I trudged upward, soon able to look down on Monaco spread out below. The entire Principality was a narrow strip of land clinging to the cliffs above. Less than two miles of coastline played host to the largest number of millionaires and billionaires anywhere in the world. Wealth surrounded me: Lamborghinis crawled beside Porsches, and Ferraris were a dime a dozen.
In Monaco-Ville, the old city’s medieval heart beat slowly. I drifted through the cathedral, seeking sanctuary from the incessant heat, squinting up at the overblown gold decorations, breathing in the warm, dusty air. It was hard to imagine that once a year the roar of Formula One racing cars echoed around the centuries-old streets.
I spent too long day-dreaming over my sketches inside the florid church, listening to the babble of voices from twenty different nations. Running out of time to call my own, I chose the art gallery over the Jardin Exotique, and walked with Picasso, Miró, Hockney and Matisse.
The gallery was also one of the few places that was free. Prices in the high-end shops made me wince. I couldn’t imagine how ordinary people managed to live here. I may as well have been that snotty-faced kid pressing my face against the glass panes of a life I could never afford.
But by the time I made my way back to the motor launch, I was considerably calmer. Mel was an irritation, nothing more. That’s what I told myself. The truth was that his last comment had gotten under my skin.
At the jetty, the launch was waiting. I didn’t speak to the guy who was piloting me, merely returning his disinterested nod.
When I walked into my room, I saw that Abby had left a tube of Bactine on my bed. I was grateful. I’d probably need that later.
I showered quickly, shaved again and decided I had ten minutes to get some food before the required ‘just-seen-my-ex’ rebound pound.
The staff kitchen was jammed, and for the first time I saw something approaching the full complement of crew that Emma had catering to her every whim.
Several looked up as I walked in, and Abby waved from the bench seat where she was in deep conversation with Silvi. I was relieved that Mel was nowhere to be seen—I wasn’t sure how long my Zen calm would last. It was only superficial, at best.
“Can I help you, Mr. Jansen?” Silvi asked, her voice formal for now.
“I was going to get some food, if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” she said, frowning. “You are a guest. In future, please use the telephone in your room to order from the menu. If you’d like to wait there.”
In other words, fuck off.
I shook my head quickly. “Sorry, I don’t have time. I have to … be elsewhere.”
Several of the staff exchanged amused looks that I worked hard to ignore.
“I’ll make him a sandwich,” Abby volunteered, quietly.
Silvi hesitated, then jerked her head in a curt nod.
She waved me to an empty seat in between the saturnine launch pilot and a woman in her forties who introduced herself as Vanessa, told me she was Maltese, had been married four times, but still believed in love. All in the time it took Abby to make a sandwich.
Okaaaay.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abby about to slap some onions into the cheese and ham sandwich she was making for me.
“Uh, Abby, could you hold the onion, please?”
She threw me a surprised look.
“Don’t you like onions?”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Sure, but not everyone likes onion breath.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her cheeks reddened as several people laughed.
“La vie est un oignon; on pleure en le pelant,” announced Silvi, looking at me.
“Bloody hell, Silvi!” said one of the men. “What the eff does that mean?”
“Life is an onion—you cry when you peel it,” I answered, helpfully.
Abby blushed even more deeply, and I couldn’t help smiling to see her face the same color as her hair. It was cute.
I ate the sandwich quickly while she puttered around, still embarrassed. She was standing at the sink trying not to look at me when I reached past her to fill a glass with water.
“Thank you for the food,” I said, quietly.
She stiffened and peeped over her shoulder.
“And for the ointment you left in my cabin. I really appreciate it.”
I kissed her lightly on the cheek. She nodded, her skin still pink and hot.
I glanced at my wristwatch and sighed.
“Gotta get going.”
“Bye, Hallen,” she whispered.
Several of the men made ribald catcalls as I left.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” shouted one.
“Nah! Don’t do anything Mel wouldn’t do,” said a second.
“Wouldn’t or couldn’t?” I replied, turning to flip them off.
I was glad that most of the crew accepted me. Sort of. I wasn’t a guest and I wasn’t staff. I existed in some weird parallel world; my job got less respect than theirs, but earned more; I served the same mistress, and yet it wasn’t the same.
It could give you a headache just thinking about it.
So I did what I always did—I ignored it, concentrating instead on what I was going to do. Getting in the zone, so to speak.
It was only sex.
Emma’s cabin was empty when I pushed open the door. Next to a fresh dish of strawberry cream pralines, a bottle of pink champagne was chilling in an ice bucket. I kicked off my boat shoes and lay on the bed, wondering if I should undress first. Somehow that seemed too sleazy, even for me. Instead, I unbuttoned my shirt, leaving it open to the waist. I wished I’d brought a book to read.
I sat up again, looking around her cabin, but all I could find were some women’s magazines. I started reading an article that caught my attention, Ten simple steps to stunning orgasms! before tossing it aside. I could have written it better myself.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text.
