by Sue Margolis
She found this hysterical.
‘God, do you know, I haven’t laughed this much in ages. Everything’s been a bit heavy at home since I agreed to have the baby.’
He took her hand again. This time Beverley didn’t pull away.
They sat chatting, laughing and drinking coffee for the next couple of hours. When Beverley finally looked at her watch it was gone three and they were the only ones left in the place.
‘Lord, I’d better get going,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting an old schoolfriend for tea at the Churchill at four. Then we’re going to the pictures. But it’s been great seeing you. I’m glad we had this talk. You really cheered me up.’
She stood and picked up her coat from the back of the chair.
‘I’ve really enjoyed your company too,’ he said, getting up and towering over her.
By now he was standing directly in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. They stood in awkward silence for a moment or two, gazing at each other. She watched Tom bring his hand towards her face. He was going to touch her. She felt her heart begin to race. Once again she began to consider the possibility that he might have feelings for her which went beyond affection and indebtedness. She felt his fingers on her fringe. He flicked some hair out of her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so desperate to be kissed. Slowly she started to bring her face closer to his. He was wearing the same expensive aftershave he’d been wearing at Christmas.
It seemed to take a few seconds for her to realize what was happening. Or to be more precise, what wasn’t happening. She was suddenly aware of his entire body going rigid. Then his hand left her face at lightning speed. He planted two pecks on her cheeks. Humiliation hit Beverley like a blow from a wrecker’s ball. She just about managed a choked ‘Bye. And thanks again’ before making a dash for the door.
After the warmth of the restaurant, the bitter cold almost took her breath away. She stood in the doorway putting on her gloves. A few seconds later she began making her way, virtually at a trot, towards Oxford Street. How could she have been so dim-witted? she thought. How could she have misread the signs, have mistaken affection for desire? The long looks over lunch, the flirting, the fingers on her fringe just now were nothing more than gestures of fondness. Tom and Naomi adored each other. Why couldn’t she get that into her thick head? By now mascara tears were streaking her face.
‘Beverley. Beverley. Hang on.’
She shot round to see Tom, breathless once again, running to catch her up. Quickly she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood waiting for him.
‘I couldn’t let you go like that,’ he said.
‘Like what?’ she said, pretending to have no idea what he was talking about.
‘Stop it,’ he said softly. ‘You know as well as I do what’s been going between us - ever since we went for the scan.’
‘There’s nothing,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘Nothing’s been going on.’
‘Well, I think there is and now I’m going to prove it.’
He put a leather-gloved hand to her chin and turned her face gently towards his. For a moment or two they simply looked at each other. Tom wiped away a brown streak of mascara from Beverley’s cheek. Then he bent down and kissed her on the mouth.
‘You’ve no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do that,’ he said afterwards.
‘Then why didn’t you - back in the restaurant?’
‘Guilt, I suppose. You’ve got a husband - even though I know you’re not happy. I’m not blind. At Christmas, you and Melvin hardly said a word to one another. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘It’s a long story, Tom. But let’s just say things between me and Mel have never been hot in the bedroom department. And since I got pregnant with your baby, it hasn’t exactly improved.’
‘I guessed it was something like that. Beverley, I can’t help it. I’m crazy about you.’
‘You are?’ she said, almost in a whisper, hardly daring to believe him.
He nodded.
‘But what about Naomi? I thought the pair of you were mad about each other.’
‘Mad with her, more like. Oh, come on, Beverley... she’s your sister, you know her better than anyone. It’s taken me over a year to realize that the only person Naomi loves is herself. When we got together everybody warned me about her. They said she was manipulative, had an evil temper and walked all over people to get what she wanted. Of course, I was in love and couldn’t see it. All I saw was this beautiful, exciting woman with fire in her belly, and I wanted to tame her.’
‘But she loves you. I know she does.’
Tom put his arm through hers and they carried on walking.
