Dazzled (39 page)

“Did you ever meet that actress, oh, what’s her name… skinny, small tits… you know… the one who got caught blowing that guy?”

“Oh! You mean Lilia Purcell. Sure, she’s been in here a few times.” Marla leaned down to lower her voice, and I couldn’t help craning my neck to hear her. “She’s a lousy tipper,” she whispered, conspiratorially.

Damn! Marla had totally backed me into a corner! If I didn’t give her a humungous tip now, I’d be lumped in with Lilia – she of the airtight wallet.

I’d been shafted royally. Even so, I had to admit that I was in awe of Marla from Detroit, and I wondered how much of what she’d said was true, and how much was simply the equivalent of onboard entertainment.

But then my flight was called, and I had to leave Marla and her magic hands.

“Have a safe journey,” she said. “Thanks for the tip. Hey! You never did tell me your name?”

“Oh,” I said, quietly. “I’m no one.”

It was a long and dreary flight home. Worse still, the house was empty when I got in because mum and dad were both out at work.

I trudged up the stairs and dumped my suitcase next to the bed. The last time I’d slept there, Miles had been in it. I sniffed his pillow, but his scent had already faded. Oh, my God, I’d turned into a pillow sniffer! And that night already seemed a long time ago.

When my phone rang, I knew without looking at the caller ID that it would be Miles. Apart from anything else, I’d programmed an alarm call on his cell phone to remind him to call me the minute he got home. He said he wouldn’t need reminding, but although he was just about perfect, he was still a guy.

“Hey Clare,” he whispered, his voice tinged with sadness. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah, just got here.”

“Me, too.”

“I know. I programmed your phone.”

There was a long pause.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. It feels weird here.”

“Weird, how?”

Weird because you’re not here and I feel like my body has been ripped in half.

“I wish you were here, that’s all.”

He sighed.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“So, how’s it going? How’s does it feel to be back… home?”

It hurt to think that LA was his home and that
London was just somewhere he’d lived once.

I could hear a rustle in the background and I knew he was pulling his t-shirt over his head. The thought of those fabulous abs that I was missing already, sculpted by long hours with the gym Nazi, made my mouth water – and other parts.

“Yeah, just been looking at my schedule,” he murmured. “I’ve gotta do a couple of days dubbing some of the scenes from
Lifers
– you know, the one I shot in Ohio. That’s all. Then some publicity stuff on
Dazzled
.”

“How’s Lilia behaving?”

I could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Like Lilia. She’s still spinning this line like we’re an item. I don’t know – it’s taken some of the heat off since… you know. So Rhonda says. Who knows, maybe it’s a good thing. At least they’re not slagging you off as much.”

What was Lilia’s game? There was no way that bitch would do me any favors.
I felt my body stiffen with sudden anger. And now I wasn’t even there to put the skanky ho in her place this time. Maybe I should write a book:
The Teflon Tart – Making Sure that Shit Don’t Stick
. Could be a bestseller. Or not.

Miles could tell how I was feeling because he carried on speaking hurriedly.

“Don’t worry about it – you know I don’t think of her like that. But the studio bosses really get off on it. They think it’ll help sell the film and if Laura Dorien agrees to the sequel… you know, if people believe the romance. Everyone wants a happy ending, right?”

I knew I did
.

Then his voice changed. Regret and irritation w
ere replaced with pure sex.

“I found your letter,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I mean, the CV. It was a great… job reference. And I was wondering if you had, um,
an opening
, because Miles Junior seems to be out of work at the moment.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

“Really? Is he looking for a job?”

“He’s feeling kind of redundant.”

“That’s odd. I thought he would have taken himself in hand by now.”

“You think he should?”

“Definitely. It’s important to keep your
skills
up to scratch.”

“There’s this audition I’d like to try out for,” he said, his voice rough with need.

“Do you want to run through your, um, lines with me?”

“Yeah, I’d love to do a run-through with you. Right now.”

His words made me feel warm all over.

“Have you got everything you need to hand, Miles?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it an action scene – or is it a love scene?”

He hesitated for almost a whole second.

“Both.”

“Perhaps you’d better describe the setting, just so I can picture it.”

“It’s set in a bedroom.”

“Uh-huh.”

“There’s a guy.”

“A guy – got it.”

“He’s lying on his big, empty bed. He’s lonely.”

“Why is he lonely.”

“He misses his hot girlfriend.”

He called me hot!

“How much does he miss her?”

“Too fucking much.”

“And I’m guessing she misses him, too.”

“Yeah, I think that’s in the script.”

“Well, it should be… So what does he do, being all lonely and stuff?”

“He’s thinking about her.”

“Is he doing anything while he’s thinking about her?”

“Yeah. He’s remembering how good she makes him feel.”

“How does he do that?”

“He imagines her hands on him. All of him.”

