She had been usurped by Raphael and she was pissed off. Heading back down the road to her hotel, Calypso was surprised how she felt. She really liked Marco; in fact, she thought she could even love him. His parents loved her and, let’s face it, the sex was incredible. Now he seemed like a fawning loser. Fuck it, she thought as she went up to her hotel room. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.
After taking a long bath and drinking a chamomile tea, Calypso hopped into bed. It seems too big without Marco, she thought drowsily, as she dropped off to sleep.
She was woken by a loud knocking at the door. She opened her eyes and looked at the clock next to her bedside – 1.00 am. ‘Fuck!’ she said as she went to the door. ‘Who is it?’ she called, not fully awake.
‘Ciao, bella,’ she heard.
Marco! Padding over in the dark, she stubbed her toe on a chair. ‘Oww,’ she cried, hopping on one foot. Opening the door, her foot throbbing in pain, she hobbled back to the bed and jumped under the covers, lying on her stomach. ‘It’s late, don’t talk to me. I have to be up in three hours,’ she said as she started to drop off to sleep again.
She heard him undressing and felt the covers pull back and him start to caress her back. ‘Hmm, that’s nice, but I’m really tired, baby.’
He continued, rubbing her back and buttocks. She felt her legs spread open involuntarily. He placed his fingers down between her thighs and started to feel her. She was wet and ready. Climbing on top of her, he entered her from behind, slowly thrusting and grinding. ‘Mmmmm,’ she said sexily.
He pulled her up onto her knees and then leant down and held her breasts, fucking her harder and harder until Calypso felt uncomfortable. He started to slap her ass and pulled back on her hair. ‘Yeah, puttana, you like it!’ he cried.
And then he came. Calypso turned around, shocked. In the darkness, she could just make out that it was not Marco who had just fucked her but Raphael. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she screamed. ‘Oh my God!’ She started to cry, pulling the bed sheet up around her.
Raphael got up off the bed, the semen dripping from his cock. ‘What do you mean? You knew it was me when you opened the door naked.’
‘I thought you were Marco,’ she said, crying on the bed.
‘Well, Marco said you were a great fuck and he was right. He said the American puttana will do anything. I like American girls.’
‘Get out, get out! I’m calling the police, get out!’
Raphael picked up his clothes. ‘You liked it,’ he said arrogantly.
‘Get out!’ she yelled again and threw him out into the hallway naked.
She sat back on the bed, sobbing. She knew she should call the police but she could not deal with the intrusion. Once the press got wind of this in America she would be exposed as a slut and her career ruined. She started to shake, uncontrollably. Who could she ring? Not her mother. Maybe Rose or Kelly?
The thought of being on set with him in the morning made her start to vomit. She rushed to the bathroom but didn’t make it, throwing up all over the floor next to the bed. Picking up her phone, she dialled the one number she knew would answer.
‘Hello? TG? I need you.’
CHAPTER TEN
Aware she had spent much of her time in Italy by herself, Sapphira was looking forward to meeting her co-star. Jack Reynolds was a big star. He was a renowned bachelor who spent part of the year in LA and part in Italy. Speaking flawless Italian, he was a spokesperson for Brioni suits and Longines watches, and had been voted Sexiest Man of the Year for the past three years. Jack was the male equivalent of Sapphira, according to one of the biggest gossip magazines back in the States. He worked only when he wanted to and chose his projects carefully. The role TG had offered him was perfect – a script which promised to create celluloid history, acting opposite one of the biggest female stars of the time and shooting in his beloved adopted country was an offer Jack could not pass up.
His affairs always made the news and he had dated many beautiful young women from all over the world, always brunettes and never for longer than a year. He never spoke about his love life, instead making witty and occasionally ironic comments about the celebrity fascination and culture. He was due on set that morning. Jack arrived on time and chatted freely with the crew, switching from Italian to English effortlessly. Sapphira came on to the set, walking like a panther and as if Jack was her prey.
‘Hello, I’m Sapphira De Mont. I’m surprised we haven’t yet worked together.’
‘Jack, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sapphira.’ He looked at her bemused, and stuck out his hand for her to shake it.
She leaned over and kissed each cheek while pressing herself against him. He stood, his head cocked to one side, his greying temples glinting in the sun.
‘Well, let’s get to work,’ he said and turned on his heel and walked to TG, where he proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes discussing character and plot.
For all his playboy reputation, Jack was a professional in every sense of the word, and when Sapphira sat in the make-up chair, she wondered about his reaction to her.
‘Is Jack dating anyone?’ she asked Kelly as she dabbed on her pancake base.
‘Nope, just broke up with a Swiss TV presenter. No word from her yet. I thought she may sell her story to National Enquirer and the like, but I haven’t heard a thing.’
Sapphira’s reputation preceded her, and Kelly and Chris had a bet on to see how long before Sapphira and Jack were an item, at least for the remaining duration of the shoot.
Sapphira wondered if perhaps Jack was heartbroken. Not fucking likely, she thought.
Walking into the trailer, Jack kissed Kelly, whom he had worked with before and sat next to Sapphira. She knew she looked good in the chair, make-up flawless and artfully applied. Her hair was long and out. She was wearing a strapless black dress, showing off her tattoos and her tanned skin. She was the kind of woman who knew what she wanted and Jack was in her sights. She smiled at him in the mirror. He smiled back and pulled out a copy of the local newspaper, La Nazione and started to read it, much to Sapphira’s shock.
The assistant director knocked on the door. ‘All ready, Sapphira? TG wants to do your close-up, then Jack’s. We’ll be ready for you.’
‘See you then,’ said Jack from the depths of his paper.
Sapphira stood up, unnerved. Heading onto the set, she went through the motions of the close-up, standing patiently while they sorted out the angles and focus measurements for the camera. I’ll just have to work harder, she thought, having never yet given up on a challenge. This is what she felt the best at, luring her man in on her long line.
TG came on set soon after with Jack and talked them through their first scene. They were inside the Villa and in the kitchen set. ‘Ok, so I need you, Sapphira, to have your bare feet up on the table and Jack, you come in. Sapphira, your eyes are shut for this scene. You are worn out from working on the Villa all day. Jack, you rub her shoulders and then you say the lines. Want to rehearse it first for marks?’
‘Nope,’
