Taking Sex Toys to Amsterdam

by Larissa Vine

  Ahead, she spotted the library. It was set up back from the road and it loomed down at her from a flight of rain-stained steps. A figure was crouched down at the double doors opening the bottom locks. Freya felt herself tense. It was Miss McAllister.

  Freya rallied herself. Then she hurried up the steps. She reached the top step just as Miss McAllister had finished unlocking the doors. Miss McAllister stood up and studied Freya through her horn-rimmed glasses.

  "I'm not late," Freya said.

  Miss McAllister gave a stiff nod. "I never said you were. How were your hols? The next time you go away, please remember to clear your things out of the fridge. That apple. It was like a biological experiment. It could have poisoned the lot of us. Here. Here's something to get started on." She handed Freya a wad of mail that was held together by an elastic band.

  Freya took the letters and walked next to Miss McAllister through the doors. Then she set off through the library toward the counter across the expanse of industrial carpet.

  When she reached the counter, she turned. Miss McAllister had moved to the bank of light switches on the wall and was clicking on the lights. She'd taken off her wet coat and draped it over her arm.

  Freya's eyes pinged wide. Miss McAllister was wearing a blue wool dress. Freya glanced down at her own blue wool dress, which she'd bought a week ago in the sale. Apart from the neckline, it was exactly the same as Miss McAllister's.

  Freya ground her teeth together. She marched behind the counter and sat down on the squeaky swivel chair. The rain streamed past the windows, deluging from the blocked gutters. She hated wet days. They were the worst. The people who came into the library tended to linger and to start chatting to one another, which always sent Miss McAllister into a frenzy of sshhing. By noon, the windows would be steamed up and the place would be thick with the fug of damp bodies and coats.

  Freya picked up the letter opener and prepared herself to start attacking the mail. She stared at the first letter in the pile. It was a cardboard backed envelope that had clearly come from a courier. Miss McAllister must have signed for it before she'd unlocked the doors. Freya realised that the envelope was addressed to her.

  What was in it? Who would send her something by courier? Freya pulled at the tab that ran across the back of the envelope and tore open the perforations. She opened the letter and pulled out the paper inside. It was a printout from a computer. She read it slowly, absorbing every word.

  She shut her eyes. Then she opened them again. She re-read the printout. No, she hadn't been imagining it. She wasn't going crazy. It was a ticket to a Carl Cox gig.

  With trembling hands, she flipped over the paper. There was a message on the back, which was written in stylish cursive: Meet me by the speakers to the left of the stage.

  Freya stared at the paper for a very long time. Then she dropped it into the garbage can.

  ****

  The morning dragged on. Freya stayed behind the counter watching the rain. She was sure that each minute was longer than the last.

  Then, to her surprise, she spotted Kat breezing through the library in a pair of harem pants. Her hoop earrings were so big that they almost rested on her shoulders. She looked more like Princess Jasmine than Snow White.

  Kat waltzed up to counter and leaned her elbows on the top. "So, how was the trip? Did you use the toys?”

  “Sssh,” Freya said. “Have you just had an audition?"

  Kat shook her head, her earrings swinging. "No, but I don't suppose you could lend me ten quid?”

  Freya picked her purse up from the floor and pulled out her wallet. She only had a twenty pound note, which she gave to Kat.

  Kat pocketed the note. Then she stared closer at Freya. "Oh my God. What happened? You look like you've been dug up."

  "Thanks."

  "No, I'm serious. What happened?"

  Freya choked back a sob. Then the whole sorry story came pouring out.

  She told Kat about the customs man and about meeting Jake. Then she explained about the angry phone call with Simon and about the Carl Cox gig. Next she gave Kat a much edited version of what had happened between her and Jake.

  Kat's eyes became bigger and biggest as she listened until they seemed to take up all of her face.

  "That's so hot,” she breathed. “What about the ruler? Did you use the ruler?”

  Freya flushed. "It's not of your business."

  "He sounds like a dreamboat," Kat continued. "Did he really say that it was the start of something special?"

  "Yeah, but I bet he says that to every girl."

  Kat's rosebud mouth puckered into a frown. "You don't know that. Stop putting yourself down." Her words rang across the library. She had an actor's skill of projecting her voice.

  Freya glanced around, suddenly scared that Miss McAllister had heard and would come bearing down on them. But she was still buried in the memoir section.

  Freya reached down to the garbage bin. She pulled the e-ticket out of the garbage and, after straightening it out, she passed it across the counter to Kat.

  Kat studied the paper in her tiny hands. "I don't understand."

  Freya turned the paper over.

  Kat read the back. She gave a squeal. "Oh my God. He sent you the ticket? He wants to meet you at the concert? That's so, so, so romantic. You've totally got to go. What? Don't look at me like that. Why are you dithering?"

  Freya nibbled the skin around her fingernail. "Because he's gorgeous."

  “So?"

  "Because things like that don't happen to me."

  "Who says they don't," Kat said fiercely.

  Freya thought for a second. "It's too risky. I'm going back to Simon."

