Except Jasper didn’t feel the same way.
She had her seduction planned for a Sunday night. By Sunday most people were relaxed and feeling rather blithe; they’d had enough time over the weekend to go wild, sleep lots and unwind. She needed Jasper to be unwound. It wasn’t every day that she arrived on his doorstep in a slippery lavender sheath, with the full intention of getting him into bed. Serena could still remember the words they shared, not surprisingly given there were so few.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he had said, his mouth dropping down like a blob of pink paint. But Jasper let her in anyway.
At the time he was living in a studio apartment in an art deco building. At least that’s what Jasper called it; to Serena it was just an old, very musty smelling structure that was probably better off pulled down. In the typical artiste fashion, the studio lacked what others would call essential items: like a couch, video player, dining table, even a double bed. Chances were all these items wouldn’t have fit in the sixty square feet anyway, what with all the easels and pots and brushes splashed about. At the time, her idol was sleeping on a single spring bed, which folded out from a wall cupboard and he preferred to invest in ‘tools’ rather than buy bread.
Serena had followed him in that evening without saying a word. In her basket, she carried a fresh loaf of pumpernickel, a slab of Swiss cheese and jellybeans, with all the black ones already disposed of. From what she saw, artists apparently didn’t have very big appetites so she catered to this need. Simplicity, Serena wanted this night to be all about simplicity, a simple union of boy and girl and their shared desires. Jasper obviously knew something was up because he asked her right away.
“Are you okay?”
Serena had nodded. “I brought us some food for after we’ve worked up an appetite.”
The words still made her cringe, six years on. What in the world was she thinking? She had spent days trying to come up with the most alluring, irresistible pick-up line and that was the best she could conjure up?
Thinking back, Jasper looked rather scared by Serena’s upfront approach. But once again he was a gentleman. He’d more than prefer to sleep with a girl than to tell her straight to her face: I’m not interested. As soon as they made it inside the studio, Serena bit the bullet and kissed his lips without further ado. They were hot and trembling; as if he’d never done it before. Ha, upon reflection that was just another delusional load of crap.
It only took a minute before Jasper gave in and decided to play the game. It never took much for a guy to get into it. When his manhood jumped to attention, Serena remembered thinking: this is it, this must be love. She didn’t know back then that a careless brush from a nurse’s wrist during a routine check-up could also bring about an erection.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Jasper had stopped mid-embrace, somewhere between clothes on and clothes off to ask Serena this.
“Yes,” she nodded. And for the next twenty minutes she felt she was the luckiest girl in the world. When one’s bodies were that close, when they were intertwined, how easy it was to mistake making love for having love.
When they were done, Jasper had pulled out a pack of Camels and they smoked one by one until the tiny room as thick with a horrid haze. From memory, Serena was already dreaming of Bermuda and Hessian-dressed babies before the first puff. She foolishly had thought that this was it – that she now had him. Serena was good at rationalizing why this was so: he wouldn’t have slept with her otherwise - he wouldn’t have kissed her so.
Goes to show that women never, ever really know what a man is thinking. He can touch you and forget about it before the imprint is even washed away. We won’t go into the unpleasant details but obviously Jasper and Serena were not meant to be, at least according to Jasper that is. He called her the next day to inform her of this mistake and that it was better they didn’t see each other anymore. He didn’t feel ‘comfortable’; they had ‘stepped over some invisible line’.
After the ‘break-up’ the poets taunted Serena with frigging stupid wisdom like: “You can’t lose that which you never had” or “Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all”. If she had a machine gun, Serena would have killed them all. Maybe even Jasper for causing her such despair but she couldn’t do that because three weeks after their affair he took off to only Lord knows where.
Now all Serena had to do was find him.
Chapter 8
“You are treading on dangerous territory”, said Tabitha, shaking his head, “very dangerous.”
Serena should’ve known to expect this. Tabitha had never fallen for the whole Jasper is a God thing. In her eyes, he was just a thin boy who could do with a reality check.
“Don’t you remember how stupid he made you feel back then?”
As always Tabitha was keen to remember the bad and none of the good. “What good” she would surely say, which was why Serena had already prepared a list of responses. Firstly, if it weren’t for Jasper, her life would have stayed as boring as a brick. She would have continued with her futile degree, becoming a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. So what if her parents and friends weren’t that enthusiastic about her dropping out of college? At least for the first time Serena was doing what she wanted. Beauty and film, by becoming a make-up artist, she combined her two biggest loves.
Point two: Jasper taught her how to love. Sure he may not have returned it but he did open a door to something Serena had never known existed: a bundle of emotions, warmth and devotion. Pre-Jasper, she was incapable of maintaining a relationship. No boy out there could hold her attention and curiosity long enough. You see, Serena was the Bored Quick Princess, though Tabitha later relabeled it “Turned Off for No Apparent Reason” Queen. Little things (like a mole on the cheek or extra long fingernails) could quickly explode from minor quirk to major abhorrence for Serena. She was the sort who said, “Oh no, I can’t go near him. He’s wearing Speedos.”
