Double Take: A Raw Romance

by Penny Henry

  "You’re a rotten pig, Roger. You let me pour out my troubles to you without saying a word. And all the time you were laughing at me. I trusted you!” she screamed before treading cautiously across the carpet, pointing the useless paper knife at him and heading for the open door.

  Roger could feel the anger of her blazing eyes slicing into his heart. "Imogen, please let me explain." He circled away from her, leaving free access to move across the floor towards the door.

  She glared hatred into his face and sidestepped towards her escape route. "How could you do this to me?" She threw all her spite and anger into her next words. "I despise you, Roger."

  She had twisted the dagger she had slid into his heart. "Imogen, it’s not what you think. I promise you." He spoke the words with a crack to his voice and tears clouding his eyes. "From the minute that I laid eyes on you I wanted to speak to you. I... I couldn’t sum up the nerve. I followed your career in the press. It was the only way that I could feel close to you. I became besotted with you. I'm so sorry. I know it makes me look sad but…" He paused for breath and swallowed hard. "You were my dream woman, Imogen. If that's wrong then I apologize. I never meant to hurt you. I hoped that one day we would laugh about it. Every day I promised myself I’d talk to you, just to say hello. You are so beautiful… I knew you wouldn’t look at me twice. That you’d... That you’d think I was a clumsy geek." He took an involuntary pace in Imogen's direction.

  "I said stay away from me!"

  Roger stepped back in dismay. His heartfelt words had counted for nothing. She was terrified to be alone with him. He watched helplessly as Imogen maneuvered herself out from the apartment and awkwardly stretched her hand to press the button for the elevator. It was still where Roger had left it and the doors slid open. She backed into the stainless steel box and hit the buttons with her fist. The doors began to close. She tossed the useless paper knife through the gap.

  "Why can't you be more like Gable!”

  Imogen went down to the third floor with her heart lurching in her throat and her breath coming in tearful sobs. She hit the button for the twelfth floor and slowly rose to the correct level. She was trembling with the thought that Roger might be waiting for her. She fumbled her apartment key from her pocket and exploded from the elevator the second she was able to squeeze through the gap. She ran headlong across the corridor and stabbed the key into the lock, slamming the door open, crashing it shut behind her and locking it quickly. She had made it safely to her apartment. She leant back against the door and closed her eyes. Her heart was kicking in her chest and the walls were swimming. She couldn't face the police again. She was locked inside her apartment and for all her bitter accusations knew that Roger would never lay a finger on her. She desperately needed time to collect her thoughts. She had to accept the fact that Roger had been obsessed with her from the beginning. In other circumstances it might have been taken as a compliment - love at first sight. But Imogen wasn't giving Roger an inch. He had to be the letter writer. What other explanation could there be for the lies and secrecy?

  She pushed herself off the door and walked into the lounge. She picked up the phone to call Rose then changed her mind. She couldn't do it to him. Roger had saved her life. If anything he needed help, professional help. Gable would never speak to her again. She wandered to the kitchen and put on a jug of coffee. Her mind was doing somersaults. Roger wasn't a bad man. Shyness could be a devastating affliction. But there were other ways of dealing with it. The coffee took forever. When it was ready she carried a mug to the bedroom. She was determined to get back to normality. She needed to tidy up and sort out an outfit and handbag for tomorrow. She was a woman that worked to a strict routine and she was always short of patience in the morning. At one point she remembered the crumpled sheet of paper in her pocket and unscrewed it before losing interest, folding it into quarters and shoving it into her bag. She finished her task and wound up slumped on the sofa, turning over the events in her mind and considering the repercussions of reporting Roger until her mind was simmering like a witch's brew. The door to her apartment had been tentatively knocked once.

  Whether it was by Roger or Gable she had no way of knowing. Whoever it was had not persisted. They had left her alone with her thoughts. She was worried that by rejecting Roger's explanation so forcefully she had lost Gable. He would stand by his brother. He had grown up with the acute shyness of his twin. He would be anxious to defend Roger's actions and protect him from any repercussions. Imogen would be abandoned.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Imogen jumped angrily to her feet. She was finished with men. She walked into her bedroom, pulled out an overnight bag and stuffed her things for tomorrow inside it. She didn’t plan on coming back tonight. In five minutes she was leaving the car park. The drive took fifteen minutes. She walked up the steps to the second floor and took a deep breath before pressing the bell.

  “Imogen!” Connie pulled her through the door and hugged her. “What are you doing here?”

