Temptation Island

It was also what her father had done to her mother. That was the worst part.

Will opened his eyes, a contented smile spreading across his face. He rolled on to his back, and in an effort to forget the past Stevie moved to kiss him, feeling him reach around her waist, pulling her close. A groan escaped as he grew between her hands. She manoeuvred herself on top, desperate for release, slipping on protection and gasping as he entered.

Will gripped her as she began to rock back and forth. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he breathed, sitting to embrace her, grazing her breasts, moving with her, kissing her chin and then her lips.

Stevie’s rhythm became more frantic. She could feel the surge rising and pushed Will back on to the pillows, riding him harder now, wanting him to fill her up and force her to forget everything. She gripped his hands, threw her head back and felt him free his fingers so he could stroke her throat and her tits, kissing her over and over.

She came fiercely, releasing a cry and feeling the blood in every fibre of her body. Will continued to thrust into her warmth, drawing out her climax, threatening to take her all the way again. He lifted her hips and withdrew, moving her on to her back and raising her legs high so her feet were on either side of his neck. Violently he pounded back into her, forcing himself so deep that Stevie had to push back on the wall behind her head to keep herself from slamming into it. Seconds later he reached his pinnacle.

‘Christ, Stevie,’ he breathed, burying his head in her shoulder as he rode it. ‘What are you doing to me?’

She pulled on a shirt and padded to the bathroom. The shower blasted scalding hot then freezing cold. Will’s downtown loft apartment was crummier than the one she shared with Bibi, but most times they slept together here. She preferred the detachment of it—plus she could do without Bibi’s cross-questioning the morning after.

Speak of the devil. The minute she got out, Bibi called.

‘I need you to come to an audition with me today,’ she announced.

Stevie put her glasses on and sat down on the bed. Will released the knot on her towel, letting it fall to her waist. Lazily he stroked her back.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I need a partner.’

Stevie hitched the towel up and stood. ‘For what?’ She could see from the bulge under the sheets that Will was ready to go again. She returned to the bathroom and ran a comb through her hair, which wasn’t easy with a phone under one ear.

‘It’s gonna make all the difference,’ Bibi explained, ‘if I read with someone I know—and I’ll be most comfortable with you. And if I’m comfortable then I’m relaxed and when I’m relaxed I know I can shine. That’s the problem with every other gig they’ve sent me for, Steve! I’ve been so nervous I totally blew it! So, I figure, if you’re there too then it’ll be just like it is when you help me at home, and you’re really good, you know? You always bring out my best. So I need you.’

‘I don’t know, B—’

‘Please,’ Bibi begged, ‘it’s a serious part—the first one that’s come up for me in ages! I really want it. Please, will you come?’

Stevie was puzzled. If the work her friend was doing for Linus Posen wasn’t ‘serious’ then what was it? Since his party, Bibi had been collaborating with the director on several projects—she’d tried to cajole Stevie into phoning him too but had given up after a series of repeated refusals—but was always cagey about exactly what it was she was doing. All Stevie knew was that her engagements with Linus always took place at some undisclosed location and Bibi, when she reappeared, was terse in her replies about where she’d been. It was unlike her: Bibi waxed lyrical about everything, especially when it came to her career.

‘But—’

‘All I’m asking is for you to say a handful of lines,’ Bibi barrelled on, ‘that’s all. I’m desperate for this, Steve, please. I mean it. Please say yes. Please?’

It was the least she could do after Bibi’s kindness. ‘Yes.’

Will approached her from behind, lifting the towel and pressing his erection against her.

‘When do you need me?’ she asked into the phone.

‘Now,’ he murmured, attempting to direct himself inside.

Bibi’s relief was audible. ‘Park Avenue. Two o’clock. I appreciate it, I really do.’

‘Are you all right?’ Stevie asked. ‘You sound funny.’

There was a brief silence, before: ‘I’m fine!’

She tried to bat off Will’s attentions. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Sure. Just be there, OK?’

‘I will.’

Stevie clicked her phone shut, concerned about her friend. Something wasn’t right. But then maybe she just hadn’t spent enough time with Bibi recently. She had to rectify that.

‘I’ve got to be somewhere,’ she said.

Will took her hips in his hands and tilted her forward. ‘Five minutes,’ he growled. ‘And then I’ll let you go.’

