Seduce Me

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘Jack, can I come round and see you?’

  ‘I guess so,’ he agrees reluctantly.

  ‘Great. See you in twenty minutes.’

  Jack’s mother opens the door.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says. I can’t really blame her. I have, over the years, made a pest of myself.

  She ushers me into her living room and scuttles back in the direction of the kitchen. Jack is stretched out on his mother’s sofa reading a spy thriller. He puts his book down and I find myself a seat opposite him.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Bored sick.’

  I don’t beat about the bush. I don’t have time. ‘Jack, will you kiss me?’

  He shrinks like a touch-me-not. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Julie, come off it. We’ve been through this before.’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. It’s not a sexual thing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. Just consider it as an experiment. You can close your eyes.’ I pause. ‘You can pretend I’m someone else.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just need to know something and I won’t know it until I kiss you.’

  ‘OK.’

  I grin and stand up. I walk over to the sofa and kneel beside him. He turns his face towards me.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Don’t talk. Just fucking do it,’ he growls.

  I lean my palms on either side of him, careful not to touch his body, and gently put my lips on his and close my eyes. His mouth opens and, you know I don’t really like cussing, but fuck me, this guy can kiss. His kiss has bells and whistles, and a rounded tongue that expertly snakes around mine, hooks then pulls it into his mouth, and gently sucks it. I feel myself getting lost in the sheer beauty of his kiss. It is romantic and sexy, the way I always think kissing a film star might feel, but raw sexual heat—nada, neinte, zilch, rien. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I move my head away.

  He is looking at me expectantly. ‘Well?’ Nothing for him and nothing for me.

  ‘Thanks, Jack. You’ve been a great help.’ I grab his cheeks between my palms and smack my lips loudly on his forehead. ‘Got to go. Get well soon,’ I say and I run out of the door.

  Outside I am so exhilarated I want to jump up and scream. How could I even have thought that what I had with Vann could be replicated with anyone else? Only now I realize how special is the chemistry I share with him.

  I rush home, call a greeting out to my mum and run up the stairs. I close the door, look at the wall of Jacks and laugh. What a total fool I have been. I’ve been so focused on being in love with Jack that I did not even realize that I’ve fallen in love with Vann. I change into my red dress, the one Vann loves, apply a layer of red lipstick and I run out of my home.

  At the Tube station I cannot help smiling to myself. At my stupidity. At my happiness. I imagine what Vann will do. I know he likes me. I know he likes me a lot. I smile foolishly. An elderly woman meets my eyes and lets hers slide away quickly.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m not mad. I just found out I’m in love,’ I tell her.

  She smiles. It is not a London fuck off and leave me the fuck alone smile. It is from the heart.

  I open the door of the building Vann lives in and run to the lift. At the lift my bag catches on the stair banister. My bag falls, opens, things spill out. I crouch down to pick them up.

  Fate is a strange thing.

  Whether you turn right or left when you walk out of your front door can change your life forever. I don’t know how the future might have played out if my bag had not caught and the contents spilled out. But those few seconds meant I look up and see Lana coming through the doors. She appears distracted. She sees me and comes up to me.

  ‘Hi, Julie. Are you coming or going?’

  What, I wonder, would have happened if I had said coming? Instead I say, ‘Going.’

  She looks relieved. ‘Shall we do lunch sometime next week?’

  I feel anger in the pit of my stomach. What the hell are you doing here? Is the billionaire not enough for you? This is my man.

  ‘Yes, let’s.’ I press the lift button. The doors open immediately.

  She steps in. The cheek of the woman. She smiles at me. I smile back automatically, but fucking hell is she having an affair with my man? The doors close on her and as if I have winged ankles I race up five flights of stairs. I stand at the fire door, breathing hard.

  When I get my breath back, which occurs surprisingly fast, I march down the corridor. I take my shoes off and turning my key, quietly slip into Vann’s apartment. I tiptoe to a little alcove that leads into the living room, and crouching behind a cupboard watch them. What I hear is nothing like what I had expected!

  ‘I love him so much. I just want to help, but he won’t tell me anything,’ Lana is saying. Her voice sounds distraught and desperate.

  ‘It is not because he does not want to tell you. Nothing that happens in the circle can be told outside it.’

  She paces agitatedly, coming in and out of my line of vision. ‘Can he step out of the circle?’

  ‘There is no escape. The circle has no end. Besides, he would not want to. Coming out would put you and Sorab in grave danger. He makes his sacrifice gladly.’

  ‘Can I enter the circle?’ Her voice is a whisper, full of terror. It makes my hair stand on end.

  Vann’s reply is instantaneous. ‘Never.’

  What the hell are they talking about? Suddenly, I remember the crazy notes I saw about the brotherhood of El. And the unbelievable things that Victoria had screamed about.

  ‘What must I do then?’ Lana asks desperately.

  ‘The fight between good and evil is as old as time. It will never be won by either side. Involving yourself will bring great personal loss to you.’

  ‘Should I do nothing, then?’

  ‘No matter what you do, the brotherhood will carry on holding their great balls for El. You will not be invited. Neither will I. Blake will always be invited as an honored guest, but he won’t go… Because of you. Because of your love for him from outside the circle.’

