Tease (27 page)

‘Cannes eh? Who’s that for?’

‘Some royalty, or something. I don’t keep up to date I’m afraid.’

‘You close to Tiger?’

‘Well, she’s my sister.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’ A smile crept across Lance’s face. Sienna looked nervous. Lance backed off. ‘Okay, so let’s just kill time. I’ve always wanted to know, where did she get her stage name?’

‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’

Lance arched an eyebrow at her.

‘Oh that’s right, you don’t really talk any more do you.’ Sienna smirked. ‘Well, let’s see now. She always says she chose “Starr” because she used to like watching the stars as a kid whenever she felt lonely. She says she believed there was one up there for everyone.’

‘Whenever she felt lonely? I know it’s a long way to Tipperary but it aint exactly the Gobi Desert.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Ireland. She grew up in Ireland, didn’t she?’

‘Er, no! We grew up in Hertfordshire.’

‘Darling, I’m sure you’ve worked this out by now, but I have known your sister in the biblical sense. She once told me on a late boozy night about growing up in Clonmel, after I introduced her to my greyhound Paddy, from Ireland.’

‘Oh yeah, ’cos my sister has such a strong Irish accent – how silly of me not to notice.’

‘Well, okay maybe there’s no accent, but—’

‘Look I think you’re confused. Sure, Mum had Irish parents but she was born in Kilburn. After she met Dad they lived in Hertfordshire, like, forever ’til they died.’

‘No, I definitely remember … ah. You know what, sorry, I must be thinking of someone else.’

‘You’re right about that.’

‘So go on, you were saying about her stage name.’

Sienna had learnt enough from her time at Hunter
Gatherers to know that she shouldn’t crawl into the detail with a hack like Lance so she simply repeated the fiction that ‘Tiger’ had been her sister’s nickname for as long as she remembered. In fact, because of the age gap between them, she couldn’t remember her sister being referred to as anything else. In fact her parents hardly mentioned her at all throughout Sienna’s childhood.

‘So … hang on, how can you be a Starr too in that case? I’m confused.’

‘It’s quite simple really. I just liked Tiger’s stage name better than our boring family name and I decided to change it after our mum and dad died.’

‘Yeah, I heard about that. Must have been tough to lose both your folks like that.’ Lance paused. ‘You changed it from what?’

‘Oh nothing special. I thought Starr sounded – well, like a movie star. It was an improvement on my old name, put it that way.’

‘Which was?’

Sienna stopped and took a deep breath. She managed to look at Lance straight in the eye.

‘Why all the questions?’

‘Just curious! A choice of name says a lot about someone. I’m interested! You know me, I’m a journo. I get paid to be nosey. C’mon … it’s just harmless fun to kill the time!’ Lance winked and put his hand on Sienna’s arm. She tensed.

‘Relax! So come on, what’s your family name?’

‘I don’t want to say.’

‘Something to hide?’

‘No.’

‘Sounds like you have to me,’ Lance goaded.

‘Oh for god’s sake. It’s Adams!’ The diners on the surrounding tables looked around at Sienna. She lowered her voice. ‘Sienna Adams. Satisfied?’

‘That your real name?’

‘Yes!’

‘Why the big secrecy over that?’ Lance shrugged.

‘I don’t know …’ Sienna looked uncomfortable as Lance stared at her intensely. She felt like he was already reading her thoughts. Her shoulders dropped and she turned her face to him.

‘Oh alright, If you must know I got bullied at school. They all used to … sing the theme song from the Addams Family.’ Lance stifled a laugh. Sienna ignored it and continued, ‘I’ve had a – a thing about it ever since. Look, don’t laugh, I’m really touchy about it.
Really
touchy. School wasn’t – it was bloody awful if you must know.’

‘Oh darling, I’m sorry. Truly I am.’ The waiter appeared at the table with more pink champagne. Sienna watched as he let the cork out with a sigh. She was pleased at the distraction.

‘I got bullied too if it makes any difference,’ said Lance as the waiter disappeared.

‘Yeah? What for?’

‘I used to get chased around the football pitch with penknives and called “Daddy Long Legs”.’ Lance smiled.

‘Oh yeah? Well, I got “Twiglet Legs”.’

They both looked at each other and burst out laughing.

‘So is Sienna your real name?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, after all that secrecy I’m not sure whether to believe you.’

‘What?’ she replied, looking alarmed. Wild horses wouldn’t get her to reveal that along with adopting Starr as her surname, she had dropped her dorky Christian name in favour of her middle name. Unlike the name her parents had given her, Sienna Starr was a name destined for stardom. Now her heart was beating loudly as she wondered how on earth Lance would come to know her real name.

