Wicked Ambition. Victoria Fox

thought my shoes were going to come off. They’re too big.’

      ‘Nonsense.’ Ramona knelt and roughly grabbed a stiletto, forcing Bunny to steady herself on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Stop leaning on me, Bunny, it’s amateur.’

      ‘Sorry.’

      ‘These are fine. Better too big than too small. If you weren’t complaining about this you’d be whining about blisters.’

      ‘And the winner of the Freestyle Miss Pretty California category is…’

      ‘Come on, you bitches!’ hissed Ramona.

      ‘Bunny White!’

      ‘YES!’ Ramona punched the air. Bunny looked up, waiting for congratulations but her mother was too busy accepting compliments from the envious parents around her. Seconds later she was being roughly pushed to the podium to collect the bouquet.

      ‘Curtsey! Curtsey!’ rasped Ramona from the side of the stage.

      Bunny obliged, rictus smile in place. Fleetingly she wondered if Scotty would ever get to see her take the spotlight like this—maybe when she began to compete internationally, maybe then. Her heart leapt at the thought of his name alone. Where was he now? What was he thinking? All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and dream about him.

      On the drive home she closed her eyes and tried to do just that. Not easy with Ramona grousing about how she could have been better, that with a little more work and taking things a little more seriously she could have been perfect, how nothing but perfection was good enough and how tonight they had been lucky…until she realised her daughter was asleep.

      Before yielding to slumber, Bunny conjured Scotty’s face and imagined for the hundredth time kissing his lips. He hadn’t visited the house recently and this was a source of both relief and panic to Bunny: relief, because she didn’t have to see him vanishing into her sister’s room every day, tortured by what could be going on behind closed doors; and panic because if all that stopped then she might never ever see Scotty again as long as she lived.

      Scotty was the only person in the world who could save her.

      He was the only person she truly trusted.

      He couldn’t be taken away from her. She’d die.

       13

      As it happened, Turquoise and Robin didn’t need to plan their hook-up in LA. Both stars had been booked on to America’s leading talk show Friday Later, and when they met in the green room they greeted each other like friends.

      ‘It’s good to see you,’ said Turquoise, giving her a hug. Robin made her feel like a protective older sister. Though the girl cultivated an air of invincibility, dressed in a tangerine T-shirt and skin-tight pants, her fringe falling over an extraordinary palette of make-up and a slash of flamingo-pink lipstick, Turquoise saw it for the mask it was. Robin acted as if she didn’t care: just her versus the world, a one-woman army. Why had she built so many walls?

      ‘Ditto.’ Robin beamed. ‘Hey, I heard you’ve got a movie coming up?’

      Turquoise’s heart caught in her throat. She still hadn’t found a way to say no. Donna had insinuated that turning down the Cosmo Angel project would slam the door on future opportunities in Hollywood—major names were being attached and walking away could spell disaster. It was their only shot. The idea that Turquoise’s bête noir could not only rob her of her youth but of the dream she and Emaline had shared was an abomination.

      She’d find a way out. She had to.

      ‘Possibly,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s early days.’

      ‘Exciting, though, huh?’

      She forced a smile. ‘Yeah.’

      Cosmo kept a tight rein over his PR and news of his involvement couldn’t be broken yet: Donna had warned that tonight could bring up the proposed collaboration and had briefed her response. Their meeting in London with Sam Lucas had gone smoothly, and, as predicted, the part of Gloria, a rags-to-riches songbird, was the perfect role at the perfect time…What possible reason could she give Donna for her refusal? In the past she had made no bones about her desire to enter the movies. There was nothing whatsoever about the role—at least on paper—that she could feasibly take objection to.

      ‘Are you OK?’ asked Robin. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

      ‘On air in five!’ The producer passed through to check their mics. Turquoise could hear the audience being warmed up, laughter bleeding in from the studio.

      ‘Absolutely fine.’

      Robin looked unconvinced and she teamed it with a decisive nod.

      The style of Friday Later was to keep each guest on the sofa to join in conversation with the others, so, as the biggest star with the longest airtime, Turquoise was on first. Harry Dollar, the host, wasted no time in asking about her move into Hollywood.

      ‘I’d rather not jinx it,’ said Turquoise, with a coy expression that betrayed nothing of her ravaged nerves. ‘But it’s promising.’

      ‘Can you give us a clue?’ Harry appealed to the audience. ‘We want to know, don’t we?’ Turquoise re-crossed her legs, laughing along graciously. ‘I heard Sam Lucas’s name on the grapevine…?’

      ‘I couldn’t say, Harry. Really.’

      ‘But you can confirm we’ll be seeing you on the big screen very soon?’

      The studio lights burned. The glare of the cameras swung round to capture her response, which for a second relinquished to a flicker. ‘Yes, you will.’

      It was a relief when Robin was invited to join them. She talked fervently about her upcoming tour and the collaboration with Puff City.

      ‘I’m seeing them while I’m over,’ she enthused. ‘It’s a big deal for me—like, huge. These are the guys I had on my walls growing up. They’re legends.’

      Last was a raconteur comedian, who steered them mercifully towards the end of the show. Afterwards Harry kissed Turquoise and told her she was ‘a woman of mystery’. If only he knew.

      ‘D’you want to hit the town?’ asked Robin.

      ‘Sure.’

      They took a car to Chilean hangout Astro off Santa Monica. Robin had invited the comedian and his entourage and as they chatted carelessly on the way Turquoise wondered if she would ever reach a point in life where she could let go so easily. Would she ever enjoy a night without the hot breath of fear hovering at her shoulder? Would she ever meet new people and feel able to open up, to embrace their company without restraint? Would she ever escape the dread of having Cosmo Angel expose her, demolishing all she had strived for against inconceivable odds, in just a few poisonous words?

      If Donna had her way, in a matter of days she would be shaking hands with her costar-to-be and signing the contract as easily as she signed away her fate.

      Panic flooded over her. ‘Sorry…’ She fumbled to collect her purse. ‘I—I have to get out. Driver, pull over.’

      Robin’s face was etched with worry. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘I don’t feel well. Please excuse me. I’ve got to go home.’

      ‘I’ll come with you.’

      ‘No. Don’t. I’d rather you didn’t. It’s just a headache.’

      ‘Then let’s at least get hold of your car—’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      The vehicle came to a stop. ‘I’ll call you,’ she said, before stepping out into the night, not caring if she was seen, hailing a cab like anyone ordinary and wishing with all her might she could be just a girl on the street, no one remarkable, invisible, untouchable,