62 Days

by Jessie M.

  “Been out with Mark to a wedding.”

  Another one of Suze’s super fast replies appears.

  “He asked you on a wedding date? – that’s serious stuff.”

  “Not a date – as friends.”

  “Yeah right, did you get any friendly sex?”

  She’d have a field day if she knew he had actually asked me.

  “NO – is sex all you ever think about?”

  “Pretty much. ”

  Well at least she was honest.

  “Speak to you tomorrow”

  I was tired and I wanted to go to bed and snivel some more over my lost new man friend.

  I decide to send him a message. An olive branch of friendship. I didn’t like the way I’d left it.

  “Thank you for being my friend.” That should make him feel nice and warm. It even made me feel nice and warm.

  He replied quite quickly.

  “Is that really how you see me?”

  Oh dear, still stuck in that same groove are we? What shall I say next?

  “I’m lost remember.”

  “I’ll find you.”

  “Do you have a clever answer for everything?”

  “No, but I do have the answer for you.”

  “No you don’t Mark.”

  “Looking forward to Paris.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “’Night Rachel.”

  I’d have to think about all of this very carefully tomorrow.

  FIVE

  Mondays at work are always a trial. Things happen in the world at the weekend and there are always a lot more phone calls and a mountain of mail to deal with. I plod on wearily, trying to cope with the deluge. Things feel so different today. In my head, I mean. I was in a dark, quiet and comfortable place last week. Today I feel like I’ve been shot out of a canon into a volcano. My insides are churning over and over at the memory of ‘the wave’… Mrs William’s words keep coming back into my head… the ‘you know’ look.

  My messed up and newly unsettled mind keeps returning to next weekend. Literally every five minutes to be precise. There was simply no way I could do a spot of casual sex in Paris, could I? The wave returned with a heated vengeance at the thought of it. Well it seems my body was up for it. But my head…? It was just too soon. Wasn’t it? For a crazy second I wished I was more like Suze… we’d have done it by now and I’d be on the lookout for the next conquest.

  Thinking of Suze, there’s a text from her which has suddenly appeared as if by magic…

  “Coming over tonight at 7 with a bottle of red. Make me SB.”

  Suze loved my spaghetti bolognese… don’t know why, it wasn’t a special recipe. It came out of a jar mostly. It sounded very much like she wanted to get me a little tipsy and get the lowdown on Mark. She wasn’t ever very subtle.

  “OK. See you.” I agreed to her evening meal and Mark secrets demand.

  ***

  I served up the dinner and we sat down at the table. I took another slurp of Suze’s delicious Rioja… I’m turning into a proper old wino lately…. Must cut down on my drinking.

  “So… what’s going on with Mark then?”

  I knew she’d been dying to ask me for the last 15 minutes she’d been here… but she wanted to get some wine in me first, so she’d get the benefit of my looser tongue. I was already on glass two’ish. She kept topping me up… Not that I minded. Suze is a real good pal. I can tell her some stuff.

  She was busy twirling spaghetti but I knew her ears were all attention…

  “Hmmm… don’t know exactly.”

  “Well that’s a positive. Better than the ‘nothing’ I expected.”

  Maybe I’ll just tell her – the lot – the wine was working…

  “He’s asked me to go to Paris with him.”

  “Fucking hell! He must want to shag you a lot Ray.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. I don’t think I should go.”

  “D’you think he’d take me instead?”

  I look at her. I actually think she’s serious.

  “You know, I really wish I was more like you at times. You can separate sex and love, can’t you?”

  “Yeah, but the trouble is, I don’t ever get to the love part. I never date more than two or three times. I go for the wrong guys. They’re all players. Fuck and dump. That’s their motto.”

  I was a little shocked at Suze’s sudden opening of her heart to me.

