by Adele Parks
She was just like a hedge fund manger, she’d spread her risk. There were plenty more fish in the sea, loads of ways to skin a cat, many bites at the cherry, etc., etc. She still had Mark and Jules, they were both younger than Brian anyway.
Kirsten had considered both men and drawn up a list of pros and cons.
Mark was single (pro) but resolutely so (con). Mark bought her great stuff (pro) but he literally made her beg for it (con). He was a bully (con). He behaved as though he thought she was stupid (con). He frightened her (con).
Jules was married (con) but he was sleeping with her so his marriage couldn’t be so solid (pro). He’d bought her a fantastically cool phone and paid the bill every month (pro). He always took her to that lovely country hotel on Tuesday nights and she loved getting a spa treatment there (pro). He held the door open when she walked through it (pro) and stood up when she came into the room (pro). If he thought she was thick he’d never actually said so (pro).
It was clear to Kirsten that Jules was her best bet.
Her scare with Brian had been a wake-up call. She’d decided that she needed to focus. There was a fine line between keeping her options open by spreading her risk and losing out entirely by spreading herself too thinly. She was nearly twenty-three, well, in a few months’ time. She needed to get a move on. If she wanted to be married by the time she was twenty-five she had to concentrate her efforts. A divorce took a couple of years, didn’t it? Or could you get quickies now, did they take a couple of months? They seemed to take just a blink of the eye on Desperate Housewives, but maybe that was just America. Either way, before she could marry Jules she had to get him to fall completely in love with her, offer to leave his wife, actually leave his wife (she was bright enough to know that these two things weren’t necessarily immediately consecutive), propose to her, get divorced and plan a wedding.
She had better get cracking.
The one thing that she absolutely didn’t want to be was an old mum. You saw some mums pushing strollers along the high street and, honestly, they looked like grannies! She definitely did not want to be one of those. She wanted to be like the mums who ‘introduced’ their offspring in Hello! shoots, all glam and slim and colour-coordinated. Besides, it was always a good idea for second wives to get on with baby-making pretty sharpish; if their husbands had had children with their first wife, it completed the takeover. In fact, it was usually wisest for a second wife to have at least one more baby than the first wife had, because in that way she cemented things. Kirsten had seen that much when loads of her friends’ dads had left them and run off to start a new family. Jules had three boys! She’d need to have four and at least one of them had to be a girl! There was no time to lose at all!
So, step one, getting him to fall madly in love with her. How close was she to achieving that? she wondered. He often said he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He usually stayed all night with her at the hotel (although not always). He’d once said he’d like her to see the Himalayan Mountains, because he thought they were the most beautiful mountains in the world, and he made it sound like he’d want to be the one to show them to her. He said he loved things about her (like her arse and her toned thighs). His pupils would enlarge during sex so that he could barely focus and he said she was the only woman he’d ever had a simultaneous orgasm with (although, in fact, she’d faked it and so he still hadn’t had that pleasure, but he thought he had and that counted for something). Was that love?
No, Kirsten admitted to herself, it was not. But it could become so.
Kirsten thought that if ever she became really famous, and then was asked to go on Celebrity Mastermind, her specialist subject would be men. She was pretty sure she knew what made them tick. It actually wasn’t that tricky, there were three main drivers – youth, sex, flattery. There were nuances, of course. Some men were tit men and others arse but, in the final analysis, that was all about sex. Some men liked blondes, others redheads or dark but they all liked young heads. Some men wanted to be flattered about the size of their brain, or their bank account, or their dick but it was always the same compliment – it’s big, big, big!
After surfing the net last night, Kirsten had nipped into the local beauty salon to have a full body exfoliation and to freshen up her pedicure. She’d slammed both treatments on to her credit card but she didn’t care, it wasn’t debt, it was an investment. She’d decided against having a spray-on tan because Jules didn’t like the smell, he once said it reminded him of the smell of digestive biscuits which had been dunked in tea. He never specified but Kirsten got the feeling that his wife liked digestive biscuits.
