Seduce Me

by Georgia Le Carre

  I swallow hard but I don’t allow my expression to change.

  ‘The tip enters your ass. Slowly, because you are not used to it, I bury it deeper and deeper, until the whole thing has been swallowed up by your body.’

  I open my eyes and put on a bored expression. ‘And?’

  ‘You are sitting in a puddle.’

  I flush horribly. It is true. His voice, the strange environment, being spoken to like that by a total stranger.

  ‘Sexual confidence is an allure that a man finds impossible to resist. Would you like to learn the arts of sex magick?’

  I raise my head and look into his eyes. Lana and Billie have been learning to deep throat among other things. Above all else I want Jack. If Yehonala’s way will do the job then so be it. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ he says wolfishly. His name is very apt. Wolfe! I don’t know how I did not notice it before. He roots around his pocket and comes up with a pen.

  ‘I don’t normally carry one, but I was working on my best man’s speech.’ In another pocket he finds a folded piece of paper. ‘Best man’s speech,’ he says and tears a small corner off. He writes on it.

  ‘Twelve sessions, three times a week. Starting Monday at 7.00 p.m.,’ he says and holds it out to me.

  I take it. Our fingers touch and my hand sparks and tingles with the contact from his. That jolt shocks me, sends currents into my viscera. I withdraw quickly. It must be the static electricity from the layers and layers of organza in my dress. Confused, I hurriedly bend towards the paper in my hand. An address: Bread Street in London.

  ‘How much will the…training cost?’ There is a pause. Head bent, I am hanging on his words.

  ‘My cock in that sulky little mouth of yours.’

  My eyes rush up to meet his expression. He grins. Totally and utterly confident in his own skin. I feel the heat rushing into my cheeks. I feel dirty and horrified, but I am also transfixed and hooked. He and I will be having sex. But of course.

  ‘Get a life,’ Billie would say.

  I have never done anything so outrageous in my life. Now is the time to back out. And yet I don’t. I don’t want to. I am strangely excited and turned on by the prospect of sex with this lion-man. I’m not with Jack yet. Besides I’m doing this for Jack. It is not different from Lana and Billie taking lessons on how to deep throat. Maybe he will teach me that too.

  Bereft of any clever thing to say and unable to hold the strange intensity of his laughing eyes I drop my gaze to the scrap of paper and pretend to study the bold, slanting handwriting.

  ‘Will you allow me to paint you?’

  I raise my head, startled. ‘You want to paint me?’ I splutter.

  His eyes are twinkling and his laugh is warm and sensual. ‘Yes. A sulky mouth and slanting green eyes is a very unusual combination.’ He moves his attention to my mouth.

  I feel his gaze like a physical touch on my lips. There is an odd fluttering in my stomach. He did not impress me as much at first glance, but there is definitely something commanding about this man.

  ‘My eyes are not green.’

  ‘They are now.’

  ‘Oh! Well, I guess I should be going,’ I croak, and spring up, all flustered and hot. Should I warn him about Fat Mary? Nah… Let him suffer.

  ‘See you Monday,’ he calls, the laughter still ringing in his voice.

  ‘See you Monday,’ I throw over my shoulder, as I flee from the room where I was turned down by the love of my life, and was propositioned by a wolf! It is exciting. It is definitely exciting.

  Fifteen

  As a fun event India Jane has hired a fortune-teller to work the tables. I watch her nod to someone and make her way to our table. She is a parody of a gypsy, with a colorful scarf tied around her head, hoop earrings dangling down to her shoulders, a ruffled white blouse, a full skirt, red stockings and black shoes. Her complexion is swarthy, her nose is hooked and her eyes are beady and sly. They alight on me.

  She advances and holds out a dark hand to me. Her gaze is unwavering and intense. Strange even. I don’t want her to read my palm. I am the stealer of secrets and the hider of many. I swing my hand behind my back like a child and she smiles oddly.

  Someone at the tables laughingly says, ‘Come on, Julie, it’s only a bit of fun.’

