by Sue Horsford
“Nearly finished now.”
I sat quietly for a few moments just enjoying the sensation of Gabriel’s attention on me. This was a novel experience for me, this feeling of all pervading sensuality, this feeling that the only thing in the world that existed was my sexual desire. Of course, I’d fancied Paul when I first met him and the two boyfriends I’d had before Paul, but I’d never had this sense that my desire was something tangible, that it was coming off me in waves, warping the space around me. And the realization dawned that it couldn’t just be a one-way feeling. I couldn’t generate this much electricity by myself. Gabriel must be feeling it too.
What would it feel like, not just to sit here wanting him, but to know that when he’d finished drawing me, he would fling his sketchpad on the floor, push my dress up around my waist and fuck me until I screamed for mercy? My need for him was so primitive, so elemental. It seemed ridiculous that the only reason for not giving into it was because I was a married woman. How unfair that it had taken till now for me to feel real gut-wrenching, scorching sexual desire, when I’d never be able to do anything about it.
Gabriel stopped drawing. “Do you want to see?” He handed the sketchpad to me.
It wasn’t what I’d been expecting. It was unmistakably me, but he’d portrayed me as a woman of the world, sensual and passionate. I looked as though I was thinking of sex, which, to be fair, I was, and there was an air of defiance in my expression, as if I was ready to do battle with someone.
“You’ve depicted me as some sort of warrior woman.”
“That’s how you come across to me—feisty and independent—a woman who takes no prisoners. You have a strong physique, too, like an Amazonian woman or a lioness with that mane of tawny hair.”
“Lionesses don’t have manes.”
“I was being poetic,” Gabriel rebuked me. “It’s remarkable that you can turn even a compliment into an argument.”
I said nothing.
“You’d make a great photographic subject,” he went on. “I’m imagining you bare-breasted and weighed down with heavy Celtic jewelry. As a photographer,” he added hastily at my open-mouthed reaction, “not as a man.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that, or, in fact, what to make of anything he said or did, and I was getting tired of all the mind games and the flirting that couldn’t go anywhere.
I stood up. “It’s time I was going.”
“Faye, I’m sorry. I was just thinking out loud. I haven’t offended you, have I?” He thrust his fingers into his hair so that it stuck up, giving him a boyish, unkempt air, and I yearned to be able to reach out and neaten him up.
“No, you haven’t offended me. I just need to get home. I have things to do and I’m sure you have too.” I reached into my bag and drew out his sunglasses. “I was only supposed to be dropping these off.”
At the front door, he kissed me on the cheek again, his lips seeming to linger a little too long, and I had the feeling that if I were to turn my face to him he would kiss me on the lips right there on the doorstep with no compunction whatsoever.
As I turned to walk away he called, “Oh, by the way.”
I looked back at him. He leaned against the doorframe with a wicked grin on his face.
He winked at me. “Just in case you were wondering…if you had picked up the gauntlet and slapped me a second time, you wouldn’t have sat down for a week.”
Chapter Three
The moment I walked through the door into work, I knew I had to stay away from Gabriel. I could see my bible, Power and Control: Why Charming Men can make Dangerous Lovers, sitting in judgment on my desk. Even the posters on the walls seemed to reproach me, to remind me of who I was supposed to be.
‘A woman is like a tea bag—you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water’—Eleanor Roosevelt.
‘The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any’—Alice Walker.
‘Don’t compromise yourself. You are all you’ve got’—Janis Joplin.
At the Lighthouse Center, we didn’t treat men as the enemy but we certainly didn’t see them as our masters. We were all supposed to be liberated women in control of our own lives, after all. So why was I so turned on by Gabriel’s words yesterday?
Okay, so the threat of spanking me so hard I couldn’t sit down for a week wasn’t remotely close to what our clients went through, but it was still the threat of a physical assault and that was unacceptable. I should be furious with him. I should be asking myself why he thought he had the right to talk to me like that. And was I doing any of these things? No.
Last night, I’d lain in bed replaying his words in my head. I’d imagined him carrying out his threat while I touched myself, bringing myself to orgasm as my husband snored beside me.
The reality of work, the reminder that this was my real life was sobering. I could sense generations of abused women pointing their fingers at me in accusation. I was a traitor to everything the center stood for, a traitor to women everywhere. I bit my lip in shame. This had to end now.
I opened up the security shutters and put the kettle on, then I went out into the tiny back yard and watered the tubs of geraniums which were parched after the weekend sun. I was always first to arrive, and I enjoyed this brief moment of peace before Steph arrived.
In the five years I’d worked at the center, Steph had become my closest friend. Funny, clever and a little bit crazy, she’d already lived nine lives. Slowly, as I’d come to know her, she’d disclosed little pieces of her life to me—the alcoholic parents, the abusive husband, the rapid descent into drug addiction and the slow climb back up. I marveled at how she could have risen above all that to get to where she was today. She could have served as an inspiration to our clients, but disclosing our private lives was against center policy.
Also against policy was suggesting to the women who came through our doors that they should leave their abusive partners. I’d thought this was really odd when I’d first started at the center. After all, wasn’t that precisely why we were there? Then Steph had told me that more than half the women who are killed by their partners every year are killed in the act of trying to leave, or after they’ve left.