Then Kirsten had returned to her dingy flat and locked herself in the bathroom. She’d had a deep, perfumed bath and then carefully moisturised every inch of her bronzed, toned (young!) body. She’d taken her time, refusing to be rushed or hassled, even though her flatmate had hammered on the bathroom door, insisting that Kirsten get out of the bath as she’d wanted a shower after her eight-mile run and then, when Kirsten had eventually left the bathroom and locked herself into her bedroom, her idiot flatmate had hammered on that door and gone mad, yelling that there wasn’t enough hot water left for her shower. Bloody hell! That was just the sort of aggro Kirsten couldn’t wait to leave behind. Slowly, carefully Kirsten had massaged the body moisturiser into her elbows, her knees, her bum, her stomach and her thighs. When Jules put his hands on her she wanted him to think that he was diving into a bowl of cream. She wanted him to long to touch, stroke and caress her. She wanted him to feel loss every time he had to take his hands off her thighs.
She’d performed the same ritual this morning and then spent an age selecting her underwear. In the end she plumped for the Agent Provocateur basque, thong and stockings ensemble, which Mark had bought her a few weeks back. It was red and obvious but Kirsten didn’t want to be subtle. Once, a few months back, Kirsten had got hold of Jules’s BlackBerry and flicked through the gallery, where she’d discovered loads of pictures of his wife and kids. His wife was as expected – probably once pretty, now decidedly dowdy. Nearly all the photos showed the kids beaming at the camera while his wife’s face was often almost edged out of the frame. Yet, even from half an eye or just part of her chin and mouth, you could see that invariably she looked harassed or worried. She did have decent highlights though, Kirsten would give her that. Kirsten knew from the shots that Jules’s wife was not the sort of woman who wore slutty, red underwear and despite millions of years of evolution, the fact was, men were turned on by slutty red underwear.
Jules had bought her the phone just after he’d caught her going through his gallery and he’d bought himself one too, that was last February. He said he wanted to keep things separate, obviously he wanted to avoid the risk of his wife ever finding her number in his BlackBerry or on a bill. He’d snapped that he didn’t like her looking at photos of his wife and kids. She’d joked that maybe she should go and stare at his house and then he might buy her one of those too, since he wanted to keep everything distinct. But he hadn’t got the joke. He’d looked really uncomfortable and said she didn’t know where he lived. He was wrong about that though, of course she knew where he lived. He lived in Riverford, a pretty enough place but she’d make him move back to London when they got it together. She was far too young to be squirrelled away in the country. She knew more about him than he told her. She knew how much his bonus was last year, she knew his date of birth, which university he went to, where he banked, she even knew his exam results. It was really easy to get that sort of information out of HR, she’d just had to say that she was filling out a form for him and needed a few personal details. PAs got access to all sorts of stuff. See, people shouldn’t underestimate her.
Kirsten had tried on six outfits this morning, before settling on a tight purple shirt and slate-grey skirt. She applied her make-up with infinite care and she booked another appointment at Aveda for lunchtime today. She hadn’t been prepared to sleep sitting up last night, so the up-do hadn’t l
asted, and now she couldn’t do anything with her hair, it was kinking in all the wrong places. Kirsten often thought that it was a nightmare having naturally wavy hair; seriously, it was a living hell. It was just like a disability, really. Even when waves were in, it was still rubbish having wavy hair because it didn’t wave in the right way. Better to have straight hair that could be teased into the appropriate style. At lunchtime she’d have a shaggy, surfer chick blow-dry, nothing too finished or prissy, that wouldn’t do at all. Kirsten wanted Jules to look at her and think sex, or – specifically – young sex. Wild sex. Irresistible sex. Sex was her thing. And of course Kirsten knew that sex wasn’t the same thing as love but, happily, not many men were that brilliant at spotting the difference.
