Eighty Days White (17 page)

Richard grinned from ear to ear.

‘Not when it’s used right,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the lady here would be happy to demonstrate.’

‘I have to work,’ I cut in, shooting Richard a fierce glance that I hoped indicated I wanted him to shut up. ‘I was hoping you might keep an eye on Neil while I’m stuck behind the counter.’

Neil stared at me and then back at Richard. ‘I can look after my—’

‘Please, Richard,’ I said, ignoring Neil’s request for freedom.

‘No problem. I’ll keep him safe for you,’ he replied.

Neil paled further at the notion that his safety might be in question, but by then I was well and truly late for my shift and too impatient to reassure him.

‘Great,’ I replied, and fled back to the front door with one final glance at his soft tanned skin and the snug fit of his boxer shorts.

It was one of the busiest shifts that I’d worked since I started at the club, and I didn’t have a chance to check on Neil until we were closing up and Richard delivered him to me at the front desk.

His face was flushed and his eyes dilated.

‘That was amazing,’ he said, waving his arm wildly to flag down a passing black cab.

He had the slightly rabid punch-drunk look of someone who has just been tied up or spanked and I felt a stab of annoyance at Richard for not keeping a closer watch on him.

‘Oh?’ I said. ‘Did you try anything?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But there was this girl that he did this stuff to and the way she looked …’

His face had taken on the far-away, dreamy look that Liana got when she was talking about what it was like to experience submission.

The driver tooted impatiently as Neil swung on the door loosely and stared at me.

I panicked.

‘I think I left my jacket at the club,’ I said. ‘Go on. I’ll get the Tube.’

His expression turned from pleasure to confusion. ‘But you’re wearing your—’

‘I’ll call you later, OK?’ I interrupted.

I turned and ran.

Neil had returned to his old self by the time that I eventually relented and started answering his calls again. I wasn’t sure what it was about his interest in the fetish side of my life that made me feel so uncomfortable, but I was pleased to find that he seemed to have dropped the subject and things between us were back to normal, other than the fact that every time I heard his voice the vision of him near naked in his boxer shorts with a pin wheel running over his body assaulted my mind.

My strange dreams hadn’t subsided either, and now featured Neil instead of the hog-tied Japanese waiter who had filled the nocturnal images that had haunted my sleep for the few weeks after we visited Miyama.

Besides my restless nights, life was peaceful and time continued to fly by in a regular mix of days at the music
shop and evenings at the club without any unusual episodes. I had been taking advantage of the ebb in my social and romantic life to complete as many shifts as I could and, despite my low wages, my savings had grown to a tidy sum. I took great satisfaction from watching the balance on my bank statements increase and carefully filed each crisp statement into my desk drawer as they arrived.

It had been a quiet evening at the club and I was changing back into my civilian clothes when She put her head around the corner of the staff changing room.

‘Lily, can you give Gray a call? He wants to talk to you.’

I must have looked quizzical because she reassured me.

‘Don’t worry. Nothing weird. Just a project he’s begun that you could help with.’

At least someone was expressing some form of interest in me. It had been ages since I’d heard from Leonard, while Dagur was overseas on a three-month tour with the band and was no doubt busy fending off the amorous attentions of exotic foreign women following every gig. I hadn’t expected Dagur to call, message or send me postcards anyway. It wasn’t his style.

I nodded.

I was uncertain about facing Grayson again on my own in the wake of our improvised threesome and that ambiguous photo session that had somehow ended up with me straddling him wildly, inadvertently pulling the lid off my hitherto dormant tendencies to dominate men. Somehow I wasn’t quite reconciled with that new part of me yet. Yes, it attracted me and awakened a distinct fire inside, but on the other hand I still liked to be with men and be made love to
in a traditional manner. Both instances provided me with pleasure.

I rang him the next evening, but was unable to meet up for at least a week as I couldn’t take any days off at the music store and, on the few evenings I wasn’t part-timing at the club, I just found myself too tired to budge from my sofa or my bed, recharging my batteries after weeks of hard work. Grayson didn’t appear overly concerned and assured me that it could wait. It was something long term, he said.

We agreed on an early evening when I would travel to his East End studio straight from Denmark Street.

