Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  “I’m honestly sorry if anything I did upset you the other night,” Blake said, while we were waiting for our food to arrive.

  I’d ordered a risotto; at least I knew what that was.

  “Don’t mention it,” I replied, just wishing we could get back to work, or that the food would arrive or that something would happen to stop the conversation getting any closer to that memory of his hand between my legs.

  “No, I was out of line,” he persisted. “I should have been more professional. It’s just …” He looked off into the distance, his eyes burning. “I misread the signals. And for that, I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe you didn’t,” I said.

  I could feel that confident girl inside me taking control once again.

  Did I really just say that?

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Maybe you didn’t misread the signals,” I said.

  I could feel my heartbeat pounding through my whole body as our eyes locked across the table, Blake’s features changing almost imperceptibly as my words began to sink in.

  He leant urgently towards me, his fingers brushing mine, sending a shiver of electric pinpricks all around me.

  “I’d hoped that was the case,” he said, his fingers now closing around my hand, my mind flashing back once more to the feel of those very same fingers deep inside me, working the pleasure deliciously from my trembling body.

  I want more.

  I want you right now ...

  “I’m hardly ever wrong about people, Jessica.”

  And I was actually about to speak – actually about to tell him just how much I wanted him – when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar figure, heading straight for our table, a familiar figure with bright dyed red hair and a shiny purple blouse: Marianne.

  No.

  Not now, not here ...

  I watched her approach with a cold creeping dread, hoping to God that she wouldn’t spot us, but of course she made a beeline directly for our table, her eyes wide and friendly as she beamed at Blake, then her top lip quivering in a thin snarl as she clocked me seated opposite him.

  I watched her gaze flick back and forth, from Blake to me to our clasped hands, and I pulled my fingers away but it was too late.

  “Well, well, well,” she murmured with a tight-lipped smile, tottering a little on her heels; she’d obviously had more than a single glass of wine with her lunch. “Hello, Blake.” She turned to me. “And if it isn’t Jessica!” she continued, her voice now dripping with sarcasm. “What an interesting outfit you’ve chosen to wear here!”

  “Marianne,” Blake said calmly but firmly, obviously trying his hardest to keep things neutral. She was obviously a little drunk, and who knew what she might be capable of doing if she got angry, too.

  “So, Jessica” she said, trying her hardest to keep her venom under control, all three of us acutely aware that any kind of raised voice would cause a scene in such a hushed, formal restaurant. “I didn’t know that you and Blake Matthews were quite so well acquainted.”

  I shot Blake a look but he remained silent.

  “But then again,” she continued dryly, almost as an afterthought, “we’ve all been rather well acquainted with Blake at one time or another, haven’t we darling?”

  She gave him a cold little wink.

  “Actually Jessica is redesigning my apartment,” he said, obviously angry at what she was insinuating, and knowing this would wipe the smile off her face.

  Sure enough, her face dropped.

  Okay, Marianne may have been used to sexual competition, and was even enjoying making the suggestion that I was Blake’s latest plaything. But now? Now we were competing professionally. I’d won the Blake Matthews account she’d wanted so badly, and she just didn’t know how to take it.

  “How very cute,” she hissed. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go and vomit,” and with that she turned and tottered off, away into the darkness of the restaurant.

  There was a long moment of uneasy silence. I studied my cutlery, unable to look up at Blake.

  It could have been worse, I guess. She could have made a real scene. But instead she’d contented herself with a few cheap shots, and I had to be honest, one of them had hit home, hard.

  What did she mean about being acquainted?

  Don’t tell me Marianne’s been to one of your parties …

  Don’t tell me that she’s been with you, too?

  I just had to know. I looked up at him, the intensity throbbing now between us. “Has Marianne ever …” I began.

  But just then, of course, our food arrived. And like that, the moment had passed. I stared down at my dish. Perhaps a good square meal was just what I needed — after all, I’d eaten almost nothing in days — and with each mouthful of the risotto I began to feel a little better: restored, and ready finally to just get back to work.

  I knew I needed to focus, to get over myself and do the absolute best job I could on Blake’s apartment, so that it would find me other work, either with Matthews Hotels or elsewhere.

  Once our meal was finished, we began to go back over the project, and I felt a mounting satisfaction as I realized that, yes, I had done a pretty good job. I’d planned out Blake’s apartment from start to finish, sourcing the best, most unusual materials and furnishings, leaving behind my own unique stamp at each step of the way, and most satisfying of all was that Blake actually liked what I’d done.

  As we neared the end of the list, we both seemed satisfied that everything was firmly in place. Despite a few final touches — sourcing a few soft furnishings and art works to decorate — it was ready.

  And with a little pang of worry, I wondered if this meant that our business relationship would also be coming to an end. After all, how much of Blake would I really see, once this project was over? Even if I was given more work in his hotel chain, who’s to say it would be Blake overseeing it, and not someone else, Alex Wiltshire, perhaps?

