The Modeliser (9 page)

“You’re out of here, get your things and get out. HR will
ring you to sort out the finer details.” There was a note of triumph in Damian’s
voice as he barked the words across the table at her. Talia sat stunned even as
Damian rose, his job was done. “For the sake of morale we’ll keep this under
wraps, but you’re mud in this industry, don’t forget it.” And with that he
strolled out. Talia sat frozen in the seat and then she heard a movement and
turned to see that Rick too had stood up to move round to reclaim his seat
behind the desk.

“I didn’t do this, you know that, you know me.” But all she
saw reflected in Rick’s eyes was doubt and fear. He’d championed her, helped
push her up the ranks and now he was afraid that her fuck up might ricochet
back on him and bring him down. Rick wasn’t going to go out on a limb for her.

“I need your key fob.” In a fog, Talia reached up pulling off
the security fob and ID card, which hung around her neck. There was a knock at
the door and Talia turned as two men from security entered the room. Men that
she’d greeted every morning as she entered the studio. Their eyes were averted
and they wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“You’ll be escorted off the premises and your personal things
will be posted to you.” Talia felt a roar in her head, like the sound of a
wounded animal dying as everything she had worked for was obliterated by the
storm that she now found herself unwittingly at the centre of.

If it were a movie, the scene would have played out in slow
motion. In the days that would follow, Talia would not remember the walk down
to the main exit, she would not remember who had met her eyes and who averted
their gaze. She didn’t remember what Wayne on security with the kind eyes had
said to her as she’d stepped off the premises. Those moments after she was
sacked were a blank. What she remembered was this – sitting on the train
with only her battered handbag on her lap. The script bag, which she always
carried with her had been left behind, she would not need it now. There was
something almost surreal about the empty train and the sunshine that warmed the
carriage in which she sat. Talia was unused to being out so early in the middle
of the day. Usually she’d still have another four maybe five hours at her desk.
She knew that by now passwords would be being changed, storyline re-writes
would be beginning and even with the embargo, slowly the news would be
trickling out that she was gone. Tomorrow, it would be confirmed and like Chris
who had gone before her, stories, and half-truths would grow and settle around
her name to explain her mysterious disappearance. But what with the Angelina
scandal on the cover of the papers and her sudden departure, it would not be
long before someone put the rest of the story together. Talia sat in silence as
a headache pounded through her head shooting needles of pain around her
temples. On autopilot she climbed off the train at her stop, noticing how empty
the station was. It was the middle of afternoon, people were at work; she
should be at work. A loud sob rose in her throat but she held it back and
composed herself as she tapped her ticket on the reader and exited the station.

Without thought Talia headed towards Hampstead Heath, a long
diversion through the park, which she rarely allowed herself to enjoy. The
sunny day had brought the yummy mummies out in force and barely aware, Talia
slipped her shoes off and sat on the grass watching as super slim women with
Pilates toned arms laughed and talked and rocked prams or kept one eye on
toddlers running around. Talia put her head in her hands, as once again tears
threatened. This morning her world had been on track and now in the space of
hours, it had all fallen apart. For a moment she reached into her bag for her
mobile phone and then stopped remembering that her phone had been on her desk,
it would be mailed to her. Perhaps, she thought, it was just as well. She
thought briefly of calling Simone or Helena but dismissed the thought quickly,
she wasn’t yet ready to talk to anyone. Anything she said would surely end with
her sobbing on Hampstead Heath. Talia started as she felt the cold sprinkle of
water on her bare feet, followed by tinkering, childish giggles. She turned to
see a small girl watching her with curious eyes, a small water pistol in her
hand.

