The Modeliser (32 page)

“Where are you going?” He asked. Alex’s tone was quietly
mocking, his voice still rough and husky with sleep. Talia closed her eyes, as
though that might get her out of the situation. Alex didn’t wait for her to
respond. “Morning,” he continued, lightly jumping out of bed to walk to the
window, where he drew the curtains wide open. Talia gasped as she caught a raw
and unadulterated look of Alex Golden naked with a morning erection big enough
to make her eyes water. "Actually, it's afternoon really," he said
glancing at the clock.

“Get away from the window,” Talia squealed. And Alex turned
back to her laughing. “Seriously there could be photographers, old ladies,
children…” Alex continued to smile but at least he moved away from the window
and any potentially prying eyes.

“You want me back in bed,” he stated moving towards the bed,
his eyes darkening as he took in her exposed breasts, the bed-sheet now twisted
around her waist. Talia froze as their eyes met. She gulped and blinked. She
could not allow herself to be drawn back in. The situation was running away
from her. She would have to be firm. With a deep breath, she moved the sheet
aside and stepped out of the bed. Moving as casually as she could even as her
heart beat rapidly and embarrassment flooded through her, Talia moved across
the room to grab a towel, which she knotted around her. She turned back to face
Alex and found he was right in front of her, was pulling her into his arms to
nuzzle at her neck.

“Look Alex…” Talia said twisting away from him whilst keeping
a firm grip on the towel. “ Last night was….” Talia trailed off.

“Last night was…?” Alex prompted.

“Last night was amazing. You made me feel...” And now she
trailed off, watching the smile spread across Alex’s face as once again, he
moved towards her. Talia put her hand out against his chest to stop him coming
any further. “But it was completely out of character for me and I think, it’s
best if we keep it a one time thing,” she finished in a rush.

“What?” Alex practically roared and Talia winced as a dart of
pain pulsed through her temple.
 
“Why?” Talia stared at him.

“Look Alex, this might be normal to you but I’m not cut out
for this. And what happens when the next supermodel turns up or you head back
to LA. I’m an ordinary girl and last night was great but let’s not make this
something it’s not,” she finished quietly. A pulse beat in Alex’s jaw and a
look passed fleetingly across his face, the shadowed expression gone before
Talia could really analyse what it meant. For a moment she wondered if she’d
been too harsh with him but she shook the thought off as Alex shot her a
trademark high wattage smile. Of course she hadn’t hurt Alex, she’d simply said
things that no doubt he would have been saying to her soon enough. Any
irritation on his part was simply because she’d beaten him to the punch.

“Well I’m glad I gave you a… memorable experience,” Alex
replied as he turned away moving towards the bed to pick up his trousers. Talia
wondered why she felt so bad but she shook the feeling off; Alex would be fine,
it was her who would wind up getting hurt.

“I’ve got to have a shower,” she said. He didn’t answer. And
Talia walked out of the room even as a feeling of dread settled in her stomach.

“It
wasn’t about you.”

Gabe whispered the words urgently as they walked towards the
First Class lounge at the Eurostar terminal at Gare Du Nord station. It was the
first time they’d been alone since she had discovered him and Sula together and
Helena speared him with a cold glance.

“You’re telling me,” she drawled the words not bothering to
hide the disinterest, which radiated off her like a protective shield.

“Look Helena, I just want to explain,” Gabe tried again.
Helena glanced at him and shrugged.

“You were in bed with my mother, I’d say it was fairly self
explanatory,” she replied coolly. Gabe flinched and Helena looked away, she
wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

“When I was a boy I saw your father’s photograph – the
one of Sula taken on the Kings Road and I was blown away. Your father is why I
became a photographer. I was obsessed with him, his work, his methods, his
muse…” Gabe trailed off and Helena stared at him as she took in his words. And
then she began to laugh. It was a low, hoarse laugh. Helena would not allow
herself to get mad.

“The ultimate fanatic. Just another fanboy.” She drawled. “You
admire my father so much, so what better way to have a piece of him than to
screw his muse. And no doubt my dear mother was very obliging. What was I? A
little appetiser?” Gabe paled at Helena’s words and she watched him almost
dispassionately. What a deluded fool, she thought but still the desire to burn
him rose up in her, the desire to inflict some damage before she cut him loose.

“You know when we cleared out my grandfather’s house, we
found my father’s things – his notebooks, unpublished prints, all his
sketches and of course his Leica camera….” Helena watched the spark of interest
in Gabe’s eyes – god he really was a desperate groupie. “Think about how
amazing it would be, to see all of that,” Helena said. “But I doubt Alex would
ever allow the archive to be made public and especially not to you after what
I’m going to tell him.”

Gabe
gaped at her and Helena could have laughed.

“Helena,” he finally gasped. And she spun around to face him.

“Your film was a critical success but it made nothing at the
box office. I think the distributor called it “spectacularly un-commercial”, so
I think it’s safe to say you’re no Tom Ford, which is why you’ve come running
back to fashion.” Helena stared hard at Gabe and wondered what she had seen in
him. He was beautiful, it’s true but now, viewing him dispassionately, she
could see his weak chin, the grasping look in his eye that marked him out as
just another desperate social climber. She rocked back on her heels not hiding
the curl of contempt on her lips as she watched him squirm. “You know Alex
knows the editor on your film. What was it he said…the rushes were shit and
basically he re-made that film from scratch in the editing room.” Her words
were cold and incisive and she saw Gabe pale, this was one story that Gabe
would never want to be made public. Poor stupid man. Helena turned on her heel
and moved towards the waiting train. By the time she took her seat, she was
smiling. A weight that she had always carried had been lifted; finally she had
found closure and a sense too that there were new beginnings for her to seize.
No longer would she hide her light, no longer would she tiptoe and try to hide
in Sula’s shadow. From now on she would strike out and find her own glory, her
mother be damned.

