Erotic Amusements (8 page)

“What’s up, Vern? There a problem in there?”

“Mirror…broken…” panted Rocky. “Take it, you hot little bitch, take my cock all the way.” This last whispered loudly into Flipp’s ear, making her mewl.

Rocky’s pace was blistering now and Flipp began to fear for his cock even more than she feared discovery in flagrante by the disembodied voice.

“Which one? Have you called the glazier?”

“Oh
fuck
.” roared Rocky, pouring his all into Flipp’s tight channel while she twisted and turned and moaned into her own orgasm.

“’Ere. What you doing? You aren’t Vern.”

Footsteps somewhere in the reflective labyrinth.

“Bloody maze. I’ll find you. Whatever you’re up to, you’d better hope you finish it before I get to you.”

Much as Flipp wanted to drink in the luscious multiplied reflection of Rocky’s face in extremis, she did not want to end up in court on an indecent exposure charge, so she shuffled forward, off Rocky’s cock, and pulled her knickers up while she tried to find her footing. Feeling a little drunk, she put a hand up to the mirror, steadying herself, whispering an urgent, “Put it away. Let’s go.”

Rocky slumped back on his knees, fumbling with the condom and the buttons before making a noise of frustration, hauling himself to his feet, grabbing Flipp’s hand and running, jeans half-undone, through the remainder of the maze.

He seemed to know his route and within seconds they were outside, leaning against the hardboard wall, wheezing with panicky laughter while Rocky fixed his trousers.

“Vern. Is that you?” Flipp mimicked. “I nearly
died
.”

Rocky belly laughed, then wiped his mouth with a sweaty hand. “Christ, I need a drink. You make me crave cider, girl. Come on. Let’s get out of here before Vern comes back.”

Hand in hand, they walked through the flashing, crashing chaos of the fair and off the pier, looking for a suitably anonymous hotel bar in which to wet their dry throats.

“Definitely cider,” said Rocky, returning to their table in the busy lounge bar with two half-pints of cloudy orangey beverage. “Something sweet with a powerful kick.”

“Tangy and a little bit rough.” Flipp smiled, enjoying the game, enjoying everything about being with Rocky, from his low-key intelligence to his high-key sex appeal.

“Are you calling me rough?” He sat down next to her, pinching her thigh in warning. “I’ll remember that.”

“I love a bit of rough,” said Flipp, catching and squeezing the pinching hand. “All the nice girls do.”

“Ah, don’t tell me you’re a nice girl.” He pretended disappointment. “And I had such plans for you.”

“Something tells me they all involve risky sex.”

“Yeah. Safe sex too. But they all involve sex.” His smile faded and he looked down into the rusty-apple-scented liquid, as if an unwelcome reminder had been issued.

“What’s wrong? Sex is good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He swigged from the glass. “Yeah, it is.”

“But…not enough? Maybe? Are you going to tell me about Cordwainer’s overtime? And why I should avoid it?”

“You need a new job, Flipp. If you don’t work for him, then we don’t have to worry about getting caught together.”

Flipp almost laughed. “You seem like the last person on earth who worries about getting caught.”

Rocky made a face. “I know. And I’m probably the first person on earth who should. Seriously. If you want to be with me—and I hope you do—you need another job.”

“It’s that simple, is it? I can’t get another job. They’ll want references, bank details, all of that.”

“And you can’t provide them?” Rocky’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Why not, Miss Enigma? Why did you run to Goldsands, and what are you running from?”

Flipp looked away uncomfortably. “Long story,” she muttered. “Anyway, if you think Cordwainer’s such a bad guy, why don’t
you
work for someone else?”

“It’s that simple, is it?” He echoed her earlier words. “No. No, of course it isn’t. So it isn’t simple for either of us. It’s complicated. Perhaps it’s too complicated.”

“God, I hope not. Rocky, if you’d just tell me—”

“Shit,” he interrupted as a scream of electric guitar cut across their conversation, struggling to extract his mobile phone from the tight pocket of his trousers. “Cordwainer,” he told her with a grim look, pressing a button to accept the call.

So precise was Cordwainer’s enunciation that Flipp could almost hear him as clearly as Rocky.

“You’ve finished your knight errant act for the evening, I presume?”

“Knight…oh yeah, yes, I have.” Flipp bit her lip comically at his near-mistake but he only frowned back at her.

