Authors: Simon Brooke
Sugar Mummy (20 page)
I sort of am. But then I'm also just a commodity, a piece of
meat. It's becoming quite a familiar sensation.
Louise walks away.
'G'night, mate. Make sure the door's closed behind you.' As I
walk out into the warm night air fatigue catches up with me. My feelings of shame
about Marion are mingled with a sense of unease. Presumably Louise produces that
little performance on a regular basis for whoever pays for her flat.
And perhaps that's it. For all Jonathan's grinning, charming
bullshit about his escorts offering nothing more than companionship and anything
beyond that not really being part of the service, perhaps if you really want: a
nice flat rent free, clothes bought for you and enough pocket money to do your own
thing you've got to fuck for it.
I put my key into the lock and creep in. The house is half in
darkness and still smells of the party. I take off my jacket and undo my trousers.
The zip is totally buggered and the material around it creased and pulled out of
shape. Marion must never see this, I tell my shadowy face in the mirror. Then it
occurs to me that even if she does ever buy me a suit it'll only be to replace this
one and I'll end up just breaking even. The shirt isn't as bad as I first thought
- I've lost three buttons but I can easily ask Anna Maria if she'll sew them on
again and not tell Madam. My tie is so tightly knotted I don't think I'll ever get
it undone but with a bit of luck Marion will be so embarrassed she'll buy me another
one as Mark suggested. God, at this stage even a new tie would be nice.
I take my shoes off and creep upstairs. Needless to say, Marion
is still awake when I tiptoe into the bedroom. 'Where the hell have you been?' she
asks quietly, without moving.
'Er, just seeing Louise home,' I say lightly.
'Oh, yeah?'
'Yeah, she, er, she was a bit nervous about going home on her
own at night.'
'She was nervous? I would have thought that most of the men in
West London had more reason to be nervous,' whispers Marion venomously. I begin
to take my underpants off and discover that my dick is stuck to the material. I
pull it off as gently as I can but can't help gasping in pain. 'Now what?' says
the voice from the bed.
'Nothing. Just going to brush my teeth.'
'There's some mouthwash in there too.'
The next day, Saturday, Marion has gone out by the time I wake
up. Her side of the bed is just a vast, empty expanse of rumpled retribution. Oh,
Christ, I've done it now.
An hour later while I'm eating the Rice Krispies, which I've
finally persuaded Anna Maria to buy by writing it out for her, my mobile rings and
I answer it. I hear a muffled voice at the other end saying she wants a change from
white lilies, they're such a cliché.
'Hello?' I say, realizing that it is Marion. She's rung me and
then got carried away bollocking someone. Probably, just practising for me. 'Hello-o-o-o?'
I say again.
Anna Maria, pouring more coffee for me, looks enquiringly.
'Madam,' I say. She rolls her eyes and walks off. This makes
me laugh.
'Some of those cute pink and purple ones,' says the muffled voice
irritably. 'The ones you said came from somewhere.'
I try again. 'Hello, Marion?'
'Andrew?' says Marion.
'Hi,' I say nervously.
'I'm just buying some flowers.'
'So I heard.'
Marion ignores me and says, 'I need to talk to you. Meet me in
Joe's in half an hour.'
'But I'm not dressed, yet. Make it an hour.'
'Not those,' screeches a voice from the other end of the phone.
'Some fresh ones - those look like they've been under an elephant's ass for a month.'
Then, 'Andrew, it's nearly eleven. Really! Have you just got up? OK I'll just come
home.' She rings off.
I put the phone down. That's it - I'm going to be chucked.
And I deserve it. Bloody Louise. Fucking Louise, more like. I
do feel bad about Marion. I was never once unfaithful to Helen from the time we
started going out in her first term at university to the time she dumped me when
she was coming back from France. Four years and not once.
I had offers. That party, in a flat off campus when Helen had
gone home for the weekend to see her parents. The girl in the doorway of the kitchen.
