Craved (Twisted Book 2)

by Lola Smirnova

  They bought us a drink. Then another. Then we went to the private room. Three hours, twelve grand, and three bottles of champagne (that Nikita sucked down like there was no tomorrow) later, the gentlemen left the club with wide smiles, reassuring us that although they didn’t get to fuck us, they had the most splendid time they could ever have hoped for.

  ‘Wow, Jul, very impressive. Those tits definitely work for you,’ Nikita nods at me as soon as the clients leave. ‘But why go to all that trouble if we could have just gone and fucked them for the same money? Way easier than jumping around them like two monkeys in a travelling circus.’

  I look at her, thinking what to say. At last I get out ‘You’re welcome!’ and walk away, looking for another client.

  Well, maybe you have to be raped and beaten to recognize the benefits of being the part of the troupe, even as a monkey.

  At 4 a.m. Natalia and I dress and walk out of the club.

  My sister has also had a good night. We talk and laugh, reliving the highlights of the night, and do not even notice Mark, who is waiting by Natalia's car.

  ‘Where is she?’ His voice slashes through the night’s stillness.

  ‘Mark? What are you doing here?’ Natalia exclaims first, ‘What happened?’

  ‘She told me you were going to celebrate one of your friends’ birthdays?’

  ‘Whatever you two are dealing with is...’ Natalia drops her bag of working clothes on the ground, and throws her arms open. ‘Look, don’t get us involved, okay? We don’t agree with or support her actions, but it’s none of our business to get between you two!’

  ‘I guess on all those other weekends you didn’t go out with her either?’ His voice gets louder and he looks away; even in the darkness we can see his body is shaking. ‘Where the hell is she?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ I mutter, feeling guilty for my sister. ‘I can try to call her?’

  ‘When you covered up for her, did you know that she was using drugs?’ The tears run down his face. ‘She begged me not to tell you, promising that she would stop. Yes, I was wrong to believe her, but what about you? Julia, you would have known when you lied to me. Was it you who introduced her to the drugs? It must have been you. You're one fucking sick family!’ He kicks the tire, turns away and leaves.

  ‘Mark!’

  ‘Fucking sick, sick family!’ he screams as he gets into his car and drives away.

  ‘Oh gosh...’ Natalia takes her cell phone from the bag and starts dialing. ‘I can’t believe this is happening... Again.’

  37

  That night we must have tried to call Lena a hundred times. She hadn’t picked up her phone, but eventually sent a short text saying she was all right. Two days later she finally showed up. Mark called us, apologized for what he’d said that night, and told us he needed us to side with him. After an intense two-hour family meeting, Lena agreed to go to the rehab.

  Although Natalia and I drove Lena to the rehab next day, I still can’t believe it. Lena and drugs? Married Lena and drugs? I was always sure that the position of the fuck-up in our family belonged to me alone.

  The drive to rehab was awful. Her lost, swollen eyes, unwashed hair, wrinkled and stained T-shirt, which I would think twice about washing the floors with, her exhausted, skinny body, and her slow and dumbed-down way of talking. It was difficult to accept. As if she was acting a role in some movie about junkies. When had this happened? Why hadn’t Natalia or I seen it? It did explain her weird and unacceptable behavior lately, especially her vacant gaze and lethargic attitude the last time we saw her.

  How could I have missed it?

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. I twitch. It’s Alan, the manager.

  ‘Julia, can I talk to you for a second?’ he asks with his usual fixed smile.

  ‘Sure.’ I get up.

  ‘We have a party in the R&R, very special guests. I’ve been asked to pick a few of the best girls in the club to join them. All you need to do is to dance on the small stage for an hour there. You will be paid R1 000 just for that; the rest is up to the client and you.’

  Ha! A pair of plastic tits and now I am one of the best! Splendid!

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I need you to go now.’ His face is tense.

  ‘Shall I call my sister as well?’

