Naked Lies

by Karen Botha

  I nod. Not really. Actually, hating every second, but who am I to say? ‘Sure is!’ I fidget with my hands, unsure where I should take the direction of the conversation.

  ‘Lucy is a new recruit, she’ll be massaging our teams throughout the day. She'll join us to work in our offices gradually over the next few weeks.’ Adam says. At least that explains her lacklustre appearance.

  ‘Who’s paying for it?’ I ask. It has to come out of a budget pot somewhere along the lines.

  ‘Let me deal with remuneration,’ Oh, isn’t he quite the cad. Cocky sod.

  ‘So, how about a rub down Lucy?’ I step a little nearer so she can hear me as a plane flies overhead.

  She steps back, biting her bottom lip. She’s fabulously sexy even though she's clad in casual clothing.

  ‘Graham!’ Hana shouts from near the hospitality tent, ‘come over here.’ She waves her arm at me, pulling her jersey up and displaying the smallest sliver of bare flesh around her midriff.

  ‘Well, you were a delight Lucy, I'm sure I'll be seeing a lot more of you.’ I smile my corporate smile and then nod towards the other woman, ‘Paula.’ I spin on my heel and wince as mud splatters the back of my trousers. Another dry cleaning bill!

  We walk towards each other, but before I’ve had a chance to speak with Hana properly, someone else accosts her.

  ‘Oh, we’ll catch up later. You’re around all day, aren’t you?’ She backs away, headed towards a chap carrying chair covers. Why we must shell out for these when we’re habiting within tents is not an arrangement I personally understand, but Hana says it’s important. Who am I to argue? I’m just the guy responsible for the figures. And who does Adam think he is delving into the accounts, anyway? Doesn’t he trust me? He put me in charge. How can I be in charge if he breathes down my neck the whole time? I should be able to run the finances any way I see fit. It’s not as if the casino is in trouble; we’re doing well.

  What would prompt him to start analysing our spending anyway? Bet he's digging for enhanced earnings out of the business, seeing if he can eek more profit for himself whilst paying me a pittance.

  ‘Graham, hello.’ It’s Jonathan, a business contact I know well. He takes care of our security systems. ‘Hi.’ We shake hands, make all the expected professional greetings, and then we stand. Niceties dealt with, I survey the field like it’s the most interesting view in the world.

  ‘At least it’s stayed dry,’ Jonathan says.

  ‘Oh, there is a storm brewing, Jonathan. You’d better get your macintosh out.’

  He laughs. ‘The waterproof or the computer version?’

  ‘Well, I’d be willing to bet - neither will protect us from this cloudburst. We need to ride it out. I think your computer variety may need dusting off.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ He asks.

  ‘Make sure your tracks are covered with your inflated invoices, that’s all. We’re being looked at.’ I hiss my words through gritted teeth.

  ‘In how much detail?’ His voice is hushed.

  ‘I’m trying to ward it off, but always best to be prepared. Double check everything will stand up to scrutiny - in case.’

  ‘Hello there, stranger! Long time no see.’ A disconnected voice says from behind me.

  ‘Oh, William, hi. Meet Jonathan.’ I introduce the two men. ‘We were just chatting about the weather. Hope we don’t get a tornado.’

  Lucy

  The polyurethane handle of my massage table creaks, complaining from the weight as I haul it out of the back of Adam’s ridiculously nice car. I’m shoving my fringe out of my face, preparing to hump the folded bed out of the boot when he catches me struggling.

  ‘Here, let me help. That looks heavy.’ His arm brushes mine as he reaches over and his heat warms me in this cold November air.

  ‘Yes, it is, it’s not meant to be mobile. A bit like me,’ I giggle. It’s too high pitched and girly for my liking.

  I assume he’s anxious about any potential damage I may cause his new bumper. He has a point.

  This Hunger Games tournament sounded like a great idea when he suggested it as it gives me an opportunity to become familiar with his team before I start fully at the casino. Plus, Paula and I have a fun day out and I receive payment thrown in.

