The Sexopaths

by Beckham, Bruce

  ‘I am in bed.’

  ‘You look fucking amazing.’

  ‘Our friend can join us later.’

  ‘I’ll listen out for the bell.’

  ***

  ‘Would you like what is left, my darling?’

  ‘Hadn’t we better save some, just in case she comes?’

  It’s ninety minutes since they tried unsuccessfully to contact Jasmin-Sharon, and Adam has already eaten most of her share of the light meal that Monique had prepared earlier.

  ‘It is okay – I can easily make more.’

  He’s persuaded, and holds out his plate.

  ‘Thanks, it’s delicious – as usual.’

  ‘You are welcome, my darling.’

  As they resume eating silence slips back between them, an invisible force that gently strains the umbilical bond they renewed in the last hour. Adam feels a little dismayed by the stilted atmosphere, descending so soon after they’d made energetic and imaginative use of the facilities provided by Monique. And though he has his suspicions that she procured these accessories with other scenarios in mind, all went smoothly upstairs, where for the most part nature took control: an hour of sensory deprivation and slithering excess. Monique had excelled, only towards the end losing herself upon him in a frenetic abandon that had him doubting her mental fidelity. Constrained as he’d been, the hood afforded a restricted but viable view, one that revealed sufficient of her expressions for him to imagine she was transported to the company of a person or persons unknown.

  Maybe she’d detected a subtle shift in his body language, a sense of being caught in flagrante delicto, as momentarily he became observer rather than participant. Post-climax she’d subsided upon him, dragging off his hood and kissing away his putative apprehensions; she’d released his bonds and drawn him from the bed and soaped him in the shower. Even then, however, there was a hint of haste about their manoeuvres – although it was a timetable in which he collaborated, so they could patter barefoot and damp-haired in their towelling gowns to the kitchen, to check Monique’s mobile for any sign of contact from Jasmin-Sharon. There was none, and they’d both – he was sure – affected indifference, a small deceit that, in the manner of opposing poles, prevented them from pressing close and signing off their love-making with the appropriate embrace.

  Instead, Monique had turned to inspect the dish warming in the oven, as if using the pretence to distract from the disappointment to which neither of them wanted to admit. Now, for Adam, it feels like the party is over, while the night is still young; it’s as if when they were otherwise occupied upstairs, their fellow revellers decamped to another location, taking the song and dance and flags and bunting with them. Monique is watchful, though there’s the curve of a smile upon her lips as he appreciates her culinary efforts. He wonders if she is assessing the moment, trying to gauge whether this is the time – now that he is physically sated – to confess something of her new found interests.

  He is about to ask what’s on her mind – wrestling with the phraseology that will best match his intended line of enquiry – when suddenly her phone comes alive. Monique swoops upon it, looks at the screen, nods to Adam in confirmation. She exclaims:

  ‘Sharon, hi – how are you?’

  She listens intently, her demeanour changing with each attempted interjection in a series of stills, like a flick-book, from anticipation to concern to reassurance:

  ‘We have been wondering…’

  ‘Oh – no that’s awful…’

  ‘Yes… yes…’

  ‘I am so sorry to hear that…’

  ‘No… yes… of course, you should…’

  ‘I am sure everything will be okay…’

  ‘Don’t worry… it is no problem…’

  ‘You have to put him first…’

  ‘It is okay – we are fine… don’t worry about us…’

  ‘No… not at all…’

  ‘Yes… of course we can…’

  ‘You hurry…’

  ‘That’s fine… don’t even think about…’

  ‘Okay…’

  ‘Okay… take care. Speak with you soon.’

  Adam shoots her an inquiring glance as she replaces the handset on the table surface. She says:

  ‘It was Sharon.’

