Wicked Pleasures (58 page)

He was hovering rather a lot, continually wandering into the girls’ dressing room and then saying sorry, sorry, his mistake; in the end Dodo complained to Jennifer, and Jennifer suggested to Terry that perhaps he might sit down with Titus and look at the layouts; Terry said he had looked at the layouts until they were coming out of his arse and he wanted to see the shirts on the girls. Jennifer shot a despairingly conspiratorial look at Max, who promptly went over to Terry and said, ‘Got a fag?’

‘Sure,’ said Terry.

‘Let’s have it outside, shall we? Can’t stand this farting around any longer.’ Outside, he said, ‘Look, mate, stay out of the girls’ dressing room, will you?

They like to make believe they’re virgins, you know; they get edgy if someone’s spoiling their act. And edgy girls don’t do a thing for shirts.’

‘OK,’ said Terry. ‘Can you put in a word for me with the blonde? I gather you know her.’

‘Sure,’ said Max. ‘No problem.’

He sidled up to Dodo a bit later, as she stood waiting to go into a shot; Jimbo was tutting over her hair. ‘You really should get this cut, darling, it’s in terrible condition.’

‘No way,’ said Dodo. ‘Not here anyway.’

‘Look,’ said Max, ‘watch yourself tonight, Dodo. Tel Boy is after you.’

‘I’ll have his balls for garters if he tries anything,’ said Dodo equably. ‘Nasty little squirt. Thanks for the warning. Oh, hi Terry. These shirts are just fab. Did you design them yourself ?’

‘Some of them,’ said Terry modestly, whose only input into the design was to decide how many of each size to make up. ‘That one you’re wearing was one of mine.’

‘It’s brilliant. Could I buy it after the shoot?’

‘You can have it, darling. For the price of a smile.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly,’ said Dodo. ‘You must let me give you something for it.’

‘You can give me something for it if you like,’ said Terry, moving round and putting his hand on her neat little bottom, only just encased in cut-off jeans. Dodo looked at him and moved away.

‘Suddenly I’ve gone off the shirt,’ she murmured.

‘I’ve warned him off,’ said Max. ‘As best I could. He’s like a filthy little mongrel with a set of pedigree bitches on heat.’

‘Thanks, Max,’ said Jennifer. She looked harassed. ‘These things are hard work, aren’t they? Now Jimbo’s thrown a wobbly because none of the girls will let him trim their hair, and he’s told them they’ve all got zits. They’re sulking, and Titus is going mad because the sun’s already too high for the shadows. Or something. And I thought it was going to be fun.’

‘It can be,’ said Max easily. ‘If you just lie back and enjoy it. Look, I have to go and stand moodily in a background now; I’ll buy you a drink later.’

It was already hot, and it was only nine; a small crowd had gathered, mostly elderly Miami folk with leathery, weather-beaten faces. Dodo was astride a very
large motorbike that Titus had commandeered from somewhere, and the other two girls were standing on either side of her. Max was standing just out of focus, he knew, so he could afford to squint into the sun. He felt bored and irritable again, and the sight of Dodo’s buttocks thrust towards him was giving him an erection which he knew would be showing, so tight were his jeans. He would have to lay her tonight, he hadn’t had any sex for days and he was randy as hell.

And oh, shit, how on earth was he going to get down to Key West; they were only here for four days, and each one packed with shoots. And he was the only guy; in theory he couldn’t be spared.

‘Max, do pull yourself together,’ yelled Titus, suddenly. ‘I know you think you’re out of focus, but you’re not. Give me a pout. That’s better. Jimbo, Cary’s hair is too wild. Can’t you calm it down a bit?’

‘It’s too wild because it’s too long,’ said Jimbo. ‘It needs trimming.’

‘Then fucking trim it,’ said Titus. ‘You’re the hairdresser, for Christ’s sake.’

‘He’s not cutting my hair,’ said Cary, clutching it to her frantically. ‘Leonard would have a fit.’

‘Cary,’ said Titus, ‘as far as I can see, Leonard has very little to contribute to this shoot. And you are being paid a great deal of money to stand here in the Florida sunshine and thrust your tits out of a few shirts. If I say your hair needs trimming, it needs trimming. Otherwise you can fuck off home. At your own expense.’

‘Oh all right, all right,’ said Cary. Jimbo advanced on her with his scissors, smirking.

‘Who’s a naughty girl then?’

‘Bitch,’ said Cary.

‘Come and have a drink,’ said Max to Jennifer. ‘Titus is busy gathering props, and the girls are trying to console each other about their ruined hair.’

