by JD Nixon
“God, you’ve got great tits!” he groaned happily.
I twisted his arm brutally behind his back and kicked at the back of his knees, buckling them, then pushed him down to the ground, on top of his erection, pressing his face into the carpet and kneeling on his back.
“Fuck!” he screamed in pain. “My dick! You’ve broken my dick!”
I twisted his arm further, bringing another scream to his lips.
“Listen to me, Clarence Cockburn, and listen well, because I’m only going to say this once, and I know you’re a smart man,” I whispered fiercely into his ear. “If you dare touch me again anywhere for the next two weeks, I will break your dick! And then I will ask Heller to come over and teach you some manners. Understood?” Another twist to his arm.
“Yes, I understand,” he whimpered. I climbed off his back and stood there watching, glaring angrily, as he scrambled hastily out of my bedroom, covering his injured manhood with his hands and throwing me a look of sheer hatred as he did. I locked the door, dressed quickly and went out to the living area to wait for him. After about an hour he came out, walking with discomfit and with a very sullen expression on his face.
“You’re a bitch. I don’t want you here anymore. You’re fired.”
“Tough shit, sugar. You hired me for two weeks, you’ve paid for me for two weeks and you’re stuck with me for two weeks. Do you really want to go to Heller and tell him why you are terminating his favourite employee’s services? How do you think he will take that news? Heller personally recommended me for the job, remember? Do you want me to tell him what you did?”
He thought about that for a moment before giving in. “Well, just stay away from me then,” he demanded, his voice drenched with loathing.
“As long as you return the favour, buddy,” I said with my sweetest smile.
He sat down on the lounge, a pained expression on his face. I softened, seeing that he was obviously hurting from my actions.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you frightened me. A woman doesn’t expect to find a naked man in her bed, and she’s bound to be a bit uptight about it,” I said, only slightly remorseful, remembering the boob grab.
“I thought you were giving me a message when you said seeing Synful Synonymy made you want to take a shower.”
“Well, I wasn’t. Seeing it made me feel dirty, not horny. Clarrie, I’m a professional security officer, okay. I don’t sleep with clients. Ever. I’m not a sex worker either. My services don’t include sex. It’s insulting to me for you to think that.”
He looked somewhat shamefaced.
“I’m here solely to provide you with some personal security. That’s the basis on which you hired me. Now, if you can respect that, then we’ll be able to continue our professional relationship for the next two weeks, and I will respect you as a much-valued client. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You’re not very good with women, are you?”
“No,” he admitted, grudgingly.
“Well, if you’re still horny, may I recommend that you go down to the bar and pick up someone? You’re famous and rich. There’re probably loads of women who get off on that kind of thing. You shouldn’t have any trouble picking up, once women know who you are. Or alternatively, if that doesn’t appeal to you, I can arrange for another kind of professional to come and service your needs.”
“A prostitute? I don’t know. It sounds a bit desperate.”
“Sure, why not? Just think of it as paying for another service. You order what you want and it’s delivered. It’s up to you.”
“I guess, but I’m not sure I’m capable of any activity at the moment after what you did.”
“Hey, I said I was sorry. You shouldn’t have touched my boob.”
“God! And you reckon Heller is a hard-arse.”
Chapter 9
The continual ringing of my phone dragged me out of my sleep the next morning. I checked the bedside clock with bleary eyes. It was only 5:30 AM and I hadn’t gone to bed until well after midnight, carefully locking my bedroom door behind me. Without thinking I picked up the phone and answered drowsily.
“Yes?”
“Good morning, Matilda.”
“Shit,” I groaned. I still didn’t want to talk to him.
“That’s not a very nice way to say hello to me, is it?”
“What do you want? You’ve woken me up,” I said ungraciously.
“It was the only way I could think of to get you to talk to me.”
“What do you want, Heller?” I was in no mood for pleasantries.
“You’re still angry at me?”
“Yes, I am.”