  He nods patiently – of course they both know that. What he understands too is that a small fear has been allayed. It had occurred to him that if Jasmin-Sharon had admitted her involvement with them (or him), then Xara might have intervened. But if the latter had any hand in postponing tonight’s visit, then at least secrecy has been preserved. As it is, he guesses Jasmin-Sharon has run into trouble with a client whom she was probably trying to fit in before seeing them – until Monique corrects this misapprehension:

  ‘It is her grandfather – he has been taken ill and rushed into hospital.’

  ‘Really?’ This isn’t what he’d expected, and for a moment it suppresses his scepticism.

  ‘A suspected heart attack. She is there waiting to see him.’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘That is what she said.’

  ‘Did she say which hospital?’

  Monique shakes her head.

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  ‘Why should I not, my darling?’

  ‘I just wonder… how many times her grandfather has suffered conveniently timed heart attacks.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Has she mentioned a grandfather before?’

  ‘No… but – we have hardly had that kind of conversation. I am sure it is true. She sounded extremely upset – she was crying.’

  ‘You know the expression crocodile tears.’

  ‘Adam – why are you being so unkind to her?’

  ‘I’m not – I mean, I don’t intend to be. I’m just a bit suspicious.’

  ‘She would not make up something like that – about a member of her family?’

  ‘Why not? It’s the perfect kind of excuse. There’s no way we can be upset with her. And no way to check it out. Not that most of her clients would go to the trouble.’

  ‘But… why would she make an excuse?’

  ‘She got a better offer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She said it herself. I think it was when she phoned us in the middle of the night, after last time. She’d drop anything to come to see us… except an ‘overnight’. I don’t think she even noticed she was saying it – it was like she was speaking her thoughts aloud.’

  ‘But… she said she was free. She was the one to suggest tonight.’

  ‘Yeah – but it only takes someone to roll into town, phone her on spec…’

  ‘But… she likes… us. She likes being with us.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what she likes better.’

  ‘You mean the money?’

  ‘And what it buys. Look how much she makes for an ‘overnight’ – you’ve seen the website. It’s money for old rope. I’d consider sleeping next to some snoring old git for that kind of payday.’

  Monique looks at him quizzically – he thinks she’s tempted for a moment to make a joke about him, but the disconcerting notion that Jasmin-Sharon might be standing them up reasserts precedence. She laments:

  ‘Well… maybe you are right. But why would she make up a false story? Surely she could just tell us the truth and we would understand – we knew she was giving us a kind of discount for tonight – we would not have wanted to deprive her of earning a lot of money.’

  ‘Monique – it’s what people do. It’s what you do. Think about it – what do you say when you’ve got two customers who both want you to go for a meeting on the same day? I bet you never mention the other client. You tell them what you think they’d like to hear – you’re away on a training course, you’ve had a car crash, there’s a funeral –

  Monique shrugs in reluctant acceptance of the principle, though still looks unwilling to apply it to Jasmin-Sharon. She says:

  ‘Yes, my darling
– but usually you do that through a secretary or colleague, not in person. I just spoke to Sharon and she sounded genuine to me. Her crying… it was real, I am sure.’

  ‘Monique.’ He hears his tone, impatient-patience. ‘These girls make a living out of faking it. We shouldn’t be surprised if she does it to us once in a while. I mean – I don’t think she’s ‘all there’ all of the time.’

  ‘Poor girl… she was almost hysterical – scared.’

  ‘Scared of you being mad at her.’

  ‘You are too cynical, my darling.’

  Adam, arms folded, raises his shoulders, holding the pose, a gesture of unsold acceptance. ‘Maybe I am. Anyway – there’s not a lot we can do about it. If you ask me she got a better offer and that’s where she is right now – that was probably her cigarette break when she phoned. Otherwise why wait two hours to let us know? I think she was trying to let us down gently via the ‘head in the sand’ method followed by the ‘damsel in distress’ technique. Don’t all girls learn these at finishing school?’

  Now Monique smiles sympathetically. ‘Are you disappointed, my darling?’