‘Will She be there?’ I asked him, out of curiosity.

‘Is that what you all call her?’ As if he didn’t know.

‘Yes.’

Grayson chuckled.

‘No, the fearsome Ms Haggard will not be in attendance,’ he said. ‘She’s catching up on her accounts at the club, I daresay. But you don’t feel we need a chaperone, do you, Lily?’

‘To keep me from spanking you?’ I queried.

The roar of his laughter triumphantly rumbled down the telephone line.

‘Has She been giving you lessons, by any chance?’ Grayson ventured jokingly. ‘Anyway, I’m willing to take my chances,’ he concluded.

As I moved briskly from the autumnal chill rising from the nearby river into the warm building where Grayson both worked and lived, I loosened the thick grey cashmere scarf Leonard had bought me on Kalverstraat in Amsterdam and wiped my nose with a tissue. The cold had been biting outside. One of Grayson’s assistants was busy tidying the
studio floor from an earlier session, crumpling long sheets of paper, rolling up an assortment of rugs and methodically picking up random props and locking them up in a tall metal cabinet at the other end of the photographic space.

‘Drink?’ Grayson proposed.

‘Just a coffee,’ I suggested.

Grayson hailed his assistant and asked him to prepare the espressos and he left the room. All the main lights were off and we sat in one of the comfortable leather sofas against the far wall, with just a lone spot illuminating the circle of darkness we had taken refuge in.

‘How’s Dagur?’

‘I shrugged ‘I don’t know.’

‘What’s up?’

‘He’s on tour with the band. Won’t be back for a few months; it’s a long one. Anyway, I hadn’t seen that much of him before he left because he was busy rehearsing some new material.’

‘So you were never really an “item”?’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ I replied. ‘I don’t think rock stars are all that keen on domesticity.’

‘Pity,’ Grayson said.

‘Why?’ I wondered if he was hoping to arrange another threesome.

‘I’m looking for musicians.’

‘What for?’

‘A new project I was hoping you could help with.’

‘I’m all ears.’ The tall, thin assistant handed us our coffees and silently slipped away. Shortly after, I heard the front door close.

‘I’m always busy,’ he sighed, ‘but lately it’s mostly been
commissions. Well paid, of course, but not ultimately that satisfying,’ he explained. I noticed he hadn’t added any sugar to his espresso, unlike me who added sugar cubes into the coffee like a ship drops an anchor. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve done anything personal.’

I nodded. That was the problem with all the artists I knew, musical or otherwise. Either they had no money to enable them to do what they wanted or they had all the money in the world and no time for anything other than pleasing the masses.

‘There’s an important gallery in Southwark, with a branch in New York, and they’ve been at me for a long time to come up with a theme for a solo exhibition but I couldn’t quite focus on the right angle, the subject. It could also be expanded into a book. The last one I put together was six years ago.’

‘The walls in the rain?’ There were prints on the far wall. They were striking, bleak, but somehow full of light.

‘Yes, that was it. I could come up with more of the same, I suppose, but this time around I’m determined to concentrate on people. Not portraits, as such, but bodies. Something more personal.’

I remembered the passion in his eyes as the session that had so conveniently been interrupted by She’s arrival had progressed, long before the original excuse of trying out some of his new equipment.

What could he possibly be thinking of now? I couldn’t imagine anything more personal than our last photo session. And I knew I hadn’t signed any form of model release at the time. However brave I was, I could just imagine my parents’
faces if they came across nude photos of me. I swallowed hard, even though my curiosity was well triggered.

‘So what about Dagur? You said you were sorry he was away. Somehow I don’t think his management team would be keen on him disrobing for the lens. There’s good publicity and bad publicity.’

‘I know.’ Grayson looked increasingly serious. ‘But it made me think of musicians.’ He fell silent.

‘What about them?’

‘Just this feeling that they’re different from you and me. Like athletes. The way they plunge head first into the music, like athletes disappear into their sport. It makes you want to … catch their … essence. I’m probably confusing you?’

‘Not at all. I know exactly what you mean.’ I saw the same thing at the club with submissives and dominants going into sub or dom space.

