Vanity (40 page)

‘Hi, Dan. Um – why are you here?'

In response, Dan walked towards her, took her face in his hands, and started to kiss her. Oh, God, it felt so good, so right. She responded enthusiastically, her hands stroking the back of his neck, as if of their own accord.

After a few seconds, he pulled back from her, gazing into her eyes with his intense, dark green ones.

‘Please don't turn me down again, Sambo. I'm a proper rock star now, you know. I've even got a motorbike.'

Sam laughed shakily at this.

‘Some people would think I'm a pretty good catch.'

‘But … but … What about Carlota?'

‘Oh, Carlota's a great girl. She's been fun, and it was bloody brilliant for my image to be seen with her …'

‘Yeah, I know.' Sam hadn't intended the words to sound quite so bitter.

‘But it's over. It wasn't fair on her. I wasn't really that into it, and she deserves better.'

‘Why?' Sam's heart was beating faster again.

‘Because I couldn't get this pretty little clever clogs out of my head.'

Sam thought her heart might burst.

‘Me?'

‘Yes, of course you, you idiot!'

They stood there, gazing at each other for a few more seconds, in her parents' hallway, just by the front door.

‘Listen, Sambo. I've got to head back up North tomorrow, for family Christmas stuff, but I don't want to leave you like this. Any chance you can come back to Dalston with me tonight?'

Sam thought for a second. She'd done all her Christmas shopping, and already wrapped the presents, which were sitting under the tree in all their shiny paper and bows.

‘Try keeping me away,' she said, smiling up at him.

The ride on the motorbike through the snow had been both exhilarating, and an enormous turn-on, as she felt the throb of the engine between her legs.

Now, though, they were back in Dan's bedroom in the Crack Den. They had shed their clothes as soon as they got in, and were standing naked, kissing and groping, happy and excited beyond belief.

‘I've missed you, Sambo,' said Dan, between kisses. ‘God, how I've missed you.'

‘I've missed you too.' Sam kissed him back with puppy-like enthusiasm. ‘Are you sure you really want me, over a
supermodel
?'

‘As I said, Carlota was great.' Sam didn't particularly enjoy hearing this. ‘But she wasn't you.' She did enjoy hearing this.

Dan lay down on his back on the mattress on the floor, pulling Sam on top of him. Naked, he was pale and lean, but strong, with a broad chest and shoulders and those long, long legs. His cock was rock hard as she lowered herself onto it.

As Sam felt it filling her up, she gasped. Then she rode it and rode it, rocking her hips and leaning backwards, supporting herself with the tips of her fingers on his flat belly. Dan reached out to touch her pussy and she started to shake, violently.

‘Oh, my God, you're beautiful,' said Dan, gazing up at her lovely young face, her back arched in ecstasy, those incredible tits; at her tiny waist and slim thighs astride his cock.

As he felt the first of her spasms, with an almighty groan, Dan came too.

‘Happy Christmas Eve Eve,' said Sam after a bit.

‘Ditto, you.' Dan squeezed his arms more tightly around her.

Sam thought that she was probably the luckiest girl in the world.

After a bit, Dan said, ‘One thing, though. Can you please stop that bloody glamour modelling? I can look after you, and I hate to think of those disgusting photographers leching over you, all those horrible girls bitching about you.'

‘I—' Sam started.

‘Besides, it's a bit of a cliché for a rock star to be going out with a glamour model.' Dan leant back on the bed, his head resting on his arms.

‘What, and a rock star going out with a supermodel isn't?' Sam laughed.

‘Oh, all right, touché!' Dan laughed too.

‘Anyway, you needn't worry. I've stopped already. Sienna finally made me realize how stubborn I was being, not to accept a loan from her. We drew up a proper contract, and I'm going to pay her back properly, in instalments and with interest, as soon as I've got a job. I've already been offered an internship over next year's summer holidays, and it would just be stupid to miss out on that because of bloody modelling.'

Dan leant over and kissed her again. ‘Would you think it was really uncool if I said I loved you?'

‘I'd think it was really uncool if you didn't.'