  He’s wrong-footed for a moment by her change of direction. ‘No… no… not at all – we’ve had a really nice time.’ He looks earnestly at her. ‘Haven’t we?’

  She nods in vigorous confirmation. ‘She tricked us into dressing up for one another… turning our bedroom into a boudoir!’

  ‘Wait a minute… this isn’t something you’ve cooked up between you, is it?’ He’s not exactly serious, but poses the question in an even tone.

  ‘What do you mean, my darling?’

  ‘She never was going to come?’

  Monique shakes her head, her eyes widening. ‘No, my darling – there was no trick… except…’ She trails off, shyly, Adam thinks.

  ‘Except what?’

  ‘Oh – maybe you should wait until next time.’

  ‘What next time? Anyway I don’t want to wait – tell me.’

  Monique reaches for her wine glass and takes a long draught. He can’t tell if it’s for Dutch courage or if she’s just composing her answer. After a moment or so she takes a deep breath and the words spill out:

  ‘Sharon – Jasmin – was going to bring a double… thing… you know… a double-dildo – the kind that two girls can use together… or a girl can use on a man.’ Now she laughs nervously, suggesting both embarrassment and devilment.

  ‘Naughty. And which part of that did you think I might like?’ A flashback revisits him.

  Monique tosses her ringlets so they hide her eyes. ‘Probably both, would be my guess.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘You never know, my darling – it might do you good to get more in touch with your feminine side.’

  ‘And you your masculine?’

  ‘I was thinking I would be watching.’

  ‘You are a bad girl, beneath all those sweet curls.’

  ‘Good bad.’

  ‘Okay then, good bad.’

  ‘Maybe I should buy us one, just in case – now I know where to shop.’

  ‘You’re getting to know too much. You’ll start charging me soon.’

  She drinks again, as if she’s readying herself to take a run at the next hurdle. ‘How much could I ask, do you think? More or less than Sharon?’

  ‘More than double.’ And he’s sure she probably could.

  ‘Would you like it if I visited you?’

  He knows exactly where she is going, but now he is forced to stall. This path is overhung by shadowy fears he wishes to avoid. He says:

  ‘What do you mean, visited?’

  ‘Well – if you were a business executive – and I came to your hotel room – for an outcall?’

  ‘I am a business executive.’ He avoids the direct reply.

  ‘So – would you be… pleased – when you saw me?’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to think about it.’

  ‘Come on, my darling – I am just saying… joking – would you fancy me if I arrived at your door?’

  ‘You’re not thinking of a new sideline?’

  ‘Adam – how could you say that? You almost sound serious – don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Well – why are you asking?’

  ‘You know… they say how a good wife should be a… a whore in the bedroom?’ She lobs in the expression like a hand grenade, then ducks for cover behind her glass, eyes sparkling behind fluttering lashes.

  ‘You are very attractive – you know I think that. Look at what happened tonight.’

  But his compliment is half-hearted, and her features cloud a little.

  ‘You are disappointed that Sharon has not arrived?’

  He means to disagree, but falters in his reply. Such hesitation risks a contradictory signal, so he dramatises the pause and leans towards her, resting his chin on the bridge of his intertwined fingers. He says:

  ‘To be honest, Monique, I feel a little bit relieved.’

  ‘Why, my darling?’

  ‘Well… we can’t rely on someone like her to make things exciting.’

  Now he takes a drink. He resumes, keeping a poker face:

  ‘Anyway, since you’re in training as her understudy, she’ll soon be out of a job.’

  ‘Adam! You are bad, saying these things. I am only asking if you find me sexy.’

  Now he says more lightly:

  ‘You make it sound like you’re thinking about it, that’s all. And we talked about it in Jurmala, remember?’

  ‘Yes – but that was just messing around – to make us aroused. Sure – you can think about what it would be like, but… the answer is…’ She shudders dramatically to complete the sentence.

  ‘Your friend Sharon manages it fine.’ He probes again. ‘Don’t you think it might be exciting to go along with her? Just for the thrill.’

