Bad Girls (52 page)

‘
Mum!
’ Petal said in shock. ‘There’s someone else here!’ She gestured frantically at Amber, hoping her presence would prevent her mother from stripping off and running round the pool naked, or whatever she was planning to do.

‘No, I mean for
Playboy
!’ Linda said crossly. ‘They used to ask me all the time!’ She sighed. ‘Offered me a ton of money too! But I was trying to act, and I thought I shouldn’t do nude shots if people were going to take me seriously. God, the world’s changed. Nowadays you do sex tapes if you want people to notice you.’ She brightened. ‘Maybe I should—’

‘
No
, Mum!’ Petal said in panic.

‘Bobby and I made some,’ Linda said. ‘And he didn’t take them when he left.’

‘Oh
God
.’ Petal got up. ‘I can’t listen to this, Mum.’

‘I should probably be going,’ Amber said, standing up too.

‘Wow,’ Linda said, her heavily made-up eyes widening as she took in Amber’s appearance. ‘You done
Playboy
yet, honey? You should.’

‘Mum,
please
!’ Petal said. ‘Amber’s, like, a
supermodel
. She’s done
Vogue
and
Harper’s
and everything.’

‘She’d make a damn sight more posing for straight men than the gay guys who read
Vogue
,’ Linda sniffed
. ‘
Hey! I meant to tell you! That stripper girl, the one you caught at rehab fucking Joe Jeffreys?’ She snorted. ‘I watched that online.
Christ
. Did you see it? She’s got some imagination.’

‘She isn’t even drunk,’ Petal muttered miserably to Amber. ‘She talks like this when she’s sober. Can you believe it?’

‘What?’ Linda yelled. ‘Don’t whisper! It’s rude!’

‘What were you saying about Skye?’ Amber asked her urgently. ‘The stripper from rehab?’

‘Oh, yeah! She’s doing a shoot for
Hustler
, I heard. Smart girl. Get it while you can, I say.’ Linda sighed. ‘You think I’d be too old for
Playboy
?’ She put her hands under her breasts and weighed them thoughtfully.

‘
Hustler
?’ Amber said in horror. ‘That’s much worse than
Playboy
!’

‘Hey,’ Linda said, shrugging. ‘She’s already got her coochie out on film for the world to see.’

‘Yeah, but that’s different from letting someone put a camera between your legs, Mum,’ Petal said, wincing. ‘That’s just
disgusting.
It’s like you’re a bit of meat in a butcher’s shop.’

‘You wait till you get old and no one wants you any more, Little Miss Snob!’ Linda said, hauling herself to her feet. ‘You’ll be
happy
for someone to offer you a nude shoot! You wait till your bastard ex-husband dumps your daughter on you without even giving you any money for her room and board!’

She stormed back to the house, slamming the door behind her.

‘I’ve
got
to get out of here,’ Petal said miserably, collapsing back into her chair. ‘Can you believe, Dr Raf actually thought it would be good for me to get to know my mother? “Build some bridges”, he said.’ She sighed deeply. ‘That’s going
really
well, isn’t it?’

But Amber was already heading for the door through which Linda had just disappeared.

I
’m going to puke, Skye thought, putting her hands over her stomach as she felt a heaving in her guts.

‘Hey!’ The girl who was spray-tanning Skye knocked her hands away. ‘I gotta get it even.’ On her knees in front of Skye, she glanced up. ‘You don’t need to worry,’ she added in a friendly voice. ‘I’m contouring you a bit, but you don’t need it. You’re in great shape. Can you open your legs a bit more?’

Skye obeyed, taking a deep breath to make the nausea recede.

‘Cool. They waxed you already, right?’ the girl said, sticking her thumb into the inner crease of one of Skye’s legs and opening her up to take a look. ‘Oh yeah. Nice and smooth. Your backside should be dry by now. You wanna sit down on that chair and let me touch up your pussy?’

Well, this is classy, Skye thought, trying to cheer herself up as she duly sat down on the chair (an old wooden one that wouldn’t show stains from the self-tanner) and splayed her legs wide so the girl could make sure the fake tan round her crotch was even.

I guess for them it’s just like those women who do waxing. Or doctors. Seen one pussy, seen ’em all
.

