some of the most well-known faces in Australia and subsequently some of the most sought-after performers.
His biggest success story back then had been Jessica Mason, a country-and-western performer in her late twenties, who’d once won a ‘Golden Guitar’ in her late teens, but had languished in mediocrity ever since. She’d also gained about twenty kilos in that time. James didn’t change her name, though he shortened her first name to Jessie and left off the last. He personally supervised her diet and exercise programme till she was back to her optimum weight of fifty-two kilos, allowing her very good figure to emerge once more. Her long mass of rather ratty blonde hair was dyed jet-black and her wardrobe was changed from fringed suede vests and cowboy boots to long, flowing skirts, low-cut tops and jewelencrusted sandals.
Her first album—titled ‘Barefoot Gypsy’—had one of the sexiest covers ever produced, with Jessie standing next to a camp fire in a flamenco-style pose, with her skirt lifted high to expose a lot of hip and thigh, her head thrown back so that her wild black curls flowed down her back and her obviously braless breasts thrust up high against the gauzy white blouse she was almost wearing.
The album had gone gold within days; platinum within weeks. Years later it was still selling. Of course, this wasn’t entirely due to the provocative cover, though it played a big part. The songs on the CD backed up the promise of the packaging, being moody and sexy, with great lyrics and throbbing rhythms.
‘You still have to deliver,’ James was quoted as saying when he was accused of selling sex. ‘My singers can sing, and my actors can act. The trouble with the entertainment industry is that the truly talented don’t always get the opportunity to show what they can do. I give my people that opportunity by promoting them in a way which gets them noticed.’
It was inevitable that James would eventually extend his business interests into the advertising industry.
‘Products aren’t much different from people,’ he was also quoted as saying in another article after he’d started up Images Advertising. ‘They require an image to be successful, as do companies. Come to me and I’ll guarantee to increase your sales in six months, or I’ll give you your money back.’
This extremely bold statement had seen stressed sales and marketing managers flocking to James to perform his magic. And perform it he had, with the help of the highly creative, lateral-thinking staff he’d hired.
By the age of thirty James had become a multimillionaire and something of a playboy. The internet threw up hundreds of photographs of him doing what playboys did during their leisure hours: there were snapshots of him at the races, at movie premieres, at swish charity dos and golfing tournaments; on yachts, driving sports cars and relaxing in five-star resorts.
Most of the photographs showed James with a different dolly-bird on his arm. It came as a surprise to the Press when, at the age of thirty-two, he married Jackie Foster, the Australian supermodel. He’d been tabbed to stay a swinging bachelor for a few more years.
Megan had only felt minor jealousy over James’s earlier girlfriends. They were way in the past, after all. But she’d taken one look at the photographs of James’s first wedding day and realised she had a long way to go before her bridal snaps would even compare. Jackie Foster had made a simply stunning bride.
Megan still wasn’t jealous. James had done a good job of convincing Megan she was what he wanted, not Jackie Foster. Suddenly, however, she’d not been happy with the way she looked. The least she could do was make the best of herself. So she’d turned to a fashion guru for help—not her overly critical mother!—and been very pleased with the result. She’d swanned down that aisle on her own wedding day believing she was truly beautiful, and also believing that she had her husband-to-be’s true love.
‘What a fool I was,’ she muttered as she picked up a piece of toast and gave it a savage bite.
What hadn’t she believed back then?
Thinking about her husband’s lies and deceptions stirred up a hornets’ nest of anger inside Megan. Some directed at James, but most directed at herself. She should have confronted him with the truth at the hospital, when the hurt had been fresh in her mind, and in her heart. She should not have left it.
It was too late now. She was trapped, not just by her unrequited love for the man, but also by her renewed desire for him. She wanted to go on that second honeymoon with him quite desperately. Wanted him to make love to her for days on end. No use pretending differently. No use thinking she was going to do or say anything which would stop that from happening.
Standing up, Megan walked over to the easel and lifted the dust cloth from the painting. What she saw there still had the power to shock her…but also to excite her.
The phone ringing startled Megan. Impossible for James to be in his office yet. He’d only left ten minutes earlier. Of course, he could be ringing her from his car phone, but she didn’t think so. He didn’t do that too often.
Megan winced at the thought it might be her mother, wanting to know the ins and outs of Hugh’s wedding. She’d rung last night as Megan had been undressing for bed. Megan had put her off at the time, saying she had a headache.
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