A silence falls over the crowd.
We all watch them.
This is ace.
‘Lick it,’ she says.
The man obeys.
He laps at the dirty floor.
Urgh, that’s gross. It looks disgusting. Just think of the bugs from all those shoes. Dog shit. Mud. E. coli. Listeria. It’s a dirty floor in a busy club. Not even the three-second-rule applies. I look away. That’s nasty. She finally lets the man back up. As soon as he’s free, he runs away, clutching his fucked-up shoulder.
The woman smiles. She’s pretty.
She walks towards the bar through the crowd, a round of applause erupting. Wow. That was cool. It was short and sweet, but she totally showed him. I wonder what that guy did wrong. It must have been pretty awful. I wish I knew how to fight like that. I need to practise more.
I head over to the bar too and squeeze back into my old spot. I pick up the drinks menu and get back to browsing. That’s when I see she’s appeared next to me and – I can’t help it – I stare.
‘Hey,’ says the woman.
Oh my God, she’s amazing.
She is unbelievably hot. Up close like this, she looks like Rihanna. I gaze at her face. She’s standing right in front of me, pressing her knee into my thigh. (It’s really very crowded in here. There isn’t that much space.)
She’s wearing round black aviators with silver frames and attitude. The logo on the side reads ‘Bulgari’. I can see myself in the lenses. The next thing I notice are her lips. I don’t know why but I’m drawn to them. They’re mesmerizing. Hypnotizing. Round and full with a hint of gloss, in a rosebud shape. She pushes a straw against her lip, drinking something like sparkling water or maybe a vodka and tonic. Whatever it is, I want one too. I want to look like that.
She squeezes her body against me to get nearer the bar. Unisex eau de cologne: a hint of Calvin Klein One. Her hair is long, reaching down to her waist. It falls in one black satin sheet, which shines like the screen on an iPhone. The woman places her hands on the counter and fingers a thin silver ring. It’s on her thumb – not a wedding band, so I don’t think she’s married. She has short, clean nails without any polish. She has twenty earrings in her left ear. Zero earrings in the right.
‘Hi, I’m Rain,’ she says.
‘Rain?’ I say.
‘That’s right. Don’t you like it?’
I close my eyes and sigh. I remember the rain that fell on my face when I killed that man in Romania. It felt cool and so refreshing against my burning skin. I remember that feeling the last time I came, when I floated as free as the rain.
‘No, I like rain. Your name is ace. Is it short for something?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know.’ I frown. ‘Like Rainbow?’
OMG. Alvie, just stop.
‘No. It’s just Rain as in rain.’
‘That’s a great name,’ I say.
‘Your accent is adorable. Are you British?’ she says.
‘Yes. No. Maybe,’ I say.
I think she has an American accent, but it could be Canadian. We have to shout over the music. We’re basically lip-reading. Or perhaps I’m staring at her mouth? I really want to kiss her.
What?
There’s something magnetic about her . . .
‘My name is Beyoncé,’ I say.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She pushes her shades back into her hair and reveals the palest blue eyes. I swallow hard. She has no make-up on. She doesn’t need it. I want to touch her face.
‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ I say.
A girl’s never bought me a drink before.
‘Two vodka tonics,’ she says to the barman. ‘Grazie, Marco.’
‘Prego.’ He looks at me and winks. Again. Maybe it’s just a tic?
I’m jealous. How does she know that guy? Does she sleep with the barman?
‘So . . .’
Rain takes off her denim jacket and folds it on top of the bar. She’s wearing a simple V-neck T-shirt. Nipple rings press up against the thin white cotton fabric.
I take my jacket off as well. It’s suddenly way too hot.
She smiles at me so I smile back. A gap between her two front teeth makes her look kind of French. Damn, that’s cute. She’s crazy sexy. If she were a guy, you know I’d be all over that like a rash.
‘I liked your moves, before, in the fight,’ I say. ‘That was badass.’
‘Oh yeah? I could show you, if you like.’
I nod. ‘That would be awesome. I’m training to be a martial arts guru . . . What did that guy do to you?’
‘He pinched my ass,’ she says. ‘Do you come here often?’
