Part 1 & Intro here
Lucy didn’t make it into the bathroom before there was a thundering rap on the door. Her eyes squinted, her head ached and she gripped the neck of her T-shirt to see if she could still smell the vomit.
“You, awake, Baby Doll?” a familiar shrill filtered through the tiny gaps in the door frame.
She relaxed a bit, turned the key and held the door ajar. Then set her forehead against the door casing letting the cool painted surface ease the heat in head, just enough to stop her from gipping again.
Kevin’s flat was on the floor below, “Whoa, Baby, you look like shit and…” his voice trailed off as he caught a whiff of something bad and put two fingers under his nose and pressed. “Good night, then?” he asked rhetorically, pushing his glasses back up along his long thin nose.
Lucy shrugged, lifted her head from the paintwork and walked back into the room. Kevin followed her in and closed the door.
“You shower and I’ll get the coffee on” he threw out over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen top and flipped on the kettle.
Lucy mumbled something about ‘Diva’ and ‘Bitch’ as she lifted her T-Shirt and dropped it on the floor, then stood out of her knickers and trudged naked to the bathroom. Kevin took no notice.
He picked up a cloth on the counter and ran it under the tap. As much as he loved Lucy she really was a dirty bitch when it came to housework. His OCD hit fever pitch when he was in her flat. That touch of vulnerability she tried to hide always sent his stress levels off at a kilter and he’d follow her round with a damp cloth and a bin bag. He picked her T-shirt up off the floor and with a discusted humph and barely a touch he also lifted her discarded knickers and put them both in the already overflowing wash basket.
“Madonna will be chafing in her corset” he shouted through the bathroom door.
The kettle popped and he walked back over and reached into the cupboard for two cups and the jar of Nescafe, humming ‘Like a virgin’ as he moved round the familiar kitchen.
Lucy lent forward just a touch and steadied herself with her palms flat against the tiles. The steaming jets of water beating at her back. She lifted her head and arched into the flow. She let the steam blanket her body and fell into it, soothing the pressure in her head. Ten minutes later she pushed back on her palms and lent her back against the glass. The headache had eased but there was still a fog around what happened last night. Was it really him? Maybe she’d imagined it. It could have been the shock of the shooting. Maybe it just brought back the stuff she’d kept buried in her head, but she wouldn’t go there, she couldn’t go there.
In a darkened hotel room across town, Jason Stone was lying on his back, a twisted Egyptian cotton sheet tangled round his legs. He hadn’t slept. His left arm was raised and loosely draped across his forehead and his right hand was stroking the growing appendage that was jutting out between his thighs. He’d fallen into bed with a hard on and the damn thing had never left. In fact he’d been achingly hard ever since he’d seen her walk in the club. He knew he couldn’t go there. He couldn’t go back. He had no past. They had seen to that.
His mind flew to Jasmin, her face twisted in pain, a hole in her chest. His cock tilted slightly to the side and he felt it soften in his hand. He let go. He lifted his arm to the other and ran both hands through his tousled hair. He tried to end it weeks ago, she just wouldn’t accept it. Where ever he went she was there, every fucking premier, every fucking after show party. His guys knew not to let her near, but somehow she always was. Only last week she had cornered him in the male toilets at the MTV awards. She was wearing nothing but a taupe mac and a pair of killer red heels. What could he say, he was human! He’d fucked her up against the wall, without even opening her mac. He called it goodbye, she called it proof.
Fucking was fucking, it meant nothing. His childhood taught him that. It was just an act, a function that needed taking care of. He thought of Lucy. He hadn’t fucked Lucy Green. No, that had been something new, something he’d never tasted before. It was pure and it was good and it was something he knew he could never have again. He shivered in the cold and reached for his mobile. He flipped it open, hesitated, and then slammed it shut. What could he do? She must have been as shocked as him. Hell, she’d gone down like a sack of potatoes.
The security guys had gone through her bag looking for I.D. She hadn’t been carrying much, just a half packet of tobacco, some rolling papers and a battered black leather purse. Pete, Head of Security and nearest thing to a best mate Jason had, emptied her stuff onto a table and spotted the small silver chain and locket. Jason lunged, snatching the locket out of Pete’s hand and almost wrestled him to the floor. Then buried it in a fisted hand and swallowed sharply. Pete said nothing, just raised a thick set of eyebrows skyward. The locket burned in his hand, scorching his skin and he swore it was branding his palm. He shoved it into his pocket.
The bands manager, Steve McMahon, a greasy haired sickaphant with Hollywood veneers said he’d take care of it. Said he’d throw her in a taxi and get rid of her quietly but something jarred in Jason’s chest, he couldn’t let her go. He’d come close to physically punching the guy when Steve had tried to stop him leaving. It was only Pete holding his arm back that stopped him. Steve had nearly pissed himself on the spot. A quick convo between security and the blacked out SUV was brought round back. Jason carried Lucy out and got in the back. He put her across his lap and signalled Pete to drive. He could almost taste the scent of her wrapped in his arms. He lowered his head to her hair and drew in the Apple Blossom shampoo; he recognised the smell and nearly came in his pants.
