The Bad Boys of Eden (88 page)

“God, I love America.” Blake never missed a Giants game.

Sports and alcohol aside, how do I know Fabian likes the company of other men?

Well for starters, he won’t take his dark, magnetic eyes off my GBF. Plus Fabian is superb at doing…my makeup. Regardless, I’d never stereotype a man’s sexual orientation based on how well he blends my eye-shadow to match my long-red hair and peaches-n-cream complexion while getting ready for a photo shoot. Now would I?

By the way, that’s what Fabian had said my skin looks like. Personally I think it’s more a splatter of unfortunate freckles, but I’ll take any compliment those guys give. Come to think of it, that was the only compliment I’d received from them all week.

What-the-flip-ever!

Hmmm, why do I think he’s bisexual and not a homosexual?

When Fabian applies my makeup, he often gets…an erection. Pressing his dick right up against me, he beats my face with a powder-puff. Unintentional, I presume, the erection that is, not the beating.

“Do you like your eyes to appear smoldering,
Tabby
?” he’d asked, jetting that cock around. Granted he’s always fully dressed and all. Regardless, when it’s hard, it’s visible. Ah-huh, it’s practically in 3-D. In the morning, while he’s curling my hair, I could easily rest my can of Redbull on his bulging crotch as if it were a tabletop. He might as well be naked while he beats my face. His dick jets out, pointing up, waiting for me to unzip his pants and set him free.

Yesterday he’d tested some new waterproof makeup on my face. Fabian had held my jaw with one hand, a mirror with the other, and asked, “Do you like this color,
Tabby
?”

“I love it.” I stopped correcting him and gave up on T-a-d-d-y days ago. Hell, I wanted to say, “The only thing that’s smoldering on me is the wet spot between my thighs. Who gives a flip about my eyes?” But I didn’t.

Naturally I clenched my legs together in the chair and sat there like a good mannequin. I mean—a nice model. Yes, I bit my lower lip and thought about beating him off while he beat my face ever so perfectly with cornsilk powder.

Would it be wrong of me to come out and ask Fabian to pick me or Blake? Maybe the next time we’re alone I should say, “What’ll it be? Dog or cat? Beef or fish? Ya can’t have both. Not at Taddy’s table or at Tabby’s table either.”

Purrr.

Third in this hunkiness triangle is Leon. He handles the equipment and lighting. Between the three, he’s the most gorgeous. So much so that, this morning over breakfast, Vive had admitted, “Sorry I took so long in the shower. I was having thoughts…”

“About what?” Lex had asked.

“Or whom?” I’d corrected.

“Leon. I can’t get him out of my mind. He’s so muscular, big, and sweet. I’ve never met anyone like Leon Lartique, before.”

Ain’t that the truth!

Lex had giggled, cleared her throat, and said, “Well yesterday, when I was napping, I had thoughts about Leon too.”

“Not your new boyfriend Ford?” I’d asked.

“Him too. The both of them. Together. With me in the middle. That’s why I shoved a pillow between my legs to make it stop.”

Side note, since losing her virginity recently to the hot biker cop Ford, known by the NYPD as Officer Gotti, Lex has turned into a nymphomaniac. Humping him, toys, corners of furniture, and now apparently hotel pillows.

And if we’re all gonna share wet dreams, I’d might as tell them. “While working out on the elliptical earlier, Leon crossed my mind, and I…touched myself.”

“No!”

“I honestly did.” Please, from the time we were thirteen, I’d shared a dorm room with Vive and Lex. Whether it was late in the night under the covers or when we didn’t think anyone was looking, we’d all masturbated in front of one another.

Vive’s a screamer.

Lex is a whimper.

We all knew way more about each other than we cared too. That’s why we were bonded for life. Best friends till the day we die, which may be pretty soon. I’m getting to that in a minute.

“So, we all want Leon.” Vive had summed it up.

The answer was yes. Although I couldn’t figure out if Leon was shy or arrogant. From my vantage point, both traits appeared the same.

Why did I even care? Leon was cute, I’ll give him that. But that hunk of muscle hasn’t said more than two words to me on this entire trip.

I’ve been tempted on many nights at dinner to get up, go sit on Leon’s lap, kiss his face, and let him know if he can’t talk to me with words, we can communicate with our bodies.

