Model Guy

by Brooke, Simon

  What?

  "Oh, we're always looking for fresh blood for our badger meetings," says Lady Huntsman.

  "There you go," says Nora. "I told you they'd be interested."

  "Yes," I say robotically.

  "Who do you do for work?" asks Lady Huntsman. I tell her I work for a website called 2cool2btrue.com. "Oh, the one that all the young people are always going on about. I'm sure that's the one my daughter Anastasia is logged on to all the time. And I think James has got something to do with it too. Oh, well, if you had any time outside work to devote to our little group that would be absolutely super."

  "I'd love to," I say. Oh, what the hell!

  There is an embarrassing silence and then Nora says: "We don't have them in America."

  "No, you have muskrats instead," says Lady H authoritatively.

  "Oh, look, let's have another drink," says Nora. She reaches across me to the waiter who has approached us and this time it happens: she manages to bring with her half a dozen glasses along with the one she's picked up. Every single one of them falls onto me, it seems.

  "Oh, Charlie, what happened?" she says.

  I'm about to tell her exactly what the bloody hell happened, Lady H or no Lady H, when our hostess says: "Oh, dear. So easily done. Come upstairs and we'll get you changed. Don't worry. Why don't you have one of James' shirts? He must be about the same size as you."

  I don't want one of James' bloody shirts, I really just want to go home and see Lauren. By this time the party is actually beginning to thin out.

  "Listen, Lady Huntsman, it's very kind of you but I think perhaps I'd better be going, anyway."

  "Nonsense, it's only, what is it?" She tries to focus on her watch. "Well, it's early anyway."

  Fortunately we're quite near the stairs so my embarrassment at being lead, dripping wet, by the arm like a seven year old who has disgraced himself on a school trip is intense but short lived.

  She opens the door of a large bedroom and I follow her in.

  "Now, quick, take that wet shirt off and I'll have someone put it in to soak."

  "Really, Lady Huntsman, it's drying already."

  "Nonsense, it's soaked through. You'll catch your death."

  "Well, have you got a hairdryer or something?" I suggest. "That would probably do it."

  "A hairdryer? Don't be ridiculous. Take it off. Quick, quick. I'll go and find one of James' shirts. Be right back." She disappears through another door.

  It is getting quite uncomfortable - cold and sticky - so I undo my tie and take off my cufflinks. I put them on a nearby table and slip off my shirt and make a gesture towards folding it. I lay it on the bed but then decide that it might soak through and so I put it on a chair. Bloody Nora! Bloody, buggering Nora.

  Lady Huntsman shouts something from the other room.

  "Er, sorry?" I call after her.

  "I said I'd do anything for badgers, absolutely anything, wouldn't you?"

  "Erm, well, it depends on what circumstances..."

  She pops her head round the door.

  "Mind you, I am a woman of extreme views," she declares.

  "Mmm, I'm sure," I say. "I can appreciate that."

  She looks at me for a moment and then disappears again.

  Feeling slightly exposed, I fold my arms. Then unfold them. Then I swing them by my sides and then fold them again. Aren't arms a nuisance sometimes? I wait around a bit more and then call out: "Erm, Lady Huntsman?"

  No answer.

  What the hell is she doing? I turn round and potter around the room a bit. Absentmindedly I look into the half open door of a wardrobe as if Piers might be lurking in there. I suddenly sense Lady Huntsman standing behind me so I turn round quickly.

  "Oh, hallo," I say unnecessarily.

  She's there alright but where's the shirt?

  "You obviously play a lot of sport," she says, eyeing me up.

  "Um, well, sometimes, er, you know, used to."

  "Well, you certainly keep fit."

  Quite what happens next, I'm not sure, but it seems like she has fifteen pairs of hands. Her lips are on mine and I can smell her perfume and feel her soft, well-powdered skin against me.

  "Lady...argh!...Huntsman...please."

  "Shut up. Make love to me."

  "I -"

  But she's kissing me again, hard and deep, her hands pulling at my hair.

  "You said you were going to make the party swing."

  "It wasn't actually me who said that, ow, if you remember, it was Nora. I don't know what -" A bit of a fine distinction given our current situation, even I must admit.

