The Accidental Call Girl

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘You know what I mean . . . How are you feeling?’ She wanted to be cross with him and demand of him what the hell he’d thought he was doing, but that seemed too cruel in his fragile state.

  ‘Like shit . . . and don’t worry, give me both barrels. I’m a fucking idiot, I know.’

  Lizzie swayed, not sure what to say. How many hours had she been awake now?

  ‘Jesus, Lizzie, get a chair. Sit down.’ Brent struggled to sit up, then subsided back again.

  Pulling up a hard chair, Lizzie said, ‘You are an idiot, B, but I’m a poor friend. I shouldn’t have dashed off like that on a sex jaunt when Shelley was away too. I should have noticed you were feeling so down. This is all my fault. I’ve been too obsessed with having a good time with John.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ From somewhere, Brent was finding a bit more energy. ‘For one thing . . . this . . . well, it was sudden. Had some booze . . . and some . . . some other stuff. And I got a long, chatty email from some guy I know from way back. He had no idea about me and Steve and what happened and he was all “How’s things with you?” and “Have you two tied the knot?” and everything just crashed down on me . . . and I lost my head.’

  ‘Yes, but if I’d been at home . . . or Shelley . . .’

  ‘Wouldn’t have made any difference, believe me. And anyway, by accident or design, I didn’t quite take enough stuff to do me in. So all it would have meant was that you’d have missed an exciting mercy dash from . . . from wherever you were.’ He glanced at her dress again. ‘My God, girl, that really is a posh frock. You look fucking stunning . . . what were you at, a fucking ball or something?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Astonishingly, Brent’s weary eyes sharpened. He could always sniff out wickedness and scandal, and clearly hadn’t lost the facility in his current, enervated state. ‘Spill it! I’m a sick man, remember. You’ve got to indulge me.’

  Lizzie looked around. The door was still open. The other bed in the small side ward was empty, but a nurse could come in any minute.

  ‘It was . . . it was a sort of orgy. A bit like Eyes Wide Shut, but much more friendly.’

  Brent laughed. It was a thin one, but full of genuine surprise and amusement. Lizzie was glad and relieved to hear it.

  ‘Right on, girl. Details! Details!’ Brent glanced beyond her to the door. ‘Incidentally, where is your billionaire pervert, by the way?’

  ‘Waiting out there.’

  A pang of longing gripped her. And one of guilt. Oh, for the warmth of John’s arm around her, and his strong body against her for her to lean on. She was on such unsure ground here. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, or how she should be. Brent had tried to kill himself, yet he was acting with a strange, forced brightness. She wanted to tell him to stop it, and to open his heart to her, so she could help him heal it. Yet she felt nervous and scared of going too deep. John would know how to act, and the best way to help Brent. He had years and far more life experience than she . . . he’d been through all sorts of mills himself. And yet, she had to deal with this on her own. God alone knew . . . Brent might be hiding a jealousy of the older man who’d swept her away. Not sexually, but emotionally; it was possible.

  ‘Was he annoyed to be dragged away from his sex party?’

  She looked sharply at Brent. Was she right? It was so hard to tell. He looked more exhausted than jealous, but even now, he might be pulling the wool over her eyes. He’d always been far better at performance than she was.

  ‘No, not at all.’ It was the truth. Preoccupied as she’d been, she’d still been aware of John’s concern for her. It was as if he’d been able to compartmentalise the party, the pleasure they’d shared, the games, and put it all away so that he could focus solely on assisting her and helping her to get here. ‘He’s been great. Like an organised whirlwind. It’s easy to see why he’s so successful. He knows how to get things done as fast and as efficiently as possible.’

  ‘A paragon.’

  ‘Are you jealous?’ There, the question was out.

  Brent sighed, closing his eyes. Their few minutes must be up by now, and his energy level, such as it had been, was flagging.

  ‘Maybe a little bit,’ he said on a sigh, ‘but I know I shouldn’t be . . . I don’t know . . .’

