‘Don’t you get hot in those pants?’ she asked, sparking up a thin joint and reclining on the poolside lounger. Even through her Ray-Bans the sun was blazing, filling her vision with dots when she opened her eyes. ‘They look like they’re melting on your legs.’
Her father didn’t appear to hear; he was way too concerned with his appearance. Aurora thought he was looking quite orange these days, understandable since they’d just had a sunbed installed in the mansion’s basement, along with a gigantic spa, sauna and steam room. Tom was the only one who seemed to make use of it. Her mother, by comparison, was a pale-skinned beauty with a chronic fear
of melanoma. She only appeared outdoors wearing wide-brimmed hats and covered in material head to toe. Physically, Aurora was unlike either of them.
She was used to being ignored when her father was preening. Her parents’ latest hit ‘Steady Rock’, a gently lilting country ballad, emanated from inside the mansion, but was mercifully drowned out when Aurora screwed in her iPod and blasted some vintage Pearl Jam. Stretching out, she lost herself in the music. Oh yeah, she majorly dug rockers. A few weeks ago she’d attended a gig at the White Rooms, an indie group from Wisconsin on the cusp of a breakthrough, and ended up having sex with the lead guitarist right here in her mom and dad’s pool. She turned to the blue water and remembered it with a tug of yearning: the way she had gripped on to the marble rim, each rough thrust sending an exquisite pain rushing through her, a spill of water over the side … Hmm. She was definitely hooking up with him again. These days she was certainly mixing with far cooler, and more mature, people than Farrah was. In fact she hadn’t seen much of her best friend since the night she’d totalled the car. Personally she couldn’t see the attraction in Boy-Band-Christian. She doubted he even had pubic hair.
A shadow loomed over her. Aurora opened her eyes a crack and reluctantly removed an earphone. She stank of weed but Tom pretended, as ever, not to notice.
‘I gotta go, baby,’ said her father, in a rich Texan drawl which years in LA hadn’t completely washed out. He ruffled her hair affectionately. ‘Be good, OK?’
‘Always am,’ she replied.
Tom raised an eyebrow. Once upon a time that line might
have worked, but given her recent disgrace it didn’t say a great deal.
‘Where’s Mom?’
‘Out.’
‘Isn’t she going with you?’
Tom made a non-committal gesture. ‘She’s got a session with Lindy.’
Lindy was her mother’s therapist. Sherilyn had been seeing her since the couple discovered—shortly after Aurora was born—that they were unable to have any more children. Aurora found her continued reliance on Lindy and whatever psychobabble she regurgitated a touch offensive. Wasn’t Aurora enough? She was enough for Tom.
‘When’s she back?’ Aurora was pleased at the thought of an afternoon alone in the mansion. Maybe she could invite Farrah round, see if she had goodies to share. And maybe Boy-Band-Christian had an older brother.
Tom didn’t know. It amazed her how career-wise her parents did everything together, but when it came to personal stuff they seemed to live practically apart.
‘I mean it,’ Tom said, trying his best to be stern. ‘Behave.’
Aurora gave him her most winning smile. ‘I’ll be good, Daddy,’ she said innocently.
Tom wasn’t convinced, and who could blame him? Two months back Aurora had passed out at the wheel of her vehicle with a cocktail of drugs in her system. She could have died. The cops had arrived at the scene, realised the state she was in and taken her immediately to hospital, where she’d had her stomach pumped and been sick into a tray until her insides ached. Then came the inevitable arrest—and
that
photo. It had been splashed across the world’s
media: little Aurora Nash, once the bouncing blonde baby of two of America’s most famous, most conservative and most clean-living country and western stars, was, now, at fifteen, a bleary-eyed mess, doped up on who knew what and, so it was widely reported, moments from death. But it was the attitude that seemed to shock people: the hard-edged glare in her eyes, the been-there-done-it-all weariness so at odds with her youth.
The Ferrari had been trashed, its hood concertinaed like an accordion. At first Tom and Sherilyn had been angry—well, as angry as they’d ever be. She’d been grounded for a week, but with Jenna’s help had sneaked out on the second night. They never noticed. Tom had bought her a replacement car, though she’d had to wait a month—and she still wasn’t permitted by the authorities to drive. Who knew how long she’d be without a ride! She was going out of her head.
