposing its soft white flesh. Deftly hooking out a morsel, she dipped it into some mayonnaise and with a little mew of satisfaction popped it into her mouth.