“It’s one night down already. You’ll be home before you know it.”
Silence from me.
A huge resigned sigh from him. “How is it going with Mr Cockburn?”
“Hmm, let me recap. Last night I watched him getting a virtual blowjob from a tiny hooker and then I almost broke his dick trying to persuade him to get his hands of my boobs. I’m having a great time. Thanks for asking.” I hung up, turned my phone off and went back to sleep.
When I woke up again, the sun was streaming in my window. It was almost 9 AM and I jumped out of bed, dressed quickly, and went out to the living area. Clarrie wasn’t awake yet. I wasn’t surprised. He had outlasted me last night and told me that he often stayed up until the early hours of the morning working, preferring to sleep in late.
I was feeling very restless and needed to do some exercise, but didn’t want to leave Clarrie unattended. So I switched on the TV and found an old aerobics show from the mid-eighties on one of the pay TV channels. I grape-vined, box-stepped and toe-tapped my heart out with them for forty-five minutes. By the end of the session, I had even grown fond of their fluorescent leotards, leg warmers and mullets.
I jumped in the shower, careful again to lock both the bedroom door and bathroom door behind me and afterwards changed into jeans and a t-shirt. I ordered some breakfast for us both from room service. Gathering that Clarrie was a junk food fiend, I ordered him the full greasy fry-up, but went for the muesli and fruit compote for myself. By the time room service arrived, Clarrie had shown himself, hair sticking up in all directions and wearing shorty Snoopy pyjamas. And I have to admit, he looked quite cute in them.
He was appreciative of the breakfast and we would have almost had an enjoyable meal together, if not for his disgusting table manners. I had to scrub the dining table after the meal to clean up all the bits of food that had sprayed around as he talked. Gross.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked when I finished.
“Nothing,” he said, surprised at my question. “I was planning to work today.”
I wasn’t used to such inactivity, usually experiencing exhausting days escorting people around the city’s sights.
“Wouldn’t you rather do something? Go somewhere? Harbour cruise? Zoo? Shopping? Movies? Anything?”
“Tilly, I’m not a tourist. I grew up here remember. I’ve seen it all before. I’d rather work.”
“Okay, you’re the boss. But why did you come over for so long if you just want to work?”
“It’s my annual holiday.” I stared at him in disbelief. “What? I love my work,” he said defensively.
“You do this every year? Go to a city and sit in the hotel room working for two weeks?”
He nodded and then went off to bathe and change. I remembered that I had turned off my mobile and went to get it. Oops! I’d missed four phone calls from Heller. What a shame! I deleted them all without listening to the messages. Clarrie returned, wearing almost identical clothes to the day before, the Kermit t-shirt being replaced today with a Transformers t-shirt.
The day passed agonisingly slowly. Clarrie worked for most of the day, and I was careful not to catch any glimpse of what he was actually up to in his virtual world. I heard him sniggering to himself a few times, but didn’t care enough to investigate. I turned on my laptop and
played twenty straight games of solitaire, losing every single one. I read every spam email my family sent me. Clarrie didn’t want to go out to eat, so I ordered lunch from room service. I watched cooking shows on pay TV and spoke to Dixie for an hour, making up from our disagreement. I even considered ringing Mum, but decided I wasn’t that desperate yet. I rang Niq. I rang Daniel. I rang Will. I ignored every one of Heller’s phone calls. I started researching a holiday to the Great Barrier Reef on the internet. I jogged on the spot for forty-five minutes. I ordered dinner from room service. By seven in the evening I was going insane with boredom.
After dinner, Clarrie worked for another hour while I watched a new reality TV show called Blind Chef. It pitted visually challenged contestants against each other in a commercial kitchen. It was a train wreck in the making, and I sat for an hour with bated breath, waiting for the first finger amputation. Eventually Clarrie shut down his laptop and joined me on the lounge, where I was sprawled with the indolence that only brain-frying boredom can produce.
