The Modeliser (30 page)

“This is definitely what the invite said,” Talia replied.
They continued forward and then suddenly as they turned the bend in the road
– two flame torches swung into view.

“That looks more like it.” As they approached a doorway at
which two burly guards flanked a girl who held a clipboard, suddenly, the party
atmosphere was in evidence. Ahead of them, in the short procession towards the
entrance, were women dressed in sexy dresses and men in a range of attire from
jeans to one man in black tie.

“Christ isn’t that…” Simone muttered and Talia cut her off.

“That’s Kesha Andover.” They both watched impressed at the
Oscar winning British actress and screenwriter who was gliding into the doorway
in a sensational sequinned jumpsuit.

“Bloody hell,” Simone muttered as Talia handed over their
golden tickets and they were waved into the hallway. Talia stood stock-still as
she took in the massive space that had been converted into a decadent
wonderland. Gauzy strips of white silk and chiffon draped the walls, a white
baby grand piano took centre stage spinning round on a revolving podium, even
as the pianist played on. In a corner, a bar was serving bright cocktails but
at closer glance the bar was revealed to be a tricked out double decker bus.
Talia gazed around the room, which was quickly filling up and she blinked
wondering if she was about to wake up to find that it was all a dream. Dotted
around the room were some of the biggest names and talents in the film
industry. Cassidy Roberts, Sadie Willis and was that… Talia heard Simone’s
sharp intake of breath and realised it was indeed – the lady herself, a
bona fide British supermodel with a fierce catwalk persona and an even fiercer
temper.

“This is… this is something else,” Simone said and Talia had
to agree with her friend. She felt as though she had turned down the wrong road
and emerged into someone else’s life. The life of the beautiful and charmed.

“Let’s get a drink,” she said determined that they would
enjoy every moment of the party. Talia turned toward the bar, plucking an
already filled glass from the counter, when she felt Simone grab her arm. Talia
looked up at her friend who had gone quiet. “What?” She asked following the
direction of Simone’s gaze and then she froze too. Max Maguire was staring
straight at her.
 

“Wow,” Simone muttered under her breath.

Talia
took a large gulp of the drink in her hand, barely tasting the liquid as it
burnt down her throat. She looked away sure that there must be some mistake but
when she looked back up again, Max Maguire was still there, still staring
unwaveringly at her from across the room and then he started to pick his way
through the crowd, coming towards her, his eyes never once leaving her face.

“He’s coming over…” Talia said flustered.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Simone replied and before Talia could
stop her, Simone was gone, already weaving away in the opposite direction.
Talia turned back and standing smiling before her was Max. As he stared down at
her there was a look in his eye that stopped her short. It was a look of intent
that seemed almost calculating and then it was gone and Max finally spoke.

“Talia Blake, isn’t it? Just the woman I was looking for.”
Max smiled and Talia felt herself being pulled in by the charisma behind that
smile. Her momentary doubts were swept away and she returned Max’s smile with a
dazzling one of her own.

Across
London, another party was in full riotous swing. A party that would be talked
about for the rest of the school year and which would make Sasha Romanov a
legend and propel her to the cover of Teen Vogue. It was the kind of party that
every girl dreamed of. The invites had been dispatched to Sasha’s school
friends in waves. First an email had been sent with save the date instructions.
And then thick envelopes with paper invitations had been dispatched by post.
The actual key, guaranteeing entry to the party would not arrive until the day
itself. This key, a silver and diamond Tiffany creation would serve as both
entry key and memento of the day. By the time the date of the party finally
arrived, the pupils of Dame Francis Wesley School were excited to fever pitch
level. In a school that counted the scions of Hedge fund millionaires, Foreign
diplomats, Knighted popstars and even the daughter of a Rolling Stone amongst
its pupils, Sasha Romanov’s party was still predicted to be something truly era
defining. Girls waited at home for their Tiffany invitations and boys usually
too cool to bother about such things, hired personal shoppers to pick out their
outfits. One girl suffering from appendicitis was said to be on suicide watch,
for to miss what was being called the party of their generation was a fate
worse than death. Parents secretly longed to be in on this party of parties.

