Angel (15 page)

'Come on, babe, do me your sexy look.'

Angel stepped out of the shower and found
herself staring into the lens of a digital recorder,
with Mickey behind it. Immediately, she grabbed
her towel.

'What are you doing?' she exclaimed crossly.

'I want to make a film of us, babe. Go on, do it for
me.' He put down the camera and kissed her. 'Go
on.'

Angel sighed. She had been posing for the
camera all day. She had been looking forward to
chilling out with Mickey, maybe getting a takeaway
and watching a DVD together. But evidently he
had other plans.

'Tonight is my fantasy night – next time it will be
yours, babe. I promise.'

'Okay,' Angel muttered.

Then Mickey reeled off a list of his demands: she
had to put on her black lace basque, stockings and
a thong, she had to go into the bedroom, lie on the
bed and touch herself while Mickey filmed her,
then he would join her on the bed with the camera
still rolling and she would give him a blow job, then
they'd have sex – he'd let her know what positions.
Mickey had it all planned out.

'I'm not really in the mood,' Angel started
saying, her eyes scratchy with tiredness. She'd had
such a full-on day pleasing everyone else, answering
questions, moving this way and that. This was
the last thing she wanted to do. But Mickey quickly
handed her a glass of champagne and laid out a line
of coke for her. Usually Angel would never touch
coke if they were staying in together and she only
very rarely did it when they were out, but with
everything going on, she felt completely strung out,
wired and exhausted at the same time. She was
going to need something to get her going. She did
the line and sipped her champagne. A few minutes
later, she started perking up and got ready for her
starring role in Mickey's film.
Or should that be 'best
supporting actress'?
she thought later, as Mickey lay
beside her, asleep. There had been no doubt about
the real star of Mickey's film. Angel had barely
touched herself before Mickey got onto the bed
next to her and told her to suck his dick. After that
he gave her body the briefest of caresses before
telling her to turn over as he took her from behind.
He wanted maximum exposure for himself, so he
put the camera at the side of the bed.
I didn't even
have an orgasm
, Angel thought bitterly, as a very
satisfied Mickey snored next to her.

'Does Tony ever ask you to do stuff like that in bed?'
Angel asked Gemma when the two of them caught
up over lattes in a Hampstead café on one of
Angel's rare afternoons off. 'Oh, gross,' she then
exclaimed in horror. 'Forget I asked that – he's my
brother, I really don't need to know!'

Gemma laughed. 'Well, we do like the odd game.
I'll leave it there . . . But, Angel, if you didn't want
him to film you, you should have said no. Why
didn't you?'

Angel frowned. 'I don't know. It seems so
important to him. And I don't want him to go off
me, I suppose.'

Gemma snorted in disgust. 'What happened to
girl power? You don't have to do everything your
boyfriend asks! And if he goes off you because of it,
then he's not worth it.'

She was about to carry on her tirade and then
caught sight of Angel's face. Her friend looked so
vulnerable and tired.

'Hey,' she said, softening her approach. 'It
doesn't matter, so long as you enjoyed it in the end.'

'I suppose so,' Angel replied and then grinned,
shaking off the moment of sadness. 'And it is very
funny watching Mickey watch himself on film when
we have sex. He takes his performance so seriously
and he gets this expression on his face like he's such
a stud!'

'You're kidding!' Gemma exclaimed.

'Nope, he's put up a huge plasma screen in the
bedroom.'

The two girls gigged hysterically. It did Angel
good to laugh. She'd been brooding about Mickey,
but chatting to Gemma now it all just seemed like a
bit of fun. She would say to Mickey that she didn't
always want to make a home movie when they had
sex. And if he didn't like it, well, that would be
tough.

'Anyway, I've got some news for you.' Gemma
beamed at her friend. 'I can't believe you haven't
noticed.'

'What – are you pregnant?' Angel exclaimed.

'Don't be silly, look!' And Gemma held out her
left hand, showing off a very gorgeous, very large,
princess-cut diamond engagement ring.

'Oh my God!' Angel squealed. 'I can't believe I
didn't see it! That is such good news.' She got off
her seat and flung her arms round her friend, tears
in her eyes. 'I'm so happy for you! I want to know
all the details. How did he propose? When are you
going to get married?'

As Gemma chatted away, Angel felt mortified
that she'd spent twenty minutes moaning about
herself and hadn't even noticed Gemma's ring.
Really, she couldn't have been happier at the news.

'Now, we're having two engagement parties:
one's just a dinner with the family and the other will
be a big party at a club, with all our friends.'

