by Penny Henry
Imogen ignored the compliment. She picked up her glass and sipped at the sparkling champagne. "I'm surprised to see you here, Karl. I thought you didn't care about today's bands?" She was feeling in control. "Of course, it is a girl band, I suppose."
Karl ginned at the thinly-veiled insult. "Ouch," he mocked. "That's a bit cynical, Imogen. Music is my business, remember? I have to keep an eye on the competition. We're all here for the good of the record company. Aren’t we?"
Imogen pulled a face that rubbished his easy explanation. The bevy of nubile and impressionable females was far more likely to be the main attraction in Karl's eyes. "Really?" she jibed. "Glad to see you have matured so sensibly, Karl. There is nothing sadder than the sight of a middle-aged man chasing after young girls. But I'm sure that wouldn't be you, would it?"
"My, we are bitter tonight." He never lost his confident grin. "We all have to grow up sometime, babe, including me. Haven’t you heard? I'm a changed man. Maybe you should give me another shot?" His fingers had stretched from the back of her chair to allow their tips to play on the back of Imogen's neck.
She laughed out loud, a cruel sour laugh that ended in an unattractive sneer on her beautiful face and attracted Rose's attention. "In your dreams, Karl." She shrugged her neck clear of his stroking fingertips. "Shouldn't you be getting your face in the papers or something?"
Karl glanced at Rose's tight features and stood up. "There's plenty of time for that." He winked conspiratorially. "I'll see you around, babe." He nodded to Rose and bent his mouth to Imogen's cheek. "I'll find you when I want you, lover." Then he was gone, absorbed into the noisy admiring crowd.
Imogen felt suddenly hot and cold. Even after all this time he still had the power to jangle her nerve endings and shorten her breath. His casual use of the word 'lover' had stirred uncomfortable feelings she thought were long since buried and brought a pensive look to her face.
"Don't let him get to you, honey," whispered Rose in her ear. "You need Karl like a cat needs fleas." Her face was set with concern. “Stay clear of him.”
"Don't worry, Rose, I've learned my lesson." She pulled a grin that wasn't entirely convincing and reached across the table to seize the bottle of champagne and splash a refill into her glass.
Rose sighed heavily and turned her attention back to her young escort. Imogen was her own mistress. She knew the risks. If she was stupid enough to let Karl back into her life then it was on her own head.
Imogen downed the champagne in one and confined Karl's image to the recesses of her mind, banging the slender glass back to the table. She inserted herself into Paul and Connie's conversation and laughed louder than she might have done. Karl, no doubt, had already forgotten her presence. She wished she could dismiss the feelings in her stomach so easily.
The table grew merry and boisterous as food was served and the drinks flowed. Sblig Records was footing the bill and George would likely have a fit when he saw the final account. As usual it would be left to Rose to justify the cost of entertaining the celebrity guests and smooth his ruffled feathers. George was putty in her hands and it was the last thing on the minds of the tipsy revelers. The screams that stopped the music announced the arrival of Baggage! and brought their private party to an end. There was a flurry of activity round the table as a last bite was grabbed, mouths were wiped and the Sblig team struggled to their feet.
"Time to go to work, boys and girls," called Rose. She pushed back her chair and cupped her young companion’s cheeks for one last kiss. "Let's network!"
The group moved into the crowd, carrying their drinks and dispensing bonhomie like Santa Claus at a convention of elves. The real business of the night was just beginning. They were there to drop a word in the right ear, play up to the gossip columnists, pull a smile for the photographers and generally make the launch a resounding success. Imogen slipped through the crowd to seek out a showbiz reporter that she knew had the hots for her. It was unfair, of course, but Sblig Records had a lot of money tied up in Baggage! She zeroed in on her prey from across the room and swooped like an eagle on a petrified rabbit. Her jaw was aching from smiling and her mouth as dry as feathers by the time the fracas at the bar grabbed her attention. She made her apologies and wormed her way through the throng of onlookers. Karl Wainscott was abusing Kerry Moore, the feisty lead singer of Baggage! He had launched a drunken tirade against girl bands in general and her band in particular. Kerry was having none of it and was giving Karl as good as she got. Then John Lomax pushed out from the crowd as Rose made her appearance and shot a withering glance in his direction. John stepped between the arguing pair in an attempt to calm things down. Karl shoved him to one side as the reporter that Imogen had spent the last hour flirting with arrived on the scene. John cannoned into the innocent journo, sending him flying and dumping him on his backside. It was just as Connie arrived to take control.
