The Modeliser (4 page)

“Morning Tamara,” Casey smiled placing the tray down on a
table, before laying down a stack of magazines and the day’s papers. Barely
sparing a glance for her young assistant, Tamara moved towards the table and
one after the other popped the large vitamin pills into her mouth before
washing them down with the rather odious looking green drink. Her assistant
didn’t bat an eye at her nudity, having long since grown used to her tendency
to walk around the house naked.

Tamara watched as Casey busied herself picking up the
clothes, that she’d dropped on the floor when she arrived home the night
before. The dress, which lay in a pool of silk on the floor was a green whisper
of the finest silk; a vintage Tom Ford for Gucci original that would have to be
sent to a specialist cleaner. The shoes – a staggeringly high pair of
Christian Louboutins with the trademark red sole, Casey tidied into Tamara’s
shoe closet, alongside the hundred or so pairs of stilettos that were her
trademark.

“Papers!” Tamara’s demand shot across the room and Casey
immediately returned to read the morning’s headlines to her boss.
 
Tamara watched as Casey nervously
shuffled the mix of papers, magazines and the scurrilous weeklies, whose avowed
mission seemed to be to shame TV stars by publishing unflattering photographs
of them.

“Tamara Fearson dazzles in Dior.” Tamara smiled as Casey
showed her the photograph on the cover of one of the tabloids. The photo had
been taken outside The Gilded Cage when she’d arrived for the Encounters party.

“Anything else?” She fired back at Casey, for her triumph
last night hadn’t been at the Encounters party. It was the party afterwards
that Tamara was most interested in.

“Well this one says...,” Casey trailed off nervously. Just
the week before she had been at the receiving end of a flying copy of Vogue
when Tamara had learned that her young co-star Angelina Starling had been featured
in the magazine.

“Carry on,” Tamara snapped and with a gulp Casey pushed on.

“It says, ‘
The Botox has landed’
.” Casey breathed a sigh of
relief as a peal of laughter rang out from Tamara.

“Botox,” Tamara snorted, “if only they knew.” Tamara leaned
forward brushing aside Casey’s hands to flick through the papers herself. And
then she smiled as she finally found what she was looking for. On the cover of
one of the tabloids – Daily World - was a photo of Angelina Starling, a
rather tawdry photograph of the nation’s sweetheart, caught
in flagrante
. A shiver of delicious malice
ran through Tamara as she stared at the photograph; careers had been destroyed
for less. “Are there more like this?” She didn’t bother to conceal her glee.

“All the tabloids have picked it up,” Casey responded. “Poor
Angelina.” At Tamara’s raised eyebrow, Casey quickly schooled her expression
into a more neutral one.

“Well, that’s that for her then.” From the start Tamara had
detested the young upstart, but the girl had gone too far. Bad enough that
she’d been selected for a Vogue profile, when Tamara herself had never been
featured but to refer to her as a “mother figure”. It was then that Angelina
had sealed her fate. Nobody crossed Tamara. With a smile, she consigned her young
co-star to the back of her mind and turned back to the papers. “Anything else
of me?”

“Just this one.” Casey pulled out another paper and breathed
a sigh of relief at the smile that Tamara bestowed on her. It was a photograph
of Tamara taken the night before, not in the Dior dress that she’d worn to the
Encounters Cast party but in her second outfit of the night – the vintage
Tom Ford, as she’d arrived at the launch of Imperium, the latest hotel venture
by Russian magnate Vassily Romanov.

“Bingo,” Tamara said to herself, quickly flicking to page 8
to read the columnist’s piece. Slowly, a wide smile spread across her face as
she read the copy.
Actress Tamara Fearson arrives at the launch of Imperium.
Moments later, she stole a march on all the socialites in attendance by
convincing Billionaire Oligarch Vassily Romanov to leave his own party with
her. Quelle scandale! We’ll be following this story with interest.

