The girls looked at her open-mouthed, drinks held mid-air.
“How’s your reverse parking coming along?” asked Josie casually.
“What?” Helen scrunched up her confused freckled nose.
“Nothing…”
“But angel, what do you get out of it, except lock-jaw?” butted in a concerned Tara. “Isn’t the pleasure a bit one-sided?”
They bombarded her with questions.
“Surely it’s not good for you, all that protein in one day?”
“Can’t be that great for your digestion, or are you following the fake swallowing method?”
“You hate horse racing? Full of muck and boring old farts, you said.”
“Is it fattening?”
“But you’re not a member of AA?”
Franco forgotten, they were back on course.
“Actually the horsey crowd are great, I was so wrong about them, they think of nothing else but sex, must be all that sweat, hay, and horse flesh, topped with the excitement of gambling, winning… he may be short but he is perfectly formed, wall to wall tendons and muscles, not a smidge of fat in sight, strong as an ox, he flips me around all over the place,” Helen giggled.
“But I want to deepen our feelings before we go ‘wham bam, thank you, ma’am.’ My body is a temple and all that palaver. Get to know him better, find out if we really are compatible. Trouble is we don’t do a lot of talking due to my mouth being full, and I’m losing a fortune in jewellery, I have to remove my rings, they tear him to pieces, I keep losing the buggers, it has its limitations, but I’m giving it a try. You can meet some very interesting people at AA meetings; shall we have a cognac with our coffee?”
They were used to her crazy theories; she was always trying out something new. This was at least an improvement on her Russian period, when she was dating a Russian diplomat. He loved her smelling dirty and refused to let her shower or shave. Their friendship had been truly tested, eating with her a nightmare, bouillabaisse for lunch was a hit, all that fish and garlic covered the stench. Josie took to holding a lavender oil-soaked hanky to her nose throughout lunch, and spraying scent in Helen’s direction under the table, it cost a fortune in perfume.
Luckily the Russian period only lasted a few months. She eventually noticed that he washed regularly and he kept her smelly to ward off other men. He’d also neglected to tell her that due to a long term sinus inflammation as a child, he’d lost his sense of smell. Damned bloody cheek.
Her Greek period was marginally better. Vasilis the Greek only believed in using the back passage, good contraception, he said. He was paranoid about commitment and getting caught with a baby. Luckily he was not that well-endowed, a button-mushroom, so she suffered it. After a session with him, chair work was a little tender, consequently, lunch would be eaten standing at the bar. The girls patiently put up with the farting, she had no control and the constipated duck walk was SO not a good look, even with sexy shoes. They waited patiently until she tired of him, there was no telling her. Friendship lasts forever, men come and go and all that…
Josie would listen to these stories quietly, she’d experienced a lot worse, but had been very well paid for it. It annoyed her that Helen offered these exploits for free, maybe she should suggest she charge. At the end of each lunch or drunken evening session with the girls, she would fall into a small depression, she really needed to confide in them about what she did for a living. The alcohol would loosen her tongue, but fear of rejection held her back. This day was no exception.
“Doesn’t Donal complain, darling, doesn’t he want a bit more?” asked Tara. “I mean, surely it’s ok for a while, but I suspect he enjoys full sex too, it must drive him mad.”
“I’ve told him I have vaginal warts, he’s not sure what they are, but is in fear of going anywhere near down there…so it’s not a problem.”
Tara crossed her legs uncomfortably, not exactly sure what they were herself but hoped she would never get them.
“I’m a whore,” announced Josie.
The hovering Enzo stared at her. Maybe he should consider becoming gay. You learned so much about women working in the restaurant business.
“You are a saint compared to me, Josie, dream on,” Helen laughed.
“I’m a whore, a prostitute, a hooker, a brass, that’s what I do. I don’t ‘ave a posh job in the city, I’ve been lying to you all this time… I’m so sorry,” there, her big secret was finally out.
“Pardon?” whispered Helen, wide-eyed.
