Front Man: One Night in Paris Read online

  As the door clicked shut, Jack let his head sink into his hands. He had never felt so alone in his whole life.

  ***

  Sara felt self-conscious as she approached the check in desk. Half way to the airport, she had almost told the cab to turn around...all this was just too crazy to be true. But then, she never thought she'd get to meet Jack Carter...so maybe crazy dreams come true some times. She smiled at the pretty blonde behind the counter and held out her passport.

  “There, um, should be a ticket for collection.”

  The attendant examined her details and the computer screen for a few moments, before breaking into a brilliant smile.

  “Ah yes, here we are Madam. One first class ticket to Paris via London, leaving on the 1.30. No checked luggage? Okay, if you follow this corridor through security, then you'll just need to show your boarding card to access the Gold Lounge. Have an excellent flight.”

  Sara read and reread the ticket in her hand. First class? Wow. She didn't even like to think what that had cost. Looking down at her faded skinny jeans and comfy sweatshirt, she wished she'd dressed up a little more. With a wry grin, she pulled her sunglasses out of her bag and put them on, checking out her reflection in a pane of glass. There, now she could be mistaken for an off-duty celebrity, dodging the paparazzi. Was this what Jack's life was like all the time, she wondered? No, they probably travelled by private jet. Hauling her weekend bag over her shoulder, Sara made her way towards security.

  Leaning back in her enormous, plush seat, Sara felt like pinching herself. This really was the way to travel. The first class seats were divided into little cabins, with private televisions and fully flat beds. The friendly stewardess had provided a glass of champagne along with a refreshing hot towel, before pointing out her copy of the extremely extensive food menu. Compared to her usual cramped seat on a budget airline, this felt like another world. Sara kept wondering when someone would find her out and escort her back to economy, and found herself scanning her ticket for the little note that said 'First.' Her companions in paradise were mostly fifty something guys in expensive Italian suits, who seemed to take no pleasure in the experience whatsoever. Thirty minutes into the flight, most of them were either tapping furiously on their laptops, or had downed some prescription sedatives with their champagne and passed out. It occurred to Sara that even luxury could get boring eventually. There were a couple of interesting passengers though. One was an elderly lady with a Russian sounding accent, whose makeup had to be at least an inch thick, and who tottered onto the plane atop six inch red stilettos. The other, whose cabin was separated from Sara's by a sliding partition, was a guy in his mid-twenties who could have stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger ad. From his piercing blue eyes to his strong, tan jawline, he was six feet 2 inches of all-American hunk. The stewardesses were extremely attentive to all the first class passengers, but they spent extra time hovering by his cabin, batting their eyelashes as they offered refreshments.

  Sara settled in with a romantic comedy, nibbling at a tray of assorted snacks that was perched on the small side table. Soon the warmth of the cabin and the comfy seat took their toll, and despite her intentions to savour the experience, she soon drifted off to sleep.

