Sin Tropez

by Aita Ighodaro

  Sebastian seemed unable to take his eyes off Abena, so she banished her last lingering doubts and, confident that he still fancied her like crazy, relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy her food. They drank a fruity red that was as old and full bodied as they were young and slender. Pudding was sweet and sticky.

  With the meal over, Abena’s mind wandered to what lay ahead. Sebastian was obviously thinking the same thing as he placed his wine glass down purposefully, moved the candle to one side and leaned forward to bring his face right up close to Abena’s. Nina Simone was playing softly in the background and Sebastian added his own baritone slurs to her throaty purring. ‘I put a spell on you …’, he sang, ‘Cos you’re mine …’ Abena joined in: ‘You better stop the things you do … It ain’t right … OOOOOH IT AIN’T RIGHT’. She belted out the last line like a true diva, and fell about laughing.

  Sebastian jumped up and grabbed his girlfriend’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  Full of wine and mischief, Abena began to perform an impromptu Nina Simone karaoke-cum-striptease in the car.

  ‘Birds flying high … You know how I feel …’, she sang, her voice rich and low as she slipped her foot out of her stiletto and stretched her bare leg high in the air, letting her blue silk skirt slide up her thigh as she bent her knee and brought her toe to rest on the dashboard. Sebastian swerved the car and the driver of a beat-up Ford behind hooted and made a ‘wanker’ gesture.

  ‘Sun in the sky … You know how I feel …’, Abena continued, and her white cape came off. ‘Breeeeeeze driftin’ on by … You know how I feel …’ Now she peeled off her white silk vest. ‘It’s a new day … It’s a new dawn … It’s a new liiiife … Foooor, meeee …’ She sang louder as she shimmied out of her skirt, to reveal her black lace underwear.

  ‘And I’m feeeeeeling good …’

  Sebastian was so fired up he could barely open his front door. Running inside the apartment with only her cape wrapped around her Abena headed straight to the bedroom and threw herself backwards on to the bed, arms thrown wantonly above her head.

  ‘Come and get me,’ she cooed, laughing at Sebastian, who had tripped over his jeans in an effort to remove them and run towards her at the same time. Then Abena turned her head to the side and the sight she encountered caused her heart to stop.

  ‘What are these?’ She rose from the bed, slowly, uncertain. In her hand was a pair of sheer Agent Provocateur panties.

  ‘Either you’re a secret cross-dresser or you’ve got some explaining to do.’

  Sebastian’s face fell. It was all Abena needed to know. In a single casting down of the eyes, he had surrendered. Still, he tried to fight back.

  ‘What the … I can’t believe Alex would do that to me. He obviously brought some girl back here and she must have left them in my bed.’

  ‘Why the hell would Alex come here when he’s got his own place to bring girls back to?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. Yeah, but he’s been having some work done to his place so he’s been staying here.’

  ‘He had work done to his place weeks ago.’

  ‘Well, I … I don’t know, they must have been here for weeks.’

  ‘Oh right, I see, so you’ve been sleeping with a pair of stripper pants in your bed for three weeks and just happened not to have noticed. For that matter your housekeeper hasn’t changed your sheets for three weeks either. You can do better than that, Sebastian.’

  At once his face hardened. ‘Baby, this is who I am. It’s how I roll.’

  Abena was stung to the core. Had nothing in the last five months meant anything to him? Deep down, though, she’d known.

  ‘How does it feel … To be on your own … Like a rolling stone …’, she murmured sadly under her breath.

  ‘Do you want me to drive you back?’ Sebastian asked.

  She looked at him, a wan smile on her face. It was a smile for all the fun they had shared, but tempered with hurt and sadness.

  ‘I’ll get a cab. See you sometime … I guess.’

  She turned and walked, wretched and alone, into the icy, dark night.

  ****

  ‘Tara?’

  Abena banged harder on Tara’s bedroom door.

  ‘Tara?’

  No answer. She pushed the door and walked in. Tara was in bed with the light off, so Abena didn’t notice the translucent pallor of her friend’s skin, nor the almost imperceptible shivers of her bony body.

  ‘What is it?’ Tara asked crossly.

  ‘Sebastian’s been cheating on me – we broke up.’ Abena gulped down her tears.

