Dead Sexy (4 page)

The room they stepped into was a fantasy of a harem. Everything from the gauzy drapes to the tasselled silk cushions and satin-covered banquettes had been dressed in various shades of red. Even the candelabras held port-red candles scented with musk. A dark, doe-eyed girl wearing rose-coloured tulle and a dreamy expression reclined on a banquette, sucking on an elaborate brass hookah. A young man in a belted red shift massaged her bare feet with perfumed oils and another rubbed her shoulders.

When a blonde woman entered through the heavy red velvet curtains that separated the harem space from the party beyond, she let in the sounds of sax-and-bass-soaked jazz. This thirty-something woman wore a magenta corset, suspender belt and red fishnet stockings. Her big feet were stuffed into stiletto pumps. She shrieked at the sight of Johnny, sashayed up and kissed him intimately.

It occurred to Nicola, who watched with a sudden and irrational jealousy, that the expression ‘planted a kiss’ could be quite appropriate: first, the ground was prepared and irrigated, then the seeds were scattered and the harvest gathered. Next thing you know, she thought sourly as she watched Johnny’s mouth widen and their tongues engage, the tart’s going to be applying for agricultural subsidies.

Liz, grinding her teeth, stamped past them and pushed through the curtain, signalling for Nicola and Fox to follow.

The scene in the entryway proved to be just a teaser for the main event. Round red Chinese lanterns with gold tassels cast a roseate glow over the room, which smelled faintly of dope and strongly of sweat, of mingled perfumes and the rose petals that had been strewn around the floor. A DJ in a cartoon devil costume, with spiky horns and a big tail, spun discs on a small platform in front of which dancers writhed and twirled. There were roses in vases everywhere there was a surface for them.

Nicola watched hypnotised as, not far from
where they stood, one of the dancers, a lithe young man with pierced nipples and crimson hotpants, pulled a petal off one of the roses, placed it on his tongue and held it out for another young Adonis to lick onto his own tongue. From there, the petal was transferred to the tongue of a voluptuous older woman in a simple pink frock, and from her it went to a brown-skinned sylph, who passed it to a tall and graceful Chinese man who spotted Fox and started to move, tongue out, in his direction.

Before he could reach Fox, who was trapped betwixt his fight and flight responses, Liz stepped boldly forward, stuck out her tongue, procured the petal and disappeared into the pulsating, swirling red swarm.

Nicola looked at Fox, wide-eyed. The scene represented a form of bohemian glamour and sensuality that she’d only ever glimpsed in feature articles on extreme lifestyles: ‘You Think It—They Live It!’

Fox gave her waist a squeeze. ‘I think I need another drink if I’m gonna survive this one, honey,’ he said, and wandered off to find the bar.

Standing to the side of the dance floor, Nicola felt at once over-dressed and under-dressed in her slinky black wraparound. Trying not to be too obvious about it, she edged her frock off one shoulder to expose the strap of her red bra. She started when a pair of hands grasped her waist, then held her breath as they slid up to touch the sides of her breasts, before gliding back down to her hips, the thumbs stretched out to trace the mounds of her arse. ‘How are you enjoying it so far?’ It was Johnny’s voice. She felt the warmth of his body against hers. ‘You sexy thing.’

Goosebumps rose on her arms and spine, but she wasn’t sure if it was his words or the fact that his breath was tickling the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck. Pulling away, she turned to face him. ‘Where’s your girlfriend?’

‘Girlfriend?’ He pronounced the word as if it were the first time he’d ever come across the concept.

‘You know, the blonde woman who kissed you when we came in.’ Nicola was taken aback by the petulance in her own voice.

‘How do you know it was a woman?’ Johnny cocked one eyebrow. ‘Her real name happens to be Kevin. He’s my stockbroker.’

‘Right.’ Nicola laughed. ‘I see.’ So, Johnny was gay. Classic. That explained the looks and the charm. She felt like an idiot for suspecting that he was putting a move on her. Poor Liz. Nicola had known her boss long enough to know that she was in serious danger of making a fool of herself. She wondered if she oughtn’t find her and warn her.

‘Here you go, Nic.’ Fox approached with a red drink in each hand. ‘Strawberry daiquiris.’ Then, to Johnny, ‘Wild party, mate.’