  As if she’d sensed her patient under stress, the nurse bustled in. Checking Brent’s vitals, she spoke to Lizzie over her shoulder. ‘That’s enough for now, Miss Aitchison. You can come back later today. You look as if you could do with some sleep yourself. Let your friend outside take you home. Brent will be fine with us. He needs his rest now too.’

  ‘OK . . .’ It was still hard to leave. She patted Brent’s arm. ‘Behave yourself. Don’t be a pain and annoy the nurses.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll behave. See you tomorrow . . . or today . . . or whatever.’

  His eyes were closed as she left the room, and there were tears in her own.

  When the car reached her home, Lizzie turned to John. ‘It’s OK, you know. You don’t have to come in. I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep. I know you’ve got things to do . . . business or whatever.’ She looked out of the window. It was morning. She wasn’t sure what time, but a watery sun was shining. ‘I know you need to get back. And Shelley will be back soon too, so I won’t be on my own.’

  John gave her one of his steady looks. Mr Rational and Very Grown Up. ‘You don’t seriously think I’m just going to dump you here like a bundle of washing and go about my merry way, do you?’ His arm was around her, but suddenly he squeezed her very tight. ‘We either go back to the Waverley together, or I stay here with you. Which is it to be?’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘No buts. Surprisingly for someone of my predilections, I don’t actually like throwing my weight around all that much, but in this case, I won’t accept any arguments. You can go back to being Ms Capable and Self-Sufficient tomorrow, when you’ve had some rest, but for the moment, I’m giving the orders. Which is it to be? Here . . . or the Waverley?’

  21

  Deliberations

  She’d chosen here, and John was glad. She’d almost been dropping on her feet, and the nearest bed was the best bed.

  And strangely, he was in it. With her. In this endearingly untidy room.

  ‘But you don’t sleep with other people,’ she’d protested, eyelids drooping after he’d bundled her beneath the covers, and slid alongside her, stripped to his trunks.

  ‘No, I don’t. And I shan’t this time. But I’ll just lie here and think for a while. It’s still rest.’

  ‘Think about what?’ He smiled. She was so stubborn and curious, even in this peculiar stressed-out situation, but before he’d even framed an answer, he’d realised she was asleep.

  The bed was a queen-sized, narrow for two, but somehow, he managed to relax. Even Lizzie’s luscious body, sweet and vulnerable in an oversized t-shirt, didn’t disturb him for the moment. It wouldn’t take much to get turned on over her; his need for her was like a constant simmer. But somehow it seemed more important, far more important, just to be with her for the time being, rather than to entertain thoughts of fucking her.

  The curtains in her room were thick, but slices of light bisected the room, falling across the bed and also illuminating the clutter of her belongings; clothes, books, sewing paraphernalia. John had lost all sense of time. The party they’d left had begun after midnight, and they’d played. Then, there’d been their flight back across the county, time spent at the hospital. It was morning now, a new business day, and his schedule was full. But it was far more important to be here, watching over Lizzie as she slept, standing ready to be at her disposal if she needed to return to the hospital to visit her friend.

  Her friend? Surely, it was more than that. John let his head fall back against the pillow as he stared at the ceiling. Why was he so jealous? Why? They both knew their relationship was fleeting, an interlude. She herself had coined the phrase ‘temporary sex friends’, and it was
a good one.

  So why the fuck are you wanting more from her, all of a sudden? You swore off all that after Clara. And it’s worked . . . hasn’t it? Why get these yearnings for a woman who has other commitments anyway, you blithering idiot?

  Rubbing his hand through his hair, he turned carefully towards her, inching over so he wouldn’t wake her up.

  Without lip-tint and eyeliner, and with her black hair streaming loose across the pillow she was a far cry from Bettie Page or Audrey Hepburn, and yet, somehow, she still had a glamour for him. Her relaxed face was so young looking, reminding him that she was young, compared to him. Twenty-four to his forty-six. Not an insurmountable gap. Loving couples succeeded across much greater divides, but she might not want to negotiate it for the long term.

  John sat up. ‘What the hell . . .?’

