The Modeliser Read online

  “Dammit,” she muttered and then she shrugged, once the formality of her promotion was dealt with that afternoon, she’d head right over to the Mulberry store and treat herself to a new designer handbag. As she straightened up, purse in hand, she started as she was confronted by a tall form, slinking into the office. “ Christ Ol, I didn’t hear you come in.” Talia stood as Olly shuffled into their shared office. “Bit hungover are you?” Olly nodded vaguely, not meeting her eyes.

  “Yeah sure.” He leaned down to his computer as though checking his emails and Talia noted that his face was red.

  “What’s up with you?” Talia asked, as Olly’s red face seemed to deepen even more. He sat down mumbling.

  “Nothing.” At this response, Talia shrugged. Olly was often difficult to read and he tended to keep to himself but his phenomenal knowledge of the show and his instinct for story more than made up for his occasional strangeness.

  “Want anything from the canteen?” She asked and for the first time he looked her in the eye and Talia noted that he seemed anxious.

  “Look Talia…” he began just as their door opened to admit Dom, the AD from last night who had kissed her. Now it was Talia’s turn to feel her cheeks warm as Dom strode up to her already speaking, barely noticing Olly.

  “Talia, look we need to…” Dom began and Talia moved quickly. The last thing she wanted was gossip about her spreading through the crew. She turned back to Olly.

  “Let’s talk later, OK.” Olly shrugged and Talia resolved to get to the bottom of his mood later. But for now, she had to tend to some damage limitation with Dom.

  Talia fell into step behind Dom, as they moved down the corridor that housed the editorial and production staff on the show. He seemed tense and awkward and her stomach churned at the thought that she’d have to let him down gently. She glanced sidelong at him, he wasn’t bad looking – slim and tall in the uniform of T-shirt, jeans and Converse shoes that seemed standard amongst the on-set crew. The blonde highlights in his hair, which looked more salon bought than sun-kissed were perhaps not to her taste but he was a nice guy and for a moment Talia wondered why she had to turn him down. Perhaps they could be discreet, see where things went. She allowed this flight of fancy to carry her as she followed him through to the bay of lifts. As they entered he pressed the button for the ground floor, and Talia noted that his nails were clean.

  “Look Talia, we need to talk.” Dom spoke and Talia snapped back to reality, she wasn’t sure quite how she would cope with him declaring some grand passion to her. She’d never been good in situations like this, not since that first time aged 11, when Ben from next door had tried to kiss her and she’d punched him and run away, ignoring him for the next 7 years.

  “Dom,” she started but he silenced her with his hand.

  “Look, about last night, it was a total mistake.” Talia felt her mouth gape open; she’d not been expecting that. Dom ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “I’m saying this all wrong.” He sighed a deep sigh, almost rocking on the balls of his feet in the enclosed space of the lift. “I need to give this back to you.” Dom reached into his pocket retrieving a mobile phone, which Talia recognised as her own.

  “Tamara said it was just a joke….” Dom began but Talia interrupted him, still staring at her phone.

  “Where did you get that?” Talia demanded as she took the phone from him. Her brow furrowed as she watched the mix of concern and anxiety on Dom’s face. And why was he muttering about Tamara, the show’s matriarch, queen bee and all-round nightmare to work with.

  “Tamara wanted to borrow your phone, I didn’t know what she was going to do.” Dom was saying again but Talia had lost interest now. Men, she’d never understand them. As she stowed her phone away, Talia looked hard at Dom, she’d not been interested anyway; she consoled herself.

  “Dom, you’re a nice guy, but we work together and I think we should keep it that way. OK." With what she hoped was a firm but friendly nod, Talia turned allowing a breath of relief to escape her as the lift pinged its arrival on the ground floor and the doors hissed open. As she strode out of the lift, she heard him call out her name, but she kept on walking.

