Hypnotized

by Georgia Le Carre

  When the pub was shut for the night.

  Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse

  And, in the pale moonlight,

  He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor,

  Then back on his haunches he sat.

  And all night long you could hear him roar,

  ‘Bring on the goddamn cat!’

  —An Irish Tall Tale

  ONE

  Layla

  Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.

  —Karl, Age 5

  ‘What are you standing there for? Go use the upstairs bathroom,’ Ria said, when she spotted me at the end of the queue to use the downstairs cloakroom.

  She was right. The queue was long. ‘I’ll just use the portaloo outside,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be so silly. There’s a humongous queue there, too.’

  I bit my lip. Ria was BJ Pilkington’s second cousin. We were in BJ Pilkington’s house for a party he was throwing for my brother, Jake, and his new wife, Lily. And while I liked and socialized with Ria, BJ and I shared a stinging mutual dislike for each other.

  In fact, I did not even want to come, but my mother had forced me to. ‘It’s in your brother’s honor,’ she had said in that displeased tone I knew not to disobey. ‘It’d be ignorant not to, and God help me, I didn’t bring you up to be ignorant.’

  ‘Are you really sure it’ll be OK?’ I asked looking doubtfully at the long, curving, dark wood staircase. Nobody else seemed to be going up it. It was understood that the party was restricted to the four reception rooms downstairs.

  ‘Of course,’ she insisted confidently.

  I gave it one last attempt. ‘I don’t even know where it is, and I don’t really want to go wandering around by myself.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she said, and, taking my hand, made for the stairs.

  ‘Thanks, Ria,’ I said, following her meekly. I did need the bathroom rather badly. At the top of the stairs I looked down and saw all the beautiful people dressed in their absolute finest. That’s the thing with us travelers. We love our color. Peacocks we all are. There wasn’t a plain black gown in sight. Ria took me down a corridor and half opened a door to a blue and white bathroom.

  ‘See you downstairs,’ she called brightly and walked away.

  I used the toilet, washed my hands and stood in front of the mirror. My deep auburn hair was straight and came down to the tips of my breasts. My eyebrows were straight and my eyes were blue. My nose was narrow, lips were generous and my jaw was strongly defined.

  I was wearing a duck egg blue taffeta dress that I had designed and sewn myself. It had a tight bodice, a wide bow at the back of my waist, the ends of which trailed lower than the hem of my mid-thigh, honey boo boo skirt. Underneath were layers upon layers of gathered electric blue tulle and lace petticoats. Crinolines, my grandma used to call them.

  I fluffed them up. I loved petticoats. In my opinion life was way too short not to wear petticoats that stick out from under your skirt. I reapplied my lipstick, pressed my lips and left the bathroom.

  As I walked along the corridor I was suddenly and very strangely overcome by an irresistible curiosity. I wanted to open a door, just one, and see how BJ lived. I don’t know why since I thought him an arrogant beast. But just for those seconds I wanted to see more than everyone downstairs saw. Oh! What the hell, just a quick look, I thought, and opened a door. It was plain and obviously just a spare bedroom. I closed it and opened another. It, too, had an unlived-in appearance. Again very plain. I tried another door.

  Oh! Wow!

  BJ!

  I took a step forward, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it. And fuckin’ stared. Two rooms had been knocked into one to make one massive space. The walls were black and the words ‘No Fear’ were painted in white using large Calligraphy font. They glowed in the light from a real fire roaring in the fireplace. It was a long time since I had seen real logs.

  A large chandelier hung from an iron hook in the ceiling that looked more like a meat hook. The bed was a huge wrought iron four-poster, obviously custom. It had deep red fleur de-lis patterned brocade curtains that had been gathered and held together by gold and black ties. On the bedside tables on either side of it were candelabras with real candles that had dripped wax onto the gilt handles.

  Wow! This was what lay inside BJ.

