Wicked Ambition (20 page)

Turquoise waved away the suggestion they had a connection. ‘I’m too busy right now to deal with Bronx. It was a fling, it doesn’t mean anything.’ Even so the mention of his name tugged something loose in her chest. She quashed it. Since accepting the Cosmo project she had been ignoring Bronx’s calls, deleting his voicemails. How could she see him, speak to him,
anything
, when she was spending her days re-enacting her very worst secrets? If there had ever been a chance at a future between them, now it was over.

She didn’t normally disclose details of her personal life and Donna was taken aback. ‘As I thought,’ she said, swiftly changing the subject.

As Donna went on about movie openings already in the pipeline, Turquoise saw a flash of blonde disappearing inside the hotel lobby. Pop starlet Kristin White was staying at the hotel, though by all accounts was keeping a conscientiously low profile. Was Kristin doing rehab? It was the only explanation she could think of. Though Turquoise couldn’t imagine Kristin or her squeaky-clean boyfriend Scotty Valentine staying out past midnight, let alone getting involved in the hard stuff. Ava had met Kristin several times through her work on
Lovestruck
and had always said she was friendly.

The meal wrapped early and Donna, inebriated, gushed
about Turquoise’s burgeoning opportunities before excusing herself to go to bed. Under radically different circumstances Turquoise might have shared her enthusiasm, but as it was she couldn’t wait to be alone.

She had a plan to draw together.

Returning to her suite, she was thankful for the deserted hotel corridors. The champagne had made her head fizzy and tired; cushion enough to protect her from the harsh reality of filming resuming first thing. At least they would soon be off this island and some semblance of normal life could resume. Being cut adrift on this location made her feel as if she were going crazy, as if everything she had achieved back in LA were an illusion and when she went back Cosmo would be standing atop the rubble of her mansion and laughing wickedly.

You thought all this was real? Wake up, sugar, you still belong to me…

She wondered what had dragged Cosmo away from the evening’s festivities—it wasn’t like him to relinquish a chance to make her squirm, and with Ava out of the way he’d have had free rein. Turquoise pictured him in his penthouse (Cosmo demanded one of seven rooftop apartments, typically occupied by Russian oligarchs or Texan oil barons), busy scheming his next ploy. If only she had the courage to expose him for what he was! She’d thought about it so many times, all the possible outcomes and what they would mean, but the facts remained the same: even if she told the truth, even if she revealed Cosmo Angelopoulos in all his wretched glory and confessed to the terrible death they had concealed, even then, even if everyone felt for her and said it wasn’t her fault and what else was she supposed to have
done, even then, her life, her career and all she had battled for would be ruined, if not by being branded a criminal then by being branded a whore.

The abuse of her body was not a charge Turquoise was willing to answer ever again. She had paid at the highest level—with her pride, her dignity, her ability to meet herself in the mirror and hold her head high—over the majority of her young life, and she could not accept having to surrender her adulthood to the same. Why should she? None of it had been her choosing, she had been used and exploited in the worst way, and uncovering Cosmo meant uncovering herself. They would pity her. She’d had enough of being pitied.

‘Mr Angel, no! You’re such a naughty boy!’

As she rounded the corner to her suite she heard a woman’s excited squeal, pursued seconds later by another. Next the giggles chimed together and a group came into view.

Turquoise backed against the wall and listened. Opposite her was a mirror that looked down the hall and in its reflection she could detect Cosmo’s arrogant swagger as the party swayed drunkenly towards the bank of elevators. There were five girls in all, and she saw that they were young—the oldest couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Bare flesh peeped through their scant clothing and their eyes were glassy. Cosmo pushed one hard against the wall and roughly fondled her breasts. He snarled something at them and then two of the others were kissing, and when they stopped he slapped them gently across the cheek.

The elevator came and they stepped inside. Turquoise held her breath as Cosmo paused to throw a glance in her direction, but all he met was his own image. A hand reached
out, seized his tie and pulled him inside, and the doors closed with a soft hush.

Turquoise stayed where she was, afraid that if she moved the approaching idea would slip through her fingers like water. To begin with it was faint, without shape or centre, then, imagining what Cosmo was doing with his women up in his invincible castle, she smiled.