  That is, until I had to lug my not-so-portable gear out and about. You can buy massage couches specifically for this type of job, they’re aluminium and lightweight. Working statically out of my garage conversion did not require the purchase of one of these. As they’re flimsy, swaying from the pressure of the lightest deep tissue work, I opted for a more solid, and heavy, option.

  Once we’ve set up, Paula and I have a chunk of dead time until the clients arrive. Even then, there won’t be much massaging to be done until they’re either injured or shattered from the competitions. I’ve already explained the paperwork which Paula will organise when people book in. The idea is that I’ll offer 15-minute sessions which Paula will take care of allocating on a first come first served basis. I don’t charge - Adam is paying me - but we have a charity box for guests to donate spare change. I also set up a text code for digital donations - I don’t expect people will bring much cash along, it’s the same when I work at the triathlons.

  ‘So, I’m all ready and waiting,’ Paula taps her pile of blank health questionnaires. 'I just need to check they’re completed and signed when we kick off. My booking-in sheet is here.’ She pats her clipboard.

  ‘No-one is to be allocated more than one slot,’ I say.

  ‘Got it.’ She salutes.

  ‘Shall we wander round, find out what's happening?’

  ‘If you can wait a sec, I’d like to have a quick glance over this job he wants me to do.’ She pulls out the brown envelope and disperses the contents over my massage table.

  ‘You're aware this isn’t a desk aren’t you!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah! Keep your pants on,’ she laughs. ‘They won’t be there two seconds, I only want a quick flavour for what the job is. I can speak to Adam about it later on then if there's anything I don't understand.’

  ‘He’s asking for you to audit his brother and find out whether he’s creaming money on the side from the company,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, but why? What does he have in here…? She fiddles with the lip of the pouch, 'Look, these are just invoices…’ She says sifting through the bundle of papers.

  She’s right. He has a series of invoices old and new from three companies. The amount they’re charging for their services has risen rapidly over the last few years.

  People are beginning to arrive at the tournament. She collects the paperwork and shoves it back into the envelope, sealing it. ‘That should stop any prying eyes, you can never be too careful.’ She pops the secured package on top of my holdall. ‘Come on, we’ll take that walk around now.’

  The vehicles arriving here are not the sort that visit my house on a regular basis, which surprises me as my clients are generally wealthy. They’re practically on the street compared to this lot.

  ‘Did you know Adam was a foster kid?’ Paula asks without warning as we browse around the field.

  ‘Where did that come from, why do you ask?’

  ‘I don’t know, it just seems important. And especially as he’s so driven, could explain a lot.’

  ‘I suppose so, but why does his success need explaining?’ I ask.

  She’s quiet for a second before responding. ‘I don’t suppose it does really.’

  ‘Old habits, eh?’ I tease.

  She smiles. ‘Guess so. Always analysing what’s going on under the surface of people.’

  ‘You just can’t help yourself!’

  She bites the inside of her mouth. ‘How did you find Graham, though?’

  ‘Honest? First impressions?’

  ‘Yes.’

  'He came across as shady. Seemed uncomfortable with making eye contact. Did you get the same sense of him?’

  ‘Exactly the same, bit of a creep - as well as that
odd air he carried with him.’

  ‘Hmm, he did have an air of an inflated self esteem. Totally different to Adam.’

  ‘That’s why them being fostered is important, Lucy.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’m not sure of the significance of this, even if she is right. But I’m used to Paula analysing everyone who crosses her path. The manila file will only exacerbate her natural tendency. Instead of questioning her, I answer. ‘I did know, but I’d forgotten, it was never something Adam dwelt on so it just didn’t seem relevant.’

  ‘He seems like a slimeball hiding behind an expensive suit.’

  ‘I hope you mean Graham, not Adam.’ I laugh.

  ‘Sure!’

  ‘You know we have to give Graham the benefit of the doubt. He’s Adam’s brother, he can’t be that bad. They may not be blood but they were brought up together. That has to count for something.’

  We leave it, neither of us convinced and instead focus on a rowdy bunch of individuals dressed in matching camo gear.