  Imogen didn’t have the energy to go through it all. “Let’s just say I found out a few things I wasn’t expecting.”

  Connie gasped. “You did it! You got inside their apartment, didn’t you?”

  Imogen nodded and sniffed noisily. “Yep, and I didn’t like what I found.”

  “You poor thing. Come inside and sit down. Would you like a drink?”

  “What have you got?”

  “You name it and I’ve probably got it,”

  “Surprise me. You always were good at that.”

  Imogen started to relax. She felt the tension drain from her body. She didn’t have to hear anything she didn’t want to hear. She could be herself with the best friend she had in the world. She took a moment to glance around. The decoration and furniture had been updated but it wasn’t that much different from when she’d planned to move in. At this moment Imogen wished she could turn back the clock. Connie would never hurt her. She would rather pull out her own eyes.

  “Here you are, sweetheart.” She handed a glass to Imogen. “Cheers.”

  They tipped their glasses and Imogen coughed as the amber liquid burned through her throat. “Mmm, that was just what I needed.” She smacked her lips together and pushed herself to her feet. “Where’s the bar?”

  “In the kitchen. Where it always was.” Connie snuggled into a corner. She couldn’t have wished for a nicer surprise. “Bring the bottle.”

  They sat on the sofa and drank sensibly. They had work tomorrow and work always came first. They talked about anything and everything. The brothers were studiously avoided. Imogen didn’t want to talk about them and Connie was only interested in what Imogen wanted. Sometimes they touched hands and Connie’s eyes would sparkle. The evening wore on and Imogen yawned first.

  “Oo, Oo, somebody’s tired. Time for bed, Imogen.” She sounded like the mother hen she was in the office. “What do you want? The couch or the bed?”

  “Mmm, the couch. You take the bed.” She stood up and stretched her arms.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “No honestly. I’ll get a quick shower. I take it that’s in the same place too.”

  “Ha ha, yes, Imogen, it is. There’s a robe behind the door you can use.”

  “Oh, you don’t think you’re getting away with it, do you?”

  Connie had already started to clear the cushions from the sofa. “What do you mean?”

  Imogen looked into Connie’s startled eyes. “You know what I mean. You always used to wash my back.” She turned away taking off her clothes as she went.

  Connie felt a tremble in her stomach. She walked quickly to the bedroom and threw off her clothes. She grabbed a robe and nervously walked to the shower room. Imogen was soaping herself. If anything her body was better that Connie remembered. She had lost a little weight but was fuller in the breasts. Her stomach was flat and ran down in a sculpted fall to the vee above her long curved thighs. Her buttocks were rounded and lifted without a trace of droop. Everything
about her was just perfect. Connie felt a hot flow start between her thighs.

  Imogen opened her eyes. “I’m waiting.”

  Connie shrugged off her robe and stepped into the shower. Imogen turned her back and groaned at the touch of Connie’s hands. She moved her shoulders under Connie’s deep massage. Then she turned and ran her soapy hands down Connie’s body, not pausing but sliding one hand round to grip Connie’s buttocks as the other dropped straight to her groin.

  Connie gasped and leant backwards. Her will power was non-existent. Her legs parted as distant memories were rekindled and knowing fingers curved inside her wet passage. Imogen pulled Connie’s nipple into her mouth. Connie reached to the sides to steady herself as Imogen’s hands and mouth played havoc with her senses. Her legs were shaking. Her mind was reliving her erotic fantasies. She ground down against the fingers that were sliding inside her. Then she was jerking against Imogen’s hand as she shuddered to a climax. Imogen allowed her to regain her stability before guiding Connie’s mouth to her long nipples. Connie obeyed and sucked and pulled with her lips until Imogen’s nipples were stiff brown stalks. Her hand was working magic between Imogen’s legs. She knew where to touch her and when to move on. Imogen leant back her head and bit her bottom lip as Connie reached under her to use her thumb as her fingers slid between Imogen’s slippery buttocks. Then Imogen opened her knees to spread herself for Connie’s fingers. She needed it hard and fast to blank her mind. She ground against the bunched fingers that thrust smoothly inside her, pushing down onto Connie’s hand. She groaned and clenched her teeth as the orgasm ripped through her body. Her legs gave way and she almost collapsed to the floor until Connie hurriedly supported her while she regained her breath. Then they giggled and soaped each other. In half an hour they had dried the other’s damp body and fallen into bed. They kissed and cuddled for a long time, taking turns to flutter kisses over each other’s throat and stroke the silken flesh. Then they each lay back in turn to enjoy the attention being returned. The heat rose again as they lazily caressed. They tangled their legs and thrust their crutches into the thigh that pressed against their swollen lips, sliding up and down before shifting position to come together groin to groin and grind each other to a shattering climax. They were stuck together, sharing and clinging to the blinding madness as their limbs tensed uncontrollably, biting softly into each other’s shoulders until they collapsed in a satisfied daze. They rested drained and exhausted. Imogen cradled Connie in the crook of her arm, stroking her blonde hair and whispering nothing that made any sense.