  His cold eyes hid the stage set of a seventeenth-century play. A dungeon! Or a torture chamber. But not in a horrible way. There was something irresistibly seductive about it. Like walking into his private world or looking into his soul. Dark and dangerous but I was strangely drawn to it.

  I tried to imagine the room with the candelabras on. The candlelight dancing off the walls. My eyes moved to the bed and I saw me crushed under BJ’s large body, the light making his muscles gleam. The image was so erotic I felt a flutter in my tummy, but it was also very disturbing.

  I hated the man. And that was putting it politely.

  And yet, here I was in his bedroom. A place I should never have been in. But unwilling to leave I walked to the middle of the room, my petticoats rustling, the heels of my shoes loud and echoing on the hardwood floor.

  As if pulled by invisible hands I walked toward a dresser. It looked like an antique. In a trance I stroked the metal handle. It was cool, smooth, full of all the things it had seen for hundred of years, the squabbles, the trysts. He had touched this. His large hands had curled around it and pulled. A frisson of excitement ran over my skin. I pulled at the metal. It slid open with a whisper, smoothly, like it was on roller blades.

  I stared at the contents.

  Velvet boxes. Piled on top of one another. So many. I took one and opened it. A tiepin with a blue stone glittered up at me. I opened another. A tiepin with a black panther. It was obviously an old one. I opened another and froze. A tiepin that said ‘Layla’ in cursive writing. I lifted my head and looked at the mirror above the dresser. I looked different, strange, shocked. I shouldn’t be here. This was wrong. I looked into my eyes.

  What the fuck are you doing, Layla?

  And then I did a strange thing. I’d never done anything like that before. I was a good girl. I’d always been a good girl. I took the tiepin out of its box, opened my purse, and…. Oops… it fell in. I raised my head and saw my reflection: it was no longer alone in the mirror. BJ was standing in the doorway. His big, powerful body filled it entirely.

  Oh God!

  Cold fear raced down my spine, my pulse accelerated wildly and my mind went into overdrive. Maybe he had not seen me lift his tiepin. Perhaps I could just slip past him. Or I could pretend I was lost. I did not know I was in his bedroom. Maybe. Just maybe. I turned around and faced him. Some men have looks, other have charm, BJ had presence. The moment he appeared in a room he owned it. He changed the atmosphere the way a grizzly coming into a room would.

  He was wearing a silver hoop in his right ear, a black shirt tucked into an army surplus camouflage trousers and combat boots. Straightening my back I began to walk toward him. He remained still. He really was so damn huge. My heart started to hammer inside my chest. I was only five feet away. I could see his eyes. They were deliberately blank. His mouth was a forbidding line. For a moment I had the impression of sexual tension. But of course, that was a trick of my overawed emotions.

  A foot away from him I stopped. The scar on the top of his left cheek appeared alive in the firelight. No man had ever looked more dangerous or inhospitable.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said coolly. ‘I got lost. I guess I better get back to the party.’

  He did not move aside.

  I clenched my handbag nervously. ‘Will you please move?’

  ‘You want to pass. Squeeze past,’ he suggested, absolutely no expression on his face.

  ‘How dare you? I’ll call my brother.’

  Something flashed in his eyes. I knew then that I’d made a mistake. I should have been more humble. It
would have made my escape easier. He slipped his large hand into his trouser pocket and brought out a phone.

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ His voice was silky and dangerous. ‘Call him. Last time I looked he was with his pregnant wife. I believe your mother was sitting nearby, too. They can all rush up here to my bedroom and save their little princess.’

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ I said contemptuously. Attack was the best form of defense.

  ‘You’re a thief, Layla.’

  My cheeks flamed, but I was not giving up so easily. ‘I’m not,’ I cried hotly.

  ‘You have nothing to fear then. Call your brother,’ he invited.

  I bit my lip. ‘Look. I’m sorry I was in your bedroom. I’ll just go downstairs and we won’t spoil anybody else’s night, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  My mouth dropped open at my effortless victory. I closed it shut. ‘Thank you,’ I said quickly.