  Natalia is definitely in the top five of the club’s dancers.

  ‘No,’ he waves his hand vaguely. ‘This job is not right for her.’

  Okay then. I am not just the best. I am the best in the X-rated list of dancers, the ones who don't mind going out with the clients... Well... I am still sort of one of the best! Who cares what kind of list it is! Splendid!

  I walk into the Reading Room and stop, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness and trying to gauge what’s going on.

  Five girls are dancing on the stage already. One of the couches is occupied by a lone man who is dressed in a traditional Islamic white thawb with a white ghutra held by an igal. He looks like some kind of prince from Saudi Arabia. On the other couch there are two men in suits – one grey, the other dark blue. From the way they are sitting half turned towards the man in white, I assume he is a big boss and they are not interested in anything (including sexy dancers on the stage) but him. There are also three men in black suits with covert tube earpieces, just like the FBI agents or bodyguards wear in the movies – one at the door, the others in two different corners of the room. And one waitress, who serves champagne to her only client – the man in white.

  It’s definitely a casting. The girls are smiling, but the lack of any emotion on any of the spectators’ faces makes them look out of place.

  As I stand there, unsure, another girl walks in. The grey suit turns, sees us, gets up and submissively shows both of us to join the rest.

  Now seven of us are on the stage. Some time later, the blue suit approaches and whispers something to one of the girls.

  ‘They want us topless,’ she announces, and takes off her bra.

  We follow. The whole situation is annoying, and although dancing naked is my job, I still feel kind of used. We look stupid. The stage is too small for seven people. Now and then I get knocked by the others’ elbows or shoulders. I take the cordial smile off my face and turn away from the audience. I decide to ignore the surroundings and enjoy myself while peeping at my sexy self in the mirrors.

  Fuck it, I’m being paid a thousand to dance on stage – how I do it is my business.

  The grey suit walks behind the couch with the men in white, leans forward, and waits for him to speak. The man in white mouths something. The grey suit points at one of the girls; the blue suit taps that girl and shows her to the door. Some time later, the blue suit taps another girl, and another. Until everyone is gone but me.

  When I see I’m the only one left, I stop dancing and turn, looking at the man in white. It’s creepy.

  While the blue suit is still busy at the door, discussing something with a bodyguard, the grey suit nods to the prince, walks to the stage, offers me his hand without saying a word, and leads me to the couch.

  ‘My name is Saad.’ At last he speaks. He’s younger than I thought, maybe 35 at most. The white robe and headgear add at least ten years to his age.

  ‘Julia,’ I beam, nosing the fresh aquatic fragrance of his perfume.

  He smiles back and waves to the waitress. He is of medium height and a bit overweight. He isn’t handsome at all, but his round face and big, dark eyes with their boyish look make him likeable. Now that I’ve had a chance to take a good look at him, this movie-like set-up with its three bodyguards and two servants moving around him, attuned to catching any signal from their master as if nothing else exists in the world, seems inappropriate – even farcical.

  The waitress brings a glass of bubbly for me. Then Saad calls one of his bodyguards, who appears with a leather briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. The tall, pumped up man in black opens the case and leans forward with it, holding it so it’s convenient for Saad to reach.


  It’s packed with cash.

  Holly crap! Seriously! Is there a hidden camera or something?

  Saad picks three thick wads and gives them to me.

  ‘I would like you to come with me.’

  My head spins as I try to calculate how much is in there.

  His lips curve, as if reading my mind. ‘It’s R30 000.’

  ‘I don’t go out. I don’t fuck for money,’ I squeak, instantly cursing myself for saying it.

  I’m out of my mind. I’ve just torn up a winning lottery ticket and thrown it into the trash.

  He laughs. ‘I didn’t mean that. I was talking about dinner. But now I know I’ve made the right choice.’

  We both stay silent for some time, looking at each other. I know he is going to continue with his offer, and I’m not saying another word, or I will spoil the whole thing.

