“Should we get out of the pool?” She did not want to. It was nice floating with Vice’s hard body against hers. “No,” he lifted his sunglasses, watching the inside of the house. She heard voices and saw a group of people enter. “Ah, they brought the whole band,” he added, unbothered by the additions. “Hey!” Two-Way Street’s drummer James’ hair was an overgrown ash-blonde, and he wore a scruff of stubble on his face as if he had not bothered shaving for a week. She recognised him from the promotional videos and gossip pages. “No fair, Vice,” he complained already stepping out his shoes and pulling off his designer-faded t-shirt. He had the sort of physique that was naturally given to skinniness, she thought with envy, and with lean muscles that were reflective of his instrument’s demands. “I want to float with Mirage.” He shoved his jeans off his hips and waded into the pool in his underwear, completely uninhibited by the fact that he wasn’t wearing swimwear. “Beat you to it, James,
Vice was not surprised when Aaron called with the news that the label wanted a meeting to discuss their progress on the album. They were nervous, Aaron suggested, about two producers so new to the role handling such a major album for the label and just needed some reassurance. Vice had other thoughts. “Mr Rich is causing waves,” he said to Victor. “Well, we are prepared for that, aren’t we?” Victor was not flustered. “So, we will go, let him try to bring us down, and show him up.” Mirage spent half an hour on the phone to her lawyer, and then another twenty minutes talking to Aaron when she was told. They leaned against the kitchen bench and watched her pace the patio, on the phone, her body language growing tenser by the minute. “Something went down,” Vice murmured. “What do we know about Mr Rich?” “Leans more towards popstars, seems to like young women as artists,” Victor replied, bracing his arms against the bench, and leaning into them. “Solid results as a producer, but Mirag
The driver opened the door and Victor slid out, reaching a hand back to help her out. She caught the flash of light as photographs were taken. She always thought the label notified the media when meetings were held so that a photographer was on site to snap stars coming and going through its doors, advertising the star drawing power of the label. Vice linked his arm through hers and she felt Victor’s hand resting warm against her lower back. “Smile,” Vice said through his teeth as he flashed the photographer a wide grin, and she plastered a bright smile on her face in an almost automatic reaction. The two men changed angles, maximising the photo opportunity, laughing, and chatting to the photographers cheerfully, answering questions thrown at them with a comfortable ease. “We are working with Mirage on her next album,” Vice schmoozed to the woman photographer to the left. “It is a very exciting piece of work.” “Yes, it is coming along,” Victor responded to the man on the other sid
The music pounded out of the nightclub, and the lights flashed through the open doors guarded by burly, black clad bouncers. The line-up was extensive, the waiting club goers bouncing on the spot with excitement, trying to catch the attention of Vice, Victor and Mirage as they posed on the pavement in front of the entrance. Mirage laughed and shimmied for the cameras, sending the silver tassels on her dress dancing. “I have my producers here tonight,” she said in answer to a question. “We are taking a break from recording my next album,” she pressed herself against Vice’s side and pouted for a photo. “Mirage!” Someone from the roped off queue into the club called out her name and she excused herself to chat with her fans, posing for a selfie photo before returning to Victor and posing for another photographer. “Yes,” Victor answered a question thrown at him from the photographer’s ranks. “We are producing Mirage’s next album. It has an edgier sound than her previous albums, which w
“F-k!” Vice was breathless, and she thought that, like her, he was cresting on the edge of coming. She could feel the throb of him against her. Her lipstick stained his lips, and the sight of it smeared across his gorgeous mouth was so erotic that she shuddered, causing him to moan, his eyes going to half-mast. Victor lifted her off Vice’s lap and placed her handbag onto her lap, retrieving the makeup wipes and passing one to Vice along with the makeup compact. Victor took out her powder and brushed it lightly along her t-zone, before applying her lipstick for her, making the appropriate face at her as he painted her lips. Of course, she thought with a smile, they would know about makeup, too. Vice returned the compact to the handbag and shoved the makeup wipes into the bin. Victor adjusted her dress and met her eyes with a grin. “Perfect again,” he told her, his fingers brushing lightly across her cheek in a caress. He slid back into his seat as the limousine slowed to a crawl, e
Mirage checked her online profile and saw that her last photo with Vice and Victor was trending. As Aaron had suggested, she had been filling her online profiles with photos of her time in the studio, and selfies with Vice and Victor, sample clips of her music, and musical bloopers to entice her fans. And it was working. Combined with the professional photographs of their nights out clubbing, there was a huge hype building around her album, and the edgier sound and topic. She set the phone down on the hall table, flicked her hair out over her shoulders, and dropped her robe, draping it over the back of the couch where they sat around Vice’s laptop, as she walked towards the pool. “Holy f-k,” she heard Vice say, his voice dropping a decibel. She did not have to check to see if they followed her as she stepped out on the patio and strolled down the steps into the pool. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that they were shedding their clothing at almost manic speed. “A glass o
Mirage rolled onto her back beside Victor, and he rested his head against hers so that their hair tangled together. “Aaron is messaging me about touring,” she told him, looking up at the ceiling. “You and Vice have to work on your next album.” “Hmm,” he linked their hands. “We will work it out, Mira.” “Will we?” She wondered. “What is this exactly?” She asked the question hesitantly. It had lingered in the background since their night clubbing, but she had not dared to ask it, not wanting to hear the answer if it was not the one that she wanted to hear. “Have you ever heard of polyandry?” He asked, his tone quiet. “No,” she admitted. “It is when one woman and two or more men share a household,” he explained. “You might have heard of polygamists…” “Yes,” she frowned it was normally not a flattering term. “Well, this is it’s cousin. This isn’t… casual for us,” he rolled onto his side to face her. “We didn’t start this as… titillation, Mira. It is a relationship, not a casual f-k.
Mirage saw Mr Rich enter the dance studio in the mirror as she finished the track with her backing dancers. It was like being stabbed in the gut with an icy blade for him to appear so unexpectedly, cheerfully greeting those in her crew that he knew from previous tours, casual and easily confident, as if he had every right to be there. She took a drink from her water, and wiped herself off on her towel, ignoring him until he crossed the dance floor to her. “F-k off,” she told him, without looking at him. “You shouldn’t be here.” “Now, that is a bit hostile,” he replied smoothly. “You have had a bit of a bad attitude over the last twelve months, as your music demonstrates. Become a bit sour. You know what they say, sugar catches more flies than vinegar.” “I am not interested in flies. Buzz off.” “I am here as a favour, you would be wise to be more polite,” he leaned against the wall. “My car is out front. Join me for a meal, and we will talk business.” She rounded on him. “You thin