Remember My Name
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 restart 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 rise 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 longue.
“You can go.” Tamara bestowed a bright smile on her assistant, waving her away, her focus on the flowers.
“Oh. Thanks, Tamara.”
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 cards right, 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 twenty 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 memorise her lines for the day.
CHAPTER 4
“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 the guy to leave him in peace.
These two women were the first non-Mexicans he’d seen in the bar since he’d been coming there.
“Oh my God.” The tall slim one breathed the words again, more quietly this time. “You’re Alex Golden.” Alex forced himself to focus on them and he readjusted his initial impression. They were young, hardly more than girls. The curvy one stood back, allowing her slim blonde friend to do the talking. Alex swayed slightly as he rose to his feet, with the trademark smile that he’d perfected over the years. He leaned close to the girl.
“Shush,” he said. “That’s our little secret.” The girl seemed to be holding her breath, her eyes drilling into him as they stood toe to toe. Alex stared at her flawless youthful skin. She was tall, he realised, able almost to stare straight into his eyes. He smiled again as unthinkingly he laid his hand on her shoulder, to give her a reassuring pat. He’d grown used to this over the years; young girls, women and sometimes even men, who looked ready to faint at the sight of him. Sometimes it still amused him but now craving anonymity, he simply wanted them to get their picture and go. The hand on her shoulder seemed to reanimate the girl and she turned to her friend and then back to Alex.
“Can we get a picture?” she asked. Alex heard the twang of the American Midwest in her surprisingly husky voice.
“Sure,” he replied, and the girls immediately stepped either side of him. One of the Mexican fishermen quickly obliged, taking the photo with a knowing wink at Alex that made him realise that perhaps he had not been quite as incognito as he’d thought.
“Thanks,” the blonde girl said. Her dark-haired friend smiled shyly at Alex, chiming in with her own thanks. Relieved, he sank back down into his seat, watching as the girls wound their way through the tables and chairs and out of the bar. He would finish this beer and then head back to the villa. But before he’d taken even one sip of his rapidly warming beer, he felt a shadow once again fall across him. He looked up; it was the blonde girl again.
The unfocused desire he’d seen in her eyes had crystallised now into intent. Alex watched her idly. She really was stunning. Her face was free of make-up and those legs, which seemed to go on forever, were encased in the briefest of khaki shorts that revealed slim tanned thighs. How old could she be? Youthful innocence seemed to shine off her but Alex wasn’t fooled, he’d met too many starlets, pin-ups and porn stars that channelled that same look. He watched her silently, curious about how far she would go. What had she done with the friend, he wondered? Slowly she leaned down until her chin was level with his and she stared into his eyes. No doubt she knew that he had a direct view down the thin white vest that she wore. He could see her small breasts, which hung free under the thin tank top. She stared at him and against his will he found his interest stirring. It was two days since Isabella had left in a fury, finally realising that she was on her way out. The fact that Page Six had run a story about his fling with her Pilates instructor had been the final straw. There had been righteous anger and indignation but no tears and certainly no begging; Alex admired Isabella for that. She’d packed her bags and simply left. Though he’d got the outcome that he wanted, Alex suddenly realised the truth of that statement that women bandied about: There’s no better way to get over someone than to get under someone else. Not that he needed to get over Isabella but being in this hot, steamy climate without anyone in his bed was a less than satisfactory outcome. He stared at the coltish blonde, watching the desire in her eyes grow.
“It’s not every day…” she pouted and then stopped, biting her lip nervously. He decided to take pity on her.
“It’s not every day…?” he questioned lightly, watching as a flush of colour flooded her cheeks. Their eyes connected in a shock of electricity. The girl took a deep breath and expelled it.
“It’s not every day that you walk into the man who stars in all your sexual fantasies.” She might not be an innocent but there was a nervous naivety about her that Alex liked. She didn’t do this every day and the last words had been whispered out in a rush of embarrassment. Her face was red, as though saying the words had over-exerted her. She watched him with a mixture of hope and fear and defiance and Alex suddenly wanted very much to see how badly she wanted to play. He rose abruptly and she backed away like a skittish horse but his arm shot out to pull her back towards him.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We’ll see about turning some of those fantasies into reality.” She swayed close to him as though waiting for a kiss, perhaps to seal the deal. Alex stared at her pink lips for a moment and then he turned his back on her, hearing the sigh of frustration on her lips, knowing that she fell into step behind him. She’d get what she wanted and more besides, but only when he was ready.
