Fur Coat No Knickers (12 page)

‘Tara, listen sweetie, I’m an expert in tracking down the male species, trust
me,’ pronounced James, swatting away my objections. ‘Are you really going to give up that easily? Now, do you want a picture? Or not?’

‘Well
… yeah, I do, but…’

‘Right then!’ interrupted James, suddenly all business-like, tapping away on the computer. ‘So, it’s Travis. A rugby coach for Dublin, right?’

‘Yes.’ I sighed heavily, slumping down on the chair beside him with my jaw resting heavily in my hands.

‘Travis… Travis Coleman -
is
this
the one?’ James asked, jabbing the screen and turning it to face me. I let out a shriek and shook.

I trembled as I turned to face the computer. There he was. I felt like my heart was about to
burst through my chest. I could feel a build up of familiar emotions of loss come rushing forward. My eyes, which were wide open, then filled with tears. More than anything, I wanted to jump into the screen and grab him - just to ask why he had done this to me.

‘Stunning, Tara,
’ sympathised James, getting out of his chair, so he could step back and take a good look. Standing with one hand on my shoulder and the other perched on his slim hip, he nodded in approval.

‘Really stunning,
’ he whispered, before he turned on his heel with a sigh and left me alone.

I was lost in my memories. Everything came flooding back. There were those beautiful brown eyes that once stared into mine and his mega
-watt smile that melted me from the first moment I saw him. As I stared at the picture, willing it to come alive and step out of the screen to make everything right, I realised this was becoming even more destructive to my already fragile mood. I was feeling frustrated and confused, wishing I had never seen a picture of him. In fact, I wished I had never met him at all.

I ran to the toilets to fix my makeup
and sort myself out.
That’s it!
I thought,
I just want to go home.
Overflowing with angry emotions, I readied myself to run to my car and drive home. I just wanted to be alone.

‘Tara,’ shouted Jayde from the staffroom
, ‘your phone’s buzzin’ big time.’

‘Tell them I’ll call them back.’ I answered bitterly
, as I stomped around gathering up my stuff.

‘
Ello,’ I could hear Jayde answer my phone, ‘oh, alright mate?’

‘Give me that!’ I heard James growl, as he snatched the phone from her.
‘Good afternoon
, thank you for calling Glamma-Puss, this is James speaking. How may I help today…? I’m afraid Tara isn’t available at the moment, can I take a message…? Okay… okay, and who shall I say is calling?’ he asked.

The next thing I knew, James was runn
ing across the Salon towards me with a dropped jaw, pointing frantically at the phone, mouthing,
‘T-R-A-V-I-S’
.

‘Stop mucking about, this really isn’t the time!’ I snarled, furious that they could possibly think this was a funny prank. This wasn’t something for
Salon banter. This was my bloody life.

Shrugging his sh
oulders and giving me a ‘you’re-going-to-be-sorry’ face, James continued on the phone. ‘Travis, thank you for calling,’ he purred. ‘We have your details and I will pass the message on to Tara personally. Thank you for your call and enjoy the rest of your day.’ He then hung up.

‘Tara, darling
,’ he said as he handed me the phone with a ‘told-you-so’ smile. ‘Look… it’s an Irish number. It
was
him.’

Shaking with shock,
I finally realised James was telling the truth. I excitedly grabbed my phone and ran to the toilets to call him back.

‘Travis?’ I mumbled nervously, shaking from head to toe. ‘It’s me, it’s Tara, Tara from England.’

‘Hey gorgeous, yes, I know it’s you,’ Travis laughed softly. ‘I was just lying on the bed reading
all
your text messages. Miss Naughty Santa outfit, eh? Very, very nice indeed. And those stockings… wow, how am I supposed to concentrate on work now?’

I practically fainted with desire just list
ening to his devastatingly sexy voice.

A short while later, I proudly strutted back out of the toilets. Jackie had now joined Jayde and James and all three were waiting
patiently for me to say something.

‘He had only gone and accidentally left his phone in Dublin
,’ I said, feeling ecstatic and a little sheepish at the same time. ‘He returned from Manchester this morning and has only just received all of my forty-something text messages. Or maybe he said fifty? Ahh well - who’s counting? I feel
so
stupid. But guess what? He’s flying over to see me next week. I’m so excited… I feel sick!

‘James
,’ I added with a beaming smile. ‘Do you fancy fixing my nails now?’

CHAPTER SIX

I had been planning what to wear for the best part of three days. I had tried on practically
everything
in my wardrobe in various combinations. Nothing seemed right. There was nothing else for it. I had to call in my local fashionista: James.

The next day, we headed to the West End of London, armed and dangerous with my credit card. For two hours we went from shop to shop, hunting down the
perfect outfit. I liked almost everything, but James insisted I needed to make a huge impact of looking sexy and ‘fierce’. We both agreed on one thing though: there was no room for error. Nothing other than
complete
perfection was acceptable.