‘It’s just beginning,’ Johnny replied merrily. ‘You two enjoy yourself. I’m going to catch up with some friends.’ Just before he shaved off into the crowd, he leaned over and whispered into Nicola’s ear, ‘X marks the spot.’

‘Sorry?’ Nicola was confused.

‘If you find it, you were meant to.’ With that mysterious comment, Johnny left them.

‘What was he banging on about?’ Fox asked suspiciously.

‘No idea. But guess what? He’s gay.’

‘Really? Huh.’ Nicola was relieved to see Fox lighten up. ‘Wouldn’t of guessed.’

It was hot in the warehouse, and they slurped at their frozen cocktails as they threaded their way through the dancers, looking for a place to sit down and chill. The kitchen was noisy with the whir of drink blenders and the shiny chatter of people on hug drugs. Nicola and Fox continued their exploration. A hallway off the kitchen led to a featureless corridor punctuated by a few doors.

‘Nothing much to see here,’ Fox observed.

They were about to turn back when Nicola noticed that one of the doors was marked with a discreet red ‘X’. Just then, a thickset man wearing sunnies brushed past them. He paused at the door, turned and grinned at them, and then slipped inside.

‘What was that all about?’ Nicola whispered.

‘No idea.’ Fox shook his head. ‘You know, for a second there, I thought that was Russell Crowe.’

Nicola frowned, remembering something. ‘X
marks the spot,’ she mused. ‘That’s what Johnny said to me.’

A funky bass sound could be heard from inside the room.

‘Check it out?’ He opened the door. As they peered inside, goosebumps rose on Nicola’s arms.

The room was dimly lit, cavernous, and filled with dark shapes. For a nanosecond, Nicola thought they’d happened into some sort of storeroom. But the shapes were moving, and from under the beat of the music came moaning and grunting and the sound of flesh slapping on flesh, a soundtrack part porno film and part fish market.

As their eyes adjusted to the dimness, they realised that everywhere were twisting, heaving, naked bodies. A beautiful woman lay with her legs spread as another woman, who was simultaneously being fucked from behind by an older man, sucked hungrily at her cunt. An Asian fellow rubbed his swollen cock between the cupped and oiled feet of another woman, who masturbated herself with a large dildo.

Another woman lay strapped on her back to
what looked like a gymnastic horse. Her plum-coloured corset, one of those old-fashioned ones with criss-crossing thongs, began just below her hard nipples and ended with a flare above her bare hips. Her legs were spread apart, her ankles tied on either side of the strange black bench. She squirmed, tossing her head from side to side, as a handsome black man in a leather harness teased her pussy with his fingers. Each time he brought her to the verge of orgasm, he would stop and watch impassively as she writhed and begged for him to continue. Her juices soaked the bench between her legs and even from where Nicola stood she could see that her clit was so swollen that it seemed in danger of bursting.

Nicola felt herself getting very, very turned on. It was, she thought, like all the sealed sections in the world come at once—so to speak.

Fox caught a glimpse of Johnny across the room, wearing little more than two lithe brunettes. ‘Doesn’t look gay to me,’ Fox whispered accusingly.

Nicola shrugged. She could feel Fox’s cock
pressing into her back. As the brunettes sank to their knees and applied their shiny lips to Johnny’s impressive erection, Fox pulled Nicola to him and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Nicola’s eyes stayed on Johnny for a few seconds before she abandoned herself to her fireman.

Stumbling over the bodies, Fox and Nicola found a spot in the corner. Fox pulled Nicola’s frock above her waist and clawed down her G-string. ‘Reel out that hose, fire boy,’ she said. She pushed him lustily against the wall and hooked one leg around his waist. He came with the force of an uncapped hydrant. After they’d exhausted themselves, Fox held her close. They stood like that while the frenetic activity around them continued unabated.

‘They’re all still going!’ Nicola whispered in amazement as she tugged her frock back down.

She peered around as discreetly as possible for another glimpse of Johnny and caught sight of Liz instead. She was performing some sort of striptease in the centre of the room. Fox ducked as her bra came flying past his head with the
velocity of an intercontinental missile.

‘Aw, Nic,’ he said, tucking his damp shirt back into his trousers. ‘I love you, girl. But this place is beginning to freak me out.’

‘Me too,’ Nicola admitted, ‘C’mon,’ she said, pulling at Fox’s hand, ‘let’s get out of here.’

H
er next column—‘Celebrate Your Fantasies!’—was, Nicola thought, her best to date.

