by Mike Hockney
Jez looked up at me, grinned then thrust the item into my hand. It was a digital print of a beautiful naked woman holding today’s edition of The Times. I flipped it over and immediately saw that it was signed, ‘Love, Yvette.’ A line underneath said, ‘Give me a ring anytime, you sexy beast.’ And then a mobile phone number.
I smiled weakly. ‘So, just Z to go for both of you.’
‘Damn straight,’ Jez said. ‘It’s the showdown now. Mano a mano. Last man standing wins. I’ve got the big M.O. behind me and Mr Lincoln here is shitting himself.’ He glared at Sam. ‘That’s right, Sammy boy, isn’t it? You’re a busted flush.’
‘I don’t hear any fat ladies tuning up, let alone singing. I’ll get my Z before you do.’ Sam banged down his wineglass. ‘You can bet on it.’
Dinner went on for two hours. The food and wine were delicious, the conversation less so. It was mostly taken up with Jez reminiscing about his various Alphabet Love conquests and making it clear he was going to win. He planned to choose a morbidly obese woman with a giant fat ass for Sam to hook up with in Cleveland. He made a stack of comments about what the weather was like in Ohio at this time of year and what kind of postcards Sam should send to Dubai.
Sam hardly retaliated. He seemed relieved when dinner was over and said he wanted to go back to his room to wait for Mencken.
‘No, you’re coming to the bar with us,’ Jez said. ‘Sophie’s our guest tonight.’
‘I should go,’ I said, feeling awkward. ‘I don’t think Mencken will show.’
Jez held my arm. ‘No, gal, we’re here to have fun. Come on, I’ve discovered a great new cocktail.’
I looked at Sam and he shrugged. We went to the bar and Jez bought three Black Velvets. It might be new to him but it certainly wasn’t to me. Half Guinness to half champagne, it was a drink I found distinctly sickly. Even the gold flakes sprinkled over it didn’t increase its appeal.
Sam liked it though and I thought he was cheering up. He asked me if I ever got any interesting clients. No one in his league, that was for sure. As for Jez, he was keen to find out about my love life; if I was hooked up with anyone and, if not, then why not. I didn’t want to divulge too much about romance in front of Sam. Not that there was much to tell, not for the last six months or so anyway. My love life had consisted mostly of less than brilliant one-night stands and two semi-serious relationships that fizzled out, one badly, the other so quietly that it was as if it never existed in the first place.
An hour passed pleasantly enough, though it was still a no-show from Mencken. I called him on his mobile, but it was switched off.
I went to the loo and was suitably impressed by all the marble and gold fittings. A good loo is close to every girl’s heart, of course, and makes all the difference between a five star rating and a washout.
I came back out, smiling and feeling fresh. Then – oh fuck – I saw Jane. For a second I wondered how she’d got past the doormen, but a PR person with her big mouth could blag her way past anyone, couldn’t she? She was wearing an almost-transparent black dress and gave every impression she was on a serious mission to pull, with her make-up applied at ‘glam-max’ level. I knew she knew and I tried to work out where I’d slipped up.
‘You!’ she bellowed when she caught me trying to slink past.
‘OK, how did you find me?’
‘Bloody hell,’ she snarled, ‘even Inspector Clouseau wouldn’t have had any trouble.’ She snatched a spare copy of The London Evening News from a table, turned over the first page and thrust it at me.
‘Didn’t you wonder why the paparazzi were camped outside? Doh!’
