Girl Seven

by Hanna Jameson

  My reply came out before I’d properly thought it through. ‘Give me your number.’

  Alexei took a pen from his jacket and wrote a mobile number on the back of a London Underground coaster. I noticed that the two of them were dressed in grey. Just grey. It was as if they had both read the same cheap book on espionage: Blending In For Dummies.

  I took the coaster and stood up. ‘I’m going to go now.’

  ‘I hope you get in touch.’

  My heart racing, I walked with as much nonchalance as I could to the dressing room. Just having the number in sight was making me feel ill so I put it in my locker where I didn’t have to look at it.

  When I mustered up the courage to go back into the club again, the two of them had gone.

  Daisy skipped up to me and tucked a wad of notes into the waistband of my knickers. ‘I don’t know what the fuck you said to those guys, but you must have a flippin’ bottleful of charm hidden away under that massive permanent sulk-on of yours.’

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Their tip. They left it for you personally. They were really insistent on it being for you.’ A glance over her shoulder. ‘I know they like us to pool it and stuff but I won’t tell if you won’t. That one was all you, that was. You should have it.’

  I flicked through the notes.

  It was 150 pounds.

  6

  As prostitution goes – hookerdom, whoring, escorting, whatever you want to call it – my first experience of it was probably one of the better ones. It had been about two weeks. I’d brought in the STD test within my first few days and thought I’d have been asked to do something by now.

  I hadn’t seen much of Noel since my interview, only for snatches of chat here and there, and never about work. Everything I’d learnt about the club so far I’d picked up from Daisy or one of the other girls. But he appeared that night, intercepting me in the middle of the floor and beckoning without a word.

  I was just about getting used to traversing the slick club floors in heels that I could barely shuffle in, though I still glared at Daisy if she gave me more than two drinks to carry at a time.

  ‘Um... OK.’ I put a tray of drinks down on the nearest table, not caring if that was their intended destination or not, and followed Noel upstairs to his office.

  Halfway up I had to take my shoes off and carry them, as I couldn’t yet control my balance going up and down stairs. They were about five inches high and almost made me adult-sized. Aside from those I was wearing some kind of kimono-style lingerie. The tassels flapped around the backs of my thighs, distracting me.

  Once inside, Noel shut the door for me and looked serious. ‘I have something for you, if you’re interested. If you’re up for it, I mean?’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  He indicated for me to sit, but I remained standing.

  ‘A house call.’ He leant against his desk, folding his arms. ‘A favour for a pretty good mate of mine. Well, work mate.’

  ‘You want me to go have sex with someone?’

  Uncharacteristically coy, he hesitated. ‘Yes. If you like.’

  ‘Well, who is he?’

  ‘His name’s Darsi Howiantz, he’s a psychologist or... psychiatrist, I can never remember the difference. Anyway, he works with the police and helps me out a lot with stuff and...’ He struggled to find the words. ‘He’s into cool things, like books and art and stuff. Like you. You read, don’t you? So I thought it might be good to send you.’

  It was almost sweet, how awkward he was being. He looked tired, though his eyes were still alert and unclouded. I noticed that his shoes were under his desk where he must have kicked them off. Stifling the urge to laugh, I realized that he must have absently walked down into the club to find me without putting them back on.

  I shrugged and put my own shoes on the floor. ‘Well, yeah, sure. I guess I get paid more for this?’

  ‘Yeah, of course, it’s always where the real money is. But if you don’t want to do it or if you want to leave it a while and just find your feet then that’s cool, I can get another girl.’

  ‘No, really, I’m fine. I don’t mind.’

  It didn’t seem as though he’d expected that response. It didn’t seem as if he entirely wanted it.

  I inclined my head. ‘You don’t think I’m ready?’

  ‘No no, it’s fine. You’re fine.’ He frowned and cleared his throat. ‘Right, OK. We pay for the taxis obviously. You haven’t done this before, have you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’ I smiled a little. ‘But it’s just sex, isn’t it?’

  A pause.

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked at the floor for a moment and then back to me, taking a breath. ‘Yeah.’

  The intensity in the air was thick for a moment as he stared at me, but then he cleared his throat again and took his mobile out of his pocket. He didn’t use it, just held it.

  ‘Um, do you have any questions? The obvious stuff is that everyone always uses protection; it’s standard. Nothing that’s going to leave a mark is allowed without prior warning, ever. But you won’t have to worry about that with Darsi, he’s pretty straight-edge. He... reads a lot. I don’t think he’ll be into anything weird.’

  I kept nodding as he rambled until he ran out of breath.

  ‘OK,’ I said, standing very still. ‘Just let me know when I have to leave.’

  ‘You don’t have any questions?’

  ‘I don’t know. Is he hot?’

  Noel snorted and glanced at the ceiling, mocking thought. ‘Oh well, er... speaking as a heterosexual male who’s totally comfortable with his sexuality... Yeah, he’s all right. He’s a nice guy too, he’s a good guy. Just... be yourself and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Myself? Great.’

  He swallowed, nodding. ‘Thanks. I’ll call him then.’

