It was a charity do in a dusty hotel. Local politicians and their blue-rinsed wives were betting on horse racing on a big screen. I was bored and had wandered out into the bar for a cigarette. The bar was empty apart from a woman sitting on one of those high leather stools facing a large gilded mirror covered in drinks adverts. She was wearing red killer heels and a wedding ring. What a combination. Her skirt was hitched above her knees and her eyes were flirty over a glass of red wine. I guessed she was in her early twenties, young enough to be my daughter. I straightened my tie and moved in.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She didn’t even turn her head, just held out her glass. “You’re on the wrong side of the bar.”
I had to put my hands in my pockets to stop them shaking, but I managed a smile. “What’s a nice girl doing ..…,” I started.
Her eyes flickered over me in the mirror. “What makes you think I’m a nice girl? ”
My laugh came out like a mouse’s squeak and suddenly it was the interval and the punters streamed from the ballroom. A red-faced Rotarian, his pot belly straining at his dress shirt, squeezed in beside her and tapped on the bar with a coin. Her pert little nose wrinkled and she slid off the seat showing more leg than was necessary and moved away, smoothing her dress over her hips. I caught up with her and stood behind her as she reached the powder room. I touched her shoulder. Her dress was silk and sleeveless and my business card fitted neatly into the fold of her underarm.
“Call me.” I said.
The call came weeks later. It was past midnight and I was hung over from the evening before but I recognised the voice. “I want to return your card.”
At first it was a game. She was a tease and married, but we were both up for it. The husband was an airline pilot, away for days on end and we were careful not to be seen. We’d lunch in an out of the way pub in Surrey, always sitting in the same seat in a corner facing the window. Afterwards we’d drive to Heathrow and book into an airport hotel for a couple of hours. She was sexy and passionate and I was flattered and enjoyed the play. We never mentioned that four letter word LOVE, but as the weeks passed I found I couldn’t keep away from her. I’ve never been into narcotics but she became my addiction. Sex with her was my drug. It was all I could think of and I needed a fix every day.
I lay awake at night thinking of her—and him. What were they doing? Did she do this with him? Did he do that to her? I couldn’t sleep for imagining them together. One evening I drove across London and sat watching the house as the lights went out first downstairs then the last one upstairs. I was making myself sick with jealousy. It was a stupid thing to do but I couldn’t help myself. I dialled her number just to hear her voice. It was tempting fate, but I think in my heart I wanted him to find out.
“Idiot,” she texted. “Stop phoning me.”
It was not long after that things changed between us. Our relationship had turned sour but I couldn’t let her go. I bribed her with expensive presents but they were never good enough, never quite what she expected or hoped for. Orders were falling off at work but I gave myself a bonus and bought her an expensive gold chain. It cost me an arm and a leg, just a slim gold chain to wear round her ankle.
“Why don’t you wear your chain?” I questioned after a few weeks.
“It doesn’t go with my shoes,” she answered. “Anyway, it’s old-fashioned.”
Was she thinking I was old-fashioned, too old-fashioned for a young woman, for her?
“How long have you been wearing those?” she said, when I pulled out my reading glasses. She could put me down with a look. All I wanted was to hold her and lie with her but I couldn’t make her laugh anymore. I was feeling my age, tired all the time and I struggled to keep up with her. She became more demanding.
Late one afternoon, in the hotel bedroom, breathless and exhausted, kneeling over her, I pleaded, “How can I make you happy?”
Her eyelids lowered like shutters and she shook her head in irritation. Her heels drummed on my shoulders. The pain brought tears to my eyes and later, lying next to her, she held my gaze, then turned away from me.
“Sometimes,” she said, “Sometimes you try too hard.”
It was coming up to Easter and when she said that her husband would be away on a long haul, I bribed her with Paris. I just wanted things to be the way they were, I wanted to make her smile wanted to see her happy. Meet me at Gatwick I said and bring your passport.