He took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” he announced nervously. “I want to do it, I’ve decided.”
“Do what?” I asked, insensitively un-clairvoyant.
He flushed. “The professional service we talked about last night. Remember?”
“Oh!” I sat up, interested for the first time that day. “That professional service.”
“Yes. I think I’m finally cured from your assault.”
I rolled my eyes, but moved my lazy butt off the lounge and rang the concierge. They always know everything. This one didn’t even pause in his response, so I figured it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked for such assistance. He recommended a particular escort service that catered to the high-end of the market. I rang them and relayed Clarrie’s very particular requirements: young, compliant, attractive, big boobs.
“Thank you, madam. A beautiful young girl will be visiting within half an hour.” I hope she wasn’t too young, I thought. We didn’t want the police involved.
Clarrie couldn’t sit still. He paced around the room with nervousness, sitting down briefly only to jiggle his legs compulsively, before getting up to pace again. Finally there was a knock on the door. He stared at me in fright and I actually felt a bit sorry for him.
“Sit down, calm down, I’ll get the door,” I soothed, opening the door to welcome our evening’s guest. She was a lovely little thing, barely twenty-years-old, softly blonde with a sweet face, big brown eyes and gigantic boobs, which I wasn’t convinced were real. Her name was Kitty and she was obviously not a hard, dick-breaking bitch like me so Clarrie was ecstatic. She was so acquiescent and feminine that he grew in stature, taking control and becoming manlier. I was almost proud of him as he greeted her kindly and taking her by the hand, led her into his bedroom.
I settled down with the TV for some peace and quiet, but was astounded when Kitty came out of the bedroom only ten minutes later, dressed in a bathrobe. She plonked herself down in one of the armchairs.
“Finished already?” I asked with amused amazement.
She shook her head in wonder. “He’s in there snoring his head off! Must have lasted about five minutes. I barely had a chance to take off my clothes before it was all over!”
I giggled and she joined in for a minute. She shrugged good-humouredly and threw her hands in the air.
“Oh well, easy money for you,” I commented, taking to her immediately. She was older than I’d initially estimated, but cultivated her youth with skill. She seemed kind and genuinely sweet. “You’re just what he needed. He tried to jump me last night and I nearly killed him. I’m really not his type.”
“Wouldn’t have thought so, not with the Amazon look you have going,” she said admiringly.
“Huh?”
“You know, you’re tall and lean with those muscles. You’re a bodyguard or something, aren’t you?”
Wow! Someone who was impressed with my muscles. I loved this woman!
“Kind of. He’s very horny, so I had to find some outlet for him, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me! Hey, are you interested in a gig with him for the next two weeks or so?”
“Sure, especially if it’s anything like tonight. As you said, easy money for me. And he seems like a lovely man. From our very brief acquaintance.” We both giggled again.
“Good. This could work out very nicely. It’s up to him though, of course,” I said.
“Of course.”
“Do you want a cup of tea? Or something stronger?”
“I’d love a glass of wine. I usually have one this time of night. Normally my clients offer me some refreshments before we get down to business.”
“Sorry. He has no manners at all. He’s just not used to women.”
“I gathered that!”
I went to the maxi-bar, and after consulting the menu, chose the most expensive bottle of white wine on offer and poured two very generous glasses. I handed Kitty her glass and sat down again, cradling mine.
“So what got you into the escort business, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Just putting myself through university.”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. Times are tough and I have a kid to support. My mother is looking after her tonight. Obviously it’s not my ideal career choice, but it pays well. I’m studying architecture.”
I felt guilty thinking about my middle-class upbringing and how I’d taken my parents for granted while I lived it up at uni, letting them pay for every indulgence. And then I didn’t even finish my degree, dropping out for an impoverished life in the fickle acting arena. I should have rung Mum tonight, I thought with regret.
