by Yossi Porat
When he got to Covent Garden, Morris drove in a crawl on the west side of Endell Street, lined with expensive boutiques, looking for “Sammy Junior.” Soon he saw him through the window of “Designer Sandwich,” sitting alone, wearing his habitual black-striped jacket and sipping from a tall coffee. Morris stopped his car by the café and waited, pondering his next step. “Sammy Junior” was the son a murdered drug dealer, and carried on his father’s business in a subtle and sophisticated way, keeping his head down and trying not to stand out. He discovered that the best way to survive the mean streets was through a discreet line of cooperation with the police. Sammy had given Morris innumerable leads over the years which led to the arrest and conviction of numerous drug dealers. He also made sure to get arrested himself once in a while so as not to draw suspicion on himself.
Sammy turned to look at the street and saw Morris through the café’s window, signaling him to step out to him. Sammy walked out, looking around for any signs of eyes watching him and leaned over to the driver’s side of the car.
“I didn’t do anything,” he hurried, his eyes suspicious and fearful, in contrast to the policeman’s boyish and innocent face. “I got nothing new for you and I don’t want anybody to see me talking to you.”
Morris signaled him to get in the back seat, and he did, pulling his long legs up to him, and pushing his head down. Morris carefully closed the car window and turned his upper body to face Sammy. “I’m helping a friend of a friend. If you tell anyone, I will personally get rid of you, and you know that many people would thank me for it. I’ve got two big packages of heroin. I need cash for them in an hour – and don’t worry, I know exactly how much they’re worth!”
Sammy replied that he didn’t want any trouble. For all he knew, Morris was taping him, setting him up. His voice was whiny and childish. Morris cut him off angrily, “Stop being paranoid! If I wanted to take you down, I could have done it a long time ago.” Sammy opened his cell-phone, dialed a number and said in a forceful voice unknown to Morris, “I’ll be there in five minutes. Two packages, cash. I’m responsible. Three hundred thousand pounds.”
Sammy got out of the car, went back to the café, left a note on the table, and then returned quickly to the car. He told Morris which way to go and after two turns said, “Stop. Wait for me here. I’ll be right back.” He returned after three minutes, got in the car, and gave Morris the bundle of notes. Morris opened his briefcase, took out the two packages of the drug, gave them to Sammy and remarked drily, “Remember what I said. Watch your mouth, always.”
“You remember too,” Sammy retorted, “and don’t forget to take good care of me in the future.”
Sammy left the car without looking at Morris, his tall figure disappearing quickly into the crowd. Morris drove in the direction of Finsbury Circus, to a branch of the Bank of Tokyo-Mitsubishi.
He easily found parking by the bank, wondering how there was less crowding here than at the police parking lot. He walked purposefully to the bank, feeling small against the wide, high entrance to the bank. He was swallowed inside, almost invisible. The main hall of the bank reminded him of Gothic churches that he had visited with Anne and of the admiration both of them felt for the anonymous architect. Asking the guard, he was directed to the safe deposit area on the fourth floor below street level. When the elegant elevator arrived, he entered, feeling the soft, thick rug under his feet. He noticed the original watercolors on the walls of the elevator, depicting lovely country scenes. A smiling, pleasant-faced woman in her fifties greeted him as he left the elevator. Her blue business suit and well-kept hair reminded him of his aunt Carmella,
who had taken care of him when his parents were away.
“Box number, please?” she asked with a smile.
“PT357SR,” he answered clearly, looking straight into her eyes, causing the woman to look away quickly so as not to invade his privacy. The nice woman walked in front of him, leading him to a wall of boxes. She indicated the correct box, tapped in the numbers he had given her, and asked “Will you manage from here, Mr. ...?”
Morris smiled but did not reply and the lovely lady turned and walked away.
Morris looked at the box and typed in the numbers, as if he were bewitched. He turned the small metal handle and opened the empty box. He removed the package of bills from his briefcase, but as he was closing the box, he suddenly stopped. There was an annoying hum in his head, as he again opened the box, took out a handful of bills from the pile, and closed the box again. Putting the money in his pocket, he began to walk to the elevator. The woman smiled and nodded good-bye. Morris smiled to himself, very satisfied. When he was back in his car, he felt relaxed, though he still had that warm feeling in his neck.
Morris started the car slowly, going towards the intersection of New Bond and Molton Streets, where the fashionable women’s clothing store Fenwick’s was located. At the main streets Oxford and Bond, Morris looked out his window at the many fashionably-dressed women passing by. “I wonder what Anne will say when I bring her all kinds of lovely things. Even though she’s very successful professionally, she’s so modest.” As he entered the store, the scent of jasmine and mint wafted to his nostrils. He quickly noticed that he was the only man in the department.
As he continued to the center of the store, he noticed a beautiful girl with an attractive figure. Morris could not take his eyes from her. His blood was racing like a teenage boy’s, his skin was electrified. Her long swan-like neck was
covered by luxurious black hair. Her face was smooth and perfect. The strange heat in his head and neck began to bother him again. Confused, he
tried to rid himself of the feeling. Suddenly he realized that he must speak to this woman, who was making her way out of the store. His legs carried him after her; when he caught up with her he looked at her and smiled.