** Happy birthday, you lucky bastard. How’s Monte Carlo? Fuck you, I don’t wanna know. Carl. **
It made me smile, and I sent a quick reply.
** LMAO. Take a job with sex and travel = FUCK OFF! **
I was just putting my phone away when the door flung open and Emma stormed in.
“God, I hate men!” she yelled. “I want to string him up by his balls—if he had any! Every breath they take is a fucking useless waste of God’s good air!”
Wow. Not the best start to an evening. I hoped she was talking about her ex and not me.
I wasn’t sure what to do: kiss her, ignore her, slap her, or fuck her before she had a stroke. Maybe all of them—not necessarily in that order. I settled for pulling off my shirt, and measuring her reaction.
She took a deep breath and stared down at me.
“That’s better,” she sighed, her scorching fury melting away. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have high blood pressure if I saw that body every day. I should put a claim in for your bill to be paid on my health insurance.”
I grinned up at her as she sat on the bed and stroked my chest, before dropping a quick kiss onto each of my nipples.
I shivered under her touch, and a cat-like smile of contentment curved her plump lips upward.
I leaned on my elbows to reach her neck, kissing, licking and adding playful little bites for the personal touch.
“I need a drink,” she moaned.
“Should I open the champagne?” I murmured against her over-perfumed skin.
“Mmmm!”
I sat up, reaching for the bottle while she ran her nails down my bare back. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be so gentle later. I’d been hurt worse: playing college hockey isn’t for pussies. At least Emma wasn’t going to whack me in the head with a hockey stick. Well, I hoped not.
As soon as the cork popped, she snatched the bottle from my hands and took several large gulps, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing her lipstick.
Without warning, she reached acr
oss to grab my junk.
“Lose the pants,” she commanded.
I stood up to give her a show, moving with deliberate slowness, staring into her eyes as I pulled down my zipper and stepped out of my clothes.
I was definitely hard by the time I was naked.
“Yum! I’m going dip that in champagne,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement.
Yeah, well, I have to tell you that’s not a good idea—alcohol on a very sensitive part of my anatomy—it stings like a motherfucker.
I tried everything I could think of to distract her from doing that, but nothing worked. She was determined to have her own way.
Luckily, she got bored with her new game quickly, but I have to admit that my eyes were watering. God knows how I managed to stay hard.
Finally, she let me fuck her into a better mood, and she finished the champagne by herself.
There must be a moral to that story.
“Let’s go to the Jacuzzi,” she giggled. “Order some more champagne.”
I wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but she was the boss.
I lifted the phone, and Silvi answered.
“Yes, madame?”
“Hi Silvi, it’s Hallen. Could you bring another bottle of the rosé champagne out to the Jacuzzi, please?”
“Certainly, sir,” she replied, her voice its usual cool monotone.
“Who’s Silvi?” Emma asked suspiciously, as I placed the phone back in its cradle.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Your Chief Stewardess.”
“Oh. The German broad. Yeah, I remember.”
I wondered when Emma Harris from New Jersey stopped caring, and forgot who she’d been.
“I need to go to my room for my swim shorts,” I muttered.
“Don’t bother,” she replied, throwing a towel at me.
Great. She was an exhibitionist, too.
It didn’t usually bother me, but I couldn’t help hoping that Abby didn’t have to watch the show. I got the impression from her blushes that she liked me. She definitely didn’t need to see me screwing her boss. And, for some reason, I didn’t want her to see me like that either.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and picked up my clothes, piling them in a wrinkled heap under my arm. I checked my wallet quickly and pulled out a strip of condoms that had a silicone lubricant, rather than a water-soluble one. Believe me, it helped. Fucking in water sounds hot, but it has its disadvantages.
Emma pulled on a robe and led the way to the Jacuzzi.
The champagne was already waiting for us, and while I was opening it, I watched her settle into the heated water, her voluptuous body gleaming in the moonlight, Ingre’s Odalisque come to life. I poured her a drink, and a smaller one for myself, dropped the towel, sinking into the water beside her.
She surprised me by snuggling onto my chest, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder as we gazed out across the harbor, watching the lights dance in the inky water.
“What did you do today?” she asked, out of the blue.
I was surprised again—she hadn’t shown any interest in getting to know me so far.
“I went ashore. Walked around some.”
“Is that all?”
I hesitated to answer, and she frowned up at me impatiently.
“I took a look around St. Nicholas cathedral, and then I went to the Marlborough Gallery.”
Her jaw dropped open with an audible pop.
“You went to a church and an art gallery?”
“Well, yeah.”
She stared at me so long I began to feel seriously uncomfortable.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, at last.
Because I was free to be me.
“I like Art. I studied it at college.”
“You went to college?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“UCLA.”
Her eyebrows shot upward then drew together in another frown.
I didn’t know why I’d surprised her so much.
“How old are you, Hallen?”
“Twenty-two.”
“That sounds so young,” she sighed, settling back into my arms. “When’s your birthday?”
