The Facilitator

by Tracie Podger

  He was as good-looking in his teens as he was an adult. I could imagine the cheerleaders fawning all over him, or maybe that shit just happened in movies.

  I found lots of articles about his business dealings. Some where he was accused of shutting down companies and putting people out of work, others where he’d saved the day. My understanding of a venture capitalist was someone who came into fledgling businesses and financed them; obviously what he did was a little more involved, or I had it wrong.

  One thing that did surprise me was his date of birth. Mackenzie was ten years older than I was and due to celebrate his forty-first birthday.

  I shut down the laptop for fear of being tempted to get some work done. I’d promised myself I was taking a weekend off, no matter what.

  I decided to take another cup of tea and sit on my balcony. It overlooked the Thames, and on a bright spring day, the river traffic was high. I watched the boats motor up and down. As much as I loved living in London, I did long for a walk on a beach, or a stroll through a forest. Feeling a little nostalgic, I called my mum.

  We chatted for an hour, she told me about her neighbours, the relatives I didn’t really have a great deal to do with, and how my brother was doing. It was always with sadness when we spoke about Sebastian. He’d decided to take a ride on his motorbike one day; he was just a teen when his world was altered in such a dramatic way. He was hit by a truck, paralysed and left brain-damaged. It wasn’t his fault, and for that reason only, he received a substantial pay out that allowed Mum to move to the coast in a specially modified bungalow to care for him.

  He loved being by the sea, and I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t visited for a month. Mum would hold the phone to his ear and I’d talk to him. He’d reply with gurgles but it made him happy to hear my voice.

  ****

  I’d decided to take a walk the following morning. I took the path alongside the river, leaning over the railings every now and again to watch the activity below. No matter what time or day of the week, London was busy. I watched couples holding hands, others swinging children between them. I watched individuals sitting on benches, chatting and laughing into their mobile phones. My earlier cheerfulness was a little dulled. Other than Mum, I didn’t have anyone I could do that with. I couldn’t sit on a bench and call a friend to laugh with. I’d immersed myself in Scott and my job. Watching those people made me realise how isolated and lonely I was.

  I wasn’t concentrating when a car pulled alongside me. I’d been so focussed on containing my misery, I hadn’t heard the purr of a powerful engine.

  “Lauren,” he said.

  I looked around as Mackenzie climbed from his car, the black one that time.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “What are you doing?”

  I looked at my feet, brought one up, replaced it, and then repeated the process with the other. “Walking, it’s called.”

  He laughed. “Wait there, let me park up.” He slid back into his car and drove off.

  Should I wait? Of course I fucking would. I took a seat on a bench and raised my face to the sun. I closed my eyes, letting my skin soak up its rays. A few minutes later he was back. He sat beside me and I smiled at him.

  “Are we doing that thing? What was it you called it? Walking?” he said.

  He stood and held out his hand. It was with a little trepidation that I reached out for it. We walked hand in hand.

  “So, is this what you do on a Sunday morning?” he asked.

  “No, believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve walked this path since I’ve lived here.”

  “What did you do then, in your spare time?”

  I hesitated before speaking. “Whatever Scott decided he wanted us to do.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “It was.”

  “So now you have to find yourself, don’t you?”

  I stopped and looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’ve spent your whole life with one man. I guarantee you lost yourself somewhere along the way. I also guarantee that coffee in your cupboard was his favourite, and the wines in your rack were the ones he’d chosen.”

  I couldn’t speak at first. He was absolutely right.

  “See, there is no need for words where you’re concerned. Your expressions tell me everything I need to know. Come with me.”

  He led the way through a maze of buildings until we reached a small shop, tucked away under an imposing office block. He pushed open the door and allowed me to walk in first. The smell that hit me had caused me to stop, mid-step. Mackenzie collided into my back.

  I laughed and continued to walk forward. The wonderful scent of fresh coffee wafted around. I looked left and right, every available place was filled with jars and jars of coffee beans. Each had a little chalkboard underneath with details of the bean, strength, and origin.

  “Mackenzie,” I heard. A man walked from behind the counter with a tea towel in his hands.

  “Ed, busy?”

  “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ll have my usual, and this lady needs to experience what you have on offer.”

  “Ma’am, let’s start with strength,” he said to me.

  I shrugged my shoulders. I either bought Scott’s favoured brand of instant, or whatever was the first my hand reached on the supermarket shelf. I’d never visited a coffee shop before.

  “Let me get some blends together and you can taste, decide what you like,” Ed said.

  “What do you think I should buy?” I asked Mackenzie.

  “I’m not going to answer that. You’re going to choose. You’re not swapping one’s man preference for another’s.”

  I walked around the shop, reading and inhaling deeply the different aromas. A hand on my hip brought my attention back and to the tray of small coffee cups that had been placed on the counter.

  “Taste each one,” Ed said. “Take a sip of water between.”

