by Anton Marks
The door bell began to ring and Sandra straightened herself and wiped her eyes.
Suddenly she zoned out for a moment, standing still as a tombstone as if expecting something else besides Rowan’s frustrated wail.
“Sandra baby,” Chips gruff voice grated on her nerves. “Answer deh door nuh. And on your way jus see to deh yout.”
As she expected.
“You rang mi lord,” she whispered to herself, cringing at his inability to call her son by name.
If only she had choices.
She grabbed the bottle and headed into the lounge, allowing her eyes to make no contact with anybody within the bull pen - the area where they sat, gambled and dealt drugs - and walked briskly down the corridor. Placing her palms on the cold metal of the reinforced doors, she peered through the peephole. Other than being exceptionally dark beyond, a small umbra of light leeching from under her door could not penetrate outwards very far - she guessed the feral kids had busted the corridor lights.
She could see no one.
Frowning, Sandra turned back to Rowan’s screams that had scaled up a few decibels but five paces away and the bell rang again. She stopped, turned shaking her head and approached the entrance with less urgency. A foot away, she stretched on her tip toes, placing both her palms on either side and peered through the peep hole. Seeing nothing, her eyes came closer to the concave lens.
Giant eyes blinked back at her, making Sandra flinch, her breath caught in her throat. The magnified eyes receded and she sighed with relief.
It could only be one of those mysterious high rollers who brightened up the shit hole she called home with the smooth exploits and stories of life as a hustler. She undid the latches and bolts and swung open the door.
No one stood there.
She glanced both ways.
As she suspected, the line of fluorescent lights that stretched along the landing had all been smashed open like insect pupae and the contents of its illumination sucked dry.
Some fool playing stupid games with her.
She couldn’t see any further than the light from inside the flat would permit. It had cut a section into a slab of darkness that for all intents and purposes was a solid thing.
Sandra was held there for some reason.
Listening, soft breathing from the darkness.
Smelling, a subtle aftershave that permeated the landing.
Her breath held.
There was someone there watching her, she could feel it. Someone nestled in the folds of darkness, comfortably unseen and completely at home.
She waited, foolishly expectant of something to come to her. Knowing on the periphery of her thoughts that she could dash back inside and slam the door shut leaving the presence where it was.
Instead Sandra stood her ground, the darkness inching closer to where she stood. What should have been terror that rooted her to the spot was a profound, longing.
“A who dat at deh door?” Chips’ voice startled her. The spell broken she quickly looked away not noticing a playing card spin out of the darkness and flutter to the floor near the doorway. Looking back she saw it face down.
Shaking she bent to take it up.
Rowan screamed in the background.
“Sandra!” Chips bellowed, having not heard her since he hollered her name the first time.
She turned the playing card over in her hand, her eye widened at the sight of the Queen of Spades and in the next instance Sandra was on the floor being propped up by someone who smelt of Paco Rabanne and seeing Chips’ bearded face in the background telling her she would be alright.
“Jus’ relax baby, your good.”
9.
Y’s Mom’s place, Acton
Sunday, July 14th
6.00 am
“Yeeeeeeeesssssss!”
The squeal that issued from the telephone’s speaker made Y pull the mobile from her ears and wince. Only one person she knew showed her enthusiasm with such a lack of restraint so early in the morning.
“I’m glad somebody’s on top of the world.”
“Hell, yeah,” Patra shouted. ”And if you got any chutzpah left in your tired ass you would be too.”
Patra grudgingly had Y’s attention, and although she was trying to maintain a veneer of cool she was just as eager to find out what Patra was so upbeat about. The recent weeks had not been an example of how life was worth living.
“Have you read today’s papers yet?”
Y frowned.
“Girl you know I don’t read the tabloids. More fiction than fact. Anyway it’s six in the morning, the shops aren’t open yet.”
“Say after me, tablet computing.” Patra annunciated slowly as if Y was deaf and not technology challenged. “I got my digital copy already and that, girlfriend, makes you shit out of luck in experiencing the turning point in our lives. Don’t be like, I never knew this was happening P because now you know.”
Y stifled a snicker.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Bitch don’t play.” Patra dismissed the question. “And stop goddamn asking me if I’m fine. Now get your sexy black ass out of bed and mosey on down to your local newsagent and pick up a copy.”
“I thought you were going to read the story to me.”
“You tripping or you high?”
“Can’t you at least give me some idea of what I should be looking for, what page is it on?”
“No fun in that, sugahh.”
“Misses, it’s six in the morning, it’s too early for fun.”
“Never too early or late for adventure girlfriend,” she chirped.
“You killing me, here.” Y said.
“Bitch, please.”
And with that profound statement Cleopatra Jones hung up.
“You cow!” Y grimaced.
Y sat in her velour track suit and sipped an orange juice, the house to herself as her mom had gone to work. She had been to her Dojo this morning and performed some vigorous shiai with some other kendo practitioners. Edicts of respect aside, Y had cut a swath through her opponents and felt great about her improving skills.
