“They actually live on the floor below Rupert,” Ashley said.
“Do they? Wow, what are they like?”
“Oh, they seem okay. You don’t really see much of them…”
“…Don’t tell me, they keep themselves to themselves.”
“You learn fast.”
“I guess it’s easy to get like that when you have loads of money.”
Ashley smiled at Rachel’s candour, “Some do, yes. So, how are you settling in?”
“Oh great, it’s absolutely brilliant. I love the apartment, and this,” she added looking around the lobby, “it’s just beautiful. It’s really beyond anything I could have imagined.”
There was a genuine wonder in Rachel’s expression and Ashley related to this.
“The only downside is that I don’t know anybody here. Oh, except you of course.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll soon settle in. In fact, we’re hosting a dinner party next Saturday, nothing fancy, just a few people. Why don’t you come along?”
“Really? That sounds awesome! But I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Don’t be silly, you wouldn’t be. Please say yes. Rupert’s friends and cousin are coming and it’s going to be so dull. It would be nice to have a couple of people there that I actually like,” Ashley grinned.
“You know I can hear you, right?” Rupert said, interrupting his conversation.
Ashley kissed him on the arm.
“What do you think, Jay? Ashley’s invited us over for dinner next Saturday.”
Jason forced a smile, “Yep, that would be cool.” he said.
“Great. Say, around eight?”
“That would be lovely. Thanks ever so much. Oh, what number are you at?” Rachel asked.
“Well,” for some reason, unknown even to her, Ashley hesitated, then said, “We are in the penthouse.”
“The penthouse?” Rachel made a show of dropping her jaw.
“I know. Please don’t judge us,” Ashley said, affably.
“We’re in seven,” Rachel said. “Wow, the penthouse. So I suppose you’ll never overhear your neighbours having a domestic.”
Ashley leant in closer, “Tell me more.”
“Well, our neighbours who live one floor up? They were really going for it this afternoon. It started with them chasing each other around the room, and then it ended with them having a row right next to the balcony. For a second I thought he was going to throw her off.”
The men stopped chatting and looked at her.
“What?” Rachel asked.
Ashley smiled, “You must be mistaken, Rachel. It couldn’t have been apartment eight.”
“Oh no, it definitely was eight, that’s the apartment above us, right?” She asked Jason, who nodded, “because I heard them talking or should I say screaming at each other.”
“Did you actually hear what they were saying?” Ashley asked.
“Not really, although it’s not that I didn’t try.”
Rachel bit her lip. She realised she was fast turning into Lilly, and she’d only just got there.
“Rachel it wasn’t eight,” Jason interjected.
She frowned, “I’m telling you it was. I heard them above us. That’s eight, isn’t it?”
“You’re right, that is eight, Rachel.” It was Rupert speaking now. “But you couldn’t have heard anyone because that apartment is empty, has been so for weeks now.”
Rachel stared, incredulously, as a nearby wall light flickered, then died.
17 X-hileration
The house in Chelsea, London was in complete darkness but for the street light that flooded in through large windows.
The shag pile was clean and the surfaces gleamed in the six bedroom home that employed no less than three maids daily to ensure that every doorknob was wiped, every piece of furniture polished, every flagstone floor cleaned and disinfected.
Elisabeth sat in the oversized armchair, gazing at the wriggling shadows created by the rainwater, as it dribbled down the glass of the patio doors.
The tumbler in her hand was nearly empty, as was the vodka bottle standing on the nearby coffee table.
She didn’t feel guilty; she hadn’t touched alcohol since leaving the clinic, for the third time, three hundred and ninety one days ago. But she needed it tonight for tonight was the night, tonight was the night she’d finally driven Adam away. Tonight was the last time he’d storm out of her home and her life, in anger.
She knew it.
She could feel it.
She was alone again.
She had pushed him too far.
Something else to add to that ever-growing list of self-loathing, but she couldn’t help it. It was an addiction, worse than the one she’d been battling with ever since she could remember. The one that was drowning her misery at that very moment. Her reliable, dependable companion who never left her side and always numbed her pain.
Except for tonight.
Tonight there was an ache in her heart, one that she hadn’t felt before. One that she had foolishly allowed to grow stronger over the last year. Ever since she had decided to publicly acknowledge Adam as her boyfriend, her man, her other companion. The one that accepted where others shunned, who understood when others didn’t, who loved where others daren’t. The lover who made her hot by night and burn for more by day. The one thing that gave her courage to face her fading beauty, whilst keeping her anchored to her youth.
But she had ruined it all.
Why did she always have to test him? Why did she always have to push against the boundaries of his love for her? Had he not done enough? Had he not constantly and consistently proved himself worthy, and deserving of that elusive thing she secretly yearned for, but never publicly revealed - love?
The answer was yes.
So why did she laugh in his face tonight, after he had fallen to one knee and proposed to her? Why did she humiliate him so callously?
