Chapter 5
-Dylan Drake-
“Aren’t you drinking tonight, Dylan?” My co-star and on screen mistress, Rosie Kleen, smiles at me from across the top of her raised cocktail glass.
“Need to keep a clear heard until after my speech.”
She waves aside my explanation. “Don’t be such a pooper. A tipple or two won’t hurt. Join me. Someone get Dylan one of these Dirty Martinis.”
The waiter appears by my side. “Vodka or Gin, sir?”
“Neither, I’m fine just now.” I can virtually hear Kira remarking I’ve had more than enough shots already. Not that she actually says a thing. “Actually, Vodka’s good, and make it extra dirty.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Rosie’s all smiles, but based on the number of glasses being removed from the table, she’s already downed a half dozen glasses of her favourite poison. She twirls the olive on a stick. “What about your friend? Don’t she want one?”
Kira shakes her head. “A plain slimline tonic’s good.”
To be honest, I’m astonished she even agreed to that, but I suppose she has to attempt to fit in. She doesn’t in any way fit in. Oh, the dress is perfect. Her silhouette’s to die for, and there’s plenty of fire raging behind her eyes, but she’s too stiff, too aware, too antsy.
Rosie switches places so she’s sitting next to me and scoots her chair right up to mine. She links our arms and rests her chin upon my triceps. “You’re so naughty, Dylan. Who is she? Do introduce us.”
“Kira, Rosie. Rosie, Kira.”
“That’s it?” Rosie protests, her scarlet lips puckering to form a pout. “Where’s she from? Wherever did you find her?”
Shit! We ought to have got our cover story together ahead of time. I’m sure Falchard constructed a whole fake history for us, which I’m going to totally fuck up if I improvise.
“Say, like are you guys like together?”
Seriously? I launch an eyebrow up my forehead.
An assortment of titters traverses the table as various interlopers comment on Rosie’s apparent ignorance of my orientation.
It’s not ignorance though, or even naivety.
Rosie doesn’t actually believe gay people exist. ’Cause, don’t be silly, the world is all about opposites and procreating.
Sure, I fuck other men for fun, but one day I’m going to settle down with a nice woman—her—and make oodles of pudding-like kiddies.
The worst part about this scenario is not that the effect Kira’s having on me tonight means there’s a risk of it coming true, but that Rosie actually believes one day I’m going to propose and impregnate her.
“Are you like old school friends?”
“We met recently,” Kira responds. She doesn’t elaborate over how recently.
“Wow. So, like how did that happen? Did you run into one another somewhere? End up sharing a ride?”
“There was a mix-up. She gate-crashed my hotel room,” I say.
“And then I guess you got talking and totally hit it off.” She claps her hands in what I pray is mock delight.
Then she’s up out of her seat again and slipping into the vacant one on the other side of Kira that until a few seconds ago belonged to Oldrich’s cinematography wizard.
He’s gone to talk shop with someone at the next table.
For a second, I almost feel sorry for my bodyguard.
“So, are you guys something?” I hear Rosie enquire of Kira under her breath.
“Just friends.”
“But that’s code, right?”
“No. He’s into guys.”
“Aren’t we all, doesn’t mean we don’t sometimes look a different way.”
“I promise you, this isn’t one of those cases. We are really just friends. That’s right, isn’t it, Dylan?”
Kira’s hand touches my lower arm and I have to fight not to leap right out of my chair.
Friends? No, we’re not fucking friends. We’re barely acquaintances.
She’s a hired pain in my arse. I paste on my sweetest smile.
“What do you want to hear, Rosie? That we’re fucking every goddamned minute we can muster.
That I did her in the car on the drive here and we’re planning to rendezvous backstage while you’re all tucking into your desserts.
I’m fucking gay, woman. Why is that concept so impossible for you to grasp? ”
Maybe I let my voice grow a little too loud, because silence falls around us and Rosie actually purses her lips and almost appears contrite.
“Really, Dylan, you’re so highly strung. Of course I know that about you. Gee, all of us here are a little bit bent.”
“Actually, I’m straight,” mutters some bear-like bloke I don’t recognise.
Rosie doesn’t seem to hear him. “Dylan, I love your new friend. She’s totally cute, and if you’re not going to fluff her during dessert, I might.”
I’m almost willing to lay down hard cash to see the outcome of that. I expect it’ll involve Ms. Kleen getting her arse thoroughly walloped.
