by Emily James
THAT NIGHT, ONCE I’M in my pyjamas and readying for bed, I hear tiptoes in the hall. When I run to the peephole, I see Twenty saunter past in high heels and a short skirt on her way to Six’s apartment. She knocks eagerly eight times, the trollop!
Six opens the door and says something. Twenty giggles in response like a hyena that’s eaten a machine gun. Then the door lightly clicks as it closes.
Trust Six to make me feel feelings, and then ruin it by fucking the feline.
Chapter 15
ON FRIDAY, MELINDA and Mikey visit to check if I need anything and I cook us all lunch. Mikey has been swooning about Jamie, his hot new chef boyfriend. He’s also complaining about having to return to work on Monday, when he’d rather hang out with Chef; and Melinda has been opening up about Steve and their marital problems. It seems she and Steve have been unhappy for quite some time, and now that they’ve told the kids about their separation, Melinda’s single status has been confirmed. She explains that while Ed and Sunny are too young to understand, Teegan and Jakey were upset, but once she had absolutely promised that this would not mean a reduction in pocket money or having to spend more time with Granny, they apparently seemed okay with the idea if it meant the house was more harmonious and less war zone.
“So, are you sure you’re okay? It must be strange without him. Are you going to start dating again? Because I have three dates left and I honestly don’t mind you taking them,” I tell Melinda, now that her tears have passed.
“No. No dating for me. The only thing that is getting me through this is my sheer disgust at the opposite sex!”
“Hey,” Mikey says, offended.
“Present company excluded, obviously. Besides, Joanie, you’ve got some good dates with decent men coming up.”
“I thought you were going to get it on with the hot guy next door. He is fit, Joanie. Thanks to you and your broken ass, I never did get to take him to the mile high club. Seriously though, if I hadn’t met Jamie... Hmm, I definitely would.” Mikey jokingly performs a dry humping act, making me giggle even though thinking of Six makes me furious.
“Humph, he can go to hell. He came around, all caring and sweet, cooking me food and helping me... around the house and then nothing. Then, last night, last night he has Big-Tits-Twenty over! I’m done,” I tell them.
Melinda shakes her head in disgust. “That cheating bastard! We’ll show him what he’s missing. Tonight you’re going out with Adrian Burns. You’ll like him, he’s loaded and a very eligible bachelor.”
“He’s the brother of someone I dated years ago; he owns the Country Club up at Fairfield. He’s high society, Joanie. You might want to break out the Dior.” Mikey winks.
“Shit. I’ve never been out with anyone rich before. Do you think I’ll be okay?” I ask.
“You’ll be fine. Just leave your potty mouth at home and wear your best knickers,” Melinda tells me.
“It’s all about the D.E.M with the high society lot,” Mikey advises and I give him a questioning glance. “Decorum, Etiquette, and Manners,” Mikey clarifies, picking some breadcrumbs from my shirt.
I nod and brush away his hand. I can totally be D.E.M. I am the height of sophistication, sometimes. Truth be told, he could be the richest, best-looking son of a bitch out there and I still wouldn’t feel in the mood.
“Where’s he taking her, anyway?” Mikey asks Melinda.
“Some new casino. It’s the opening night. You’ll want to dress for glamour and put on some heels.”
“That’s okay for you to say, my ass is purple thanks to the dating schedule you arranged, and I’m still walking with a limp.”
“Quit whining. This one will be okay. I’m almost completely sure of it,” Melinda says.
MELINDA TOLD ME TO expect a limousine to pick me up. No danger of drunk drivers tonight, I hope. I steadied my nerves with a glass of wine and nearly broke my foot when I thought I heard movement in the corridor outside and rushed to the door, only to almost slip and break my ankle on a flyer that had been shoved under the door, probably another take-away menu.
I put on my four-inch-high strappy shoes, even though my right foot looks like it’s trying to escape my shoe by means of swelling. Thankfully, my ankle length red dress is just long enough to cover my feet, except for when a whoosh of wind opens the dress at the split that starts at the top of my thigh. I tease my hair into an up-do and put on some bright red lipstick, in an effort to try and fake some enthusiasm.