‘But he’s only taken off about half an inch.’

‘I know. They wouldn’t even have noticed if it had been done in their sleep. But they get very worked up about their hair. They feel about it rather like an artist does about his brushes.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, they do all have very nice hair,’ said Jennifer carefully.

‘I’d rather have yours. Less fucked about,’ said Max. He meant it. Jennifer had a neat, swinging shiny bob; it was the sort of hair he liked.

‘Thank you. Yes, I’d love a drink. Orange juice and Perrier.’

‘Fine. I’ll have the same. Funny how it feels like cocktail time on these shoots at – what is it? – ten in the morning. It’s the emotional energy we all spend.’

‘You don’t seem much like the average male model,’ said Jennifer, looking at him.

‘I don’t? How’s that then?’

‘Too posh,’ she said. ‘You’re Viscount Hadleigh really, aren’t you?’

‘Yup. ’Fraid so.’

‘So what on earth are you doing, doing this?’

‘I like it. It likes me. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Well, I’d have thought you’d be at Oxford, or some agricultural college or something.’

‘Darling, I’m as thick as shit,’ said Max, smiling at her radiantly. ‘One O level to my name. Never get into a college, I wouldn’t. Besides this is fun. I may not do it for ever, but it sure beats working. As the man said.’

‘Oh well. I just wondered. Nothing to do with me really. Thank you anyway. You’ve helped an awful lot already.’

‘I have? How?’

‘Oh, having dinner with me last night. I was feeling really nervous and shy. Everyone else knew each other and I could see Titus felt stuck with me. So it was really nice that you joined us. And then warning off Terry this morning, and now calming me down. I’m really glad you came.’

Max smiled at her, his most guileless, beautiful smile. ‘All part of the service. Honestly.’

Titus came over. ‘We’re going to move along to the beach for the next shot. We’ll need transport. And somewhere for the girls to change. Do we have that Campervan, or not, Jennifer, that I asked you to organize?’

‘Well, we did,’ said Jennifer, looking helplessly into the car park. ‘It was here last night. But it seems to have vanished.’

‘Oh Jesus H. Christ,’ said Titus. ‘Darling, are you in charge of this shoot or are you some kind of kindergarten teacher along for the ride? Look, ask in reception, will you, and get something organized. We really need it.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Max.

The girl in reception was regretful but unhelpful. Another client had taken the van; it was hotel property, Miss Collins hadn’t made it clear she needed it every day. She could have it tomorrow, but not today.

‘Could you try Hertz maybe?’ said Jennifer. She looked distracted.

‘No hope,’ said the girl. ‘I just rang them for this other client. They don’t have anything. Sorry.’ She returned to the brochure she was studying. Jennifer looked as if she might cry.

Max stepped forward. He put his hand on the girl’s.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘there are other car-hire firms. I can see you’re terribly busy. But would you let me use your directory and see what I can do?’ He smiled; the girl looked at him.

‘I’ll do it for you,’ she said and picked up the phone without moving her eyes from his face. Half an hour later an Avis Campervan pulled into the forecourt of the hotel.

‘You’ve been marvellous,’ said Jennifer. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

They were eating lunch at a table on their own; Dodo occasionally shot them a resentful glance.

‘I have a suggestion,’ said Max. Jennifer looked up startled, nervous. He grinned at her. ‘It’s all right. Nothing like that. I need to get down to Key West. Just for a day. Could you help me fix that?’

He flew down to Key West in a tiny plane early on the third day. The girls were all outraged; Dodo threatened to go on strike.

‘Listen, babe, I’ve worked for this.’

‘Oh yeah? In her bed? Virginal cow.’

‘No,’ said Max quietly. ‘On the set, with you lot of animals.’

He got out of the plane and took a taxi into town; he was enchanted by it, its narrow streets, the trolley car with the ringing bell that served as a tourist transport system, the white board houses with the wide verandas, hung over with palms, the technicolour painted shops and restaurants, the swinging signs that said ‘Dentist’ or ‘Attorney at Law’, the lack of cars, the smiling, lazy crowds.

‘It looks like a film set,’ he said to the cab driver.

‘Better than that. It’s a little country. Called the conch republic. Casts a spell on you. You can’t hurry here.’

‘OK,’ said Max. ‘I’ll get out and walk. Where’s the Parrot House? And will it be open yet?

‘Parrot House is always open. ’Cept between four a.m. and breakfast. It’s two blocks down, on the left. Now don’t miss sunset in the Square.’

‘I’ll try not to, but why?’