“Where’s your baby?” The little girl asked and for a moment
Talia’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the child’s babyish speech
and then she glanced around, her forehead clearing as she realised the reason
for the child’s question and understood. All around her, apart from the
occasional jogger, were young mums and their babies. With a small stiff smile,
Talia rose to her feet; she didn’t belong here. She slipped her shoes back on
and continued the walk towards the flat. As she made her way down the high
street, her eyes were caught by something and her quick footsteps slowed to a
dead halt. She stopped outside a small exclusive boutique staring at their
window display. There in the window was the Mulberry handbag, the one that she
would have been buying for herself this weekend. Now the tears came hard and
fast, a tide that could not be stemmed. Pride and embarrassment were cast aside
and Talia sobbed for the bag that she wouldn’t now buy with the fruits of her
promotion. She cried for the script commission that was gone. She cried for the
job that she loved and the sacrifices she had made as she finally realised that
Damian was right, no one would ever employ her again. Like Chris, she was dead
to the world of TV. Her career was over and now all she had left was some
unmarked grave to crawl into.

Five
hours later, Talia woke to the sound of pounding on her door. For a moment, confusion
reigned – how could she feel so bad and where was she? She felt a burst
of nausea and suddenly she was violently sick, turning only just in time so
that the vomit was directed into the bucket that had been placed by her bed.
The knocking had stopped and slowly the door opened and Nina entered. The look
of sympathy that was etched on her face immediately brought it all back to
Talia and in a flash, the crushing well of hurt was back. She remembered
arriving home, having cried herself hoarse outside of the boutique in
Hampstead. After telling Nina the story she’d drunk an entire bottle of Baileys
that she’d found in the fridge.

           
“Are
you OK?” Concern was etched onto Nina’s face as she moved into the room, coming
to crouch down next to Talia’s bed. Nina handed her a tall glass of water,
which Talia gratefully sipped from as she sat up slowly in bed.

 
“I said I didn’t
want to be woken ever again," she muttered as she set the glass down.

“Look, Helena called, something’s happened.” At Nina’s words
Talia sat up in bed, the fog clearing quickly from her brain.

“What’s wrong?” Talia demanded, her own troubles momentarily
forgotten as her thoughts turned to her best friend. “Is she OK?” Nina shook
her head slowly.

“You’d better call her.”

With a sick sense of worry, Talia took the mobile phone that
Nina was holding out to her. As she turned to dial the number, she caught a
glimpse of herself in a small mirror and she grimaced. Her face seemed hollow,
her eyes dark pools in her face and she had dark circles under her eyes. This
morning, she’d had everything to play for and now it seemed that the old phrase
was true; it never rained but it poured.

“If
there’s anything at all, that I can do for you…”

The flight attendant let the words hang in the air and Alex
was in no doubt that when she said anything, she really did mean anything. He
slumped heavily in his seat thinking about the brief phone conversation that
he’d had with his sister. Alex shook the memory off and glanced up, watching as
once again, the flight attendant cruised down the aisle past him. He noted that
a further two buttons on her shirt had been undone in the minutes since she’d
last fluffed his pillows and offered to tend to whatever needs he might have.
Alex smiled at her, flashing the wattage, without any real intent, as slowly he
reclined in the first class bed and pulled his eye mask down over his eyes. He
settled deeper into the bed and once again the phone-call came flooding back.
Since he’d spoken to Helena, he’d been to hell and back, beating himself up as
he realised that once again he’d let his sister down. He should have been there
for her. Only now, four days after he’d first spoken to Helena, did it occur to
him that he should have flown to London straight away, that he should not have
waited till the last possible moment before the funeral, before catching a
flight out of LAX. Alex gave a deep sigh as he though of Richard Golden, his
grandfather, in truth the only father he had ever known. His Gramps, who’d first
taken him to the theatre, who had encouraged him through the early years and
the bit parts.
Shit
. Alex tugged the eye mask off his face and ran a hand
through his hair. He hated the maudlin thoughts that had been chasing across
his mind these last few hours. More than that he hated the sense of
dissatisfaction that seemed to linger all about him. His mind flicked back to
all the messages he’d received on his mobile phone, condolences as the news had
broken that Max Maguire was to replace him in Defender. This was Hollywood
after all, and the Piranhas scented blood in the water. He’d been replaced and
by a younger model; these messages of condolences were little more than
opportunities to gloat. Alex thought about Shay, who’d efficiently organised
his flight. What would he do without her? And then with a heavy sigh, he
realised that he would have to do without her, she’d quit on him after all. He
tipped his bed up into a seating position and he glanced down the first class
cabin, which had been artificially darkened to allow the passengers to sleep.
The winsome hostess who’d been so eager to cater to his needs stood towards the
back of the cabin. Maybe, she was exactly what he needed. Alex was already out
of his feet, prowling slowly down the aisle, before he could allow his brain to
catch up.

