Wicked Ambition (23 page)

‘Don’t you have someplace else to be?’ She had an image of Fraternity writhing around without their clothes on over the polished floor of some record executive.

‘No.’ Joey looked awkward. ‘Thing is, Kristin, since you and Scotty broke up…I mean Scott’s gutted about it, anyone would be, but I guess, well, for a while now, I…’

‘We need you in make-up, Kristin,’ an assistant interrupted them.

‘All right,’ she agreed, allowing herself to be dragged off. ‘It’s a date.’

Fraternity opened the show in spectacular fashion. As the headline act the crowd had expected to be made to wait to see them, and the surprise element only added to their passion. Fraternity fever swept through the ranks, from five-to fifty-year-olds, as adulation ricocheted across the domed arena and the boys’ music was drowned out in a sea of ignorant
worship. Kristin glimpsed the charade from her position at the sides and wanted to scream her anger.

They performed their Christmas single ‘Keep You Warm’ and Scotty played it like an ace, crooning from the cocoon of a heavy winter coat that must have been sweltering beneath the lights and reaching to clasp an ocean of outstretched hands. She could no longer accept the band or anything they stood for. His phony enactment made her gag.

People
craved
the illusion; they
welcomed
it. They didn’t want real life with its pain and troubles and heartache, they didn’t want agonising truths and treacherous lies, they didn’t want the constituents of a hard, genuine relationship that could turn any second and rip the ground from under you. The fantasy suited them, and Kristin knew then that even if she ran onstage right this minute and revealed Scotty and Fenton’s affair, just shouted it out to the crowd, she’d be met by a pool of blank, uncomprehending faces, as though
her
version were the false one, and all it would take was one voice to start chanting his name and the rest would follow, everything forgotten, an accusation they didn’t and could never believe…

‘Scotty! Scotty! Scotty!’

They called for him now like the plastic blow-up messiah he purported to be. Each was as synthetic as the next, the perfect boy-band blend that was totally and utterly bogus.

Kristin’s set cut a fine contrast to Fraternity’s vocoded beats. Taking the microphone unencumbered, she strummed her way through the hits that had made her, easing the crowd back in on familiar territory. Shouts of
‘We love you, Kristin!’
alleviated a sliver of the hurt and made her realise that
she cherished what she did. She didn’t have to give it up for anyone.

‘More!’
they chanted, and she struck up the opening chords to the adored ballad from Ava Bennett’s movie
Lovestruck
. As the crowd applauded, she realised she was going to have to write some new material fast, because swooning about girl-meets-guy-and-falls-in-love-for-ever had a now decidedly insincere ring to it.

Relief at the success of her run was quickly replaced by shock when afterwards she found Scotty waiting like a neglected Labrador in her dressing room.

‘I don’t want to see you.’ Roughly she pushed past him.

‘I have to talk to you,’ he wheedled.

‘What about?’ She busied herself with pointless things in an effort to seem distracted.

‘Where’ve you been all this time?’ he spluttered, grabbing her arm. ‘For fuck’s sake, you could have at least
called
me? I’ve been going crazy!’

She rounded on him.
‘And I haven’t?’

‘I was building up to tell you.’ Scotty came towards her, eyes full of sorrow, the bright blue eyes she used to hold so dear but that had spent too long staring into the pool of another man’s reverence to ever hold any truth. ‘I swear it—’

‘But you want him, don’t you?’ she demanded sourly. ‘That whole time, the whole time we were together, you wanted him. And you didn’t have the decency to tell me.’

Don’t lose it, Kristin
, she told herself as her voice split.
Don’t let him see you cry
.

‘I’m in love with him.’

‘Leave,’ she told him emptily, her worst fears confirmed, and though she’d steadied herself against them, still they
knocked her flat. ‘I never want to see you again. I
hate
you. I never thought it was possible to hate anyone as much as I hate you.’

‘I can’t leave,’ appealed Scotty desperately. ‘Kristin, I need you.’

‘What for?’ she lashed.

‘This can’t come out,’ he warned. ‘You know it can’t.’

‘Do what you like, Scott. Your sordid trysts aren’t any of my business. As your girlfriend you’d think they might have been, but what do you say we forget about that minor detail? You clearly have, you asshole.’

