The Power Trip

Ashley seized the opportunity to say something that was always lurking in the back of her mind. ‘I suppose you really loved me when you were having sex with that big-titted slag,’ she spat, her voice filled with venom.

‘Ashley,’ he said, groaning. ‘That was years ago. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? That girl meant nothin’ to me. I’ve told you a million times.’

‘A million times isn’t enough,’ Ashley muttered, still holding onto a major grudge. ‘How would you like it if that had been me in bed with some bloke? How would that grab you?’

‘You wouldn’t do it. Anyway, I trust you.’

‘Yes,’ she snorted. ‘And I trusted you, and look where that got me.’

How had their conversation veered so off-track? Every so often, Ashley brought up the one time he’d been unfaithful, but why was she doing it tonight?

Best to stay silent and let her vent.

Which she did.

Non-stop.

All the way home to Hampstead.

Chapter Nine

Flynn Hudson had a few things to take care of, two or three hard-hitting pieces to write, several follow-up calls, and a decision to make.

Aleksandr Kasianenko — an old friend from back in the day — had invited him on what seemed like it might be a spectacular trip. He’d been invited with a guest, and therein lay the problem. Who to bring with him? And even more importantly — did he want to bring anyone at all?

Certainly not one of his casual girlfriends who were available for light relief and nothing else, which was one thing he always made clear up front before he slept with them. Flynn did not care to have any broken hearts on his conscience. He knew what a broken heart felt like only too well. He’d experienced the pain, abandonment and downright misery that came with heartbreak, albeit a long time ago, but the feeling of loss had never really left him.

Yes. True heartbreak existed. And Flynn knew all about it, so he was always careful to warn women that if they were after anything more than a casual fling, he was not the man for them.

As he thought about who to take, one name came to mind — Xuan — an exquisite Asian, who was quite beautiful, strong-minded and conveniently more into women than men.

Xuan would definitely get a kick out of such a trip, and he would enjoy her company — he always did.

Xuan was a fellow journalist who’d escaped from a Communist regime when her parents were accused of being spies, then taken away and brutally murdered for their supposed crimes.

Xuan had arranged to get herself smuggled out of Communist China eleven years previously, and like Flynn, her special talent was writing about the injustices in a world gone crazy. They’d bumped into each other over the years in many different countries, and formed a close non-sexual friendship, a friendship which suited both of them.

Flynn knew many of her stories, how she’d been gang-raped on her way out of China, then rescued by a man who’d kept her locked up and beaten. After a devastating miscarriage, she’d made another daring escape, going months with hardly any food — begging for sustenance along the way — until eventually she’d reached Hong Kong where she’d been taken in by distant relatives.

The difficulties of trying to make a life for herself had not been easy. But Xuan was strong: she’d prevailed and finally forged a career for herself as a fearless journalist.

After mulling it over, Flynn sent her a text inviting her. Together, exploring the extraordinary lifestyles of the rich and overly privileged could be an extremely memorable experience, one from which they might both benefit.

Or not.

It didn’t matter. At least it would be a welcome change from the horrors of the world they’d both seen up close.

Flynn waited for Xuan to respond. He hoped it would be a resounding yes.

* * *

In a small hotel room in Saigon, Xuan and her sometime lover, Deshi, lay on the bed fully sated, a ceiling fan whirling noisily above them. The sex had been satisfying, although not mind-blowing by any means. However, Xuan found Deshi to be an intelligent man with — even more important — interesting tidbits of information about government activity that he let slip her way. Conveniently, Deshi happened to work for the government.

Sexually Xuan preferred women, although when the occasion called for it she was not averse to bedding down with a man. Information was information, and Xuan gathered it any way she could.

Her cell phone bleeped, indicating a text. She leaned across Deshi to reach it, her small breasts grazing his chest.

Deshi took this as an indication that maybe there was more sex in his future. To his disappointment it was not to be.

Xuan read Flynn’s message. She was pleased to hear from her friend. Of all the knowledgeable and attractive men she knew, Flynn was number one. A solid guy with admirable values and an adventurous spirit.

The first time they’d run into each other, she’d told him she was bi-sexual, leaning towards the female sex. She was determined there would be no sexual tension messing up a friendship that she’d sensed could be quite precious. She was right. Sex had never interfered with their close relationship.

Now Flynn was inviting her on a trip.

How nice.

With rich people. Insanely rich people, because she knew who Aleksandr Kasianenko was. Everyone knew who Aleksandr Kasianenko was — the Russian billionaire steel magnate with the famous super-model girlfriend, Bianca.

How intriguing.

To go or not to go? She would have to think about it.

‘Anything important?’ Deshi enquired.

‘Nothing that cannot wait until later,’ Xuan said.

In a few hours she would respond. It was not something she felt obliged to make an instant decision about.

Chapter Ten

Cliff Baxter happened to be a much-loved movie star. He had his faults, but overall he was the consummate professional, very aware of the people who worked on his movies, always making sure they were well taken care of. He considered his stand-in, Bonar, a loyal friend — they’d worked together for a solid twenty-five years, ever since Cliff’s first big break in the 1987 movie Fast Times on the Fast Track, a film about a marathon runner and his dysfunctional family.

Cliff had hit pay dirt on that one. At the time he was young, virile and hot — very hot. Plus he could really act. The director had liked him and pushed him to do some great work. To his delight and surprise he’d gotten his first Oscar nomination. He hadn’t won, but what else was new?

He’d been nominated three times since then, only won once. Better than not winning at all.