Private Lives

6



Sam sat back on the white leather seat of the Riva speedboat, his arm around a beautiful model, and sipped his eighth cocktail of the day. Okay, so it wasn’t a real cocktail, but then this whole set-up was completely unreal: he was bobbing on the sparkling sea just off the coast of Capri, a former Pirelli girl named Adrianna was purring in his ear, and best of all, he was getting paid a small fortune to appear in an advert that no one he knew would even see. Still, he felt like a fraud. This Italian drinks commercial should have been like a holiday for him, a chance to lark about and recharge, but instead he felt edgy, distracted, as if he was watching someone else clink glasses and laugh and look relaxed and carefree for the crew.

‘Cut!’ shouted Dino the director. ‘The light is no good. We stop until tomorrow.’

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure for how much longer he could keep a cheesy smile pasted on his face, even with Adrianna running her fingers across his chest.

‘You want to go out for supper, Sam?’ she said, tipping her head seductively to one side. ‘My grandfather is from Capri. I can show you around.’

He was tempted to say yes – Adrianna was drop-dead gorgeous and her cascade of coffee-coloured hair was tickling his shoulder – but it was that kind of thinking that had got him into this mess in the first place.

‘I’m sorry, Adrianna,’ he said, ‘but I have a meeting this evening. Legal stuff, very boring.’

The model’s smile faded – rejection was clearly something she was not used to.

‘And I guess we don’t want to make Jessica angry, do we?’ she said bitchily.

Sam smarted at the jibe, but he had to agree with the sentiment. Actually, no, he thought. We really don’t want to make her angry. That was why he had been desperately working with his manager and his new lawyer to contain this shit storm, and why he had been letting Jessica’s calls ring through to message.

The speedboat circled back to a gleaming sixty-metre yacht moored off Capri’s Marina Piccolo. He climbed on board and slipped into a towelling robe being held out for him by an attractive young stylist.

‘Call for you,’ said Josh, his PA, holding up his mobile. Unlike most high-profile Hollywood actors, Sam had held back from getting a PA until very recently. Now he had one, he admitted that it made his life considerably easier, although the thought that Josh might know about his indiscretion – probably did – made him feel sick. The fact that the whole world might soon know if he didn’t cough up half a million quid – that made him feel worse.

‘Who is it?’

‘Wouldn’t say,’ shrugged Josh. ‘Female caller, very insistent. Says it’s urgent, personal business.’

Sam frowned, took the mobile and made his way to the stateroom on the mezzanine level of the yacht, hoping it was the lawyer – what was her name? Helen something? She was due any minute. Eli had reassured him the situation was under control, but he would feel much more secure hearing it from an expert.

‘Hey, it’s Sam,’ he said when the door was closed.

‘It’s Katie.’

Immediately Sam could feel his pulse start to flutter. What the hell did she want now? If he was honest, he hadn’t been all that surprised when Katie had called two days ago. Stupidly he’d given her his card, and to be frank, why wouldn’t she call? He would have done. Any struggling thesp worth their salt would try to use whatever contacts they could to get a foot up on the ladder – and who better than a Hollywood star: correction, a guilty Hollywood star? He had been muttering something about getting her a meeting with Eli when Katie had dropped the bombshell.

‘I want five hundred grand,’ she had said, as if she was asking for a signed photograph. ‘I have pictures. Very intimate pictures. I don’t think Jessica will want to see them. Certainly not on the front page of the New York Post.’

He had hung up and called Eli, who had put it into the hands of this lawyer with the attack-dog reputation. Wasn’t she supposed to put a stop to this? He stared at himself in a full-length mirror. In his oversized robe, he looked vulnerable. Scared. Which was exactly how he felt.

‘What do you want now, Katie?’ he said, trying to sound confident and in control.

‘I thought I made that clear,’ she said coldly. ‘I want the money. Where is it?’

Sam frowned.

