Pearced (13 page)

2 pizzas for the price of one tonight.  Even the pizza place thinks I should be sharing pizza night with someone, perhaps they’ve been speaking to my
Mum
! Maybe I should ask her about that?

Surrounded by my own world of sounds, followed by a quietening in my head, I begin to feel my balance returning. The music is loud enough that I hear it dead centre between my ears but not too loud that I don’t hear a phone ringing.  I wander to the sound of the Ace of Spades: Motorhead playing out of an iPhone I’d noticed is part of my set up, and lays perfectly square on my neat desk.   The flat matte screen with the eagle and ship logo lit up on it.  Another black phone but this time with a black rubberised cover debossed with anti-crack rubber bumpers, the eagle and ship on the back, this is my new work phone. The 'Ace
of Spades', how did they know?  It is Daniel, he'd had his number programmed in already so his name is part of the display, Daniel Pearce.

I swipe my finger across the answer bar "hello," I fidget my drawing pen and my screens come to life. “What could possibly have happened in the five minutes you've been gone?”  The company logo screen saver on the two big screens, and my large flat MacBook monitor has my favourite photo of George and Harry, how?  “Daniel.” I whisper under my breath.

"Hungry?" Is all I get, I glance at the wall clock, an intricately carved silver rounded frame like an old pocket watch but much bigger, it is lunchtime already, where is the time going?

"Always," I return, though I’m not really. I quickly finish my tea, mustn't waste that.

Chapter six Tuesday
:
22stoctober2013, lunchtime

Daniel appears at my door and slides it open, he must have made the call on his way up the stairs.  He has to tame his quaffed hair from running up the stairs, looks incredible, I have never seen such a beautiful man in my life, how am I going to get anything done with
him
about? I put my new phone alongside my own one in my parka and join him at the door.

"You look like you could use a meal Tharie, let’s go." I wonder what he means by that? What is it with people and my appearance? Has he been speaking to my Mum too? Bloody hell,
hope not
.

Note to self, working with a hangover, it's not clever.

He winks at me and swiftly heads off down the stairs.  Steffi watches us leave, not all things end neatly. I wonder what trail of devastation this man has left in his wake.  We walk out into the crisp cold sunny day, head off around the corner, I judge to be near the site of the earlier fracas with the doves.  There are more people about today, there's a street market nearby and the locals are out buying their veg and counterfeit DVD’s. 

Everywhere I look, people are watching him, staring, then they look at me, wondering what this ordinary girl is doing walking with this extraordinary man.  Wearing a WW2 vintage parka.  Or am I making it up?  My head, I wish I could stop it rattling by all by itself.

HXF extended trot.

Thinking too much about unimportant things, dwelling, leaving some important things left unthought about, I snap the band around my wrist, silence,
lovely
.

FAK collected trot.

"It's just round here."  We walk through the market and out the other side, we head into a Victorian house, a most unlikely place for a restaurant, and sure enough it's decorated like a drawing room including an authentic aspidistra on a tall hall stand, I wonder where they got that from?

See?
Its things like that, who knows how rare aspidistras are? I'm sad aren't I? Reader, don't answer that.

The wallpaper is William Morris, real, and the floor has the original chequer board black and white mosaic tile. The most amazing smell is emanating from within and we follow the aroma, down a step into what would have been the living room in the original layout.   High ceilings with moulded fancy architrave, seven or eight tables all full with creative types I guess from their dress and noise level.   We reach the large bay window at the front and a table.   Clearly the best table for two, with a reserved note on it, my heels are clacking loudly on the tile, the tone is correct, original Victorian.

"Here we are."  He says taking my parka from my shoulders, he slides it slowly off grazing his hot, gentle lips on my neck.  Bloody hell.    Hanging it over the authentic Victorian hat rack just inside the door we had come through. I get a whiff of Daniel as the air is disturbed by my coat removal, sending his scent my way.

