Blokebusters Page 19

  “You’re your own man,” she cooed. “You can’t be manipulated. It’s one of the reasons I adore you so much.”

  He swatted her hand away.

  “I know you. You think I’m joking but I mean it. I’m not doing it. End of story. Let’s talk about something else.”

  *

  Five days later, as Matt sat at the bar waiting for Brian to arrive, he pondered whether he was a weak man. It could be worse, he told himself; it could be a gay bar. Like a lot of heterosexual men, Matt believed himself to be irresistible to homosexuals although not one had ever made any approach to him that would support his theory. Brian was expected to arrive soon and would be wearing a brown suit and a tartan bow tie. He was a valuer for one of the large auction houses and had a passion for large, casually-dressed men. Matt rested his elbows on the bar and tried to figure out how Han Solo would handle the situation. Han Solo wouldn’t allow himself to get into the situation, no matter what wiles Princess Leia had unleashed. It wasn’t a helpful conclusion.

  “Y’know,” he said, “all the years before I met you I always thought my name was short for Matthew. Until you made it clear it was Doormat.” The barman eyed him warily, as customers talking out loud to themselves was never a good thing.

  Sitting outside in the car Georgia giggled as Matt’s voice sulked its way from the receiver box she was holding. The client was lovely, a huge, shaggy mountain of a man. He only just fitted in their car. He giggled too.

  “He such a grumpy puss sometimes,” she said.

  “Like my Brian. Why do we love ‘em eh?”

  “God knows.” She rummaged in the car door pocket. “Toffee?”

  “I shouldn’t, Brian doesn’t like me having too much sugar – oh go on then.” He took one and they chewed, waiting for the action to kick off.

  Matt was more nervous than he was on his first date with Georgia. His hands trembled as he raised his beer bottle to his mouth. Georgia had picked his clothes for the evening. She’d selected a close-fitting thin-knit crew neck sweater in oatmeal and his tight black jeans. Apparently she’d seen a gay character in a film wear an oatmeal sweater and concluded that it was therefore gay clothing. He hoped she was wrong. He had nothing against gay men at all, let them do what they like with whom they like was his motto but the thought of another man touching him, other than a doctor, made his stomach turn. It didn’t help having Georgia in the car outside listening in; she’d have trouble remaining professional in front of the client. He wished they had some gay friends so he had points of reference, but they didn’t. Not even at university. Yet again his sheltered upbringing had left him completely unprepared for real life. His only experience of the word ‘gay’ was as a playground taunt that he had only ever been on the receiving end of; he couldn’t recall ever using the word himself, not even to Alex Jeffries who had been caught wearing the matron’s apron like a skirt.

  His thought process was cut short when he spotted a man in a brown suit and tartan bow tie about to order a drink further down the bar.

  “Shit,” Matt snorted and forced himself to walk over to him. He’d heard Georgia do it so many times. She made it sound natural and easy. Brian noticed him and Matt leant square on to the bar next to him, so Brian could take in his physique.

  “I’m next in line to get served,” Brian said.

  What would Georgia do?

  “Get us a bottle of Becks then, mate.”

  Brian smiled.

  “Do you always expect other men to buy your drinks?”

  What would Georgia do? What would she say?

  “No. I’m very particular about my drinking companions.” He looked Brian up and down. He executed it far quicker than Georgia had taught him but drew the line at ogling another man.

  “I’m Brian.” He held out his hand. Matt was confused; he held it out like a woman would when she expected it to be kissed.

  “Everdene. But everyone calls me Dean.” He turned Brian’s hand upright and shook it.

  Brian paid for the drinks and indicated that they should move to a more private table. Matt clutched his bottle like a security blanket and forced a smile. He had to be more seductive; he was too passive. The client explained that Brian liked being dominated. But only now did Matt realise he didn’t know what that meant. What would he do if Brian were Georgia? He’d flatter some aspect of her appearance.