James had been pitching ‘fur coat no knickers’ from pretty much the moment we’d first met at the train station. I resisted for a long time, but eventually, fuel
led by Dutch courage (thanks to a liquid lunch), I agreed to meet him half way. I would get a new
faux
fur coat, but there would
have
to be underwear underneath, very
sexy
underwear. So, after we left the noisy Italian restaurant, which was tucked away in the corner of Shepherds Market, we set off with renewed vigor. The next stop was Agent Provocateur for some saucy pieces.

‘It’s got to be all
black,’ ordered James as we wove our way down Brewer Street. Then, after pausing to wink at a couple of pretty young men who caught his eye, he added;

‘A
part from the diamond earrings and the soles on your Christian Louboutins, of course.’

The shop in Broadwick Street was buzzing with pretty young things. James and I did our best to look like we shopped
there all the time and picked out some lace hold-ups, with a forties-style black line running up the back. Then, we added a pair of hipster French knickers and a matching bra that would give you the type of cleavage you could park a bike in.

‘Right! Next stop: Harvey Nicks!
’ declared James, while the assistant wrapped my precious lingerie. ‘Let’s grab a cab.’

‘James, I’m not a bank.
’ I protested weakly.

‘Oh come on! This is
Travis,
the man you thought you’d lost only a few days ago. We’ve already agreed every detail
has
to be none other than perfect.’

He’s right,
I thought to myself.
And Travis is my Mr. Right. I have to invest in my future and the future of my (hopefully-soon-to-be conceived) children.
Mentally I prepared myself to give my plastic another bashing and followed James out of the door and into the back of a taxi. James confidently told the driver where we wanted to go and proceeded to flirt with the poor man all the way to Knightsbridge.

As soon as we got to Harvey Nichols, James instantly forgot about the driver and headed purposefully towards the store. Once inside he went straight for the furs.

‘You know I don’t do real fur!’ I said, looking around me desperately in case an animal lib fanatic spotted me.

‘But it’s
already dead!’ James exclaimed, with a puzzled face as he smoothed down a coat. ‘It’s not going to mind. Besides, someone has gone to the trouble of skinning all these fluffy animals. We can’t let them go to waste.’

Shamefully, despite my reluctance, one
coat did catch my eye. It was a long, black, luxurious D&G mink. Carefully avoiding looking at the price tag, I gingerly put it on. With a theatrical gasp, James collapsed into the chair behind him.

‘Tara, it’s go
t your name written all over it! It was made for you,’ he said, fanning his face as though to prevent a full swoon. ‘That’s definitely the one. You
have
to get it!’

‘
Come and look at the price tag for me, I daren’t,’ I said, feeling a pang of guilt as I stroked the gorgeous mink. It felt so dreamily soft to the touch, falling in smooth sleek lines as I ran my fingers through it as if I was stroking a Persian cat.

‘Fate has stepped in -
it’s in the sale!’ he whooped. ‘It’s only £3,000. What a bargain! That’s a sign for sure!’

Gulping hard, I began a fierce mental argument with myself.
Can I justify this? Of course I bloody can’t! But it fits so perfectly,
I thought, as I swirled around, hugging the fur and standing on my tiptoes for added effect. I imagined Travis looking at me in my black, raunchy, luxurious fur. I savoured the mental image of that beautiful mouth curling into an appreciative grin. Game over. I peered over my shoulder to take one last glance at myself in the mirror. I
had
to have it.

I winced at James as I handed over my credit card to the smiling shop assistant.

‘Isn’t it just
fan-fucking-tastic
?’ James cooed, clapping his hands in glee.

‘I love it,’ I breathed
, ‘can’t you tell?’

‘Well, not really, you‘ve paralysed your face in that
, sort of, vacant look,’ said James, with his usual teasing pout. ‘Perhaps you should’ve waited for those first two vials of Botox to kick in before having the other three vials injected?’

‘Oi
, you!’ I replied, giving James a friendly shove. ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear it’s worked. Not that you are a discerning enough judge to tell.’ I added, as we both fell about laughing.

‘Right
– shoes,’ instructed James with a snap of his fingers, oblivious to the looks the sales assistant was giving us as he rapidly wrapped the fur. ‘Let’s stop buggering about - pun -
definitely
intended - and get on with what we’re here for.’

‘James, that’s enough,
’ I said, still chuckling as I accepted the enormous Harvey Nichols bag from the stony-faced assistant. ‘I have a beautiful pair of Louboutins at home. No more spending. I will be living on beans on toast for a year.’

‘C
ome with me,’ said James, who was clearly not going to take ‘no’ for an answer today. ‘You only have the five-inch heel. We are going to get you the full six-inches because, as we both know from experience, anything less than six inches
really
doesn’t register, sweetheart. And anyway, there’s nothing quite like the unspoiled sole of a Louboutin.’

‘But, oh my God, I could have bought a car with the money I just spent on that coat
,’ I groaned, beginning to panic.

‘Shoes
, Tara. Come along. This way. First floor…’

James linked his arm tightly around mine and marched me over to the escalator. Just as we reached them, I heard a text come through and eagerly fumbled for my phone in my bag.

[Text from Travis]

Just booked us a room @ The Sanderson. O
nly the best for you, can’t wait to see you Xxxxx

‘James, look at this!’ I screamed, ecstatically jumping up and down like a crazed schoolgirl, waving the phone in his face.

