Bad Girls Page 11

  Amber shook her head, and Jared named a couple of famous names that made her eyes widen.

  ‘So what do you say?’ Jared said, fizzing with enthusiasm now. He rubbed his hands together. ‘You make money, I make money, you get to lie around a pool in Dubai and work on your tan. Sounds great all round, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Amber said.

  But there was enough doubt in her voice to make Jared reach for his BlackBerry, scroll down swiftly and announce: ‘There’s a model party, tonight, at the St James’s hotel behind the Ritz. Penthouse suite, drinks on the terrace from seven. Mara’s going – you know Mara, right? She works these things with everything she’s got. Drink some champagne, talk to her. She does most of the Dubai trips and she has a great time. Making a fortune, too. I know you’re a homebody, but this one you have to go to, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Amber did know Mara, a curvy blonde with enviable energy and joie de vivre; she’d feel more confident going to a party if Mara were there to take her under her wing.

  ‘I’d tell you to dress up, but you never need to be told that, do you?’ Jared was positively jovial as he stood up to usher Amber out of his office. He looked taller than usual, she noticed. He must have had new lifts made for his shoes.

  ‘And talk to Slava, too,’ he said, patting her arm. ‘That mother of yours is a sensible woman. She’s always had her feet on the ground. She’ll know this is best for you both. The logical next step in your career.’ He smiled at her, his teeth a marvel of modern dentistry. ‘I’ve got a few girls going out to Dubai in a fortnight. Jumeirah, private beach, business-class flights with Emirates, nothing but the best. Mara’s ticket’s booked already. You’ll have a blast.’

  Jared tilted his head back, looking up at her, his eyes focused on her tawny mane of hair.

  ‘And, Amber? Next time you’re at Nicky Clarke’s, get more of those blonde streaks done, why don’t you? You could lighten up the whole head too, while you’re about it,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Middle Eastern clients, they can’t get enough of the blondes . . .’

  From the penthouse terrace of the St James’s Hotel and Club, tucked away in an elegant Mayfair cul-de-sac just behind the Ritz, most of London’s major landmarks could be seen: the London Eye, the dome of St Paul’s, even the black glittering Gherkin building. There was a well-stocked bar set up on the terrace, and a series of bar tables on which exquisitely dressed, reed-slender models and men in very expensive suits were propping their champagne flutes. Amber, who had just emerged from the plush, grey-suede-upholstered suite inside, stopped on the narrow walkway to the terrace, taking in the scene. She scanned the guests, looking for Mara; Amber didn’t have the confidence to walk into a party where she didn’t know at least one person.

  ‘Foie gras foam, miss?’

  A waiter brushed past Amber as she stood there, proffering a tray on which stood several narrow shot glasses, each filled with dark pink purée beneath a white bubbly cloud of foam. Slender silver spoons stood in each glass. It looked so pretty that Amber was actually tempted, before she remembered that she never ate at parties, for fear of messing up her makeup. Slava had trained her well; Amber put grooming at much higher a priority than her appetite.

  She shook her head reluctantly to the waiter, who moved past her onto the terrace. As a group of people at a bar table turned to survey what he was offering, Amber caught sight of Mara with great relief. It took her a few seconds to realize why she hadn’t immediately recognized Mara: Mara had always been a curvy blonde girl, but now those two adjectives were all you would ever need to describe her. She was no longer a sample size; she must be an English ten, at least. It was a girlfriend body, rather than a model one. Her light-blonde hair was now a bright gold which would be considered too shiny for anything but an Italian TV presenter. It was as if Mara had turned up the volume on her appearance to make sure that no one could fail to notice her. And her dress – a leopard-skin-and-cappuccino print chiffon Uli Herzner dress whose layers fluttered wildly in the breeze – was the perfect final touch, a daring split up the side seeming to risk exposure of an entire long, tanned leg at any moment.

  Sensing someone looking at her, Mara turned, spotted Amber and waved.

  ‘Amber! Hi!’

  And at once, all the attention was on Mara, who had skilfully positioned herself by the edge of the balcony, knowing exactly how her dress would blow and cling to her figure to show it off seductively. Amber pegged her chin to the perfect angle, covering the short distance down the walkway to Mara with such catwalk poise that a couple of men sighed ‘Wow’ in unison.

