Bad Brides (22 page)

The thong fell to the ground, and she bent down to pick it up, giving them the same view that Kumiko had given her earlier that afternoon. When Milly stood up, she was about to place the thong
on top of the bra – it had cost fifty-five pounds, she definitely wasn’t going to leave it on the floor – but Maitland finally spoke.

‘I’ll take that,’ he said, reaching out his hand, and Milly leant across the coffee table to place it in his palm. He unfolded the delicate scrap of lace, took the straps and
hooked it across his ears, placing the gusset over his nostrils. His black-framed glasses gleamed above them like a doctor wearing a surgical mask; since he was now inhaling entirely through his
nose, the sound of his breathing was louder in the room, exaggerated, as if it were an oxygen mask hooked up to a tank.

Kumiko seemed unfazed by it –
but then it doesn’t seem like anything fazes her,
Milly thought.
I wonder if I can ask them to put on some music? Maitland sounds asthmatic
now – it’s really off-putting . . .

Kumiko rose, smiling at Milly, extending her hand to her. Milly had known this was coming, in some variation, for a while now; she smiled back as she took Kumiko’s hand and followed her
through into the bedroom, Maitland tailing them closely, huffing and puffing like a heavy breather in the middle of a phone stalking session.
Which isn’t that far from the truth,
Milly thought, very relieved to see that he was taking a seat in one of the upholstered armchairs, pulled over awkwardly close to the bed, clearly in anticipation of any bedroom encounters, and
that Kumiko was guiding Milly onto the mattress. They were performing for Maitland; he wasn’t going to be involved in the action. Or so she hoped.

This was, without a doubt, how Milly would have preferred the audition to take place – with Kumiko alone. Because by now it definitely was an audition. Peter Mandelson had once declared
himself to be ‘intensely relaxed about people getting filthy rich’, and Milly Gamble was intensely relaxed about whatever she had to do to get a coveted part that would put her on the
Hollywood radar. Given a choice, however, Milly would definitely have chosen Kumiko over Maitland, even before he’d masked himself up with her thong –
I hope I get that back,
it’s part of the set
– and started breathing like an emphysema sufferer.

Light poured in through the huge windows set into the slanting gable roof; hopefully the clearly illuminated spectacle of Kumiko pushing Milly gently back to the pillows and spreading her legs
was distracting enough to help Maitland ignore the sensation that the angled walls were closing in on him. Milly arched back picturesquely, stretching her arms behind her, raising her waist so she
looked even slimmer, wishing there was something to grab onto behind her, as stretching out into an extension was extremely flattering. But the headboard was a smooth sheet of mirror set into the
gilded wood, and she had to content herself with arching more, head back, so she could glimpse her reflection as Kumiko knelt down, bent her lips to Milly’s lower ones, spread them apart with
very practised fingers, and started to put on a show for Maitland.

No question, that was what it was. Whatever Kumiko was to Maitland, it was clearly he who would make the decisions, and Kumiko who was doing the work. This wasn’t Milly’s first time
with a woman; like many actors, she was very open to any kind of new experience, especially when a role might be dangling tantalizingly at the end of it.

But Kumiko was by far the best lover she’d ever had, so skilled that Milly would not have been at all surprised to find out that Kumiko had done this – or
was
doing this
– on a professional basis. Her short fingernails opened Milly up for her darting tongue so comprehensively and explicitly that Milly’s hips jerked right up off the coverlet in shock as
Kumiko touched her tongue to Milly’s centre. The burst of sensation was so intense it felt as if Kumiko had burnt her, held a fizzing sparkler right between her legs, her clever fingers
holding Milly’s delicate folds apart so that they couldn’t give any protection, offer a layer between Milly’s clitoris and Kumiko’s hot wet pointed tongue.

Milly bucked in panic, thinking that she would be overwhelmed, that the intensity might even flip to pain, but Kumiko was surprisingly strong. Her elbows secured Milly’s knees, her steel
fingers held Milly’s pelvis in place, and two seconds later Milly was coming fast and furious, hugely relieved that Kumiko knew exactly what she was doing. Milly managed to get her head back
far enough to watch her orgasm face in the mirrored headboard, and the sight of her fuchsia lips parted in a gorgeously seductive O as she wailed and screamed her pleasure was an extra turn-on for
her; at home, she always masturbated in front of a full-length mirror, and preferred sex with Tarquin somewhere she could view the entire spectacle.

