Anything Goes

by Cathryn Cooper

  Rene had not stipulated where they were to dine, but told her he would be back for her later.

  'Get some rest,' he said.

  His advice was gladly received. Tonight had been quite a performance; much better than the ordeal she had originally thought it would be.

  There was a low pink chaise in her dressing room, so she curled up on that still wearing her pink wrap.

  By the time Rene came back, she had slept well and woken refreshed.

  'I'm sorry,' she blurted, annoyed with herself for not being ready for him. 'It won't take me a moment to get dressed.'

  His hand landed on her shoulder. 'Please. Stay as you are.'

  Sheree found it impossible to conceal her surprise.

  'But I can't possibly go out like this!'

  A vision of her half-naked body entering a high-class restaurant went through her mind.

  Rene shook his head. 'We are not going out to some place where pink water is served and bootleg whisky is poured from a white china teapot. We are celebrating here. Everyone else has gone, and it will be only you and me. I have even laid on some special entertainment for you.'

  Holding her elbow, he guided her out of the door. She let herself be handled by him and there was something oddly comforting in doing so.

  The club was strangely quiet and far darker than when it was full.

  Their footsteps echoed as he guided her across the alternate dark and light diagonals of the inlaid maple flooring.

  We're finding our way almost by instinct, Sheree thought. It's as though I know each turn between each table, and yet I never leave the stage.

  As though reading her thoughts, Rene tightened his grip on her elbow.

  Although all the other chairs were turned upside down on top of their tables, a lone arrangement had been made on a small dais next to a plush red curtain.

  Rene pulled the chair back for her before sitting down. Sheree hugged the silken robe around herself. She felt very vulnerable with this man but, because nothing but silk stood between her and him, she also felt highly aroused.

  'To us,' he said as he poured the champagne then raised his glass. 'And especially to you.'

  Bubbles of champagne seemed to burst in Sheree's mouth and an airy lightness came to her mind.

  She had never touched champagne before coming here. She had never done a lot of other things either.

  'Now,' he said, his hand covering hers. 'Let us get down to business.'

  Sheree wanted to say, never mind the business, please keep touching my hand. But Rene was the boss. He was calling the shots and paying her a salary for standing up on stage, singing sexy songs and looking sexy herself.

  He brought out a single page of paper and slid it across the table to her. He took a pen from an inside coat pocket and passed that to her too.

  Just as she was about to pick up the pen, he took hold of her hand.

  'Drink the glass of champagne first - to seal our contract.'

  'I certainly will,' she replied, and together they drank the first two glasses.

  The lightness in her head was turning to a thick mist, and the writing on the paper she was signing had suddenly turned into some ancient language she did not understand.

  But she signed anyway. It didn't matter what was written there. It could only be in her favour. Nothing could be any worse than living in the back of beyond and being a nobody. Now she was a star and, although memories of Errol still tugged at her heartstrings, tonight the alcohol helped drown him out.

  Through a champagne-induced haze, she handed the signed paper back to Rene and, as the second glass reached her lips, she studied him more fully.

  I want him, she murmured inwardly, and yet she could not say it out loud. You've been good to me, she wanted to say, yet she couldn't.

  Suddenly it was hard to find her voice, that same voice that had earlier sung such a steamy, provocative song. What could she say to him?

  'I believe you said something about entertainment.'

  She was only vaguely aware of his smile. She cursed herself for not having had the sense to time her drinks more sensibly. But there it was. She was ecstatic; happy to be where she was and to be with who she was with.

  Rene snapped his fingers.

  Suddenly, two dancers spun onto the floor.

  There was no music to accompany them, but then, there didn't need to be.

  These were not modern day dancers, but dark-haired, sloe-eyed people who hailed from the Andes, that thick spine of mountains that runs from Mexico down to the tip of Patagonia.

  They wore odd tribal outfits that might have been Mayan, or might just as well have been Aztec or Inca.

  Aprons of black cloth trimmed with gold hung from their loins. Thick bands of gold encircled their necks and were matched by heavy rings that hung from their ears and their nostrils.

  A single, tall red feather stood high from their heads, and gold bells and feathers jangled from their ankles.

  Their bodies were muscular, the contours enhanced by the generous provision of oil.

  Something about their beauty and her own nakedness made Sheree sit up straighter, open her eyes wider.

  Who were these beautiful men?

  Just by looking at them she judged that their dance would be wildly sensual, perhaps even bestial.

  She shivered at the final thought. She'd heard and seen many things since arriving in New Orleans, but she knew men could be bestial no matter whether they lived in the city or the countryside.

  The men, their legs wide apart, knees bent, bowed stiffly as if they'd been carved from stone.

  Open-mouthed, Sheree watched every move they made, fascinated by their very shininess in the enforced gloom of the club.

  She saw them reach for something from their belts. Suddenly their eyes peered through slits in ornate ceremonial masks of red, yellow and bright blue.

  They were hideous masks, and yet at the same time they were oddly intriguing and pleasantly frightening.

  The lone wail of some kind of pipe or flute suddenly drifted into the room.