  ‘So, how does this event make money?’ Paula asks, ‘Did Adam mention?’

  ‘The teams pay to enter, and then they’re charging for bonus points, a bit like the help they get from the parcels in the movie.’

  ‘Ah, OK. They could have fun with this.’

  ‘Yeah, the dinner sounds great too. It's also based on the movie - a lavish feast like in ‘the Capital,’ and there’s an auction, raffle prizes, and all of that business. Cheap alcohol is included in the ticket price, although I suspect the plonk here will be better than the Tesco finest we guzzle.’

  Paula’s grin is wide. ‘Hmm, I suspect you may be correct.’ We have a little titter, before I continue. ‘He's bringing more expensive drinks from the casino, which he'll sell for the charity.’

  ‘I can’t wait for that. Lucy, you do meet the most exciting people,’ Paula grins.

  My mind flicks momentarily back to the past, a dark place best avoided. I fast forward to the here and now before I persist with memories which should remain in lock down.

  Once the games start, we head back to our tent and wait for our clients. My nerves are whirring, I’m out of my comfort zone. Not because I can’t do this, but because fifteen minutes isn’t long enough for a quality massage. I'm concerned I’ll overrun the allotted time. My stop watch is at the ready to help keep me to schedule, and Paula of course, who won’t be backwards in shouting at me.

  I needn’t have been concerned; contestants are content with a hasty rub down. They’re not athletes at a triathlon, but business people out for a good day in the name of company expenses and charity.

  When our last happy client leaves, depositing ten pounds in the box and promising to text a further ninety, we’re elated.

  ‘What a fabulous afternoon. I want to do more events with you. I loved it.’ Paula’s voice is loud to compensate for the commotion outside, and also from sheer delight.

  ‘You were brilliant. I wish you worked with me every day,’ I say. We stop, an idea dawning. ‘But hey, your P.I. business is taking off now. We should have come up with that idea sooner.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get a glass of champagne, they're circling with trays out there.’ Paula points and leads the way.

  ‘Hang on,' I shout. 'I need to take this lot apart. I can’t leave my table here.'

  She ‘harrumphs’ and returns, picking up one side to help me collapse it.

  ‘I still can’t believe Adam left you the keys to his pride and joy.’

  We carry the table over to his vehicle, one at either end of it, and manage between us to lift it high enough to fit in the boot. I sling my bag in behind it. ‘Right, now it’s time for champagne.’

  Paula claps her hands together like a child. ‘Let the evening commence.’

  We have time to swill down a few free glasses of bubbly before Adam catches up with us.

  ‘How are you ladies getting along? How did the massages go?’ We fill him in on our full schedule. ‘Excellent.’ A dazzling woman appears. 'Let me introduce you properly to Hana.’

  He places a hand in the small of my back. I ignore the prickling down my spine and a warmth where I'd really rather not acknowledge.

  Hana is stunning. I have no idea how some people can pull casual off with such elegance. She’s only wearing black jeans and a black jogging top, but she makes it stylish. Put me in the same attire and I’d look like a dumpy Yorkshire pudding; but the she is tall and lithe, with long legs. To be fair, she has coated substantially more makeup on her face than I’d choose, but it suits her.

  Adam moves off, socialising with his contacts, and I feel oddly alone. I miss him, I want him standing here in place of the gorgeous Hana. This is ridiculous. I’ve pushed love out of my heart, discarded it like a pair of shoes locked in a cupboard, outgrown and no longer needed. But now, and with no warning, I’m walking barefoot through a hurricane in my soul. Tumultuous winds ignite embers that are safest left alone. I follow Adam with my eyes, a chill runs down my side where his missed presence has left a gaping hole.

  ‘So, tell me Lucy, how did you get into massage?’ At least Hana is keeping the conversation alive whilst I drift off.

  Luckily, it’s easy to answer without much thought. I run through the story of giving up work because life is too short, yah, yah, yah but her face is scrunched in bewilderment, where most people are in awe.

  ‘So, you stopped working because you weren’t interested in making a lot of money?’ she asks.