I took the newspaper and stared at the colour picture on page three. There I was – pictured at Royal Ascot earlier in the day – with Sam on one side and Jez on the other. Under a headline of Who’s That with our IT-girl? there was speculation about who my ‘mysterious’ companions were. The consensus of five celebrity watchers was unanimous…
Posh Totty Sophie York – remember her? (Don’t worry, we didn’t either) – snares two Hollywood megastars, the article proclaimed. She may have been expelled from Roedean girls’ school, got sozzled on cheap plonk, stripped naked on live TV and jungle-jived with monkeys, but our Sophie sure knows how to make a Yankee Doodle Dandy, it went on. In horror, I read the rest. Old London Town has just received a visitation from on high. Two 24-carat überstars have checked into town and are looking for serious high roller action. Our expert panel of star spotters know that Hollywood’s two baddest boys are holed up in luxury suites in the super-swish Sargasso hotel in Mayfair. Legendary as Hollywood’s top party animals, Sam Lincoln and Jez Easton are responsible for so much hell raising that the Devil has probably sent them a letter of complaint, pointing out his vertigo issues. It seems they’ve turned to ‘entertainment consultant’ Sophie to discover what the capital has to offer. We wonder if any other young fillies caught their attention at Royal Ascot on Ladies’ Day. One thing’s for sure – their feeble attempt to disguise themselves fooled no one. It was probably Sophie’s idea to make them wear ‘look-at-me’ shades. Do you think she’s been lined up for a part in the new movie the actors are about to start filming? Maybe she’ll play the mastermind of a heist. No, we didn’t think so either.
‘Well?’ Jane demanded, tapping her foot. ‘I want an intro to Sam Lincoln. I can’t believe you haven’t told me what’s been going on.’
I did feel guilty for not saying anything, but Jane was a notorious motor-mouth who could never keep anything secret.
Come on, Sophs, we’re a team,’ she whined. ‘Share and share alike, and all that.’
‘Sam’s mine,’ I snapped.
Jane gave me one of her knowing smirks. ‘Of course you want Sam,’ she said in that familiar patronising tone she adopted whenever she wanted to get her own way. ‘But what does he want? We have to think of what’s good for him. These Hollywood guys are always looking for something extra. Usual stuff is for usual people. Stars want the under-the-counter menu.’ She paused, her eyes twinkling. ‘He doesn’t want you and he doesn’t want me – he wants both. A tasty ménage `a trois with two Roedean girls; it’s every Yank’s dream, isn’t it? We can both whisper filthy things to him in our posh English accents. Then we’ll treat him to a Roedean spit roast. It’ll blow him away.’ She giggled. ‘So to speak.’
I didn’t know quite what to say to that. Frankly, I was well aware of Jane’s sexual preferences. She was up for just about anything. Hell, she might even be right about Sam, but there was no way I was sharing.
‘Keep your hands off Sam. You can have Jez if he’s interested.’
Jane looked at me and pondered. She preferred Sam but I was betting she didn’t really care. She just wanted to shag a Hollywood megastar and one was as good as another.
‘Deal,’ she said, flashing one of her man-eating smiles. ‘It’s time for two gorgeous Old Roedeanians to go bonk Hollywood.’
As always, I admired her confidence. I took her hand and led her to the bar, mentioning that our Hollywood sexual shenanigans were sure to be a first for our august old school.
‘Maybe they’ll put up a blue plaque in our honour,’ Jane grinned.
When I introduced her, I felt for once that I wasn’t in her shadow. She needed me. Luckily, Sam and Jez didn’t seem to mind. Straight away, I could see Jez was interested. Jane’s cleavage was prominently displayed thanks to a push-up bra and his gaze wasn’t straying far from there.
Sam saw what was going on and, without warning, took my hand. ‘Why don’t we disappear?’ Then I felt the delicious touch of his other hand on my bum.
*****
Next morning, I was having a continental breakfast with Sam in the hotel restaurant. There was no sign of Jez or Jane. I was quiet, waiting for some signal from Sam that he’d enjoyed last night. He was the hottest lover I’d ever had by far. His body was every bit the godlike creation I’d dreamt of. I couldn’t believe how energetic he was. He kept putting my body in all sor
ts of crazy positions and he definitely liked having me on all fours. His tongue seemed laser-guided, hitting every sweet spot. But, by the end, my limbs were sore and exhausted. We’d used up his four-pack of chocolate-flavoured condoms. The whole thing was a kind of ecstatic blur.
Best of all was how he kissed me. He had this way of French-kissing really passionately and then, just when I was almost struggling to breathe, he’d slow down. His kisses became gentle, tender, the most exquisite things you could imagine. All the while he caressed me, and several times he held me so tight it was as if he never wanted to let me go. He made me feel so safe, so loved, so precious.