  Half-baked notions surged into his weary mind, but he fought not to go there. It was pointless and stupid. The only kind of relationship he could allow himself was one such as he’d had with Caroline, his wife; affection and expediency, nothing more. More . . . had only led to disaster, and pain.

  ‘Fuck. Shit.’

  You’re an idiot man. You’re an idiot. You just can’t have it.

  Shaken, he lay down again. He’d said he’d lie and think and that was what he’d do, turning on his side so he could see her face against the pillow, and her closed eyes, and her soft, sweet mouth. Behind those features lay a quick mind, a sense of fun, a spirit that was daring, yet honest and loyal to friends. Not without faults, but, paradoxically, all the more appealing because of them.

  If he couldn’t have her, he could still think about her, and secretly indulge in his fantasies. It’d be a torment, but he was powerless in the thrall of his imagination. Gingerly, he let his hand rest ever so lightly on her waist. He stopped breathing, waiting for her to stir, but she just let out a sigh, pressing her cheek against the pillow, and then settled again.

  Her body was warm through the thin t-shirt, and inevitably it roused him. His cock stiffened. He couldn’t turn off his desire, but it would be unthinkable to act on it.

  Dreams were all he could allow himself right now, and they filled his mind, emptying it of negativity, stress, and the twists and turns of his life.

  His eyelids drooped, heavy as lead, and he drifted into a dark, soft world, where paradoxically a brilliant light shined. A beautiful bright light whose name was . . . Lizzie.

  There was light streaming in. What time was it?

  John!

  Lizzie blinked, disorientated, her mind fuzzy but for one thing . . . one person. Even before she was fully conscious, she sensed him next to her. Other stuff floated in her brain, but in her semi-dormant state, she frowned and pushed it away. Loving only the warm presence at her side, and his body touching hers.

  John.

  She could feel reality barrelling towards her, but she turned to him, her muzzy mind greedily snatching at wonder before fears and worries arrived. Light was flooding across them, through chinks in the curtains, illuminating a magical sight.

  John, fast asleep, with the little cat Mulder curled up on his chest.

  You’re sleeping. How are you sleeping? I thought you said you didn’t sleep with anyone else around. And you, you little furry monkey, I thought you didn’t like strangers?

  She didn’t utter the words for fear of breaking the spell and waking the enchanted prince, and his companion, at her side. John’s face was half turned away from her, cradled in his arm stretched back across the pillow, while his other hand rested on his chest, curved around Mulder’s small body. A little smile played across his face and his strangely dark eyelashes lay thick against his cheekbones. Sleeping he looked a good ten years younger, if not more, and her thoughts flew back to her first reaction to him, back in the Lawns bar.

  He was an angel. She breathed in, taking in the faint scent of his cologne and a hint of sweat. Their bodies were close and, even when not fucking, the proximity generated a lot of heat. She wrinkled her nose, knowing she wasn’t as fresh as she might be herself.

  Falling back into her body from her dream state, she cannoned into reality at last.

  Brent . . . Oh, poor Brent. She’d left him on his own and he’d tried to kill himself.

  Lizzie sat up, drew in a deep, quiet breath, and pulled her thoughts together. She needed to be logical and sensible. It was the only way to cope now. The only way she could stop herself screaming from the sensation of being torn in two, and shouting abuse at fate for giving something with one hand and then taking it away almost immediately. For tangling her life with that of two different men she cared deeply for, in entirely different ways.

  Looking down at John, she longed to touch him and kiss him; and yet more than that. She wanted to know him, and understand him, and love him. Perhaps, with a little more time, there might have been some kind of chance with him, unlikely as it seemed. True-life fairy tales were rare, but they did happen. He seemed to care for her, and it was possible it might be more, but now she’d never know.

  Brent needed her. Brent had been there for her when she’d lost her way and her confidence. He’d even made her feel better about herself sexually during their brief time as lovers. He deserved her loyalty, and her help and support. Shelley was a good friend to both of them, but didn’t quite have the same bond with Brent that Lizzie did.

