THE BUZZER ROUND

“BZZZZZZZ”. It was someone at the door. I grabbed the rape alarm and made my way to the apartment entrance. I had a peephole, I could see who was there, I didn’t need to let them in.

“BZZZZZZZ”. The doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by a series of loud raps.

Images of madmen who peeled skin from people’s faces with the same gay abandon as I would the skin from an apple whizzed through my mind. I could feel my mouth dry out and my heart start to bang against my ribcage like Black Rod on the door to the House of Commons. I was about to lose my nerve, to run for the phone and dial 999, screaming down the receiver for help….

“BZZZZZZZ”. The buzzer rang again. “Amanda, Amanda…..are you there……?”

The deep voice, the lilt of his Greek accent.

It was Nico!

My God it was my fella, my big strong fella … it was my Nico!

MAKE MY DAY … PSYCHO

With my mobile phone shattered into a million pieces on the floor in front of me I descended into alcohol. I was nearly through my second bottle of wine before I started to feel good again, to regain the strength I had felt earlier after crying on Tomas’ shoulder.
‘For God’s sake Amanda, pull yourself together’, I slurred to myself.

So finally, after two good bottles of Pinot Grigio I had filled myself with Dutch courage and was spoiling for a fight. Bring it on old lady, I’m ready for you!

I knew that I could have called Millie or Cassie or Helen or, for that matter, all of them and they would have been over faster than a soap star accepting an invite to a Leicester Square Premiere, but I wanted to handle this on my own.

For tonight at least.

I now wish that the I hadn’t smashed the phone, I was now wishing for it to ring again.

“Come on psycho, make my day, I’m ready for you!” I had found the rape alarm that Millie had given me last year and held it in my hand, if she had been able to call again I would have blasted it down the receiver … that would have been enough to blow out the cobwebs from her old, deaf ears, hopefully putting paid to her nuisance calls once and for all.

Armed and fuelled by booze, I sat sipping my wine and waiting .. for what I wasn’t sure … just waiting.


For some reason, the old ladies words rang through my head, echoed in my thoughts … there was something about what she was saying … something that was resonating with my inner being, something that seemed to make sense.

NO ONE DOES VOODOO LIKE YOU DO!

Cassie sat back and grabbed a second bottle of beer as she started to read through the email from her Grandmother.

As usual life was colourful and vibrant on the beautiful Caribbean Island of St. Lucia.

Cassie’s Grandmother was a pillar of the community; respected, loved … and maybe even a little bit feared Mamma Pascal, as she was known, was a force of nature.

Cassie sometimes mused as to why her parents had left the Carribbean, but deep down she always knew the reason. Where her Grandmother was outrageous, larger than life and charismatic, her father was quiet, thoughtful and precise. Although the two loved each other deeply they were like chalk and cheese and she supposed that it was inevitable that one day her Father would have to leave her Grandmother in order to make his own mark … in order to walk this earth on himself.

That was all incidental now, her Dad had died when Cassie was a teenager, a victim of a culture of alcohol and cars, a sad statistic leaving behind a broken and bereaved family.

Cassie read on through anecdotes of her West Indian family to stories of magic and voodoo.

Cassie always loved this bit the most, the fantastical places that her Grandmother’s imagination took her too were like a written treat to be savoured.

However, this time the tone differed from normal.

‘Cassie, my little Princess … as you know I have always been in possession of The Gift, something I was sorry to see I hadn’t passed on to your Father or to your brother Samson. However, you are the next female blood after me and it is time you knew. When you became a journalist with an incredible insight for a story I thought you may have guessed … but what with living in that cold climate and being restrained by European logic I should have known that you may not have been able to see the wood for the trees.

Cassie, my beloved, it is time for you to know … Cassie, my darling … it is time for you to realise your place in this world…..

THE BEAUTY IS A BITCH

Cassie’s head reeled, Justin Gonzalez?
She couldn’t stand the man.
Justin represented all that Cassie hated most in people.
Blessed with money and looks he had used his good fortune in the worst possible way.

Whilst his Father, Emmanuel, Amanda’s dead husband, had been an incredible man, his son could not have been more different.

His parents, Emmanuel Gonzalez and Alice Cadogan where one of the sixties brightest glamour couples. Emmanuel, incredibly handsome and incredibly rich had married Hollywood’s most ethereal beauty and their union had hit the headlines all over the globe.
The reality was somewhat different, Emmanuel did all that he could to look after his wife as her career faltered and she descended into alcoholism and drug abuse.
After three children, Justin and his older twin sisters Pia and Pauline, Emmanuel finally proceeded to divorce after he caught her, yet again, in flagrante with one of the staff.

However, ‘60’s America focused it’s eyes on this swarthy South American and his delicate blonde wife and granted her full custody and financial gain.

Emmanuel was never granted access.

Alice feed her children a diet of hate and bile … a viper’s nest in which the mother and her three foul offspring thrived.

Cassie had seen it all … seen how Justin had done everything to destroy Amanda after the death of his Father. He didn’t want the old man but he did want his money.

Amanda had walked away, head held high, the courts insisting that she take a paltry £20 million of her dead husbands £1.7 billion fortune.

Cassie had also seen Justin’s face when Amanda had been grated the money, she knew from Amanda that Justin had tried to bed her every time her saw her … she knew that at some point Justin would come to get what he thought was rightfully his.

As Cassie mused over this an email appeared in her in-box …. It was from her Grandmother in St. Lucia.