‘This has got to change,’ Sherilyn had told her, but more with sympathy than rage. Sometimes she wished her mom had more balls. ‘Perhaps you should come see Lindy.’
God! Seeing Lindy was a fate worse than death. She’d probably make them have mother/daughter sessions or something equally horrific. No, she’d handle this herself in the same way she always had: sweet smile, big eyes, promises to be good. Bingo.
‘See you later, kiddo,’ said Tom now, bending to kiss her cheek.
‘See ya, Dad.’
After he’d gone, Aurora unclasped her bikini top and lay back down, slipping her earphones back in and letting her mind wander back to the sexy guitarist and the pool.
The next thing she knew, it was cold. Shit—she must
have fallen asleep. The sun was fading and the temperature had dropped. How long had she been out?
She checked the time: almost seven.
Gathering her things, she padded through the vast sliding doors and into the Nash/Rose mansion. It was a huge ranch-style place, with a mix of LA grandeur and Tom’s more earthy Texan roots. She grabbed herself a glass of lemonade from the refrigerator. Tom’s avocado facemasks littered the vegetable compartment.
The second the door shut, she jumped.
‘Who the
fuck
are you?’
A man—at a guess he was only a year or two older than her—was standing in the doorway, arms laden with brown grocery bags. He was dark-skinned and dark-haired, short, with green eyes and a young, smooth-skinned face. He looked as startled as she did.
Aurora became aware that she was topless. She folded her arms across her breasts, but could see the effect her nakedness had already had on him. The boy’s cheeks were aflame.
‘Er … I am … My mother is …’ His English was bad. Distantly Aurora remembered the Mexican housekeeper her parents had hired recently.
‘You’re Julieta’s son?’
‘Yes,’ he said, relieved, but still not knowing where to look. ‘She not well today … I come to help … The lady boss says is fine …’
‘You’ve spoken to my mother?’ Aurora demanded. She let her hands drop as she sipped the lemonade. It was cool inside, the air con made it so, and she felt her nipples stiffen.
The boy nodded swiftly. He dumped the bags on the central island.
‘I will leave. You are busy …’
‘You’re not going to help me tidy these things away?’ Aurora asked, gesturing at the groceries. ‘I thought you’d come to help.’
He nodded. She’d never seen a blush under such dark skin before. He was five-six at a push, not the calibre of man she would normally go for, but something about him was attractive and she felt a stirring ripple through her. She wondered if he was a virgin.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Sebastian.’
‘Well, Sebastian,’ Aurora said, setting her glass down and slinking round the counter. Her bikini briefs were tiny and she leaned over the bags, pushing her ass out for him to admire. ‘Shall I show you exactly where I want you to … put things?’
He rustled pointlessly with the bags.
Aurora smiled, lifted herself up on to the counter and crossed her legs. His eyes were level with her breasts. ‘Do you play pool?’ she asked.
The boy gulped, gaze darting to the water outside.
‘Not that sort of pool,’ Aurora clarified, though she imagined they could have several entertaining games out there as well. Instead, she took his hand. He didn’t object. She drew it to her right breast and felt his fingers cup tentatively round the soft flesh. His eyes were transfixed on her body, his mouth slightly open, in fear, desire or disbelief it was impossible to say. When she drew her own hand away, his remained. They stayed like that for several moments, the groceries between them. Sebastian’s touch became
firmer, beginning to knead, before his other hand seized the second breast and then he was pushing them together, squeezing and releasing. Abruptly he leaned in, took one of their peaks between his lips and sucked.
‘Come,’ she told him, slipping off the counter and leading Sebastian through to an adjacent games room. Centre stage was a magnificent green-felt pool table, the triangle of gleaming balls laid out in perfect arrangement and two slim wooden cues down each side.
Aurora settled on the edge of the table, enjoying the smooth, glossy veneer beneath her bare thighs. ‘Strip,’ she told him. When he looked confused, she added more softly, ‘Take your clothes off.’
Fumbling, Sebastian removed his T-shirt, unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his jeans. He had a broad chest, muscular, and stocky, virtually hairless legs. The hard-on visible through his underwear was modest, but sufficient. Aurora raised an eyebrow. He peeled them down and over his ankles, kicking them to one side.