Jasper was the first boy who could do no wrong. If he dribbled soup down his chin, she would have passed him a serviette. If he missed and hit the toilet seat, Serena would have wiped it down for him. And so on and so on and so on…
“Oh feck,” cried Tabitha, slapping a palm to her head. “Now I get it. You still care for him.”
“No I don’t,” insisted Serena. She got up, crossed the room and turned up the radio a notch or ten. “This is a great song,” she said, humming to Elton John’s hit song “Sacrifice”. Serena ordinarily hated Elton John.
“Oh so now you’re avoiding the subject. That’s what you always do when you know I’m right.”
“Right about what?” Serena asked. She knew it sounded clueless but at that moment she honestly didn’t have any idea what Tabitha was on about.
“Sleeping with someone you once loved is a mistake. Plus how the hell are you ever going to find him/”
It was times like this Serena suspected Tabitha was more her worst enemy than best friend. Weren’t friends supposed to love you no matter what; through thickness and thin, through sickness and in health, till death do us part, Amen? Oh no, that was a husband’s job. Maybe best friends didn’t have all the same crap written into their contract but they did fall into the realm of sisterhood. And you were sometimes allowed to be mean to your siblings.
“I have his mother’s number; I’ll just call her and ask where he is.” Easy as ABC.
“What if he’s gone off to Bermuda?” Tabitha snickered. Smart-ass. She probably just wanted to rub Jasper’s potential failure in my face. “Are you going to buy a ticket and fly round half the world for him?”
“If necessary,” Serena replied, just to piss Tabitha off., though really she was not that desperate. If anything these years had taught her not to chase. If someone wanted you, they would come and get you, pure and simple.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Tabitha screeched. Sometimes she was so gullible.
“No I wouldn’t.” Serena smiled. “He is just an option and nothing else.”
Markie did not hold many secrets from Serena but one he did have was Lola.
Lola was Markie’s new personal assistant, who’d replaced the ancient but ever efficient Margie when she retired last month. What with Serena’s new movie, the mayhem of post-Christmas, and their ultimate ‘break’, Markie had never gotten around to telling Serena about his newest recruit.
No doubt Serena wouldn’t have been very impressed. None of the girls in the office were. Lola was a living, breathing specimen of everything her name symbolized, everything evocative. It wasn’t Lola’s fault she looked as if she’d just stepped out of Penthouse Pet. Her figure and face truly betrayed her intelligence. At least her resume did her justice: since finishing at some prestigious academy, her career had been filled with one executive role after another. So Markie wasn’t some sexist pig; his decision to hire Lola was purely made on merit, he’d made his choice before he’d even had the chance to see her in the flesh.
At least that’s what he told his staff.
Serena wouldn’t have bought it though. She might have had a very high ‘push me to the limit’ threshold but she could also see through crap. Markie could go on and on until he went blue in the face about Lola’s fantastic organizational skills and 100pm typing speed, Serena still would be more focused on the tits. Or more specifically the way Markie acted around these tits. Really that was Markie’s worst potential nightmare: to find himself alone in a room with Lola and Serena at the same time. Around Serena he had cultivated this image of being unaffected and un-superficial; such a meeting would tear it all to shreds.
The truth was Markie was attracted to Lola in a sick, bimboesque sort of way. He had never been one for the Barbie doll types before, but then again he’d never had much contact with them until Lola walked through The Zoo’s door, wearing her sheer blouses and high heels, which accentuated her lean yet strong calf muscles. About the same time Markie had started to feel stifled in his relationship. Coincidence? Serena would think not.
To complicate matters further Lola also wanted to take her boss to bed. Markie knew this without a word ever been said. She did things like licked her lips, fluttered her lashes and bent over in short skirts to indicate her intentions. Markie had never before had anyone overtly flirt with him. He wasn’t sure whether to let it be or reprimand her, put Lola over his lap maybe…
“She wants you bad, real bad,” Rick would say. Of course he was totally jealous; Lola only flirted with Rick on Markie’s off days. All the other times, Markie was forced to listen to her voice dripping with sexual connotations. Can I get you something to eat, something to drink? Shall I make some time in your diary for private time? Here let me take a load of your back (which of course led to Lola removing a stack of mail from Markie’s desk and the aforementioned private time referred to his perusing of the latest profit and loss statements, not a strip show or the like).
“Why don’t you take her to bed?” Rick asked him on Wednesday as they were closing up shop. It was seven thirty and Lola had only just skirted off home. Someone had earlier that day informed her about Markie’s break up.
“Because…” Markie started, “Serena would kill me.”
“Jesus Christ, you guys are on a bloody break, you have an agreement." Rick gave him the dirty look. You are a disappointment to all mankind, it seemed to say. Where are your balls? Where is your hide? Did someone steal them when you bloody hung them out to dry?
“Listen I still care for Serena. I don’t want to jeopardize what we’ve got.”
“Well,” Rick snorted, “To that crap all I can say is what Serena doesn’t know won’t ever hurt her.”
