Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Page 8

  I lift out his business card and punch in the number of his London office. I clear my throat and prepare for my performance.

  A smartly spoken woman answers my call. “A.S Media International, good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, I’m trying to get hold of Mr. Stone, can you tell me what time you expect him to complete his meeting in New York?”

  “Of course, can I ask whose speaking please?”

  “It’s Elizabeth Parker.”

  “Ah, yes Miss Parker.” I’m momentarily stunned that she knows my name. “If you can bear with me for a moment I will check his schedule for you.” There’s a brief pause. “His meeting is scheduled to end at 3pm and then he is planning to return to the Carlton to do some work before attending a charity dinner at 7.30. Can I get a message to him from you?”

  “No thank you ...”

  “Charlotte, Miss Parker.”

  “No thank you Charlotte, I’ll contact him myself later. Thank you for your help.”

  “My pleasure, please feel free to contact me again if you require any further assistance.”

  “I certainly will.”

  “Goodbye Miss Parker. Have a pleasant evening”.

  “Thank you. You too. Goodbye.”

  That has got to be one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever had with a complete stranger. What had Ayden said to her to make her so ... helpful? I check the clock, it’s 6.30pm, I’ve got a couple of hours to kill before I take to the stage.

  After a bite to eat I settle for a long soak in a hot bath, listening to the Sugar Babes singing Press The Button. My sentiment exactly. The combination of steam and scheming leaves me feeling dozy and ready for bed but I’m resolute and so prepare myself for Act 1 Scene One. I turn down my iPod and pick up Ayden’s business card and dial the number on the back. On the third ring, he picks up.

  “Yes!” He snaps, not recognising my number.

  I find my most innocent of voices. “Hi Ayden, it’s Beth.”

  “Oh! Beth! Hello. This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “… Really … no, I’m back at the hotel. What are you up to?”

  “I was about to get into a bubble bath but all I can smell is you. You left your boxers in my wash basket and your smell has got me feeling … well …” I can sense his surprise. I actually believe he is lost for words.

  “W... ell, I’m sorry about that. What do you want me to do about it? I’m three thousand miles away.”

  I’m sure you’ll come up with something.

  “I just thought, after what you offered last night that you might be able to help me out.” I pause, giving him time to assess the situation. “But, if you’re busy … it’s just that, I’m stood here wearing your lovely platinum necklace and kiss pendant and … by the way, thank you for all my presents. It isn’t even my birthday.”

  “It doesn’t have to be your birthday, I can buy you gifts any time,” he says, briskly.

  “I realise that, but it was very thoughtful of you. I’m just so hot and wet … but I can always go to bed.”

  “Whoa, just take it easy Beth. You don’t want to go rushing off.”

  At last, I think the penny has dropped. I hear him swallowing and taking a couple of extra breaths. “Alright, what should I do?”

  “What you usually do.”

  “I usually go to bed and sleep it off.” I’m enjoying this so much I pull up a chair and make myself comfortable.

  “That’s never a good thing to do. We can’t have that now can we?”

  I hear something or someone in his room and I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror: I stand.

  “Wait a minute. Room Service is here.” There’s a pause and I sit myself down again. “Yes ok, just bring it in. Right, take the money. No I don’t want you to pour. No thank you. Can’t you see I’m on the fucking phone here.” There’s the sound of a door being slammed. He’s back.

  “Sorry, that was room service, some arse hole wanted to pour wine.” For some reason he seems a little agitated and out of breath.

  “I’m still here Ayden.”

  “I have an idea.” I thought you might. “We can have phone sex. How would that be?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” I contain my amusement.

  “Take off your clothes and put me on speaker phone. I’ll talk you through it.”

  I place down the phone and wait. He actually believes he’s initiating this. “Ok, I’m wearing my panties.”

  “Now lick your fingers.”

  “Which hand?”

  “I don’t know either hand, you decide. Whichever you think will do the job.”