  “I thought you liked that? No relationship issues. Just sex with lots of different hot men…”

  “Well yes. I like the sex, of course, but I would like a relationship to go with it occasionally. I get lonely now and then. I even envy what you had with Jon. I know he was bullying and controlling and a complete bastard and all, but you had two years of some kind of love with him. I’ve never really felt like that about anyone. Never got the chance…”

  Her eyes filled up. I touched her hand across the table.

  “Oh Suze. I didn’t realise…”

  “It’s okay. I have the odd miserable moment but I’m happy most of the time. A boyfriend would make me happier, but I’m not desperate yet.” She brightened up and smiled at me. “Anyway, that’s enough about me… tell me all about Mr hot stuff… I want to know the lot. Every look and every word… come on, tell your nosy friend Suzanne everything… right from the beginning.”

  So I did.

  Suze listened in rapt attention to my tale from waking up in his bed to being asked back for a return visit. She then delivered her usual brand of no nonsense advice.

  “Just go to Paris and let him shag you senseless. It’ll make you feel good.”

  “I don’t know that it will. I might get all involved with him.”

  “So what? It won’t be a massive heartbreaker when it ends will it? You get to have a quick fling with a hot millionaire. It should be on every girls list of to do’s. Go for it I say.”

  I do so love Suze. She has such a way of putting things. All simple and neat and in a box with a bow. I’m thinking I might be up for it now with the wine buzz and her unsubtle persuasion. No relationship expectations. Not thinking any further than Paris. Just a quick and sexy one nighter and a trip up the Eiffel Tower. End of. Yes. Actually looking forward to it now. Especially going up the Eiffel Tower. Maybe even the sex too.

  She goes off home at 10pm and I sit on my bed thinking about it all. As I think a message arrives from Mark.

  “Can you get Friday or Monday off? Too much to do in Paris for a one night stay.”

  He’s very presumptious. He’s assuming I’m going… and it seems like my quick and sexy has just doubled up. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not at this stage. Still, in for a penny…

  “Friday is better. I’ll let you know.”

  “Also need your full name for ticket.”

  “Rachel Olivia Collins, but you can call me Ray.”

  “Night Ray.”

  I climb into bed with a smile on my face. A naughty smile. I actually go off to sleep with it stuck like glue and it’s got nothing to do with the bottle of Rioja I had drunk tonight.

  SIX

  Sitting at work the next day, being granted my Friday off and having told Mark the good news, I am suddenly aware that I have things to do before I can go. I have to dig out my unused new passport, wherever it is… I have to find some suitable outfits and give myself some bodily attention. I book myself in for tomorrow evening at the beauticians. I need to get hottie ready. The full monty. Leg waxing. Bikini line. Eyebrows. Facial. Manicure and pedicure. If I’m going to roll around with a hot millionaire, I need to look the part. I try and forget the fact he’s already seen me almost naked. The next time he sees me I’ll be blindingly perfect and he’ll forget the other me he saw before.

  I end up working really late. It’s 7.30pm before I finish the pile of most urgent stuff on my desk. I decide to pop in and see mum and dad on the way home to tell them about my dirty weekend away. Mum is very pleased to see me and gives me a
hug on the doorstep. We go in the living room for some tea and biscuits. Dad’s out at his water colour art class.

  “Ray, it’s so nice to see you smiling…” I don’t tell her exactly why I’ve been smiling for a whole day, that’s not mum friendly information.

  “Yeah, I’m off to Paris Friday… I’m looking forward to it.” I crunch my biscuit noisily. I’m really hungry. Might get a Chinese meal to take home. Haven’t had one for months.

  “Really? Who are you going there with?”

  “The good looking property millionaire I mentioned before.”

  “Ha ha… you’re a one. Seriously though, is it a friend or a boyfriend you’re going with?”

  “It’s a friend mum, a very good friend.” Of the male variety, but I’ll keep it all vague for now.

  She still doesn’t believe her daughter could attract a millionaire. Nor do I. Low self esteem. Actually no self esteem.