Cosmo Angel was over. It was obvious what she had to do.

She received word from Donna late Friday night that they were expected to be on the Greek island of Crete the following week. Sam had been scheduled to shoot the New York scenes but Cosmo had changed his mind after a favourable weather report from Europe. On this project, at least, his word was law.

Crete was where Cosmo Angelopoulos had grown up. It stood to reason that he would want to incorporate it into his bizarre autobiopic, if for nothing else than to crash the modest village where he had struggled at school and caused trouble for the locals and kicked stray dogs in the street, all to stick them the bird and say,
Look who made it, suckers!

The change meant that Turquoise was forced to cancel a performance at a friend’s wedding, a promise that had been in the diary for months. Since it wasn’t a ‘legit commitment’ (Donna’s words) it got dismissed the instant that Cosmo issued instructions.

Early Monday they were shooting on the south of the island, close to the foot of the Samaria Gorge. Cast and crew were being put up in the finest air-conned luxury that Chania, on the north coast, had to offer, but down here it was
sweltering. The land was arid and it was unseasonably hot, a cluster of brittle shrubs perishing in the heat. Tavernas were packed with hopeful fans, and the area Sam had cordoned off for the shoot provided limited shade. A rocky Libyan sea heaved behind them, rendering scant breeze.

‘This is my home,’ Cosmo choked, posturing against a rock as Sam’s camera swung to capture his pained expression. ‘It’s the only place I belong…’ His character was repenting his ways, trying to find his true self by returning to his roots.

‘You want me to feel sorry for you?’ In the script it was phrased as
‘Should I feel sorry for you?’
but no one picked Turquoise up on it.

‘My start wasn’t the best,’ he mused, draining from the words every ounce of self-pity. ‘You know that. I told you I was no good, I warned you. I’m dangerous…’

No shit you are
.

‘You should have stayed away from me.’

Turquoise wanted to laugh, and had to scour the depths to summon anything remotely akin to sympathy.

‘You can talk of home all you like,’ she returned. ‘It means nothing. Once you told me home was wherever I was, and that places had no significance.’

‘How could they?’ he implored, drawing out the moment. ‘After where I’ve been?’

‘And…cut!’ Sam grinned. ‘Superb. Turquoise, I was there with you word for word, every step of the way. You’re pulling at some heartstrings with this one.’

Turquoise watched her co-star cross the perimeter and mingle with his fans. They lapped up his insincerity and crooned with pleasure when he addressed them in Greek.
Couldn’t they see that there was no difference between the act they’d just witnessed and the man standing now in front of them? Couldn’t anyone? Cosmo Angelopoulos was a fraud.

Tonight, he would be uncovered. What Cosmo didn’t understand and had never understood over all these years was that she knew him better than he knew himself.

From across the set her assistant held up a cell phone. Turquoise padded over to receive it and was happy to see Ava’s name flash up on the screen.

Hope Greece is treating you well, honey.

Trust Cosmo behaving himself? ;-)

Turquoise wondered if Ava had any inkling about her husband’s infidelities. Surely she must, but then that wouldn’t make sense. Ava was a strong, independent woman and wouldn’t take shit from anybody, least of all a man purporting to love her.

They were all in for a surprise—and though Turquoise would never deliberately hurt one of the women she valued most in this world, now she was left with no choice.

25

B
unny White was no expert in applying make-up. It was ironic since she spent most of her days caked in the stuff, but Ramona was the one who perfected it, and now, armed with one of Kristin’s Magic Liners and an eye like a squinting panda, Bunny had to admit defeat.

Normally Kristin would help her, but since they’d barely heard a word since she’d been away that wasn’t likely to happen. Nor could it, because Kristin’s very absence was the reason
why
Bunny was taking three hours with her appearance in the first place.

She pouted at her reflection and had a last stab with the lipstick. It was a strident shade, too abrasive, and she tried a subtler, brownish tone that complemented her blonde ringlets more kindly. Rummaging about in her sister’s belongings, she experienced a shard of guilt, before remembering that she hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Yet.

Wanting
Scotty wasn’t the same as doing anything about it, was it?