  I purposely take a couple of seconds to add a little drama. “OK, now what?”

  “Slide you fingers down your panties, so you’re touching yourself. What can you feel?”

  For some reason, this game is getting serious. I don’t believe it, I’m starting to tingle. It’s getting so I really do want to follow his directions. I lower my right hand until it’s between my legs, seeking out my clitoris. Through gentle gasps I answer, “I’m warm and wet … I’m sort of aching inside.”

  “Fuck! Take it easy Beth ...” I think I can hear the sound of a zipper coming down and the fact he’s masturbating to the sound of my voice is a massive turn-on.

  I start to moan. “Talk to me Ayden, I need to hear your voice.”

  “I’m here Beth, I’m feeling you.” His breathing is ragged and his words are broken into syllables. “I’m right here with you. I’m hard for you, baby.”

  “Ayden.” I feel the room stating to spin and there’s a burning sensation which is mounting and overpowering me. Maybe, I’m recalling the way he looked last night, tied to my bed, coming apart … but my breathing is frantic and my heart is pounding in my chest.

  “I’m with you Beth, I can feel you, you’re so close.”

  I start to spasm wildly and my orgasm has me falling to my knees. “Ah!” I’m helpless. I throw my head back and give in to it.

  “Argh!” A deep guttural roar comes from the phone and resonates around the bathroom, letting me know he’s had a spectacular orgasm. “Fuck!”

  Gradually, his breathing eases, he sounds exhausted but settled somehow.

  I take a minute to gather my thoughts. This isn’t the way I saw this little scene playing out at all. There I was, so sure of myself and here I am having real phone sex.

  “Are you there Ayden?”

  “Yeah, I think so, just about.” I still hear his breathing. “Make me a promise Beth, you’ll never do that to me again. What if I’d been in a meeting?”

  “I knew you weren’t.”

  “How did you know?” He’s eager to hear my answer. I’ve roused his curiosity.

  “I called Charlotte to check and, you should give that woman a raise because she was very helpful.” It feels good to explain.

  “Aren’t you the resourceful one? How did you know I would go along with it?” I picture a wary expression.

  “Because I saw you on TV and you looked very handsome, but your smile was a little too forced and it didn’t reach your eyes. I thought you might like to take some time out.” That’s what this was really about. Not a power trip for me but a way of taking care of him. I just had some fun along the way.

  “You’re very special Beth, fancy you knowing that.” There’s a heartfelt sincerity in his voice, it transcends the distance between us. At that moment we are inextricably connected.

  “You’re very special to me Ayden. I want you back here in my bed.” The truth spills out of me like hot steam from a kettle.

  What am I saying?

  “I can catch an earlier flight tomorrow and land around nine. Do you want me to come over?”

  “You’d better, or we’re going to have to do this all over again.” I catch myself in the steamed-up mirror: I’m flushed but I have a self-satisfied smile on my face.

&n
bsp; “Should I bring anything?”

  “Only a change of clothes and anything else you think you might need. I’ll provide the entertainment.”

  “Then I’ll look forward to being entertained.”

  I see his boyish smile. “By the way, why are you eating, you have a charity dinner at 7.30?”

  “I never eat at those things and, you can stop now. You’ve had your fun. Let me get back to work. I know my schedule.” How quickly his armour plating is restored. All that softness is tucked away, zipped up and he’s back to being fierce Mr. P. not for potential but for powerful.

  I sense it’s my cue to leave. I decide to exit stage left. “Have a good night Ayden, I’ve some bedtime reading to catch up on. See you tomorrow.” My briskness is uncalled for and the second the words let fly from my mouth I regret their departure.

  “You too, sleep well. Beth ... we’re good right?”

  “Yes Ayden, we’re good.”

  “Beth …”

  “Yes?”

  “Check your mail.”

  “Ok.”

  “See you tomorrow”

  “I’ll be here.”