  But her eyes bore steadily into mine, and there is not the least hint of fun in them as she wills me to submit. Like a hypnotized rabbit I hold my arm out to her. She captures my outstretched hand, turns it palm upwards and slowly brushes her other hand over it. Her palm is leathery. Her eyes release mine and move to my trembling hand.

  ‘You will get him if you don’t give up.’

  I flush hard. She knows about Jack. She is about to spill my secrets. I knew I shouldn’t have let her take my hand. I try to snatch it away, but she has it in an iron grip.

  ‘I see you traveling with him… And children… Two girls. Very good man. Strong… Tall.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘Fatherless.’ Then she frowns. Her deeply black eyes travel upwards to mine, a startled, almost fearful expression in them. ‘Evil will try to tempt you, touch you. Don’t let it.’

  This time I pull my hand away and she allows me to.

  ‘Now give me a coin, so you don’t owe me anything,’ she commands.

  I stare at her. Her face is set in uncompromising lines. She has not asked for a coin from anyone else. I have no coins. I turn to the man sitting next to Billie. ‘Can I have a coin please?’

  He laughs, takes a coin from his wallet and holds it out to the gypsy. She shakes her head. ‘It must come from her.’ He passes it to me and I give it to her. The gypsy nods and moves on to the next table.

  My heart is beating hard in my chest. I am so exhilarated I can hardly sit down. I press my tingling palms together and rub them. She said, if I do not give up I will get my Jack. Everything else she said fitted too. Good. Tall. Strong. Fatherless. And she sees me traveling away with him. Does that mean I will be traveling to Africa? The prospect fills me with excitement. I do not understand her warning about evil so, as I have always done, I discount it as one unimportant inaccuracy in her prediction.

  It is time for the happy couple to cut the tall, six-tiered cake—a holy smokes affair that has been patterned to look like the softly glowing painted glass shades of Tiffany lamps. It is so beautiful and unique it seems a shame to cut it. Anyway, they are cutting it, and I am not staying around to watch. Happy occasions always depress me.

  I walk along the dozens of twinkling luminaria, over-sized white paper pom-poms and lanterns that flank the outdoor walkway towards the greenhouse. I just need to get away from the noise and joy of the party. I just need to think. About Jack and everything that has happened. About how I can win him back. I stand by the pond and look at the fishes glinting in the water. Do fishes sleep?

  ‘Hey.’

  I whirl around. It is Lana. In the soft light she looks very beautiful. Why has she followed me? She is the bride, the sparkling star of the party. The princess of the day.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. Why do you ask?’

  ‘You just looked a bit lost for a moment.’

  That—and you know I don’t like to swear—but that fucking gets my back up. I am not feeling lost. I laugh. The sound is unnatural. I curse it. ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘I think Vann likes you.’

  Fuck you! I don’t want Vann, I want Jack. I am so irritated and annoyed at that moment, I don’t care that it is her day. She was the bride and all of us were meant to be the moons that orbit around her great body.

  ‘Oh wonderful. Thank you so much. You kept the billionaire for yourself and saved the servant for me.’

  Her conspiratorial smile turns into an O of shock. There is a hurt look in her eyes. Like a child that has been slapped when it came for a kiss. Shame punches through me. I am furious with myself. At that moment I hate myself. I am the worst bitch in the world. I fucking hate myself. I honestly did not mean to say that. I mo
uthed those ugly thoughts before I was conscious of them myself. I was just in my own world, my own wounded world. How I wish she hadn’t followed me. How I wish I could take the words back.

  We stare at each other.

  There is a sound at the doorway. We both turn. Blake looks at us, his eyes going from one to the other, and then they rest briefly on me. I see the cold fury in them. He knows I have upset his doll, and he is intimidating as hell. Great, now I have pissed off the billionaire. No flat in Little Venice for me. Fuck them both. I raise my chin. I’m not about to apologize. But Lana does the good thing, the right thing. She comes to me and puts her hand on my arm. Her wedding ring is cool against my warm skin.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interfered?’

  For a moment I just look at her and feel truly outclassed and outgunned. She is the bigger person. She is trying to make it all OK again. Why? I don’t know and I don’t care. I lean forward and hug her. She is the thinnest person I have hugged. Come to think of it, I have never hugged anyone else but my mother, and that was many years ago, and even then my hands had not gone around all of her. We move away from each other. I fancy that she must be relieved to be drawing away.