  With another glance at his shoes, I picked up my heels and turned to leave.

  ‘Seven, wait a sec.’

  I opened the door and waited by it.

  He came forwards, pushed the door shut and kissed me for a long time. I could feel the release of repressed tension in his body, his hands running up me, and then he let me go and I wasn’t sure what to say to him. He was close. I could see the tiny strands of grey in his hair.

  At the time, I wasn’t sure if it was something he did with the other girls, but I went with it anyway. I’d wanted him to do it. Even if I could have said no, I wasn’t going to.

  ‘That’s all,’ he said, and went to sit back behind his desk.

  I watched him for a couple of seconds and he was breathing heavily through his nose, but he didn’t look up from his laptop again so I left.

  Darsi’s living room, or study, was full to the point of hoarding. It was the strangest collections of items I’d ever seen, but then I could tell within less than a minute of meeting Darsi that he was a very strange man. He had the awkwardly formal social skills of a reclusive academic, but he was appealing. He also didn’t ask any questions about my name, which was a first.

  As I repressed my amusement at him shaking my hand, I took in his sharp and thin but attractive features.

  ‘So what’s that?’ I asked, pointing at a multi-coloured plastic bird with what looked like a lump of misshapen brown playdough for a beak, balanced atop a pile of books.

  He followed my gaze and indicated for me to sit in a wide reading chair. My skirt was almost too short to sit down but I managed to avoid prematurely flashing anything by crossing my legs.

  ‘It’s a bird with a turd for a nose,’ Darsi said matter-of-factly.

  ‘And you just buy that sort of thing... around?’

  He sat also, in a swivel chair by one of his two desks. There was no sofa or TV.

  ‘No, I made them.’

  I looked around the study, at the files and photos and the dolls with dog heads attached to their plastic shoulders and I laughed. ‘OK, either you’re a Mike Kelley fan or you’re a mental serial killer.’

  ‘I spent my PhD inter
viewing serial killers. It could be both. Would you like a drink?’

  I stared at him. At first I’d had no idea why Noel had sent me. I could be perfectly affable in a large group, but everyone could predict I’d be terrible at house calls. I found it too hard to hide my boredom or distaste in a one-on-one situation, when there wasn’t a wall of background music and other women and alcohol to distract people with. But now it was becoming more apparent.

  ‘So what do you do?’ I asked, too intrigued to acknowledge his offer of a drink. ‘Noel said—’

  ‘I’m a forensic criminal psychologist.’

  ‘And what exactly have you done recently for Noel that’s so great?’

  He sat there, owl-like in his shirt and delicate glasses with his foppish hair, and swivelled. ‘Nothing great enough to warrant this but... he insisted.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never done this before.’

  ‘No?’ He smiled. ‘Neither have I. I don’t go into Noel’s club, really.’

  I couldn’t imagine anywhere he would be more out of place. It made me wonder what he was like in bed; whether his bookish demeanour was masking something perverted. The dolls and figurines made me think so.

  ‘So...’ I hoped my phrasing of the question wouldn’t make me sound too suspicious. ‘If you’ve interviewed all these serial killers, could you spot a proper psychopath in the street now? I mean, if you spent a bit of time with them, could you tell who was likely to be a raging psycho murderer?’

  ‘Quite a lot of people have psychopathic traits: it doesn’t mean they’re going to go out and murder someone. Most of the time they end up owning businesses or running a government department.’ He picked up a mug from the desk next to him and checked it for liquid, but didn’t find any. ‘But the longer I’ve talked to psychopaths and​... sociopaths, it does become easier to spot them. A surprising amount of them.’

  ‘Am I a psychopath? Can you tell me that right now?’

  ‘The very act of asking that question, or asking yourself that question, probably means that you’re not.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A psychopath would almost never self-identify as such, unless it was the result of some cataclysmic event, like a murder for example. They would simply think that...’ He trailed off, his face tightening in thought. ‘They think that the world works in a certain way, and that they’re working it to their advantage. They think they’re right, in short. They think of others as pawns and opportunities and they also think that’s how all people should be, if they want to succeed.’

  I snorted. ‘Did you just try really hard to dumb that answer down for me?’

  ‘Only a little. I hoped you wouldn’t be able to tell.’

  ‘Look, I’m here to do whatever you want,’ I said, deciding to propel the situation forwards. ‘I’d be happy to sit here and talk to you about your job and ask you questions, but I was also sent here to do other things and... I really want you to do whatever you want, even if it’s weird or... especially if it’s weird. I’d like that. I don’t want you to think you have to be polite to me or make small talk with me. It’s fine for you to ask for anything.’

  I wasn’t sure if I’d said the right thing, or if girls were even meant to talk this much on house calls, but I suspected Darsi would need some prompting.

  ‘Just be yourself,’ Noel had said. Now I understood why.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, covering myself. ‘Sorry if that was too forward.’

  ‘No.’ Darsi took a long breath, as if he were stifling a large smile.

  I waited, trying to contain how eager I was to know the sort of thing that turned him on.

  He gestured at his books. Stacks of them. There was a stepladder wedged between piles, to reach the tops of his shelves.

