Virtually Perfect (30 page)

He had no point of reference.  He'd never seen anything like it before.  It looked like 9/11 - a huge cloud of dust, tearing across the dunes.  It was day, but the sun was blanketed out.  There was a wall of sand, headed straight for them.  Plumes of dust billowing up to the heavens.  Everywhere he looked, from the tip of his nose to the horizon, everything was blood red. 

'RUN!'

Ben felt Rauf's hand grab his.  Their feet plunged into the dunes, skidding down them.  Ben tumbled, felt Rauf yank him up.  It hurt.  It hurt so much.  Ben's bare arms were stinging, burning, blasted by the sand. 

Ben thought he saw lights.  Rauf was pulling him towards them.  It was getting darker by the second.

Ben stopped dead.  His feet dug in the sand.

'...Wait!' he shouted.  'Wait!' 

He felt in his pockets frantically with his free hand.  Rauf's hand tightened, tried to pull him.  Ben wouldn't budge.

'I've got to go back!' Ben shouted.

'...Go back?  Are you crazy?' Rauf screamed at him.

The wind whipped and whistled around them.  Ben peered up at the wall of dust, hurtling towards them.  It must have been a thousand metres high.

Rauf looked down the embankment at the 4x4s turning donuts, bouncing in the dunes.  His kids were sitting in one of them.  He wasn't going to risk them, not for anything.

'One minute,' he barked at Ben.  'One minute and we're gone.  You understand?'

Ben nodded, wrenching his hand away, spinning on his toes, scrambling back up the dunes.

He used to be fit.  Ben had won the county cross-country cup three years running when he was a kid.  All those years of smoking and generally not giving a shit had really taken their toll.  He hauled himself up.  For two steps forward he seemed to take one back, sliding in the dunes.  By the time he reached the tent he was panting, wheezing, sweating, exhausted; fumbling around in the dark. 

He wrenched the Raybans from his face, dropped to his knees, frantically feeling around on the silk carpets, riffling through the blankets.  They'd leave without him.  That cloud would be on top of him any second.  The tent was juddering around him.  The noise was incredible.  The headscarf was sticking to his face now, suffocating him.  Ben was sweating profusely.  He was going to die.  He was going to die here alone.  And for what?  A piece of rock?  He must have been out of his mind.   

Suddenly, he felt it.  Amongst the sand - the little velvet pouch, the hard little stone inside.  Ben stuffed it into his pocket, pushed the Raybans back over his nose, scrambling up.  He heaved back the curtain. 

Ben ran as fast as his legs would carry him, skidding, hurtling down the dunes, tumbling.  He was falling, rolling over and over, sand scraping his forearms like a brillo pad.  He thumped down onto the plateau, the air knocked from his lungs, face down in the sand.  Ben craned his neck, lifted his head.  It was dark now, almost black.  He couldn't see a thing.  The wind roared in his ears, ripped his skin.  It was burning him.  He couldn't see anything.  Had they already gone?   Was this it?  Was he in hell?

Suddenly, he heard an engine.  He saw headlights, hurtling towards him, heard a screech, felt a wave of sand wash over him.  He heard a car door, felt strong hands gripping his arms, pulling him up.  Rauf bundled him into the back.

Ben sat there, panting.  He couldn't see a thing.  His Raybans were caked in sand.  He pulled them off, felt the wind buffeting the car as they bounced and slid through the sand.  A grin spread across his face; he felt the sting of tears. 
Alhamdulillah! 
He was alive!  Ben reached up to rub his eyes, felt a warm little hand grab his, tug it down.

'No!  Don't do that!'

Rafiq smiled back at him.  His finger jabbed Ben's.

'Look!'

Ben peered down.  His hands, his arms, his t-shirt, his jeans; the floor of the car, the seats: everything was covered in sand.

A little face peered from around Rafiq.  A high pitched laugh bubbled up.

'Tographer, you look funny!'

Ben grinned back at Khalid as the car bounced and revved through the sand.  Ben unpicked the knot at his neck, unwinding the fabric, staring at the little boy, exposing a lolling tongue, crossing his eyes. 