They were meeting for a milkshake at his manager’s house. Everywhere else they’d get mobbed, Scotty said, and anyway Fenton Fear would be out. Bunny was glad. Fenton was friendly enough but he scared her a little. He was so…big! Like an ogre, with his massive chicken-drumstick arms and wobbly chin, and Ramona whispered that he was ‘a drinker’, as though this were a hazardous precursor to spontaneous combustion and he could implode at any given second, sending his freckles scattering across the walls like gunfire. Once she had seen him in shorts and his calves were wide as tennis racquets and covered in brown dots.

Never before had she felt so nervous, not even before a pageant! This was a different breed of anxiety that had butterflies in her stomach and a queasy feeling trickling through her whenever she thought of Scotty’s smile. Would he greet her at the door? Would he kiss her on the cheek, as he had at home one dizzying Christmas? Would he hold her hand…?

Of course not, Bunny! He’s Kristin’s boyfriend!

It was impossible to forget the facts, and after Bunny’s initial thrill at his having made contact she was forced to concede that he was probably as worried for Kristin’s whereabouts as they were, hence the meeting. There were no romantic intentions whatsoever.

In the event, Scotty was already waiting on the other side of the mansion security gates when she arrived. Bunny had checked her reflection a zillion times and fretted she looked like a kid who’d raided the dressing-up box (which wasn’t far from the truth) but there was only so late she could be,
and, judging by Scotty’s fraught expression, ill-concealed beneath his McLaren red baseball cap, that was just as well.

‘Hey.’ He buzzed her in. ‘Thanks for coming.’ There was no kiss or hug or anything. Bunny was relieved because being in such close proximity to the boy of her dreams was sending her to the cusp of a swoon (not that she’d ever swooned before, but she imagined this was how it felt). If he’d attempted to touch her she might have collapsed.

Fenton’s place was modest in comparison with Ramona’s efforts at The White House, but it was still impressive. Every surface hosted Fenton’s accolades and evidence of his chart successes, his trophies and gold discs lovingly mounted in clean glass frames, amassed with photos of him alongside stars the world over, some from many years ago when everyone had puffy hair and square shoulders and Fenton himself looked not much older than Scotty.

‘This way,’ said Scotty flatly, leading them into what must have been the den. Three mammoth white leather couches dominated the space, one of which confessed to a Scotty-shaped dent and a crackling nest of half-eaten bags of Lays potato chips and rainbow-coloured candy balls. The TV was blaring and Scotty reached for the remote to kill it.

‘Been watching too much crap,’ he mumbled, and with the proximity of his words she caught a sour gust of breath, which wasn’t quite enough to counter her strawberry-scented love for him but was troubling nonetheless.

It was when he removed his cap that she almost gasped.

He looked awful. Well, not awful as in ugly, because Scotty Valentine could never look ugly, but awful as in tired. Desperate. He looked like he hadn’t gone to sleep in a month, or he’d been crying, or puking, or had become ‘a
drinker’. Bunny was overwhelmed with affection that until now had been selfish longing, but at this moment thought only of making
him
feel better because she couldn’t see him so sad, she just couldn’t! Her tongue bloated with the struggle of how to articulate the crossing of this new frontier, and no words came.

‘D’you want a drink?’ Scotty asked miserably. His mop of hair was scruffy and his blue eyes had lost their sparkle.
Wow
, thought Bunny,
he’s really missing Kristin
. And a little piece of her expired with the knowledge.

‘OK, that’d be cool,’ she replied.

The promised milkshake didn’t materialise. Instead he came back with lemonade for her, a beer for him. Bunny had hoped he might be able to see past her age, especially with the make-up, but given he had barely glanced at her since she’d arrived she wasn’t convinced.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he said despairingly, sinking back into the Scotty-shaped hole and anxiously rubbing his temples. Bunny chewed her lip. In the corner of the room she noticed a marble ass bolted to the wall and struggled to remember if Fenton had a wife.

‘Sit down.’ He gestured a touch impatiently. Hurriedly she obeyed, settling opposite. She’d have preferred to sit next to him, maybe rest a hand on his knee if it all got too much, because every time she raised her eyes to Scotty she felt the bottom go out from under her and fly away, like being thrown off the top of a New York skyscraper.