Hollywood Sinners

24



Round the corner on Santa Monica, The Hides were deep in session at the Blue Water recording studios. Nate had arrived in LA the previous week armed with enough material for five albums and, with the mutual focus that a new project brought, everything was coming together. The band was in sync and it felt good.

When Nate got a thumbs-up from the control room he called a band meeting and they all went outside for a cigarette.

‘I’ve got a suggestion,’ he said, flicking the top off a can of Pepsi.

Spencer, their lead guitarist, offered fags around. ‘Yeah? Let’s hear it.’

‘I want to change the name of the band.’

‘What?’ Chris spluttered, a Marlboro hanging limply from his mouth. ‘Why?’

‘Let me finish,’ Nate told his drummer. God, he was burning up in this leather jacket–but he had to keep it on, at least outside, in case the paps took any interest. ‘It’s a slight change, nothing really. You’ll barely notice.’

‘What is it?’ Spencer turned to Paul. Their bassist’s blank expression indicated he was way out of it. ‘Do you know?’

Paul wasn’t vocal at the best of times and shrugged disinterestedly. He was stoned. ‘Whatever. I don’t give a shit, man.’

Nate was exasperated. ‘You’re meant to give a shit,’ he said crossly. He was the only one who really cared about this band. Hence the name change.

‘Nate Reid and The Hides,’ he declared. Before anyone could butt in he went on, ‘I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and—’

‘What’s that?’ Felix Bentley, their producer, opened the studio door just in time to catch Nate’s suggestion. He wore a concerned expression.

Nate felt embarrassed–he’d wanted to sound the guys out first before getting Felix involved. ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled, hoping they’d just forget it.

But Spencer wasn’t letting go. ‘No way, man, no way. Every one of us is on a level–we said that from the start.’

‘And it’s not like …’ Chris shook his head. ‘I mean, you’re not, like … established, man. Isn’t that what people do when they’re … I dunno …’ He searched for the word before finishing, ‘Established?’

Nate made a face. ‘I am established.’

‘Yeah,’ Chris muttered, ‘as Chloe’s other half—’

‘What?’ Nate roared, a pellet of spit firing from his mouth.

‘Come on, guys, stick with it.’ Felix lit up. ‘We’re on the right track. No name changes.’

Felix Bentley was one of the most dynamic and innovative music producers in town. He was London-born and had moved to LA in his twenties. Always fond of going back to the big smoke, he had spotted The Hides at a private gig in Camden last year and had immediately got into talks with the guys’ record label. Felix was determined that the band would succeed in the US–their music was world-class, even if their lead singer was a bit of an acquired taste.

‘That’s kind of what I think,’ said Spencer.

‘Sure,’ said Nate, as casually as he could, ‘it was just an idea.’

‘You guys sounded good in there,’ said Felix, ‘seriously good. As far as I’m concerned we can expect big things from this album, with a little bit of work. So let’s focus, not get distracted.’

‘And now let’s get a beer,’ said Nate, deciding to call it a day. The others agreed, and after Felix had wrapped things up in the studio they caught a cab down to Venice.

On the way Nate’s thoughts turned to Chloe, who’d have landed this morning. How dare Chris imply she was more famous than him? It was a f*cking outrage. And it sure as shit wasn’t why he’d got together with her in the first place.

In truth he was pretty pissed off at his girlfriend coming to LA, had been looking forward to a bit of freedom. Recently it had become increasingly difficult–the press in London were way too on it. It was weird to be in a place where the names Nate Reid and Chloe French didn’t mean anything, at least not yet. It was liberating. He’d heard Californian chicks were wild and, damn it, he wanted to claim his share.

He supposed he ought to call her. After a few rings the line went dead. Ah, well, at least he’d made the effort.

Felix recommended a bar called Pellys that did the best draught lager he’d found. They got the drinks in and settled into a booth out back. After a while the conversation turned to Hollywood.

‘Actresses are the bollocks,’ supplied Paul, slumped in a corner. ‘Plus American chicks dig the accent, right?’

‘Apparently,’ said Chris, yawning. ‘Nate knows all about that.’

Nate gave his drummer the finger. Chris was referring to the disastrous night he had spent last year in the company of Jessica Bernstein, that snotty heiress from Vegas. She’d been a little raver in the sack but that could work both ways, as Nate had painfully learned when afterwards he hadn’t been able to walk properly for a week.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Felix turned to Nate.