Poppy gazed at Damian's dark sleeping head, displayed to good effect against the plump pillows and crisp white sheets of their quirky little Shoreditch House bedroom. They were staying in London for a few days before going to spend Christmas with Damian's large, rowdy family in Wales. They planned to pick up Poppy's mother on Christmas Eve, after the three of them had had ‘Christmas lunch' with Poppy's father in his dementia care home. It was better this way: leaving the home these days rendered him incoherent with fear, and they would make it as festive as they could, with presents and crackers and King's College Cambridge on the CD player in his room. The little details that reminded her and her mother (and to a tiny extent, they hoped, her father) of past Christmases were probably the most heartbreaking, Poppy thought.

The Shoreditch House rooms, with cool and commend
able honesty, were classed as ‘Tiny'
,
‘Small' and ‘Small
+', and they had gone for a ‘Small+', which had a little balcony looking out over the rooftops of East London, wooden shutters and Scandinavian-inspired tongue-and-groove panelling on the walls. Everything was white, except for a raspberry-pink cashmere blanket that had fallen onto the floor as they'd slept. Feeling suddenly chilly as she saw the snow falling outside, Poppy picked it up and wrapped it around both herself and her sleeping husband.

Her heart tightened as she thought how close she'd come to losing him. She was never going to take him for granted again, that was for sure.

Poppy had been far more shaken than she'd let on about catching him snogging little Juanita. She had never had cause to be jealous of anybody or anything in her charmed life, and it wasn't an experience she relished. Finally
,
she'd understood how Damian must have felt when he'd had his suspicions about both Ben
and
Jack Meadows.

After finding Damian at La Hacienda, Lars and Bella had stayed on in Albuquerque for a couple of days, until Bella, missing Andy enormously, had managed to get a flight back to London. Lars was happy to drive the Cadillac back to New York, but this time was going to take the scenic route, he'd said, laughing. Poppy hoped he hadn't found it too lonely. She loved Lars to bits, and knew that she owed him one, massively.

Deciding she needed to take her wifely duties seriously, Poppy had declared that she and Damian were going to take advantage of the New Agey nature of New Mexico
,
to dry out for a bit, eat healthily (God
,
did she need it after their revolting diet during the road trip), embark on a journey of yoga, meditation and whatever other hippy practices they could lay their hands on, and get to know one another all over again. Sober. It had worked. They had driven out into the desert, gazed at spectacular sunsets and actually talked properly for probably the first time since they'd moved to the States – Poppy having been so all-consumed with her new career, and Damian with both resentment and booze.

During one of their trips into the desert, Ben had called Poppy to tell her what had happened with Natalia. Even Damian had been impressed.

‘Can I call him back?' he'd asked, once Poppy had told him about Ben's unlikely heroics, and Poppy had handed him her phone, hoping against hope that everything would be OK.

‘Ben? It's Damian. I was your best friend, if you remember, before you decided to shag my wife …'

Oh, fuck, Poppy had thought.

‘Yeah, yeah, I know she wasn't my wife at the time …' Pretty crass thing for Ben to be pedantic about, Poppy had thought. Clearly, Ben had realized this too, as Damian had started to smile, looking as if he was feeling a bit better about himself. ‘OK, enough with the apologies. I still think you're a cunt. But I do think I should give you credit for saving Natalia's life. She's an extraordinary woman. Er – well done, mate.'

Having hung up, Damian had said to Poppy, ‘You know what? I think I want to see him now. Him, and Jack Meadows, if that can be arranged …?'

‘Um, yes, I'm sure it can,' Poppy had said. ‘Are you going to tell me why?'

‘Because if everything you say is true, I want to see you with both the vain cunts, just to put my mind at rest. See what they're like around you. Surely, you can give me that, Pops?'

Of course she could give him that (she had nothing to hide, after all), and together they had driven all the way to LA – the originally intended final destination.

And they'd all got on just fine. It was obvious to Damian that Ben was completely besotted with Natalia. And now that he wasn't blinded by jealousy, he could see that Jack was a thoroughly decent sort of chap, too. If he'd fancied Poppy to start with (and who could blame him, really?), he now did seem to respect the fact that she was off-limits as a married woman. And Filthy and Heather, Jack's parents, had welcomed him with open arms, which had been bloody brilliant, he'd had to admit. Filthy Meadows was a legend, after all.