Damn Rick was right, Markie realized. Serena would only collapse to pieces if he told her he’d slept with a model Jordan look-alike. And that she needn’t ever know. It wasn’t like he was gonna ask Serena about who and what she had got up to. Some things were better left unsaid – better the devil you know…
Dong! Wrong. On second thoughts, maybe Markie would want to know about Serena’s rendezvous’. He had a right to know, didn’t he? What they got up to in bed, whether they were good, bad or worse? And if he asked, surely Serena would need to tell him the truth. So he too would have to tell her the truth, in an edited form of course. Markie didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, he wouldn’t want to say so and so had bigger breasts or a better style under any circumstances.
“I can always fire her afterwards,” Markie said aloud.
“Fire Lola, Christ no!” Rick was obviously not pleased with the suggestion.
“Firstly man you’d get slapped with the biggest sexual discrimination lawsuit ever. Secondly, don’t you dare take away from others that which you yourself can’t officially touch.”
“So maybe I can just sleep with Lola once and then pretend it never happened.”
“Honestly? It takes a big man to make that work and you aren’t a big man.”
Rick probably thought Markie was sucker. That before long the tits would be reeling him in and he’d be handing over shares in the business and setting Lola up in a hush-hush condominium.
“What if there was a mutual understanding?” Markie suggested.
Rick brought an index finger to his mouth while giving it some thought. “That could work, mutual understanding could work.”
Of course it could, Lola was a very understanding woman. Whenever Markie asked her what she got up to on the weekend, the response was always the same: “I screwed my brains out.” And no, she didn’t have a boyfriend.
Hell, he had to give it a go. God knows Markie would kick himself in twenty years for not trying.
The next day Lola wore a white g-string to work. Markie knew it was white because like all guys he had a radar for such things - must be from all the practice playing “Spot the G-String” games.
Serena never, ever wore a g-string, no matter how many hints Markie dropped. Her preference was lacy black panty briefs because they were ‘comfy’ and ‘unobtrusive’. She didn’t like things stuck up her ass unfortunately.
“Any late changes to my schedule?” Markie asked as he walked in through the door. When he had last checked, his day was packed with back to back meetings, some with current clients, and others with prospective. Today of all days he could do with a cancellation.
“Sorry,” Lola smiled, “it’s still as horrendous as before.”
That was her way of being a sadist. Pre-Lola, Markie had enjoyed the luxury of being a Managing Director through and through. He came in late, went home early if so desired, enjoyed elongated lunches on the company’s expense account. Margie had never even battered an eyelid. She came from a time where lips stayed sealed, spines stayed bowed. Needless to say, it was good while it lasted.
The advent of Lola brought a different tide however. Like most twenty four year olds, Lola had a bundle of energy and ambition to boot. Within the first week, she was casually leaving books like “The E-Myth” and “Cashflow Quadrant” on Markie’s desk; in the second, Lola had sat him down and gave Markie a talking to. This was when she revealed she was not going to be any ordinary personal assistant. Lola aimed to be the best - and to be the best, Markie also had to strive for his potential.
At first, Markie had been pissed off. What nerve this girl had walking into his office and acting as if she was Miss Frigging-Know-It-All! How dare she tell him how to run this business when it has quadrupled in growth and income in two years time! This was obviously before he noticed the tits.
“Listen I know I may be out of line,” Lola had said (and of course she was). “It’s just I can’t help but be a thorough worker.” And a part-time perfectionist, she failed to add.
“I will do whatever I can to get Guerrilla Zoo to number one within the next two years.”
Markie had raised his eyebro
ws to this. Two years meant Lola was thinking long-term. Everyone knew the staff turnover in advertising was atrocious, approximately twenty per cent per annum. Maybe he was onto a good thing, Lola’s tyrant nature notwithstanding.
So he’d given in to her that day, to the memos on marketing strategies and the daily list of hot leads. By week two, Lola was almost indispensable. Even if it meant working an extra five hours a day, if it was beneficial for The Zoo it was beneficial for Markie.
And Lola no doubt too. The girl had him twisted around her pretty manicured fingers. They reminded Markie of Biffy; why had he not noticed them before? He hadn’t noticed many things about Lola actually…or maybe he had but never interpreted their meaning before. The way she wiggled her ass as she strutted his office, the way she was always bending over, stretching, up, down and around.
Two weeks ago she had planted a desk right outside his office, against the glass paneling. Lola said it was because she wanted to his right hand woman and more easily at his beck and call. To Markie it was nothing but a distraction. Every time he looked up from his desk all he could see were Lola’s titties staring back at him. Plus she was always doing something erotic, like sucking on her pen or lifting her luscious blonde hair away from her neck. Markie was tempted to call Lola into his office right then and there (all he needed to do was wave to her) but what would he say? Sorry but I can’t concentrate because you look like a swimsuit model and that’s a reason in itself. He should’ve but he couldn’t, embarrassment kept Markie at bay. His only saviors were those meetings that ushered him away.
The Numbers Game Page 8