The Modeliser (13 page)

“That was exactly what I needed,” she said throatily a smile
playing about her lips. Alex continued to trace his finger along her neck as
she stared at him. Tamara pouted at his silence. “Dare I ask,” she said with a
smirk, “how was it for you?”

Alex shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve had better,” he said,
unable to stop the smile spreading across his face, even as Tamara lashed out
to playfully smack his chest.

“You shit!” She laughed and with a burst of energy, she swung
a leg over his body and propped herself up until she was straddling him. Her
hand reached between them; he was already hard again. “Let’s see if I can’t
make this time more satisfying then,” she said as she slowly sank down on him,
taking him inside her and his eyes drifted closed.

In
the darkened room, Tamara crouched down next to the bed, locating her thong
were Alex had carelessly tossed it hours ago. Retrieving the scrap of material
she crushed it into her fist and dumped it into her clutch bag. She stepped
into her now sadly rumpled dress, easing the zip up carefully. She’d switched
on a small bedside lamp when she’d climbed out of the bed and now she stood and
looked down at Alex, deeply asleep, his chest rising and falling. He was
gorgeous and Tamara felt a warm moment of nostalgia. They’d been just children
10 years ago, her and Alex. He’d asked her to come to LA with him and she’d
turned him down, assuming that like every Brit actor who headed across the
pond, he’d soon be back tail between his legs, when it didn’t work out. How
wrong she’d been. In the bed, Alex rolled onto his back, the sheet tangling
even more around his hips. In as much as she could Tamara realised that she had
loved him once, and she felt a buzz of affection for him. Slowly she bent down
and placed a kiss on his pec and then she picked her cashmere shawl from the
chair and walked out of the suite, shutting the door gently behind her.

As she waited for the lift, Tamara stared at herself in the
reflective doors, she’d not showered and her hair looked liked that of a woman
who had been thoroughly ravaged. Despite the fact that it was 4am in the
morning, she reached into her bag and pulled out her mobile phone, making a
call.

“Casey,” she snapped barely giving her assistant time to
process what she was saying. “Call Terry at the Daily World, let him know that
I’ll be leaving The Lanesborough Hotel any minute now. Coincidently Alex Golden
is also staying at the hotel.” Tamara terminated the call and stepped into the
lift with a smile. It wasn’t the first time that she’d alerted the press about
her movements. She wasn’t one to leave things to chance and by morning she
wanted Vassily Romanov to know exactly what he had missed.
 

Talia
slammed shut her laptop and glanced around at the people sitting at the other
tables in the Starbucks coffee shop. It was just as well that she was sitting
in a public place or she might have given in to the overwhelming urge to throw
her computer across the room in a fit of anger. Yet another email and once
again the same message:
Sorry. No positions at the moment. Good Luck
. In the last two weeks, she
had learned that her devious former boss, Damian had been more than true to his
word. She had sent out her newly updated CV, had emailed old contacts,
colleagues and friends and the response had been demoralising. Those who had
even bothered to respond had not been at all encouraging; she’d pissed off a
very big fish and in the current climate, jobs were thin on the ground. Talia
thought about the stupid impulse that had led her to call her mother the night before,
in the hope of securing a small loan to tide her over. Her mother’s response
had been the usual negative one.

“Why don’t you stop messing about with this TV stuff and go
and train to be a teacher.” Talia bit her lip hard as she packed her laptop away,
stowing it in her battered old satchel.

As she exited the coffee shop winding her way through the
back streets of Mayfair towards Oxford Street, she felt more drab and invisible
than ever. In the bright midday sunshine it seemed everybody had got the memo
but her. All around her, girls with long highlighted hair and slim limbs
exposed in shorts and playsuits and skirts, strolled down the road, all summer
ready, seemingly without a care in the world. In her dark jeans, t-shirt and
heavy blazer, Talia sweltered. Her heavy laptop bag weighed her down, she felt
like an elephant amongst swans. Since she’d been sacked, she’d paid even less
attention to her appearance. At first she’d barely been able to lever herself
out of bed in the mornngs and even after the funeral, after she’d committed to
finding a new job and getting back on her feet, her appearance had been the
last thing on her mind. As she arrived outside Aqua, the stunning new Japanese
and Spanish restaurant where she had arranged to meet Helena for lunch, she
wished she’d made more effort with her clothes today. The statuesque young
woman on the door, looked like a flawless young Naomi Campbell.

“I’m meeting someone for lunch,” Talia said. The woman’s eyes
barely took her in.

“Take the lift to the 5
^th
floor,” she said to
Talia with a brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes. As she trudged into the
lift, Talia felt her mood sink even further.

The
interior of Aqua was stunning, the kind of fashionable, sophisticated space
that seemed straight out of an episode of Sex and the City. Having checked her
bag in at the cloakroom, Talia walked stiffly through the circular bar, which
even at 1 in the afternoon was filled with beautiful looking fashionistas
sipping tall, cool cocktails. Talia moved towards the Japanese restaurant,
raising her hand to wave as she spotted Helena already sitting at the sushi
bar.

“Hey,” Helena rose to give her a kiss and Talia embraced her
friend back, noticing that as always Helena looked exquisite and unruffled even
in the hot weather.

“You look great,” she said as she perched on the high stool,
hoping that her jeans wouldn’t gape and reveal the elastic on her underwear.

“How are you? Any news?” Helena asked expectantly, her face
falling as she saw the expression on Talia’s face.

“Nothing. Absolutely, bloody nothing.”

“These things take time, it’s only been two weeks,” Helena
said. Talia shook her head. How to explain to her friend?

“I know things take time, but I was storylining one of the
biggest shows on TV and no one even wants to sit down for a meet and greet. The
jobs are never advertised, you go in for a chat and when something comes up
they remember you.” Talia shook her head again, taking a sip of the tall cold
drink that had materialised in front of her. “He said he’d screw me over and he
has,” she finished.

