Authors: Jessie M.
At six that evening I slip inside my beloved BMW and start the twenty minute drive home through the country lanes, just over the Suffolk border to Bures, the nearest village to my home. My car was a surprise. A real fucker of a surprise in fact. My father is as tight as they come. He even charges me rent for the two bedroom stable conversion I have on his estate. Perhaps the word 'estate' is stretching it somewhat. It's a decent sized house with five acres, a nice driveway meandering prettily through some trees and a gatehouse where my brother Luke and his girlfriend Sarah live. Father doesn't spend much time at home, being in court up in London four days a week. Luke and he share a large flat in St Catherine's Dock, next to Tower Bridge.
Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that he's not short of a bob or two. In fact he's fucking loaded. To charge his low salaried personal trainer of a son anything at all for rent is below the belt. He says he is conditioning me for life. I beg to differ. I think he likes being a tight ass. Now I'm getting away from the point. My car was a sudden gift. One year ago, there it was, parked outside my stable conversion with the keys posted through the door inside an envelope, accompanied by a short note. 'Be careful with it.' Just those four unemotional words. I think he was embarrassed by my previous form of transport. He didn't want a twelve year old dented rust bucket of a car parked on his estate. Yes, I think
that
was the deciding factor for replacing it, not love for me or concern for my safety and well being driving the fucking old thing.
Still, no matter, I'm eternally grateful, whatever his reasons were. I even bought the old bastard a fine aged bottle of Scotch to say thanks, in a son to father way.
It's a beauty of a car. My father has good taste in cars. It's a sporty looking model. Black, fast and sexy as hell. If my body fails to hook a fish, my car will certainly land one pretty quickly afterwards. Not that I've had any trouble with the body so far. Being a personal trainer does have distinct advantages. I'm very toned and fit as I get to work out every day, and for free. I love freebies, whatever they are. I'm a freeb-a-holic in fact and will go to great lengths to get one, especially expensive toiletries and bottles of beer. My six foot one is looking pretty chiselled and fine these days. I'm not bulging muscle like Arnold Schwarzenegger was in his heyday, I'm just muscular and big enough to make womens panties wet at the sight of me. And they are, frequently. My mid brown hair is cut in a modern style, two inches on top, okay, maybe a little longer most of the time, and far too untidy, according to Father. But I like the unkempt, sexy and fashionable look. I don't need to be
tidy
, I'm not a solicitor just yet. Steel blue eyes and a well spoken fairly deep voice complete yours truly, the one and only Joshua Courtauld, 'come and get me girls', esquire.
I know I'm good looking. It's just pure fact based on the number of female heads that turn and stare in my direction when I walk in a bar. When I look in the mirror I'm grateful and know I'm a fucking lucky bastard. I just need to get a leg up in the career stakes and more cash to go with the looks. Being good looking and broke doesn't really cut it. I realise this leg up is solely up to me and my determination to get there. I really need to buckle down and do some assignments for my law degree. Maybe Sunday. Yep, I'll spend all day long doing it then... maybe.
As I turn up the driveway I'm disappointed to see Father's Jaguar is home already. He's not Dad, he's never been Dad. He's Father and I'm Joshua, never Josh. We're not on friendly terms, my father and I. We get along, but in a strained way. It's not for no good reason that his two sons don't live in the main house with him, despite the fact that it has eight massive bedrooms, all en suite. I don't know how Luke puts up with him in the London flat all week, maybe he's out a lot with clients or something. Anyhow, he lives in the house alone, since Mum left him four years ago. I'm amazed she lasted so long, she's a trooper, that's for sure. They're now divorced and she lives in Canada with her new even richer husband Bill. I get on well with Mum and Bill. I miss her and our friendly little chats in the kitchen. It's a shame Father didn't move to Canada instead.
I swing by the house to say hello, my duty call.
