‘So?’ She sat in her chair, placing her ankles on the desk so her shoes would not soil the papers she had not yet put away. She listened while Robert informed her he had arranged a dinner with Sarah for the following Thursday.
‘And where are you going to pick her up? You are going to pick her up?’ Stephanie asked before he could answer the first question.
‘Of course! I suggested I pick her up at her place, as you told me to. But she insisted we meet at the car park. It’s in Ferndown somewhere. She gave me instructions. And then I’ll drive us both to the restaurant.’
‘Good man. It’ll be worth it. And don’t start drinking. Sarah’s not the same as the others. You’ll see, and this is too good an opportunity to mess up.’
‘What d’you mean?’
Stephanie laughed and replied,
‘You’ll have to wait and see.’ She hung up, not waiting for his response, and then looked at the unknown number again before listening to her message.
‘Hi Steph, I’ll call you later, when you’ve finished work.’ Whose voice was that?
She pressed redial. An answer machine.
‘Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’ She vaguely recognised it, but was that because she had just heard it on her own phone? Or was it someone she knew? And how the hell had he got hold of her mobile number? Her work number was public knowledge, but her mobile was known to very few people.
She had learnt the hard way about phone numbers and clients. In her naiveté as a new therapist, she had advertised her mobile number alongside her home number when she started her business from home. It wasn’t long before she invested in a very good answer machine and a second telephone line as well as changing her mobile number. She recalled being woken on a bank holiday at a quarter to seven in the morning by a client in crisis. They thought she was theirs to call at any time of day or night; their emergencies were her emergencies as far as they were concerned.
And no one called her Steph—not even Robert. Her friends knew she despised being called that. She pushed away the slight feeling of nausea convincing herself it was just the hunger. But he knew her name. He must have got the number from someone she knew. She kept pushing all the doubts she felt firmly away, but in the back of her mind she knew that no one, who she had given her mobile number to, would give it out willingly.
There was a quiet knock before Jane entered with the sandwich on a plate and a cup of fresh coffee.
‘If that caller calls again, tell him I’m still busy, and try and get a name or some sort of information; his number, 1471 or something, OK?’ She smiled at Jane as she put the plate in front of her and she reached for the cup.
After Jane had left the room it dawned on her; he hadn’t tried to hide his number; he wanted her to call him back. And stupid cow that she was had done so. And now her number would be registered on his phone and he’d know she had phoned. Then she breathed a sigh of relief; no he wouldn’t, her number was withheld; his phone would register a call, but would not inform him of who had called.
The last session was hard. All thoughts about selfish, indulgent clients doing no work had to be re-evaluated. Her last client came in looking pale and shaky. She had had a flashback, gone straight into the recall of a very unpleasant incident. An incident involving a trusty uncle which had taken place when she was six years old. The poor woman had wiped it clean from her memory, although she remembered always having an unreasonable dislike of being alone with this uncle. Stephanie forgave all her other clients for their mundane lives; they were far easier in the end to work with because she didn’t have to think about them or find ways of getting their stories out of her head later.
Stephanie gave Jane the rest of the afternoon off, drove home, grabbed the dogs and went for a long walk to cleanse herself of the words her client had repeated to her. Words which touched a part of herself she had no wish to investigate or revisit. Although the cold wind bit into her cheeks, her jacket hung at her waist because the pace she forced from her legs generated a gentle dampness beneath her sweatshirt. Whilst tramping over the moss and dead leaves she planned a quiet night in with absolute precision; a small glass of wine, some escapist television and a plate of those delicious marinated olives from the local twenty-four seven. She tried to ignore the message alert interrupting her fantasy, and carried on walking for a few more moments before succumbing to inquisitiveness. Flipping the phone open and she read,
‘hi steph its good to finish work early xxx’
Standing still to focus, she studied the number. It looked like the same number as before. Her heart fluttered for a moment, she stood still, turning her head from side to side slowly, looking about her. The dogs continued to play, oblivious to the rest of the world, indicating to her no one else could be in close proximity; the dogs were ever vigilant on her behalf. Looking at the number registered to the text message again, she memorized it before looking through her other registered received calls. Yes, it was the same as the call she received earlier. If Jane had dialled 1471 to find out who her unknown caller was on the office phone this morning, she would have been able to check it against this number on her mobile. She laughed to herself, releasing some of the tension building up, and continued her walk. Someone was playing a joke on her. Of course it had to be. Who did she know with a sense of humour? Cammy. Yes it must be Cammy. She must have phoned the office and received no reply. She dialled Cammy’s number but it went straight to her answer machine. Then the phone beeped again. She stopped again to read it.
‘ps next time you call leave me a message I like to hear the sound of your voice:)’
Stephanie felt anger rising from her feet. How dare he? But who was he? She searched her mind for old clients, any who she may have offended, or any who indicated an unhealthy attachment to her. She recalled a couple of male clients who would phone just to hear her voice, but they had moved on to greener pastures.
