“I’ll show you cute,” I replied, sounding a little more menacing than sexy. “Come over here and sit on this chair.”
He looked rather uneasy, moving his gaze from me to the candle and back again.
I beckoned him over with my finger and tried to set the candle down on the mantelpiece to make him more at ease. As I stretched over to my destination, I realised too late that I had overextended. I began to topple over to the side as Ben jumped up and grabbed the edge of the lingerie. With my trip to A&E averted, I composed myself once more and sat the candle down squarely on the wood. I asked him to sit down on the chair once again.
He nervously did as he was told and took the seat. The wine and the power trip had well and truly gone to my head, so, I decided to throw caution to the wind.
How hard can a lap dance be anyway? I’ve seen many a dance floor with gyrating drunk people on them, I could do that. I gave birth – twice! What is a little dancing compared to that?
I took off his shoes and used his socks as make-do restraints. I clumsily pulled off his trousers and left him sitting on the chair in his superhero underwear. With his hands tied behind his back he was at my complete mercy. The look of nervousness hadn’t completely gone but he did manage a half smile at this change in the proceedings.
I changed the channel back to the new releases which had a predictably synthesized beat on, and I started my ‘routine’.
It wasn’t a routine, as such. It was mostly me shaking my hips from side-to-side as I tried to keep my balance on the stupid heels. As it progressed, I decided to ditch the heels.
I walked towards the window and seductively ran my hand down one leg to take off the first shoe. It popped off into my hands and I threw it over his head so it landed on the sofa.
I repeated the process on the other leg but this time decided to be playful. I threw the second one over my shoulder like a bride with her bouquet.
“Jesus Christ, Amy!” He wailed.
It took me a second for the reality to sink in.
I heard the shout and turned around to find his nose streaming with blood as my shoe lay at his feet.
“What were you thinking? You know you can’t throw!”
“Oh yeah because I’m a woman, is this really the time to be sexist?” I countered.
“No, Amy, because you’re a damn health hazard not because you have two X chromosomes.”
I ran into the kitchen to get a tea towel to soak up the blood and decided to pour him – and me – another glass of wine, for medicinal purposes.
I came in with the towel and his wine.
“Can you untie me?”
“What? Why?”
“I’ve just been hit in the face with a shoe, Amy.”
“Yes, that’s what the towel is for. Now here, drink some wine while I soak up the blood.”
“There’s blood?”
“I thought you realised that. It’s fine, just a little.”
“Please untie me.”
“No! This is going to go much better from now on, trust me.”
“You just hit me in the face with your shoe. Actual shoe in my actual face.”
I shoved the wine glass into his mouth and smiled. The blood was practically all gone but his nose was pretty red so I decided that we needed to kick this up a gear before the mood was finally lost to all.
I took a sneaky gulp from his glass and left it beside the candle on the mantelpiece. There was no time for sexy thoughts to get me in the mood, I just had to power through and get it done.
I turned up the volume on the tv to drown out Ben’s confused shouts of: “Amy? What are you doing? Untie me, I’m bleeding!”
Thanks to the years of being able to drown out my husband’s voice, I was easily able to concentrate on the bass line of the music, once more. I tried to make the dance routine impressive enough to make him a happier hostage but it wasn’t working.
Just as I was about to attempt a twirl, the music abruptly ended and was followed by a decidedly less upbeat song.
It was a love song about a heartbroken girl and it was not the stuff of lap dances. I half-heartedly gave a bit of a shake but I could tell that Ben was getting more and more pissed off by the second. It didn’t help that the bleeding had started again.
He glared at me and I knew I should have given up, but instead I grabbed the remote and gave one last attempt to rescue the disaster of an evening.
I flicked through the channels to find the first video I could see not featuring a sad woman, looking out a window into the rain.
I settled for death metal.
It was a panic move but it was, at least, up-tempo and I needed to really get a move on before he lost more blood.
I jumped up and down with my hands in the air like I was in a mosh pit.
Jiggly boobs are bound to look sexy, aren't they?
I jumped until the stitch at my side reappeared and I felt the underboob sweat gathering. I caught a glimpse of an amused Ben and decided I was onto a winner. I started to head bang and walk slowly towards him, being careful not to head-butt him in the process.
When I reached the chair I got him to open his legs so I could run my hair over his thighs.
This was another mistake.
Ben was notoriously ticklish so his knee-jerk reaction was to kick out, shoving his knee squarely into my chin. The force made me fall back on my ass.
“Ah! I’m so sorry! It was just an instinct to being tickled,” he said. He pulled at the restraints more and made the knots tighter with every pull.
I put one hand up to let him know I was ‘totally fine’ and used the other to rub my chin.
On your feet champ, we’ve got one more trick up our sleeves. I think I’ve bitten my tongue.
I returned to my mosh pit moves, albeit slightly less enthusiastically than before, but I kept going as I turned to the mantelpiece.
“Yuff been a wery bad boy, Ben,” I tried to sound sexy but I just sounded ridiculous.
