Chapter 8 #5
‘Exactly. Are there any more potatoes, Kate?’
Kate shook her head. ‘We’ve eaten everything. I’ll make more food,’ she said, getting up and heading into the kitchen. She had the munchies too. She put a pot of water on to boil and poured herself a bowl of cereal to eat while she waited for the pasta to cook.
* * *
‘Tina!’ shrieked a high-pitched voice beside their table. It was Giovanni Santo, a designer, with Kirstie Long, a very young, very beautiful Hollywood wild child, and her latest squeeze, Peter Hunt, who was just about the biggest actor on the planet at the moment.
‘Tina, how fabulous to see you!’
Will was almost suffocated in a waft of expensive perfume as everyone was introduced in a flurry of air kisses.
As his heart sank, Tina’s face lit up. Soon the newcomers had grabbed chairs and were sitting around their table, trading gossip about mutual friends – who’d got fat, who’d got thin, who’d got married, who’d got whom.
Will realised sadly that Tina hadn’t been so animated all night.
‘Giovanni’s going to take us to a really cool club he knows,’ Kirstie said brightly. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’
Tina couldn’t hide her eagerness, but she consulted Will. ‘Well, I don’t know – what do you think?’
The last thing Will felt like doing was going to a club with a bunch of strangers, but he had no great desire to be alone with Tina either. ‘Sure, why not?’
‘There are paparazzi out front,’ Kirstie warned, glancing warily towards the door. ‘We’re going out the back. You can join us if you like.’
Tina tried to act cool but barely hesitated. ‘Oh, we’ll go out the front,’ she said, affecting recklessness. ‘Give the buggers something for their editors.’
* * *
If Freddie could see me now, Kate thought woozily, slow-dancing with Phoenix by the pool.
She couldn’t believe she was swaying in the arms of one of the biggest icons of her generation under a star-studded Tuscan sky.
It felt surreal – the effect heightened by the amount of alcohol and cannabis she had ingested over the course of the evening.
Bolstered by copious amounts of cereal, followed by big bowls of the spaghetti with garlic and chilli that Kate had rustled up, they had turned the music up full blast and continued the party on the terrace.
Kate was having the time of her life. Owen, Rory and even Phoenix were flirting like mad with her, and being the object of so much male attention made her feel sexy and powerful.
Not that she was taking it seriously – no doubt they were missing their partners and, being the only female around who wasn’t family, she became the focus of all that stray sexual energy by default.
It was harmless fun and it made her feel good.
Owen grabbed her as the music changed to a bouncy pop song, a Motown classic.
Giggling, they tried out some ironic sixties dance moves, making swimming motions with their arms and holding their noses to dive underwater.
The next track was a cheesy love song, a huge summer hit for a manufactured boyband.
‘Whose playlist is this?’ Owen asked disdainfully.
‘Um… mine,’ Kate confessed, cursing herself for having put it on random shuffle rather than selecting a cool playlist.
‘Tossers!’ Owen said, and Kate remembered that this particular boyband had beaten Walking Wounded’s last single to the top of the charts, which made it a lapse in diplomacy as well as taste.
‘We’ll forgive you this once,’ Phoenix called, as he went into the house to skip the track. A few moments later, Kate was relieved to hear a Walking Wounded song pour out of the speakers.
‘Glad your taste isn’t completely shite.’ Owen smiled.
She kicked off her shoes and her dancing became wilder and more abandoned.
After a while she became aware that the others had drifted away, and it was just her and Owen.
Inhibitions cast aside, she gyrated sensually to the pulsating beat.
Weaving perilously close to the pool, she smouldered at Owen.
She was a goddess! She was rock and roll! She was sex on legs!
Seconds later, she was sex without legs.
Her foot slipped on a wet patch and, with a sick feeling, she windmilled her arms frantically in an effort to save herself, but it was useless.
She plunged into the pool, the sudden cold of the water leaving her gasping.
Panicking, she flailed about wildly until she came spluttering to the surface.
She didn’t want to be so rock and roll that she ended face down in the band’s swimming pool, her blood pumped full of alcohol and drugs.