‘She doesn’t, Beverley. I know that now. Naomi is the best actress I’ve ever met. Christ, you want to see how she fakes it in bed. She’s brilliant.’
‘Tom, please,’ Beverley said, putting up her hand. ‘Spare me the details.’
‘Sorry, but it’s true. She pretends to fancy me, but I know she doesn’t. I suspect she never has. I don’t know why she stays with me. I get the feeling she sat down one day, made a list of my good points - you know, presentable, reasonably rounded vowels, good job, that kind of thing - and decided I would make excellent husband material. She feels she ought to be with me. I’m not sure she particularly wants to.’
‘You’ve got her all wrong,’ Beverley began protesting anxiously. ‘She’s changed. Five years ago she was all the things you describe. But since she’s been in therapy...’
‘Naomi seeing a shrink? Yeah, right. Twice-a-week group therapy with the boys from Hamas. Come on, Beverley, don’t you think I’d know about it if she were in bloody therapy? She’s not. Never has been. She’s the same old Naomi. She lied to you to get what she wanted.’
Beverley stopped in her tracks, her face etched with disbelief.
‘No, you’re wrong. I know you’re wrong.’
‘Beverley, listen to me. I’ve told you, she’s a wonderful actress. She’s had you fooled. Christ, she had me fooled and I live with her.’
They walked on. Beverley said nothing for a minute or so while she tried to take in what Tom had told her.
‘I thought she wanted to be friends. Instead she’s just treating me the way she always has. Rochelle and Mel were right. They said people like her never change.’
‘The thing is,’ Tom said, ‘she treats everybody like dirt. She doesn’t think about it. I swear it’s a reflex action. God knows what goes on in that brain of hers.’
‘I suppose I should feel sorry for her really. The thing is, apart from the five years we didn’t speak, I’ve never done anything else except make excuses for Naomi. How much longer is she going to keep doing this?’
Beverley didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she stopped in her tracks.
‘But she is definitely infertile, right?’ There was more than a hint of panic in her voice. ‘Please don’t tell me she lied about that as well,’ she said.
‘No, that part’s true,’ he said. ‘I spoke to her gynaecologist on the phone a couple of times.’
He pulled her gently towards him.
‘Come home with me,’ he whispered. ‘Now. Please.’
‘Tom, we’re not starring in some Old Testament story. You can’t finish with one sister and then take up with the other.’
‘I thought the first sister had to die before...’
‘Tom, stop it,’ she said, smiling despite herself. ‘You know what I mean. Look, you and Naomi are about to have a baby together - the one I have growing inside me. You have responsibilities. You can’t simply ditch her because she’s giving you a hard time. You have to get your relationship sorted.’
‘It’s not like that and you know it, Beverley. You know there’s something powerful going on between us. I felt it the first time I saw you under that desk, when you couldn’t take your eyes off my crotch. Do you remember how tongue-tied you were? You were just so, so sexy.’
She looked down in embarrassment
.
‘Why don’t you phone your friend and put her off? Then come back with me. I’ve still got my flat in Battersea. I sometimes use it as an office. In fact I’m staying there at the moment while Naomi’s away...’
He pulled her towards him and began kissing her face and neck.
‘Look,’ she began. She was trying to sound adamant, but the lust rising inside her was causing her to fail miserably. ‘If I... er... if I agree, it would be on the understanding that... what happens between us is nothing more than a fling. We have to make a pact that this will not develop into anything heavy. You need a break from Naomi. I, well...’
‘OK,’ he said between kisses, ‘I agree. Whatever you say. A fling. Nothing more.’
She paused for a beat, maybe two, in order to feel the guilt rising inside her. Whatever Naomi had done to her, she didn’t deserve this. Melvin certainly didn’t deserve it.
‘OK. Let me borrow your mobile,’ she said.
