Craved

by Lola Smirnova

  Freddie takes the glass, stairs blankly at it and then downs the shot.

  I glance at Mr. Brown and Nikita. They’re both staring at us. Okay, I understand why Nikita is not doing anything. She’s been paid upfront and at this point the less that happens, the better for her. But what's with the old fuck?

  I guess he creates this aura of ‘steaming action’ to make himself feel better and to pretend he’s still young and capable.

  That’s life, oldie! You are old! Get over it and stop staring.

  Freddy pushes me back. He looks at me without seeing. His eyes are wrapped with drunken mist.

  ‘I’m not feeling well,’ he mumbles and hands me his empty glass. Before I can figure things out, his eyeballs roll up, he leans forward, on my shoulder, and a loud retch breaks the quiet of the night, followed by a warm splash that runs down my chest and shoulder.

  ‘Oh crap!’ I jump out of the tub.

  Nikita starts laughing as I try to clean the sour, smelly liquid with the towel.

  ‘Oh gosh, poor Freddy.’ Mr. Brown gets up, helps him out and walks him back to the house.

  ‘Shit, I need a shower,’ I head inside too. I hear splashes and Nikita’s amused giggles. ‘The water is amazing!’ She is also out of the tub now, enjoying the pool.

  She’s having a dream night. She’s got her money, it doesn't look like she’s going to get laid and she’s got to enjoy a great scotch in a pool with an incredible view of Cape Town.

  Well, it doesn’t look like I’m going to get laid either.

  I walk through the lounge and stop before the half-open bedroom door. I peep inside, hoping it’s one of the guest bedrooms with a bathroom I could use. I stiffen.

  Freddie is unconscious, on his back on the bed with his legs and arms spread, the senior drying him with a towel. He has a hard on.

  The puzzle pieces fall into place.

  All this time he was hunting Freddy down. What a dirty old freak!

  Mr. Brown notices me and walks over, displeasure on his face. I can’t help it, my eyes are fixed on his erection.

  ‘Use the shower in the other room.’ He indicates down the corridor. ‘Freddy doesn’t feel well. The night is over. You girls can go home,’ he waves again, as if I am one of his servants, and shuts the door.

  I find another bedroom, have a quick shower and get back. My stomach clenches as I pass the closed door, where drunk, naive Freddy has been trapped by a sick old bastard.

  Nikita and I dress, and walk to the entrance door.

  Mr. Brown, dressed in a silk nightgown, and David are waiting for us.

  ‘Take the girls home, then take the rest of the night off. Mister Freddy is staying here. He is not feeling well,’ he orders, with a sickening thrill in his voice.

  I can’t be wrong about this... I’ve been in Freddy’s shoes myself.

  Before Mr. Brown goes back inside, he pulls the money out of his dressing gown pocket and hands it to me. ‘Here, my apology for quite a disappointing night. Thanks for your time.’

  ‘What a night!’ Nikita exclaims as we climb inside the car. ‘I wish it was always like this!’

  I force a smile. The things Freddy might go through tonight flash through my mind. My revulsion changes to anger. I can’t be mistaken. Those perverted old eyes were speaking louder than anything. His plan – get Freddy wasted, use us to make sure that his coming to his house at night wouldn’t seem strange, then get rid of us as soon as he had the unconscious young man in his bed – worked perfectly.

  Shit! I bet it’s not the first time the old fuck has put on this act!

  I look out the window as we drive away from the house, wondering whether I should do something to help.

  I shake my head, count the money, give half to Nikita and put the rest into my purse.

  What am I, a rescue team? He deliberately drank and walked into that house, then undressed himself and passed out on that bed. Besides, no one helped me when I was in trouble. Why should I do it now?

  I hate this job.

  18

  ‘Jul, come here. I need your help,’ Natalia shouts from another room.

  All three of us have been in a suite at the scenic wine farm’s hotel since the morning. It’s Lena’s wedding day.

  ‘C’mon Jul, hurry!’

  I put aside the fashion magazine I’ve been thumbing without thinking, and walk into the bedroom. Lena is still sitting in front of the pier glass in the white hotel dressing gown while Natalia does her hair. There are only two hours to the ceremony and I can see that Lena is doubting her decision to use Natalia instead of a professional hair stylist.

