"Ah, well, ambition is a quality both valued and scorned. It all depends how you go about these things." Abby winked.
"You're so right." She paused. "But watch out for her, and don't let misplaced trust be your downfall."
Caroline's words followed her as she returned to her office. Misplaced trust?
They were indeed a driven, ambitious lot and that showed itself in many colors, good and bad. She'd always tried to maintain a life outside of it, to keep her feet on the ground. To keep her balanced.
A life outside of this.
She slid open her drawer and lifted the card the wolf-smile man had given her. She'd wanted him as soon as she'd seen him. She wondered what his name was. Aside from hanging out by reception hoping he'd call by again, there was only one thing to do: hunt him down. And he'd left her bait. She was going to take it. But first, some research.
She picked up the phone and tapped in the number for her friend, Marcy, who also happened to be up on what went on in London at any given moment.
The answer machine clicked on after two rings. Marcy's indolent tone rang out. "I'm either out enjoying myself, asleep or in the bathroom, please leave your message now."
Abby started leaving a message and was interrupted by a lazy hello and a long yawn. "Sorry, honey, didn't make it out of bed in time. Heavy night. How you doing?"
"Doing good, but I'm straining at the leash, how about you?"
"That's what I like to hear, can't have you getting all stuffy in that high-tech business world of yours."
"Not going to happen, and you know it. Listen, I was wondering if you'd heard anything about a new alternative arts venue on the north side. It's called The Hub."
Abby could make out the sound of coffee being poured at the other end of the line.
"Doesn't ring any bells with me."
"And there was me thinking with your connections..."
"Ha. Would you be referring to my connections as a photographer and media pundit, or my other connections?"
Abby spun her chair to look out the window. "Don't be coy, Marcy. It doesn't suit you."
"You're right there. So you're getting used to the idea that I walk on the dark side?"
"What a sense of humor. It took a little time, but yes. It's not every day your best friend of fifteen years announces she's bisexual."
"At least you didn't assume I was going to pounce in your undies." Marcy's tone was rueful. Some of her friends hadn't been so understanding.
"I'm heartbroken that you didn't try, Marcy."
"Don't tease. If I thought you were interested in women that way I could show you plenty of ways to loosen up after all that brokerage." She stressed the word. Marcy hated anything to do with figures, claimed it gave her a headache.
"I bet you could." Abby chuckled. Somehow teasing each other about it had made it okay. Odd, but true.
A yawn echoed down the phone. "What did you say this place is called?"
"The Hub, Camden Town."
"Actually...I think it might be the venue where The Candy Shock Tarts are performing."
"Candy Shock Tarts?" Abby's eyebrows lifted.
"They're a small theatre troupe from Denmark, they specialize in spoofing musicals. Apparently they named themselves after some candy that explodes in your mouth and melts on your tongue." Marcy moaned with mock pleasure.
"Okay, okay," Abby chuckled, "I get the picture."
"Why the sudden interest?" Marcy was waking up.
"I saw something that caught my eye." Or someone. Abby turned the business card in her fingers, watching the hologram wink at her.
"Shall I try to get tickets for the show? I think they're doing Cabaret this go round, it's on Saturday."
"If you can, I'll love you forever."
"Leave it to me."
When she put the phone down, Abby stood up and strolled down the corridor to Suzanne's desk. "Are you free on Saturday? I might be going over to that venue, you know, the one the courier recommended?"
Suzanne looked at her, impressed. "Go, Abby!"
"If we get tickets, can you come?"
"I'd love to, but I'm babysitting." She shot out a hand to grab Abby's. "I want to hear all about it though." She winked.
Abby rolled her eyes. "He might not even be there, but if he is I'll tell all."
* * * *
It was hard work with long hours, but by Friday Abby had a confident overview of the aspects of the Ashburn portfolio that were previously handled by Ed. She wanted to develop the property investments he'd been handling, and perhaps action something unique to mark her period in charge. If she wanted to make a significant difference to the account—and that was her personal and professional goal—time was limited, because the contract renewal date was looming on the calendar.
She also had to push up the short-term stock turnover, enlarging her previous responsibility. She and Penny had done useful research on upcoming opportunities in the franchise market. Abby was determined to keep that side ticking over, alongside developing Ed's work.
She'd been with the Robertson Corporation for three years. Her experience had been varied and responsible enough for her to consider going freelance. She'd made private investments that had been successful and she had the initiative to put her profits to good use. If the Ashburn portfolio did well, she would take it as the sign to go it alone.
The low pulse tone of the phone interrupted her thought trail. It was Ed, calling from Heathrow.
"I'm catching the eleven o' clock flight to Geneva to meet with Pascal. It's primarily to negotiate working parameters. I'll be back Sunday morning, early." He paused. "If you meet me at Heathrow...I'll buy you breakfast."
"OK, Ed. Bien sur, au revoir."
He was still trying. He'd been trying for nearly a year now. Something about him made her fidget. He was more than efficient in the sex department but when he got all cozy on her she felt the urge to run naked through the streets—in the opposite direction. Actually, she mused, she felt the urge to run through the streets naked more each day. Perhaps it was the heat. Restless, she tapped her fingers against the desk.