‘Forget it,’ he sulked, still feeling a bit put out. ‘D’you know Chloe’s out here, trying to break into the industry? Like the rest of the world,’ he added cruelly.

Spencer looked confused. ‘She’s in LA?’

‘Yup.’

Chris whistled through his teeth. ‘You’re on a tight leash, my friend.’

‘Hardly,’ said Nate cockily. As if to prove a point, he delivered a wink to a buxom blonde standing at the bar.

‘Is she filming anything?’ asked Felix politely. He’d bumped into Chloe on a video shoot a few years back and remembered how friendly she was.

Nate shrugged. ‘Not sure,’ he said, but he buried the last bit in his beer.

Three hours and countless drinks later, Nate and Chris stumbled out of Pellys.

‘Let’s carry on the party at our place,’ said one of the girls. They had managed to pull two red-headed identical twins, one of whom was slightly more attractive than the other. Nate knew if it came to it then he’d get dibs on her–but who knew what kind of twisted shit twins liked to get up to.

‘Lead the way, ladies,’ said Chris, as the four of them piled into a cab.

The twins’ apartment in Westwood was sprawling and filled with girly possessions, most of which were strewn carelessly about the place. Nate decided they must be extremely rich. It was definitely a single ladies’ pad–skimpy bikini tops hung from the backs of chairs, floor-to-ceiling mirrors covered the walls, sun creams and perfume bottles lay open on their sides and an array of pastel knickers littered the floor. He smirked, imagining they must spend a lot of time walking around naked.

Within two minutes of entering the apartment, Slightly-Less-Attractive Twin dragged Nate down on to a sofa and pinned him with her elbows. ‘You’re so sexy!’ she snarled, attacking his mouth with hers, which was sticky with lip gloss.

Out the corner of his eye Nate saw that the same thing was happening to Chris, only Chris had managed to pull the prettier one. It was a funny thing, like his one’s features were exactly the same only a little bit … off centre. He needed to steer this thing back on track.

‘Whoa, whoa,’ he said, gently pushing her away. In response she peeled off her top and buoyantly sprang free. No bra needed there, then.

She looked across at her twin and the other girl did the same. They were giggling and touching themselves up at the same time, which was a weird combination.

Chris looked like a little boy in a sweet shop.

‘Let’s just cool it a minute,’ said Nate, producing some smoking paraphernalia from the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Smoke a little, chill a little.’

Slightly-Less-Attractive Twin pouted and reached for her top.

‘No need to do that,’ clarified Nate quickly.

‘Let’s all get totally naked!’ squealed the other one. Yes, she was definitely much prettier. Nate would have her later–if he quickly swopped them round he doubted Chris would know the difference anyway.

Chris, scarcely believing his luck, stood to unzip his jeans.

Nate paused in rolling the joint and made a ‘What the f*ck are you doing?’ gesture. His friend immediately sat back down.

God, Chris needed some serious tuition in the art of getting girls into bed–the trick was in keeping your cool, not giving away too much too soon. Deciding the same didn’t apply to the twins, he instructed them to remove the rest of their clothes.

It was pretty crazy, this seeing double malarkey. Both girls had identical bodies–there was no doubt their chests were surgically enhanced but the rest seemed real enough–apart from one having a mole to the left of her tummy button. Nate was pleased to see the cuffs matched the collar, which was definitely a turn-on. Yup, it was red-head all the way.

Chris was slack-jawed. It struck Nate that he didn’t get laid all too often.

After smoking a couple of joints one of the girls disappeared into the bedroom and emerged with a bag of coke. Things were looking up.

Several lines and lethal rum cocktails later, everyone was naked. Nate didn’t know any more which twin he was getting off with–at one point he might have been getting off with Chris-and he didn’t much care. His dick felt amazing: it was huge, a tower, the centre of the universe as the twins lapped at it and its length disappeared into one of their mouths, both, everyone’s. The rest of his body became a mere appendage to the pursuit of his cock, and the thought occurred that the rest of him might be shrinking as it grew and swelled, until he was nothing but a great big cock and that great big cock was set to take over the world.

Vaguely he was aware of Chris going down on one of the girls. Then the other one, or maybe it was the same one, was slipping a condom on, but it felt like it only covered the very top. Nothing was big enough to contain him. And, as he slid into heaven, he closed his eyes and gave himself up.

He was in America. He had arrived. And what Chloe French didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.