by Keith Nixon
“That’s why I’m meeting him, to find out.”
***
It was a big house behind gates on a secluded drive in Sheen, the other side of Richmond Park. Mandy called the mobile number the guy in the shorts had given her, found out he was called Nelson and arranged to meet him and Gary the next day. She walked up and down the road figuring it was good to be late, not show too much interest, maybe even up the fee, then she buzzed and waited. She could hear dogs, big ones, barking, and shoes crunching gravel, then the gate swung open. A man with oily hair, small dark eyes, and a boxer’s nose stood there with his hand out.
“Gary?” Mandy said.
“Pleased to meet ya,” Gary said.
She shook, taking him in, the strong smell of cheap cologne, glancing over his shoulder at the large house.
“Nelson said you wanted to speak to me.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He still had her hand in his and she pulled it away thinking how small he was, guessing him for five four, two inches shorter than her.
“Nice place.”
“Come in and meet the wife.”
She followed him up the path, hearing the gate swing shut, walking past the dogs into a large cool hallway that smelt of pine needles.
“Through here,” Gary said, grinning and leading her along a corridor to a glass door that looked out onto a sparkling blue pool.
He held the door open for her and stood in the way so she had to brush past him.
Nelson was getting out of the pool in a bright green G–string and he grinned at her as he began drying his hair, wringing out his grey pony tail. She looked out through the windows at the large manicured lawns and calculated how much Gary was worth. To her right a topless woman rose from a lounger, a peroxide blonde in her forties with large boobs Mandy figured were cosmetic. She was attractive in a worn–out way and glanced over at Mandy as she put on her bikini top, bright blue with small yellow butterflies, matching the thong.
“Mandy, you know Nelson, this is my wife Lucy. Can I get you a drink?”
“Thanks, I’ll have a vodka.”
“If you want a swim we got loads of bikinis. Guests leave them behind after the parties.”
“I’m all right.”
Gary went over to a bar at the end of the pool room and came back with a neat vodka on crushed ice.
“Come and have some cold cuts of meat,” he said.
Mandy followed him into a room off the pool that was covered in images of Prince performing. A large table was set for lunch, beef, ham, salmon and trout in dishes under tight cling film.
“I see you’ve noticed my little obsession,” Gary said, running his hand through his hair.
“You like his music.”
“Love it, can’t beat it can you?”
“It’s all right.”
“A lot of people say I look just like him, Mr Prince Rogers Nelson.”
“You’re short.”
“I hear you used to dance for him, maybe you’ll do a show for us.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“I understand, Lucy used to do an act, but she don’t like to talk about it.”
“Nelson said something about a painting.”
“Let’s have some lunch.”
Mandy sat at the table and picked at her food as Gary talked to Nelson about his pop idol and Lucy fiddled with her i Phone. Then Gary said it.
“We know you used to thieve a bit, Mandy, we all got a past here, I tell ya. I use Nelson to find me people, he found you for me. I’ve become a bit of an expert in art. And I got my eye on a painting.”
“What painting?” Mandy said.
“It’s a Cecily Brown, you know her work?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Well I reckon she’s gonna be worth a bomb in a year or two, she’s already pricey now.”
“What’s the painting?”
“It’s called Sweetie, a depiction of a naked lady, thighs up, full thighs, you can see all the bits, and a big cock jammed inside her. Tasteful, though.”
“Gary, spare us the details,” Lucy said.
“If she’s going to nick it, she needs to know what it looks like. Besides, this is art talk, Mandy knows the score.”
“I’m trying to eat here.”
“Well I ain’t stopping you.”
Lucy glanced at Mandy, then sipped her wine.
“This lady’s lover’s sucking her nipple,” Gary said, “and the whole painting’s peachy pink, beautiful in fact. Do you know Prince’s song Peach?”
“Gary wants to acquire art to match his songs,” Nelson said.
“That’s right,” Gary said, “a work of art for each of his songs, and this one works perfect for Peach.”
“Gary’s had his eye on the painting for some time,” Nelson said. “I knew you’d be right for the job.”
“Nelson tells me you used to dance to ‘Cream,’ one of my favourite songs,” Gary said.
Mandy wiped her mouth with her napkin.
“It worked on stage.”
“I bet it did. I like music that’s loaded with sexual connotation, that’s how I like my art too.”
“I’m not sure that I’m the right person for the job,” Mandy said. “I’ve never stolen a painting before.”
Gary wagged a finger at her.
“No, but you were good, Handy Mandy they called you, the cops never got you. You’re ideal, don’t you see, you danced naked to Prince?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“This is all about Prince.”
“I danced to lots of music.”
“Yeah, but you were known for doing him, that right Nelson?”
“That’s right, Mandy, the punters loved you. Filthy Cute they used to call you.”
“I do wish you’d give us a show,” Gary said.
“I’m not going to break into a gallery,” Mandy said.