I look at Rain. Why does she care? She blinks at me slowly.
‘I . . . well . . .’ I can’t find the words. She has pretty lips. Did I mention that?
The man sets down our matching drinks. I take a long drag on the straw. It’s bitter. Acidic. At least two shots of vodka. I wish it had three or four.
‘What did you ask me again?’
‘Do you come here often?’
Oh, that one’s easy.
‘This is my first time, actually. I’m here on holiday.’ Kind of.
‘So, what do you do when you’re not in bars?’ She strokes the sides of her glass up and down, wiping away the condensation. Why does she care? Is she chatting me up? Or is she just being friendly?
‘My job is actually top secret. I’m not allowed to discuss it.’
I’d better not give too much away. I am undercover.
‘Interesting,’ she says. ‘You’re not one of those Mafia lowlifes? There are way too many of those crawling around in here. This place is where they hang out.’
I don’t say anything.
Rain puts her hand on top of mine and leaves it there. WTF? She strokes my finger with her finger; it’s long and slim, just like a pianist’s (that sounds a little bit like ‘penis’). I swallow hard. Reach for the nuts. Shove them in my face.
Rain takes a sip through her black straw. She clinks the ice around in her glass. It sounds incredibly sexy. She looks up at me through her lashes. Her gaze is deep. Intense.
‘Cuckoo,’ says my clock.
‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, nothing. It’s just my clock.’ I show her inside my bag.
‘Aww, that’s cute. I like it.’
‘So what do you do?’ I ask her back, just for something to say.
‘I’m in sales.’
‘That’s awesome. What kind of sales?’
‘Oh, that’s top secret.’
Fair enough, I guess.
She touches her taut, flat stomach. Perhaps she has an itch? The fabric on her top pulls up to reveal a navel ring. A thin silver bar with two balls on it. I wonder what else she has pierced.
I reach for the peanuts and bite down hard, imagining they’re Nino’s nuts.
She applies a slick of shimmery gloss; her lips look super shiny.
I lick the salt off my fingertips.
‘So where are you from, Beyoncé?’
It’s safer to remain anonymous. I don’t know anything about her. For all I know, she could be police. Could be an undercover cop.
‘Um, Archway,’ I say.
Shit.
‘I don’t know where that is.’
That’s lucky.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Chicago.’
‘Oh. I know where that is.’
I crunch more nuts. I sip my drink. The ice has melted now. The straw makes a slurp-slurp-slurping sound at the bottom of my tumbler. I could do with another one. Rain lets her hand rest on my waist. Her cobalt eyes twinkle like fire. (The flame on my Zippo is blue.)
‘I really like
what they’ve done with these peanuts; they’re roasted with just a hint of wasabi . . .’
Rain leans in and bites her lip. I feel her warm breath on my cheek. She puts her hand behind my neck and pulls me in towards her.
‘Would you like to come back to my place?’ she says. ‘I could teach you some of those moves.’
It’s just one night . . . I’ll find Nino tomorrow . . .
‘OK. Yeah sure. Let’s go.’
Chapter Thirteen
We’re sitting in the back of a cab. It’s a silver Prius. The driver’s checking us out in the rear-view. Dirty bastard, he’s going to crash. He’s not looking where he’s going.
‘Hey. Watch the road, motherfucker.’
I know that’s the kind of thing I would say, but that was Rain shouting.
The radio’s playing Italian rap. I recognize a few of the words: ‘fica’, ‘cazzo’, ‘vaffanculo’. I feel like singing along, but Rain is sitting on my lap, her hand down the front of my leather top and her tongue deep in my mouth.
There’s a tongue ring I hadn’t noticed. Oh my God, that’s hot. This chick is beyond awesome. My tongue explores the silver piercing: backwards and forwards and round and round. It’s smooth and round and tiny and perfect. She tastes like vodka and lemons. I think I’m falling in love. I take a deep breath and pull back. That’s the first time I’ve kissed a girl, but it’s like that Katy Perry song. You know what, I liked it.
