‘If you were a man, I’d knock you out.’
‘Oh! Big guy,’ sneered Topaz contemptuously. Why was
he so gorgeous and such an asshole? ‘I want you to remember that I kicked your ass over Economic Monthly. Think about that, Joe. Consider it a dress rehearsal.’
Goldstein got up and came towards her. ‘You just don’t
get it, do you, cutie? This job’s mine already. You couldn’t buy out a loaf of bread, and they know it. You’ll be reporting to me, and I’m truly going to enjoy it.’
Topaz was an inch away from him. ‘Who are you calling cutie?’ she hissed.
‘Who do you think, babe? What are you gonna do? Sue
me for sexual harassment?’
She looked at him, black-haired, handsome, taunting her furiously. He was wearing jeans and an expensive-looking
,
Oxford shirt.
‘Oh. that’s not sexual harassment, pretty boy,’ Topaz said. ‘ This is sexual harassment.’
And she grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped it down
the front, sending the little ivory buttons clattering on to the boardroom table.
His chest was strong, lean and covered in tiny wiry black curls. Topaz steadied herself. An incredible, overwhelming rush of desire surged through her.
‘What the fuck?’ said Joe softly. Oh God, he shouldn’t have brought up this sex-tension thing. The. touch of her hand against his neck - even that sharp, angry touch - had set him off. He wondered if he dared kiss her. Damn, he was hard. He didn’t dare look down in case he drew her attention to i.
Tm sorry… I got carried away…’ murmured Topaz. ‘Maybe I can get a pin and fix it for this evening-I’ll replace it, of course …’.
She tried to pull his shirt together, her hands on his chest,
his ribcage.
‘Quit touching me, damn it,’ growled Joe.
‘Fine,’ Topaz snapped back. ‘I - ‘
She gasped. Goldstein grabbed her shoulders and pushed
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her back on the hard table.
‘What are you doing?’ whispered Topaz. ‘Take an educated guess,’ said Joe, and took her face in his two hands and kissed her impatiently, sucking on her top
lip, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. I shouldn’t do this, thought Topaz. Heat flooded her belly. She kissed him back, hard.
‘No! Go on,’ said Marissa, utterly fascinated.
‘Well, apparently,’ said Lisa, ‘the janitor heard screams at one in the morning, like woman’s screams, upstairs in the boardroom, so he runs upstairs and Joe goes, “Everything’s OK,” but he insists on going in to check, and Topaz Rossi was sitting there all red-faced with her buttons done up wrong and her breath’s coming short - ‘
‘No!’ said Marissa, trying to suppress a jealous rage. Joe Goldstein was the best-looking man in the company.
‘-and Joe was tucking his shirt back into his pants,’ finished Lisa triumphantly.
‘What a tramp!’ Marissa trilled. ‘She let him do… that with her in the boardroom? First Nathan, now this. Well, he’ll want nothing more to do with her now, of course.’
Lisa wasn’t so sure about that, but kept her counsel. Marissa Matthews was a powerful columnist.
‘Topaz Rossi just preys on older, rich men. I shall tell everybody.’
‘Everybody knows,’ said Lisa, ‘and he’s not that much older.’
Joe called Topaz.
‘Wanna go to the game on Saturday?’ “
‘Sure,’ she said, delighted.
Fernandez pitched some brilliant high-heat balls and struck out six enemy batsmen.
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The flight fromJFK to LAX takes-five hours, and Rowena spent most of it working. Generally speaking, she loved to fly. She liked to have a few hours away from the phones to read a novel or daydream. She enjoyed the lift in her stomach at takeoff and landing, and even now she felt a small thrill of adventure at jetting from one city to another. But this time it was different.
She :pencilled another note next to the paragraph on royalty breaks, wishing for the millionth time that she had a better grasp of maths. It was one hell of an important deal for her. Every per cent in every clause had to be exactly right.
0 ‘Champagne, Ms Gordon?’ enquired the stewardess, hovering solicitously. So far this elegant businesswoman had refused the chocolates, cashew nuts, cocktails, and main meal of fillet of Dover sole, lobster or roast pheasant which was the envy of every other first-class service in America. She injected a pleading note into her voice.
Rowena relented. ‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’ The attendant tilted her crystal glass slightly and filled it with the light golden nectar, which delicately spat and bubbled as it poured. Rowena smiled her thanks.
