Career Girls (35 page)

Rowena stretched in the seat, lifting her arms above her

head. Her body bent into a slight bow, and he could see her delicate little nipples, hardened by the cold, push slightly against her dress.

I’m going to have you, Rowena Gordon, he said to himself.

I’ m going to make you come so hard you weep. I’m notjust going to shove it into you the way you think you like it. I’ m going to make love to you an inch at a time, until you’re so sensitive to my touch you get wet when my fingers brush your elbow. If you think about me when you’re walking down the street, the fricti’on of your legs will make you come …

Rowena sipped her champagne, frustrated. Was it possible

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he didn’t find her attractive? Maybe he was gay.

‘Well, it’s fifty million dollars’ worth of business,’ she said. ‘That’s worth getting excited about in my book.’

John Metcalf smiled, indulgent and infuriating. ‘Maybe so, for music,’ he said. ‘If! could bring a movie in so cheap, !’d be a happy guy.’

‘Oh, these numbers are chickenfeed to you,’ she snapped sarcastically.

‘Yes they are,’ he said. ‘Absolutely.’

She felt a rush of lust. Damn, he was good-looking. Well-muscled, confident, masculine. His jaw was hard-set and his lips fairly unremarkable. But there was something about him, she wasn’t sure.., she didn’t know …

Rowena felt a disturbing confus.ion. She’d only spent a few days with John Metcalf. She didn’t even know him. He wasn’t Michael, was he? Michael was who she loved. Always and for ever and no matter what.

John Me, tcalf knew nothing about music, nothing about her, nothing about all the ties that bound her to Krebs. And he was an arrogant sonofabitch, sitting here telling her the most important deal of her life was chopped liver!

‘I bet you’re really selfish in bed,’ she said, furious.

There was a pause. Metcalflooked at her over the table,

slowly swallowing his steak. ‘Selfish?’ he asked. Silence.

‘I have a boyfriend,’ Rowena whispered, suddenly frightened.

‘Oh?’ Metcalfenquired politely. ‘That’s nice.’

‘I love him,’ she insisted.

He tilted his glass towards her, c’ourte.ously. ‘Congratulations.’

‘I must go,’ said Rowena, flustered. ‘I have to see to the arrangements for soundcheck. I’ll get a cab.’

‘Sorry you have to go,’ he said, completely at his ease. ‘I’ll walk you to the car.’

He opened the cab door for her and stood aside so she could get in. Rowena turned round to thank him, intensely’

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disturbed by how close together they were standing.

‘It was good of you to take me to dinner, John,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he replied. With a barely perceptible movement, he took hold of her waist, thumbs in the hollows of her hipbones, his fingers resting on the top of her ass.

His touch changed everything.

The electricity was instantaneous.

Rowena stared at him, her groin dissolving with pleasure and panic.

‘I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t want,’ he said. ‘And when we go to bed, you’ll be mine. And there won’t be any going back.’

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All Rowena’s worlds exploded at once.

Everything, suddenly, was falling into place, and everything was being decided tonight.

She looked out over the ocean of people before her and below her, stretching out into the night as far as she could see, small points of light filling, the stadium as the fans clicked their lighters and held them above their heads. The gig wasn’t due to start for twenty minutes yet, but the band, eager to amplify the already intense atmosphere, had dimmed the stadium floodlights, pumped up the huge house PA system to blare music into the darkened arena, and turned one brilliant light on the vast curtains sealing off the stage.

The Atomic Mass logo - a spinning molecule in gold on blue - shone like a massive raised beacon above the audience, demanding homage. Rowena could make out waves in the crowd, as people started to slam to Guns n’ Roses ‘Paradise City’. She paced, alone in the executive box. Michael Krebs was locked in Mirror, Mirror, recording with another huge band. Rowena had asked him to come, but he was adamant-nothing took Krebs away from a record. She’d resented it; for Atomic Mass, he might have made an exception. If she’d played mother to their careers, Michael Krebs had played father.

Can’t we be together in anything?

The Musica board should have been here an hour ago. Atomic Mass, her band, her boys. They were poised on a knife-edge between ‘major act’ and ‘legend’. It had taken everything she had to sell out this gig; and Musica would

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have to grin and bear an unprecedented promotional cost. The world was watching this evening. I can’t help you now, she thought. Do or die, lads. Do or die.

Then, Musica. Everything she’d struggled for all her adult life. Luther was profitable; Atomic were the biggest band on the planet, at least for the next five minutes; and Picture This was a movie/music deal even Peter Paterno might have been proud to sign.

One thing’s for certain, Rowena admitted to herself. That’s it. That’s the best I can do. If they didn’t give her North America now, they never would. It was that simple. And when - if?. -Joshua Oberman finally made it to the gig, he’d tell her in person. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

The tension mounted in the Coliseum. The slow, heavy chords of Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’ filled the night air, and Rowena shivered with joy as tens of thousands of voices took up the anthem:

Exit light

Enter nigh. t

, What an awesome lyric, she thought. She swayed to the grind of the bass, her long legs taking up the beat, her golden hair sweeping from side to side. The excitement in the air was so strong you could taste it. Where was Oberrnan? And where, she wondered with a strange ache of longing, was John?

The final song blasted out of the PA. It was AC/DC. She couldn’t help laughing at the irony.

It’s a long way

Such a long way It’s a long way

To the top

If you wanna rock ‘n’ roll …

Topaz leant back in her chair and tried not to cry. Damn it, take it like a man. I mean take it like a woman! Do some work or

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go for a walk. I mean do something, just don’t sit here moping … just don’t …

It was no use. A large tear trickled down her cheek, and then another, and another…

She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a great wrenching sob. Embarrassed by her own reaction, and frightened one of the assistants stationed outside her office might see her, she rose from her desk and went to stand by the window, and then, with her back to the door, she leant wearily against the sill and wept.

Ten minutes later she wiped her face clumsily, pulled on a pair of shades and rang for a cab.

So I’ll take the rest of the day off, she thought grimly, and I’ll cry or whatever and I will deal with this. I’ll congratulate Joe like a professional. OK, it hurts like hell. Big fucking deal. Mama always said I had eyes bigger than my belly… Bottom line, if | don’t have what it takes, it’s better to find that out now than when I’m fifty.

The phoned buzzed. Oh Jesus Christ, get lost.

‘Hey, Topaz.’ Marissa’s jealous, smarmy voice greased its way down the line. ‘I heard. You must be devastated.’

Topaz glanced out of the window at the tiny yellow ladybug cabs, crawling along Seventh Avenue in the impersonal sunshine. She felt a little welcome steel creep back into her soul.

‘What can I tell you, Marissa? Shit happens. I’ll get another chance.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t count on that, honey. American Magazines moves on real fast … Joe Goldstein calls the shots now.’

‘And he’s a great man to do it, ‘ Topaz said firmly. ‘I’m looking forward to being a part of his term.’

Marissa sighed theatrically. ‘Oh, Topaz. I don’t think you should rely on … how shall I put it? A close working relationship that you had in the past …’

Topaz’s knuckles were white as she gripped the phone.

‘Past, present and future, sugar,’ she said sweetly. ‘In fact, as the second most senior MD, Joe’s asked me to look at

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redefining the roles for our star reporters. We both think that your talents are just wasted on the society circuit, babe… Joe thought you’d be ideal for a major series in Economic Monthly, something serious you could get your teeth into.’

‘Like what?’ asked Marissa warily.

‘Like six months covering the Midwest farming depression,’ spat Topaz. ‘That way you could report on things closer to your own level. Such as pig sewage.’

She slammed the receiver down,-feeling a little better. The phone rang again.

‘Look, whoever you are, just fuck off, OK?’ she shouted. ‘I’m not in the goddamned mood!’

‘That’s a nice way to greet an old friend,’ said Joe mildly.

‘Oh, shit,’ said Topaz, blushing. Tm sorry, Joe. I didn’t , know it was you.’

‘Evidently,’ he said.

Topaz bit the bullet. ‘Congratulations, Joe. Really. I mean it. The best man won, and all that stuff.., you’ll do a great job … obviously you’ll have my resignation by the end of the week, and no hard feelings.’

Joe chuckled. Topaz flushed a deeper red, this time from resentment. There’s no need to laugh at me on top of everything else. Winner’s privilege, I guess.

‘Of course you’re not going to resign, Rossi,’ he said.