‘Everyone goes there to watch. If it’s a good one they clap.’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Max.

He found the Parrot House easily; it was a restaurant, with a rainbow-coloured (or rather parrot-coloured, he supposed) frontage, a deep dark interior and a wide courtyard at the side, with tables set amongst the palm trees. A large and splendid parrot swung in a ring outside the door.

Max sat down and ordered a beer; a very pretty boy brought it to him. ‘Thanks. Is the manager here?’

‘Not yet, sir. Too early. Give him an hour or two. Who shall I say?’

‘Say a friend of Michael Halston’s.’

Shit, thought Max, this is going to take more than all day.

A fat, smiling man with a great deal of curly grey hair eventually appeared in the courtyard. He walked over to Max, holding out his hand.

‘Hi. Johnny Williams. I understand you know Michael?’

‘Yes, I do. He suggested I see you.’

‘Any friend of Michael’s is a friend of mine. How can I help you?’

‘I think once you might have known my mother.’

‘Young man, I’ve known a great many mothers. Created a few as well.’ He laughed, his great belly heaving. Max felt sick.

‘Well, my mother’s name was Virginia Caterham. She used to come here a lot, apparently. Had a circle of friends.’

‘Virginia! Virginia. What does she look like?’

‘Well, reddish brown hair. Very tall. Um – very beautiful. American.’

‘Most of my customers are American.’

‘Yes of course.’ Max felt foolish.

‘When would this have been? Here, let me get you another drink, and we can talk.’

‘Thank you. It would have first been oh, about eighteen years ago. And I think she came back occasionally from time to time. But I believe her friends still come here. Quite often. It’s a base of theirs.’

‘Tell me some more about your mother. Where is she now, that you can’t ask her yourself about these friends?’

‘She’s dead,’ said Max quickly.

‘Oh. I’m sorry. When did she die?’

‘About four years ago. She was killed in a car crash. In England.’

‘Why was she in England – I’m sorry, what is your name?’

‘Max. Max Leigh. She lived in England. She was married to an Englishman.’

‘Called?’

‘Lord Caterham.’

He had been saving that. Americans still loved lords. Johnny’s eyes lit up. ‘Lord Catherham? Lady Caterham. Ah, now I begin to hear some bells. She never came here with him, did she?’

‘No. No I don’t think she did.’

‘What did she do, your mother?’

‘She was an interior designer.’

‘Ah! Virgy! Virgy Caterham. Of course I remember her. She was a real lady. A very lovely lady. She hasn’t been here for – oh, ten years. Ted Franklyn’s crowd, that’s who she was with. Oh, she was amazing. Beautiful. Beautiful! She used to dance, didn’t she? Tap dance. She taught Ted to dance. And sing. Oh, they were good times. We used to go off on Ted’s boat, oh, for days sometimes. Out to the reef, down to the Bahamas. Life was one big party. They were great days. I miss them, I really do.’

‘So – where could I find Ted Franklyn?’ asked Max, his heart thudding very hard in his chest.

‘I’m afraid the same place as your mom. He died. Oh, about three years ago. Too much of everything.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. And was he her greatest friend?’

‘Yes, he was. Although she did have a kind of a penchant for Tommy. Tommy Soames-Maxwell. They were very fond of one another. He was a great guy. Wonderful fisherman. I have a picture of him somewhere. Wait, I’ll go find it.’

He disappeared. Max sat thinking, imagining, seeing his mother with these people, these idle, self-indulgent, hedonistic people. It was so unlike her. And yet – was it? Who was to say what she was like, who she had been? And who she had been with, and to bed with and drunk with and danced with. Ted Franklyn. Tommy Soames-Maxwell. The names alone told a story. Soames-Maxwell – what a name. What a – Oh God. The implication of it suddenly hit Max hard. Charlotte and her Charles St Mullin. And now him and Tommy Soames-Maxwell. It could, it almost had to, make sense, add up. He looked up suddenly; the courtyard seemed to have blurred, the indistinct figure of Johnny looming out of the shadows. He was coming towards him, smiling, a photograph in his hand. Max took it, shaking slightly. An old, smudgy torn photograph, inscribed ‘To Johnny. Remembering fun. Tommy.’ Max sat and looked at Tommy Soames-Maxwell. Tommy Soames-Maxwell stood and looked back at him. Tall, smiling, blond, with a look in his eyes that invited danger. Hanging onto a huge rod, with a massive fish strung up beside him. Max felt sick, excited, almost awed.

‘And where could I find Mr Soames-Maxwell? Does he live here?’