Slightly pissed, face flushed, breasts heaving, under the thin fabric of her dress,
leaning back against the doorframe. Laughing, saying things like, 'You're so horrible
to me, I hate you.' The kind of things girls say when they really fancy you. The
smell of her warm body and perfume. I was tempted. I took another swig of warm lager
and looked at her lips as sh• ran her tongue over them, waiting for me to make a
move.
I did make a move. I muttered, 'Better go. Got an essay to do
tomorrow,' and staggered off home.
Marion is walking through the door as I come downstairs, freshly
showered and shaved. She is wearing sunglasses. A bad sign. Chris is following her,
trying to manipulate the biggest bunch of flowers I've ever seen through the front
door. I'm guessing they're not for me.
'Hi,' I say as brightly as I can.
'Hello, darling,' she says.
There is a silence as she puts her bag down and helps herself
to a glass of Perrier from the drinks cabinet so I say, 'What are you doing for
lunch today?'
She says quietly, 'I have a luncheon engagement with an old friend
but Anna Maria will fix you something.' She looks across at the driver. 'Chris,
just leave those flowers on the settee and wait a moment, I need to go out again.'
He nods and obeys. She takes a sip of water.
Oh, Marion, please get this over with. Just tell me we're finished
and let me get my stuff and get back to normality. 'OK,' I say quietly.
'Sit down.' She pats the cushion of the settee next to her. I
sit down. She doesn't take off her sunglasses. 'I just wanted to check something,'
she says, looking straight ahead at the far wall. 'You didn't sleep with Louise
last night, did you?'
I'm suddenly very much aware of Chris, the driver, being in the
same room with us. He is staring out of the window, having laid the flowers down
on the settee. I don't know what to say but somehow my mouth has started without
me.
'Louise? No. I - I just saw her home, like I said.'
'She didn't make a pass you?'
The idea that Louise, drunk and giggly, would drag me back to
her flat without trying it on just doesn't sound convincing so I say, 'Well, she
did, sort of but I, er, resisted,' I stammer. I resisted? What am I on about? Suddenly
I'm the virtuous heroine in a Victorian melodrama. Why is it Marion makes me say
such weird things?
'Good.' She squeezes my leg affectionately. 'Good boy. I really
can't stand cheaters. You know, after Edward.'
She looks round, touches my cheek and stares into my eyes. I
look for hers but all I can see is my shameless, lying face reflected back at me
from the huge black lenses.
Yes, all right, I lied. I had a one-night stand and now I've
lied about it. I am a pathetic little piece of shit, I admit it. But I've never
been unfaithful before, that's the point. My mates were straying all the time. I
provided my friend Ben with an alibi half a dozen times but I was always completely
faithful to Helen - and look what I got for it. I'm twenty-four and it's about time
I did what most blokes my age having been doing for years: having great, mindless
sex whenever they feel like it.
Besides, from what Davina said at the party, Marion's been lying
to me for the three weeks since we met, which is kind of hurtful in its own way.
Unless Davina really was just bonkers. Anyway, Marion and I really does feel like
a fling, not like we're going out properly. How could we go out together in the
usual sense? We're hardly likely to get married. And I know from what Davina says
of her past that Marion's no angel.
'I want you to wear that Rolex,' she says suddenly. Oh, God.
Why now?
She reaches round to the table next to the settee, opens a drawer
and takes it out. She opens the box elegantly and there it is, gleaming in the sunlight
- Swiss-made, accurate to a few seconds a year, waterproof, twenty-two carat guilt,
I mean, gold.
Now I do feel like shit. She hands it to me and I put it on while
she watches.
It does look good, though.
'Thank you,' I say, kissing her on the lips.
'I know it's difficult for you dating an older woman. It's difficult
for me with a younger man. I've never done it before, either,' she says, taking
my hand. 'And I know that the world of luxury you've been thrown into takes some
getting used to but if a relationship is worth having, it's worth working at.'
'Yes, I know,' I say, overwhelmed by this sudden outburst of
emotion. What is she saying? I thought she thought we were just having fun.
'I want you to wear the Rolex tonight.'
'Sure,' I say quietly. 'Where are we going?'
'Well, I'm going to a dinner party,' she says, closing the box
and putting it back in her handbag. 'But you're having dinner with Channing.'