The airport was busy and as I waited I thought how I’d changed. Women didn’t look twice at me now. I might as well be invisible. I was just an overweight, perspiring middle-aged man in a crumpled suit. I suppose I’d half guessed she wouldn’t turn up. I drank cup after cup of coffee, my heart racing with the caffeine. Who was she with? What was she up to? The weekend stretched ahead of me. How would I fill it? When it was too late to board, I picked up my bag and made my way back to the car.
Then she texted me.
The motorway was busy with the usual bank holiday traffic, but I was there in under the hour. I parked round the corner and bought wine and flowers in a local shop. The owner double-checked my credit card but I thought I’d worry about that later.
She didn’t answer the bell, but I could hear soft music playing, so I pushed at the door. It was unlocked. The music was coming from upstairs. I couldn’t help smiling. She was like a child. She loved playing games and that was part of the attraction. I walked through to the kitchen and filled the sink with water. I put the flowers in the sink and placed the bottle in the fridge.
It felt strange walking up the stairs, the stairs of someone else’s house. I almost felt sorry for her husband. I had to put him out of my mind. My underarms were wet with sweat and I stepped sideways into the bathroom. I pulled my shirt over my head and slapped cold water from the tap onto my skin. My heart was racing, pumping too fast and I breathed deeply. I had earned this weekend. I’d paid for it and while the cat was away why shouldn’t the mice play?
The door to the bedroom, their bedroom, was open and I could see her laying on her side with her back to me. Her skin was pale and translucent against the purple sheets. She was naked apart from my gold chain round her ankle. I caught a glimpse of myself in her mirror, my cheeks flushed scarlet. I hesitated.
How should I play this? What was the game? Did she want me to be tender or tough? It was like old times. A silk scarf was draped across the dressing table. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. It was my turn to make her wait. I leaned over and let the silk glide slowly backwards and forwards across her naked buttocks. She lay so still, not moving. I touched her shoulder with my fingertips. Her skin was like ice. I pulled at her arm and her beautiful body flopped towards me. Her eyes were wide open and rolled back in the sockets. I backed away from the bed. There was movement on the landing and in the mirror, I saw the open door pulled shut. On the other side, I heard the key turn firmly in the lock.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She didn’t even turn her head, just held out her glass. “You’re on the wrong side of the bar.”
I had to put my hands in my pockets to stop them shaking, but I managed a smile. “What’s a nice girl doing ..…,” I started.
Her eyes flickered over me in the mirror. “What makes you think I’m a nice girl? ”
My laugh came out like a mouse’s squeak and suddenly it was the interval and the punters streamed from the ballroom. A red-faced Rotarian, his pot belly straining at his dress shirt, squeezed in beside her and tapped on the bar with a coin. Her pert little nose wrinkled and she slid off the seat showing more leg than was necessary and moved away, smoothing her dress over her hips. I caught up with her and stood behind her as she reached the powder room. I touched her shoulder. Her dress was silk and sleeveless and my business card fitted neatly into the fold of her underarm.
“Call me.” I said.
The call came weeks later. It was past midnight and I was hung over from the evening before but I recognised the voice. “I want to return your card.”
At first it was a game. She was a tease and married, but we were both up for it. The husband was an airline pilot, away for days on end and we were careful not to be seen. We’d lunch in an out of the way pub in Surrey, always sitting in the same seat in a corner facing the window. Afterwards we’d drive to Heathrow and book into an airport hotel for a couple of hours. She was sexy and passionate and I was flattered and enjoyed the play. We never mentioned that four letter word LOVE, but as the weeks passed I found I couldn’t keep away from her. I’ve never been into narcotics but she became my addiction. Sex with her was my drug. It was all I could think of and I needed a fix every day.
