by Donna Alam
He laughs as he offers me his arm. ‘I’m not sure anyone really knows.’
Music pulses from the house as we approach the massive, and manned, front door. On second thought, a more accurate description might be a mountained front door, judging by the sheer size of the door denizens. As well as being huge, they’re also not unfamiliar to Kai, greeting him with a nod and a murmured welcome as they push both heavy doors wide.
The dull thud of the music increases in volume as the doors open into a pulsing trance beat, or would that be dubstep these days? I doubt I’m hip enough to know. Arrhythmic lighting highlights flashes of bodies writhing on a huge dance floor.
The interior of the house seems at odds with its outward modernity, dark and dimly lit, it oozes a kind of theatrical Parisian bordello look. Women in tiny silver striped dresses serve drinks from trays, barmen—bare-chested but for matching vests—man a gilt-coloured bar running almost the length of the room.
Holding my hand, Kai seems very at ease as we enter the fray.
We pass by a woman wearing not much more than strings herself as she dangles from the ceiling, spinning and entwining her arms and legs in velvet ropes, very Cirque du Soleil. Pausing to watch, each movement of her choreographed show twists her bonds this way and that, her face an artful rictus of pleasure and despair. Further into the room, a man dressed in an old-fashioned wrestler’s outfit, handlebar moustache to match, spins from the ceiling holding two hoops, his powerful build turning gymnastics into art. And that’s just the staff. The patrons, wow, what a hedonistic bunch. All nationalities and ages, dancing, drinking. Wearing little and having a lot of fun.
‘Kais, salam!’ At the far side of the room, it’s quieter as Kai is drawn into a masculine hug. It’s an awkward moment as Kai refuses to release my hand. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’ A flashing light reflects from the hugger’s twin rows of perfect teeth, his open-necked shirt revealing a deep tan. ‘And who is this, habibi?’
Habibti for girls, habibi for boys. Hala’s explanation rings in my ears. Darling or my dear and generic, but still . . . it’s a bit much from a . . . friend?
‘Françoise, this is my girlfriend, Kate.’
Françoise’s gaze opens fractionally, surprise so subtle I might not have seen it at all but for a flare of the lights. Reaching for my hand, his thinning blonde head bows decorously over it. ‘Enchanté, Katarina.’
‘Actually, it’s just Kate.’ I give his hand a firm business-like shake, my expression serious to his amused.
‘You’ve outdone yourself this time, my friend.’ Kai’s gaze sweeps the room. ‘Quite the cabaret.’
‘As have you.’ Françoise's fingers loosen almost reluctantly on my own. Not particularly tall, and a little rotund, his shoulders rise as he claps his hands. ‘Tonight is a cabaret of the senses. You must promise to stay to see the shows! Ah, here comes the light of my life,’ he adds, holding out his hand. Call me presumptuous, but I’d expected his light to be a guy with a fabulous haircut and washboard abs, when he adds, ‘My Sofia.’
If her name alone wasn’t enough to freeze the smile on my face, then the look on Kai’s would.
‘Darling, come say hello to our Kais.’ Our Kais, really? Am I missing something? Françoise’s fingers entwine with her gracefully lifted hands, her sultry sway drawing nearer until she’s there. Right in front of me. Not that she seems to notice. As she only has eyes for Kai, of course.
Double kisses are meted out as she leans towards Kai, murmuring his name.
‘Sofia,’ he answers, holding out a hand, his expression guarded, his voice flat in the extreme.
‘Oh dear, I think perhaps I have put the cat amongst the pigeons,’ Francoise titters, his tone becoming one of mild reprimand. ‘You didn’t tell me you were no longer friends, my darling.’ I’m not sure if the admonishment is for his wife or Kai. It so doesn’t make sense that he can be married to Sofia, because, well, he’s as camp as a row of pink tents.
‘I told you we had a tiff, Franny.’ Sofia pouts. ‘Remember, I said he must reap what he sows.’ Her eyes flick angrily over my dress.
‘Sofia, the where our Kais sows his seeds is no business but his own.’ He further chuckles at his play on words. ‘Come along now. Let us leave them to their own blossoming.’ Seriously, what’s with the horticultural references, especially as no one seems to be addressing the ho? ‘Forgive me, my friends,’ Francois adds, fingers at the crook of her arm. ‘Please enjoy your evening.’
