by Judy Jarvie
I’m going to ramp up his expense account. And a tiramisu followed by Eton mess may well be in my future. Waistline beware. When you’re out with a total knob—take solace in the sweet trolley. Mantra number one hundred and forty-nine. Food quality eases the side effects of an arsehole prat shit dinner date.
Now watch those calories tally.
* * * *
Andy is staring at me over the brim of his fluted glass. He chose champagne and made a show of doing a mouthwash to test. The waiter looked as unimpressed as a pedigree show judge that has encountered a dog’s dollop. I know exactly how he feels.
“Beautiful woman. Fine dining. Expensive libations. What more could a man need?”
“Support trousers? A lobotomy—oh no, you’ve had that done before.” I smile. I don’t care if he thinks I’m rude. He’s being such a cock I can’t hold back.
Andy eyes me. I think he’s trying to smolder but it isn’t hitting the mark. “So. The room. Reconsidered?”
“You said it was a joke.”
“Lied, doll. It’s all there waiting for us. Even the condoms. Ribbed. Extra-large.”
I laugh. I also push my plate away. My lobster is lovely. Messy, but jolly tasty and worth the expense. Oh yeah, I’m not paying, I remind myself as I dab my chin in a genteel fashion with my damask linen napkin.
“We haven’t even had dessert, Andy.”
“If you eat any more, there’s no chance you’ll get in the lift, babe.”
Hardly gallant. I narrow my eyes at Andy and sip my top-price bubbles. “You often use expenses to shag women in hotel rooms?”
“Well, just the once but she was a minger. You’re special, different—with a sass banter factor that drives me to distraction and a pert, round arse designed for hot tub love. Can’t wait to see your curves in a thong, babe. The room on hold has multidirectional vibrating jets. And complimentary bubble bath.”
I sip again and feel my eyeballs roving around to work out where the loos are. I wonder if there’s a window big enough to squeeze through? I can always get a bus back to school. Damn it, I’d walk. Barefoot and over a cinder path if necessary. “What are you bloody like, Regis? Pack it in with the claptrap. The jiggyjig is so not on the cards between us.”
“I definitely want you. I’ve had a raging monster in my pants since the party. When I met you I thought you were all right—tits could be bigger but your arse shape compensates—but, man. Every time I see you lately, Iz, my spear of lust gets rigid with need. While filming a scene in the library, it got too much—fortunately I had a change in the car.”
I sip my champagne again and hide my revulsion. Then I laugh a bit louder. Some other guests look up.
“We’re friends. And friends don’t get raging below-the-belt reactions about other friends. The expense account seduction’s wasted on me and I’ve been telling you this long and hard.”
“Speaking of long and hard.” He points below the tablecloth. “When you talk to me like you hate me, it brings the dog out of the kennel, babe. C’mon. Do it some more.”
I feel something touch my knee and jump. The couple at the nearby table—the lady looks very nice and wears an eau de nil twinset—look perplexed.
“I’m off for a slash and to take care of urgent business.” He disappears to the loo. Thank the Almighty.
We haven’t had dessert but he’s ruined my appetite for the rest of my life. I’m figuring we’ve both had enough wine. We should head back. I’ve a football tutorial with Will at the end of the day and if I don’t sober up any he’ll go dipshit.
I hiccup and the woman looks appalled.
“Sorry. Waiter.” I’d click my fingers. I know it’s very rude, so instead, I do a come-hither plea by batting my eyelids on fast tempo. The waiter appears in a flash.
“Mademoiselle?”
“Can we please have the bill and a cab called when you’re ready. Delicious meal. Sorry my partner is so awful. He’s a business acquaintance with a too-big expense account. He’s a total bumrag knob. He bores the arse off me.” I raise my eyebrows. “There’s an open tab on our bill and a room that’s been reserved for us upstairs that we won’t be using. Please ask this lovely couple what champagne they would wish to sample and charge it to my partner’s account? They may use the room as we’re about to leave. With our compliments. Add it to Mr. McKnobhead’s bill.”
The waiter stares at me and I think he’s about to tell me off. Then he gives me a wide smile and a wink. He scuttles to sort the bill sharpish. After a great many irritating restaurant visits where I’ve waited for ages for a bill, I now know the secret to prompt service—get pissed and be loose-lipped. Or maybe it’s to enact a random act of kindness?
