Blokebusters Page 13

  “Ignore it,” he said.

  “We shouldn’t – who’d phone Christmas night unless it was important?”

  “Probably a wrong number.”

  “No, not at Christmas. I’ll get it.” She headed towards the phone, each step populated with various horrible thoughts – car crashes, heart attacks, rapes. “Fi! Yeah, happy Christmas to you too.” She shrugged apologetically at Matt. Matt rolled off the sofa to try and tempt Gyp into a game with a piece of tinsel. “What?! No way… No… Did they? Did they?… Fantastic… Has he? That big? You wanna nab him then quick. No – of course I don’t mind you calling… A kitten… yeah I know – isn’t it a lovely present?… Gyp… OK… Bye.” She hung up.

  “Well. What’s he got and how big is it?” Matt asked.

  “You’ll only feel inadequate if I tell you.”

  “What was the call for?”

  “I can’t tell you – you wanted a Blokebusters-free day.”

  “Tell me.”

  She didn’t require much encouragement.

  “Fi’s gone with her family to their local for drinks – apparently they go every Christmas night – it’s a tradition. A woman in the bar was telling someone else about how she knew her boyfriend was cheating. She’d Blokebustered him. She hired us to test him. Well, obviously Fi’s ears pricked up – she asked the woman about it. The woman couldn’t fault us. She thought we did a terrific job. She said what a lovely man had sat with her while they listened in – that must be you. It was me doing the seducing. We’re being spoken about – we’re a word-of-mouth success! Happy Christmas.” She was euphoric.

  “Great.” The first time in his life he’d prayed for failure and he got success.

  Chapter eleven

  Matt had expected the New Year to be quiet on the Blokebusters front. He never tired of Georgia’s company and naively expected other couples to be the same. Wrong. It seemed that having to spend time with one’s partner bred unhappiness. Whereas a woman might not realise what her man was getting up to when she was wrapped up in work, when she was at home the sneaky mobile phone calls, excessive emailing and the popping out for a couple of hours with no apparent purpose suddenly became conspicuous. The Christmas holiday opened many women’s eyes and when Matt checked the website on 2nd January, there were twenty completed questionnaires waiting for him.

  He watched out of the kitchen window as two men from the garden centre erected his greenhouse. Gyp was in his arms and he ran his hands over him like he was a chain of worry beads. It wasn’t the greenhouse stressing him, more where Georgia was going that evening. They’d had their first ‘quirky’ request. The client wanted two women to offer themselves. Her man had a fantasy about bedding a lesbian couple. Georgia and Fiona. As the client was paying for two Carrots, she didn’t want to pay the extra expense of Matt and his microphone.

  “Boys’ night in,” he said to Gyp. Gyp squeaked back in reply and then returned to his speedboat engine purring. Matt wondered if all cats made such a noise.

  *

  During the journey up to the West End, Georgia and Fiona went over their background.

  “Which one of us is the husband in the relationship?” Fiona asked, her voice thick and juicy due to the toffee bonbon she’d just started chewing.

  “What?” Georgia replied, her voice thick and juicy for the same reason.

  “In gay couples one’s always the wife and one’s the husband. Don’t you know anything?”

  “You seem to know a lot about this.” Georgia sensed a confession in the offing.

  “Yeah, well. I’ve known gay people.”

  “Known? As in the biblical sense?”

  “I didn’t know he was gay when I slept with him. Well, he wasn’t gay – he was bisexual. He wasn’t sure which he preferred till he slept with me.”

  “You turned a gay man straight?” Georgia was impressed.

  “No. I turned a bisexual man gay.”

  Georgia bit her cheeks so as not to laugh. She concentrated on the view out of the window; being the Underground it wasn’t great.

  “Go on laugh – I know you want to,” Fiona snapped.

  “It’s not funny,” Georgia said, tears of laughter fighting out from her eyes. She couldn’t hold it any longer and collapsed in hysterics. Fiona couldn’t help but join in, laughing more at Georgia laughing than anything. The other passengers eyed them suspiciously, aware that travelling on the Underground shouldn’t be that much fun.