  Amber’s dress was Dolce and Gabbana. It nipped in her waist, gathered over her hips, and lifted her breasts onto a cupped-out balcony, a little shelf presenting them to viewers. It was natural for Amber to be dressed-up, natural for her to be looked at; she felt totally confident with her appearance, and it showed.

  Mara exclaimed happily: ‘Sweetie, you look fabulous!’ Expertly, Mara had turned away from the group of men she was talking to, leaning one arm along the balcony, posing so everyone could see her and Amber, watch how the breeze lifted their hair, but not hear their conversation. ‘So,’ she continued excitedly, ‘I hear you’re coming on the party plane to Dubai! We’re going to have a brilliant time!’

  ‘Really?’ Amber’s spirits rose at Mara’s enthusiasm.

  ‘God, yeah!’ Mara’s baby-blue eyes widened. She’d always been a very pretty girl, too pretty for full-on high-fashion modelling, which needed a stronger bone structure than Mara’s rounded features. But it meant that she looked much younger than twenty-nine, her real age; she could easily pass for twenty-four or -five. Which, in their industry, was a huge benefit.

  ‘Jared said you wanted to know what it was like,’ Mara continued. ‘Well, it’s fantastic over there. Like a big tap just pouring out champagne and diamonds all over you. Everything’s the best of the best. Private beaches, waterfalls at the villa, massages and beauty treatment whenever you want. And you get fabulous pressies to bring home with you that Jared doesn’t take a cut of.’ She winked.‘I can help you sell anything on afterwards. I know a great dealer who’ll give you a good price. I mean, it’s lovely to get sapphires the exact colour of your eyes, but I’d rather have the cash value to invest, wouldn’t you?’

  She read a certain blankness in Amber’s expression, and interpreted it correctly.

  ‘And I’ll put you in touch with a good investment advisor, OK?’ she added helpfully. ‘Looks like you need one!’

  ‘I’m not very good at being businesslike,’ Amber confessed.

  ‘Oh, I’m not that great either,’ Mara said, patting Amber’s arm. ‘But I take good advice, that’s the trick. We’ll hang out in Dubai and I’ll spill my whole bag of tricks, shall I? I mean, let’s face it, we’ve only got a few years left – I want a nice portfolio and some good buy-to-let investments by the time no one wants to fly me around the world to party with them, don’t you?’

  She flashed Amber a big smile, and Amber found herself smiling back with equal warmth. There was something very endearing about Mara;Amber had always liked her when they’d found themselves on the same ad shoots together, but Amber had never been that good at making friends: she had no experience of childhood friendships to take into adult life. And Slava had never encouraged her daughter to work at befriending other girls, feeling that they would interfere with her closeness with Amber.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Amber said. She blushed a little, a faint pink tinting her perfect cheekbones. ‘Having a bit of a holiday with you, I mean. I don’t get away with other girls at all, really. It’s usually just me and my mother, and she’s not that keen on travelling any more.’

  Mara’s smile ebbed for a moment. Amber hoped she hadn’t sounded too needy.

  ‘Hey, enough girl talk!’ called one of the guys from Mara’s table. ‘We’ve got a bottle of Dom here that needs drinking, ladies . . .’

  ‘Hedge-funders,’ Mara said out of
the corner of her mouth to Amber, ‘and a guy who’s big in SunSeeker yachts. Fabulous party, isn’t it?’

  Swept up on the wave of Mara’s enthusiasm, Amber threw herself into the party with what, for her, was gusto. She drank several glasses of champagne, till she was floating pleasantly on a fuzzy cloud of happiness; she felt as if she were a few feet off the ground, buoyed up on bubbles. The waiters brought some sushi in little china spoons, which she was able to eat without smudging her lipstick – practically calorie-free yellowtail, so fresh it must have been caught that morning, touched with jalapeno pepper and lime. And the male attention was always fun, especially as she was always surrounded by at least two or three men at any one time.

  Every time one man would try to isolate Amber from the group, however, she would smile and slide through his fingers, never letting him succeed; she didn’t like that kind of solo attention, didn’t know what to do with it. Inevitably, he would ask her more personal questions, want to get to know her, or at least pretend to, and she was never comfortable with a conversation that became more intimate.