  ‘Why d’you break up?’

  ‘B-b-because he cheated on me.’

  ‘Oh.’ And then, ‘Hon, do you have some cash I can borrow?’

  Abena let out a loud sob. Tara had so many of her own troubles. Sniffing noisily, Abena shuffled off to bed alone.

  ****

  Abena wolf-whistled as Sarah arrived for Sunday brunch in one of Notting Hill’s trendy cafés. ‘You’re really looking amazing these days, Sarah.’

  ‘Thanks! I feel great. Things are going so well with Willy – you won’t believe the people I’m meeting and the stuff I’m doing. I’ve organized a celebrity karaoke for Willy’s natural disaster rescue charity, which is going to be covered by all the glossies, and it’s been dinners, dos and parties non-stop in the evenings, and manic meetings and emails in the office all day, so it’s exhausting but I love it there.’

  She paused for breath and gabbled on.

  ‘I just wish Si would appreciate me a bit more. He’s the only person who hasn’t said they like my new haircut and he’s the one who should love it the most! I invite him out to Willy’s events and he just stubbornly refuses, saying he’s sick of me out with all these lecherous TV execs breathing down my cleavage every night when they wouldn’t be able to if he’d only come to stuff with me and … Oh my God, Abbi, are you OK?’

  A fat tear slid down Abena’s cheek. ‘Yep, yes, I’m sorry,’ Abena sniffed. ‘It’s just, Sebastian and I broke up – he’s been cheating on me.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart!’ Sarah embraced Abena, comforting her in that motherly way that made all the boys do whatever she wanted. ‘Poor thing, tell me everything. What happened?’

  Abena began telling the story and by the time she got to the ridiculous bows at the sides of the frilly Agent Provocateur knickers, she was in a much better mood.

  ‘Obviously, compared to you and Si, it’s nothing, I mean, I was only with Sebastian for five months or so, and it was hardly serious – just a bit of fun, you know…’

  ‘Hon, five months is more than enough time to fall for someone. And especially someone like Sebastian Spectre, well he’s … Anyway, you’re so much better off without him Abbi; infidelity is inexcusable.’

  Abena looked uncertain, so Sarah carried on, ‘You know I’ve never told anybody this before, but my parents were almost torn apart by my mother’s affair.’

  ‘You’re kidding! Your family seems like the perfect little unit.’

  ‘I know, and my mother’s a complete prude like me! But my dad had a few too many rums one Christmas and told me the story.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Well, it was the internet that caught them out. Mum’s not very computer-literate and didn’t realize Dad could read her emails if she didn’t sign out. He stumbled across an email to Mum from their friend Nigel that said “My cock is hard thinking about you”. So of course my dad was absolutely furious. He hit the reply button and wrote to Nigel saying “If you have any more bulletins about the state of your cock then kindly direct them to your own wife”. Then he went rummaging through the rest of her emails and came across the message that made him demand a divorce.’

  ‘What was the message?’ Abena was trying seriously hard not to laugh.

  ‘It was my Mum’s reply to Nigel that did it. He’d sent her something really smutty about how he wanted to do her all weekend in a seedy hotel, and she’d replied, “Yes, woul
dn’t it be lovely, with crisp, white linen sheets and the sunlight streaming in.” My dad thought that if that was the foxiest thing she could come up with then Nigel was welcome to her – said it was symptomatic of all the problems they’d been having in bed for years.’

  ‘I’m astounded! Well, at least they worked it out in the end.’

  ‘Yes, but imagine if they hadn’t! You were right to break away from Sebastian, these things often get worse.’

  Abena waved at a waitress and ordered two Bloody Marys.

  ‘Could you ever have an affair with a married man?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘No,’ Abena answered immediately. ‘Nothing to do with the morality of it all; after all, his marriage is not my responsibility. It’s more that I just hate the thought of the sort of married man who still has affairs. He puts on this front as a libidinous alpha male, but behind the mask he’s a spineless beta. That type of man just isn’t attractive to me.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Sarah agreed.

  Both girls slurped at their cocktails and thought about men.

  ‘Let’s do something tonight,’ Abena said, feeling more upbeat. ‘Go out – I just need to do something.’

