Calendar Girl

by Stella Duffy

  By this time, Saz had manoeuvred herself so that she was sitting on the floor at his feet, looking as close as she could manage like the doting acolyte and Simon James, like so many good-looking men before him, couldn’t believe that Saz wasn’t really solely interested in his glorious tales of derring-do.

  Simon James smiled the expansive smile of a rich, drunk man and began.

  “Well, honey – what I did was I made sure to listen.”

  Saz nodded.

  “Always listen and never interrupt – and I learnt things. I worked evenings and weekends while I was in high school, saved every cent and then I travelled – I went to casinos all over Europe and the States and met men – wealthy men, businessmen, and other men so rich they had no interest in business, and I’d drink with them and listen to them and they’d tell me what they wanted. It was kind of like taking a survey.”

  “But how did you get the money to go to all the clubs?”

  “Didn’t I just tell you not to interrupt honey?”

  “Sorry, I’m just interested – interested in you, I mean.”

  Saz smiled and James started again.

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t working, I was doing odd jobs – delivering and stuff like that – nothing too messy though, I like to keep my hands clean. I won’t have dirty fingernails. And I listened, I heard what those men had to say. I decided to set up the sort of club they wanted – supply and demand, give the public what they want.”

  “And here it is?”

  “Yeah, here it is. Plenty of blondes, dark eyes, clever girls who know how to talk and when to keep their mouths shut and no whores. No sluts. I can’t tell you how important that is – these men can get any woman they want – they don’t have to pay for it and they don’t want to be mixing with the sort of women that sell.”

  Saz smiled, hating him all the more and forbore to mention that in her opinion changing your hair and eye colour and flattering leery old men was just as much a form of prostitution as the traditional method, merely adding, “Yes, but we do take money off them though, don’t we?”

  “Yeah, and they know that. They don’t mind paying exorbitant amounts for good champagne, that’s part of the game they’re prepared to play, but they aren’t prepared to pay for women. Any women.”

  “No,” thought Saz, “And that’s what makes them the cheap bastards they are.”

  “You know,” he continued, downing his whisky and holding out an unsteady glass for Saz to refill, “What they like best about this place, is that it’s safe – my God! The deals that go on here! Mostly up there in July,” he said referring to the bridge room at the top of the house, “They partner up and use the pairing for business deals, I’ve watched it happen, it’s kind of like a blind date – if they find someone they can play well with, then they can expect to do good business with them. There’s more partnerships made here than on the Love Boat, honey.”

  James was starting to slow down now, and Saz still wanted more. While providing a place for business men to do deals was probably shady, depending on what they were dealing in, it was hardly illegal and Saz had a feeling that James still knew a lot more than even he, in his arrogance, was prepared to say. She put on a look of complete little girl innocence and asked, “And the English girls, Simon? What do they think of us?”

  “Christ! Girls! You’re so damn self-centred!” James laughed at her, “Here I am, telling you about some of the greatest business minds in the latter part of the twentieth century, and all you want to know is ‘Am I pretty enough?’ Oh God! Women! I’ll tell you what they think about you English girls – they think you make perfect pigeon pie!”

  James roared at his joke and pulled Saz up on to her knees so she was kneeling directly in front of him, he held her right arm tight while he ruffled her hair with his free hand.

  “They think, September – and let me tell you, ALL English girls are called September, it’s because that was the first time I was ever there … They call themselves what they want, but I call them September. And my businessmen think that with your expertise with tea trays and plates of scones that you’re the finest carriers anywhere in the world.”

  Saz, wondering just how dumb she could get away with, said “Oh?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me babe, you know what I mean, you’re a smart girl, you must be, or I wouldn’t have taken you on.”

  “Stupid?”

  “Yeah, are you telling me you don’t know what a pigeon is honey?”

  “No. OK. But I am telling you I’ve never been one.”

  “Don’t worry darling, everyone has to start somewhere. Now take my jacket and we’ll see where you can start.”

  Saz took James’ jacket and feeling in the pocket the unmistakable weight of a handgun she placed it as far as possible from him on a chair by the door. While she was there she dimmed the lights even lower and fixed him yet another whisky. She crossed to where he was sprawled in the big leather armchair, handed him the drink and asked if he would like a foot rub.

  “Yes darling, I’d love that – you start there. Hah! At my feet – that’s a good place to start.”

  James lay back, took a long draught of the whisky and closed his eyes. Saz slipped his shoes off, mentally blessed her reflexology teacher and began to send Simon James off into one of the soundest sleeps of his life.

  When he’d been snoring for over fifteen minutes, Saz got up and left the room, making immediately for his office downstairs.

  It was four thirty by now and the building was empty. Street lights were the only illumination, that and the dim light from the room where James slept. She left the door open slightly and hurried down the two flights of stairs to James’ office, stopping at the girls’ changing room to pick up her bag and coat. It was as she’d expected, James’ elaborate security arrangements, of which he was justifiably proud, were not yet in operation, needing his personal key to turn the system on. And his office door was still unlocked – James had an old fashioned dressing room with bed adjacent to his office and had evidently been expecting to get her down there before he fell asleep.

