Blokebusters Read online

  Georgia giggled and he felt her shoulders relax. He heard a ping and his back stiffened.

  “What? What is it?” Georgia asked.

  “Did you hear that? There was a ping!” His eyes were wide.

  “In your back? Are you OK?”

  “Not my back – silly woman. The computer. It pinged. It pinged the ping I requested it to ping when someone completes a questionnaire on the website and pays for our service.”

  “It pinged?” she asked.

  “I think so.” He let go of her and sat at his Mac. She watched him tap away and then his face broke into the widest smile she’d seen for a long time. “Mrs Brown – Blokebusters have a client.”

  “No way!”

  He read down the questionnaire and grinned.

  “I’m guessing she’s quite bitter. See here? On the question ‘What is your man’s preference where women are concerned?’ she’s put, ‘With a pulse’.” He scrolled down the screen. “She wants to be contacted tomorrow to discuss the finer details. Eleven in the morning.” He frowned. “She only wants the £150 service – damn, means I don’t get to try out the microphone.”

  “I’m going to chuck a sickie – I want to be here when our first booking’s finalised.”

  “And will you be doing that every time we get a client? You need that job, Georgia. I’ll let you know as soon as the call’s finished. Go to work.”

  “Meanie,” she pouted.

  For the first time in over a week they had an early night and made love.

  “I’ve missed you,” Matt whispered.

  She instinctively knew what he meant.

  “Sorry.”

  He kissed the top of her head.

  “You’re the only thing that matters to me. The rest I can take or leave.”

  She knew he was lying to try and make her feel better. Raising her face level to his by leaning on his chest she said, “I’m not sure I like being referred to as a ‘thing’.”

  He waited until she lay back down. He hated the strain she’d been under and hated that she tried to hide it from him. All his fault. Marriage was a partnership but he had definitely not been pulling his weight financially of late. It shamed him. Trying to sound as casual as possible, he asked, “Do you ever regret marrying me?”

  “No.” Georgia considered expanding her answer but decided against it. A simple, lone word could often be the most powerful.

  *

  Matt summoned all his forcefulness to make Georgia leave the house the next morning.

  “You’ll only get in the way,” he said. “I’m going to be nervous enough talking to our first client without you sitting analysing every word I say.”

  She pulled the crestfallen expression, the one that usually made him cave in straight away. But not today.

  “Promise you’ll call as soon as you’ve put the phone down?”

  “Promise. Now go. You’ll miss your train.”

  “I don’t feel well, I shouldn’t go in.”

  “Georgia. Go. To. Work.” He opened the front door and shooed her out. As soon as she was outside he shut the door and put the security lock on.

  Despite his treatment of her, she smiled. She crouched down to the letter box and flicked it open.

  “Good luck.”

  “Go to work,” he shouted back.

  *

  Matt was on tenterhooks all morning. At half ten he sat at his computer, the client’s form printed off in front of him. He’d read it so many times he could recite it verbatim. Time started moving backwards – it was the only explanation for why half an hour was lasting for eternity. He hadn’t felt so on edge since his wedding day when he’d panicked that Georgia wouldn’t turn up – that was Billy, his best man’s fault. He’d pretended Georgia was sobbing down the phone about what a dreadful mistake it all was.

  At one minute to eleven he cracked his knuckles, picked up the phone and dialled. The phone rang for a long time before a woman answered, giving her name and department.

  “Hello, this is your personal Blokebusters call handler. I’m calling you to discuss an email you sent to our website.” His mouth felt dry. He really was talking to a client. His business idea had attracted a client!

  “May I ask in which publication you saw our advertisement?” He smirked at his attempt at professionalism. “WOT magazine. Thank you.” Might as well have some fun out of it. “Wasn’t it a marvellous article on Jimmy Choo? Yes, they are to die for aren’t they?” He held the phone away from his face in case he giggled. “Pardon madam… me? Yes I am single – I can’t find a man to have me… yes, all the best ones are gay.” He wondered where this camp call handler personality had sprung from; it just seemed the right way to approach it. “My name?” He panicked. Fiona had spoken about the importance of anonymity. “Larry.” Larry Grayson was the first homosexual to come to mind; he wondered what Freud would make of it. He let his voice relax as if talking to wronged women was what he did all day, every day.