  I reassuringly smile to Lena in the mirror and smack Natalia’s bum for rolling her eyes at me.

  ‘Here, hold this one,’ Natalia orders and hands me a lock of hair.

  ‘I still think you should leave your hair loose,’ I glance at Lena and then, in the mirror, at the wedding dress smoothed out on the king-sized four-poster. ‘That dress’s open shoulders would look fantastic with your hair down.’

  Natalia gives me a rampant stare, only not objecting because of the hairpins in her mouth.

  ‘I thought about it, but I am afraid by the end of the night I’ll look towheaded,’ Lena grimaces, as if in pain at Natalia’s every manipulation.

  I must admit that although Natalia has been working on Lena for more than two hours, the bun she’s created, which looks like a flower, with pearl hairpins around it, is truly outstanding.

  Finally the hair and make-up is done. Lena is dressed and ready. We put everything away, and tidy the room. Later, it will be Lena and Mark’s honeymoon suite.

  ‘It’s a pity Mom and Dad can’t be here.’ Lena stands in front of the mirror. ‘Maybe when Dad gets better we can all go to Ukraine and do another wedding there?’

  ‘That would be great,’ Natalia replies. ‘I spoke to Mom. She finally found a buyer for the salon. At least one problem is off her shoulders. I just need to get her a letter of permission to sell signed by notary and it’s done.’

  Natalia’s good news seems to make Lena even sadder.

  ‘Don’t get upset. Life goes on,’ I say. ‘This is not a good time to worry about the problems in Ukraine.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Lena’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I don’t know... I thought I was happy. I woke up today thinking how am I going to live with him for the rest of my life?’

  Natalia looks at me with a what-the-hell expression on her face.

  ‘I know. I’ve always looked happy and in love. But I think I just convince myself that I love him. You know? Whatever it takes finally to get what I want so much.’

  ‘Don’t do this.’ Natalia jumps in. ‘I know you’ve always wanted a family, but that’s no reason to marry a man you don’t love. So what if it’s not going to happen now? No matter when, Lena, it’s worth waiting instead of doing it just because he is a nice man and you want a family.’

  The tears run down Lena’s face, ruining her make up.

  I hug her. ‘Please don’t cry. Maybe you are just panicking? So much going on in your life. New man, marriage, and for God’s sake you are pregnant! You have a right to freak out and be emotional.’

  ‘I am not pregnant,’ Lena starts howling.

  ‘What?’ Natalia answers first again.

  ‘I thought I was.’ A spit bubble comes out of her mouth. ‘The pregnancy test was just faulty or maybe I didn’t use it properly. I went to the doctor for a check-up, he said I am not pregnant.’

  I pass her the tissues. ‘Okay, Len, that is even better!’ Shit! ‘I mean, right now you can think about what you want to do with your life, without having any other burdens,’ Damn it! ‘I mean obstacles to influence your decision.’

  ‘I haven’t told Mark yet. I was scared he would call off the wedding if he found out.’

  Lena picks up a tissue and wipes under her eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter... I want to be married, to have a home and kids. Mark is a good man and I'm going to marry him and live
happily ever after.’

  ‘You know it’s wrong.’ Natalia won’t let it be.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand,’ Lena snaps. ‘You and your freaking rightness! All this time I’ve played by the rules and what did I get but those bastards wiping their feet on my back. Mark will not break in two if he finds out about the faulty test tomorrow… I’ve been betrayed so many times I’m not sure any more. What if he agreed to marry me only because of the baby? I can’t risk it.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ Natalia’s voice is calm. ‘I don’t care about Mark’s feelings or the fact that you are using pregnancy as a lasso. I care about you. You’re jumping into this marriage as if you’re a toothless, sixty-year-old granny. Like it’s your last chance in life to get a man! You are a young and gorgeous woman. You deserve to have a man you’ll love; who you'd want for sure to spend the rest of your...’

  ‘Blah blah blah… Save it for a movie script.’ Lena turns and walks back to the mirror, and gives herself a check out. ‘Don’t worry. No, I am not in love. So what? I am happy to have a chance to build my own family. I will tell Mark tomorrow about the pregnancy. I am sure he will be okay with it. Sooner or later we’ll have kids anyway. It’s all going to be good. It can’t be otherwise, because I’m finally living my dream.’

