Breaking Joseph (26 page)

“You were only
telling me last night that I was going to get fat.”

“Everyone gets
lardy when they’re coupled up. It’s like Mother Nature saying
quick, pretend you’re pregnant! He can’t leave then!”

I cocked an
eyebrow. “Even for men?”

“Beer bellies
are a symbol of status.” He paused to tear off a mouthful. “Man is
saying,
I am repulsive, but she still wants me. That is how
awesome my cock is
.”

I gave him a
tearstained smile. “I’ve missed your little theories.”

“I should write
a book.” He looked half-serious. “In fact, that’s what you should
do. Make some money.”

I snorted.

“It’d be
fabulous.
Lei-Lei Vaughn: Whore Today, Gone Tomorrow.
”

“You know, I
think I might give that one a miss.” I nibbled at the pizza and set
it down mournfully. “Can I have that pity fuck now, please?”

“No.” He
laughed. “You can’t.”

We watched an
awful romantic comedy and Aidan told me all about his Rent
auditions. He worried about the amount of time it would take up–it
left little room for the night job–but his excitement was
infectious. Envy seeped in–his career was only just beginning, and
mine looked to be on its way out.

It was getting
light outside when he took me to bed.

I watched him
slither out of his clothes. He had the grace of someone far smaller
and lighter, and he folded everything into a neat pile on my
stuffed chair. My shirt and skirt lay screwed up on the rug in a
fitting comparison.

“Stop looking
me like that. I’m not…vulnerable,” I sulked.

“Yes, you are.”
Lying beside me, his skin felt cool on mine. “It’s quite sweet,
actually.”

I emerged from
beneath the duvet to grab a t-shirt, and his sharp intake of breath
made me wince.

“What’s he done
to you now?” Aidan ranted. “What next, a cattle brand?”

Fuck. My hand
flew back to where the lash had dragged leathery tongues. Then I
pulled the t-shirt over my head and hid it safely away.

“I wish you’d
stop treating me like some sort of abuse victim,” I muttered.

“I think you’ll
find that’s what you are.”

“Somebody else
might be. In the same circumstances. But he only did what I
wanted.” In the near dark, I rolled over and looked him square in
the eye. “If he’s so horrible, then why did I feel so good with
him? I didn’t have to
try
–” My voice cracked. “Don’t think I
never noticed, the weird things I like. But that’s part of it all.
He liked them too.”

“Liked what,
roughing you up?”

“And that’s
bad, is it? If we both want it?”

“No. I get
that.” He sighed. “Give me some credit, like. But he’s made
you–shit–”

“All he made me
do was be honest–about myself, about everything. I didn’t even like
him to begin with, Aid. But I do, now. I…I love him.”

Aidan cringed
at me. “Really?”

“Yes.” I
swallowed a chunk of air. “I don’t mean that being honest about
things makes them all okay. I know it doesn’t. But he gets me, Aid.
I feel like he understands.”

“Look. I know
how it feels when you do what we do, and people are funny about it.
I’m sure it’s ten times worse for girls. But just because he was
okay with the whoring is no good reason to love him, Leila.”

Christ, he used
my real name. “That’s not what happened.”

“Are you sure?
Because that’s what it sounds like.”

He made a fuss
of rearranging his pillows while I wracked my brains for a response
that wasn’t
fuck you
. I needed conviction on this. Anything
else did Joseph an awful disservice.

“You remember
what I said,” he went on, “in New York. Guys like him don’t love
anyone.”

“All you know
about him, you’ve heard secondhand from Matt, and he’s hardly
unbiased.”

“To be fair
though, he’s been a complete arsehole to Mattman.” He glanced at me
as I settled at his shoulder. “How do you explain that?”

“He admitted as
much. And he’s trying to be better.” Or was trying. For me.

He whistled
absently. “Leopards and spots, Lei-Lei. Leopards and spots.”

“Don’t be such
a pessimist! Haven’t you ever been in love?” I propped myself up on
a hand. In the shadows, I couldn’t tell whether he looked sarcastic
or just sad, but something within me softened as his mouth twisted
at the words.

“Of course I
have.”

“Go on then.
Your turn to spill.”

“What? What do
you want to know?”

“A he or a
she?”

“A she,” he
said quietly. “Long time ago, now.”