Imogen looked on horror stricken. She caught Rose's eye and interpreted her pleading look to rescue the situation. Connie swiftly brought order to the scene of the argument and people were turning away bored with the disappointing outcome. The unlucky reporter was left sitting on his backside shooting black looks in Karl's direction. The anger in his face spelt trouble in a big way. Imogen took the initiative. She hurried to haul the unhappy hack to his feet, brushing away imaginary specks from his jacket and smiling into his eyes. She babbled mindlessly about high spirits and healthy rivalry, soothing his injured pride and reminding him of the tradition of rock and roll. He was coming round to Imogen's point of view when her attention was taken by a group of daringly-dressed models drawn to the scene of the short-lived commotion. They were giggling and chinking glasses with a group of admiring men. In the centre of the group, towering over the petite models and with his arms draped over the shoulders of two giggling blondes stood Gable. He was staring directly at Imogen
The chatter of the injured journalist merged into the background as Imogen locked eyes with Gable. He was dressed in a superbly-cut dinner suit with an unbuttoned pleated white shirt. His untied bowtie dangled from his neck. A half-smile decorated his lips and the blondes were fitted to his chest like a pair of shoulder holsters. Imogen's world collapsed around her. She had thought they had something. The depth of feeling that she had for Gable was suddenly exposed. He hadn't given it a chance. Gable had betrayed her just as Karl had done. Her heart reluctantly began to pump again and the hubbub of sound returned to her ears. The reporter's voice was droning in her ears - something about a drink. Imogen nodded distractedly, allowing herself to be led away as Gable’s party was swallowed by the crowd She felt as if something important had been removed from her body. A tiny flower that had needed careful nurturing had been ripped from the bed of her heart.
The remainder of the night passed in a haze. The soothed reporter was introduced to Rose in a happier frame of mind. He was laughing about his earlier mishap. It would make great copy. Rose smiled her gratitude at Imogen and found a moment to ask what was wrong. Imogen kept it simple. She complained that she felt unwell - it was nothing for Rose to worry about. The green eyes that stared into Imogen's face narrowed with suspicion. Rose smiled tightly and diplomatically let the subject drop. Rose wasn’t the only worried by Imogen’s poorly-concealed upset. Connie was staring at Imogen through the crowd but she was too far away to fly to Imogen’s side. She forced herself to continue chatting to the group she was involved with, watching wistfully as Imogen slipped away. Then she was lost to Connie’s view. Imogen drifted through the crowd of celebrities getting angrier by the minute. How dare Gable flaunt his floozies in front of Imogen’s face! A further half hour was spent in goodbyes to the friends she could find and chatting to the faces that accosted her as she worked her way towards the exit. She was almost free.
“Hey, Rachel!”
Chapter Ten
Imogen ignored the friendly greeting. It was meant for someone else.
“Rachel, it’s me - Michael.”
“Michael!” Imogen was c
aught on the back foot. She hadn’t recognized him. “What... What are you doing here?”
He smiled widely. “Oh, you know what it’s like. I get to know a lot of people in my job. You do someone a favor and you never know what you might get back.”
Imogen grinned. She could well imagine the type of favor Michael was talking about. He was sharply dressed in a black dinner jacket and looking a lot older than his nineteen years. “Who are you with?”
“I came with Isabel. She’s chatting over there.” He pointed out a forty-something magazine editor that Imogen knew well. “I think she’s networking.” Cue air quotes from Michael.
Imogen pressed her lips together. Screw Gable. Michael was just what she needed right now. “Michael...”
