Bright Fires Burn Fastest Page 7

  He had been on two dates. Funnily enough with women from the gym, bored housewives or ones pretending not to be.

  “So, what else do you do apart from work out?”

  David had stalled. Fuck. What else did he do?

  After chat about origins, motivations and ex-flames, all of which David had to make up, it got to that stage which is referred to in the movies as ‘coming back to mine for coffee’.

  David, unlearnt in the art of flirting made the first move.

  “So…”, he said.

  Marcia looked back at him. She was pretty, very pretty compared to what David would have taken three months prior. Tits, teeth and cheeks had definitely been done, there was slight scarring behind her ears and on her cleavage, which showed more than an encore. This wasn’t enough though. In the past even this sight alone would have been enough to send him raging with desire to a dark corner with a magazine. Now, only blank. He seemed to have lost his desire, lost his drive.

  Marcia looked blankly at David.

  David panicked. “So….”, he said again.

  “So….what?” Marcia asked.

  David said nothing but reached around her back with his hand. As his hand went round her shoulder his watchstrap got caught in her hair. She squealed and he wrenched his hand back taking a chunk of bleached hair and the picture off the wall with it. A smash filled the restaurant.

  “What the fuck David?” Marcia had spat.

  The entire restaurant looked up at their table, David still clutching the hair in his hand. He retched.

  Marcia at first thought she must be mistaken. Then she begin to giggle.

  “Warackk” David retched again.

  Then she openly laughed, got up and fucked off.

  That night David had gotten home and done six hundred sit ups and partially torn an upper deltoid. He had also gone to work on himself with a pen finding it fascinating that the mark of blue ink left was soon replaced by red. Claret red.

  For lunch after the workout Pe-ter had chosen a place called La Pizzica on the Fulham Road. They specialized in Montepeluciano red wine, meat boards and abrasive service. When they walked in there was only a grunt to indicate they had been firstly noticed and secondly allowed to sit.

  “One of my favorites”, the Adonis Pe-ter said, gently touching David’s arm.

  “Good”, David said, his eyes whipping over the counter to calculate calories mentally and see what would provide the perfect blend of lowest possible calorific intake and embarrassment if he only ordered a green salad.

  The waiter arrived. “And?”

  His dark skin, eyes and hair made David angry. No manners, and he was fat.

  Pe-ter did the initial order, “Allesandro my friend. For me the meat board, only the lean cuts as always. No cheese and the bread without butter. David?”

  David was still deciding and he felt a cold sweat all over. He bit the inside of his lip tasting blood and dug his nails into his palms.

  “David?” Pe-ter prodded.

  “Fine, Fucking fine, I’ll have the same”.

  Pe-ter looked taken aback. “Hey man, what the hell?”

  Allesandro, Pe-ter’s ‘best friend’ it seemed, laughed. Why the fuck were people always laughing at him, David thought.

  “Now David”, Pe-ter said licking at a piece of meat in the corner of his mouth. “We need to have a chat”.

  David’s baleful eyes looked up to his hero, he knew he had failed him. He had gone too far. Too far indeed.

  “It’s pretty serious”, Pe-ter reaffirmed.

  David was about to be caught. Someone had noticed at last. The relief of the obvious truth was palatable.

  “You are member of the month,” Pe-ter said bowing his head and squeezing David’s hand with his own like a camp fatherly lion.

  David felt a wash of relief, a burst of excitement but most of all disappointment. He thought he was about to confess. Perhaps he had wanted to. But just like that the moment was gone as Pe-ter stood and hugged him.

  Self-congratulation filled him. He had done it. And then he cried. Cried into the chest of the only man to show him the true path. The path to perfection.

  *

  “Fuck”.

  April kicked the bottom of the ATM with her converse. Account Balance; ‘£431.54’, Available balance ‘£0.00’.

  Food could wait, as could clothes and possibly even a drink. Not a cigarette though. Her last two she had, as always, smoked within half an hour of each other despite knowing that this would, ultimately, lead her to having none.

  However, at that time she was still wrapped up in the supposedly protective blanked of credit.

  The woman behind her in the line squeaked, “Are you finished?”

  April spun, her cheeks flushed in a mixture of shame and anger. This woman was wearing cheap brown knee length boots, a faux fur lined jacket and a fucking brooch with a picture of her children in the eyelet.

  “Clearly”, April said and walked away catching the woman’s shoulder with her own handbag.

  It took three goes of asking until someone actually gave her a cigarette. The first two said they didn’t have any despite April seeing them put their cigarettes away hurriedly when she approached them.

  The third man, she had only approached men, was about thirty-five. It was cold for January and April needed the cigarette for warmth as well as addiction.

  “Sorry to bother you”, she said, trying to flutter her eyelids, lick her lips and push her boobs out simultaneously.

  The man was average looking, wearing a suit as most people who looked so average always did.

  “Do you happen to have a cigarette?”

  The man’s eyes widened in gratification as he took her in. Her legs, her ass and that mouth. Not only did he have a commodity she needed but he being a smoker too meant they had something in common.