  Talia wolfed down an unappetizing and no doubt calorie-laden lunch while sat in the corner of the canteen, her head buried in a stack of story documents, barely noticing the frisson of gossip at the tables all around her. If she’d bothered to look up she would have spotted Donna Windsmere, the English actress who’d titillated in a series of farcical comedies in the Sixties and Seventies before re-inventing herself in her late 50s and revitalising her career as the matriarch of Encounters. On the next table, she would have seen the hottest young soap actors the country had to offer. But Talia had long grown tired of watching the beautiful faces. She had little time for the actors and their daily dramas; it was the imaginary characters and the stories that she created for them, which fired her up. When she’d first made it to the story office, Talia had struggled with the actors and their demands, their lobbying and jockeying for bigger and better stories that would propel them to the cover of the weekly magazines and serve as a step up to appearing on Dancing with the Stars or Celebrity Big Brother. She’d quickly learned to be firm and they’d learned that she could not be bought. Now as she walked back towards her office, taking the scenic route through the car park and the gardens, in the hope of not bumping into Dom, Talia was startled by the sound of sobbing. She looked up to see Angelina Starling, the most popular new actress on Encounters.

  “Ange, What’s wrong?” Talia moved forward, immediately concerned. Unlike many of the other young stars on the show, Angelina had shown maturity beyond her years, she approached her craft with unexpected professionalism and it was clear that she would probably go on to have a career outside the soap opera world. Talia had grown to like her and she moved to crouch beside the girl watching as she rubbed her eyes rapidly.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Angelina replied even as her eyes filled with fresh tears.

  “Angelina, what’s happened? You can tell me anything.” Talia moved to put an arm around the girl’s shoulders but was surprised as Angelina stood up, shaking her off.

  “I thought you were my friend?” The confusion in Angelina’s wide, tear-filled brown eyes shocked Talia.

  “Of course I’m your friend. What do you mean?” But Talia’s question would not be answered and with a strangled sob, Angelina dashed towards her parked Mini Cooper. Jumping in, she fired the engine up, her tyres spinning in the gravel before she raced away. Talia shook her head; the day just kept getting stranger and stranger.

  “Could you get on to research, what was the exact cause of death of Jordan’s stepfather in episode 467?”

  Talia launched the question across the office at Olly who had just come back in from lunch. He seemed surprised to see her back at her desk and hard at work. Talia looked up at him, he really had been even stranger than usual all day.

  “What’s up with you today?” she asked curiously. Olly moved towards her, hovering nervously and then he dumped a stack of daily newspapers onto her desk.

  “You should see these,” he muttered. Instinctively Talia felt her stomach freeze.

  “Dammit,” somebody hasn’t leaked the Christmas storyline have they? Or lost a script on the tube?” Talia snapped. Leaks like these were the nightmare of all storyliners and she felt her heart in her mouth.

  “Just read,” Olly urged.

  Talia glanced down at the familiar red top of the country’s bestselling tabloid newspaper and she froze. Her attention riveted by the blurred but unmistakeable image of Angelina Starling, the nation’s innocent sweetheart, caught in what could tamely be described as a compromising position.

  “Oh fuck...” Talia sifted through the other front pages, which also carried the same image. The headline screamed out at her. Brief Encounters of a Sex Kind. “What a fucking mess.” Talia glanced up at Olly, he seemed to be watching her closely to gauge her reaction. “Where are these from?
” She demanded.

  “Last night, after the party. Someone took the pictures on a mobile phone and leaked it to the press,” Olly responded quietly.

  “Poor Angelina, no wonder she was in tears.” Suddenly a thought occurred to Talia. “You’ve known about this all morning and you didn’t bloody tell me?” Olly paled but before Talia could launch into a tirade, the door opened. Talia went cold; it was Rick Cole, their boss and as much as a petite gay man with a taste for clothes in primary colours could, he looked furious. His skin, always red and mottled from drink and too much St Tropez tanning, was now puce with rage.

  “Talia, in my fucking office now!” The bellowed words were followed by a sharply slammed door, which rattled in its doorframe and shook the awards hanging on the wall. With a gulp, Talia moved round her desk, to follow her boss. Her eyes darted once again to the front cover of the newspaper. With a sense of deep foreboding she recognised that this day had just gone from bad to seriously worse.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “She’s Fired. Tell her she’s fired if I don’t get a call back in five.”