  Connie turned her face to look up at Imogen. “So, do I make up the couch or not?”

  They laughed and fell asleep with smiles on their lips.

  Connie was awake first. She rolled out of bed to put on the kettle. She was under no illusions. Imogen had been emotionally shattered and Connie had provided the comfort she needed. What happened next didn’t matter. She had slept in Imogen’s arms and she was in heaven. Imogen was under a lot of pressure. Whatever happened they would always be friends. And Connie would always love her.

  “Hey, sleepy head. It’s time to rock and roll.”

  Imogen sat up. She leant to the side to look at her watch. “Christ, is that the time?”

  “Don’t worry, Imogen. We’re fifteen minutes closer than your place. Here, take your tea and get dressed. I suppose we’d better travel in separate cars. We don’t want to give Rose any ammunition. I’ll use the bathroom first.” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t go back to sleep.”

  By the time they had taken turns in the bathroom there was time for a second cup of tea and look at the TV news channel.

  “Shit!” They said it together.

  Karl Wainscot’s face was the last thing they expected to see. Karl had made the national news. Karl and the band had been involved in a boozy brawl outside a West End nightclub. Karl had been arrested. But then it got worse. The brawl that had involved Karl’s band had also included the minders and hot-headed members of Baggage!

  Connie and Imogen watched without speaking, tumbling over the implications of the public spat in their heads. Karl had obviously carried on his feud with Kerry Moore. The press would be rubbing their hands with glee. No doubt the paparazzi had been lurking in the vicinity. It was well known that Baggage! were cute operators when it came to generating publicity. But it would do Karl and Sblig Records no good at all. Both artists were signed to the label and Karl was starting his whistle-stop tour on Wednesday. His new album was due for release the same day. The company could expect a sharp drop in predicted sales. The girls of Baggage! were in need of a lesson when it came to clearing their stunts with the company.

  “Where the hell was John Lomax?” hissed Connie

  Imogen looked at her. “You’d better go, Connie. I’ll tidy up and see you in the office. Rose will be like a bear with a sore head.”

  Connie leant across to turn Imogen’s face towards her and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Back to normal, I suppose.”

  Imogen gave a half-hearted smile and said nothing. Connie picked up her jacket and headed for the door. They were both grownups. She could handle it. She didn’t stop to wipe the tear from the corner of her eye until she was safely in her car.

  By the time that Imogen walked into the office there was a buzz of activity in the air. The damage limitation exercise had already started. John Lomax was seated in a chair at the side of Connie's empty desk. It must be bad. There was no unlit cigarette dangling in his fingers or tucked behind his ear. He was morosely doodling on Connie's notepad. Imogen wondered if he was sketching pictures of a hanged man. John had always had a talent for art but Connie would hate him doodling with her notepad and pencil. She was fastidious in maintaining a tidy desk and keeping her pencils sharp. At the moment she was in with Rose. Connie was standing at the corner of the desk taking dictation while Rose leant back in her chair. Imogen glanced in their direction and Rose waved for her to join them.

  Connie was first to greet her, kissing her cheek and fixing her with a worried look. "How are you feeling now?" She turned and winked so that Rose couldn’t see her. “I hope you slept okay.”

  "Mmm, I slept great actually.” She looked at Rose. "I thought I'd be better off in the office than mooching round my apartment all day."

  "That's probably the right decision, honey," said Rose. "But only for as long as you feel up to it. We could sure do with the help today."

  "So I heard," said Imogen. "Would you like me to get on the phone to my press contacts? I can try to get them to go easy. They won't want to cut the story altogether but I can feed them some other stuff to take up some space in the showbiz columns until we get the facts. I can also try to get in touch with Kerry Moore. Maybe I can find out what the hell Kerry and the rest of Baggage! thought they were playing at."

  "That would be great, honey. We don't want to throw Karl to the wolves just yet. There’s a lot of money riding on him. Perhaps you’d also like to make some calls and find out who is available to replace John Lomax."

