Untaming Lily Wilde (2 page)

Good girlfriend. Good girl.
H
adn’t those been Tom’s words that very afternoon? Lily had allowed Tom to mould her into the girlfriend she thought he wanted. Dutiful, faithful… and now who was she? She’d given her youthful years to him. Whilst Emma, Cayley,
everybody
else, had been dating, partying, experimenting
,
she’d
been committed to Tom. And for what? Hot tears stung her eyes again, but this time they were tears of rage.

“You know,” Lily sniffed, “I
was
good to him. Too damn good. All those years I could have been free and single and crazy - but I gave it up for him - he seemed worth the sacrifice. I never did anything wild - not really. The wildest thing I ever did was getting my tattoo. That’s it. Hardly a life of excitement.” And yet perhaps that tattoo did symbolize something wild in Lily, something wanting to break free. Tom had pestered her to get his name inked across her, a sign of their commitment - or
her
commitment to
him
more like. But she’d refused outright, returning from the tattoo parlour with a sleek lily lilting elegantly upon her belly. A tattoo for her. Not him. Thank God.

“Anyway,” she continued, trying not to think of him, “I’ve never had the chance to experiment with other men. I haven’t a clue who I am when I’m not being
Lily and Tom
. It’s pathetic really.”

Emma looked exasperated. “
Not
pathetic, not at all - but you talk as if you’re middle-aged. You’re twenty-six. Still young. Still extremely gorgeous. And if you need to experiment, I say go for it.” She paused. “But do it for
you
. Don’t do it because you think that scumbag will want you more if you’re a
bad girl.
”

Lily shook her head, “No worries there. I’m going to do it, you know. Fuck it. This will be the year
I
have some fun for once.”

Emma looked coy. “You know, this is sounding like a New Year’s resolution...”

“Hmm - yes, I guess it
is.
Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?”

“Because you know me well. Here - catch!” Emma tossed a hardback book into Lily’s lap.

Lily hesitated, “Your dad gave you a diary again?”

It was a running joke that every Christmas Emma’s dad would send her a diary, and every New Year she’d donate it to the local charity store.

“He did, indeed, and this year I’m donating it to you! I know what you’re like with New Year’s resolutions, you’re as bad as me. Hey - remember that one about running three times a week - Oh! Or that one about only eating chocolate on weekends - which, by the way, was
obviously
total madness. Well, this time it’s a resolution with homework - you’ve got to write about it!"

Lily stroked the diary's velveteen cover. She kind of liked the idea of keeping a journal; somewhere to track her year of self discovery. It made it official somehow. Outside, fireworks peppered the night sky. Twelve midnight. Lily emerged from her gloomy chrysalis, oddly self-possessed. Hopeful. Inquisitive even.

“What d’you reckon?” Emma said. “
I, Lily Wilde, resolve to dedicate the next year to the pursuit of wild, uninhibited, self-serving sex?”

Lily smiled for the first time that evening, and nodded coyly.

“Maybe.”

“Uh-uh, you got to say the words or it doesn’t count,” pushed Emma.

“Fine,” she sighed, “I, Lily Wilde, resolve to dedicate the next year to the pursuit of wild, uninhibited, self-serving sex.” She raised a glass to meet her best friend’s.

BOOM. WHOOSH. Lily stared, startled, out of the window. The lure of adventure was igniting. Who knows, she thought, this might just be a year to remember.

Sat, Jan 1st

What on earth am I letting myself in for? Have agreed to spend a year repenting for years of unfulfilled monogamy with my only ever (God I’m so pathetic!!) boyfriend, Tom-Tosser-Preston. You, diary, will be my incentive (as dictated by slightly bossy best friend who shall remain nameless) - written proof that, at some point in my life, I did something JUST FOR ME. So here we go. Here comes my sexual awakening/ my salacious sexcapades/ my happy descent into badness/ whatever you want to call it.

Oh, Lord, am I really going to do this?!

L x

Mon, Jan 10th

Oh my poor, neglected diary!

Feeling very guilty for not having looked at you since New Year's.