‘Bring on the Louboutins!
’ I shouted in a frenzy.

‘And there they are
, Tara… your
new
shoes,’ announced James; pointing theatrically the second we reached the shoe section.
Jesus, that guy can spot a pair of decent shoes from 10 miles away,
I thought.

‘Oh my God
,’ I gasped, once I’d clocked them. ‘They’re not shoes - they’re stilts! There’s no way I could stand in those - let alone walk in them. I’ll break my neck.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ James said,
looking utterly bemused. ‘Of course you can! Let me show you how it’s done.’

I sat down and watched on with embarrassed fascination as James did his Cinderella act, squeezing his perfectly pedicured (but wide) foot int
o this slender, four-sizes-too-small stiletto. I looked on in disbelief, as he then proceeded to strut provocatively around the shoe display with ease and grace.

You had to hand it to him. If a man can walk like that in a six-inch pair of heels, then so could I
(even if I did have to be lifted and lowered into them). They were beautiful stilettos too, clad in black silk, complete with matching bow cascading from the top of the heel almost to the floor. They were extremely raunchy, yet classically elegant. Sure, they were practically identical to the ones I already had at home, but still… in for a penny, in for a pound. While the cashier delicately wrapped the shoes up, ready for purchase, I tapped out a reply text to Travis. After showing it to James, we both grinned as I pressed the send button.

[Text to Travis]

How does fur coat, 6 inch heels & lacy knickers grab you? Xxx

I have never recalled feeling such a rush as I did when I sent that text and then keyed in my PIN code. It was albeit short-lived, once I began totting up all the spending in my head. By the time I picked up my perfectly-gift-wrapped shoes from the counter, I had more than a twang of inevitable guilt. Bang goes the new sun-bed I was saving up for in the Salon.

In an attempt not to spend any more money, I made a desperate plea to drag James out of Harvey Nichols. But as we headed for the door, I spotted my last,
potentially fatal purchase.

‘Don’t
think I didn’t see you looking at that handbag!’ said James, raising his eyebrows in glee.

‘No
… I shouldn’t. I
really
shouldn’t,’ I protested, more weakly than ever. ‘I probably
couldn’t
anyhow. I think the credit card is already maxed.’

‘Well, let’s go and find out
,’ said James, propelling me closer to the handbag section.

I picked up the black fur Versace handbag that I’d spotted in passing and, right on cue, another text from Travis came through.

[Text from Travis]

The thought of
you in fur coat & lacy knickers has made me rock hard! Xxxxxx

‘Okay - he obviously likes fur,’ I said, showing James the text. ‘Let’s do it. I’m going to try and buy this handbag - and if I can’t pay on my credit card, it’s clearly not meant to be.’

I held my breath
as I handed my card over. Amazingly, the purchase went through. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but by now it was too late. With my bank account nearly £5,000 lighter, we left Harvey Nichols with just two shopping bags.

‘I’m glad we went with fur coat and naughty knickers
, as there’s no way I would have been able to afford a dress as well,’ I giggled, as we dived down into the tube station to begin the journey home.

After a sleepless night, I raced to my Salon where I decided to have the works done. To begin with, I pleaded and pleaded with Jackie to give me yet another Hollywood to remove what little fluff there was (although I had to stoically block my ears to her sternly delivered advice against it).

‘I don’t care if it looks like a plucked chicken
, as long as it’s smooth,’ I said, stubbornly. ‘Vajazel it after to cover the sins.’

Next, Jayde did my hair
, while James fixed diamantes to my long, glossy, black acrylic nails and matching pedicured feet. This was followed by a session with Jackie
and
James jointly applying my makeup. Everyone agreed that smoky eyes suited me the best, I had silk false lashes fixed on to finish off that sultry look I desired.

Frankly, I’d have gone through anything to look my best. Travis and I were only to be together for such a short space of time and I really wanted to make that huge impact James was so insistent on. I already knew that with my outfit
(or lack of) I was well on my way to doing so. Therefore, I had to make sure the rest of me was up to scratch. I wanted him to walk out of the arrival gates of the airport and think proudly: ‘She is mine.’ To achieve that sort of ‘wow’ factor, I needed every millimeter of my body to exude sex appeal.

After a couple of hours being poked, prodded and
tweaked into shape, I left the Salon. Draped in all my brand new finery, I began my journey to the airport to pick up Travis. Internally I was squealing with frenzied wild thoughts, but knew I must stay calm, because calm equals sexy. That’s not easy when you feel like there are a million gymnasts somersaulting in your tummy all at once.
The next time I get back in this car, OMG… I will have probably had the best sex in my entire life, with – OMG - the best looking ride, ever.
I had to pinch myself.

… And Breathe.  

I
must not
talk incessantly.

And breathe…

I
must not
try too hard.

And breathe…

I wonder how big his cock is?

And breathe…

His flight was due to land at Heathrow at 8pm. Sadly, we wouldn’t have long. He had to fly back at 8am. the next morning for an important game.