We chatted for ages and I refilled our glasses again, until Clarrie woke up and poked his head out looking for Kitty. I raised my eyebrows at her, and she graciously left her wine and rejoined him in his bedroom. I cleaned up and prepared for bed. I didn’t hear from either of them for the rest of the night.
I had made sure that I turned my phone off before I went to bed so that I wouldn’t be woken up by any more early morning calls from Heller. I woke fairly early, and deciding to risk it, went down to the hotel gym, smiling at a cute businessman who stepped into the lift. He smiled back and I had the feeling he was going to chat me up. But he was headed for the ground floor and I stepped out at the third floor where the gym facilities were located before he had the chance. I had a brutal workout with the treadmill and weights, and made my weary way upstairs again.
I took a quick shower and dressed, then turned on my mobile again. Freakily, it rang almost immediately. I could see it was Heller ringing, but I decided to answer anyway.
“Yes?” I asked impatiently.
“Matilda.” His voice was plaintive.
“What do you want, Heller?”
“I wanted to see how everything is going. To see if you’re okay.”
“Well, don’t ring me to ask me that! It annoys me! If everything’s going okay, I won’t bother you just to tell you that. If there’s trouble, I will tell you. So don’t ring me to ask me how it’s going! I’ll let you know if I need help. That’s why you left me alone for so long, isn’t it? To deal with everything myself? So stop ringing me!” It was an incomprehensible rant, even to my own ears.
“I miss you, Matilda.”
I hung up and turned off my phone. It was his own fault that he was missing me.
I ordered room service for the three of us and guessed at what Kitty would eat. A lot, I suspected thinking of her situation, so ordered her the full greasy fry-up as well. But by the time the lovebirds deigned to leave Clarrie’s room, their breakfasts had gone cold, the fat congealing unappealingly on the plates, and I’d had to order them more.
I had to hand it to Kitty. She seemed genuinely affectionate towards Clarrie, and he revelled in her attentions. They had a romantic breakfast together, dressed in identical hotel bathrobes, cooing at each other and she didn’t even seem to mind his disgusting table manners. I fetched
and carried like a servant and cleaned up after them, and they didn’t even notice they were so wrapped up in each other.
Eventually though, Kitty had to leave and Clarrie regained some semblance of normality. He agreed willingly to have her return each evening.
“She’s so beautiful. I think I’m in love with her,” he stated seriously. I compared it with Will’s recent similar confession and found Clarrie’s sadly lacking in conviction. “She’s so feminine and willing to please – not like some women.”
Whatever, I thought to myself. To him, I asked brightly, “What shall we do today?”
He frowned. “I’m going to work today, of course.”
“Of course.”
And we settled into a routine. We would invite Kitty around each evening, earlier and earlier, until she was eventually sharing dinner with us. I didn’t mind – she was good company, articulate and charming and kept Clarrie’s horrible table manners from my mind. They would then disappear into Clarrie’s bedroom for the rest of the night. I would wake up early, exercise and order breakfast. They would eat together much later. Kitty would leave. Clarrie would work. And rinse and repeat. There was little for me to do except order meals, arrange laundry, surf the internet, watch TV, exercise, call my friends and family and Will, email my friends and family and Will, and ignore Heller.
On the first day of the second week, just days away from the award ceremony, I went down to the gym again early in the morning. When I returned, as I pushed the door open, I noticed a blank envelope in the entrance hall to the suite, as though it had been stuffed under the door. Puzzled, I picked it up and opened up the letter it contained. It was crudely lettered:
CLARRIE COCKHEAD!
YOUR DEAD!
LOVE M.
Terrible spelling, was my first thought. My second thought was to wonder whether this was a real threat or not. It didn’t sound too threatening. I mean, it was signed ‘love’ after all. To me, that signified a level of intimacy. And it had someone’s initial attached. And it also referred to Clarrie not Clarence, which was how he was always referenced in the media. Perhaps Clarrie knew who wrote it? Maybe one of those jealous university friends? Perhaps it was a joke?