The casting took place on the second floor of an old office building on Park Avenue. There was a little waiting space outside the room, packed with hopefuls. When Bibi and Stevie arrived, they attracted a wave of catty looks that Bibi assured her was par for the course. They went down the corridor to get a watered-down coffee.

‘Here,’ said Bibi, thrusting a wodge of paper into her hands at the same time as a boiling hot drink, ‘this is it. You read Jerry.’

‘Is it a man?’ Stevie asked, fumbling before putting the coffee down. She flicked through the pages.

‘No. Like Jerry Hall.’ She grinned. ‘Or like Steve!’

‘Oh …’ Stevie had never done anything like this before. ‘And who’re you?’

Bibi adopted a dreamy expression. ‘I’m Lauren. Secretly I’m in love with your husband, but you can’t ever know because we’re best friends. But even more secretly, you’re in love with me! And you’re like a really prim housewife and you can’t begin to contemplate leaving your marriage for another person, let alone a woman! Shock, horror and all that. Juicy, isn’t it?’

‘Jerry’s part sounds more interesting than Lauren’s.’

Bibi shrugged. ‘But Lauren’s part is bigger. The whole movie’s about her, basically. Which means—’ she struck a pose ‘—that if I get it, the whole movie’s going to be about me! Oh, I really hope I get it!’ She chewed her lip.

‘I thought things were going well with Linus’s projects,’ Stevie said softly. She was determined to tread carefully. ‘You seem awfully keen to try something new.’

Bibi linked arms with her. ‘Come on, or we’ll miss our call.’

The audition went adequately. Stevie managed to speak her lines clearly and not let Bibi down, which was a feat for her because she didn’t like performing and spent the first few minutes fudging the phrasing until she hit her stride. Unhelpfully, the panel—two producers and a casting agent—asked her to remove her glasses halfway through, which made the task of reading a challenge in itself. Bibi herself delivered a melodramatic performance that was more reminiscent of Shakespeare than a Hollywood independent. Stevie thought she had great charisma, but couldn’t help feeling she was running a little over the top: the script required a degree of subtlety, an invitation to viewers to draw their own conclusions about who was feeling what. But what did she know? She wasn’t the actress.

Afterwards, the jury conferred among themselves for a while before dismissing them with a brisk, ‘Thank you, that’s all.’

‘How great was that?’ squealed Bibi when they were back outside.

Stevie smiled encouragingly. ‘You did brilliantly. I don’t know how you memorise all those lines. I don’t think I could.’

‘Ah, don’t be dumb.’ But she blushed at the compliment. ‘You really think I did OK?’

‘Definitely,’ Stevie reassured her. Bibi had been word-perfect and her enthusiasm was second to none. ‘When are you likely to hear?’

‘Carrie will be in touch as soon as they are.’ She hailed a cab. ‘Keep your knickers crossed for me!’

‘My knickers?’

‘Sorry,’ said Bibi, in a much better mood than this morning. ‘On the contrary! I forgot you were with Will.’

‘That’s gross. And anyway, I’m not “with” Will. I’m not with anyone.’

Bibi narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re a commitment-phobe,’ she said. ‘That’s what it is.’

Stevie laughed. ‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘Fine, maybe I am, but just for the time being.’

‘Ah, but love’s the best thing in the world.’ Bibi pressed her palms exaggeratedly to her chest as a cab pulled up. ‘Love richly and love well. Isn’t that a saying?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Bibi pulled open the door. ‘You know what I’m getting at.’

She did. Only she’d been the one loving. He hadn’t said he loved her at all. Not even when she got rid of the baby.

‘Thanks for coming today, Steve.’

‘Any time,’ she replied, with a faint smile. ‘It was kind of fun.’

As she was climbing in, a young woman with a scruffy blonde ponytail emerged from the building, glanced once up and down the avenue then waved in their direction. Stevie recognised her as the casting agent from their audition. She had to nudge Bibi to get her attention.

‘B, that woman’s waving at you—look!’

Bibi followed her gaze. She covered her mouth with her hands. ‘My God, Steve! Do you think she wants to offer me the part? What if she offers me the part? What do I do?’

Stevie giggled. ‘You say yes.’

The woman strode over. ‘Are you able to come back inside?’ she asked, eyebrow arched. ‘We’d like to hear you read again.’

