Two-Faced (20 page)

‘Prick!’ Bruno hissed unzipping his fly and waggling his surprisingly large penis at Fabrizi’s back. ‘Here, have a suck on this – you know you want to.’

Gordy gave him a filthy look, folded his arms and tapped his foot agitatedly.

Knowing it would wind him up, Mia couldn’t resist reaching out and giving Bruno’s dick a squeeze. ‘Mmm, nice and hard. Just how we like ’em – eh, Simone?’

‘Later,’ Bruno scolded, slapping her hand away and zipping up his fly.

‘What, both of us?’ Simone teased. ‘Sure you can handle it?’

Laughing, Mia pushed her team-mates on ahead of her when the call came for everybody to line up in the wings.

At eighteen, she had blossomed into a real beauty. But while her so-called identical twin was as unaware of her own attractiveness and as uninterested in her appearance as ever, preferring to concentrate on her college work in her quest to become a soppy social worker, Mia was
more
obsessed with herself than ever, and had spent every living moment of the last two years relentlessly pursuing her goal of becoming not just a model but a
super
model.

Despite Mia’s hard work, the path to stardom had turned out to be much longer and tougher than either she or Sammy had anticipated, thanks mainly to shows like
Britain’s Next Top Model
, which had brought girls who would previously never have dreamed they were pretty enough to model pouring out of the woodwork to snatch jobs which Mia just
knew
should have been hers. But those setbacks only served to strengthen her determination and she’d forged ahead, learning new and innovative ways in which to get herself noticed.

And if the other girls she’d met at the auditions she’d attended along the way feared her acid tongue and envied her effortless beauty, she didn’t give a toss, because if there was one thing she’d learned about this business, it was that you either gave shit or took stick – and anyone who couldn’t harden themselves to that fact wasn’t cut out for modelling.

Fortunately for Mia, she was a fast learner so she was rarely out of work, the money from which allowed her to pursue her dreams without having to take on meaningless jobs to pay her bills and support herself – as so many struggling models were forced to. Although she was by no means earning as much as she believed she was worth yet. And having appeared in numerous catalogues and teen magazines, as well as co-fronting a couple of teen make-up campaigns, it frustrated her that she still hadn’t achieved the one big break which would launch her into the stratosphere and see clients asking for her by name instead of type.

But she knew it would come eventually, and every cattle-market audition she attended, every lowly contract she won, Mia made sure she did something different from the other models in order to leave her mark.

Now, finally, she’d landed her first catwalk contract: modelling for one of an elite list of hot new designers who were showcasing their collections at the G-Mex Centre. They’d spent the whole of the previous week being fitted for the outfits they would each be wearing from their designers’ collections, and now they were starting the week of dress rehearsals before the actual shows.

It was a five-day event, and the hype had already been incredible. London, Paris and Rome were all well-established fashion-show venues, but this kind of thing was relatively new to Manchester and the press were already covering it with fervour, speculating on everything from the clothes and their designers to which celebrities would be sitting on the front row each day seeking out the next big fashions in which to dazzle at the various parties and red-carpet events they would be gracing in the coming months.

Arni Fabrizi was one of the designers, and he dressed – and tried to act – like an LA gang-banger. Mia had loathed him from the moment she’d met him – him,
and
Francie, who seemed to spend her entire life trotting behind him with her tongue attached to his anus. From day one he’d thrown tantrums and had hysterical screaming matches with anybody and everybody, and he treated his models like shit, frequently reducing them to tears with his vicious putdowns. But this stinking attitude was exactly why Mia had jumped at the chance to be on his team, because it was already gaining him far more attention than he deserved. And, as they said, any press was good press, so she was happy to put up with the odious little fart if she got herself noticed because of him.

Unlike her fellow models who had mostly grown up in the ‘nicer’ suburbs of Manchester, Mia had been raised on the mean streets of Moss Side and knew
dangerous
when she saw it. And Fabrizi, for all his mouthing-off and cockiness, was about as dangerous as candyfloss, and nothing he said or did raised so much as a flicker of fear in her heart. But she understood how bullies operated, and she knew that while they got a kick out of terrorising people they tended to blank those who weren’t fazed by them. So, determined that he wouldn’t freeze her out and deprive her of her chance to shine, she’d been playing the game by his rules so far: pretending to be in awe of him, and quivering in his presence as if he scared the crap out of her. She resented having to do it, but it was a means to an end, and come the final show she intended to tell the sneering, supercilious little shit exactly what she thought of him.