  “Who was he?” Georgia asked eventually.

  “Remember that nurse who looked after my gran when she was in hospital? Had to stick his hand up her backside on a fairly regular basis – although the reason why escapes me.”

  Georgia shook her head and Fiona got annoyed.

  “Yes you do. He pulled his hand out and realised he’d left the glove —” she leant closer and lowered her voice, “up there. Told her not to worry but the next poo she did would come out gift-wrapped.” Georgia tapped her ear lobe to indicate she couldn’t hear over the rattling of the Tube train grinding to a halt. Fiona repeated it all in a much louder voice. The train had pulled into a station and the whole carriage heard her. Fiona shrank in her seat from their stares.

  Georgia pretended not to notice the curious glances they were attracting. “Well I never. He was gay?”

  “Not until he slept with me,” Fiona said out of the side of her mouth, like she was in a prison drama. “Anyway, can we concentrate on the matter in hand? The Rabbit. I’ll go and soften him up. Tell him I’m waiting for my girlfriend. Then you come in.”

  “Right. You’re called?”

  “Yvonne. But you call me Evie – it’s your pet name for me.”

  “How sweet. And I’m Daisy. I’ve always wanted to be called Daisy.”

  “You’re covering the cleavage aspect of his desires. I’m doing legs.” Fiona knew that her legs weren’t as good as Georgia’s but tried to kid herself. It wasn’t that Georgia’s were so much better than hers; it was more how she used them. Much as Fiona tried, her legs were something to move her around. Georgia’s legs seemed to scream sex. Along with the rest of her.

  Fiona went into the bar alone. It was a modern place where everything was smooth and wipe-cleanable. There were no soft furnishings at all and the harsh lighting would make even the most beautiful complexion sallow. She spotted him straight away, sitting on his own at a corner table. The bar was busy and the clientele looked like decent people. Fiona noted there were several tasty men dotted about the venue and made a mental note to re-visit when she was off-duty. Buying a drink at the bar, she hitched her skirt up a couple more inches and walked over to him.

  “Can I sit here?” she asked.

  “If you want,” he half shrugged, as if to suggest she wasn’t worth a whole shrug. The client couldn’t have described him better. Close-fitting long sleeved t-shirt, mobile phone on the table, hair spiked and tipped with gel and hand on groin like there was a magnetic attraction holding it in place. She took out her book; it was the first erotic novel her hand had rested on in Waterstones. She only prayed no clients or colleagues had seen her in the erotica section. The cover had a naked woman on it, all her bits covered by a man’s hands. Opening it in the middle so it didn’t look suspicious she got a fright at what she read. The Rabbit’s eyes widened at her choice of reading material and he squinted to read the blurb on the back of the book.

  “I like a woman with an open mind,” he said in a gravelly voice when Fiona caught his eye. She was tempted to carry on reading, interested as to what the marbles were for but professionalism got the better of her.

  “Everyone can always learn, can’t they?” She raised an eyebrow and crossed her legs slowly, hoping she looked like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct but suspecting she looked more like Lily Savage.

  “And everyone should be willing to teach.”

  “Quite.”

  “What’s a girl like you doing here on your own?”

  “I’m waiting for someone.�
� She held back saying anymore, Georgia’s advice of ‘drip-feeding’ information ran though her mind. She recalled he was vain about his physique, which to be fair was exactly to Fiona’s taste: taut, powerful and a little bit dangerous. “You must work out?”

  He leant towards her and flexed an arm.

  “Feel it.” His eyes were boring into hers.

  She felt it and couldn’t believe she was getting paid for it.

  “Very nice.”

  “Won’t your boyfriend object to you touching other men?” He smiled and his face instantly became less aggressive. “I’m Ben by the way.”

  “Yvonne.” Now was the time to hook him. “And it’s my girlfriend I’m waiting for.”

  She felt vaguely repulsed by how quickly his hand shot back to his groin.

  “No fucking way.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “You’re a lezza? Jesus. There’s no telling is there?”