  ‘This money is not in payment for sexual services. Despite me looking for a date in a strip club, I don’t like to buy sex.’ His chin tilts up. He is definitely proud of himself for that. ‘I know my dinnertime coincides with your working hours. I want to make sure you don’t lose any profit while sharing a meal with me, and that you can relax and enjoy the food.’

  Yeah, you came in here to find your soul mate – that’s why you asked to see us topless and had to inspect our tits before you made your choice. Blah blah blah…

  ‘I would love to have dinner with you, Saad.’ Forgetting that I had champagne in my glass, and stressed, I take a big sip. I yank. The warm soothing liquid sinks down my chest and I feel heavenly, deep into my bones. I stare at the glass for a moment, then finish it.

  ‘Wow, you were thirsty.’

  ‘I’ve just never had the chance to try Dom Pérignon, although at one stage of my life I consumed tons of champagne.’ My cheeks spark red. ‘Never mind, I’ll go change.’ I get up and hesitate, knowing that the Reading Room has a separate private exit, and that he is probably going to use it. ‘Where should we meet?’

  ‘I will be waiting in the car.’

  I nod and look down – I’m still holding the money. I open my purse. There is no way it will fit. I turn the wad, thinking what to do. I take off my short tricot cardigan that has long, tight sleeves and covers only my shoulders, swathe the money in it and leave, followed by the curious gaze of the man in white.

  38

  The next day I get home at eleven in the morning. I quietly walk into the room. Natalia is still sleeping. Feeling tickling excitement, I sit on my bed, open my purse and take out the money. I count it, smiling, then fold it carefully and hide it in the drawer among my panties and bras.

  I tiptoe to Natalia’s bed, checking if she’s still sleeping, fighting the urge to wake her up and tell her everything. Instead, I change into a comfy T-shirt and trackpants and quietly walk out to the kitchen. I switch on the kettle; my mind is running through all of last night's details.

  When I walked out of the club, the black latest-model S-Class Mercedes was waiting for me. We took off immediately followed by Saad’s retinue in a black BMW SUV. To my objections that I was not dressed appropriately, Saad glanced at my skinny jeans and Cuban heel pumps and assured me that I would look gorgeous in a potato sack. We walked into the restaurant and the host led us to the private dining room. The clientele eyed our odd bunch, overcharged with curiosity.

  I don’t blame them. Luckily the servants had been dismissed and one of the bodyguards stayed in the car. Yet Saad in his white Arabic clothes and me with my heavy make-up and very not-Muslim low-cut top, surrounded by two big men in black, caused confused reactions among the patrons, to say the least.

  We started with fresh oysters. I looked through the menu and, failing to understand its French mumbo jumbo, simply ordered the most expensive item. While Saad was going through the thick book of the wine list, I slowly looked around the room. Just like Charlie in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when he first walked into the sweet heaven, knowing that he might never see it again, I took in every detail. The soft white cotton tablecloth, the candlelight reflecting in the spotless cutlery, the dark satin wallpapers with mirrors and paintings in heavy frames – a truly exquisite place.

  I, buzzed pleasantly after two glasses of champagne (the first one in the club and the second with the oysters), was happy and proud to be able to turn down the offer to share a crazily pricy bottle of red. The dinner was followed by effortless exchange of amusing stories from our traveling experiences, the latest movies, and our favorite childhood books. Ignoring my full-to-bursting stomach, under Saad’s dazed gaze (who’d refused a dessert), I managed a melt-in-the-mouth New York cheesecake with berries and ice-cream, with moans and eyes rolling with pleasure as if I hadn't eaten for three days.

  ‘I like you, Julia.’ All of a sudden Saad turned serious. ‘I would love to spend a night with you. I don’t want to force or buy you. When I said in the club that I was not looking for sexual services, I meant it. I want you to do it only if you really want to. I am staying in one of the apartments here in the Waterfront.’

