On Monday Raven turned up unannounced at their gate as was his habit. Victor went to greet him at the door as Vice and Mirage were already in the pool, and watched as the lean, black-haired, sharply featured man got out of the crappy silver sedan he was driving. Raven looked rough even by his normal standards with a week’s worth of stubble on his face and shadows under his eyes, but he grinned widely, revealing a flash of strong white teeth against his olive complexion, upon seeing Victor. “If you offer me coffee, I am not responsible for my reaction,” Raven said. “What?” Victor raised an eyebrow and realised that he was teasing him about the manbun he was wearing and the beard he had been growing in. He stroked his beard between his forefinger and thumb. “You don’t like the beard? Apparently, they are the current fashion, and it doesn’t raise a rash on Mirage. Anywhere,” he added with a glint in his eye. Raven snorted. “You grew a beard so you that didn’t prickle your woman when
Victor leaned against the bench as he waited for the coffee to percolate and watched his partner at work. Vice was bent over the control board his headphones on, his posture hunched, and his eyes closed as he nodded along with the music. Vice’s cheeks were dark with stubble, and he had shadows under his eyes. He looked as if they had put in a few hard nights partying, rather than at the control board and in the attached recording room. They were both looking a bit rough, Victor thought wryly. The last few days they had been putting in hard hours in the studio, getting as many tracks down as possible. Their mornings were early, showers perfunctory, and days long. Mirage had taken to bringing their meals to the studio and collecting the plates afterwards to ensure that they ate. But the hard work was gradually paying off. The album was shaping up, and it was solid. It did not have the magic of passion behind it that Mirage’s did, but they were convinced they were doing their best work
“Do you remember when pulling up to this building was exciting?” Mirage asked Vice and Victor as the limousine slowed to a stop out front of the gleaming tower of glass with its neon highlights of color drawing the eye into the glossy foyer. A bored security guard watched the red carpet out front through the glass doors, to see what celebrity had gotten the photographers that lingered by standing invitation to capture the comings and goings, and she could see Aaron, in a blue suit, near the reception desk. “Now every time I come here; I feel like I am arming up for a battle.” “I know the feeling,” Victor agreed as they waited for the chauffeur to make his way to the door. “It is just further motivation to start our own label.” “Well, into the fray,” Vice smoothed the lapel of his jacket as the driver opened the door, standing back crisply. Vice stepped out, raising his hand, and beaming at the photographers, before reaching back into the limo to hand Mirage out. “Watch your skirt,”
“Hello, sweetie,” there was no wondering who the woman stroking back her hair was, her eyes were exactly the same shade of Victor’s and there were shadows of him in the shape of her nose and the high cheekbones. “Natalia.” Mirage’s voice was a croak. “Vice and Victor?” “The boys are fine, so don’t you worry about them,” Natalia adjusted the bed, until Mirage was sitting up enough to drink, and held a cup with a straw to her mouth. “You are alright, my darling.” “I feel awful,” Mirage admitted, sinking back into the cushions. “Where is Vice and Victor?” “Nicola has taken those boys in hand and taken them home for showers and food,” Natalia replied. “They were starting to smell.” “How long has it been?” Vice and Victor were not the only ones who smelled, Mirage noted, wrinkling her nose. “I need a shower and toothbrush.” “It is Saturday morning,” Natalia said. “I will ring the nurse.” There were flowers, cards, and balloons all around the room. “Oh, wow,” Mirage said. “Who are al
“Are you ready?” Vice asked her, his voice low. “If you feel tired…” Mirage could hear the music pouring out of the venue in the occasional breaks in the roar from the crowds gathered around the red carpet as the limousine driver opened the door. The crowd pressed against the barricades trying to see who was in the car. “I am fine,” she assured him. “Fit as a fiddle.” Both he and Victor would happily have kept her home and in bed forever more, she thought, amused. Vice lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before releasing her. She watched him slide elegantly out of the car, something only he could do, she was certain. The man simply oozed elegance in every movement, like a sleekly coated panther. She heard the crowds scream his name, excitement rising the pitch, and the flash as cameras went into a frenzy, and his laughter, enjoying their admiration. Vain boy, Natalia called him fondly. As usually, Victor’s mother was entirely correct. But Mirage loved the vain boy
“This is a bad idea,” Victor complained, swinging on his chair as the pop artist moved across the screen before them. They had spent the day researching the artist, and a simple internet search had popped up a seemingly endless litany of drama. “She is a live wire.”Vice blew out a breath. He did not disagree with his business partner, but their manager, Aaron, had offered them the opportunity, and they would be fools to turn it down. “She has been in the top ten for pop for six years, produced four multiplatinum albums, and one which went diamond, which is more than we can say,” he pointed out. “She has sold out eight tours in that time as well.”“She has also been on every gossip mag cover for the last twelve months because of her lifestyle habits,” Victor argued. “Drugs, alcohol, rehab, eating disorders.” He ticked them off on his fingers.“So, she is a hard-working screw up,” Vice shrugged. “She is pretty.”Victor laughed out a sigh. “Filters.”“No, I saw her briefly on the red-ca
Victor was lifting weights in the gym when Mirage entered in the morning. She paused in the doorway, as if debating entering and then shrugged and did so.“’Morning,” she said, and stuck a bottle of water into the holder of the treadmill before setting a gruelling pace that had him drooling within five minutes of watching her run.After thirty trialling minutes for them both, he thought wryly, she finished her run and moved to the pull up bar. She had her earbuds in, and whatever she listened to, it certainly motivated her. She pushed herself beyond tolerance, and he grimaced seeing the shake in her muscles as she lowered to the ground after the last set.He followed her into the infrared sauna. She had taken out her earbuds and left them on her phone on the bench outside. They sat together, sweating, and panting, and, in his case at least, lusting, he thought. She seemed indifferent to him. It was not something that he was accustomed to, a woman being disinterested.“So, Vice doesn’t
Mirage drifted on the inflatable pool lounge, one hand holding a mocktail that Vice had mixed for her, and the other trailing in the water, as she watched the two men from behind the shield of her sunglasses. There were worse ways to spend a hot summer afternoon, she thought, and there couldn’t be a better view.If there was a God, she definitely was a woman, Mirage concluded, because only a woman would have crafted Vice and Victor. They belonged on the covers of the romance books her mother used to read. Victor was a sun-kissed idol of a man, all broad shoulders, bronzed skin, strong jaw, and almost white-blonde hair, reminding her of movie superheroes, and Vice was lean, his hair like thick black silk, all sharp cheekbones and smouldering eyes, reminiscent of the models that sulked their way across the billboards, hands in pockets, and moody darkness in their eyes.A man for every taste, she joked to herself, except for hers. She was done with men. She was not into women, either how