‘So, I was thinking of just taking a series of photos of musicians, well-known ones if I can convince any and unknowns too, of course. The images would be of them clothed and unclothed, with their instruments, probably all in black and white. I can see it all in my mind already, even though it’s difficult to explain. There would be a progression, from mild images to eventually totally explicit ones, them making love to each other and their instruments. In your face. Shocking.’

His mind was on a roll, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.

‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘their faces would be obscured, out of focus or out of frame if they so wished. And …’ He hesitated.

‘Yes?’ I prompted Grayson.

‘I have someone in mind for the final set. I came across her the other night at a function. Not actually the place I would ever have thought of seeing her. But it made me think she might agree to it. The classical violin player, Summer Zahova …’

‘The girl with the red hair?’

‘Exactly. She would be perfect. Something tells me she would be game. She gives the impression of a moth circling a flame when you meet her in real life. A fascinating young woman.’

‘Did you ask her?’

‘Not yet. We only met very briefly. I might still, but first I have to put together a whole portfolio with others so I know exactly what I’m seeking. I was thinking that Dagur might agree if the pictures were anonymous, or he might be willing to suggest others. Or maybe you have some contacts of your own, through the music store?’

‘I don’t know any customers well enough to really ask. Jonno might know … but I’m not sure. And Dagur – his horse tattoo makes him easily recognisable,’ I pointed out.

‘Those sort of things are never a problem. I have Photoshop for that.’

‘I used to play cello. And some guitar, though I never made the professional grade,’ I suddenly blurted out. It was as if the devil made me say it. Like that split second when I had decided to go with the teardrop.

‘Did you?’

‘I know I’m not a model, but I’d be willing to have a go. You wouldn’t even have to pay me …’

Grayson smiled.

‘I like the way you photograph,’ he said. ‘You’re another person altogether under the eye of the lens. And when you go into domme space, it’s almost the look I’m going for … Hmm …’ He considered. ‘It could work.’

‘There’s my own guitar,’ I offered, ‘but I have access to other instruments, through the shop.’

‘Any limits?’ Grayson looked me straight in the eyes.

‘Limits?’

‘How far would you be willing to go?’

I did not hesitate. I liked the idea of having Grayson capture my essence. Maybe his camera could work out who Lily really was, where I had failed.

‘All the way. So long as my face isn’t in shot.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘No problem. It is a pity again about Dagur. I would have loved to get some couple shots. And I’m not sure how many of the musicians would be comfortable with that.’ He paused, then, having thought about it again, ‘Could you bring another friend along, maybe? He wouldn’t have to be a musician, just someone you feel comfortable with. I have some vague ideas in mind I’d like to try, and I can just see you, holding the cello, him holding you …’ He was already daydreaming the scene, conjuring it out of thin air.

I couldn’t think of anyone right then, but I was certain I would come up with someone. Maybe one of the guys at the club would do it.

We had all spent the day stocktaking at the music shop, by far the least favourite part of my job there, ticking off the inventory against stock sheets and trying to locate boxes that had, over the past six months, been moved to nooks
and crannies in the basement where they shouldn’t have been stored. It was a tedious activity and, away from the shop floor, cold and dusty. At times like this I almost missed the argumentative customers I was often confronted with, who always knew better and whom we weren’t even allowed to debate with, or the tedious ones who took an eternity to reach a decision about whether or not to purchase the instrument they had been toying with.

We’d drawn the steel shutters and secured the locks and all I could look forward to this evening was a stop by the supermarket to get some fresh bread and milk on my way home and a night in front of the TV. Jonno and the others were off to the pub, but I was in no mood for it. I was fidgety and on edge because the session with Grayson to get his book project started in earnest was now just a few days away. I had eventually asked Neil to come along with me. There wasn’t anyone else that I trusted in the same way as I trusted Neil, besides maybe Richard the Dungeon Master, but I guessed Grayson would appreciate photographing someone younger and more nubile. I’d assured Neil the photos would be anonymous and hadn’t detailed the possible extent of his involvement. All he knew was that I would be photographed and wanted a friend to be present to make me feel at ease. His initial reluctance had melted away when I mentioned that I would probably be nude for the latter part of the set, at which stage he blushed, looked at me incredulously as if he thought I was joking, and then hastily agreed to accompany me.