  ‘Loving him from outside the circle doesn’t stop the nightmares.’

  ‘Nightmares?’

  ‘Every once in a while when he has had a particularly stressful day he has a nightmare. Then he screams out in the voice of child. He told me that the memory is blur and dream-like, but when he was a small boy he took part in a ritual and killed another child.’

  ‘The first rule of control is to hijack history.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Blake didn’t kill anyone. The child that is being programmed usually never does. It just wakes up alone from a drugged state with a bloodied knife and a dead child. And then it screams and whimpers for its mother for hours.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Because when I was seven years old I stumbled upon the ritual. I accidentally got locked in the same room where the ceremony was being performed. I saw what they did. I saw his little body stiffen up when he was being stabbed. I felt dirty for not looking away. When they left it I sat frozen for hours. When the other boy awakened and began to scream I wanted to come out and comfort him, but even then I knew that if I showed myself I was dead, and the instinct for self-preservation is strong even in a child. But the shock was incredible. It changed me. The world became a frightening place. There was no one I could trust after that. I always knew they did that to both Marcus and Blake.’

  ‘They never did it to you?’

  ‘No. I was never the right material. They choose their victims very carefully.’

  ‘How do they choose them?’

  ‘That knowledge will not serve you.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’

  ‘The rest cannot be told. Only remember that they want you to believe he is like them, but he is not. He never has been and he never will be.’

  ‘I’ve been doing some research on them
, and—’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Stay away from them. They have existed from time immemorial. They will be here when you and I are gone. You cannot defeat them. When you gaze at something long enough you become it. Even what you fight, you become. Keep away from it. Stay pure. What they hate more than anything else is a pure heart. When you are pure they cannot touch you. And the longer that Blake gazes at you, the purer he, too, will become. You are not here to take them on. You are here to protect your son and every child that your charity can reach. Go and tell Blake he did nothing wrong.’

  ‘I will.’ Lana walks up to him and, standing on tiptoes, kisses him on his cheek. ‘Thank you, Vann.’

  He says nothing, simply looks at her kindly.

  She goes to leave and then turns back towards him. ‘Have you told Julie who you are?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She may seem like an air-head sometimes, but you can trust her. I would.’

  She walks to the door. When the door clicks shut I come out of my hiding place and stand in the entrance of the room.

  ‘Who are you?’ I ask, but I already know. Of course, I know. It should have been obvious to anyone with eyes. I should have known from the first day.

  Invictus

  And yet the menace of the years

  Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

  —William Ernest Henley

  Twenty-nine

  I, Quinn Adam Barrington

  ‘You’re Blake’s brother, aren’t you?’ she accuses, her voice, a shocked whisper.

  She is wearing scarlet. I love her in scarlet. I can hardly remember her from the days she used to dress in shades of pink. She has changed so much. Her hair is loose and she is wearing red lipstick. In the glow of the light from the lampshade her creamy skin glows with the luminescence of the polished ivory sword handle that had hung in my father’s study.

  She is my beautiful love. My heart feels heavy. Why didn’t I tell her myself? Something has always held me back. I know why. I know exactly why.

  I incline my head. ‘At your service.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  I shrug. To tell her would be to leave me defenseless.

  She smiles suddenly, brightly, and advances into the room. ‘It doesn’t matter, I realized today that I love you,’ she says excitedly.

  I freeze. I actually freeze. Now I know why I never told her. But I thaw surprisingly fast. There is no pain. Maybe later. Definitely later, I will think of those words and how much I wanted them to be true. Now I am like the man whose shoulder is inside the lion’s jaws. The pain is so great that shock cracks a whip, and a weird flat state of being takes over; it is notable only for its total absence of pain. I always knew she was shallow, but this shallow? Not even I could have expected that.

  ‘Why? Because I am not from a family of servants you have suddenly decided that you love me.’ My voice is bitter. I have never heard it so. So much about me she has brought forth.

  She frowns then turns white. ‘You heard us.’

  ‘Yeah. I came to say goodbye, but after hearing how scornfully you dismissed me just because you thought I was the son of a servant, I walked away.’

  She licks her lips. Her eyes turn desperate. I look at them emotionlessly, curiously. How far will she go?

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ she pleads. ‘I knew I loved you before I figured out that you are Blake’s brother.’

  I raise a disbelieving eyebrow.

  ‘I came here to tell you.’ Her voice is rising, desperate.

  I say nothing. I wanted her to love me for myself. Not for my family name. But I have been living in a fool’s paradise for the last few weeks. I so much wanted to believe that she is more, that she could be more. But what I feared most has happened.

  ‘You have to believe me.’

  ‘And what about Jack?’

  ‘I realized that I didn’t love him this afternoon and that is why I came here.’

  ‘What an amazing coincidence.’

  ‘I’m telling the truth, Vann… I mean…Quinn.’

  Wow, she is a really good actress. ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to be known as a Barrington?’

  ‘I wanted to be recognized as an artist, purely for my talent, not because of my surname and heritage.’ I’ll never tell her the real reason why I don’t want to be associated with the name.

