The Modeliser (28 page)

In the one of a kind, couture Alexander McQueen dress –
an intricate confection of gold and chain, which weighed a ton, Helena stood
stiffly, they had practically had to sew her into the dress. She looked to
where Gabe was deep in conversation with a lighting engineer. Gabe was glancing
at the laptop computer and Helena knew that they would be deciding if he had
the shots he needed. Usually she would be a part of that process but today, in
her model capacity she had felt detached from it all, had felt too that Gabe
was distancing himself from her. Though he had given her directions, most of
his attention and energy had been spent on Sula. Helena felt a frisson of
unease but she pushed it back. Her mother always caused her to feel paranoid
and uneasy. She looked up as she spotted Gabe turning to address the crew.

“OK guys it’s a wrap for tonight, thanks everybody.” A
smattering of applause broke out and relieved, Helena stepped carefully off the
podium. She watched Gabe move to Sula’s podium and offer her an arm, which Sula
clung to like a limpet.

“That was wonderful, darling,” Gabe said. Helena felt bile
rise in her as she caught the flirtatious look in her mother’s eye.

“You flatterer,” Sula replied as they continued to walk
towards her waiting car. Helena bristled at the way Gabe had totally ignored
her. And then she turned and marched as best she could in the heavy dress
towards a second waiting car.

Hours
later and Helena lay in her bed straight as a board as tension simmered through
her. Dinner at the on-trend Paris eatery with the rest of the crew had been a
nightmare. Sula had made a point of excluding Helena from every conversation.
She’d cut her off whenever she spoke and had monopolised Gabe’s attention.
Suddenly all the old insecurities from childhood had reared up. Helena had
excused herself early and had hoped that Gabe might follow her. He didn’t. So
now she lay awake at 1am in Paris, alone in her hotel room. In the days before
Sula had turned up, she and Gabe had spent most waking hours together and some
of the sleeping ones too. They had made love everywhere
 
- his room, hers and on one occasion in
the hotel lift. Helena had been surprised at how quickly she’d opened up to
him, telling him things about herself that she not even told Grant in their two
years together. She’d answered Gabe’s questions about her dad and even told him
of the dream she’d once held to be a photographer just like her father.

Helena smacked a fist heavily down on the bed and took a deep
breath. She felt vulnerable, she’d exposed too much of herself to Gabe. At
least, she'd made sure to delete those incriminating naked pictures from his
camera. She patted down her pillow and closed her eyes but with her thoughts
still uneasy, she knew she would not get any sleep. With a burst of energy,
Helena jumped out of bed. She was going to have this out with Gabe now.

Several long minutes later, having pounded on Gabe’s door,
Helena returned to her room. It seemed she’d misjudged Gabe. She gave a bitter
laugh, she hadn’t misjudged him, everyone knew Gabe was a player and no doubt
at this time of night he’d found one of the more than willing members of the
crew to satisfy his needs. She flicked her light off and willed the morning to
come. She simply wanted to finish this shoot and get back to her life.

Though
it was a cooler day than had been typical for London over the long hot summer,
the sun still shone brilliantly as Vassily and Tamara strolled alongside the
Thames taking in the view of the Houses of Parliament and beyond that the
London Eye. They’d had breakfast in Sloane Square and it was Vassily who had
suggested the walk. Tamara glanced around and caught sight of two men a few
paces behind them – Vassily’s security. It was the first time they had
been together since the interruption two nights ago.

“How’s Sasha now?” Tamara asked. She saw Vassily’s jaw
harden.

“Sullen,” he answered shortly. “She and her friends get
arrested for underage drinking and somehow I’m the monster.” Tamara allowed a
small smile but concealed it quickly.

“Vassily, she’s 17. That’s what young girls do.”

“Not Russian girls,” he growled back. Tamara rolled her eyes.
“Since we moved from New York, she’s been unpredictable, unreliable and her
grades are dropping,” Vassily continued.

“She’s in a new country, a new school and trying to make new
friends.”

“She’s turning into someone else,” Vassily said. There was
something ominous in his tone and Tamara stopped and turned to him.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Her mother,” he said heavily. Tamara was quiet as she sensed
that he was about to confide in her, tell her something of this mysterious dead
wife on whom there was so little information. “She died of an overdose.”

Tamara
was quiet as he continued. “I was always working, building up the business and
she would leave Sasha with a nanny. She had some lover in Brooklyn. I covered
it up,” Vassily said bitterly. “Paid off her dealer, the lover, I didn’t want
my daughter’s life to be blighted by this…”

Tamara
leaned up and enveloped him in a hug. She felt the battle within him as he
tried to hold himself stiff but eventually his arms came around her and he took
the comfort that she offered.

“This isn’t what you signed up for,” he said as he finally
let her go. Tamara smiled as she acknowledged that he was giving her an out.
Tamara had wanted a rich man; it was why she had sought Vassily out. She’d
sought out a union that would be logical, financially profitable. She wanted to
set herself up for life. This was not supposed to be about emotions. As she
stared up at Vassily she felt herself being pulled out of her depth. What did
she know about families and teenagers? And yet even as she felt herself losing
the control she craved, she realised that since that first moment in the lift,
nothing with Vassily had gone according to plan. Slowly she placed her hand in
his much larger one and they began to walk again.

“What am I going to do?” He asked. Tamara stared ahead for a
long moment.

           
“We’ll
work it out,” she finally said.

“I
fucking love it!”

The
words were yelled down the phone, forcing Talia to pull the mobile phone
handset away from her ear for a moment but she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Seriously?” She asked, even as Simone launched into her thoughts
about Talia’s script.

“Babe, it is brilliant, full of suspense, loads of brilliant
turning points and Act 3 is dynamite. This is a big one Talia, this isn’t low
budget Indie shit, this is a studio movie.”

