Act of Exposure (3 page)

Her nipples
were hard against the constraint of her bodice; the frilled lips of
her most secret place were slick with the juice of arousal. Her
body was goading her to live out the rest of her fantasy, a role
she only enacted on one night in every month. She needed a man. She
needed passion.

A twirling orb
positioned above the bar threw shafts of light over those who
lingered in the shadows. There was a smell of expensive perfume,
heady wines, and headier cigar smoke.

Carmel saw
faces she knew; men's faces. Some were bankers, others were
'something' in the city. Others were 'something' in uniform, mostly
generals and admirals. Some had titles, most had a fortune. Some
she avoided. Only one other person knew her little secret. Valeria,
a dark-skinned beauty of Anglo-African parentage.

There she was
now among the crowd at the end of the bar. Carmel waved, and
Valeria waved back, then turned and said something to someone
behind her. Carmel craned her neck and tried to see who it was.
Valeria had a friend with her, a tall, blonde friend who seemed
reluctant to step into the limelight.

Just at the
moment when Carmel was about to leave her perch and join Valeria
and her friend, a hand landed on her shoulder.

'Carmel,
darling. There's someone I want you to meet.' Recognizing Archie's
voice, she turned round to face him, ready to hurl a sharp rebuke
that she had entertained enough. Her time was now her own. For the
moment, she buttoned her lip. Like chips of broken coal, her eyes
went from Archie to the man beside him. He was tall, blue-eyed, his
facial features irregular, but not unattractive.

'Do you
really?' Her voice was noticeably hostile. Archie ignored it, his
smile still plastered on his face.

'This is Olly,
darling. He specifically asked me if I could introduce him. I said
you wouldn't mind.'

Archie barely
winced as her glance hardened.

'I'm not a
whore, Archie, and I'm not something you bandy around like a snort
of coke.'

For the
umpteenth time since she'd first asked Archie for a job, shivers of
revulsion crept up her spine and burst into frosty twigs across her
shoulders. Not that Archie was disgusting to look at. He was
smooth, polite, shiny and sleek; just like the satin of the shirts
he sometimes wore. But all that glitters is not gold, and the shine
of satin can hide the most obscene, the most hirsute of bodies.
That was Carmel's feeling about him; that the sleek outer casing
hid something more bestial, more dangerous.

Archie smiled
his most carefree smile, turned on his most winning charm.

'Darling, I
would never presume such a thing.'

His lips were
damp on her cheek, his breath moist upon her ear. 'For me,' she
heard him whisper. 'Please.'

Through
half-closed eyes, she studied the man who stood next to Archie as
though he were some schoolboy applying for his first job, his first
step into the adult world. But this was no adolescent, and by
definition, he was not likely to be inexperienced in the ways of a
wicked world. He was tall, and his eyes twinkled when the shafts of
light from the twirling orb caught them.

'Oliver
Hardiman, Miss Carmel.'

She let him
take her hand, raised her eyebrows when he kissed it. His lips were
cold; from his last drink, no doubt. Gin, she thought, with ice.
His head hovered above her hand. She took in the glossiness of his
hair, the slightly thinning spot in the middle, and the large mole
just behind his left ear.

Once he raised
his head, his eyes looked intently into hers. They shone with
admiration; almost with awe, but more so with lust. 'Miss Justice.
Jezebel. Or may I call you Miss Carmel - I am told that is your
true name. Your performance was incredible. I have truly never seen
anything like it in my life. Perhaps we could have supper
tonight?'

'No. I'm
sorry. We can't.' She caught the wary, almost fawning expression on
Archie's face, and wondered what his relationship was with this
man. Why had he betrayed her identity to him? Normally, he
respected her privacy once her act was over. Anger replaced her
loathing for him.

The look on
Oliver Hardiman's face told her he was not used to being rejected.
It also said that he did not much like the experience. 'Then
lunch?'

She tossed her
head. Held it high. Her eyes looked past him to the mix of people,
silk suits, and designer dresses. She took a deep breath and almost
got high on the mix of expensive perfumes.

