The Architect (7 page)

Chapter Ten

Friday finally arrives and I've been up since six, pacing the kitchen and talking myself into, and out of, tonight. It's like I have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, whispering in my ears. The me in red is saying, go for it, get drunk, have fun, fuck him in front of everyone and hang him out to dry. And the me in white is telling me not to degrade myself with such smut, you're a lady, and ladies don't do things like this, think of what people will think if they ever found out.

As I drive to work, I'm stuck in the middle of an argument as the desperate horny woman on my right fights with the modest prim and proper woman on my left. I shake them both away as I pull into my usual parking space and walk into the surgery to go about my daily duties.

As I chat to Liz about my date this evening she demands that I wear a red dress and put my hair up.

I frown. “Why?”

“Just trust me. Ask no questions and I'll tell you no lies.” She winks.

“Come on, tell me why.”

“I can't tell you why, but you will thank me for it tomorrow.”

Hmm.
If she's not going to tell me why, I'm sticking with my black number. God only knows why she would tell me to wear something specific. It's probably a twist on the red hat no knickers saying, and red dress means no panties, and hey guys come and get me. Yes, I think I'll stick with my choice. I know she's more my friend than my colleague these days, but I wouldn't put it past her to pull a prank like that just to see my face tomorrow morning.

I say no more on the strange request and watch the minute hand slowly count away the hours to the end of my working day.

In the car park, Liz reminds me again of the red dress, and tells me I'll love it and to have fun.

I nod to her suggestion of clothing and bid her a farewell until tomorrow.

***

Making myself a light dinner so I don't bloat and have to squeeze into my dress, I prepare a nice mixed salad with grilled chicken, and cover the whole lot in a nice helping of my favourite brand of creamy Italian dressing. After devouring the entire lot, I pour myself a glass of red and head to the en-suite to shower and prepare for the sexy yet terrifying night ahead.

Now scrubbed from head to foot and blow-drying my hair, I see my phone flashing at me from the bed. It's a message from Heath, expressing his excitement about tonight, and asking me how I am getting to the club. I remind him that I'm apprehensive about our date, and tell him I'll be journeying by taxi before chucking my phone back on the bed and finishing the dehydration of my hair.

After brushing the knots out once more, I apply some makeup. Smoothing on a good layer of ivory foundation, I pat it into place with a brand matching powder before starting on my eyes. Drawing on my black liquid eyeliner, I give myself a thicker line than usual and go over it a couple of times to ensure it will stay on throughout the night. Then I line my eyes with a black pencil, before carefully coating my lashes with a good amount of mascara. Checking my handiwork in the mirror, I notice that my bright blue eyes are even more noticeable against the noir cosmetics, and happy with the effect, proceed to get dressed.

Pulling my dress on from the bottom, so as not to ruin my hair or makeup, I wriggle it into place, then check my appearance in the mirror again. I look a bit too tarty for my liking, so I grab a long-sleeved black shrug and put it on over the dress. Then, collecting my clutch, phone, and shoes, I read Heath's latest text as I pad barefoot down the wooden stairs.

Don't be worried, darling, I'll be there to hold your hand (amongst other things ;) ) and if at any time you want to leave, just say the word and we will. H x

I pause at the bottom of the staircase, and my heart flutters at his kind and naughty words. My reply is short and sweet.

Thank you. I'll see you soon. X

I call for a taxi as I stand at my lounge window.

A friendly female voice answers. “LD Taxis, how can I help?”

“Hi, I'd like to book a taxi for eight-thirty, please.”

“What's the name and address?” she inquires.

“It's Ruth, and the address is 22 Millennium Road.”

“And where is it you're going?”

Not wanting to tell her the name of the club in case she knows of it, I fluster as I try to remember the street name, “Umm... Clover Road.”

Her tone doesn't change. “Okay, that's all booked for you.”

I promptly thank her and hang up. Then I remember the glass of red I left upstairs. Retrieving it, I consume what's left.