He leads his slut of a wife and her venomous looks away.
As Kai’s arm winds my waist, my body is stiff. Without looking at him, I have one whispered word.
‘Really?’
‘I didn’t know she would be here. Françoise said she was in Europe this week.’
‘And a husband? Seriously?’
‘He’s genuinely nice. And bisexual, though he seems to have a preference for men.’
My head turns. Nothing else, just my head, though my stomach plummets south. ‘Our Kais?’
He gives a bark of a laugh, then, with one eyebrow raised says, ‘Doesn’t. Prefer men, I mean. I may have somewhat esoteric tastes . . . but, no. Not that way inclined.’
‘What are we doing here, Kai? That guy is her husband and you’ve been screwing his wife. How—where does the civility come from?’
‘Did he look surprised to you? Theirs is an open marriage. He knows and doesn’t— didn’t mind.’
‘But when you said you’d been kicked out of bed, caught, by a husband before—’
‘Long ago and not in this instance. Francois would probably just have climbed in behind me, given half the chance.’ The corner of his mouth twists briefly. ‘No one can presume to understand what goes on inside any marriage, especially theirs, habibti. Not you. Not I.’
Far out. More strange examples of marriage, far beyond the realms of my experience and understanding. Hala’s arranged marriage, Kai’s parents’ strange union and now this; a marriage of convenience, of perversity? Whatever, not a marriage in the way it’s intended to be: two people, bound together by love and respect.
‘If I’d known she was here, we wouldn’t be. As to why we’re here, this show is something you won’t see in Dubai, ever. I thought it’d be fun.’ His shoulders lift and fall in a gesture of futility before his hand reaches to cup my cheek. ‘Françoise had the whole thing flown in from Europe for one night—cast, fittings, everything.’ He glances behind him to the bondage-acrobat redhead before turning back with a shrug. ‘He’s a little extravagant. I thought it would be fun. We can leave. It’s up to you.’ Leave because Sofia’s here, give her the satisfaction? Scurry away? No freakin’ chance. ‘Dubai is a small place, I’m afraid.’
His words echo the thoughts that must be playing across my face. If I want to be with him, I’m going to need to be prepared to run into women he’s shagged, unfortunately.
‘No, let’s stay,’ I say with as much conviction as I can. ‘Let’s see what the evening brings.’ Though I feel a bisexual billionaire and his some-time-slut-of-Kai-wife is plenty strange enough.
So I mentally prepare myself for some sort of cabaret, and an evening in the company of Kai, and those of the city’s beau monde he may have fucked. Unsettled doesn’t even cover it as I allow Kai to lead me beyond the velvet ropes cordoning off the stairs. We make our way up the rather grand central staircase and with each step I remind myself Kai is here with me.
At what appears to be mezzanine level, we pass a David Guetta lookalike working up a sweat over a set of decks. A lookalike, surely, though the music is pretty awesome. It’s smaller upstairs, more intimate, heavy on gilt accented mirrors and very rococo. And quieter away from the music. Closed doorways lead off to other rooms as we’re seated at a table in front of a small stage. The waitress, wearing not much more than a few feathers and some strategically draped ropes, takes Kai’s order for some kind of vintage champagne, the bottle of Dom Perignon arriving as the lights dim further, giving the stage a va
gue, hazy sort of edge.
‘It’s a bit Moulin Rouge, isn’t it?’ I whisper as a spotlight swings across the stage.
‘Have you been?’ Kai asks, surprised.
I shake my head. ‘I meant the movie. Or even the song, you know?’
A half smile sits on his mouth. I instantly wonder what it would take to make it blossom fully as he answers cryptically. ‘I think even the show in Paris would be tame in comparison, if Françoise’s previous endeavours are anything to go by. A theatre of the senses, he said.’ And just like that, his smile doubles, sort of sinfully.
‘This isn’t a sex show is it?’ My head flicks to the closed doors around the room. ‘People aren’t going to start chucking keys in bowls or slinking off in three’s, are they?’