Admittedly, she did uncharacteristically wait for him to finish, before erupting into guffaws of laughter. In fact, she had waited most impatiently for him to pour out his heart and extol all the reasons why they were good together. She listened to him drone on about how she meant everything to him, and how he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her.
But she couldn’t help herself.
She couldn’t stop herself mocking his vomit inducing sentimentalism, and accusing him of only wanting to get hitched to her for her money.
She had been hateful even when, with glistening, incredulous eyes and trembling voice, he had looked at her and uttered, “How can you be so cruel to me, Elisabeth? I love you.”
She had just shrugged, indifferently.
Shortly after, Adam grabbed his car keys and ran from the house, chased by the sound of her hollow laughter.
That was over two hours ago.
Now, she was alone, but for her other two companions; vodka and misery.
She had done it again.
But it was Adam’s fault, he shouldn’t have been weak. He shouldn’t have walked out on her, he should have weathered her spiteful ways as he usually did, but instead, he chose to abandon her to the mercy of her worst enemy, herself.
She poured more vodka and drank with thirst, wincing as the alcohol burned its way down her throat.
Why was she even upset?
She knew this was coming, ever since she met him at that charity ball, but not last year, the year before. That’s when she spotted him in that tuxedo. That’s when she noticed how, for most of the night, a conveyer belt of females made their move on him, yet he only had eyes for her.
Not that he was perfect. He had unusually large ears for a start, but he had a magnetic personality, she could tell that just from the demeanour of the conversationalists that flocked to him like bees to honey. There was no doubt he was an agreeable companion, with a perpetual smile and the ability to regale those around him, to the point of causing them to regularly burst into annoyingly loud laughter.
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Yet still, despite his audience, from time to time, she’d spot him looking through his gathering and watching her with those keen eyes of his.
At first she was affronted. How dare the younger man even look at her with such arrogant intent? She would never allow herself to be the mature conquest of any male, no matter how funny he might be, or how attractive he may look in a tuxedo.
She refused to become a statistic, and would not become the rich bitch of record, a drunkard’s story to be told to his friends or anyone else he’d care to brag to.
Oh fuck it! What do I have to lose? It’s not like I’m going to see him again. Just use him and kick him out. It’s not as if you’re ever going to get married to him. It’s not like you’re ever going to get married to any man.
Ever!
So she gave him what he wanted and took her own physical gratification in return.
In her house.
On her terms.
And it was surprisingly enjoyable.
Very much so.
That was two years ago.
In the first year, she’d made it clear that it was just an arrangement. A bargain that suited them both. Something that could not and would not be shared with anybody else. In return, she’d keep him close, close enough for convenience, but not too close to compromise her in any way.
He, was working for a small publishing outfit she’d never heard of at the time. She, was a major shareholder of a major publishing house.
He could do better, and it just so happened that there was an opening in Fiction Editorial, and nobody would actually question a candidate if he was suggested by their Chief Executive Officer.
So, she spoke to Rupert.
Adam started shortly after.
Like their relationship, she didn’t expect Adam to last, but he did. Apparently, going from strength to strength, charming and impressing everybody he came into contact with.
His resilience became her aphrodisiac, his strength her rock, his desire her addiction. There was something about that man that made Elisabeth want more, from life.
That’s when she decided to publicly acknowledge him as her partner. Not that he had ever pressured her to do so. In fact, he told her that he’d much prefer they keep their relationship secret, at least for as long as he was working for Ashley.
Which, of course, prompted Elisabeth to make the announcement that very day.
Her eyes filled with tears, as a bitter sadness burrowed deep into her stomach. The hurt she was feeling burnt like grazed skin.
She looked at the fluorescent dials of her Cartier watch; a gift from Adam, and swore.
He was out there somewhere right now. Probably with some whore. Maybe he hadn’t even bothered to get a room. Maybe he was doing her right now in the backseat of his car.
She was shivering, not from the cold but from the rage that had been growing like a beast inside. It fed on her wondering, anticipating, envisioning all kinds of scenarios, all sorts of sexual encounters, all kind of filthy sluts touching, feeling, and enjoying her man. The first man she had had actually allowed herself to trust since the disasters of her past.
He’d regret this, though. He’d regret not trying harder. She’d show him. She’d show him soon enough. In fact, she was going to show him right now.
She wiped the tears from her eyes, smudging her mascara, and slipped into her shoes.
Then, she left the house, climbed behind the wheel of her car and drove off at great speed towards Soho.
Soho, deep in the heart of London, had grown far from its origins as a sex district.
It used to be a dirty and dingy place, lit only by the colourful characters that stalked its pavements. Those dressed in fishnet tights and skirts that barely covered their modesty, the night prowlers who searched for tomorrow’s breakfast in alleyways and the backseats of cars.
Today, much of the insalubrious area is gentrified. It is a bustling multicultural district, with both business and residential buildings, as well as upmarket restaurants, specialised food stores, and entertainment venues, such as the Palace Theatre, which is home to some of London’s most popular West End shows.