  “That’s a great bow tie,” he said and reached across to tweak it. “Matches the shirt well.” All gay men were clothes conscious he reasoned, then panicked – was that a stereotype?

  Out in the car, the client covered his eyes.

  “It’s a wild guess, but he’s not gay is he?”

  “I hope not – he’s my husband.”

  “How did he ever chat you up with appalling lines like that?”

  “I was young and impressionable. Good job too. He’s wonderful.”

  “That’s so sweet,” the client sighed. “But he’s never going to get him interested like that.”

  “What should he be doing?” Georgia asked, genuinely interested.

  “Be more of a man. I met Brian at a bear club.”

  “Bear club?”

  “It’s part of the scene – bears are big, butch men, hairy, masculine – and Brian likes them. A lot. I pulled Brian by pinning him against the wall and ramming my tongue down his throat.”

  “Subtle approach.”

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “Brian’s a little bloke – he likes big men who can push him around a bit, dominate him. He should be taking more control – asking questions as if sizing him up. He should be more difficult – Brian likes a challenge.”

  “We should call him – tell him.”

  Georgia dialled Matt’s phone. In the bar Matt was delighted to feel the phone vibrate against his waist, hoping it was Georgia saying the client wanted to call it all off.

  “’Scuse me.” He moved to a quieter spot. “Hello?”

  “We’ve got you on speakerphone,” Georgia explained in order to stop him saying anything inappropriate. “You need to be more dominant, rougher with him. The client says he responds to that.”

  “Proposition him for sex in the lavs – he loves that. The dirtier the better,” the client chipped in. Matt’s knees nearly buckled.

  Georgia heard him let out a whimper.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to say,” he whined. In truth, he didn’t want to know what to say.

  “Tell him you’re going to the toilet and want to punish him for being naughty,” the client said. “I’ve used that line before – mostly successfully. Definitely works on Brian.” Georgia stared at him, a whole new world opening up to her. “He’ll go for that.”

  “But that means I’ll be in the bloody cubicle with him!” Matt squeaked.

  “You can come up with something,” Georgia said. “Good lord, you’ve heard enough to know how to create a diversion or something.”

  “I am really not feeling good about this.”

  “Good luck. We’re just outside.” Georgia hung up on him.

  “No!” he cried as he realised Georgia had abandoned him. He walked back to the table and noticed Brian had got another round of drinks in.

  “Bad news? You look pale,” Brian asked as Matt slumped down next to him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Brian tentatively rested a hand on his. Matt noticed the barman glance over at him and smirk.

  “No. No I don’t. I want to go the toilet. You’re more than welcome to join me – I need my mind taking off things – are you interested?” He wanted to go home and pretend it never happened. His desire to escape converted into something that Brian interpreted as a no-nonsense sexual desire.

  “Yes, yes I would. Very much.”

  “You go ahead and prepare the cubicle.” Matt wasn’t sure if the cubicle needed preparing but Brian didn’t seem to query it. “I’m finishing my beer and will be along in a second.”

>   “Are you going to be rough with me?” Brian asked.

  Matt’s stomach cramped. If ever he needed proof of his heterosexuality, this meeting was it.

  “Depends how naughty you are.”

  Brian shivered.

  “See you in a minute – big boy.” He winked and dashed to the toilets.

  Matt watched him go and sped out of the bar. He just reached the pavement before a huge wave of vomit seized his throat and doubled him up. His eyes and nostrils stung and he stayed double over, sensing another eruption building.

  The noise sounded revolting over the microphone system. Georgia scrabbled for the ‘off’ button.

  “I suppose this is where I thank you and leave,” the client said.

  “I’m so sorry that you didn’t get the result you wanted.”

  He shrugged.

  “It’s better I know than let him play me for a fool.”

  “You’re a lovely man. You deserve better. You’ll make some man a lovely —” she paused, unsure how to finish the sentence, “bear.”