  ‘Well, not so much that I wasn’t interested in it, but I didn’t find that the rewards offset the cost of being high up in the corporate world. Yes, I was earning a lot, but without the time to spend it, it was all rather pointless.’

  ‘Hmmm…’ She says.

  Paula and I share a glance.

  ‘You disagree?’ Paula asks.

  ‘Well, I love what I do, so I’m probably not one to judge, but it would not be my decision. I derive pleasure from my money, the amount I earn is proof of my success. It does not need to be spent, simply amassed,’ she drawls. Her roots are indistinguishable but her accent apparent.

  ‘I can understand how that would be if you had to fight for everything you own,’ I say.

  I’ve said something wrong. The atmosphere that had been on the turn has most definitely gone sour. We chit chat about the day for a little longer before she moves off to mingle.

  ‘Whoa, she was touchy!’ I say as soon as there’s a safe distance between us.

  ‘I do get where she’s coming from.’ Paula says. ‘I loved my job, and it didn’t seem like work. But for you, it was different. I guess if you’re passionate about your work it’s more of a hobby and it's difficult to understand people who don't feel the same.’

  ‘There’s having a passion and being obsessed,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, but consider it for a second. How do you build millions, probably billions, in the bank if you’re not obsessed? Adam must have a diligent side to his personality.’

  ‘Maybe, he does have the most irritating habit of scrolling through his diary when we’re chatting after our session and that’s when he’s chilled out!’

  ‘I told you!’ Paula says as if to prove a point. ‘If you got with him, you’d have to be understanding.’

  ‘What do you mean if I got with him?’

  ‘Oh, come on, you’re not still hanging on to that, we’re just friends tale, are you?’

  ‘No, he’s my boss now as well.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, you know as well as I do that he’s paying you so he can spend more time with you. He adores you, and from what I’ve witnessed, you adore him too.’

  ‘Oh, shut up Paula,’ I spit, colouring.

  ‘You're not a kid anymore. You need to snatch the opportunities when they present themselves. Bet your heart races every time he brushes past you.’ She nudges me, winking.

  I rest my gaze on him, he is gorgeous. It’s his eyes. They sparkle. He has an energy that I’ll admit, as I’ve had the odd glass of champag
ne, excites me. I can appreciate my life would be fun with him. ‘Do you think he’s really work obsessed?’ I ask.

  ‘For sure, but he’s ripe for a change. He doesn’t have anything other than work to fill the space in his life right now. But even then, he’s considering making smaller, less time-consuming investments. He’s yours for the taking, Lucy.’

  I'm not sure how I feel about this, thunder and lightning detonates in my chest. ‘I don’t know if I’m ready.’

  Adam

  I’m frustrated during our banquet dinner. I want to be with Lucy, it’s torture not being near her when we’re breathing the same air. But I can’t. It's necessary to sit sandwiched between these whales and chat about the economy, their wins and their enormous yachts that cost £8m a year to run. Jaz is speaking across me to Boqin about the virtues of letting them out for £300,000 a week.

  ‘It’s a no brainer, man. That’s excluding special drinks, food and docking fees. It pays for the beast to float. Let’s face it, they're not cheap to operate. Those dealers are sharks. They were adamant it would only take ten percent of the purchase price to manage the thing every year. They’re full of it before you’ve signed on the line. Now, it’s heading more towards the region of twenty percent - it’s only been a few years. They’re scoundrels.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone else sleeping in my bed, I’ll give it a miss.’ Boqin replies.

  It’s so boring, I listen to a version of this conversation every day. The one upmanship of the super-rich can be amusing if you’re in the right mood. Tonight however, I’m not. I want to be with Lucy, but instead I’m listening to Boqin who thinks Jaz must rent his yacht out because he can’t afford to run it any other way. Jaz assumes Boqin isn’t business savvy because he turns down an opportunity to rent it out for a few weeks a year and pay for the maintenance costs.

  ‘It’s not a matter of needing it, it’s down to business acumen. If I’m not using it, why would I let a financial asset sit dormant?’