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“I guess I’ll hear more before then.”
“Before you rock up to fuck some random in a hotel room somewhere? You’d fucking hope so, Lissa.”
I nod.
He’s right.
The confirmation goes through, and I wait.
It’s all I can do.AlexanderShe’s available.
I scan Claude’s suggestion. Harley’s Tavern. 8pm.
But no. Not this time. I’ve used Harley’s so many times over the past couple of years, but this is different. I don’t want to take her first time in a place I’ve been so many others’ every time.
No, I reply. Book Delaney’s spa.
Reckless. Close to home. But I’m feeling it, dancing on the edge.
I’m not sure I care about falling off.
A ping straight back.
That’ll be extra.
Cunt. Like I haven’t paid enough already.
Fine. Let me know it’s confirmed.
Another message. This purchase also comes with compulsory five percent cash tip on the night. It’s in the small print.
Sure it is.
My fingers jab the handset as I type out my response.
Just fucking book it.
I toss my handset to the side.MelissaAnother email. I feel heady as I stare at the screen, weirded out by how surreal this is.
I’m expecting Harley’s Tavern, of course. I’ve already looked it up again on Dean’s phone.
I’ve scoped out the route on the underground, know just how to get there.
But no.
Delaney’s Spa Resort. Kensington Gardens.
I’m shaking so bad.
“It’s not Harley’s,” I tell Dean, and his eyes widen.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know. But it’s Kensington…”
He looks as stressed as I do. “That’s gotta be good, right? Close to his house…”
I shrug. “I really don’t know.”
I scroll further down.
You’re booked into room 216. Your client will be waiting in suite 12 at 8 sharp.
Dress to impress.
Ok. I breathe. Room 216. I guess I check in as Amy Randall. Cool. I’ve got that.
A couple more lines of text reinforcing the earlier rules about money, not talking about it, not counting it.
And then finally, one final little line.
Your client is Ted.
I remember Cindy’s voice, so clearly. He has a private email address, some random account under the name Ted Brown. It was open on his screen one day…
A breath. A gasp.
Surely… surely it has to be…
A moment of staring at Dean in crazy, mute shock.
And then I dance around my living room.I barely sleep a wink, but I feel ok for it, running on adrenaline and more than a bit of excitement.
Dean holds up a picture on his phone as I feed Joe his breakfast cereals.
I stare at the metallic crystal and take a breath.
“Native bismuth is known to be found in Australia, Bolivia, and China.”
Dean nods. “Good.” He holds up another.
“Moldavite, found in the Czech Republic. Known as the Holy Grail stone.”
“You got it.”
I’ve only got one final job on my list today.
We take Joe to the park to feed the pigeons on the way, and I soak up the sunshine, realising all over again that tomorrow I will be twenty grand better off, and not a virgin anymore.
Ted.
I pray to God it’s really him. Really, really him.
I wish I had a bigger budget as I step inside the New Age shop on the corner of Barrow Street.
I pick out a couple of nice looking stones. A sparkling amethyst and a tiny little lump of garnet. A green banded malachite.
And an angel hair quartz, its sides so smooth. I roll it in my palm.
This one. This is the main event.
Dean takes it from me and holds it up to the light. “Nice.”
I smile. “Angel hair, for good luck.”
“You’ll want it.” He nudges me, then hoists Joe up on his hip.
I pay for my crystals and a little velvet pouch to put them in.AlexanderI count twenty-five grand from my safe in used bank notes.
I put the envelope in the case with my sex toys.
And then I choose my suit for the evening.
It’s an easy choice.
Black, white, black.
I polish my shoes to a mirror shine.
I shower and shave.
I get dressed. I choose my finest cufflinks.
I let Brutus out for his final crap of the evening.
And then I go.MelissaMy choice of dress was easy. I only have one that’s anything like suitable.
My sparkly heels clack loudly on the marble floor of Delaney’s Spa Resort. I’m early, a good hour ahead of schedule.
I paste on my brightest smile as I head up to the reception desk, and I must look ok, because the woman behind the counter smiles right back.
“Amy Randall,” I tell her. “Room 216.”
She taps on her keyboard, then scans a keycard. “Welcome, Miss Randall. Your room is on the second floor. Do you need a porter for your bags?”
I don’t have any bags. I feel myself burning up.
“No, no need,” I bluster. “They’re not arriving until later.”
She hands my card over. “Enjoy your stay.”
I can’t hide my shaking fingers as I take it from her.My room is incredible, huge and cream and modern. The lighting is low and sensual, the bed the biggest I’ve ever seen.