  ‘Let’s have lunch when I get back,’ she says.

  I am too choked to speak. I simply nod.

  ‘I actually came to give you this.’ She hands me her bouquet.

  I take it from her with both hands. The frog in my throat croaks out a thanks.

  ‘Got to go. I’ll call you when I get back.’

  I know she is flying off to a surprise, secret location first, and Billie will be staying at Lana’s apartment with Sorab, but after a week Billie and Sorab will fly out to Thailand to meet the couple for a week-long holiday.

  ‘Yes, please do.’

  She grins. ‘Good, I’ll bore you then with all my photographs.’

  I smile weakly, and she turns away from me and goes to Blake. They link hands. I watch him. His entire attention is on Lana. Without another glance at me, he takes her hand and guides her away from me, the super bitch. At the door Lana turns around.

  ‘He’s not who you think he is,’ she says, and then they go down the lantern-lit path. I watch them walk under the fairy lights and the oversized pom-poms until they are swallowed by the topiary garden. But even from here I can already see the guests have lighted their sparklers. Hundreds are waving around. There is clapping and cheering and wedding bubbles start rising up. A beautiful end to a superb day. I wish I had not come here alone. I should have stayed with everyone else.

  Suddenly music, music that I recognize booms out of the loudspeakers, and John Newman’s strong, raw voice: ‘Know I’ve done wrong, left your heart torn.’ I smile. It is one of my favorite songs. He is screaming in that totally cool way: ‘IIIIIIIII need to know now, know now, will you love me again?’ I look down at the bouquet in my hand. Bring it to my nose and inhale the faint scent deeply.

  ‘Congratulations, Lana,’ I whisper sadly.

  No joy shall be equal…

  Sixteen

  The Yellow Emperor asked: ‘How can I know if a woman is close to having an orgasm?’

  The simple Girl answered: ‘A woman presents five signs and five desires. These are the five signs: First she blushes, now the man can come close to her.’

  —Notes from the Bedchamber

  I push the button beside the nameplate that reads twenty-five.

  ‘Yes,’ a man’s voice crackles through.

  ‘It’s Julie Sugar. We have an…er…appointment.’

  For a few moments there is silence. I interpret it as surprise. We did say Monday? Have I got the date wrong? Is it Monday next? Has he forgotten?

  ‘Take the lift to the top floor.’

  The buzzer sounds and I push the heavy door open, into a reception with tall mirrors and flowers. I take the lift to the fifth floor and walk along a blue carpet. I knock on his door and he opens it almost immediately. He is wearing a faded, paint-splattered T-shirt and an extremely old, torn pair of black jeans that hugs his lean hips and strong thighs in a way that makes my eyes want to linger. He is not wearing shoes and his hair is messy in the way David Garrett’s gets messy while he is in concert. Silky strands have escaped their tie and hang about his throat.

  Sexy.

  This man is actually very hot! I feel my throat drying up. Now: if Fat Mary is right about his sexual prowess… My traveling eyes return to his face. In the dim of that heavily curtained room I had not noticed, but, God, what eyes! Fringed with thick lashes and a truly astonishing color. I had thought they were blue. They’re not. They are uniquely greenish blue. Like the ocean on a hot day in places like Barbados. They are also totally expressionless. Reserved. Almost cold. Strange. Whatever happened to that man with the laughing eyes?

  ‘I was working. I thought you weren’t coming,’ he says.

  ‘Why did you think I wouldn’t come?’

  He shrugs. ‘People say things, make…er…appointments…’ He lets his voice trail off.

  I look around the open plan, large, spacious apartment. It is decorated in a modern, non-individualistic but typically masculine way. A sleek sandstone fireplace, black leather sofas, glass coffee table, expensive built-in sound system and oversized plasma screen. Not a plant in sight. There is nothing personal in the flat either. No photographs or scatter cushions that don’t match, no collection of anything in glass showcases. But it is situated in the city’s prime real estate and must cost a bomb.