If she’d been alone Tamara might have danced across the room.
“You can go now Casey.” With a quick nod, Casey jumped up scuttling to clear up
the tray and the discarded papers. As the door shut behind her assistant,
Tamara padded across the room, sliding into a silk La Perla dressing gown. She
felt the kind of giddy excitement that she hadn’t felt in a long time as she
thought about last night and her meeting with Vassily Romanov. It wasn’t the
first time that Tamara had targeted a man but this time she was serious. She’d
been furious to learn that the Encounters party fell on the same night as the launch
of Imperium, but having worked so hard to wangle an invitation from some high
society bitch, she had no intention of missing the launch of the new
super-luxury hotel in Knightsbridge. After a hasty change, Tamara had arrived
at Imperium, a woman with a plan.

There was something about Tamara Fearson that made men want
to beg. At first glance, she seemed an angelic blonde but they quickly realised
that she was not one of those women who sought to hide her power. There was
steel in her eyes. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, who took what she
wanted without apology and what she wanted was Vassily Romanov. She had
strolled into the room, uncaring that she knew nobody at the party, that this
throng of Chelsea heiresses and Knightsbridge old money was far out of her
social circle. She had positioned herself close to the private lift that she
knew would bring Vassily down from the penthouse. She’d charmingly but firmly
evaded the attentions of a red-faced Lord with wandering hands and as Vassily
emerged from the lift, Tamara took her chance, knowing that once he got into
the room, the Chelsea girls would get their husband-hunting claws into him and
never let go.

Tamara moved forward, a glass of red wine in her hand. She
knew at once that Vassily had noticed her. Their eyes met and held and she saw
the flare of attraction in his eyes and also grudging respect when she met and
fearlessly held his gaze. She moved purposefully towards him, marvelling at the
fact that he was actually better looking than his pictures. He was tall, easily
over 6ft with a powerfully built physique. There had been rumours and whispers
circulating about his connections to the FSB and the Russian Secret Service but
however he'd got that toned physique, Tamara was impressed. They would make a
perfect couple, she thought, both of them so blonde and tall. She moved towards
him, noting that others too had started to notice him and were already turning
to make their approach. She did not stop until they were almost toe-to-toe and
then with a flick of her wrist, she tossed the entire contents of her wine
glass over him – watching as the red liquid spread across his pale blue
shirt.

A shocked gasp echoed through the room. The live band came to
an abrupt halt and then silence descended, only for a moment, before whispers
began to spread through the guests. Tamara Fearson had just thrown a drink in
Vassily Romanov’s face. Tamara watched as through the crowd two men in dark
suits pushed forward, Vassily’s security, she imagined. With a smile of total
confidence, she leaned in to him.

“We’d better get you out of those wet clothes.” She said the
words without any doubt in her voice and she watched the stunned expression on
Vassily’s face, the stillness and then with a small almost imperceptible nod,
he turned taking her arm leading her towards his elevator. They’d been followed
by shocked whispers and as the elevator doors had whizzed shut, Tamara had
smiled, a small smile of triumph at the shocked faces of the Sloanies and
heiresses. She might not have their money or titles or connections but she had
something that money couldn’t buy. Balls. And she always got her man.

“Now that you have me here, what is the plan?” Vassily’s
drawled words intruded on Tamara’s feeling of triumph. She turned to look at
him and then flicked a finger out to press the stop button, halting the lift.

“I hadn’t really thought this far,” she replied, surprised by
how much his unwavering gaze was affecting her. “God, you really are
beautiful,” she muttered already stretching up to pull his head down to hers.
The kiss was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Suddenly, she felt like
a volcano about to erupt and his hands were around her pulling her into his
hard body and then lifting her off her feet until her back was hard against the
mirrored wall in the lift. She felt him grind hard into her and then abruptly,
he was pulling away.

“This is unexpected,” he said, his voice deeper and huskier
than it had been moments before. Reaching back to the lift panel, Tamara pressed
a button to re-start the lift and then she smiled as slowly she began to
unbutton his shirt.