Peppered in between the above, are still some of the original albeit more discreet sex shop retailers. Behind them, hidden in back streets, away from the everyday hustle and bustle of new London, remain some of the original entertainment venues whose fixtures and fittings may well have been modernised, but whose remit continues to cater for the varied predilection of man.
Tonight, the rain soaked streets had been invaded by a legion of ghosts, ghouls, monsters and demons who stalked the area in search of a fun time or sexual encounter, whichever came first.
Elisabeth knew she was close to her destination because she could hear the pounding bassline, faint yet clear as a beacon.
She slowed the car, as it passed various alleyways, until she drew level with one featuring a giant red neon ‘X’, for
‘X- hilaration’.
It was hammered high onto the wall of a red brick building that looked more like a factory than a nightclub.
The sign winked at her, enticingly.
She smiled.
A loud slam on her door startled her.
“Sorry, sorry.”
A middle-aged man in a makeshift office worker zombie costume held up his hands apologetically. Then, he turned to punch his friend, who continued to play fight him while their companion looked on, laughing.
They all disappeared down the alleyway, toward the X.
They were everywhere.
A whole new breed of Soho scavenger, the worst; the middle class. The wretched that worked from nine to five, five days a week to fund their mediocre existence, and to afford the occasional night of revelry.
And now, the 31st October gave them an excuse to dress up in their ridiculous costumes, terrorise the neighbourhood and each other. Halloween was indeed about the lifting of the veil separating the living from the dead, but it wasn’t supernatural, it was metaphorical.
A loud, angry claxon made her jerk once more.
Instinctively, she looked in her rearview mirror and squinted into the glare of the headlights. She wanted to give whoever the driver was the finger, but instead pulled the car over, onto double yellow lines, and killed the engine.
She stepped out and almost lost her balance as the fresh air met the alcohol in her system. She waited a few seconds for the sensation to pass by holding onto the car. Then, without locking it, she followed a man with an axe in his head, and woman with peeling skin into the alley.
Her reflection in a café window reminded her just how conspicuous she looked in her tight pencil skirt and stiletto heels, but she didn’t care.
She looked good.
Albeit cold.
And now a faint mist had descended which she knew played havoc with her hair. So, she resumed her journey to the club’s entrance, carefully picking her way through the cobblestoned pavement to avoid catching a heel, or worse, snapping one.
As she approached, the music percussion gradually grew in intensity and could be felt underfoot, and it was putting her in a mood; a mood for dancing.
However, it was as she joined the queue of horror characters that she noticed something else through the corner of her eye. Somebody watching her.
She swayed to a stop almost causing those following to crash into her.
It looked like the shadow of a man. He was standing, legs astride, black coat hanging behind him, about fifteen feet further down the alley.
Elisabeth gawped as revellers, eager to get inside, shoved passed her.
She took a step forward, out of the line of ghouls, ghosts and zombies, and squinted through the dim light of the overhead neon sign, that had tinged the whole scene crimson.
He was still watching her; short hair, jawline, coat and boots.
“What are you staring at?” she called out, drunkenly, slightly unnerved.
There was no reply. The figure did not move, did not speak,
nor shift; it just watched.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.”
Nothing, just a cold breeze blowing in her face as the mist continued to shift and fill the alley.
She waved a dismissive hand at the shadow, and turned to barge her way back in line where she smelt alcohol on the breath of a werewolf and the cheap deodorant of superman.
It was so bad she felt momentarily nauseous.
At the door, something compelled her to look back once more, but there was nothing there, just mist.
So, she forced a sultry smile at both of the bouncers, whose eyes, she felt, followed her backside through the doors, until it descended a gloomy stairwell to a tiny kiosk window.
She tossed a note inside and didn’t wait for change.
At the foot of the stairs, she pushed on double blue doors that opened to reveal red brick archways, lit by ultraviolet light, that highlighted graffiti scrawled all over the walls and ceiling.
To the side, was a long bar staffed by a group of topless young men and bra wearing women.
She looked over her shoulder for the alleyway stranger, but he wasn’t there. Oddly, she felt a tinge of disappointment, yet she had no idea why.
Still, it was nothing that couldn’t be cured with alcohol.
She pushed her way towards the bar.
A few shots later and she felt much better. She turned to see a large space, lit intermittently by flashing colour and laser lights. They licked over a sea of undulating bodies that ebbed and flowed with the colossal sound of the pulsating beat.
She stared as the whole place started to float eerily in front of her face, made worse by the sweaty aftershave aroma of her neighbour.
It made her want to wretch.
She steadied herself against the bar.
As she did so, a barstool was conveniently vacated and she instantly set about mounting it, but this was no mean feat in an ankle length, figure hugging pencil skirt and heels.
Bloody thing makes me feel like a geisha woman!
Then, much to her surprise, it was actually sweaty aftershave man who was, somewhat appropriately, wearing a cape and a fanged smile, who lifted her with strong arms onto a barstool perch.
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