Who knew so much could change in 10 days. The flat feels empty. Tom has taken most of his stuff. He looked tired - tried to hug me - said 'our friendship is worth saving', that he 'needed me in his life'. Screw that.

I've just got home from my first day's work with Cayley at Bellevue Events, and when I say day - well - I started work at 9am and it's now past 9pm. Tomorrow is scheduled to be even longer, and way more stressful as there's an actual event to manage instead of all the planning we've been doing today.

I'm in two minds about all this. I certainly need the money, and it's surprisingly kind of great catching up with Cayley again. She's mellowed some, though she clearly still wants to save me from myself. She's got our sleazy boss, Mr Bateman, wrapped around her perfectly manicured little finger. They interviewed me together, and what a joke! Cayley did most of the talking for me, bless her, and somehow she persuaded Bateman to hire me. So now I'm a 'Production Assistant'. I get to shadow Cayley for 2 weeks, then I'm on my own... Eep! This is a major blag, and it'll be a small miracle if I pull it off.

That's all for now - need to eat, need to sleep - but I'll try my damnedest to write again tomorrow.

Yours exhausted,

Lily Wilde

2

Her bed was unmade, so Lily briefly rearranged the blankets before sliding beneath the covers. It was harder to get warm at night without Tom's extra body heat. She lay in bed shivering for a while, wondering at what point in her suddenly choc-a-bloc schedule she would begin her 'sexual awakening'. The whole idea was beginning to feel a bit pathetic. A desperate attempt to put a positive spin on a miserable reality.

Lily slept through her alarm and was woken by a text at 8.35am. With much tripping and swearing, she hurricaned through the morning routine and pinned her eternally tussled auburn locks into a messy up-do. By 8:50am, she was waiting for the District line at Whitechapel Station, and by 9:05am, she was escaping the crowds at Monument, then falling into Cayley's office, rosy cheeked and in dire need of caffeine. Cayley, on the other hand was the very personification of cool efficiency; unruffled and demure, with perfect posture, sitting at her well tended desk. A ballet dancer in a tailored two-piece. She glanced up from her notes to offer Lily a look of well-meant pity.

"Oh sweety, is everything alright?"

"Uh-huh, why? ...Oh, you mean the hair?" She reached back and fussed self-consciously with her grips. All things considered, Lily thought she was doing pretty well. She reminded herself that she'd never be as glamorous as Cayley, and resolved to give herself a break.

"No, no darling, not the hair. Well, not really. But let’s book in with my beautician this afternoon, once we've done all the prep. We'll have a good couple of hours to kill before things kick off. Say you'll do it. My treat? We’re going to have so much fun working together - I just know it! And this girls’ night out is bound to be a hoot. I can’t wait!"

“Girls’ night? Huh?! Do I know about this?” Lily’s head pulsed a dull ache. She really needed that coffee.

Cayley, rolled her eyes. “You
should
know. Emma said she’d text you, that you’d definitely be up for it. Guess she forgot. Why am I not surprised?!” Oh yes, this sounded like the old Cayley.

Lily shook herself. “No, wait,” She grabbed her phone from her coat pocket and opened the text which, thank heavens, had just about got her to work in time. “Here it is:
Drinks, dance, danger (kidding) with me and Cayley this Sat or next (?) Ur coming!
I just hadn’t read it. Oh stop with the pity looks, I just overslept!”

“Fine. But you’ll come won’t you? It’ll be like old times - but with better shoes,” Cayley winked, and resisted glancing at Lily’s worn out flats, a kindness that didn’t go unnoticed.

Lily thought of the whole Year-of-Sexual-Shenanigans thing and wanted to run for the hills. What on earth had she been thinking?! However, buried beneath the embarrassment, a small (and steadily shrinking) part of her wondered if this wasn’t just fear of the unknown? D
idn't her diary deserve at least one semi-kinky adventure?
And how was that ever going to happen if she spend her life shuffling between work and home?