Chapter Four
Deborah put the bills into her handbag and left her office, giving instructions to her secretary for the next day. When she left the building she hailed a white cab, with a poster for “Chicago” on its door. The driver let her off at the junction of New Bond and South Molton Streets, and she walked quickly toward the exclusive shoe store “Rayne’s,” which provided shoes for the royal family, as well as for Versace, Gucci, Hermes and Chanel. Humming a Beatles song to herself, she felt free and easy, ready to totally indulge herself.
After visiting quite a few stores on the way to the shoe store, spending extravagantly, she found herself at the corner of South Molton and New Bond Streets, in front of the main display window of Fenwick’s. She entered with anticipation, knowing she would find everything she could possibly desire.
The young salesgirl approached and asked how she might help her, all the while staring enviously at Deborah’s beautiful figure and legs. Deborah asked to look at lingerie, soft and sexy.
“Lovely,” smiled the salesgirl. “We have some fine items on sale. Two for the price of one. Please follow me.” Deborah found herself staring at dozens of pieces, being picked over by crowds of women. She picked some up, but realized that this was not the level of quality that she was looking for. She wrinkled her face in disgust, and told the salesgirl that she saw nothing here worth looking at. Deborah started for the exit.
“Of course, if there is no question of price, I have many special, expensive pieces that I could show you,” the salesgirl hurried after her. “Well, all right, as long as I’m here,” Deborah replied, feeling how the presence of an unlimited budget had given her power.
The salesgirl led Deborah to the far end of the store, opened a hidden door and showed Deborah into a land of dreams. “Allow me to present something that I think will be perfect for you,” she said, with shining eyes. Opening a pink
drawer, she removed a set of pale lilac silk underwear. Deborah felt the smooth texture and smelled the faint scent of flowers. As she turned to the dressing room, she pictured herself pleasuring Raphael with only this on her body. She posed in the mirror, seeing herself in
the sheer underpants, so sheer they were practically invisible. The string of the thong in fact disappeared into her lovely derriere. Deborah put her head around the curtain and asked pleasantly, “Could I see this in white and in red as well, please? And do you have very short camisoles in matching silk?”
The salesgirl handed Deborah what she had asked for, and Deborah greatly enjoyed the feeling of the silk against her skin. She again pictured her director and the pleasure he would take from her and give to her in return.
“I’ll take it all,” she said, leaving her new underwear on under her blouse and skirt. She emerged from the dressing room with her other purchases, handing them to the salesclerk. The girl led Deborah to the VIP counter, where no lines ever disturbed the important customers.
“That will be three hundred pounds, please. Would you like to join our exclusive client’s club, Mrs. ...?”
“No, thank you,” Deborah smiled. And my name is Deborah.” She took out her wallet, removed four 100-pound notes, thanked the clerk and instructed her to keep the change for herself. She started slowly for the exit as the clerk tried to hand the change, but Deborah just waved a hand in dismissal, leaving the girl completely shocked.
“Excuse me,” she heard a polite voice by her side. “Could you please help me?”
Deborah turned toward the pleasant voice. She saw a tall, good-looking man in his forties standing next to her. Her eyes dilated in curiosity and surprise.
“I’m trying to buy my wife some special presents, and I have no idea what I’m looking for! I think she’s exactly your size.”
“And your budget?” Deborah inquired, trying to remain calm while focusing on his alluring eyes and ignoring his attractive figure.
“Unlimited,” he smiled, his eyes searching her face and body, trying not to show his desire.
Deborah turned back, made a sign to the salesgirl and requested, “Please try to help this gentleman find something. Maybe he would be interested in something along the lines of my purchase?”
“Of course,” the clerk replied, gratitude in her warm eyes, as Morris nodded his head in agreement.
Deborah gave a parting wave, let out “See you later,” and left the store in her perfect, elegant stride. She felt the man’s stare, and excited, she put a hand through her hair. “Why did I say that I would see him later? Why didn’t I just say good-bye?” She forced herself not to turn around or show any sign of distress. Morris, meanwhile, was enchanted; he felt bewitched as a boy in a dream.
Morris continued to discuss his purchases with the salesclerk, while occasionally glancing up to watch Deborah’s retreat from the store. He noticed that the salesgirl’s eyes were shining brightly.
“Nice woman,” he remarked, and the clerk nodded in agreement. “What’s her name?”
“Deborah. She left me a very generous tip,” the salesgirl answered, hoping for the same gesture from this gentleman.
Deborah was on the sidewalk, noticed the elegant shoe store Rayne’s, and
found herself entering.