Mia felt a surge of excitement pass down from the head of the line now as the house lights dimmed out front and the spots came on, followed by the pounding of the music to which they would be rehearsing all week. She took a deep breath. As the star of the show – in her own mind, if in nobody else’s yet – she’d made damn sure that she was the final model in the line-up, ensuring that she would be the last to make her appearance on the catwalk on the final day – the one that the audience would
definitely
all remember.

‘Well done, everybody!’ Gloria Ford, the event organiser called out, drifting through the crowd of sweaty models backstage at the end of rehearsals in an almost visible cloud of Issy Miyake perfume. ‘That was magnificent! Now, be safe going home, rest well, and I’ll see you all back here tomorrow!’

‘God, I thought
I
was wearing a lot of slap,’ Bruno muttered under his breath, slipping out of his suit trousers. ‘You’d need a fucking hammer and chisel to find her face under that lot!’

‘She’s doing all right for seventy,’ Simone quipped, pulling her top off over her head and exposing her breasts.

‘Do you have to shove them in his face like that?’ Gordy sniped, pushing roughly past her.

‘You know what, he’s really doing my head in!’ Bruno complained to nobody in particular.

‘What’s everyone doing tonight?’ Simone asked as she pulled on a T-shirt. ‘Henry’s taking me clubbing if anyone fancies joining us.’

‘No, thanks, we’re having a quiet night in,’ Gordy informed her.

‘Er, you might be, but
I
’m not,’ Bruno corrected him tartly. ‘Yes, thanks, Simmy, I’d love to.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Mia asked him quietly.

Waving his hand dismissively, Bruno said, ‘We can do that first, then meet up with her later.
Any
thing but have a quiet night in with Doctor Death.’

Declaring that if Bruno was going, so was he, Gordy tugged his jacket on and looked pointedly at his watch.

‘Waiting for something?’ Bruno sniped.

‘I thought we were supposed to be going for dinner,’ Gordy reminded him.

‘Oh, if I must,’ Bruno moaned, rolling his eyes as if he couldn’t think of anything worse. He leant towards Mia as Gordy set off and said, ‘I’ll pick you up at nine – make sure you’re ready.’

‘What was that about?’ Simone asked, linking her arm through Mia’s when they’d both finished dressing. ‘Are you and Bruno going somewhere?’

‘Nowhere special,’ Mia told her evasively, waggling her fingers at a couple of stunning heterosexual male models from one of the other teams as they made their way out. ‘Christ, that Karl is
buff
! I wonder if he’s free tonight. Where did you say we were going, and when?’

‘Hexagon, eleven,’ Simone told her. ‘But you can’t ask him to come – he’s married.’

Ignoring her, Mia called, ‘Hey, Karl – Hexagon tonight at eleven. Be there.’

She grinned when he winked at her. ‘See, Simone, you’re too conscientious for your own good. I’ll be having a nice romp tonight while you’re doing the same-old-same-old with your boyfriend. Let’s guess who’ll be having the most fun? Mmm . . . I think that will probably be
me
!’

Laughing, they emerged onto the broad steps fronting the G-Mex. Simone waved to her boyfriend Henry, who was parked on double yellow lines at the kerb ahead, air-kissed Mia and told her that she’d see her later.

Watching as Simone tripped lightly down the steps and climbed into the car, Mia smirked when Henry gave her the eye as he pulled out into the traffic. His name was a major turn-off, but he was quite cute, she supposed. And if Karl turned out to be a no-go and nobody else caught her eye tonight, she’d seriously consider him as an alternative.

Glancing at her watch now, and seeing that it was quarter to six, Mia set off down the steps in search of a cab.

12

It didn’t look anything like a club from the outside. There were no windows, just graffiti-covered walls and a metal door in the centre of which was a spyhole. And there wasn’t even a name sign, which made Mia wonder if it was just a boarded-up old house.