I bit my lip.
“What happened, then?” I shouldn’t have asked, and probably
wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for the demonic wine.

“Fizzled out.”
He was blatantly lying, and I knew not to push it further. One of
us desperately needed to lighten the mood.

“So you’re not
even a little bit in love with Matt?” I teased.

“Define
a
little bit
.” He grinned.

“As a ratio:
how often do you fantasize about making him little packed lunches
with filthy notes in, compared to how often you dream about sucking
him dry?”

“That’s a
shitty definition of love. Promise me you’ll never go into the
greetings card business. But in answer to your question–yeah, maybe
a little bit.” He trailed off with a small smile.

“Er…ratio,
please?” It was strange to have his copper curls tossed so artfully
over my pillows, and I gave one a quick tug.

“As if. Anyway,
it’s not like it’s ever going to happen, is it?” A little of that
sadness crept back into his voice. “I’m not that much of a moron. I
know full well he wouldn’t be friends with me if I wasn’t so
connected to you, or if he didn’t have this weird fascination with
infidelity.”

“Fascination?”

“You’ve totally
fucked him over in that respect, you know. He’s a bit obsessed. Why
do you think he wanted to screw you with the Marquis in the first
place? So he could watch it in action. You should hear him on the
subject after a couple of drinks–it's like he's narrating a bloody
documentary. His mom has a lot to answer for.” He paused. "And now,
so do you. Whether you asked for it or not."

“He can’t be
that bad,” I said. “Even if he didn’t help with that photo…he was
with another girl in New York. He told me so.”

“He was not. He
brushed off a couple of trannies in the meatpacking district, but
that was the grand sum of our action.” He began to chuckle. “He’s
telling you porkies to make you jealous. Silly boy.”

“You probably
shouldn’t have told me that,” I mumbled.

“No. Especially
since I’m not meant to be competing in the skeleton stakes, but
still…that’s what you’ve done to him, you mean bitch. Remember that
when he’s trying to talk to you.”

Like I was in a
fit state to take responsibility for anyone’s feelings. Like I even
should.

Should I?

“He does like
you, you know,” I said. “As a friend. You seduced him with your
Gabe Tovey fetish.”

Aidan pretended
to weep. “I snared him singing
Custard Dreams
when I was
thinking about parting his arse cheeks. Such a bittersweet tale of
love, loss and…spunk.”

“I’m glad I’ve
got you here to cheer me up, Aid.” I sighed. “I need it. I really
am screwed.”

He extended his
arm and I curled into him, inhaling. He smelled like sweet
aftershave mixed with yeasty pizza.

“We’ve all been
there.”

“But do we all
get out?”

“Yes. And the
answer…” he whispered. “It’s…it’s in my pants, Lei-Lei.”

“Yeah. I’m over
the pity.” I elbowed him in the groin.

“Ah well.” He
laughed, clutching himself. “It was worth a try.”

Chapter 14

Tuesday passed
in a blur of closed curtains, daytime television and leftover
pizza. Matt kept calling and I kept diverting him to voice
mail–either he felt exceptionally guilty or Aidan was right, and he
hadn’t helped Poppy and Isobel after all. There was no way to know
about that without discussing it all with him, though, and I just
couldn’t afford to do it.

On Wednesday it
was time to shower, dress, and meet some recruitment consultants. I
needed to find a way to finish my training. I needed today to go
well.

Two days, I’d
been absent from the daylight world. Or so I thought. As the raw
sun rushed into my eye sockets, I realized I’d been gone for a lot
longer. I used to be a lawyer and I used to be a whore; these
things had been my shields and my definitions. Now neither
protected me and I was literally tugged along as I joined the
throng of suits. Just a bit of tumbleweed, unnoticed.
Unnecessary.

“Good morning,
Miss Vaughn.” The consultant smiled as she ushered me into a
pretentious little office of mahogany and glass. “You’ve brought a
CV, yes?”

“And all my
ID.” I flexed sweaty hands in my lap as she perused the CV, tucking
her glasses up her wrinkling nose.

“So you have a
law degree,” she thought aloud. “And the LPC. You’ve been at Bach
and Dagier–oh, very nice–for…what did you qualify into?”

Ho ho. It’s a
funny story. “I didn’t actually qualify.”