***
The moment they stepped into the empty lift and the doors closed he held her face in both of his hands and began kissing her on the lips, his tongue coming deep into her mouth.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said when they finally pulled apart. ‘And I love this coat. Makes you look like a French whore.’
‘I take it that’s a compliment?’
‘C’mon, you know how sexy you are. Melvin must have told you a thousand times.’
‘Not since the Bay City Rollers were at number one.’
‘Well, take my word for it,’ he said, laughing. ‘I work with beautiful actresses all the time and half of them aren’t a patch on you. You’ve got the most gorgeous face, Beverley. You’d look great on the box.’
‘Oh, Mr Jago,’ she simpered, doing her best Marilyn Monroe impersonation and at the same time batting her eyelashes, ‘could you get me into the movies?’
‘Stop taking the piss,’ he chuckled and kissed her a second time.
She didn’t believe the bit about her being beautiful for a minute. It was only when she put her hand under his open coat and traced the outline of his erection that she thought perhaps she would take his word for it after all.
He began undressing her even before he’d closed the front door. The moment her soaking-wet coat, jacket and shoulder bag fell to the floor he was pulling her silk shirt out of her trousers. Moments later the tiny buttons were undone and the shirt had slipped from her shoulders.
She could feel herself start to shake. She knew she wasn’t cold. The place was roasting. It took her a couple of moments to realize she was trembling because she was frightened. Apart from a couple of fumbling teenage flings, she’d only ever had sex with Melvin. Their lovemaking had become so tediously lacklustre and suburban that Melvin’s foreplay was more like one-and-a-half-play. What was more, he rarely seemed bothered about her taking time to turn him on. It must have been a decade since she’d given him a blow job. She was certain she was about to get it all wrong. She’d be all teeth. Within seconds she’d be giving Tom an accidental Lorena Bobbit and they’d end up dashing to casualty with the top of his penis packed in ice in a plastic bag. She felt as if she were about to sit her A level in strumpeting and hadn’t done any revision.
Then, as she noticed him gazing down at her breasts, she realized there was something vaguely humiliating and yet hugely sexy about standing in front of him half naked while he was still fully dressed. In an instant, her fear was overtaken by desire. It occurred to her that the sexual energy she was feeling at that moment could have powered a small town for a month.
He clearly perceived her delight. Apart from taking off his damp coat, he made no other moves to undress himself. When she reached for his jacket, he gently pulled her hand away.
‘No,’ he whispered, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket, ‘you first. Come with me.’
His arm round her waist, he kicked the front door closed with his foot and led her along a short, curved passageway, one side of which was made of greenish glass bricks.
What greeted her as she rounded the glass bend took her breath away almost as much as Tom. When she’d asked him on their way over in the cab about where he lived and what his place was like, he’d said little more than that it was a New York-style loft which he’d bought just before he met Naomi and that she hated it.
‘My God, this is truly beautiful. And vast,’ she exclaimed, calculating that the room had to be at least fifty feet long. ‘And it’s so light,’ she went on, eyeing the floor-to-ceiling windows which went the entire length of one wall.
‘Yeah, only problem is, the people on the other side of the building can see right in.’
While he pulled down the white roller blinds and turned on table lamps, she gazed at the huge abstract canvases hanging on the white walls, took in the twisted, misshapen sculptures, the fifties-style sofas and chairs covered in apple greens and purples.
‘If you’re that interested, I’ll give you the guided tour later,’ he said, coming back to her. He slid her bra strap down on to her arm and began kissing her shoulder. His hands went to her trouser belt. For a few seconds she continued to take in the modern wood floor, the kitchen units a few feet away with their aluminium doors and beechwood worktops. For a while, as her head turned excitedly from one exquisitely designed gadget to the next, she was like a patient determined to fight the anaesthetic.
Her last faintly whispered words, having noticed how many of Tom’s kitchen appliances seemed to be made of metal, were: ‘I see you’ve got everything including the kitchen zinc.’ Then she succumbed. Not to anaesthetic, but to indescribable pleasure. Tom had undone her trouser zip and was stroking her through her pants.