  Once we’d run through the final points, I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

  And it was there in the beautifully ornate room, standing at the long row of faucets, checking my face in the gilt-edged mirror, about to wash my hands, when I heard the farthest stall flush ominously, a door being angrily slammed open, and then that familiar woozy click of heels on polished tiles.

  Oh God, not again ...

  I shot a panicked look at the exit, but there was no time to escape.

  “Hello, Marianne,” I said instead, politely as I could, as she joined me at the faucets. I had no choice but to play nice.

  As well as her overpowering scent of Dior Poison, I also thought I could smell alcohol, possibly even gin. Back when I worked for her, she wasn’t that big a drinker, and I wondered if her frustration at losing the Matthews account had taken an even harder toll than I first thought.

  I tried to focus simply on washing my hands, staring down at the basin. But when I looked up into the mirror, I realized to my horror that this scheming, venomous woman was just staring straight at me, waiting for me to turn and face her.

  I met Marianne’s eye uncomfortably, feeling my heart begin to pound as that old familiar feeling of being in trouble washed over me once more.

  She’s not your boss now, remember.

  But despite this thought, I felt the cold dread prickling across my skin, and I sensed her palpable hatred of me, oozing from every pore.

  “Listen to me, bitch,” she hissed, her voice low and trembling. “I know you stole the Matthews account. I’m not fucking stupid. But if you think for one God-damn second that Blake Matthews is interested in anything other than your tight little twenty-two-year-old pussy, then you’re even more of a stupid talentless whore than I first thought.”

  The words struck home, harder than I could have ever imagined they would. First talentless then whore: a quick one-two to the stomach, knocking the air right out of me.

  I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. I shook my head, but deep down I k
new that there was still a part of me that doubted Blake’s sincerity, a part of me that doubted that he hadn’t hired me for anything other than the chance to work his way between my legs.

  I’m not proud of it. Looking back now, there are a thousand things I could’ve said to her in that moment. But instead I simply turned and ran like a coward, dashing out of the bathroom, leaving the faucet running and Marianne cackling, my hands dripping wet, my face flushed with heat.

  “Everything okay? You look upset,” Blake said, as I sat back down.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, bottom lip trembling.

  “Let me guess: you ran into Marianne again.”

  I nodded.

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said …” I began, hearing my own voice booming in my ears. “She said I was nothing but a talentless whore.” As I spoke, I felt a surprising rush of sadness spring up in me. My eyes flooded with tears and my throat tightened as I choked back the urge to sob. “I’m sorry, Blake,” I said, flustered, shaking my head. “This is really unprofessional of me. I … I … I think I’d better go …”

  And before he could say a thing, I stood up and made a dash for the exit, past the surrounding tables of elderly diners, all of whom had clearly stopped their hushed conversations to watch me run out in tears, Blake’s calls to come back echoing in my ears as I raced up the stairs and out into the blinding white rush of daytime.

  §

  God damn it.

  My head was still in such a mess, it took me until I was almost outside the door to the apartment, my key inches from the lock, before I realized that I’d walked automatically to our old apartment, rather than Fallon’s, a couple of blocks in the other direction.

  You’re here now.

  What’s the worst that can happen?

  Greg and I were both adults, after all. We weren’t right for each other and our relationship had ended. It happened all the time. But it didn’t mean that we couldn’t be friends. I still cared about him, had so much respect for him. I just hoped that he felt the same way about me ...

  “Hello?” I called, taking a tentative step into the apartment.

  I looked around sadly. He’d already packed most of my things into cardboard boxes. And some of his things seemed packed up too. He was obviously moving out. It made sense. This place would be way too much for him to afford on his own, on his tiny hourly wage. Again I felt my heart go out to him, wishing there was something I could do, some quick fix to make everything better, for both of us.

  Life isn’t all roses, Jessica, I heard my mom say, another of her favorite old proverbs. I’d always shrugged and shook my head at that one in the past, but now I kind of understood what she meant.

  Just then, I heard the door to the bathroom creak open, and out came Greg, his hair wet and shiny, his muscular torso dripping wet, just a flimsy threadbare towel tied loosely around his waist. And it was so strange. I felt my body yearning for him – to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him inside me one last time – because now I knew I never would.

  “Oh, hey,” he said, surprised, a sad wounded tone to his voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Sorry,” I began, blushing, so taken aback by this odd new awkwardness between us. We’d known everything about each other, and now already it was like we were almost strangers. “I was just dropping by to collect a few of my things,” I explained, “but I can come back later if this isn’t a good time?”

  “No, it’s fine,” he said. “Just let me get dressed.”

  “Sure,” I replied, nervously, finding myself turning around to face the now-bare wall while he dropped his towel and sought out some clothes, even though I’d seen him naked a million times before.

  And again, I felt myself yearning for him, in a way I hadn’t for so long.