“Good. Because I need you. I’m at Councillor Trewin’s house. Do you know it?”

“In Clifftops?”

“Yes. I hope you haven’t had a drink. You’ll need the bike.”

“Just half of a half. I’m okay to drive. I’ll be there in ten.”

“His master’s voice,” Flipp said sardonically, watching Rocky attempt to squeeze the phone back into that confined space below his hipbone.

“I’m sorry, Flipp. He pays my rent. He buys my time. I have to go.”

“
I love you, you pay my rent
.” Flipp sang the Pet Shop Boys line halfheartedly, watching Rocky gather himself, offering her upturned face for a swift goodbye kiss.

“I’ll see you. Take care.”

“Yeah. You too. It’s a jungle out there.” Flipp watched him weave through the mob of laughing drinkers, unaccountably sad and deflated. Why did life have to be so complex?
“When I just wanna sit here and watch you undress.”
She sang the P. J. Harvey lyric under her breath, goose pimpling at the bit that came next.
“This is love, love, love that I’m feeling.”
The rush of realisation was close to nausea. She had to shut her eyes to keep back the tears.
No, it’s a crush. Great sex with a great-looking man. Who is clever and funny and caring…Stop.

Across the road from the hotel, at the pier entrance, Laura lingered, waiting. Ah, here he was. But he was alone, minus the bottle-blonde bitch, whoever she was. Laura felt viciously offended that she had been thrown over for such a trashy-looking specimen. She looked as if she hardly washed, in those hippy-dippy tie-dye clothes. And she wore a nose ring.
Ugh.
Rocky obviously didn’t recognise real class when he had it underneath him. Well, that was his bad luck.
No, no, it’s mine. Because I want him back. So very very badly. And this is one thing I can’t ask Daddy for.

He was almost at the bike now. Laura hugged herself, bubbling up with nervous laughter. He was crouching down, frowning. One hand felt the front tyre and she heard his exasperated, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Laura put the craft knife back in her handbag and stepped out of the shadows.

“Roadside rescue,” she said, smiling felinely when he whirled around to glare at her.

“Is this you?” He brandished a furious hand at the slashed tyres. “Did you do this?”

“Would I? Do I look like a slasher?” She put a manicured finger up to the three deep nail welts beneath his eye.

“I know you are. What’s wrong with you? You’ve lost your mind, sweetheart. Back off, Laura. Stop embarrassing yourself. It’s over.”

“You’re the one embarrassing yourself,
sweetheart
. Running around town with that walking trash heap. She looks as if she has fleas. Ugh. I don’t know if I should stand anywhere near you. You might have caught them off her.”

“Laura, are you still twelve? Because you certainly sound it.”

Laura knew Rocky well enough to recognise that his lofty tone hid a trace of panic. Hmm. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to be seen with Blondie. Well, then, he should have been more careful and taken her out of town for their rendezvous. A lesson in discretion for him or—even better—a warning to leave the new squeeze alone.

“Now run along, little girl. I’ve got tyres to repair.”

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” said Laura, changing her tack, suddenly a picture of pouting contrition. “Even though you’re very sexy when you’re mad. I keep hoping you might put me over your knee for a spanking. Would you like to do that? You can, if it would make you feel better.” Laura thrust out a hip in its cherry-print rah-rah skirt, slapping her own hand down on her shapely bottom.

“Not really. But I expect your father’s friends might oblige if you asked.” Rocky bit down on his lip.

Laura knew he found it hard to control his acid tongue when he was angry, but what had he meant by that? She looked at him long and hard, but his eyes were impenetrable, just like the rest of him.

“Fuck you, Rocky,” Laura snarled, nudging the toe of her sandal into the small of his back. “I want you back. I’ve got more going for me than that scarecrow thing I saw you with. Stop sulking and come over here and give me what I deserve, big boy.” She moved her foot up his spine, then down again, but he brushed her off as if she were a fly.

“You don’t want me back. You’re not having me back. And the girl you saw me with was just a friend. Got that? You’re out of my life, Laura. So long, farewell,
auf Wiedersehen
, goodbye.”

“You’re never been a
Sound of Music
fan,” Laura exclaimed wonderingly.

“Go. Away.”

“I’ll give you a lift to wherever you’re going if you like.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Where
are
you going? To her place?”

“Shut up. Go away. I need to call a cab.”