  "With pleasure, Rose. I’ll make it my priority.” Rose had finally reached breaking point.

  "Don't overdo it, Imogen. You look a little pale. We'll talk later, honey."

  "Stop worrying, Rose. I feel fine. This is just what I need to take my mind off things. When I've had enough I'll let you know."

  "Okay, Imogen, if that’s what you want. But take it easy or you'll have me to deal with."

  "And me," added Connie. "I'll bring you a coffee when I'm done here and check up on you."

  Imogen smiled. She was conscious of a tear welling in her eye. It was times like these when true friends proved their worth. It was enough to know they were there for her. "See you later," she said with a choke in her voice. Imogen went out of the door. She walked diagonally through the outer office chaos of tee-shirt wearing secretaries rapidly typing from headphones in between answering the incessant flow of telephone enquiries. Their eyes were bright in concentration as they battled to keep
pace with the memo tapes left by the Sblig executives that lacked the services of someone like Connie.

  Imogen gave Connie's desk and John Lomax’s truculent figure a wide berth. John looked more aggressive than Imogen could remember seeing him. He looked like a man bitterly aware that he had blown it. He was working hard to convey the impression that he didn't give a damn. John knew he had been on his last chance and the escapade with Karl Wainscott could well be his death knell. He didn’t even bother to undress Imogen with his eyes as she slipped through the clutter of the general office. She made it to her office without mishap and sunk gratefully into her chair, checking her in-tray and booting up the computer. She was only going to be involved with the Karl Wainscott affair as much as she wanted to be. She could do without the added stress at the moment. She had given herself enough to do by volunteering to intercept the crushing words of the showbiz journos. Then there was the matter of a few discreet enquiries to be made concerning John's replacement. Her own problems could wait awhile. She was thankful that Rose had not been free to pursue the subject of Imogen's weekend. She would have been unable to cope without a bucket-load of tears. She would pick her moment to shock Rose and Connie with the mysterious letter writer’s identity. Then she would stand back and watch the explosion.

  She worked solidly at her desk for two hours, making calls and negotiating deals with showbiz editors, barely making time for a quick word with Connie as she delivered the promised coffee. Imogen could see into Rose's office from where she sat and kept half an eye on the activity taking place. There was a constant stream of minor executives coming and going. Connie had not yet found the time to return to her desk and John Lomax had been ignored for most of the morning. Finally Connie stood at Rose's door and called John to the office. Imogen watched as he lumbered to his feet and shambled in the direction of Rose's office. Connie walked past him to get to her desk. She bent over the desktop, tutting to herself as she started to put things in order. Then she froze. Imogen saw the look of horror on Connie's face before she spun to call John back to his seat. He threw his hands in the air before ambling back to Connie’s desk. She brushed past him on her way back to Rose's office, half turning to shoot a chilling glance at his back. She shut the door before thrusting her notebook under Rose's nose. Imogen watched fascinated as Connie talked rapidly to Rose and stabbed her finger at the notepad. Then Rose reached for the telephone. Imogen was dying for Connie to bring her the gossip. John Lomax had been left to himself, grumbling to everyone and anyone about the pampered pop stars of today and the impossibility of his job. Imogen avoided his eyes whenever he glanced in her direction. She was in no mood to encourage his attention or put up with his lecherous smirks. She was more interested in what was happening in Rose's office. Ten minutes passed and Imogen fitted in another couple of calls. Connie still hadn't brought her the news from Rose's office. Occasionally Imogen detected a distasteful glance aimed at John Lomax from Rose’s office. She also sensed the odd look of sympathy sent in her direction. Imogen moved uneasily in her chair. Surely no one could be aware of the latest development in her extraordinary weekend. She hadn't told a soul. The truth was known only to her and Roger and, by now, perhaps Gable. Roger wouldn’t have done anything stupid, would he? Not like calling the office and confessing everything to Rose or Connie. He wouldn’t know where to start. The thought of him reminded Imogen of the sheet of poetry she had taken from the roll-top desk. She reached down to her bag and hunted for the piece of paper. She couldn’t find it. For one insane moment she thought she’d lost it. Connie had found it and had put two and two together. Jeez, she had to get a grip. She pulled in a couple of long breaths and searched again. Her fingers closed on it and she pulled the folded sheet out of the bag. She smoothed the page flat on her desktop. It was entitled Imogen's Smile - that was about as far as she got.