  “Now then, let’s just run through your questionnaire and get a couple more details from you, my dear.” He cleared his throat and rustled the paper to suggest he had to find her sheet amongst hundreds of client papers.

  “Right. Found you. Under ‘Preferences’ you’ve put ‘Female with pulse’, very witty – he’s a fool if he’s cheating on you, I can tell – but could you be a little more specific?… Right… yes… humour me for a second, but what would a sex-bitch from hell actually look like?” He allowed himself to giggle; the client was nice – angry as a jar of wasps in an oven, but nice. “Yes, right, so sort of like an office worker but a bit skimpier in the blouse department? Yes, we can do that.” He wrote it all down word for word. “He likes breasts does he? More fool him I say!” His heart sank – definitely one for Georgia rather than Fiona.

  “I’ve got most of your preferences from the web questionnaire you filled out. Couple of blanks you left, would you like our Carrot – that’s what we call the testors… yes, it is a cute name isn’t it?… Ooh, you’ve got me all flustered, where was I? That’s it, would you like the Carrot to initiate physical contact? You would. Would you like her to touch his thigh, arm, hand, face or groin?” He held groin back to the end in the hope that the client would miss it. “Hand, arm or thigh acceptable. Yes, we can do that.” He frantically scribbled it all down.

  “Now, have you emailed through your photo? You have, let me check.” He clicked open his email and there it was. One photo of their first Rabbit. Matt scowled. The Rabbit was better looking than he’d hoped. “What’s that? Yes, he is a moody-looking so-and-so isn’t he – and that was taken on your holidays – no excuse.” He was starting to get bored now. “Ooh, that’s you is it next to him? Yes, it is a lovely necklace you’re wearing – lights up your beautiful skin tones.” He had no idea what skin tones were but he’d heard Georgia and Fiona talk about them.

  “Is there anything else you want to say? Yes, you put that on the form – the Carrot will be very flirtatious. I’ll pass all the information to the Carrot most suited for this assignment and I will personally call you back the morning after the deed takes place.” His head hurt from the woman’s high-speed tirade. “Yes. Yes. That’s right – thank you for calling Blokebusters. Please tell all your friends about us. Goodbye.”

  He hung up and felt like he’d run a marathon. He pulled open a drawer and took out a Twix from his secret chocolate stash. Biting the top off both sticks he chewed thoughtfully. One client. You never forget your first one. By his calculations, the business needed around eighteen clients a month before he and Georgia’s share of the income would ease their financial pressures. It wouldn’t quite match his old salary but it was enough. One client down: seventeen to go. Twix finished, he unwrapped a Mars bar and took a large bite. He’d learned very early on in their relationship that it was best he eat chocolate out of Georgia’s nose, eye and earshot. Chocolate had been his best friend for as long as he could remember. A Curly Wurly or Revels always improved the long, col
d nights at boarding school. Parents don’t respond to your letters? Console yourself with a finger of Fudge. Sadistic chemistry master picking on you? You won’t even remember it after a bag of Cadbury’s Buttons. He finished his Mars bar and let his tongue rub over his teeth to dislodge the little bits of gooey caramel. If there was one thing he liked about himself it was his ability to eat sweets without putting weight on. People delighted in telling him that when he hit thirty it would catch up with him, but it hadn’t. He averaged three bars of chocolate a day plus sweets and hadn’t put on any weight since his mid-twenties.

  The phone rang; it was the Blokebusters line.

  “Hello, Blokebusters. How may I help you?”

  “You promised you’d call as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah I know – I’m just finalising the paperwork,” he said.

  “Well, how’d it go?” Georgia asked. The excitement in her voice made the phone tremble in his hand.

  “Very well. Very well indeed.”