'What?'
'I said to Channing you'd have dinner with him.'
'Without you?'
'Like I said, I'm going to another dinner party.'
'What? Go out with him? Oh, Marion.' I knew this was too good
to be true.
'Just have dinner with him.'
'What? With that old poof?'
Does Chris snigger from across the room?
'What's a "poof "?'
'Poof. Fag.'
'Don't call him that,' says Marion, closing her handbag with
a resounding snap. 'Channing is one of my best and dearest friends. I am sure if
you get to know him, he'll become one of yours too.'
I get up and begin to pace the room. 'Unlikely.'
'Andrew. It's an invitation to dinner. You should be flattered,'
she says, getting up.
'Flattered? He just wants to-to-'
'To get to know you?'
'To get my trousers off.'
Chris is definitely stifling a giggle now but I don't care.
'Andrew, don't be ridiculous. He knows you are my lover.' She
pauses. 'He knows you would never be unfaithful to me.'
Ooops. I try another tack. 'Oh, Marion, come on-'
'And I'm sure you won't object to some free dinner.' A bit below
the belt, that. I sigh deeply. 'Oh, OK, then. If it'll make you happy.'
'Good. I've said you'll be there at eight.'
Strangely enough, when I get home to get changed, Vinny is lying
on the settee watching TV. He has the phone carefully wedged between his face and
a cushion.
'So? What was she like?' he says, raising his eyebrows in welcome
at me. 'Yeah? Yeah? Ah, rampant nymphomania - I've always admired that in a woman.'
Oh! God. Normality. How
I miss it.
I walk along the tiny Chelsea street where Channing lives, counting
down the numbers on the toy houses until I come to his. I'm wearing my blue blazer
and a pair of very ordinary grey trousers that I haven't worn for ages. Catching
my reflection in the window of the tube train I decide it's probably some desire
to want to appear as wholesome and clean-cut as possible. Except that the stripy
tie makes me look like a schoolboy.
Since I started in this business, getting dressed has become
something of minefield. The idea was that I'd acquire a wardrobe full of gear and
enjoy choosing what to put on every day. Instead I've got the same stuff plus quite
a few other bits I've had to buy myself. My credit card bill is probably affecting
the balance-of-payments deficit. Deciding what I should wear each evening occupies
my mind from lunchtime onwards. It's just lucky that I haven't got anything more
important to think about.
Lying in the bath, earlier in the evening, I tried to look on
the bright side. I might find out something more about Marion. Perhaps she really
has been just lying to me and I've believed it all, like a fool. Perhaps she is
not as rich as she says, or perhaps she just invented her entire past because she
thought it would impress me.
Or perhaps Marion wants to get something more on me.
Find out whether I did do it with Louise. Discover my true intentions,
check that I'm not just a paid escort on the make - which I'm not, of course.
Or perhaps Channing hopes I am, that I'll go out with anyone
who pays, that I'll do anything for money. Is that why he is so keen to have dinner
with me? Oh no, I hope not. I feel slightly sick at the thought of it. Anyway, it's
not going to happen. Funnily enough, it's not even the physical act, it's the seediness
of it. Look on the bright side though, I might meet some new people - female ones,
that is - who might help me out financially if, when, Marion dumps me.
At least, as Marion so kindly pointed out, I'll get a free dinner.
I watch him for a moment through the front window, phone clamped
under his chin, spinning around the room, adjusting the invitations on the mantelpiece,
shoving a new CD in the machine, throwing glossy magazines into a pile in the corner.
I am just considering how likely it would sound that I had forgotten the address
and the phone number and so I had not been able to meet up after all, when Channing
turns and sees me. Still on the phone, he raises his eyebrows and shouts over his
shoulder at someone.
As I walk up the few steps to the front door it is opened by
the maid, a dour, wrinkled little South American woman, probably aged well beyond
her years. How did I know he'd have a South American maid? Inside the house dance
music is belting out of the CD player.
'G'd evening,' I say.
She looks at me mournfully and I realise that she has obviously
never had a good evening in her life. Her days are probably pretty grim as well.
She lets me in and walks back down the hallway.