Heller's Girlfriend (20 page)

I should qualify my previous
statement by saying that nobody had been looking at me except for
Farrell, of course. He was on the other side of the room,
half-hidden in the flickering shadows, but I could feel his eyes on
me. He lifted his fingers up and I took that to mean that he’d
noticed my reaction and was advising me to avert my eyes from the
forthcoming depravity on the screen and in the room. He was trying
to help me appear more professional, not the slack-jawed rubberneck
that I was currently being.

It was good advice. Until the
movie finished I kept my eyes firmly fixed on one of the walls or
on the dancing light of the candles, not the movie screen nor what
was happening between the guests. When the movie was over, Marty
jumped up to put on some very seductive music and encouraged all
the couples to dance together, laughingly reminding them that they
couldn’t dance with their own partners. He went outside to bring in
more alcohol for the guests. Gabriela, even unsteadier in her
high-heels after a few champagnes, lit more candles down the
hallway to the bedrooms and powder room and outside on the
terrace.

Farrell joined me and suggested
that we do another sweep of the grounds and the rooms.

“Are you okay?” he asked as we
walked around the front yard.

“Sure. It’s only going to get
worse from here. That movie! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“How old are you?”

“There’s no need to be rude,” I
said huffily. “It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. I just
haven’t watched much erotica before.”

He sighed patiently. “I wasn’t
being rude. I was genuinely curious.”

I looked at him with suspicion,
but took him on his word. “I’m twenty-five.”

“You’re young. It’s a shame you
had to see it now then, in these circumstances. If you’re going to
watch porn, it should be on your own terms. With material that
you’re comfortable watching.”

He was so calm and sensible, yet
not preachy at all. I really liked that. I was beginning to warm to
him.

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen a lot
since I started this job.” Including someone being murdered, which
I wasn’t likely to ever forget. A porn movie didn’t even begin to
compare to
that
experience, and that thought helped me put
the whole night into perspective. As Heller had said, the night
would pass soon enough and in a week or two it would just be a bad
memory. I would have had a new experience and he would have made
more money, which I was convinced was all he really cared about.
Except for
Vanessa
, reminded that bitchy part of my
brain that likes to torment me.

“I know you’ve seen a lot,
Chalmers.” And once again his eyes were unexpectedly compassionate.
It was a side of him that not many people would imagine from his
tough exterior. I began to like him even more, despite his
gruffness.

“How old are you?” I asked,
curious.

“Thirty-seven.”

“Any kids?”

“No.” He turned away, signalling
his intention not to answer any more of my personal questions.

Finished with our rounds, we
returned to the living area to find the party in full swing,
literally and figuratively. The seductive music was still going,
but nobody was dancing any longer, the only dancing going on in the
room confined to the horizontal type.

On seeing the copulating
couples, Farrell grabbed my arm and marched me over to the hallway
that led to the front door. He strongly recommended that I stay on
duty near the hall, slightly out of eyesight, while he took up a
position at right angles to me watching over the living room and
the debauchery. I appreciated his efforts to restrict my view of
the action, but he couldn’t block my ears. The grunting, moaning
and slapping noises turned my stomach and could honestly put a
person off sex for life.

To me, sex is intricately
entwined with love and respect. I hated one-night stands and I
could never contemplate swinging or swapping partners on a casual
basis. I loved sex with someone I knew and trusted. The
one-nighters I’d had always made me feel dirty and cheap
afterwards. And although I’d probably enjoyed them at the time
(most I couldn’t even remember), I couldn’t stand that horrible
sensation of waking up next to a stranger in an unfamiliar
environment, not knowing if I was safe or not. So I’d finally made
the decision not to have any more. And it was the right decision
for me. But I tried not to be judgemental of others, and while I
couldn’t imagine sharing my partner with anyone, especially right
in front of me, I didn’t begrudge or condemn others for their own
desires. I just wished I didn’t have to be here to witness it.