‘Come on,’ he said gently, pulling away. ‘Take the trousers off.’ Wondering how much longer she was going to be able to stay upright, she slipped off her shoes. It was only then that she remembered she was wearing hideous flesh-coloured pop socks. The image of her standing there in front of him naked except for the socks was too gruesome for words. As she pulled down her trousers she managed to tuck a thumb under one sock band and then the other, yanking them off as she went.
‘OK, now the bra,’ he said, smiling. He watched as she reached behind her and unhooked it. She’d been waiting for this moment. Even though she was only weeks into the pregnancy, she’d already gone up to a thirty-four double D. She took off the cream lace bra and thanked the Lord she’d treated herself to posh new underwear the week before. (She couldn’t have stood the humiliation of letting Tom see her in her slack grey jobs with the perished sides and lost underwires which only a skilled mechanic could have retrieved from the innards of her washing machine.)
Her huge breasts flopped on to her front.
‘Wow,’ he said appreciatively. He circled one enormous brown areola with his forefinger before leaning down and covering her nipple with his mouth. She closed her eyes while he licked and sucked and then ran his tongue over the rest of her breast. After a minute or so he moved on to the other one.
Finally, clearly sensing that her legs were about to buckle under her, he took her hand again and led her to the low bed at the far end of the room. Above the cast-iron headboard was a huge oil painting of a plate of bacon, sausages, eggs and black pudding. Bizarrely in the circumstances, it briefly occurred to her that although she had illicitly tasted pork once, she had never in her life eaten so much as a crumb of black pudding. Now she was about to make love to a man who not only had, but had hung a portrait of one above his bed. Most surprising of all, she found this obvious familiarity with the epitome, the embodiment, of non-kosher food yet another of the myriad turn-ons about Tom Jago.
She turned to face him and this time he allowed her to take off his jacket. She let it fall to the floor. While his hands went to his shirt buttons, her nerves having well and truly vanished now, she undid his belt and unzipped his fly. She pulled his trousers down to his knees and for a moment simply stared at the outline of his erection under his boxers. As she ran her hands over
it, he dug his fingers into her shoulders and sighed. Finally she tugged the shorts down.
‘I had a feeling that being so tall you’d be above average in other departments,’ she said, grinning. She knelt down and licked the tip of his penis very lightly with her tongue. She watched his stomach muscles quiver. Enjoying the power she had over him, she did it again. His entire body shuddered. Stroking his balls, she began trailing her tongue the entire length of his erection. Finally she covered it with her mouth and began moving back and forth over the shaft. From time to time she would let him slip out on purpose. Then he would cry out in frustration and she would go back to feather-light touches with her tongue.
‘God, you’re good. Really good,’ he said, trying to catch his breath.
‘Yeah, well, you know, I’ve been around,’ she said, looking up briefly. Then she took him in her mouth again.
‘No, stop,’ he gasped eventually. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet. Climb on the bed and lie face down.’
She looked at him and didn’t move. He knew. She had no idea how, but he did. He knew damned well she hadn’t been around. What was more, he knew or had guessed accurately that she and Melvin had only ever made love with him on top of her. For the first time in her life, for the first bloody time, she was about to experience something quite different. She could feel the blood rushing through her ears.
She watched him while he walked over to a chest of drawers, took out a small bottle and unscrewed the top. The next moment she felt drops of oil falling on the backs of her legs. There was a powerful smell of lavender and what she thought she recognized as jasmine.
With slow, firm strokes, he began massaging her calves and thighs. The ache between her legs was now excruciating. If he didn’t touch her, some dial on her was going to slam, cartoon-style, into the red danger zone and a siren start going whoop whoop whoop. After a couple of minutes he turned her over and began rubbing oil into one of her breasts. The other hand went to her belly button and down over her pants towards her pubic bone.