Dark Descent into Desire

by J. J. Sorel

  “Hey, Lil.” I stepped away to let her in.

  “How are you?” Her eyes wandered over the room. I hadn’t had a chance to tidy up the mess my mother had left. With anyone else, I would have shriveled from shame, but Lil knew my mother.

  “Like shit,” I replied with a long sigh.

  “Have you had anything to eat?”

  I shook my head. “No. There’s nothing in the cupboards. Mom used the money I left for drugs.”

  Her lips drew a tight line. “Come on. I just got paid. Let’s get a burger where that cute guy works.”

  I smiled. “Why not. I’ll pay you back one of these days.”

  Lil took my hand and squeezed it. “Just remember me when you’re selling your art for millions.”

  Her optimism always put a smile on my face. “I got a call today from a gallery. They’ve accepted my paintings for a group show.”

  “That’s really cool. Are you showing the Mad Witch series?”

  “Yep. I sent some photos, and they gave it a nod.” I grabbed my coat and bag. “I’ll just quickly check on Mom.”

  She returned an understanding nod.

  I poked my head into my mother’s bedroom, and satisfied she was still breathing, I rejoined Lil at the door. “She’s asleep.”

  Lilly shook her head. “It’s kind of weird. Why spend so much on a drug only to sleep?”

  “Tell me about it. I suggested she take sleeping tablets instead. It’s the lesser of two evils. And it would be a hell of a lot cheaper.”

  I walked with her along the cracked concrete path, which was a makeshift playground for kids and where drug deals took place.

  “Hey, girls,” said Jimmy, looking pleased with himself after making a sale.

  “Hey,” said Lilly.

  “You want to grab a pint? I’m buying.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “It’s food we need, not alcohol.”

  His gaze lingered. Jimmy had always had a thing for me, but I wasn’t interested. He was harmless, though.

  “Another time,” I said.

  He kicked a stone around with his feet. “You always say that.”

  I shrugged and continued on, dodging a homemade motorized bike as it

  scooted past us with one kid balancing precariously on the handlebars.

  * * *

  LILLY PICKED A FRY OUT of a carton and munched on it. “Yesterday, one of my regulars came in to have her nails done. I noticed her designer heels. She’s from the estate and works as a salesgirl. I had to ask if she’d found herself a rich boyfriend. She answered, ‘Something even better.’ And then, lowering her voice, she told me she’d sold her virginity for fifty thousand pounds.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Shit. Her too?”

  “Yeah. It’s becoming quite popular, isn’t it? When I asked her if it was an agency, she told me it happened at a club. One of the girls that night was offered half a million pounds.”

  I whistled. “I wonder what she had to do for that.”

  “I’d let them do anal for that,” she said with a smirk. “According to Annie—that’s my client—she stayed the night. He fucked her twice and made her blow him. And by the morning, she had fifty thousand in her account.”

  “Did he at least wear a condom?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Lilly took another fry. “We’re both virgins. Unless you’re keeping something from me.”

  I shook my head. “No way. I haven’t had a chance to sleep with anyone. I’ve been too busy with art college and being a fucking mother to my mother… and the boy that I wanted likes boys.”

  “Ah, Sheldon. How is he?”

  “He’s looking after me. If it wasn’t for Sheldon, I wouldn’t be able to go to art school. He even pays for my supplies sometimes.”

  “Aren’t his parents loaded?”

  “They are. And he reminds me that he’d prefer to pay for me than have me drop out. He even suggested I move in with him.”

  “Into his four-bedroom Soho house? Shit, Penny, that would be amazing. Why don’t you?”

  “If it wasn’t for Mom and her helplessness, I would. At least, I’m at Sheldon’s on weekends.”

  “Is he seeing anyone?”

  “There’s a guy he really likes, a cop who’s ashamed of being gay and is driving poor Shelly crazy.”

  “I’m thinking of doing it,” said Lilly, her sudden change of subject jolting me back to that sticky subject of our innocence.

  I studied her. “Selling yourself, you mean? That’s prostitution.”

  “Yeah. For one night. And then I can set up my own salon.” Her face lit up with excitement. I understood Lilly’s ambition for a better life only too well, because I also harbored the same desire.

  “One night?” I visualized some ugly foul-smelling man running his hands over me and grimaced. “I’m not sure I could do that.”

  “Even for five hundred thousand pounds?” Lilly asked.

  “But your client received fifty thousand, you just said.”

  “Yeah. But hey, she’s nothing on you. You’re stunning. And with those big tits and that shapely ass—God, Penny.”

  “I’m chubby.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re curvy. I’d kill to have your body.”

  I stared at Lilly. With her lovely thick blond hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and svelte body, she was beautiful. “You could raise the same amount, Lil. You really could. But this is horrible. I shouldn’t be encouraging you.”

  “I’m going to do it. Will you at least come with me for moral support?” she asked.

  “Where is it?”

  “A club in Soho.”

  “You had to apply?” I asked, sitting forward.

  “I went in and paraded.” She bit her lip. “That was after I’d sent a photo and a doctor’s report.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s taking it a bit too far.”

