Jackie Collins - The Power Trip

She played it cool.

He flirted.

His girlfriend gave her the stink-eye.

She ignored the skank.

When Cliff and his entourage left, he slipped her a thousand-dollar cash tip.

She shoved the money down the neckline of her skimpy outfit and didn’t share with the other staff, even though she was supposed to.

He came back two weeks later, sober and alone. He sought her out and asked if she had a boyfriend. She said no, although at the time she was living with a hunky barman who worked at The Keys.

He invited her to dinner.

She said no.

He invited her to visit him in L.A.

She said no.

He invited her upstairs to his suite.

She said no.

Instinctively she’d known that Cliff Baxter could be her big break, and that to make it happen she had to play hard to get. So she’d strung him along for several months, and each time he made the Vegas trip she’d continued to play it cool. Then just when she’d sensed he was about to give up on her, she’d accepted his dinner invitation.

That night they’d ended up in his suite where she’d given him the blow-job of his dreams.

Just a blow-job. Nothing else.

Two weeks later, she was living with him in his L.A. mansion.

‘Mr Baxter. They’re ready for you on the set,’ the young Second AD called out, peering into Cliff Baxter’s trailer after knocking on the door twice.

When the star didn’t respond, she tentatively ventured inside and saw that he was asleep on the comfortable couch, snoring loudly, wearing nothing but a robe that had fallen open revealing solid tanned thighs and chocolate-coloured underwear.

The girl squinted at the sleeping movie star and wondered what she should do. She was new on the job and intimidated by being in the presence of such a big star. Fortunately, she was saved by the arrival of Enid, Cliff Baxter’s personal assistant, a fierce, older woman, clad in a no-nonsense Hillary Clinton-style pantsuit and Nurse Ratched running shoes.

‘What’s going on here?’ Enid enquired, taking in the nervous young girl and her boss’s half-exposed torso.

‘Mr Baxter is needed on the set,’ the girl said, an agitated quiver in her voice. ‘I’m supposed to tell him.’

‘Then I suggest you wake him,’ Enid said briskly, placing a large messenger bag filled with papers on the table.

‘H-how should I do that?’ the girl stammered.

‘Like this, dear,’ Enid said, leaning over and giving Cliff a vigorous shake on his shoulder.

The girl took a hurried step back as Cliff sat up. ‘What the fuck?’ he mumbled. ‘Where am I?’

‘You’re at the studio,’ Enid announced. ‘You’re wanted on set, so shift your ass.’

‘For a rehearsal, Mr Baxter,’ the girl said, bravely joining in.

‘Must’ve dozed off,’ Cliff announced with a big yawn. ‘Friend’s bachelor party last night. It ended late, had my driver bring me straight here.’

‘And how did little Miss Live-In like that ?’ Enid said caustically.

‘ C’mon , Enid,’ Cliff said, standing up and laughing. ‘What did Lori ever do to you? She’s a sweet kid. Why do you always have to put her down?’

Enid pulled a face, and began extracting papers and mail from her messenger bag and piling them on the table.

‘Shall I tell Mr Sterling you’re on your way?’ the young AD asked, trying to avert her eyes from Cliff’s open robe.

‘Yeah, yeah, tell Mac I’ll be there in five. And next time I’d appreciate a fifteen-minute warning. You can go get me coffee now. Black. Plenty of sugar. Have it waiting on the set.’

‘Yes, Mr Baxter.’

Cliff threw her a jaunty wink. ‘Run along, unless you’re planning to witness me bare-assed naked.’

The girl blushed, and hurriedly backed out of the trailer.

Cliff chuckled. ‘They get younger every day,’ he ruminated, shrugging off his robe. ‘And you know what, Enid? Here’s the crap part — I get older.’

‘We all do,’ Enid said crisply. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself and for God’s sake put some clothes on. I’ve seen better packages at the post office.’

‘You can be such a mean old bag,’ Cliff said, seemingly unphased. ‘Mean and ornery. Dunno why I put up with you.’

‘Because,’ Enid answered matter-of-factly, ‘I have worked for you for almost twenty years, and I am one of the few people who can break your balls without getting fired. And speaking of balls, yours are hanging out.’

Cliff grinned. ‘Surely you know that hanging out’s my thing?’

‘If you’re not careful, your thing will be out too.’

Cliff grabbed his pants from the back of the couch, and pulled them on. ‘Don’t you wish,’ he said, still grinning.

‘No, Cliff,’ Enid said sternly. ‘I am one of the few women in this world who has no desire to see your cock, your balls, or anything else you might have to offer.’

‘Dyke!’

‘Yes, dear. And I’m proud to say that I enjoy pussy almost as much as you do.’

‘Except Lori.’

‘She’s not pussy, she’s a predator,’ Enid said sharply. ‘Not good enough for you.’

Cliff shook his head. ‘For crissakes…’

‘Just don’t marry her, that’s all.’

‘Marry her!’ Cliff exclaimed with a throaty chuckle. ‘When did the M word raise its ugly head?’

‘You should get going,’ Enid said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘It’s unprofessional to keep people waiting.’

‘No shit?’

‘And when you have time, there are a few things I need your answers on,’ Enid added, waving an expensive-looking envelope in his face. ‘This is an invitation you might like.’

‘Not another black-tie event?’ he groaned. ‘I’ve attended enough of those to last me a lifetime. This is Award Show City. No more. I’m over it.’

‘This invite is something different,’ Enid said. ‘I’ll show you when you get back. Now it’s your turn to run along.’

‘And she talks to me as if I’m twelve,’ Cliff said, shaking his head again.

‘And sometimes he acts as if he is,’ Enid retorted.

‘I might be forced to fire you when I return,’ he threatened, reaching for a shirt and putting it on. ‘You have no respect.’

‘Later, Mr Baxter,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘Is that enough respect for you?’

‘Fuckin’ A!’ And with another wide grin, Cliff exited his trailer.

Dateline: Miami

Luca Perez stretched out on a striped lounger wearing a barely there powder-blue Speedo, his well-toned thirty-year-old body oiled to perfection, not an inch of flesh spared. On the table next to him stood a tall glass containing a Mojito. Next to his drink was a Lalique dish filled with ripe red cherries, a pile of the latest entertainment magazines, his iPhone, his platinum diamond-encrusted Chanel watch, and several crucifixes attached to thin leather straps.

Luca, his eyes covered by Dolce & Gabbana shades, was almost asleep, but not quite. He enjoyed lying there in a half-drowsy state, allowing his mind to run riot. Nothing to disturb him. No one to bother him. Just a lazy day of doing nothing except perfecting his tan. And what a beautiful day it was, with hazy sunshine, a light breeze. He’d recently returned from a demanding world tour, so life at his Miami mansion was good.

Tomorrow, his significant other, Jeromy Milton-Gold, would return from London, which meant goodbye peace and quiet. Jeromy was a social animal. He always wanted to go out and be seen at leather bars and gay clubs — something Luca preferred not to do, even though they’d met at a notorious rubber fetish club in London two years ago. Meeting Jeromy had changed Luca’s life. Before Jeromy he’d been firmly closeted, living a secret gay life lest his legions of female fans found out, for Luca was a huge Latin heartthrob, a singer women worshipped and adored.