The Numbers Game (20 page)

            “Can I
have them both?” she squinted, still undecided. “Is that an option?”

            “I’m
afraid it’s not,” Tabitha snapped back, “and quite frankly I’m shocked that the
answer didn’t come to you after one millisecond. That means someone definitely
has you under their wrap.”

            Tabitha
glared at Serena with pity. Like you poor, poor girl, you’ve been hypnotized.

“If you’re
talking about Jasper then think again,” Serena said. “If anything I have him
under
my
trance.”

            Yep,
that’s right, she repeated to herself. Jasper was hers for the taking. And she
wouldn’t even be taking him if Markie wasn’t interested anymore.

            “Well
that’s just great,” grumbled Tabitha, unaware of Serena’s inner warbling. “It’s
like the blind leading the bloody blind.”

On Monday morning
Markie decided there mustn't be a God. There could not be, no, no way. And just
like that a decade of good Catholic school training was flushed down the drain.

            Not that
Markie was ever a devout Catholic or anything but hitherto he had believed in
prayer. There was something comforting about lying in bed at night, fingers
clasped and focusing for just a little bit on goodwill and peace. He'd wish for
things like a long pain-free life for his parents, love and luck for himself
and friends and the occasional big-paying client. But if God were listening,
truly listening to him all this time, he'd have given Lola balls and a beard by
now - but he hadn't. So there, it was time to call in the big guns. No more
Mister Nice Guy.

            If
anything Lola was looking more and more delectable every day. Before, when he
was with Serena, Markie had been fairly immune to the powers of a beautiful
girl.  While other men in the office fetched papers and pulled out chairs, he
found he could look at the jiggling breasts and a wiggling small pert bum,
without crumbling to pieces. Then again, he also his dignity back then and a
girlfriend so there wasn't any need to resort to the sad practices of a
desperate man.

            "Join
the club," Rick grinned, tipping his daily measure of espresso to the sky.
Markie himself had a triple dosage in his hands, despite warnings it might be
lethal. "My advice is to just nail her and get the desire out of your
system."

            "Simple
as that?" Markie lamented, tilting his head to the side. It sounded as
simple as making a fancy five course meal for a wedding party. He tried to see
whether Lola was at her desk but with the blinds in place, it was difficult to
make out if she was there or out seducing other members of the staff. "Let
me guess, you want me to do it right here on this table tonight?"

            "Tonight?"
Rick frowned, "I don't know, I don't think I have time today to duck out
and get the handy cam."

            Handy cam,
of course. Markie would need proof for later on in life, to show his sons that
once upon a time their pa had indeed been a man. There would be no guilt about
it either because unlike daughters who squirm at the thought of their parents
kissing somebody else, sons would understand. They knew what notions ran
through the male mind. Like now with Lola, there was no valid reason anymore to
put off taking her to bed, because in Markie's head, he had already screwed her
a thousand times. He'd imagined putting his lips to her breasts, her mouth to
his nether regions and those imaginings were the worst crime. Anything else was
auxiliary.

            Then again
all men instinctively visualize women naked and how they'd be in the sack so
maybe Markie's biggest crime was being born male. It didn't matter whether a girl
was plump or thin, stunning or less than attractive; every single one got put
through this initial exam. To quote Rick: "in five minutes I've already
undressed her with my eyes; in ten I've taken her to bed."  Women were
different in this respect. They were probably busy visualizing things like
husband potential and the width of his wallet.

            Knock,
knock. The door opened before Markie could respond and it was Lola popping her
head in. She was wearing an incredibly low cut white top, which should have been
made illegal - the boys could only see all the way into her mountainous
cleavage.

"Do
you have a second Markie?" she said, looking over at Rick.

            It was
only because she was beautiful that Lola could get away with this -
interrupting a morning meeting between two partners. For a moment Markie
pondered on whether he should comment on this - her audacity, how no one else
would dare to try the same trick, but his punishments all involved whips and
chains so he decided against it. Besides Rick was already standing up and
licking his lips.

            "He's
all yours."

            "Thanks."
Lola waited until Rick was safely out of sight before moving forward.

            "How
can I help you?" Markie said, rummaging through the papers on his desk. It
was a good move to look occupied given that Lola was already making him feel
nervous. Did someone turn the heat on in here, he wondered quietly, loosening
the neck of his tie.

            "Tonight,"
Lola replied, bending forward, hands firmly centered on his table. "What
are you doing?"

            One would
think that as a personal assistant she would know the answer to this question
but evidently Lola didn't. Or maybe she was just pretending not to…

            "I
was going to go home after my five o'clock meeting," Markie stated,
pushing the latest printout of his schedule Lola's way. The same one she left
on the table twenty minutes ago. "As discussed on Friday during our wrap
up chat."

            "Yes
but something has come up since then," she smiled, showing off her pearly
whites, "are you flexible?"

            "Do I
absolutely positively need to be?"

            Lola
paused, giving the question some deeper thought.

            "I
think it would be worth your while," she said in the end.

            Innuendo.
The innuendo was there. Markie looked at Lola, the living-walking temptress and
decided he needed more information. He had no intention of walking into any
trap with his eyes closed, even if it was one set by a Barbie doll.

            "Can
I ask what it is exactly, that requires my urgent attention?"

             Lola said
nothing to this; instead she looked at him intently, begging him to find the
answer in her eyes. Unfortunately though Markie was not a mind reader, he never
had been - so he sat there until she coughed up.