‘Of course.’ Bibi flushed with pleasure.

The woman’s gaze flicked over Bibi, as if she’d only just noticed her. ‘Not you,’ she said dismissively, turning back to Stevie. ‘We’d like to hear you read again, for Lauren this time. We’ve been looking for someone like you for a very, very long time. We think you’re absolutely right for the part.’ She grinned, exposing a row of small neat teeth. ‘What do you say?’

13 Lori

When Tony and Angélica found out about Rico’s involvement in the gang homicide, they resolved to send Lori to Spain without further delay.

‘It’s the only place we can be sure you’ll stay out of trouble,’ her father said.

The last Lori had heard from her boyfriend was a rushed phone call shortly after he was arrested. She had asked him if the reports were true. They were. It broke her heart. She didn’t know him any more. Rico, the gentle Rico with the kind eyes and the tender promises, was gone. He was a killer, capable of taking another person’s life.

Things moved fast. Her flight was tomorrow. When she arrived, she would take a taxi out of Murcia and travel south, to the outskirts of a remote town where her grandmother resided in the same rural house Tony had grown up in. It was falling apart, too sprawling and dilapidated for one person to look after. Ancient, tired out, like its sole occupant.

Tony was dropping her off at Tres Hermanas for the last time.

‘Please don’t send me away,’ she begged. ‘Can’t you see I’ve been punished enough?’

Angrily, Tony changed lanes. ‘I’ve done everything to make things right, Loriana—I’ve tried my best with that business, I’ve tried to secure you the future your mama wanted. I found us another family—’

‘I never said I wanted another family. I had you.’

‘And who did I have?’

Her voice was small. ‘Me.’

‘You were a child. I had to look after you.’

Lori tried to reach him. ‘Mama always said it didn’t matter how small you were, you could always make a difference.’

Tony pulled over amid an explosion of sounding horns. ‘Will you stop?’

‘Stop what?’

‘Accept that she’s dead.’ His voice was bitter. ‘I’ve been trying for ten years to find a different happiness, while you dream only of the past—’

‘Moving on isn’t the same as forgetting.’

‘Do you think I can forget? Do you? How can I, when I look at you and all I see is her?’

‘Is that why you want me gone?’ Lori wept then, proper tears she had been keeping in check for too long. For a second she thought Tony might comfort her, but the embrace she had been hoping for didn’t come. Instead he signalled and rejoined the stream of downtown traffic.

‘You are going to Corazón because it is the right thing,’ Tony said evenly, ‘and because I hope it will put an end to this pointless rebellion. That boy and his family are dangerous. I cannot lose you as well.’

The working day began like any other. There was no reason to suspect what was to come, the event that would change Lori’s life irrevocably and for ever. Her sisters had spent all morning doing zero work, gloating about how miserable she would be bundled away in Europe with a rotting old crone, while Lori answered the phones, sorted the orders, prepped the treatments and cleaned up after them. Her head was numb and her heart was numb, going through the motions and that was all: a living doll, with a face and hair and arms and legs, but when you unscrew its neck and turn it upside down and shake it around, nothing inside, just empty.

It was a little after two o’clock and she was alone, unpacking a delivery on the salon floor. Anita and Rosa had slipped cash from the register, informing her they were ‘heading out’, which meant they were down on the beach sipping coladas, examining their nails, bitching about her, and would be till half an hour before close.

The boxes were heavy, filled with stuff they didn’t need and could not afford, but the girls had to spend their time somehow and it would be Lori who made the returns. A guy in a van had dumped them by the door and told her to sign. Afterwards, she would remember scribbling her name in the space he indicated, and would that night, and in the nights to come, think back to how it was a different girl signing from the one she was now: that the Lori Garcia she’d been before had given her very last autograph and was finally checking out.

She was bent, her back to the door, when she heard someone come in.

Preparing to apologise for her sisters’ absence, since this was no doubt a forgotten appointment, she turned—and came face to face with a man. He was dark, short and stockily built, with a hard, low brow and a nose beaten out of shape. He possessed deep-set, unblinking eyes, and wore a black vest that exposed meaty, painted flesh at the neck and shoulders. His arms were sketched with tattoos, a cobra winding up one arm, its head emerging beneath his thick jaw, cut from a bad shave, where the serpent’s thin forked tongue escaped.

Diego Marquez. Rico’s brother.