  “Come on – don’t make me drag it out of you.”

  “She wants you to do it,” Matt said. “He goes for voluptuous brunettes.”

  “He’s got good taste then.”

  Chapter nine

  The morning of her first ‘hit’, Georgia sat at her dressing table getting ready for work. This would be an easy one to cut her teeth on: no wig, no major costume change required – the push-up bra and skimpy top fitted in her briefcase. She caught Nigel staring at her, like he disapproved. Nigel was a small furry fox and the first gift Matt had ever bought her. Matt insisted he be called Nigel and said he was a fox accountant. He made him a pair of glasses out of a straightened paper clip; apparently Nigel’s vision wasn’t quite what it should be. When Georgia introduced herself to men they’d always had to make some cheesy comment about Fox, her maiden surname. It would usually be along the lines of a lecherously delivered ‘Fox by name, Fox by nature’. Matt had resisted the gag although he subsequently admitted he’d thought about it. He’d bought her Nigel instead.

  “I’m only doing it to keep your dad happy,” she snapped at him. Nigel could get to her sometimes; he had a slightly disapproving look about him.

  She dressed in a skirt suit, deliberately selecting the skirt that rode up the most if she wanted it too. She wasn’t fond of skirts; not because her legs were bad because they weren’t, they were good. Too good. When she displayed them men stopped making eye contact with her and delivered every sentence to her pins. The jacket wasn’t her favourite either, it was cut so it gaped open across her chest when done up by its single button. It was a suit she’d worn often before her promotion, when she’d do anything to get noticed. If Jeff was in the office it could get unpleasant. She stood up to fiddle with the waistband trying not to imagine Jeff salivating over her.

  Matt brought her in a cup of tea. His eyes went straight to her legs.

  “Wow. You look stunning – you haven’t worn that suit for a while.” He put the cup on the dressing table next to Nigel.

  “I thought it was appropriate – for later. It’s a bit tight actually, I must’ve put on weight. I’m only eating cabbage for the rest of the week.”

  He smoothed the fabric over her hips and his hand lingered on her backside, only letting go when she sat down to do her make-up. Crouching, he looked at her in the mirror.

  “You don’t have to do this. If you’ve changed your mind we can give the client her money back. If you’re having second thoughts – well, it’s not a crime. I don’t want you to do anything you’re unhappy about – nor does Nigel.” He walked Nigel up her arm and across her shoulder so the little fox could kiss her cheek, adding the requisite sound effect. “You can back out.” He stroked her cheek, still looking at her reflection. “We’ll manage either way.”

  Georgia nodded and he knew she wouldn’t back out. It wasn’t in her nature. She might jump into the biggest puddle with both feet but she’d never then complain when she splashed herself with mud.

  Matt stood up and went over to the bed to shake the night out of the duvet.

  “Where will you be working this afternoon? I’ll pick you up from work and wait outside the bar for you.”

  “You’re coming?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  He let the duvet fall from his hands and sat on the bed.

  “Why not?”

  “I just think I’ll cope better without you there. Do you understand?”

  “No. No I don’t.” He scratched his head and stared at her. It was difficult for him to voice a conflicting opinion and he rehearsed it in his head before delivering it. Whereas other people’s voices became louder with anger, Matt’s became softer. It was when she had to struggle to hear him that she listened the most.

  “Georgia – I didn’t want this whole blasted business in the first place. But I conceded. I didn’t want you doing the testing. But I conceded. And now, when you’re going off for the first time and I want to make sure you’re safe, you won’t let me. Could you be just a little less pig-headed? Concede? For once – even if it’s just to see what it feels like? You might enjoy it. I am your husband and I wish to come this evening. No discussion is necessary. Agreed?”

  The silence between them was awkward and tense.

  “OK. I’m sorry.” Georgia felt like she’d been ticked off by the headmaster. She didn’t do contrite very well. Matt didn’t do dominant very well either.

  He smiled at her apologetically.