  I lifted the first cup to my mouth. I didn’t drink my coffee black usually but took a sip. It wasn’t as hot as I’d have made at home. I did as instructed and took a sip of water between. As I progressed up the line, the coffee became stronger, more aromatic, and smoother.

  “Well?” Mackenzie asked.

  “I like them all,” I replied with a laugh.

  I started at the beginning again. Mackenzie leaned against the counter. He held in his hand a small espresso cup, just the way he drank his coffee affected me. Everything he did was slow and measured. I watched from the corner of my eye as he closed his eyes and inhaled before each sip. He clearly appreciated his coffee.

  “I still can’t decide,” I said.

  “Then choose three, first, middle, and last,” he said.

  He nodded to Ed, who gathered three jars and measured out coffee into small brown paper bags. He stuck labels on the front and placed them into a paper carrier bag, then handed it over.

  “How much?” I asked, as I fished into my jeans pocket for my debit card.

  I saw Ed look over to Mackenzie, who just smiled.

  “On me,” Mackenzie said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Can you give her some proper cups and a cafetière,” he added.

  Ed pulled a boxed set from a shelf.

  “I have cups,” I said.

  “You have mugs, not the same thing. To appreciate coffee, it should be in small doses.”

  I accepted the second carrier bag and we left the shop.

  “I could have paid for that myself,” I said.

  “I’m sure you could have, but why, if you don’t have to?”

  I caught him subtly check his watch.

  “I guess I should head home,” I said, giving him the opportunity to leave.

  “I was hoping you may have time for lunch.”

  “I thought you’d have to go, sell businesses and all that.”

  “It’s Sunday, I don’t sell businesses on Sunday, just one of my little rules.” He gave me that smirk aga
in.

  “Why were you here?” I said.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t work, I just don’t sell.”

  “I’m not sure I’m dressed for lunch,” I said, looking down at my jeans and Converse.

  “You don’t need to be. Come on,” he said, not giving me an opportunity to reply as he strode off.

  I jogged to catch up. We walked into one of the many underground car parks and towards his car. He clicked a button on his key fob, and I saw the boot rise slightly. He placed my purchases in, shut it, and then walked to the passenger side to open the door for me.

  “You didn’t pay for the coffee,” I said, as I lowered into the seat and not entirely sure why that thought had just come to me.

  “I own the shop, Lauren.”

  He shut the door and walked to his side. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever truly get used to being in the wrong side of a car and on the wrong side of the road,” he said, as he climbed in.

  “How do you know it’s the wrong side? Maybe it’s the right side, and you’ve been doing it wrong all this time.”

  “I don’t do things wrong.”

  “Ever? I don’t believe that.”

  Once the barrier rose, we pulled out into the waiting traffic.

  “I do things that don’t have the result I was hoping for, but never anything wrong.”

  “Why? How do you know what’s right if you don’t make mistakes?”

  “I make mistakes, but that’s not what you asked. I don’t choose to do anything wrong. Like I said, if it doesn’t work out, that’s a problem, not a wrongdoing.”

  It was a twenty minute drive before we pulled up outside a small bistro nestled in a back street. It didn’t seem the kind of place I’d expect him to dine at, but then, he hadn’t done anything so far that I’d expect.

  I wasn’t sure he was even legally parked as he turned off the engine and climbed out. He opened my door, held out his hand to help me, and we walked into the restaurant.

  “Do you own this as well?” I whispered while we waited to be seated.

  “No, I just like the food. I eat here a lot.”

  The restaurant wasn’t busy and we were quickly shown to a small table. Mackenzie pulled his chair away from being opposite to me and rearranged it to the side. Only the corner of the small table separated us. We were handed menus.

  A jug of iced water was placed on the table and two glasses of white wine. I hadn’t ordered any wine. A waiter stood waiting to take our order, not giving me enough time to even read through the whole menu.

  Mackenzie chose a rare steak with sautéed vegetables. Because I wasn’t given a chance to decide, I chose the same.

  “So,” Mackenzie said, as he slid one glass of the wine slightly towards me.

  “So, what?”

  “Did you think on what I said, in my text?”

  I took a sip of wine, so I didn’t rush into an answer.

  “I’m just not sure why you want to know, and why you can’t see how awkward this is.”

  He sighed and I wasn’t sure if it was in frustration or not.

  “You have been stuck in one relationship forever. The woman I met in the bar was scared, lonely, and unsure of herself until she discovered she was wanted. She willingly walked into my room, stripped naked, and let me fuck her. Okay, she fell asleep before we’d really gotten going, but the eyes of that woman, the one acting out a fantasy, were alive. For that few hours, she came to life; she became empowered. She wanted something and she took it.”

  He’d been speaking in that low, gravelly voice I heard when he was aroused and knew he was reliving every moment, as was I.

  “Acting out a sexual fantasy isn’t empowering. Becoming a successful single woman is,” I said, a little breathless.

  “And how do you do that in what is a predominantly man’s world, Lauren?”

  “I don’t have to use sex to do it.”