  ‘After you admit that you stole and… I’ve punished you.’

  A bark of incredulity tore out of my mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘The problem with you, Layla, is that you were never spanked when you were young. Your Da and Jake were much too much in love with you to execute any kind of discipline over you. As a consequence you have grown up an unruly weed.’

  My eyes narrowed suspiciously. I knew it. I always knew it. He was low enough to blackmail me? This was the proof I had been looking for—that he was just low, low, low. He had always been low and he would always be low. ‘What kind of punishment are you talking about, you?’

  ‘You should have what you have never had… A spanking.’ His tone was terrifyingly pleasant.

  I stared at him in disbelief.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘How dare you—?’ I began.

  But he interrupted me coldly. ‘This is getting boring. The choice is simple. You apologize and submit to a spanking, or we call your brother—or, if you prefer, your mother.’

  Jake? My mother? The pseudo fury drained out of me like water from a sink plug. I worried my bottom lip and thought of my mother’s eyes dimming with humiliation and my brother staring at me without comprehension. He had given me the best of everything. When we were young and poor my mother said Jake would always forgo his share of something if I wanted it.

  My actions were inexcusable. I had thoroughly disgraced and dishonored our family. I had walked into a Pilkington’s bedroom and stolen something from it like a common thief. Now that I thought about it, even I had no idea why I had done it. I had never done anything like that before. It was the stupidest, maddest thing I had ever done.

  My gaze slid to his large hand, jerked back to his tanned face. ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he clipped.

  Physical punishment for me, or mental anguish for both Ma and Jake. I swallowed hard. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll take the…punishment.’

  ‘Great,’ he said softly and, taking a step forward, kicked the door shut with his heel. He was so big. So meaty. Suddenly the room seemed so much smaller. He was like a predatory animal. Instinctively, I took a corresponding step backwards. My eyes strayed to his hands. God, they were baseball mitts.

  ‘How do we do this?’ My voice was clear and matter-of-fact. I had to assert some sort of control.

  ‘I’ll sit on the bed. You will position yourself on my lap. I will raise your skirt and spank you. Eight times.’

  Raise my skirt! I felt heat creep over my body. Oh, the shame of it. But if I was honest there was something else, something dark and hot. Something I’d never dreamed would happen to me. How could I be turned on by his depraved idea of a punishment? I looked into his eyes. They were blank mirrors. There was nothing to see, only what I was. A thief.

  But as I stared into his eyes, I saw a flash of something old. And suddenly I knew. This humiliation was not punishment because I had come into his bedroom and stolen his tiepin. It was because of what had happened when I was thirteen years old. I had tripped over a tree root and fallen down. My skirt had come up and my panties had showed. I could remember them even now. They were white cotton with red polka dots. And all the other kids and BJ had seen them. I had wanted to jump up but I was too winded to move.

  Some of the kids had laughed. I knew they were afraid of Jake and they would never have laughed if BJ had not been there. At that time our families—BJ’s and mine—were in a generational feud. It was only recently that Jake and BJ had uprooted the barbed fences between our families. Since everybody knew about our feud they had thought they could ingratiate themselves with him by laughing at me.

  But in a flash he had come up to me and helped me up. Even then he was a big lad with a Mohican hairstyle, and the other kids were scared of him. They had immediately ceased laughing then.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he had asked.

  I had been so mortally embarrassed that it was him who should have witnessed my humiliation that I had lashed out at him. ‘Take your dirty hands off me, you filthy Pilkington, you,’ I snapped.

  He had gone bright red and jerked his hand away from me.

  I had turned on my heel and limped away on my twisted ankle. I knew he was watching me but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning back to look. After that we became enemies. And now he had caught me in his bedroom.

  Finally, he could exact his revenge. He walked past me, sat on his bed and turning to me said, ‘Ready when you are.’

