Heller (34 page)

“I know. I
wouldn’t let you do security work without a licence, but this is
more like escort work.” I stilled immediately and glared at him. He
smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, bad choice of words. What I meant was
that you’ll be acting as their companion, not security. Similar to
what you did with Mrs Hayek. You don’t need a licence for that.
It’s like being their friend.”

“Well, I won’t
be their friend. I don’t want this assignment. The whole idea of
polygamy is repugnant to me. Get someone else to do it.” I stood up
to leave.

“Matilda,” he
warned in his sternest voice, which is an extremely stern voice,
let me tell you. I sat back down again. “I’m not
asking
you
to do this assignment, I’m
telling
you to do it. You’re my
employee and you’ll do it because I tell you to do it. And you’ll
do it with a smile, remembering your big pay cheque.”

There was
absolutely no doubt that he was efficient at communicating his
thoughts clearly. I set my jaw stubbornly, but I knew when I was
beaten. He was the boss, after all. He looked at me doubtfully, as
if not entirely sure of my acquiescence. “I’ll take you over there
tomorrow when they arrive. But you’re going to have to take care
around him. He may not be used to modern women. He’s very religious
and old-fashioned.”

I swept my
hair over my shoulders and stared back him in defiance. “I couldn’t
give a shit what he is. He’s nothing but a creepy pervert. I’m
going to set his wives free.”

“Matilda!
You’re going to have to mind your language, please.”

“Keep your
hair on, Heller. I won’t ruin your chance of bringing in more
money.” And with that sneering comment, I flounced out righteously,
stamping to my desk with all the attitude and muttering of
obscenities under my breath of a teenager told the internet was
down for the evening. I had actually witnessed that terrifying
event once with Niq, so I knew what I was talking about.

The next day I
wanted to make sure I made an unforgettable first impression on the
Pastor, so dressed in a highly provocative outfit. I chose a tight
deep purple short-skirted suit that showed more of my thigh than
was usual for a business environment, teamed with a low-cut
lavender blouse. I made sure I had on my best push-up bra, laciest
panties and a lot of makeup. I spilled my hair out softly around my
shoulders and gave myself a generous spray of a seductive floral
perfume. I slipped on my highest heels. I smiled wickedly at myself
in the mirror and flung my overnight bag over my shoulder,
carefully making my way down the stairs to the office, where Heller
was waiting to drive me over to the hotel.

Daniel
wolf-whistled admiringly when I walked in. Niq almost gave himself
whiplash turning to stare, a big smile on his face.

“I’m going to
meet a religious nut,” I explained.

“God help
him!” Daniel replied with a grin.

I entered
Heller’s office. His eyes gleamed with interest, running up and
down my body appreciatively, but he frowned. “No Matilda. That
outfit’s all wrong for this job.”

“This is what
I’m wearing,” I insisted, and there was no way I was budging from
that position. For once, I stared him down. He sighed resignedly,
muttered under his breath and stood up to leave. We drove, not to
one of the six-star hotels where we usually met clients, but a more
run-down hotel, once the most fashionable place in the city but now
seedy and neglected with age. It looked as though it hadn’t been
renovated since its hey-day in the 1960s.

“Why here?” I
queried as we walked through the shabby unattended foyer over to
the lifts, one of which had a dusty ‘out of order’ sign across its
doors.

“Apparently
running your own religion isn’t as lucrative as you’d expect,”
Heller commented dryly.

“How many
wives does this prick have?”

“Matilda,” he
warned.

“Sorry! How
many wives does our greatly esteemed client have, my dearest lord
Heller?” I said in my sweetest voice, blinking up at him with
mock-adoration in my eyes. He reluctantly smiled down at me as we
stepped into the creaky lift.

“Six.”

“Another Henry
VIII on our hands, huh? Has he chopped off any of their heads
yet?”

“Not as far as
I know,” he said patiently, ignoring my bad-humour. “His name is
Pastor Merton Peachey.”

“You’re
kidding me? Pastor Peachey?”

“I kid you
not.”

“Christ
almighty, he sounds like a cartoon character!” He glared at me and
I held up my hands in apology. “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll behave
myself. Mostly.”