I wait in the foyer at nine p.m. on the dot, as instructed by Melinda. It’s pitch black outside, and the wind rattles the trees causing an eerie scratching sound as if wood is scraping against metal. The light of the foyer blinks, and I’m suddenly aware that whilst anyone outside can see inside perfectly, I can’t see anything beyond the double glass doors.
My nerves are on high alert, making me feel like I need to pee, and I’m more than a little anxious that I might see Six, but since he’s obviously screwing Twenty I decide I’m over him. At least if I do see him, I look hot tonight, compared to yesterday when I was covered in paint and looking like an elderly lady being propositioned by Action Man.
The limo marks its arrival with an impolite blast of the horn that’s so shrill the fright almost causes me to lose control of my bladder. I shake off the urge to stick my middle finger up at the driver and take a deep breath. Three more dates and my life will be my own again. Thankfully then, I can revert to the relative safety of living in my pyjamas, eating delivered food and reading about handsome heroes and beautiful, sophisticated women.
A gust of wind hits me as I walk outside and almost throws me off the pavement. Luckily, I’m able to regain my balance and remain in an upright position. The limo is black, long and sleek, and even though the British weather is its usual damp and blustery crappiness, the driver gets out of the vehicle to open the door for me.
“Ma-am,” he says as though an extra from a Thunder Birds movie.
“All right?” I say.
Shit! Must remember Decorum, Etiquette, and Manners.
For the rest of this evening, I’ll be an actress. I’ll behave like an extra from Downton Abbey. I slide into the limo, crossing my legs at the heels. I smile eloquently as the passenger door slams shut and the central locking clamps down with an electronic grinding sound.
“How do you do?” I say, and turn to face my suitor.
Holy-fucking-moley.
Adrian Burns wears brown leather brogues and a brown tweed suit, which he pairs with green leather gloves and a green satin cravat. However, it’s not his heavy British aristocracy get-up that surprises me most. No, what alarms me most is that Adrian Burns looks to be about seventy-four-years-old, maybe older. It’s difficult to tell by the meagre light thrown by the passing streetlights. What limited light is shed on his face is quickly swallowed up by the cavernous sinkholes of his wrinkly, leathery skin. His eyes are tiny black beads propped up by a wide sprawling beak like nose. They are predatory in their assessment of me.
Adrian Burns has the look of a serial killer’s grandfather.
“Pleasure, my dear.” Adrian takes my right hand from the safety of my leg and picks it up to the sliver of his mouth. His thin lips poke out to a hard pout and scrape a dry, cold kiss on my hand.
A nervous smile creeps along my face, and I wonder how I can end this date, now.
I actually want to kill my friends. I keep myself sane by listing in my head all the ways I can dispose of their bodies. Perhaps Mr. Burns here will lend me his gloves and the very large trunk of his limo. Maybe I can even borrow his driver.
“Is that okay, my dear?”
Shit! He’s said something, but I wasn’t listening. I allow my head to bob a little, to acknowledge he was talking, and I pretend I was paying attention, which I was not. I pray I didn’t just agree to go to a fetish club or even worse, to the bingo.
I think quickly. I need to tell him I’m not well. That this was all a big mistake.
“So, um... Adrian,” I
relinquish all attempts at pretending I am classy, and I put on my least posh voice. “You ain’t quite wot I woz expectin’. You bin’ single long then?”
Oh, my God, I sound like Eliza Doolittle gone wrong, trying to chat up Mr. Burns.
“My dear girl, I’ve been a bachelor a long while, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the opposite sex though. I do, very much so. Besides, I feel change is in the air.” Mr. Burns winks and his beady eyes trail up the split in my dress. A spoonful of sick catapults up from my stomach, and I swallow back down it’s bitter taste.
As the limo pulls to a stop, my heart stops beating and plummets into the foot well of the car. My mouth is so dry my tongue sticks like Velcro to the roof of my mouth, but still I force out the words. “I thought we were going to the opening of a casino?”
“We are my dear. It’s the grand opening tonight.”
