by Mark Arundel
‘Most people think it’s only the English who drink it,’ he told her.
‘Lots of women drink it in California. They think it’s stylish. I just like the taste,’ she said.
They finished their drinks and both used the restrooms before leaving. As they headed towards the elevator, Natalie looked at him.
‘Right, back to those shoes,’ she said with a smile.
‘Great,’ he said.
He followed her as she shopped and he watched her. If he had to describe her in one word, that one word would be glossy. Her dark hair and eyes, her lips, and her skin all shone. Even the clothes she wore seemed to have a lustre to them. She was sleek and polished, that was certain. But, what would happen if he scratched the surface; what lay beneath, he wondered. Who was the real Natalie? Did the superficial impression of wealth, beauty and fashionable elegance hide a secret?
Natalie held up a shoe. It returned Rafferty from his thoughts.
‘Do you like these?’ she asked.
He focused on the shoe for a moment.
‘It’s a black shoe,’ he said.
She laughed.
‘With a very narrow high heel that’s probably dangerous to walk in,’ he said.
‘It’s called a stiletto,’ she explained, turning to the assistant. ‘I’ll try these on.’
‘The only stiletto I know is a small dagger,’ he said, mostly to himself.
Natalie sat and pointed her toe. The stiletto slipped on and looked good.
‘Are they comfortable?’ he asked.
She ignored him.
‘I’ll take them,’ she told the assistant.
The first bag, of what Rafferty feared would be the first of many bags, had appeared. Natalie began carrying it, but Rafferty wondered how long before that changed.
She abruptly stopped on seeing a pair of green sandals. Without taking her eyes from the coveted footwear, she deftly gave the bag to Rafferty. He took it without thinking and then smiled to himself as he realised. Within a few minutes, the green expensive sandals changed ownership. This time, the white card bag went straight to Rafferty. He held it with the first one and they moved on.
They seemed to change floors effortlessly, arriving in ladies’ fashion as though teleported by Natalie’s feminine powers.
An attractive assistant appeared by Natalie’s side, smiling her desire to help. The two of them began talking fashion and Rafferty realised he was unfamiliar with the language. He looked around and spotted two padded seats by the changing rooms. The two women were still chatting in ‘designer babble’ so Rafferty headed over to the seats and sat down. He put the bags down and made himself comfortable. His mind went to Patrick Smith in Da Nang. He wondered how his old friend, Smithy, had gotten on. Rafferty had been thinking about his assignment and working on his plan.
Natalie and her fashion maiden appeared carrying armfuls of outfits, which looked to Rafferty like a jumble of clothes. No, Natalie assured him, they were fashion designer outfits.
‘I’ll be sitting here,’ he told her. ‘If you need my help getting changed, just shout.’
She didn’t respond but she did steal a half smile at his humorous flirtation. She remembered her arousal of earlier and she felt sexually excited.
She undressed in the brightly lit cubicle and enjoyed the reflection of herself wearing nothing but her expensive black underwear. The thought of Rafferty seeing her naked played in her mind, sending a thrill through her body, and an excited rush between her legs. She rubbed her hands over her buttocks and then touched herself with her fingers, and breathing deeply let out a soft moan. The sound brought her back and she wondered if anyone had heard. Had Rafferty heard? She giggled and fixed her eyes with a look in the mirror.
‘Behave yourself, naughty girl,’ she whispered to her reflection, admonishing herself, and then she giggled again.
Natalie tried on and displayed each of the outfits and all of the single items. From a Chanel pantsuit, a suede bolero jacket and a sleeveless black dress to a Dior floral pattern dress, a white leather miniskirt and a rococo style coat. Throughout, Rafferty remained patient, offering an occasional comment whether invited or not.
‘Don’t you already have three little black dresses?’ he said when she appeared wearing the sleeveless Chanel number.
‘I don’t have one this exact length,’ she said with mock disdain.