“Fuck, she still smells the same” as he lifted an inky black curl and rubbed it between his thumb and finger.
Pete caught Jason’s eye in the rear view mirror “You sure you know what you’re doing, mate? this could turn into a whole load of shit, know what I mean?”
Jason answered with just a slow, drawn out “Yeah” and turned his head to the blackened window. Ten minutes later the SUV pulled up outside the address on her Driver’s licence. Pete came round and opened the side door,
“You want me to carry her” he asked reaching out to grab the curled up bundle still asleep. “I can fucking manage, just give me 5 minutes and keep the gas running” Jason growled.
He carried her out of the van and still she never stirred. As he got to the front door, somebody else was already there. A 6ft blonde in a diamanté dress let him in and Lucy had nestled in closer, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. He’d shuddered. His cock had twitched and ‘Diamond Dave’ had shot him a curious look. Then he’d pointed to the stairway and followed them upstairs. He’d laid her down on her bed and stood back. The guy in the dress started talking to her, Jason still stood back. He had left her with the drag queen once he knew she was ok. He didn’t want to go, but there was nothing he could do about it. He turned and walked away. He didn’t glance back. He’d taken the stairs from her flat to the hallway, two at time and kept his head down. He didn’t notice the tiny shaft of light from a partially opened door, or the darkened pair of eyes that followed him out and then flicked back up at Lucy’s door.
“Jesus, I’m a nut job” Lucy thought as she turned off the shower and stepped out. She reached for yesterday’s still damp towel thrown over the rail. Gingerly, she ran it over her hair. The ache in her head was still hanging in there. She reached for the robe on the door, wrapped herself in it and tied off the belt. Bracing her hands on each side of the sink she tentively eyed her reflection in the mirror. “Shit”. She didn’t say anything else.
Lucy scanned the mass of curls haloing her head and the deep red veins that threaded her eye whites. Her eyes had sunk back into her head and were way too small for her face.
Kevin opened the bathroom door, “You back with us now?” he asked and gestured an eyebrow towards a cup of coffee on the table. Lucy gave him a tensed smile through the mirror but didn’t move.
“So, who was the hunk who carried you in last night? She froze. Then turned quickly, catching the back of his head through the door.
“What the fuck do you mean, who brought me home?” she screamed louder than she meant to as she rushed after him. Kevin raised an eyebrow, cocking his head and lowering himself onto the bar stool by the island.
“I mean the gorgeous hunk of meat that carried you last night, the one with the ‘Fuck me’ stupid eyes” he held her stare across the room.
On a weekday, Kevin’s language always seemed out of place with his dress code. The pinstripe tailored three piece, the stiffly starched white shirt and dull grey tie were standard bank manager issue. They were a perfect counter balance for his weekend persona of ‘Candy Labra’ the dirtiest, cattiest Diva this side of the Northern hemisphere.
“When…what… Oh my God Kevin, I can’t remember a damn thing” she stuttered over her words and put her hand to her mouth as it gaped open, she couldn’t shut it.
“I’d just got in, Oh babes, you were right those new heels were killers, my bunions were on…….” Lucy cut him off mid flow,
“Screw your bunions, tell me what you saw” Kevin raised a pissed off eyebrow and traced the pleat down his trouser leg.
“Okay, Okay, keep you bloody knickers on” then glanced across at the used pair he’d picked up earlier and grimaced.
“Sorry, I just need to know what happened” she shot back at him, her big dewy eyes soothing his feathers slightly.
“Erm, right, where was I?” and he fell back into his enhanced tale of last night’s visitor, or she hoped to God it was enhanced. For some reason Kevin’s tales always seemed to edge towards pornography. He loved to shock. He told her about the hunk that had carried her in. About the smut that had come out of her mouth and how she had wrapped her legs around the hunks middle and rode him like a rodeo horse, still fully clothed. She said a silent prayer that he was exaggerating the last part.
“When did he write on my arm?”
“Write what? Who wrote on your arm?”
“The hunk….. Jason.. Jimmy” she stalled over his name, not sure which to use.
“You had no marks when I left Baby Doll” he looked at her questioningly.
Lucy looked down at the newly scrubbed arm, then jumped up and ran to the post- it note. She ripped it off the wall and threw it back at Kevin. He eyed it, studying the numbers.
He raised his head “Looks like a phone number”
“That’s what I said. See, he wrote it on my arm” and she threw the underside of her arm up to his face.
“Umm, you’ve been using that lavender haven’t you? You’re going to get thrush again”
Guilt made her pull her arm back quickly.
Swiftly changing back to the subject in hand she screamed “If he didn’t write it, then who bloody did?”
Silence followed, they looked at each other. Lucy was too afraid to say it out loud. Kevin beat her to it, “Nobody could have got in after I left, I had my spare key and I locked the door, I swear.”
Ring Ring, Ring Ring
Lucy flinched, Kevin screamed. She scuttled around looking for her mobile; once he’d calmed, Kevin just raised a finely plucked eyebrow in exasperation.
Ring Ring, Ring Ring
“Got it” she looked at the screen, number unidentified. Hang on those last digits look familiar. She ripped the post-it note back off Kevin and scanned the number.
Part 3 to follow………………..