‘Busy trip, ma’am?’ She glanced at the pile of contracts on
the empty seat.
‘Just slightly,’ Rowena said.
Interesting that she’s English, the stewardess thought as
she “moved on. The Brits don’t usually dress that well.
Rowena leant back to sip her champagne, glad of the break.
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She was wearing a soft Liz Claiborne pantsuit, flowing and loose, in a gentle fawn. She’d teamed it with chestnut shoes from Pied Terre, and a crisp white shirt. Her make-up was equally subtle: buttery eyeshadow, matt bronze lips, the faintest hint of blusher. Her long blonde hair was gathered at the nape of the neck in a tortoiseshell clip. She looked every inch a nineties player: beautiful, casual, absolutely businesslike.
She allowed the drink to refresh her and ran over her schedule for the trip. She was staying in a house in the Hollywood hills, permanantly rented for visiting Musica executives. Lunch with John Metcalf was all set for noon tomorrow, and that, she reflected wryly, would be an all mineral-water meal. That would., be one conversation where she could never afford to drop her guard. Then the Coliseum, where Atomic Mass were headlining their first stadium gig. She felt proud and anxious all at once; no matter how.many copies Heat Street had sold, this was the first date of the tour, and they’d never filled a venue of that size before.
Even Atomic Mass could run into problems.
The ticket printout she’d seen two days ago showed only a 75 per cent gate sale, and the world’sjournos were poised with sharpened pencils and unforgiving cameras, ready to label them an overblown hype.
She shuddered. In the music business, ‘hasbeen’ is a dangerous insult-it often became a self-fulfilling prophecy, and nobody, but nobody, .was immune from media backlash look what it did to Michael Jackson’s last record!
Everyone’s a critic, she thought furiously, and that bitch Topaz Rossi is the Queen Bee. Ever since Atomic Mass had launched the album in London, Topaz had done what she could to hurt the band, hurt Rowena, and hurt Luther.
She won’t stop until she’s brought me down, Rowena reflected. Venomous tramp. She wants her revenge.
She knew Rossi had primed at least three people in MTV and one at Rolling Stone to trash this gig, probably more. And anyone who worked for American Magazines knew .
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what they thought of the show without turning up to see it, at least they did if they valued their jobs.
I won’t dwell on it, Rowena told herself. The boys will be OK. They’re the best band in the world. I have a deal to do here .
She wondered if Michael would find time to call her.
She was still working on release obligations when the plane banked into its descent. The ocean shone in the moonlight, and Los Angeles was spread out in the darkness like a sparkling, jewelled grid. Mercifully, for once VIP arrival service was fast and effortless, and her Gucci cases were amongst the first off the carousel.
In the limo she relaxed. She was pretty sure of what she wanted from Metcalfnow. , And I’ll get it, too, she thought. They say he’s pretty tough. But I’m tougher. And I’m hungrier than he is for this thing.
The car took a left at the Hyatt on Sunset and snaked up the steep, winding hills. A little while later it stopped at the house, and Rowena let the chauffeur unlock the gates and carry her luggage into the porch. She tipped him twenty bucks. Why not? She was rich.
She flicked on the lights and took a look around, interested in what the company provided for its top people but you’re not top people yet, she reminded herself. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be top people.
There was a note for her from the maid on the kitchen table, propped against a huge vase full of orchids. Towels, cosmetics, toiletries, bathrobes and pyjamas had been provided for her convenience. There was food and drink in the refrigerator and cinnamon coffee on the stove. The office next to the bedroom was equipped with a computer and fax machine, and had a range of exercise equipment set up for her use. There was a selection of books and videos in the drawing room. The chauffeur and herself were on call twenty-four hours. She hoped everything was to Ms Gordon’s satisfaction and that Ms Gordon would have
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a nice day.
Cinnamon coffee? Rowena wondered. The phone rang. ‘Rowena Gordon.’
‘Miss Gordon?’ asked a warm male voice.
‘Yup, that’s what I said,’ said Rowena, slightly irritated. ‘This is John Metcalf.’
‘Oh,’ said Rowena. ‘Hi,’ she added lamely.
‘Did you have a good flight?’ Metcalf asked, sounding amused at her discomfiture.
‘Yes thanks,’ said Rowena. ‘Good of you to call.’ She didn’t ask how he got her number. I’ll let him make the running, she thought.