Liz agreed. ‘Nicola, that was
hot,’
she exclaimed, slapping her hands on her desk for emphasis, and immediately recoiling. ‘Ouch!’ she cried, rubbing her fingers. ‘Shouldn’t do that with rings on.’

Nicola winced in sympathy. ‘Thanks, Liz. Nice of you to say so.’

‘I mean it!’

‘As you know,’ Nicola replied cautiously, ‘it
wasn’t entirely a work of imagination.’ Nicola and Liz had never discussed the party. There’d been so much work to do since getting back to the office after the Christmas break that the subject had been easily avoided.

Liz went coy for a moment. Then she pulled up a chair, plopped down in it and leaned forward. ‘What do you think of Johnny?’

Nicola thought for a moment. ‘Charming, good-looking, sexy and…’

‘And?’

‘Scary.’

‘Scary?’

‘I don’t know. He’s like some sort of…some sort of sexual predator.’

‘He’s a
tiger.’
Liz made big cat’s paws and growled. ‘And I’m a
tigress.’

Nicola laughed. ‘Sounds like you two should get together then.’

‘We did. That very night. And we’re going to get together again very soon,’ Liz confided, leaning so close that her TicTac breath fogged Nicola’s glasses. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’

The phone rang on Nicola’s desk.

‘I’ll let you get to it,’ Liz said and sprang to her feet, breaking a heel in the process. ‘Shit,’ she cried. ‘My Manolos!’ As she limped off to see if the art department had any superglue, Nicola picked up the phone.

‘Nicola Biondi speaking.’

‘Love your work, darling, love your work.’

‘Thanks. Er, who’s this?’

‘Guess,’ came the teasing voice on the other end.

‘Johnny?’

‘Did you and your man have a good time at the party?’

‘Yeah, we did,’ she replied warily.

‘It looked like you were having fun. And you obviously got a lot out of it.’

Nicola felt her cheeks grow hot.

‘Professionally, I mean.’

Was he chuckling?

‘I’d like to invite you to another one.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m not sure that Fox…I mean…’ Fox had said that one orgy was probably enough for a lifetime.

‘Leave him home then.’

Nicola snorted with disbelief. ‘I don’t think so.’ She glanced across the room. Liz was talking to the art director while throwing her arms in the air as though trying out for a Dannii Minogue video. Nicola lowered her voice. ‘Besides, I think it’s probably a good idea to confine your attentions to one woman in any given office at a time.’ That was so Anabelle, she thought proudly. Cradling the phone between ear and shoulder, she reached for her keyboard to tap it in. It could even be the subject of her next column. What Johnny said next so astonished her that her hands froze over the keys.

‘I am. Who else would I be paying attention to in any office that had someone as enticing as you?’

‘What d’you mean, who else?
Liz,’
Nicola whispered.

‘Liz?’ Johnny sounded genuinely confused. ‘Liz who?’

‘I’ve got to go,’ Nicola said curtly.
Some men.

‘You know what, my dear? You’re a challenge. And there’s nothing Johnny likes more than a challenge.’

Nicola hung up, shook her head and typed, ‘If
You Know Her New Love Is a Bastard, Should You Tell Her?’ The bit about hitting on colleagues could go in the second or third paragraph.

When the daily gifts of flowers and chocolates started to arrive on her desk, Nicola made sure no one saw the cards, which she quickly plucked off and shredded. She read his first few emails, then forced herself to hit delete whenever a communication from Wright Angles appeared in her letterbox. Her colleagues, including Liz, professed themselves wildly envious of her relationship with her romantic and ardent fireman, and made all the usual jokes about not wanting to put his spark out. Only Nicola knew how inflammatory her situation really was.

‘How’s it going with Johnny?’ she asked Liz as casually as possible.

‘RrrrrrrrrrrRR,’ Liz answered, baring fangs. Nicola hadn’t a clue what she meant by that, but presumed things were going all right.

The gifts grew more outrageous: a teddy bear in bondage gear, a hot-pink cat-o’-nine-tails,
beautifully bound editions of erotica and, finally, a box containing a pair of ruby-red stilettos. Nicola felt it was like trawling the
Penthouse
Forum section for insights into male attitudes towards sexuality—appalling and titillating all at once. When she mentioned some of these items in her column, Johnny phoned. ‘You talk the talk, Nic,’ he said. ‘Do you walk the walk?’