  The men began to dance, their knees always bent, their lower bodies seeming to remain stiff whilst their upper bodies writhed and swayed to the sound of the haunting music and, as it seemed to Sheree, the pounding of her own heart.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she saw them take knives from their belts. They were huge things that flashed in the light of the lone candle on their table and the moonlight that came in via a fanlight above a thick wooden door.

  The dancers whirled, their knives held high, the haunting music sending shivers creeping down Sheree's back.

  She felt Rene edge nearer, but could not look at him. She was spellbound, lost in some primeval time slip that drew her to it.

  Just when she thought the dance had reached its climax, a slim, crying girl was dragged out onto the floor by another man.

  Her wrists were tied in front of her, and her head fell forward, then rolled, and fell backwards as she cried out in a language Sheree did not understand. And yet, it didn't matter that she didn't understand the language. She knew from the girl's actions and her heartfelt pleas that she was crying for mercy, and the way she was crying sent icy shivers down Sheree's spine.

  The girl was flung to her knees, then the man who held the rope that fastened her wrists pulled it backwards so that she lay back with her legs bent beneath her.

  Her breasts were bare except for a small cloth that hung from a neck collar. One of the masked dancers pulled it back so it fell over the girl's face.

  Legs still wide, the men stood either side of her, their knives raised high.

  Sheree covered her face with her hands, but peered through the gaps in her fingers.

  The two dancers brought the knives down slowly and circled them over the girl's breasts.

  Sheree heard the sound of whimpering. Her whole body now felt icy cold. Should she rush to stop this? Of course not, you fool. This isn't real. It's just entertainment.

>   The haziness caused by the champagne had dissipated completely. This tableau, whether it was real or not, was absolutely riveting and, despite her terror, she didn't want to miss a thing.

  A small piece of fabric was all that covered the girl's abdomen. One of the masked men bent down and, with his knife, severed it from the red belt around her waist.

  Sheree knew that Rene was watching her as she gasped her surprise. The girl's sex was completely hairless, a shining brown slice of flesh with a width of pinkness running through its middle.

  Sheree moved to the edge of her seat as one of the men began to sway and chant a strange, throbbing song that sounded full of evil intent, although she did not understand a single word.

  He held his knife so that the blade faced downwards and slowly, so very slowly, he began to bend his knees more until his haunches were close to the floor.

  A sacrifice! That surely was his intent.

  As this terrible realisation grabbed hold of her Sheree grabbed Rene's arm.

  'Please, Rene! You must stop it!'

  Her eyes pleaded with him. Her face was flushed with fear and her mouth hung open.

  'Please!'

  Rene merely smiled at her, then tapped on her arm and pointed to what was now happening.

  When she turned her gaze back to the tableau, she saw that the man had laid both his dagger and his gold-edged apron to one side. He was now between the girl's legs, seams and dents appearing in his well-muscled buttocks as he thrust himself in and out of the moaning girl.

  As he plunged his penis into her, he clasped both her thighs tight against him.

  Her hips were higher than her head. Her body sloped backwards and her arms were still stretched out beyond her head.

  Up until now, the other masked man stood like a statue, his blade held downwards in front of his face, his knees bent, his legs far apart so that the gap below formed half of a square.

  But, as Sheree watched him, he straddled the girl's head, then went down on his knees.

  With a quick movement he removed his gold-edged apron and placed it to one side. He put the knife on top of it.

  Sheree could not tear her eyes away from the scene. The girl was still whimpering, but differently now. Here and there she cried out as the man between her thighs quickened his stroke and lunged into her more deeply.

  In a way Sheree felt she had been duped by the scene. She had been through the whole gambit of terror and fear for the girl. She had truly thought the girl would be killed, instead of which the only thing she was sacrificing was her sex.

  The second man now squatted over the girl's face, his balls coming to no more than an inch above her mouth. Suddenly he reached behind him with one hand and put his other hand on her chin.

  Puzzled, Sheree looked on, then flushed slightly when she realised what he'd done.

  By pinching the girl's nose and getting a grip on her chin, he had forced her to open her mouth. As she did so his balls slid in and, as he began to rock to and fro over her, he pulled on his penis.

  It was a while before he tired of this but, when he did, he got on to all fours, his penis hanging over the girl's mouth before she accepted it.

  The sound of the men's chanting and the high wail of the Pan pipes helped those watching to suspend belief.

  Mesmerised to the very end, Sheree still could not quite believe it when all three men and the girl got to their feet, smiling widely behind their masks.

  All four bowed. Rene clapped. Sheree stared after them as they left the room.

  Rene came closer. His arm encircled her shoulders and his lips kissed then licked at her ear.

  'Did you enjoy the entertainment I provided for you, ma Sheree?'

  'I can't believe...' Sheree placed a hand on her breast - as if that would stop her heart from thudding like it did. 'I thought they were going to...'

  'Kill her?'

  He stroked her hair as he said it, then wove delicious circles among the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. 'Yesss. I did... I thought...'

  Sheree could not stop herself from stammering.

  She took her head vigorously as if to shake off the strange emotions she was feeling.

  'I was terrified, and then I was...'

  'Aroused?'