  “It’s not about using sex, it’s about being confident enough to know what you want and to take it.”

  I wasn’t sure I saw the comparison between work and sex. I wasn’t sure about the ‘taking it’ part, either.

  “You are the only female head of a department. All the colleagues on your level are men. Do you socialise with any of them?”

  “No, I don’t socialise with anyone from work.”

  “Because you’ve been so focussed on being the good wife, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where did that get you?”

  His comment stung. I hadn’t realised I’d leaned my body closer to his while we’d been talking, until I sat bolt upright and a gap appeared.

  “That hurt, Mackenzie,” I said, deciding to be truthful.

  “It was supposed to. Use that hurt, focus on it here.” He placed his hand on my lower stomach.

  We fell silent as two plates were placed in front of us. I picked up my cutlery and began to eat, not making eye contact with him. I tried hard not to, it was the most inappropriate place, but I started to think about fantasies. It was something I’d never really considered before.

  “I don’t know that I have any. Although, it was exciting to do what I did that evening, in the bar. It was something I’d never done before, but I don’t have a list of bedroom achievements to meet,” I said quietly.

  “All women, and men, have fantasies, Lauren. We all have a, ‘try before I die’ list. I imagine as a teenager you lusted over a movie or a pop star, am I correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that was a sexual fantasy.”

  “Can you stop saying that word, sexual?” I asked, looking around as I did.

  “The restaurant is mostly empty, no one can hear me. Does sex, or talk of it, embarrass you?”

  I had to think before I answered. I used the excuse of taking another mouthful of food.

  “Over a meal, yes.”

  “Liar.” He placed his cutlery on the table. “You need to unlock that box, up here,” he said and tapped the side of my head. “Let yourself be free, for once, without the confines of your Britishness, without that ridiculous notion that you can’t be a sexual creature, who likes to take and give pleasure. You’ll find it very liberating.”

  Of course, he drew out the word, ‘sexual.’

  Was I frigid in my thinking? I’d had sex, plenty of times, but I guessed for the most part, it was just the good old missionary position, with very little experimentation.

  I finished my meal in silence.

  “Shall I take you home?” he asked. I’d been aware he had been staring at me the whole time.

  “I think that’s best. I think we’ve already crossed a boundary that we shouldn’t have.”

  “You had no idea who I was, you did nothing wrong.”

  “Did you know who I was?”

  “Not at first, only when you told me about the conference.”

  “Yet you still wanted to…”

  “Yes,” he said, cutting off my sentence. “I’m not your boss as you keep saying. I own the company you work in, that’s all. Rationalise it.”

  He stood and took out his wallet; he placed a few notes on the table and waited for me to join him. I followed him to the car.

  I wanted us to hit every red light, to crawl in traffic, or be stationary at road works, but for the first time, the London streets we drove along were fairly quiet. We arrived back in Canary Wharf way quicker than I wanted. I’d told him I wanted to go home for one reason only; I was scared. Not of him, of my reaction to him.

  He pulled into the car park and into a parking bay. He switched off the car and turned slightly in his seat. I hadn’t spoken the whole journey.

  “Talk to me,” he whispered.

  I looked straight ahead.

  “I liked it when you held my arms above my head and I couldn’t move,” I replied.

  “You liked being restrained?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did it make you feel?”

  “I…I couldn’t move, you could
have done whatever you wanted.”

  “And that turned you on? How would you take that to another level?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve read about it, in books, I like the thought of it.”

  He opened his car door and walked around to mine. The soft click of the lock disengaging echoed and I stepped out. He took hold of my hand and silently we walked to the lift. We hadn’t spoken a word as we travelled up to my floor, nor as we walked through the apartment door. It was only as we stood in the hallway did he speak, one word that had my skin prickling and my blood pumping around my body.

  “Bedroom?” he said.

  I led him to the room I’d slept alone in for the past few months, to the room I’d shared with another man. I stood in the middle and faced him.

  “Naked, now.”

  I undid the buttons of my shirt, slid it from my body. I popped the button on my jeans, lowered the zip and wriggled them down past my hips, kicking off my Converse as I did. I tried to sexily remove my socks, but that was beyond my capabilities, and I found myself hopping from one foot to the other.

  I unclipped my bra, removed it, and then my panties. I stood before him completely naked, in the middle of the afternoon. I wanted to giggle; daytime sex wasn’t something I’d done for a long time.

  I watched him undo a few buttons of his white shirt then pull it over his head. He stepped towards me, unbuckling his belt as he did. I watched as he pulled it through the loops so tantalisingly slow.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  When I did he took my wrists and bound them together. He picked me up and carried me to the bed, laying me down on my front. I twisted my head so my cheek was flat to the pillow. I felt the bed dip as he climbed on the end and then with his hands around my ankles he spread my legs. He’d hardly touched me, but I was ready to combust. I felt his tongue run along my calf, circle behind my knee, and slowly up my thigh. It crossed my backside and back down the other.