Starters are finally served, which at least tethers Rosie to one seat for the duration of the meal.
She chatters away to Kira, who is mostly unresponsive.
I turn away and talk to the guy on my right.
Ewan turns out to be a wildlife photographer who has been following polar bears across the arctic tundra and trying to capture sightings of narwhales.
I honestly didn’t even realise they were a genuine thing, until he produces his camera.
He talks me through some of the pictures, which are incredible, but he describes as snapshots.
Nothing like the stuff he can get with a decent lens.
The downside to his trip appears to be the loss of a couple of toes from frostbite.
The gory details make for an interesting accompaniment to the trout we’re all served.
Fish isn’t the easiest of foods to consume daintily.
Kira manages it, despite Rosie being practically in her lap.
My co-star loudly tells anyone who casts a look in her direction that she’s saving her appetite.
The only thing that passes her lips besides alcohol is a fuck of a lot of tedious drivel and a few ice cubes which she crunches loudly.
By the time dessert hits the tables, several of the people around our table have developed restless legs.
I could put it down to Rosie’s nine to the dozen chatter.
I swear she’s speeding, but the pattern is repeated on other tables around the room.
The aim of the evening is officially to generate money for the Harris Peppard Trust, but the buy-in for the event isn’t so much purchased out of philanthropy in most cases, but a desire to better ones lot.
This is the event to be seen at. Everyone who is anyone is here.
Deals are being struck, fortunes made and lost, and Rosie gets a sniff of something that has her vacating Kira’s lap to totter across the carpet in her silver heels.
Kira and I watch her go, while Ewan tucks into his dessert. I pick up my fork, ready to do the same.
“I hate you,” Kira remarks leaning into me, prompting the halt of movement of cheesecake towards my mouth.
“For something in particular?”
Her gaze follows Rosie across the room.
“Babe, I can do far worse than that.”
“I’m here to look after you, Dylan,” she says with utmost sincerity.
“And a grand job you’re doing of it. I don’t think I’ve felt this together at one of these events since before we started shooting Oldrich Hall.” By which I mean before I had the pleasure of knowing Rosie.
“Unless you think she’s the one behind the notes, then foisting her on me constitutes an impediment to me doing my job.”
“And God help all of us if anything were to hamper your ability to do that.”
“Dylan—”
I spoon blackcurrant cheesecake into her mouth to silence her complaint. She takes it like the proper little good girl I know she always is.
“Rosie, in case you haven’t gathered, believes being gay is simply a lifestyle choice.
She’s convinced if she flaunts her assets and chirps at me for long enough, I’ll magically realise that I wanted to bang her all along, I was just being blinded by my selfish plan to be a pervert for financial reasons. ”
“Explain.” She daubs her lips, after I feed her a second forkful of cake.
“She thinks I’m gay because it makes me seem cool. It’s something to talk about in interviews, and a way of making myself off-limits.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Fuck you,” I swear, rage swelling alongside my poor dick.
“I’m teasing.” She pushes my arm aside, when I raise it again. “Why are you feeding me your dessert?”
I shrug. “Thought I’d better have you check it wasn’t poisoned.”
“I thought your stalker was all for slashing you to ribbons, not watching you puke your guts up.”
My would-be slasher is a figment of the collective unconscious.
“Did you put something in it?” Kira asks.
“Why would I poison myself?”
“I meant to give to me.”
Can’t deny I’d be a lot calmer knowing she was out of my hair for the night. “How big a sedative do you think I’d need to give you to knock you out?”
She eyes me, like she can’t believe I’m even asking this, but isn’t surprised by it either.
“Take me out of play, and Falchard will field someone far, far worse to babysit your cute arse.”
“Is my arse cute?” I quip.
“It’s not bad,” Ewan mumbles around the last of his dessert. Plate cleaned, he reaches for one of the abandoned dishes that are currently sitting before unoccupied places. “Love cheesecake… It’s so good.”
Kira rolls her eyes, but her lips give away her mirth.
She’s incredibly pretty when she smiles.
Those gun-metal grey-blue eyes sparkle and the severe, no-nonsense facade she wears slips.
I bet she’s fun, when she isn’t working.
I almost start warming to her, until my dick realises who it is I’m thinking cosy thoughts about, then it gets all tumescent again, and I’m forced to think about Ewan’s frostbitten toes.
I need to get fucking laid.
The swing band assembled at the front of the stage start tuning up, and launches into an opening number. Various couples take to the dance floor.