Breaking Leila (37 page)

“You and Matt?” Yeah, because we’d make a lovely
little
 
ménage
 
right now.

“Me and
Matt-Matt are doing a pub tour,” he announced.

“Stop fucking
calling me that!” Matt ranted in the background.

“I don’t think
I’d be very welcome right now.”

“Probably
not–we’re having a good bitch about you,” Aidan tittered.

“What do
 
you
 
have to bitch about? I’ve always been nice to
you!”

“You tell me to
fuck off all the time, you foul-mouthed succubus. And you’ve
refused to blow me more than once.” There was a pause and a groan.
“Sorry, Matt-Matt.”

“It’s
 
Matt
!”

Aidan gave a
mocking great scream in my ear and I held the phone away, gritting
my teeth.

“Have you two
quite finished with the homo-erotic wrestling?” I said.

“Unfortunately.” Aidan laughed. “Are you free later, Lei-Lei?”

“I don’t think
so.”

“Pork sword
duty?”

“Something like
that.” I twisted a curl around my finger. “Tomorrow maybe?”

“Give me a ring
in the morning and we’ll meet up. If you can walk, that is.” I
heard low muttering. “Oh–Matt wants to know how the pitch is
going.”

“I didn’t get
it.” I sighed. “He gave it to Poppy.”

Aidan relayed
the news and Matt called Joseph a cunt.

“He says–”

“I heard what
he said,” I groaned.

“I told you,
he’s a super villain. I bet he even has an evil lair.”

I peered
through the glass at the hotel suite. “If he does, it’s a bit of a
gay one.”

“Suits me! I’m going to love you and leave you, Lei-Lei.
We’re trying to get drunk on Bud and it’s
 
so
 
not working.”

“Well…good luck
with that. Maybe move on to the Mojitos,” I said.

“Ooh, good
call.”

I checked the
time as I hung up. It was barely three o’clock. Joseph had said he
wouldn’t be home late, as if that meant anything at all, and I had
hours to kill yet.

I couldn’t
spend it all in the evil-gay lair.

With my new bag
tossed over my shoulder, I made my way to the lift. The lobby was
roaring with guests and staff, and I had to fight my way through, a
nice little contrast to quiet hotels I’d sauntered into when
whoring. On the other side of the glass doors lay a dirty yellow
sun and copper sulphate sky, like something from a comic book.

The traffic
noises and shouting voices were almost comforting. I was a little
disappointed at how unglamorous–almost vulgar–the architecture was
on Pearl Street. Boxy offices alternated with glass-fronted
skyscrapers and scrappy parking lots. Funny, how London can spoil
one in that regard, if not many, many others. We hadn’t bothered
with the Finance District on my last trip to New York; we were
about to start our LPC courses and needed a break from all things
Law. Now, remembering Poppy’s interest, I twisted round and headed
for Wall Street.

Pillared
buildings in pale stone soon loomed and I felt strangely at home
beside them. They were battered by weather, fists and nails, even
bombs, but they stood tall, proud, unfazed by it all. They were the
trees in New York, breathing in souls instead of carbon dioxide and
silently spitting out the remains.

Aidan had called me a succubus. While I knew he meant no
harm, the word festered...I wasn’t so different from the town’s
trees, but I didn’t just breathe in. I
 
stole.

I couldn’t
stand outside the Stock Exchange for long–it was too busy and I was
wary of looking suspicious–so I walked farther around to Broadway,
where they had actual trees, and installed myself on a bench.

I had asked Joseph who he was, but he’d evaded the question.
Everyone else seemed to answer it easily: a cunt, as Matt observed
so graciously. His little tirade this morning had seeped into my
skin and I heard him say over and over, what do
you
 
see
 
in
him?

The truth was
that I didn’t know. I wanted him–needed him, almost–with the kind
of primal longing I’d thought had died in my teens. Laying a finger
on him was like going to war. I didn’t fight to win, though. I
soared toward defeat with an aching sweetness, as if it was somehow
the point of it all. The edge of the knife.