  In her dream, Sara was walking down an endless corridor. The thick carpet felt soft beneath her bare feet. The walls were lined with doors, each one numbered, but somehow she sensed that none of these was the one she was looking for. Sara realized she was dressed only in her favourite black lace underwear, but she didn't feel cold. As she passed by another set of doors, they swung open, and she felt a prickle on the back of her neck, like someone was watching her. But the door frame was dark and empty. Sara carried on down the hallway, picking up speed as she felt a growing sense of urgency building in the pit of her stomach. Eventually she was running, aware only that she had to reach the end of the corridor, not sure what she was hurrying towards. The hall seemed to stretch as she sprinted along it, the end always just out of sight. Then all of a sudden, the door seemed to rush towards her, and she stopped dead. This door was larger than the others, painted a deep shade of blood red. It didn't have a number. Instinctively, Sara raised her hand and knocked. She heard the sound of shuffling on the other side, as if someone was hauling themselves up to answer her. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with anxiety, as if something hideous might be lurking behind the door, ready to pounce on her. Yet she remained rooted to the spot. It was too late to go back. The handle turned, and the door swung open agonizingly slowly. At first, there was only darkness. Then the light came on behind Jack, who was leaning against the door frame, wearing only his tight, faded jeans. Wordlessly, she fell into his arms,. His hands roamed over her skin, as if he wanted to familiarize himself with every last part of her. Winding her hands in his hair, she pulled his lips toward her, thrusting her tongue roughly into his mouth until she felt him respond. She started as his teeth sank into her bottom lip, pain and pleasure mingling until her senses were on fire. His hands were on her breasts, kneading them roughly, pinching her nipples into hard little points. As his hard cock nudged the soft curls of her pubic hair, she realized their garments had had somehow melted away, but she was past the point of caring about anything except his touch. Jack wrapped his strong arm around her waist, and they fell together onto the carpet, sinking down into it's softness. She relished the sensation of his weight bearing down on her, rendering her entirely helpless. Sara gasped as the head of his stiff member pressed against her entrance, stretching her opening as he slid deep inside her. She felt filled, consumed by him entirely, and already intense waves of pleasure were coursing through her. Sarah moaned as a monumental orgasm gripped her, every muscle in her body trembling as she came harder than she ever had before. At the same time she heard Jack moan into her ear. Then, as the pleasure began to subside, that moan transformed into almost a sob, a sound so filled with pain that it brought tears to Sara's eyes. She felt him slip out of her arms and slide, limp, to the floor, his strong frame and proud muscles withering beneath her hands.

  "Jack!" she screamed at him, but he seemed not to hear her. His face was ashen, all the light gone from his eyes, as if his very spirit was slipping away. Sara tried to grab him, screaming his name, but to no avail. He seemed to become a ghost, slipping through her fingers, away from, back towards the darkness of that mysterious room. As she ran towards the doorway, still calling for him, the door slammed shut with a resounding crack

  Sara jolted awake, still breathing heavily. The cabin lights were dimmed.

  "The captain has switched on the fasten seat belt sign. Please return to your seats and have your belt securely fastened."

  With sweaty fingers, Sara fumbled for her lap belt, the pervading sense of anxiety still causing her heart to beat too fast.

  "Hey there, are you OK?"

  Sara whipped round, and saw that the handsome guy in the next seat had lowered the divider between them. She hadn't realized you could lock them shut. She blinked stupidly at him, still half asleep, her mouth incapable of forming words.

  "Sorry didn't mean to intrude...just, you were making some pretty strange noises."

  Sara flushed, hoping it hadn't been too obvious what she was dreaming about. What if the rest of the plane had heard? It didn't bear thinking about

  "Oh no, was I? I'm sorry, I must have been dreaming. I hope I didn't disturb you."

  "Not at all," he replied, flashing a killer smile. There was a hint of the South in his accent, and his voice had a honeyed softness to it that perfectly complimented his chiseled good looks. Wow, Sara thought, he must have to beat women off with a stick

  "I was just trying to decide what to order for lunch," he continued, "or is it dinner? Maybe tomorrow's breakfast for all I know, I get confused with all these changing time zones."

  Sara smiled, feeling the overwhelming sadness of her dream start to fade away.

  "You look like you need a drink," the handsome stranger said, signalling to the stewardess as he spoke. She l
ooked up pointedly at the fasten seat belt sign, but just at that moment it switched off

  "Perfect timing," he said with a grin, "a glass of champagne for the lovely lady, and I'll have a red wine. And the steak, please." He turned back to Sara. "Steak seems a fairly safe bet, whatever meal this turns out to be. Although if it is breakfast, the wine might be a problem. Just don't tell my therapist."

  He scooped the champagne flute off the proffered tray and handed it to Sara, before clinking his glass against hers.

  "Lovely to meet you, Miss..."

  "Sara. Sara Lansbury."

  "Chris Gray," he said, offering his hand. Sara couldn't help smiling as she shook it.

  "Yes, I know. I've thought about changing it ever since those darn books came out. But it's Christopher, for starters, and I'm only a millionaire. Not hit my first billion quite yet."