‘Not with you,’ she replied, hanging up.

Despite herself, Nicola began to imagine what it would be like to sleep with Johnny. It started out innocently enough, as the close-one’s-eyes-and-think-of-George-Clooney sort of thing one did from time to time when making love to one’s regular squeeze. She fully expected that Fox occasionally slept with Drew Barrymore and Kate Winslet, as well as several of her friends—in his head, of course. Though she ordered herself to stop fantasising about Johnny, it was like that old trick where someone tells you not to think of an elephant. Soon, she was thinking about Johnny all the time.

‘Just one drink.’

‘You’ve made me a happy man.’

‘Don’t get too excited. It’s only so that I can give you those shoes back. And the other stuff.’

‘Don’t they fit? You can exchange them.’

‘Johnny,’ Nicola sighed. ‘I’ll see you at six. We’ll talk about it then.’ After hanging up, she dialled her home number. The answering machine clicked on. ‘Fox? Uh, I’ve got a function tonight, a, uh, lipstick launch. I’ll be home later.’ She paused. ‘Love you!’

She did, too. Sure, she sometimes regretted that their lovemaking seemed a trifle same-old. But that was stupid. Fox wasn’t a fashion house, obliged to come up with exciting new hemlines every season just to keep its place on the catwalk. ‘True Love Has No Use-by Date!’ she’d written. So why, she now interrogated herself, was she giving herself several hours for a drink with a man whose intentions were as transparent as the negligee that was his latest gift?

And if it was ‘just one drink’, why was she wearing her red silk cheongsam with silver embroidery, the long silver scarf that went with
her favourite blouse and sheer black stockings? Not to mention the matching red Yves St Laurent bra and panties. Talk about ‘Dress for Success—in the Sack!’

She’d even popped into a salon near the office for a lunchtime trim after discovering the unsettling similarity between her hairstyle and one of the ‘Haircuts That Make You Look Fat!’ photo-featured in the latest issue of a rival magazine.

All that afternoon, while struggling with an article on ‘Celebrity Foreplay!’—one of Liz’s headline ideas that she had to massage into an actual story—Nicola ran in her head the filmclip of their approaching rendezvous. Johnny would try to kiss her on the lips. She’d turn her cheek to him. His look of disappointment would be searing. Feeling sorry for him, she’d be sweet, but he’d take advantage of this and, the second they pulled their stools up to a table, he’d slip a foot up the inside of her leg. Although she’d pull her feet out of reach, he’d forge on, sliding a hand up her thigh. She’d sigh, reach down and put it on the table. Incorrigible, he’d wait until her
hand came to rest by her cup and he’d cover it with his own.

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ she’d say. Leaving the gifts neatly stacked on the table, she’d walk out with dignity, shaking her head and paying for her own drink as she left.

Then, as in the most dreadful sort of tearjerker, he’d run out after her. She’d melt into his arms and allow him—just one kiss! It would last for some time before she finally, decisively, broke free and strode up the street, thus removing him from her life like Bad Cholesterol.

The bar where he’d suggested they meet was one of the trendier places in the Toaster. She’d never been there before. She was awestruck by its mysterious, submarine lighting and chic interior. It was like having cocktails on a coral reef. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see an octopus or stingray perched on the next stool sipping a Midori cocktail. Fox never suggested going to places like this.

Johnny was occupying one of the high bar
tables when she arrived. He stood up to greet her. She pointedly aimed her cheek at his lips. When he simply bussed her lightly and stepped back to hold out her stool, she felt let down, as though she’d packed her bag for a trip to Paris and stepped off the plane in Perth.

She ordered a chablis and he asked for a gin and tonic. ‘So, Nicola,’ he began, folding his hands under his chin, ‘tell me all about yourself. I want to know everything.’

This wasn’t in the script. ‘Oh, there’s not much to tell, really,’ she demurred.

‘Oh, I bet there is.’ Johnny’s eyes performed the little trick known in romance fiction as ‘twinkling’.

Nicola found herself describing how she grew up in a small town out west, how she’d studied accountancy in Bathurst and come to work at the magazine. He seemed most amused when she confided how she’d got her current job. He prompted her with the occasional question, his hands thoughtfully stroking his glass as she spoke. Nicola tried not to stare at those hands. They were manicured and smooth with long,
artistic fingers. He wore his stylish, expensive suit as though he were born in it. She thought of Fox’s broad hands and spatula-like fingertips, and how he looked in his own best suit, handsome but stiff and slightly pained-looking, as though he couldn’t wait till he could shuck it off and get back into a pair of jeans.