‘You’re incredibly entertaining, but a little bit mad,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘No, not a sex show. Or an elaborate ruse to hide a swinger’s gathering.’
‘I should imagine not, not in Dubai at any rate.’ All of a sudden, I sound like my mum. I feel like I should maybe have a cardi to wrap around my prim frame, one with a pocket for my embroidered hanky. ‘Stuff like that wouldn’t happen in a country like this.’
‘No?’
‘What, you mean . . .’
‘Of course.’ His hand flips in an elegant motion. ‘Dungeons and dominants, they’re even advertised on the net.’ Laughing now, he leans forward, taking my hand. ‘Like-minded people will always find each other, Kate. Parties and munches, just . . . discrete.’
I open my mouth to ask what the hell that is—sexy times with an accompanying buffet?—when a spotlight sweeps the stage, a familiar voice floating through the air as a Lady Gaga track begins to play. The spotlight lands on a statuesque blonde—corset, garters, stockings and high, high heels—and as the light widens, it reveals a black leather riding crop held down by her side, and in the other hand, the handle of a leash wrapped around her wrist. As the light continues to extend, it does so to include a man by her side. Crouched on all fours. Her leash is attached to a leather collar fitted around his neck; tiny black shorts are the only other item covering him.
I close my mouth, pretty sure my eyes must be popping out of my head as the lyrics of Teeth fills the room and the raunchiest dance—display?—I’ve ever seen begins. I sense, rather than see, Kai’s gaze settled on my face, disconcerting me for the duration of the show. It’s unnerving and all kinds of sexy, both the show and his watching me. Watching me watching them is sort of voyeuristic and sends my mind into a spin.
By the end of the song, the collared man is panting and kind of blissed out, or at least a good actor, covered in lipstick and bite marks.
My eyes meet Kai’s at this point, his glittering gaze full of knowledge of my enjoyment, of the parallels drawn, the rest of his expression giving nothing away. I feel like I need a string of pearls to clutch, or at least a fan to break out. Something else to focus on beyond my hot face. In the place of these items, I reach for my glass and slide him a shaky sort of smile. More than the show, the knowledge of Kai watching my every reaction, knowing without even touching me he’s whipped me into some kind of internal frenzy, well, it makes me dizzy. And determined to keep my acknowledgment of this inside.
As I place my glass back, the lights rise once more.
The same blonde stands centre stage, this time with a couple of female dancers—pasties, tiny knickers and masks—as a remix of ‘I Kissed a Girl’ begins to play. If the last show was raunchy, this one is downright explicit. I’m pretty sure it’d make Katy Perry blush. Girl on girl action? From where I’m sitting, and I’m sitting bloody close, it could be the real thing. More pearl-clutching, knicker-dampening, brow perspiring moments.
Near the end of the song, the blonde moves from the stage, balancing herself across one patron’s knees, brushing seductively against another. My heart pounds as she strokes her hand across my face in passing. Her attention is purely for women, the men in attendance don’t even get a second look.
Back on the stage for the climax of the song, she turns her back to us, wiggling out of her knickers, kicking them to the side with one foot. Turning around to an intake of breath from the crowd, between her toned and bronzed Amazonian legs she grasps a pretty impressive cock. Real, not plastic. Manscaped. Waxed. Or something. Definitely semi-hard. Or pumped, maybe? I heard male strippers do that sometimes. Inflate. Whatever, she has boobs and . . . you know the rest.
From there, things head into kinky town on the direct line. I see strange things. A man with boobs and a dick. Champagne . . . ejaculated. Enough said.
‘Talk about broadening your horizons,’ I say, giggling as we leave. Kai slides his hands into his pockets, my own threaded through the crook of his elbow. I want to be close to him, sure, and I feel a little tipsy, but also right now I want in his pants. I want to know if tonight has had the same effect on him. Him watching me, watching them, thinking of him . . . God, that’s confusing.
His only response is a vague murmur, until under the canopy of green, he kisses me. ‘Impressed were you?’
‘Well, it was pretty large,’ I reply through my giggling.
‘You know what they say,’ he purrs, pulling me into his hips, ‘a big cock—’
‘Brings the risk of a kidney infection.’