‘Well, Sienna,’ started Lance. ‘For all I know, you could be called Wednesday.’

‘Huh?’

‘Wednesday Addams?’

‘Oh ha bloody ha,’ said Sienna, realising with relief her leg had been pulled yet again. Where was Rex anyway? she thought irritably, realising he’d been gone for an age. Sienna looked over towards the restrooms to see him bowling over towards them mighty cheerfully. A table of attractive women stared at him as he passed and nudged each other. One of them made a ‘phwoaar’ face. Sienna was really fed up now.

‘What took you so long, Rex?’ she asked as he approached.

‘God, women, they all turn into nags don’t they,’ remarked Rex, taking back his seat. ‘You’re too young to be a nag, Sienna, tone it down, babes.’ Sienna sighed and turned to her menu once again.

‘Okay, I’m off,’ announced Lance, ‘be good, you two.’

‘Yeah, see you, mate. Have fun with Devon and er – don’t do anything I would,’ said Rex, winking. With that Lance disappeared back to his table, humming the
Addams Family
theme song as he went. Sienna fumed underneath her forced smile.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Rex, sensing her tension.

‘Nothing, it’s just – Rex? Is that …? Oh for goodness’ sake, so that’s why you were gone so long. Will you wipe your nose, please?’ Sienna bristled as she passed him her napkin. Rex waved it away laughing, and took a huge wet sniff followed by a swig of champagne. Sienna sat there simmering. She couldn’t believe he was on it so early in the day. How did he manage it?

Rex was now making eyes back at the table of ladies.

‘Rex, don’t embarrass me. And why are you getting high now anyway?’ she snapped. ‘I thought it was something we did together – our special thing. Since when did you start doing it in the daytime?’

‘Babe, I’ve been doing chang longer than you’ve been alive. Now quit with the nagging, you’re turning into a bore,’ he retorted, washing back his vintage rosé.

The words stung. Sienna felt well and truly out of her depth in every way. She decided she really should have
some champagne after all, and leaned over to pour herself a glass. Her mind kept flicking back to the exchange with Lance. Something just didn’t sit right. Why was he so interested in her and Tiger anyway? And that weird comment about where she grew up, arguing with her as if she wouldn’t know what country her own sister had grown up in. Okay, so there were ten years between them, and Tiger was always away at boarding school but her folks told her everything about Tiger she needed to know; not that there was anything that interesting.

God, Sienna hated how Lance had a knack of wheedling information out of people; she mentally kicked herself for giving in to him. There was no question, she had to harden up; learn from the tough guys. She’d dipped her toe and got eaten up for breakfast by Bob Bell. Now it was time for her to find a way to prove she could really play with the big boys. Then Rex wouldn’t find her such a bore, would he?

‘Mwah! Mwah! Thank you, darling, that was a fabulous interview, thank you for your time. I must say you’re looking exceptionally well today, Ms Starr,’ Lydia Appleby muttered. It was her first compliment of the meeting. Tiger took a deep breath and looked sideways at Lewis who gave a barely detectable nod and wink. That was a tough interview. It was supposed to be a huge feature on how a British national treasure was making her mark on the most American of institutions, Las Vegas, although one would
think it was about Tiger’s personal life, the way Lydia had been digging around for gossip like a kid on an Easter egg hunt. Tiger had fielded her questions like a pro, always aware of how her words could be twisted, and always making sure to drag the subject back to her new Vegas show. For once, she was pleased that Lewis was there in the background with his ears pricked as usual, particularly since Rex was a no show, unusually for him. He was normally keen to police any major interviews himself.

Tiger wondered if Lydia’s choice of venue today – the infamous and opulent Les Trois Petits Cochons tea rooms in the heart of Knightsbridge – had been chosen to distract her and lull her into thinking it was a gossipy coffee morning. Lydia had stuck to her story that she wanted the accompanying photographs to be somewhere quintessentially European, and seeing as Tiger was reknowned for her fabulous figure, she felt it would be something of an irreverant celebration of that to feature her in amongst the exquisitely decorated cakes. She was certainly right on that front, the cakes verged on artworks and were delicious; Tiger felt entirely happy spending an afternoon surrounded by sugary confection.

Tiger had, in fact, declined to mention to Lydia that she often came to Les Trois Petits Cochons to hide away quietly with a book and a delicious coffee éclair for an hour between meetings, whenever she had the opportunity. The kitchen staff would even send small boxes of macaroons outside to Vladimir while he waited in the
limo. Tiger simply loved the vaulted ceilings and enormous gold chandeliers and the mezzanine level with its sweeping gold staircase and rich purple velvet chairs. It was all so fancy and overtly decorative with its filigree duck-egg blue and gold wallpaper; it made her feel like she was sitting right in the middle of a doll’s tea party. It also reminded Tiger of happy times spent in the beautiful rich old cafés of Budapest when she spent a month there in a show at the State Opera House. No, there was no way she would mention to Lydia that she was a regular here, or her occasional peaceful breaks would turn into autograph-signing sessions.