“Hey Father, how's things at Law?” I stop in surprise in the doorway. There's a fortyish year old red headed woman sitting in the living room with him. A rather good looking one too. I give her a quick once over taking in the brown eyes, hot pink lips and lush body dressed in a deep purple trouser suit.
“
Ah Joshua, there you are I was just telling Danielle all about you.” He gives me one of his usual condescending looks.
I bet you were, none of it good either. I know I'm such a disappointment to you.
God knows why, but m
y heart hurts every time I think this.
“
I'm so pleased to meet you Joshua.” She stands up and comes over to meet me and shakes my hand gently.
No... did I see a twinkle of amusement in her eyes? Surely not?
I clear my throat.
“
Yes, pleased to meet you too Danielle. I'll leave you both to it Father, I'm going out and need to eat. See you tomorrow perhaps.”
“
Oh yes, your charming Thursday night tail chasing escapades. When are you going to grow up Joshua. Settle down with a proper girlfriend, like your brother Luke has.” I never knew my father could say so much outside of court. This is the longest conversation we've ever had. A little personal as well, considering we have company.
“
I'll get around to it, when the right one comes along.”
Hell will freeze over first though...
“
Oh George really, you're such an old stick in the mud at times. Let Joshua have his freedom for a while. I'm sure you were out having exactly the same kind of fun at his age.” Danielle says with a wink and a smile in my direction. I give her a little smile of gratitude back for sticking up for me. Oh my God! I've just caught sight of something. My judgemental, condescending, seriously miserable bastard of a father is actually smiling... No, it's more than that... he's positively
beaming
at her. I'm about to fall in love with Danielle, her effect on my father is miraculous, she can become my step mother any time she likes...
“
Well, I'll be off, 'bye then.” I make a quick escape and I'm about to open the front door when I hear something I like. In fact it gives me a real hot buzz.
“
What an adorable, handsome hunk of a son you have. And such gorgeous hair. You must be so proud of him.” It's all I can do not to rush back and kiss Danielle's feet.
I finally get inside my stable, as I affectionately call it, and take a running dive at my bed. It's perfectly straight and tidy today. Normally it's rumpled from when I couldn't be bothered to straighten it in the morning. In fact it's like that most days, except the once a fortnight when I change the duvet cover, if I remember.
I look around my spotless room with a satisfied sigh. The whole place has been cleaned and tidied today. A thorough once over with the vacuum, duster and a good dose of Mr Muscle. It smells nice and polishy afterwards. I'm very grateful that old Rosie keeps me in order for a mere tenner a week because I don't notice dust and dirt. Really I don't. For someone who is fastidious with their personal hygiene I used to amaze myself at the state of grime, mess and destruction that I was content to live in. But not anymore. Not since I got myself sorted with the hottest scrubber in town. By that I mean Father's cleaner, 60 year old Rosie MacKenna. She leaves me little love notes. 'Did the fridge – Yuck' and 'Got rid of stain on rug – What the hell was it?' I don't deserve such care and attention, I'm sure I don't, but I appreciate it all the same. I leave her little notes too. 'Could you do something with my oven, I think it's pizza cheese.' and 'Would you mind doing and hanging up my washing, sorry there's a lot'. I leave her an extra fiver, the odd bottle of wine and even a big bunch of flowers for the liberties I take. Of course I do. I can be quite the gentleman at times.
After my five minute 'arriving home' lay down that I indulge in every evening, I get up and busy myself making some pasta for my dinner. I can cook really well, but I choose not to. It takes too fucking long. I have pasta and salad at least three times a week in various forms as a result of my laziness. Tonight I chuck in a can of tuna, some chopped red peppers, tomato and sweetcorn and mix it all up with a dollop of mayo.
That'll do just fine
. I quickly eat my pasta concoction while I watch something car related on TV and then hit the bathroom for a shave and my third shower of the day. I must have the squeakiest, cleanest body and hair ever. I send my pals Cal and Nate a quick text.
“
Yates 8.30” and get my usual replies.