The couple nearby are squeezing hands and it warms me inside. Then that chill feeling rains down in a steady trickle that turns to a downpour on my fuzzy warm thoughts. I want that. I want somebody to take me out and treat me nice and squeeze my hand without being an arsehole in the process. If I could choose who it would be, it’d be Will. And I’ve screwed that up.
I can feel tears well in my eyes. The couple are watching again. And the woman looks devastated, comes over and gives me a packet of tissues.
“Are you all right, dear?” she asks me.
I sniff. And summon composure as Andy the Knob appears and stands poofing his hair out in the mirror by the door.
“Yes, thanks. My partner’s an idiot and this was a mistake. You’ve set me a very inspiring example. Thank you, have a wonderful meal. We’ve left you a gift for disturbing your meal—the waiter will reveal all.”
The waiter rushes over with the leather bill wallet. Andy returns and I’m smiling when I tell him I’ve already made our arrangements and I have to get back to school for some urgent forgotten business.
He’s pissed off enough to start pouting, so I reach over and squeeze his hand. “It didn’t work out. But look on the bright side. No calories for dessert. I’ve a Curly-Wurly in my bag—we’ll share it in the cab. I might even snog you with tongues—I am pissed after all.”
However painful the snog will be, it’s worth it to have him pay for everything. And anyway snogs are less painful when you’re as pissed as I am. Andy scribbles his name on the credit card chit without a glance.
I wink at eau de nil lady. She’s crystallized what I want. And it’s not lobster thermidor with a mini-dicked monster.
* * * *
Will, Annie and I are in the sports hall at five. He’s clearly thoroughly pissed off at me. His jaw alone could crack nails if you got too close with a tool belt.
“Enjoy your lunch?” he barks in a low voice at me as he passes.
I ignore him. So what if he knows? Maybe Andy boasted.
“I’ve had better. I’ve had worse.”
I’m sober. Three jugs of filter coffee and all the coffee Revels in the packet and I’m good.
“Will, you have such muscular legs,” says my enemy Annie the Fanny. She’s oblivious to the major negative vibes buzzing between us—but then, hey, what’s new? Annie and Planet Self are one and the same. It’s clear from a couple of things she’s said that she’s spent the afternoon in here with Will getting one-to-one tutoring. Nice touch, Darby.
I get my own back. “Enjoy your private lessons?”
“Definitely. Some people make things easy,” Will replies and I feel slapped.
I stare at him in earnest, hoping for a guilty glance or a reaction, but Will pointedly ignores me.
So I clear my throat and resort to puerile behavior. “I could go to Rogerson and complain about unfair competitive advantage. This isn’t about competing. It’s about doing your best.”
Will rasps beneath his breath, “Quit the banter. Let’s get the job over. It’s painful enough for all of us.” Ouch.
The camera team are late and they rush in with Andy Regis winking at me. He explains, ‘”Hey, doll, recovered from the Irish coffee yet?” He tried to insist I have whiskey in my coffee this afternoon. I ended up having t
o get Carson to manhandle him away from my classroom. His words help me not a single inch. Will glares like Mr. Bad Wolf baying for a kill.
When Andy walks past and wiggles his tongue at me suggestively, I realize I’ve blown it with Will forever after amen. At least Annie will be pleased to have a free run at the man of her dreams.
“Right. Today is about fitness testing. Let’s start with sit-ups. Then we move to lunges and squats! Get to it.”
Will’s become crazy tyrant dictator meets a drill sergeant—setting us a grueling prep that doesn’t even go anywhere near ball skills. It’s all full-on fitness bench press stuff to make me mourn. My thighs are quaking for mercy.
Annie makes sure the camera has a full-on view of her pneumatic tits and it’s only then I notice Andy taking rather a lot of close-ups. For a guy who’s wined and dined me, he’s lacking in the loyalty stakes.
“Andy, why don’t you crawl down her tube top?” I do wish I had more guile.
Will turns. Then moves like a shape shifter. Before I know what’s hit us he’s grabbed Andy by the scruff of the neck.