The birthday girl herself, like her guests, had been told of
a time and a place but few other details. Sasha’s first gift from her father
was a made to measure couture Stella McCartney gown. Vassily had watched Sasha
come down the stairs dressed and ready to go, with pride and sadness –
his daughter was all grown up. On his arm Tamara, resplendent in a one-off Vera
Wang, smiled – her efforts had not been in vain; she knew the night would
be a triumph. Already the tabloids and several magazines had been speculating
about the party – there had been rumours about the party favours, which
bands would be flown in to play, but the veil of secrecy had held. As Vassily’s
car finally reached the destination, Sasha stepped out first, Tamara and
Vassily following behind. They had hired out Doomsday, a Private Members club
in Central London and as Sasha entered, a spotlight hit the stage, and her
favourite R&B singer began to sing Happy Birthday. He was drowned out by
the shrieks of delight and disbelief that ran through the room. Sasha gasped
and turned to her father.

“Oh my god!".

“Anything for my girl,” Vassily responded as his daughter
enveloped him in a hug. Sasha turned to Tamara and hugged her too.

“Thank you so much.”

“Go. Enjoy yourself, there’s a lot more to come.”

And
there was, Tamara mused – two international bands, cakes from the
Hummingbird bakery, Macaroons from Paris and even Sasha’s favourite Russian dessert
flown in especially from St Petersburg. All night there would be free flowing
non-alcoholic cocktails in addition to acrobats from Cirque du Soleil, a
toned-down burlesque performance, not to mention appearances by Pink and
Beyonce followed by several celebrity DJs. The goody bags too would be
unforgettable – an iPad, 3 months membership to The Gaslight Members Club
and £500 in iTunes vouchers. By Monday, Sasha Romanov would be a legend.

Tamara watched as Sasha was surrounded by a group of her friends
and they took to the dance floor. She felt Vassily’s eyes on her, felt the heat
of his gaze.

“Let’s get out of here,” he growled. Tamara laughed and gave
him a light, teasing smile.

“Dinner, I think,” she replied with a small smirk, ignoring
Vassily’s groan of frustration. Tamara had had to call on all her reserves of
discipline but somehow she had managed to hold Vassily at arms length since the
night they were interrupted. She had not allowed herself to be lured back to
his bedroom. They had turned a corner, she admitted to herself, he had let her
into his life, made her a part of his daughter’s life – but still a woman
could not be too careful. Sex was the key, she had decided and she would not
make it easy for him. She would make him wait because this time, Tamara would
settle for nothing less than marriage.

Alex
was seeing red.

Specifically, the image that confronted him of Max Maguire
teasingly stroking a finger down Talia’s neck was enough to make him lose
control. He had arrived at the party and mingled with old friends and past
co-stars, leaving Declan to network. Alex had quickly found he had little
energy for the scene. Across the room a woman made deliberate eye contact with
him and he gave a vague smile unable to place her face. He could memorise lines
in minutes, had an almost photographic memory when it came to scripts but with
faces, especially women’s faces, Alex found that it had become harder and
harder to keep the names and faces straight. He was in no mood for small talk
and even less interested in the model turned actress Tallulah who had followed
him into the toilet. As he’d made to leave, she had pinned him to the door and
for a moment Alex had let her tongue run over his lips before he’d gently
pushed her away.

“Seriously I’m not in the mood," he’d said. Tallulah had
given a tinkling laugh.

“Wrong time of the month,” she’d enquired teasingly.

“Something like that,” Alex replied dryly and headed for the
exit. He’d seen the look of shock on Tallulah’s face.

“Alex, we have fucked before,” she’d snapped at him. He had
winced then. He’d forgotten that. He’d continued away from the toilet briskly,
Tallulah had a terrible temper and at that moment he’d known she might launch
her cocktail glass at his head.