‘I got your number from Musica in New York,’ he said. ‘Thought I’d call and check you were OK in LA by yourself.’
‘Hey, that’s nice of you,’ she said. ‘But I’m a big girl, and I carry a gun a.t all times.’
Why am I snapping his head off?. I’m supposed to be pitching this guy.
Metcalf chuckled. ‘Point taken. Will the Ivy be good for you tomorrow?’
‘It’ll be fine. I hear they have amazing soft-shell crabs.’
‘Rowena! You mean you’ve never tried them? You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted those things,’ he said.
Well, we’ve moved on from ‘Miss Gordon’ pretty quickly, Rowena thought. But she didn’t really mind. He sounded so friendly and warm, not kissy and LA-insincere like she’d expected.
Tll look forward to it, .and I’ll look forward to meeting you,’ she said pleasantly.
‘It goes double here-the legendary Rowena Gordon!’ he said.
The legendary Rowena Gordon? OK, so it was just a line,
but she liked the way it sounded. She liked it a lot.
‘See you tomorrow, Mr Metcalf.’
‘Please call me John. I hope you look as good as you sound,’ he said, and rang off.
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Cheeky bastard, Rowena thought. But she was grinning. She flicked a switch on the stove to heat the coffee. When in LA, after all … the fridge was lavishly stocked with ham, chicken, ice cream, smoked salmon, olives; food enough for a starving army of gourmets. In the drinks door there was a pitcher of margaritas, a chilled magnum of champagne, and a bottle of Gordons next to three cans of Schweppes tonic water. Nice touch!
She fixed a weak G&T, clinking oversized ice cubes into a large frosted glass, and padded round the apartment. Everything was state-of-the-art, everything was the height of luxury. The drawing room projected on to the side of the hill and was three walls glass, so you could look out over Hollywood and the glittering city set at its feet, quiet from this height, moving calmly in rivers of light. In stark contrast to New York’s concrete forest, there were only two clusters of skyscrapers visible on the horizon.
Rowena looked out over Los Angeles, towards Century City. John Metcalfmight still be in his office there, making deals, rubbishing scripts, green-lighting pictures. He held sway over the destinies of hundreds of directors, actors, roducers, agents. And right now, one record company executive.
Michael rang the next morning.
‘I was thinking about you last night,’ he said. ‘I was having sex with someone else, and I was thinking about you going down on me.’
Rowena couldn’t help herself. She felt her nipples stiffen in response to his lust.
‘I put my cock inside her,’ he said, ‘and I fucked her, and I thought about you sucking me. You want to do that right now, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Rowena, wet for him already. ‘Are you playing with yourself?.’ ‘Yes.’ She was.
‘I can hear it in your voice,’ Michael said,, satisfied. ‘You can’t comeunless I say so. If you were here I’d come in your
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mouth, and I wouldn’t let you touch yourself.’
Rowena moaned.
‘If you’re sucking my cock, I expect it done properly,’ he said. ‘You have to lick my balls, and swirl your tongue over my cock,, and suck me real, real slow, and make me come. I haven’t got time for you to touch yourself. It’s not my problem.’
She shuddered, uncontrollably aroused.
‘I’m gonna make you beg for it,’ he said. ‘I’m going to take my cock out and rub it over your cheeks and lips until
you beg me to put it back in your mouth.’
‘Please,’ Rowena sobbed. ‘Please.’
‘Have some control,’ Michael teased her. ‘You can’t come yet. Then I’m going to shove it back in your mouth, right down the back of your throat. I’m going to grab the back of your head with my hands and push you down on my cock. I’m going to fuck your mouth.., maybe I’ll have you stop in the middle and tell me how much you love it what I taste like…’
Her breathing was ragged and strained.
‘You’ll give me head whenever I ask for it,’ he said harshly.
‘Yes,’ she managed.
‘I can have you at my whim.’
‘Yes. ‘
‘Now come for me,’ Michael ordered.
She gasped as she climaxed, her body arching, her splayed fingers soaked in he own juices.
Michael’s voice came smiling down the phone. ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘| have to go now.’
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered. She put the phone down and wondered if she had ever felt cheaper. But she still longed for him. God, how she longed for him.
I’m a junkie, thought Rowena. I’m addicted to Michael Krebs.