Alex woke with the beginnings of a hangover as brilliant sunshine slashed into the bedroom. He was sprawled on the floor, on a thick rug next to the bed. He stretched the kink out of his neck as the night before flooded back. He moved gingerly as the girl next to him stirred before settling back into her deep sleep. Alex had been right about her, what innocence she might once have had was long gone and the wide-eyed enthusiasm that had bounced off her was probably brought on by her happiness at the good luck that had thrown her into the path of a movie star. Her name was Nikki, she was from Chicago and she and her friend, whose name now slipped his mind, were travelling after their freshman year at college. After her initial shyness, the words had tripped off Nikki’s tongue. She’d talked non-stop until Alex had shut her up by sticking his tongue practically down her throat. Most of what she’d said had left his mind even as she was still speaking. She was pretty, there was no denying that; almost model pretty. Alex rose silently to his feet and walked towards the shower. He wasn’t one for talking in the morning and he hoped she’d get the message and get the hell out once she was awake.
Alex stepped into the opulent shower, which Milo had proudly told him could fit an entire basketball team. He allowed the pulsing hot water to beat down on him and then he flicked the dial to cold, to pound away the hangover that threatened. These last ten days, Alex had drunk, smoked and eaten with impunity and he grimaced as he imagined what Seth and Maryanne, his nutritionist and personal trainer, would think when they next clapped eyes on him. The water cascaded down his taut, lean body, which showed little of the week’s excesses but merely OK was not good enough for Alex. For the man who had held the crown of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive for three of the last six years, his physique had to be god-like. Alex switched the water off. Still naked, he padded towards the living room, drying his hair, when the sound of the television stopped him short. The friend, he remembered. He secured the small towel around his hips and moved forward to see that Nikki’s friend lay on the couch, the remote control in her hand as she zipped through the channels.
Last night he’d been surprised when she’d turned up after Nikki. Their intended guesthouse had been fully booked apparently, and Nikki had asked him if her friend could stay. Alex had briefly wondered if this was some sort of ploy that would end up in a threesome but the friend had disappeared into the living room and stayed there. Now she turned as she spotted Alex at the end of the sofa. Alex saw her eyes widen as she took in the brief towel around his hips, which left little to the imagination.
“I’m, I’m…” she stuttered. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” She flicked the TV off, looking anywhere but at him.
“It’sOK, I was up anyway.” Alex gave her a small smile, watching as she tried to reach for the blanket, which had fallen off the couch. Seeing her now clad only in a bra and a sarong, he realised that he’d misjudged her the night before. By Hollywood standards, she was big, there was no denying that, but rather than fat, her body was full and voluptuous like that of a pin-up from the forties. As though sensing his scrutiny of her body, she sat up abruptly, her breasts threatening to spill out of the plunging balconette bra, which barely concealed the heavy mounds of flesh. “I hope we didn’t keep you up, last night.” The desire to see her blush rose up in Alex and he watched as her cheeks reddened.
“It’s fine.”
He noted that she didn’t deny that they’d kept her up. He wondered if that was the deal; that she got off on listening. She rose to her feet and swung the sarong fully about her body, covering up those magnificent breasts much to his irritation.
“I guess you must get a load of girls throwing themselves at you.”
Alex shrugged. He moved towards the kitchen, hearing her feet on the stone floor as she slowly followed him. From somewhere in the room he heard the insistent metallic chiming of his phone vibrating. The girl cocked her head as she listened and then she reached up to one of the bookshelves, picking the phone up to hand it to Alex.
“Do you want this?” Taking the phone from her, Alex glanced at the display and then shook his head, depressing the call reject button.
“It can wait. Coffee?” he asked. She nodded as she reknotted the sarong around her neck in a style that cupped her breasts, crossing over her chest, leaving the rest of the sarong to fall to just above her knees.
“When Nikki wakes up, I guess we’ll get out of your hair.” Alex had barely noticed her the night before but now, objectively, he noted that she had a pretty face, prettier than her friend. The softness of her cheeks only served to accentuate the wide generous curve of the self-deprecating smile that she gave now. With some surprise, Alex noted that she wasn’t nervous with him. Cautious yes but she’d met his gaze head on; there was a confidence about her that was so often lacking in the women he met.
“So what’s a nice girl like you doing backpacking…” He trailed off as the snort of laughter escaped her and she covered her mouth with her hand. He smiled ruefully. “Can’t believe I said that.”
“A little bit clichéd,” she agreed.