Thank goodness I can sit now.  Sitting down, the table is tiny, and our knees are touching, he doesn’t attempt to move away and neither do I, my eyes wander around this magnificent room.  Who'd have thought this was here I almost said out loud.

A little cut glass vase sits centrally on the round table that must be a bugger to dust I think, and our cutlery is mismatched, beautifully worked caste handles all different, and silver plated.  The menu comes and it's handwritten in a flowery scripty hand, a woman’s handwriting I’d guess. Cotes Du Rhone '85, butternut squash and coconut soup with doorstep crusty homemade bread and fat hand cut chips.

No choice.

"They do a different meal every day, all hand cooked, fresh food, there's no choice, but strangely when I come here it's always the very thing I’d been fancying all day.  Even though I might not always realise it." He looks at me for a comment, brows lifted. Is he talking about the food?

A humming I can't ignore disturbs me,

PF: “Don't forget to eat” bless.

TC: “At lunch now.” see?

PF: “Good, you'll need your strength” here we go.

TC: “I’m giving you the finger” true story.

I make yummy noises putting my phone away, "it smells wonderful Daniel, I’m certain it'll taste great too."  Soup, perfect I thought, I’m not that hungry.  Daniel pours us both a glass of wine, drinking in the middle of a work day…hmm mm. The bottle is already sitting on the table opened as we arrived, we raise a toast, and we clink glasses, looking at each other. Apparently it's the correct way to do it.

"Tharie, I want to welcome you to the label, and congratulate you on your new job.” He swirls his wine in the great bowl of his glass, suddenly it seems the focus.  That's nice. Mum would like him.  Then glancing casually at me. “But also to ask you, if you'd have a problem if I
fucked
you every chance I get?" What?

...maybe I’m wrong?

His face is serious, I don’t quite know how to react, this type of honesty is disarming, but refreshing.  My spoon stops a few inches short of my lips as I contemplate my next move. Be careful, I tell myself, it could be a trick.  I take a deliberate mouthful of soup, it gives me time to think. Mmm, it
is
good.  Horses are like that too, there's no bullshit with them either. Instead I laugh, and he instantly relaxes and joins me. "But you haven't even bought me lunch yet" I pout.  I tear a corner off my lump of warm crusty bread, it smells great and inviting and suddenly I’m hungry and get the feeling Pete's right, I’m going to need my energy.  Anyway I love carbs, can’t get by without them.

EC: “How's your new job?” What can I tell her? I don't answer, that response will need careful wording. I put the evil little device away.

The soup is delicious and the wine an exquisite accompaniment, I feel like an expert in my own taste buds has prepared this meal for me, it's just as Daniel said, it'll be what you've fancied all along even if you don’t realise it yet.  We chat about denim and Daniels plans for Milk&Honey whilst we eat.  Our trip to Japan and how we tackle that one. I tear off a corner of warm bread and dipping it into my steaming bowl of saffron coloured hot soup, I look at the man sitting opposite me. Yes, what do I tell Mum? I don't need to answer that right now.

I’m just telling him about my last visit to Tokyo..."...and as always its pouring with hot rain and the temperature is high..."  Then suddenly without a change in his expression as he listens to my story, I feel his hand on my knee.  I look around to see if
anyone is watching, look back at him, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me the whole time.  I take a mouthful of soup and return to my story, OK, just carry on.   "I get into the cab, with the lace doilies on the seats, antimacassars on the armrests, and the driver in little white gloves..."  Just as I get comfortable, he looks at me harder and I feel his hand as it slowly and deliberately moves up my thigh, higher and higher still.

Transitions at H+F. KE shoulder-in right. That helps.

I have to concentrate on my soup and my story, can't cause any scene here, not in public.  Daniel nods a hello to two people leaving, and his hand travels higher to where my legs join my body.  My breath catches in my lungs, and I’m now feeling quite hot, is it warm in here?  Sparks of pleasure begin to fire all over me, I have to try really hard to continue.

E volte’s right. EG half-pass to the right. Come on brain, focus.