My taxi arrives right on time. The driver honks the horn, hurrying me along.

Once in the back of the vehicle, my legs start to shake, and my stomach begins to somersault.
Why am I doing this? I've never done anything like this before
. The kinkiest place I've ever been to is Ann Summers, and some of that shocked the hell out of me.

I don't know what's happening to me. Since meeting Heath I feel as though I am finally living. Finally coming to terms with the loss of my father, and finally becoming a woman and experiencing life. Heath has stirred emotions and feelings inside me I never knew I had. It's as though he has awakened me to what life can be, and the fun you can have.

The taxi stops at the side of the unknown road and I pay the driver.
Am I here? I don't see it.
I don't ask the driver where it is, I'm not brave enough. Instead, I step out and inspect the street as the cab moves away sharpish for his next fare.

Paranoid that I look either lost or suspicious, I take out my phone and pretend to be doing something, while I search the tall buildings. The place is worryingly quiet, given it's in the middle of the city. Uneasy about being here alone, I walk towards the end of the street, where I can see a purple neon light reflected in a glass office building. As I click over in my black heels the reflection becomes clearer, and I see the name Fantasia back to front.
Okay, this is it. Just keep walking. Don't loiter; walk in with purpose and no one will bother you.

Pushing open the glass door, I step into a dark corridor and hear muffled music. Reaching the end of the walkway, I see two women dressed in long leather dresses. They have short black spiky hair, and are talking to who must be the receptionist. I stand behind them and wait.

The woman on the left of the duo turns, gives me the once over, and smiles. “Here for the dungeons?”

I swallow hard. “No. I-I'm just here to watch.” As soon as I finish the sentence I know how it must have sounded and cringe inside.

“Really? Well, we'll be there if you fancy it.” The woman winks, and her friend turns around and smiles at me. Then they both thank the guy behind the desk and head through the black swing doors to the left.

“Can I help?” the guy asks, as I stand here gobsmacked at the proposition, and trying to sneak a peek of what's behind the dark doors.

Stepping forward, I place my hands on the cream counter. “Yes. Umm...” I bite my lip, not knowing what to say. “It's my first time here, and I'm not sure what I'm meant to do, really.”

He smiles and lifts his pierced eyebrows at me. “That's fine, I'll talk you through it. But first you will need to become a member. So can I have your name, please?”

“Yes, it's Ruth.”

“And your surname?”

Grudgingly I tell him, “Watson.”

He requests my phone number, which I make up, and then my address, which I also make up. My email and age I give truthfully.

“There we are.” He clicks the computer mouse. “All done.”

I feel a little guilty that I've just deceived him, but I reply with a chirpy thank you so he won't suspect.

“Oh.” He looks curiously at his screen. “It says here you have already paid.”

I beam after a few seconds. “It must have been the man I'm meeting here.”

He rubs his chin. “Ah yes, I remember. Tall guy, well-spoken?”

The area between my legs warms. “That's him.”

“Okay.” He pulls out a leaflet and turns it to favour me. “All areas are open to everybody.” He points to them on the flier before continuing. “There is only one real rule, and that is, no means no.”

I nod. “Got it.”

“Now,” he pushes the leaflet towards me, “that's yours. We do offer a walk around with a member of staff for first-time visitors.” He pauses and lifts his head to greet a person in the queue that has formed behind me, before returning his attention to me. “Would you like one?”

Dying to get inside and find Heath, I decline politely.

“Well, in that case,” he gestures to the forbidden doors, “have fun.”

I slowly saunter over, trying to get my head together before setting foot into the unknown.

Almost falling into the room after wrongly calculating the weight of the door, I brush off my stumble and pray that nobody saw me.

Wow. I'm in.
The doors lead straight onto the carpeted floor that runs the perimeter of the dance floor. I glance around and investigate the large room. There is a good amount of people around; at a guess I would say fifty, maybe sixty.