That’s how strong my sexual attraction to all of them had been, to the point where I was ready to pounce at any minute. These feelings had shocked the crap outta me. Hello, I’m a young lady. Couldn’t I save the pouncing for my cougar days after husband number two or three has died leaving me his vast fortunes?
Wink!

Scared I might do something stupid getting all Demi Moore in the movie
Disclosure
on their asses, I had to put all of this Gustave-Fabian-Leon-sex appeal aside and focus.

Therefore I’d told my agent Minnie Hightower, “Please don’t book me on another photo-shoot with these Parisian photographers again. I don’t care how much money
Claire La Femme
is paying me to wear couture. I’m done.”

In Miami, Minnie had sneered over the phone when we’d talked. She’d ever so elegantly condescended, “Miss Brill, you can take the bus back to Manhattan, might take you a few days. Or you can jet over to Martinique, dress expensively with a smile and get your picture taken. You decide. I have a hundred other girls waiting to take your spot. I’ll give you two seconds to make up your mind. One…two…”

And here I was, on this plane, ready for another round of the fashion extravaganza, and not the bus back to the Big Apple.

Puhlease! Minnie didn’t understand the sexual urges looming over me. She had herself a Wall Street husband and Brooklyn lover on the side. From what Lex’s mother Birdie had told me, there was also a special cattle call for her male models held every season. Apparently it took place in Minnie’s bed with her husband, and the lover.

Can you imagine?

Minnie is lucky she didn’t get hurt or poke her eye out. No wonder she pranced around the modeling agency’s office like she had something stuck up her bum. She probably was too sore to walk from the night before.

Speaking of nakedness…in our downtime, at Sobe, the men were nearly in their birthday suits all week long. Hot right? Not! Again, they ignored us. They’d acted like they didn’t speak English. I presume so they wouldn’t have to entertain us when we weren’t working. I hated that.

Three days ago, while Lex, Vive, and I were getting sunscreen at the same place I’d bought my flip-flops, Blake had asked, “Have you girls noticed whenever the sun comes up their shirts come off?” He handed the SPF over to Vive.

“Forget that. What about when the sun goes down?” Vive had sprayed one full coat of the aerosol can all over her legs before adding, “So do their pants.”

Lex had grabbed the can from Vive and said, “Well, it is like a hundred degrees outside, guys.”

“One hundred and two degrees, to be exact,” I’d corrected. Miami during the month of August was such a bad idea. The magazine shot their January winter resort holiday issue now. Who knew they worked so far in advance?

“How else do ‘ya expect them to stay cool?” Lex had admired the view from the hotel gift shop. It was of the Frenchmen in the pool.

They’d worn skimpy, European-cut bathing suits, which made their dicks stand out like diving boards.

“I swear, I’ve never been so sick and tired of staring at three men’s perfectly sculpted bodies and well-hung cocks in my entire life.” Lying through my teeth, I grabbed the lotion and exerted my frustration on the bottle.

Damn. It was empty.

“Why are you in a snit?” Lex had asked, innocently.

“Temptation and I do not work well together. You know I have no self control. Nada. Zilch. I see something I want, I take it.”

“I’m like that about dessert,” Lex had tried to make a joke about her weight. I didn’t like it when she put herself down.

“Taddy, that’s in all aspects of your life, girlie,” Vive had reminded.

“Except when it comes to men. No one can behave that way with the opposite sex.”

“Why not?” Blake had asked.

“I’ll get labeled a slut or a whore. I am neither of the two.”

“That’s sexist and unfair, nevertheless stinkin’ true.” Vive had eyed Blake up and down as if it were his fault, “Men!”

Hopefully they’d come for me. Right? That was my fantasy, being taken by all three of them. If Fabian didn’t have to pick which sex he slept with, why should I have to choose one over the other?

Luckily I’d brought my three besties with me so I wouldn’t feel outnumbered, or lonely—especially since in the eyes of Gustave, Fabian and Leon—I didn’t exist. Only with the lights on, my face made-up, and the camera snapping pics did they notice me.

WTF!

I’m not an object. I’m a girl with needs and desires. Can’t they see that? Don’t they notice how they make my pulses spin and legs shake every time I work with them?