'No. I never
mix business with pleasure, Mr Hardiman. I regard collusion with my
audience as detrimental to my professional performance.'

Fair eyebrows
rose sharply towards the gleaming blond hair. Now there was no
denying the annoyance in his voice. 'Good grief, Miss Carmel.
Spoken like a lawyer. No wonder they named you Jezebel
Justice!'

'That was the
reason,' said Archie. 'I noticed the way she spoke. And the
clothes, of course. It was my idea to call her that. In fact
I...'

His attention
suddenly seemed to drift. Carmel looked to where he was looking.
The light from the glass orb had stopped and settled on the group
of people at the other end of the bar.

Valeria was
among them, but did not notice that Archie was looking her way. She
appeared to be in deep conversation with her friend who had
shoulder-length blonde hair, was very tall, very angular, and wore
a dark grey trouser suit.

Oliver
Hardiman attempted to regain her attention. 'If that's the case,
perhaps I could buy you a drink.'

'I'm sorry,'
said Carmel as she slipped off her stool. Suddenly, an idea came to
her. She smiled sweetly up at him. 'But perhaps you'd like to meet
my friend, Valeria. I'm sure she'd like a drink with you - perhaps
even supper.'

She ignored
Archie's look of annoyance. How dare he presume she would
accommodate this man. How dare he betray her privacy.

Oliver eyed
her sidelong. He looked puzzled, but Carmel - Abby - gave him no
time to question her actions. Grabbing his hand and dragging him
firmly through the crowd, she led him to where Valeria still stood
with the tall blonde stranger.

Valeria's dark
eyes opened wide when she saw her friend. 'Darling,' said Valeria
in that husky voice of hers. 'Marvellous to see you.'

Abby
introduced everyone.

Valeria was
all attention, all gushing enthusiasm. Her eyes raked Oliver
Hardiman's body as though he wasn't wearing the Armani suit and
Gucci shoes. As though he wasn't wearing anything but a big smile
and a large hard-on, and Valeria did like big erections!

Her long dark
fingers were grasped by his. 'Charmed, Mr Hardiman. My word. Where
did Carmel find such a gorgeous man as you?'

Abby took
charge of events. 'Here, darling. Now do try and get on together.
Get closer. Get to know each other.'

As she said
it, Abby, in her guise as Carmel of the black, shoulder-length hair
and bright red lips, caught hold of Valeria's hand. Accompanied by
such words, anyone else would have placed it inside Oliver's hand.
But Carmel was not anyone else. She was something very different,
something far more special than those who saw her could ever
realize.

With a
haunting smile around her bright red lips, she guided her friend's
hand to Oliver's crotch; then laughed at his sudden intake of
breath and the shocked look on his face. All the same, she knew he
would not refuse to let that hand go further, to let it undo his
zip in some darkened place, and let Valeria do to it whatever she
pleased.

'Well...'
Valeria's breasts swelled with excitement. Her dark brown eyes were
wide, and her generous, plum-coloured lips glistened after her
tongue had run over them once or twice.

Like a
panther, thought Carmel, like a sleek, black panther about to
partake of a meal.

'Carmel...'
Fingers touched her shoulder. 'Hardiman is a very special man. I
wanted you to...' Archie's voice was low, but coldly angry. Carmel
slid from his grasp. Now, she decided, was the time to leave. She
had no wish to hear why Archie wanted her to ingratiate herself
with a 'personal' friend of his. The shadier side to Archie's world
was something she carefully steered clear of. There were rumours
that he was involved in other rackets; drugs, prostitution, dirty
films. She wanted to know nothing about them.

Taking the
view that there is safety in numbers, and a certain security in
like reaching for like, she grabbed the arm of the big blonde who
had come with Valeria.

'Come on,' she
said quickly. 'Valeria can manage him without our help.'

Valeria, she
could tell, still had the man's crotch in her hand, her body
leaning against him so he was trapped between her and the bar.

The blonde
began to protest, but her voice sounded croaky, as though she had a
cold. Carmel ignored her protests.

'Don't be a
gooseberry,' she said crisply. 'Val likes to have guys to herself.
Don't worry. She's set up for the night. She won't miss you.'