Cassie had always likened herself to this fabulous older woman, a huge character in her carribbean community, a huge character who indulged herself in the powers of magic and good voodoo.

Cassie opened her email, excitement written all over her face ……

WHEN IRISH EYES ARE SMILING

‘Helen? Helen is that you?’
Helen surpressed a giggle as she heard the familiar tones of her aged relative.

‘Talk into the receiver Auntie’, Helen replied, her Irish accent immediately strengthening as it always did when she spoke to family back home.

‘Helen, oh, thanks Goodness, I am so pleased to speak to you.’ The old dear had got the hang of it at last, she’d remembered to speak into the receiver.

Helen and her Aunt exchanged pleasantries … Aunt Maria recounting several tales of Helen’s childhood. ‘You were always a feisty girl, always stood apart from the pack … always a bit different … you showed us all didn’t you girl!’

Aunt Maria chuckled to herself, Helen could clearly picture her sipping away at her Paddy’s whisky and she spoke down the telephone.

‘ … yes, like me in so many ways’, Auntie Maria continued, ‘you weren’t going to settle for one of the local boys and motherhood by your mid-twenties, I always knew that …’

Whilst her Aunt chatted away Helen half listened whilst she finished selecting which picture of Babette she was going to use. Her final choice was a had the beautiful girl staring ahead in a very sensual pose, her lips moist and slightly parted, a cross between virgin and whore … very appropriate.

She picked it up and waved it at Chantelle who collected it and took it off to layout, this picture would now be reproduced over 400,000 times.

‘So, you may be wondering why I called …?’

Helen snapped back to her Aunt, ‘No, it’s lovely to hear from you, I’m so pleased everyone over there is fit and well, I really must come back soon ….’

‘I called Helen because, as you know for the years of ridicule I have endured, I have always been in possession of The Gift.’

‘Here we go’, thought Helen and she sat down, ready to endure the ramblings of an old mind.

‘I know you think I am a mad old bird’, Auntie Maria suddenly sound more rational, more sane than ever, ‘but I have been waiting a long time to tell you this and now the time has come. A great danger awaits you Helen, a great danger awaits not only you but your three closest friends. It is time for you to know the truth….’

Helen, it is time to understand your place in destiny …..!’

NAOMI, KATE … BEBETTE

Helen drew a large black line over several images of supermodel Bebette and pushed them to one side.

It was late, very late and, as usual she was still at work … the only people around being the night security, the cleaning staff and her ever loyal P.A. Chantelle DeBloom.

Once she had decided which of the images she was going to use of Bebette then the next edition of Chic was in the bag and ready to print.

Helen looked down at the image of the sultry brunette and shook her head – the last time she had seen Babette was at a Milan Fashion Show the young Australian beauty wasn’t quite the glamorous icon that would soon be staring down from yet another front cover on thousands of magazine rackes.

Babette’s nose was covered in white powder, her left breast had escaped from her dress and she was desperately attempting to unzip the pants and blow Manuel Perez, the Spanish Formula One tycoon.

It all got rather embarrassing and it took Helen to stand up to the plate and drag the girl kicking, screaming and shouting obscenities out of the party in order to save her from further embarrassment.

To date Helen had received an apology, a thanks … nada, rien, nothing … but then she hadn’t really expected one anyway.

‘Helen’ she looked up, Chantelle was in the doorway. Small, bubbly, vivacious and great fun, Chantelle lightened up any room she came into. Chantelle also got to feast on the hungry male suitors that fell by the wayside when Helen failed to respond to their hot and horny advances.

‘Helen, there’s a lady on the phone … a Mrs O’Donaghue … she says she’s your great Aunt’.

‘Aunty Maria?’ it had been ages since Helen had heard from her bohemian and charismatic relative.

Always considered the black sheep of the family the old spinster kept herself to herself.

Helen, however, had always got on well with the old lady … even if she did profess to have psychic powers and a hotline to the spirits on the other side.

‘Put her through’, said Helen a smile spreading on her face.

RED IS THE COLOUR OF DANGER

Cassie nursed the cold bottle of beer whilst she looked at the computer screen in front of her.

It was pitch black outside already.

‘Typical’, she thought to herself. As usual once she had immersed herself in her work she lost all track of time.

She sipped and her bottle before reading over the information she had compiled from the internet over the past couple of hours.

Trudie Hewitt – background

Media mogul and proprietor of Red Heat Publishing who’s catalogue includes many gossip and top shelf magazine titles.
Major expansion into internet and SMS pornography.
Connections with Amanda.

No apparent connections.
Except – Amanda, Oh! Withdrew advertising features in both Dish it! Magazine and Bikes, Babes and Beer (Both Red heat Titles) after Dish It! Ran libellous articles about Amanda having a nervous breakdown and requiring mental health treatment.

Trudie – Movements over past week.

From both pictures on the internet and media reporting Trudie has only just returned from New York where she has been attending a high powered summit of global media tycoons.
On the day Tomas was stabbed Trudie was giving a talk of profits from porn and viral marketing via the internet.

It was when Cassie sat back and reflected on this she noticed him.

In the picture of Trudie making her way into the auditorium in New York she suddenly spotted HIM standing behind her.

Cassie’s skin bristled into a myriad of goosebumps.

Standing behind Trudie was no other than Amanda’s stepson, the vile, repugnant and totally amoral Justin Gonzalez.