Winner Takes It All (6 page)

By six o’clock that
evening, he felt as though he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson and
yet he looked like a dream. His beard had been shaved off to reveal
a chiselled jaw; his unruly dark brown hair had been de-matted,
trimmed and brushed into a flattering style that swept off his face
with just a few strands falling onto his forehead. Drops had been
squirted into his eyes to make them look brighter and more alert,
emphasising their blueness, and his scruffy Metallica t-shirt and
jeans had been replaced by a wardrobe full of designers he hadn’t
even heard of. Much to his relief, they hadn’t suited and booted
him, but instead Farrell thought it best if he had a selection of
tailored jackets, fitted shirts, well cut casual trousers, loafers,
a university style scarf, vintage trainers, smart t-shirts and one
Antony Price suit for business occasions. Tom didn’t dare ask, but
he estimated his cousin must have spent nigh on ten thousand
dollars on him.

As he left the salon –
thankfully not laden down with bags as a lackey would be delivering
them directly to Jackson’s apartment – Tom skipped down the stairs,
feeling quite confident in his corduroy blazer, fitted shirt and
DKNY jeans. It felt weird not to have that itchy beard on his face
- the cool evening air blowing directly onto his skin. Jackson got
out of a yellow taxi and mounted the stairs, passing Tom. He
clearly hadn’t recognised him.

‘
Jackson
mate,’ he laughed.

His cousin stopped on the
steps and almost fell over to see the new Tom.

‘
My God,’ he
gasped. ‘Is that really you?’

‘
Yes. I feel
like a stranger.’

‘
You look like
one. Farrell truly is a genius.’

***

Jackson had an on off
girlfriend called Lisa whom he’d been seeing for several years. She
was a Brit working for the
New York Times
and Tom got the
feeling she was used more as a sexual outlet for Jackson rather
than a partner. Her friend Sadie, whose father owned
Petersen-Bailey-Jennings, the huge advertising agency, was staying
with her for a couple of weeks and in the taxi on the way to Zen’s,
all Jackson could do was rave at how foxy Sadie was and that Tom
could do with a seriously connected girlfriend like that. The whole
concept of going out with someone because they would be beneficial
was a weird notion to Tom and he just remained quiet and decided to
take things as they came.

Zen wasn’t at all what
Tom had been expecting. In his mind he’d imagined Jackson to belong
to some swanky lounge club that had a resident pianist and served
vodka martinis. While the club was in an upmarket part of
Manhattan, it was quite grungy. They entered to the strains of
Pearl Jam’s
Alive
playing and all the people in there seemed
to be pretty dressed down in Converse trainers and plaid
shirts.

Jackson led Tom over to a
spot behind the bar, where two girls were waiting for them. The
blonde was skinny with straggly hair, wearing a Pixies t-shirt and
jeans that were far too big for her. He hoped that was Lisa,
because the girl next to her was a far more pleasing prospect. She
was just the sort of girl Tom liked. - pale and interesting. Her
shoulder length, middle parted dark auburn hair complemented her
big eyes that were accentuated with lots of black eye make up. Her
mean, pouting mouth that was painted blood red completed the look
and she might as well have had ‘bitch’ written across her forehead.
Tom had always been a sucker for girls like this and had to stop
himself from drooling over her.

‘
Hi Lisa,’
Jackson said and he kissed the blonde upon the cheek. Tom breathed
a sigh of relief, the sexy one
was
Sadie. Jackson introduced
them all, and Sadie looked Tom over with an expression of
disapproval.

‘
What do you
do Tom?’ she asked, her voice clipped and as mean as her
mouth.

‘
I’m a
playwright,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just finished a run of my own play
based on
Venus in Furs
.’

‘
The Velvet
Underground song?’

‘
The book by
Leopold von Sacher-Masoch,’ he replied, rather too sardonically. He
hoped she didn’t realise he was mocking her ignorance.