"Sure, count me in,” she said, with a confidence she hoped at least
sounded
genuine, “But next Saturday, not this one. My feet need to touch the floor at some point this week."

"Great," Cayley grinned, "Right then darling, back to business I'm afraid. They're expecting us at The Ellington for half 11. You'll need to make sure the caterers are up to speed. I may have to delegate tasks to you here and there but for the most part you can just watch and learn. We've got a great relationship with the client; Harper Cane Legal have been using us for years, and this should be a pretty straight forward affair so let’s just try to project professional confidence. You'll be great. I'll phone the beautician."

"Better had," mumbled Lily.

"That's the spirit!"

Cayley had been right. Prep was reasonably straight forward, bar a hiccup with the florist, and once Lily had gotten her head around who was doing what and when, the idea of co-choreographing the law firm's anniversary dinner seemed almost manageable.

The girls had spent the following two hours being waxed, plucked, moisturized, manicured, pedicured, brushed, trimmed, and generally primped and preened until Lily's flesh tingled and her reflection glowed. So delighted was Cayley with the all new Lily Wilde, that she insisted on topping off the expedition by buying Lily some designer pumps with three inch heels, insisting they were essentials, and that the expense account would cover it.

By the time they welcomed their guests into The Ellington's grand dining hall, Lily was a new woman, albeit a sore one (surely the bikini wax had been overkill, and those gorgeous new shoes were giving her designer blisters). Still, a showbiz smile was what was required, and Lily was going to give tonight her all.

Lily followed Cayley's lead, mingling with caterers, musicians and audio-technicians; prompting speeches, symphonies and toasts. Cayley assured Lily that most of the work was in the prep, that tonight was more about keeping everything flowing as planned,
whilst enjoying the spectacular eye candy.
It was suddenly clear to Lily that her and Cayley’s tastes in men differed by a few million degrees. The clusters of clean cut, shiny shoed fellas in grey suits just didn’t get her kettle boiling. She scanned the hall coyly; no one. Dang. She liked the idea of a sexy stranger to faun over from afar. No such luck. The girls resumed their circuit with cheery, professional smiles; checking on the kitchen, then the service team, then… Lily caught her breath.
Now,
that’s
more like it!

Leaning in a doorway, lost in thought, was a man who cut through tonight’s mould. Early thirties, with loose black trousers hanging perfectly from just below his slim waist; deep plum shirt over wide shoulders, unbuttoned a little round a strong neck; tussled mahogany hair, and plenty of rough-shaven stubble; oh yes,
he
was one hundred percent Lily’s type. She laughed to herself, amused that the only guy she’d found attractive probably worked for the hotel. He sure didn’t look like the legal type, not if tonight was anything to go by.
Oh Jesus, he’s seen me staring.
Lily flushed crimson and almost lost her footing.
Good one, Lily. Very subtle.

Suddenly, Lily was being hustled to one side. Mr Bateman grabbed her wrist. "Emergency. Make yourself useful. Mrs Cane's overdone it again. Total lush. I'm putting you in charge of her needs so bloody well be discrete."

Mrs Cane had left the dining hall and was making her way, destructively, along a corridor, toward the kitchen. Lily cursed her new heels as she stumbled after the older lady.

"May I be of any assistance, Madam?" Lily panted, catching her breath, but doing her best to sound the part.

"Labatowy," slurred Mrs Cane.

"Lavatory? Of course, this way," Lily asserted, leading her to an adjoining corridor, past a flustered Mr Bateman, past a huddle of raucous legal secretaries, past the tall unshaven gentleman with his cocky smile and penetrating eyes…
Hmm… Keep walking, Lily, now just focus
, she told herself,
nearly there…

"I'm going to be sick. Oh God - girl - take this," yelled Mrs Cane, then she thrust her half-full glass of red wine precariously into Lily's hand. Her leopard-print, pill box hat, toppled to the floor as the woman threw herself into the washroom. Lily bent to get it, turning back as she straightened up. Then, catching her heel in the carpet, she tripped, lunged, and emptied the contents of the glass over - oh shit -
Mr Bateman’s crotch.