“Who said anything about a gallery? This is a house, right up the road from here, it’s a doddle, what do you say Mandy, ten grand?”
***
The house was easy. Just like Gary said. He gave Mandy a blueprint to the place, the layout of the rooms, the one she needed to get into, the precise position of the painting. All she needed was a Maglite. He gave her one, almost lost the job when he patted her ass as she left, but she was thinking about the money by then, cash he said.
It was a large building at the end of the road. The code he gave her opened the gate and she edged along the grass border at the side of the drive, avoiding the gravel, thinking do these guys use the same designer? It looked so much like Gary’s place she wondered for a moment if she was being set up, but then she found the window he’d described, pulled it open and she was in. She made it to the alarm within fifteen seconds, put in the code, and then walked to the end of the corridor and turned right. Second door. She could see the paintings on the wall, various nudes. She ran her torch across them, taking in the female genitals, then she heard a noise. It sounded like something being dropped overhead and she turned the torch off, stood there in the dark hearing her heart beat as silence fell again. She could see the outline of the room without the torch and she walked over to the painting, took if off the wall, put it in the huge plastic wrapper, and then back to where she came in and out of the window.
She took it straight to him. Gary opened the door in a dressing gown.
“Got it?” he said.
“What do you think this is?”
She handed him the package, followed him inside to his study.
“Vodka?”
“Thanks.”
He poured her a glass, then unwrapped the painting. She watched as the plastic fell away and Gary stood staring at it, his back to her. She sipped her vodka thinking about the cash, Gary standing really still, appreciative, she thought. Then she heard sirens and saw flashing lights outside the window.
“This ain’t Cecily Brown,” he said,
turning round.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it, you silly cow, you’ve nicked the wrong painting.”
“It was where you told me it would be.”
She looked at it, the nude, the exposed genitals saying that’s all we are to you, raw meat, seeing flashes of men’s faces leering at her out of the crowd as she touched herself to Prince at the front of the stage, high on everything she’d never share with a man, and she realised it wasn’t the one he’d commissioned, similar, not the same.
“How could you have fucked that up?” he said.
“I followed your instructions, he must have moved the painting.”
“You’re gonna have to make it up to me.”
“You’re not going to pay me?”
“You wanna take it back?”
“You heard the cops just now, he must have come downstairs, I heard a noise when I was in there.”
“Dear oh dear, let’s hope no one saw you.”
She looked at it again, liking the sketch now, thinking the tits weren’t bad, wondering if she’d have got more self–respect posing for an artist rather than a bunch of wankers.
“It ain’t bad, Gary.”
“It’s a fucking Tracey Emin, I hate the cow. Unmade bed my ass.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“You.”
“OK don’t pay me then.”
“No, you’re gonna pay me, unless you want another crack next door.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Neither do I, so,” he said, coming over to her and laying his hand on her shoulder, “Lucy’s in bed, give us a show and a blow job, a few fucks, and it’s all forgotten.”
She folded her arms.
“No.”
“You’ve disappointed me, so you can do a little strip for me, you could even work at one of my clubs. Nelson said what you got between your legs looks like a sliced peach, have you ever seen his kitchen?”
“No.”
“You should. And you don’t want to cross Nelson, you’re lucky it’s me you’re dealing with.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Listen to me you slag,” he said, “I gave you an easy job, offered you good cash, and you’ve failed to deliver. So, instead of me having the piece of art I want, you can do your Prince dance for me, what do you need, a bottle? Come, on, empty this vodka and show me how you did it.”
He thrust the bottle of Smirnoff at her, and his gown fell open, flashing his cock at her. Mandy glanced at it, thinking it’s tiny, I won’t even feel it. When she looked up Gary was staring over her shoulder.
Lucy was standing in the doorway.
“Pop your cock away and stop hassling this girl,” she said.
“This ain’t over,” Gary said, pulling the belt tight across his grown.
Mandy went out into the hall with Lucy, who winked at her and nodded in the direction of the pool. They went and stood by the blue water sparkling beneath the glass roof. Lucy was wearing a nightie and Mandy could see her breasts clearly outlined against the material. She wanted to ask her if they were real.
“Gary’s usually all talk,” Lucy said, “don’t let him worry you.”
“I took the wrong painting.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He wants to screw me.”
“Well that’s cause he ain’t getting much of me, he has hookers round while I’m out, you see, mutually convenient arrangement.”
“Thanks for coming when you did.”
“I haven’t tonight, that’s why I couldn’t sleep, think you can help me?”
Lucy took Mandy’s hand and put it between her legs, but Mandy pulled away and began walking towards the door.
“I can’t, I’m seeing someone,” she said.
“He won’t let it go, I’ll stop him,” Lucy said.
Mandy ran out of the house, not glancing back at the closed study where Gary was on the phone to Nelson.
***
When Mandy got back Trudy was in bed and she slid in next to her.