This was the fastest she had ever come. She wondered, even as she came again, screaming as prettily as she could, if she could teach Kumiko’s technique to Tarquin, without, of course,
saying where she’d learnt it. Tarquin thought she was faithful, would be very distressed to ever find out that she wasn’t, which was fine, as she had no intention of ever letting him
discover this or any other extra-curricular activity that she engaged in to further her career. Tarquin –
bless his sweet heart,
she thought a little contemptuously – was
possibly the only rocker in the world who intended to be faithful to his wife. Which was ironic, as Milly certainly wouldn’t be bothered if he did let the occasional groupie suck his cock in
his trailer . . .

‘Shit!’ she yelled, as Kumiko slid two, then three fingers into her, her tongue flicking Milly to another orgasm. ‘Shit, that’s so . . .’

It was really hard to know what words she should use. Who was she playing? What was her role here? Slutty or innocent? Eager lesbionic – as she and her friends at boarding school had
nicknamed their after-dark licking games – or first-time convert, seduced by Kumiko into a world of new experiences? She had managed to catch a glimpse of Maitland’s face in the
mirrored headboard, but with the goggle glasses and the thong over his nose and mouth, any attempt to read his expression was impossible.

And in the next second, she genuinely found herself the amazed innocent, as Kumiko’s whole slender hand, the fingers pressed tightly together, began to open her up, slide up inside her. It
felt . . . amazing. This was
definitely
outside anything a woman had done to her before; they’d never dreamt of this at boarding school. Milly was jerked out of any attempts at
acting, was dragged fully into the intensity of the moment as she felt Kumiko’s hand inside her, the thumb of the other hand rubbing circles around her clitoris, waves upon waves of pleasure
building as each orgasm sucked Kumiko’s wrist further inside Milly, who was dripping wet and practically begging for more; it was extraordinary, the sensation incredibly strong, nothing she
would have dreamt of wanting, but now she would die if it stopped . . .

Kumiko’s fingers flickered inside Milly’s hot wet walls, exactly on her G-spot, and Milly felt herself letting go completely in a gush of orgasm that was so strong she thought
afterwards that she might even have lost consciousness for a few moments. Her body spasmed again and again, clenching around Kumiko’s hand and wrist completely involuntarily, the powerful
muscles clamping hard, lubricated by the rich surge of come flowing from Milly. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before; she felt completely opened up, turned inside out, worked like a
machine that had functioned to maximum capacity because of the highly trained operator.

She wasn’t aware of Kumiko’s easing her hand out gradually, only dimly felt the mattress move as Kumiko crabbed over to the beside table, pulled some tissues out of the silver box
there, and wiped her hand down. Milly lay there, eyes closed, legs open, her own breathing so loud that, mercifully, it drowned out Maitland’s, feeling her chest rise and fall so heavily that
it almost hurt with each inhalation. Her entire body was a mass of sensation, as if the vaginal orgasm were a flash fire that had spread through her whole chest, up to her face, bathing her in
flames that would take long, delicious minutes to subside . . .

Maitland was unsnapping the thong from his face, rolling it up and putting it in the pocket of his baggy hipster jeans.

‘So?’ he said to Kumiko, who was lying back on the bed now, stroking concentric circles on Milly’s stomach with a fingertip.

‘Completely open,’ Kumiko said seriously, rendering a verdict. ‘Totally present. She fell, definitely.’

‘Yeah, that’s how it looked,’ Maitland agreed. ‘She has a really nice range of expression when that potentiality’s unlocked.’

Milly, hearing herself talked about, raised her head, looking from Maitland to Kumiko, registering that her thong had disappeared and deciding, reluctantly, not to mention it. She smiled at
Kumiko, would normally have pulled her head down to kiss her, but the scene felt so choreographed that Milly hesitated.

Instead she said: ‘Can I return the favour? I’m not as good as you, but I bet practically no one is . . .’

It was exactly the right thing to say. Kumiko smiled complacently as she answered: ‘Not how I roll. But thanks.’