“I’m so sorry. Seriously? Still with this?”
I picked up the candle and walked back towards him.
“It’s a well-known fact that a little pain heightens the thenses.”
“What are ‘thenses?’ What are you doing with the candle?” There was definitely a panicked edge to his voice now.
“Twust me,” I said, as I poured the melting wax down his thigh and I waited for the sound of his pleasure.
It was a strange feeling – knowing I was on the cusp of a new age in our relationship. We’d been together for so long that we just assumed we'd done it all, in terms of sex. However, tonight, heralded a whole new era for us as lovers.
I wonder what he’d want to try next? I mean the world really is our oyster.
By the time I tuned back into my surroundings I realised that I was kneeling too close to Ben the whole time and had let all the pooling wax pour completely over his leg. It was cooling quickly, dripping down and entrapping a lot of leg hair. In my hurry to get away I managed to singe a large portion of the remaining wax-free hair on his thigh. That didn’t help with the screaming situation.
There was a lot of screaming.
He screamed.
I screamed.
I blew out the candle and lay back on the mat, in the middle of the room.
I told myself to get up and fetch some scissors, or a knife, to undo the impenetrable knots he’d caused by pulling at his sock restraints.
I just need to rest my eyes until the room stops spinning.
Is there someone shouting my name in the distance?
This mat really is so comfy and my eyes are so heavy.
I’ve had a very busy day, what harm would a little nap do?
Isn’t there something I’m forgetting?
I’ll probably remember in the morning.
Chapter 22
“So, what you’re telling me is: you set your husband on fire?” asked, Elle.
It was a few days after the debacle that was my night of debauch
ery with Ben. My head was still pounding – again, the joys of hangovers in your thirties. He still wasn’t speaking to me and I didn’t blame him. I did leave him tied up, bleeding and singed. When I thought about it like that, it sounded a lot more sinister.
When I woke up on the mat, the next morning, I saw the carnage that was left. The kitchen chair was toppled on its side, the socks were ripped to shreds and there was a trail of dried wax and droplets of blood, leading from the living room right up to our bedroom. He was passed out, face down on the bed, sound asleep, or concussed, I couldn’t tell.
I crawled in beside him, still dressed in my ridiculous outfit, stinking of wine and tried to piece together the evening. I could remember a surprising amount of it for once and I had no idea how I was going to fix my relationship now. By the time he woke up and realised I was beside him my hangover had fully set in and I ran to the bathroom to get sick. I spent most of the day curled up on the tiles on the bathroom floor because it was cool on my skin. My parents left the children home and I just about managed to wave from the top of the stairs. My unsympathetic mother shouted about the dangers of food poisoning up to me but I was too busy making my way back to my spot on the floor to care.
The days that followed had been miserable. I tried to explain how sorry I was, but anytime I walked into a room he would limp out to a different one. I imagined he wasn't feeling very receptive to my apologies after suffering third-degree burns, all in the name of romance.
Today I managed to venture back into the outside world but had to keep my sunglasses on inside because my head was still pounding. I couldn’t figure out if it was the remains of a hangover or the anxiety of the situation at home.
“I mean, you actually assaulted him. What part of your brain thought this was going to be sexy?” she continued.
“Please stop talking and get me water, I can’t stomach coffee yet and I think I’m still dangerously dehydrated.”
We were sitting at the counter at Joseph’s and I was trying to get my head around the fact that I may have permanently scarred my husband.
“We can fix this, all you have to do is…”
“No,” I said firmly. “No more advice, or suggestions or plans. I’ve royally screwed this up. I know Ben, and right now he needs time to calm down before we can have a proper conversation about what the hell is going on in our relationship.”
She fell quiet for a whole three seconds before she started humming to fill the silence.
“Are you ever quiet?”
“The girls were with their father last night, I’ve had enough quiet thank you very much. I’m used to noise and shouting and mess. Without it, I feel uneasy or something. Shall we get on with this launch night list? Or have you forgotten about how much we have left to do.”
Like I could forget.
The menu was finalised, all the regulars and the community groups that were using here as their base had all RSVP’d and I managed to get quite a decent band for the music. A band was a bit of a stretch, it was two brothers I met on the high street while they were busking. It was going to be a black-tie event, much to the horror of Joseph but he didn't have a choice (it's not like he was the owner or anything). I rested my head on the countertop and let Elle talk about fairy light placements for the inside. I wasn't particularly listening when she stopped midsentence.
“Fuck me,” she uttered.
“Swear Jar,” I replied without lifting my head.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the manager,” said a very stern looking man with a clipboard.
“Yeah, no worries, mate,” replied Elle.
She disappeared into the kitchen to locate Joseph while I tried to pretend I wasn’t a hungover mess. It didn’t take long for Elle to push Joseph out from the kitchen. He reached out his hand to greet the stranger in the suit.
“Mr Blanco?” he asked.
“Yes, sir…how can I help you?” his usual friendly tone was there but it seemed guarded.