Khalid's sweet little giggles echoed around the car, the catalyst for an explosion of laughter. 

Ben grabbed the driver's seat as he felt the car snaking, his other arm thrust in front of the boys, the weight of them pressed hard against it.  His eyes bulged with fear.  Through the windscreen, nothing but red.  They were going to hit something, any second.  One minute laughing, the next: game over.  Oh God, he didn't want to die like this. 

Eve.
 

He could still see her.  The look on her face when he left.  Of all the memories, why did his last have to be this?  He could feel it, gouging into his groin: the diamond in his pocket.   Now it meant something.  Now it had value.  He'd give it to her it in a heartbeat.  Only now, he'd never get the chance.  He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.  

Ben heard the engine revving, felt the tyres regain their grip.  He unclenched his eyelids, still too afraid to exhale.  The Prince peered back at him from the front passenger seat.  Ben felt them plunge down.  A second later, a smash to the head as it cracked against the roof of the car. 

He could hear The Prince shouting in Arabic at the driver.  They seemed to slow a little.

'Benjamin!  Are you OK?'

Ben felt at the crown of his head.  There was no blood.  He blinked back at Rauf and nodded.

'Alright boys.  Time to buckle up.'

It was the first time Ben had heard a clunk-click since his arrival.  Safety belts, meh.  They're for wusses.  Ben immediately clicked his across him.  Looking up, squinting through the window.  His heart lifted.  A shred of blue. 

He felt a hand close around his.  Rafiq's brown eyes beamed back at him.

'Don't worry Benjamin.  It happens here.  We'll be OK, inshallah.'

It was the worst sandstorm in living memory.  It was everywhere on Saudi news.   Ben was still finding sand weeks later - it seemed to permeate his skin. 

The Prince called him to his private study when they got back, after Ben had examined by the doctor, fed, showered and changed.  Ben looked out of the sheet glass window as he approached, click-clacking across the marble floor, dressed in his best again.  He smiled to himself.  A sky of perfect blue. 

He sat down, glanced up, eyes settling on the picture hanging above The Prince, widening in surprise. 

The Mont Blanc shot. 

Ben's mouth fell ajar.  That picture had made him his name.

'...What?' The Prince shrugged.  'I hired you because I knew you were the best!'

The Prince grinned back at him. 

'Benjamin, it has been a pleasure having you here, really, I can't tell you.  But I think it has been enough excitement for one day.  I think it is time I let you go home.'

He slid a cardboard envelope across the desk towards Ben: white, with a red insignia and writing. 

'The payment has been transferred to your account.'

Emirates. 
Ben hesitantly peered inside.  He beamed back at The Prince.  He'd be back with Eve before bedtime.

'Thank you, Your Highness!'

The Prince smiled back at him.

'I think in the hurry, you forgot something?'

Ben looked puzzled.  He couldn't think of anything.  The Prince reached down beneath the ornate hardwood desk, lifting a camera by the strap in each hand.

'...Oh!'  He hadn't even thought.  He hadn't missed them.  He had his SD cards though, backed up twice.  Ben was careful - he always did that.  He looked at the cameras hanging from The Prince's fists.  They could probably afford ten of them on a week's pocket money, but would they know what to buy?  He smiled at The Prince.  Ben slowly shook his head. 

'This one is for Rafiq,' he said, pointing to the Olympus.  'Tell him they do an underwater housing for it...  Maybe he can save up?  This one...' said Ben, leaning across, patting the Canon.  'This one is Khalid's...' 

He fixed The Prince's gaze. 

'Your Highness, your son has a gift...  Did you see the peregrine shot?'

'I did!' The Prince nodded back at him, his dark eyes gleaming with pride.

'When he's old enough, I'd be more than happy to teach him.  Who knows, by then, maybe he can teach me a thing or two.'

The Prince beamed back at him.

'Thank you Benjamin.  You're too kind, really.  My sons will be so, so happy!'

He stood, the heavy wooden chair scraping the floor.  Ben stood up too.  The Prince came around from his desk.  He shook Ben's hand with his right, planted his left on his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

The job was over.  Ben was dismissed. 