            "Isn't
it obvious?" Lola grinned, being seductive without even trying. By now she
was sitting on the corner of his table, legs crossed, with her skirt riding up
her slim yet toned thighs. Almost as if from a higher power, Markie could
foresee what was coming next. The legs, the legs, she was going to uncross them
a la Basic Instinct. And wham, one second later that was exactly what happened;
Lola revealed a smooth area that was dying to be entered into.

            "You
and I are going to do it like animals," she whispered into Markie's ear.
"Six o'clock, here in this office, be around or miss out on the most
risqué ride of your life."

            With that
said Lola got up and left. Soon after Markie was forced to admit there might just
indeed be a God.

Back when Markie was a
teenager, Playboy published an article stating that beautiful girls were often
the worst in bed. The more stunning the girl, the more likely she was to be a
lousy lay, they said. 

            Markie
hadn’t seen the logic in that. Yes, someone who was beautiful probably didn’t
have to work as hard to please a man. But so what? At least she was visually
pleasing to the eye and chances were you’d want to do a majority of the groping
and seducing yourself. A girl is a girl and a hole is a hole. This was why he
was so laidback about meeting with Lola tonight.

            Her
scheduling of the rendezvous couldn’t have been more perfect. Friday afternoons
in the advertising industry were usually known as either beer or wine o’ clock
and it was no surprise his staff were already down at the local pub celebrating
another birthday with cheap drinks. Early on in the business Markie and Rick had
decided that happy campers made happy workers thus the obligatory early Friday
afternoon clock off time. As long it increased productivity, it was fine with
him.

            “So I
guess that leaves just you and me?” Lola said, locking the office door behind
her.

            Markie
froze at this observation. Yes, at this point no one else was in the agency,
but that was not to say it would really be safe from hereon.  Pub-crawls
usually meant staff would be coming back in droves for cab charge dockets and
unlimited filtered water, and let’s not forget the Dynamic Italian Cleaning
Duo. He wondered what he’d been thinking before; if anything were to happen
between them it would have to be off local territory. Somewhere neutral,
distant and preferably where he was unrecognizable.

            “Maybe its
best we have this meeting elsewhere,” Markie said, motioning to the mess at his
table. It was not exactly the sort of surface he imagined pinning Lola up
against.

            “Where
were you thinking?” she said, licking her lips with satisfaction. Just so
Markie knew she hadn’t confused business with pleasure. This was definitely
going to be a moment of pleasure.

            “Um…”
Christ, Markie hadn’t given this much thought. He couldn’t take her back to his
place, too unprofessional. Lola’s place also teetered on the other extreme: too
personal, plus God forbid he leave any evidence.

            “How about
the Bay Divine?” Lola suggested and Markie clapped his hands.

            “Perfect.”
The discreet hotel regularly hosted business meetings; if anyone familiar
should cross their path, it wouldn’t be that hard to play dumb.

            An hour
later Markie and Lola were standing in the doorway of Suite 69 (by pure
coincidence), a room paid for in cash. On the outside, Markie may have looked
calm and collected but the truth was he felt like crapping his pants. The
moment reminded him of the summer he turned twelve, when his parents sent him
to a professional diving school. Markie had always being a strong swimmer, with
a cabinet jammed full of blue ribbons and gold trophies so they sent him there
with hopes of bringing home Olympic potential.

            But he
hated diving. When he stood on that wobbly board which hovered at least ten
meters above the surface, Markie felt in dire need of a swim ring.
Theoretically he could do it – swim, dive, whatever - but when it came to
practice, more often than not his puke hit the water before his head did.

            This instance
now was really no different. Markie knew technically what to do with a woman
but that knowledge seemed futile in this situation. You see, it was really up
to Lola to make the first move. She was
kind of
doing that; right now he
caught her in the act of undressing herself and folding her clothes neatly onto
the table…

“So…” she
smiled.

            Miss Lola
was now lying on the bed, arms by her side, completely naked. Okay so perhaps that
was the first move, Markie decided, looking rather sadly at his crotch. So much
for having a little entree: a friendly coaxing of the mouth-to-mouth kind, it
looked like Lola preferred to jump straight into main meal. But he could go
with that. Markie took off his clothes and slunk onto the bed beside Lola.

            One second
later he was hearing the question all men loathed hearing: “So are you going to
go down on me?”

            Just like
that. No kiss, no grab or pull first. No magic rubbing between two bodies.
Markie hadn’t even had a chance to properly check out the goods.

            “Go on,”
she moaned, reaching for and pushing his head down southward, “go on and
satisfy me.”

            Of course
Markie did as he was told, because he was a gentleman, even though Mister Snake
(who was still buried deep within his shell) was calling him a sucker. Twenty
minutes later, his manhood hadn’t moved one bit, it was still limp as a ragdoll
despite Markie silently screaming at it to come to attention. It didn’t help
that every time he tried to come up for breath Lola pushed his head back down
again.

            “More,
more.”

            Yeah,
yeah, Markie mumbled, despite feeling his jaw might drop off any second. When
he eventually did get his thing up (after kneading himself to an acceptable
firmness), it turned out Lola wasn’t so eager to climb up on top (“way too
tiring”) or get onto her knees (“do I look like a dog to you?”).

            “Let’s
stick with missionary,” she smiled.

            Needless
to say, this was when the old Playboy article came to mind. It finished almost
as soon as it started and there were neither fireworks nor any above-average
satisfaction granted from sleeping with something so similar to an
oxygen-impaired fish. Especially when after fifteen minutes it was over for
good.