“Is he imagining her hands on his chest?”

“Lower.”

“His stomach?”

“Lower.”

I swallowed, imagining exactly what he was telling me.

“Is he stroking himself?”

“Yeah.”

His voice came out in a long sigh, and I sat down on my bed, feeling heated and really turned on.

Miles’ voice brought me back to myself.

“Do you think his girlfriend is doing the same thing – thinking of him – because it doesn’t say in the script?”

“I’m sure she is. In fact, I’d guess she’s imagining his hands on her – in her – right now.”

He groaned, and I slipped my hand inside my decidedly damp knickers.

“W-what happens next?” I said, my voice shaky.

“This is where the action scene starts.”

“What, like guns?”

“No, but there is a weapon.”

I couldn’t help laughing, even if it did come out as a breathy gasp. “So, the action speeds up?”

“God, I miss you, Clare.”

My lungs gave a painful squeeze as Miles dropped all pretence, playfulness peeled away.
He misses me
.

His breath was coming faster now and I slid onto my back to take care of myself, missing his hands, his body, his beautiful eyes staring down at me as we made love.

I screwed my eyes shut and tried to convince myself that he was near, and that he loved me. Only one was true.

Three minutes later, I concluded that the Miles Junior CV had been a great idea. Miles Senior seemed to agree with me, if the grunting sounds coming through the speakerphone were anything to go by.

“Clare? Baby?”

His voice seemed a long way away.

I scrabbled around the rucked up duvet and finally found the source of his voice.

“Sorry!” I gasped. “I dropped the phone.”

His dry chuckle made me smile. “Yeah, me, too.”

We spoke for a while longer but then he had to go – some publicity thing – even though he’d only been back less than an hour. He didn’t elaborate; he just sounded tired and more than a little blue.

After he ended the call, I decided to email him daily ‘job advertisements’ until he came back to London, or until I flew out to join him in LA, in the hope that they’d result in more hot, steamy phone sex.

But five days later, I concluded that the Miles Junior CV was a really, really, fucking awful idea.

Because it ended up on the internet.

LA was eight hours behind
London time, so I was really surprised when Miles called me while I was eating my lunchtime sandwich on the grass in front of the British Museum.

“Hey! Have you been out partying because I know it’s only 4
AM
and…”

He interrupted me.

“Clare, have you been online this morning?”

“I checked my emails, but…”

He sighed. “I think you’d better look at the Hollywood Life website. Or just Google my name.”

I pulled out my phone and connected to the internet. It took me less than 15 seconds to see what he was talking about.

“Holy fuck!”

A photograph of the Miles Junior CV was sitting on the gossip website’s homepage – along with an enlarged photograph of Miles’ very erect dick.

The breath left my body, and I felt sick.

“How the hell did they get hold of that?”

“I’m guessing it was someone who worked in my building,” he said, his voice full of tension. “Or it could have been someone at the gym. I, um, I’ve been kind of carrying it around with me.”

“Shit, Miles, you idiot!”

“I know. Rhonda is going crazy.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” I stammered, trying to calm him – and myself. “It could be a photograph of anyone’s di… I mean, a photograph of some random guy. It doesn’t prove anything.”

He sighed again, and I damned camera phones to hell and back.

“I’m so sick of this shit,” he spat out. “It’s just relentless. Why does anyone care?” He swore softly, and I felt like such a fool for putting him in this position – for screwing things up for him, yet again.

“It means I’ll have to be more careful,” he said, “and… oh, fuck. Rhonda’s calling me on the other line. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

He rang off before I could answer.

My sandwich didn’t seem so appealing now. Trying to eat would have choked me, so I pulled it to pieces and fed it to some pigeons that were keeping an eye on me a few feet away. One of them looked kind of tousled, with ruffled feathers and a bad foot. I threw most of the crumbs in his direction – or it could have been a her.

I definitely felt kinship with the scraggy bird.

Feeling all kinds of sorry for myself, I dragged my weary backside to my next lecture: ‘Dissembling in Austen’s England: a study of delicacy and disillusion’.

What would Jane Austen have said about my sorry arse? I imagined her gimlet eye and no-nonsense attitude pinning me with a bright gaze: “a very obstinate, ungrateful girl – very ungrateful indeed, considering
who
and
what
she is.”

Yeah, I cut that lecture, went home, ate two magnum Snickers, drank a four pack of Heineken, and fell asleep on my bed.

Problem solved.

I was woken by the sound of my phone ringing. What bastard was calling in the middle of the night?

I opened one, bleary eye. Huh. It was only 10
PM
. And it was Miles.

“Hi!” I croaked. “How are you? Are you okay?”

I could hear him breathing softly on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay – you sound like you’ve got two broken legs and your dog just died.”

He chuckled quietly but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“How’s it going? What did Rhonda say?”