Naked Lies

by Karen Botha

  Karen Botha

  Naked Lies

  First published by Karen Botha in 2017

  Copyright © Karen Botha, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  Contents

  Lucy

  Adam

  Lucy

  Adam

  Paula

  Graham

  Lucy

  Adam

  Lucy

  Paula

  Graham

  Adam

  Graham

  Lucy

  Paula

  Paula

  Lucy

  Paula

  Adam

  Lucy

  Paula

  Adam

  Paula

  Adam

  Lucy

  Paula

  Adam

  Lucy

  Paula

  Graham

  Paula

  Lucy

  Lucy

  Paula

  Adam

  Paula

  Graham

  Paula

  Lucy

  Adam

  Paula

  Graham

  Lucy

  Lucy

  Paula

  Adam

  Lucy

  Paula

  Adam

  Paula

  Lucy

  Lucy

  ‘Nice little freebie,’ he promised me. My mum told me nothing in life is free. Especially—in hindsight—from a man who makes a shedload of money from gambling. Gambling on what, I’d not yet ascertained.

  ‘Lucy, how does a guy who owns this magnificent place wind up having a massage in your garage conversion?’ Paula, my bestie asks.

  ‘Because I’m good,’ I say as I survey the room. It’s big, and red, and noisy. Slot machines clatter, warning bells chime, and I feel out of place in this gaudy hangout for the ever-optimistic. My neck fizzes with the tension of being in an alien environment. Music that I can’t quite hear beats in the background, and a light female voice tinkles in and out. My eyes dart around the casino, searching for Adam.

  ‘He’s there!’ I point to the middle of the gaming floor where Adam is surveying his business. He looks like a different person, professional, his buttoned suit jacket rumpled from the hand in his trouser pocket. My heart makes an unwelcome back-flip. There’s a collective cry from a group of young guys huddled round a slot machine. Sirens go off and they jostle to shake hands, clapping on backs and whooping in self celebration.

  My eyes are drawn back to Adam. His mouth opens in a wide smile, perfect white teeth glinting under the false lighting as he senses my gaze boring into him. He waves and heads over. Paula and I do the same, and we meet in the middle ground. I stand on my tiptoes as he hugs me tight, finishing with a peck on my cheek. I ignore the electric shock firing down my neck.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here! I’m delighted.’ He holds both my shoulders and steps back to take in my borrowed evening dress. Embarrassment rushes colour up my face, my skirt is a little long and my hips spread wider than I’d care. I cringe as self conscious sweat trickles down to the small of my back. ‘You look amazing.’

  ‘It’s warm in here,’ I flap my hand in front of my cheeks to break the intensity of his gaze. He frees his grasp.

  ‘And you must be Paula, I presume. I’ve heard so much about you.’ He shakes her hand, tapping her elbow with his free hand. ‘You also look divine I might add.’

  He even talks differently here. When he’s having his massage, he’s not like this. He’s less officious, but I guess when a guy turns up in his gym shorts and trainers regardless of the weather, it’s difficult to appreciate he is a hard-hitting business man until he’s in such a formal environment. His dark hair is unruffled tonight and his midnight shadow, despite the hour, is shaven clean.

  ‘Did you find us easily enough?’ His dusky eyes glint, pools of seduction I’m best to ignore.

  I nod. ‘Yes we got a cab from the station, easier than the tube. We didn’t want to turn up looking like death.’ I laugh to disguise my awkwardness. Even I’m talking differently, pronouncing each syllable of my words and defying my Yorkshire roots. I flick my blonde hair away from where it rests on my neck. Paula nudges me, throwing me a sharp nod of her head. I’m not sure what she means, but she probably wants me to relax.

  ‘How long have you had this place, Adam?’ Paula eases the tension which could otherwise creep into the air between us.

  ‘Oh, long enough…’ he winks. ‘Shall we?’ He takes my elbow and steers me towards the back of the casino. ‘Let’s go to the VIP area, it’s much nicer in there.’

  ‘Ooh OK,’ Paula and I both laugh in unison and then suppress it sharpish, not wanting to appear like school girls in such a prestigious establishment.

  As we pass through generally older, overweight types seated before slot machines, I notice key cards plugged in, in place of cash deposits. Talk about heavy duty. I totter past, unnoticed as they fixate on trying to attribute a pattern to random wheel cycles.

  Adam notices me looking. ‘If you’re going to play these, that’s the best machine.’ He points to one hosting a solitary elderly Chinese lady accompanied only by her walking aid.

  ‘Oh really, why so?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s the one with the best odds.’

  ‘Ah, so each machine looks the same but has different payout rates, then?’ Paula checks.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Any experienced gambler will check the payout tables that we hide as best we can whilst still obeying the letter of the law.’

  ‘Hello Mr. Rutherford.’ A girl of around eighteen, tiny, but with well-displayed, perfectly rounded, boobs almost curtsies as she passes with a silver tray laden with drinks.