That’s why I’d said to Minnie, “Working alongside these guys is sheer, utter torture. I’ll go to Martinique but this will be my last trip with them. I can’t do it again.”

Let’s get real, I needed the money. This gig paid a small fortune, enough to cover my entire first year of classes at Columbia and living expenses with Vive at the Sherry Netherland. Then I wouldn’t have to resort to dancing on a pole or serving chicken wings while wearing a see-through wife-beater. Not that the two jobs hadn’t crossed my mind.

The chicken joint, while loving my boobs in their uniform, had rejected my resume. No experience! The pole place had told me I wasn’t a good enough dancer to work for them. I’d cried, just a little. Being turned down for a job that you perceived as being your lowest of lows when you went to apply is, in fact, the lowest of all lows one can ever feel. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Except for maybe this airline!

Alright, onto the “c” word which rhymes with
trash
. Get that Imodium handy. Here’s the absolute shitter of shits, and I’m not joking here people….

Oh yes, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, would’ve told me that while working as a model, jetting over the Bermuda Triangle to my next location with three of the sexiest French photography crew in the world, along with my BFF, GBF, and VBF, that all seven of us, along with the fifty or so other passengers on board were going to crash…I would’ve knocked your teeth out. But we are. Any second now, Caribba Airways Flight 1728 will nosedive into the Atlantic Ocean.

Chapter Two

Candy Castle

Middle of Nowhere

It all started right after we left Miami International Airport and had reached our cruising altitude of thirty-two thousand feet.

“Come here, my furbaby.” Vive had taken her Lhaso Apso, Hedda Hopper, out of the carrying bag. She placed the pooch on her lap and did as she always does, gave it a sip of her cocktail, “Here you go, my little Hedda.”

Even though we weren’t yet twenty-one, Vive pretty much had booze on her at all times. Those are the perks of being a Farnworth Firewater liquor heiress. Vive’s family had stated on many occasions that she could legally drink in other countries and time zones why not this one?

Growling, Hedda glared up at the ceiling.

“Look guys!
Le Petit Chien
doesn’t care for champagne,” Gustave had joked, when the boys turned around to see what was going on.

On the rare occasions Gustave did make eye contact with me, I melted from the inside out—Klondike-bar style.

The dog spun around in circles. Not the playful, fun-loving kind. Oh no. Rather in the demonic way of “there’s a ghost onboard that’s going to eat us.” Hedda’s growls turned to barking. We all glanced up at the ceiling to see what the fuss was over.

I expected a dancing light coming off a mirrored cosmetics compact, or maybe a bug that had crawled out from someone’s luggage. I didn’t notice anything except the ceiling…

Bang!

“Merde,” Fabian shouted.

A two-inch rip.

Vive’s dog sensed this would happen. I didn’t know which I was more freaked out over, Hedda’s psychic ability or the fact that there was a hole in the roof of our plane. Let me say that again,
there’s a hole in the effin’ aircraft.

The tear widened to a foot.

“Fuuuck. Did you see that?” Blake shouted as other passengers got out of their seats making their way over.

A foot and a half of blue skies stared back at us. Then two frickin’ feet of sunshine beamed through.

Pandemonium spread on board.

Immediately, our cabin’s pressure decompressed. I couldn’t breathe. Not because we lost air—we did—but because my stomach flipped into my throat.

The seatbelt signs flashed. Oxygen masks fell from above.

Lex grabbed my hand. “I regret taking the Xanax to get over my fear of riding on small planes. I feel like everything is going on in slow motion or if I’m watching it happen to someone else.”

“Well, snap out of it,” I said putting the oxygen mask over her face. “It’s happening right above your seat.”

It’s just like that teen horror movie that came out last year,
Final Destination
. We started to drop from the sky. Everyone screamed.

The pilot announced, “This is your captain speaking. Due to an unforeseen rip in the ceiling, we are making an emergency landing. Listen carefully to my instructions…”

A pause was followed by what sounded like the turning of a piece of paper. Was he reading from some manual?

He continued, “Under your seat is a life jacket. Go ahead, put it on, fasten your seatbelt, lean forward, and stick your head between your knees. We’ll be landing shortly.” His phone switched off, then back on, and he muttered, “—fucking shit plane. Flight crew, prepare for a water crash. Let’s see if we can take her down in one piece.”