‘Sometimes they like the natural look,’ the girl observed as she sprayed and wiped Skye’s most sensitive area. ‘Well, not, like,
really
natural
.
’ She giggled. ‘’Cause that would be
gross.
But, you know, a landing strip, or a little triangle or something. But for this one they want you all glossy, don’t they? We’ll oil you up once the tan’s dry. You’re on the plastic furniture, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Skye said, as the girl seemed to expect a response.

‘I saw that! Super-sexy! They might want us to pour some more oil on you too. You know, while you’re posing.’ She giggled again. ‘I’ll be standing by.’

The set for Skye’s
Hustler
shoot was like a grown-up version of a kids’ playroom. Blue plastic gym mats laid side by side and end to end on the floor of the studio, like gigantic tiles. A big yellow plastic chair, which the photographer was making his assistant bend over in various poses, to get the lighting right. A bright red Pilates ball, over which they wanted Skye to do a nude backbend. And a green vinyl sofa – fresh from a porn shoot, apparently.

Skye’s blonde hair was fluffed into bunches, layers of fake lashes so thickly applied that it was hard to keep her eyes open. Her only costume would be a pair of clear plastic heels, five inches high.

Oh, wait, she thought sarcastically. Don’t forget the litres of baby oil.

She looked down at the girl between her legs, who was nudging them still further apart, her head inches from Skye’s naked crotch.

‘They missed a couple of hairs,’ she said, clucking her tongue. ‘Lucky I spotted that – retouching costs a fucking fortune. Hang on, I’ll just get the tweezers.’

It’s just like stripping, Skye observed. In the end, everyone’s paying way more attention to your pussy than to your face.

She took another deep breath. Thirty grand, she said to herself. Thirty grand after the agent’s cut. Just for opening your legs. Thirty grand’s a deposit on an apartment rental here in LA. A cheap car, so you can get to auditions. And enough to float you for a couple of months, while you try to snag some acting gigs.

‘Hey! Looking great!’ the photographer said, sticking his head round the corner of the scrim. ‘They’re gonna oil you up, right?’

Should I close my legs? Or is that totally dumb? It’s not like I’m not going to be spreading them in a few minutes anyway
. . .

In a split-second decision, Skye compromised by sliding her legs half shut – not completely closed, because that would look weirdly prudish, but enough so that her knees were pointed towards him.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘When my tan’s dry.’

‘Cool! Can’t wait to get bending you over some furniture!’ He grinned at her lasciviously. ‘Hey, those tits. They real?’

‘They had a bit of help,’ Skye admitted.

‘Great! They’ll stand up nicely when we get you over that ball. Wow.’ He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Take this as a
big
compliment, OK! I’m getting a boner. And believe me, that doesn’t always happen.’

‘Uh, thanks,’ Skye said, trying as hard not to stare at his crotch area as he was ogling hers.

‘I got the tweezers,’ said the makeup girl, appearing with them.

‘Great! And baby,
lots
of oil on her pussy, okay?’ He licked his lips. ‘I wanna see that thing shining like fucking glass.’

‘You got it.’

Thirty grand, Skye said to herself, really loudly now.
THIRTY GRAND.

Joe hadn’t been in touch. Of course he hadn’t. It had been three days since the reunion at Cascabel, and this time she’d really thought she had a shot at him.
The way he looked at me, the way he kissed me – the way he
teased
me – I
know
we had a real connection. But not enough of one, I guess.

So I can’t wait around for him any more. The
Investigator
’s kicking me out of the Grafton. It’s go back to New York, or try to make a new life for myself here. And to do that, I need money.

‘Ow!’

She winced as the makeup girl tweezed the rogue hairs from between her legs.

‘All done! Stand up and let’s get you nice and oily!’

Skye’s bunches of hair stuck out enough so that they wouldn’t get drenched as the makeup girl worked the oil into her body, dripping onto the black plastic sheet she was standing on, more and more oil pouring over her shoulders, saturating her pores till she was a shiny, slippery, oil slick, her nipples standing up in tight points.

‘Here,’ the makeup girl said, holding out her arm. ‘You’d better let me help you to the set – we don’t want you falling over and cracking your head open—’

Squelching, flat-footed, Skye picked her way gingerly over the floor and through into the main studio.

Well, hey. At least I’m used to being naked in front of a ton of guys.

Besides the photographer and his assistants, there was a whole group of
Hustler
people standing round the monitor that was going to film the shoot; the black-painted walls seemed to narrow in as she stepped onto the gym mats and grabbed the back of the green sofa for balance. Bright light picked out every inch of her body, the oil gleaming, reflecting it back. The costume girl tripped towards her, the Perspex shoes dangling from one hand.