Tara stared at her, surely she was joking.
“Don’t look at me like that, I couldn’t bear it if you hated me,” tears welled in Josie’s eyes.
Tara continued to stare at her friend, not recognizing her, this had to be a joke.
“Shit, Josie, what the hell are you talking about, you’re drunk!”
“No, I’m deadly serious. I’m a tart…. an ‘orse an cart, an old tom, a fucking whore, what can I say girls… I get paid to screw,” she put her hands up in the air in mock surrender, the girls continued to stare at her, open mouthed.
“Look, I know it must be a shock, but it doesn’t make me any different,” she pleaded. “I still luvs ya.”
She tried to grab Tara’s hand, but Tara snapped it away as if she would catch something. Josie’s heart fell.
“I haven’t been able to tell you, in case you reacted like this, for gawd’s sake Tara, I avent got the lurgy or nuffin …. please, I’ve kept up the lie for so long its killin me, please don’t judge me,” she looked toward Helen for support.
Helen beamed excitedly from ear to ear.
“Bloody hell Josie, you’re not joking are you, ohmigod!”
Tara had had enough, she glanced at her watch and, sounding not unlike her mother, said tersely.
“It’s late, let’s get the bill,” she waved at Enzo, drawing a signature in the air.
“Fan-bloody-tastic,” squealed Helen. “That beats my little world any day, hope you charge a fortune, girl. How exciting, tell me all about it, I have never met a real hooker… why haven’t you told us before… how long have you been doing it, what’s it like?”
“HELEN, shut up, she’s lying, she works in the city, we’ve all had a lot to drink. C’mon, let’s go, I’m late for the office, we’ll pay at reception,” Tara was in denial.
“It’s true T…I’ve been doing it for years, paid my way through school wiv it…but I do deal in shares, I ha…”
“You have lied to us all this time?” Tara butted in. “All these years?”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t know how to tell ya, I wanted to, but was always too scared of losing ya.”
“Friends confide in each other, no matter what, they don’t lie. It’s ok for us to tell you everything, for you to judge, but you don’t tell us everything…. you’ve got another life that we know nothing about, a dangerous life, how do you think that makes us feel, bloody stupid!”
Tara stood up from the table, shaking with rage. She didn’t want to hear any more.
“I don’t know you…” she grabbed her bag, turned her back on her friend, and walked over to the reception desk to pay the bill.
Josie was crushed, she gazed after her, helpless. She shouldn’t have said anything, Tara hated her, she knew it would happen, why had she said it? She started to cry uncontrollably, head bowed, mascara running.
Helen put her arm around her.
“C’mon, girl, let’s get out of here, back to my place you can tell me all about it over a coffee. T’s just being precious, she’ll get over it, it’s a shock, you know how big she is on honesty and all that shit,” making a mental note to strangle Tara when she next had the chance.
They gathered themselves up and met her out on the pavement, she’d summoned a cab.
“Gotta go, speak later… Helen, sober her up, will you, she’s talking gibberish, bye.”
Not being able to look Josie in the face, she jumped into the fast black and sped off into the traffic, leaving
a bereft Josie and excited Helen on the pavement.
The maitre d’ of Cellini’s shut the door after them, thanking God they didn’t eat there every day.
Tara sat back in the cab, tears welled in her eyes … Josie a prostitute, how could she not have told us? it’s got to be a joke, she’s winding us up.
But deep down, Tara knew she wasn’t. Christ, she’d behaved like a stuck-up bitch, a great friend she was! She’d let her fear get the better of her and lashed out. If she couldn’t fix a problem she became frightened, she would then bluster with rage to cover it up. Fear made her aggressive, especially fear for those she loved.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The taxi driver pulled up to the traffic lights, he sighed as he checked on the couple in his back seat through the mirror. They were a beautiful couple, had everything going for them, but looked as miserable as sin, each glaring out of a window, steadfastly ignoring the other, ever since he’d picked them up.