  “Okay, I’m decent,” he said shyly, and I turned around again to find him dressed in a pale blue cotton t-shirt and jeans. “I, uh, already made a start on packing up our things,” he continued, nodding down at the many boxes standing in two distinct piles in the center of the room.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” he said, softly. “I’m gonna crash with a guy from work for a while, until I figure out where I’m going. But I know that I’m getting out of New York, that’s for sure.”

  I smiled and nodded, remembering again just how much he hated it here.

  “You did a great job making this place beautiful, Jessica,” he said, nodding at the empty walls of our tiny little apartment, the first and only place we’d ever really called ‘home’ as a couple. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that. But the big city’s just not for me. I need space. Space and fresh air and sunshine ...”

  “I know,” I said, wanting to just take a step towards him, to throw my arms around him and squeeze him tight, to convince him that everything would work out okay for him, but remaining rooted awkwardly to the spot, the space between us seeming so huge and unmanageable. “I’m so sorry, Greg,” I said, hoping he believed me.

  “Me too. I know I wasn’t always there for you, as much as you needed me to be.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  We both turned our attention once more to the piles of boxes, knowing that it was time, time to finally divide up our stuff for good. To my surprise, Greg began to smile.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Well,” he explained, “when I made a start on splitting up our things, I thought it might be difficult, that there’d be things we’d argue over ... But you know what? It was totally easy. We’ve been moving in different directions for a long time now, haven’t we?”

  “I guess we have,” I replied, knowing deep down that he was telling the truth.

  §

  That evening I found myself back on Fallon’s sofa, snuggled up in my huge nest of blankets and pillows, a container of half-eaten chow mein sitting on the coffee table in front of me next to an empty pint of Ben & Jerry’s, the TV spewing out endless reruns of Say Yes to the Dress, my favorite guilty pleasure, and a mountain of boxes containing my possessions – everything I’d managed to fit into a single taxi ride – now piled in a precarious tower of cardboard against the far wall.

  I’d reassured Fallon a thousand times that I’d be back to my usual self soon enough. But the truth was, I didn’t even know what my ‘usual self’ was anymore. If anything, I felt completely changed, almost unrecognizable to myself anymore, as if all my atoms had been rejigged.

  I didn’t know quite who I was or what I wanted any more.

  I knew now that I didn’t want Greg — or at least the life I was headed for if I’d stayed with him. I felt bad for the way things ended, but at the same time another part of me felt kind of relieved that it was over. I mean, I was still only twenty-two years old; was I really ready to settle down for a suburban life with two screaming children and a dog just yet?

  And then there was Blake. The man who caused these strange flushes of excitement in me when I least expected it, who had awoken something new within me that I didn’t even know I possessed, who seemed to have turned me inside out, just by his presence in my life.

  And if I was truly honest with myself, I’d found my mind turning back to the party more than once — there were desires in me that had been awoken that night, that were still awake, that were in fact becoming more and more restless, with every second I dwelled on them.

  Tomorrow night was the last Friday of the month, which meant that Blake’s party would be taking place once again. And what was there — apart from my own inhibitions, of course — to stop me from going?

  After all, I was a grown woman, now single, and I still had one ticket left … What was to stop me attending, and perhaps having a little fun of my own this time, working out some of my new desires and curiosities with an anonymous stranger ...

  Or two …

  And as I thought about this, I found myself slipping my hand softly beneath the waistband of my pajama pants, onc
e again finding myself so wet, so ready — these thoughts obviously triggering something so powerful and animal in me, it was almost outside of my control.

  I sighed softly, toying with my clit, my eyes closing as I felt the first sensations of pleasure begin to flutter once more through my body, my mind filling with images of the things I’d seen that first Friday night at Blake’s party — the blonde girl being double-teamed, the two girls no older than me eating each others’ pussies, that waiter with his hard, thick cock, and of course Blake, his skin glittering with sweat, his eyes fixed on me as he pumped his rod, Gina on her hands and knees before his godlike, athletic frame …

  But just then my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of bare feet, padding down the corridor from Fallon’s bedroom to the living room, and I quickly whipped my hand guiltily from my PJs.

  “You sure you don’t wanna come?” Fallon said innocently, poking her head into the room, her freshly cut fringe so severe, her eyes rimmed in thick black eyeliner, her mouth curling in a hopeful smile. “We’ve been working on some new songs. I think you’ll like them ...”

  She’d been on at me to come to one of her shows for weeks now, but again I didn’t feel up to it.

  I shook my head, smiled back at her, and said, “The very next one, I promise.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to that, missy,” she replied, before planting a quick kiss on my forehead and then turning and heading back down the hall to the front door.

  I waited for it to slam closed, and I was about to slip my hand back between my legs, but just then I heard the familiar ‘ping’ of my iPad, signaling one new email.

  What now?

  I reached down and lifted it up on top of the covers.

  Why I Hired You

  Blake Matthews

  To: Jessica

  Jessica,

  I’ve no idea exactly what she said to you. But I can guess. This world is a tough place, especially for a talented woman just starting out on her journey to the top. Marianne should know that; God knows she’s had to fight herself.