'What, my family as well?' Angel's good mood
evaporated. Although things had calmed down, she
still slightly dreaded spending time with her dad in
case he started having a go at her about her work.

'It'll be fine.' Gemma paused. 'We've also asked
Cal, because he's going to be best man.'

'Oh?' Angel perked up again.

'Yeah, and, sorry, bad news: he's got a new girlfriend,
Simone Fraser off
Hollyoaks
. She's coming
too, Tony already invited her and I couldn't do
anything about it. But you can bring Mickey.'

'Great,' Angel muttered. 'Perhaps he'd like to
bring some of his home movies. Help break the ice.'

'Don't worry,' Gemma soothed her friend, 'I'll
make sure you're at the opposite end of the table.'

'So, tell me about Simone.' Angel couldn't resist
asking. She might have guessed that Cal wouldn't
be single for long.

'She's pretty, if you like that kind of thing, dark-haired,
quite a good figure – of course, she's
nowhere near as pretty as you,' Gemma said loyally.
'And she's the biggest bitch I've ever met.'

'What, a bigger bitch than the lovely Melanie?'

'Yep, and she clings to Cal like a drowning man
clinging to a lifebelt – won't let him out of her sight,
just like Mel.'

I can't blame her for that
, Angel thought to herself
wistfully.

'How is the Cal obsession these days?' Gemma
asked sympathetically.

'Still pretty bad. Although today was the first
time in ages that I didn't think I was going to bump
into him in Hampstead, so maybe I'm getting
better. But now you've said he's going to be there at
the dinner, I'm obsessing again. God, how sad am
I!'

Angel took one last look at her reflection. She had
rapidly become notorious in the tabloids and
celebrity magazines for the revealing clothes she
wore. Tonight was no exception. She was dressed to
thrill in her black designer corset, which emphasised
her tiny waist and pushed up her breasts so they
looked as if they might be tantalisingly released at
any moment from their silk confines. A minuscule
black satin kilt skirt accompanied the corset; it was
barely decent and showed off her long, lean, tanned
legs to devastating effect. She completed the outfit
with a pair of delicate silver Gina sandals with skyhigh
heels and a platinum necklace with a diamond-studded
letter A around her neck – the first thing
she had bought for herself when she had started to
make it as a model.

'You'll do,' she told her reflection, practising her
trademark pout in the mirror before slamming her
door and running down the stairs and into the limo
below where Mickey was getting impatient. She
hadn't seen him for three weeks because he'd been
in the States with the band trying to break into the
charts, and she had missed him. She couldn't wait
to see him again. Absence definitely made the heart
grow fonder – she even forgave him for his filming
exploits.

'I was going to ask what took you so long, but now you're here
I understand. You look stunning, babe.' He leant across to kiss her and slid
one hand up her thigh. God, he was gorgeous! Those blue eyes, that boyishly
handsome face, and that to-die for body. He could easily give Brad Pitt a
run for his money. She just loved running her hands over his muscular chest,
across his six-pack and on, slipping her fingers under the waistband of his
Calvins and . . . But, suddenly aware of the limo driver eyeballing them in
the mirror, Angel pulled away.

'Save it till later,' she whispered tantalisingly.

'Oh, I will,' Mickey murmured. 'God, I've missed
you.'

Outside the club in Mayfair, there was a long
queue of people snaking round the block, waiting
to enter. The Royale had only just opened and had
rapidly become
the
place to be seen. Mickey and
Angel got out of the limo and walked straight to the
front of the queue – as VIPs they were assured
immediate entry. Angel felt sorry for the people
waiting out in the cold, and even though she'd
become one of the country's most photographed
women in the last year or so, she still found it
strange to be treated as a celebrity. While part of
her enjoyed the perks of being able to jump the
queue, the other, more sensitive, side couldn't help
feeling slightly guilty for her good fortune, as if she
hadn't quite deserved it. She could still remember
what it felt like to queue in the pouring rain, dying
to get into the club you'd been longing to go to all
week. Mickey had no such qualms. He revelled in
his fame and frequently asked for favours – free
designer clothes, free jewellery, haircuts and beauty
treatments, free tickets for this and that – on the
basis of who he was.

Inside the club Mickey steered Angel towards the
VIP lounge, quickly attracted the waitress's
attention and ordered a bottle of vintage Cristal. As
they sat down on the purple velvet sofa, Mickey
said, 'I've got the perfect little something to go with
the champagne.'