  “Hello, pap smears. And it was a female doctor. At least I know I haven’t got some virus or STDs.”

  My head pushed back. “An STD from a vibrator? Or your fingers?”

  She giggled. “The clients need to know what they’re paying for, I guess.”

  “So did this client of yours describe the guy?”

  “Yep.” Lilly’s mouth turned down. “Predictably, he was old and flabby.”

  “Yuck.”

  “Yeah. But one night, and then I can set up my own business and leave this shithole.”

  “But this is your home. I’d miss you.”

  She smiled sadly and touched my hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll always be besties.”

  I couldn’t imagine my life without Lilly. I wasn’t sure where I would have been without her. All those cozy sessions, drinking cups of tea and eating our homemade scones while watching telly together—normal activities that most folk probably took for granted meant the world to me. I’d never had that growing up. My mother didn’t do normal. She just did drugs, loud music, alcohol, and before Frank, one man after another sitting on our cigarette-burned couch. I’d leave the flat and stay with Lilly.

  And now Lilly was proposing to do what most women in our impoverished circle did—sell herself. I despaired that I had no alternative suggestion for her.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked.

  I nodded hesitantly. “I suppose. What exactly do you have to do?”

  “I have to parade in the nude and make sure I’m hairless.”

  “Bald?”

  My shocked tone made her laugh. “No, you nutjob. No pubes.”

  Grimacing, I shook my head. “You have to wax. Ouch.”

  “I already do my legs, anyway.” Her mood darkened. “There’s one thing you must promise.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you don’t tell Brent.”

  Lilly’s brother, Brent worked as a bouncer at the local casino. He was out all night, so at least he wouldn’t be around to ask questions.

  “Of course. I’m not that daft.”

  “He’d blow the
joint up.”

  That wasn’t an exaggeration. Brent could be rather explosive.

  “Okay. I’ll come along,” I said. It was the least I could do for my best friend, even if the concept sickened me.

  Lilly squeezed my hand. “That would be super.”

  The little tremor in her voice wasn’t lost on me. I tilted my head and studied her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Are you sure about this? I mean, there are other ways. How about if we set up a rescue-me account or something like that?”

  Lilly pulled a face. “Huh? As if anyone will donate to someone starting up her own salon.”

  “You never know.” I sighed. Lilly was right. It was dog-eat-dog out there. Too many people like us were in need. “That’s it. Enough of my weird art that only people like us like. I’m going to create a series of monochrome Rothko-inspired pieces so that I can make enough money to get us a little flat somewhere out of this shithole.”

  “But I love your paintings. They’re so beautiful and weird. They’re like fairy tales on acid.”

  I laughed. “I was born in the wrong time, I think. Too many hours spent at the Tate, gawking at the Pre-Raphaelites.”

  “As always, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, but it sounds posh and clever, and it’s you, babes. It’s you. You need to be yourself. You’ll sell. I believe in you.”

  A lump formed in my throat. I took a deep breath. It was not the time or place for tears in that bright, greasy hamburger joint. “Thanks, Lil. Your support really keeps me going. You, Brent, and Shelly. Without you guys, I’d be a mess.”

  “You’re the strongest person I know—other than Brent, that is,” said Lilly, nodding decisively. “If anyone can change their life, you can.”

  “But you can too. I wish you’d think this through. You’re a very sensitive girl.”

  “I’ve thought of nothing else. It’s only one night, and then I’ll be free to be my own boss.” She sucked on her straw. “I’ve toughened. And I’m sick of working my ass off for crumbs. Most of the clients who come in always ask for me. I’m good at what I do, and I should be earning more.”

  “You should, and you will,” I asserted. “Together, we’re going to do brilliantly.”

  We looked at each other and giggled.

  3

  * * *

  BLAKE

  PASSING MEADOWS AND PASTURES, I rolled down my car window. The smell of grass and dirt flooded me with memories of my childhood, though not of the warm, fuzzy, nostalgic kind.

  While some children had playgrounds, beaches, and gardens, I’d had the rugged moors, where, swept along by the relentless winds, I often played in caves. Some nights I could even still hear that soaring gale as though it roared through my soul.

  As I eased on my accelerator, I headed up the driveway to my destination. Situated in the Cotswolds, Grace Hall was a much sought-after retirement home.

  My attention went out to the fields, where some slumbered while others, clutching frames, crept along the paths—each step almost a miracle.

  I parked my car in the visitors’ car park. Nearby, a pair of nurses with cigarettes in their hands looked up and gawked at my attractive car, a pale-blue Aston Martin that radiated that James Bond allure. I drove it because of my weakness for elegant cars, not because of some boyish fantasy of getting about in a designer suit while saving the world single-handedly.

  I stepped out of the car and headed toward the stairs to the entrance of the stately honey-stoned Georgian mansion.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sinclair,” the receptionist said as I stepped into the foyer.

  I nodded a greeting and headed up the grand staircase, passing a large open space that had once been a grand ballroom and was now a common room with a drowsy atmosphere.

  Not too far down a long hallway, I came to a familiar door. I knocked and entered and found Milly, as usual, off with the fairies, staring at views of rolling hills and sky.

