Suddenly this was starting to seem like quite a nice idea but I made a last attempt to put him off. “I’m wearing my tangerine knickers.”
They were like boy’s jocks. I loved them; Aidan didn’t.
“I don’t care,” he said. “Just get them off. Like now.” He wrestled me onto the bed, hiked up my skirt, hooked his index fingers into the waistband of my tangerine jocks, whizzed them right down to my ankles, and unhooked them over my feet.
Leaning over me, he pulled his tie undone, unzipped his fly, and whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you.” He tugged down his Calvins and his fully erect penis sprang out. I pushed him back on the bed, the bottom buttons of his shirt undone, his pants down to his knees, his skin pale against the navy of the suit and his shock of dark pubic hair.
His erection curved upward and he reached for me.
I slid myself down onto him, suddenly very turned on and, holding on to the headboard, began rocking up and down. My button was rubbing against the shaft and my breasts were swinging in his face. He nipped my nipples between sharp teeth, his hands tight on my hips, moving me up and down his shaft, faster and faster.
The headboard was squeaking in time with his noises. “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” Then: “Oh, fuck, no!” With a final “AHHH!” and a shiver, he reared up into me, pulling me down to him. He gasped and shuddered and bucked, and when he could speak again, he said, “Sorry, baby.”
I shrugged. “You know what to do.”
He rolled me over, slid a pillow under my bum, pushed my thighs apart, and I rose to meet him.
69
I swear to God, I thought I could see an improvement in my scar the very next morning. I couldn’t be sure, but I took a photo of it just to be on the safe side. If Formula Twelve could effect a visible improvement after one go, what would it be like after fourteen? It might come in very handy for my pitch.
I couldn’t decide which way to go with it, but obviously I didn’t want to overlap with Wendell or Lois.
I could guess what Wendell would propose because I knew her style: Wendell threw money at things. Every beauty editor in New York would be off to Brazil on a private plane if Wendell had anything to do with it.
Lois was a lesser-known quantity. Because the brand she currently worked on was a bit of a Feathery Stroker one, she might stay with that approach and go on about the natural ingredients and that sort of thing.
So, if the Brazilianness and the Naturalness aspects of Formula Twelve were already annexed, where did that leave me?
Nothing was coming. No starbursts of inspiration. It was all I thought about; it filled my head right up and left very little room for me to think about anything else. But something would come. Something would have to.
What do you think? I asked Aidan. Any ideas? Divine inspiration? Now that you’re dead, any chance it could come in handy?
But no voice answered in my head. I stared at the little yellow jar and wondered.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Result!
After fuck knows how many weeks since started tailing her, finally got picture of Detta Big at Racey O’Grady’s house. Took loads of shots of Detta talking into gate intercom, driving in, parking, getting out of the car, ringing front doorbell, going inside…
Printed them off at high speed! Then rang Colin and told him to collect me. I never meet Harry anywhere except Corky’s, but am not allowed to make own way there. Have to suffer mortification of Austrian-blindsmobile and local kids mocking.
As usual Harry down the back drinking milk. I put envelope of photos in front of him.
Me: There’s your proof. Now give me my money and let me off this boring job.
Harry opened envelope, shuffled through pics, then said: You’re still on the job.
Me: Why?
Him: I like having you around the place.
Me: Do you?
Could have sworn he hated me.
Him (wearily): No. I don’t know why I said that.
Me: I’m sick of this job. I want out.
Him: Well, you can’t. I want you in.
Me: And I want out.
Him: You’re very fond of your mother, aren’t you?
Me (surprised): No, I’m not.
Where did he get that mad idea from?
Me: Are you threatening me?
Him: Yes.
Me: Well, you’ll have to try a bit harder than threatening my mother.
Him: So who are you fond of?
Me: No one.
Him: You’ve got to be fond of someone.
Me: I’m not, I’m telling you. My sister Rachel says there’s something wrong with me, like I’ve a bit missing.
Him: And she’s the shrink, is she?
Me: Yes. (I know she’s not proper shrink, just acts like one.)
Him: Well, she’d know. Fuck.
Harry put head in hands. Sign that he was thinking. He looked up: I need better proof than this. I need proof of them together, if you get me?
Me: Do you mean them riding each other?
Him (wincing): In my day women used to have some decorum. I’ll double what I’m paying you. How does that sound?
Me (desperate): It’s not about the money. Look, Harry, this job has got to get more exciting. I’m losing the will to live.
Him: Stop calling me Harry. Show a little respect.
Me: Actually, Harry, I was thinking about the whole Mr. Big thing. I’ve been trying lateral thinking. Instead of focusing on size, we could try other things.
Him: Like what?
Me: How does Mr. Fear grab you?
Him (nodding slowly): I like it.
Me: Will we try it for a while, see if it catches on?
Him: Okay.
He tells Colin: D’you get that? We’re going to run with Mr. Fear for a while. Put the word out to the lads.
Because I want to get off this job, I said: Harry, you have photographic proof of your wife with another crime lord. Why would they be meeting if they weren’t up to something dodgy?
Him: Lots of reasons. Racey’s mammy, Tessie O’Grady, was great friends with Detta’s da, Chinner Skinner. Detta could just be being friendly, like.
Me: So Detta and Racey are old friends! Why am I surveilling old friends?
I’m thinking, he’s cracked. Cracked and mad. And insane, to boot.
Him: No, they’re not old friends. Their ma and da were old friends.
Me: But still a perfectly innocent reason for them to meet up.