The Modeliser (38 page)

It
was the perfect place for a romantic meal. Talia grimaced at the thought as her
eyes took in the intimate, narrow, galley style dining room of the Lower
Eastside restaurant where she and Helena had agreed to meet. Helena was late.
Talia frowned; Helena was never late, at least the old Helena was never late.
Talia allowed a small smile as she considered all the changes, the revolutions
that had taken place in both of their lives. Here she was a paid up
screenwriter, albeit one who was freshly sacked from her project. And Helena
the ultimate fashionista was swapping Chanel 2.55 bags for a practical,
hardwearing photographer’s bag. She had been filled with pride when she’d
opened the issue of Glare magazine to see Helena’s first published photographs
– portrait shots of a group of up and coming musicians and artists. And
now Helena was here in New York an editor at large for Époque. She would be
combining her writing abilities with her photography skills; things it seemed
couldn’t have worked out better.

Talia gave a small sigh as she poured a glass of water from a
heavy glass jug. She thought back to the conversation with Josh the day before.

“Talia, you know how things work, it’s not personal.” Talia
had nodded. How many times had she seen writers fired off scripts at
Encounters, thrown off at second draft stage before they could be given the
chance to make it better and improve the script? Josh was right; this was
simply how the system worked.

“Still, you’ve got people knowing your name and you’ve got
that treatment with Blue Tide.” Talia had nodded but the disappointment cut
deep. Her very first script and she was off the project. She was stung too by
Max’s betrayal. Not that she’d ever really trusted him but the level of malice
had stunned her. Behind her back he’d been pulling the strings –
suggesting ideas and changes that would only worsen not improve the script.
Even now as she thought back to their final confrontation, Talia couldn’t
believe that she’d let him manipulate her.

“Get over yourself, it was just some stupid script,” Max had
shouted across her suite.

“Just some script.” Talia had gasped. “You bastard..”

“Alex sorted you out once. Give him a call, I bet he can fix
you up again.” Max had bitten back and suddenly Talia had got it. It had never
been about her. Max was obsessed with Alex; he’d ruined her film just to get to
him.

“This was about Alex, wasn’t it?” Max’s eyes had darted away
and Talia had known then. She fought the urge to cry and prayed that the
rumours circulating around town were true, that Max had lost out to Alex on
Defender. She had carried her case out of the room without a backward glance.

And now she found herself in New York City on an overnight
stopover before she headed back to London. If not burnt, her fingers had
certainly been singed and yet she was wiser. Talia took another sip from her
glass and once again glanced at her watch. She reached down to her bag,
retrieving her mobile phone and was beginning to scroll through her contacts to
find Helena’s number when a shadow fell across the table. Talia looked up a
smile on her face and then she froze as she took in the form looming over her,
standing next to the table. It was Alex.

Boredom
caused wrinkles, Tamara thought, as she stared into a small compact mirror,
which she snapped shut as Vassily strode out of his office and into the sitting
room where she was perched on a sofa, ostensibly reading a new batch of
scripts. She’d completed filming on the reality talent series and her presence
had been such a success that the producers had already offered her a 100%
increase on her salary, even before the second series commission had come.
Though with their viewing figures a second series commission seemed a
certainty. A glossy magazine supplement for a Sunday paper had offered her a
column. And even Vogue had come calling with a 4-page spread on offer. Tamara
was back and yet she was bored. Reality TV bored her, auto-cues sent her to
sleep, what she wanted was drama and scripts and memorising lines and finding
the heart of a character.

Vassily lowered himself onto the sofa beside her. In this one
area at least, Tamara was content. Content. She had struggled at first to
identify this feeling of calm, wellbeing and eventually she had realised what
it was: contentment. This was what it was like when the beast was calmed, when
the green-eyed monster wasn’t on high alert. She had eyes only for Vassily. And
he had been true to his word. Within days, she had moved into his Chelsea home,
he had instructed the most sought after interior designers to make any changes
that she requested and for their one week anniversary she had woken to find on
their bedroom wall another Modigliani painting. Of course she still had her
moments; discreet checks through his mobile phone and the occasional glance at
his emails when he’d left his laptop unattended but, so far, she had found no
causes for concern.

Tamara leaned back as Vassily pressed a kiss along her jaw
and then nuzzled her neck. Dressed for dinner, she wore an embellished Jason Wu
jacket atop a Jade Green YSL dress and her feet were strapped in to pair of
Alexander McQueen shoes that looked like a feat of engineering.

“Haven’t we got reservations?” she asked as Vassily continued
to press tiny kisses along her neck moving down to her collarbone. Reluctantly
he pulled away, his fingers still stroking her skin.

“We do but I prefer to stay in,” he finished slowly, his
hands already busy at the neckline of her dress.

“Oh thank god,” Tamara squealed, launching herself across the
sofa back at him so that she straddled him. Since the night in her house, she
wanted him with a force that was wholly unexpected. For so long she had thought
that men gave her no real pleasure and yet with Vassily – desire could
speed through her like an inferno, a forest fire running unchecked. She no longer
cared about dining in the most exclusive eateries, didn’t care about being
photographed or being on the pages of Hello! All that she wanted was to be with
him and where possible always in proximity to a bed, a wall, a bathroom, a
lockable door. After an embarrassing incident in a disabled toilet at the Royal
Opera House, which thankfully had only made it into Popbitch and only in the
most cryptic of ways, Tamara was more than happy to stay in, especially tonight
with Sasha away in Paris with friends. She pressed a kiss to Vassily’s jaw and
then his cheek.