  Monique creases her brow. ‘You just said you would not want me to do that.’

  ‘I couldn’t stand it.’

  Her consternation softens. She says:

  ‘Nor I. It would be terrifying.’

  He twirls the stem of his glass and stares thoughtfully into the mini whirlpool of wine. ‘Never mind the fact that you only want to be with me.’

  ‘You know that, my darling.’

  She reaches a hand across the table to take his. Adam looks up. She’s gazing intently at him, but doesn’t speak. He says:

  ‘I just keep thinking… well… this would have been the second time we’ve done a ‘two-girl’… thing. What’s to stop you wanting to do some kind of ‘two-guy’ thing? Or some ‘completely crazy’ thing?’

  ‘I told you before – and after Jurmala… you know? – I don’t want that. This affair with Sharon is completely different – I feel relaxed about you and her, and about us together with her.’

  Adam notices she doesn’t mention the other pairing, she with Jasmin-Sharon, but he lets it pass, along with her use of the word affair. Maybe she used the French, this business. While he’s partly reassured by her response to his testing, her seemingly unguarded replies showing no sign that she’s got something to hide, there’s still a nagging doubt that she has glossed over the depth of involvement she’s had with Jasmin-Sharon – texts, phone calls, perhaps meeting for at least a drink, certainly arranging this abortive second encounter. Nevertheless, she is making him feel any ideas of ‘professional involvement’ are overly fanciful. He says:

  ‘If you say so, Moni. Call it one of those things you should do before you die. But maybe it’s for the best she didn’t show tonight.’

  ‘Do you think we should not rearrange to see her?’

  ‘Maybe. What about you?’

  ‘Well… I would feel a bit awkward telling her no, especially just after she has had this bad news. It might seem like we are punishing her for not keeping the appointment.’

  Adam senses there’s more to it than that. He doubts Monique wants to break up what has become a stimulating relationship – she probably sees no harm in prolongin
g her contact with the girl, even if the contractual aspects were to be terminated. And there’s that part of her nature that always wants to please – why say no when you can both feel good? He says:

  ‘Anyway, the next two weekends we’ll be travelling to and from Shanghai.’

  Monique creases her brow, then brightens again. ‘It is true about China – it will put things off for a while. And that will be exciting for us, my darling.’

  ‘Hans emailed me to say we need visas. I’ll go to the embassy on Monday in case there’s a hitch. Now you’ve not been secretly accessing dissident Chinese call girls’ blogs, I hope?’

  She says, demurely:

  ‘The Chinese ought to treat me as an honoured guest – we placed an order this week for five million soft-toy pandas for a client’s promotion.’

  ‘I thought you just made the ads?’

  ‘Until recently – but through AMIE I’ve made contacts who can organise promotional merchandise – some of the bigger agencies offer a sourcing service – so we’ve been able to sub-contract the work and we get an agreed commission.’

  ‘Why don’t your clients just do it themselves – surely it would be cheaper for them?’

  ‘Until something goes wrong – like when pirates start pushing the containers into the Indian Ocean. Or a small child chokes on a glass eye that was not properly sewn. Then they wish someone else had made the contract. The sensible clients give the work to specialists who understand the risk.’

  ‘So who’s the specialist importer of cuddly pandas?’

  He gets a sudden sense that his hand rests upon on the lid of a little Pandora’s box – is it the flicker of disquiet in Monique’s eyes, or the almost imperceptible delay in her reply? Whichever, her answer confirms his intuition:

  ‘It is the marketing group run by the AMIE President.’

  ‘That… Lucien guy?’ His feigned uncertainty is clumsy; he knows it must transmit alarm signals of his own.

  ‘Aha.’

  Adam affects a yawn, he stretches, wishing to displace the displeasure that ripples through his body. He’s irked by this news – an additional reason for Monique to have contact with Lucien, another forum for dialogue that can so easily lead to intimacy. He says: