by Vina Jackson
We were playing again that night; another gig, another city. I pulled my running shoes on as soon as we stepped into the hotel, caught the Métro to the city centre and took a spin around the Parc de Bruxelles, past the palace and the embassies, drumming all the tension that had gathered during the journey into the pavement.
When Dominik rang, I almost didn’t answer. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to speak to him. Quite the opposite. I wished I could capture the sound of his voice and replay it in my mind over and over, but I was afraid of what he might say, and what I might say in return. We had so much to talk about and I’ve never been good on the phone – something about the lack of his physical presence made my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind and my feelings so difficult to articulate.
Between the two of us, we barely managed a couple of minutes of conversation, and nothing which settled anything, or hinted at how we might continue our relationship, or if there was a relationship left to continue. He was on his way to Spain to promote his book about Elena. He had some news about the violin which suggested that Viggo might be behind the theft. In a way I wasn’t surprised. I had always had a nagging suspicion. But I was so morose about Dominik that the loss of the violin had just combined with my loss of Dominik, and my longing for them both formed one angry ball inside me, a depression that I couldn’t shake.
I didn’t know where to begin with Viggo. Any way I looked at it, I was in a hole that I wouldn’t be able to dig myself out of in a hurry. If I upset him, he might pull the plug on his support of Groucho Nights, and then I’d be responsible for Chris’s dreams going down the toilet. If I didn’t do anything, I might lose the Bailly for ever. And if I continued to ask Dominik for his help, he’d be stuck with the knowledge that I was sleeping with the guy who had stolen his gift to me.
I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Just lay awake, staring at the bland walls of the hotel room and hoping that an idea would come to me that might solve all my problems, but it didn’t. For perhaps one of the first times in my life, I was up early with my running shoes on again, wearing my frustrations out through my feet, slowing to a walk when my shins began to throb. I didn’t mind the pain, it kept my mind off Dominik, but fear of getting shin splints and having to rest for a month or more reduced my exertions to a more sensible pace.
This time I remembered to lace the corset on for the journey. Another eight hours by coach to Berlin.
It was early evening by the time we pulled into Berlin. We were staying in Neukölln, near the Festsaal Kreuzberg where our first gig was taking place the following night. Berlin was the first city that we’d been booked two nights running to play. Susan had somehow managed to get one of Grayson’s pictures of me into a couple of popular German music mags, a shot that was just on the right side of risqué, with me holding a violin seductively whilst clad in Fran’s wet-look leggings and leather jacket and my studded Louboutins. My solo music had already been popular here, and Groucho Nights’ promised mix of classical, sex and rock ’n’ roll had proved a winning combination, and a sell-out.
Consequently, the band was in a good mood and we’d booked a short break and a few extra nights in the city, the first time on the tour any of us would really have a chance to look around like proper tourists, rather than just play and then ship out to the next destination.
Fran, frugal as ever, had booked us into a budget hotel with a secure storage facility for the gear we couldn’t leave in the van overnight. The hotel was down a fairly quiet, mainly residential street, opposite a winding canal where swans floated by peacefully and pairs of lovers walked hand in hand under the trees. The smell of pastry, meat and spices wafted like a cloud from the Turkish restaurant next door.
I fell into bed as soon as we checked in and slept properly that night for the first time in as long as I could remember. Perhaps it was the memory of Dominik’s voice, or the thought that I might see him again, and that we might at least manage to be friends that lulled me into relaxation.
The place that we were playing was on a road beneath a railway bridge, opposite a car dealership. From the outside it was nondescript, just a small sign advertised the name. But by the time we were due on, the whole joint was heaving. It was standing-room only, and so many people had managed to pile into the upstairs balcony that I worried the whole thing was going to fall down on our heads. We’d had some problems with the soundcheck, and were a little late starting. By the time we walked out onto the stage, the audience were stamping their feet and screaming their heads off.
It was the first night that we’d run out of our planned encores and had to pull an extra number out of the bag before they’d let us off stage again.
We’d packed up all the gear and were making plans to head out on the town when I heard a familiar voice calling out across the front courtyard.
‘Hello, stranger.’
I swung around at the sound of the sultry New York accent.
It was Lauralynn, standing dressed in her trademark skin-tight jeans, a plain white T-shirt and stiletto heels. She was obviously bra-less. She must have been the only woman I knew to go out in public without one, but it appeared that where I went to the other extreme, enjoying the restriction of a corset, Lauralynn liked the freedom of absence from constraints, and also the reaction she drew from passers-by who had a clear view of her pierced nipples. She had the sort of breasts that look good even without the support of a bra, and I was a little envious.
Initially I was elated that a familiar face had travelled this far to see us in action, but my elation turned to confusion and fear when I remembered that she was dating Dominik, who I’d spent the night with in a hotel in Paris a few nights earlier.
The expression on Lauralynn’s face certainly didn’t suggest that she was here in anger to accuse me of stealing her man. If anything, she looked delighted to see me. I didn’t know what to say, or do, so I just stood there, mouth agape, staring at her.
‘Jeez,’ she said, ‘I always thought you were a cold fish, but are you going to just stand there?’