I did not know
the man beneath the flesh. I smelled him, tasted him, lay anointed
in his sweat and God knew what else, but I didn’t know what he
liked to eat for breakfast or his favourite newspaper. How he’d
lost his virginity. When he called his mother.

That
said…knowing those things about Matt hadn’t made much difference in
the end.

“Mind if I sit
with you?”

I glanced up at
a middle-aged woman in a badly fitting suit.

“Oh, no. Go
ahead.” I gestured to the space next to me.

“A Brit, huh?”
She pulled cigarettes from her bag. “Mind if I smoke?”

“No,” I lied.
“And yes…I’m from England.”

She eyed my
dress and heels. “On business?”

“More or less.”
I smiled ruefully.

She struggled
with her lighter for a moment and finally took a deep drag. “Jeez…I
needed that. Men are dipshits.”

“Bad day?”

“Oh, you bet.”
She shook her head, laughing hoarsely. “Have you got a
dipshit?”

“I’ve got a
few. Some shittier than others.”

“That’s the
modern way, huh?” She inhaled again. “One is enough for me.”

“It isn’t for
me.” The honesty, despite her raised brows, felt like it had sucked
ten pounds off me.

“At least you
know what you want.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” I sighed. “Especially when
they
 
expect
 
you to know.”

“They expect
you to know everything except how to fix a flat tire. Otherwise,
all they’d be good for is their dicks.”

I giggled
before I could help myself. “What did he do, your poor man? If you
don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“You’re so
polite. I love it. Long story, wouldn’t want to bore you. But trust
me when I say he’s a dipshit. If they gave awards, he’d be rolling
in them.”

“Rolling in
shit.” I started to laugh.

She joined me,
clucking and choking at the same time. “You said it.” She killed
the end of her cigarette with a scuffed heel, and rose back into
the sun. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Enjoy New York.”

I nodded. “You
too. Good luck with your dip–your man.”

“Thanks, honey.
You take care now.”

I watched her
totter back down the boulevard, before getting to my own feet and
heading back to the hotel. Rush hour was swelling and the roads
were fat with tour buses and yellow taxis. I navigated by
landmarks.

Back in the
comfort of the air-conditioned suite, I ordered a sandwich and a
bowl of passion fruit sorbet–sorbet!–on room service. I had fun
tipping the pretty waitress with another stack of Joseph’s bills.
As I ate, I flicked through a million TV channels and ogled some
tanned, fresh-faced boys who I was probably old enough to have
babysat on some awful reality show and then…well, I think I fell
asleep. That’s what I get for lounging on a huge bed with a full
stomach.

The screech of
my mobile made me groan. It’s funny–I’d assumed that giving up
whoring meant my life would no longer be ruled by that little metal
box. Evidently, I’d been very wrong.

“Um…hello?” I
muttered, expecting it to be my parents.

“Lei-Lei. Is it
okay if we come up, or is the Marquis de Sade now in
residence?”

“Aid.” I paused
to yawn. “Erm. Is it really necessary?” I glanced at the time. A
little past eight. I’d been spark out for a few hours.

“Don’t you want
our fabulous company?” he whined.

“I’m not sure
Matt is feeling that fabulous toward me.”

“No, he isn’t.”
He lowered his voice. “Seriously–I think you should talk to him. He
keeps going on about ringing your parents.”

“What…what?” I sprang up from the bed. “Like,
to
 
tell
 
them?”

“Yeah. He’s
pretty drunk. Actually…we both are. Dramatic paaause! But he’s
adamant they should know.”

“Can’t you talk
some sense into him?” I begged.

“I’ve been
trying for the past hour. You know what he’s like. All stubborn…”
He sighed in adoration. “He’s all honour and virtue, dark and
tortured. Like Batman. Mattman!”

I would have
laughed if the situation hadn’t been so dire. “I’m not sure about
the honour bit.”

“Maybe if we
pronounce it on-whore?”

“Or the virtue,
come to think of it.”

“Well, he won’t
 
come
 
for me. That’s practically
chastity,” he said dryly. “Anyway. Can we come up?”