  Sara couldn't be sure if he was joking or not, and she didn't like to ask.

  "I am excellent in the sack though," he added, with a wink. Sara almost choked on her champagne."So, Sara, are you a member of the mile high club?” This guy wasn't pulling any punches. Unsure how to respond, Sara merely stared, which he apparently took as a cue to continue talking.

  “There's no greater thrill, you know...sneaking into the bathroom, the fear of being caught. You could even do it in one of these compartments I bet...one of the little perks of travelling First. There's quite a scene, you know. Lots of regular business travellers who like to mix things up. Certainly makes long haul more interesting, if you know what I mean.” He leaned towards her, and Sara caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath. “Why don't you and I, uh, get to know each other a little better?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I'll meet you in the right hand bathroom in ten. I'll go first, make it less obvious.”

  “I have a boyfriend.” Sara said curtly. Even if that was only true in her dreams.

  “This Jack guy? You certainly sounded pretty mad at him just now.”

  Sara blushed again. She couldn't believe she'd been talking in her sleep, it was just so embarrassing.

  “Don't worry sweetheart, he'll never find out. What happens up here, stays up here, you know?” He winked at her as he slid out of his seat, and Sara suppressed a shudder. She waved down an approaching stewardess.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes madam?”

  “Um, how do you lock these dividers? I was thinking of taking a nap.”

  “Just push the button to raise the partition, then when it's fully closed, slide it forward to lock. Would you like anything else, a blanket perhaps?”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  Securely enclosed in her compartment, safe from even the most handsome of creeps, Sara snuggled down under the soft blanket. Still four hours to their destination. She sighed with frustration. As comfortable as First Class was, she just wanted to be in Paris already. Just wanted to see Jack, and make sure he was okay. Between the desperation in his voice and the chilling images of her dream, she was increasingly anxious to be with him. Her intuition told her he really needed somebody, and she was happy to be there.

  Despite her best efforts, and a glass of wine, sleep refused to come. A young flight attendant came round with a tray of coffee, and Sara gratefully accepted a cup, along with a copy of the paper. She flicked through idly as she sipped her drink, barely taking in any of the words. As her eyes scanned the pictures, she stopped. There was Jack, staring out at her from the fourth page. It was no surprise to see him in the papers, but the headline was like a punch in the gut. “STAR'S DRUG SHAME – Compass singer's dealing past exposed.” No, Sara thought immediately, surely not. There had to be some sort of mistake. She knew Jack, he wasn't capable of something like this. Desperate to disprove the headline, she devoured the rest of the article.

  “Shocking photos have revealed the dark past of Compass star Jack Carter. The photographs, provided by an anonymous source, were taken at notorious druggie hangout Delano's, which shut down following a police raid in 2009. Some of the images were too shocking to publish, but in the picture above Carter can clearly be seen handing drug paraphernalia to a young girl, who experts say appears to be underage. In others, Carter himself also appears intoxicated, although not as intensely as his younger companions. The anonymous source reported that Carter was a regular visitor to Delano's, and had a group of regular 'customers' who he provided with substances including heroin and methamphetamine. While a police spokesman declined to comment on the quality of the evidence against Carter, he did reveal that ' authorities take such accusations extremely seriously, especially when they involve someone who is a role model to many vulnerable young people.' Carter's team have refused to speak to the press, leading some to speculate that they are unable to refute these allegations.”

  Sara flung the paper back onto the table. She felt sick. The girl in the picture looked younger than Sara's own teenage sister, but she was dressed more like a hooker in hot pants and a tube top. There was a vacant smile on her face as she accepted the pipe from Jack. In another, he was passing her a small plastic bag filled with suspicious white powder. Sara remembered the Delano's raid. The owners had created a drug den, where junkies lingered and dealers paid off the management. It was only when a sixteen year old girl had almost died of an overdose that the authorities had been able to move in. A lot of people had gone to jail, she remembered. Did Jack belong with them? She couldn't believe it. He was too kind. He cared to much. Yet the camera never lies...Why hadn't he told her what was going on? Had he hoped somehow that she wouldn't find out? Part of Sara wished she could turn the plane around. Though she was sure the accusations were false, she felt like Jack had lied to her. Dragged her all the way to France on false pretences. She didn't know what she was going to say to him. She felt tears sting her eyes, and wiped them away on her sleeve. Pull yourself together, she told herself silently. If this was how she was feeling, she could only imagine how Jack felt.