Rafferty laughed. She really was quite funny. He was enjoying being with her, and watching her model the clothes, especially the miniskirt. Perhaps shopping wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Natalie made her purchase decisions and the assistant bagged all the clothes and produced a sales receipt. Natalie stood at the sales counter and wrote out the payment. Rafferty stood behind her and waited.
‘Thank you,’ the sales assistant said taking the payment. ‘I’m a big fan.’ The sweetness of her voice held a nervous edge. ‘I’ve seen all your films. You’re so talented.’
Natalie smiled at her confidently. She was used to this at home in Hollywood.
‘Oh,’ she said softly, ‘thank you, that’s so kind. It’s always nice to feel appreciated. Thank you for all your help today, you’ve been an angel.’ Natalie returned the compliment. She opened her purse and gave her a generous tip.
‘Oh, thank you,’ said the adoring assistant while beaming an excited smile. What a tale she had to tell her friends and family. She folded her tip and put it in her pocket still smiling happily. Rafferty leant forward and picked up the bags from the counter.
‘Thanks,’ he said to her with just a hint of sarcasm. The assistant missed it but Natalie didn’t.
‘Can you manage those few bags by yourself or do you need help?’ she asked him with mock sincerity. He ignored her and they headed towards the elevator. He was surrounded by baggage and doing a passable impersonation of a hotel bellhop.
They stood in the elevator where not as many other shoppers had been able to join them as had wanted. Natalie looked up at him and smiled sweetly. He resisted for a moment and then grinned back. She was too cute to resist for long.
Outside again, back on Fifth, Natalie did her whistling trick and a yellow cab obediently appeared. The driver jumped out and helped Rafferty put all the bags in the trunk.
‘Have you left anything in there, Bud?’
Rafferty ignored him. Natalie laughed. They all got in and Natalie gave their destination.
‘The corner of East 62nd and Fifth.’
‘Home already? Isn’t there more shopping you want to do?’
Natalie gave a theatrical laugh.
‘I thought we could take the bags home and get a coffee. Do you have anything to eat? I like pastries.’
He frowned at her.
‘There’s a deli around the corner. They do pastries. I’ll go when we get back,’ he said.
Natalie smiled sweetly.
‘I like the ones with fruit,’ she said.
The cab driver helped Rafferty get the bags from the trunk and tipped his cap in appreciation of the generous tip.
‘Do you want me to help you carry them in, Bud?’ he asked
‘No, I’ve got it.’
The shoppers rode the elevator in silence. At the apartment door, Rafferty’s hands were both full.
‘Can you get the key? It’s in my jacket pocket,’ he said and turned his side towards her.
‘Sure,’ she said.
Natalie put her hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out the key. She unlocked the door and they went in.
Inside, Rafferty dropped all the bags on Natalie’s bed.
‘Get the coffee on the go. I won’t be long,’ he said.
She left her shopping bags untouched and walked out of her bedroom. She waited to hear the outside door close. Then she checked he was gone. Satisfied that it was safe, she went into his bedroom. She walked slowly and looked around. He had a big bed with white sheets and black and fawn blankets. She stopped and stared at the big painting hanging above his bed.
It was a wheat field with a flock of black crows; roughly painted in yellows and dark blues and black, but it held her attention, drawing her in and giving her a sense of foreboding. She stepped closer and could clearly see the thickness of the paint, originally applied in thick brush strokes and daubs on the canvas. She looked at the bottom corners to try to find the name of the artist, but she couldn’t see a signature. She stared for another minute or so before leaving his bedroom and going to his den. Again, she walked slowly and looked about. His heavy wooden desk was empty except for a black telephone. There were leather armchairs, a low table and in the corner a floor standing fire proof Salamander safe with a combination lock. Natalie stared at the safe. She was surprised not to find any personal effects in view, such as photographs, mementoes, trophies, things from his past. Natalie wondered what secrets the safe contained.
The pastry run hadn’t taken Rafferty long at all. He was second in line and bought four: one chocolate, one almond, one strawberry and one cherry. He was soon walking back carrying the brown paper bag. As he let himself in he called out, ‘I’m back with pastries to amaze and delight.’