I look up at the classic, stately building. Never have I been so afraid to enter a building in all my life.
“I... I... thought this was a restaurant...”
Please, let’s go somewhere else...
“Oh it is, but it was always intended to have a casino on the first floor. There was a delay in the planning I believe, but that’s been resolved and now it’s all set up. Shall we?”
The driver opens my door and takes my arm to help me up. I walk on unsteady legs around the car to meet Burns. He holds out his hand but I pretend I can’t see it; instead, I rest my hands on my hips.
“Just one minute, my darling.” He holds up one hand. “Thank you, Jones.”
If I thought my date’s attractiveness could not get any worse, I was wrong. Jones hands Burns a walking stick, which he hunches over as he attempts to mobilise across the gravel of the car park of Dizzying Heights.
The limo drives away and I stand there with Burns as he stops on the second step of the entrance to catch his breath.
If I can just make sure Six doesn’t see me with Mr. Burns, I mean Adrian, maybe I can survive this.
ONCE ADRIAN HAS REACHED the top of the stairs, puffed on his inhaler and managed to get the strength back in his legs, he asks a staff member to help direct us to the elevator. After all, those stairs might just be the death of him. I agree to meet him upstairs so I can, “Take a slash,” I tell him, still utilizing the worst common accent that I can bring myself to use.
I go to the corner of the entrance hall, out of Adrian’s view, and call Melinda. Lucky for her, it goes to the answer machine. “Melinda, I just wanted to say thanks for arranging the date with the millionaire.” I spit millionaire as if it’s a vile and dirty word. “However, you neglected to mention that Adrian Burns the Seventh is actually, seventy years old! Yes, Melinda, I’m on a date with a geriatric person, reliant on mobility aides and inhalers! You are in so much trouble!”
“Oh am I now, I look forward to finding out exactly what that entails,” a smooth voice whispers into my neck causing my knees to wobble.
“Six, fancy you being here.” I giggle uncontrollably.
Shoot. Me. Now.
My phone pings Melinda’s message tone that I never could quite work out how to change.
“Warning, dating emergency; dating emergency. You have two minutes to respond to this message or you will die a lonely spinster,” Mikey then calls out, “With one hundred cats!”
I ignore the message. Six gives me a small smile as he nods his head and drinks me in. “I do own this place, where else would I be, Four? I take it you received my invitation, then? You look, breathtaking.”
My knees go weak at his description. Six towers above me in a suit so sharp my eyes might actually bleed. His hair looks soft as ever; it’s been cut since I saw him last and falls into a neat, dark side parting. I have to remind myself to breathe. He looks so handsome.
“I’m glad you decided to come tonight. It’s a big night for me. I’ve been so busy this week, trying to make everything perfect.”
“I... what...” Why would Six be glad I’m here with Mr. Burns for his opening night? “What invitation?”
“The flyer, under your door. I’ve been trying to catch you, but I’ve been here early and leaving late. There was some mix up with the roulette table and... well, it’s all sorted now. Wait, if you’re not here with me, then...”
My face falls. Six invited me tonight. I swallow a lump in my throat. Surely, I can fix this, if I explain.
“I...” The speech I am about to waffle is interrupted by my message tone: “Warning, dating emergency; dating emergency. You have two minutes to respond to this message or you will die a lonely spinster.” Mikey then calls out, “With one hundred cats!”
Six’s eyes cross to the source of the offensive sound, to my clutch bag, housing my phone. When his eyes return to mine, they house a hard stare.
“Four, are you on a date? At my casino, on opening night?”
“I... I can explain...” I stutter.
Six shakes his head, in anger or disbelief. “Enjoy your evening, Four.”
Six turns and takes long strides across the polished floor and walks out through a door marked ‘private,’ which slams behind him.
“Cooiee... Joanie, I made it up here.” Mr. Burns grins in delight, waving his arm in the air from the first floor balcony.
WHEN I GET TO THE TOP of the curved staircase, I’m ready to tell Burns I’m leaving. I don’t care if I have to walk, I’m going home.