  She walked in and turned on the desk light. A blotter with a few non-specific doodles and two silver framed photos – one that was probably his wife – brunette interestingly enough and one of an old woman, a black and white photo of a woman peering uncertainly into the camera. “So you didn’t lie about your beloved Mama then Simon! Good boy. I’m sure she’d be very proud of you now!”

  She tried the drawers. The top one was unlocked and contained a few messages, nothing of much interest – except the keys to the other drawers.

  “God! You’re more trusting than I would be.”

  She tried the drawers, the second contained a mirror, a few blades and a small crystal box of what tasted to Saz like almost pure Colombian.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Shame I’m a fitness freak these days!”

  The next drawer down had a lot of files – mostly on tax and wages.

  “Well, James, if I wanted to get you, I’m sure I could just send this on to the IRS, but unfortunately I’ve got prettier fish to fry.”

  She locked both drawers, replaced the keys in the top one and turned to the filing cabinet. This was easier, for while Saz knew it would be locked, she also knew exactly how to open it with a small paper clip from the desk. She began to go systematically through the files. Nothing in the top drawer, it was all building deeds, land rates and other papers which, while bound to be suspect, were not of much relevance to the original September.

  In the third drawer Saz found what she’d come for. A file which, month by month, day by day, listed all the girls.

  “What Colleen of the good ship Enterprise Allowance wouldn’t give for me to keep records like this!”

  Saz lifted out the “September” file and reeled when she saw that the first few pages neatly clipped together were her own. She felt a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she read the comments in James’ unmistakable sprawlin
g handwriting:

  NAME : ‘Mary’ (pseudonym?)

  CONTACT : Janice Green (‘June’ 1987/88). NB

  – call asap.

  HAIR : peroxide

  EYES : natural (dark brown)

  STATUS: untried (intends return UK some

  weeks, suggests more visits US) – regular??

  On the back of the page was Caroline’s telephone number with a note to check her address.

  There were four more Septembers in the file, some with not yet peroxided hair, and Saz decided to photograph rather than steal them. She reached into her bag and pulled out the tiny camera Caroline had managed to get for her and, praying that it would work correctly, she began to photograph the other sheets of paper – the others all had extra pages which Saz didn’t bother to read, if they were to do with whatever “pigeoning” James had been talking about, she’d need to check up on flights and dates anyway and now was certainly not the time to start analyzing the data.

  She was just taking the last photo when she heard James’ steps on the stairs above her. He shouted out, “September? Are you still here?”

  Saz shoved the “September” file back, closed the cabinet as quietly as she could, relocked it and threw the camera in her bag. Grabbing her bag and coat she ran into the dressing-room, closing the door behind her.

  Simon James crashed into his office and immediately checked the drawers of both his desk and his filing cabinet. He then kicked open the door of his dressing-room, switching on the bright overhead light and pointing the gun right at Saz’s head, he demanded:

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Bodily functions

  Saz looked up from where she lay naked on the bed, covered only by a sheet, smiled and said, “Waiting for you, Simon. What else?”

  James laughed. After years in the business this was what he’d come to expect from a lot of the girls who worked for him. He’d had an idea that maybe this one was different though. A feeling at the back of his mind that there was something else she was after. But no, in the end this girl was like all the others – peroxide blonde or natural, they were, after all, women. He put the gun down and loosened his tie.

  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep back there honey, hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

  “Oh no, Simon,” Saz purred. “That’s fine, it gave me a chance to come down here and get comfortable. Nice bed! It’s very … spacious. And this photo, is it your mother?”

  Saz pointed to the photo on his bedside table – it was unmistakably the same woman as the one framed on his desk, only in this photo the woman was years younger and smiling directly at the camera, the ocean behind her and small waves around her ankles.

  “Yeah. We were on vacation. Maine. My father wasn’t with us – it was a great holiday. Hot. Sunny. And completely irrelevant. Come over here, September.”

  Simon was slurring his words slightly, but not enough for Saz to assume he was still very drunk, unfortunately his little nap seemed to have re-energised him. She quickly weighed up her options and decided that playing along for the moment was her best chance. So, letting the sheet drop away from her, she slid out of the bed and walked across to James. He studied her body as she crossed the room.

  “You’ve got a fine physique babe. Do you work out?”

  “Not much Simon. I run. Swim a little. I don’t like the idea of a gym. I don’t like to get all hot and sweaty in front of too many people. I prefer to get sweaty with just one other person around, if you know what I mean.”