Outside, the
night air tingled and throbbed with the sounds of civilization. A
thousand lights twinkled from the night-time city. The sky blearily
reflected its brazen light.

'Taxi!'
shouted Abby, and raised her hand.

'No!'

Strong fingers
gripped her arm.

'I have a
car.'

'And a
cold?'

Either the
blonde did not hear, or she ignored Abby's obvious comment about
the deep croakiness of her voice. With heels clacking along the
cracked, uneven pavement, the two figures threw long shadows as
they passed beneath the yellow glare of an NCP sign. They took the
stairs, the blonde consistently taking them two at a time. Abby did
a pretty fair job of keeping up.

'This
way.'

Now it was the
blonde's turn to grip Abby's hand and guide her among the parked
cars.

'This is
mine.'

They stopped
and the blonde rummaged in a small patent leather handbag. 'Keys
are in this bloody thing somewhere. Oh, shit. How can anyone find
anything among all this bloody rubbish!'

With that the
blonde tipped the contents of the bag onto the ground. Lipstick
rolled one way, mascara another. Clunk went the keys as they too
hit the ground. With knees spread wide, the blonde bent to retrieve
them.

'What about
your make-up?' Abby caught the rolling lipstick under her sole as
she said it.

The blonde
straightened up before she responded. 'Stuff the bloody make-up. I
won't be needing it any more. Quick, get into the car.'

Abby shook her
head in amazement and smiled. 'You must have money to burn. That
stuff's going to take some fair money to replace.'

'I won't be
replacing it. I told you, I won't be needing it any more.'

Glad to escape
the fridge-white coldness of the car park's fluorescents, Abby slid
into the front seat of a sleek, black car. The car smelt of leather
and expensive tastes. Her companion switched on the interior
light.

'Thank God for
that!'

That is not a woman's voice
, thought
Abby. At last the penny dropped, and as if her head was perched on
a spring, she turned quickly and stared at the person beside her.
Her heart skipped a beat. A blonde wig flew into the back seat. A
pair of high-heeled shoes followed.

'How the hell
do you women wear these things?'

Should she
laugh, or should she scream and get the hell out of here? A male
face; female make-up, female clothes, broad, male shoulders. No.
There was no danger. Valeria had something to do with this, and if
this guy was a friend of Valeria, he could not possibly be
suspect.

'Never mind
how women wear such things, what explanation do you have for
wearing them?' As she spoke, she took a deep breath and recognized
the scent of a man among the warm leather smell of the car
seats.

'It was
Valeria's idea.' He smiled. His teeth looked very white, though
comical, against the peachy brightness of his lipstick. 'I dared
her to do something. And in return, she dared me.'

He paused. She
was aware of his eyes studying her face, her eyes, her hair, and
her lips.

He had brown
eyes, dark eyebrows. Even in old age, she thought, his eyebrows
would still be dark. His hair, although flattened tightly to his
head from wearing the wig, was also dark and expensively cut.

Should I stay
, she asked
herself,
or should I go?
It was a stupid question. She already knew the
answer.

Unblinking,
she studied the firm contours of his face, the smile that played
around his mouth and in his eyes. The seat beneath her buttocks
felt suddenly warm, suddenly mobile. Her body was beginning to
move, to demand. She sensed this man was unusual, as unusual as
herself. She also sensed his sexuality. Strong forces were at work
between them; complex chemical reactions that neither could fully
understand, but both were responding to.

A woman of your profession
, she
thought to herself.
How could you do this?
How could you?
But the need was too strong,
and anyway, it wasn't the first time.

Once more
, she told herself,
I'll take a taste of the wild side just once more,
and then I'll leave this life for good, stick to the day job,
perhaps even get married and have a family. But for
now
...

She smiled,
leaned forward, kissed his cheek.

'So, my blonde
bombshell, you have exposed your gender. How much more is there to
expose?'

He laughed,
reached out, and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. He might
just as well have cupped her breast or forced his fingers between
her legs. The effect was the same. One touch, and her body was on
fire.