‘What do you want?’ Lori asked coldly.

Diego’s mouth moved into a thin, satisfied smile. ‘A word, chica. That is all.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘So am I.’ He kicked the door shut with one foot. ‘Which is why you’re going to give me what I need and you’re going to make it quick.’

She backed off. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

‘What you gonna do about it?’ His eyes flicked behind her, scoping the place. ‘Looks like you might be getting a little lonely in here.’ He reached out, attempted to touch her but she pulled away. ‘You saying you don’t want company?’

‘I mean it. I’ll call the police.’

He laughed. It was cold, dead, utterly without humour. Lori felt the push of wood against her back as she came into contact with the counter. Diego was close now, his breath in her face.

‘An’ how d’you think that’s gonna look? One Marquez boy not enough for you?’

Panic was rising, a steady, obliterating tide. ‘Please. I won’t tell anyone you were here.’

Diego narrowed his eyes. She could see the hard sinews in his neck, a trapped muscle pulsing like there was something living beneath his skin, writhing, contorting, trying to get out.

‘Oh no,’ he snarled. ‘Not until I get what I came for.’ This time, he grabbed her chin, the impact of it so hard, so sudden, she bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Are you gonna be a good girl and tell me what happened that night? Think carefully, now, ‘cause I don’t want no mistakes.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Sure you do. You were with Enrique. You were with him the whole time, the whole damn night. He never left your side, not once.’

‘That’s a lie. You know it is.’

Diego tightened his grip. ‘D’you think Enrique gives a fuck about the truth where he is right about now?’

Hate burned in Lori’s eyes. ‘You’ve done nothing for Rico,’ she countered. ‘You never have. All you’ve done is hurt him and ruin him and take away any chance of a life he might—’

This time Diego pressed his iron-hard body against her, pinning her in place. She could feel every contour, heavy as a brick, inescapable, suffocating. He made a sound of teasing disapproval, shaking his head with grim amusement. Up close she could smell him—the scent was of rotten sweat and something sharper, more astringent, like vinegar.

‘No, no, no,’ he taunted, ‘you’re not listening. This is how it works. I ask you for something, Loriana. You give it to me. Easy. Shall we try again?’

‘I’m giving you nothing.’

‘Then I won’t spare you nothing.’ Diego lunged for her—to kiss her, to take her by the throat?—but she was too quick. Darting from his grip, she ran. She went for the door, forgetting she had cleaned that morning and the floor was still slick with wet. Her feet vanished from under her. Uselessly she reached out to break the fall, spraining her wrist, and when her chin hit she felt a warmth of blood escape, so quick, as always blood was, as if her skin were an eggshell, or a balloon filled with water, thin-membraned and fit to rupture. A heavy foot landed across her back, pushing down on her lungs so that it hurt to breathe.

She heard the click of a cigarette being lit. Seconds later, the door opened, tantalisingly close to Lori’s desperate, upturned face, but at the same time impossibly far away. For a brief moment she imagined help had come.

It hadn’t.

Three other men walked in. Her ears felt cloudy so it was difficult to understand what they were saying. Her mouth tasted thick, the smell of antiseptic in her nostrils.

‘She causin’ you trouble?’ One of the boots nudged her lightly with its toe, then, when she didn’t protest, a bit harder, like a child prodding a frightened animal with a stick.

Diego hauled her up, holding Lori to him, her arms behind her back.

‘Let me go,’ she whimpered, making a futile attempt to break free.

One glance told her that wasn’t going to happen. Circling her was Diego’s gang. She looked from one to the next, with each pinched, expressionless face feeling hope dwindle—then, worse, a shoot of fear that blossomed and spread, climbing into her throat. The way they were eyeing her, sharply, greedily, and with a satisfied reticence that she had not the experience to consider but knew instinctively put her body at risk. One had a long, thin ponytail down his back. He licked dry lips.

‘Try again,’ said Diego, menacingly quiet in her ear. ‘And get it right this time or we are gonna fuck you up so bad that when you look in the mirror you won’t even know who’s lookin’ back. You got that, chica?’

‘Rico didn’t show,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s the truth. I don’t know what more you want.’

Diego tugged her backwards. Pain shot up her arm. ‘Give it to us, Loriana.’

She knew what they wanted. An alibi. The words that would set Rico free.