I lay awake at night thinking of her—and him. What were they doing? Did she do this with him? Did he do that to her? I couldn’t sleep for imagining them together. One evening I drove across London and sat watching the house as the lights went out first downstairs then the last one upstairs. I was making myself sick with jealousy. It was a stupid thing to do but I couldn’t help myself. I dialled her number just to hear her voice. It was tempting fate, but I think in my heart I wanted him to find out.
“Idiot,” she texted. “Stop phoning me.”
It was not long after that things changed between us. Our relationship had turned sour but I couldn’t let her go. I bribed her with expensive presents but they were never good enough, never quite what she expected or hoped for. Orders were falling off at work but I gave myself a bonus and bought her an expensive gold chain. It cost me an arm and a leg, just a slim gold chain to wear round her ankle.
“Why don’t you wear your chain?” I questioned after a few weeks.
“It doesn’t go with my shoes,” she answered. “Anyway, it’s old-fashioned.”
Was she thinking I was old-fashioned, too old-fashioned for a young woman, for her?
“How long have you been wearing those?” she said, when I pulled out my reading glasses. She could put me down with a look. All I wanted was to hold her and lie with her but I couldn’t make her laugh anymore. I was feeling my age, tired all the time and I struggled to keep up with her. She became more demanding.
Late one afternoon, in the hotel bedroom, breathless and exhausted, kneeling over her, I pleaded, “How can I make you happy?”
Her eyelids lowered like shutters and she shook her head in irritation. Her heels drummed on my shoulders. The pain brought tears to my eyes and later, lying next to her, she held my gaze, then turned away from me.
“Sometimes,” she said, “Sometimes you try too hard.”
It was coming up to Easter and when she said that her husband would be away on a long haul, I bribed her with Paris. I just wanted things to be the way they were, I wanted to make her smile wanted to see her happy. Meet me at Gatwick I said and bring your passport.
The airport was busy and as I waited I thought how I’d changed. Women didn’t look twice at me now. I might as well be invisible. I was just an overweight, perspiring middle-aged man in a crumpled suit. I suppose I’d half guessed she wouldn’t turn up. I drank cup after cup of coffee, my heart racing with the caffeine. Who was she with? What was she up to? The weekend stretched ahead of me. How would I fill it? When it was too late to board, I picked up my bag and made my way back to the car.
Then she texted me.
The motorway was busy with the usual bank holiday traffic, but I was there in under the hour. I parked round the corner and bought wine and flowers in a local shop. The owner double-checked my credit card but I thought I’d worry about that later.
She didn’t answer the bell, but I could hear soft music playing, so I pushed at the door. It was unlocked. The music was coming from upstairs. I couldn’t help smiling. She was like a child. She loved playing games and that was part of the attraction. I walked through to the kitchen and filled the sink with water. I put the flowers in the sink and placed the bottle in the fridge.
It felt strange walking up the stairs, the stairs of someone else’s house. I almost felt sorry for her husband. I had to put him out of my mind. My underarms were wet with sweat and I stepped sideways into the bathroom. I pulled my shirt over my head and slapped cold water from the tap onto my skin. My heart was racing, pumping too fast and I breathed deeply. I had earned this weekend. I’d paid for it and while the cat was away why shouldn’t the mice play?
The door to the bedroom, their bedroom, was open and I could see her laying on her side with her back to me. Her skin was pale and translucent against the purple sheets. She was naked apart from my gold chain round her ankle. I caught a glimpse of myself in her mirror, my cheeks flushed scarlet. I hesitated.
How should I play this? What was the game? Did she want me to be tender or tough? It was like old times. A silk scarf was draped across the dressing table. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. It was my turn to make her wait. I leaned over and let the silk glide slowly backwards and forwards across her naked buttocks. She lay so still, not moving. I touched her shoulder with my fingertips. Her skin was like ice. I pulled at her arm and her beautiful body flopped towards me. Her eyes were wide open and rolled back in the sockets. I backed away from the bed. There was movement on the landing and in the mirror, I saw the open door pulled shut. On the other side, I heard the key turn firmly in the lock.