  As I’ve already said: there is nothing that can’t be sold when the right price is offered!

  I didn’t think twice. The sex was clumsy and drawn-out, but uncomplicated and bearable. Afterwards, tired and relieved in our own ways, we instantly fell asleep. The bed and pillows were extremely comfortable, but because of Saad’s needy, suffocating, non-stop cuddling, I had little sleep. At 10 a.m. I finally gave up and decided to go home. As soon as I moved, he woke up. I told him I needed to go, alleging that I had some plans with my sister. When I walked out of the shower, all dressed and ready, I found him on the spacious balcony with a newspaper and a perfectly served continental breakfast. He invited me to sit down and, while I poured myself a cup of coffee, he put a thick paper envelope in front of me with an apologetic smile. ‘It’s not any sort of payment for last night. I just want you to buy something nice for yourself. I want to know that I made you smile.’ He took my hand over the table. ‘I need to go. Take your time and enjoy breakfast. I’ll see you soon.’ I finished my coffee and one of the men in black drove me home. Only in the car did I peep into the envelope. My jaw dropped and the sleepiness vanished without a trace.

  For that money I wouldn’t dare call it prostitution.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Natalia brings me back down to earth, to my already cold coffee.

  ‘You will never believe what happened last night!’ I say, glowing like a Christmas tree.

  She walks to the fridge. ‘I thought you’d decided not to go out any more.’ Her voice is drowned in sarcasm.

  I ignore her sting, and avidly relate the night’s events, finishing with, ‘There was another R85 000 in that envelope! I still can't believe it!’

  Natalia jumps off her stool and yells, ‘Yay!’ She hugs me, then locks her eyes on me. Her brows are wrinkled.

  ‘Did you drink last night?’ She takes a deep breath and goes back to sit down. ‘I can’t believe it. Jul, what were you thinking? This is just too much – Lena in rehab, father laid up, and you, on top of that, drinking!’ She stares at me without blinking and then throws her hands to her head, ‘Oh gosh! Did you use as well?’

  Crap! How could I have forgotten to brush my teeth?

  ‘No, it’s nothing, I just had one glass of champagne. I swear, it was one glass, then I stopped. There is nothing to worry about.’

  She stays silent for some time, lost in her thoughts, then mumbles, ‘Okay.’ She gets up, makes herself a cup of coffee, and turns to me with a half-smile. ‘Why are you still sitting here undressed?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s get out of here, and find you a new car! The man was clear – he wants to see a smile on your face. I am sure a red Mini Cooper or silver Citroen C1 would do the job. This will be more than enough to get a second-hand, good-condition little city car for you!’

  I jump up. ‘Oh my God! I haven’t even thought about spending the money!’ I freeze for a moment and wearily return to
my seat.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s not a good idea. We still have unpaid bills for the hospital. Plus, Lena is out in rehab and I don’t think Mark will contribute this month.’

  ‘Relax. The bills are not due until the end of the month. And even without Mark we’ll manage somehow. You know we always do. Get up and go dress. We are going to shop for your new car.’

  My heart rate starts racing again. ‘You think?’

  Natalia takes my hand, pulls me out of the kitchen and towards our bedroom. ‘I know.’

  39

  I stop at the iron gates and get out of the car, looking for the intercom. I find none, but the gate starts to slide open. I climb back in and smile to myself. I’ve been driving for a week already. But every time I get to sit in my silver Volkswagen Golf, I feel the same excitement as I felt the day I bought it. I'll never forget the face of the dealer, bewildered by Natalia’s negotiation skills, when, after we’d made a deal, I’d dropped a bag of cash on his desk.

  Priceless!

  The driveway is narrow and leads down to the modest-sized parking lot on the right. Behind the parking there is grassland with benches and tables, and on the left – a few single-storey buildings with a shabby but promising sign above the entrance: ‘HOPE – road to recovery.’