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘you took me by surprise. Thanks for coming to see the show.’
She wrapped her arms around me and held me against her, so that I could feel her breasts pushing up against mine.
‘You were amazing,’ she said. ‘Who would have thought Dominik’s classical gal would turn into a rock chick, huh?’
‘Dominik’s girl?’
‘Yeah, where is the man in question? I thought he’d be in the front row cheering you on. I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for him all night.’
‘You thought he was here with me? I’d assumed he was in London with you,’ I added, confused.
‘No. I’ve been away. Got home and found the house empty so I came looking. Never been a fan of my own company,’ she said, giving my arm another squeeze as if to check that I was real. ‘Don’t tell me he went all the way to Paris and still didn’t tell you that he’s madly in love with you?’
‘What are you talking about? I thought he was dating you?’
‘Christ, no. We’re just old friends … well, friends with benefits might be a better description. I don’t mind the male creatures, you know, they can be charming, and Dominik has certain very useful talents.’ She winked flirtatiously at me when she said this. ‘But they’re not really my type long term. Unless they’re under my stilettos. They can make good pets if you train them properly, but I wouldn’t keep one for ever.’
This news nearly made my knees buckle beneath me. I sank down onto one of the outdoor picnic tables, and Lauralynn crouched down to meet my eyes, her long legs folding under her like a grasshopper’s.
‘You really thought we were dating?’ she asked, more kindly this time, stroking a lock of my hair away from my face so she could look me in the eyes.
‘Yes, Dominik told me you were.’
‘And I suppose you told him that you’re dating that rock star I hear you’ve been hanging about with?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘You two drive me crazy, you know that. Both as proud as punch and blind as bats. When I heard that he was going to Paris to watch your opening night I thought he’d finally seen sense, but I guess I should have known better.’
Lauralynn not dating Dominik. That changed everything. But why on earth did he tell me he was? Because I’d told him that I was spending my nights with Viggo Franck, if he hadn’t already read it in the gossip columns. I cursed myself again for that wilful stubborn streak that was always getting me into trouble, and my total inability to make people realise how much I cared about them. Why couldn’t I have just told him how I felt?
I sank over further, holding my head in my hands as if I could somehow rewind time if I concentrated hard enough.
‘Right,’ said Lauralynn. I recognised the narrowing of her eyes, and the tone of her voice. She had switched into her domme mode. I envied that part of her too, she’d always been secure in herself and her desires. She didn’t seem to lose a minute’s sleep over the type of person she had become and why. She just enjoyed herself.
‘You’re going to have to pull yourself together, or I’m going to do it for you, and we can’t stay here all night. Where’s the rest of your band gone?’
‘Party in the dressing rooms most likely, or back at the hotel. They won’t miss me though.’
‘Don’t act so sorry for yourself. Tell them you’ve bumped into an old friend so they don’t think you’ve been kidnapped by a crazed fan, and let’s go and have a drink, and you can tell me all your woes.’
She took my arm in hers and steered me out of the bar onto the streets of Kreuzberg. It was still reasonably early for northern Europe. Unlike Londoners, Berliners didn’t have last tubes to race for at midnight or pubs that closed at eleven, so most of the parties wouldn’t get started until midnight at the earliest, and they wouldn’t really get going until 2 a.m. All I wanted to do was go home and sleep, curl into a ball and indulge in my misery.
‘First,’ she said, ‘food. It’s much harder to feel miserable on a full stomach.’
We walked up to the late-night takeaway bar on the corner by the canal, and Lauralynn ordered pizza, two currywursts, and a serving of curly frites.
‘Don’t screw up your nose,’ she said, as I questioned the wisdom of pouring curry sauce over a hot dog sausage, ‘these are delicious.’
She was right. The food was good, warming, and put me in a much better mood.
‘So,’ I said. ‘Tell me everything. Why are you here in Berlin? Did you come all this way to see me?’
‘I had to take off home in a hurry. My brother hasn’t been well, so I went back to New York for a few weeks.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’
Lauralynn shrugged. She was picking her frites up three at a time and using them as a scoop to scrape the remaining curry sauce from her plate. I was too upset to eat much, but managed most of my sausage. The sauce was a strange mixture of curry flavouring and sweetness, more sugar than spice, but it worked, somehow.
‘Family stuff. All sorted now though. I got a couple of emails from Dominik while I was away. You two are remarkably alike, you know, both miserable sods if left to your own devices, so I keep an eye on him.’ She was staring at me with her piercing blue eyes, trying to read my response. I was hanging on her every word, wishing she’d get to the point and tell me more about Dominik.
She took a long sip of her cola, leaving the end of her straw reddened with lipstick, and continued. ‘He mentioned some stuff about your violin, and the novel that he’s been working on. He’s had terrible trouble with that too, you know. The first one was a breeze, when he was writing about you. Now that he’s been writing about your violin, he seems to be flying again. Doesn’t that tell you something?’
I stared at her, uncomprehending. ‘I guessed he just needed a female character to make it work, and I was the first one that came to mind.’