When she surfaced, Owen was hunkered down at the edge, extending his hand to her.
She grabbed it and he pulled her out, coughing, her hair plastered to her head, her dress clinging to her body, snapping back like elastic when she pulled it away from her.
‘Better get you out of those wet things.’ Owen’s eyes gleamed wickedly.
Kate grinned at him and began to undo her zip, turning her back to peel off her dress.
Holding it out at arm’s length, like a striptease artist, she let it drop into the pool, smiling coyly at him over her shoulder.
Privately, she thanked her lucky stars that she had left all her old underwear at home and had only brought the glamorous new stuff she had got on her shopping expedition with her mum and Rachel.
She felt exhilaratingly confident standing in front of Owen in just her bra and knickers.
‘You’ll have to give me your shirt,’ she said, grinning mischievously at him over her shoulder.
Owen’s eyes lit up and he tore it off, then handed it to her.
She took it from him without turning around and shrugged into it, buttoning it as she faced him.
Reaching halfway down her thighs, the soft white cotton, still warm and smelling of him, was already damp and transparent in places where it stuck to her wet body.
‘That’s better,’ she said, pulling her hair free of the collar and shaking it loose. ‘I needed to get into something warm and dry.’
‘I need to get into something warm and wet.’ His eyes darkened as he pulled her to him, toying with tendrils of her hair, which was already curling into snaky ringlets.
A shock of white-hot lust shot through her as those dark eyes locked with hers. This was the best night ever!
* * *
This is the worst birthday ever, Will thought, looking at his watch for the umpteenth time.
It was 3 a.m., but there was no prospect of leaving any time soon.
Seated alone at a table, surveying the scene with bored detachment, the heavy throb of the music pounding in his ears, he was desperate to escape.
The glitzy throng, packed into the hot, overcrowded VIP room of the club Giovanni had brought them to, exuded wealth and privilege.
Everywhere he looked he saw acres of pampered, toned flesh, polished hair, designer clothes and sparkling jewellery.
On the opposite side of the room a young hip-hop mob swarmed around a group of tables along the wall.
The men resembled a motley crew of successful pimps and wealthy sports stars, flashy furs and chunky diamonds mingling with football shirts, baseball caps and fat, gleaming white sneakers.
The women all had endless legs emphasised by spiky heels, their luminescent flesh spilling voluptuously out of spangly micro-dresses that barely contained their generous curves.
Everything about them seemed to glow, from their dewy skin, in various shades of honey and caramel, to their glossy black hair and dazzling gems.
The dance floor was a sea of writhing bodies, fuelled by cocaine and Cristal.
Tina was among them, having abandoned him almost immediately on arrival to schmooze the A-list celebrities.
At least she was happy, he thought. She had pulled off a great coup in arriving with Kirstie and Peter, the hottest couple in the world, and she was making the most of it.
This was the sort of thing she really cared about, he thought.
He felt he hardly knew her any more. He didn’t know if he or she had changed – perhaps they both had.
Watching her partying, he felt resentful and a bit sorry for himself. After all, it was his birthday. She was supposed to have planned this evening as a surprise for him, but she wasn’t giving a thought to what he wanted. She didn’t even seem to realise that he wasn’t enjoying himself.
As he watched, the homies across the room parted and he glimpsed 2Tone, a globally famous rapper, sitting in the centre of the group, a still, calm figure amid all the swagger and bravado.
2Tone – Tony to his friends – had supported Walking Wounded on an early tour.
Will remembered him as a quiet, almost shy boy with old-fashioned American manners and a friendly, easy-going disposition completely at odds with his aggressive public persona.
Spotting Will, Tony gave him a broad grin and ambled over to join him.
Will was glad of the company. He liked Tony.
His career had gone supernova since he had toured with Walking Wounded, but he was still the same unexpectedly quiet, unassuming character, with none of the flashiness of the strutting peacocks that surrounded him.
He was good company, entertaining, droll and witty, and as they chatted, Will found himself laughing for the first time that evening.
‘Are you here on your own?’ Tony asked after a while.
‘I’m with Tina.’ Will nodded to her on the dance floor.
‘She know that?’ Tony smiled sardonically.