Looking at the message she pressed the reply button, but stopped herself in time. What was she doing? All her training, all her common sense told her; to respond would indicate she was interested. No matter what she said. He would twist it in his mind as an act of love or an act of desire for her to connect with him. Ignore it, he would go away. She began walking. But her curiosity was brimming over. She could handle this. She knew the psychology of a mind like his. Besides, she justified to herself, she needed to know how he got her number, to prevent it happening again! She stopped and pressed the buttons.
‘ok, who are you?’
The thrill of fear tingled through her fingers as she pressed the send button. The walk was now ruined. The sensation of relaxation evaporated as she held the phone in her hand, staring at it, anticipating an immediate reply. Nothing. Silence. She walked on; the phone remained silent.
Her pace increased, she shouted at the dogs who looked up in surprise. Why would he reply?
Too late she realized he would be sated. He had what he wanted. She had not only phoned his landline, but had now responded to his texts. The frustration and anger became intense. Her teeth clenched and hands fisted tight in her pockets. She was so weak. Why had she argued with herself? She knew the deal. If you argued with yourself, you always lost. Any client behaving in this manner would have earned her disdain. Calling the dogs to heel she turned back towards the car.
.
Chapter Five
Soaking in the bath tub, Sarah’s thoughts were distracted by the television volume her mother insisted on keeping. Offensive to the ears it disallowed any individual thoughts or conversation as it reverberated round the house. She wanted to enjoy the bubbles and let the oils do the work they claimed they would do for her; deep muscle relaxant, it said on the bottle. Closing her eyes she tried to shut the noise out and think about the next day. It was a delicious sensation; fear combined with excitement at the prospect of not only going out with a man, but lying to her mother as well. She had settled on the lie of an extra session.
Taking a deep breath she du
cked her head under the water to enjoy the silence of her blood rushing through her ears for a moment; she imagined being in one of those floatation tanks she had read about in one of her magazines. She drifted away to an exclusive health farm and relaxed her body. She had an hour before her mother would start yelling and banging on the door for attention; her two favourite programs were now showing back to back episodes absorbing all her energy. She tasted metal in her mouth and the voice began to fill her head.
He comes to the front door to pick her up. Tells her mother Sarah is going out with him whether she likes it or not, and she will not be home till after midnight - if at all. The look on her mother’s face as they leave is superb; her mouth hangs open but no words came out. They drive in silence to the restaurant. He holds the car door open for her as she gets out. As her long stockinged leg reaches out she hears him try to hide the gasp he is compelled to release whilst he looks at her beautiful legs. He holds her arm leading her to the restaurant where the door is opened for them by the waiter.
‘Your table is ready, Sir, Madam, A pleasure to see you both again.’ Now his arm around her waist, he guides her into the restaurant and everyone stops eating to watch them walk through. As they sit he stares into her eyes,
‘You’re more beautiful than I remember.’ He doesn’t take his eyes from her face as the waiter hands him a menu. ‘Your usual to drink, darling?’ She smiles back at him and nods. Still not taking his eyes from her face, he orders their drinks and reaches across the table taking her hand in his. ‘Two days without you has been too long, I can’t be apart from you that long again.’ It’s not necessary for her to say a word.
Suddenly she shot back up and gasped for air. What if it all went wrong? What if he didn’t like her? Through the week she had a couple of panic attacks and the other receptionists at work became concerned. They knew some of her history and were very lenient with her, Dr. Short ensured they were. He was so good to her, had been since she was a little girl when she came in to the surgery for various reasons; there were always bumps and bruises on her body. But Dr. Short had always found a way to slip her a sweet when her mother wasn’t looking. He never questioned the marks on her body, choosing to believe the reasons given to him by her mother. Sarah justified this in her mind by accepting he had no choice but to believe what her mother told him. After all he had known her mother since she was a teenager herself. And what reason would she have to lie to him? Of course he would take her at her word; when she said her daughter was clumsy and forever falling over, then that must be the truth. Besides her mother ensured Sarah never had a broken bone; well not as far as Dr. Short was concerned. Her mother was sneaky like that, a trait Sarah had learnt to copy from an early age. And her mother had sworn her to secrecy that involved various kinds of threats, so she would never contradict what was said, would never betray her mother. Maybe she could ask Dr. Short to help her now. He had done it before.
When she left school her mother didn’t want her to go out to work, but he came round and insisted, arranging for her to work at his surgery. Sarah felt eternal gratitude to him for this, for getting her out of the house. Yes, she was sure he would have vouched for her. But Stephanie’s idea was of course much better than hers.
She had called Stephanie through the week for support and to ask about her wardrobe. How would she know what to wear? She hugged herself. She was so lucky having people like Dr. Short and Stephanie in her life, they really cared about her; they were so kind. She washed herself with the exfoliator as Stephanie had suggested, enjoying the roughness against her skin and let the delicious feeling enter her body again as she thought of the new dress she had hidden under her bed, just in case.
After washing her hair she reached for the new conditioner. Going into the chemist to find a hair conditioner had been more confusing than she expected. Her mother bought all the toiletries; the cheapest. It was only soap, Sarah heard her mother’s voice repeat time after time, whenever Sarah tried to suggest they might try something she had seen on television or in one of her magazines. Stephanie advised conditioner along with shaving her legs.