When the bubbly arrived, Mickey filled both
their glasses to the brim. He rapidly drained his,
while Angel sipped hers a little more slowly. Then
Mickey got up, pulling her up from the sofa.
'Follow me, babe.' They wove their way through the
clubbers to the men's bathroom. After checking
that the coast was clear, Mickey quickly pulled
Angel inside one of the cubicles and locked the
door. Expertly he laid out two lines of coke on the
cistern lid. He took the first, then looked at Angel
expectantly. She hesitated, not really feeling the
need for it tonight, but he moved around to make
room for her and all of a sudden it seemed silly to
refuse. She bent down to take hers and instantly felt
the drug take a hold of her, mixing deliciously with
the champagne. Mickey sat down and pulled her on
top of him, passionately kissing her, his fingers
roaming around her body.

'Did you miss me, Angel?' he whispered.

'Very much,' She shivered as his hands slowly
found their way underneath her skirt. She could
feel his hardness against her thighs and suddenly
she wanted to feel him inside her. As if he read her
mind, he slipped his hand up her skirt and caressed
her through her silk thong. Angel bit her lip to stop
herself from moaning. He unzipped his trousers,
slipped her thong to one side and entered her. The
coke made the sex feel incredible, and even when
she heard the bathroom door open Angel didn't
want Mickey to stop. Until she heard one of the
men speak.

'Fuck me, it's hot in there!'

She froze.

It was Cal and her brother. Jesus Christ, could
they have arrived at a worse moment? 'Stop!' she
whispered urgently in Mickey's ear, making as if to
get up.

'Can't, babe, I'm so close,' he gasped, thrusting
deeper into her. Music from the club was playing in
the bathroom but even so, Angel thought there was
no way the two men could fail to know what was
happening just a few feet away from them.
Mercifully they left just before Mickey let out a
strangled 'Oh God!' Angel didn't feel remotely
turned on any more and as soon as he'd finished,
she made him check that the bathroom was empty
before she straightened her clothing, reapplied her
make-up and sprayed on her perfume.

'God, I definitely need some more champagne
now,' exclaimed Angel as they sat back at their
table, pouring out two more glasses, and she
prayed that Cal and her brother hadn't realised she
and Mickey had been the ones giving the performance
in the bathroom. He gave her a curious
glance. 'What do you care who heard us in the
bathroom, babe? Anyway, if you want any more of
the other stuff, I've got plenty on me.'

Angel was already regretting having taken the
one line; hearing Cal and Tony outside had been
such a comedown. She sipped her champagne,
realising that Mickey was still waiting for an answer.

'I'll be okay, Mickey.'

He shrugged, 'You only have to ask. Come here
and give me a kiss.'

But just as Angel leant across to kiss him, Mickey
pulled away. To celebrate the opening of the club,
a number of 'real' people had been allowed into the
VIP area and one of his many female fans was
demanding an autograph. Mickey never liked to
disappoint, especially if the fan in question was a
looker. Angel watched him flashing his most
winning smile at the girl, registered the look of total
delight on her face as he kissed her, and felt a
certain amount of dismay as Mickey saucily
proceeded to sign his name across the girl's tight
pink T-shirt, right across her breasts. The girl in
pink was quickly joined by several other girls, all
desperate for a piece of Mickey. Angel smiled to
herself, thinking,
Let them have their bit of fun. I'm the
one who'll be going home with him – not them.

Her reverie was interrupted when she was
spotted by some of her many male admirers and
she found herself having to smile away at the lads
surrounding her and to sign the pictures they
thrust at her. One lad tore off his shirt and
demanded that she sign his chest, then four others
followed suit. The fans were the part of fame she
was least confident about. True, she could strip for
the cameras and pose in nothing more than a smile
and a strategically-placed hand or prop, but
somehow, being surrounded by all the men and
women wanting to talk to her, to touch her, to have
their picture taken with her, sometimes got too
much. After enduring her admirers for some ten
minutes, she decided she'd had enough.

Mickey was still doing the fan thing – he never
seemed to mind how many girls wanted to talk to
him. She tried to catch his eye and let him know
what she was doing, but he was still kissing and
signing. She shrugged, picked up her pink leather
bag and headed out to the Royale's roof garden.

Angel leant against the railing and gazed at the
London skyline before her, mesmerised by the
many lights glittering extravagantly in the distance
like so many diamonds.
Or maybe that was the coke
talking
, she thought. Much as she loved living in
London, part of her missed Brighton, missed
seeing the sea every day. She was a girl who
definitely needed space. It was colder than she'd
realised and she shivered in the cool March air and
turned to go back inside when a familiar male voice
called out to her.

'Hi, Angie.' She span round and there was Cal.
He walked over to her and kissed her cheek.