“I have something for you,” he said seriously. Tamara nodded
her attention still focused on working his shirt buttons open. She felt his
hands move up her hips, pausing for a moment to stroke her thigh through the
thin silk of the dress and then his hands continued upwards, stroking up her
waist and then up her arms until he gripped her hands, stopping their progress
up his chest.

“What?” Tamara pouted.

“I have something for you,” he repeated. He rose easily,
carrying her through to his office. He propped her up on the table. And then
reached into a drawer to retrieve something. Tamara’s heart stopped as she
stared at it. The distinctive, unmistakable square box of Cartier. A ring. And
then her heart began to beat again slamming into her chest at a frantic pace.
She opened her mouth to speak but found that no words would come out. Vassily
was staring at her as he opened the box and Tamara stared at it as tears
finally came, gathering in the corner of her eyes and then running down her
cheeks. It was a long time since she had let any man see her cry. The ring was
exquisite, a flawless Marquise shaped Solitaire yellow diamond. She reached out
to touch it carefully, gingerly as though it might all be taken away from her.

“Marry me?” Vassily asked. It was what she had wanted to
hear, what she had set out to achieve but now that she was here, Tamara felt
fear settle into her. Everything was so perfect now. Too perfect.

“You know me, what I am – materialistic, vain, a
bitch..” she blurted as the old fears surfaced. How could he want her?
 
Vassily shrugged.

“Even bitches need love,” he drawled and Tamara could not
help the laugh that burst from her.

Vassily
moved towards her, pulling her to the edge of the table so that he could move
between her legs. His blue eyes held her green ones.

“Marry me,” he asked again.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, Yes.” Tamara practically sang as his
mouth crushed down on hers swallowing the rest of her words. They pulled apart
for a moment, just so Vassily could slide the ring on to her finger and then he
was back on her, his tongue sliding into her mouth as her body began to heat
up. When they finally came up for air. Tamara was breathing hard. “Let’s do it,
let’s get married soon, just us, Sasha, a few friends. I don’t want a circus,”
she said surprising herself. She didn’t want Hello or OK or a media circus. She
only wanted them. Vassily smiled as he pressed another kiss to her cheek and
then moved away to retrieve something.

Tamara gazed down at the ring on her finger and then looked
up as Vassily spoke.

“That was my thinking too,” he said. “But now you’ll be
working, I think.”

Tamara
gazed at him in surprised.

“Working, I’ve not even decided to do the next series,” she
began and then stopped as Vassily held up the document in his hand and she saw
now that it was a script.

“What is that?” Tamara asked her eyes already scanning the
cover page Undone by Talia Blake.

“Your next project.”

Tamara
felt a new excitement building.

“How – I mean it’s a studio thing and Talia would
never…” She trailed off as Vassily shook his head.

“It’s all sorted. Alex Golden will star and you, my darling,
are the female lead.”

Tamara
was off the table in one move; grabbing the script from his hands as though
ready to devour it.

“I don’t understand…”

“Alex wants you in the role, he wants the film to be made and
let’s just say it is an early wedding present from me to you,” Vassily finished
even as Tamara began to smother him in kisses.

“You financed the film?” She asked. “For me?” She didn’t give
him a chance to answer for she was slithering out of her dress and then pushing
him down until he sat in the leather Eames chair and then she set about
thanking him.

Alex
was standing next to her. She hadn’t hallucinated him into being. He really was
there.

“Talia,” he said.

“Alex,” she squeaked back, unable to hide her surprise and
discomfort. She watched as he took the seat across from her. Her gaze ate up
the space between them. God he looked good. She didn’t notice the wait staff
who stood open-mouthed watching them or the other diners whose eyes were drawn
compulsively to the movie star in their midst. She had eyes only for him. She
looked down at the table, at his large hands, which rested on the tablecloth
and then she quickly drew her own hand back onto her lap, she didn’t want to
make a fool of herself by grabbing him. She looked up at him again and the
breath caught in her throat, he was looking at her like…

“How’s Isabella?” She asked and saw him wince.

“Fine I think,” he replied steadily.

His
girlfriend is a supermodel. His supermodel girlfriend is pregnant.
Talia chanted the words to
herself. Get a grip girl! And yet she could not help the bolt of lust that shot
through her. She straightened up, she was heading back to London, back to
reality, away from these games that she didn’t really know the rules to.

“I was a bastard,” Alex said quietly. And Talia wondered if
she’d misheard him.

“What?” She asked.

“What I said to you about Max… I was a shit. You can be with
whomever you want. I’m in no position to talk, to judge...”

“Right,” Talia agreed as she tried to hold on to some of her
anger. “Yes I can. I don’t need your permission or your judgement,” she
snapped. Talia watched Alex wince again. “You don’t have the right to speak to
me the way you did. You’ve fucked most of the models in the western world.” A
shocked gasp echoed around the small dining room and Talia realised that her
voice had risen. She took a deep breath. “I saw that Samson girl coming out of
your room...,” she finally admitted.

“You saw Hannah in my room?” Alex asked and Talia nodded
miserably.

“Nothing happened, she wants my sperm but nothing happened.”

Talia
froze.

“What?”

“She and her girlfriend want a donor…” Alex at least had the
decency to look embarrassed. “I said no.”

Talia shrugged. “And Isabella?” At this Alex grimaced.

“Isabella’s baby is not mine.”

“Right..”

“Seriously. I’ve not been with her in…. She’s marrying some
big South American tycoon.” Talia was quiet as she processed his words.

“So….” And now she trailed off too.

“I thought we were friends,” Alex said quietly.

“Things got complicated.’

“I hope we can be friends again?” For the first time Talia
saw the chink of vulnerability in Alex’s armour. Their friendship really did
seem to matter to him. She placed her glass down and nodded; squashing down any
disappointment she felt that there wasn’t something more on offer.