“There is something you can help me with.” He leaned in close
to whisper into the attendant’s ear. Her eyes lit up and Alex glanced at her
name badge; Kelly – watching as a wide smile spread across her face.

“This way sir,” she said with a wink.

Her
moan was muffled and in the side on reflection Alex could see that she bit her
lip to keep from crying out. He looked away again, he had no need to see them
reflected. It was, after all, a scene that he’d played myriad times before
– different flights, different girls and different first class washrooms.
Even in first class, room was tight, but nonetheless there was enough space for
him to bend the attendant over, her tight skirt pushed up and gathered around
her waist. He’d regretted it almost as soon as she’d led him in here. The
grateful look of excitement had grated on him. His hands tightened on her bony
hips and he thrust into her hard. His hand drifting around between her thighs
to stroke her roughly, drawing her own wetness to her clit which he pinched
gently. The loud moan that burst from her told him he was getting her off.

“That’s so good.” She practically squealed the words as she
came, contracting around him like a vice, tipping him over into his own orgasm.
He slumped over her with a grunt and then as his breath slowed, he eased
himself out of her. She turned around to face him. Slowly she reached down
between his legs peeling off the condom, which she’d provided. Almost lovingly
she wrapped it in a tissue and dumped it in the bin. With a wink she smiled at
him. “Like I said, if there’s anything you need, you just have to ask.” Alex
gave her a small, tired smile. In the cramped space their bodies were crushed
together, almost chest to chest, as she adjusted her blouse, rearranged her
stockings and then straightened her skirt smoothing it over hips as slim as a
boys. “I’d better get back to work.” She pushed out of the bathroom, leaving
him alone in the cubicle and Alex was filled with the sense that he’d just helped
her tick something off a list, she had somewhere.
Fuck a moviestar –
Check.

He stared at himself in the mirror, noting the tired lines
around his eyes and the beginnings of stubble. He glanced at his watch –
only an hour till they landed. At least the diversion with the hostess, her
name had already escaped him, had kept him from dwelling on what lay ahead.

Helena
Golden glanced at the understated Piaget watch wound around her slim wrist and
she clapped her hands together in a burst of irritation, the sound ringing out
harshly in the silent room.

“I can’t bloody believe him.” The words snapped out of her,
even as the anger behind them seemed immediately to dissipate. With a sigh she
dropped her hands down by her sides as she tried to hold in the frustration
building inside her. She stood still in the middle of her grandfather’s sitting
room, taking long deep breaths, as she tried to calm down. She smoothed down
the sleeveless black Lanvin dress that she wore, which was typical of her style,
demure and understated and yet elegantly classic. There was something regal
about her bearing, men often thought her remote, but as she caught a glimpse of
herself in the large gilt mirror above the mantel piece, Helena paid little
attention to her appearance. Looking out on the grey day through the Juliet
balcony in the sitting room, which opened on to a glorious view of Hampstead
Heath, Helena’s eyes were drawn to the black hearse that waited outside the
house, the hearse that carried her Grandfather’s coffin. A tear gathered in the
corner of her eyes but she wiped it away angrily as once again her eyes were
drawn to her wristwatch. Alex was late. Helena turned as she heard a sound on
the stairs and moments later the sitting room door opened.