  SEVEN

  As I lay in the beauticians being tortured on Wednesday evening I wonder if the sex I might get is going to be worth the pain I am now feeling. I have never had a wax in my life and never will again. I hope Mark appreciates my smoothness because it is about as painful as burning myself all over with an iron. I flinch as the each strip of cooled wax is ripped off my protesting tender flesh. I try not to cry out in agony. Giving birth couldn’t be more painful than this, surely? Why can’t hairy legs be sexy? They haven’t even got round to the bikini line yet. I shudder at the thought and bite my tongue for some pain diversion.

  Thankfully the manicures and facial which followed the ultimate torture session are blissful and I float away in a handy, facey haze as they massage and primp and pamper. The eyebrow waxing and tidying is a walk in the park compared to what went on around the bikini line a few minutes ago.

  I never knew I could squeal so loudly.

  EIGHT

  I’m sitting perched on my ‘waiting for Mark’ spot by the window at 7am Friday morning. He arrives and I’m summoned by text and downstairs I go. No going back now. This is it, the start of Rachel Collins’ naughty French experience. He takes my bag from me and I get in the car. I can’t help but notice that he is looking even hotter today. It must be the ‘don’t give a toss’ scruffed up jeans and black t-shirt look, I’ve always liked that kind of thing on men. He gets in and we take another look at each other. I really can’t deny it any longer. Mark is sensual with a capital S. He oozes sex appeal from every pore of his body and right now it’s oozing my way.

  “Got everything?” He asks finally.

  “Yep, passport, toothbrush. What more do I need?”

  “Your bag was rather heavy for a passport and toothbrush.”

  “Ah well, wasn’t sure of weather and going out… had to bring a few choices.”

  “Half your wardrobe more like.” He gives me a very sexy grin and a little eye flash. That got my wave on a gentle roll.

  We set off in a mutual smiley mood.

  “We’re leaving London at 10am, so should be there at 2.00pm local time. We can drop our things off and still have time to do a few things after that.”

  “Okay… I suppose you’ve been before?”

  “Several times.”

  Oh, I see… He’s a serial dirty weekender is he? Well, of course he would be, wouldn’t he… being more than a little gorgeous looking and extremely loaded… why not? I try not to let this fact influence my enjoyment factor. This is a first for me. I’ll pretend it’s a first for him as well.

  Our arrival at the Eurostar terminal set the theme for the whole weekend. We parked the car and made our way inside St Pancras station. We avoided the long check in queue snaking its way across the concourse and were dealt with in two minutes flat at the empty Eurostar business premier desk. After that we went through security and passport control into our separate premier lounge to wait for the train. Mark took me upstairs where it’s nice and quiet and there we sat for a while. We were then asked very nicely if we would like to board the train. Well, I could get quite used to this lifestyle. Shame it’s just the three days in my life. I’m sure the usual travelling abroad process is not as wonderful as this is turning out to be. I send Suze a quick text to tell her I’m Princess Premier Class today. She tells me not to wind her up whilst she’s busy doing nothing at work.

  The Eurostar itself was a lovely experience, being waited on with a little meal and champagne as we whizz along at 186 mph. I give Mark big smiles of appreciation. I can tell he is pleased that I’m pleased. He has a little glowy going on. I give a small cheer as we emerge from the channel tunnel and into France. After 25 years I have finally left the UK for the first time.

  I notice Mark turn his phone off. “Do you get a lot of calls about work and things?” I ask curiously.

  “Not on this phone. It’s my personal one. Roni’s got my business one.”

  “Roni?”

  “Veronica, my secretary. She deals with all my work calls whilst I’m away. If there’s anything she can’t deal with she calls me. Very rarely though. She knows I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m taking a break.”

  “Is it difficult being you Mark?” I can imagine he has a lot of stress and pressure running a company. With wealth comes great responsibility.

  “Sometimes it can be more than a little taxing to be truthful.”