  ‘Pick a book from here,’ he said, taking off his glasses for a moment. ‘Fiction.’

  7

  It took the rest of the night and half a day for me to come to a decision; less time that I’d thought.

  I returned home at just after four in the morning, to the shitty flat that had somehow become my base. It used to belong to a friend, whose doorstep I had appeared on nearly three years ago, still smelling of soap and copper and mute with shock. He’d let me stay without hesitation, giving me a bed and space for a permanent easel in the tiny living room. Then he’d gone. I didn’t know where. But he left me this place: the one flat in London where the rent never seemed to go up.

  I could barely remember the guy’s name now. I’d always been more into having acquaintances than friends.

  The flat had resembled a Far Eastern opium den when I’d arrived and smelt of incense and marijuana. Not much had changed. I’d come to like it too much.

  When I got home I stood in the kitchen doorway holding the coaster in my hands.

  Another phone number.

  I knew what I wanted to do, much more so than I had done with Mark’s business card, but the fear was stopping me. It was just the fear.

  It wasn’t as if anyone was going to get hurt. If anyone could afford to lose some money, it was Noel. It might even do him good to feel something less than invincible for once. What bothered me were the possible repercussions.

  There were no two ways about it: I’d be dead within hours if either Noel or Ronnie found out what I’d done. Noel might have shown me affection, brief flashes of humanity, but I knew that deep down they were both beyond reason in a way that most people would never understand. Violence wasn’t a last resort to them; it was how they interacted with the world. I would die and they’d laugh. Fuck, they’d enjoy it.

  But it wouldn’t get that far...

  ... and I could go home.

  I slept on it, for about six hours, but when I woke up nothing had changed. It felt like most of the daylight hours had passed me by outside.

  I could go home. That was the thought that overrode everything. I could go home.

  Repeating it over and over to myself, I went into the living room, picked up the phone and called Alexei.

  ‘Thanks for the tip,’ I said, sitting on the floor with my toes curled into the rug. ‘It was pretty generous. Look, I’ve had a think about your offer and I’m... interested. I think I’m interested. Just tell me in a bit more detail what you guys are actually thinking of doing.’

  ‘You think you are interested?’ He was smiling, I could tell. ‘Think is not good enough. For what you are asking for, we will need you to prove it.’

  ‘Um... prove it? How?’

  ‘Earn your first payment we gave you.’

  ‘My payment?’ My newfound resolve wavered a little. ‘What, my tip? How do you want me to do that?’

  ‘Be clever. Show some imagination. Then we will talk. I would like very much to talk to you again, Seven.’

  Racking my brains for a strategy, I came up with nothing.

  ‘Right. OK, I’ll... get back to you then.’

  ‘We hope so. We do not like it when women lead us on.’

  He hung up.

  I rested the phone against my chin, trying to work out just how much of a threat his last statement had been. It made me feel uneasy, sitting on the floor obscured by the sofa. It made me look around, as if something were in here with me. I stood up and fixed myself something to eat, making as much noise as I could, so that I could almost forget how alone I was.

  Before I went into the Underground that night I found a store full of gadgets, and asked to see some of their voice-activated recorders. They were expensive but, suspiciously, they all came to just under 150 pounds. I bought the most expensive one I could afford within my budget, and a USB stick.

  Feeling too on edge to read the instructions back in my flat before work, I took a long bus ride around the West End instead. It seemed easy enough to use, but the more I thought about it the more insane my plans seemed. What was I doing this for? To prove myself to a couple of over-confident Russians who claimed they could pay me enough to return to my old life? Or was I doing it to give the middle finger to Noel? />
  A bit of both, I figured.

  On my way into the club I was painfully aware of the USB and the recorder knocking around the insides of my pockets. When safely in the dressing room and hidden behind my locker door I transferred the recorder from my coat to the underwiring of my bra, and wondered just how I was going to get Noel or Ronnie to come out of their office.

  It would be easier if Ronnie were here. He was the more social of the two.

  Daisy let herself into the room behind me and started counting to ten under her breath as she adjusted her hair in the mirror.

  I hated it when other people counted out loud. It made me nervous.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked, slamming my locker a little too hard and applying some lipstick.

  ‘There are some proper wank-stains out there tonight. It’ll be a flippin’ miracle if I don’t end up killing one of them. I stopped serving them a bloody age ago and somehow they still got fucking trolleyed!’

  ‘Is Noel or Ron here?’

  ‘Ron’s upstairs; not a clue about Monobrow. I don’t think I can get him to chuck them out until they actually do something though.’

  She backcombed her hair and observed her hip bones, making a sharp edge above the line of her hot pants. Apart from Noel, Daisy was the only person here who could make me laugh. I’d hated her when we’d first met and I was sure the feeling had been mutual. But there was something so compelling about her brilliantly pretty features and reluctance to ever give a shit about anything.

  ‘Think I can lure them into doing something vile and start screaming?’ she asked.

  I glanced down at myself and smirked. ‘I don’t know. Could I?’

  She grinned. ‘Or we could just poison them all, eh?’