  She turned, and her face lit up. “Blake. My boy.”

  At the age of ninety, Milly’s body had given up on her, but her mind was as sharp as ever.

  “How are you, today?” I asked, kissing her on the cheek.

  “I’m feeling great. I had a good sleep.” Studying me in her typical fashion, Milly seemed to see right through me. “What about you, Blake? You’re looking tired, and you’ve lost weight.”

  My mouth tipped up at one end. I’d been visiting for five years, and each time she expressed the same concern. “I’ve actually put on weight.”

  “Have you met a nice girl yet? You’re so handsome.” She smiled.

  Milly had been a maid at Raven Abbey, a gothic castle, complete with dark corridors, a haunted turret, and hidden chambers. Even the dead overstayed their welcome there. As a young, impressionable boy who’d already had his fair share of darkness, I learned to sleep with one eye open after my mother and I moved into the servants’ quarters, where Milly also lived.

  “Have you heard anything of that monster, Dylan?” she asked in a broad Yorkshire accent.

  My body stiffened at the sound of my childhood enemy. “Nope.”

  “He’s an evil so-and-so. And why didn’t his father press charges? Dylan would still be locked up, which is where he should be, and not loose in London somewhere.”

  “Sir William wanted to avoid a scandal.” Lame as that reasoning was, I understood my late mother’s former employer’s unwillingness to besmirch the family name after his son Dylan had made two attempts on his life.

  “Dylan was always such a spiteful lad. Even as a five-year-old, his cold eyes showed malice. My poor Harry suffered. As did you, dear boy. I’m worried he might come for you. He was livid when he lost his inheritance to you.” She pointed. “Rightfully, I might add. If you hadn’t saved Sir William…” Touching her heart, she shook her head dramatically. “Goodness knows where any of us would’ve ended up.”

  “I can look after myself.” I sat back and took a deep breath.

  She took my hand and stroked it. “Look at what you’ve become. You’re so tall and handsome you should be in the movies.”

  I sniffed.

  “At least before I die, please promise me you’ll find yourself a good woman.”

  Her faded hazel eyes shone with concern.

  “One day I will.” Although I had no intention of ever marrying, I always reassured Milly that I would.

  Her frown faded into a smile. “A round of five hundred?”

  In addition to our history, we shared a love of cards.

  During the day, I made a killing buying up estates from the children of wealth who couldn’t afford death duties and inheritance taxes. And after hours, I played cards.

  Milly had taught me well. She loved a flutter and had won my undivided respect for her ability to remain blank faced even when holding a royal flush.

  I removed my wallet and emptied some notes onto the table.

  “Where are the coins?” Milly asked, looking disappointedly at the crisp ten-pound notes I’d brought along for our card game.

  “I thought we’d splash out a little today.”

  She frowned. “Nothing beats the rattle of coins, though.”

  I chuckled. “I suppose so. These days, Milly, they’re rare.”

  She pointed to the drawer by her bed. “The cards are in there.”

  I opened the drawer and, next to the cards, saw something I’d never seen there before—a journal.

  “Have you started writing?” I asked, removing the pack of cards.

  “I have. And don’t you go poking around in there.”

  Her feisty tone brought back memories of Milly and her bossy ways. I had to grin, despite a growing thirst for that book.

  I’d spent years observing furtive glances between Milly and my late mother. One day, I hoped to understand why my mother, who’d mysteriously disappeared, had taken her secrets with her.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, I was in my London offi
ce. I’d been on one phone call after another, tussling with the council over the development of one of my recently acquired estates. I shut the folder and stretched my arms. Turning away from the postcard view of Westminster, I looked through the wall of windows to a neighboring building.

  My inner voyeur stirred.

  She was on her knees. While seated, he positioned himself close to her face. Taking out his cock, he shoved it into her mouth. They liked it rough and met on a Wednesday or Friday. They were hard to miss, given that they performed in front of the window.

  I unzipped my trousers and sat far away from the window to avoid becoming someone’s performance piece.

  As I watched the woman playing with her tits, the phone buzzed. I wiped my hands before returning the call.

  “There you are,” said James. “I’ve been trying to call all day.”

  “I’ve been dealing with heritage layers and a pair of squabbling siblings.”

  He laughed. “That sounds entertaining.”

  “More torturous than anything. There’s nothing like the smell of cash to incite hatred within a family.”

  “I’ve seen it all too often. I suppose you’re buying the family jewels.”

  “It’s a pretty estate. In Norwich. An old Georgian Hall. They’ve fallen into debt. She wants to sell, he wants to keep it, and so it goes, on and on. If I had a soft voice and patience, I could become a counselor in this business.”

  James laughed. “I could never see you being that, you old cynic.”

  “Hey… steady on. I’m what thirty going on fifty.”

  “Yes, the body of a stud and the mind of a pipe-sucking mad uncle.”

  “Mad? Me? Never.” I grinned.

  “Tonight. Remember? We’re off to the Cherry Orchard.”

  I sat up. That was unexpected. “The play by Chekhov?”

  He laughed. “That was my response. An artful and rather apt subterfuge for a place dealing in virgins.”