  “I agree that when things are up and running I won’t need to always be there. But I want to be there – for your sake – tonight. If necessary, I want to protect you.”

  She got up from her dressing table stool, the wood of the seat creaked as it had done since the day Matt assembled it. When he’d built it from a flat-pack kit he’d been left with three screws and couldn’t work out where they were meant to go. Every time the seat creaked his guilt at doing a shoddy job slapped him in the face. He’d never told Georgia and had pocketed the screws for later disposal. She stood in front of him and he parted his legs to let her in closer. Her perfume made him think of her naked in a field of flowers. Not that she ever had been, to his knowledge.

  “Are we friends again?” she purred, flattening his wild hair.

  “No,” he said and she frowned; he wasn’t usually so stubborn. She relaxed when he grinned, “I definitely don’t have dirty thoughts about my other friends.”

  When she left the house to go to work she took more than just her presence with her. He always noticed how quiet it was when he was alone. Georgia wasn’t a noisy person but he couldn’t ever recall hearing the ticking of the kitchen clock while she was with him. He stood in the hallway; the house was so still it was physical. The fridge-freezer whirred in the kitchen and the hot water pipes gurgled in the loft. This was how it would be, Matt told himself, if Georgia ever left. Without Georgia his life would be – what? What would it be? Frightening. And he was going to let her go into a bar and flirt with another man. Practically push her into another man’s arms. His breathing quickened with panic and it was only when he took deep breaths to calm himself that he noticed Georgia’s perfume lingered in the air.

  *

  It was the longest working day of Georgia’s life. Fiona called mid-morning to deliver what Georgia found a disappointingly clichéd pep talk. It seemed to involve a lot of ‘kicking butt’ and ‘not taking any prisoners’ from what she could recall. Fiona had sensed Georgia’s nerves and called mid-afternoon to summarise the key points of her earlier message.

  Jeff dropped in to her office and his eyes almost popped out of his head.

  “Georgia – what are you trying to do to us red-blooded males? Trying to catch someone’s eye?”

  “Yes.” She held his eye contact. It was so long since she’d tried to make a bloke, other than Matt, want her that she doubted she could remember what to do. She decided to use Jeff as target practice. Her eyes locked onto him as he approa
ched her and leant on her desk. Think back to what you used to do at uni, she urged herself. What had her forte been? Leg-crossing teamed with a cleavage-jiggling hair flick. She performed the action, a little rustily in her opinion, but Jeff didn’t know where to look first. Yep. Still got it, she thought with satisfaction.

  “Who’s the lucky man?” Jeff drooled.

  She almost snapped at him but instead managed to smile.

  “Matt’s meeting me from work.”

  “Oh.”

  Later in the day it dawned on her that Jeff wasn’t a good guide. He fancied anything. If he’d seen Matt in the blonde wig he’d probably fancy him. Georgia decided to go for a stroll around the building and monitor the male attention she got. Ten minutes later, she sat back at her desk feeling extremely contented.

  At 6 pm, her phone rang.

  “Hello my little seductress – your escort’s waiting in reception for you.”

  “Give me ten minutes to get changed and I’ll be down.”

  She changed her bra and top in the toilets. It made the outfit entirely different. She looked like the manageress of an upmarket massage parlour. The lace of the bra peeked above the neckline of her top; it wasn’t an accident. Georgia had never been a fan of lace, always finding it scratchy against her skin. Her lipstick was brighter than she would normally choose. She studied her reflection. Not bad. She looked like any other single girl out on the pull. Single. Slipping off her wedding ring she stored it safely in her purse to put back on again later. Her stomach let out a loud gurgle and she dashed into one of the vacant cubicles behind her. At least she might lose some weight if the business took off.

  Before leaving the toilets, Georgia made sure her raincoat was buttoned up. It proved to be a good move as Jeff dashed into the lift with her; she’d seen him coming and frantically jabbed the button to close the doors but he’d got his shoulder in and forced them open. Thankfully, just as he was about to start a conversation with her, the lift stopped at the next floor and four people piled in forming a natural barrier.