Frozen, we sat still for a second. Clearly, we weren’t supposed to hear that.

“Did he say water
landing
or water
crash
?” Vive sobered.

“Crash!” Blake shouted, springing to his feet. He flipped his seat cushion over and grabbed the bright yellow reflective plastic.

Next to me, Lex peed herself. Maybe over the realization we might die. Or it could be from the two Yoo-Hoos she drank before take-off to help wash down the bitter aftertaste of Xanax.

Lately, our lives as the Fab Four had pretty much carried on rather most unfabulously. Take for example the fact that I was broke, probably not going to attend college, sexually frustrated, and let’s not forget this flight to hell.

Gustave jumped over his seat and into our row. Helping Vive and Lex with their life jackets, he lifted Lex up as if she were a paper doll, which I imagine was pretty hard to do considering she’s rather curvy. After he was finished, I made sure their oxygen masks were over their faces.

My ears popped, and the engines made a loud humming noise. That sorta zinged me back a bit. Putting my vest on, I then banded the yellow plastic cup over my nose and mouth and inhaled. With a glance out the window, I noticed we were headed straight for a small island. The sign in the harbor read, “Welcome to Eden.” I blinked, we were that close to land we could read things.

Shit.

Blake’s movie star face pressed up against the yellow plastic and muttered, “Looks like Magic Kingdom.”

There was a castle on the island. In a flash, we soared right over Eden and headed back out to sea.

We buckled up. Blake shouted for everyone to sit. Jumping over the row, Gustave hunkered down. Fabian reached back for a hand, anyone’s—it didn’t matter whose. Tucking Hedda into the top of her dress, Vive grabbed onto Fabian then reached for Lex’s hand with the other. Lex grabbed my right, and I took Blake with my left. He put his hand on Gustave’s shoulder ahead of him, and Leon held on to Fabian.

Our prayer circle had formed.

“Notre Père—” Leon recited something in French, sounding Catholic.

Reflecting off the water, the sun’s rays made everything appear overexposed and translucent. Hues of pink and bright white filled the cabin. The jet seemed to skim above the ocean almost peacefully.

The plane’s heavy swaying straightened into a precise line. There was a moment of beauty where everyone on board must’ve held their breath because I heard only dead silence and Leon.

“Pardonne-nous nos offences.” His prayer got louder.

“This is it. Lean forward,” Fabian told us.

We put our heads between our legs. Fuck, the oxygen masks weren’t long enough. The cords jerked us back.

“Is this seriously happening?” dazed and still frickin’ confused, Lex asked.

The jet bounced, once, twice over the water like a skipping stone. My seat disconnected from the rest of the row. The impact shocked me. Over the sounds of shattering glass and the crunching of metal, I blurted the first thing that came to mind, “I never thought I’d die a virgin.” I’d hoped to be loved by someone special.

Then we went back up in the air as if God had heard our prayers. The engine roared. The gash in the ceiling quadrupled. It was a flipping convertible. Debris flew everywhere. I could barely see but noticed items being sucked out.

First a roller bag flew out the hole. Smacking the edges, it tore the gap wider.

Then a few extra life vests followed.

Suddenly the aircraft started to make a sharp turn.

“What’s the pilot doing?” I asked Blake, trying to see out the window.

“Landing on the water near the island.”

We climbed higher in the air. People shouted at each other to stay seated.

“Je vous aime, les gars,” Fabian professed his feelings for his buds as if it was the end.

The sun which had been on our left now shined on the right.

Without warning, Vive removed her mask. Leaning down, she kissed Hedda behind the ears and gave the dog her oxygen. In Vive’s eyes, I didn’t see fear as I expected. She unbuckled her seatbelt and handed Hedda to Lex.

Did Vive want to die?

Lex threw her arms over Vive, trying to get her to buckle up as Vive screamed she wanted to go.

Go where exactly?

“Taddy!” Blake shouted as the wing next to his seat caught fire. The window melted. We were going to burn.

My detached seat gave. The jet continued to climb. “Lex!” Like a vacuum I was sucked out that damn hole.

Someone grabbed my ankle.

That was the last thing I remembered.

* * *

Did I die? I must’ve.