  She was rapidly going off him, taut body or not. Her job had made her despise prejudice; she’d seen people’s careers ruined by sexism, racism, ageism – any ism going, in truth – and had no time for it.

  “You’re pigeonholing me there, Ben. I’m bisexual.” She decided to see how much she could turn him on. “Occasionally I crave a man – my girlfriend’s very understanding.” She sucked her cheeks in. “As long as I let her watch.” Remembering some of Georgia’s coaching, she let her eyes travel down his body whilst speaking. Georgia was right as usual; the Rabbit was hers.

  Georgia browsed in Boots for ten minutes, fending off evil thoughts about what Fiona might do if she didn’t turn up, until her conscience got the better of her. Entering the bar she unbuttoned her coat and slung it over her arm; several pairs of eyes clamped on to her. Even she had to admit she looked cheap. Her dress was more of a wide belt and she was literally busting out all over. She wondered if June would’ve been a better name. Fiona was sitting on her own when Georgia sat down.

  “You look very guilty,” Georgia said.

  “Hmmm.”

  “What does ‘hmmm’ mean? Where’s the Rabbit?”

  “I may have got a bit carried away. He’s at the bar – buying me a drink.”

  “How have you got carried away?”

  “He said how much he loved Welsh women – well, he called them Welsh tarts, and I may have disclosed… that you… are… Welsh.”

  “I can’t do the accent.”

  “He’s expecting it.”

  “No, listen to me. I can’t do the accent.”

  “You will if you love me.” Fiona winked and Georgia glared at her.

  Ben returned with the drinks and froze. Fiona noted that she didn’t get a look in now Georgia was there.

  “You must be Daisy.”

  Georgia nodded.

  “Would you like a drink too?”

  She nodded and pointed at Fiona’s to indicate the same.

  “You can’t mime all bloody evening,” Fiona snapped.

  “I am going to wring your scrawny neck when we get out of here.”

  Even though she could hear the violence in Georgia’s voice, Fiona couldn’t help feeling pleased at having a part of her referred to as scrawny.

  Ben put a drink in front of Georgia and stood peering down her dress in what he obviously thought was a discrete manner. Georgia wanted to hit him but instead she looked up at him and writhed in her seat as if in appreciation. He sat down and his hand returned to his groin. Fiona stifled a giggle as she noticed Georgia’s reaction. She’d forgotten to warn her about his endearing little habit.

  “So Daisy, Yvonne tells me you’re from Wales.”

  “Yes,” Georgia said in an odd accent.

  “Tell me about yourself. And Wales.”

  “Oh, it was very boring – that’s why I left,” Georgia said in a perfect Pakistani accent. Fiona was taking a sip of her drink and almost choked on it.

  “Ice cube,” she explained to them both.

  “You are gorgeous,” Ben said.

  “Thank you.”

  Ben frowned.

  “Have you travelled?”

  “Why do you ask?” Georgia Bhutto replied.

  “It’s just that there’s something else in your accent – have you been to Asia at all? India? Pakistan?”

  “I’ve done some photo shoots there.” Georgia’s character was a glamour model. It couldn’t get any tackier, she thought. She noticed his hand rubbing his groin. Perhaps it could.

  When he went to buy more drinks, Fiona nudged Georgia.

  “He’s not suggesting anything. What are we going to do? We’re not even allowed to touch him – the client was adamant on that.”

  “I wouldn’t want to – have you seen what he’s been doing?” Georgia shivered in disgust.

  “We’re gonna have to up the stakes. We need to snog in front of him and somehow suggest we want him too.”

  “I am not snogging you Fi.” Georgia crossed her arms. She put a hand up to silence Fiona’s protest. “I’m not saying I don’t love you – just not in that way.”

  “Do you want to sit here all night? Wouldn’t you rather be home with Matt? Trust me – one good snog and we’ll get our answer. Quick, decide – he’s coming back.”

  Georgia thought about how sordid it all was, and how nice being in bed with Matt would be in comparison.

  “All right. Just this once. But if I get the slightest indication you’re enjoying it I’m off.”