‘
Interesting,’
she nodded and he suddenly realised he could see a flicker in her
eyes. She wasn’t so dumb after all. The book’s subject meant
something to her and by the little smirk on those ruby lips, had
sparked her curiosity.

‘
What Tom also
forgets to mention is that he also works for my company,’ Jackson
interjected, wrapping his arm around Tom’s shoulder. ‘We’ve got big
things planned for young Thomas.’

They found a booth and
ordered their drinks. Jackson and Lisa sat together, talking in
hushed voices, leaving Tom and Sadie together. Tom wasn’t even sure
if he particularly liked Sadie. She was the typical rich little
brat who’d had everything handed to her on a plate. She wasn’t even
particularly pretty but daddy had managed to get her a modelling
contract and she’d already appeared on the cover of
ID
magazine. Her other job consisted of ‘doing a bit of PR’ and that
was it. Tom could only fantasise about having this sort of wealth.
Fiona had stopped giving him any sort of financial support the
moment he’d left school at sixteen.

Somehow, finding Sadie’s
personality repellent just made him fancy her more. He’d always
found it easier in life to have sex with girls he wasn’t keen on.
He knew this was quite warped, but whenever he did meet a girl he
liked a lot, he found himself scared to touch her, frightened of
spoiling the illusion of her and also failing in himself. There
wasn’t much about Sadie to like, but physically she ticked all his
boxes. Especially when she got back onto the subject of
Venus in
Furs
, obviously fascinated by it.

‘
So what
prompted you to write about such a thing?’ she asked, leaning her
body closer to him. ‘It’s hardly a typical subject.’

‘
It came to me
when I was stoned one night,’ he confessed. ‘A mate and me had
smoked some really strong skunk and we were listening to the Velvet
Underground and I just thought
Venus in Furs
was the sexiest
song ever. I didn’t even know what it was about, so I asked my mate
and he explained that it’s based on the book about
Sado-Maschiocism. So next day, I rushed out and brought it and just
thought what a great, alternative musical it would
make.’

‘
You must be
very clever,’ she purred. ‘What school did you go to?’

Tom had to pause before
he replied. He knew what girls like her expected. They had a mental
list of all the top public schools and ranked boys in accordance to
where they went. What would she think of him when she discovered
he’d spent his formative years at Camden High?

‘
I went to a
High School in Camden,’ he replied quietly. ‘My mother was a hippy
and didn’t believe in private education.’

‘
Even though
she was a Lady?’

‘
Yes.’
Not
by then she wasn’t
Tom thought.

‘
So are you
the heir then?’

‘
No, Jackson
is.’

‘
That’s a
shame. But even so, you have aristocratic blood in you. That’s
amazing. My grandfather was a Swedish sailor who came to England in
the War and married the daughter of a postman. There’s no titles
for us to inherit.’

‘
Titles are
unimportant Sadie,’ he said, trying to sound wise. ‘It’s the person
you are that matters.’

By the end of the
evening, Tom had warmed to Sadie a little. She was edgy and snappy
and totally obsessed with money and status. But under the prickly
surface she had a great sense of humour and was a good listener. So
when she asked if he would like to go home with her, Tom didn’t
hesitate. He wondered if he would have pulled such a girl had he
turned up tonight looking as he had earlier on. He seriously
doubted it.

They all left the club;
Jackson and Lisa catching a cab to take them back to Jackson’s
apartment. He made Tom promise to get home early the next day as
they were lunching with their grandmother. This was still a
prospect Tom hated the thought of and tried to put it to the back
of his mind. Sexy Sadie was just the sort of distraction he
needed.

She occupied a penthouse
quite similar to Jackson’s. It belonged to her father’s company but
she had free reign of it whenever she was in New York. The moment
they got in the door she offered Tom some cocaine, which he
refused. He’d tried it a couple of times and didn’t like the way it
made him feel. She asked him if he minded if she partook and he
told her to go ahead. He stood in the middle of her lavishly
decorated living room, trying to take in that this was his new
world. The windows were panoramic, and outside New York twinkled
like a elaborately decorated Christmas tree. When Sadie returned
from the bathroom, she pointed a remote control at the wall, and to
Tom’s surprise, the lights came on, but in dimmed red, giving the
room a seedy feel.