  ‘Hello, Abbie.’ She rushes off before Paula and I can nod in her direction. ‘We won’t take those drinks, dreadful stuff. That’s what we provide the high rollers to help them on their way to bad decision making. We’ll grab something better in a second.’

  Paula and I are both mute. To be honest, we like our wine, but if this is the stuff the high rollers are drinking, I’m sure it will be good enough for us. Nevertheless, we continue our journey through the casino, passing gaming tables full of chips. The dress code has improved somewhat from the machine area and the atmosphere is tangibly different, a little like passing from the tap rooms in old pubs, to the lounge area. Somehow more civilised, and the air smells different. Less musty. And the clientele has upgraded to suited individuals or the chino and slack brigade. The lighting is still red though.

  ‘Why does the entire place have a red tinge to it?’ I ask Adam.

  ‘Ah, not your taste then?’

  ‘It’s like being in a brothel,’ Paula says. ‘Not that I’ve ever been in a brothel, you understand…’

  ‘Ha! How can you refer to my exclusive leisure facility in such a manner?’

  I feel the need to acknowledge this was funny, so giggle, but it’s not that amusing. I blame nerves.

  ‘No, seriously,’ Adam continues with a chuckle, ‘I’ll let you into a secret. The red is meant to encourage, harder and faster gambling, just like the music.’

  Paula and I nod, tuning into the melody again. It’s quieter here, so we can hear the techno beat more clearly now.

  ‘Ah, I get it, the beat encourages an increased heart rate or something like that?’ Paula asks.

&
nbsp; ‘Yes, exactly right Paula. Speeds up the play, allows less time for considering your options, more chance of making mistakes.’

  ‘Wow, it’s all hugely technical, I hadn’t appreciated…’ I drift off.

  There’s a big cheer from the far corner. A croupier scoops up chips and slides the pile across the table at the winning party - a man in his fifties, with a twenty-year-old girl on his expensive suit arm. She’s the one doing the cheering. He’s taking his win in his stride, collecting his chips and organising them into piles of different colours.

  ‘He’s one of our regulars,’ explains Adam.

  ‘Who’s the girl?’ Paula asks, her tone taking on that of an interrogation.

  ‘Ah, just someone he’ll be with for the night.’

  ‘Oh…?’ My eyes widen. ‘She looks like she knows him.’

  ‘Knows his bank balance more like,’ Paula scoffs.

  Adam glances at her. ‘I like you Paula, you have an exceptionally honest way about you. It’s refreshing when you spend your days being curtsied to by your staff, or bowing to your clients.’

  Finally, we’re at the VIP area. It’s not like the movies with an unmarked door guarded by gorillas. No, this is a glitzy black and gold desk in front of a mirrored wall. To each side is a gap with a further wall set back, creating a slalom entry.

  ‘Hello Mr. Rutherford.’ The blond on the desk says. She’s a little older than the others we’ve seen but still sporting the signature low cut V-neck waistcoat over little else. Adam nods at her, flashing his white teeth as he curls the edges of his mouth upwards. A waft of something sweet, perhaps jasmine, distracts my thoughts.

  I waver on the marble flooring. My eight-inch heels were not meant for any kind of walking whatsoever. No-one appears to notice, as the receptionist presses the buzzer to open the sliding doors for our entry. I sneak a glance at Paula. Her slim back is upright, and although she looks surprisingly elegant with her mousy hair clipped in a messy but perfectly styled up-do, she’s clutching her bag so tight her knuckles are white. She catches me looking. Together we both stretch our closed mouths wide, jutting down one corner, wondering whether tonight was a mistake.

  Adam

  I can’t remember the last time I was nervous, but I am now. My heart flutters around my chest like a caged bird as I wait for Lucy. I’m hanging around by the entrance, somewhere I only venture when there's a real need. Today is one of those moments. I engineered my invite to sound off-the-cuff, but even so, I genuinely had no real expectation she would accept.

  I didn’t account for her zest for new experiences. Now I’m betwixt whether she is also keen on me, or if her attendance is just something different to add to her list of experiences. I feign calmness as the artificially created energy locked in this room plays havoc with my nerves. Each fibre jangles with every electronic siren. I’m normally deaf to this noise, but this evening, I examine my empire with fresh eyes. How will Lucy see it? Will she be impressed, or will she consider me overt? Panic lurches up my throat.

  She’s never been around this side of me. She’s only ever seen the real me. It’s an unusual relationship, I normally only show my facade and keep what's underneath hidden. Lucy broke down those barriers immediately, she’s not interested in the superficial, so I am at ease being myself with her.

  ‘Oh jeez’ I think, ‘I’ve made a massive error of judgement, how could I even contemplate this would even be her scene. Flash Bloody Harry.’

  Too late for backtracking, I remove my hand from my navy suit leg and wave. She’s here. I smile and concentrate on keeping my breathing level. I’ll get her into the VIP lounge as quickly as possible. At least then we may sit and as long as my conversation is scintillating enough, she might forget the lavish surroundings.