“Oh?” She
glanced up.

“I had to
leave.”

“May I ask
why?”

This was the
answer that had bugged me for two days, and I still didn’t know
what on Earth to say. “I…um. I got into some personal troubles with
colleagues. It was within my best interests to leave.”

The consultant
took her glasses off and blinked at me. “Were you sacked, Miss
Vaughn?”

I winced. “I’m
not entirely sure.”

“I see.” She
laid my folder back down, drumming her fingers on it. “I’ll be
honest. In the current climate–I’m sure you know how competitive
things are–your chances of finding another contract are very slim.
With that in mind…I don’t think I’ll be able to help you.”

I exhaled and
attempted a smile. “Thanks for your time,” I managed.

“Indeed.” She
stood up, gesturing to the door. “Best wishes.”

One down…

* * * *

The next
consultant was a tall man with a shiny bald head. I kept drifting
into delirious little fantasies about polishing it.

“Right,” he
said, as I repeated my vague little excuse. “You don’t know if
you’ve been fired?”

“I tried to
resign,” I explained, “but they got a bit angry and accused me of
things I couldn’t possibly have done. Either way…erm. I don’t think
I’ll get a reference.”

He scratched
that smooth scalp. Surely he oiled it in the morning. “Hmm. Reckon
you could fudge one?”

“What do you
mean?”

He glanced down
at my CV again. “Miss–sorry. Leila. Anybody who could vouch for
you?”

“If by vouch,
you mean
lie
, no. Not that I can think of.”

There was
Charlie, of course. Recent events dictated that he owed me a favour
or seven, though he probably wasn’t aware of that. I couldn’t stoop
to asking him for something so dodgy, though. Definitely couldn’t
screw things up for somebody else, too.

Nor did I want
to explain to anyone else that I was in the shit with my job, or
lack thereof. I just wasn’t ready to tell yet.

“Okay.” He sat
back in his chair. “I’m not sure we’ll get you back into a law
office, though we can have a go. Have you thought about
temping?”

“Temping?”

“Envelope
stuffing, photo copying, admin. That kind of thing.” He took a very
noisy slurp of coffee. “Then we can build up a reference
history.”

I couldn’t
really say no. “If you think it’s a good idea, I’ll have a go.”

“Excellent.
I’ll book you in for some tests. There’ll be spelling, typing
speed, some database stuff. You can use a computer, can’t you?”

“I know where
the on switch is,” I joked.

A little bit of
me just shrivelled and died.

* * * *

Thunder cracked
overhead as I made my way to the next appointment. The sky groaned
in anticipation and sweat poured off me, humid air stifling my
breath. I had to dart into a public toilet to clean myself up. In a
dirty mirror, I patted my brow down, smoothed my hair and reapplied
lipstick. The girl staring back at me looked suitably confused.

“Miss Vaughn,”
trilled the receptionist in a singsong voice. “I’ll just fetch Ben
for you. Sit over there–that’s it, right there, good girl!–I won’t
be a minute.” She talked very loudly; maybe she was just used to
booming down a phone?

Ben arrived
five minutes later in all his buff, suited glory. He extended a
manicured hand.

“You must be
Leila. Thanks for coming down today.” He also spoke at an
embarrassing volume and glanced around, confused. “Sorry, love. I
was expecting your carer as well?”

“My
carer
?” I spluttered.

“Yeah. Do they
know you’ve come on your own?”

I narrowed my
eyes. “I’m sorry–what exactly are you implying?”

It was then
that I noticed his silver name badge: Ben Rafferty. Specialist in
Employment for the Disabled.

Oh fuck.

“It’s just…on
the phone, they said you sounded…” A violent blush seared his
cheekbones.

“I sounded
mentally retarded.”

“We try not to
use those words here. But…” He shrugged. “Erm. Yes?”

I must have
called when particularly pissed. “Let’s just give this a miss,
shall we?”

“Let’s,” he
agreed.

I pumped his
hand briefly and tottered back out into the rain.

* * * *

By the time I
reached the fourth office, I’d stopped caring. Envelope stuffing
would not pay my rent. I already knew what befell me, and as I
followed the last consultant into his corner of the office,
Charlotte seeped through to take my place.

“I’m sorry,”
the consultant said, “you had to leave because…”