  ‘I love you.’

  I laugh. ‘Well, I don’t. We had a good time and now it is over. I’m leaving at the end of the week.’

  She takes a step back as if I have slapped her. Her eyes become huge. She is right though, they are not green. Flecks of gold and brown in them. They are only green when passion comes into her body.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ she gasps. Her mouth remains open. This is not acting. This she did not expect.

  ‘Yup. I’m done here.’

  For a few more seconds she simply stares at me. I long to cross the space and hold her, but I don’t. I stare at her, my beautiful Sugar. Then she turns around and runs from me. She doesn’t slam the door, but closes it quietly with a click.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I stand there, my thoughts a mess. Some part of me tells me to go after her. Let things carry on as before. But another part of me knows that it can never be like it was before, and whatever we have will be a pale imitation of what I really want. It is for the best. I don’t want her to pretend to love me. I need to be free of the long shadow cast by Jack. A song is playing in my head. Mama, take this badge off me. I can’t use it anymore. I feel like I’m knocking on heaven’s door. Knock, knockin…

  The phone rings.

  I answer it and listen as Blake explains that he has ordered Croix, my dealer, to put a minimum price on the paintings: £150,000 on the smaller ones, £250,000 on the two larger pieces. These giddy prices… The arrogance is breathtaking.

  Abyssus abssum invocat: one hell summons another.

  Here it goes again—the meme that money is absolutely everything. I am reminded of Munch’s Scream. His terrible visions, profound insight and his shudder of despair at the human condition reduced to a price tag: 120 million dollars. The hollowness had chilled me then. And it chills me now.

  In ordinary circumstances I would have gone mad, told my brother to fuck off, stay out of my business. But today it doesn’t matter. I don’t actually care one way or another.

  ‘Nobody will buy them at those prices,’ I say quietly.

  ‘I am the back-up buyer at those prices.’

  There is a brief pause when we are both silent.

  ‘You are the artist. I am the businessman. Leave me to decide what the market can afford. The perception of value is everything. If a Barrington wants to acquire the entire collection…

  ‘You haven’t seen it yet.’

  ‘Is it any good?’

  ‘The best thing I have done in my life.’ I slept with my muse, you see.

  ‘That’s good enough for me.’

  ‘See you tomorrow at seven thirty?’

  ‘See you then.’

  ‘Oh, do you need us to pick Julie up?’

  And suddenly the pain hits. Right in the solar plexus. Oh fuck. Later has come.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Right. I’ll get Lana to arrange it with her. See you then.’

  The phone hits the wall so hard it smashes into pieces. I stand with my back to the glass wall and look around me. Here, I have been truly happy. I go to the kitchen and open the fridge. That habit of hers, leaving a half-drunk glass of orange juice in the fridge. I take it, find the imprint of her mouth and drink a mouthful of juice. The juice is cold and for some reason tasteless. I leave it on the counter. I need a real drink. I reach for the bottle of beer and stop. I don’t want beer. I’d like to get smashed on a whole bottle of cognac, the kind my granddad used to drink. I close the fridge and I go up to my studio.

  At the threshold I stand and l
ook at the empty place. By now, all the paintings are probably being unpacked and the perfect wall to hang them on being decided upon. I go towards my easel, my paints and my brushes. They have comforted me in other times of pain. But not pain like this. I walk to the unfinished canvas on the easel and look at it. There she is smiling mysteriously at me. I put my palm on her mouth and drag it down the canvas. The wet paint smears downwards. I take a rag and wipe my hand and walk to the tap. I watch the water running and realize that the large ceramic sink is totally out of place in this state-of-the-art apartment. It occurs to me that Blake had it installed.

  He wanted it to be like my studio in Paris. He went to a lot of trouble, quietly. But I have never appreciated him. I wash my hands and go downstairs, cross the silent, empty space and enter the bedroom. The bed is unmade. I go to Julie’s side and smell the pillow. There’s her scent. Is it mango or coconut shampoo that she uses? I lay my head on the pillow.

  My eyes fall on the lap dancer’s pole. As if the scales have fallen off my eyes, I understand now that the previous tenant didn’t decide to leave, he was told to leave, or rather given an inducement to leave. In his hurry to accept, he left the pole behind.

  She was practicing her dance for me. I will never see it now. I stand and, like a man in a daze, go to it. At the level of her crotch I sniff it, but it smells of metal and lemon polish. I let myself lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling. For a while there is the sensation that I am the last man on earth.

  That I am totally alone.

  Thirty

  Julie Sugar

  I walk to the Tube station numb with shock. It had all gone so disastrously wrong. In the train I stand with all the other passengers. A man in a pin-striped suit stands up to offer his seat to a pregnant lady. I watch the exchange blankly. She sits and meets my eyes. Smiles. I smile back automatically. At my stop I scramble off. I stand on the platform for a moment before heading towards the exit. I put my ticket through the barrier gates and come out into the silver light of the evening. There is dog poo in my path and I manage not to step into it. I open my door and my mother calls out, ‘Is that you, Julie?’