“Mate. Get this straight. In my classes—my rules. Sexist shit is out of the question. Get to the back of the sports hall and film from there or I’ll take you outside and enforce it personally. And stop harassing the staff. Got my point or do I have to press it on you or kick it up through your arsehole?”
My, but my loins are moist. Andy’s eyes narrow and his face screws up like a spooked spider monkey. For a short time I’m convinced they’re going to jump on each other and scrap but they don’t. It would’ve been especially galling to have both the man I want and the man I don’t want brawling over Annie James’ cleavage.
But then I’m freaked by the words I hear Will utter with threat-like menace, “Leave Izzy Tennant alone. Got me? Today wasn’t your remit.”
Fuck. Annie’s looking between them and back at me, equally confused.
While the men are still giving it verbals and Will is setting them a boundary area as far back as he can, I join Annie. “Look, I don’t want to compete with you. You can win—I don’t mind. Have Will. He’s all yours. Let’s get this shit over as quickly as we can. Do what we need to do and finish, yeah?”
“You don’t want Will? I’d got vibes at the party that you were both on.”
“The spark died on us both.”
She nods. “Very civilized of you, Izzy. Thanks for the heads-up.”
Annie pulls her ponytail back and makes a show of redoing it. I know for a fact it’s because it makes her boobs pop out of her top. It’s like a cantaloupe show at the farmer’s market. And I’ve never been a melon fan. Slimy, no thanks.
Will walks back to us and I make a show of wafting air up my top.
It’s genuinely needed. I’m red and stewing after the workout and there’s perspiration coating me like a Popsicle about to puddle. Whoops, but if I don’t find myself flashing him a glimpse of the peek-a-boo bra I chose to wear. I try to hide it but I know he’s shaken and stirred. What I didn’t bank on was making him angrier yet.
“For fuck’s sake, can anybody start to be even a touch professional in here! It’s sodding well beyond a joke!” He walks past me and yells, “Twenty more. Get to it—faster!” His face is livid meets thunderstorm. “Squats. Fast as you can. Get to it, Annie. Good job!”
He bends down to mark my sit-ups and says very low, so only I can hear, “You were seen, by someone who told me, necking Andy Regis in a taxi. Fucking. Out of. Order. If you ever pull stunts like that or go out with that walking knob again, there will be consequences. I want a full explanation in my office after this is over. Got me?”
I gasp between sit-ups. “It was a sympathy peck for services rendered and I was a bit pissed. Though I don’t suppose you believe that.”
“Enough! Do the repeats!”
I’m sit-upping like a metronome on fastest speed. It’s crazy. I won’t be able to get up or walk again by the end of this.
“Yes, Sir!” he shouts at me, and I yell it back as every muscle in my pelvis and thighs screams for mercy.
I feel like I’ve woken up in a Nam film. But my man’s given me a glimmer that all may not be lost.
“Will… I want to say,” I try but stumble on the words.
“Shut up, quiet. This is a workout, not a chat line.”
“Sorry, Sir!”
“Do the time, Tennant!”
God, he’s hot when he’s like this. I find I want sex in this manner immediately. Hard and fast and taking all I have and shouting, attitude and yet more shouting on the side. I’m sweating and moist from every pore of my being and it’s not the exercise.
“Yes, Mr. Darby, yes, Sir!” Private Benjamin got off lightly.
If I’d realized this could be so thrilling I’d’ve signed up for the Territorial Army years ago. I might be getting my arse slapped later. So why does that fill me with secret screaming joy? I can’t work out our crazy fest but I know I love and crave it.
Beyoncé’s back playing my soundtrack. My bad ass dirty bad boy’s in the building. My sequel’s back on track. Yee-effing-ha!
* * * *
I decide to take a shower in the girls’ changing rooms before facing Will. Primarily, because I’m a total sweaty minger. Second, my legs are still shaking from too many squats and I lean back against the tiles to regain my composure and strength.
The water beats down on my head and I close my eyes, reveling in the soothing liquid sensation.
My man is mad at me. He thinks I’m an idiot.
Okay, maybe it was stupid to go out with Andy. Maybe I should’ve come clean sooner about Tessa. But it’s hardly crimes of the century and it honestly doesn’t warrant this level of stern, steely, poker-in-the-eye pissed off.