Now Poppy's phone rang from the white-painted wicker bedside table.

JACK MEADOWS
came up on the screen. She didn't know any other Jacks, but it was pretty fucking cool to have a film star stored in her contacts list. Surely anybody, given half the chance, would have stored him under his full name?

‘Hey, Poppy,' he started.

‘Hey, Jack. Um … does this mean you've read it?' She looked at the time on her phone: 9.35 a.m. It was half-past one in the morning in LA.

‘I've read it, and I love it! In fact, I couldn't put it down, which is why I'm calling you at this ungodly hour.' Poppy could hear him smiling down the phone. ‘Can I speak to Damian now?'

‘Oh, my God, that's amazing! Yes, wait a sec, I'll just wake him up …'

At the other end of the phone, Jack laughed as he heard Poppy trying to rouse her husband.

‘Darling, darling, sweetheart, darling, wake up, wake up, wake up, you've got a phone call …'

‘Urgh …?' Damian opened his eyes groggily.

‘Just take the call!' Impatiently, Poppy shoved her phone at him.

Unbeknownst to her husband, she'd given Jack a photocopy of Damian's screenplay, under the condition that if he thought it was rubbish it must never be mentioned again. She had just known that Damian wouldn't have agreed to her helping like that, but thought that he might, just about, accept it as a
fait accompli
.

‘What?' Damian said, sitting up naked in the pink-and-white bed. ‘She did
wha
t
?'

Poppy decided not to look at him until he'd heard Jack out. She got out of bed and stared out at the snow, falling even more thickly now, giving Damian a good view of her perfect little bottom.

After hanging up, Damian walked over to Poppy and put his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shiny blonde head.

‘You went behind my back and showed my screenplay to Jack Meadows …' he started slowly.

‘Oh, don't be cross; please, don't be cross,' Poppy babbled, turning round to face him. But as she did she saw that his face was wreathed in smiles.

‘He loves it, Pops! He loves it! He wants to turn it into a major motion picture! He has huge clout with the studios – everything he touches turns to gold. Just think … Jack Meadows starring in
my
movie!'

Poppy thought that now wasn't the time to remind him that he'd once referred to Jack as a ‘gobshite son-of-a-rock-star twat'. Instead, she jumped up and down, clapping and laughing. ‘Yippee, yippee, yippee!'

‘Does this mean I'm forgiven?' she asked, after a bit.

‘You've got a bloody nerve, young lady; but, yes, this time I'd say you're forgiven.'

And Damian took his wife by the hand and led her back to bed.

In another hotel room the other side of town, Ben and Natalia were just stirring.

Ben had booked the ridiculously decadent and romantic Round Bed room in the Portobello Hotel, the one where Johnny Depp had shared a champagne bath with Kate Moss. The muslin-draped bed was indeed round, and an antique Victorian bathing machine, equipped with all manner of intriguing-looking hosing devices, took pride of place in the open-plan en suite bathroom.

‘Hello, Mr Movie Star,' said Natalia, smiling lazily.

‘Hello, Ms Beautiful.'

Ben leant over and started to kiss her. Her lips parted and soon they were writhing about together, each lost in the other's warm, human, sexual self. Natalia ran her hand through Ben's silky hair, then let it drift down his beautifully muscled body until she found his cock. Already, there was a tiny droplet of semen on the end of it.

‘Oh, God,' she whispered, using it to moisten her fingertips and run them up and down the shaft. ‘Oh, my God.' She still couldn't believe that this beautiful, beautiful man was all hers.

Ben moaned, pushing her back onto the bed so he could play with her breasts and kiss her nipples, which were now stiff and sensitive to even the merest whisper of wind. He nipped one with his teeth and she gasped again.

‘Oh, Ben …' Natalia tried to reach for his cock again, but he drew away from her, smiling into her eyes.

‘Wait, my darling. Just wait. It'll be worth it.'