  ‘Do you fancy Annabel’s?’

  ‘Is this really Sarah Hunter I’m talking to?’

  Sarah laughed. ‘Bertrand Brampton Amis, who manages all Willy’s financial affairs, is hosting a dinner there. He’s super-rich and super-posh and extra girls are always welcome at that kind of thing.’

  ‘I’m on it – anything to stop me thinking about my miserable love life. I’m going to drag Tara out too.’

  Sarah’s face fell, she’d always thought Tara’s bitchiness was the wrong side of fun.

  ‘I just need to get her out of the flat – and I need to watch her.’

  They celebrated their decision with a toast to ‘bizarre life experiences’, swiftly followed by toasts to independence, to making the best of life, to love, and, as an afterthought, to world peace.

  By the time Abena was ready to stumble home she felt an urge to call Benedict. She didn’t quite know why. She supposed she wanted somebody else to talk to about things. When he didn’t pick up, she left a teasing message:

  ‘Hi there Ben, it’s Abena, romantic shoe fetishist, remember? He he. Well, just wondered if you and your mesmerizing eyes wanted to come to a party at Annabel’s tonight, 9 p.m. Don’t forget to comb your beard – dress code is smart! Ha ha.’

  She put down the phone. Whoops! Was she flirting with Ben? How silly. She didn’t even fancy him – and imagine how boring it would be dating a broke student type after the excitement and glamour of being Sebastian’s girlfriend! Anyway, she didn’t need anyone. She could be alone. Yes! Alooone … Humming tipsily, Abena headed home to change.

  ****

  There is something about being in a loud and glamorous group that makes people who are usually graceful behave like brats. As Sarah strutted into Annabel’s, followed closely by Abena and Tara, male eyes followed the sway of their hips admiringly. Female heads turned too, but with a mostly competitive glint in their eyes.

  ‘Everyone’s staring at us,’ whispered Sarah, simultaneously self-conscious and exhibitionist in her very merry state. She was aware of how high her breasts were, pushed up in the most dramatic of her newer dresses, and newly tanned from an embarrassingly excessive sun-bed session after yoga. She herself could not help but stare down at them every so often, strangely aroused by the power they wielded over those around her.

  As Tara announced, ‘If I weren’t us then I ’d stare at us’, Sarah guffawed with disproportionate vigour and arched her back to accentuate her curves.

  Spotting Bertrand, who, in the absence of Willy, was holding court at the head of a large table, Sarah sashayed towards him, pausing mid-movement to nod and smile at a ‘silver fox’ raising a champagne glass at her from a neighbouring table.

  ‘Bertrand, hello, so lovely to see you. Meet my friends, Abena and Tara. Girls, Bertrand Brampton Amis is the most accomplished man you could ever meet. He is one of the top bankers in the City and his family have owned the private bank that oversees all Willy’s financial affairs since … since the beginning of time!’

  Bertrand looked embarrassed and gestured for Sarah to sit down. ‘You look incredible, Sarah. Glad you could make it. And this elusive boyfriend of yours?’

  ‘He thinks Berkeley Square is the epitome of Western corruption.’ Sarah grinned. ‘But life’s too short not to have fun. And anyway, I’m trying to cheer my friend Abena up – her boyfriend’s just given her the sack.’

  Bertrand glanced down the table at Abena. ‘What a silly boy. So it looks like we’re all partnerless tonight. My wife’s out of town.’

  ‘What are we drinking, Bertrand?’ Sarah said quickly.

  ‘You can have whatever you want. Just promise not to do any fussing or organizing tonight. Willy’s not around and you can relax.’

  Sarah decided she liked Annabel’s. She liked the old-school glamour, the men in shirts and jackets and the women mostly in smart black dresses, not a ripped denim trouser in sight. Old favourites and nostalgic dance anthems made for festive music, but it was not so loud it ruled out conversation. She remembered what she’d heard about the place being reassuringly expensive. At the time she wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. But she liked it tonight. Yes, Sarah decided, it was all very civilized indeed. What a shame she’d never be able to bring Si here. He always wore jeans and, outside of work, he refused to wear a jacket.