Shaving her legs! She felt a proper grown up as she ran the razor up and down each leg and then under her arms as well. She had seen the adverts on television for these products, but never considered them part of her life.
Deodorant had been given to her at school, she had found a can in her locker one day after a games lesson. This was followed by advice on tampons and sanitary towels. She had to beg her mother for tampons and the girls at school had helped, for their own sakes as much as her own. It wasn’t until she started work that she was able to get them on a regular basis.
Stephanie told her on the phone, Robert’s favourite colour was orange but she really didn’t like such a bright colour and opted for pale green. It complimented her hair, so the shop assistant told her and when she looked in the mirror Sarah was surprised and readily agreed. Twirling in front of the mirror in the changing room she didn’t care who saw her, it was such a difference from all her other clothes; beige or black for work; a plain old fashioned black dress for the office party her mother helped her choose; and jeans and jumpers for the weekends. The dress and toiletries had taken nearly every penny she had secretly saved, but it was worth it.
She dragged herself reluctantly out of the bath and dried herself; ensuring she took everything with her. She opened the window to encourage the unfamiliar scent of bubble bath and hair conditioner to escape from the room. Her mother would probably not smell it anyway, her nose filled only with the smell of the next cigarette, but she couldn’t take the chance. She tiptoed back to her bedroom and hid the bubble bath bottle under her bed and couldn’t resist sneaking another look at the dress she had also hidden there before putting on her nightgown and slippers. Hearing the stairs creak, she quickly shoved the dress back under the bed and called out.
‘I’m just drying myself, I’ll be down in a moment.’
The creaking ceased for a few seconds and when she heard the retreat she was able to breathe again. She looked at the clock, it was ten past eight; less than twenty four hours to go. Her heart raced.
*****
Robert held up the print and felt pleasure in his stomach as it cleared to show the girl in the perfect pose. He hung it to dry, then took the next one. Underneath the surgical mask his lips almost curved into a grin but not quite. He really was very good, in fact, he decided he was brilliant and his top lip cocked to the side as his tongue flicked out to lick it. He walked back out to his office and closed the door of the dark room, he pulled the mask down to his neck and breathed in, clearing his lungs of the chemicals.
Once dry he sorted through them until he was satisfied he had the best one. He placed it on the table, under the bright lamp kept ready. Going over to the stereo he took out the vinyl disc and holding it carefully between the flat of his hands he placed it on the turntable. He refused to put a CD player in his office. He would only listen to Bob on a vinyl. Gently lifting the arm across, he placed the needle strategically on the track he listened to most; Lay Lady Lay sang out as he walked back to his bench. Humming to himself he took out his paints to carefully mix them.
It had taken months of experimentation to get exactly the correct shade and hue of orange that dried on the photographic paper to his desired colour. Singing while measuring out the three different colours and diligently mixing them. Once mixed he went back to the stereo and returned the needle to the beginning of the track once more. Silently picking up the paint brush he licked it to a perfect point before dipping it into the paint. He never tired of the sensation he felt as the first stroke of orange tinted the black and white print. Tingling up his spine, all the way to his teeth, his heart beat increased and his groin ached as it never did when the girls actually posed for him. Each stroke caressed her body enshrouding her in orange. With all the time in the world he delicately followed the lines and contours of her body shape. Once more humming and singing, the grey soon became ora
nge and the tingling sensation increased. Never wanting to finish the process, it eventually was complete.
Standing back to admire his work he knew this was one of the best yet. He was glad he had enlarged it so much. Becky had been particularly pliable and would have done anything he asked. He recalled the evening and was surprised he remembered so much detail. The girls didn’t usually remain in his mind; each girl was only a body to be photographed; their names unimportant; the position and the dress all that mattered. Somehow Becky got to him. He didn’t understand why. Had she guessed what he was really doing? With Becky he had been lucky. Despite what had happened, she returned the following night and he’d been able to use the tripod and an orchestrated pose. So much better than just taking a snap with his pocket digital. The other girls were fooled or pretended to be, by his act of virtuousness and his charm. He’d never cared which, as long as they went along with it. When he suggested the photographs it was as if he had never done anything like it before. Each one believing they were special to him; he just happened to have his camera in his pocket; he just happened by chance to have the dress with him. Stupid fools, so easily fooled. Not like Becky. Becky was different. She knew what he wanted when she returned.
Holding up the picture, he decided, it would have a special place. And then just for an instant wondered if he dared leave it on display. Looking at it every day and night might spoil it. He needed to treat himself. Besides what if someone else did manage to get into this room? It would be ruined if someone else saw it. She was his. No, he would put it in its own drawer, move the others elsewhere. Propping Becky up against the wall for a moment, he opened the top drawer and removed the contents. Shuffling through all the pictures the hardness returned to his groin; he took his time. Placing them on the table he spread them out, the few he had retained, the good ones. Laying Becky on the table alongside the other girls he saw none were as good as the one he had just completed. Studying Becky he wondered what it was she had? Something was different about her. He gathered up the others and put them all in a lower drawer with the experimental ones. Then very carefully and with reluctance he placed Becky in the top drawer alone. It was time to cleanse himself from all this. He needed a swim.
Just Like a Woman Page 6