She had stopped by the Outpost corner shop on her way home and bought the paper Patra recommended. Maybe it was her smile or the fact that she had openly expressed her dislike for the tabloid that made Mohammed the proprietor shakes his head in disbelief.
Now it lay neatly on her breakfast bar beside which was an empty glass made opaque by the remains of a protein shake and a small dish with moist flakes of cereal still warm from her breakfast.
Patra knew that when it came to her dreams and their attainment she had no sense of humor at all. Combine that with a call so early in the morning and this was tantamount to cruel and unusual punishment.
This had better be momentous.
Y spread open the newspaper and proceeded to make her way through the articles grimacing as she read carefully through the news print, looking for the life changing reportage - she needn’t have worried.
Y was turning over the sheets of newsprint onto page seven when she flung her hands off the table and gasped. The stool she was sitting on flew backwards and clattered to the floor. She jumped to her feet, hands planted on either side of the newspaper, her body taut, arms flexing and a mild current of excitement running up and down her spine.
“Wow!”
The AM/PM gossip columns were packed with celebrity photos and brief stories but in the centre of the panel was the gem of a shot.
It had three sexy women stepping out of the MOBO awards after party at the Q Club as if it was staged. They were caught just as they walked off the last step suspended in mid air, sexy fashion icons with eyes alert and focused ahead at the shadows. Ahead of them was the obscure image of a man. Underneath the image was the caption.
Personal Protection Has A New Sexy Image.
“Wooow!” She said again but this time with emphasis.
The short article went into enough detail and fabrication about what happened on the nig
ht to paint a portrait of glamorous fiction interspersed with truth.
Who are these beautiful bodyguards? That was the final question posed in the article.
“I can answer that,” she murmured. “That’s us but we don’t exist, we’re fiction.”
Y reached down and picked up the stool and sat, calming herself.
Bodyguards? Where did that come from? But Y knew not to question how the die fell because from experience and with a certainty deep in her core it was significant to them.
Bad II the Bone had tripped up and fallen on their feet. Now she understood Patra’s bleating about life changing shit.
Christ.
They must have made a hell of an impression that night, shifting the course of their destiny without being aware.
A Powwow had to be called as soon as possible. The meaning of all this needed to be discerned if there was meaning to be had. Already Y was constructing her cover story for the many questions her clients would inevitably be asking when they saw this.
Her vibrating phone did a merry little dance on the breakfast table. Moments later her landline started ringing too.
This she could not be asked to deal with.
If staying by her Mom was not stress enough, the fall out from the tabloids’ news would send her Facebook and Twitter profiles at least bacterial if not viral.
Y sat tired, sweaty and horny and considered where they were being led this time. Whether she liked it or not a new chapter in her life was on the horizon.
She could hear Patra in her head.
“Be careful what you wish for bitches, it has a tendency of coming true.”
Monday, July 15th
Mr Patel’s private offices
10.35am
The girls sat in Mr Gauresh Patel’s private office facing him as he sat in front of his desk, computer on standby and his walls filled with photographs of celebrities who seemed to be pleased to be in his presence. All around him were the trappings of success and only an exquisitely painted mural of Shiva meditating on the wall above from where he sat, was set apart from the usual.
Patra had her pedicured feet on the edge of his desk, getting as comfortable as possible but as always lost for words as her mind tried to understand the geeky Hindu across the table who had so much ghetto shine, but who had nothing to do with the movie or music business. Well, as far as they knew at least, and that fact alone made him a cool enigma in Patra’s mind. Broach the subject of Mr. Patel in the girls company and it was nothing but love for him. But it was his business acumen that Suzy and Y were really impressed with. Who else could they go for expert advice in this surreal situation that they found themselves in?
They sat respectfully upright having listened to a business proposal that had sprung from the coincidence of the weekend. Really Mr Patel should have given the kudos for this business creation to the hacks who had jumped to conclusions as usual in the name of cutting edge journalism.
But capturing a good idea was one thing, being able to work out its feasibility for success in the market was a completely different beast. Mr Patel had a great eye for investments and his millionaire status wasn’t a consequence of any financial legacy but a literal business eye he kept talking about. A five-star hotel, six, five-star gyms, seven restaurants and six real estate agencies and you begin to respect the power of this ‘twitchy’ eye of his.
Y was leaning forward without knowing as the usual taciturn Mr Patel enthused in his own understated way and let the girls into his prodigious business mind. He had thought of the angle and the marketing models he wanted to employ and was willing to back his faith in them with cold hard sterling. The idea had him so excited that the first line of his marketing copy was already written fully formed and on the table for the girls to see.
Bad II the Bone
Intimate Protection - The World’s First Escort Protection Agency
“Damn, Mr. P. Intimate Protection. I like.” Patra enthused.
“And the skull and cross bones, that is bad ass, right there.”