  Oh my God, it sounds so pathetic. I want to hang myself instead of celebrating.

  The ceremony is fantastic. Under a hundred people. A warm sunny day. The vows seem genuine and touching.

  Just like in the movies... so fairy-tale-like, and so different from how our lives have been… or still are, at least for me.

  From time to time, I hear Natalia’s deep sighs.

  ‘Stop worrying, will you?’ I whisper without looking at her, poking her with my elbow. ‘No matter what we think, Lena is going to do it her way. So why should we worry?’

  ‘I just can’t watch this, pretending it’s all good.’ Another deep sigh. ‘No one knows how much this mistake will cost her.’

  ‘I agree. But is there anything you can do right now to change it?’

  ‘No’

  ‘Okay, then. Stop with your funeral face. If Lena wants to play a family, let her play it. Besides, you forget, we live in the 21st century. Have you heard of the thing called divorce? Yeah. Don’t look at me like that. Seriously, Nata. No more faces as if someone just died and no more of those deep sighs. Cheer up. We are at a wedding, for Christ’s sake.’

  When the ceremony is over we move to the outside bar area to enjoy drinks while Lena and Mark are busy with the photographer. I look around and notice one of the guests. He’s not much older than me, good looking, with extremely beautiful blue eyes that, by the way, are fixed on mine. I smile at him, noticing a well-built body under the light grey suit he’s wearing.

  Natalia waves to me. ‘Family shots, let’s go.’ We’re struggling in our high heels across the grass to the scenic area at the lake when I feel a hand on my elbow.

  ‘Let me help you get there.’ I recognize the eyes and a long-forgotten excitement jolts through my body.

  ‘My name is Warren.’ His grip on our elbows is firm. ‘I am one of Mark’s many cousins.’

  ‘Julia.’

  ‘Natalia. We are Lena’s sisters.’

  ‘Oh my gosh, I wish I could meet your mother,’ he flatters as we approach the lake. ‘To have three daughters as beautiful as you girls, she must be one gorgeous woman.’

  When we finish with the photo shoot, Warren walks straight to me.

  ‘I never look good in photographs. I will spoil the whole wedding album with my face.’

  I giggle. ‘You’re definitely exaggerating with those gorgeous blue eyes.’ Our eyes meet again and another wave of pleasant sensation travels through my body.

  Oh gosh, my damn panties are wet already.

  ‘Would you like to take a walk, Julia? I bet you haven’t had a chance to explore this place, with all the preparations. It’s one of my favorite wine farms in the Western Cape.’ I lift one brow. He laughs bashfully, ‘It’s not what you thought. It’s just that my mother is a sommelier. She’s dragged me to all the wine farms with her.’

  Once we are out of sight of the others, he clinches me in his hands and kisses me. His body feels strong and arousing, but his lips do not impress me. I try to turn my face away, passing him off to my neck. But he holds my head tight and I can’t escape his shapeless and dripping-with-excess-saliva tongue. My excitement goes for good.

  Like some freaking high school student.

  I press my hands into his chest and unglue my face from his, trying to catch my breath. He misreads my heavy breathing and drags me inside a barn. He throws me into the hay and then drops his heavy body on top of me. I let him undo the zip on my dress and slide it down my chest. Swallowed by desire, he throws my flared skirt up and pulls my panties down to my knees. I look at his face: mouth agape, a clouded stare. More dumb now than handsome. By the time he’s opened his fly and rolled the condom onto his cock, I know for sure he is not my Casanova and I’m not his Henriette. I hesitate, self-consciously decide not to cut him off at this stage. He enters me, shuffling rather than moving in and out rhythmically. I stare at the straw that’s stuck in his hair, hanging foolishly above his ear, and wonder what the hell I am doing here. A few minutes later, he cackles and leans heavily on me.

  Okay...

  He catches his breath, gets up and helps me.

  ‘Julia, you are a wonderful girl, this was amazing,’ he announces as soon as we are both dressed. ‘But I have to be honest with you. I can’t see you again. My mom will kill me if she finds out I’m dating a stripper.’