Three
days after the story broke, Tamara had still not turned on her phone. William
had come by and Katie had been on hand daily with supplies but the one person
conspicuous by his absence had been Vassily. Whenever the story threatened to
die down, some other make up artist or gaffer or director, the many nobodies
who kept a set running – one of the many she had crushed without thought
over the years, one of these minions would emerge with some story about
Tamara’s cruelty, Tamara’s avarice, Tamara’s contempt for her fellow man.
Through the Internet she had learned that Damian had been suspended pending an
investigation by the broadcaster and from that moment, Tamara had known the end
was near. The call when it came had been short, her agent had been informed, by
the broadcaster, that Tamara’s contract would be terminated, her character
written out within weeks. Tamara had taken the news in silence and a calm had
descended upon her. She had been at rock bottom once before she reasoned; she
would claw her way back.

“You’ll be back,” Katie had said.

“You were too fabulous for that show anyway,” William added.
And Tamara had nodded but even to her the words rang hollow. She was a woman
deep into her thirties and this business was a young girl’s game, she knew
that.

Days later, she found herself outside Vassily’s Chelsea home
late on a weeknight. She had stolen out of her house under cover of darkness, a
Trilby hat pulled low on her head, her blonde hair tucked away. She had no idea
whether he was home, whether he would even see her but she was desperate and
for the first time in a long time, Tamara opened herself up to the possibility
of rejection. She heard the sound of moving footsteps inside the house and then
the door was opened by Vassily himself. His look was cold and Tamara shivered
inside her thin coat. Perhaps coming hadn’t been such a good idea.

“You didn’t return my calls,” he accused. And Tamara blinked
in surprise; he had called. A small candle of hope flickered inside her as she
stepped across the threshold into the house.

“I switched off the phones,” she finally answered. Vassily
turned and moved back into the house and Tamara fell into step behind him,
following him into the kitchen, where the sound of low jazz music emanated from
an iPod docked in a fancy looking contraption. Vassily clicked the music off
and turned back to Tamara.

“Is it true?”
 

Tamara
sighed and shrugged.

“Most of it.” She admitted. “But I didn’t use Sasha, that
was… real, she’s a lovely girl and I wouldn’t do that.” Vassily nodded, he was
quiet for a long moment and Tamara could only wait and hope. Finally he gave a
shrug.

“We’ve all done things,” he said with a crooked smile and
Tamara felt something unexpected lurch in her chest. She hadn’t expected this
from him. Understanding. She realised that Vassily was still talking. “What
will you do now?” He asked. “I heard about the show.”

Tamara shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice.
She watched as he pulled out two glasses and poured a large measure of vodka
into both. Gratefully she took the glass and downed the drink in one gulp,
grimacing at the bitter aftertaste.

“Do you need…?” Vassily paused awkwardly and Tamara’s eyes
were drawn to his face. “Do you need money?” He finished. Tamara winced. One of
the tabloids had got wind of the perilous state of her finances. She had always
liked the finer things in life but that came at a cost and now she was on the
verge of bankruptcy. Her fabulous life had been built on a foundation of air
and easy credit but now, with her job gone, it was all falling down. She turned
back to Vassily and watched as he took a gulp of his vodka. She moved towards
him and leaned up to kiss him. In her Chanel flats she had to stand on her
tiptoes to reach his mouth. She felt him still and then he wrapped his arm
around her and pulled her close to him. Her worries drifted away and for a
moment she was transported, like that first time in the lift nothing existed
but them and this overpowering desire, this driving need to get under each
other’s skins. Finally Vassily pulled away.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said roughly.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Tamara said still lost in the moment.
Slowly she opened her eyes and found that Vassily was staring hard at her.

“What?” She asked.

“It’s not the right time,” he finally answered. Tamara’s eyes
widened. She stepped back from him as though she’d been slapped.

“You’re turning me down?”

“No. I’m just saying – you’re not yourself. I don’t
want you to do anything that you’ll regret.” Tamara felt rage boil up in her.
He was rejecting her, turning her down when she needed him most.

“The money is still yours.” Tamara flushed as she got his
meaning and for a moment she was transported back to another time and place. A
young girl from a small town with nothing but her looks, she had made some
questionable decisions in her past but not this time. With her palms on his
chest she shoved hard, desperate to get away from him.

“I can’t believe you’d say that. I didn’t kiss you because
you offered me money,” she snapped. “I can make my own money,” she practically
yelled even as a voice in her head called her a fool. And yet she could not
stop the words tripping off her tongue. She would never let any man treat her
like a whore, not again.
   

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said finally. “Thanks for
the drink.” Tamara turned and stalked out of the house. She heard him call
after her, heard his footsteps behind her but she kept on going wrenching open
the front door. As she stepped out into the night, she had one thought - how
had she fallen so far?

“It
couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

The sun shone brightly as Talia and Simone sat at an outside
table at a fashionable café close to Regents Park. In front of them was a
selection of the day’s tabloid newspapers and they had read and dissected the
Tamara story at length over smoothies as they’d waited for their brunch order
to be taken. Talia snorted again as she read yet another quote from some minion
that Tamara had walked all over.

“They should give you your job back,” Simone said as she
firmly closed the last of the newspapers.

“They tried,” Talia admitted.

“What?”

“I said no, I’ve moved on now.” As she said the words Talia
knew that they were true. Encounters felt like a lifetime away, small fry when
she had her heart set on bigger things. What those bigger things were, she
still wasn’t quite clear about but even as the mumbling, floppy-haired exec
that had replaced Damian had tried to line up a meeting, Talia had realised
that that ship really had sailed. She no longer cared enough to work on
Encounters.