“Bodyguards?” Y questioned. “What do we know about protection services?”
“Think about it,” Mr. Patel said sagely. “You’ve saved my life haven’t you? How many times have you accompanied me to events looking out for my welfare? And who knows how many times you have done that with was a clear and present threat to my person without mentioning it to me. You are naturals and I have a good feeling about this.”
Y nodded.
“It feels suh right,” Suzy said. “In front a weh nose an’ wi just nevah realise it.”
“I feel the same Ms Wong.” Mr Patel said. “I know this is new territory and you may have a million concerns and my job is to smooth the rough edges, no expenses will be spared for that,” the entrepreneur stressed.
Patra whistled with a grin that threatened to crack her face in half and looked over to Suzy. Y’s eyebrows had arched questioningly with her lips frayed in an effort to control her; we can’t do this shit, reflex.
Patra had already read the doubts in her mind from her expression and discounted them before they hatched.
“We back baby.” She proclaimed, punching to the ceiling.“Hoorah!”
All You Beauty Salon
West London
17.35
He has gifted hands Y thought and that was not all.
She watched his prowling movements through the mirrored walls as he shifted position around the table. Sumptuous lips, carefree eyes, his biceps bulged, his pecs solid and those thighs, that ass.
Wow!
But his hands were the real instruments. A man like him could boost her self esteem for twenty four blissful hours at least.
Such a pity he was gay.
She mentally shrugged.
Ah, well!
One woman’s loss is another man’s gain, she supposed.
Her internal dialogue faded as her level of relaxation became even deeper.
Y recalled Suzy had said Antoine had trained in a special massage technique that worked on the body’s meridians and manipulated the energies between them.
Normally she would have wanted to know more and question him while he worked but Y couldn’t speak, much less embark in lively debate. This boy was giving her pleasure without so much as an erection or the flick of a tongue.
Was Suzy sure he was gay or was that her sly way of keeping his tight ass to herself?
Another smile but a mischievous one this time as she let his powerful hands glide down her back and under the towel that covered the mound of her backside.
The sensuous cooing sound that floated from her lips said it all.
And before anyone took exception to this treatment, she confirmed to her disparaging other self, she deserved every second of it.
Every tension-releasing stroke, every flurry of butterfly chops and every skin tingling knead were as if they were Y’s birthright almost and no one could tell her otherwise. If the posse wanted tonight’s promotional party to be a success, she had to release the strain she was under or there would be casualties. The other girls were excited about the prospects of Mr. Patel’s idea. Y hadn’t been completely won over by it yet but was willing to go ahead and see how things developed. Mr. Patel wanted to show off his new product to the potential client base but o be a walking talking advert for the new and improved Bad II the Bone, Y required calm or else blood would flow on the dance floor and chances are it would be male in gene type.
Hence her top-to-toe treatment.
If she could walk to the next cubicle she would have a facial, hit the steam room and drive to Skettel Pauline’s to have her hair done, bashment style.
With the way she felt now that was a big, big if.
A few minutes later Suzy and Y wrapped in towels sat with backs to the pine panelling of the steam room. The silence wasn’t to last as Patra strolled in Lady Godiva bare. She stood in front of them both with her arms akimbo and her buoyant but firm breasts bobbing suggestively. She was glistening fro
m the oils of her massage and was completely shaven Brazilian style. Her right breast had a petite 9mm automatic tattoo on it, her right bicep was encircled with a cute wreath of flowers and butterflies and so was her left ankle.
The piercing through her clitoris glistened.
“Tell me you chilled, right?” She said with an expectant stare and labored breath. Y shook her head while Suzy seemed not to care about Patra’s state of undress.
“Goddamit Y man, after all that good shit you’re still feeling uptight. You need to get laid bitch and fast.”
“I’m feeling good actually,” Y said smoothly. “But you,..” Y motioned to Patra with the sweep of her hands “ … you must be on top of the fucking world.”
Patra grinned and then frowned in one fluid facial expression, letting her hands roam up from her ripped stomach to her firm breasts.
“Hey, you see this right here? This is the body perfect and I’m proud as hell about what I got. Anymore smart ass comments from the nickel and dime section and the treatment goes on both you all credit cards. You feel me?”
“Gal yuh deadly. Suppose another woman walked in?” Suzy asked.
“Boring,” Patra said and yawned.
“A man and woman then?”
“Now you’re talking, we can get an orgy going off in here.”
“Yuh not right, up here.” Suzy said pointing to her own head laughing. “Yuh just not right.”
Patra gave them the fuck you finger and twisted it in the air for emphasis.
Y tried but just couldn’t maintain a straight face.
Ms Cleopatra Jones played it straight ignoring her sister’s taunts but feeling the tightness of the friendship they shared and said a heartfelt thank you amidst her stream of thought. So she wasn’t the most level headed of people – Y handles that shit - but when you needed results Patra had the knack of pulling a rabbit out of the hat, even under these circumstances.