Silence came the reply.
He put his keys down along with the pastries and took off his coat. He picked up the pastries and headed for the kitchen wondering where Natalie was. As he entered the kitchen, she looked up from the sink slightly surprised and a little flushed.
‘Oh good, you’re back, I didn’t hear you come in. Did you buy me the best pastry in all New York?’
He slipped off his jacket and put it over the chair. He couldn’t smell any coffee.
‘I’ve bought four to choose from. Is the coffee ready?’
‘It’ll just be a couple of minutes longer. Show me the pastries.’
He tipped them from the bag onto the offered plate.
‘Um, they look good. I’m having that one.’ Natalie pointed to the chocolate one and then stuck her finger in it.
‘You said you wanted one with fruit. I bought you the strawberry one or the cherry one. The chocolate one was mine.’
Natalie laughed and picked up the chocolate pastry. They both looked at each other; she gave him a wicked grin and then took a bite. She laughed again loudly and flakes fell out of her mouth. He was tempted to take this playfulness further but resisted, and instead just grinned at her.
‘Cute, very cute,’ he told her.
She realised he wasn’t going to play, so she put the pastry back on the plate.
‘We can share it,’ she told him and returned to making the coffee. He picked up the almond pastry and walked over to the counter to get his coffee.
‘I’ve got a call to make. I’ll be in the den,’ he said.
Natalie sat at the table, sipped her tea and ate the rest of the chocolate pastry. It was good. She felt disappointed he hadn’t responded more to her cheeky behaviour.
In the den, Rafferty could smell the faint aroma of Chanel perfume. He sat at his desk and dialled the number. While the line buzzed, he took a gulp of coffee.
‘Hello,’ the woman answered.
He recognised her voice from the day before.
‘This is Bluebeard,’ he said.
Karen Brekke paused for a moment.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Have you heard from Smithy?’
‘He reported back two hours ago.’
‘What did he say?’
‘His message reads: test successful; opportunity positive.’
‘…anything else?’
‘That’s it.’
Rafferty hung up. He sat back and considered. He finished his coffee and pastry. The almond pastry was good but not as good as the chocolate one.
Natalie sat on her bed and looked at all her new clothes. With her bed covered in bags and strewn with clothes, she climbed under the covers and fell asleep.
It was almost dark when Rafferty came in. He sat on the bed and watched her sleep in the gloom. She was on her side with her head buried in the pillow. She looked sweet. He shook her arm and his fingers accidentally pressed against her breast. The sensation stayed with him.
‘Natalie, Natalie,’ he said and shook her gently. She awoke and looked at him, smiling sleepily.
‘I’m making coffee. It’ll wake you up,’ he told her and then moved to leave. She sat up quickly and pulled his arm. He stopped and turned back. She put her arms around him and squeezed tightly.
‘Thank you for taking me shopping today, I really enjoyed it.’
Rafferty looked into her dark eyes and fought the desire he felt.
‘I didn’t enjoy it at all,’ he said. ‘Now come and get your coffee and then we’ll decide where we’re going to eat tonight.’
Natalie smiled at him.
She sat on the sofa with her legs tucked up underneath her and sipped her coffee using both hands. She was beginning to wake up but her hair was still messy and her eyes were not as big as usual. She looked at him and wondered what he was thinking. He was miles away and he had that look on his face as though he were trying to calculate the scientific formula for the perfect cup of coffee. Natalie laughed to herself at her own amusing thought. What Rafferty was actually thinking about was two things, the South China Sea and sex. The first, he hoped, was going to be straightforward, the second, well…he’d see about the second.
‘So, where shall we eat tonight? Manhattan has just about every kind of restaurant you can think of.’
‘One of the directors I worked with this year who used to live in New York told me his favourite restaurant was the 21 Club. Can we go there?’
‘The 21 Club is very famous, but it’s impossible to get a table. It’ll be full tonight.’
‘Oh, can’t we try?’ Natalie said.
