Rowena involuntarily turned towards the stage. Exhilaration ripped through her.
Jesus! she thought. I really want to see this! And why shouldn’t I? Barbara won’t mind, we could talk tomorrow … I never did get to see the Zenith set…
‘Would you take me up onstage, Will?’ she asked. He looked at her for a second, then nodded briskly. Rowena followed the tour manager through the laby rinthian corridor out to the back of the stage. The ramp leading up through the scaffolding to the onstage viewing area beside the wings was directly ahead of them. The sound of Atomic’s bass-driven raw harmonies was bleeding into the warm night sky, mixing with the violently loud roar of the crowd. It was deafening. She loved it.
‘Sixty thousand capacity here,’ Macled yelled in her ear. ‘Sold out.’
The sky was misting with smoke from the stage, pierced by their trademark green lasers, caging the amphitheatre in bars of light, panning out in front of her as she followed Will up the ramp. Now she could see glimpses of the crowd, a few sweating, crushed faces in the front row picked out by
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the red, blue and golden spotlights that circled the packed audience as well as catching each member of the band. Giant video screens, the standard accessory for arena and stadium shows these days, were mounted at the sides of the stage so that the crowd could see the expressions on their heroes’ faces, blown up to thousands of times lifesize. The fans were roaring as though Spain had just scored in a World Cup final.
She felt her exhausted body spring back into life.
‘We’ve got a box at the side of the stage where we sit VIPs,’ Will yelled. ‘You can watch from there wi’ the other guest.’
‘Who do you have visiting tonight, then?’ Rowena asked.
Will guided her along the back of the stage towards the box.
‘Their producer,’ he said. ‘Michael Krebs.’
He pushed the little door open.
From the second she laid eyes on him, Rowena knew she
was lost.
She was weakened, physically drained from the flight.
nd the instant she let go of all her stress, just gave up and allowed the music and the passion of the crowd to sweep into her bloodstream, she’d been shut alone in a box, onstage, in the dark, thousands of miles away from anyone either of them knew, with the man she most desired in the world.p>
‘What are you doing here?’ she said.
‘I came to talk to Barbara in Modena last night,’ he said, staring at her. ‘Thought I’d stay for Barcelona and check out
the show. It’s not a crime, is it?’ She shook her head, mutely. ‘What about you?’
Rowena shrugged, and gave him a simplified version. That provided a little breathing space; they talked about Josh for a few minutes.
The slow, sensual intro to ‘Karla’ spilled through the amps around them.
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‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Michael said.
‘Tell you what?’ asked Rowena, trying not to look at him.
He grabbed her shoulders angrily and spun her round to face him.
‘Don’t play games with me,’ he said, lifting her left hand to expose the engagement ring. ‘You never told me. You never called me at all.’
‘I didn’t know how to,’ Rowena said.
‘You hurt me,’ Krebs said furiously. ‘I had to find out from Barbara Lincoln.’
Rowena, starved for him, raked his face with her eyes, that close-shaven grey hair, the deep black irises, his thick, beautiful eyelashes. She wanted to remember it always, to keep it clearly etched in her mind. He was challenging her, he was angry. Now that it was too late, she realized how wise she’d been to keep away from him. Love welled up in her like a flooded river.
‘How do you think I felt?’ she said. ‘Why did you do that to me with Debbie? Do you have any idea what that was like?’
Krebs stared at her. ‘Do you love him?’
‘Of course.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘Please, Michael, let it go,’ Rowena said. She was near breaking. It was torment to be so close, and not to be able to
touch him. ‘This is the best way for everybody.’
‘No it isn’t,’ Krebs said..
He moved closer, till he could hear her breathing, till there were only millimetres of space between them.
‘I didn’t like to see him touching .you at .that party,’ Michael aid. ‘You thought I couldn’t see that? He had his hand on your breasts, right in front of me.’
Rowena bit her lip. ‘He can do what he likes, Michael. I’m going to marry him.’
‘Look at me,’ Krebs said. ‘Do it, Rowena.’
She turned her head and looked at him, and felt her stomach cave in with lust. Her control evaporated. She’
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moaned, she couldn’t help it.
