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“That’s when the shows start.”
We all frown, “Haven’t we been watching shows all night?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I mean the real fun.” Sure enough, over the next 15 minutes we watch as group after group of men in expensive suits fill the place. So many, in fact, we are flat out trying to keep up our spying duties and some are slipping through the cracks.
“Shit, is he here?” Bridget whispers.
“I have no idea,” I answer. “I’ve lost track. I think the place is full,” as I crane my neck to look around the crowd.
“I know, this is crazy. The drinks are hell expensive. Rich men are seriously stupid.”
We are all feeling quite tipsy and at 1.30 exactly the lights all go out except the stage spotlights and silence falls over the audience. We are all experiencing a serious case of the fuzzies and very loudly shh, shh each other. We’re holding hands under the table and giggling, feeling quite apprehensive about what is about to unfold. Thankfully, it looks like Jeremy is a no show. The track ‘My Pony’ rings out on the high–powered sound system, a remixed version. Two girls walk out onto the stage and the crowd goes wild. Some of the men chant their names—it seems they have a following. The three of us sit still in silent amazement as our eyes are transfixed by the stage. A stunning brunette dressed as a hot policewoman complete with hat and
baton leads a beautiful redhead dressed in prisoner get–up onto the stage by the handcuffs.
“Oh, fuck,” Bridget whispers as she squeezes my hand. The redhead is led out and sat in a chair at the end of the runway. The policewoman walks around her a few times, sizing her up. She bends down and grabs her by the hair. Pulling her head back, she bends and gives her a slow passionate tongue kiss and the crowd goes wild. Bridget hits me on the leg and when I glance at her she nods at Abbie. I look over and Abbie is so into it her mouth is open. Bridget and I get the giggles.
“Wow,” I mouth to Bridget, and she nods. The policewoman stands and walks around her again in a slow torture kind of build–up, and the crowd goes silent again. She very slowly starts to undress the prisoner, and my heart is in my throat. After what seems like an eternity she slowly slides her G–String down her legs as she sucks her breasts—this shit is hot. My god, I’m getting turned on, what the hell? She slowly starts to finger–fuck the prisoner who lies back in the chair. The audience are collectively holding their breath and we are sitting forward in our seats. The brunette drops to her knees and the crowd goes crazy—oh no, don’t tell me. Oh my god. She starts to go down on the prisoner. The audience falls silent again, listening for the sound effects. I am interrupted from my lesbian fantasy as Bridget taps my leg again. I look at her and she nods towards the door and pulls up her drink menu. I grab mine quickly and peer out to see him, but to my horror the face I’m looking at isn’t Jeremy’s. My stomach drops as I watch Joshua Stanton, my Joshua Stanton, walk in with a group of men. They are laughing with the girls on the door and I sit still, too stunned to react. He puts his arm around one of the girls and whispers something into her ear. She giggles and slaps him. What in the hell did he say? This night just went from hero to zero in a millisecond. Abbie has just noticed what we are looking at.
“Oh fuck,” she whispers, the shock on her face evident, and she pulls up her drink menu. This is something I don’t want to see, the room is suddenly suffocating and I need to get out of here, like now. I watch as they enter and walk over to the stairs with the red rope. They have been here before, they know the drill. He is with six other men, all in suits. I don’t know any of them but one looks like his bodyguard, actually yes it is, it’s Ben. A bleached blonde walks over and talks to them, and I watch in slow motion as Joshua gets out his wallet and hands over his credit card. Oh dear god, no. They are going upstairs to the VIP room. I feel sick. I want to run over and stop him. To beg him to come home with me because I know if he goes up there I can never touch him again. It will have gone too far to go back. Silently in my head I start to pray, don’t do it baby. Please don’t do it. I start wringing my hands together under the table and I have broken out into a cold sweat. The group of men all bundle up the stairs as soon as she unhooks the rope. Just as Joshua is about to take the stairs he stops as he notices something and looks towards the stage. My eyes flick to the stage to see what he is looking at. The policewoman is now on her knees fucking the prisoner with the baton. My eyes go back to him. No. I watch in horror as he clenches his jaw and cracks his neck—he’s aroused. The pain of watching the man I love become aroused by another woman, or two in this case, is crippling and I put my head down onto the table unable to speak. Bridget rubs the back of my head, unsure of what to say. No, I need to see this. I look back up as he calls the blonde back over and lights a cigarette. Huh, he smokes now? I watch as he says something and gestures to the stage. She nods and smiles. Just when I thought this nightmare could not get any worse, I watch as he runs the backs of his fingers from her throat down between her bare breasts and down to her G–String. He rims his fingers around the inside of the waistband and gives them a jerk before he lets her go. With his cigarette between his teeth he says something and she gives him a filthy smile before he turns and heads up the stairs. I’m in shock, did that just happen? I look to my dear friends, and their faces say more than words. Bridget grabs my hand and Abbie rubs my leg. There are no words for this situation, no words at all. I put my hand over my mouth—I think I’m going to be sick.