He gave me a
gentle, exasperated nudge with his arm so I elbowed him back
harder, not in a good mood. We stepped out of the lift and headed
down the dingy hallway, the wallpaper peeling, scuffed and stained,
the carpet virtually threadbare. Three of the six ceiling lights
had blown and nobody had bothered to replace them.

He knocked on
the door of the hotel room to which we had been directed. It was
opened by a thin, hard-faced, dour man, dressed in an old-fashioned
black funeral suit and white dress shirt, accessorised with a black
tie.
How merry
, I thought. He was in his late fifties,
salt-and-pepper-haired, mean-mouthed, with mesmerising gray eyes
that goggled with instant disapproval at the sight of me. I flicked
my hair back and pushed my chest out further in response, and it
was all I could do not to smile seductively and wink at him.

Heller allowed
me to enter the room first, pretending to be a gentleman, then
jabbed me viciously in the back with his finger as I walked – his
warning to behave myself. As I arched forward in pain, I kicked
backwards with one leg and made satisfying contact with my high
heel on his shin. He sported a slightly pained expression as he sat
down at Pastor Peachey’s behest on the much worn lounge. I sat next
to him and assumed my most vacuous, wide-eyed expression.

Pastor Peachey
was clearly uncomfortable in my presence. His glance moved rapidly
between Heller and me. He didn’t look impressed. I felt guilty then
that I had probably ruined a chance for Heller to snare a
presumably lucrative assignment. He didn’t usually take on any
other kind. The cheapness of the hotel must have been compensating
for the expensiveness of my services and I felt doubly guilty.

The good
Pastor spoke with a southern-US rural twang, and started our
conversation by bestowing on us an obscure, lengthy and as far as I
could tell, completely irrelevant passage from scripture. I think
it had something to do with wanton women. We listened to it
politely, oblivious as to its point and then when he had finally
concluded, Heller questioned the Pastor about his exact needs in
his precise business-like manner.

He told us
that he had been the object of abusive attacks for his beliefs in
the past and didn’t wish to subject his wives to such harassment
while he was visiting the city. He wanted them kept busy and
supervised while he prepared his lectures and met with local
members of his congregation. Pastor Peachey looked at me
uncertainly, but decided that twenty-four hour companionship was
probably what he needed. Heller was so convincing that, with an
insultingly obvious lack of enthusiasm, Pastor Peachey agreed to
keep me on for the next three days during his visit.

I had
unwillingly packed for this eventuality and Heller went to fetch my
bag from his vehicle. The Pastor stared at me in intense silence
the whole time Heller was gone. I began to feel like an abject
sinner under his brooding gaze and started to fidget uncomfortably.
A few more minutes and I might even have even felt compelled to
confess to my many, many sins, including the ones I’d only ever
thought about. Well, there was a whole thick volume of them on
Heller alone, wasn’t there?

Pastor Peachey
suddenly spoke gruffly, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ll
introduce you to my wives.”

He picked up
the phone and spoke tersely into it. After less than a minute there
was a soft knock on the door. He answered and ushered in five plain
women, ranging in age from barely twenty to nearly forty. They were
dressed dowdily, in noticeably home-made flower-printed dresses
that primly covered their bodies neck to ankle, including
full-length sleeves. Head scarves covered their long plaited hair.
They wore boots that I suspected came from an army surplus store.
They appeared to be channelling their fashion inspiration from
Little House on the Prairie
. None wore one speck of makeup
or a single piece of jewellery, not even a wedding ring. Their eyes
were modestly downcast.

They stood
obediently behind their husband, arranging themselves neatly in a
semi-circle. They obviously hadn’t been exposed to a woman like me
before, except perhaps during their husband’s sermons on
wickedness. Individually, they stole furtive glances at my clothes,
makeup, hair, boobs and heels, either drinking it in for further
heated discussion on sin amongst themselves, or hopefully I
thought, ploughing the seed for future rebellion. I met their eyes
boldly, smiling in a friendly way. I wasn’t optimistic though, as
they all seemed thoroughly under the rule of their husband and
master, who happened at that very minute to be glowering at me,
noticing my friendly efforts with his wives. God! I’d never get
used to saying that.
Wives.
It was just plain wrong.