  Rene had thrown in the word so casually. And yet she knew that deep down there was nothing casual about it. The scene and her reaction had all been calculated. But what for, she asked herself? What for?

  Seemingly, Rene answered the question for her.

  'Our agreement is signed. Tomorrow I will take you to my home. There you will discover your own terror. Your own sensuality.'

  Sheree stared at him.

  'I don't understand.'

  Not once had that confident smile left his face.

  He touched her cheek and rubbed gently at a place where some make-up might have smudged as she'd watched the dancers.

  'You will, ma cherie. You most certainly will.'

  Chapter 17

  Rene Brabonne enjoyed driving, though he wasn't too keen on the journey he was undertaking this fine spring day.

  He'd travelled this way many times before and for the same reasons. What was eating him, for God's sake?

  But he put a brave face on things and smiled at his passenger. Each time he did so, an accompanying throb occurred in his loins which resulted in an inelegant lump appearing at the front of his trousers.

  For her part, the green-eyed, coffee-skinned girl who had been called Shirley Anne before she arrived in New Orleans, sat doing her best not to look disappointed.

  Rene had not made any move to seduce her the night before. Why was that? Surely he must have noticed she wanted him to. The entertainment he had put on for her had inflamed her body. What effect had it had on him? This, she decided, was the moment to ask him.

  'Last night's floor show - it was very...' She fumbled for the right word. 'Different.'

  Rene kept his eyes on the road ahead. 'Different? In what way?'

  Sheree was a little peeved that her question had been answered with a question.

  'I really thought they were going to kill her. She was a sacrifice, wasn't she? And the knives were real weren't they?'

  She looked at him, saw a muscle twitch in his cheek; knew he would have to answer.

  A faint, slow smile creased his face then was gone.

  'And then?'

  Sheree felt suddenly embarrassed. He wanted her to describe what happened. Did that turn him on, just talking about it? She recalled the thoughts she had read from both his and Stacey's mind. He liked watching, so maybe he liked having sex described to him too.

  She took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap like some child about to explain why they had done so miserably at school.

  'They didn't stab her. At least, not with a knife. I hadn't expected that. I really thought...'

  'That they would kill her because you saw their aggression...'

  'And felt her fear...' Sheree blurted.

  Rene's smile returned and he shook his head, his hands sliding round the wheel as they took a sharp bend.

  'Why did you think she was frightened?'

  Sheree didn't hesitate. 'Because she trembled and she whimpered when they tore her clothes from her. And she couldn't save herself. She was frightened. I know she was. I saw her shiver, I heard her cry out.'

  Rene shook his head again, an action which made Sheree frown and feel suddenly angry.

  'Ma cherie. Has it not occurred to you that there is a very fine line between fear and pleasure? They are bed-mates. Anticipation of either causes trembling and moans of pain or delight. What you saw last night proved that.'

  Sheree narrowed her eyes and shook her head. 'I don't understand.'

  At the very moment she shook her head as if to clear her mind, there was a sudden burst of activity from the side of the road. The view through the windscreen was blotted out by a blanket of billowing whiteness. The tyres squealed, the car swerved as Rene slammed on the brakes
so quickly that the engine stalled and they came to an immediate stop.

  Heart thudding, Sheree followed the blanket of whiteness that had so suddenly come upon them.

  Two pelicans, their feathers glistening in the sunlight, flapped their wings and soared higher, loose feathers trailing behind them and floating down onto the road and the car bonnet as they rose into the sky.

  Sheree watched them soar, her heart no longer thudding and her sudden fear turned to instant wonder.

  She was only vaguely aware of Rene restarting the engine.

  'You see, Sheree. Your own fear turned to wonder. Just like the girl last night.'

  His words lingered with her as they drove. She still wanted to ask him why he hadn't made the effort to seduce her, but was too proud to ask. After all, she knew from reading both his and Stacey's mind that their sex life was far more adventurous than Mr and Mrs Average America.

  So an odd silence hung between them. Sometimes Sheree's thoughts returned to the pagan scene that had started by terrifying her and had ended up arousing her. On top of that she wondered exactly why she was going to the Brabonne Plantation. Rene had told her that his mother would like to meet her. He took all his favourite girls there, and no doubt Sheree herself would find the family history of great interest. It didn't seem a very good excuse, but she was obliged to go along with it.

  'What if I don't want to come with you?' she'd asked petulantly. 'Isn't it up country a little where the mosquitoes outnumber the people?'

  'Use lemon juice to deter them,' he replied. 'Besides, if you read the small print of the contract you signed last night, you are obliged to do almost anything I ask.'

  She was going to ask him if sex was included in the contract and could she back out of it if he failed to uphold his side of the bargain, but he didn't look in the mood for sassy questions. He continued to keep his eyes on the road. Whilst he did so, Sheree took advantage of the fact. She studied his classic profile, his high cheekbones, well-formed eyebrows and swept-back dark hair. His looks sent a shiver through her and, for the very first time, she realised that shiver was partly fear, partly desire.

  How would it be, she wondered? His body against hers. His hand pressing her buttock so that her body fitted tightly against him and his erection prodded her belly demanding she open the gates and let him in.