  ‘This is a nice place you have.’

  ‘It’s not mine. It belongs to Blake. I’m just using it temporarily. The only things that belong to me are my clothes, my CDs, my paints and canvasses, and Smith.’

  ‘Well, it’s nice anyway.’ I walk to the plate glass wall that stretches from ceiling to floor and look down on London. The view is pleasant. ‘Who is Smith?’

  ‘Smith,’ he calls and a huge cat, one of those haughty, long-haired, terribly expensive Chinchillas, saunters into the room and goes to rub itself against his legs. He bends down and strokes him. I watch his golden brown hand moving sensuously against the soft fur and I am reminded of Fat Mary’s words. He has a slow hand. I walk up to the cat.

  ‘He has the same color eyes as you,’ I exclaim.

  And he blushes like a girl! It is the first time in my life that I have seen a man go red at something I have said. It makes him appear sweet. To hide, he bends down to pick the cat up.

  ‘In color he is me; in shape he is all you,’ he says, finally meeting my eyes. It is my turn to flush. There is something about this man that I respond to on a rather basic level. The cat and I are now at eye level. In his arms it looks like a gray cloud, all soft and fluffy. Smith stares at me with incredibly beautiful, but curiously expressionless eyes.

  ‘Have you had him long?’

  ‘He actually belonged to an ex who decided not to take him back with her when she left for America. She didn’t want any reminders of me.’

  I look away from the cat towards the stairs that end on a closed door. Vann follows the direction of my eyes.

  ‘That’s my work studio. Don’t ever go in there.’

  My eyes widen. ‘Don’t go in? Or Bluebeard don’t go in?’

  ‘Bluebeard don’t go in.’ His face is grim. He is serious about this.

  ‘Right. So how do we do this?’

  ‘First you have a shower.’

  What? Suddenly I am sitting beside Melissa Brumaster and she is looking at me disdainfully. Melissa Brumaster is a fucking twenty-four carat, first class bitch. ‘You smell,’ she denounces loudly. Around me girls start giggling. ‘Do you never wash?’ Her nose is crinkled with disgust. I put my head down and say nothing, filled with the knowledge that she is right. I am fat. I sweat a lot and, like the rest of my family, I don’t wash too often. So I stink. That childish taunt has remained in my consciousness. It still hurts like hell today.

  ‘You smell like a perfume counter.’

  It is not Meliss
a Brumaster again. He really doesn’t like the smell of perfume! Strange man.

  ‘What will I change into?’

  ‘There’s a fresh toweling robe hanging behind the door.’

  He turns his thumb in the direction of a door. I march towards it. I hear a chuckle. Bastard. The bathroom is like the rest of the apartment. Sparse, clean and terribly masculine. White on black granite. I strip, leave my neatly folded clothes on a shelf, and enter the shower cubicle. Unlike the leaking showerhead in my home this is the latest in luxury. It is sensationally powerful and I have the best shower I have ever had. In the milky white mist on the glass wall I draw a love heart and an arrow through it. On one side I write Julie and on the other Jack.

  I step out, more than a little nervous. I get into the fluffy toweling robe hanging behind the door and feel like a little girl in a large towel. Strangely vulnerable. I look into the mirror. I am not yet used to this new look. And there is something new in my eyes. A glitter that wasn’t there before.

  It feels as if I am about to enter a fairy tale. And this is the gate where the heroine pauses before taking the first step of the arduous and dangerous journey in her quest to pick the forbidden fruit. The fruit that will wake the sleeping Jack.

  My pulse is racing as I go out into the living room. Soft music is playing. Vann appears to have showered too—his hair is damp and he is sitting in a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt. The cat is curled up on a cushion beside him. He has a really, really flat stomach. Reminds me of Jack’s carved abdomen. Only Jack’s abdomen would be pale, like alabaster, and his is a golden brown.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I’ve eaten,’ I lie.

  ‘Then you can watch me eat. I’m starving,’ he says with a grin, and uncoils himself from the sofa. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’

  ‘I’ll have a green chartreuse please.’

  ‘A green chartreuse?’