  I end the call, feeling a little disappointed but not to the extent I will let it spoil my evening. It has been fun, after all. I’m about to head to bed but, instead, I fire up my laptop, copy out his email address off the back of his business card, and send him something to lift his mood.

  Prior to meeting him, my only companion and flat mate was my music: I have welcomed it into my home with open arms like an old friend who has given me comfort when I’ve needed it, and been here for me at the end of my working day. Through good times and bad, I have found solace in the melodies and lived my life to the beat of chorus’ that resonate throughout the tracks stored on my laptop and on my iPod. They make up the soundtrack to my life. I want to introduced Ayden to it, I think they are about to become very good friends. Welcome to my world Mr. Stone.

  From: songbirdBP@hotmail.o.uk

  To: a.s.mediainternational1@global.com

  Date: 15th October 2012 21.45

  Subject: WHY THE SERIOUS FACE?

  HOT!

  I’m off to bed with my book and jiffy bag in hand. I wonder what’s inside?

  Have a great evening … be good!

  See you tomorrow.

  Beth.

  X

  I can visualise Avril Lavine strutting her way through the song and that thought makes me smile. He won’t be mentally prepared for this kind of email and it will throw him temporarily off track. But isn’t that the idea?

  Before turning out the lights, my curiosity gets the better of me. I Google Sex and Submission. And, my God, have I been wrapped-up in cotton wool? Unsure of what to think, I shut down. My head is filled with the kind of images of domination which make me shudder and flinch. Is this the kind relationship he wants? Is he that kinky or, more importantly, does he think I am?

  Up until now, all I had was a recollection of Justin Timberlake singing about ‘shackles’ and ‘whips’ in Sexy Back. But now, I don’t know what to think.

  The laptop pings. I have an email. I wonder who from?

  From: a.s.mediainternational1@global.com

  To: song.birdBP@hotmail.co.uk

  Date: 15th October 2012 16.55

  Subject: WHAT SERIOUS FACE?

  (VERY) HOT!

  I’ve, had over 96 personal emails today and yours is the only one that’s made me smile. Thank you. Get to bed!

  Enjoy the gift …

  Ayden x

  Now it really is time for bed, although sleeping with the after effects of that orgasm still rattling around my insides will not be easy. If his voice has that effect on me, what will he be able to do with those hands, or any other part of his perfect anatomy?

  And what the hell’s in this bag?

  I tear it open. Inside it is a rectangular black box. It’s jewellery, a necklace perhaps?

  Oh! That’s unexpected …

  It’s a black silicone, egg vibrator with a charger and a remote control. Ha! A wicked smile is sweeping across my face, stopping only when it threatens to split it in two: a giggle escapes from my throat and a surge of arousal find its way to my nether region, causing my breath to quicken at the prospect of using this aesthetically pleasing and fully functional sex toy.

  I snap my phone free of its charger and compose a message.

  Mr. Stone, your gift is making me blush. You are a Very naughty boy who is turning me into a Very naughty girl … B. X

  Thanks to the power of modern satellite communications, courtesy of A.S.M.I no doubt, I have an immediate reply. With excited fingers I click ‘read:’

  Miss. Parker, you have no idea … Sleep well! A.X

  Time for bed, I think.

  Despite the icy wind, Dan is sweating, looking like a man who has done ten rounds with a sparring partner. He’s driven home like a man possessed by some intangible force of will and determination, having been distracted all day. He’s feeling exhausted due to a combination of physical excursion and fatigue, brought on by lack of sleep and nervous energy.

  Having had an extra, large lunch to compensate for the fact he would be too busy to have an evening meal, he’s reading through last night’s notes. For the first time in six years, he’s had a break-through: he was in the right place at the right time. Last night’s encounter with her was no coincidence. He’d been feeling as if something was about to happen and, the fact it had, has him feeling pretty pleased with himself. His instincts were good.

