Wicked Ambition Page 23

  ‘What does Fenton say?’ The name sat on her tongue, slimy as a toad.

  Joey shook his head. ‘That’s the other thing. Fenton’s become distant, too. He works from home, like, every week, and we have to book appointments to see him now. We used to be able to just drop round, you know, if we needed something.’

  ‘Maybe he has a house guest,’ said Kristin tightly.

  ‘Could be. Whatever it is, he’s not proving much help on the Scotty problem.’

  She accelerated, overtaking a Jeep. ‘I expect he knows more than you think.’

  Joey gave her a funny look. ‘How do you mean?’

  Hastily she backtracked. ‘You know, just being your manager and all…’

  How she wanted to splurge it. But she had to preserve those tiny hearts, hearts like Bunny’s that would get blown to smithereens—and, now her anger had subsided, to preserve Scotty himself, because while he had betrayed her in a disastrous way it was no crime to be gay, and she couldn’t be sure she’d have told if he’d been sleeping with another girl.

  Already she was regretting having confided in Jax. She felt confident he would keep it to himself but it was impossible to know for definite.

  ‘I said to the boys I’d see if you might talk to him?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Really?’ Joey cleared his throat. ‘I mean, I know how much you felt for him, how close you guys were. If it’s too difficult, we’d understand…’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  There was a pause before Joey added, ‘It’s not like you want to get back with him, though, right? It’s totally over…?’

  ‘God, no! I mean, yes, it’s totally over.’

  ‘OK.’ He blushed. ‘Scotty’s my friend, but, well, you are, too.’

  ‘Believe me, I’m way happier with Jax.’

  Joey’s jaw tensed. ‘Right.’

  She dropped him a block from home, and minutes later was winding up the regal drive of The White House.

  ‘Bunny?’ she called upon entering. An almighty thump came from above, pursued by a stampede of footsteps as someone descended the stairs. Her sister flew down so heatedly that Kristin had to back up against the wall to avoid being bulldozed.

  ‘You are my daughter and you will get back here immediately!’ sounded Ramona’s battle cry, as her mother’s stick-thin legs came stabbing down the steps after her.

  ‘I can’t do this any more!’

  ‘Bunny—’ Kristin witnessed a flash of white-blonde wig as her sister shot out of the front door and slammed it behind her. Ramona collided with her at the bottom of the stairs, and by the time they hit the street Bunny had disappeared.

  She rounded on a breathless Ramona. ‘What’s going on? What happened?’

  A hysterical laugh flew back at her. ‘Isn’t that the question?’ Ramona crabbed. ‘Your clever sister’s only just ruined the most important afternoon of her life!’

  ‘What?’ Kristin struggled to catch up. ‘She didn’t win the Mini Miss?’

  ‘Of course she didn’t win!’ A fleck of spittle shot from Ramona’s mouth. ‘Tracy-Ann Hamilton won.’ The child’s name alone was enough to make her tremble.

  ‘My God, poor Bunny.’

  ‘Poor Bunny, my ass!’ her mother shrieked. ‘She didn’t even do her best!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She sabotaged it on purpose.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Kristin leapt to her sister’s defence. ‘Of course she tried her best, I know she did.’

  ‘Then you know nothing of Bunny’s life since you walked out. If that silly girl thought daydreaming over Scotty Valentine was going to win her the title instead of applying herself to our schedule then she’s just had a short sharp shock of reality.’

  ‘How can you be so cruel?’ Kristin asked in wonder.

  ‘Me?’ Ramona rampaged. ‘Who knows, perhaps if you hadn’t thrown that perfectly eligible boy to the gutter along with everything else that’s been given to you, Bunny mightn’t have suffered these withdrawal symptoms!’

  Kristin was incredulous. ‘So now it’s my fault?’

  ‘Let’s just say you wouldn’t win role model of the century.’

  ‘And you would? Jeez, Mom, don’t you think Bunny might be upset? Don’t you think she’s disappointed? That maybe she needs a parent right now, not a coach or whatever the hell it is you call yourself? That maybe you should go after her?’

  ‘She needs to cool off.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t, she needs a hug. She’s fourteen.’