Burns holds out a glass of champagne and since it would be rude to refuse it, I down it in one. The bubbles hit my stomach, releasing a fizz.
“I took the liberty of purchasing some chips for you,” Burns says, taking my hand and depositing five black chips emblazoned with gold lettering reading Dizzying Heights. “Shall we start at the Black Jack table?” he asks.
I’m still enamoured by the weight of the chips in my hand as Burns leads me through the elegant double doors into the Casino Hall. Every square inch is opulent and classy and matches the restaurant downstairs. A huge chandelier hangs overhead, dimly lighting the vast space. There are green felted tables laid out with cards, chips, and roulette. Hives of people surround the tables and the sound of light cheers and muffled conversations are a mere hum above the singer on the stage crooning a Sinatra song.
Six did good. The casino is busy and the air of excitement is even penetrating my bleak mood.
A uniformed waiter carries a tray of champagne. If I must stay a while, a drink will surely help so I take two from the tray. I guzzle one quickly as Burns hobbles alongside me, and I put the empty glass back on the tray. I then grab another glass for Burns. The waiter is either too polite to say anything or barely registers my lushful behaviour. I then let Burns guide me to the Black Jack table.
Burns tells the croupier to deal me in. I look at Burns and explain I have no idea how to play Black Jack. I’ve never even been to a casino before, let alone bet. “Just hit twenty-one,” he tells me.
The cards are dealt. A six and a four. “Twist.” The voice comes from behind me. I don’t need to check who it is. The gravelly voice is committed to my memory. The scent of the woody, masculine fragrance is close enough to make my mouth water. I coolly take a sip of the champagne and agree when the croupier checks that I am indeed happy to twist.
The croupier places the eight of hearts in front of me, and the people at the crowded table gasp in delight. The croupier moves on to the next player and turns over a ten of spades. “Bust,” says the croupier. When it’s my turn again, Six’s low voice demands that I twist. Burns suggests that I stick, but I follow Six’s advice. A two of clubs is turned over and I bounce and clap in glee. “Yay. I got twenty! I’m winning,” I squeal.
It’s then that I see Twenty in the distance at the roulette table. She’s in a silver dress that makes her look like a malnourished chicken in a roll of tin foil. Even in the dim light and from across the room I can see the outline of her nipples as they point at the ceiling. I turn to view Six, who is looking at me, and then to Burns, doing the math.
&n
bsp; “Four, is this senior citizen your date?” Six smirks like a sanctimonious jerk.
The croupier is waiting for my decision to stick or twist. I want to avoid explaining my predicament, which will surely give that bastard a laugh at my expense. Across the room, Twenty is closing the distance between us, looking at Six as though he is the oven in which to roast her meat. I glumly look at my cards as they sneer the total of twenty as if in flashing bulbs and highlighted numbers.
“Twist!” I call out, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from the crowd of onlookers.
“Have you lost your mind? That’s a one-hundred-pound chip, you already have twenty. Stick.” Burns urges from my right and grabs a hold of my hand.
“Gamble,” Six says from my left, his finger lightly stroking my arm.
The croupier looks at me to check. Behind him is Twenty, braless breasts are bouncing as she saunters over towards Six.
“Twist,” I repeat and take another sip of my champagne. My heart thumps to the beat of the music and the tension is an electrical current on my skin. As if in slow motion, the croupier turns over my card... The Ace Of Hearts. The crowd cheers in delight as I spin and face Six. The smile on my face reaches my ears as I literally leap into him, my arms flinging themselves around him, completely carried away in the excitement.
“I won!” I yell.
Six chuckles. “You did, Four. Beyond all odds, you did.”
“Can I have a word?” Twenty stands to Six’s side, a murderous look on her face as she appraises my dopey grin.
Six puts me down and I awkwardly put the material of my dress back into place to cover up my knickers. I bite on my lip nervously, wondering if Twenty is about to punch me for fornicating with her date.
“Excuse me.” Six shakes off his smile and returns his facial features to their pissed off, hardened state. “I’ll leave you to continue your evening with your Grandfather,” he says with a sarcastic smirk.