Yet he was indifferent to me now. He hadn’t made a single comment about last night and was so distant he was scarcely in the same room. I hated it when men did this to me. I could never work out if it was a deliberate snub, or some ‘man thing’ where they tried to avoid any acknowledgement that anything intimate had happened.
‘I’m going to see a movie at lunchtime,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Prohibition A – it’s about a Manhattan nightclub where all kinds of weird shit happens.’
‘Sounds great.’ I waited for an invitation that never came. ‘Can I tag along?’ I held out my hand to take his, but he immediately pulled it out of reach.
‘If you want,’ he replied.
Why was he being like this?
Jez appeared, minus Jane. Grinning, he said Jane had gone home ‘to recover’.
‘How was she?’ Sam asked.
I couldn’t believe he was talking like this in front of me.
Jez didn’t miss a beat. ‘She was hot. That gal sure knows a few tricks. When she talks dirty, you gotta spend a month cleaning out your ears.’
‘Are you going to see her again?’
‘Get real.’
Sam looked straight at me. ‘Yeah, no girl can expect to get serious with a guy if she sleeps with him way too soon. It’s like the worst thing she can do.’
I felt sick.
My mobile phone bleeped and I turned away to read the text that had arrived, trying not to look too tearful. The message was from Jane. It said, ‘Out of this world. Can’t wait to see Jez again. How was it with Sam?’
Chapter 14: Droogs
All through the movie, I dwelt on the awful truth – Sam had dumped me after just one night. Jane didn’t know it yet, but Jez had done the exact same thing to her. To them, we were just two more groupies sliding notes under toilet cubicles.
Sam’s arthouse movie went on for three hours and it was 6 o’clock in the evening when we finally emerged. Sam and Jez, both in hoodies, seemed quite taken by the strange film. I didn’t have much to say and let them ramble on about the acting and direction.
They asked me to take them to a bar and I unenthusiastically selected The Big Blue – a luxury venue designed to make it seem as if it were a transparent cube suspended in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Ambient ocean sounds played in the background while on every wall, and even the floor and ceiling, colourful aquatic scenes were projected. It could easily have been naff but somehow it got away with it and you could genuinely believe you were submerged. It probably helped that the owners had employed the services of a prestigious London studio that provided state-of-the-art special effects to Hollywood.
Jez and Sam grudgingly approved of the venue and settled down on a ‘coral reef’ sofa to drink Hawaiian beer. Keen on getting wrecked as quickly as possible, I gulped down two large glasses of white wine. I felt lost. There had been no word from Mencken and I seemed to be distinctly surplus to requirements. Sam was as distant as he’d been all day. As for Jez, he spent most of his time eyeing up the talent with that unwavering male gaze of his. I wondered how many women he’d slept with and guessed it must run into thousands. I remembered reading somewhere that he’d spent several spells at The Meadows rehab clinic in the Arizona desert, being treated for sex addiction. He was obsessed with strippers, lap-dancers and porn stars by all accounts. No surprise there then.
Soon the drinks caught up with me and I was loo bound. When I returned, I noticed three strangers standing at the bar. Strangers? Hardly that. Jez and Sam had left their seats and were lurking near the newcomers. While Jez was laughing, Sam was observing them like a gunfighter. Three beautiful girls were dressed as characters from A Clockwork Orange. They had all the great gear from the classic movie: black bowler hats and boots, white shirts, trousers, braces and codpieces. Their eye make-up was spot on too, with the right eye adorned with extravagant false eyelashes. The cocktail they were drinking looked like milk but when I asked later, the bartender said it was a White Panther; a mix of rum, vodka and coconut milk. Yuk.
The three girls talked in the strange language that had featured in the movie. I strained to listen and I heard something like: ‘We gave this devotchka a tolchock on the litso and the krovvy came out of her mouth.’ Two words were repeated over and over – lubbilubbing and gulliver. I recalled that ‘gulliver’ was slang for head. One of the girls began humming Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.
Jez was obviously finding it a hoot, but whenever he tried to start a conversation with the girls, they talked gibberish to shut him up.