  ***

  The rain hadn't stopped. Jack listened to it's constant patter on the window, willing it to soothe him to sleep. All he wanted now was to slide into unconsciousness, and forget about everything for a little while. At times like this, he could almost understand...but no, drugs were never the answer, even when alcohol failed to numb the pain. Both only made things worse in the long run, and the sensible part of him knew that. He just hoped that part could hang on long enough to get through this. He'd turned the television on in the hope it would distract him from him own thoughts, but nothing seemed to work. He saw Laura everywhere, and the powerful guilt mingled with his desperate sense of loss. Maybe Jared was right. Maybe he should just come clean, let the world know what their hero was really like. Just a jerk who lets everyone down. Especially the person who needed him the most. Jack's Dad had been a real piece of work, drunk from morning till night, with zero interest in providing for his wife and kids. Late at night, Jack would hear his mother crying after he'd slapped her around again. Tears sprang to Jack's eyes as he remembered his poor mother, whose only crime was to marry the wrong man, covering her bruises with long sleeves and turtle necks. Trying to keep them fed and clothed with what little money she earned at her supermarket job. Bill Carter had finally made himself scarce when Jack was eighteen, and they hadn't heard from him since. But the cancer that would kill her was already growing inside his mother, who didn't trust doctors, and died in his arms only days after he dragged her to the hospital. Then it was just Jack and Laura. His beautiful little sister was all he had left in the world. And I let her down, Jack thought to himself, letting the tears flow freely down his cheeks. He flung the remote at the TV, only his poor aim saving the screen from cracking. He couldn't stay cooped up in that goddamn hotel room any longer. He opened his door just a crack, scanning the hallway for Jared, reporters, or just nosey hotel staff. The corridor was empty. Without stopping to grab a jacket, Jack slipped out of the room and made a dash for the back stairs.

  ***

  Sara's first vi
ew of Paris was not quite how she had imagined it. The buildings were blurry shapes through the grubby windows of the airport taxi. It was starting to grow dark, and the rain pelted mercilessly against the window. The taxi (or was it the driver?) smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. They crawled along through the traffic, every move punctuated by beeping horns, and the occasional angry gesture from passing cyclists. Sara gripped the edge of her seat, trying to contain her impatience. All she wanted was to see Jack and get to the bottom of everything, but she was trapped on this interminable journey. At last, she spotted the bright facade of the hotel in the distance; they were only two blocks away, but the city was gridlocked. She could easily spend another twenty minutes in the cab.

  "Forget it," Sara cried, exasperated, "I'll just walk. How much do I owe you?" The cab driver responded with a barrage of thickly accented French. Sara had no idea what he was trying to tell her, but he sounded annoyed. She wished she was better at languages.

  "How much? I'll pay you...um, combien? Euros?"

  With a scowl, the driver pointed at the meter, conveniently tucked away just out of her line of sight. With a sigh, Sara pulled out her envelope of hastily purchased travel money, and added on a generous tip. She thrust the notes at the driver, who merely nodded, and hauled herself and her small suitcase out onto the sidewalk. Within a few steps she was already soaking wet, water running down the back of her neck and sending shivers down her spine. Tired and worried, Sara felt like crying. But she steeled herself and marched down the street, weaving her way through the sea of umbrellas.

  The receptionist wrinkled her nose as a wet, bedraggled heap emerged from the revolving doors, almost tripping over it's own suitcase. Sara slunk towards the desk, leaving brown marks on the impeccable tiles. She blushed as she pushed her hair away from her face and attempted a smile.