For some reason, though she knew she ought to, Nicola failed to mention how she met Fox. In fact, she neglected to mention their relationship at all, and Johnny didn’t ask.

Johnny still hadn’t made his move, though his eyes never left her face and she felt as though it was the skin of her neck and not his glass that he was fondling with those fine hands. She willed the hands in her direction, and silently commanded his thighs to press against hers—if only so that she could pull away from them. Her own hands lolled invitingly on the table, her crossed ankles inched forward until they were centimetres from his own. She gave Johnny looks so steamy they could have frothed every cappuccino in every cafe for blocks around—this at least was what Damien Mann thought
behind his aviator sunnies as he observed the pair from his table in the corner.

Johnny seemed oblivious to all the subtle signals she was sending. Nicola wondered if she’d completely misread him. Yet there was the evidence of all those gifts he’d sent, now piled up in a shopping bag by her feet. Or maybe, she reflected with horror, he simply did not find her attractive in the flesh. Perhaps he’d forgotten what she looked like.
Lip
used the photo of a generic thirty-something model, glamorous yet wise in a vacant sort of way, over the column. Suddenly self-conscious of her thighs (‘Thighs of Despair!’) and tummy (‘Shock Photos—Real Women’s Stomachs!’), Nicola flinched. She thought of how Fox had always generously claimed he loved her body just as it was. Fox. What was she doing here with this man, anyway? She felt confused, desperate. Sweat trickled between her breasts. Worrying about perspiration stains—silk was awkward like that—she pinched the fabric of the Chinese-style frock and pulled it away from herself.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, as discreetly
cheerful as a trapdoor spider gazing up at the finger of a small child. ‘What d’you say, Nicola? Would you like to come back with me to my place?’

‘Yes,’ Nicola breathed. She felt ridiculously, indefensibly, undeniably grateful.

When Johnny led her inside his elegant warehouse conversion in Surry Hills, Nicola had to clamp her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering, though it was not much cooler there than in the bar.

Johnny, she realised, looking around her, was a class act. He worked in a respectable and lucrative profession, he frequented the trendiest bars and his style was evident in both his dress and his environs. His split-level flat was airy and light, thanks to a wall of glass bricks. The decor was minimal, yet comfortable, the curvaceous lines and vibrant colours of the designer sofas and tables contrasting with the stark, metallic finishes of the benches and stairwell, with its striking banister of twisted cable. ‘Men You’d Like to Be
with—and the Places You’d Like to Be with Them in!’

‘I’m in love with Fox,’ she blurted.

‘That’s nice,’ Johnny replied. ‘He’s a lucky man.’ His expression gave nothing away. ‘Can I offer you a martini?’

She nodded. ‘I promised myself’—Nicola swallowed—‘I promised myself when I got together with him that I wouldn’t, you know,
make love,
to anyone else so long as we were together.’

‘How sweet.’ He mixed two martinis in a retro cocktail shaker.

They clinked glasses.

There was something else Nicola felt compelled to get out of the way. ‘Johnny,’ she demanded. ‘Be straight with me. What’s going on between you and Liz?’

‘Liz?’ He scratched his head.

‘My editor. Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about.’

‘What about her?’

‘Aren’t you seeing her?’

‘Is that what she told you?’ Johnny frowned.

Nicola was taken aback. ‘Well,’ she conceded, ‘not in so many words.’

‘Poor thing.’ He shook his head. ‘You know, I don’t want you to say anything to her about this.’

Nicola nodded uncertainly.

‘I’m serious. I think she’s delusional.’

Nicola wanted to protest, but she believed him. She suddenly felt very sorry for Liz. At least that was one less person she was betraying. Betraying? What was she thinking! She wasn’t betraying anyone. She was just going to finish her drink, return the gifts and leave.

‘Be sexy! But be sensible!’

Johnny put on a CD. Slinky ribbons of jazz floated into the room. Nicola felt the pulse of the double bass all the way down to her knickers. She looked at Johnny over the rim of her cocktail glass and fingered the side-buttoning frogs on her frock. He smiled his crooked smile.