“No you don’t. I’ll give you a lift. I insist. It’s the least I can do.”

The simmering rage on Rocky’s face was terrifying and thrilling. He really did look as if he wanted to kill her. The wild elation this seemed to provoke in her soul was probably a little bit disturbing, if she cared to analyse it, but she didn’t. She had no other thought on her mind than her need to get Rocky into her car and then pounce on him.

“Don’t you have any pride?”

And it was this simple question that defeated Laura. She could have taken on any amount of bluster or threat or even cruelty, but this near-contempt was too much for her. She did have some pride, after all. Rather a lot, actually. And she had lots of other things too—determination and vengeful patience being but two. She could wait for her Rocky. She could fight for him another day.

“Among other things,” she said, leaning down to kiss him sweetly on the cheek. “You’ll see. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

Flipp felt the need for more cider, which was inconvenient, as she only had twenty-three pence left in her handbag, plus one pound for the coin electricity meter in her bedsit, before tomorrow’s pay packet. She stared bleakly into her sequined purse and shrugged. Time to go home and stare through the tatty net curtains at the tatty vista of the curry house and kebab shop beyond. Perhaps she should save up for a TV. There must be cheap secondhand sets on sale somewhere. But for tonight, entertainment would be provided by her ancient radio/CD player. Again.

She was picking a careful path across the beer-splashed carpet when a hand on her shoulder caused her to stop and look up. A man, preppily handsome with floppy hair and a striped rugby top, was smiling down at her.

“Excuse me…so sorry to disturb you…but were you in here with Rocky Anderson earlier?”

Aha. A surname.

“Might have been,” she said. “Are you a friend of his?”

“Yes. An old school friend. Haven’t seen him in ages. Do you have his number?”

Flipp never gave out information to people she did not know, and besides, she really didn’t know Rocky’s number, so she shrugged and tried to move away.

“I’m sorry,” the man continued, smiling shamefacedly. “I don’t mean to be rude. My name’s Jeremy. Jeremy Weill. Look, can I get you a drink? Or will Rocky kill me for moving in on his girl? I’m not, by the way. Moving in on you, I mean. Not that you aren’t worth moving in on…Oh dear. I’m coming across as a right tosser, aren’t I? I tend to babble. Ignore me. But seriously, what are you drinking?”

Flipp’s guard was lowered by Jeremy’s endearingly shambolic air. She smiled.

“Cider,” she told him. “Dry, not sweet.”

He brought her a bottled brand, plus a pint of bitter for himself and sat down at the table Rocky had vacated earlier, placing the drinks on the selfsame coasters.

“Are you new in town?” he asked. “I don’t recognise you at all.”

“Newish,” said Flipp.

“Thought so. Goldsands, you’ll be discovering for yourself, is a small place. Everyone knows everyone’s business. Well, mostly. Obviously you lose touch here and there. Like me and Rocky. You have a metropolitan twang to your voice—are you from London?”

“Around that way.”

“I see you’re a girl who likes to play her cards close to her chest. Nothing wrong with that, of course. I like a little bit of mystery—all adds to the fun. Do you have a name, at least?”

“My name’s Flipp.”

“Flipp? Really? Short for Philippa?”

“Exactly the right length for Flipp.”

“It’s different. Fresh. I like it.” Jeremy was striving so hard not to give offence that Flipp granted him a small concession.

“I met Rocky at work,” she told him.

“Did you? At work? So where would that be?”

“Caesar’s Palace.”

“Ah, the amusement arcade. I know it well. I see. Part of Charles Cordwainer’s little empire by the sea, isn’t it?”

Flipp half smiled. “Yeah. He does have a touch of the imperial about him, old Cordwainer. I can see him lying on a golden divan being fed grapes by handmaidens.”

“Oh, you’ve heard that rumour too?”

They smiled genuinely, the ice broken.

“So do you enjoy your work, Flipp?”

She contemplated her bottle neck. “I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I hope I’m not doing it forever. I hope I’m not doing it after the end of summer, to be honest. It’s boring and the pay is crap. But, you know, needs must and all that.”

“When the devil drives,” Jeremy quoted thoughtfully. “And Cordwainer does have a bit of a reputation. I mean, I don’t suppose he actually
is
Beelzebub in human form.”

“What have you heard about him?” Flipp asked, curious. “Everybody keeps warning me about him, but they won’t say why. Even Rocky.”