  Kat's blue eyes flared. "Stop settling for second best. You've done that all of your life. You let Mum and Dad walk all over you. You never stood up to them like I did. Go to Jake. Meet him at the concert. Come on, Freya. You owe it to yourself."

  Freya breathed in the wet smell from the library. She glanced past Kat to the windows. To her horror, she saw that they were starting to steam up. Soon, she wouldn't be able to see outside at all and she'd feel how she often felt. Trapped.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Freya stepped into the club. Then she took a breath of the hot air in the hope that it would calm her down. Nothing was going the way that she'd planned. She'd flown into Frankfurt earlier that day. She'd planned to get to the venue early and wait by the speakers until Jake arrived. That way, although she'd still be as nervous as hell, she wouldn't be quite as flustered.

  But she hadn't banked on there being a massive queue even though the event was ticket-only. Nor had she guessed that the line would inch forward at a sadistically slow speed.

  It was close to midnight by the time she got inside. Carl Cox was already on stage. He was probably half way through his set she guessed.

  She stopped just past the door and stared ahead at the wall-to-wall people. They shimmied and grooved as they faced the stage. The bass was like a pneumatic drill. It seemed to punch holes into the air. And it was hot. Seriously hot. Already, she felt the sweat collect in her hair.

  She took another breath then smoothed her dress down over her hips. At least she looked okay. That was one good thing. Once she'd decided to go to the gig, Kat had insisted on becoming her personal stylist. First, she'd marched Freya to Eduardo, the hair technician that all of the in-demand actresses used. He'd kept Freya's hair long thank God. But he'd feather cut into it to give it a choppy, sexy look.

  After the haircut, Kat had steered Freya around the shops until they'd found a black dress with a keyhole back, which Kat had insisted that Freya teamed with running shoes. Because apparently that's what everyone wore at raves. Kat had also given orders on Freya's make-up. Lipstick: nude. Eyeshadow: smokey. She'd also instructed Freya to wear waterproof mascara, so that it didn't run when Freya was dancing and sweating and give her panda eyes.

  Now Freya stared at the crowd through her non-Panda eyes. Her stomach felt knotted.
The place was so packed that she'd never get to the front.

  She braced herself then started to weave around the people, moving this way then that. Lights pulsed down on her. She caught snatches of scent and body odour. A third of the way down the room, the people were dancing even closer together. Closer and closer until they seemed to form a wall.

  She had to barge to get through them. She pushed and stepped on feet, calling out apologies as she went. Several times, it seemed so impossible that she thought about going back. But she had to keep going, she told herself. She had to see Jake.

  Somehow, she made it to close to the front. She stood in the crush of bodies facing a stack of speakers on the stage. She looked around, trying to focus through the flashing lights. He wasn't there. She felt like dropping to her knees in the middle of the crowd and crumpling into a ball.

  Of course, he hadn't come. He'd sent her the ticket on an impulse then had cooled off on the idea. He probably had a girlfriend, a string of babes. Perhaps he'd told all of his stockbroker mates about her turning up in the sex capital of Europe with a bunch of sex toys that she had no idea how to use. What a story. Freya bet they'd had a good chuckle over that and—

  Her heart rose to her throat.

  Ahead to the left, she took in the back view of a tall, light-haired man. His shoulders were broad beneath his t-shirt. Although she couldn't see them, she could sense the muscles down his back. He wasn't dancing like the other ravers. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself. He kept swivelling his head like he was looking for someone.

  Freya threw herself toward him, pushing at people with her shoulders. She had to get to him. Suddenly, she was right behind him. She hesitated, suddenly scared. Then, summoning all of her courage, she tapped him on the shoulder.

  He turned. When he saw her, his handsome face lit up. His gaze travelled from her face down to her skimpy dress then back up to her face again.

  "Christ," he said. "You look incredible. Christ, I thought I'd blown it. I can't believe you're here."

  He stared at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

  Freya had planned what she was going to say. She'd practised it on the plane. First, she was going to make a critique of the music. She was going to mention that it was a bit heavy on the bass at times, a term that she'd learned from Google. Then she would nonchalantly flick back her on-trend hair.

  But she didn't do any of these things. Instead, she stood gawking at him. He was so beautiful that she almost forgot to breathe.

  Without warning, a tear escaped from her eye. It snaked down her cheek in a warm zigzag. He'd come. He'd actually come. This amazing man wanted her. She did have the right to dare to dream.

  Jake leaned down and kissed her softly at first then with more hunger. She kissed him back hard. Her arms leaped up and coiled around his neck. She closed her eyes. Through her eyelids, she saw the colours of the flashing lights.

  At last, the kiss ended. Jake stood cupping her face with his hands. He seemed scared of letting her go.

  "Do you like Frankfurt?" He had to raise his voice over the music.

  "Yes,” Freya said. “From what I've seen of it."

  Jake seemed to pause. It was like he was working up to the guts to say something.

  "Maybe," he said at last. "Maybe it's somewhere you could call home?"

  A lump rose in Freya's throat. For a second, she was too overwhelmed to speak.

  "I could move here with my suitcase," she said.

  He grinned. "Do you mean your special suitcase?"

  She answered him with a kiss.

  The End

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