She appraised his dick. It was rock-hard and reasonable in length, his balls ripe and buoyant in a nest of dense black hair. Slowly she took off her own briefs, and the minute she parted her legs, he dived for her like an animal, plunging in with force.
‘Fucking hell, hang on!’ She pulled back, easing him out. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
Sebastian’s face had taken on a slack, robotic expression. He sank to the floor and started rummaging about in his jeans, at last removing a coloured wrapper. So much for being a virgin. The second time he entered her Aurora was thrown back on to the table, scattering the pool balls wide. She raised her arms and grabbed each of the top pockets
with her fingers, the boy pummelling into her, deeper and deeper, all the way in then driving back out, his hands under her ass. He was half up on the table now, one knee bent on the felt, the other foot steadying him on the floor. Aurora didn’t think she had ever in her life been nailed with such conviction.
He mounted the table, crouching, and flipped her round. She saw two of the yellow balls rush into the top pockets, heard the velvety
plunk
of one vanishing in another. Gripping under her belly with one hand, the boy pushed into her from behind, snatching her tits with the other, tugging them hard. She felt the slap of him against her and she grabbed one of the pool cues, sliding its length underneath till she could move the cold, flawless line of it back and forth, bringing her off. The boy took the lead, clasping its end and driving it between them. As she was on the cusp of coming he whipped it out from under her, slid his cock out and replaced it with the butt of the cue. With a strangled groan he ejaculated. Rocked forward with the motion, Aurora screamed aloud on the crest of her orgasm. The boy collapsed forward and they stayed motionless on the table, wrapped in sweat, gasping for air.
‘Fuck,’ was all Aurora could say. ‘You’re an outrageous fuck, Sebastian.’
He began kissing the length of her spine, from behind her neck to the top of her ass. She was still riding the gentle spasms of her first climax when he bent to lick her. Lazily she smiled, parting her legs to receive his tongue, feeling it flick and plunge between her till she was coaxed to the edge of another rising swell. He used his fingers, wetting them before, on the point of making her come a second time, he dipped the tip of his thumb into her ass.
Aurora cried in ecstasy, so loud she didn’t hear the door to the games room open.
Sherilyn Rose dropped whatever it was she was carrying. Sebastian clambered back off the table, tripping over on to the floor, struggling to get his jeans on, mumbling something incoherent in Spanish.
Shit.
Triple shit.
Aurora looked up, blew the hair out of her face. ‘Hey, Mom.’
9
Stevie
Linus Posen’s party, or ‘gathering’, as it was creepily called on Bibi’s invitation, took place in his penthouse New York apartment on a Sunday night. As soon as she saw Linus, Stevie understood he was exactly the sort of person who threw parties on Sundays, changing the rules simply because he could. He was a massive presence, tall and fat, and possessed a booming baritone of a voice and mean, quick little eyes that looked like raisins squidged into raw dough.
Stevie decided on sight that she didn’t like him. Typically she’d never be so quick to judge, but his air of bored arrogance sat uncomfortably with her.
‘Are you sure I look OK?’ trilled Bibi as they stood at the entrance to the sprawling warehouse, suffused with mood beats and the hum of conversation. It wasn’t like Bibi to be insecure about anything, but she hadn’t relaxed since they’d set off.
In the cab, Stevie had been surprised. ‘Don’t tell me you
fancy
him.’
‘Of course I do,’ Bibi had confessed, insofar as Bibi could ever make a confession, because Bibi never seemed to be embarrassed or apologetic about anything. ‘Linus Posen is shit-hot, Steve. He’s the director that could build my career! My agent says he’s casting for his new movie. Matthew McConaughey’s tipped to star.’
‘It doesn’t mean you have to find him attractive.’
‘McConaughey? Gimme a break.’
‘Linus Posen, silly. Isn’t he old?’
‘Fifties, is my bet.’ Bibi had checked her face in her compact for the millionth time. ‘Frankly, I don’t care. He could be in a wheelchair and I’d still show him the Bibi Reiner magic!’
‘That’s sick.’
‘That’s sensible.’
‘What about whether or not you
like
him?’ She knew she was giving Bibi a hard time. Just because she’d succumbed to a man with power didn’t mean the disaster that had befallen her was going to befall everyone. It was just that she didn’t want Bibi getting hurt, and instinct told her that Bibi didn’t always think things through properly. Then again, that was hypocritical.