“
OK”
“
:)
”
Men don't ever say anything more than is necessary. Unless they're chatting up a hot chick.
I look inside my wardrobe. My clothes collection is something else. I've got tons of gear. I like to look good, out of my gym wear. Not that I don't look good in that as well, but it's limited, in terms of style. I get out my most expensive jeans and my D & G black T. I'm rather fussy about clothes being creased so I have to iron them. They get ironed before they are hung up in the wardrobe and ironed again when they come out. A bit of a waste of time, I know, but we're all a little OCD about something. This is my lot.
I'm done. I look in the mirror with a self satisfied smile. Jodie's going to faint at my feet tonight. That's before she gets a little Hugo Boss waft in her direction. Then she'll die of desire. The usual Thursday night experience for me actually. I know I seem confident in my abilities to attract women, but my pal Callum is even worse. He thinks he's God's gift. I have to take him down a peg or two now and then. Just because he's six three, blond, lightly tanned and looks like a Hollywood movie star doesn't mean he should get carried away with himself.
I get in my black sex machine and set off. I arrive nearly twenty minutes later and park my treasured car in the CCTV monitored 24 hour car park and walk across to Yates, arriving my usual 5 minutes late. Good 'ole Nate is already there. Punctual as ever. Cal is often a half hour late. He's Mr 'fall asleep on the couch' and useless at timekeeping . We're used to him. I get us a drink each while Nate texts Cal to remind him that we are, yet again, waiting for the pleasure of his God like company. I love this bar scene. Even though I know a lot of the people from around the area, there are always fresh faces which keep the experience alive and rocking. By asking around, I eventually manage to find out where Raquels is located. It's a bar at the other end of the High Street. I shall drop in there and see if Miss Smith is around at ten, if not I'll join the others at Envy, as usual. We are suddenly surprised that Callum has in fact graced us with his holy presence already. What a result! Only ten minutes late today. What a good start to our evening. He goes to the bar and after getting over friendly across the bar with the well stacked bar-girl for a while, he returns with a drink.
“
So Cal, how's your week been?”
“
Busy. I'm innundated with work.”
“
You lucky bastard. What kind of work? Catalogues, ads, porn?” Callum is a male model. He wants to be an actor, but so far no luck with the auditions. Modelling seems to be pretty successful for him though. It's well paid too.
“
A bit of everything really and you know I don't do porn, you dumbass. I'm a serious actor in waiting. I'm not doing that kind of lowlife shit.” Cal's a bit precious about his career. He can't take any joking or mickey taking. To be fair, the acting side is a justifiable sore point at the moment, as it's not actually taking off.
“
I know. Just winding you up man. How's the bike?” He's just bought himself a Harley Davidson. Cal is into bikes big time. I don't see the fascination myself. Flies and heat all summer, ice and rain all winter. It's too painful a way to travel. I love cars, warm and cosy or air conditioned. You're much more likely to arrive in one piece, all neat and tidy and dry. Not that Callum cares about neat and tidy. His hair is an inch long. Not much can go wrong with it.
“
Good as gold. I'm taking her for a long haul on Monday, down to my grandparents in Exeter. Anyway Josh, met any hot lovelies at your gym lately?” Cal asks me with an interested smile.
“
No, not a single one. Just a lot of oldies this week mate...“ Cal's not getting a pop at Jodie. I'm keeping her all to myself.
“
What about you Nate, anything going on at Essex Radio this week?” Cal asks him.
“
A bit of the usual, that is, fucking sod all.” Nathan is a quieter type of guy. Very good looking in a Tiger Woods style, but a bit of a quiet thinker. Until he's had a few too many and then all hell lets loose. He's a dancing, singing nutcase. I've videoed him on my phone, because he won't believe what he's like and he still denies it, even faced with the evidence. It all makes for good fun for us two though. If were not otherwise occupied, that is. We get a second round in and the bar is starting to fill up with pre clubbers. We hang around till just after nine thirty, chat up a few old conquests and finally move off.