‘I don’t give a luck what’s right or not right,’ Krebs said harshly. ‘I won’t let you go,’ and he cupped her head in his hands, twisting his fingers in her long hair, and pulled her to him and kissed her.
Rowena collapsed against him, kissing him back wildly, feeling shame at the weakness and sexual heat that rushed through her. She-pressed her thighs together, she was already wet, and it was getting worse. His cock was swollen and hard against her.
Krebs put his hands on her shirt, feeling her breasts through the fabric, her nipples erect, distended with desire for him. He’d never forgotten how Rowena felt to hold. Whenever he touched her, she was passionate and eager. But this time, after an absence of months, it was like the
‘ first. He felt a surge of wanting explode in his chest. She was
his. He had to have her.
‘We can’t do it here,’ Rowena gasped, pulling away.
Goddamn it, every second he had to wait now was an eternity.
‘Come on,’ Krebs said, and tore out of the box, grabbing
her hand. She followed him, hoping her legs would still work OK. Maybe people would see them.
She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything. She could only feel the blood throbbing in her legs, only hear her heart crashing against her ribcage.
They ran down the ramp and into the backstage area. Michael took a right up some deserted stairs and they found themselves in a maze of corridors on the first level, above the ground floor where the crewwere working. Krebs tried some doors; they were all locked. They went round a corner, right, left, and then he suddenly stopped running
and she stumbled against him.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Here.’
‘What if somebody comes?’ Rowena panted.
Krebs looked her over, pleasurably, luxuriating in her desire for him. She moved uncontrollably under his gaze, feeling it as though it were a physical caress.
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‘Stand against the wall,’ he said, thick-voiced. She moved back, feeling the rough brick grate against her skin through her shirt, now soaked in sweat. All her clothes were clinging to her. Her jeans felt heavy and awkward on her flesh.
‘If somebody comes, they’ll see us,’ Krebs said, reaching for her waistband and snapping open the buttons of her jeans in one impatient movement. Rowena gasped with excitement, squirming against the wall. Michael smiled and moved closer, standing to face her, and then yanked down her jeans and panties until they were below her knees.
‘They’ll see you like this,’ he said, and put his right hand over her pussy, lightly, feeling her heat and moisture for himself. ‘They’ll see you waiting for me.’
‘Please, Michael,’ Rowena managed. ‘Please.’
He shook his head, barely controlling himself. ‘I want to see you,’ he said. ‘Standing out here, in the light. Take your top off. Strove me your breasts.’
Her fingers were clumsy, shaking as she undid her buttons and ripped at the clasp of her bra. It was sweet, protracted torture for both of them, and when she was topless, standing again.st the wall in the full glare of the striplights, her nipples sharp and full of blood, her flat stomach tapering down to her damp sex, displayed for him, whilst he stayed fully clothed, Michael could no longer hold back. He rammed himself against her, kissing her mouth and neck, one hand grabbing her breasts while the other loosened his pants, letting his cock spring free against her groin, and Rowena moved under his touch in ecstasy, absolutely out of control, mad for him, parting her legs as widely as she could. She’d dreamt of this, even with John she’d dreamt of it, and now he was g6ing to fuck her and take her again, she couldn’t live without it, and Michael had his fingers in between her legs, feeling his fingertips get slick with the wetness of her, feeling her move and buck under his touch, and then he found her, open and ready, and he shoved himself into her, all the way up to the hilt.
‘Michael!’ she gasped.
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‘Rowena,’ he said. ‘Oh, baby,’ and he started to fuck her, up against the wall, and she felt him hard and thick inside her, stroking her with his cock, like he was nailing her to the wall with his cock, and she loved it, she moved with him, and Krebs felt how totally he had mastered her now, how completely she was his, and it made him harder, and he wanted to tease her some more but he couldn’t speak, it was too good to speak, and he just thrust, and thrust, and thrust, deeper and harder, and she screamed a small strangled scream, gasping her ecstasy, and he burst inside her like a dam, feeling the wave of his orgasm consume him utterly, pleasuring every inch of his skin, from his toes to the crown of his skull, and he growled out her name, gripping her to him.