  The day’s delivery of newspapers has been dumped onto the sofa. He decided to forgo the scanning in favour of a personal approach. He has to follow up his lead, pronto. His most important detail is written down in big letters on his pad, it’s also etched onto is left forearm: ASMED1A.

  On his phone there are only ten contacts, one of them belongs to Jack Simpson, a fellow infantry man with a knack for computer hacking and all things electronic. The operation Dan has in mind calls for teamwork and specific skills. Jack’s just the man.

  His phone rings four times, “Hello Jack, it’s Dan, Dan Rizler. How are you mate?”

  “Fuck me! I thought you were out for the count. How long’s it been champ?” The voice at the end of the line is uncultured but friendly.

  “Ne’r, I’m still alive and kicking. Need a favour.” Dan doesn’t believe in beating around the bush.

  “Sound’s serious, mate. You in a spot of bother?”

  “No but I know a fucker who’s about to experience some.”

  He’s sniggering down the line. “Oh yeah, who’s that then?”

  “You still cleaning the cop shop on Bolton Street?”

  “Yeah, has its perks. Why?”

  “Wondered if you could give me some info on a Reg? Some smart arse clipped my car and did a runner. Got the Reg. though and thought I’d pay him a visit.”

  “Poor bastard.”

  “I hope not, because I don’t accept cheques.” They both laugh cruelly.

  “What’s the damage?”

  “I’d say a monkey would cover it.”

  “Right. Sound’s like a piece of piss. So what do you need?”

  “What are you offering?”

  “I can supply you with a name, an address, date of birth. What else do you want?”

  “Nothing. That’s more than enough for what I need.”

  “Let me get a pen.” There is silence down the line and Dan is growing impatient. “Right let’s have it.”

  “ASMED1A”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s a fancy Reg. What sort of motor was it?”

  “A Silver Rolls.”

  “Fuck me, you want to hold out for more than a monkey. Sounds like you’ve got yourself a rich bastard.”

  “Yeah.” Dan can barely speak, he’s so overcome with a temper which is fast becoming an incendiary device. “Looked like a right poser. You know the type?”

  “Oh yeah. It�
�s always the pretty boys who think they can get away with it. He’ll shit himself when he finds out he’s about to become your new sparring partner.”

  “Oh, I think he’ll give me what I want without a fight.” The sneer says it all.

  “No can do tonight, but I’ll get back to you tomorrow. Got your mobile number, so I can text details or call. Either way, I’ll get the job done.”

  “Good man. I’ll give you a ton for your trouble, if it works out.”

  “Have I ever let you down before?”

  “No, but there’s always a first time.”

  “You’re an ungrateful bastard Dan.”

  “That’s me Captain Cautious.”

  “Right Captain. For a ton I’ll get straight on it. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Dan ends the call, feeling very pleased with the progress he has made: the game is in play and he knows all the moves. He trusts no-one, but has some faith in Jack. Since Iraq they have stayed in touch; when Jack had needed someone to throw their weight around, he was there. So, now it’s payback time.

  A hungry cat is weaving in and out of his ankles, trying to gain his attention. “Evening Honey, you ready for your tea. I’m late tonight, had something important to sort out.” He reaches up to the top shelf and lifts out a fresh tin of cat food. He spoons it into her dish. “There you go, eat up.”

  The bowl falls to the floor with a clatter and he gives it no more than a cursory glance: his mind is on other things. He pulls the tab off a can of lager and makes his way over to his comfortable chair, feeling optimistic about the prospect of getting back together with his girl. His Cheshire Cat grin wouldn’t be quite so menacing if it was directed at someone or something in particular. The fact that it’s merely a manifestation of his inner thoughts makes for a disturbing expression.

  He snatches one of the newspapers off his daily pile and glances at the headlines: more economic doom and gloom and concerns about the threat of war in the Middle East. The information is of no interest to him. He rests the paper on his lap and throws back his head, feeling chilled lager trickling down his throat. It’s been a while since he allowed his lips to touch a drop, but today’s a special day. He has cause for celebration.