Page 31

31

LONDON, 1986

Cassie’s sure she can feel the tip of the knife in her rucksack as she’s pressed back against the doors of the Tube carriage. She looks through her fringe at the evening commuters jostling for position as they make their way home, none of them aware of what she’s about to do—and, if she goes through with it, how close they are to the story on tomorrow’s front pages.

She’s practically lifted off her feet in the mêlée at Oxford Circus, her feet scrabbling for purchase as she’s carried into the passageway, shoulder to shoulder with the other passengers. Most of the bodies veer off to the Central Line, but Cassie follows the welcome draft up the escalators and out into the open air.

Even though she’s been here several times before, once she’s at street level she’s momentarily disoriented by the chaos of London’s busiest junction. A kaleidoscope of brightly colored cars veer in front of one another, double-decker buses battle it out with black taxis and hundreds of heads bob along the pavement, marching toward her in C-3PO fashion.

“Excuse me,” she says to the news vendor on the corner, trying to catch him between his indecipherable hollers. “Do you know where the Langham hotel is?”

“Two minutes up there, darling, on the left.”

Cassie walks through the opulent hotel lobby as if she’s been there a million times before, her eyes furtively scanning for the ladies’. Once inside, she puts her bag onto the countertop and carefully takes out her Afro comb, working its teeth through her curls. She’s forgotten her blusher, so pinches her cheeks to give them an instant boost of color and coats her lips with a metallic pink gloss that makes her eyes pop.

If she’d stopped to think about what she was doing, perhaps she would have talked herself out of it, but there’s no time for that now—she’s past the point of no return. Her fingers are tingling, and her heart is thumping so loudly that if she doesn’t act on what the voices in her head are telling her, she’ll never forgive herself. She has to do this, if not only to prove that she can.

There’s a momentary pause after she’s knocked on the door of room 628, and she shimmies down the front of her body suit, allowing her assets to be shown off to their best advantage, albeit heavily assisted by her padded bra.

“Hey,” says Ben, swinging the door open with a wide smile. Though his high spirits last only a split second before his face clouds over with confusion. “Oh,” he says, looking Cassie up and down.

“I heard this is where the party’s at,” she says, waiting for him to recognize her.

“Er, I think you’ve got the wrong room,” he says, looking down the corridor as if hoping he can telepathically summon security.

“Oh,” says Cassie, unable to disguise her hurt. “I’m sure Michael said it was in 628.”

Ben’s jaw spasms involuntarily.

“I’m with Samantha Redgrave,” says Cassie, hating him for making her fall back on Plan B. “We’re meeting here.”

“I’ll see if I can find out where you’re meant to be,” says Ben, turning his back and making his way to the phone beside the bed. Cassie follows him in and heads straight for the minibar, where a bottle of vodka sits unscrewed on the countertop.

“Hey, the party’s not in here,” says Ben, before he’s even had a chance to pick up the phone.

But Cassie ignores him and smiles as she pours three-inch measures into two glass tumblers. “I think that’s what you said last time, just before we got off our faces at the Savoy after your Wembley gig.”

“You were there that night?” Ben asks, with more than a hint of suspicion, though whether it’s because he doubts her or because he knows she may have a story that will cause shock waves in the wrong hands, Cassie can’t quite make out.

“Yeah, it was wild,” she says, going to the door and kicking it shut with the heel of her white stiletto.

“Look, I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” says Ben, as Cassie hands him a glass.

She smarts at how easily he can lie to her. “No worries—I’ll get out of your hair just as soon as I’ve finished this.” She smiles, because he has no idea how long it’s going to take her.

“I don’t remember seeing you there that night,” says Ben, eyeing her as he nervously sips his drink.

She shakes her head, still unable to understand how he could have forgotten who she is. The hackles on the back of her neck stand up at his lack of respect, but as she moves slowly toward him, she softens at the thought of being able to show him all over again why she’s going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“We were drunk and high,” she says. “But from what I remember, we were having a good time.” She raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to catch on, but he looks at her blankly.

“I’m clean now,” he says, by way of excuse.

“Not quite,” she says, clinking his glass with hers. “Another?”

She tops his glass up without waiting for a response. It feels like she has an advantage over him if he’s drunk.

“So, I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy…” she starts, falling onto the over-plumped floral settee, “if the papers are anything to go by.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Just another wannabe chancing her arm for a turn in the spotlight… It’s all bollocks, and I intend to prove it.”

His strength of conviction takes Cassie by surprise. “What are you going to do?” she asks.

“I’ve got someone on the case,” he says, pacing up and down. “People can’t be allowed to make shit up about me and get away with it. They need to be exposed for the charlatans that they are.”

