by Tom Barry
She tucked it away in the pocket of her robe as he stood up to say his goodbyes. As she rose to receive them, the bathrobe fell fully to the floor.Four
Some eighteen months earlier, in an airport hotel, Lucy Baker basked in the familiar feeling of knowing she was turning every head as she entered the bar. A peek beneath her tight fitting outfit would have revealed a near perfect body, a breathtaking alliance of nature’s gifts and a surgeon’s steady hand. She had almost feline eyes; perfectly shaped, astonishingly green, and as angular and beautifully formed as the rest of her captivating face. They were restless eyes, full of energy and playfulness, but as she and her colleagues walked into the lounge of the airport hotel, her eyes rested on one man, and her thoughts stayed firmly on him for the remainder of the evening. He sat centre stage in the middle of the bar, nonchalantly straddling the back of a chair and holding half a dozen or so young men under his spell, their shoulders shaking with laughter, their faces exuding pure admiration.
“Let’s sit over here, shall we ladies?” she volunteered, as the group behind her milled about in confusion. She led the way to the middle of the lounge, right behind the gathering and its enigmatic leader, and beckoned the others. Her movements were smooth and supple, exuding the sensuality that defined her appearance. Her skin glowed sunbed-brown and her hair was a carefully manufactured blonde. It had been every shade of this hue over the years — pearl white as an exotic dancer, sunflower yellow as a glamour model. Now she was an airhostess and this was reflected in the darker, and she fancied, more demure, honey tones that hung around her face like an unlikely halo.
As Lucy perched on her chair, luxuriously extending her long shapely legs to exhibit them to their best potential, she covertly returned her gaze to the man, watching with a hidden smile as he awarded a gangly but handsome man in his early thirties, attired in a ridiculous bow tie and plus fours, an award for his exceptionally bad play on the golf course.
“On one knee if you please, Eamon,” he said, as the recipient came forward for his prize. He spoke with all the command and presence of a king, and as Lucy looked about her, it seemed the whole bar was watching and enjoying his showmanship. She was surprised that applause did not break out as, with a flourish, he produced a plastic funnel from beneath his chair and proceeded with much ceremony to concoct a punishment.
“The committee has decided,” he proclaimed, obliging the now beaming Eamon to accept the funnel to his lips, “that your forfeit is a quad-vod, to be washed down with a half-pint of the vilest concoction of sangria and punch ever mixed at this fine hotel.”
Lucy zoned out as the jovial Irishman took his punishment with pleasure, and willed herself to pay attention to the tortuous conversations of her colleagues, who were discussing at length the policies, practices, and pitfalls of a life in the skies. Her antenna tuned in as the discussion turned to sexual harassment at work, a continuation of one of the afternoon’s topics. Lucy interjected boldly, “That was the problem at my last place - sexual harassment.”
All heads turned as her colleagues focused on her, their faces expectant and hungry for a titillating personal disclosure. “Go on, Lucy,” said one, “what was the problem?”
“There simply wasn’t enough of it,” she exclaimed, slapping her thighs with gusto as laughter broke out around her. She lowered her head in mock modesty and stole a sideways glance at the floorshow, but only the grinning Eamon, his eyes fixed on her, seemed to have heard.
The rounds of drinks came and went and her gaze was drawn back once again to the dashing compere. Her eyes travelled up his body, resting on the gold watch, the designer-buckled belt, the wellheeled suede loafers and, lastly, on the chunky platinum wedding ring - the only adornment to strong and animated hands. Three years ago that humble piece of jewellery would have been the end of Lucy’s quest. But her career of late nights with her body wrapped around a silver pole taught her that the world, or at least one part of it, was stocked full of wealthy and generous men, married and otherwise, who were only too ready to spoil her. She attempted to engage him in eye contact as the spoof awards descended into bedlam but it seemed pointless; he was the one man in the room who didn’t see her.