  I’ve reserved my favourite table in front of the crystal waterfall. This room is only for guests we invite into our top tier, the real heavy spenders. We keep self-service fridges stocked with champagne and all manner of other drinks, whilst our elite gamblers play the machines and tables in this exclusive room. There’s also a free bar where we serve mainly cocktails. However, no sooner are we seated, and Jilly brings over my pre-order. A bottle of rosé champagne, I assumed the girls would find it frivolous. Now, I fear it appears false. I should have waited and asked what they’d choose.

  ‘Oh, rosé champagne,’ Lucy and Paula chime in unison. Their eyes open like globes and I almost hear them salivating.

  ‘Phew, I worried I’d overplayed my card,’ I admit with a nervous chuckle. They laugh, their tones light and their faces bright.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Lucy grins and shoves me a little.

  ‘It's impossible to overplay the champagne card,’ Paula adds.

  ‘And how did you know we love rosé?’

  I shrug, not wanting to reveal that most women prefer rosé.

  As the liquid pops in the flutes, Paula leans forward, ‘So you run this casino, Adam?’

  ‘No, he owns it.’ Lucy interjects tapping her friend's arm and nodding.

  ‘You own this,’ Paula sweeps her arm round the room, ‘this entire place?’

  ‘Yes, this entire place.’ I nod, unsure of whether to be proud or ashamed.

  ‘All on your own?’

  ‘He has a business partner, don’t you Adam.’ I've told Lucy about Hana so she’s not asking. She’s helping the conversation along, letting me know it’s OK, that she doesn't find my overt display of financial success off-putting. I keep my heart in check as it swells further.

  ‘Yes, Hana, is in partnership with me. We’ve been friends since Uni. We were a party of three knocking around together, but Hana and I started this and Graham my foster brother came in as our Chief Financial Officer.’

  ‘Wow!’ Paula says.

  I nod. ‘I grew up poor, well actually all three of us did. Hana left Hungary as a teenager she was bright and performed outstandingly at Uni. When we left, I made some good calls on the stock market and before I knew it, I’d built a small fortune without trying. It got me to thinking about gambling generally, so I invested my assets heavily whilst I continued to play the markets - and here we are today.’

  ‘Sounds simple,’ Lucy raises her glass to her full lips. ‘Where does Graham fit in?’

  ‘Ah, he’s analytical by nature, and majored in Business Admin with a focus on Economics. It was a no brainer. He embarks on a great job early on in his career and I employ someone I trust.’

  ‘I like that you look after your brother.’ Lucy says.

  ‘Yeah, he may not be blood, but we were brought up together from the age of seven, so to me he is. My biggest fear today is losing my life’s work, but with my brother at the helm of my finances, I have a head start on fending off the circling vultures.’

  Paula nods, ‘What would you do to hold onto it?’

  ‘Haha, now there’s a question, I'm actually considering selling up’ I reply, then change the subject. ‘So, Lucy, how do you like this place?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a fabulous achievement, you must be proud,’ she takes a sip of her champagne.

  I smile, nod my head, and then plunge in. ‘Would you consider working here, Lucy? I realise we’ve joked about it in the past, but I do want to bring a therapist in. Keeping my staff fit and healthy is a priority as a relaxed workforce keeps my punters happy. When they’re happy, they return, and when they return, they spend.’

  Her forehead crinkles as she levers her eyebrows. ‘Are you kidding?’

  I have no clue what she means, so bump up my offer to be safe. ‘Of course, there'll be perks, health insurance for instance?’ She doesn’t appear impressed enough; the light remains off behind her eyes. ‘If we have corporate days, I will swing it so you come along. I do know you love new experiences,’ I try. Plus, I’d get to see more of her in a personal capacity. I keep that perk to myself.

  ‘Hmm…’ She looks at Paula, who shrugs.

  ‘You enjoy the freedom of being self-employed and in charge of your di
ary,’ Paula reminds her.

  ‘Look I won't beg, but I’ve enjoyed massages all over the world and you are, by far, the best. I want for my team to have access to the same level of service. You could work three days here and I’d pay you double what you earn in a full week on your own. Plus, you’d get first refusal to any entertaining and away days? We have a Hunger Games fundraiser coming up in a few days which I’m sure you’d love?’

  Paula says, ‘Ooh, Hunger Games?’ But Lucy talks over her.

  ‘Would I be able to manage a flexible diary so I may still see clients from home? My regulars rely on me for their mobility, I won’t dump them.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ I reply.

  She glances at Paula again, the crinkles on her head subsiding. ‘I’ll consider it.’ She squeezes my arm.

  The light at the back of her eyes flickers, but this deal still needs closing. I’m not about to quit now. Come with me, I'll show you something.

  ‘Oh my, this is amazing. Is this your design?’

  ‘Yes - well me and Nuala, of course. I couldn’t do anything without her female input.’

  Standing behind the pair, pride puffs my chest. Nuala my PA has set up the relaxing spa music, so it’s playing through the BOSE surround sound. Each melody plays over the tonality of fresh water. She says it’s the kind of room she’d want Toby, her sick kid, to have to relax in at the hospital visits. ‘If only,’ she says whenever we work on this room.