“Tash, let’s go baby,” Bridget whispers. “We have seen enough.” I shake my head, still unable to speak. I shake again. I don’t want to leave him here. I don’t want him to wreck it. “Tash, come on, we have to go.”
I look at the girls again. “I don’t want to leave him here, please don’t make me,” I whisper. The act on stage finishes. The crowd goes wild and the girls both bound up to the bar to get a drink. Blonde bimbo says something to them and they both smile and head up to the VIP room, obviously at Joshua’s request. My heart drops lower than I ever felt possible. Bridget has had enough she is getting mad.
“He’s a fucking prick, Natasha, just leave it. You can do a lot better.” I know they are right. If I cause a scene I will never forgive myself. It is with deep regret I allow my friends to scrape me up out of my seat and lead me out of a place that will haunt me forever, a place that has my heart splattered all over the table. A place where I saw his other side.
We sit in silence in the back of the cab, everybody too afraid to speak, determined not to say the wrong thing.
“Where to ladies?” the cabbie asks.
Before anyone can speak, “The nearest McDonalds,” I say flatly.
The cashier is cheerful and happy, “What will it be?”
“A super–sized Big Mac meal with Coke. An apple pie and a chocolate sundae, extra salt on the fries.” I look back at my friends who are both wisely staying silent, pretending to look at the menu board. Operation slim down is officially over.
Chapter 5
It’s been four days. Four days of nothing since I saw him go up the stairway to hell. My mind is torturing me with visions of him with those two girls and what went on upstairs. The way he touched the blonde one with the backs of his fingers. Every time I close my eyes, I see it and it kills me. The way he smiled at her with the cigarette between his teeth, the way he cracked his neck. That’s the worst one—it rolls my stomach. I feel sick at the thought. A broken heart is lonely business, and no one can take away the hurt. I feel so alone. I haven’t left the house other than to work, haven’t slept. I have however eaten everything on the southern side of the planet; there’s a lot to be said for comfort eating. I am full–stomached and empty–hearted. The emptiness is overwhelming. As I wait for the bartender to serve me my drink I notice Bridge and Abbs discussing a man standing next to me at the bar. I roll my eyes and shake my head at them. Determination doesn’t come close to the scheming these two are doing tonight. We are at the Ivy, our favourite nightclub, and I am pimped up to the nines. I’m in a tight charcoal strapless dress and black stiletto ankle boots, their choice of course. I feel like Prostitute Barbie with my hair all out and full, not to mention the hooker makeup they have applied. They both want me to pick up a random guy and have a one–night stand. I have been forced to listen to the benefits of this for two frigging days. They think I am only under the influence of Joshua because he has been my only one, which is probably true. I told them if they find a guy who can get me hot then I will do it. However, I know this is not an easy feat. If it was I would have done it years ago. Apparently it should be someone I don’t know, but the thought of that scares me a bit. What if I get back to his house and he’s a serial killer? There are a few guys who I do know and sort of like and I know like me, maybe I should do it with one of those. I can’t believe I am even considering this. I sound like Abbie. She knows she will have sex later that night—by lunchtime that day, it’s totally preconceived. The poor bastard she picks is in for it, whether he likes it or not. Though I’m sure he’s not complaining. Can I really do this? I shuffle forward in the line at the bar while I think. Let’s recap, I haven’t had sex in seven years. I think I’m in love with a total asshole who fucks multiple strippers at the same time. I close my eyes as I imagine the orgy. The human imagination can be so cruel. I shiver in contempt. I need to move on, and I think the girls might be right. I do need to take control of my life and I intend on doing it tonight. How in the hell am I going to get through it? I look around the room for divine intervention as I take a deep breath. Alcohol, that’s the ticket. If I get drunk enough maybe it will take the edge off, calm my nerves so to speak. My turn comes around and I shuffle up to place my order.
“What will it be?” asks a pretty girl with massive boobs. Um, am I really going to do this? Oh shit, fuck it.
“I’ll have six Tequilas please.”
I look around at the women seated around Ben and me at the Ivy on the deep leather lounges in a half circle. We have been here a few times—it seems Adrian’s club of choice. I’m not a fan really, the woman are all desperate and money–hungry. They can smell my wallet from a mile off, attractive enough though. I smile at Ben as I listen to the two girls either side of him compliment his accent.
“Ben, you sound so gorgeous when you say that, can you say it again?” My eyes roll. God, why does he tell them his real name? I rub the side of my pointer backwards and forwards over my lips, my elbow resting on the arm–rest as I listen to the small talk. I take a sip of my Cointreau and ice. I really would rather go, this redhead next to me is annoying as fuck.
“So do you have an accent?” she gushes.
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you live near here?”
“No,” I answer again, deadpan. I can’t even pretend to be interested, in fact I’m being quite rude. Ben flashes me a dirty look; he’s obviously interested here. I frown as I rub my eyes—where the fuck is Adrian? He drags me here then pisses off, fucking typical.
“So you live in America?” she asks. I nod as I take a sip. This is unbearable. I’m going to the bar, as anything is better than sitting here with this idiot. I stand and walk to the bar without an explanation. I’m not going there. Ben is on hi