She stopped tapping her fingers when she noticed a mail from Marcy that made her light up.
Success! It was no easy task, but I got us front row tix for the Shock Tart show!
* * * *
"Delivering all the outrageous fun of a bawdy sex comedy, The Candy Shock Tarts manage to capture the pathos and ingenuity of the original, whilst bringing new life to this performance of Cabaret. An outstanding interpretation of one of the classic musicals of our time." Marcy read the quote aloud from the poster outside the venue, while they moved slowly past it in the queue. She had her camera slung over one shoulder, and looked relaxed yet sophisticated in a black mandarin suit, her dark hair sleeked in a topknot.
Abby nodded and looked at the glass entrance vestibule with interest. A doorman was taking tickets. She craned her neck, trying to get a closer look, but, alas, it wasn't Wolf-smile. The man took their tickets and directed them to the corridors end, where a hum of voices emerged from double doors.
Is he in there?
As they walked, she noticed a gallery to their immediate right, several sculptures showing in stark relief. What looked like a good-sized function room was on their left. Her eye for interesting property was curious, and quietly impressed. The place had the feel of an old cinema—a conversion, perhaps.
The auditorium was packed, the atmosphere humming. A bar at the back of the space was five-deep, tables closer to the stage full.
"We better hurry," Marcy urged. "The show's about to start. Our table is reserved."
Abby followed the direction she pointed out, to where one table was vacant.
"How did you get such a good table?"
Marcy lifted the camera on her shoulder. "Press pass. It's an event. I immortalize events." She gave a naughty grin and hurried Abby along.
Muddling through the crowd, Abby scanned for the courier. While they settled a
t their table, she barely had time to glance over the crowd before the lights went down. Tension and expectation were high in the atmosphere, not least in her, but she hadn't honed in on that one particular onlooker she'd hoped to find.
A single spotlight on the stage lit a figure dressed in a black suit and bowler hat, poised in front of a large vaudeville sign painted in lurid neon colors announcing: Cabaret.
The Mistress of Ceremonies bowed. Beneath her suit jacket she wore only a bow tie, her breasts visible as she moved to one corner of the stage, followed by the spotlight.
"Willkommen! It is so nice to be able to see such a fine-looking audience," she extended her hand around the venue and the spotlight following her lead, picking up smiles and the laughter of surprise on its passage across the audience. "We are The Candy Shock Tarts and we hope you enjoy the show. Tonight the girls are beautiful, oh but the girls are beautiful." She growled seductively, drawing more appreciative laugher. "On with the show. Allow me to introduce The Fraulein."
In true cabaret style, The Fraulein was dressed in stockings and suspenders, a bowler hat and bow tie, satin shorts and a corset that molded itself beneath her breasts. She was a vivacious brunette, her make-up emphasizing her big brown eyes and delectable pouting mouth.
She sang her lament which told the audience of her many lovers in the past, summing each up with a witty phrase and a physical gesture that was part dance and part display. She cavorted her way back and forth across the stage to the soundtrack, periodically posing against a bentwood chair to focus the audience on her body in an exotic pose. The theatre troupe had taken the play and stripped it down to the bare essentials, physically and literally, and the audience was on the edge of their seats to take in every delicious detail. The music paused occasionally and the Mistress of Ceremonies would interject the performance with a trumpet blast or a comment.
Marcy loved it, taking candid shots every now and then. She turned to Abby, winking. Abby covered her hand with hers, squeezing her fingers in response. She looked around at the spectators, now as interested in their reactions to the show as to finding that one familiar face. Almost. The onlookers were titillated by the decadent show, it was fun, camp and outrageous and the audience loved it. Still no sign of wolf-smile, but her skin burned up with the notion that he was there. Maybe he'd spotted her. The idea made her heart tick that much faster.
On stage, two female suitors courted the Fraulein. The innocent suitor was a demure redhead, dressed in a sheer white net smock and ballet slippers, her virginal body on display through the light gauze. A strong blonde punk who wore a rubber Nazi uniform played the Playboy suitor, so skin tight that each line of her athletic body was shown off to absolute perfection. She wore a Commandant's hat and toted a riding crop that, by scene two, had already undertaken service on the redhead's perfectly formed and naked buttocks.
The adaptation was a marvelous spoof, giving the women every opportunity to show off their bodies and demonstrate how confident they were about doing so. Abby was already totally engaged with the eroticism of the performance, when in the final scene the punk woman stepped on to the stage wearing nothing but a pair of rubber khaki-colored shorts, storm trooper boots, and a massive strap-on penis. A rush of sheer horniness hit Abby.
A handful of people in the audience clapped while others murmured admiringly to one another. The punk threw a decadent smile out to them, one hand gliding up and down the scandalously large cock she wore. Her nipples were rouged and coned into peaks. The audience responded with more delighted laughter. The punk began to sing about her jealousy of the other suitor. The spotlight followed her as she clicked her boots over to the left-hand side of the stage, where the circle of the spotlight slowly enlarged to reveal the other two women down on the floor of the stage. The Fraulein was hunched over, her breasts hanging free as she knelt between the virgin's thighs, stroking her body through the white gauze. The redhead lay on the floor with her face turned to the audience, her eyes wide, her mouth mimicking a comically shocked open-mouthed gasp.