“I would like a pair of black pumps, size seven and a half, with very high heels, in your most expensive leather,” she commanded the young boy at the counter, with her chin held high. The young man, his lips shining with red lipstick, two sparkling gold hoops in his left ear, hurried to bring the elegant customer his latest model, sporting five-inch heels and a long pointed toe. “I’m sure these are just what you’re looking for, madam, and they will look stunning on your gorgeous feet,” he chirped. Deborah gave him a dismissive glance, and tried on the shoes. They fitted her perfectly and she flaunted them around the store. She paid the clerk two-hundred pounds, leaving a tip of thirty more pounds and left with a glance at her watch.
“It’s only twenty minutes past twelve,” she noticed. “Enough time to buy some jewelry.”
She waved for a cab and stepped in. The driver took a long glance up and down her body and came back to her commanding eyes. “Take me to Stephen Einhorn at Islington Park,” she instructed the driver. In ten minutes she was in the store. “I would like to see a set of twenty-four carat gold with inlaid black pearls: a ring, earrings, a necklace and a bracelet.” The clerk opened the glass counter and spread before her the astounding set. She did not blink, but just asked imperiously if the pearls were natural or cultured.
The clerk, young and handsome, his spiky hair shiny with product, helped her bedeck herself with the jewelry, praised her effusively and asked hesitantly if price were any concern. Deborah just smiled.
The clerk added up the bill. “The regular price would be four thousand, eight hundred pounds, but for you, madam, a woman so beautiful, the price is one thousand pounds less.”
Deborah asked to see a man’s wristwatch and quickly acquired a Romanson titanium with a black snakeskin band. She opened her bag with an indifferent
air, and asked the clerk without a glance at him for the price. “Four thousand three-hundred and fifty,” he answered. Deborah casually counted out the 100-
pound bills and handed them to the proud salesclerk. She stuffed her old jewelry into her handbag along with the box with the new watch and thanked him politely. The enthusiastic clerk handed her a flask of Paloma Picasso perfume as a gift, raking her with his eyes, and invited her to return soon. Deborah left the store, pleased to feel so young and lucky.
Glancing at her watch, she saw she had only twenty minutes until her rendezvous. She hurried to catch a taxi, ordering the driver to reach the Strand Palace Hotel as quickly as possible, revealing a little cleavage to help persuade him. On the way she opened her wallet and noticed that the roll of bills did not show any noticeable depletion. With five minutes to spare, she went through the glass revolving door of the hotel, entered the elevator and pressed the seventh-floor button. Leaving the elevator, she found herself knocking on the door of the suite. There was no sound from inside.
She turned the door handle hesitantly, slightly embarrassed. She found herself in an enormous, elegant room, slightly darkened, hundreds of scented candles burning. In the center, inside the blue-tinted Jacuzzi, covered in soap bubbles, lazed Raphael, his muscled chest visible above the foam. Next to the Jacuzzi, a bucket of chilled champagne awaited. In the background she could hear the muted sounds of music, a slow jazzy piece, making her move rhythmically. The squares of Rothschild chocolate, each one individually wrapped, made her breath slow. She felt her body with pleasure; she was free, uninhibited, and ready for any adventure.
Raphael smiled at her. “The white roses are a present from the management. The red are from me.” Deborah blushed and surveyed the room. She discovered the two white roses hidden in a bouquet of red, and smiled.
Entering the bathroom, she quickly removed all her clothes, rinsed herself in the warm water and dried herself with the large bath towel. Drops of water glittered on her body like pearls as she slipped into her silk lilac underwear,
perfumed herself with the Paloma Picasso scent, and slid the sheer camisole
over her body. She left the room wearing her black high-heeled pumps. Feeling slightly embarrassed, she stood motionless as Raphael swept his eyes over her.
“You’re amazing,” he breathed. Deborah felt a wave of excitement pass over her and felt she would do anything and everything for him. Raphael, as if reading her mind, knew that she would obey any of his orders, and he knew he would use this to his ultimate advantage.
He leaned back in the Jacuzzi, holding the champagne bottle in both hands, and popped the cork. The loud noise startled her as she ran towards him, picking up two crystal glasses from the nearby table, and noticing with disappointment how Raphael nude looked much older than when he was clothed. They clinked their glasses and slowly sipped their champagne. The delicate taste of the cold champagne excited her and tickled her tongue and palate like icicle fingers. She suddenly remembered a recent romantic week-end getaway with Lance. The thought gave her pangs of conscience and she wondered what she was doing here in this hotel with another ma
n. Deborah lowered herself to Raphael, kissing him deeply, lightly biting his lips.
“Thank you, darling,” purred Raphael. “You are fantastic, as usual.” Glancing with his penetrating eyes at her private parts, he exuded pure pleasure.
“I feel like modeling for you. I want to do everything I can for you – no limits,” she breathed with ecstasy, feeling she was in a special, magical place where nothing could harm her. There were no prohibitions, no rules. She rose up on her toes, massaging his head. “Is this good, my love?” she asked. He leaned back in expectation, excited, aroused, his tongue moistening his lips in anticipation.
Deborah took three steps back and began to wiggle her hips provocatively, sending out waves of unbridled sensuality. She waved her long fingers, reminding Raphael of a practiced Indian dancer. She danced to the rhythm of