He looked up the number in the directory, pulled the telephone on its long black cord and dialled.
‘The 21 Club,’ a man said, answering helpfully in a New York accent.
‘I want to book a table for tonight,’ Rafferty said.
‘We’re booked up until February.’
‘Don’t you always keep one table free in case of emergency?’ Rafferty said.
The man paused.
‘Officially we don’t, but even if we did it’d be for important regulars or someone famous, you know?’
‘Right, well my date is a famous Hollywood actress, does that qualify?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ he said with disbelief.
‘It’s true.’
Again, the man paused.
‘Okay, well, if you turn up with a famous Hollywood actress then you can have a table.’
‘We’ll be there at eight,’ Rafferty told him and then hung up. He looked at Natalie. ‘You really are a famous Hollywood actress, aren’t you?’
Natalie laughed; his knowledge and skill at being able to get them a table had impressed her.
‘Do you think they might ask me to prove it?’
‘Let’s hope not, I’d be a worried about what you might do,’ he said.
She laughed again.
Rafferty checked his wristwatch.
‘We better start getting ready. Have you got something to wear?’ he asked.
She smiled at the joke and then she stood and headed for the bedroom.
‘I’m going to wear all my lovely new clothes,’ she called back to him as she disappeared. He watched her go and hoped that might mean the miniskirt.
Less than an hour later, Natalie reappeared looking like a million dollars. Rafferty watched her walk over to him. She was wearing the Chanel black dress, the black stiletto shoes and the rococo cashmere coat.
‘What’s wrong with the miniskirt?’ he said.
Her hair was soft and shiny and her face, dominated by the big brown eyes, was lightly painted. She smelt of Chanel perfume.
Rafferty stood up and handed her a glass of chilled champagne.
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she said theatrically.
Rafferty made her flute clink with a tap from his bottle of Rheingold.
/> ‘Bottoms up!’ he toasted with a grin.
She sipped the fizzy wine and looked up at him. He was wearing an expensive tailored suit with black brogues, a white shirt held with a black and blue diagonally striped tie. His short hair shone in the lamplight. He was cleanly shaven and she noticed the subtle scent of sandalwood from his aftershave. He was dressed suavely but remained tough looking somehow. It was impossible not to find him attractive. She realised it would be easy to think of him as sexually desirable.
The cab driver buzzed notice of his arrival. Rafferty picked up his cashmere overcoat, Natalie picked up her sparkly clutch bag and they left.
‘The 21 Club on West 52nd Street,’ Rafferty said.
The cab driver nodded.
The restaurant was just around the park into Midtown and the cab ride only took a few minutes. Rafferty paid and they both turned to look at the 21 club. It had a brightly lit front with a welcoming awning over the entrance. A row of jockeys adorned the balcony above. They were painted, cast-iron statues. Natalie pointed to them.
‘Look. What are those?’ she asked while taking his arm in the cold December night air.
‘They’re given by wealthy patrons who own racehorses. Some of them date back to the thirties. It’s a famous 21 Club tradition.’
‘They’re very colourful.’
‘Yeah, racehorse owners have their own racing colours worn by the jockeys. Let’s go in.’
‘I hope their steaks aren’t made from horse meat,’ Natalie said.
Rafferty laughed and then suggested that she order the chicken or the fish.
Inside, at the desk, the maitre d’ looked up. He smiled at Rafferty.
‘Good evening, sir,’ he said.
‘I have a table reserved.’
‘Yes, sir, what’s the name?’
‘I didn’t give my name. I called earlier and was told if I turned up with a famous Hollywood actress then I could have a table.’
The waiter expressed mild annoyance.
‘But you’re on your own, sir.’
Rafferty looked surprised and spun around. Tucked in behind him, wearing a naughty, mischievous grin was a hidden Natalie. She giggled. Rafferty frowned at her. He grabbed her upper arm, pulled her out in front of him and pushed her up to the desk. For a moment, the waiter seemed confused but then as he focused on Natalie his face lit up with happiness.