Scanning for the bar, that I discover is inconveniently positioned on the other side of the room, I notice that most of the men are dressed as you would expect them to be in a club, in shirts and suits, but there are a few I have spotted in fancy dress. I've seen two policemen and one fireman.

Making my way to the bar, I check out how the women are dressed. There are several in leather catsuits, and latex dresses. Some have hardly anything on, just a boob tube and a miniskirt. But the majority are dressed like me, in dresses, and safe clothing.

Reaching the bar, I wait my turn with fingers mentally crossed that Heath has spotted me from his hiding place. As I lean against the counter and wait to be served, I inspect the place further.

Directly opposite the bar across the dance floor there is a stage with a red theatre curtain dressing it, and in the centre of the high platform is a DJ. To the right side of the stage I spot the orgy door. The dead giveaway is the sign above it with the words ‘Let Loose' and a silhouette of a couple in the doggy style position.
How tasteful.

Finally, a blonde barmaid heads my way. “What can I get you?” she calls over the music.

I'm about to say a Cognac with no ice, until I tell myself to live on the edge a little and try something different. “Surprise me,” I holler back.

She grins. “Okay, if you want.”

Waiting for my mysterious drink, I take out a ten pound note ready for the waitress and glance around for Heath again. I examine each person, only to become quite uncomfortable as my gaze reaches the far corner of the room and I witness two women dancing dirty with their tits out. Swiftly snapping my gaze back to the bar in embarrassment, I'm presented with a shot glass.

“Here you are.” The blonde smiles.

“What is it?” I ask, fighting with the music and inspecting the odd-coloured drink.

“It's a Slippery Nipple.” A masculine voice says from behind. The blonde's smile vanishes, and I turn to see a mature salt-and-pepper-haired man grinning at me.

“And what's in a Slippery Nipple?” I laugh to the tender as I place the tiny glass back on the bar and hand her the cash.

“Sambuca and Baileys,” she snaps, before giving the man a glare and wandering over to the till to retrieve my change.

“She's an odd one,” Salt-and-Pepper states as he stands in front of me.

I give him a raise of the eyebrows and a slight smile.

“George. George Randall,” he says, holding his hand out.

Not wanting to come across as rude, I introduce myself as well. “Ruth Watson.”

He takes my hand, lifts it to his lips and kisses it. “Charmed.”

Jesus, he loves himself, doesn't he? Who does he think he is, smacking his dirty lips against my clean skin?
He's quite handsome though, for an older man. He's got to be at least forty-five. His hair is short and stylish, would once have been jet black all over I suspect, but time has taken its toll around the ears, and white hairs have taken the place of his youthful dark ones. The skin around his eyes has aged, and smile lines mark his face, even as he stands there with a straight expression. He's very broad and well-proportioned in his silver suit and gunmetal blue shirt, and I suspect that in his younger days he would have been quite a catch.

“Your first time here, isn't it?” he questions as he gives my hand back and places his cocktail glass on the bar.

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Is it that obvious?”

He laughs. “No.”

The barmaid hands me my change and swiftly moves away before I have a chance to thank her.

Turning back to George after putting my cash away, I frown. “Then why did you ask? Is it your first time?”

“No,” he replies, before telling a member of staff behind the bar to straighten his tie. “I just haven't seen you here before.”

Appalled that he could be so rude and direct to the poor boy, I scowl. “That wasn't very nice.”

His forehead wrinkles. “What wasn't?”

“Telling that young man to straighten his tie so loudly.”

His face looks amused. “Well, why shouldn't I? I'm the one who pays his wages.”

Not in the mood to boost his ego, I ignore his claim, and hope he gets the message as I proceed to scan the room over his shoulder for Heath.

I finally spot him.
The bastard!
He's standing with some tart who's got her hands all over him. My heart races as I double check and make sure I'm not seeing things. It is him. My heart aches as it pumps jealousy through my veins and heats my muscles. I knock back my drink and try to calm myself, but I can't, and the alcohol only fills me with spite and rage as it hits my bloodstream.
Two can play at this game.