Kirsten had sent Jules a couple of really mucky texts today. Really filthy, even by their standards. He liked her to tell him exactly what she was imagining he’d do to her and what she’d do to him once they got to Highview. Her experience had been that she could never be too explicit. But he hadn’t texted back, which was bothering her. Yesterday she thought perhaps he might be working from home and so she’d taken the risk of calling him there, something she usually only ever did at a weekend or in the evening if she’d had a few; she always hung up if anyone else answered, some old woman answered yesterday. She tried to tell herself that she was being paranoid and that Brian’s silly behaviour was stopping her from thinking straight, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. What if Jules went off her too? That would be too much for her to stand. She sent him another cheeky text, waited ten minutes and then sent him an email, ostensibly confirming that they’d meet at the same place and same time but also teasing and seducing him. It bounced back. It turns out that while you might not be able to be too explicit for your lover, you could be too explicit for the internal email profanity filter.
Kirsten and Jules always met at a wine bar, Jeroboam, it was just five minutes away from the office. From there they’d go to the station and then catch a train to Riverford, pick up his car and then drive to Highview. Or sometimes, if he was out of the country, she’d get a train and a taxi on her own and he would drive in from Heathrow, his unsuspecting wife assuming he was abroad for one night more than was actually the case. Today, Kirsten had a surprise for him, she’d borrowed Daddy’s Alpha for the week and she was planning on driving them to the hotel, so that he could chillax.
On Sunday, she’d spent the afternoon talking to her boyfriends on the phone but it had been a bit unsatisfactory. Brian was busy in the office and hadn’t been in the least bit interested in her plan to meet up and do a bit of shopping, Mark hadn’t picked up her call and Jules had been distracted, he’d said it wasn’t a good time to chat – maybe later. By Sunday evening, boredom had driven her back to her parental home for a visit. It wasn’t an entirely wasted evening, at least she’d been able to drop off her washing and cadge some groceries and she’d used their landline to call Jules back again. She’d stayed at theirs until late and then her mother had insisted that she borrow the Alpha to drive home, rather than take public transport (just as Kirsten had hoped she would). Her father didn’t need the car as he could drive his Jaguar, it was her mother who would be most inconvenienced and yet Daddy had grumbled and said he wasn’t going to pay any parking fines this time. This ridiculous ‘time to stand on your own two feet’ mantra was really beginning to grate! She’d told him that Mr Kormos, the man from the kebab shop below her flat, would give her some permit passes to allow her to park for the week and then she’d return the car next weekend. Mr Kormos adored her and would do anything she asked, for nothing more than a big beam. He was a real treasure. Kirsten knew it was a bonus to have men in your life that would do things for you and not expect sex. They had to be much, much older and/or poorer so that it was very, very clear that you were way out of their league and they didn’t stand a chance of anything more than an affectionate peck on the cheek. That said, it never ceased to surprise Kirsten how many old, ugly or poor men still thought they’d have a crack at her. Men were so often unreasonably and unjustifiably confident about their own powers of attraction.
It had been a nightmare driving the car into work today. People were so impatient and far too ready to honk their horns! The constant honk, honk, honk didn’t do anything to steady anyone’s nerves and she’d had to pay a fortune at the NCP to park the bloody thing. She’d hoped that she’d get a parking space at the office, she imagined it was just a case of being very nice to the security guard but he’d insisted that the spots were for director use only and she didn’t have the nerve to ask Mark if she could borrow his spot. But it was all going to be worth it, she wanted to make Jules feel extra special tonight. She hoped the traffic wouldn’t be too mad on the journey over to Highview, otherwise she was unlikely to aid Jules’s relaxation, and after the journey into work this morning she had needed a shot of whisky in her espresso.
Kirsten liked meeting at Jeroboam. Admittedly it was a bit quiet at this time in the evening but it was uber-smart, all white leather tub chairs and booths, with glass ceilings and floors. They had a huge cocktail list and the bar snacks were so utterly trendy it was impossible to know what you were eating. When Kirsten first started working in the city, she’d had a number of wild nights in Jeroboam as this was the place of choice for everyone to congregate after work. It was where they’d go to let their hair and knickers down, the sort of place where excess and vulgarity were practically de rigueur. City boys tried to out-spend one another, as though that proved their success, while the city women tried to out-pout one another in order to effectively hide their success. Management and newbies rubbed shoulders, quaffed champagne and then rubbed other less neutral parts of the body. It was in this bar that Kirsten first caught the attention of Jules et al. But once she started her affairs she noticed that her boyfriends were less likely to bring her here. It was the perfect place for a flirtation but too busy to hope for any level of discretion. Jules would allow one quick drink and then they would be on their way before things became hectic in there.