"I ask the driver," I start to say, “to take me to Harajuku.  I wanted to see Evisu's new shop..." god this is hot, all I can do is think of Daniels thumb as it moves up and down the seam of my jeans between my legs, still looking at me.  I’m having a hard time keeping it together, my breathing is laboured and I mustn’t move or make a sound of pleasure or I’d disturb a room full of chattering happy people enjoying their lunch. It’s having an incredible effect on me, in a public place, I furtively look around me, and smile into my soup, my body is alight my sex tightens and tingles.

“Then what?” He asks smiling very sweetly.

G on the centre line, before C collected walk.

I have to take a breath, the throbbing intensifies as my jeans hold me in place.  Swollen and wet I can feel every touch, even through the many layers of denim, I shift uncomfortably in my seat, Daniel’s eyes never leave mine. Smiling again, clearly aware of the effect he is having on me, here of all public places, the soft gentle touches I long to get harder, I yearn to grind myself into his hand, to satisfy the need that building inside me.  He just fixes his gaze on me, never flinching or looking away. "And, did you find it, I hear it's in an odd place?”  He asks slowly and carefully, clearly amused and pleased with himself, the corners of his lips curling.  Not stopping or slowing his wicked little fingers. I hate him for this, but not really.

"What?" Is he talking to me, where am I?

"Evisu," he flicks his fingers faster and moves his hand up to the waistband of my jeans and pops open the metal tack. An almost unbearable feeling of arousal falls over me and I’m numb to everything else around us. I drop my piece of crust into my soup bowl, suddenly I can't take another mouthful. I've lost my appetite, and that's not like me at all.  I vaguely recall someone asking a question, was it directed at me? "oh, y…yes, it was in a residential part of the city quite odd, but that’s Tokyo,” it's an odd place.

C track to the left.

“A square cobbled narrow walkway, leading through a little garden along a path...” He's driving me insane his hand moving slowly and deliberately, I really don't know what I’m saying. Do they ride dressage in Japan I wonder? Bloody hell.

“And?” He asks clearly amused, his fingers work slower, to great effect.

“And in through the back door, like a little kitchen,” this is driving me mad, his fingers reach into the top of my jeans and pull down the fly zip... “It was like entering someone’s kitchen…, Daniel….
”he enters
my
kitchen...did I say that already?

H turn left. Nope, not working.

'That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went,

And cannot come again'. Housman, that's better.

“Daniel...” and I make his name linger on my tongue like a useless warning, staring him straight in the eye. I can’t think, or breathe properly.

"And...?" he says, I can’t believe he wants me to finish the story my insides are churning with my desire for this man, and he knows it too. My pupils must be so dilated they're almost black.  Our eyes don't leave each other’s, gooseberry green linked to blackened stormy grey.

I shake my head frustratingly "luckily I had a map, drawn for me by an old friend..." oh my god his fingers are inside my jeans.  He grabs my jeans by the waistband and pulls me forward in my seat I shuffle to get positioned for his access, I want this too,
badly.
  Inside the front of my underwear, the McCartney ones with Tuesday on them, I suddenly hope it is Tuesday!  Then I remember with relief I have my new lace set on from Pete, I have absolutely never had to think so much about undies in my whole life as I am now.  What is happening to me? Why did this become so important?

And what's wrong with Spiderman pants anyway?

“Yes, I’ve been there too, but there's a place I’d like to go that I’ve never been before.” He looks at me intensely as his fingers move down further.  Then the waitress comes over, he snatches his hand away leaving my yearning and in sweet agony, such a tease he enjoys watching me squirm at his touch.

Daniel smiles sweetly at the lady in the lace edged apron, hands over
￡75 in cash, roughly grabs my hand and practically drags me out trying to fasten my jeans back up under the cover of my top. I put my parka on quickly, he has my hand in his, he doesn’t look at me, we march down the street, He doesn’t notice all the women staring at him.  I’m half running to keep up, my boots have a high cone shaped heel and the suede fringing is flapping about as I am pulled through the street.