  I’m guessing that’s an understatement in reality. I suddenly feel very privileged that he has taken a day out of his stressed executive schedule to whisk me off to Paris.

  NINE

  We get off the train nearly three hours later with our bags and we’re through the Paris terminus and out looking for a taxi. In thirty minutes we are dropped off outside our Champs Elysee hotel.

  Actually no, not a hotel at all… palace is a more apt description. We are led inside our room by the ‘porteur’ and I’m literally stunned by what I see. I really do feel like Marie Antoinette in her boudoir as I take a good look around. Silvery grey and pale blue striped satin walls and drapes. Massive matching bed. Beautiful glass chandeliers. Huge midnight blue velvet sofas. Separate his and hers bathrooms. I just can’t believe the red rose petals artfully arranged all round the edge of the bath. It’s a huge suite… in an expensive hotel. It must have cost an absolute fortune.

  “Christ almighty Mark, you don’t do Paris on a budget do you?”

  “I wanted to make your first trip abroad special for you.”

  “You’ve certainly done that… you’ve spoilt me for life. It’s beautiful. Completely fantastic.” I flop back on the massive striped bed and smile up at him happily.

  “Come on, I’m starving, let’s go out for coffee and cake shall we?”

  Mark likes his food I’ve discovered…

  ***

  An hour later we are fed and watered and wandering along the banks of the Seine. I still can’t quite believe I’m here, let alone with him. I keep pinching myself. His hand finds mine and I happily hold it tight. Could things ever get any better? Wandering around in the sun hand in hand with my not so platonic extremely good looking friend who I am going to sleep with later. Who would have thought my life would have turned around so fast in a few short days.

  Thank God I went to his party, got drunk and fell on him.

  The afternoon was a very lovely warm and lazy ramble around, a short boat trip up the Seine and finally a taxi ride to the Eiffel Tower. And what a long, long, queue there is. It seems like everyone in the whole world wants to go up it this afternoon. Mark tells me it’s always this bad. We climb the second leg and wait another long time to access the elevator to the top. As we finally go outside I am stunned by the view, and also by the wind which whips around us like a hurricane. I gingerly make my way out to look around. I don’t like heights. God knows why I’m hundreds of feet up here… thankfully I do get my Tower legs after a while and stop feeling wobbly inside and actually start to enjoy it.

  My long hair is driving me mad flying around me in the wind as I am trying to take photos on my phone. I
desperately try to control it. Mark stands behind me, gathers up my hair tornado and holds it for me. I walk around up the top for quite a while admiring the view and taking photos, with Mark holding my hair. Before we go I take a quick handsome hottie photo with a nice view behind and send it to mum and Suze with the message… Mark up Eiffel Tower… That should liven up their day.

  We finally come down from windy high heaven and head back to the hotel for a rest before dinner. He is being very sweet and non pushy. I am enjoying this. A lot. Maybe too much. As we lay down on the bed together I take a look at him and start to get a strange knot form in my stomach. I am not sure what it is. I don’t want to think about it. I stop looking.

  He suddenly leans up and looks down at me.

  “Why was your last relationship difficult and unhealthy?”

  He certainly sprung that one on me. Does he remember every single word I tell him?

  “Well, let’s just say he dominated me.”

  “Really? How badly?”

  “Completely in every sense. He destroyed the real me.”

  “Was he abusive towards you?”

  “Not physically no, just verbally. A lot of it was very subtle in fact. And I never really pushed him, so I don’t know what he was capable of.”

  “Why did you let him do it Ray?”

  “I didn’t know he was doing it. It happened so gradually. He was just very possessive to start with. I honestly didn’t realise.”

  I held my breath as he ran his fingers down my face, down my neck and down to the low V of my top, his eyes following them. Then he laid back down on his side again silently, looking at me. I’m feeling hot all over.

  He closed his eyes with his arm draped around my waist and we both end up falling asleep for a while.