“Yes, Rachel?”
“Would you like to help me find my wrap? It’s in the cloakroom somewhere.” She pulled her best angelic look. “I’ve got to leave early. There won’t be anyone there to help me find it.”
Michael looked over his shoulder just as he felt the warm palm close over his tender region. The floor was packed but he knew whose arm was attached to the squeezing hand. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be missed for ten minutes or so.”
They didn’t waste a second of it. They pushed through the crowd and almost fell into the darkened cloakroom. The walls and pegs were stuffed full of coats. Imogen leant back against a padded wall and Michael moved into her. His thigh pressed between her open legs. His mouth made fleeting contact with hers before dropping to her neck and nuzzling the hot flesh. She ran one hand through his hair as the other dropped to his trouser zip. She needed two hands. Michael didn’t have to work to expose her breasts. They almost fell in to his grateful hands. He lowered his head to draw each nipple to a hard bullet as one arm curled round her back and the other fell to push her trousers over her hips. She bent to help her trousers fall to her ankles before neatly stepping out of them. Michael took the opportunity to slip on a condom before moving into her again and dropping a hand to her groin. Her wet thong was no obstruction as he manipulated her clitoris with his thumb and slid a finger between her swollen lips. He held his body away from her to allow Rachel to tug on his throbbing penis. She wrapped one leg round his hips and put a hand on his shoulder. Michael bent his knees to give her room to control him. She guided the tip of his erection to her body and Michael pushed upwards, easing the crown inside her. Then he heaved upwards to impale her on his rampant cock. Imogen clung to his shoulders and circled her hips as he lifted her up and down on the solid shaft. Maybe she wasn’t his first today. Michael was lasting well. His hands were gripped to her buttocks and Imogen was on the tip of one foot. She groaned at the feeling of his maleness filling her with hard, sliding flesh that brought her to small shuddering orgasms as she ground against him. Then he moved inside her in demanding thrusts. Imogen screwed herself onto his driving cock, responding to his fingertips digging into her buttocks. He grunted and Imogen squeezed her eyes shut, flooding over his jerking erection. They stood wrapped together like carvings on a totem pole until their panting subsided and they felt ready to ease themselves apart.
Michael stepped back. He was sweating like a laborer. “Christ, Rachel. That was some fucking quickie.”
“You’re going to need the washroom before you go back to Isabel.” Imogen smiled sweetly and stepped into her trousers. She bent down to grab the waistband and wriggled them up her legs. “I hope you’ve got something left for her.”
Michael slipped his fingers into his top pocket and pulled out a small bubble pack with four blue tablets inside. “Viagra. It’s gonna kill me, but what the hell.”
Imogen walked close and kissed him softly on the lips. “I needed that, Michael. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She grinned. “I’ll leave first. Give me two minutes.”
“What about your wrap?”
Imogen put a fingertip to her lips like a pouting centerfold. “Oops, I’ve just remembered. I didn’t bring one.
”Bye, Rachel.”
She blew a kiss over her shoulder and strode through the door. This time she made it to the exit. Her car was not long in arriving and she shivered her way into the back seat before instructing the driver to drop her off and return for Paul. She didn't know what the chauffeur talked about or what single word answers she gave. Her thoughts had drifted back to Gable and she was still furious with him. Michael had helped but there was darkness inside her. The journey was short and she hurried into the building. Imogen wanted nothing more than to walk inside her silent apartment and be alone with her thoughts.
She knew she had been burgled the moment she stepped through the door. Her first response was for one hand to fly to the jewelry she had worn. The second was to check her purse for her Rolex. It had been a last-minute thought to take it with her. It was thirty grand of watch and she’d die if she lost it. There wasn’t much of any real value that she had left in the apartment. Her next action was to strain her ears and sweep the lounge with her eyes to make sure the thief had departed. She couldn’t see much wrong. The computer was still on the desk. It had been a waste of the thief’s time. Her CDs and DVD collections was gone but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d played a CD or watched a DVD. She’d gone digital a long time ago. It was just the sense of violation. The partly open drawers and cupboard doors. She knew her bedroom would have been rifled through. There wasn’t much to find apart from her everyday jewelry. The thief had missed out on the valuable stuff. She didn't even know she was crying until the stream of tears became too much to blink away and dripped from her chin. She walked sadly between the rooms checking what was missing and closing the drawers. She ended up back in the lounge. slumping onto the couch and crying unashamedly. So this was how it felt to have your guts ripped out and trodden into the dirt. Imogen was utterly distraught. She couldn’t decide what she was really crying about.