Milly had absolutely no idea what Kumiko meant by that, but she was relieved that she wouldn’t be expected to perform herself. She was naturally lazy in bed, much preferring to receive
– while viewing herself – than to give. She stretched, tossing back her fair curls and smiled at Kumiko, waiting for a further cue: she knew it would come. They had decided everything
up till now. They’d tell her what they wanted next.

‘You can get dressed,’ Kumiko said, exchanging a glance with Maitland, who nodded slightly. ‘Take your time, we’re cool. No rush.’

Kumiko slipped off the bed and went through into the large oak and granite bathroom, where she could be heard relieving herself; she didn’t bother to shut the door. Milly sat up, arched
her back, looked at Maitland still sitting on the chair, very close to the bed, so close that she’d have to brush against him if she went that way, and decided not to risk it. Instead she
rolled off the far side, giving him a nice action view of her little white buttocks as she went, passed the striking view of Fitzrovia’s skyline through the huge window, and walked at a
normal pace into the living room to reassemble her outfit, minus thong.

By the time she was dressed, neither of them had come back into the living room; unsure of how to handle this, she peeped back into the bedroom to see that Maitland hadn’t moved from the
chair. Kumiko was now curled up in his lap, and he was stroking the thick mass of her hair with regular, rhythmic caresses.

‘Maitland’s keeping your thong,’ Kumiko said to Milly. ‘That’s good. You should be pleased.’

‘Great,’ Milly said. But Maitland wasn’t even looking up: it was clearly her cue to leave, and she duly slipped out of the suite, pressing the button for the lift, her brain
racing. She’d call her agent, say that things had gone really well, ask her to do a follow-up call tomorrow, get the lie of the land . . .

And what’s Maitland Parks going to say? ‘She was so good I kept her thong’?

Normally, Milly would have sniggered at this, but she was taking the possibility of a part in
And When You Fall
too seriously for anything but a brief smile to cross her face. It could
make her, be the breakout vehicle that Bertolucci’s
The Dreamers
had been for Eva Green, in which that actress had had explicit sex scenes with two actors. Nowadays it was
no-holds-barred, though it was usually a European director that wanted the actresses to spread their legs, like Michael Winterbottom with
Nine Songs
; still, after Paul Schrader had cast
James Deen, an actual porn star, in
The Canyons
, and Sasha Grey, another porn star, had taken the lead in Steven Soderbergh’s
The Girlfriend Experience
, the boundaries were
really blurring.

Look, as long as it’s called an art film and puts me on the map, I could care less about having sex on screen,
Milly thought happily. The lift whisked her down to the lobby, and
she stepped outside into a gloriously warm early September evening. Heads turned in her wake, not just because they recognized her, not just because of the still striking hair and make-up, but
because her eyes were shining, her expression transcendent, her limbs loose and suffused with the aftermath of an out-of-body orgasm.

God, I love my job!
she thought blissfully, holding out her hand for a passing cab.
And I should just have time to nip to the Myla boutique on Oxford Street before it closes to pick
up another thong so Tarquin won’t wonder why I’m coming home without my knickers on . . . hmm, I wonder if I can write them off as a business expense?

‘So it’s war,’ the Fracking Queen said, her beautifully shaped lips setting in a firm line, her eyes glittering darkly in a way that made Lady Margaret
McArdle, sitting opposite her at the table in the garden of Tamra’s Chelsea mansion, raise her eyebrows in anticipation of the conversation to come.

‘Well,
war
’s maybe a little—’ began Veronica, the publicist who had just broken the news to Tamra that Milly Gamble was her daughter’s rival for the title
of
Style
Bride of the Year.

‘Oh no, it’s war,’ Tamra corrected her firmly. ‘Only one of them can be on the cover. There’s a winner and a loser. It’s definitely war.’

‘A battle to the death,’ Lady Margaret drawled, swirling the ice cubes in her gin and tonic. ‘I do love watching you get all excited, Tamra. We just don’t do that over
here in Britain. We pretend we don’t remotely care about anything and then we secretly fester with resentment and stab our rivals in the back.’

‘Oh, I’ll stab her in the front if I need to!’ Tamra said, stirring her champagne with such vicious twirls of the silver whisk Edmund had found for her that the fine silver
tines clattered dangerously against the glass.