Page 236 of The Moon Sister
Yeah, he was a father figure, a replacement for Pa Salt . . .
‘Shut up!’ I told the voice in my head, because in all sorts of ways, that idea was messed up. Besides, I hadn’t felt a thing when Pa had died – like, nothing. Given my sisters were all over the place with grief, I’d felt like a freak. I’d tried vodka, which had made me cry like it always did, but it hadn’t succeeded in generating any real emotion. All that was there when I thought about his passing was a numbness.
‘And maybe some guilt,’ I whispered as I stood shakily upright and pulled another full vodka bottle out of the kitchen cupboard, checking the time and seeing it was past eleven now.
Picking up my mobile I dialled Ted again, but as I did so, the concierge rang to say my ‘guest’ was here.
‘Send him right up,’ I said, relief pouring through me. I went to find the dollars I’d need to greet him at the door to do the swap and waited impatiently in the apartment lobby.
‘Hi, doll,’ said a guy who wasn’t Ted as I opened the door. ‘Ted sent me. He’s busy tonight.’
I was pissed that Ted had sent someone else who may or may not be trustworthy, but I was so desperate I wasn’t gonna tell him he’d got the wrong apartment.
‘Thanks. Bye.’ I was just about to shut the door in his face when he put his hand out to stop it.
‘Hey, you havin’ trouble sleepin’?’ he asked me.
‘Sometimes, why?’
‘I just got some great prescription tabs that will knock you out and send you off with the angels.’
Now this was interesting. My doctor here in New York had refused to prescribe any more Valium or sleeping tablets. I’d been using vodka as a substitute, especially since Mitch had dumped me.
‘What are they?’
‘Got them from a qualified doc. They’re the real deal.’ He whipped the packet from his pocket and showed me.
‘How much?’
He named the price for a blister pack of Temazepam. It was outrageous, but who cared? The one thing I had was money to burn.
When he’d left, I went into the living room and, my fingers shaking in anticipation, did a line.
‘Never take drugs or ride motorbikes,’ had been Pa Salt’s mantra when we were young. I’d done both and plenty more I knew he wouldn’t approve of since. Just as I was collapsing on the sofa feeling calmer, my cell phone rang. Out of instinct, I picked it up to see if it was Mitch, because maybe he’d changed his mind and was begging me to come back . . .
It was Zed Eszu. I waited a bit until the cell phone told me I had a voicemail, then listened to it.
‘Hi, it’s me. I’m back in town and wondered if you wanted to come to the ballet tomorrow night. I have a couple of tickets for Maria Kowroski in the premiere ofThe Blue Necklace. . .’
Even if it was the hottest ticket in town just now, I wasn’t in the mood for two hours of bendy bodies and a gaggle of media outside asking me why I hadn’t been at any of Mitch’s sell-out concerts. I knew Zed used me to up his own media profile and, occasionally, it had suited me to go with him. He also happened to be very good in the sack – even though he wasn’t my type, there was some kind of weird sexual alchemy between us, but our occasional sleepovers had stopped when I’d met Mitch last summer.
That at least had pleased Pa, who had called me up when a photo of me and Zed at the Met Ball had hit the front pages last year.
‘Electra, I don’t wish to interfere in your life, but, please, stay away from that man. He’s . . . dangerous. Not what he seems. I—’
‘Too right you shouldn’t interfere,’ I’d said, my hackles rising as they did every time Pa had tried to tell me I should do this or that. My sisters hung on every word he said, I thought he was a control freak.
Even though Zed, like the rest of the world, had known that me and Mitch were together, he had still persisted with his calls and I’d ignored them all. Up to now . . .
‘Maybe Ishouldgo out tomorrow night with him,’ I muttered as I did another line, thinking that the sleeping pills would knock me out later when I was coming down. ‘Get my face on the front pages – that would show Mitch.’
I lit a cigarette, the hit from the coke taking hold and making me feel more like the kick-ass Electra I usually was. I turned the music up loud again, took another swig from the bottle and danced towards my walk-in wardrobe in the bedroom. Rummaging through the endless racks, I decided I had nothing stunning enough to wear. I’d call Amy, my PA, in the morning and get her to have Chanel bike me over something from their new season’s collection – I was due on the runway in a month’s time for their show in Paris.
Texting Zed back to say that yes, I could make it, I decided I would also call Imelda, my publicist, and have her alert the media to my appearance at the theatre tomorrow night. I hadn’t been out for a while, even cancelling a couple of work assignments, unable to bear anyone mentioning Mitch’s name to me. The thought of the life we could have had – that I’d dreamt of since the moment I’d met him – gone forever, had torn me apart. I had enjoyed the kick that he was even more famous than me, that he didn’t need me to boost his profile – he’d had more famous models and actresses than he could notch up on the widest bedpost – I’d truly trusted that he wanted me for me.
I’d looked up to him . . . I’d loved him.
‘Screw him! Nobody dumps Electra!’ I shouted to my four tastefully painted beige walls bearing priceless canvas guests covered in bright-painted squiggles, but which looked to me as though someone had puked all over them.