‘Fenton and I have been going out of our skulls—’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Kristin retorted, oozing sarcasm. ‘It must have been so
hard
for the two of you. But I guess getting hard suits you both fine.’

‘Fenton wants us back together. You and me.’

She barked a laugh.

‘I’m serious. We’d pay you.’

Slowly she shook her head. ‘Oh, Scott. What’s happened to you? I thought I knew you. I thought we were friends.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I thought we were family…’

‘Think about it.’ He was haunted, a piteous figure a million miles from his onstage persona of moments ago. If only the fans could see them both now! What a heap of artificial
bullshit
! ‘Just promise me you’ll think about it. Please. For the sake of whatever we had, and I know it can’t seem like much, but we were close, weren’t we?’

‘Scotty! Scotty! Scotty!’
echoed the cries from outside, a grisly soundtrack to his woe.

‘To protect you?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Yes.’ He was begging her with whatever he had left.

‘I’d have done
anything
for you,’ Kristin choked. ‘I’d have protected you with my life, Scotty Valentine. But I won’t protect you from this. You can take your little deal and shove it up your ass—or up Fenton’s. You never know, he might like it.’

She was still shaking from the confrontation when she arrived at the Mirage. At the entrance a fleet of photographers sailed in for fresh bait, snapping her and Joey together.

‘2013 is going to be the best year of your life,’ he promised as they passed through the foyer, in an attempt to counter her bad mood. ‘I know it.’

‘I wish I did,’ she replied wretchedly.

‘Kristin.’ He took her arm. ‘Whatever went on between you and Scott, if he was cheating on you or whatever, I swear I had no clue.’ She believed him. ‘If that’s why you broke up, even if it wasn’t, I think you’re a million times the person he is.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Thanks.’

If she said anything more she might cry.

Bunny’s pageant was unfolding in one of the conference suites. There was a bustle of interest as Kristin was recognised. Bunny waved at her from up on the stage, dressed in a fuchsia-pink tutu and matching fishnets, and wobbling perilously on too-big shoes. She was sporting yet another wig, this one practically as wide as she was tall, as if she’d put her finger in an electric socket. Her face was orange, her lips crimson and painted on teeny-tiny like a geisha. But her posture was most disturbing—Kristin could all but hear their mother’s orders ringing between Bunny’s ears:
Chin up, chest out, ass tight!
Sequins dazzled off the stage as the
army of Mini Misses twinkled and scowled and smiled with profound misery. Down at the front the mothers, mostly overweight with unwashed hair, hugged themselves with fear.

‘How old are they again?’ Joey whispered as they took their seats.

‘Fourteen going on forty.’

Ramona darted over, model-mum expression in place but Kristin could tell she was seething. Kristin had been instructed to come earlier so she could perform at the competition opening—Ramona had decided this might give Bunny a lead—but the Parthenon gig had run on. Following her image overhaul and decision to move out of The White House, anything Kristin did was at every turn grossly inappropriate and selfish.

‘What time do you call this?’ she hissed.

‘Get lost, Mom. I’m here for Bunny, not you.’ Tomorrow she had to inform Ramona that she was fired as her manager—that would be fun.

‘We’ll talk about this later,’ Ramona snipped, unwilling to cause a commotion.

Later couldn’t come soon enough with the surreal carnival-style recital playing out on the stage. First was the dance round, showcasing a parade of precocious teens, their faces made up like ghoulish dollies and their stringy hips strutting to a run of inappropriate music including an offering from Flo Rida about blowing his whistle. Bunny danced like a maniac to her slot, watched approvingly by Ramona, who nodded grimly whenever a turn or axle was completed to standard. Tracy-Ann Hamilton hovered at the sides like a little despot.

Then came the interview. When Bunny was asked who her idol was, she cited Kristin. The crowd released a collective
‘Aaaah’
and heads craned to clock her response.

Joey nudged her. ‘She thinks you’re the best,’ he whispered. ‘Sibling worship. I’ve got that with my brother—it never goes away.’ From what she could remember Joey’s brother worked in construction and hadn’t a dime to his name. It was sweet. Joey was sweet.

Bunny ended up winning the bout. Ramona released an animal cry and Bunny obediently curtseyed when she collected her trophy, sticky smile rigidly in place.