‘I thought my manager was going to—’

‘I said I wanted the money by five o’clock,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t try and stall me.’

‘Katie, these things take time,’ said Sam soothingly. ‘I can’t just magic the sort of cash you’re asking for out of thin air.’

‘Oh sure. I bet you have that much in your wallet.’

Sam rubbed his eyes. How could he have been so wrong about this girl? That night at the party – the bits he could remember – and the morning in the hotel, Katie had seemed smart, sassy, decent. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place. He could understand her wanting to make the most of the situation, but this was insane. Wasn’t it?

‘Why are you doing this, Katie?’ he said softly. ‘I thought we got along that night. I said I’d help you out as much as I could.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Like you were ever going to call me.’

‘But this is blackmail,’ he said. ‘I could go straight to the police. Do you want that?’

‘Are you threatening me, Sam?’ she hissed. ‘Because I don’t think you want to do that in your position.’

Sam winced. Clearly confrontation was not the way to go.

‘Why not let me help you, then?’ he said. ‘You’re an actress. A pretty good one apparently. If you go to the papers, it’s not going to look good for you either. You’ve got so much to lose.’

She snorted. ‘Have I? From where I’m standing, I’ve got nothing to lose.’

She slurred the word ‘nothing’ and Sam realised she was drunk. No wonder she wasn’t buying into the rational argument. Still he pressed on.

‘Listen, I told you in London these things take time. I know it’s hard. It’s frustrating, and you just need that lucky break . . .’

‘Like meeting a movie star at a party. Then having sex with him. That was pretty lucky, huh?’

Despite his anger, he felt a pang of sympathy for her.

‘You’re better than this, Katie. You’re worth more than this.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ she said. ‘Which is why my price has just gone up to six hundred thousand.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ he said, finally losing his cool. And where was his bloody lawyer when he needed her?

‘What’s ridiculous?’ said Katie. ‘Getting money for sex? It wouldn’t be the first time.’

He felt his heart skip a beat. Had he heard her right?

‘You’re a . . . a prostitute?’ he whispered. He felt sure the room was spinning.

‘I prefer to call it escort work. How else am I supposed to live between auditions?’

‘Oh Jesus . . .’

He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his temples. He could see the headlines now. Hollywood Star In Seedy Vice Girl Scandal. Lying Love Rat Shows True Colours. Slimy Brit Breaks Jess’s Heart. And all because he wanted a nice night out, free from all this fairy-tale bollocks, where he could drop the mask and be himself. There is no ‘you’ any more, he thought grimly. You’re public property. A business. A machine to make money for other people.

‘It’s okay for you, isn’t it?’ said Katie. ‘You’ve forgotten what it’s like to have no idea where the next rent cheque is coming from. To have to walk five miles into the West End because you can’t afford the bus fare. Don’t tell me you haven’t pulled a few tricks to get on.’

‘You want a part, I can get you some auditions,’ he said desperately.

‘And I’m supposed to believe you?’

‘Trust me, Katie.’

He heard her suck her teeth dismissively.

‘I’ll tell you who I trust. Blake Stanhope. I spoke to him this afternoon.’

‘Stanhope?’ The name of London’s most notorious kiss-and-tell publicist sent Sam cold.

‘He says the escort angle helps our cause. He thinks it makes the story worth over a million worldwide; he can maybe even get me on those American chat shows. So I’m thinking maybe it’s actually a better move to spill the beans.’

‘Please, Katie, Eli’s getting you the money,’ said Sam. ‘Don’t do anything rash.’

‘You know what I want. I’m meeting Blake at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to take things further. I don’t want to do it that way. But I will if I have to.’

‘Katie, don’t. Please,’ he said, but the phone had gone dead.

Sam stared down at the handset for a moment, then with a curse, he threw it on the bed. He yanked the door open.

‘Josh!’ he shouted. ‘Get me another phone. And where’s that bloody lawyer?’