Talia let out the breath that she hadn’t even realised that
she was holding as she processed Simone’s praise of her screenplay. With Alex
occupied with play rehearsals she had totally thrown herself into her script,
writing into the unknown. She’d not been sure if the script was genuinely the start
of something or if she’d find that she simply didn’t have what it took to write
a movie and yet she had pushed on, continuing to write every night, long into
the night until finally she’d got to the end. She knew it was good, felt it in
her bones that this script had something but this certainty was tempered too
with fear and she’d stepped back and done what she’d always told her own
writers to do. Writing is re-writing. So she’d started the re-write not
stopping until she finally thought she’d cracked the story and made it as
strong as it could be.

“Thank you.” Talia’s voice was weak and she heard Simone
laugh down the phone

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s better than almost
everything I read in my script days.” You know what you have to do, don’t you?”
Simone was silent. “You have to get it to someone in LA. Give it to Alex.”

“I can’t,” Talia said.

“You have to. This isn’t the time to be all British and hide
your light under a bushel. This is your career,” Simone insisted.

Though
Alex had asked to see the script, Talia was still filled with doubts, still
worried that it would be asking too much.

“Promise me you’ll ask him,” Simone demanded. “Promise!”

“Ok, Ok, I’ll show it to him,” Talia finally agreed.

After
she’d showered and dressed in a fitted pair of jeans and a loose yellow blouse
that complimented her skintone, Talia sat with her laptop on her knees, simply
reading through the script again. She’d weighed up the pros and cons time and
time again. Should she send Alex the script? Would she ruin their friendship?
Would he think she was being pushy, abusing her position? With a decisive sigh
– Talia clicked the print icon, listening as the printer started up and
it began to spew out her script.

The old Talia might have chosen to value this new friendship
with Alex more but this was a new and improved version of Talia. If she’d
learned one thing from Tamara’s machinations and from the way the Encounters
crew had cut her loose, it was that she must always put herself and her career
first. If Alex could help place her script, then she would get his help. After
all, she thought, Alex was only playing. Soon he would go back to LA and their
friendship would be little more than a distant memory. As the pages continued
to grow, Talia placed the laptop down. From the hallway there was the heavy
sound of letters hitting the wood floors – the postman was here. Talia
padded barefoot into the hallway and picked up the letters. Most of the mail
that arrived was for Alex and Helena’s grandfather and Talia was surprised to
see a padded white envelope addressed to her. Curious, she immediately tore it
open and pulled out a heavy gold piece of paper. The paper was mocked up to
look like a golden ticket and Talia quickly scanned the page. A wide smile
spread across her face. The Gold Ticket was an invitation to the legendary
annual summer party of Rough Draft productions. Talia had heard about this
party, had seen mentions of it in magazines like Tatler and Vanity Fair, but
she had never dreamed that one day she might find herself invited. Her brow
furrowed – why was she being invited? Could Sara have put her on the
list? Talia quickly shook off this thought; Sara would sell her own ovaries
before she helped anyone out.

Talia
padded back into the sitting room and gathered up the pages of her newly
printed script. She laid it down on the table and looked again at the golden
ticket in her hand. Whatever the reason for the invitation, she had every
intention of going to the party. Talia glanced back at the invitation and a
smile spread across her face, she knew exactly who would be her wingman for the
evening.

Alex
was drained and exhilarated as he stood outside the theatre and looked onto the
bustling London street. Distractedly he took a puff of a cigarette and grimaced.
Something about doing theatre always brought back his nicotine cravings,
memories perhaps of his early days treading the boards when sustenance had been
cigarettes and booze. He flicked the stub to the ground and ground it out, just
as Declan Holmes, the young director of the play strode out.

“They’ve worn you down,” Declan said with a nod to Alex’s
cigarette stub. When they’d started rehearsals, Alex had been the lone
non-smoker amongst the cast.

“Yeah I caved.” Alex had been impressed by Declan from their
first meeting. At only 29, he was building a name tackling plays with big
themes that did well both commercially and critically but Alex had quickly
found that Declan had a plan for his career. Alex raised a hand to hail a
passing cab.

           
“Where
are you headed? He asked Declan as the cab pulled up towards them. Declan
flicked his cigarette away.

“North,” he replied.

“You wanna share my ride?” Alex asked already opening the cab
door and thrusting his overnight bag in.

“Sure.”

“St Pancras station, please,” Alex told the driver as they
settled into the back of the cab.

“Where you headed?” Declan asked.

“Paris, lunch with my mother and sister.”

“Nice.”

Alex
grimaced. “Knowing those two it’ll probably be a bloodbath.” Alex glanced out
of the window as the cab navigated around the one-way system in the square.

“So how are you finding the rehearsals,” Declan asked.

“Amazing, fucking scary but I’m good.” Alex replied.

“Yeah but you must be missing LA?” Alex shrugged hearing the
excitement in Declan’s voice.

“That your game plan?”

“For sure – look at Mendes, Daldry. Theatre is fun but
I’m all about films, Oscars and the super model girlfriend. I want to live that
dream.” Declan finished with enthusiasm. Alex gave a wry smile.

“It’s certainly something,” he said.

Tamara
wondered if Vassily Romanov knew what he had let himself in for. As she brushed
her hair until it shone, she was running through her mind the plans she’d
already laid in motion. Sasha’s 17
^th
birthday was approaching and
she had convinced Vassily that he might build some bridges with his daughter by
throwing her a birthday party. No ordinary birthday party but the kind of party
that would ensure that Sasha’s new school friends accepted her. In short the
kind of party that every teenage girl dreamed of. As she set down the brush,
Tamara turned as Casey entered the room with the morning’s papers and her
vitamins. There was something different about Casey and Tamara turned and
stared at her trying to figure our what had changed.