‘Skye! Love it!’ The photographer clapped his hands in pleasure. ‘Let’s get you bending back over that ball! And hey, can you really crack your legs open when you do it? I know it’s not, like, “gymnastic technique” –’ he made inverted commas with his fingers on the last two words – ‘but we want you to spread that pussy over the ball like butter, you know what I’m saying?’

He leered at her, his expression identical to that of every single other person present.

Oh God, Skye thought grimly. This is going to be bad.

‘
Skye!
’

The woman’s voice was such a shock that Skye spun round, lost her grip on the sofa, and fell flat on her ass.

Thank God for the gym mats, she thought, staring up, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Because marching towards her was Amber, hair pulled back, legs taking long strides, elbows out, looking like a captain in a new model army.

‘What the
hell
are you doing?’ Amber said furiously, reaching Skye’s side. She reached down, grabbed Skye’s arm, and hauled her to her feet. Skye skidded against her, getting oil all over Amber’s clothes, but Amber didn’t seem to care one bit. ‘I’m taking you out of here right now!’ Amber said, dragging Skye off the set.

The costume girl jumped out of the way of Skye’s flailing arms, but not fast enough to stop one of them hitting the Perspex shoes, which went flying.

‘Hey! Stop! What the fuck’s going on?’ yelled the photographer, looking up from the monitor.

‘She’s not doing the shoot,’ Amber said between gritted teeth. ‘Where are your clothes?’ she snapped at Skye.

‘Huh? What do you
mean
, she’s not doing the shoot? She’s our cover girl!’ said a
Hustler
executive angrily.

‘
You
take off your clothes and get over that ball!’ Amber hissed back at her. ‘If you want someone to do it that badly!’

‘Look, lady,’ the woman said, coming across the set to confront Amber, ‘I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but—’

‘Oh,
I
know who she is,’ said the photographer, grinning. ‘She’s Amber Peters.
Sports Illustrated
, pink swimsuit, a few years ago.’

‘
Hell
, yeah,’ breathed another
Hustler
exec in appreciation.

Skye was writhing, trying to get away from Amber, but she was amazed at how strong Amber was; her grip on Skye’s arm, even despite the oil, was like grim death.

‘Hey, Amber, what d’you say? Want to pose with your girlfriend?’ the photographer suggested, his grin deepening to a leer. ‘Tell you what – you take off your clothes too and throw that ball to her, and I’ll leave off the whole bending-over thing if that bothers you. What about it?’

‘Shut up, you pornographer,’ Amber said so loudly that everyone actually gasped.

What the hell happened to Amber? Skye wondered in amazement.

‘Come on, Skye,’ Amber said firmly, tugging at Skye’s arm so hard that Skye found herself obeying as Amber dragged her around the scrim to the changing area.

‘Where the hell do you get off, coming in here and talking to us like that?’ the
Hustler
woman demanded, following them, but Amber was already grabbing Skye’s clothes.

‘Are these yours? Put them on,’ she ordered Skye. ‘We’re getting out of here.’

‘Now, hold on . . .’ said the
Hustler
woman.

But Amber, fixing Skye with a piercing green stare, yelled: ‘
Do
it!’ with such authority that Skye found herself scrabbling for her denim mini and T-shirt, pulling them on over her oily body, grabbing for her flip-flops, her bag, her underwear forgotten as Amber frogmarched her to the door.

‘Don’t be stingy, honey!’ yelled the photographer after them. ‘Share the love!’

The bright LA sunlight of the concrete parking lot outside was dazzling after the comparative darkness of the studio; it was in a strip mall, no tall buildings nearby to block the sun. The concrete had heated up, making the parking lot steam with warmth.

Amber and Skye stopped in their tracks, blinking, reaching for their sunglasses. And that gave Skye time to recover from her shock, to round on Amber and say furiously: ‘What the
fuck
? That was thirty grand you just dragged me away from!’

‘I don’t
believe
you,’ Amber said, shaking her head. ‘I just can’t believe you were seriously going to do that.’

‘Everyone does it nowadays!’ Skye protested.

‘No, Skye!’ Amber’s hands were on her hips, her head jutting forwards. ‘They don’t! Everyone
doesn’t
open up their legs for everyone to see what they’ve got down there!’ She remembered what Petal had said. ‘It’s like being a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop!’