“Why would he be so vindictive?” Though Helena worked in one
of the bitchiest industries, Talia always marvelled at how she genuinely seemed
not to understand the depths to which people could sink.

“He and Tamara were having an affair, I saw them together
once, and he’s hated me ever since, not that I’d tell anyone. But…” Tamara
trailed off thinking hard. “But I think it was really Tamara who wanted me
gone. She hated the new storylines, hated how Angelina was becoming the
break-out star of the show, guess she was killing two birds with one stone.”
They were both quiet for a moment and then Helena spoke.

“So what will you do? There must be a way…” she trailed off
for she had no useful suggestions.

“Mum thinks I should become a teacher.” Helena scoffed.

“Like you even have the patience to teach,” Helena scoffed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve worked so hard to make it in TV.” Helena was quiet
for a moment and they watched the conveyor belt of sushi and Japanese delicacies
move slowly past them. Talia shook her head and made a decision to change the
subject, for this afternoon at least, she wanted to think about something that
wasn’t her rapidly imploding career.

“How have you been?” Her friend shrugged a shadow falling
across her face before she quickly shook it off.

“Up and down. Some good days and then some days I see little
old men crossing the road and I find myself crying. I miss him,” Helena said
simply. “But it’s been nice to have Alex here.” Talia felt herself stiffen. It
had been impossible to ignore that Alex was still in London. He seemed to have
taken up residence on the cover of every weekly magazine and tabloid paper. Day
after day he was photographed spilling out of Bungalow 8 or the Punchbowl or
Beach Blanket Babylon always with some tall willowy and probably dumb model.
Talia had forced herself to stop reading when several pictures had appeared of
him and Tamara together out and about. With effort she hid the distaste she
felt.

“I’m surprised he’s stayed so long, how is he coping with
life outside of the thirty mile zone?”

“I think he’s trying to be a good brother,” Helena smiled.
“And there’s been stuff with the will. Actually I’m meeting him at Gramps’
tonight. We have to make a start clearing up the house.”

“How about work?” Talia asked. “How are the big centenary
plans coming along?”

Helena grimaced. “Don’t ask, big troubleshooting meeting this
afternoon, but between you and me, it looks like Poppy has lost her edge post
drying out. Some of her suggestions are ludicrous.” Helena sighed again and
something in her expression gave Talia pause.

“What?” Talia asked curiously, watching the troubled
expression on her friend’s face.

“Actually I’ve been thinking, once this issue is finally put
to bed, maybe I might start doing more photography,” Helena said.

“That would be great. The pictures you had published last
year were amazing,” Talia told her friend, thinking back to some of Helena’s
occasional freelance photography commissions, which sometimes appeared in
magazines. Helena had fallen silent again and Talia sensing the melancholy in
her friend, reached out to touch her hand.

“Everything feels strange now. But in a few months you’ll
feel stronger and after this issue you’ll love work again too, it’s your dream
job,” Talia said. Helena continued to look pensive

“Since Gramps died, I just wonder- is this it? Do I really
want to spend another afternoon arguing about accessories and whether Sienna’s
hair is the right shade for a cover...” Helena trailed off. “It is my dream job
though, isn’t it?” As she spoke, Helena seemed to shake the sadness off and she
leaned forward to grab a few dishes off the moving conveyor belt. “What do you
want?” She asked Talia gesturing to the little plates. Talia shook her head as
she too reached for a few small plates, barely glancing at what she picked,
food had been the last thing on her mind the last few weeks.

“Am I the only person who has a phobia about conveyor belt
dining?” Talia asked as she uncovered one of the dishes in front of her. Helena
gave an affectionate smile, she’d heard Talia’s thoughts on conveyor belts and
food many times before.

“The food is great and the location is fabulous,” she
replied.

“It’s just not natural,” Talia continued. “Having food
zipping away from you like that, going round and round. We live in the Western
world, I shouldn’t have to chase after my food.” Talia finished with a small
sarcastic smile.

“Darling it’s inbuilt in us, to want to chase things,” Helena
batted back at her. “It’s that hunter-gatherer instinct or something.”

“Oh great,” Talia groaned. “I don’t have a hunter-gatherer
instinct. No wonder they were able to push me out of my job.”

“Don’t be silly.” Helena leaned a sympathetic hand on Talia’s
shoulders. “They were a bunch of talent-less bastards, you can do so much
better than them.”

“Yeah how? I’m skint, have nowhere to live…” Talia took a
deep breath; whining and feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t change a thing. She
stopped as she noticed that Helena was staring at her with a look in her eyes.
“What?” she asked.

“When we were at university, you didn’t care about TV, you
never even watched it. You always said you wanted to write a film, move to
Hollywood.”

“So?” Talia replied, though she had a sinking feeling that
she knew where Helena was heading.

“So, maybe now’s the time to write your film script.”

Talia
shook her head. She loved her friend’s belief in her but Helena didn’t have a
clue. “Hel, everybody wants to write a film but this is England, we barely have
an industry and if it’s tough to get into TV, it’s a million times harder to
crack the film industry.”

“Then forget the UK, you’re a great writer, write something
brilliant and give it to Alex,” Helena finished triumphantly. Talia closed her
eyes as she remembered Alex’s mocking expression at the wake.

“I don’t think so,” she finally replied.

“Why not? He’s here and he’s not doing much at the moment,”

Talia
cast around for ways to explain to her friend that she couldn’t stand her
brother.

“Talia honey, you’ve just told me that there’s no hope, and
I’ve given you a good suggestion," Helena said reasonably.

“I know and I’ll think about it… but anyway I’ve got one
meeting this afternoon with Rough Draft Productions. That might yield
something."