  I pinch my lips and start walking back.

  ‘Don’t be upset.’ He takes my elbow in his hand again. I look away and roll my eyes.

  ‘Okay, I won’t.’ I try to hide my relief. I’m so grateful I don’t have to deal with him again. At least once I feel good about being a stripper! All I want is to forget this pathetic screw. Sadly, it started as an exciting sexual adventure.

  We go back. Dinner is about to start. I find Natalia and we both head to our table. The dining room looks fantastic – the flowers on the tables, the simply cooked but tasty food, the beautifully dressed and happy crowd.

  Everything is wonderful, but I can’t bring myself to enjoy the evening. The troubled thoughts seize my mind. Even Natalia, after a few glasses of champagne, forgot her worries about Lena's future, tossed her high heels somewhere under the table and swayed on the dance floor with the other guests.

  It’s not that I regret having sex with a man who, it turns out, thinks I am inferior because I am a stripper. Or that I am offended because Warren now pretends that he doesn’t know me. It’s something else. I don’t understand why the hell I didn’t stop him when it was clear I didn’t want sex. He wasn’t good, and I stopped enjoying it at the very beginning. I didn’t owe him anything. It’s not like he was paying me. I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. Is it because I’ve developed a habit of opening my legs whenever someone asks me to? Or because I’ve never had the chance to learn how to say no?

  ‘Let’s go dance!’ I look up. Natalia and Lena are standing in front of me, hands on their hips. They pull me on the dance floor. ‘What’s with the face? Cheer up sister. Let’s shake it.’

  19

  He avoids eye contact with me. His forehead is wrinkled. It looks like he’s trying to make up his mind. He is an Indian boy. Probably not even twenty years old. He is part of a bachelor party. Eight of his friends and him are like the kids in a candy store, who want it all but can afford only a limited number of sweets.

  ‘So, what do you say, handsome?’ I fidget on his lap, making sure he feels the right pressure on his crotch. ‘Shall we do it? I bet you’ll ask for more once you’ve tried it!’

  ‘I hope you’ll make it worthwhile,’ he says with a light accent as he gets up, putting me back onto my feet.

  We walk to the private room. The night is about to end; the club is
getting quieter.

  The dance goes as usual. I use everything I have in my seduction armory. He struggles (oops! enjoys) through it, driven by a natural desire that has no right to be fulfilled. It's almost a mockery of men’s needs – to urge them to want sex and then stop them when they act on that desire, often by making them feel ashamed.

  ‘I want another song,’ he says, breathing heavily.

  ‘It’s fifty rand more,’ I say, weary, and pretend to smile. He agrees. We continue.

  We stay for another two songs. It goes the same. More sweat and color on his face, and more protruding veins on his couch-piercing hands.

  He asks for song number five.

  ‘That’s going to be R350,’ I say, loud and slow, making sure he understands.

  I get the point that it’s not difficult math, and my aim is not to treat the client like an idiot. Yet I always explain the damage in detail, making sure we are on the same page and I won’t have any problems when he has to pay later.

  We round it up to R400, then leave the private room.

  ‘I’ll pay by credit card.’

  ‘No problem.’ I lead him to the counter.

  He hands the cashier his card. ‘Two hundred.’

  I shake my head. ‘We had four extra songs. The total is four hundred.’ I’m sure the boy has just made a mistake.

  He widens his eyes. ‘No speak English. No understand. No pay four hundred.’ His Indian accent is now ridiculously heavy.

  I narrow my eyes.

  He acts out the innocent face and points at the dance menu on the counter, right at the line: ‘Lap Dance R200’.

  I roll my eyes.

  Unfuckingbelievable!

  ‘You think you are smart, hey?’ I hiss at him.

  ‘No understand. No speak English.’

  ‘This bastard speaks English better than I do,’ I turn to the cashier. ‘And I explained the price he'd have to pay every time he asked for an extra song.’

  I know some girls prefer not to tell the clients about costs of extra songs. Then, if the client complains, saying that he didn't know about the extra charge, the girls pull the 'I didn't know that you didn't know' act, leaving the client no choice. I don’t like that. I like it all clean and square. And yet I get into trouble.