He was her boyfriend. The man I’m supposed to love. But she couldn’t.

‘I can’t lie for him,’ she choked. ‘I can’t.’

‘Aw.’ Diego arranged his mean features into something like pity. ‘There was me thinkin’ you were his girl.’ Roughly, he pushed her. She landed in the scrawny grip of the guy with the ponytail. ‘Girls do right by their men, wouldn’t you say, boys? But then if you ain’t his girl, then we ain’t gonna treat you like his girl. We’re gonna treat you just like what you are—a dirty fuckin’ whore.’

The scrawny grip was wrestling her. Violently she was thrust into another pair of arms, then another, and another, passed between them, playing with her like a kitten on a string, making her dizzy, her vision gather and dissolve like ink in water. The shoving got more and more forceful, she was conscious of hands seizing parts of her, wrenching at her with ferocity. She heard her dress tear. Someone kicked her, pulled her hair.

‘Stop,’ she begged. ‘Please, please, stop!’

‘Nah—not till we’ve had our fun.’ She didn’t know who spoke. Through the ringing in her ears she thought she heard a belt buckle being unclasped.

‘You heard her.’ A new voice. ‘Stop.’

Lori was thrown to the floor. Through red panic a splinter of blue appeared, like water poured on flames. A hot current travelled down her spine, the hairs at the back of her neck prickling, thousands of needlepoints, each tip like fire. She became aware of her breathing, low and shallow, and her frantic heart.

Diego spoke. ‘This ain’t nothin’ t’do with you, man. Back away.’

The stranger moved. She heard the clean smack of his step as he approached. Smart, controlled, precise. ‘Wrong. Let her go.’

Lori raised her head, taking the newcomer in in pieces—the oil-black shoes, the expensively tailored suit pants, the way a strip of crisp white shirt emerged from each sleeve of his jacket. His suit was the sharp, thousand-dollar sort she had seen on models in magazines and on businessmen who dealt in money and gambling and sex with their secretaries. He was tall. One of his hands was visible. Strong knuckles. His hair, the colour of sand after the tide’s been in; his precise profile and square-sharp jaw; his mouth. In his right earlobe he wore a flat black stud, which was ill-matched with the attire and spoke of something exotic.

The man regarded her directly and with a gaze that was bluer than the colour itself, light blue of a kind that seemed artificial. She saw his top lip was scarred, a jagged groove that ran like lightning, almost ugly, through his philtrum.

‘You got no business comin’ round here,’ warned one of Diego’s gang. They were hesitant with the stranger—they outnumbered him and yet they did not make a move. ‘Walk away now an’ no one gets hurt.’

The man reached down to Lori and held out his hand. With the gesture, his sleeve lifted a fraction and she saw a thin band of leather encircling his wrist.

‘Get up,’ he told her.

Diego was quick but the stranger was quicker, bringing Lori to her feet as if she weighed nothing at all. Smoothly, swiftly, he positioned his body in front of hers, simultaneously catching Diego’s punch in one of his fists.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

Diego’s eyes flashed a caution. One of his guys freed a gun. The weapon was raised.

‘We ain’t gonna tell you again,’ growled Diego. ‘Walk away. ’

One of the crew lunged but the man seized the strike, twisting the elbow back at such an angle that the body crumpled to the floor.

‘My arm!’ the guy howled. ‘My fuckin’ arm, you’ve broken it, you sonofabitch!’

A second swing; the audible rush of swiped air as he evaded the blow, landing his own fist squarely in the throat of his assailant, who performed a sickening pirouette and was slammed back against the wall with a force that made something crack.

The next she knew, they had the gun. The last of Diego’s crew still standing was making a run for it. ‘Fuckin’ get outta here, man!’ he urged his chief. ‘Fuckin’ let’s go!’

Diego stared down his own weapon. ‘You don’t know who I am,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

The gun didn’t waver.

Lori saw Diego hesitate, a ripple of fear behind his eyes.

‘Take your men away from here,’ the stranger said, in an accent she could not place. ‘And don’t ever come back. If you come back, you will disappear. Nobody will know what happened to you. Your wives will not know. Your friends will not know. Your brothers will not know. Your children will not know. Your lovers will wait for you in a cold room in a cold bed but you will never come. Do not doubt this will happen. If you come here again, it will happen to every last one of you.’