He grabbed his airfare, smiling, bowing his head.

'Benjamin,' The Prince called after him.

'...Yes, Your Highness?'

'I hope to see you again here very soon...  We have a lot of weddings, you know.  Maybe next time, you can bring a wife of your own?'

Ben drove hell for leather down the M23, Kings of Leon blaring from the stereo, windscreen wipers working overtime.  He touched 125mph.  He had to get back as soon as he could.  He had to get back, to Eve.

When he arrived at the flat, he found it plunged in darkness, all except the hall light.  He ran up the wet steps, banging on the door.  He stood there in the rain listening to Mr Bojangles  meowing.  She must have gone out. 

He tried his phone again, shook it, it was dead as a dodo.  Ben ran back to the car.  He plugged in the charger; waited an eternity for the Iphone chink as the rain lashed down on the windscreen.  Finally it came, the phone lighting up in the darkness.  Ben frowned down.  14 missed calls.

So Catwoman, Lara Croft, She Ra, Wonder Woman, Xena Warrior Princess, and Hilary Clinton (Eve didn't get it) walked into Oxygen on a rainy Friday night.

Eve went up to the bar for another jug of mojito.   She liked this stuff way too much.  Tonight had been her first introduction - it was a baptism of fire.  Tomorrow morning she'd be sorry, but tonight it was all good.  The zingy lime, cooling mint and crushed ice lulled her into a false sense of security.  It tasted just like pop.  She still had a sore throat.  She was downing them like water. 

It could have been the last dose of antibiotics she'd necked on her way out,  it could have been the fact that she'd had no dinner.  Eve was already slurring her words.

She could feel the latex riding up the crack of her arse.  She peered around her in the blue flashing disco lights, her hand drifting surreptitiously down.  That seam was cutting her in two. 
Bollocks! 
Her black PVC glove rested on her hip.  There were people looking.  She wasn't pissed enough to ignore them.  Yet.

A guy sat on a barstool next to where she stood.  He smiled.  He looked like Stephen Dorff.  Eve quickly turned back to the barmaid.  

Eve tottered back to the table on her 4' heels with the pitcher, stepping in time to the music, trying to look cool.  Her sex really
was
on fire, though not in a good way at all.

'Evie, where the hell have you been?' a similarly blotto Lara Croft (aka Alice) squealed into her ear, throwing her warm arms around Eve's neck.  She smelt of Jean Paul Gaultier and shower gel.  She smelt wonderful.

'Two years we've been working together,' Alice shouted proudly to her sisters, a po-faced She Ra and Wonder Woman sucking their straws in unison.  'I've never seen her like this!'

Eve collapsed into the sofa beside Alice, sloshing the pitcher down on the aluminium table, licking her rubbery fingers.  She reached out, gently poking a tuft of blonde hair back beneath Alice's brunette wig, head still nodding away to the beat.  Alice smiled, head nodding back as she straightened Eve's Catwoman mask. 

'You're different tonight,' Alice told her, half laughing, half suspicious.  'It's the new guy, isn't it?'

Eve just smiled, sipping her drink.

'Evie's in lurve!  Evie's in lurve!' Alice cooed, nudging Eve.  Eve lifted her drink out of harm's way, flicking the spillage from her PVC coated thigh.

'Has he got a nice ass?'

Eve's dark gaze bounced up.

'...Pardon?'

'Curtis has got lovely buns!'

'Alice...' growled Hilary Clinton.

'What, Mum?  It's true!  He's got a gorgeous bottom!'

'Too much information...' interjected Eve, sliding her drink back down on the table.

'It's all pert and tight and—'

'STOP!'  Eve waved her black gloved hands in the air, grimacing.  Her head was spinning.  'I don't want to hear anymore.'

'Are we going to Nine Rooms?' Stacey asked impatiently.  Eve squinted up at her.  The inch long eyelashes, candy pink lipstick, fake tan tits spilling out of her Princess Xena bra.  Stacey pushed her empty glass across the table.  To Eve's astonishment, she realised that the pitcher had already been drained.