I towel my hair, dry myself, don my clothes and am coming out of the change cubicle when a hand is pressed firmly against my shoulder, slamming me into the door. I’m taken aback by the strength of the jolt.
“You need a lesson in making yourself scarce!” says a female voice behind me.
“Ouch, for fuck’s sake!”
It’s Annie. “You fucking understood me. What happened to our plan? Where’s the recognition that Will is mine and you’re a bystander, you silly, grammar-teaching bitch.”
“Hey. Enough with that. It’s grammar, punctuation, creative writing, text comprehension and critiquing skills to you. Anyway—what do you do? Fuck about with glockenspiels?”
I think I’ve touched a nerve, because she slaps me full across the face. I’m in total shock—having been assaulted by a mad nympho egotist percussion player.
“It was bad enough watching you make cow eyes at Will. Now you’ve got talons into Andy. First you flirt with him at the party when he’d been sleeping happily with me—then I hear from my mate at the Audley Hotel she’s spotted my new man today with a mystery woman. You think you’re so bloody sexy!” Annie flashes me her cell phone, showing a pic of me and Regis at the lunch from hell.
“Annie, Andy Regis is a desperate dog on heat without any charms to recommend him. Absolutely nothing happened—even the food was rubbish.” Now I understand why Annie’s mad at me and why Andy ceased his pestering for a short period. If I’d known I’d never have agreed to lunch.
Annie narrows her eyes as her lips thin. “Since you’ve gone after the man I shagged, I’m taking Will. I know you want him, it’s obvious by how you are when he’s around. So I’m having him as payback.”
With a swift hand, I slap her back. It’s totally uncalled for and a stinger that leaves a mark but I believe she dealt me and my camel’s back the straw that tipped me into psychopath.
“Fuck off, Annie. And if you touch me or Will again, I’ll brawl with you on camera. I will lay you out and make a beaded necklace from those polar-white teeth. So back off. And butt out. Wake up and realize Andy isn’t worth it.”
I walk off, tossing hair that’s still wringing wet and sending a spray of droplets all over her.
I�
��m outta there. I think I contravened the teacher’s etiquette code. But she started it. Mad bitch from hell.
* * * *
Will is at his desk writing. He doesn’t look up when I enter. He does, however, speak without eye contact.
“Shut. The bloody. Door.”
“Certainly, Sir.” I do it with enough firmness to make it bang. I guess slapping Annie’s got my gusto revved. “What does Sir require? To fight? To slag me off? To exercise his latent inner caveman? Or to act like a prick—please say option four.”
Will stares at the wall behind me. Then he rises and paces behind his desk but doesn’t come near me.
Fuck. He is livid. I itch to reach for the doorknob and bolt.
“I need to get a couple of things straight with you. Firstly Tessa.”
“I’d rather you didn’t… Primarily…”
“Enough.” He raises a hand and I zip it in an instant. “I went round and had a word. FYI, the woman is delusional. She’s going through a separation with her husband—it’s taking a toll. She also has money worries. But the affair she alleges to be having with me is entirely fictional and exists only in her head. I talked about this to her and pointed it out. She is no longer in my employment but I’m not a total wanker. I have connections and she’ll be cleaning for a friend. Does that cover our Tessa issue? Or do you want to turn it into another mental event?”
I’m still processing, so don’t answer right off the bat. “The idea wasn’t totally impossible. She was convincing. And direct. And,” I add grudgingly, “you are quite attractive. As is she. If you like harpies.”
He stares at me hard. “I’m also loyal, monogamous and off limits. I thought I was with you. I thought we were clear on the rules.”
I don’t reply. What can I say that will give me upper ground? Right, nothing. Epic fail.
“Until this weird phase, which we now know was caused by Tessa’s visit after the party, I am the guy you run to for wining and dining. I’m the guy you ask to explain things when you come across something that freaks you out. I’m also the one you come to when you need sexual gratification. Day or night, FYI. Or support. Or to communicate what’s going on in your life. Do you understand what I’m saying here?” He blinks at me with the patience of a head librarian teaching the new girl how to alphabetize hardbacks.