Even when his group settled down and struck up conversation across the two tables, merging the parties into one, he remained elusive, sitting at the furthest point away from her. Growing impatient, Lucy loudly excused herself to the bathroom and meandered her way towards the door, choosing a strategic route that took her between the man and one of his captivated courtiers. The gap was a narrow one and the man held his position, forcing Lucy to turn sideways to pass through, her crotch all but brushing his nose as she tried to make her way out. But he stopped her with a friendly hand on her thigh and, averting his eyes from the short skirt looked her straight in the eyes, grinned, and said, “It’s all looking a bit tight isn’t it?”
“Tighter than you might think,” she replied, before making her way through to the bathroom.
Lucy lingered in the toilets at her leisure, reapplying makeup and fiddling with her hair as she contemplated what now inevitably lay before her. She could still feel his touch on her thigh and, imagining his hand sliding up under her skirt, wedding ring and luxury timepiece in close proximity against her skin, she left to claim what she hungered for.
Over the next hour the group was fluid, with people moving chairs as others came and went from the bar or the bathroom. The man, whose name she discovered to be Jay, remained elusive but Eamon — acting on his personal motto that ‘faint heart never won fuck all’ — eventually secured himself the seat next to her. He showered her with enraptured attention, stroking her crossed legs as he plied her with compliments and innuendos.
Lucy’s concern was not the progress that Eamon’s wandering hand was seeking to make on her anatomy, but the progress Georgia — her glamorous and worldly supervisor — was making a few feet away. She was probably close to Jay’s age, and to Lucy’s eye well enough preserved to merit the interest of even a discerning suitor. Worryingly, her advances seemed to be welcome and Lucy, powerless to intervene, had to resign herself to waiting for her superior to need the restroom.
Time passed with all the speed of a dull sermon but eventually, just when Lucy was concluding that Georgia must have the bladder of a bison, her rival took her turn to excuse herself.
“Don’t go away now, will you,” she instructed in her most seductive tone, before reinforcing her intention by placing her jacket over the back of the chair. But such signals were null and void in Lucy’s world and with a seductive smile she turned to Jay, twisting her pole dancer’s body with a graceful ease that threatened to make the most staunch and devoted husband want to rip off her clothes and devour her supple flesh.
“Oh Jay, while you have a second, you were talking earlier about your holiday in the Seychelles,” she began, locking his eyes in a smouldering stare that said ‘I don’t need to introduce myself, because you’ve asked who I am already.’
“Maybe you could send me the details, if you still have them?”
“Sure,” said Jay with a casual air, as if he had been expecting just such an enquiry, “I’d be pleased to. Do you have maybe an email address or something?”
Lucy reached down to the bag beside her chair, and took out her phone and her room key to search for a paper and pen.
“Here, put your email on this if it’s easier,” suggested Jay, offering his business card and his gold-tipped Mont Blanc ballpoint.
Lucy examined the pen with admiration. The movements of her fingers were deft and precise but languid, exuding raw sensuality. She scribbled on the card and handed it and the pen back to its owner, before turning back to reengage Eamon, the shrug of her shoulders deeming complete the tiresome chore of giving her email.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he replaced the pen and turned over the card, expecting to see an email address. Instead there were just two words:
“I’m Wet.”Five
A
s the cab pulled into Berkeley Square, Jay was chuckling. Lucy’s latest photo message was on his screen, and it was x-rated material. He smiled as he wondered how she managed to get the blindfold and handcuffs on before the auto flash clicked. But then again with Lucy it was hard to tell; perhaps another girl was on the other side of the camera. If so, maybe he would be meeting her before long too. It was just a week since they met, and his aching body was already begging for respite from Lucy’s voracious appetite. Tonight he was guaranteed that respite, at least from Lucy.
One floor below ground, with no natural light and scant attempt to replace it, Annabel’s might have been designed for infidelity. It was a Tuesday evening and still early for the club’s well-heeled and wellconnected members. Jay and Andy, an old friend from university, had the Buddha Room — a sumptuously dressed, lounge-sized sanctuary, tucked away — all to themselves.
