Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (16 page)

He slows to a stop, noticing the top apartment, 53c is
for rent.
“Note: apartment for rent, top floor. Estate Agents: Taylor and
Main telephone number 02086114327. Call to arrange viewing asap.”

Wanting to strike the iron while it’s hot, he punches
the number into his phone. “Hello, I’ve seen an apartment you have for rent in
Elm Gardens, I’d like to take a look at it asap, please.” His sinister
intentions are undetectable, so skilled is he at deception, he’s had years to
perfect it. He’s so close now; he can almost smell her in the air.

A friendly sounding woman with a London accent called
Miss Richards, arranges to show him the property at 1300hrs. Perfect. That
gives him enough time to eat, buy what he needs and to smarten himself up.

With the pride that soars from feeling clever and
disingenuous comes that same old twinge in his groin; he cannot suppress the
agonising need to touch himself. Beneath Thursday’s newspaper lying across his
knees, a single, hot and heavy hand tightens around his cock, the zip catching
on the cuff of his black sweater, shredding the material as he fists himself.
Only a couple of pumps away from ejaculation, he spots Ayden Stone smiling back
at him, stops, reads the opening paragraph of the article and picks up where he
left off with violent, self-abusive jerks that merge pain with pleasure. His
guttural moan is drowned out by the music and he spurts into his half empty
milk bottle. Not having thought to pack tissues, he uses the article to wipe
himself off and tosses the crumpled image of Ayden Stone onto the back seat.
Taking a lingering look at himself in the drop down mirror, he spells out
exactly how he feels. “Thanks for that Stone, how does it feel to have my cum
smeared across you fucking face?”

He’s laughing and singing along to Black Sabbath,
feeling satisfied and cheerful: he loves it when a plan comes together.

I had no idea that shopping could be
organised with military precision, but then I’ve never been with Ayden Stone.
By 1200hrs I’m ready to go into battle, destination Bond Street. Usually, it’s
my favourite place to window shop, but Ayden insists I use the visa card and I
feel the need to indulge him.

Apparently, today’s the day I’m being
introduced to my personal shopper - a freelance Fashionista who writes for the
broadsheets. She is going to help me match clothes and accessories. Isn’t that
Charlie’s job? Why Ayden should go to the expense of employing a professional
is beyond me.

Lester pulls up on Bond Street and I’m
reminded of just how high-end the clothes are in this part of the city. A
striking, dark haired woman in her mid-thirties comes over to meet us. From the
way she regards Ayden, I can tell she knows him quite well. I assume the worse
and take an instant dislike to her. She’s all trussed up in a leather biker
jacket and knee length britches and boots. I feel awkward and under-dressed in
my Levis and smart white blouse. Sod it! Let’s get some retail therapy.

My personal shopper is called Celine and
she’s been working in fashion for 15 years, apparently. When I ask her if she
has done this sort of thing for Mr. Stone before, she is initially hesitant
but, in a typically French response, explains. “Mr. Stone has required my
services before for special occasions, for his special friends.”

As a rule I wouldn’t care either way about
those words but, today, they make my skin crawl. The words ‘special’ and
‘friends,’ have all kinds of unsavoury connotations when they are used in the
same sentence.

I press her. “Often?”

“When required. Mr. Stone has very
particular tastes.” She regards me with suspicion. Has she signed a NDA? Or has
it got something to do with the fact that I’m decidedly un-model like: two tall
for the circus and two short for the catwalk.

Momentarily, the judicious look fades and
I see an understanding, a woman to woman thing.  She guesses what I must be
feeling. “If it is any consolation Miss Parker, Mr. Stone always gives me
specific instructions and a limit: four thousand pounds maximum and one dress.”

“I see.” Obviously I don’t.

“However, today his instructions were not
specific. He said ‘clothes for Rome and no limit - just buy everything and
assume nothing.’” She touches my arm. “So you see, you are special Miss
Parker.”

“Beth.”

“Beth. We should have much fun today.”

I offer an appreciative smile but don’t
expect to have
much
fun today at all.

***

Having spent 20 minutes grappling with
boredom, Ayden makes himself scarce. He’s going to wait for my call when I’m
done, come and collect me; we’ll go and get something to eat and then go
sight-seeing together. That’s the plan. Lester will take my purchases back to
my apartment. Ayden has everything under control. Just the way he likes it.

When he returns to collect me, there are
no pleasantries between Ayden and Celine. She is an employee, I realise, and
nothing more. He rattles out an order, “Bill me Celine.” His hand is on my arm.
“Let’s go eat.”

Before moving away I turn to Celine. “Je
vous remercie beaucoup, vous êtes très utile.” We kiss cheeks right and left.

“Ce fut un plaisir, Beth, Bonne chance.”
She offers Ayden a respectful smile and walks away.

“She likes you,” Ayden states, taking my
elbow and leading me across the road. “I know a great French Bistro round the
corner, maybe you can translate the menu for me?” He winks.

I nod, link his arm and squeeze it with both
my hands. What a great day.

***

By 1500 hours we’re sipping Marques de
Murrieta Capellania and enjoying Lobster with brassicas and pink grapefruit in
a fashionable bistro called L’AutrePied. Ayden’s giving a master class in how
to order food and I’m struck by his flamboyant confidence; it’s as if he has an
aura around him that people unconsciously respond to, especially women. He orders
food that isn’t even on the menu and the waitress appears hypnotised. I’m
tempted to click my fingers and say, “Pull yourself together woman.” But I
doubt it would make any difference.

So this is what he meant when he said he
uses his sexuality to get what he wants? He claimed not to be Prince Charming
but he seems to be a pretty good imitation. It makes me wonder if he hypnotised
me? Our amorous encounter at the theatre involved a steamy exchange of
passionate kisses and promises, and that could hardly be classed as my usual
modus operandi. Was I thinking straight, was that me? Maybe not, but my
thoughts are my own now and from what I can see ...