  "And all that crap about badgers? People always use badgers to get to me."

  "What?"

  Then her lips leave mine and she is on her knees unbuttoning my fly. "Lady Huntsman, please. Oh, my God. Look, please don't erm, take this the wrong way." Suddenly my trousers are around my ankles and she is pulling at my undies. "Look, just -" Now I'm on the ground on my back, trying to pull myself away from her with my elbows. I don't want to be any more forceful in case I hurt her but she's quite strong for a woman of her age, especially one with such a slim build - and she's bloody persistent I'll give her that.

  With a sharp tug she has yanked my underpants down and her lips are travelling up my thigh, her hand finding my cock and beginning to work it manically. Just then the door opens and Sir James looks in. I'm partly horrified, partly relieved. "Oh, my God," wails a weak, high pitched voice, which I suppose, by process of elimination (he's not saying anything, she has her mouth full) must be mine.

  This is it. What could a rich, powerful man do to you, if he found you assaulting his wife? He must have some of the best lawyers in the land at his disposal. He'd make sure I never worked at anything again. I'd have to leave the country. But instead of looking horrified or angry he looks vaguely disappointed.

  "Oh," he says. "We'll use the spare room, then,"

  'We' turns out to be Annabelle the management consultant who specialises in the personal finance sector. She peeps round the door after him, looks stunned for a moment and then is obviously dragged off to the spare room.

  "There are clean sheets on the bed," calls Lady Huntsman after him. I make the most of this interruption, turn over and do a sort of sprinter's start away from her. I throw myself against the far wall and get my breath back.

  We eye each other for a moment. Then I reach over to the table where I put my shirt, throw the shirt off it and pick it up, legs pointing at Lady Huntsman, lion tamer style.

  "Honestly," she says, pulling herself up into a standing position. "What's wrong with you boys these days? Is it all this new man rubbish or something?"

  "No, I'm sorry, it's just that I'm going out with someone," I tell her, gasping for breath and wandering if I can safely get to the door without her trying another rugby tackle on me. She looks remarkably unruffled considering the struggle we just engaged in.

  "Oh, so what? I'm married to someone. Live a little, why don't you?"

  "Sorry, it's nothing personal."

  "Is it AIDS? I've got condoms."

  "No, it's..." I can hardly tell her she's old enough to be my mother and I don't fancy her. "I'm, er, just not in the mood. I wasn't expecting... sorry", I mutter girlishly, pulling up my trousers up as well as I can with one hand and edging out of the door. I put the table down and scurry out. "Sorry," I mutter again. Outside I manage to do up my fly and get my shirt on.

  "Crikey." It's Alex. "What the hell happened to you?"

  "Just changing my shirt," I gasp. "Someone spilt something down it."

  "And your trousers, too?"

  "Yes. Bit of an accident."

  "I was just looking for the loo," he says, suspiciously.

  "It's in here," I tell him, jerking my head back towards the door I've just come out of. I move aside to let him past. Warily, he nods a curt thank you. As soon as he is in and I hear him say: "Oh! Lady Huntsman, I'm so sorry, I thought -" I pull the door shut and scamper off to fi
nd a quiet corner to finish getting dressed in.

  I open a door further down the corridor and step in to a silent, darkened room and switch on the light. I see a pair of female legs sticking upwards. In between them is my dad's friend Grey. He glances around at me and then looks up at the owner of the legs.

  "For Christ's sake, don't any of the bloody doors lock in this house?" he asks her.

  "No, obviously not, now shut up and get on with it," she says.

  I withdraw, slip back into the corridor and bump into Nora.

  "Oh," she says. "What happened to you?"

  I laugh bitterly.

  "I met you."

  She ignores this comment.

  "You look worse than before. Did you get a clean shirt?"

  "I got everything but."

  "She try it on?" asks Nora looking slightly pained.

  "Yeah, she bloody did. Fuck! How embarrassing, she just leapt on me. Hang on let me do my shirt up."

  "It was the badgers thing, I think."

  "What? What have they got to do with anything?"