‘We’d like to take the shots now, near that display by the window,’ said Lydia, motioning over at the lanky, whiskery photographer who had already lit the corner and was now flapping a test Polaroid, while his assistant played around with the lighting, trying to adjust one of the reflectors by an eighth of an inch without disturbing a pile of iced fancies. Tiger immediately recognised the photographer as Kris Stewart, some new hotshot on the scene who had already shot everyone from Bowie to Beckham. She walked over and shook his hand warmly to break the ice. Lewis buggered off for a pot of lapsang souchong on his own. Shoots always bored him senseless and he was happy to leave Blue to do what he did best. Blue was already chatting with Kris and having a careful look at the Polaroids.

‘Darling, it’s quite muted – candy-box ’fifties colours –
you might want to pop a black hat on so your hair isn’t disappearing tonally,’ he whispered over at Tiger. ‘It’ll balance out the Chanel dress perfectly too.’

‘Okay, darling, choose me something from your magic box,’ said Tiger as she eased into the shot between the huge displays of cakes.

Ageing, dried-out ladies with expanding waistlines, bundled up in Bulgari diamonds and other spoils from their failed marriages, were nudging each other at their tables and winking sourly over their teacups at the action unfolding, while Blue disappeared out to the car to retrieve some accessories. A crowd was steadily gathering outside. Teenage girls huddled together and chattered about Tiger’s outfit, as young men pressed their noses up at the glass hoping for a flash of stocking top. Tiger looked over and batted her eyelids for the boys, who excitedly jostled for the best view.

‘Okay, Tiger, another test with you in shot please, and –
click
– thank you,’ said the photographer, retrieving the Polaroid and holding it under his armpit while it developed.

‘So, Vegas here we come eh!’ said Kris as he waited. This was always the small talk part where the good photographers tried to get a rapport going before giving their directions.

‘Yes, not long now,’ replied Tiger brightly, turning as she heard a tapping at the window. One of the boys outside was getting a little forward. She winked and smiled.

‘Well, this shot is as far from neon and casinos as possible,’ laughed Kris, peeling back the Polaroid.

‘Oh, but that
is
what they want of course, isn’t it!’ agreed Tiger, hearing the tapping at the window again. She turned and the boy outside drew a heart shape in the air with his index finger. The ladies on the tables nearby were tutting loudly and scowling as best they could through their botoxed brows. Tiger put her finger up to her mouth to the young boy as a ‘shhhhh’.

‘Right, this is looking gorgeous now, I just need to give you a little more cheekbone then we’ll go for it,’ said Kris, sounding happy with his shot.

‘Okay great, but I just want to pop on a hat if I may. Blue will be back in a few minutes with a couple for me to try.’

‘Fine, no probs,’ said Kris, as he motioned for his assistant to tweak a light. Tiger heard the tapping again, this time louder.

‘Hmm, they make them cheeky these days,’ she remarked.

‘Heh heh, ah you never know, maybe they’re just after a bit of cake frosting,’ said Kris.

‘Yeah right,’ snorted the up until now mute assistant.

Tiger’s mind whizzed as the tapping on the window progressed to banging, and the old ladies were emitting loud, plummy Wimbledon Village-style ‘Well
really
’s’ in Tiger’s direction. There was only one way to shut the naughty boys up, Tiger decided. She scanned the tall piles of cakes
and located a dish of cream-filled choux buns. This ought to silence them, she thought, and she threw a bun towards them as they tapped madly on the window, forgetting that the reason she had never made it into the netball team at school was entirely down to her lamentable aim. Tiger gasped in horror as the cake sailed past the window, hitting one of the particularly unattractive lunching ladies’ brigade squarely in her rock-hard sandy blonde coiffure. The room fell silent as cream dripped from her dry hair. Her thin lips pursed so tightly they resembled a cat’s bum. Tiger bit her lip and braced herself for a torrent of braying abuse. Instead she watched as a wicked gleam came into the old lady’s eyes, she screwed up her face, grabbed her jumbo Florentine and threw it like a frisbee. Tiger ducked as it flew by, a shard of almond nearly taking her eye out. The sticky biscuit hit Lydia in the face with a ‘thok’. Lydia looked shocked for a moment as she stared at the cream-covered old lady, who was now struggling to stop laughing.