  Ramona’s face was bitter lemon. ‘Talk to me about parenting skills when you’re a mother yourself—if ever, at this rate.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Face it: Jax Jackson is hardly husband material.’

  Kristin hooted with laughter. ‘That’s too good,’ she retaliated. ‘Why don’t you talk to me about husbands when you can hold on to one yourself? No wonder Dad walked out if he had to deal with this every day of his life—’

  She was cut off by a stinging slap. Stunned, she raised a hand to her cheek.

  Ramona was quivering. She looked as shocked as Kristin felt. Turning on a sharp heel, she strode inside and closed the door with such force that a set of Japanese wind chimes suspended in the porch crashed to the ground in a discordant jangle.

  Kristin put a hand to her face, breathing heavily. Her heart was in her throat and for the first time she could taste her anger, actually taste it, tangy like metal. She searched both ways down the avenue, hoping for a glimpse of Bunny and finding none.

  She had to locate her sister and get her out of here. Ramona’s ambition had gone beyond the point of rational return—and the trouble with climbing for the stars was that if you didn’t reach them, there was a hell of a long way to fall.

  37

  Robin was getting by on three hours’ sleep a night. The tour was consuming all her energy and if she wasn’t performing she was rehearsing, training, on the bus or the plane between gigs, or in talks with Barney and the team about the next location.

  They hit Seattle on Friday. It amazed her how the Beginnings set travelled seamlessly between venues, magnificent in its entirety one night then the following moved and erected identically in a completely new place, so that revisiting it felt like a continuous bout of déjà vu. Each time the crowd seemed more electric than the last, and the reviews she’d had were phenomenal: with every set she played, America fell a little bit more in love with Robin Ryder. They embraced her Britishness, her candid interviews and her inimitable flair. They loved her sense of humour. They respected her style. They gave credit for her connection to Puff City and her work on Slink Bullion’s charity single, which thanks to a fortuitously coordinated series of events—the City’s re-emergence, the Olympic fire and her own rise to Stateside stardom—had hit the Billboard top spot in its opening week.

  Puff City were in town tonight and had agreed to guest on her closing track. The audience wouldn’t know what hit them. She owed Slink big time for the favour.

  When Robin opened her hotel-room door she was alarmed to discover a male figure lounging on the bed, reclining against the propped-up pillows and watching TV. Rufio was drinking from a Coke can pilfered from the mini bar and had his hand buried in a tube of Pringles. Chocolate wrappers scattered the sheets.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Shit!’ She grinned, dropping her bag. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  In spite of the fact she hadn’t heard from him since that disappointing call in San Fran, she felt relieved Rufio was here. Due to her constantly moving location the threatening messages had ceased, but even so she remained anxious about being alone.

  Rufio flipped a crisp into the air and caught it in his mouth. ‘Celebrating,’ he said, pulling her on to the bed. ‘Thought I’d surprise you.’

  She kissed him. ‘Celebrating what?’

  ‘Got cleared, didn’t I? Shit-hot lawyer came on board and all I had to do was turn up in a suit and look sorry.’
He stuck out his bottom lip. ‘They fell for it.’

  ‘Are you sorry?’ Cynical, she raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Only that I didn’t get here sooner.’

  Rufio held out his arms and she settled into them. It was a comfort. He ran his hands over her hips and dragged her down on top of him. ‘Nice place you got here,’ he teased, jabbing his hard-on into her. ‘Want to shag?’

  The bed looked like the aftermath of a ten-year-old’s midnight feast. ‘Later.’ She tried to climb off but he caught her wrists. ‘How’d you find me anyway?’

  ‘Polly. And when’s later?’

  ‘I just got off the plane.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I feel rough. Now’s not a good time.’

  Rufio snorted, tossing a glance at his surroundings. ‘Seems to me like it is.’ And that observation, the tone of it, made Robin’s heart sink. She had resisted the thought that he wasn’t here because he cared about her or wanted to be with her but because she was hot property now on this side of the Atlantic and he was languishing at home with a dubious press. Recent tabloid coverage she’d caught of East Beatz had been less than favourable.

  ‘If you’re staying you have to look after yourself,’ she told him, slicing open the balcony doors and letting the fresh air through. ‘You know I’m working, right?’