The two men spent dinner tentatively reminiscing over their exploits in their college days, cheerfully conversing as each tried to ascertain exactly what it was the other wanted. Back then the two were thrown together as flatmates and, as Jay was keen to remind him, Andy had been the studious nerd heading for a first class honours in computer science, and Jay was the slacker and all round cool guy heading for an attendance certificate. But an underhand and carefully executed deal between the two changed both their fates forever. Andy sold his brains for the tempting fruits of popularity, doing all of his friend’s coursework in exchange for an acquaintance with the beautiful Simone — who took his virginity with all the care and mercy she could muster. Jay, in turn, surprised even his most ardent admirers, amongst whose ranks he could count several professors, and graduated with an upper second in economics and law. And now, nearly two decades later, reflected back in the large mirror opposite them they saw a big city dealmaker and a dot com millionaire — looking older but very much the same.
When they had exhausted their college anecdotes they moved carefully on to the present, starting with their spouses. “So you really hit the jackpot with Kate, didn’t you?” said Jay, leaning back and spreading his arms.
“You’ve met Kate?” Andy asked in response, suspicion and a hint of dread clear in his voice. Jay wondered if his abrupt and unprecedented invitation caused Andy — with some justification — to worry this meeting might be in relation to his young socialite wife.
He laughed. “No, it is just that I saw the pictures in Tatler. She’s quite a stunner.”
“And that’s what prompted the invitation?”
“Kind of, yes. It did remind me of the times we had together and that, frankly, the day might come when there might be something we could do together, that’s all. But that’s for another time, how about tonight we just enjoy ourselves?”
Jay sensed his friend was not quite ready to give up with his probing and moments later Andy began again.
“So there’s nothing particular you are spending your time on right now?”
“Well, now that you mention it,” said Jay, leaning forward, “right now I am spending a good deal of time in Italy, in Tuscany. It’s a struggling tourist development. Quick in and quick out and a twenty to fifty million return on a modest investment. It’s something I’ve conceived myself. My vision is for a five star luxury resort. There will be a boutique hotel at the centre, a spa, and one hundred condos owned by private buyers. It will be my job to turn the place around and complete the development.”
“If you can only find the money?”
Jay laughed again. “You don’t give up, do you? It’s not a pitch, Andy — the financing is in place. I’m just sorting out the negotiations with the party in Italy. If we’d met up two months ago then there might have been a chance to do something together, and I really would have welcomed you in on the deal, but the investment window is now closed.”
Jay watched his friend’s eyes wander to the two elegantly dressed platinum blondes who had just materialised at the bar, looking over their shoulders and swiftly back at each other, the studied movement of their bodies inviting attention and approach.
“When you say enjoy ourselves, did you have those two in mind?” Andy asked with the same look of expectation that Jay elicited from him all those years ago.
Jay ran his eye over the two arrivals. “Gold diggers with six inch claws. Russians probably. You’ll enjoy the night, but you could still be paying for it in ten years. If you do want some fun without any complications, this is not the place.”
“But you know the place?”
Jay looked at his watch and discreetly rubbed a smidgen of lipstick off it with his thumb. “I think I just might.”
A short taxi ride later and they drew to a halt outside a row of black railings in a side street off the Bayswater Road.
“A fun place I think you’ll like,” said Jay as he led them down a dark and inconspicuous flight of stairs to an unremarkable door with nothing to recommend it but a video entry phone. A cursory glance at the screen convinced the woman at the other end to let them in and Jay headed through the door, discreetly beckoning his friend to follow him. They made their way along a dimly lit passageway until a pumpkin of a woman in a flowing red dress, who seemed to fill the space like a London bus, firm and unassailable, blocked their progress. Jay leant forward and the two exchanged kisses to both cheeks, her body rigid and unmoving with one hand braced against the wall.
“Eva, this is Andy,” said Jay. “He’s a very dear friend of mine.”
Andy stood to attention as if presenting himself for inspection before the school matron, aware he was being minutely assessed as her beady and heavy-lidded eyes ran over him like cold water. She nodded and turned without a word, opening a double locked door to reveal an expansive lounge area, devoid of windows and bathed in low-level mood lighting.