Electing to ignore my idiocy, he grabs my hand. ‘I have little interest in conversation regarding any cock other than my own.’
‘What have you got to say about yours, then? Your . . . cock?’
His eyes flair. It could be my use of the word or my fingers trailing the front of his pants. Releasing a breath in almost a hiss, he grabs my wrists, his hips pushing into me a touch.
‘That I have an urgent need to sink it into you.’
‘Let’s see what we can do about that.’ Kissing and grabbing each other like teenagers desperate to get laid, we weave our way towards the boat.
A muffled beat pounds from the dock, parties seem to have spilled onto several boats. More worryingly, a party has spilled onto Kai’s boat.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Kai grabs the arm of a crew member as he passes with a tray. He shrugs in response and murmurs something about the captain. Kai’s face hardens and we begin to make our way through the crowd on the lower deck.
‘Why would the captain allow this? You didn’t say it was okay, did you?’ I pull on his arm until he faces me, one hand grasping the back of his neck.
‘He’s not to blame. I’ve . . . allowed this before. A few times.’
‘But how—’
‘Kai, baby!’ A tiny strawberry blonde weaves her way into his arms, a bottle of Belvedere dangling from one bangle-rattling hand. She uses her other to stroke his face. ‘Sofia’s here. Feel like finishing what we started last time?’
Kai sets her back, his hands curled around her shoulders. ‘Where is she, do you know?’
‘On the top deck . . .’ The tiny red-blonde looks confused and thankfully, rebuffed.
‘Wait, I’ll be back very soon.’ My stomach twists painfully but without giving me a chance to object—or ask what the fuck?—he kisses my cheek and moves deeper into the crowd.
‘How sweet, is he looking for me?’ Sofia appears by my side as Kai vanishes into the crowd, and if she doesn’t look like the cat that ate the canary, then I don’t know what does. I hope its skinny bones frickin’ choke her. ‘Didn’t he tell you about our after parties? So wild!’ she adds loudly, sinuous arms waving above her head. People around us cheer in agreement as the music’s beat pulses into the soles of my feet.
‘And, look, there’s Essam.’ A dark painted nail points to one of the sofas and sure enough, Essam’s long frame, so similar to Kai’s, lounges across the seating, a girl pressed tightly to each side. He raises his glass over the distance as Sofia adds, ‘I think you did him a favour, no?’
I feel quite sick at the spectacle. He’s a douche who doesn’t deserve a wife’s love, let alone the love of a child.
‘You’re just on
e of many who have passed through Kai’s bed. Just a moment’s fancy,’ she taunts. ‘Gone like that.’ She clicks her fingers inches from my face. ‘We will go back to as before once he tires of you. And make no mistake, he will.’
‘I don’t give a fuck what used to be,’ I respond. ‘Come to that, I don’t care for has-beens, either.’ My retort sounds quite cool, despite the heat of the blood pumping through my head. Unfortunately, my words don’t achieve the required response—I want her to leave me alone—instead, she leans closer to whisper in my ear.
‘You are just one of many, habibti, and when he took you to his bed, it was still warm from my body.’ I almost stagger back, needing to escape her words, treading on the foot of someone behind. ‘And when he marries, I will still be there. With him. For him. In his bed.’
‘Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you?’ My words are like ash in my mouth, her eyes flashing with triumph.
‘Ah, you don’t know!’
A hand clamps my elbow as Kai reaches my side. A torrent of angry words, a mixture of Arabic and French, seem to make her shrink before my eyes, but all I can think is, marriage? He’s not about to propose. My face is hot and I feel like my legs will give way as, with his last hurled words, he turns me bodily, making a rough path out through the crowd and pulling me behind him.
Outside and back on the jetty, I’m helped into a much smaller boat, situated between the Layla and a neighbouring vessel. Kai slips out of his jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders as a crew member throws him a set of keys. All this happens without words spoken between us. I can’t speak, and it looks like he doesn’t want to, as thoughts crowd my head. He takes the wheel and the boat whirs in response, any chance for questions dying in the noise.
I cling to the metal bar in front, wind whipping through my hair and sea spraying my face as the vessel powers through the water. Kai’s strong silhouette is highlighted by the moon, feet planted wide, rigid backed.