Next thing I knew I was back on West 74th St. and Central Park West. I was home with my parents at the San Remo apartment building. Maybe five years old or so. This was a happier time for my family and me. No fighting. No DNA test. Dad didn’t have doubts as to who I was other than his daughter.

Sitting on the floor in the den, I wore a crimson dress, one of my favorites. Mom had made it for me.

Dad and Mom sat across from Lex and me.

Lex and her parents had lived in the apartment building too. So did Donna Karan and Steven Spielberg.

Lex chewed on a piece of gum and studied the board game. She’d been staying with me while her parents filmed a rocker movie in Los Angeles for the last month.

We played a second round of Candy Land.

“Daddy it’s your turn to go.” Pointing to the deck of cards, I realized my speech was childlike but, in my head, I thought as an adult.

Glancing around the oak-paneled room in awe, I’d forgotten how much Mom had decorated the place back then. She’d cared how the place looked. How we’d lived as a family.

We’d often had people over. They’d entertained, celebrated life and living here. My parents had truly loved each other back then. Till all the lies floated to the surface and shattered everything I once knew, including who I was and where I’d come from.

“Alright, Tabitha,” Dad smiled at me warmly. He drew an orange card and moved his gingerbread piece to the corresponding spot.

“My turn,” I said, noticing I was close to the Candy Castle. I pulled a card. “Pink!”

Lex popped her bubblegum and said, “You move to the lollipop forest.” She clapped her hands with excitement.

I pushed my gingerbread figure past the chocolate mountains. The game was all based on chance. There were no puzzles to solve. No player was better than the other. The deck of cards dictated every move.

Looking back on it now, in a way, Candy Land played the players. All we had to do was show up and follow along. If only adult life were this simple.

“Looks like you may win the second round, Tabitha,” my mother encouraged. With a petite nose and high cheekbones, her facial features were striking. That was before Mom’s ugliness showed, before her mental illness and booze took over.

“Anyone can win, Mommy. You’re up next.”

She paused for a minute. “How about for Halloween we make you a Princess Lolly costume?” Mom reached across for a card. “I’ll sew it myself.”

Lex glared at me as if she was being left out. Her mother, a music icon, never had time to play dress-up with us unless it was on stage or for one of her music videos.

“Will you make Lex a Queen Frostine costume? Then we can go together.” I looked out for my bestie even when we were kids.

“I don’t see why not.” Mom glanced over at Lex and asked, “Is that what you want, Alexandra?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, then it’s all settled. Tabitha will go as Princess Lolly in red. Alexandra can be Queen Frostine. Oh…I have just the icy blue fabric for it too. We’re going to have one sweet Halloween, girls.”

“Yay!” Lex and I got to our feet and jumped around, cheering to the idea of our new costumes.

The crystal chandelier above us shook.

Any second no,w I expected Mrs. Yves Bucheron to come up the penthouse elevator in a snit yapping for us to stop making noise. Lex and I were always getting in trouble. This building wasn’t made for kids or any type of excitement.

“I’ll start on the dress patterns tomorrow.” Mom admired us for a minute then moved her piece.

“A queen and a princess,” Dad said. “I love you girls.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

“Taddy,” a stranger, called out to me from another room, another place. Whoever it was addressed me by my adult name. They clearly weren’t in this study. I didn’t go by Taddy till after I was emancipated.

Not wanting this moment to end, I ignored the voice and hoped to stay a few minutes longer. I felt as if I floated on a sea of Cotton Candy. “I love Candy Land. Anyone can win. All you have to do is play.” I repeated.

“Taddy, wake up,” the strange voice spoke again.

“Just follow the rules—” Wait. I squinted. The sun, it was burning my skin.

Sitting up, I realized I wasn’t at the San Remo. My parents weren’t in my life. Lex didn’t sit at my side. However, I floated. Just not on a spun-pink web of cotton candy. Nope. More like in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

In horror, I grabbed at my hemline and caught site of the airline’s logo. I sat on a piece of the plane. My flip-flops were long gone.

“Lex!” I shouted. Tears saltier than the water surrounding me swelled from within.

“Blake.” I wiped my eyes. Coughing up sea, I tried to get control of my emotions. Otherwise I’d choke. I shouted my best friend’s names again and again. Inhaling through my nose, I screamed so loud I thought my tonsils would fly out of my throat, “Viveca Farnworth!!!”