Rain looks into my eyes and smiles. Her pupils are dilated. She chucks her chewing gum out the window then leans back in to kiss me. Her lips feel soft against my lips. She slips her tongue inside. I stroke her hair; it’s cool and silky. I love her taste. I love her smell. She is so different from Nino . . . a better kisser, a better person (but that’s not hard: he’s a knob).
Then Rain pulls away. She moves her face towards my breasts. I take a sharp breath. My body’s tense. She undoes the buttons on my top.
I talk into her hair. ‘So do we need some kind of strap-on?’
Shut up, Alvie, stop blabbering.
‘No. We don’t. You’ll see.’
She pulls my bra down off my breasts and takes my nipple in her mouth. Her mouth feels warm against my skin. I close my eyes and sigh. My head leans back into the headrest. She runs her hand along my thigh and slips it down inside my trousers. Oh my fucking God. I smooth her back. Her skin is soft. I feel her tiny waist.
‘You have an amazing body,’ I say.
‘So do you,’ she says.
I’m wet. My clit is hot and throbbing. I feel my pussy aching. Her fingers slide inside my pants.
‘We arrive,’ says the taxi driver.
* * *
*
I watch as Rain pours a couple of inches of bright green liqueur. The label on the bottle reads La Fée Absinthe Parisienne. She takes a silver absinthe spoon and a lump of dark brown sugar, pours the drink over the cube and lights it with a match. There’s a scent of burning sulphur. Of sweet aniseed. The sugar caramelizes as the golden flame flickers yellow. The melted sugar drip, drip, drips down through the spoon to the glass below. She adds a splash of water. A few ice cubes. I watch as she stirs. Her slim wrist. Her slender fingers. She hands me my drink and we clink.
I take a sip. It’s strong. Delicious. I look around the room. The lights are dim and soft and low. Rain has lit a couple of candles and they cast a warm and amber glow. The room smells of Rain and exotic spices. Intoxicating, heady. There’s a framed poster of Brigitte Bardot posing naked on the wall. Pink and white orchids in vases. The flowers all look like vaginas.
Rain turns on her stereo. She’s playing an Italian song. It’s a female artist singing. Her voice is powerful.
‘Wow. Who’s that?’ I say. ‘I don’t know her.’
‘Elisa,’ says Rain. ‘“Eppure Sentire”. It’s my favourite song.’
I down the rest of my absinthe.
‘It’s my favourite song too.’
‘Come here,’ says Rain, leaning towards me.
The mattress creaks as we lie down. She looks deep into my eyes, giving me a jolt like an electric shock. She takes a sip of absinthe and kisses me beneath my jaw. She runs an ice cube all the way from my throat to the back of my neck. The ice cube’s melting on my skin. I can’t tell if it is hot or cold; I just know it feels amazing. Icy water trickles down. My nipples go hard. I pull her body into mine. I want us to go all the way. I want to taste her come.
I move to kiss her on the mouth. The ice has disappeared. Her tongue is freezing, alien, strange. My heart is racing. Breathing shallow. This is all so new.
‘I want to hear you scream, Beyoncé.’
‘Fuck yeah,’ I say. ‘You too.’
I tease the stretchy cotton fabric of her thin white cotton shirt. I want to see her body naked. I’m so fucking turned on. Rain takes off her top. Oh wow. I was right about the piercings. Her boobs are small and perfectly formed with bars across the nipples. Her areolas are dark. Her skin the colour of chocolate. I lean in and kiss her breasts, feeling a bar inside my mouth. I swirl my tongue around and suck. She pulls my head towards her. Moans. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but you know what? It’s ace. Fuck you, Nino. In your face. I’m not going to eat my heart out.
Rain strokes my skin with fingertips as light as summer showers. She pulls off my leather top and throws it on the floor. We lie next to one another. I can hear her breathe. It’s fast and shallow. I’m alert. Wide awake. Like I’ve done too much cocaine. I kiss her on her naked shoulder. Then I lick her neck. She tastes likes Swizzels Love Hearts.