“In 365 days.”
She blinked then sat up straight, her brain scrolling through the easy computation.
“Today’s your birthday?”
“Yes.”
“You turned 22 today?”
I nodded.
“You … you didn’t say anything.”
It was my turn to look surprised.
“Well … no.”
She looked slightly hurt.
“You really must think I’m a total bitch!”
“I don’t think that.”
“But … but … it’s your birthday!” she gasped.
And to my utter bewilderment, she started crying.
I pulled her in closer and kissed the top of her head.
“Hey! It’s okay. I don’t give a sh… I don’t care about it. It’s just another day of the year.”
“No, it’s not,” she sobbed. “It’s supposed to be special!”
“You make it special, baby.”
She sniffed wetly.
“Is that true?”
“Of course it is,” I lied.
She grabbed my face and kissed me hard, her hands everywhere, pushing, pulling, stroking, scratching.
We fucked in the Jacuzzi. Half a gallon of water gushed over the side every time I thrust into her. Returning the favor, she dug her nails into my shoulders, the pain peeling away the pleasure.
Again and again.
Not surprisingly, I slept in the next day too, waking reluctantly, the muscles in my arms and legs protesting from the previous night’s work-out.
As Emma had weaved her way drunkenly back to her cabin, she’d informed me that we’d be leaving for the casino at 6PM and that my services wouldn’t be required prior to that. Probably.
I sat up cautiously, testing that my limbs were still attached to my body, showered slowly and made use of the Bactine to soothe the sting in my shoulders, back and chest. I could have cursed Emma’s manicurist. Would short nails ever be fashionable? I wanted to bubble wrap her fingers, swaddle them in Band-Aids, or make her wear gloves—mittens would be better. Or ski gloves, if I had to spend another night with her. Which I did. That woman was wild.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that food had been in scarce supply the last couple of days.
Half-embarrassed, I recalled Silvi’s instructions to phone when I was hungry.
The call was answered by a man with a strong Provençal accent, and I asked him to bring a tray out to the pool. I was going to make the most of some quiet time.
I pulled on my swim shorts, and headed up one deck, settling into a lounge chair with my sketch pad. While I waited for breakfast, I used my charcoals to capture the long lines of the shore, harbor, and the Alps towering in the distance.
I was so absorbed that I didn’t hear Abby’s footsteps.
I smiled up at her as she arranged the tray next to me, but her expression wasn’t happy. She glanced at my sketch for less than a second, then reached out a hand toward me, stopping short, and letting her arm fall to her side.
“I don’t understand!” she bit out. “Why do you let her do that to you?”
She waved toward the criss-crossing red lines marking my chest and shoulders.
“Let her?” I laughed, bitterly. “She’s the client. That’s what I’m paid for.”
“But it’s wrong!” she cried. “You’re better than that.”
“Don’t judge me, Abby,” I warned, my voice low and hard.
She clenched her jaw and refused to meet my eyes.
“It’s just my body,” I said, quietly. “They don’t get this,” pointing to my head, “or this,” to my heart.
“I don’t know how you can do it,” she said.
And walked away.
Abby didn’t come near me after that. I cou
ldn’t blame her. I guess knowing what I was and seeing the results of it were two different things for her. Most people are like that.
I spent the rest of the afternoon sketching, swimming, soaking up the Mediterranean sun, feeling a little blue and too tired to explore further.
Emma stayed in her cabin, sleeping off a killer hangover.
I’ve been hung over on quite a few different types of alcohol, and know from experience that champagne is a special hazard. But anything with bubbles puts the alcohol into your bloodstream that much more quickly. Your liver can’t keep up. So, yeah, rum and coke fucks you up pretty bad, too.
You learn a lot in this job.
Half an hour before we were due to leave for the casino’s fundraiser, I headed back to my cabin and took my tux out of the garment bag.
Before I’d left LA, I’d made sure that my shoes were shined, so all I’d had to do was ask Silvi to get my shirt pressed.
Reluctantly, I fastened the black silk cummerbund around my waist. I hated the constricting way it felt, but Eloise had bullied and berated me until I’d agreed to wear it with the tux without fail.
“You must not have untidy white cloth billowing around your waist,” she scolded. “The cummerbund lengthens the legs, firms up the waist, widens the shoulders, and your figure is flattered—not that you need any of that, but still. Either that, or wear a waistcoat.”
She pronounced it ‘waist-cut’.
As always, I’d given in.
I wore the cummerbund.
It didn’t take me long to dress, and having short hair kept things simple. I rubbed a small amount of gel through it and I was done.
I was checking I had everything I needed in my wallet—primarily condoms—when I heard a knock at my door a few minutes before we were due to leave.
Emma stood there, an elusive expression shadowing her face. She looked stunning in floor length slate-colored silk that matched her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” I said, without hesitation or lie.
A smile quivered at the edges of her mouth.
“You, too.”
She walked into the room and shut the door behind her.
At Your Beck & Call Page 18