  Georgia had never kissed a girl before. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend it was Matt but it didn’t work. Fiona was too small and soft, she didn’t feel or smell like a man. Kissing and lovemaking was the only area of their relationship where Matt took the lead, Georgia wasn’t used to someone as girly as herself. When they separated and turned to Ben his jaw was practically on the table.

  “Excuse me a minute – don’t go anywhere.” He ran to the toilets, pushing people out of the way to get there.

  “I don’t even want to think about what he’s doing right now,” Fiona said. “Hey, Georgia – did you hear me?”

  “Your tongue was an unwelcome surprise. Was it really necessary?”

  “I love you. I think you’ve made me lesbian,” Fiona replied, deadpan.

  “Shut up.”

  “Can I squeeze your boobs?”

  “Go away.”

  “You’ve got such beautiful hair.”

  “Stop it.”

  Ben came out from the toilets. He’d been gone a while and looked flushed.

  “What are you girls planning for the rest of the evening?” he asked, his face more flushed than it had previously been.

  “I want a man,” Georgia said. Fiona marvelled at how much lustiness she could put in the shortest of sentences. It was a technique she desperately wished to master.

  “Anyone in mind?” His voice suddenly shot up an octave.

  “Not sure.” Georgia ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “I like a man who knows what he’s doing.” Fiona mentally ticked off how many facts from the questionnaire Georgia was so skilfully using and with a straight face too. “A man who can be a little tough when needed, who’s not afraid to put me back in my place, who wants to be the boss, who’s not afraid to make me beg. I’m a very dirty girl and I need a firm hand.”

  Fiona gulped. So did Ben. And the three men at the neighbouring table.

  “I can do all that for you,” he whispered.

  “And what about Evie?”

  “Her too.” He seemed so excited he might cry.

  “You’d better go back to those toilets then and make a purchase hadn’t you?”

  Fiona couldn’t remember the last time Georgia blinked.

  “Already have.”

  “That was very forward of you. Show me.” He dropped them on the table. “Get another kind,” Georgia ordered and he ran off to the toilets. “Right. Let’s get out of here.”

  They ran out of the bar, screeching with laughter like harpies.

  * />
  It was almost midnight by the time Georgia got home. After her first few solo jobs she’d convinced Matt that she didn’t need meeting at the station. He wasn’t keen on letting her walk about on her own in the dark but she’d dug her heels in at his nannying. Besides, if she didn’t phone him he couldn’t predict what train she’d be on anyway. He always waited up for her, nervous and worried until she got home, then his stress dissipated like raindrops in a pond. The train journey home was important to Georgia – it gave her time to shed whichever slutty skin she’d worn that evening and revert to loving-wife mode. She pulled her coat tightly around her, vainly trying to fend off the cold. Frost crunched underfoot and she was glad of the noise, always suspicious of silence. Their car looked like it had grown a thin white crust – an icing sugar toupée. All the lights were off in the house. Georgia kicked off her shoes and tiptoed up the stairs so as not to wake Matt. She was surprised Matt had turned in before she got home, deciding that he must have over-exerted himself with his greenhouse. After a quick stop in the bathroom to remove her make-up she headed for the bedroom.

  She undressed quickly and got into bed. The bedding was crisp, cold and undisturbed. Matt wasn’t there. She blinked stupidly around the room, like he was going to leap out from behind the curtains shouting ‘surprise’. He must have fallen asleep at his computer she reasoned and, pulling on her towelling robe, went to his office. Empty. A small pulse of panic started transmitting worry around her body and she went downstairs. He wasn’t in the kitchen. For a second she thought he might be in the garden but it was just a street lamp flickering through waving branches. Finally, she went into the living room.

  “Matt – there you are! What are you doing sitting here in the dark? I assumed you were in bed.”

  His face wasn’t visible in the dark but she sensed he didn’t want the light putting on. She sat next to him.

  “Didn’t fancy it. The bed’s too big without you,” he said.

  “Are you saying I’m fat?”

  “No. I’m saying you’re my wife and you should be in bed with me rather than out trying to seduce men.”