  "Her badger meetings. It's well known: they just get together at country houses, all these so-called badger enthusiasts, and just, you know, get off with each other. It's like a code for upper class swingers: 'Are you interested in badger conservation?' It means are you up for it? I was going to write a piece about but -"

  "All right, I get the picture." I finish tucking in my shirt. "I can't believe you knew she was going to do that."

  "Well, I certainly had an inkling. Didn't you see her eyes light up when I mentioned you and badgers? Anyway, more importantly, did she mention Piers?"

  "No funnily enough she didn't, she had her mouth full and I'm afraid I didn't manage to broach the subject as I was trying to force her lips off my di- off my, er, lips."

  "Shame."

  "Oh, shit, my mobile, where is it?"

  "Who are you going to ring?"

  "Never mind." Why shouldn't she know? "I'm just going to call my girlfriend, Lauren."

  "Is it not in your jacket?" asks Nora, blandly.

  "No, it must have fallen out in the struggle."

  "It'll be in there then."

  "Well done. Good detective work."

  "Just nip in and get it."

  "I can't, not with her in there."

  "Oh, for goodness sake," sighs Nora and she sets off along the corridor to Lady Huntsman's bedroom. I'm just about to call her back when I realise that in fact it will bloody well serve her right. I see her open the door warily and put her head round it.

  "Oh, Alex, hi," she says and then I hear her gasp: "Oh, is that you Lady Huntsman? I didn't recognise you." She turns her head to one side. "Sorry, don't mind me, I'm just looking for a mobile phone, ah, here it is, sorry, see you later. Oh, lovely party by the way." She emerges again, frowning as she comes towards me. "Well that's a sight that'll stay with me for a while. God, she's supple for a woman of her age,though. I don't think I could manage that. She must do a lot of yoga or something. Anyway, here's your phone. It's a bit wet I'm afraid."

  "Thanks."

  She takes off her glasses and begins to polish them on the folds of material of her lacy black dress. Once again she looks like no one else at the party but she does have a certain style. Then she puts her glasses back on again and pushes her diamante hair slide around a bit. She looks up at me with her big dark, inscrutable eyes.

  "Well, I'll leave you to make your phone call," she says.

  I'm ringing my girlfriend Nora.

  "OK."

  "I'll keep mingling and maybe see you later."

  "Yes, sure," I say. "I'll go outside and ring from there."

  Chapter Nineteen

  I leave Nora to carry on mingling and step onto the terrace which overlooks a bigger garden than anyone in London has the right to own. I look up at the house ablaze with light and then call Lauren. The phone rings a couple of times and then the answer machine clicks in. I knew it! I fucking knew it! She's out with Peter.

  Then the phone is picked up clumsily: "Hello?" says a sleepy voice.

  "Lauren? Hi, it's me."

  "Oh, hi babe. Where are you? What time is it?"

  "It's..." I check my watch in the light from the house. It's 11.45pm. "Oh, sorry, it's nearly midnight."

  "Oh, Charlieeee. What's the matter? Are you all right? Why are you ringing so late? I've got to get up early tomorrow for a casting in docklands."

  "Sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice."

  "Oh, right. When will you be home?"

  "Very soon, night, hon."

  "Night."

  She puts the phone down.

  "You in trouble with the missus?"

  I spin round but I can't see anyone in the gloom.

  "Hello?"

  "You shouldn't have fucked my mother then should you?"

  "Hello? Who's that?"

  The smell of pot floats through the summer air. Finally a face emerges from the darkness of the shrubbery. A girl in her twenties, long dark hair. A face that is still girlish. Pale skin, pretty but for a sad, sulky mouth. She takes another drag on her joint.

  "Feel better now you've rung your wife?" she asks knowingly.

  "I haven't fucked your mother," I tell her, more intrigued than cross.

  "Really? Apparently she was last seen dragging you upstairs."

  "You're Lady Huntsman's daughter."

  "Well done." She waits for a moment and extends a hand. "Anastasia." We shake.

  "Charlie, Charlie Barrett."

  She looks at me for a moment.

  "I know you, don't I?"

  "No."

  "I do."