“Right.” Alex nodded. It was, he realised in a blinding flash of insight, the first time in years that anyone had told him the truth. His usual crowd in LA would laugh at his joke no matter how lame it was. “I’m sorry, what was your…” He trailed off, embarrassed to admit that last night he’d been much more interested in getting into Nikki’s pants than in remembering her friend’s name.
“Oh right. Deanna.” She nodded, unsurprised.
“I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names,” Alex felt moved to explain.
“Don’t worry about it.” Deanna smiled at him without censure. “I’m used to it, people tend to forget everything when Nikki’s around.” She seemed genuine in her words and yet Alex felt like a heel. This girl seemed nice, real, and he wished somehow that he were a different kind of man, that he had seen past her lush, unfashionable curves and seen the prettiness in her face and the easy femininity. He wished he’d not fucked her friend in her earshot.
“Here.” Alex handed her the mug of coffee and together they moved back to Milo’s oversized white Versace sofa. “You two are at college together?”
Deanna nodded as she sipped from the mug. “Yep, I’m studying English Literature, with French.”
“Ah oui?” Alex smiled at her. “Have you been to Paris?” She shook her head.
“Not yet but that’s the plan, to go to Europe, if I don’t blow all my money here.” She reached for the remote and began to flick through the TV channels again. Alex shifted easily to his feet.
“I’ll go check on Nikki,” he said still watching her. She nodded as she watched the tickertape of reports that scrolled along the bottom of a news channel.
Something about her bothered him and for a moment he watched her, the sunlight picking out stray wisps of gold in her curly dark hair. It was a long time since any woman had spoken to him without an agenda, and he wondered how she and Nikki could be best friends. How two such utterly different people had come together. There was a quiet, wholesome caution about Deanna; she was the type of girl, Alex imagined, that one could count on. By contrast Nikki, beautiful as she was, simply wasn’t the real deal. Nikki was like every starlet, every model, every wannabe, every scenester that had ever crossed his path in his years in Hollywood. Nikki was one of those girls who played the game – who danced like everyone was watching, who fucked like there was a camera on them, who lived every moment like it was a money shot.
“What?” Her question broke into his internal musings and Alex realised that he’d been standing there staring at Deanna. “Is there something on my face?” She looked quizzically at him and he realised that he’d moved to stand almost in front of her, looking down at her. She rose slowly as he spoke.
“You’re a nice girl,” he said and she looked oddly at him, cautious as she stared up into his eyes.
“Some people say that nice girls wind up with nothing.” She said the words carefully, watching as he leaned in close and kissed her. She was still for a moment and then she pulled his head down towards her. Her mouth opened beneath his and she pushed her tongue deep into his mouth, even as his hands grabbed at her fleshy hips to pull her tight against him. His hand moved higher to her waist, which was unexpectedly slim, tiny even. He pulled her against him, grinding his erection into the soft curves of her stomach. His hands slid slowly down to grab and knead the lush curves of her bottom and he deepened the kiss. Even as he fell into her, surrounded by her unexpected spell, he felt her pulling away from him. He tightened his grip but she pulled harder and reluctantly he let her go. Now she looked embarrassed, her eyes darting away.
“Does it happen all the time? Girls falling at your feet.”
Alex smiled at her, unsure of what to say, surprised that she’d been the one to call time on their kiss.
“Sometimes. A lot,” he admitted wryly as he pushed his hand through his hair. She smiled slowly at him. “But,” he continued, “you didn’t fall at my feet.” Deanna stared unblinkingly at him before she spoke.
“Doesn’t it get boring?” She asked the question seriously, expecting an answer from him. And for the first time, Alex considered the question, he considered his life in LA, and for the first time in ten years he answered honestly.
“Yeah, it gets really boring.” Deanna nodded as though something she’d always thought had been confirmed. “But…” And now Alex trailed off. Deanna continued to stare at him, waiting for him to finish the sentence. “But sometimes, it’s just easy, convenient to say yes.” Alex stared into the deep brown eyes and recoiled at the pity he saw in her eyes. He was Alex Golden, superstar, who was she to pity him? And yet as she stared unflinchingly at him, he knew she had seen past the glamour.
“I’d better get Nikki, so you can get on with…” She trailed off, already heading into the bedroom to find her friend.
Alex watched her go and a wave of melancholy spun through him. That one kiss had laid bare the truth that he had so assiduously ignored. He was bored. He’d been coasting now for so long that he no longer remembered what it felt like to be fully engaged with anything. And more than anything he didn’t want to get on with stuff, not the way they’d been. Things, he realised, would have to change.