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‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ said Topaz, hefting herself from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster.
God, sometimes I hate being pregnant, she thought, covered with embarrassment as she waddled off to the john. What asshole invented the radiant, glowing mother-to-be? Obviously a bachelor. And a misogynist. Christ!
There were eight men and two women in that meeting, and the other woman didn’t count because she was the director of Personnel. So she, Topaz, sole representative of the sisterlood - hat. - in the upper echelons of power at American Magazines, was soundly impressing everybody by having to rush offto pee three times an hour. Wonderful.
She glowered at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’d put on ten pounds apart from the weight of her lump, her face was flushed, her ankles were swollen and the pull of the child was straining her back. Her normally elegant feet were strapped into wide Dr Scholl sandals, and the only dresses she could wear were goddamn maternity tents, the ones they made in foul shades of’feminine’ pink or coveced with iddy-biddy flowers. Topaz had her own made up, the best she could do: ankle-length smocks in navy, with thick white bands at the collar and cuffs, or just plain black or dark green. It was the navy today, the most businesslike outfit in her wardrobe.
Yeah, right. I look like an executive elephant, she told herself, suddenly irritated beyond belief by the sight of her red curls snaking over her shoulders. She took a velvet tie from her pocket and pulled her hair into a severe ponytail, then waddled back out to the meeting.
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Harvey Smith, American’s director, West Coast, was giving a short statement on the Los Angeles view of the threat they were facing. Around the table, the others listening attentively were Matt Gowers, chairman; Eli Leber, of Leber, Jason & Miller, the company’s attorneys; Damian Hart, chief financial officer; Nick Edward and Gerald Quin, investment bankers from Maughan Macaskill, the firm hired to advise American Magazines; Ed Lazar, director of Sales; Neil Bradbury, director of Interna tional; Nick Thomson, director .of Marketing; Louise Patton, director of Personnel; and Topaz Rossi, director, East Coast.
In other words, the board of American Magazines and their closest advisers. Matt Gowers had refused to allow anyone else to attend; even the notes were being taken by
Louise, as the least senior person in the room. This was a small meeting, but a vital one. The company was in play.
‘We’ve got serious concerns,’ Harvey was saying as she
sat down. ‘The West Coast is afraid that Mansion Industries will change the entire nature of American Magazines. From w, hat we’ve been told’ - he waved at Gerald Quin- ‘Connor Miles is only concerned with raising profits. We believe he’ll close all our books that aren’t making a profit yet, lower quality and ban expensive photographers and writers. The question is, how we can persuade him that magazine publishing works on different economic rules to timber-felling or food retail.’
There were nods around the table.
‘What do you think, Topaz?’ Gowers asked.
‘I think we should fight it,’ she said. ‘If Nick and Gerry
are right, we’ve got no chance of persuading Mansion of anything. No senior management has survived for more than a year after Mansion Industries took over their company.’
‘We can’t fight Mansion. We have to be realists about this,’ Bradbury replied.
‘American’s a large corporation,’ Lazar agreed, ‘but
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Mansion Industries is a huge conglomerate.’
‘Who have never lost a takeover yet,’ Damian reminded them.
Topaz knew the tide of opinion was running against her, but she couldn’t let it go and bow to the majority. To come so near to power, and then have it snatched away by a greedy conglomerate? Maybe she could get another job somewhere else - her record was exemplary - but she’d put a lot of work into Impact and Economic Monthly and all of them, and she was damned if she’d just walk away. Who could tell if she’d get as many chances at Cond Nast?
The boys were taking the ostrich approach. iF i stick my head in the sand, maybe the monster won’t see me since I can’t see him. If I’m nice to Mr Miles, maybe I can persuade him to leave me alone.
But executive elephant or no, she knew they were wrong. When American was bought out by Mansion Industries, every board member here was history. That was obvious. But they didn’t want to recognize it.
Topaz had caught that Quin boy looking at her when she spoke up to object. He sounded like he knew his stuff, and it made her even more certain she was right.