“So how did it go?” Trudy said.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“No, couldn’t, funny that.”
“Don’t, Trudy.”
“Don’t what?”
Mandy sat up and looked down at her.
“I got the wrong painting.”
“I bet he wasn’t happy about that.”
“He threatened me, wants me to sleep with him.”
“What?” Trudy said, sitting up now too.
“His wife saved me.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s bi, she came onto to me by the pool.”
“What have you got into?”
***
Gary found out that the owner of Sweetie had moved paintings, recently bought the Tracey Emin and hung it where the Cecily Brown used to be. He was a friend of Gary’s, and Gary bumped into him the following morning in the park as he walked the dogs, nodded and tutted sympathetically when he heard the story.
“And I thought this was a safe area,” Gary said.
“I heard a noise then I went down for some water and saw the window open.”
“What did they take?”
“An Emin, I just bought her.”
***
Mandy rowed with Trudy, Trudy saying she thought she’d given up thieving, Mandy saying the money would help them get out of the damp flat maybe even start up the flower business they’d been talking about. They made it up that night, made love and slept in each other’s arms. When Mandy got up she decided she’d refuse to talk to Gary, stay away from him completely. That was until Trudy said, “That guy’s out there, the one in the shorts.”
Trudy was holding the living room curtains open a crack, and Mandy peered over her shoulder down into the street below. Nelson was standing against a wall, leg up, boot on the bricks, one hand scratching his balls, the other holding the rope that tethered the chain around his dog’s neck.
“That’s him,” Mandy said.
“He’s revolting.”
Nelson looked up at them and waved. Mandy had a shower, then ate a bowl of muesli. An hour later he was still out there. He rang the bell and she ignored it, then watched him standing below the window.
“I better go and talk to him,” she said.
He smiled when she came out.
“Gary wants to see you,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to see him, how did you find out where I live?”
“I know all sorts of things about you, remember? I know about what mole you got right next to your pussy.”
“Look I like women, I used to strip for money, you saw me naked, it doesn’t mean I’m going to fuck you.”
“No, you’re going to fuck Gary or he’ll hurt you.”
“I wish I’d never agreed to do it.”
“You better go and see him.”
“Or what?”
Nelson raised his eyebrows.
“What do you think?”
***
Mandy told Trudy about the conversation and they argued again, Trudy threw a pot of jam at her, Mandy ducked, the pot shattering against the wall. Mandy went out to think, got a bit drunk in a pub and decided she’d go and front Gary, tell him to lay off or she was going to the police. She walked there, held her finger on the buzzer until the gate swung open, then she marched up the drive feeling the adrenaline.
Lucy was standing at the door.
“Gary’s out, or have you come to see me?” she said
They drank Martinis, Mandy thinking it was a more sophisticated drink than vodka and feeling lightheaded now. Then Lucy went for a swim, naked. Mandy watched as she peeled off her skirt, then unbuttoned her blue blouse, glancing in Mandy’s direction. She wasn’t wearing a bra and Mandy wondered about those tits again. She slid her blue G–string off and got in the water, did seven laps and got out, stood there drying herself, one leg on the lounger, giving Mandy an eyefu
l.
“You’re not shy are you?” Lucy said.
“I used to strip for a living.”
“I seen the film.”
“What film?”
“The one Nelson made for Gary.”
“Of me?”
“Want to see it?”
“I don’t believe this, is that what the job was all about?”
***
Lucy put it on in the bedroom. Mandy watched herself dance, thinking her figure was going a bit now, but she still had it. She was good, dancing to ‘Cream,’ pushing her hips out at the men at the front and fingering herself when Prince sang ‘You’re filthy cute and baby you know it,’ putting on the hetero face she practised in front of the mirror.
“That bastard,” she said.
Lucy turned the film off, darkening the screen.
“I can’t blame them.”
“Just how dangerous is Gary?”
“He gets people hurt, but Nelson’s worse.”
“That pervert?”
“He’s hung though, not like Gary.”
“I saw it the other night.”
“Look he’s in and out in a second.”
“I can’t.”
“Like that, is it?”
“I haven’t slept with a man since I was a teen.”
“So you’re a real lesbian?”
“Hundred percent.”
“I can take care of Gary for you.”
“How?”
“You leave that to me.”
“And what do you want from me?”
“I fancy licking that mole on your thigh.”
Afterwards Mandy wondered if she’d feel guilty when she went back to the flat but she enjoyed it, Lucy had a good sense of humour and gave good head. She glanced up at Mandy as she was doing it, and said, ‘Sh–boogie bop,’ humming the Prince song. She was attentive, took her time.
“I’m glad you don’t shave,” Lucy said, “I always wonder about those guys who insist on a waxed one.”
“Men are such power freaks.”
“But we know better.”
“Are those real?” Mandy said, touching her breasts.
“Christmas present from Gary.”
“How much did they cost?”
***