  Though Amber hadn’t quite admitted it to herself, the ‘dates’ Jared arranged for her with Tony, and the other couple of guys she saw when they were in town, were a perfect set-up for her. For them she was an exquisite doll, a toy they could take out of her silk-lined box and play with reverently. Amber had been treated as a doll ever since she entered the world of modelling, at fourteen, but photographers, editors, fashion designers, were very hard on their toys. Amber had been pinched, prodded, and told in merciless detail about all her defects for the last ten years; she’d had men make it clear that they wanted her sexual services in return for being booked on prestigious jobs, and, very conscious of being the only breadwinner in the family, she’d pretty much always gone along with what they wanted.

  Compared with her treatment at the hands of the model industry, Tony’s concern for her made him a prince among men. Besides, he never expected anything from her that she didn’t know how to give. With Tony and the others, it was a clear contract. She knew where the sides of the box were, and she liked that.

  So, a couple of hours later, as a hedge-funder called Jeremy took a plate of pink champagne truffles from a waiter so that he could offer it to her with a flirtatious wink, using it to drive a physical wedge between her and the other men at the table, she smiled and shook her head and, adjusting the wrist strap of her eelskin Hayden-Harnett clutch, slipped away to the toilet, saying she’d be back in a minute, and not meaning a word of it.

  Inside the penthouse suite, a glossy group of jet-setters were lounging on the grey suede wraparound sofas, watching music videos on the huge plasma TV, lightly toasted on champagne, giggling as one hot young body crawled provocatively over another, half-naked and oiled up, singing about love and sex and magic. Amber moved past them with her usual veiled half-smile, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes, walking into the bedroom, looking for the bathroom beyond. On the bed, talking on her mobile phone, was Mara, chattering away animatedly; she looked up and flashed her fingertips at Amber, giving her a big smile.

  ‘Ciao, ciao!’ she said to the phone, snapping it closed.

  It must have been the champagne on top of the pills she’d taken that day, sending a rush of real human feeling to flood her ribcage with warmth and affection, but Amber found herself sitting down next to Mara on the bed, reaching over, and giving her a hug that was not just a fashion-world brush of clothes, but a genuine embrace.

  ‘I do look forward to going away with you,’ Amber said, surprising herself with how fervent she sounded. ‘We’ll have lots of fun getting to know each other, I hope.’

  Mara’s shoulders moved against her, and Amber thought Mara was reaching up to hug her back. And then, to her horror, she realized that Mara was sobbing.

  ‘Mara?’ she said, pulling back, scared that she’d made an idiot of herself. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  Mara’s hands were up, covering her face. She was crying hard, and her display of emotion frightened Amber, who had no idea what to do. Amber looked around nervously; all she could think of was to get up and close the bedroom door, to give Mara some privacy. Not wanting to leave her, she went back and sat down next to Mara, perching carefully on the edge of the bed, not daring to reach out to touch Mara in case this upset her still further.

  ‘You’re being so nice!’ Mara sobbed from behind her hands. ‘I can’t do this if you’re going to be this nice!’

  ‘Do what?’ Amber asked, puzzled.

  ‘Tell you all that crap about how great it is in Dubai!’ Mara lowered her hands, revealing a face smeared with makeup. Her eyes were a wet mess, the liner and mascara that had defined her light blue irises so successfully now blending with her tears to drip brown tears down her smooth round cheeks. ‘You do make a ton of money, and you do get fantastic presents if one of the guys likes you – that’s all true. I didn’t actually lie to you. But, Amber, it’s a whole different level from going on a weekend away somewhere safe, in Europe, with people around.’

  She choked up, swallowing hard, and flailed around her, grabbing a silver box of tissues from the bedside table.

  ‘If anything goes wrong, you’re on your own,’ she said, blowing her nose. ‘Do you know what I mean? The other girls can’t help you. There’s no one to talk to who cares if something bad happens.’ She gulped. ‘Not that anything really bad’s going to happen. I mean, they’re paying a lot of money, a lot. They don’t just want high-quality girls, they want ones they’ve seen in magazines, ones they can boast about being with. They’re not going to mess up their connections to the model agencies. They’re not going to hurt you, or make you stay there longer, or – you know, really bad stuff.’

  Amber waited. She was good at that; a working model’s life was all about hurry up and wait. Mara looked up from her tissue, met Amber’s gaze, and started crying again.