  April waited and in those seconds realized just how fucked she was without any money. Rent was due in a week. She could easily ask her parents or her brother for a loan but pride was stronger than any other sin in her body. She owed the barman at the London Cocktail Club a hundred quid for last Friday too. The slimy prick had asked if he could see her boobs in exchange for the bill. Not only was he ugly but asking to see someone’s boobs? She would have been more likely to give him a handjob or a hummer, she wasn’t twelve.

  Despite rent and a bar bill though she needed money for another thing. Tonight. She wanted to get drunk, and probably high too as both went hand in hand. However, right now she was asking this strange man still leering at her for a fag. Desperate times.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  April looked at the man, “Depends on whether you are gonna give me a fag now?”

  “Right”, this fornicating baboon squirmed.

  “Well?” April pushed.

  Clumsily and shaking he handed it over and took a good few strikes to illuminate his awfully tacky Zippo lighter.

  April inhaled and blew the smoke right into his face.

  “Look, I know this seems really odd. But could I maybe take you for a drink?”

  April almost laughed at his pedaling. But she didn’t. Instead she only saw Stirling. Neatly stacked bills all in a line and all for the spending.

  The rent, the bill, the booze and probably most of it free before she snuck off, picked up a couple of tickets and onwards.

  “How much?” April said coolly.

  If the man had been clumsy before he became retarded. Hands went in pockets then out. Eyes looked to the left then to April’s tits, then right, then her crotch. He felt his wallet. He almost felt his prick but didn’t.

  “Well…well” he began.

  “Look”, April began, biting back a hint of shame but thinking of the greater good.

  “I don’t have much time. I am on my way to meet someone else who is a regular. And lets get this straight from the fucking start. I drink with you, I sit next to you. I flirt with you and yes, you can introduce me as your ‘bird�
�� if you wish. But, one hint of wandering hands, one moment I feel trapped I get out.”

  The man went red, then white. His lips jabbered, “Yes”.

  “Good” April said and flicked the cigarette onto the windscreen of a parked car watching it singe the windscreen wiper.

  “H…H..Ho..How much?”

  Interesting April thought, she hadn’t considered. “Well, usually I am £250 an hour but seeing as you were so kind and gave me a cigarette I can do £200.” April let her hand pause a moment on her neck and craned her head inquisitively, looking up at him. Now the games began.

  “Of…of course”, the man said too quickly.

  Fuck, April thought, she should have asked for more.

  “Ok” she said, “Well seeing as we are now ‘on the clock’ where are you going to take me?”

  The man quickly hailed a taxi and for the first time she looked at his profile. It could be worse. A brief moment of doubt flittered into her head but the taxi pulled up and doubt was gone.

  The only real problem so far was that April thought she recognized someone in the bar they went to. Milk and Honey was the now typically pretentious cocktail bar, which was darker than an S&M club.

  Cocktails in April’s opinion were the blending of whatever ingredients you had left in the house and trying to make them taste good. Usually with enough lime juice and sugar this was possible. Recently though with the inclusion of things in drinks like ‘Alaskan Blueberries’ and hay, as in hay that horses eat, it had gotten ridiculous.

  Recently one guy with a preposterous goatee and pirate bandana who called himself ‘Stek’ had actually introduced himself as a ‘mixologist’. Was he not just a bartender? April said that term made him sound like someone with gender confusion and he had walked away.

  April’s man, she being now officially an escort, was awkward at first. This was no surprise considering he had probably been expecting a Sainsbury’s value salad at his desk, spreadsheets and maybe a wank in the disabled bogs late afternoon thinking of his secretary.

  Now however he was shelling out £16.00 a drink to a stranger who wasn’t actually an escort but a pretty girl with no money, not that he knew that. They had begun in almost silence with April leading him into answers.

  “So what do you do?” Dutiful question April had thought.

  “Oh this and that, investment”.

  “You married?”

  The man who at one point in his day probably thought he was ‘cool’ was now definitely not. He coughed on his drink, bent forward and the straw almost went up his nose. April, quick like the snake grabbed his crotch at this exact moment through his trousers.

  “Aaarggh”, he screamed and leapt up releasing the £16.00 drink, well £15.00 worth of it onto the floor.

  April squinted her eyes and bit her lip to stop herself laughing but it was so dark he would never know.

  Whether it was the crotch grab or the fact that it couldn’t possibly get worse he lightened up after that. He was married but not with children. She couldn’t he said. He said it too quickly which April assumed actually meant he was firing blanks.

  He had been to a good school though hated it as he was bullied. Reinvented himself at university only to find he hadn’t quite reinvented enough and people still thought he was a dork. So he had started his own company in some very complicated blend of property. April couldn’t give a shit but at least he was talking. And it could have been so much worse. He hadn’t even tried to touch her yet.

  “Thanks for the cigarette”, April said after perhaps the fourth drink. The first tide of tipsy.

  “Hm?” he said.

  “I just never thanked you. I should have. I can be pretty defensive”.

  “Jesus. You’re telling me!”

  “I know, sorry”.

  “No, don’t be”.

  April looked at this man opposite. The greater sex. The warrior. The hunter. The drip. What had happened to men? He looked at her with pleading eyes waiting for her to lead the conversation, her to make the first move that said, ‘yes, you can put your dick in me’. April would be surprised if this man even put his own cock inside her or just left it waiting by her hoping she would do it for him.