“It has to be her decision to leave,” she’d told me. “Once she has decided to go, we can sort out practical help for her. But until then, our job is to support her, help her build up her self-esteem and make her aware of her options.”
So that was what we did. Over the years, we’d arranged refuge places for some, liaised with housing providers for others, begged and borrowed furniture and clothes for those women who had left with nothing but the clothes on their back, provided legal advice courtesy of Bonnie, our lovely solicitor who gave her services free of charge one afternoon a week, ran self-esteem courses, made gallons of tea and coffee and listened and listened and listened.
Some women weren’t ready to leave. All they wanted from us was someone to talk to, someone to remind them they were still worthwhile human beings, despite what they were told at home. Some days I would hear so many heart-rending stories that I couldn’t wait to go home and throw my arms around Paul, so grateful for my normal, safe marriage.
The front door slammed shut and I went back into the kitchen and poured the first of Steph’s many coffees—black, no sugar. I handed it to her as she came in, scattering bits of herself all over the room—a battered handbag, a bizarre hat, a bunch of keys, a half-eaten bagel.
“Thanks, hon.” She took a few sips then sighed. “Fucking Monday again.”
This was a typical Steph greeting and I knew I wouldn’t get a civilized conversation out of her until her system was at least fifty percent caffeine.
“So, how was your weekend?” she finally asked me. “How did your dinner party go? Did you schmooze Paul’s new client?”
“Er…yes.”
She looked at me expectantly, but what else could I say? I could hardly tell her the moment I’d set eyes on Gabriel all I’d b
een able to think about was kneeling at his feet. At the very least, she’d bop me over the head with Power and Control.
“He was very nice,” I said.
“Very nice? Talk about damning with faint praise. The way Paul goes on about him, I was expecting some sort of Greek god.”
“Oh, well he was very handsome,” I admitted.
“Anything like we imagined?”
I gave her a blank stare, and she shook her head in exasperation. “We were saying with a name like Gabriel he was bound to have floppy hair and a cravat. Remember?”
I smiled at the thought. “No, he’s nothing like we imagined. Well, he is artistic, but he doesn’t look it, if you know what I mean.”
“So what did Sleeping Beauty think of him?”
Steph and Ginny tolerated each other because of me, but Steph thought Ginny was the least interesting person she’d ever met, and ever since I’d told Ginny of Steph’s drug-using past, she’d behaved as though Steph was just waiting for a chance to snatch her handbag.
“She definitely liked him.” I laughed. “She wasn’t very subtle about it. She more or less leaped into his taxi when he left.”
“So she went back to his place, then?”
I shook my head. “I saw him yesterday and I didn’t like to come right out and ask, but it didn’t seem like anything had happened between them.”
“Wow, a man who can resist the luscious Ginny,” Steph said, smirking. “I like him already. I don’t suppose you fancy sending him in my direction.”
I tried to imagine Gabriel and Steph together. What would Steph have done if Gabriel had threatened to spank her? I couldn’t begin to imagine what her reaction would be.
Anyway, she could get in line. I’d never considered adultery before but then I’d never felt like this before.
“And…back in the room.” Steph snapped her fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry, I was…thinking. Anything you want me to do?”
Kay, our manager, was on holiday, visiting her son in Australia for six weeks, so Steph, as the longest serving staff member, was nominally in charge.
She shrugged. “Just make sure the rooms are ready.”
I made a hasty exit before she could ask me any more questions about Gabriel, and took a quick tour of the counseling rooms, ensuring they were tidy and well stocked with tissues. My resolution to stop having lustful thoughts about Gabriel wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
As I was sorting through the post, Kate and Lisa arrived.
“Hi, Faye. Did you have a lovely weekend?”
Kate, our third support worker, was a regular Pollyanna. She was small, blonde and perky, with a habit of talking in motivational quotes and clichés, and she’d annoyed both Steph and I as soon as she’d come to work at the center. She only redeemed herself when we witnessed her with the clients. Her empathy and genuine concern for what they were going through was almost palpable. They all loved her and we were forced to admit she was an asset to the place. Still, we both preferred to take her in small doses, particularly on a Monday morning.
Lisa was our receptionist. She’d never worked anywhere like this before, and she was appalled by what some of our clients were going through.
“I just wouldn’t put up with it,” she’d say, while turning a blind eye to fiancé Gavin’s womanizing, drinking and gambling.
Unable to advise our clients to leave, we poured out all our concern on to Lisa, but to no avail. We’d given up telling her she deserved better, and Steph and I were seriously considering putting her on the next self-esteem course.
I managed to put Gabriel out of my mind until halfway through the morning when my phone rang. I picked it up and saw Ginny’s name and I hesitated, my finger hovering over the answer key. I’d call her later. She might want to ask me about Gabriel and I wanted to keep him to myself for a little while longer.
I put my phone back in my bag and thought about what I was going to say to her. I’d have to warn her off him. He wasn’t the right man for her at all. He was too old for her, too worldly, too… I was stopped in my train of thought by the doorbell and I went over and peered through the spy hole.