  "Perhaps from the website, 2cool -"

  "2btrue, of course." She takes a drag and looks at me again. "So you didn't do it with my mother, then?" "No, I...we didn't in the end."

  "Oh, I see. Was that your boyfriend you were ringing just now?"

  "No, it was my girlfriend. I just -"

  "Managed to fight my mother off. Gosh, you're now a member of a very exclusive club. I mean the ones that have managed to get away from her."

  She offers me her joint. I'm about to decline but instead I reach and take it from her. I have a drag and hold it before handing the joint back.

  "How do you know my parents?" she asks.

  "I, er, I'm here with a girl called Nora. Know her? American girl, she's journalist. Writes for The Post."

  Anastasia shakes her head without thinking.

  "I haven't been inside much. Can't stomach it."

  "Sure. I can sort of understand that."

  She takes another drag.

  "It's quite fun, your website - I look at it quite a bit. Quite funky. Shame, though, apparently it's all going tits up, isn't it? Still that's Piers for you."

  "You know him?" I feel a surge of adrenalin through my tired, aching body.

  "Piers? Yes."

  "How?"

  I curse myself for appearing too blunt, too interested. This is what I came to this stupid, awful party for but I get the feeling I'm going to have to reel this one in carefully. I can tell, though, from way she's looking me up and down that there is something going on here. I give her the same frowny, 'come to bed' look as in the picture that ended up in the first Post article. I probably look like a tit but I might as well try and charm this sultry, cynical girl.

  "I've known him for yonks," she says. She flicks ash off the remainder of her joint and take another drag at it. "He's my dealer for one thing."

  "Really? Piers?"

  "Oh, Piers can get you anything. Real Arthur Daley. He was selling this shit through your site."

  "What drugs? On 2cool?"

  "Derr! Didn't you notice? Go to 'Extra curricula', click on 'What's in the cupboard?' You must know what that means? No?" She tuts. "So innocent. Then you just choose: 'Charlie Says', 'Pot Noodle'. ‘Good enough to Eat’? 'Grass cutters.'" She laughs. "I can believe you've never looked?"

  "I can't keep track on all the things that
go on the site."

  "So what's happening to it? They say it's falling apart."

  "A few financial difficulties. That's why I'm looking for Piers."

  She glances around for a moment.

  "Well, he doesn't seem to be here," she says in an ultra patronising tone.

  "Thanks for looking."

  I flash her big smile to keep her onside.

  "Don't mention it."

  "It would be really helpful if you could let me know if you hear anything. Seriously."

  She thinks about it, finishes her joint and throws it into the bushes.

  "'Kay." she says in a strangled, post drag voice. "I think my Dad would quite like to speak to him too. Piers is the one who persuaded him to invest in 2cool."

  "Well, if we find him, we'll call your Dad, I promise. It's the least I can do."

  "For fucking his wife."

  "I told you -"

  "Oh, I'm kidding."

  I put my hands in my pockets and walk around thoughtfully.

  "So what else has Piers invested in?"

  "Oh, let me see." She looks up the few stars we can see above the London light pollution. "A girl band. Oh, haven't we all? These were two Croatian models. Piers chatted up them in a bar. They couldn't speak English let alone sing but Piers paid a couple of backing vocalists to take care of that little technicality, had them photographed and even got them a recording 'contract'." She gives lazy, stoned, air quotes. "Then they went home to some remote village. He thought it would be funny if he got them into the charts. He loved the idea that she would be a star in this country and not even know it. It nearly worked I think."

  "Very virtual."

  "Then there were Yukisaki's or whatever they're called."

  "What?"

  "These little creatures. According to Piers they were a cross between Tamogochi and Hello Kitty. You know, cute little things with computers in them. He thought they'd be huge, bought thousands and thousands of them from a factory in China - you know the kind where they employ five year olds for eighteen hours a day making sports gear, the kind my father invests in - and he planned to sell them on street corners, cutting out the middle man, a kind of, what do they call it?, guerilla marketing thing. Make it an underground operation. Really hip accessory. Kind of thing that all your mates have but too cool to be sold in any high street shop."