  He was a nice man, a kind man. He had however begun to believe this was a date, not something he had already paid almost £800 quid for.

  “Look…” he began.

  “Don’t” April cut him off. “I know what you’re going to say”.

  “No you don’t”.

  “Yes I do”.

  “Fuck off you do”, he said roughly, first signs that maybe because he fired blanks he also smacked his wife. There was real anger in his voice, and in his eyes. “I’m not going to ask to fuck you, you arrogant bitch” he spat again.

  April’s heckles went up both with anger and fear. “Ok” she said.

  “Sorry” he quickly said, “Its just I haven’t exactly been on my best form and I was hoping I could see you again. “

  “Oh” April said, genuinely and visibly surprised.

  “See? Were not all bad.”

  April laughed and took a sip of her drink, they all were and this was a line used by those who had been too obvious to read on the first few victims. Being wanted though made April think twice, the tables turned.

  “Look, I just want to be a bit more prepared. You really are beautiful and I don’t care if that’s against ‘the rules’. I wanted to tell you, you should know.”

  April laughed a genuine laugh.

  He beamed and kissed the back of her hand. “Excellent. How about Friday?”

  April pretended to think and then said, “Yeah, I can move someone, you’re far more fun”.

  So he stood, paid her £1000 in notes and prepared to leave. Once his coat was on he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek twice and said farewell.

  April watched him go and felt the weight of the money in her pocket. Within five she was on the phone to her dealer and ready to pick up in forty-five minutes back west. Where she would go tonight she didn’t know. She immediately went into a shop and bought not one, but two packets of cigarettes just because now she could.

  Down Mercer Street she strode, the world passing in the black. She got to Leicester Square and turned around, she felt like she was being followed. Nothing was there but a newspaper rolling in the breeze and a Big Issue seller with fingerless gloves asking the air if it would buy one.

  April. Escort girl. Materially rich at least.

  *

  Dicky Denton felt good today. Last night’s event, well, he nailed it. Three hundred people, two marquees, champagne, cocktails and even a hog roast.

  “Yes” was all he said, all he had to say as he took in his complexion in the bathroom mirror. Julie Denton, had insisted on the Farrow & Ball lime green paint to complement the eggshell blue mirror frame. Waste of time but damn it made Dicky look good.

  To those that didn’t know him or hadn’t heard his plummy accent he looked like an all American football player. Built like a bull with a square jaw permanently making love to five ‘o clock shadow.

  Clarins with little alcohol was applied followed by the Afront scent by Aquascutim. The kind of scent that left other men in the lift wondering where they could purchase it.

  Today he had gone for loose fitting chinos from Hackett, a jacket tailored by Willy James in New York and slip on Hush Puppies. He debated about a pink tie but he was power itself, needn’t power dress too much. Besides, a tie would take longer to get off later when he fucked Sarah. He had some surprises in store for her delicate little conscience. He had been teaching her to be a nymph all the time, now for the next stage.

  “Morning baby”, Dicky said to Julie who was at the cooker and before she turned he had a hand inside her blouse.

  “Dicky!” Really she loved it.

  Out of view of the morning grope Dicky’s two boys, James and David were arguing over who should get the Spiderman toy from the cereal. They were Dicky’s boys and would be bigge
r, stronger and better looking.

  “What’s in store today Ju-Ju?”

  “Oh gym, usual. Shopping. Thought we might have a supper all together tonight. Seems like we haven’t in a long time.”

  The thought of Sarah’s big but exquisitely firm breasts pressed against his mouth as he worked the nipple in his teeth popped into his head. It made him stiffen and Julie, the darling, thought it was her so she obligingly pressed back.

  “No can do tonight sugar lump”.

  Julie turned for the first time and Dicky saw she had been crying, again, for fucks sake.

  “What?” Dicky said between a mouthful of toast with light margarine on which he lightly but firmly demanded to be ready for him every morning.

  “Its just. I feel we are slipping apart…”

  Dicky finished his toast, sipped his coffee that was too cold and put his hand on his hip. He looked around the kitchen, then at the kids then back at Julie. “And what part of the perfect family with the perfect life is slipping?”

  Julie looked at her man. He was right she guessed but he never listened. Her mother and father had warned her of that before they were even married. He was her man though and again he had won.

  “No, no, you’re right. Guess its just one of those days. So where will you be later?”

  “Here silly”, Dicky answered without thinking.

  Julie paused, “I thought you said you couldn’t?”

  Dicky froze for what felt like an hour. “Damn Dicky” he said. “Guess I am having one of those days too. I have the launch of a new fragrance event. Late one.”

  Julia stepped in again, “Funny, thought that was last week”.

  “What are you a fucking detective!” Dicky snapped.

  Both James and David began to cry at once and Julia ran over to them.

  “Baby I will see you later”, said Dicky before walking out to face the world. He emailed his secretary to say so. He also sent Sarah a text, ‘Wear the corset I bought you’ was all it said.

  As the engine roared into life and the de-mister got to work he chuckled to himself.