  I have to give him all my support, with no reservations. No taint.

  There would have to be no mooning about, nothing to give Brent the feeling that she was yearning to be somewhere else, with somebody else.

  The man beside her stirred, frowning as if he’d sensed her decision, his slight movement disturbing Mulder. As the little cat unfurled herself and leapt lightly off the bed, a vice gripped Lizzie’s heart.

  But what if her decision would hurt John too?

  Oh hell, life could be perverse. It could stab you with a spear of bitter irony sometimes. She ached to slide into John’s arms now. Not for sex, divinely tempting as he was, but just for contact, for closeness. The chance to lie with him and talk, and begin the journey into knowing.

  Come on, snap out of it, you fool. And grow up. Make the correct choice and live with it.

  Silently admonishing herself, she lay down beside him, closing her eyes and keeping very still as she sensed John waking up. It would be far too complicated to let him know she’d seen him sleeping. That she’d stolen an intimacy from him he probably didn’t want to give anybody, much less her.

  She only hoped, as she felt him sit up beside her, in just the same cautious, edging way as she’d sat up only moment ago, that he wouldn’t notice the single tear that slid across her cheek.

  22

  To Those Who Wait

  ‘You don’t mind if I do a bit of sewing, do you?’

  Brent looked up from his laptop and smiled. ‘No, hon, not at all. Go ahead. Although if you’ve a minute, I tore the pocket on my blue shirt and it could do with your magic touch to fix it again.’

  ‘Rightie ho. Anything else while I’m at it?’ She turned to Shelley who was watching the box, a rather ghoulish but fascinating documentary about plane crashes.

  ‘Well, you could turn up my new jeans and there’s a button missing off my black jacket,’ the other woman said, gently tipping Mulder off her lap and getting up. ‘I’ll fetch them . . . if you don’t mind, that is? I’ll pay you, of course . . . and I think he should too!’ She nodded at Brent.

  Lizzie laughed wryly as she set up the sewing machine and took the first item from her basket. In the month since Brent vs. the sleeping tablets, and the departure of John, not long after, she’d packed in her temping job, and begun doing alterations and small sewing jobs for a high-end dress agency in town, as well as doing more dressmaking and general altering jobs for friends, and friends of friends too. It was mostly routine work, and the income was modest, but it was much more satisfying to be working with fabric and her sewing machine than performing tedious office chores. It also meant she
was around home more, and able to keep an eye on Brent.

  The only downside of her new life as full-time seamstress was that she had more free time to think about John, and what might have been. Thus far, though, she was sure she was doing a pretty good job of hiding that from Brent and Shelley. Despite the fact that Brent in particular would keep on mentioning John at every available opportunity, and asking after him, almost as if he were as obsessed with the man as she was. Something that was weird, because Lizzie would have thought Shelley might have been the one most interested. Despite everything, Lizzie still smiled every time she remembered the other girl arriving home, and being introduced to John. Shelley’s mouth had literally dropped open, and she’d seemed as dazzled as if she was meeting a real-life movie star.

  I know, mate. That’s the effect he always had on me . . .

  I wasn’t as if Lizzie had lost touch with her fabulous fling completely, even now. Far from it, although it might have been easier on the heart if she could have made a cleaner break.

  ‘I’ll stay around as long as you need me,’ he’d said. ‘If there’s anything at all I can do, just say so. Anything.’

  Oh, how tempting that had been. Almost irresistible. Mainly because his clear blue eyes had told her beyond a shadow of doubt that his offer was completely genuine, not just a polite man mouthing platitudes.

  ‘It’s OK . . . You’ve done so much already. We’ll be fine now. You must have a ton of things to get back to . . . I mean, you’ve completed your business around here, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I have. But I can stay if you want me to.’

  Oh hell, I want you to!

  She’d almost screamed the words, but, with difficulty, she’d restrained herself and politely declined. She hardly dared look at his face. She didn’t want to see relief in his eyes. And yet, to her shock, she’d could have sworn she’d actually caught a hint of disappointment. Perhaps even pain.