  Simon James did. He grabbed her left arm and pulled her to him. The swiftness of his movement and the cold silk of his shirt against her skin surprised her and Saz let out a gasp of breath. Simon James took this for a gasp of pleasure. He started to kiss her. Now Saz knew she was definitely in trouble. Either she could go along with it, have sex with a man for the first time in almost eight years, though at least on the last occasion she’d actually wanted to do so, or – and this was the much more appealing choice – find a way to get out of it. However, given that she’d decided to climb in James’ bed because it seemed safer than having him find her up to her armpits in the filing cabinet, it would look a bit strange for her to back out now. She supposed it was unlikely that James would have enough of an idea of modern feminism to grasp the politically correct concept of “I changed my mind and I have every right to do so”. In fact she had more than a sneaking suspicion that he’d be turned on by bullying her into having sex with him. Or worse. Her escape route would have to be much more careful than that. And as he ran his finely manicured nails down her back and held her against his smooth, stubble-free cheek, she realised she’d need a better excuse than any of the ones that were running through her head. James pulled her closer, his fine wool suit rubbing against her skin. She started to kiss him back, all the time her brain racing for an excuse, any reason to back out. James pushed her down on to the bed. Saz rolled around and began to massage his back.

  “Let me help you relax, Simon.”

  James turned and tried to kiss her again.

  “I don’t want to relax, sweetheart. Calming down is the last thing on my mind.”

  He wasn’t lying. Saz slipped out from under him, and preparing to accept the inevitable began to excuse herself.

  “I’m going to have to go to the bathroom, Simon.”

  “What is it, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all, you’re a great guy Simon – but I don’t want to have your baby.”

  James smiled and lay back.

  “Right. I think you’ll find everything you need in the cabinet on the left. Don’t be long though, I don’t want to cool down.”

  Saz smiled and ran her hand down his long, taut thigh as she left the room.

  “No, I won’t be long.”

  Saz sauntered into the bathroom, sashaying across the room in her best imitation of a naked Mae West.

  About half an hour later she dressed as quickly as she could, picked up her bag and coat from the chair and walked to the door.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow Simon. Goodnight.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that was it. I ran most of the way home, leaving him there to sulk like a little boy!”

  Caroline and Saz lay laughing on the bed as the thin morning sunlight filtered through the blinds.

  “I can’t believe you got away with it!”

  “Well, he was pretty pissed, maybe he was just looking for an excuse to go to sleep!”

  “But you actually cut yourself?”

  “Yeah. Extreme I know, but I’d rather have a small nick on my toe than … well, than fuck him.”

  Saz had taken a gamble on the fact that she knew American men to be usually more fastidious than their English counterparts, how they generally had a disgust of body hair on women and that disgust was likely to extend to the normal bodily functions of womankind as well. She also knew that James was particularly fussy about everything being spotlessly clean, he went crazy if any of the girls had so much as a speck of dirt on their clean white shirts, so she couldn’t imagine him allowing her to soil his smooth silk sheets. She’d gone to the bathroom, taken out his old-fashioned safety razor and made a tiny nick on the underside of her big toe. And then, with a few drops of blood on her upper thigh, she’d walked back into the room. She dived for her bag, pulling out a couple of tampons and chattered on a little more, looked up at where he lay on the bed. He was fully dressed and armed, she was naked and vulnerable, and yet she knew she’d won as the erection he’d been so forcefully pushing against her, quickly subsided.

  “Shit!”

  “I’m sorry Simon, really I am. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Saz reached out to stroke his arm and when he flinched at her touch, she knew she could push it even further.

  “I mean, if you’d like me to do anything else …?”

  “No! It’s fine. Just go home and let me get some sleep. I’ve wasted most o
f the damn night on you, now piss off!”

  “I’m sorry. Really I am Simon.”

  Saz sunk her teeth into another doughnut and burst out laughing again.

  “God Carrie, you should have seen his face!”

  She’d picked up coffee and doughnuts on her way back to Caroline’s because she knew she had to wake her and tell the story of the great escape and she also knew that Caroline would only be happy to hear the tale if she came bearing gifts of food as well.

  “Christ Saz, you’re lucky!”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it kiddo, sheer brilliance in the face of almost impossible odds is how I like to look at it!”

  “Yeah, but don’t you think it’s a bit politically suspect to plead ‘period’?”

  “I didn’t ‘plead’ it. He assumed. You think I should have done it?”

  “No. But you could have used the opportunity to educate him in the joys of the natural workings of the female body!”

  “Right Carrie. Well, you’re welcome to take him a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves if you want, I’d just as soon leave him ignorant if you don’t mind.”

  “OK, so what now?”

  “Now I get the first flight home and you print up these photos as soon as you can so that I can study the information while I’m on the plane.”

  “What did you manage to take?”

  “I got one of each of the September files.”

  “Good move, but doesn’t he still have my phone number?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call the phone company and get them to give you a new one. That’s the only thing of yours I gave him. I said I couldn’t remember the address – he was supposed to get it from me tomorrow, but I guess he’ll have to wait. I’ll leave you the cash to pay for changing the number, I certainly earned enough in the past week! So, how soon can you get the photos developed?”

  “This afternoon I suppose. I’ll go into college and do them first thing. Why don’t you call the airports and find out what time you’ll be able to get a plane?”