“I suppose
you’d better. You can’t stick around long, though–Joseph might be
home soon.”

“Home, eh?
Which nest are you in?”

“Fuck off,” I
said. “Sorry. Erm. The third suite on the eleventh floor. Prank me
when you’re outside, okay?”

“Okay. But
don’t let us in.”

“What?
Why?”

“He can say his
piece at the door and I’ll drag him home…letting him in there isn’t
going to do any good.”

“I can handle
him,” I protested.

“Look. The
boy’s a chocolate orange right now. He thinks that if he whacks
himself hard enough, he’ll split off into yummy little bite-size
segments and he’ll fit in your mouth that way,” said Aidan.

“Exactly how drunk
 
are
 
you?”

“Chocolate
orange, Lei-Lei.” Then he hung up.

I cleared up my
tray and dove into the shower, lathering away the Broadway woman’s
smoke. When I had dried myself down, I left my hair to dry in
ringlets and threw on short satin pyjamas. It was hardly the outfit
I wanted to greet Joseph in, but I couldn’t answer the door in just
stockings, alas.

My phone rang
and I padded over to the door, my mouth dry at the thought of
having Matt in Joseph’s space. I did mean to stall him, but Matt
filed straight in with a silent nod, staring about the place before
hauling himself onto a sofa. I cracked open bottles of Coke from
the mini-bar and set them on the black marble coffee table,
exchanging winces with an annoyed and bemused Aidan. A pair of
glazed eyes taunted me and it was only then I realized that I’d
worn these pyjamas when Matt stayed over earlier this week–now he
remembered how I’d knelt down and sucked him, how he’d peeled them
off me before sliding into my bed. After a few seconds, his cheeks
flushed and he lowered his gaze.

One of us had
to talk. “So...good day?”

“Yeah,” said
Aidan. “We found this great little bar on–”

“They should
know,” Matt cut in sharply.

“Who?” I said,
feigning ignorance.

“Your parents.”
The glass tumbler stood empty as he glugged Coke from the bottle.
“They should know how you’re earning the money that keeps
them.”

Aidan shook his
head. “I’ve been trying to tell him, but he won’t listen–”

“You don’t know
what it’s like though, Aid.” Matt slurred.

The velour sofa
grazed my legs as I shifted about. “What do you mean?”

“Forget I said
it.”

“Why would I hurt them like that? They don’t need to know and
besides, I
 
owe
 
them. They paid for my courses, my rent for ages,
everything–”

“Oh, come on! They must know you’re not doing some pissy
paperwork, the amount you’re paying. I can’t see how they sleep at
night. They shouldn’t want it for you.” Matt glanced about the
suite again, his upper lip twitching at a pile of Joseph’s clothes
draped on a chair. “Not
 
this
.”

“I’m fine with
 
this
,” I said coldly. “It’s my choice. And they don’t know,” I
added, suddenly very insecure at the fact. It was bad enough that
they knew about Charlie.

“Tell her who
we saw in the bar, Matt,” Aidan said. “What was the name of his
team again? Basketball player, about seven foot…”

“I mean, it’s pretty fucked up if you think about it. I
offered her everything and she still made her
 
choice
.” He spat the word out as if it tasted rotten.

“
She
 
is in the room, you know,” I
muttered.

“We should
leave.” Aidan started to get up. “Come on, Mattman.”

“No. I came up
to say my bit and she should hear me out. You should do that for
me, Leila,” he added, looking me in the eye for the first time in
days.

“Okay…” I
shrugged helplessly. “What is it you want to say?”

“You’re pissed
as anything. You’ll regret this.” Aidan grabbed Matt’s arm, but he
was swatted away.

“Do you love
him?” said Matt. His shoulders were hunched over, elbows on his
knees. He looked ready to pounce. Where were the words shaped like
weapons when I needed them the most? Fucking chocolate orange,
indeed.

“I don’t see
how that’s any of your business.”

“If you love
him now,” he said through gritted teeth, “then you loved him when
you were with me. It doesn’t just happen in a day. And then…then
you were never mine.” He looked away. “Not even for a minute.”