  The phone rang and irritatingly Rufio reached it first, lifting it from the side table and reclining with his ankles crossed, a debonair smirk on his face.

  ‘Yars?’ he said in a faux-posh accent, ribbing her newfound status but underneath the sentiment was there and he meant it. ‘Robin Ryder’s room—er, I mean suite?’

  She snatched it off him. ‘Barney? Hi.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ asked Barney.

  ‘What can I say? Rufio keeps me on my toes.’

  Rufio seized the remote and started skipping channels, settling on one of his own music videos during which the band dressed as trendy astronauts and colonised a planet.

  ‘I thought you broke up with him.’

  ‘What’s up, Barney?’

  Minutes later she replaced the receiver. ‘I’m heading out.’ Barney had relayed that Puff City had landed early and wanted a sound check before a TV appearance this afternoon.

  ‘But you only just got here!’ Rufio complained. ‘What am I gonna do?’

  ‘It’s Seattle. You’ve got this whole amazing city at your feet. Think of something.’

  Seattle was her biggest crowd to date. As anticipated, Puff City’s appearance on her encore sent the stadium through the roof, and as well as guesting on her own track they rocked an impromptu ‘Take It Down’. Given the number of people involved in the charity single it had seldom been performed live, so for the fans it was a major coup. Slink rapped over Jax’s slot (easily ten times better—the guy couldn’t sing to save his life) and G-Money took Leon’s line.

  When the gig finished they were all on a high. Rufio showed up backstage, enveloping her in a beer-scented embrace, and when Slink suggested they check out a party pad belonging to a magnate friend of his who was out of town, Robin agreed.

  The penthouse was in the Seattle Highlands, a super-exclusive gated community housing some of the most incredible properties she’d ever seen. Slink’s contact lived in a cream Georgian mansion, pretty as a dolls’ house and giant as a castle and surrounded by verdant lawns, stone fountains and soaring, majestic yews. It boasted an Olympic-sized swimming pool whose tiles were purple, casting the water a deep lilac, spotlit from below. A rock waterfall cascaded at one end and a leafy platform overlooked the quiet Puget Sound, over which the moon cast iridescent light that rippled and danced in the fragrant night.

  They had picked up the crew’s entourage as well as her own dance troupe, and once through security a gang stripped off and threw themselves into the pool in their underwear.

  Matt was quick to follow, hauling off his T-shirt and joining them amid a splash of squeals and laughter. ‘Fucking awesome!’ he crowed on a dive bomb, making the girls screech with delight. Rufio was hot in pursuit and soon the pool was filled with a tangle of slick, golden bodies, emerging every so often in a spray of water.

  Robin fetched a beer, content to absorb the outrageousness of her surroundings. If someone had told her two years ago that she’d be here, now, after a mega leg of her sell-out US tour, she’d have laughed. Perhaps it was fortune’s turn to pay her back.

  She spotted Shawnella on a bench, scowling as she watched her boyfriend frolic. Robin made her way over. ‘Hey,’ she offered over the sound system, ‘OK if I join you?’

  Shawnella folded her arms, the movement prompting a near-total spillage of her cleavage. She was wearing a pink bikini that barely covered her nipples and matching knickers that were so high on her hips it looked like she was being sawn in half. Massive jewellery adorned her wrists and ears, and a ruby bead glinted on the skin between her top lip and her nose. Her hair was teased into dyed honey-blonde cornrows.

  ‘This is some place, right?’ began Robin. ‘You been before?’

  Shawnella blew out disbelief. ‘Are you kidding?’ She was surveying Slink with the concentration of a hawk. Robin followed her gaze and saw two gamine blondes hanging off his neck. ‘He’s brought just about everyone else here—I guess I’m not good enough.’

  Robin faced her. ‘I bet that isn’t true.’

  ‘Come on,’ drawled Shawnella, with a look in her eye that suggested she wasn’t the bimbo appendage so often dismissed at Slink’s side. ‘He’s got, like, twenty girlfriends. I’m aware of that; I’m not blind to the facts. This is where he takes them when he wants to impress. I’ve been around so long he doesn’t even bother.’