‘Exactly. You were the first one who came to mind. He’s spent two years thinking about you every day. And he still can’t get you out of his head.’
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about him, either,’ I replied morosely, stuffing in a handful of frites, although I’d stopped feeling hungry after the first couple of mouthfuls. They looked a little like onion rings, only redder, as if they were coated in paprika.
‘Tell me something then,’ she said, wiping her fingers thoroughly on a napkin. She had painted her nails blood red, to match her lipstick.
‘Yes?’
‘Why don’t you just tell him? Tell him that you’re in love with him?’
‘I don’t know … I … I know how he likes to be in control. I didn’t want to be the one to say it.’
‘Bullshit. This isn’t about control. And you’ve got to be the least submissive sub I’ve ever met. More of a bottom, really.’
‘A bottom?’
‘Yes. You just get your thrills out of being topped, being dominated, with or without the emotional connection. It’s just how you like your sex.’
‘I suppose so. But it doesn’t feel the same with anyone other than Dominik. With other people it’s just … sex. With Dominik, it’s something more.’
‘That’s just what it’s like to fuck someone that you’re in love with. Haven’t you ever been in love?’
I thought about it. Viggo, Simón, Darren. Will, a boyfriend I’d had in New Zealand, before moving overseas. The most I could say was that I’d been very fond of them. Simón, I thought I had really loved. But sexually we didn’t have the same connection, so at times he felt more like a brother than a lover.
‘No, I don’t think I have.’
She shook her head from side to side in disbelief.
‘No wonder that you’re a bit emotionally stunted then, I suppose,’ she sighed.
She stared down at her empty plate regretfully, and then over at my leftovers. ‘Waste not, want not,’ she added, skewering the remains of my sausage on her fork.
‘How long are you staying in Berlin?’ I asked her, hoping to get the subject off me and my love life.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I haven’t booked a hotel yet. I took the first flight I could find when I found the house in Hampstead vacant. Couldn’t face being at home alone. I presumed Dominik had followed you here. Thought I could bunk in with your band or just party the night away, save on accommodation. I spent last night with a girl I picked up at Roses, that was fun, but I didn’t get her number.’
She glanced up and winked at me over the last mouthful of currywurst. ‘Now that I’ve seen the state you’re in, I can hardly leave you here all alone, can I?’
‘I can look after myself,’ I replied, beginning to bristle.
‘That’s exactly the problem with you, Summer, you’re too proud, and too ready to look after yourself. You need to learn to let people into that hard shell of yours. I’m sure there’s a softie hiding under the bristly exterior.’
‘Well, you can stay with me, I’ve got a double bed, in a hotel just round the corner.’
‘That’ll do me fine,’ she said, grinning wickedly. ‘But I don’t think there’s any need to turn in just yet. Berlin is party central. I’ve done all the bars on this side of town but there’s another place I want to try, just a cab ride away.’
‘I’m really not in the mood to party.’
‘You’re as bad as Dominik. Never wants to go out either, and when he does it’s for a soft drink. Humour me. Nothing serious. Just a dance and a drink, it’ll take your mind off your woes.’
Lauralynn was like a train headed full speed down a track once she got started, and I didn’t have the energy to talk her out of it, so agreed to tag along, though it was already close to one in the morning.
‘You can sleep when you’re dead,’ she replied when I reminded her of the time. Lauralynn didn’t wheedle, she ordered, and I could feel my defences beginning to drop under the weight of her commands.
‘I have nothing to wear,’ I protested pitifully.
She narrowed her eyes as though she had X-ray vision and assessed me from head to toe.
‘Do you have a corset on under that dress?’
‘Yes, but not one I want to wear in public.’
She ignored my response.
‘And those are thigh-length boots?’
I nodded miserably.
‘That’ll be just perfect.’
She led me across the street and flagged down a taxi.
I didn’t catch the address that she gave to the driver, just the name of the bar: Insomnia.
‘You speak German?’
‘Not very well. But well enough to get around. I did a student exchange for a few months in Berlin when I was in high school … I wasn’t old enough to get into the best clubs then, but I was tall enough to fool some of the bouncers.’
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up into a side street, dark and quiet aside from the red sign advertising the club and the two security guys standing out front, eyeing up the couples arriving one after the other.
We were greeted warmly by the blonde girl on the door, who took the cover charge. She looked us up and down, examining our state of dress, and Lauralynn said a few words to her in German. The girl waved us on.
The entryway was decorated entirely in red, seemingly the universal colour of sex. There was a glass case on the right, displaying a couple of porno DVDs and a purple latex bolero with a white frill for sale. A poster advertised a special night coming up, ‘Fuck party’.
Lauralynn was sitting down on a red, velvet-covered bench that lined one wall, pulling off her high heels and then shimmying down her skinny jeans.
‘Lauralynn,’ I hissed at her.
‘It’s OK,’ she replied. ‘It’s meant to be fetish wear but they’re pretty casual about the dress code. They’ll let us through in our underwear. You can get changed here.’
She had pulled off her T-shirt, and was slipping back into her high heels, wearing nothing else besides a black thong.
