Читать книгу Wicked Ambition - Victoria Fox, Victoria Fox - Страница 20

As it happened, Turquoise and Robin didn’t need to plan their hook-up in LA. Both stars had been booked on to America’s leading talk show Friday Later, and when they met in the green room they greeted each other like friends.

‘It’s good to see you,’ said Turquoise, giving her a hug. Robin made her feel like a protective older sister. Though the girl cultivated an air of invincibility, dressed in a tangerine T-shirt and skin-tight pants, her fringe falling over an extraordinary palette of make-up and a slash of flamingo-pink lipstick, Turquoise saw it for the mask it was. Robin acted as if she didn’t care: just her versus the world, a one-woman army. Why had she built so many walls?

‘Ditto.’ Robin beamed. ‘Hey, I heard you’ve got a movie coming up?’

Turquoise’s heart caught in her throat. She still hadn’t found a way to say no. Donna had insinuated that turning down the Cosmo Angel project would slam the door on future opportunities in Hollywood—major names were being attached and walking away could spell disaster. It was their only shot. The idea that Turquoise’s bête noir could not only rob her of her youth but of the dream she and Emaline had shared was an abomination.

She’d find a way out. She had to.

‘Possibly,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s early days.’

‘Exciting, though, huh?’

She forced a smile. ‘Yeah.’

Cosmo kept a tight rein over his PR and news of his involvement couldn’t be broken yet: Donna had warned that tonight could bring up the proposed collaboration and had briefed her response. Their meeting in London with Sam Lucas had gone smoothly, and, as predicted, the part of Gloria, a rags-to-riches songbird, was the perfect role at the perfect time…What possible reason could she give Donna for her refusal? In the past she had made no bones about her desire to enter the movies. There was nothing whatsoever about the role—at least on paper—that she could feasibly take objection to.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Robin. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘On air in five!’ The producer passed through to check their mics. Turquoise could hear the audience being warmed up, laughter bleeding in from the studio.

‘Absolutely fine.’

Robin looked unconvinced and she teamed it with a decisive nod.

The style of Friday Later was to keep each guest on the sofa to join in conversation with the others, so, as the biggest star with the longest airtime, Turquoise was on first. Harry Dollar, the host, wasted no time in asking about her move into Hollywood.

‘I’d rather not jinx it,’ said Turquoise, with a coy expression that betrayed nothing of her ravaged nerves. ‘But it’s promising.’

‘Can you give us a clue?’ Harry appealed to the audience. ‘We want to know, don’t we?’ Turquoise re-crossed her legs, laughing along graciously. ‘I heard Sam Lucas’s name on the grapevine…?’

‘I couldn’t say, Harry. Really.’

‘But you can confirm we’ll be seeing you on the big screen very soon?’

The studio lights burned. The glare of the cameras swung round to capture her response, which for a second relinquished to a flicker. ‘Yes, you will.’

It was a relief when Robin was invited to join them. She talked fervently about her upcoming tour and the collaboration with Puff City.

‘I’m seeing them while I’m over,’ she enthused. ‘It’s a big deal for me—like, huge. These are the guys I had on my walls growing up. They’re legends.’

Last was a raconteur comedian, who steered them mercifully towards the end of the show. Afterwards Harry kissed Turquoise and told her she was ‘a woman of mystery’. If only he knew.

‘D’you want to hit the town?’ asked Robin.

‘Sure.’

They took a car to Chilean hangout Astro off Santa Monica. Robin had invited the comedian and his entourage and as they chatted carelessly on the way Turquoise wondered if she would ever reach a point in life where she could let go so easily. Would she ever enjoy a night without the hot breath of fear hovering at her shoulder? Would she ever meet new people and feel able to open up, to embrace their company without restraint? Would she ever escape the dread of having Cosmo Angel expose her, demolishing all she had strived for against inconceivable odds, in just a few poisonous words?

If Donna had her way, in a matter of days she would be shaking hands with her costar-to-be and signing the contract as easily as she signed away her fate.

Panic flooded over her. ‘Sorry…’ She fumbled to collect her purse. ‘I—I have to get out. Driver, pull over.’

Robin’s face was etched with worry. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t feel well. Please excuse me. I’ve got to go home.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No. Don’t. I’d rather you didn’t. It’s just a headache.’

‘Then let’s at least get hold of your car—’

‘I’m fine.’

The vehicle came to a stop. ‘I’ll call you,’ she said, before stepping out into the night, not caring if she was seen, hailing a cab like anyone ordinary and wishing with all her might she could be just a girl on the street, no one remarkable, invisible, untouchable, free.