‘Grahzny bratchny,’ they chanted in unison. Then one said, ‘Oh my sisters, gullywuts sore. No pretty polly.’
‘Listen, girls, you can’t fool me,’ Jez said. ‘I know all about A Clockwork Orange. Alex and his droogs, and all that. They spoke some kind of Slavic language, didn’t they? Did you know the title comes from a Cockney phrase: as queer as a clockwork orange?’
‘Oh, my sisters, horrorshow rozz golly crark,’ one of the girls said and the other two sniggered.
Sam took me to one side and whispered in my ear. ‘Our Oxford stalkers aren’t giving up, huh?’ He scanned around, as if checking for others.
I understood his concern. These people were showing an unhealthy interest in us and were worryingly well informed about where to find us.
I leaned forward to say something then pulled back, resenting the fact that Sam was suddenly treating me as a confidante after freezing me out all afternoon. On the other hand, maybe there was still a chance for me. ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked.
‘Bring it on.’
‘You can’t be serious. You don’t know these people. It might be dangerous.’
‘Exactly.’
Did he want to invent trouble for himself? Was that where I’d gone wrong? – I’d committed the cardinal error of making it too easy.
‘We’re going to follow them,’ he said.
I frowned. He was playing a game and so were they. Trouble was, I wasn’t sure it was the same one.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea? If they’re on your case, the last thing you want to do is walk right up to them and tap them on the shoulder.’
‘Earth to Sophie,’ Sam said, ‘Jez and I have saved the world several times over. Haven’t you seen any of our movies?’ He winked. ‘Besides, don’t you want to find out what they want with us?’
‘I’m in,’ Jez said when Sam explained his plan, then sauntered over to the three girls and offered to buy them a drink. Without a word, they put down their White Panthers and left. We waited a few seconds before tailing them.
The girls made their way towards the mansion, humming Singing in the Rain as they pretended to kick each other in choreographed slow motion, as in the movie. The same ceremony that we saw before then took place. The glamorous students came out, formed parallel lines and began clapping and cheering one of the girls in particular. Elvis was among them and clearly aware that we were watching, but he gave no sign that he intended to do anything about it.
I remembered Mencken telling me that a goddess was in charge of the Oxford students. What if Sam or Jez fell for her? Forget Jez – it was only Sam I cared about. I just couldn’t get him out of my head. I was gutted that I’d lost him almost before I’d even had him. Already, I was convinced I was rubbish in bed and that’s why I’d been given the boot. Was I too fat? Too
inhibited? Didn’t know enough bedroom tricks? I mean, I only found out a few weeks ago that ‘tea bagging’ meant sucking a guy’s balls, or, to be more precise, letting him dunk his scrotum in and out of your mouth like, er, a tea bag. It had honestly never occurred to me to do something like that.
I anxiously looked around amongst the students. The girls were all very pretty, but none was what I would call a goddess. I was so relieved.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’ve seen all this before. Let’s go somewhere else. I can get you into a fancy-dress charity ball with wall-to-wall models and debs.’
‘We don’t want to rain on your, parade,’ Jez said, ‘but the best party in town is the one going on behind that door.’ He jabbed his finger towards the mansion. ‘Those dudes are full on and we want some of the action.’
‘Yeah,’ Sam said, ‘forget the tourist junk in that little brochure of yours. Right from the start we said we wanted something wacky. Well, this is it.’
‘But what game are they playing?’ I asked. ‘They follow us, but don’t let us speak to them. We follow them and they slam the door in our faces.’
The boys shrugged.
‘He’s your mission impossible,’ Jez said. ‘We want you to get us an invite to that place. We’ll give you a five grand bonus if you can pull it off.’
Inwardly, I sighed, but part of me was intrigued. Could I do something like that from a standing start?
‘We want to hear some good news by tomorrow,’ Jez said. ‘Get on the phone, pull in favours, do whatever needs doing to get us in there tomorrow night.’
‘We’ll meet you for breakfast tomorrow,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t disappoint us.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said, but I didn’t have a clue where to begin. ‘What are you guys doing now?’