Page 235 of The Moon Sister
‘You mean, you’ll stay?’
‘Yes. Though I’d like to see those lions and tigers one day.’
‘So would I.’ He reached out his hand to me for the second time that day and I took it without hesitation.
I watched as he kissed it tenderly, then he moved his lips to mine.
‘I’m so happy, Tiggy. Truly.’
‘I am too.’
‘It won’t be easy—’
‘I know.’
‘But together, we can at least give it a shot though, can’t we? I mean, the estate, the animals, us . . . ?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right then.’ Charlie stood and pulled me and Pegasus gently to standing. ‘Time to go.’
‘Where?’
‘Back to Kinnaird of course,’ he smiled. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
Electra
New York
February 2008
The Sun
39
I looked up and saw snow was falling and settling on the windowsill above me. Maybe that would help dull the sound of the continuous Manhattan traffic below my apartment. Even though the rental guy had said it had triple glazing, nothing stopped the humming of stationary engines, interspersed by the beeping horns of irritable drivers thirty-three floors beneath me.
‘Shut the hell up!’ I moaned, realising I was focusing on the sound, which only made it louder. I took a deep swig from the bottle, but knowing the vodka wouldn’t help drown it out, I dragged myself up from the kitchen floor and staggered into the living room to turn on some music. ‘Born in the USA’ blared out of the hidden speakers.
‘Hey, I’m happy you know where you were born, mister,’ I shouted to Bruce, as me and the vodka bottle swayed across the room to the music. ‘’Cos I sure don’t!’
Despite the music playing at full volume, the horns were still blaring in my ears, and I double-checked the china bowl I hid my special medicine in. Apart from a light dusting around the edges, which, with a moistened finger, I wiped onto my gums, there was nothing left.
Ted, my supplier, had been meant to arrive an hour ago with some more, but so far he was a no-show. It would be easy to take the elevator down to the lobby and slip Bill, the concierge, a hundred-dollar note like I knew other residents of my building did. And as if by magic, ten minutes later, a ‘package’ would arrive for me by hand at my apartment door. But however desperate I was, I knew I couldn’t take the risk. One whisper leaked to the press and I’d be headlines all over the world. Especially as I was brand ambassador for a ‘natural’ cosmetic product they were marketing to teen girls, and had recently done a feature forElleoutlining my ‘healthy’ living regime.
‘Natural? Yeah, right . . .’ I muttered as I wobbled towards the phone to check with Bill that my visitor hadn’t arrived yet. At the shoot, the make-up artist had told me it was all a con – that the basic ingredients might be sourced from nature, but the chemicals they had to use to replace the animal fats in the lipstick made the product as toxic as hell.
‘Why is everything a lie?’ I shook my head piteously, the swaying motion comforting me and making me dizzy at the same time, so I sank onto the floor where I was. ‘Life is just a pile of them. Even love . . .’
I cried then, big wet tears plopping out of my eyes and dripping from my nose, wondering for the thousandth time why Mitch had dumped me only three weeks after asking me to marry him. Okay, fine, the proposal had been in bed, but I’d believed him. I’d said yes, ‘YES!’ When he’d left for LA the next day, I’d even been stupid enough to lie in bed thinking which designer I’d ask to make my dress, and of possible venues. I fancied Italy – some big palazzo in the Tuscan hills. Then . . . silence. Even though I’d texted and emailed him, left voicemails asking him to call me, I’d heard nothing. Okay, so he was playing the Hollywood Bowl, but, Christ, could he not spare the time to call his fiancée . . . ?!
I’d finally got a message – a message! – from him, saying it was probably time to cool things off, ‘baby’, adding that we were both busy people and now was not the time to get serious. Maybe in a few months, when his world tour was over . . .
‘Jesus!’ I screamed, hurling the empty vodka bottle across the room. ‘Why does everybody let me down?’
Maybe he thought that ’cos I was Electra, I could just stroll out onto the sidewalk and hook up with another guy. In theory, I could, but that so wasn’t the point. I’d fallen in love with him, like, head over heels in love. He could not have been more perfect for me; fifteen years older but super-fit and a global rock superstar, used to being in the spotlight. He was past partying, preferring to hang out at his beach house in Malibu. He could even cook – liked to cook – didn’t do alcohol or drugs, and was a real good influence on me. I’d loved his calmness and no-nonsense approach – I was bored with getting away with murder. I’d even cut down my own chemical intake and not even missed it, and had decided I was prepared to move to California to be with him.
‘He looked after me,’ I moaned, ‘knew how to handle me . . .’