How lucky he and his missus were. They may not be the most glamorous couple on the planet, or the richest, but they sure knew how to talk to each other, not like the spoiled young of today, who had it all and still they’re miserable, they don’t know they’re born. Bring back national service.
These two in the back are typical; you could have more fun as Sweeney Todd’s dinner guest. Let’s bung some Dean Martin on, that’ll relax ’em. He punched the play button on his old cassette player, ‘Everybody loves somebody sometime’ wafted out of the speakers.
Franco sat hunched in the corner of the back seat, as far away from Maria as possible, staring stony faced out the window, avoiding eye contact. Imagining they could meet on good terms was a big mistake, he would have to start being cruel to get rid of her.
How the hell did he have the misfortune to bump into Tara? What a mess. Looking at his watch, wondering if she was still there, he could go back and see her. Why did Michael always have a day off when he needed him, he could have sent Michael over to pick her up.
“Look, I’m not in the mood to talk,” Franco broke the silence and handed her a £20 note. “Take the cab on. I’ll call you tonight.”
… at least they’re talking now, thought the cabbie, he didn’t like bad vibes in his cab, made him uneasy… good old deano.
Maria leaped off her seat and plonked herself on the fold-down one behind the driver, facing Franco. Without giving him time to move, she put her legs between his, and swiftly lifted one stilettoed foot up, pinning it against his chest, pushing him back into the seat.
The silk of her miniskirt billowing in the wind of the open window, showing a provocative glimpse of black laced underwear.
… oh gawd! thought the cabbie… now they’re getting on too well, it’s broad daylight she can’t do that, he doesn’t look too ’appy, either… maybe she doesn’t like deano… let’s put some frankie baby on, he grabbed for his Sinatra cassette and turned ‘My way’ on full volume.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Mr Wiseguy?” Maria’s voice was shaking with anger, shouting over the music.“I’m not some floozy you can pay off with a taxi journey home, keep your fucking money, give it to your English whore, she’ll need it with the baby and all, you bastard.”
Oh dear, even over Frankie’s dulcet tones the cabbie could hear it all… she’s gonna kill ’ im, not do the business wiv ’ im, he picked up speed… better get these guys home pronto, before I see me’self on crimewatch TV.
Maria turned in her seat, keeping Franco pinned in his, and slid the taxi’s partition window shut with a slam, blocking out the driver and his bloody music.
“What baby, what are you talking about?” in softer tones, he pleaded with her, trying hard not to lose his temper.
“Maria, we are over, this is not working, and it hasn’t done for months. You’ve gotta move on, I thought we could just be friends but we keep going back to square one. It’s best we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”
She increased her pressure, making him wince with pain, he grabbed her ankle.
“Get your foot outta my chest, you’re frightening the driver,” he shouted.
She loved it when he was angry, it was easier to turn him on.
She mischievously trailed the point of her shoe slowly down his chest, following the path to the top of his open legs, coming to rest gently on his cock. Her long, brown, soft legs went on forever. The wind caught her skirt, lifting it higher, exposing more black lace and tanned silky skin. She gave him a catlike grin and undid the buttons on her cream silk shirt, a bronzed hard nipple poked into view. The atmosphere in the car shifted gear. Franco felt very uneasy, he knew where this was going… oh no!
She pressed her shoe against him, increasing and decreasing the pressure rhythmically. She knew how to get to him.
“Maria, Maria, don’t do that,” he groaned unconvincingly. “You know it will end in tears,” his balls tingled into life… oh shit, he didn’t need this, but she looked so fucking horny.
What was it about ex’s that allowed them to linger? Was returning to their bed the litmus test confirming the new one a good choice? Lingering ex’s, a risky business.
Cabbie was driving for his life… Lewis Hamilton, eat ya heart out! But it had suddenly gone quiet in the back, he checked his rear view mirror to see the bird lean into the bloke and kiss him, she was also doing something with her hands in his lap... oops, we’re back in business again.