“These are my
wives, Miss Chalmers – Mary, Elizabeth, Rebecca, Hannah and Sarah.
Wives, this is Miss Chalmers, who will be looking after you for the
next few days while I conduct business in this city.” It appeared
as though he had introduced them oldest to youngest. Perhaps there
was a wifely hierarchy in the family. I’d have to ask them
later.

“Please, call
me Tilly,” I requested and smiled at them warmly. They nodded shyly
at me, and I received a few small smiles in response. Heller’s
subsequent return to the room with my bag generated quite a stir
among them though, with so much whispering and giggling that Pastor
Peachey’s face flushed an unbecoming red and his lips pressed so
tightly together they were in danger of disappearing. They had
evidently never seen a creature such as Heller in their neck of the
woods.

“Ladies! What
is this commotion?” the Pastor admonished in a harsh voice, and
they all subdued instantly. “This is Mr Heller. He will not be
staying with us.” And for the first time in my life I witnessed
five adult women experiencing simultaneous disappointment. The
Pastor didn’t bother with a reciprocal introduction because of the
briefness of the relationship, but I would have bet a large sum of
money that each of those women would have loved a direct blast from
Heller’s amazing blue eyes as he regarded them during an
introduction, even if only for a second. It would have been a
treasured moment for the rest of their lives.

After further
lengthy religious pontificating from the Pastor that also seemed to
relate to wanton women, Heller made urgent, almost desperate, moves
to escape, leaving me behind. In truth, I couldn’t blame him – I
didn’t want to be there either. It was going to be a long three
days. I walked him to the door. There he stroked my cheek with
surprising tenderness, his eyes filled with some emotion that I
wasn’t in the mood to interpret and that he seemed unwilling to
experience.

“See you soon,
Matilda. Behave yourself and keep in touch,” he said quietly.

“Sure,” I
replied coolly and spun around to return to the room. He suddenly
clutched me by my upper arms and pulled me out into the hallway,
away from the curious eyes of the wives and husband. He pushed me
against the wall, pressed himself on me and kissed me. I hadn’t
been expecting that at all, but responded as best I could in the
circumstances. He was a great kisser and it was a very nice kiss. I
could have done with a couple more.

“I love that
outfit you’re wearing,” he murmured and kissed me again before
stalking off towards the lift, not looking back. I watched him
until he disappeared, willing my heartbeat to slow to normal. When
the lift doors shut, I returned to the room and sat on the scruffy
lounge again, the intense focus of six pairs of eyes.

“Isn’t there a
wife missing?” I asked the Pastor politely. “I thought Heller told
me you had six wives.”

“Mr Heller was
not mistaken,” he replied, regarding me reprovingly for questioning
the veracity of a man’s word. “My first wife Martha has stayed at
home to mind the children.”

“How nice for
her. And how many children do you have?” I was the queen of polite
chatter.

“Twenty-eight,” he replied with pompous conceit.

“Goodness me!
What a lot of children. You must be proud.” I couldn’t help myself.
By my calculations that was 4.6667 children per wife, which far
exceeded the average number of children per woman in this
country.

“My wives are
blessed with fecundity,” he proclaimed sanctimoniously, with an
unspoken but evident self-credit for being some kind of super-stud.
Such arrogance made my stomach turn. I would have loved to have
told him to go fecund himself, but I was trying to be diplomatic
for Heller’s sake.

“Your first
lecture is tomorrow night, is that correct? And you will be giving
two lectures? Here in this hotel?” He nodded sagely. “I presume you
would like your lovely wives to attend both of your lectures to
illustrate the spiritual and physical benefits of polygamy?”

“Of course.”
He didn’t appear to possess a sarcasm-detector.

“What would
you like me to do with your . . . wives . . . during the day while
you’re busy, Pastor Peachey?”

He stared at
me in astonishment. “They shall spend the days as they usually do –
in solemn contemplation of our Lord and in service to their
husband.”