Another ripple of delighted laughter ran over the audience, the erotic tension heavy in the atmosphere. Abby couldn't hide a kernel of desire to be up there with them, cavorting about and declaring herself as liberated and sexy as they were.
A hush fell over the audience while the crop fell, six times, across the plump satin-covered behind of the Fraulein—who gasped and moaned and wriggled in delight. The punk then threw the crop to one side and knelt down behind the Fraulein. She grabbed her hips and led, as the three women began to simulate a chain-reaction interaction. The punk began to sing: "come to the cabaret, old chum," while she thrust her cock at the Fraulein from behind. The Fraulein bent over the virgin's hips and made loud lapping sounds. The audience adored their outrageous love triangle and showed their appreciation by demanding three encores of the final bows.
Marcy was on her feet as soon as the lights went up. "Come on honey, backstage passes."
Abby shook her head in amazement when Marcy waved the laminated badge at her, her camera ready in the other hand.
She felt flushed and lightheaded—self-aware as the lights went up—following Marcy as she squeezed through a door stage right. They emerged into a hospitality room between the stage and the dressing-room area. A bar ran the length of the room, with trays of champagne, Evian and orange juice. People gathered in tight clusters, chatting and flirting—carrying with them the heady atmosphere of the show. She hadn't seen any sign of Wolf-smile. Was he even here? Her instinct said yes.
Marcy wandered when she saw someone she knew in the crowd. Abby picked up a glass of champagne and looked around expectantly. The champagne was good and she let it fizz on her tongue while her gaze flickered over the crowd around her. She felt the urge to blend in, put the empty glass on the bar and began to edge round, her eyes sucking in all there was to see. A journalist who was doing a piece on the show for a variety magazine asked for a moment of her time as she passed by. Abby gladly stopped and chatted. She was thrilled when he asked her reactions to the show and scribbled her appraisal down enthusiastically. He took her card and promised to send her a copy of the magazine. When he left, she couldn't see Marcy anywhere. Or the sexy courier.
"Come out and play, wherever you are," she murmured to herself as she moved through the crowd.
* * * *
Zac stood with his arms folded across his jacket while he watched Abby on the closed circuit televisions that lined up in the security room. She was there. Was it coincidence? When she wandered toward the backstage area and out of his view, a hankering need to follow took hold of him.
By the time he caught up with her, she'd disappeared into the corridor that led directly onto the stage. She was alone in the space, standing by a table of abandoned props. She looked fabulous, clothed in tight leather pants and a snakeskin top that left her midriff bare.
He paused, observing her appreciatively. As he did, she picked up an object from the table. His eyebrows rose. It was the strap-on cock from the play. He'd been about to announce his presence, but instead stepped back and rested one shoulder against the wall, curious to see what would happen next.
She turned it in her hands, looking at it from all angles. She ran her finger over its head, tracing the ridges, the line of its crown.
He was quickly getting hard. When she put her hand around its girth as if to measure it, he couldn't stifle a quiet laugh. "That's quite a sight."
She turned as if startled—caught red-handed—but her expression melted into pleasure when she saw who it was.
He straightened up. "I apologize, I made you jump."
"No. I was hoping I'd run into you." She smiled at him. It was rich with suggestion and humor.
He walked over to where she stood, the tip of the molded cock in her hand now idling against her chest.
"I take it from your examination of the objects d'art from the play that you enjoyed them and were taking a closer look?"
She purred, audibly. "Absol
utely, it was a great prop." She paused, a teasing smile hovering around her lovely mouth. "When I saw it lying there, I had to check it out first hand." She eyed him up in a way that made his blood roar.
She was unmistakably aroused, her pupils dilated, her scent rich in the air. "Did its use in the show turn you on?"
"It would be impossible not to be turned on, wouldn't it? Weren't you?"
She had no trouble turning the question back on him and he admired her mettle, chuckling in genuine amusement. "Oh yes, but...believe me, I had the best view in the house. From where I was watching I could appreciate the audience...as well as those on the stage." He inclined his head at her, eyeing her body, underlining the private message in his words. "And that was quite a pleasure in itself."
Color rose on her cheeks, but she didn't turn away. Her lips parted, but she did not reply. There was a palpable tension in her, similar to that emanating from him.
"Have you enjoyed your evening?"
"Yes, the show hit so many notes." She spoke slowly. "It made me think, and it made me hot. There was a directness about it, an unashamed attention to pleasure that was refreshing."
"That's what the venue is all about. It's important for people to find places where they can enjoy a different kind of experience, something challenging."
She nodded and her breath came quicker, her eyes flickering into his.
"The human character is a diverse thing," he continued, "people need many different stimuli to thrive."
"Such as exploring fantasies, like the play?"
Oh yes, she was definitely interested.
"Such as exploring alternative realities." He touched her lips with his fingers and she turned into his touch, kissing his fingertip, her tongue darting out to taste it.
Hot. "That sort of behavior does bad things to a man."
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