As he’d drifted aimlessly through the vast warehouse space
from the jazz room, to the beach-themed room and even onto the roof terrace,
Alex had found that there was always someone wanting to talk to him, network or
press against him, he couldn’t stand it. Eventually he had sought peace in a
mellow Moroccan themed room, where two beautiful women were giving massages as
party guests reclined on beds and cushions and smoked from hookahs dotted
around the room. Alex closed his eyes; his head leaned back against a plush
cushion when he heard the giggle. He rolled his eyes and then a sixth sense
made him turn. He looked towards the small intimate bar inside the Moroccan
section, picking out a couple standing close together. His eyes adjusted to the
dim light as he realised that the stunning creature in the dynamite lace dress
was Talia. He felt a kick in his groin of pure, unadulterated lust. He wanted
her. Even as he processed this realisation, his eyes zeroed in on the man. A
man who was standing close to her, too close and who now reached out a hand and
stroked Talia from just beneath her jaw, down her neck until his fingers rested
on her collarbone. Max Maguire. This realisation launched Alex from his
reclining position and he was across the room almost upon them before he’d even
thought about what he would say.

“Alex,” Talia gasped the words out in surprise. Alex watched
Max’s eyes dart to him. There was a flash of irritation, which Max quickly
concealed.

“Talia, Max,” Alex drawled with satisfaction. Max was already
standing down.

“Hey Man, I was just keeping your friend company,” Max said
and yet Alex could not miss the irritated thread beneath Max’s words.

“Thanks for that,” Alex replied thinly. There was no pretence
at warmth; he’d had enough of this upstart. The silence lengthened.

“Good talking you Talia, maybe see you around,” Max finally
spoke.

 
Alex turned to Talia, barely noticing as
Max melted away. Close up he could see how incredible she looked in the dress.
The scoop neck at the front pushed her breasts up and when she turned to pick
her drink off the bar, Alex gulped – there was nothing but Talia’s bare
back on display. He watched her sip her drink a drop escaping her lips and
slowly trailing down her chin. He clenched his fists and fought the desire to
lean forward and lick the droplet off her chin.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Talia said startling Alex from
his thoughts. Her voice was slightly slurred and she was, he realized, taking
extra care to form her words.

“You’re drunk,” he said in surprise.

“I think I am,” she replied and gave a deep laugh. “I’m glad
you’re here.” She held her drink out to him before turning to the barman. “More
drinks,” she said. And Alex took the drink from her downing it in one gulp. The
night had suddenly got interesting.

“You
know you’re much more fun when you’re drunk.”

Alex said the words teasingly as Talia slumped on his
shoulder in the back of the taxi as they made their way back to Hampstead. It
was just after six and dawn was starting to break revealing streaks of blue sky
and the beginnings of a sunny morning. They had dropped Simone off at her flat,
Alex having taken charge of her and Talia as they had clearly drunk far too
much of the free-flowing cocktails.

As
the cab pulled up outside the house, Alex leaned forward to speak to the
driver.

“Give me a few minutes mate and then one more stop.” Alex
felt Talia’s head shake against his chest.

“No,” she muttered. “Stay.” Alex began to shake his head but
she turned her eyes up to gaze at him reproachfully.

“Fine,” he said. Talia laughed.

“Softie.”

As he
paid the cab driver, Talia clambered out of the cab and walked up to the front
door. By the time he had reached her she had already got the door open and
stepped into the hallway.

“Are you ok?” He asked, even as he tried not to notice that
one strap of her dress had slipped down her shoulder. He fought the urge to
reach out and slip it back up into place. He caught a look in her eyes, a
question and Alex stepped back. A pulse beat erratically in his neck. He needed
a drink or several. He took a deep breath and moved away from Talia, away from
temptation. He turned and headed into the sitting room. Staying had been a
mistake. Gathering his composure, he turned back to her.