cock. I lapped it up.
At 2.45, fashionably but not rudely late, the rock star walked through the hotel door with an entourage of two: his agent, a big name in the music industry, and his manager, a brassy, seen-it-all American broad about my age. My hair was still damp from a quick post-play shower at Rio's. I hoped nobody would pick up on the after-sex glow I was convinced exuded from every pore; I felt fluorescent.
I got off my chair and walked across the lobby to shake VZ's hand. 'Hi, I'm Suzanne,' I said.
'Hey, gorgeous,' said VZ, draping his arm around me. His greeting was so clichéd, it was like something out of a pick-up-artist handbook.
Kate had warned me about his flirtatiousness. She'd gone backstage after the previous night's show and had seen him in action. 'He is an outrageous flirt,' she said. 'He was coming on to all the girls – all the girls.' She thought it was funny.
I chose to ignore his greeting and got on with business. 'Right,' I said, turning away and gesturing towards the Amba Bar. 'The photographer's set up, waiting for you. It's gorgeous,' I said, looking at VZ. 'We've got a fantastic suite upstairs, too, for the other pictures. Follow me.'
VZ was exceptionally friendly during the introductions, making sure he got the photographer's, the photographer's assistant's, and the make-up artist's names, asking where they were from. A bit of an actor, a bit of a cad, but at least he had some manners.
After the hellos I proposed relocating to the suite, to meet the stylist and work out the clothes for each shot.
'Sounds good,' said the rocker. 'Lead the way, gorgeous.'
Gorgeous this, I thought. I walked towards the lifts, putting three feet between us so he could admire the back view.
The agent and manager were on their mobiles and gestured for us to go ahead. VZ and I got in the lift together. I pressed '7'.
'Wow, I'm really loving the way your blue toenail varnish is peeping out of your bobby socks,' he said, looking down at my feet. 'And those shoes are so fucking hot.'
I had on black-and-white striped bobby socks and a pair of black peep-toed heels with ankle straps. I was also wearing a denim pencil skirt, with a clingy black retro batwing top.
'Thanks.'
I thought VZ was being a little over-observant and I laughed. I found his flattery kind of sweet and charming, and pretty harmless. In photos, he was cute. Up close, he looked like a baby, so smooth-skinned, so young. Just looking at him reminded me I was old enough to be his mother. After Kafele, I was through with kindergarteners.
'If I didn't have to do this photo shoot, I'd bend you over in the suite,' he continued.
'Well, somebody already got there first today,' I said. 'Too late.'
'What do you mean?'
'I just had sex before I came to see you with a big black stripper.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, I had an hour to kill,' I said. 'I thought I'd enjoy myself before having to hang out in a hotel with you for the rest of the day.'
He looked astonished that for once someone was telling him to can the charm assault? That cutie-pie rocker wasn't having his way, as usual, with a lady? That his PR woman had shattered the bounds of professionalism by telling him she'd just got laid? That a middle-aged woman had already got more action than he'd seen that day? I wasn't sure which.
We entered the Schiaparelli Suite and greeted the stylist. VZ's manager and agent arrived soon afterwards and made themselves comfortable on the fifteen-foot black-and-beige velvet sofa, smoking cigarettes and admiring the suite. It was half the size of my house. The perfect place for a dirty weekend, I thought, as I brought VZ into the bedroom and secretly admired the super-king-sized bed. Its headboard consisted of a huge patch of black velvet encased in a massive gold-leafed baroque frame, set against a wall covered in hot-pink velvet. The bed was smothered in huge square pillows. Very rock 'n' roll. Though I knew the place had undergone a major facelift, it wasn't
At 2.45, fashionably but not rudely late, the rock star walked through the hotel door with an entourage of two: his agent, a big name in the music industry, and his manager, a brassy, seen-it-all American broad about my age. My hair was still damp from a quick post-play shower at Rio's. I hoped nobody would pick up on the after-sex glow I was convinced exuded from every pore; I felt fluorescent.
I got off my chair and walked across the lobby to shake VZ's hand. 'Hi, I'm Suzanne,' I said.
'Hey, gorgeous,' said VZ, draping his arm around me. His greeting was so clichéd, it was like something out of a pick-up-artist handbook.
Kate had warned me about his flirtatiousness. She'd gone backstage after the previous night's show and had seen him in action. 'He is an outrageous flirt,' she said. 'He was coming on to all the girls – all the girls.' She thought it was funny.
I chose to ignore his greeting and got on with business. 'Right,' I said, turning away and gesturing towards the Amba Bar. 'The photographer's set up, waiting for you. It's gorgeous,' I said, looking at VZ. 'We've got a fantastic suite upstairs, too, for the other pictures. Follow me.'
VZ was exceptionally friendly during the introductions, making sure he got the photographer's, the photographer's assistant's, and the make-up artist's names, asking where they were from. A bit of an actor, a bit of a cad, but at least he had some manners.
After the hellos I proposed relocating to the suite, to meet the stylist and work out the clothes for each shot.
'Sounds good,' said the rocker. 'Lead the way, gorgeous.'
Gorgeous this, I thought. I walked towards the lifts, putting three feet between us so he could admire the back view.
The agent and manager were on their mobiles and gestured for us to go ahead. VZ and I got in the lift together. I pressed '7'.
'Wow, I'm really loving the way your blue toenail varnish is peeping out of your bobby socks,' he said, looking down at my feet. 'And those shoes are so fucking hot.'
I had on black-and-white striped bobby socks and a pair of black peep-toed heels with ankle straps. I was also wearing a denim pencil skirt, with a clingy black retro batwing top.
'Thanks.'
I thought VZ was being a little over-observant and I laughed. I found his flattery kind of sweet and charming, and pretty harmless. In photos, he was cute. Up close, he looked like a baby, so smooth-skinned, so young. Just looking at him reminded me I was old enough to be his mother. After Kafele, I was through with kindergarteners.
'If I didn't have to do this photo shoot, I'd bend you over in the suite,' he continued.
'Well, somebody already got there first today,' I said. 'Too late.'
'What do you mean?'
'I just had sex before I came to see you with a big black stripper.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, I had an hour to kill,' I said. 'I thought I'd enjoy myself before having to hang out in a hotel with you for the rest of the day.'
He looked astonished that for once someone was telling him to can the charm assault? That cutie-pie rocker wasn't having his way, as usual, with a lady? That his PR woman had shattered the bounds of professionalism by telling him she'd just got laid? That a middle-aged woman had already got more action than he'd seen that day? I wasn't sure which.
We entered the Schiaparelli Suite and greeted the stylist. VZ's manager and agent arrived soon afterwards and made themselves comfortable on the fifteen-foot black-and-beige velvet sofa, smoking cigarettes and admiring the suite. It was half the size of my house. The perfect place for a dirty weekend, I thought, as I brought VZ into the bedroom and secretly admired the super-king-sized bed. Its headboard consisted of a huge patch of black velvet encased in a massive gold-leafed baroque frame, set against a wall covered in hot-pink velvet. The bed was smothered in huge square pillows. Very rock 'n' roll. Though I knew the place had undergone a major facelift, it wasn't
Similar Books