She was still sobbing when she walked into the bathroom, tore off her soaking wet thong and perched on the bidet. There was a robe on the back of the door and she left her clothes scattered on the floor. The tears had stopped. The pictures in her head had changed. All she could see was Gable smiling at her mockingly, amusing himself at her expense. She gripped her fists in frustration and sniffed back the unwanted tears. She had fallen for his sham of vulnerability and understated charm and he had thrown it back in her face. She raised a hand to smear the dried tears from her eyes. Imogen Mercouri was a survivor. She would bounce back as she always did. She glanced at the Rolex clutched in her hand as she wandered back into the lounge and dumped herself in the centre of the sofa. It was the early hours of the morning. There was not enough time for anything else to go wrong.
"Hi, babe."
Imogen couldn’t believe her ears. In the shock of discovering she had been burgled she had forgotten to lock the door. Karl Wainscott had simply tried the handle and walked inside. He leant drunkenly against the doorframe. A crazy mix of emotions ran through Imogen's mind. Her initial fright at his appearance was replaced with relief and then of trepidation. How often had she wondered how she would react alone with Karl? Would his touch re-ignite the dormant passion coiled inside her like a sleeping panther since the ending of their tempestuous affair? Only two people had stirred that same sense of animal urgency that she was beginning to think she had only dreamt. Connie was someone she didn’t want to taint with the comparison. Recently it had been Gable that had woken her basic instincts. He had added an unexpected dimension of tenderness that she had never known with Karl. Her mouth twisted in an ironic smile. For all their differences, the two men had turned out to be the same. But Karl possessed the one quality that Gable lacked. Karl was dangerous. A small part of her wondered whether Karl still carried that same smell of danger that had excited her emotions beyond control. Then she remembered. She hated him.
Karl lurched into the apartment and wove an unsteady path to where Imogen sat in a disbelieving stupor. He stumbled to a halt against the
armrest of the couch, rocking like a drunken sailor and looking down on her through blurred eyes. "Tell me Imogen. Are you pleased to see me?"
Imogen's anger sparked. This was not what she wanted. She roused herself and sprang to her feet before he fell on her. "Get out, Karl. You're drunk. Can't you see that I'm upset?"
"Yeah, I'm drunk, lover. What of it?"
"Don't call me lover. In fact don't call me anything. Just go; please…" It would be pointless trying to explain that she had been burgled. He would laugh and make a joke of it and she just wasn't in the mood for drunken, nonsensical humor.
Karl took a rolling step, bringing himself a few inches from where Imogen stood. He blew bourbon-laden breath into her face and peered into her blazing eyes. "Why fight it, babe? You know you want me."
Imogen recoiled in disgust but before she could walk away Karl hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lean body. She was vulnerable and Karl’s hands would soon discover she was naked under her robe. Did men have any idea of how revolting they were under the effects of alcohol? She doubted it. She forced her hands against his chest and leant back from his stinking breath. "Let me go, Karl!" She curled her lips in disgust. Their lower bodies were pressed tightly together and Imogen could feel his erection. That area had never been a problem for Karl. His wiry leg was pushing between her thighs and she could feel her own heat against his muscle. "Get off me!" she ordered.
Karl lifted his free arm and slid his fingers into the front gap of her robe top to cover her breast with his hand. "I've missed you, babe," he croaked. He squeezed her breast and jerked her groin against his thigh. "It’s gonna be just like the old days," he rasped as he bent his head in search of Imogen's neck.