Cosmo Angelopoulos liked to watch. Grace Turquoise got that pretty quick, the minute she turned up at the door to his Hollywood mansion and found a six-foot black girl waiting for her inside. The girl was drugged up to the eyeballs, reclining on a velvet sofa with her legs wide apart. Wordlessly Cosmo tore off Grace’s coat and pushed her to the floor.

‘Open your mouth, cunt,’ he directed. ‘And look like you’re enjoying it.’

She recognised Cosmo straight away. She had seen him in the papers, on TV, the twenty-something up-and-coming actor who was billed to take Hollywood by storm. Yes, he was staggeringly handsome. Yes, he resembled a young Marlon Brando with his brooding looks and muscular build. Yes, he had the face of a boy who would never say no to his mom. Who knew he was also a despicable pervert who liked to beat on women? But she was here to do a job, and as one of Madam Babydoll’s she couldn’t afford to disappoint.

Grace used her tongue in the way Cookie had shown her. The black girl’s thighs were strong and held her in place like a vice, hands snatching down to push her in deeper. It was salty and sweet and wet, and every time she broke for air Cosmo forced her back.

‘Keep goin’, bitch,’ he snarled, kneeling next to them for a front row seat. ‘You like that, don’t you, you greedy whore?’ Grace closed her eyes and concentrated on the task.

‘Oh, yeah…’ the girl moaned. ‘Yeah, baby, that feels so fine…’

Cosmo started to feel her up. He began by removing Grace’s thong, roughly dipping his fingers in, two or three at once, which made her gasp her discomfort. They were covered in a freezing cold gel that was meant to open her up but instead she contracted against. His thumb pushed violently into her ass, forcing her to cry out.

‘Get back to it, slut.’

The girl’s hips tilted to meet her and Grace forced herself to keep going, despite the pain. Cosmo freed his cock and slammed into her, grunting at her rear, snatching at her breasts and pushing in deeper and deeper till it felt like there was nothing left of her to give. With a gurgling whimper he climaxed. She felt a jet of warm liquid spurt across her back.

If she’d thought that was it, she was mistaken. Cosmo could go all night.

‘Your turn, bitch.’ He slapped the black girl’s face, twisting her pair of dark, hard nipples to bring her out of rapture. An enormous dildo appeared, its tip glistening. Obligingly the girl attached it to her waist, an obscene rubber proboscis, huge and frightening as Grace was flipped over a chair and her legs brutally spread. The hurt was like nothing she had ever experienced, tearing her in two, but still there was no mercy. The girl pounded into her, delirious, deaf to her complaints. Cosmo paced, proudly stiff once more, pausing at intervals to refresh his viewpoint. Eventually he stopped at Grace’s head and drove his cock into her mouth. She could taste the remnants of his first ejaculation and gagged.

When it was over, she returned to Madam Babydoll’s with three thousand dollars in her pocket. It was the most she had ever been paid for a job but that made no difference.

‘He likes you,’ encouraged Madam Babydoll the following week. Grace had only just recovered from the ache Cosmo had inflicted on her—but she’d never recover from the humiliation. ‘You’re his favourite. He wants you again. He’s requested you personally.’

The other girls were jealous. Cosmo was the biggest catch on the books.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘It’s five grand this time, honey. You keep three and a half. It’s your call.’

The second occasion she went he’d hired a redhead with freakishly large breasts. Grace took charge of the dildo and was instructed to nail Cosmo with it while the redhead sucked him off. The ordeal took hours because Cosmo was so high he couldn’t come. He made Grace call him a bad boy and tell him he needed his ass screwed to teach him a lesson. When finally he was done he was so exhausted that he had them run him a bath and put him in it, relaxing with a joint while he scoped them making out on the floor. Recovered, he took them in turn over the rim of the tub, so many times she lost count, and when Grace left the mansion at five a.m. she was sorer and more bruised than she’d ever been.

After that he asked for her every time. Madam Babydoll tried to switch her appointments to accommodate before realising that Cosmo would pay more and more for whatever it was he couldn’t have. Soon a night with Grace reached ten thousand dollars.

‘I said I was through with that,’ she told Madam Babydoll. But in truth she had almost enough saved to get her own place, try going it alone in LA and getting out of this sordid game once and for all. One last night with Cosmo Angelopoulos, that was it; she’d endured it before so she could endure it again, and after that she’d be made. How much worse could it get? The exchange was surely worth it. She’d never need to prostitute her body again. She could meet a guy, fall in love and do it like it was supposed to be done. No one had to ever know what she’d been through or how she’d lived. A fresh start…a clean slate.

Deciding to go to Cosmo’s that night was the worst decision she ever made.

The girl he’d got was young. Grace saw straight away that he’d plied her with drugs—blow, pills, weed, anything he had going—and, judging by the clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor, had already had sex with her. The girl’s eyes were glassy and stoned, she kept giggling and slurring and when Cosmo beckoned her over to attend to his burgeoning hard-on she weaved drunkenly before crashing to the ground.