Sometime later, Gabriela, stark
naked except for her high heels, her face glistening with some
unidentified body fluid, staggered towards the powder room. Her
unsteady gait rendered her in danger of kicking over one of the
candles. I took her by the arm and guided her to the powder room,
even assisting her onto the toilet to my immense embarrassment, but
not hers. She couldn’t have cared less. I guess if you’re willing
to screw strangers in front of your husband and watch him do the
same, you’re not too squeamish about other things either. I turned
my back to give her some privacy, ignoring the huge gush of peeing
I could hear. The toilet flushed and she fell into me, almost
knocking me over. I helped her to the sink to wash and dry her
hands and then back to the orgy, where she launched herself with
renewed enthusiasm, attaching herself immediately to a recumbent
and unoccupied man’s stiff penis.

I sidled up to Farrell.

“Heller doesn’t pay me enough to
do that kind of stuff!” I complained.

His mouth twitched. Speaking of
Heller, I checked my mobile again. Nothing.
Bastard
, I
thought unreasonably. He would have loved this orgy.
He probably
would have joined in
, I thought bitterly as I watched one
couple stumble their way into one of the guest bedrooms.

Unfortunately, Gabriela wasn’t
the first inebriated person I had to help to the bathroom that
evening. I even had to help guide a few men into pointing percy at
the porcelain properly.
Geez!
I despaired as I waited, back
turned, while one naked man pissed for what I thought was an
unreasonably long time.

Would this evening never
end?

The expression on my face after
that particular incident encouraged Farrell to crack a full
half-smile, which for him was the equivalent of a
rolling-on-the-floor laughing fit.
I’m never doing this kind of
assignment again
, I decided. I hadn’t realised I’d be on piss
patrol all night.

I checked my watch, surprised to
see it was eleven o’clock. The party guests all seemed fairly
inebriated and exhausted after their evening of lust, the frenzy of
the orgy slowing down, over half the people even fast asleep.
Perhaps the party might end at midnight this time? The generous
flow of alcohol and the keenness of the guests to be quickly
satiated could lead to our early release from this terrible
assignment. When I mentioned this hope to Farrell though, he
pointed out that after an hour’s nap or so, most of them would be
raring to go again. My shoulders slumped and I groaned in
disappointment.

“I’ll leave you here to do the
toilet tour of duty, while I check the outside again,” Farrell
said.

“And I thought you said you had
no sense of humour,” I remarked with a withering glance.

“I don’t,” he replied,
completely deadpan again and he departed through the terrace doors,
leaving me alone with the incontinently incompetent. Excellent –
exactly what I wanted to do on a Friday night.

I counted the slowly writhing or
fast asleep bodies by the poor candlelight and there were
twenty-two. I went to the front guest bedroom to check on the other
two. They had passed out on the bed, possibly mid-coitus judging by
their strange positions; her face down, legs spread out widely, him
lying on top of her back. I heaved a giant sigh and laboriously
hauled him off her onto his back, then onto his side so he wouldn’t
choke on any vomit. Then I did the same for her, checking she was
still breathing after having his great weight on her all of this
time.

Drunk people!
I thought
to myself with disgust, as if I hadn’t frequently been in that
particular condition myself.

When I returned to the living
room, Farrell was back. “There’s a strong wind picking up outside.
I had to extinguish some of those candles so nothing would catch on
fire. It’s a bloody fire trap around here.”

“I know. It’s stupid to have
candles everywhere when everyone’s drinking so much.”

“I think we should start blowing
them all out.”

We commenced doing just that,
beginning with the ones in the hallway, when an enormous blast from
the terrace illuminated the entire living area. It was followed by
an ear-splitting crackling noise and a rush of heat through the
house towards us. Several of the still awake guests screamed in
terror.

“
Shit!
” cried Farrell,
which aptly summed up my feelings as well. “What the hell was
that?”