When she and Jules met at Jeroboam, she always arrived first as she was happy to run away from her desk the moment she could. Obviously, they couldn’t leave the office together, they had to put a respectable five minutes between their escapes. He was a married man, it wouldn’t be a brilliant career move for him to flaunt their relationship and, in fact, she also preferred a bit of carefulness. She’d always allowed all the men in her life think they were the only men in her life. From time to time she’d had to forcefully deny rumours to the contrary when they inevitably reared their ugly heads, that’s why she’d been so taken aback when Brian had called her the office bike yesterday. He couldn’t know about the others, could he? Not for definite. That would be a disaster because if he knew about the others, then the others probably knew about him, and that wouldn’t be good. It was daft really that she had to make each one of her boyfriends feel special and exclusive. Mark openly multi-dated and Brian and Jules both had wives, it was totally double standards! But Kirsten got it that women had to deal with double standards – it was just a fact.
Kirsten was comforted and calmed when she saw Jules stride into the bar. She let out a deep sigh of relief. She hadn’t realised that she’d been holding her breath in anticipation or that she was stressed and concerned until she actually laid eyes on him and that cloud lifted. Now, as the fear had passed, she could admit that she’d feared he might have got a sniff of the office gossip and would therefore stand her up. She bounced off the bar stool and rushed towards him, flinging her arms around his neck and landing a huge smacker on his cheek. Normally she didn’t behave so girlishly, with Jules she played the vamp, but the relief was affecting her concentration. Usually, she sashayed up to him, or waited until he came to her. Sometimes she wouldn’t say a word to him until he’d bought her a chilled glass of champagne and she’d taken her first sip. Then, only then, she might lean close to him and whisper in a breathy urgent way, ‘Fuck me.’ Today she
was ebullient and joyful although Julian wasn’t. He unclasped her hands from around his neck.
‘Not in here, Kirsten, we might be spotted.’
‘Sorry, Jules,’ giggled Kirsten. She pouted as she’d practised in front of the mirror yesterday. ‘But you are irresistible.’
He was vain enough to believe her and so rewarded her with a brief smile, before sobering and adding, ‘Kirsten, I’ve asked you before. Please call me Julian. It is my name, after all.’
‘No. I won’t,’ she replied playfully. ‘I like us having special names for one another. You’re supposed to call me Kirstie and you’re my Jules.’
Kirsten placed her hands on her hips, becoming a subconscious pastiche of the nagging wife when all she’d hoped to do was draw attention to her tiny waist and slim hips.
‘Jules is all mine. Julian belongs to your colleagues, your family and the friends I haven’t met yet.’ She thought it was brave to add ‘yet’ but didn’t dare go so far as to say that the name belonged to his wife. They both knew as much. ‘When you’re Jules you can leave all your stresses and demands behind. Jules deserves a bit of fun.’ She flashed him a grin that left neither of them in any doubt as to exactly what form that fun might take.
18
It was a slow, broad and sexy smile. It spread across her entire face and seemed to radiate out of her eyes too and, beyond that, into the air surrounding her. It struck Julian as a delightfully carefree smile. It was entirely about the moment and her absolute unfettered pleasure in that moment. There was no hint of distraction, disappointment or even familiarity, which were the main ingredients of his wife’s prosaic and automatic smiles. Kirsten’s smiles were dangerous. It reminded him of how she was in bed. There, she was adventurous, uninhibited, boundless, released. She had a youthful, vital effervescence and it was contagious. During sex she always remained in the moment, she bubbled, she gurgled and she simmered. He knew that she had no expectations of him, no plans for him, there was nothing she wanted from him, which was immensely attractive and refreshing. It was going to be difficult to say what he needed to. He should have been stronger on the phone on Sunday night. What made him think this would be easier face to face? Especially considering hers was such a remarkably pretty and young face.