'Cal. How are you?'
Please don't let him know it was
me in the bathroom
, she prayed again.

'Warmer than you, I should imagine.' He made
a show of looking her up and down and Angel's face
burnt with embarrassment.

'You're wearing even less than when I saw you
last time. Does your mum know you've come out
looking like this?' he said teasingly.

Oh God
, she thought,
why was he always able to do
that?
Why did the outfit she had put on so
confidently earlier that night, that she had thought
made her look good, suddenly feel all wrong? She
looked at him, trying to cool her flushed face with
her hands. He leant next to her against the railing,
stylishly dressed in an impeccably-cut designer suit.
She felt flustered and on edge and, instead of
returning his banter, she became defensive.

'Well, it depends which mum you mean, doesn't
it? I'm sure my real mum wouldn't mind what I
wore.'

Cal laughed. 'I was just kidding. You look . . .' He
was obviously searching for the right word.

Sexy
was the one Angel longed for him to find,
failing that,
gorgeous
would do, too. Instead, she
had to make do with:

'You look exactly how a successful glamour
model should look.'

'Cheers, Cal,' she replied wryly. 'And you
look . . .' she paused as he had and sized him up
'. . . exactly how a premiership footballer should
look.'

He laughed. 'Touché, Angie.'

She frowned. 'No one calls me that any more, I
meant to tell you when I saw you the other month.'

'Well, Tony does and so does your dad. And I've
known you since school and you've always been
Angie to me.'

'Yes, but it's not my name and I've always hated it.
I've never understood why Mum and Dad couldn't
call me Angel – that's the name my real mum gave
me.' Much to her horror she felt tears start to well up
in her eyes. Oh God, the last thing she wanted to do
was to cry in front of him. She turned away and
pretended to be studying the view, frantically
blinking the tears away. Suddenly she felt Cal slip his
jacket, still warm from his body, over her shoulders.

'You look frozen.'

'Thanks,' she said in surprise, touched by his
concern.

'Anyway . . .' He was now much closer to her,
leaning forward on the railing, and she instantly
became all too aware of his firm muscular body,
and the scent of his aftershave – still Hugo Boss
No 1, she realised. 'Who are you here with?'

'Mickey,' she answered.

'I didn't know you were still seeing him. Tony
thought you might have broken up.' Was it Angel's
imagination or did his voice suddenly seem colder?

'No,' Angel replied. 'Why would you think that?
He's just been away in the States.'

There was a slight pause. 'I know it's none of my
business, but do you really think he's such a good
idea, Angie? I mean, Angel?'

'What do you mean?' she demanded, rounding
on him furiously. He was well out of line.

Cal took a step back but bravely opened his
mouth again, obviously about to launch into a
character assassination, when someone called his
name.

Angel and he both turned at once – it was hard to
say who was more relieved at the interruption. Cal's
soap-star actress girlfriend Simone was stalking
across the roof deck towards them, clearly put-out
to discover him deep in conversation with another
woman, especially one as scantily clad as Angel.

'Cal, I've been looking for you everywhere,
darling,' she said petulantly when she reached
them. She slipped a possessive hand round his
waist, looking daggers at Angel.

Cow
, thought Angel. Gemma was right, she
seemed an even bigger bitch than Mel.

'Simone, this is Angie – sorry, Angel.'

'Oh, hi,' Simone managed, giving her a onceover
with ice-cold eyes.

'Cal, we're supposed to be at Silver's now.'

'God, yes, I forgot. It was good to see you again,
Angie – I mean, Angel. Sorry, I must try and
remember that.'

'And you, Cal.' She slipped off his jacket ready to
hand it back.

'No, you borrow it – your mum would never
forgive me if you caught pneumonia.'

Simone now looked as if she could have cheerfully
thrown Angel off the side of the building, but Angel
gave her most dazzling smile and put the jacket back
on. 'Thanks, Cal. I'll give it to Tony the next time I
see him.'

Simone and Cal were just about to go back inside
the club when Mickey staggered onto the roof
garden. His eyes were glazed and it looked like he'd
spilt champagne on his jeans. He stumbled straight
into Cal, who had to step sideways to avoid getting
knocked over, but Mickey barely apologised, just
staggered over to Angel and put his arms round
her. She looked over at Cal, embarrassed that her
boyfriend was making such a twat of himself, and
mouthed 'sorry', but Cal shrugged and was gone
before she knew it, with Simone clinging to his arm.

'Babe, we're going on to Johnny's now.' Mickey
was drunk and more coked up than when she'd left
him. She looked at him coldly. All the desire she
had felt for him earlier had gone.