  ‘You need to get tested,’ she said faintly. ‘You know what I mean? If they don’t want to wear condoms, you can’t make them. And if you don’t like party scenes, or getting friendly with other girls, they’re really not happy about it. You can’t start saying “no” to things – you just have to go along with whatever they want. And you have to not mind them looking straight through you as soon as they’ve finished.’

  Amber stared at Mara in horror as the words sank in.

  ‘It’s worse than I thought it would be,’ Mara said plaintively, ‘but it pays so well! I keep saying I won’t go back, but then I think how much I’ll make, and I tell myself it’s just a week . . .’ She grabbed another tissue, her nails perfect pale pink varnished shells. ‘There’s one guy I actually really like, I look forward to seeing him, I just always worry he won’t pick me the next time and I’ll get someone really gross – oh God, I’m making it sound so awful, and it’s really not that bad! I mean, ninety per cent of the time it’s the most fabulous place to be . . .’

  Amber had so little experience of taking care of a crying girl who was sharing her secrets that she didn’t know what to do. With every fibre of her being, though, she wanted to help Mara feel better. So she did the only thing she could think of: she unzipped her clutch and pulled out two orange plastic vials of pills, Xanax and Klonopin. Silently, she proffered them to Mara, who was wiping her eyes now, gulping deep breaths of air.

  ‘Do you want to take something?’ Amber asked.

  Mara looked at what Amber was holding out, and gasped in laughter. ‘Oh God, no, that’s the last thing I need!’ she said, standing up. ‘Downers, the way I feel right now? I’m going to do a couple of big fat lines and put my face back on!’

  She went through into the bathroom, calling over her shoulder: ‘Do you have any makeup on you?’

  Of course Amber did. Her clutch bag was packed carefully with a whole armoury of travel-size touch-ups. She followed Mara into the bathroom and helped her make up her face to perfection once more, a final dusting of the violet-scented pastel beads of Guerlain’s Les Meteo
rites giving Mara’s pale peach skin a delicate, healthy glow. Then Mara flicked open a silver cardholder, pulled out a wrap of coke and cut herself a pick-me-up on the glass shelf beneath the mirror.

  ‘Models, coke and toilets,’ she said drily, throwing back her head and inhaling hard to make sure all the cocaine had been sniffed down her nasal cavities. She flashed herself a quick look in the mirror, licking her finger and running it round her nostrils to remove any faint white stains. ‘It’s like the ultimate combination.’

  Amber nodded: how many times had she seen this scene play out in front of her? She flicked out a Klonopin and swallowed it with a swig of water.

  Seeing this, Mara smiled wryly. ‘I like to go up, you like to go down. We’d never be best drug buddies, would we?’

  ‘Thank you for telling me about Dubai,’ Amber said seriously.

  ‘Look, I got a bit hysterical. I’m sorry,’ Mara said, grimacing. ‘Champagne always makes me a bit morbid. Forget what I said before. You should definitely come. The money really is amazing. And we could look out for each other.’ She arranged her blonde curls around her face, tilting her head to get the styling just right. ‘Well! Time to go back to the party! I really need another drink. Or three.’

  ‘Come home with me,’ Amber blurted out as they walked back into the bedroom, so unexpectedly that she took herself by surprise.

  ‘What?’ Mara’s eyes dilated in shock. ‘Amber? I didn’t think you went that way . . .’

  ‘No,’ Amber said. ‘I meant – don’t go back to the party. Come back to mine instead. My mum’s there, we could just watch some TV, have a quiet evening . . . We’ve got vodka and wine at home, if you want some . . .’

  Mara took a deep breath, leaned forward and hugged Amber as tightly as Amber had previously hugged her.

  ‘You’re a really nice girl,’ she said into Amber’s hair. ‘I appreciate the offer, OK? Don’t think I don’t. But out there –’ she gestured to the window of the bedroom, through which they could see the party on the terrace, now bathed in the soft golden light of sunset, laughter and the sound of glasses clinking audible through the open window – ‘might just be my future husband! Or at least the man who’ll take me away from all this! I was really hitting it off with that guy from SunSeeker – he’s divorcing a Russian girl right now – I mean, who knows if he’s ready for a rebound?’