He slowed down to a comfortable speed… wish they’d make up their bleedin minds!.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He felt happy with his new pictures, even though that bastard Franco turned up at the end. Arriving with another bird had certainly put the cat among the pigeons. He should have stayed to see the outcome, but his anger at seeing Franco had become too much; he didn’t trust himself to remain calm. He wondered what had happened to poor Tara when she realised that she wasn’t the only one in her lover’s bed, but then again, she was hardly an angel.
His anger subsided as he meandered home. Looking up, he saw a face he recognized, coming out of a gay bar, ten feet in front of him. Now, where the hell had he seen that face before? The guy’s body language was nervous, trying hard to be inconspicuous, looking like a fish out of water. He sure as hell wasn’t a regular David would have remembered him; it was an old haunt of his. Yet he did know him from somewhere. Where?
He was kinda cute, in a scruffy rugby player sort of way. Out of his depth here, though, a different type of scrum going on in the bar he’d just come out of.
David leaned against the wall for a moment, pretending to be engrossed in his phone, waiting to see where Mr Handsome was headed.
The guy turned and walked towards him, looking around nervously. That’s it! It was the guy Seb from school, the one Helen was into, the one he kissed on the night he found out about his mother. Another one who’d walked out on him; he’d begged him to stay but he ran, the coward. He’d been put on the penance list.
With a smile, it dawned on David that he must also be the Seb Tara talked about, working on the campaign. How very fortunate. The plot thickens, a little gift sent by the Devil. What fun!…and oh SO cute.
“Seb, Seb, is that you?” David shouted out to the shocked Irishman. “My God, how good to see you, old boy!”
He ran the short distance between them and, before the dumbstruck Seb could move, grabbed his shoulders, hugging him like a long-lost friend. David the chameleon.
“It’s been so long, how the hell are you?”
Seb just stared, unable to talk.
“I keep up with your news via Tara and Helen,” David lied. “My God, you look great, you must come and have a coffee, I can’t believe my luck in bumping into you like this, it’s perfect timing, I need your help.”
Seb was bowled over by David’s excitement; he didn’t recognize him at first, but when he mentioned the girls, his heart sank. This was Helen’s brother, the boy who’d started his problems, all those years ago. Surely he had to remember that
night in the dorm; how embarrassing… shit! fuck! Had he seen him come out of the bar?
“Ah yes, David, isn’t it? How’s Helen? I haven’t seen you in ages,” he said, looking down at his watch. “Look, sorry, must dash, I’m late for a meeting,” he lied unconvincingly. He forgot how good-looking David was.
“Oh no you don’t, cancel the meeting, come and have a coffee, I only live across the road there,” he pointed to the next street corner. “I’m planning a lovely birthday surprise for Helen, you can help me, she so adores you.”
“No honestly, I gggotta go,” Seb stuttered.
“Go on, for Helen. Just around the corner, it’ll take five minutes… go on… for old time’s sake,” David looked him hard in the eye, they both knew what he was referring to.
Seb flinched, unsure what to do, David grabbed the moment and dragged him off the kerb, across the road to a chorus of angry car horns.
Seb followed like a lamb, his mind racing, isn’t this what he came here for, sussing out the gay scene, testing the waters? After all these years, it seems ironic to bump into the one guy who’d set him off on this track. The one guy who’d started these bloody desires in the first place. The old longings come flooding back.
He’d finally plucked up the courage to visit a gay bar, to test the waters, find out what he really was. It had taken a lot of guts, he’d denied his sexuality for so long, it was time to do something about it.
Women didn’t do it for him. For years he’d been surrounded by obscenely beautiful models through his work, was the envy of all his mates, but the memory of that afternoon in the school dorm haunted all sexual encounters, so he gave up dating them, the repeated failure too humiliating. He’d begun to watch more and more male porn; it was the only thing that turned him on. He would wank and then heave, sick with the feeling of dirt and shame.
The Penance List Page 15