‘Thank you so much,’ she drawled, drowning beneath an elaborate bouquet. Kristin saw her mother’s mouth move around the scripted words. ‘I can’t wait to come back next time…to take me one step closer to claiming the Mini Miss Marvellous throne!’

‘Do you want to grab a nightcap?’ Joey suggested as they emerged.

Kristin barely heard him. Crossing the Mirage atrium was a gorgeous shaven-headed black man, his muscular arms decorated with tattoos and his physique like a drawing of a superhero, built and stacked and bulging in all the right places.

The Olympian Jax Jackson.

A shiver of desire coursed through her for the first time in weeks.

‘Hang on,’ she murmured, already forgetting Joey was there. ‘Give me a second.’

Without thinking, she went over to say hello. Jax stopped, his entourage loitering behind. He wore the smirk of a man
rarely denied, and so unsurprised to find one of the most famous women in the world chatting him up. The old Kristin would never have been so bold, but Jax was about as far removed from Scotty Valentine as it was possible to get.

Right now that was exactly what she needed…a taste of the wicked.

‘You headin’ my way?’ Jax enquired, and how he said ‘my way’ implied much more than the joint he was about to grace.

‘If I’m invited,’ she responded flirtatiously.

Jax grinned, exposing a gold tooth: the badge of his triumph.

‘We ready to go?’ Joey was next to her. She could feel him bristle, his hand on the small of her back. ‘I’ve got your stuff.’

Jax was unaffected. ‘Step this way, baby. You’re in for a treat tonight.’

Kristin made her decision. She turned to Joey. ‘Change of plan,’ she said, feeling dangerous and reckless and loving it. ‘D’you want to come?’

Joey met Jax’s stare for a second before looking away.

‘Nah, not my scene. Maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow.’ He handed over her jacket and purse.

Turning away from his crestfallen longing, oblivious to it, Kristin accompanied Jax out of the Mirage. She needed to let loose and have fun. She needed to get wild with a stranger who’d never listened to a fucking boy band in his whole entire life.

Kristin was on the edge of adventure.

Jax Jackson couldn’t have arrived at a better time.

29

‘D
oes it turn you on for Ava to be here?’ Cosmo assaulted Turquoise between takes one day. They were filming in a mansion close to the sea; its white bricks were strung with creeping, twisting vines, and the heat was unbearable. So were his arms, locked like a vice around her.

‘Why would it?’

‘My wife, your best friend…and she has no idea what history we share.’

‘Just because you’re making some sicko documentary,’ she retorted. ‘Believe me, you could never come between Ava and me. You’re nothing to do with our friendship.’

Cosmo guffawed. ‘I doubt that, sweetheart. Ava hates being lied to.’

‘I guess she’d know, being married to you.’

‘Whose version do you think she’d buy? Yours, or mine?’

Turquoise knew the answer. Tight as she and Ava were, Cosmo was The Adored in that relationship. She had seen how Ava’s eyes followed her husband around, and how she
visibly lifted every time he was in sight. Ava loved him—but she didn’t know him at all.

‘You think you’ve got this all tied up, don’t you?’ Her eyes flashed. He hadn’t a clue. His wife had left that afternoon following another flying visit, and conditions were ripe.

Sam summoned them for the final take of the day. Before the cameras rolled Cosmo shot her a depraved grin. ‘I remember how it felt having you tied up…’

Bitterness surged through her veins.

‘Action!’ called Sam.

Cosmo was through. It was time for action, indeed.

Early evening Turquoise headed to her room and gathered what she needed. She did it calmly and without fuss, because she had thought it through a hundred times and the outcome was clear in her mind. Each time she wavered she put herself back in Cosmo’s vile clutches, a broken, damaged, ruined seventeen-year-old so callously taken advantage of.

Cosmo’s arrogance had led him straight into the honey trap. She would have left it, moved on, but no: he’d had to reopen the wound.

A photographer friend had loaned her the device. She placed it neatly in her purse, closed and locked the door, and headed down to the hotel foyer.

The man at the counter was more of a boy. They had spoken when Turquoise had checked in and he’d been taken with her beauty.

‘I was hoping it’d be you.’ She smiled as she approached, noticing the colour that flourished beneath his skin. ‘Would you be able to help me with something?’