Sadie walked closer to
him and he saw she had changed into a black corset and black, silk
French knickers. This certainly wasn’t the usual attire of prim,
privately educated English girls. In fact, back home, Tom could
only ever dream of getting with a girl like this.

Without saying a word,
Sadie pushed him by the shoulder and he fell back onto one of the
sofas. Both aroused and terrified, he half lay, motionless,
watching as she stood over him, looking down at him with that mean
look in her eyes.

‘
I like you
Tom,’ she said softly. ‘I can tell you’re different.’

From out of nowhere, she
produced a pair of handcuffs and brandished them at him.

‘
I think you
and I are going to have such fun.’

***

The next morning Tom
stumbled back to Jackson’s house feeling rather like a man who’d
found a lottery ticket in the street only for it to go on and win
the jackpot that evening. He’d come to New York expecting it to be
horrible, and like some sort of Cinderella, he suddenly had a
wardrobe full of snazzy clothes and more to the point, last night
he’d had the wildest sex of his life with Sadie. She was
unbelievable and to his delight, she wanted to see him again. Back
home, where he was ordinary Tom Montague, someone like her would be
out of his league. But now he was in Jackson’s exclusive gang, it
seemed he could have whomever he wanted.

Jackson was in the
kitchen drinking some wheatgrass, looking as immaculate as ever. He
smiled slyly on seeing his dishevelled cousin.

‘
Good night
was it?’ he said.

‘
Unbelievable,’ Tom sighed. ‘Sadie’s amazing.’

‘
Glad you had
a good time old chap. But you need to smarten yourself up now;
we’re off to meet the folks.’

‘
I’m
knackered.’

From his inside pocket,
Jackson got a small bag of cocaine and threw it across the table at
Tom.

‘
Have this,
it’ll pep you up.’

‘
Coke just
turns me into a moron,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll leave it
thanks.’

‘
Well at least
shower and tidy yourself up,’ Jackson scolded. ‘We want you to
create a good impression on grandmother.’

Sorcha D’Arbo lived in
TriBeCa in a house she’d had built from scratch after purchasing a
warehouse when the boom in the area started. She’d had the building
knocked down and replaced with an exact replica of a white, Nash
house which would have looked more appropriate in Bayswater rather
than amongst the brownstones and trendy apartment blocks that were
springing up in this part of lower Manhattan. Sorcha had lived in
New York for thirty years now. When her first husband (and Tom’s
grandfather) Lord Montague died in 1974 she’d mourned for three
years, then when her youngest daughter Georgiana died of a heroin
overdose in 1977 Sorcha found herself shunned by London society.
She relocated to New York and found herself another wealthy husband
- Trent D’Arbo. He was a renowned art dealer and Sorcha was once
again in the middle of a thriving social scene. When Trent died in
2004, her daughter Annabel moved in with her and now the two of
them rattled around this big house with just the staff for
company.

Tom shook with fear as he
walked up the steps to the front door. He was still not quite sure
what was expected of him and he was so tired after the night that
had just gone, he was convinced he was going to make an idiot of
himself.

The maid took them into
the drawing room and for the first time ever, Tom laid eyes upon
his grandmother. She sat on a Queen Anne Chair close to the window,
an expectant look upon her face like some sort of Empress awaiting
her servants to attend to her. Tom had only ever seen a couple of
photos of her from his mother’s collection, and that was when
Sorcha had been much younger. She’d been quite a beauty in her day
- blonde curly hair, big blue eyes and a curvy figure. Now pushing
eighty, it was obvious she was trying to cling onto her good looks.
Unfortunately it had been done by her having too much surgery and
with her unfeasibly smooth skin and teased, platinum blonde hair,
she looked like a caricature of her former self. So tight was her
face, she could barely register an expression.