The Modeliser (3 page)

“Not better than you.” Rick had fired back at her. Talia
looked up at him confused.

“What do you mean?” She’d finally asked, her heart already
racing.

“I mean, that you’re getting what you wanted, as of next
week, after your appraisal, you’ll be the newest member of the core writing
team.

“What!” Talia had spluttered, shocked, even as she was filled
with nervous excitement.

“Tal, you’ve re-written half the scripts for the last 2 years
and ghosted the other half. You’re a great writer and it’s what you want, isn’t
it?” Rick had shot her a challenging look.

She’d nodded. It was what she wanted, more than anything.
Finally she would be a writer, writing on the show that had consumed her life
the last few years. “I won’t let you guys down. I promise.”

Talia leaned back in her chair as the image of the designer
handbag disappeared. Today, that conversation would finally be made official.
She clicked an icon on the computer screen and watched as the story document
loaded up. She tapped in the obligatory password that the screen demanded
before she could access the confidential storylines that marked out the next
year of stories on the show. Even after four years in which she’d battled her
way up the ranks, she still felt a frisson of pride and excitement whenever she
typed in her password. She’d always been good at keeping secrets and there was
something potent about knowing how stories would play out, how characters loved
by the entire country would be doing in one year’s time. Though many had tried,
Talia was scrupulous about never giving anything away and eventually her
friends had stopped asking for hints or spoilers.

Within minutes, she was lost in the world of Melanie, Jordan,
Eloise and Carlos and the other workers at the Encounters boutique who kept TV
audiences spellbound and kept the show at the top of the ratings. These
stories, which would be her last as storyliner, promised a bombshell Christmas
revelation; she’d definitely saved the best for last. After today, she was
heading for the writer’s room. Not merely devising the stories but now actually
writing the dialogue, the scripts - the whole nine yards. Talia leaned back in
her chair and smiled, imagining her rosy future and then she gasped, leaping to
her feet as she caught sight of the clock. She’d miss her train at this rate.

She showered quickly, throwing on clothes at break-neck
speed. She skipped breakfast and was ready to head out in less than 20 minutes
even though her brown hair hung in damp frizzy, tendrils around her shoulders
and face. It was a bright day and the sun already shone over London, with the
weather forecast promising a fine summer day. As she passed the hallway mirror,
Talia sighed as she caught a glimpse of her deep brown hair, which was already
drying in untidy curls around her face, so much for the sleek look she’d hoped
to present for the meeting that afternoon. Her eyes darted to the clock; she’d
probably miss the train anyway, she might as well take the time to tame her
hair. Decision made, Talia allowed her battered workbag, an ageing leather
satchel, to drop to the floor and she made her way into her room, grabbing the
hairdryer. As she vigorously dried her hair, a man emerged from Nina’s bedroom.
Talia was relieved to see that he was dressed; they weren’t always. The man was
heading out but he stopped as he spotted Talia through her open bedroom door.

“Hi,” Talia nodded at him, surprised that she actually
recognised him. In the seven months she’d lived with Nina, she’d gained a
breezy insouciance in dealing with strange men who never made a repeat
appearance but this one, Javier, had been around several times in the last few
weeks. If any man could make Nina give up her life of one-night stands, she
supposed this was a pretty fine choice. He was tall, around 6ft, she guessed
and could very well be in the dictionary next to the description for tall, dark
and handsome.

“Good Morning Talia,” he smiled at her as he spoke, his voice
deep with an accented inflexion that hinted at his Cuban roots.
 
“Good party last night?”

Talia nodded. “I didn’t wake you when I came in, did I?” She
felt a moment of guilt, perhaps she’d been less than considerate when she’d
tottered in, unsteady in her heels.

“Of course not. It’s good to have some fun, no?” Javier
smiled, “I’ll see you later,” he said as he moved to the front door.