Andy took in the scene. A bar area, stools set around a dark wooden counter topped in an iridescent marble, was directly ahead of him and all around it sat beautiful young women, the light scattering upon the surface of the marble and creating strange symbols of shadow on their exposed skin. More sat in darker corners, lounging on sofas or draped over businessmen; they had smiles on their faces and eyes fixed on the new arrivals. Andy fancied their gazes lingered particularly long on him and he suppressed the tremble that longed to course through his body.
“This is what I think it is?” he asked, as Eva directed them towards one of the sofas.
“Relax,” said Jay, “it’s whatever we want it to be. There’s no pressure. We can go or stay, but as we are here, how about a drink, a gin and tonic be ok?” he asked, gesturing for Eva’s compliance whilst guiding Andy onto an empty sofa.
“Guess so,” said Andy, the shrug of his shoulders far exaggerating the few remaining reservations that desire had not forced from his mind as he followed Eva’s progress to the bar, the girls before her parting like silken curtains but returning to the same places and making no move to engage their new guests. Eva returned with a litre bottle of gin and two token bottles of tonic. Befitting an establishment that charged three hundred pounds for a bottle of spirits, an ashtray-sized silver platter of nuts and a terracotta bowl of olives accompanied the drinks. She poured the gin over the ice until the long glasses were almost full, leaving the tonic to their discretion. But the flow of liquor over ice did not long hold his attention as a slinking shadow at the doorway materialised into a woman more mesmerising than Andy had ever seen before.
He did not see her face, though it was an attractive one, but only the roundness of her ample derriere, the length of her smooth dark legs, and the irresistible line of her breasts against the clinging white fabric of her dress. Taking a long draught of his gin he returned his attention to Jay, now unsure of everything.
“The thing you mentioned in Tuscany,” he said, “is the sort of thing that I might be interested in. Something you can feel and touch.”
Not to mention the twenty to fifty million, thought Jay, remembering the involuntary glint in Andy’s eye earlier. “It doesn’t c
ome more tangible than bricks and mortar, that’s for sure,” said Jay, a smile playing upon his lips as the white-clad vixen descended upon them.
“Hi,” said the girl, her eyes fixed upon Andy, “my name is Britta, I am from the Czech Republic.” She took a seat beside him, asking, “It is ok if I join you?” but without need for an answer. As she sank down into the cool leather, pressing against Andy’s side as she shunned the available space, another girl, a brunette with a wanton smile and long tanned limbs, settled next to Jay as she leaned in to mouth her name. Eva returned with an offer of champagne and left smiling, averting her eyes with skill and precision from the beginnings of debauchery all about her.
Britta’s soft left hand was fast causing Andy to forget the ring on his own as it stroked and caressed his neck, across his shoulders, down the front of his shirt, down, down to his trousers.
“Why you so tense,” enquired Britta. “Your first time maybe?” she ventured, laughing at her own joke as she twiddled his wedding ring and pulled gently at his neck, pushing herself up and swinging herself onto his lap, revealing a glimpse of scarlet mesh panties against smooth brown skin.
Leaning forward, she whispered, “Britta help you relax, no?” pushing her breasts into his face, her perfume filling his nostrils and stirring his loins. Feeling hardness beneath her, she began to gyrate against him as she looked into his eyes with convincing excitement. He moved his hands, limp with pleasure at his sides, onto her knees and slid them up her thighs, reaching the tantalising scarlet and pulling it aside with his thumb. The girls that before kept him under close observation were no longer looking his way and he wondered just how far things might go on the sofa when Britta answered his unspoken question, and brought matters to a head.
“You going to fuck Britta right here, or take me upstairs?” she demanded, and without waiting for a reply, pushed herself to her feet, rearranged her skirt, leant forward, and took his hand.
“See you in a while then, and take your time,” Jay said as he took a moment to extricate himself from his own distraction.Six