  “Thank you – and please thank your husband for me. It would’ve been the funniest thing I’d heard in ages – if the circs were different.” He got out of the car and wandered off to the bar, whether for a showdown or a heart-to-heart Georgia couldn’t predict. She got out of the car and locked it to go and find Matt.

  He was leaning against the wall, holding his stomach.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Never better. What do you think?”

  Georgia rubbed his back and tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound sarcastic or inflammatory.

  “Are you all right? Only you look a little queer.” She sucked her cheeks in.

  “Do I tease you when you’re the Carrot?” he snapped.

  “Come on. Let’s go home.” She stroked his hair. “I’ve got a bottle of water for you in the car – wash all the horrible taste away.”

  He nodded and they walked back to the car, arm-in-arm.

  “Promise me something Georgia. Promise me we never mention tonight again. Ever.”

  “I promise.” She opened the passenger side door for him. “In you get – big boy.”

  Matt was quiet during the journey home. Partly because he felt ashamed of his evening’s work and partly because Georgia’s driving terrified him.

  “There are speed cameras along this road,” he lied, in a desperate attempt to make her slow down.

  “Have you got over your ordeal?” Georgia asked. She turned the stereo down. Since his disclosure she’d taken all her Bobby Darin CDs out of the car even though he’d protested and said she needn’t. She’d selected a Radiohead CD to try and cheer Matt up, but it didn’t work.

  “I feel cheap. Like a prostitute who touts for business at chucking-out time.”

  “Cheap – 400 quid for an hour’s sexy talk? You’re more like one of those high-class escorts who lives in a luxury apartment and wants for nothing.”

  “Was I awful?” He turned to her. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Well, the ‘your bow tie matches your shirt’ routine could’ve benefited from a little bit of zing. But if I were Brian I’d have fancied you. I’d have joined you in the toilets too.” She smiled and concentrated on the road.

  “Don’t tell Fi all the gory details. I haven’t got much dignity and the little I’ve got I’m rather attached to.”

  “It’s our secret,” she said and he seemed satisfied.

  She parked on their driveway and turned the car engine off; it had recently started running on and the engine jabbered away for a few seconds before dying.

  Having checked that Gyp was all right, they went to bed. Georgia watched Matt anxiously shed his clothes, keen to distance himself from being Brian’s hottie.

  “So, your first taste of front-line action was sour?”

  “It wasn’t my first taste. It was my only taste. Even if it were a woman I was hitting on I’d have hated it. I’m definitely a desk job man.”

  “Do you really like being at home all the time?”

  He smiled at her.

  “I love it. I didn’t think I would but I do. I could quite happily stay home and raise our children.” The words left his mouth before he could cut them off.

  “Our children?” She arched an eyebrow. “Is there something I should know? Are you pregnant?”

  He blushed and was glad that the room was dark enough to disguise it.

  “One day we’ll have children. We’re not getting any younger – we can’t keep putting it off.”

  “But not yet, eh?” She patted his cheek and snuggled down under the duvet.

  “No. Not yet.” He forced a smile and cuddled up to her.

  Matt was the first to fall asleep, he always was. He seemed to shut down and be in a deep sleep in seconds. Georgia turned over and watched him. He’d regretted mentioning children, she could tell.

  “Stoat’s birthday cakes,” he muttered and she grinned. Children! He was about all she could cope with at the moment.

  Chapter sixteen

  The article in the Evening Standard was a turning point for Blokebusters. Matt laughed when he thought back to the early days, when he fretted whether they’d ever get the eighteen clients they needed a month to stay solvent. He’d consider eighteen clients a slack week nowadays. In January they had serviced eighty clients and taken revenue of roughly £14,000. In one month. They had no premises, minimal overheads, only four staff and they were making a small fortune.

  When requests came through for curvy brunette Carrots he gleefully assigned them to Emily before Georgia. Georgia still handled a lot of clients but he made sure her weekends were always free.