  ‘If you know he’s cheating, why stay? I’d never put up with that.’

  Shawnella laughed with genuine amusement. Realising Robin hadn’t been joking, she asked, ‘You think I’m with him because I love him?’

  Robin considered her reply. According to occasional mentions Shawnella received in the press, she was the ‘long haul’, the girl who’d been there since the start, who never quit, and, of course, like any woman dating a high-profile man, that naturally meant she was angling for a ring on her finger, if not for reasons of love then of sheer perseverance.

  ‘You might be.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Shawnella consulted her manicure. ‘See that display right there? He knows I’m seeing it, it turns him on and then later he’ll want to have a fight about it. That’s how it goes with Slink. We’ll fight and then we’ll have sex. That’s how it works. He’d get bored otherwise. He’s not interested in it being just us—and I accepted that ages ago. What I’m interested in is what this situation’s going to do for me.’

  ‘How?’

  She peered at Robin sideways. ‘When we first got together he said he’d bring me in on Puff City—like, the only female sort of thing. Look what Fergie did for the Peas. Same deal with me, except if Slink had kept his word we’d have beat them to it. Now that promise is starting to smell richly of bullshit.’

  ‘Why didn’t he go with it?’

  ‘Either the others didn’t like it or Slink changed his mind. I’m not sure which is worse. One makes him a pussy and the other makes him an asshole.’

  Robin nodded to where G-Money was chilling by the pool hut, beer in hand. He didn’t look as relaxed as the rest. ‘I would’ve thought he’d have your back,’ she said.

  ‘Serious?’ Shawnella replied, bored. ‘G’s, like, my big brother. Nothing he says carries weight these days. Slink doesn’t listen to a word he says. Shit, Slink won’t listen to a word anyone says. It’s his rules or bye-bye-baby, and that’s where I am.’

  Robin frowned. ‘G used to be wild, right?’ Before he’d worn cardigans G-Money had been one of the most notorious members of the City, in the nineties spending time in prison on charges of grand theft auto and possession of weapons—little wonder he’d been all over the charity gig; it was a chance to show how he’d cleaned up his act. But
Robin couldn’t help being suspicious of someone who changed their ways overnight: reinvention didn’t come easy.

  ‘Sure did,’ said Shawnella. ‘The less said about that, the better.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Besides, he ain’t doin’ nothin’ for me.’ She applied gloss, pressing her lips together with a sealing phut that signalled the end of the conversation.

  ‘I’m heading in,’ said Robin. ‘Join me?’

  ‘No chance. I wouldn’t wanna miss the show.’

  Across the lawns Robin located a Nantucket-style hut and claimed a bikini from a boxful marked OR GO WITHOUT?, which made her suspect that whoever lived here wasn’t averse to throwing the occasional pool party. The knickers were scant, flimsy things and she had to rifle through to find something that didn’t make her feel like she was perched on a cheese wire. A wet-from-the-pool Rufio grabbed her on the way back, hauling her shrieking over his shoulder and racing to the water, where he promptly threw her in, chasing with a flop that sent glitter dashing to the sky. Robin was immersed in an underwater lagoon and when she crashed through the surface she leapt at him, laughing and trying to push his head under.

  When she began to feel cold she headed to the showers, a vast tiled space with benches running down one side. It took a while to work out how to turn the jets on. At last she located a sensor and, putting her hand before it, the sky opened up: the roof was covered in hundreds of tiny holes so that instead of bathing it was like standing in the warm rain.

  Wrapping a towel around her and emerging on to the terrace, Robin spotted an open entrance to the house and decided to explore. The main wings were sealed off but the kitchen and ground floor were open and she perused photos of Slink’s absent acquaintance, a portly producer she recognised from televised red-carpet events and who, judging by the array of beautiful women he’d been photographed next to, didn’t appear to be married. There was the British actress Stevie Speller, a recent snap with Turquoise da Luca and another with A-list titan Cole Steel. Unsurprising, then, that he was living this kind of life.

  She was about to step outside when a couple of voices, engaged in heated debate, stopped her in her tracks. They were coming from the corridor and instinctively she padded towards them. She stopped at the wall, straining to hear.