  Bertrand, on the other hand, wore jackets fabulously. His skin was tanned the same honey colour as Sarah’s, although his was real as he’d just returned from a break at his wife’s family’s estate in Tuscany. Sarah had never been into older men, but she had to admit Bertrand was remarkably handsome – in an austere, poker-up-bottom sort of way, anyway. And it was flattering how he rose from his seat to stand, erect and straight-backed, every time she left or rejoined the table.

  ‘Come on, let’s dance.’

  Sarah found his clipped, old-Etonian tones sexily authoritative; masterful, even.

  Bertrand took Sarah’s hand and led her to the small dance floor at the back. Moving his feet deftly in time to the music, he spun round and snaked backwards on to the floor, jiving all the way. Tara and Abena watched open-mouthed as this seemingly reserved middle-aged man in a suit transformed himself with one move into a hybrid of James Bond and Carlos Acosta. He moved with the agility of a trained ballet dancer but the arrogance with which he did so was pure sex. With each movement he dared his audience to laugh at the absurdity of his talent, so blatant and unexpected that it seemed not quite right, and yet it was amazing.

  Abena finished yet another glass of exquisite Châve au Cheval Blanc and held her breath as she waited to see how Sarah would retaliate. Sarah had many talents, but dancing was not one of them. Moments later, her worst fears were confirmed when Sarah began to sway.

  Emboldened by drink and carried away by her own voluptuousness, Sarah started wiggling her hips in a large circle and clutching at her breasts and her head in turn. It was unclear to what beat she was moving.

  ‘Oh no, she’s going for the “dip-down” again.’ Abena exchanged a look with Tara and they both watched in fascinated horror as Sarah parted her legs and shimmied down to the floor, banging the ground hard before struggling to wiggle back up again.

  Abena turned away and thought of how she’d last been at Annabel’s with Kunle. But now images of Sebastian were swirling through her head and then morphing into parts of Kunle. His long, broad back. Now it was Kunle’s powerful hand, the darkest brown on one side and lighter on the palm, fingers splayed, and his lifeline etched deep and sure, heralding a grand future. Suddenly Abena’s failed romances ganged up on her and made her miserable. She was desperate for a diversion. She jumped out of her seat and ran to join Sarah and Bertrand on the dance floor.

  Abena grabbed Sarah and the two of them shimmied down to the floor together, working it like
a pair of Las Vegas showgirls, forsaking every last shred of dignity in exchange for one inebriated moment of forgetting. As they slid down to the floor for the final time, Abena noticed that Bertrand was unable to take his eyes off them, nodding his head in time with each gyration of their hips. The look on his face was sheer lust. Abena beckoned him closer and wherever she whirled and fell across the dance floor, Bertrand followed behind. He moved lithely like a snake and in her sozzled mind Abena felt she entranced him as though she were his snake-charmer.

  So wrapped up was Abena in the music and in Bertrand, she didn’t notice a familiar figure push through the crowds towards the dance floor. Or perhaps she didn’t recognize him, after all he was wearing contact lenses and had shaved off his beard. Benedict Lima had also donned a blazer to comply with the strict dress code, even though it wasn’t his thing. He was taken aback when he was approached suddenly by a seductive older female who reeked of expensive perfume but had a look in her eye that was thrillingly cheap.

  ‘My first husband was for love,’ she purred. ‘My second for money. My third was for status, and you, handsome … I want you for sex.’

  ‘Objectify me any time, beautiful!’ Benedict laughed, ‘but I’m afraid I’m here for someone else.’

  It didn’t take long to find Abena, grinding on the dance floor with a dirty old man. Cursing himself for bothering to show up, he turned and raced out of Annabel’s.

  Tara, meanwhile, was deeply bored. She was making painfully dull small talk with Abdullah from Saudi Arabia, who was seated to her left, and she was just about to ask him if he had any cocaine on him when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Alex Spectre making his way through the club with a slim, Savile Row suited man in tow.

  ‘Alex!’ Tara shouted, starting up, ignoring the outrage of Abdullah, who’d been about to proffer his business card. ‘It’s me, Tara.’

  ‘Hi,’ Alex stopped by their table and ran his eyes quickly over the rest of the party. There was clearly no one there of interest and he made as if to leave but Tara grabbed his arm. He looked at his friend and then turned back towards Tara.