He notices my contemplation, thankfully
unable to read my thoughts. “Assessing again Miss Parker?”

“No, just enjoying.”

“One of these days, you’re going to tell
me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“But not today.”

He kisses me softly. “No, not today.”

***

When Big Ben strikes four, we are queuing
for the London Eye. The air is crisp and the sky is clear, it’s as if the sun
has come out just for us. Ayden hands the student on afternoon duty £20 and
guarantees us a pod to ourselves. I’ve visited the attraction before but Ayden
has not, even though it’s visible from his office; these small amusements have passed
him by, it seems.

When the pod reaches the highest point, I
press my nose against the glass and take in the incredible view: the Houses of
Parliament, Big Ben, and even Buckingham Palace: an English history lesson in a
single glance. I feel Ayden standing behind me, his presence is tangible, a
protective force at my rear: Master of all he surveys. Instantly, I lift up my
arms into a flying position.

“This is a Titanic moment Ayden,” I
declare, without a shadow of a doubt.

“A what?” I pick-up on an uncertain tone.

“A Titanic moment, you know, like the
film.” I turn my head to regard him over my left shoulder.

“No, you’ve lost me.”

I’m horrified. “You didn’t see Titanic?
Kate Winslet and Leonardo Di Caprio?” I suddenly feel very foolish with my arms
outstretched and begin to lower them to my sides.

Sensing my disappointment, he places his
hands beneath my forearms and outstretches them until our fingers are locked
together. I lean back into him. This just became a special moment shared for
posterity.

“This is our first Titanic moment Ayden.”

“If you say so Beth, then it must be
true.” He kisses my neck and I know right there and then, this is the man I’ve
been waiting for: he gets me.

We step out of the pod, but I say nothing,
even though I’m thinking I’m one step closer to love. It’s my secret.

Dan inspects himself in the mirror over the sink in
what the company likes to call their 21st century megastore. Overhead a female
voice, much too indistinct to be taken seriously, announces two for one on Coco
Pops and the deal of the week on washing powder, but to him it’s just noise. He
is preoccupied with his own, less homely thoughts. He takes one last look at
his checklist before giving himself the once over.

Get petrol

Draw £250 out of bank.

Acquire tripod for camera.

Buy drill, knife, wall attachment, chain, masking
tape, leash and latex gloves.

He puts the top back on his biro and folds away the
grubby sheet of paper, feeling prepared and satisfied. “All present and
correct,” he declares, saluting himself in the overhead mirror.

His attention shifts to his other purchases: a new
pair of jeans and a check shirt which is probably a size too small, and a white
T. shirt. He’s about to meet Miss Richards from the Estate Agents, she is
showing him 53c Elm Gardens, so he’s dressed to impress.

After checking he has removed the tags, he leaves the
stark lighting of the men’s lavatory and weaves his way through mothers with
babies, shopping trollies piled high with washing powder and Coco Pops and the
occasional lonesome shopper flying solo with no more than a microwave meal and
a four pack of lager, advertising their loneliness. Dan knows only too well how
that feels, but not for much longer. Soon, very soon, he’ll be shopping for
two.

***

Elise Richards is a thirtyish woman who looks her age;
she’s around five foot six with blond hair with roots that could do with a touch-up.
Dan likes what he sees. She’s not his usual pert type, but she has an innocent
smile and he likes that. She’s waiting for him outside the apartment block at
1300hrs exactly, he likes that too. Be late or be warned, is one of his
favourite mottos.

“Mr. Rizler,” she reaches out her hand for him,
smiling like the saleswoman she is. “Have you had a chance to check out the
area?” She nods her head to one side, expecting a response.

He plays along. “Yeah, it’s quiet, just what I’m
looking for.”

“Oh good.  Let’s take a look inside shall we?”

He follows her to the security door, using his height
to look over her shoulder to read her notes. She punches in 1459.

Good to know.

“Has the apartment been on the market long?” He asks,
knowing that’s what a prospective tenants would ask.

“No.” She starts the climb up the stairs. “It only
became available a week ago and we haven’t even produced the spec yet. So, you’re
the first to see it.”

“Great,” he replies, checking out her arse and the way
her skirt lifts when she takes the next step up.

She fusses around with a set of keys, checking the
tag. “Right, here we are.” When she opens the door they walk into what could
only be described as an empty shell.

“As you can see, it has a spacious living area. The
lounge is located at the front and the kitchen at the rear, with ample space
for a table and chairs, ideal for breakfast or even for entertaining.”

“So I see.” Dan suppresses a snigger. He won’t be the
one doing the entertaining here.

“And this is the bedroom.” She walks into the empty
room and stretches out her arms wide to emphasis the space. “There’s room
enough for a double bed and there are fitted wardrobes too.”

Dan nods his head, seeming as if he needs persuading.
In fact it’s a done deal, and it was even before she opened the front door.
“How much is it a month?”

“Just let me check.” She consults her notes and
follows the line on the page with her index finger. “It’s £600 per calendar
month.”

“Ok.” He wanders into the bathroom. “It’s a little
small but I’ll take it.”

Suddenly animated, her face breaks into a broad smile.
“Wonderful. When are you looking to move in?” She has her pen in her hand, making
notes, maybe hoping for a signature.

“Monday.”

“Monday the …”

“The 22
^nd
, two days time?” He holds her
attention with a serious stare.

“Oh, I see,
that
Monday. That’s very soon?”

“Yeah, I’ve been bunking with a mate for the past
month and it’s not, well, it’s not working out.”