“We’ve had several phone calls from concerned citizens detailing some serious allegations regarding health code violations,” he said.
“Violations? Like what?” I demanded.
“What citizens?” said Elle, mirroring my outrage.
“Mr Blanco, can we continue this conversation in private and then I will be conducting a spot investigation throughout the premises as well as checking all paperwork is present and up-to-date.”
The colour was draining from Joseph and he silently ushered the inspector down the hallway towards his tiny office.
“This is all we need,” said Elle. “What violations? Joseph runs a tight ship and it’s not like Michael would ever dare slack off hygiene wise, he’d be terrified.”
I ran through the possibilities of what or who would do this. If the claims were unfounded – and I was certain they were – then it was completely obvious who was behind it.
“You know this was the work of that witch down the road, don’t you?” said Elle.
“I’m beginning to think that, yes.”
“I think we should go down the street and kick her arse,” she suggested.
I wasn’t entirely confident that she was kidding. I peered over my glasses to check.
Nope, she isn’t joking.
I watched her take off her apron and come to my side of the counter.
“What do you think that would achieve?” I asked.
“Why does it have to ‘achieve’ anything? Why can’t it just be about releasing some anger at someone who completely deserves it? Actually, screw this, I’m not debating this with you. I’m going down there to give her a piece of my mind and an imprint of my fist in her face.”
She took off with a purposeful stride and I called to Michael to man the front of the café, while Joseph was busy.
It didn’t take long for me to catch up with her, she was angry but not exactly fast.
“So, what’s the plan here? Go assault this woman in front of a room full of children and get arrested? I’m sure Keith would love to lord that over you.”
She stopped dead in her tracks.
“Don’t you dare try that on me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I will do as I please and my darling husband can go to hell.”
Although the determination in her stride was still there as she began to walk again, I knew I had given her something to think on and help hold some of her anger back.
“For God’s sake, Amy!” she said. “I’m not letting her get away with this, she’s trying to ruin his shop and for what? Because we don’t want to hang out in her poxy club? She needs to be taken down a peg or two and if you’re not going to let me punch her in her smug bloody face then you better have a better idea.”
I didn’t.
We kept walking as I tried to think of something that would get our point across but also not leave us facing criminal charges.
Put her car wing mirrors in? Too small.
Kick off the wing mirrors? Too big.
Find a rabid badger and realise it into the group? Definitely too big.
We stopped at the gate outside the car park, it was full – as usual.
“What’s her problem? It’s hardly like she’s starved of business? There’s plenty to go round,” said Elle. “So, brains, what’s the plan of action? Am I peeing in a bottle and lobbing it at the window?”
“No, Elle!”
“Keep your knickers on, I was kidding.”
I knew she wasn’t.
“Which one is her car?” I asked as I peered through the bars of the railings.
“That big minivan thing.”
I stayed hunched over and snuck up to the car.
“Now, we’re talking,” whispered Elle.
I kept my crawl technique going until I arrived at the front of her car and reached up to the windscreen wipers. I pulled both of them up, did the same at the back and pushed in her wing mirrors.
Take that minor inconvenience to your next trip!
I staggered ba
ck to the safe side of the railings awaiting a high five for my mischief.
“You’ve got to kidding me?” said Elle.
“What? I’m not here to cause criminal damage and I’m not exactly imaginative when it comes to this sort of stuff.”
“Wait here, I’ll sort this.”
I watched as she crawled up to the first tyre, taking something small out of her pocket.
Is that a pen knife? I’m going to jail.
She made her way round to the second one, then the far side to enact more damage. I should have rugby tackled her to the ground to stop this but I was just frozen to the spot.
It felt like an eternity before she was at my side again, with a look of complete satisfaction on her face.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I said, “You went so far beyond the line of acceptable pranking.”
“Pranking? She put a bogus call into the health inspector and is literally trying to get Joseph’s business shut down and you think the acceptable retribution was a childish prank? We sent a message.”
“Give me that knife, now!” I used my ‘angry mummy’ voice and was about to dish out the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed speech’. To my surprise, she handed over a teaspoon. I looked back at her completely confused – and impressed that she could do so much damage with something so innocuous.
“Why on earth would I have a knife?” she asked.
“To… to… to slash the tyres.”
She covered her mouth to stifle the laughter, knowing her natural volume would be heard miles away.
“I didn’t slash them, you nutter, I just let the air out of them – I needed the spoon to push in the button thing under the valve,” she continued. “I’ve met a lot of dickheads, in my time so this really is a handy skill to perfect.”
She then stood up and started walking back towards the café to find out how Joseph was getting on.
I cantered up beside her and hugged her shoulders.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“You’re a good egg.”
“Too rights I am,” she smiled and hugged me back.
Chapter 23
The inspection seemed to go ok but it had left, a normally effervescent, Joseph pretty shaken.
Amy Cole has lost her mind: The perfect laugh out loud, feel-good comedy (The Amy Cole series Book 1) Page 18