  - Sexy Beast will be available in July 2015 -

  Coming Soon…

  GOLD DIGGER

  Georgia Le Carre

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t ever trust them. Not one of them,’ he whispered. His voice was so feeble I had to strain to catch it.

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, softly.

  ‘They are dangerous in a way you will never understand. Never let your guard down,’ he insisted.

  ‘I understand,’ I said, but all I wanted was for him to stop talking about them. These last precious minutes I didn’t want to waste on them.

  He shook his head unhappily. ‘No, no, you don’t understand. You can never let your guard down for even an instant. Never.’

  ‘All right, I won’t.’

  ‘I will be a very sad spirit if you do.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I promised vehemently, and reached for his hand. The contrast between my hand and his couldn’t have been greater. Mine was smooth and soft and his was gnarled and full of green veins, the skin waxy and liver-spotted. The nails were the color of polished ivory. The hand of a seventy-year-old man. His fingers grasped fiercely at my hand. I lifted them to my lips and kissed them one by one, tenderly.

  His eyes glowed briefly in his wasted, sunken face. ‘How I love you, my darling Tawny,’ he murmured.

  ‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ I said.

  ‘Do your part and they cannot touch you.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s nearly time.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ I cried, even though I knew in my heart that he was right.

  His eyes swung to the window. ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly. ‘You’ve come.’

  My gaze chased his. The window he was looking at was closed, the heavy drapes pulled shut. Goose pimples crawled up my arms. ‘Don’t go yet. Please,’ I begged.

  He dragged his gaze reluctantly from the window. His thin, pale lips rose at the edges as he drew in a rattling breath. ‘I’ve got to go, my darling. I’ve got to pay my dues. I haven’t been a good man.’

  ‘Just wait a while.’

  ‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’

  He turned his unnaturally bright eyes away from me, looked straight ahead, and with a violent shudder, departed.

  For a few seconds I simply stared at him. Appropriately, outside the October wind howled and dashed itself into the shutters. I knew the servants were waiting downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me to go down and tell them the news. Then I leaned forward and put my cheek on his still, bony chest. He smelle
d strongly of medicine. I closed my eyes tightly. Why did you have to go and die and leave me to the wolves?

  In that moment I felt so close to him I wished that this time would not end. I wished I could lie on his chest, safe and closeted away from the cruel world. I heard the clock ticking. The flames in the fireplace crackled and spat. Somewhere a pipe creaked. I placed my chin on his chest and turned to look at him one last time. He appeared to be sleeping. Peaceful at any rate. I stroked the thin strands of white hair lying across his pinkish white scalp, and let my finger run down his prominent nose. It shocked me how quickly the tip of his nose had lost warmth. Soon all of him would be stone cold.

  I wondered whom he had seen at the window. Who had come to take him to his reckoning. My sorrow was complete. I could put my fingertips into it and feel the edges. Smooth. Without corners. Without sharpness. It had no tears. I knew he was dying two hours before. Strange because it had seemed as if he had taken a turn for the better. He seemed stronger, his cheeks pink, his eyes brilliantly bright and when he smiled it appeared as if he was lit from within. He even looked so much stronger. I asked him what he wanted to eat.

  ‘Milk. I’ll have a glass of milk,’ he said decisively.

  But after I called for milk and it was brought to him he smiled and refused it. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he asked. ‘I feel so good.’

  And at that moment I knew. Even so it was incomprehensible to me that he was really gone. I never wanted to believe it.

  ‘In the end you wanted to go, didn’t you?’

  There was no answer.

  ‘It’s OK. I know you were tired. It was only me holding you back. You go on ahead. Find a place for me.’

  He lay as still as a corpse. Oh God! I already missed him so much.

  ‘I understand you can’t talk. But you can hear me. When it is my turn I want you to come and get me. I’ll be expecting you to come in through the window. Go in peace now, my love. All will be well. They will never know the truth. I will never tell them. To the day you come back to collect me.’