Her hands reach down towards my ass. I can’t wait any longer. I reach for the flies of her ripped-up jeans. Try to find the buttons. I wonder if she has a Brazilian. Or a Hawaiian wax? I rip open her blue jeans and pull them – kick them – down her legs. There’s a tattoo of an orchid on her bikini line. It’s small and pink and fucking perfect. It’s nicer than mine. I reach out and touch it lightly – stroke the pretty petals – then slide my hand towards her cunt.
‘Mmm,’ says Rain.
Her head pushes into the pillow. I watch her back arch up.
Dark hair. Something silver. Another piercing in her clit? I take a closer look.
‘Oh my God. That’s epic.’
I touch it with my fingertip. It’s tiny. Glinting. Shiny. I kiss her on her pussy; she tastes different. Acidic. I lick and lick and lick. I think of the oysters that I ate on Ambrogio’s yacht. Her body curves and undulates across the bed like waves.
‘Mmmm,’ she says.
I push my fingers deep inside, reach up for her G spot. She moans and then her body shudders. I watch her as she comes.
Rain sits up and looks at me, but I can only stare. She unzips my leather trousers and peels them slowly down my legs. Holy fuck. This sex is on fire.
‘Wait,’ she says. ‘Don’t move.’
She gets up off the bed and walks towards a chest of drawers.
‘Where are you going? Come back,’ I say. Now what is she doing?
Rain pulls out a pair of gloves. They’re shiny black and glossy. She pulls them on. They’re elbow-length. PVC.
‘No glove, no love,’ she says.
‘I thought that was a metaphor?’
She climbs back on to the bed. Naked apart from the gloves.
Her eyes lock on mine.
She reaches out and caresses me on my cheek. The glove feels cold against my skin, just like drops of rain. My face feels like it’s burning. I close my eyes. I’m dizzy. High. Every nerve ending alive. Rain moves down between my legs.
‘You like this?’ she says.
She smooths her hands across my stomach. Soft lips push against my cunt. I look down and see her long black hair flowing over her naked shoulders. I’m moaning, moaning. Floating. Groaning. Something hard – her tongue ring? – presses down on my clit
.
‘Oh God. Oh yeah,’ I say.
She tickles me with just the tips then pushes her fingers deep inside me.
‘You like that, baby?’ she says.
‘Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.’
She licks my pussy up and down, sucking, kissing, swirling around. She slips another finger inside. Or what the fuck? A thumb? And, oh my God, my fucking G spot. I’m moaning. Moaning. Brain exploding. I’m in fucking ecstasy. I can’t think or breathe or see. I feel her fingers deep inside and push my body down, down, down. The bed sheets ride up underneath me. I grab hold of her hair.
‘Nino. Nino. Fuck me,’ I say.
I come again and again and again.
‘Nino. Nino. Nino.’
Rain sparks up a cherry vape and blows the steam out in my face. I pull the duvet up over my sticky, naked body.
‘Who the fuck is Nino?’ she says.
* * *
*
‘But you said you’d teach me some killer moves?’
‘Oh yeah? Watch this,’ she says.
She throws me – hard – down the corridor and I crash into the front door.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ I say. ‘Can I have my clothes?’
I get dressed and burst out of the flat, slamming the door behind me.
BANG.
Oh my God, Americans. They’re so fucking tetchy.
Chapter Fourteen
The Roman Forum, Rome, Italy
I wrap my arms round myself, shivering despite my clothes. Why did she have to throw me out? Who cares if I forgot her name? It’s 3 a.m. Where am I supposed to go? How am I supposed to get home? I scan the dark and empty street. No cabs. No trams. No buses. Great. I am going to have to walk. How far is it to my flat? I look around for familiar landmarks, but there aren’t any.
What a stupid name anyway. I mean, who the hell is called Rain? What is she, a New Age hippy? The personification of precipitation? It makes no fucking sense. I pick a direction at random. Is that south or is that west? I swerve down the deserted street, rummaging around in my bag for my phone. I call up Google Maps. I have to type the address ten times (I’ve had quite a lot of absinthe), but finally the route pops up. It’s going to take me an hour. I bet she’ll go out tomorrow night and pick up some other British girl . . . Frailty thy name is woman. Nino. Rain. Rain. Nino. It was just a slip of the tongue. They’re both four-letter words.
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