  Alex slammed the designer telephone back into the ornate receiver with a wince. He’d been back from Mexico for less than 5 hours and he wasn’t used to being kept waiting and yet five calls later, he’d still not managed to speak to his agent. In the ten years since she’d approached him, as he’d clutched his Oscar in his sweaty palm, Avital had been true to her word. She’d promised to make him a star, and a star he was. His face was plastered across Times Square in New York and on Sunset in LA. He’d had Royal Gala Premieres at Leicester Square in London. He’d broken box office records and had joined the elite rank of actors; Brad, Tom, George, Bruce, who were known only by their first names and who could command millions just to advertise beer and Cigars in Japan. He’d become that rare breed of actor, one who could open a film. And yet doubts niggled at Alex as he lounged on the terrace, back in his multi-million dollar Hollywood Hills home. Since he got back to LA, things had gone from shit to worse. His assistant Shay, who’d been threatening to quit had finally gone and walked out on him, while he was in Mexico and now Avital seemed to be sidestepping him. He’d resolved to call his manager Johnny, when he remembered that he’d fired Johnny and hadn’t yet got round to replacing him. Alex moved towards the golf clubs that he’d dragged out of the guest bedroom that morning. He tee’d up a shot, setting a distant tree in his sights when his phone began ringing.

  “Yes,” he barked curtly.

  “Alex, darling, why so brusque?” Avital’s New York drawl grated down the line and Alex was reminded of the sound of a cement mixer.

  “Avital, darling, I’m not feeling the love,” he replied tersely.

  “Oh Alex, you know I love all my children equally.” Alex gritted his teeth, he didn’t like the sound of that. The fact was, when he’d been her biggest client, Avi had lavished attention on him, but since a recent batch of new signings poached from a rival agency, he had sensed that he didn’t have Avital’s undivided attention the way he used to. Alex sighed deeply. He loved LA, had grown to love it, but days like today, he hated the bullshit and the fakery.

  “Cut the bullshit. What’s going on?” There was a moment’s silence on the line and then the sound of a deep breath being taken. Alex allowed himself to imagine that he was just being another paranoid actor, that Avital would reassure him and they’d get back to business.

  “Darling, the thing is, the studio are having doubts.” His blood ran cold.

  “Doubts about what?” He barked the words out, any attempt at calm forgotten.

  “It’s been a bad year for the business, sequels aren’t doing what they used to, the big guns aren’t firing at the box office and some two-bit schmuck from Wichita makes a horror movie with his Ma and Pa’s camera and takes home $100 million.”

  “What does that mean for me?” Alex asked fighting to master the cauldron of rage and anxiety that was building in him.

  “The thing is everybody’s being cautious. They love you at Centurion, but studios have been hit hard by this recession, no one can afford to take a risk and miss, not if they want to keep their job.” Alex gritted his teeth wishing Avital would get to the point. “Look, your last film, under-performed, but who knew so many kids would want to see a 3D dog find his way home. Everyone knows that wasn’t your fault. I’ve got some great scripts and offers on the table.”

  Losing patience Alex barked out the burning, unspoken question. “Avi, what about Defender, that’s my movie, I brought it to the studio, I got Milo on board to produce, I talked with Cole...” In Avi's deep indrawn breath Alex knew he had his answer.

  “They’ve decided to go with Max Maguire.” Avital said the words quietly without inflexion. “Alex, Alex…” But Avital was talking to thin air because almost without thought, Alex had flung the phone high and far into the air so that two streets away it clattered onto the sidewalk a mangled broken mess.