“You really should change out of this, and go back to your
party.” She watched his eyebrow raise in surprise.

“And you?”

“You’ll find me I’m sure.” And as the lift doors opened, she
stepped out, immediately making her way to the fire escape. “I’ll take the
stairs.”

Tamara started as she was jerked from her memories of the
night before by another knock at her door. “What is it Casey?”
 
She snapped impatiently as the door
opened to admit her assistant who was carrying a large exquisite bouquet of
flowers.

“These just came for you.”
 
Tamara smiled immediately, confident that she knew who they
were from. She reached for the card, eagerly opening it and then she sank down
into her chaise lounge.

“Casey, why don’t you take the day off?” Tamara bestowed a
bright smile on her assistant.

“Oh. Thanks Tamara.” Casey all but ran from the room, such
largesse from Tamara was almost unheard of and she wasn’t hanging around for
her boss to change her mind.

As she watched Casey disappear from the room, Tamara looked
down again at the card that accompanied the flowers.
You owe me a shirt.
Bring it to dinner. San Lorenzo, Beauchamp Place, 8pm. VR.
With a whoop of delight, Tamara
jumped up, ready to face the day on set. If she played her card rights, Vassily
Romanov would ensure she never had to work again.

After
a long soak in her antique freestanding bathtub, Tamara emerged to find Casey
already waiting to wave her off. She would be late to set, but this didn’t
worry Tamara unduly, she was always late and they always waited.

           
“Someone
called Dom rang you. He didn’t leave a message.” Casey told her as they emerged
into the sunny London day.

           
“Dom,”
Tamara’s brow furrowed momentarily and then she felt a twinge of guilt. That
poor mousy storyliner didn’t know what was about to hit her. “Oh don’t worry
about him.” With a shrug of disinterest, Tamara walked towards her waiting car
as Casey followed her, carrying her Hermes Birkin handbag and the script pages
for the day.

           
“And
Damian called, a sixth time.” At this Tamara sighed. Married men were the
worst, so needy. She would have to end things with Damian. Ignoring Casey,
Tamara climbed into the back of the Black Mercedes that the broadcaster
provided to take her to and from the studio.

           
“Bruno
darling..” She cooed sweetly at her driver.

           
“Morning
Miss T.” As the driver started the engine, Tamara took the script that Casey
handed to her.

           
“Casey,
talk to the phone company, see about blocking Damian’s calls.” Casey nodded;
this wasn’t the first time that Tamara had demanded that the phone company
block a caller. “And give William, a call, tell him I need a dress tonight,
something worthy of a billionaire.”

           
“Sure
thing Tamara.” But before Casey could finish talking, Tamara had already
pressed the button to wind the window up and the car was moving off down the
small lane, past the exclusive terrace of mews houses.

           
In
the car, Tamara put on a large pair of Chanel sunglasses and leaned back,
contemplating the events of the night before. She had been working for 20 years
and she was exhausted. For now, she would have to continue to play the TV game
but the future, she’d decided, was in men like Vassily Romanov; rich men,
powerful men, the kind of men who could provide her with the life she had
always wanted. Tamara had never been the kind of girl to wait for things to
happen and she wouldn’t start waiting now.

           
Vassily
Romanov would be hers, one way or another. And with this thought she finally
picked up the script pages and began to memorize her lines for the day.

“Oh
my god!”

The squeal of shock laced with a building excitement pierced
through Alex’s inebriated fog and he looked up to see two women standing over him,
one slim and the other round and curvy. Alex had ventured out of the cosseted
luxury of the villa to explore the surrounding town, eventually settling in
this small bar, little more than a shack really, where local fishermen and
Mexican families seemed to gather to watch cable television, smoke, drink and
have dinner. There’d been few tourists to behold and it had amused Alex when
one of the locals attempted to sell him a bootlegged copy of his latest film.
He’d handed over a few dollars and bought a copy just to get to the guy to
leave him in peace.