‘I don’t think she’s well.’

‘Shut it, bitch. Take your clothes off.’

‘She needs a doctor. What have you given her?’

‘What she begged for: a big hard cock.’

‘She’s tripping. We should call someone.’

Brutally Cosmo slapped her. He grabbed her chin in his hand and squeezed. ‘I said, take your fucking clothes off. Now. Or I’m going to make you regret it.’

One night. As Grace removed her stockings she repeated the promise in her head.

One last night and then I’ll be free.

Kneeling, she fondled the girl’s breasts. The girl was out of it, slumped on the floor, her limbs shut down. When the girl arched her back, at first Grace thought it was with pleasure. It wasn’t. She’d started to spasm, her body jumping and seizing. Grace saw a pop of foam at her mouth, the eyes rolling back in her head until only the whites were visible.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Cosmo cried.

‘She’s fitting. Call an ambulance. Right now.’

Grace attempted to hold her down, tilting the girl’s head as best she could to prevent her choking on her tongue.

‘Like hell I am.’

‘Do it. She’s in danger.’

‘So am I if we get the fucking cops round!’

Grace pinned him with a hateful stare. ‘Do you want her to die?’

‘She’ll get over it. It’s a bad trip, that’s all.’

It wasn’t all. The girl’s body surrendered to a series of rapid tremors before suddenly, too quick, impossibly quick, it strained a final time before becoming still. Frantically Grace touched her pulse. Nothing. She felt her heart. Still. Dead still.

No. No, no, no, no, no…

Before she could think twice, Grace was resting the girl’s head back, opening her airways and breathing into her mouth. Cosmo was useless, hanging back and swearing, freaking about the mess on his luxury shag-pile carpet and how the fuck they were going to get out of this. She tried to remember what scant first aid she’d picked up off TV, medical dramas she’d half watched, and began to establish a rhythm. Two breaths, thirty chest compressions; she didn’t even know if that was right but she couldn’t stop. Two more, thirty more, two more, thirty more, two more, desperation building and panic surging and then…

Nothing.

‘Don’t die on me, sweetheart. Come on, not here, not now…’

She didn’t know how long she kept it up for, and only stopped when she saw the girl was grey in the face. She was dead. It was over.

Grace sat back on her knees. Cosmo was clothed, stalking the room. He tossed her belongings and numbly she dressed. ‘Get her the hell out of here,’ he ordered.

The word floated in Grace’s throat before she caught hold of it. ‘What?’

‘You whores stick together, don’t you? Get out and take her with you. Far as you’re concerned she never set foot in this place.’

‘You heartless bastard. I’m taking her nowhere.’

‘You’re in this too, cunt.’

‘I tried to save her.’

‘Or else you killed her. I bet you finished her off right there, thumping her chest like that without a clue what you were doing!’

Grace’s mouth was dry. She didn’t believe him, she couldn’t, but even as he uttered the words she knew they would haunt her as long as she lived.

They folded the body into the trunk of Cosmo’s car. He told her that if she breathed a word to anyone he would kill her, and it had been both their faults because if she’d given him time to think then they might have been able to save the bitch. Grace didn’t speak a word as they drove out to the desert. Cosmo flicked the radio on and smoked manically out of the window. All she would remember of that drive was Bruce Springsteen on the airwaves, ‘Born to Run’, and it seemed that her whole life had been spent doing exactly that.

She shivered in the cold night as Cosmo dug the hole. It took forever. A host of stars observed overhead as the body was thrown in, eliciting a sickening thump. Grace pleaded once more to go to the cops and he hit her so hard she was thrown across the hood of the car.

‘This goes nowhere,’ he told her on the ride back to town. ‘Do you understand? I give you your money; you crawl back to whatever hole you came from and I never want to see you again. That bitch is nothing to me, and neither are you. You claim to know me and you’re a crazy-ass motherfucker off the goddamn street. You even think about telling anyone any of this and you’re more of a corpse than the girl I just buried. Got it? It’s your fingerprints all over her, too. Never forget that.’

Grace Turquoise quit Madam Babydoll’s the next morning. She didn’t leave a note, just the cut she owed. Downtown she rented an apartment and took a job in a bar. One night she was singing as she worked and invited to the stage, where as long-overdue luck would have it a visiting record producer encountered the most astonishing voice he’d ever heard.

A week later she was signed to her first label. Cosmo Angelopoulos soon became a horrifying memory, one that would wake her in the night, bathed in sweat and remembering his words. He couldn’t touch her now…could he?

She wasn’t to know that her flourishing stardom was going to lead her straight back into the ring. And that one day she would have to face her adversary—and then, only then, one of them would be made to pay.