‘Look,’ said Lucy, although in a much subdued tone. ‘There’s Peregrine.’
And so he was, immaculate as ever in the finest tailoring, modified for the California heat, deep in conference with a bearded guy in a baseball cap.
‘He’s the director,’ said Richard. ‘He did Zombie Dawn.’
‘Oh, I loved that,’ said Lucy, clamping her thighs together. The heat had made its inevitable way between them.
‘Did you? Load of crap,’ sniffed Rob.
‘Don’t say that to him,’ cautioned Richard.
‘Of course I won’t.’
Peregrine looked up and saw them. There was no enthusiastic wave or hastening up to greet them, but he nodded and gave a slightly imperious toss of his head, beckoning them over.
Lucy felt every eye on her, from the leading actors to the best boy grip, and burned with shame, sure that each one of them knew she was plugged and gagging for sex. Richard and Rob strode confidently, making her speed up to an uncomfortable pace so that she shuffled along with tiny, fast steps.
‘Richard,’ proclaimed Peregrine. ‘How wonderful to see you. And Robert, of course. And not forgetting Lucy. I hope you’ve been behaving yourself, young lady.’
His stern expression made her squirm all the more. He knew. He had to know.
‘Fat chance,’ laughed Richard.
‘I hope you’re keeping her well in hand.’
‘Oh yes.’ Richard smiled rakishly, causing Peregrine to unbend too.
‘So this is Hollywood,’ he said. ‘And you’re welcome to it.’
‘Aren’t you enjoying it?’
‘No. Can’t smoke a fucking cigarette anywhere. But apart from that, I suppose it’s not the worst place.’
‘Not the worst place?’ Rob was bemused. ‘You’ve fallen on your feet.’
‘Into a septic tank, dear boy. Anyway, it’s marvellous to see you all. We’ve just one more scene to shoot, then we can go back to my hacienda. Do find yourselves a seat. Must dash: something I need to tell our esteemed director.’
Lucy found a vacant chair against the back wall and lowered herself painstakingly into it, grateful that Peregrine wasn’t witness. He would certainly guess immediately what was afoot. Richard and Rob watched avidly enough, though, the gits.
She fidgeted and fought to keep her breath from erupting into gasps for the next ten minutes while her lovers sat on either side of her, each holding one of her hands.
‘Where’s Miss Britt’s PA?’ someone shouted, causing Lucy to look over in the direction of the query.
Celia Britt, as glacially beautiful in the flesh as on film, was having her face powdered and her lipstick reapplied at the side of the set.
‘Mimi?’ bellowed the questioner again.
‘Oh, there she is!’ Lucy exclaimed, seeing Emma flit across the studio towards the star of the show.
She entered into an urgent-looking conversation with Celia before nodding her head and running back the other way.
‘Emma!’ called out Lucy, wanting to take back her mistake straight away.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ growled Richard, while Rob tutted loudly.
But Emma had heard her and looked over, pale as milk and haunted of eye, until she saw who had called her.
‘Sorry,’ muttered Lucy, squirming violently. The menthol coating of the plug was moving into its most diabolical phase.