She watched him go with a small twinge of irritation. Why did
everybody think that she didn’t have any fun? She heard the front door open and
close and she continued briskly straightening her hair till it framed her face.
Digging into her bag, which was heavy with scripts, rehearsal drafts and story
documents, Talia pulled out her battered make up bag, the same one she’d
carried for years, most of the make up contained in it hadn’t been changed in
ages. She dabbed on some foundation and followed that with a dash of bronze eye
shadow, an unevenly drawn line of black across her lids and then she pouted
into the mirror as she layered a thick gloop of gloss on her lips. Talia smiled
at the effect, it was rare for her to take the time to wear make up and she’d
always thought that one day she would like to take a make up class and learn to
apply it properly. After all the sacrifices she’d made to make it as a
storyliner and cross over to writing, perhaps now she might get the chance to
take that make up class, or do yoga – maybe, she’d finally do all those
things she’d been meaning to do the last few years. Talia smiled a rueful
smile; she wasn’t fooling herself. She was a workaholic, always had been.
Whatever she turned her mind to had always consumed her. She glanced again at
her watch, still a few minutes before she had to leave home to catch the next
train to the studios. It was a sunny morning and she decided to walk slowly and
grab a coffee on the way to the station. Just then Nina’s door opened once
again.

Oomph! Before Talia could say anything she was enveloped in a
hug from Nina.

“Morning Tal.” Slowly Talia untangled herself from the
embrace. She looked into her roommate’s face looking for some sign that might
explain this utterly uncharacteristic display of affection.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Nina laughed, that deep dirty
laugh that wouldn’t be out of place in a smoky club but which in broad daylight
always seemed slightly indecent and rather too filthy for company.

“Silly, nothing’s wrong,” Nina said as she took Talia by the
arm and walked her to their open plan kitchen. “Shall I make you a coffee?” Now
Talia was worried, it was almost unheard of for Nina to offer to do anything to
help anyone.

“Sure,” she murmured, even as Nina was already flicking the
kettle on and casting around for a mug, looking like a stranger adrift in her
own kitchen. Talia watched her with distracted confusion, it wasn’t that she
didn’t care about Nina’s dramas, but she really didn’t want to miss her next
train. Nina handed her a cup of comically white coffee and Talia sipped it
warily, aware that her roommate watched her with what could only be described
as a beatific smile on her face.

“So I have some news,” Nina smiled and suddenly Talia knew.
She’d had enough of these conversations, after all. Like bottles falling off
the wall, so too all the women of a certain age of her acquaintance were being
picked of.

“Javier and I, we’re getting married.” The last words came
out of Nina’s mouth in a squeal of drama and excitement and even though a wash
of dismay filled her, Talia took her cue.

“Congratulations! Honey, congratulations.” She rushed around
the kitchen table to press a hug on Nina. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

“Isn’t it,” Nina murmured wrapped in a cocoon of happiness.
Now Nina held her hand with a nod of understanding in her eyes and Talia knew
what was coming, what always followed. Dammit, she’d actually believed all of
Nina’s -
“I’m supposed to be single, I can’t do monogamy” -
rubbish.
         

“The thing is Tal, you know how much I love living with you
it’s just that Javier and I, we’ve decided to move to Cuba.” For a moment Talia
felt a surge of hope, perhaps she might stay in the flat and wouldn’t once
again, for the fourth time in as many years, be required to pack her bags. “So
I’ve decided to sell the flat.” The bubble of hope deflated quickly and Talia
nodded what she hoped was a supportive nod. “I know you’ll find somewhere
that’s just perfect for you.” Now Nina looked down, her long lashes resting on
her cheekbones. “You’re not cross with me are you?”

She’s playing me, Talia thought with a flash of irritation.
She’d seen Nina use that same look many times with men.
 
“Don’t be silly. I’m just so happy for
you.” At this her roommate breathed a sigh of relief.

“Great.” Then she looked seriously again at Talia. Now she
wore her sincere expression, the one she used when talking about designer
shoes. “Honey, I know you don’t like to talk about these things, but you’ll
find your own prince… How’s Steven?” Talia’s smile had started to feel strained
and at this mention of Steven whom she’d disastrously dated for 5 long months
after meeting him on kismetheartz.com, Talia felt the start of a headache. She
hated when her newly engaged friends started to hand out relationship advice,
like newly converted Christians determined to bring everyone else into the
fold.

“Thanks hon,” Talia murmured with false sincerity and her
eyes darted again to her watch. “Listen I’ve got to run to catch the train. But
cocktails later to celebrate?”