A tall, elegantly dressed woman with platinum-gray hair cut in a neat bob was standing on the step, glancing nervously about her.
I opened the door and she darted inside.
Barbara had been coming to the center every Monday for over a year, always to see me—she didn’t trust anyone else. She was sixty and she’d been married for forty-two years to Andrew. Apart from that, I knew very little. She seemed wary of giving me too many personal details, even though I’d assured her again and again we’d never try to contact her in any way.
Barbara had no intention of ever leaving Andrew. She felt she was too old to start again, her marriage vows had been said before God and, besides, she had a life with Andrew that was the only life she knew. She never said what he did for a living, but, from the cut of Barbara’s clothes, it was obviously something well paid. She wouldn’t disclose where she lived, though I knew she didn’t live locally as she’d once mentioned she had to catch two trains to the center. She didn’t drive. Andrew had never allowed her to learn.
I showed her into one of the most cheerful rooms, the one with the sunny yellow walls and the print of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, made her a cup of Earl Grey tea and settled down for our weekly session.
She clutched her handbag, her knuckles showing white through the skin.
I said gently, “What’s happened, Barbara?”
“Nothing, really.” She spoke softly in a refined, well-modulated voice. “Nothing bad, anyway.”
“Nothing bad?”
“Andrew has actually been very nice to me all week, extraordinarily so.” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “I should be glad, shouldn’t I?”
“But you’re worried.”
“He bought me this.” She held out her arm to show me a beautiful watch.
I didn’t know anything about watches, never wore one, but I knew an expensive piece of jewelry when I saw it.
Andrew had given a lot of jewelry to Barbara over the years. He’d bought her a pair of Gucci diamond earrings after breaking her ribs, an emerald and diamond ring when he’d strangled her, and a priceless diamond and sapphire brooch in the shape of a dragonfly when he’d thrown a pan of boiling soup over her.
Barbara seemed to think these were gifts given in a genuine spirit of contrition, but, to me, they were just part of a pattern we saw again and again at the center, though not usually with such expensive presents.
“Why do you think he bought you that? Has he done something to you since last week?”
“No, I told you, he’s been really nice to me. He took me out to dinner on Saturday and he gave me this watch. He told me to look at it every hour on the hour and think of him and to know he’d be thinking of me.” A barely perceptible shudder passed through her slim frame.
“But you’re obviously worried,” I persisted.
“Andrew never does anything without a reason,” she said. “I can’t get over the feeling he’s planning something horrible. It’s like…you know when someone has a dangerous breed of dog like a Rottweiler and they’re saying to you, ‘Oh, he’s just a big softie, really,’ and you stroke him, but you’re wondering if he’s sensing your fear and if any minute now he’ll sink his teeth into you.” Her dark eyes glistened. “My nerves are in shreds.”
“What do you want to do about it?” I asked her, being careful not to push her too hard.
“Do you mean am I finally going to leave him?” she said. “Where would I go? What would I live on?” She accepted the tissue I offered and dabbed at her eyes.
“We can help with all the practical stuff,” I said. “Besides, if you sold all the jewelry he’s bought you over the years, I would imagine you’d get a fair bit to start you off.”
Barbara managed a smile at last, a lovely gentle smile. A
t sixty, she was still a very attractive woman. “Yes, that would be ironic, wouldn’t it? Andrew would have paid for my escape. But we both know that’s not going to happen, Faye. You know I promised before God to love Andrew in ‘sickness and in health, till death do us part.’”
This was always the brick wall I came up against with Barbara. I’d asked her how she could cling to her faith even though her life was so unhappy, but she would just turn it around and tell me her faith was what gave her the strength to go on.
“But you said you think he’s planning something,” I said. “I’m not going to try to talk you into leaving. That’s something you have to decide for yourself. What I’m more concerned about right now is your safety. What can we put in place that will make you feel safer? Is there no one you can confide in? A friend? A relative? A neighbor?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t tell anyone else,” she said. “You’re the only person in the world who knows. And I want it to stay that way. I’m not about to drag Andrew’s good name through the mud.”
She stayed for just over an hour, but, as she left, I wondered what difference I’d made, what difference I ever made. I understood the reasons for our hands-off approach, but sometimes I wanted to scream at Barbara, “For God’s sake, just leave him!”
Scowling, I went into the back yard to join Steph who was on a cigarette break.
“Feeling useless?” she asked, squinting up at me in the midday sun.
“As usual.”
“You know the score,” she reminded me. “Support and advice, that’s all. If you try to tell her what to do, then you’re controlling her just like he does.”
“Oh, I know all that, but sometimes I just feel like taking her home with me.”
“Now that’s definitely against the rules. Can you imagine Kay’s reaction?” She pulled a face like someone sucking a lemon.
“Don’t, Steph, you’ve just reminded me. I’m going to see my mother after work.”
“How is the old trout?”
“You’re so complimentary about my family, Stephanie.”
“You should hear what I say about mine.” She threw her cigarette down on the ground and stamped upon it. “How is she, though? Is she still acting weird?”