On the first terrace, potted
palms burst into fiery shapes in the darkness.

“Did you notice if there were
any extinguishers on the terrace?” Farrell asked me urgently. “We
can put this out before it spreads any further.”

I shook my head, eyes huge,
shocked. “I didn’t notice any.”

He ran to the door, but was
stopped when another blast, even fiercer than the first ripped
through the terrace, splintering the glass doors. The timber
pavillion caught fire, as did the tablecloths and more palms,
effectively cutting off the back as an escape route.

A third blast ensured that
everything flammable on the terrace was now fully alight. The
flames blew towards the house with every gust of wind.

“They must have gas bottles out
there for their barbeque. We can’t put this out – it needs
professionals. We’ll have to evacuate everyone through the front
door.”

I stood rooted to the ground,
mesmerised by the flames dancing and flickering in the deep
darkness of the night.

“Chalmers! Get your arse into
gear!” he yelled at me. “We don’t have much time.”

That did the job of jolting me
out of my reverie and I rushed towards the guests, some of whom
were already on their feet, stumbling about in panic.

Fierce flames from the terrace
invaded the house, forced in by powerful gusts of wind, consuming
every flammable object. The curtains were ablaze and blowing wildly
in the wind, spreading the fire even further through the house. The
silk throw on the sofa caught fire, which in turn ignited a display
of dried ornamental rushes in a large vase. Fire spread through the
living room and kitchen at an alarming speed.

I grabbed a couple by their
arms, urging them towards the front door, trying to compensate for
their drunken staggers. Farrell guided another couple towards the
front door, but stopped when he rattled the doorknob. He turned to
me, his eyes fervent.

“Someone’s locked the deadlock
on it.” Farrell and I had only been using the normal lock. “Marty
must have done it at some point. We need the key to get out.”

“Shit!”

I immediately dropped my two
guests and ran back to the living area, dodging spot fires as I
went. Marty was sprawled drunk, naked and asleep, spooning one of
the single women. No pockets on a naked man and hence, no key. I
looked for Gabriela and spotted her in an equal state to her
husband on the other side of the room, her head resting on a man’s
groin.
Double shit!

I hunted through the clothes I
found scattered around. I stopped for an instant and thought back.
What had Marty been wearing?
Think, think!
Then I remembered
– dark brown trousers. I frantically searched through all the
trousers until I found a dark brown pair and delved into each
pocket. Nothing. I threw them away and kept searching until I found
another pair of the right colour. A quick exploration through the
pockets again, and this attempt was successful. My fingers closed
over a set of small keys, and I ran back to Farrell. I was so
nervous that I fumbled and dropped the keys and then dropped them
again trying to pick them up.
Stop wasting time
, I silently
screamed at myself.

He hadn’t been idle during this
time, moving another pair of conscious people to the front door.
The six guests huddled together, looking equally frightened and
embarrassed at their nakedness now that their lust had died
away.

Farrell snatched the keys from
my hands and hastily tried them all in the door, none of them
fitting.

“These aren’t the right keys,”
he shouted at me.

“They are. Do it slower. You
didn’t do it properly!” I shouted back at him.

He glared at me, but took a deep
breath and tried them all again. One worked this time and the door
sprang open. We ushered the six people outside onto the lawn in the
front yard, as far away from the house as possible.

“Ring the fire brigade,” Farrell
ordered as he went back into the burning house. I took out my
mobile and rang emergency, giving them the address and informing
them of the fire and the large number of people inside the
house.

A huge gust of wind blew in
through the front door, which we’d left open, acting as an
accelerant for the flames. The fire began to pick up speed and
intensity, spreading twice as fast.

We hadn’t had a chance to
extinguish all of the candles in the hallway and I noticed as I ran
back inside that some had caught on to the tapestries hanging on
the walls. I stopped to quickly damp down some of those little
fires, but Farrell yelled at me to give him a hand, so I abandoned
that job and went to him.