“Yay,” Nina smiled. “Isn’t it your big appraisal today?”
Talia started in surprise, Nina really was making an effort, she was rarely
interested in anything that wasn’t about her.

“Yes, gotta run.” As she moved quickly towards the front
door, her hardly worn Mary Jane shoes clicking on the wood floors, Talia fought
to get her mind back on work and away from Nina’s bombshell.

“Good luck,” she heard Nina call out as she slammed the front
door shut.

By
the time she sat down in the carriage having just, by the skin of her teeth,
caught the train, Talia had already started to get her perspective back. Good
for Nina. Who knew that the high priestess of sex, booze and food could fall in
love? Get married no less. She squashed down the uncharitable thought that
she’d had tubes of toothpaste for longer than Nina had known her intended. She
hoped it would work out for them. As for her fears about moving again, perhaps
it was the perfect time for her to look into getting her own place. With the
promotion to the writing team, she’d get a raise and surely that would be
enough to fund renting alone whilst she built up a deposit to buy her own flat.
As the train headed Northwards to the outskirts of London where the Encounters
studio was located, Talia felt happier, her life was finally starting,
everything she’d worked for was coming together; it was only right that she
moved on from Nina’s flat. Across the aisle from her, a fellow commuter reached
into her bag and dug out a copy of Soap Lives magazine. Talia smiled and felt a
moment of pride as she spotted the cover of the magazine. Two of the characters
from Encounters stared back at her, the stars of a storyline that she’d
created. Finally, Talia allowed herself to relax, everything she’d worked for
was within her grasp.

Tamara
Fearson was coming down from a blissful orgasm.

An all-consuming, earth shattering, lose all sense of time
and place kind of orgasm; the kind she’d never been able to reach with any man.
Once, there’d been a man who’d been able to push her buttons, push her close to
the edge, almost make her forget who she was, but that was a long time ago and
the less Tamara thought about him, the better. Men made women weak, she thought
and she could not afford to be weak. Slowly, she allowed her boneless,
enervated body to sink deeper into her silk sheets and chuckled quietly to
herself. The triumph of the night before was still in her blood. She lifted a
limp arm to wipe at the sheen of perspiration on her forehead and then, she
rolled over on to her side, feeling her heartbeat finally start to slow down.
With a languorous move, Tamara kicked the thin sheet to the end of the bed,
exposing her nude body to the coolness of her bedroom.

Hazy sunlight flickered through gauzy curtains, which hung in
the window of her Primrose Hill mews house. Across from the bed was a floor to
ceiling mirror and Tamara lay perfectly still, luxuriating in the reflection of
herself that greeted her. She stared at herself critically but with a measure
of pride. At 36, she looked better now, than she had at 16, when she’d first
boarded a plane out of the small Australian town where she was born. By 21
she’d been modelling in Sydney before she’d landed in an Aussie soap that was
watched all over the world.

Tamara rose slowly from the bed with unhurried movements,
uncaring that her driver would soon arrive to ferry her to set. Tamara always
slept in the nude, so that every morning she was greeted by this full-length
reflection of her body – no wrinkle, no unsightly extra inch, no blemish
would be missed. Ruthlessly she hunted down, dissected and where necessary
rectified her own faults before anyone else could take her to task about them.

Standing directly in front of the vanity mirror, Tamara
stared at herself, taking a deep breath. Her natural golden blond hair was a
silken wave down her back. Her eyebrows, just a shade darker than her hair,
were thick, fashionably so for this season. Her eyes, a unique shade of
green-blue, were the same aquamarine of the sea, where she’d been born. Her
frame was small but her breasts, pert with dark raspberry nipples, were a touch
larger than one would expect on her frame. And at 5’9, Tamara was tall. Men
often said that it was a toss up with Tamara Fearson, legs or breasts, for she
had both in abundance; the siren who could lure both breast and leg men. Her
look was that of the angelic blonde, a princess and yet as her success on
Encounters showed, her public loved her best when she was playing a bitch from hell.
Tamara stretched her arms high above her head, luxuriating in the feeling of
her body being stretched almost to the edge of pain. With a series of deep
yogic breaths, she slowly lowered her arms. Right on cue there was a knock on
her door and Casey walked in, carrying her daily dose of vitamins and a health
shake that had been specially concocted for her by her personal nutritionist.