‘Oh yes, I am,’ said Topaz stubbornly. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I report to you, Joe Goldstein, she thought.

‘Topaz Rossi,’ Joe insisted, ‘I do not accept, and American Magazines will not accept, the resignation of the best print woman in the country.’

‘If I was the best, I’d have got the job,’ snarled Topaz, ashamed of herself but unable to be gracious.

‘However, ‘Joe continued, ignoring her completely, ‘we do need to talk about your future role. Why don’t you come over to my place tonight? I’ll cook something and we can discuss it over dinner.’

With a herculean effort, she swallowed a hundred smart-ass replies.

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‘Good idea. I’ll be there at eight thirty,’ she said.

‘I look forward to it,’Joe said, and rang off.

Oh Joe, Topaz thought miserably. My best friend and worst enemy. I wish you were here. Then I could cry on

your shoulder and kick you in the balls at the same time. The phone rang again. ‘What? What?’ she shrieked.

‘Uh, cab, Ms Rossi,’ whispered a terrified receptionist. ‘Oh. Cool,’ said Topaz, a little gruffly. Tll be right

down. ‘

The private jet was halfway from Stockholm to Los Angeles, and the four men were still arguing.

‘But that was your point six months ago, Hans,’ said Joshua Oberman. ‘And Luther’s already turning a profit. Not only that, but she’s got three or four baby acts that are selling albums, not singles. I wanted a presence in domestic repertoire, and she is delivering.’

The president of Musica Holland and new group director of Finance glowered at him with all the anger fifty-three years and a red moustache could muster.

‘It’s insanity, putting an A & R man in a senior corporate

job,Joshua. Name me one example where it’s worked out.’ ‘Roger Ames at PolyGram.’ ‘Apart from Roger Ames.’ ‘Clive Davis at Arista.’ ‘Those are two freak instances,’ said Hans Bauer.

‘David Geffen,’ said Josh Oberman. ‘Rick Rubin. Russell Simmons. Charles Koppleman …’

‘You can’t put a woman in charge of North America!’ Maurice LeBec objected.

The old man glared at his executive ommittee.

‘Well, by my watch, you have three hours to persuade me not to, gentlemen,’ he said.

It was early evening in Manhattan, and the summer air was balmy and cool, rustling the branches of the trees in Central Park. As far as the city ever feels relaxed, it was relaxed in’

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New York that May. Topaz watched little children sucking noisily at their ice creams, and the horses trotting alongside the park, uncomplainingly hauling their carriages full of tourists.

She felt weird.

She sat on her apartment balcony, sipping Cristal. She was wearing a dark green dress by Ann Klein, which fell invitingly in folds of soft cotton round her magnificently curvy body, and then cut sharply off at the knees to reveal a pair of heart-stopping calves. She’d done her hair Renaissance-style, half of it piled on top of her head in a luxuriant coil, half tumbling down the sides of her face in long ruby curls. There was a thick gold bracelet on her left wrist, and jet-black mules from Chanel framed the sexy turn of her ankle.

She felt rich, and stunningly beautiful.

She felt like a wretched failure.

She hated Joe Goldstein. He’d beaten her hands down.

She wanted to fuck his brains out.

Mind you, I always wanted to do that, from the first moment I laid eyes on him, she reminded herself. But now, nqw I should hate him! He cost me my seat on the board, the bastard… Marissa was right about that one… American Magazines, like the rest of this town, doesn’t cut losers a lot of slack.

Rowena Gordon, of course, had the world at her aristocratic feet.

Topaz felt little prickles of hatred crawl across her skin at

the thought of it. The bitch had done everything right. She’d been born to the right parents, for a start. She’d gone to a prestigious school. And she’d betrayed her best friend, who loved her like a sister, at the first opportunity… At least you can’t write ‘President of the Union’ in that sparkling biography, she thought with satisfaction.

Across the park, Musica Towers glinted in the sun.

The satisfaction evaporated.

She’d come home, flicked on her wide-screen TV and been confronted by some inane MTV VJ getting orgasmic

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over Atomic Mass. What had the bitch done to sell out the Coliseum? She was damn sure it had been a quarter empty on Monday. Just wait for the reviews, Rowena. Your band will be about as hip as Whitesnake.