‘Are you sure you’ve been here before?’ she asked Bruno as the taxi drove away, leaving them alone on the dingy, badly lit street.

‘At least once a week,’ he told her, glancing nervously into the shadows which seemed to be pulsating out from every dark corner. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not as bad inside.’

‘So long as you don’t get stabbed or shot before you
get
inside,’ Mia muttered.

‘Shut up!’ Bruno scolded, grabbing her arm. ‘Just don’t leave me on my own, or you might never see me again.’

‘Right now I’m wishing I’d never laid eyes on you in the
first
place,’ Mia hissed, allowing him to drag her towards the door.

Bruno rapped his knuckles on the metal and waggled his fingers when there was a movement behind the peephole. Hearing the sound of several bolts being drawn back, Mia folded her arms when the door swung open. Her eyes widened when she found herself looking at a broad-shouldered, incredibly handsome black man and she decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

‘Hiya,’ Bruno trilled ‘Got room for two little ones?’

The man gave an upward jerk of his chin and stepped back to let them in. He swung the door shut behind them and held out his hand. Bruno shoved a twenty-pound note into it, grabbed Mia’s arm and hauled her down a dark narrow hallway towards another black-painted door at the far end.

‘You mean to tell me they’ve got the cheek to charge a tenner to get into this dive?’ Mia complained.

Shushing her, Bruno hissed, ‘It’ll be worth it. Now, don’t breathe in too hard, and for God’s sake don’t look at the stage or you’ll turn to stone.’

Heavy instrumental soul music enveloped them when Bruno tugged open the door. As she stepped inside, Mia almost suffocated from the weed smoke that was hanging like a blanket in the air around their heads.

‘My God, are you sure this is a club and not a blues?’ she gasped, her eyes already watering.

‘That’s why I told you not to breathe in too deeply,’ Bruno said, squinting around the dimly lit room.

Jumping when she felt a hand on her backside, Mia squawked, ‘Do you
mind
!’

‘Not if you don’t,’ the gaunt-faced old man on the other end of the hand replied, giving her a lustful grin.

‘Fuck off!’ she spat, balling her own hand into a fist, ready to punch him if he tried to touch her again.

Bruno dragged her away, saying, ‘For God’s sake don’t start any trouble, or we’re both dead.’

‘
I
wasn’t,’ she informed him indignantly, yanking her arm free.

Bruno stopped dead and nodded towards a table at the far side of the room, where a young skinhead was sitting with his arms around two bored-looking women.

Glancing over, Mia’s gaze skidded from the man to the stage, upon which a naked young girl with long glossy black hair was hanging upside down off a thin metal pole with her legs splayed.

‘My
God
!’ she spluttered. ‘How the hell is she managing
that
?’

‘Stop staring, you big lezzer,’ Bruno hissed, shuddering as he added, ‘Oh, gross! I think I just saw the insides of her
womb
!’

Telling him not to be so ridiculous, Mia dragged her eyes away from the woman and gave him a shove, urging him to hurry up and do what he had to do so they could get out of there.

‘Keep an eye on me in case I need rescuing,’ Bruno said nervously. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

Mia folded her arms protectively across her chest when she noticed several men giving her the same kind of lustful looks as the old man who’d groped her by the door. She glowered at them and walked over to the wall. It was definitely more like a blues here, given the amount of weed that was obviously being smoked, but, surprisingly, instead of young black guys the place seemed to be full of horrible old white men. And it was obvious what they had come for, given how many scantily dressed young girls were dotted around – some of whom seemed to be giving hand jobs under the tables.

Disgusted, Mia glanced over to see how Bruno was getting on. Frowning when she saw that he was leaning right over the table, aided by the skinhead’s hand around his throat, she marched over.

Grabbing Bruno’s arm with one hand, she seized the skinhead’s wrist with the other and hissed, ‘Let go, or I’m going to start screaming. And then I’m going to call the police and tell them you tried to rape me.’

Grinning, his face feral in the dim light, the skinhead said, ‘I wouldn’t try pulling any of that shit in here, darlin’, ’less you wanna find yourself riding the train.’

Mia had absolutely no idea what that meant. But she was more concerned about freeing Bruno right now because his eyes were bulging and his face was purple.