Kinky(22)

I found the courage to look up. ‘Nowhere, mate. It’s cool. We’ll do something on Sunday if you want.’

He brightened. ‘Nice one. Brunch? Hampstead Heath?’

‘Get your kite out.’

‘I will! Well, I would if I had one.’

‘Sorted.’

Ten minutes of silence while our heads went back down to our computer screens.

‘Definitely a brothel,’ he said, out of the blue, pulling me away from my air-freshener radio ad.

‘What?’

‘That place.’ He jerked a thumb towards the window, indicating Kinky Cupcake.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Just saw this blatant ho come out the door. Skirt up to her arse, heels like Nelson’s Column, corset and a dog collar.’

‘Perhaps that’s just her style. Not very nice to call women hos, Anton.’

‘Style? It’s nasty. Saw a really weird guy come out of there earlier on too.’

‘Did you?’ I hoped to God I wasn’t not blushing too much. My heart was skittering.

‘Looked like one of the Village People but skinnier. I reckon they have male and female hookers in there.’

‘Right. Which Village Person was it? The one with the huge feather headdress?’

‘Nah. Which was the one with the huge ’tache?’

My heart stopped for a beat.

Coincidence.

Paranoia.

Stop it.



* * *



I want to ask him about it, but I manage to head myself off, concentrating instead on small talk about his crazy flatmates and the film I saw with Anton, while we sip at our Kinky coffee.

‘I miss you this week,’ he says, putting a hand on my thigh and squeezing.

‘Me too.’ A rush of scalding love, head to toe. ‘All work and no play …’

He doesn’t know the saying.

‘I play a little bit,’ he says, and for a moment I think he is going to say he’s been having hot kinky sex with Tinkle Tosser while I’ve been at work. ‘We play five-a-side football, me and my friends.’

‘Oh, ha ha, oh, right, oh, that’s good.’

He eyes me, a little puzzled. ‘You like football?’

‘No.’

Over by the bar I notice a familiar-ish figure and I purse my lips.

Her, simpering between two burly blokes in suits, wearing not much more than a silk bandage and a smile. She has an amazing figure, full and womanly yet somehow lacking an ounce of extraneous flab. Her laughter is infectious and forces you to look over.

‘Shall we get down to the dungeon?’ I ask, trying to drink my coffee too quickly and burning my tongue.

‘What is hurry? We have all afternoon.’

‘Just … can’t wait.’

He chuckles, pats my thigh. ‘I will make you wait. That is cruel thing to do, right?’

‘Not too long though.’

She is looking over. She has clocked Dimitri. One hand primps her hair while the other slides down the curve of her hip. She thrusts out her bosom. The only way she could make it more obvious she wants Dimitri’s attention is by shooting a flaming arrow across the room to him.

She catches his eye. He nods and smiles, then turns back to me.

A riot of cheering breaks out somewhere behind my ribs.

‘No,’ he says. ‘Not too long. Is punishment for me to wait too long.’ He winks and I glow. He pushes the coffee cup away and takes my hand, leads me to the Promised Land. Well, the door to the basement stairs anyway.

‘Hiiiii,’ says Twat Face as we pass. ‘Great to see you here. Are you coming to the orgy tonight?’

‘I must work,’ says Dimitri, not stopping.

‘Oh well. Another time. Catch you later. Unless you catch me first.’ Giggle, simper.

‘Later,’ he says and we are through the door, away from the danger zone.

‘She’s very attractive,’ I say, feeling my way down the dark stairs in Dimitri’s wake.

‘So are you,’ he replies gallantly.

‘Not in her league, though.’

‘She is football player?’

‘Not as pretty as her,’ I translate.

‘I am sad when girls talk like this. Don’t say that, please.’

‘It’s true.’

‘You say it again and I spank your ass, Rosie.’

Shivery delight. I’m tempted to say it again, but I refrain.

The door looks like a real dungeon door from some medieval castle – black metal studs, heavy oak, the works.

When I enter, it looks unfamiliar, perhaps because it was filled with people last time and now it is empty. Intimidated, I take an instinctive step towards Dimitri, who puts an arm around me.

‘It looks real.’ The atmosphere of pain and terror dampens my ardour for a while. I cast my eyes around the gloom, seeking adjustment.