“I get that,” says Cassie. “But you might open yourself up to even bigger problems…”

His brow knits with confusion and his eyes are filled with apprehension, as if waiting for her to reveal her hand. “How so?” he says, hesitantly.

“Well, there’s no point in protesting your innocence in one corner, only for them to find out that you were hauled to the police station on suspicion of drug offenses in another.”

“And how would they find that out?” he asks. “It was over two months ago.”

“Yeah, but there were quite a few people there when it happened, and it only takes one of them to spill—I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

“ Most of the people there were trusted friends and colleagues,” he says, pointedly.

Cassie shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, but her words are anything but. “Well, then, you’d better make sure you don’t piss any of them off,” she says with a smile. “Now come and sit down with me.”

“I really can’t,” he says, looking at his watch. “Let me give Michael a call to find out where you should be.”

He goes to make a move toward the phone, but Cassie catches hold of his hand. “Come on,” she says, pulling him down onto the sofa. “Why don’t you relax for a bit?”

He loses his footing and half falls onto her. “So, you want to finish what we started, do you?” she says, giggling.

He tries to right himself, but she makes a grab for him, one hand on his shoulder and another on his cheek as she pulls him closer. She wants him to give in to the inevitable, relinquish all others and allow himself to be caught up in the moment, but as her mouth moves in on his, she senses a resistance.

“Look, you’re great, but I can’t do this,” he says, taking hold of her hand and moving it away from him.

A clap of thunder sounds in Cassie’s head as the realization that she’s not going to get what she came for—at least not willingly—hits home.

“Nobody needs to know,” she says, her free hand going to his crotch. “This can be our little secret.”

He pushes her away and stands up. “I’m sorry, but you need to go,” he says, looking as if he’s already done something he can’t forgive himself for.

Cassie doesn’t move, choked by an anger so raw it paralyzes her. “You can’t treat me like some groupie who you can pick up whenever you feel like it.”

“I-I wasn’t aware that I was,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

She gets up and goes to him, pulling at his fly, to give him one last chance to save himself.

“I mean it,” he says, shrugging her off. “If you don’t go, I’ll call security.”

Cassie laughs caustically. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do that?”

Ben looks at her uneasily. “Is that some kind of threat?” he asks, going to the door.

“I could ruin you,” Cassie hisses, narrowing her eyes.

“What, you think you’re going to blackmail me?” says Ben, smil ing inanely, making Cassie feel small and stupid. “You think you’ve got a hold over me for what happened at the Savoy?”

“I’ll tell everyone that you’re exactly who the papers say you are,” says Cassie. “A sex-mad, drug-crazed egomaniac.”

“And to stop you from doing that, I have to sleep with you?” he asks, disbelievingly.

Cassie’s lip wobbles, though she doesn’t know if it’s because when he puts it like that, it sounds ridiculous, or that she’s going to have to follow through on her plan if he doesn’t.

“It would definitely be the easier of the two options,” she says, reaching into her bag on the floor. “You don’t get to do what you do without consequences.”

He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “You make it sound as if I’ve somehow mistreated you or promised you something I’ve failed to deliver.”

“You were everything to me,” says Cassie, unable to stop a tear from falling. “And I thought I meant something to you.”

As if sensing a tip in the wrong direction, Ben throws another glance toward the phone, no doubt assessing how quickly he can get to it and call for help.

“But I’ve never met you before,” he says gently. “At least, not that I can remember. And I’m sorry for that, really I am, but I meet a hundred different people every day.”

It sounds like a well-rehearsed speech and Cassie can’t help but wonder how many times he’s used it before. How many other girls has he made to feel special, only to discard them when someone better comes along? But he’s done it to the wrong one this time.

“And they all want a piece of me,” he goes on, “thinking they own me, but it’s all part of the job. This isn’t real life.”

He looks at Cassie imploringly, as if willing her to understand, but she’s not going to fall for it. “I really thought we had something,” she says, wrapping her fingers around the handle of the knife and pulling it out of her bag, its five-inch blade catching the light.

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

“You made me believe that I was special,” she says, digging the pointed end into her palm. “That you’d picked me out for a reason.”

Ben looks at her wide-eyed, as tiny pinpricks of sweat glisten on his upper lip. His mouth opens wordlessly as blood drips onto the cream-colored carpet. If it hurts, Cassie can’t feel it, the emotional pain of his deceit far greater than any physical discomfort.

“But if you’re telling me that I can’t have you…”

She lifts the knife up and in one swift rush of air brings it down.

“No!” roars Ben, lifting his arms to intercept it, but it’s too late. There’s a sickening ripping sound as the blade penetrates flesh, and they hold on to each other as they both fall to the floor.