  He’d messed up his bookings for the first weekend in February. Georgia had the two days free but he was required to listen in with a client for one of Emily’s jobs.

  “I’m really sorry, it means I’ve got to go out Saturday night.”

  “Don’t worry – we can spend any old night together – the business is more important.” She meant it to sound soothing but it irked him.

  “I’ve got some gardening to do – can you read through the emails?” he said.

  As he dug over the ground he worked out some anger. At times, the business felt like Georgia’s other man. It was more exciting than him and she gave it priority. He’d promised to help and stick with it and he certainly benefited from the money it made but he resented it, particularly the power it held over Georgia. You’re being silly, he consoled himself. It isn’t Blokebusters she cuddles up to at night. It isn’t Blokebusters making love to her. He wondered if his feelings were akin to how an older child felt when a younger sibling was born; being an only child he couldn’t say.

  The office window opened and Georgia leant out looking flushed with excitement.

  “Matt – come up here!” She slammed the window shut before he could query it.

  “What’s happened?” he asked from the top of the stairs, unable to wait until he’d reached her.

  She gestured to the screen.

  “Email from the Standard. Apparently they’ve had so many letters about Larry’s interview – mostly praising him and his views that they want to offer him a weekly column.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “I am. They want him to write a kind of ‘guy’s view’ page with relationship and fashion advice for men – why d’you look so suspicious? You’re a natural.”

  He glanced down at his gardening attire: his saggy grey jogging bottoms thin at the knees and an old sweatshirt that had a tear on the right sleeve where he’d caught it on a nail in the shed.

  “Fashion tips – me?” He smiled and posed like a model in a catalogue.

  “Larry could get half the men in London to wear gardening clothes!”

  “Larry isn’t going to – he’s not writing a column.”

  “Where’s your sense of fun? He’d be great.”

  “No he wouldn’t.”

  “I’d h
elp you write it.”

  “That is academic – he’s not doing it.” He turned to go out of the room before a thought hit him. He walked over to the keyboard and replied to the email, thanking them for their offer but declining. He clicked ‘send’ in spite of Georgia’s sullen pout.

  *

  Later that afternoon Fiona stopped by to pick up her client questionnaires for the evening. She had four clients and brought her bag of clothes and wigs required to deal with all the requests. To the untrained eye it looked like any woman’s gym bag.

  “Where’s Matt?”

  “Digging.”

  “I had the weirdest thing happen to me with my Rabbit last night,” Fiona said. “Have you got anything to eat? I’m starving. I only had a salad for lunch.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, there might have been a small pizza accompanying it but let’s not get bogged down in details. I’d kill for some biccies.”

  Georgia headed to the kitchen and returned with a packet of custard creams.

  “So – what was weird?”

  “Well, I’d ‘done’ the Rabbit before. Only he had a different girlfriend and used a different name.”

  Georgia sat up a little straighter. She hadn’t ever told Fiona about her similar experience with Dan Goldstein as she was afraid that Fiona would be more perceptive than Matt and realise the effect he’d had on her.

  “Go on,” she said, trying to keep her face blank.

  “He’s obviously a bit of a rat but he’s gorgeous. I was terrified he’d recognise me but the last time I saw him I had my brunette bob wig on, this time I was au naturel. He didn’t seem to remember me – he wasn’t that interested, he looked disappointed the whole time I spoke to him. But he’s so sexy. Arrogant – knows he’s stunning. He turned me down,” she sighed, the regret obvious in her eyes.

  “What does he look like?”

  “Dark, tall, extremely handsome. American – nice accent. Well dressed. Vague about himself but obviously intelligent – he finished The Times crossword, proper answers too – not writing in any old rubbish. He’s just one of those men who emit an incredibly exciting vibe – almost dangerous.”

  Georgia wished she hadn’t taken a bite of her biscuit. It absorbed all the moisture in her mouth and she could feel the dry crumbs sticking to her teeth.