  Three hours later, when a session on the treadmill and a round with the punch bag in his home gym had failed to diminish his fury, Alex drifted round the house, still at a loss about what to do with himself. Wandering through a kitchen that he’d rarely ever been into, Alex spotted a wine rack. He grabbed a bottle barely glancing at the label and worked the top open, after spending several minutes figuring out how to work the fancy corkscrew. He was tempted to hit a bar, but if news of Max Maguire signing on to do Defender had broken, Alex had no desire to be seen drowning his sorrows publicly. In LA there were always eyes watching. As he tipped the contents of the bottle into his mouth, he flicked on the television but as he caught a glimpse of Isabella on the arm of Max Maguire, apparently Hollywood’s latest “IT” couple, he snorted a sound of contempt. Christ that bitch worked fast. Tossing the remote aside, Alex prowled about the house. He’d bought it two years ago but what with being on location and the extensive remodelling, he’d spent less than a month in the place and now he paced like a caged tiger, a stranger in his own home. In the home office, Alex powered up the Mac computer, that he’d seen Shay working on, but which he himself had never actually used. He stared blankly at the massive screen as it promoted him for a password. Christ, how was he supposed to function? Fine he thought, he’d have to get Shay back.

  All of his life, Alex had been good at coming up with plans, but his problem always came in the execution. He’d backed his black Porsche out of the garage barely aware of scraping the bodywork against the wrought iron gates as he exited his driveway. He meandered around and around the winding hill roads for several minutes before the GPS finally kicked in and he found himself on Sunset, driving in what he hoped was the general direction of Shay’s apartment. With the top of the Porsche down, Alex allowed the cool night air to whip through his hair, the coolness awakening his senses, which had been dulled by his solitary drinking session. As he hovered at a traffic light, a girl in the adjacent car shot him an appraising look and then he saw her double and then triple take as she registered the face in the car next to her. Alex watched the look in her eyes, the lowering window, the offer that would be there lurking and even as she opened her mouth to speak, he’d roared off as the lights changed to green. Flicking the radio on, Alex rested one hand loosely on the steering wheel, the other hand running absentmindedly through his hair. LA was supposed to be easy he thought. His eyes drifted to the groups of people walking down the sidewalk, queuing to get into the hottest clubs – Viper Room, Shadow Lounge, Galore…. Everybody jostling for their fifteen minutes of fame. And suddenly he was assailed by a crippling fear - his fifteen minutes had lasted ten good years but were they now over? He’d always assumed somehow that the gravy train would continue forever that he’d bow out on a high somehow. He’d never liked those slow death scenes in books that went on for pages, chapters even. He was a put a dog out of its misery kind of guy. But what he hadn’t counted on was this fear that now gnawed at him. He was Alex Golden, movie star, modeliser, screen god. He’d forgotten how to be anything else… Th
e shrill sharp sound of a horn startled him out of his maudlin train of thoughts and Alex immediately steered the car back into his own lane but moments later, in his rear-view mirror, he caught the flickering blue and white of a squad car and then the siren pulling him over.

  Alex steered the Porsche off the road. Shit, he thought as he glanced down at the empty bottle on the floor by the passenger seat. What had he been thinking? He took a deep breath and prayed that he wasn’t over the limit, the bottle was still half full. Leaning his head back against the headrest, Alex closed his eyes as he waited for the officer to reach his car.

  “License and registration.” The voice was low and feminine, sexy and Alex’s eyes flew open to come face to face with a stunning cop. She was leaning down to peer at him through the window and from the look in her eyes, Alex knew that she had recognised him. “Licence and registration.” She repeated her demand with a knowing smile playing on her face.

  “Right, I’m not entirely sure where... I mean I’ve not driven this car in a while…” Alex trailed off and shot her one of those boyish smiles that played so well with test audiences.

  “Sir, do you realise you’ve been weaving across lanes.”

  “I’m very sorry, I’ve been away and the jet lag.” He watched as her eyes darted to the empty bottle. “Seriously.”

  “Look I’m sure you’re just tired. So perhaps you just drive on to where you’re going, carefully.” Alex could scarcely believe his luck.

  “Thank you officer,” he said mustering up some sincerity. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Now she leaned back and Alex’s eyes lingered on the snugness of her uniform before he dragged his eyes back up to her face.

  “Well a picture would be good. My girlfriend, she’s a big fan of yours.” A girlfriend, Alex’s eyes widened with appreciation as possibilities filtered through his brain, he caught the knowing smirk on the cop’s face and he forced himself to rein his imagination in.