The Gentleman Has Left the Building (3 page)

“Or there’s
Mimi from the office,” she went on.

“I already told
you, she’s not my type. She's got a really weird-shaped head."

"Oh, she so
hasn't. Stop making excuses."

"Look.” I drew
a sad face with my fork in the swathes of bacon fat. “Let’s make a
deal, yeah? We’re supposed to be in this together.”

She arched an
eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

“You stop being
a damsel in dick-stress with Nathan--just fucking go for it
already--and I’ll try to approach Nicole again.”

Harper cocked
her head and a blond fringe obscured slate eyes. She was thinking.
This could not end well. “All right,” she said finally. “You’re
on.”

****

The internet
has nothing new to say on seducing women. I knew this because I
Googled for it at least three times a week.

I don’t
remember being such a neurotic man-bitch before all of this
happened. I had moderate success with girls (fourteen notches on
the bedpost in twenty nine years isn’t bad, is it…?) so I can’t
have been that unfortunate where looks were concerned. I wasn't
fat, or too short. No lisp. No halitosis. My ears were nicely close
to my skull. The only debt I had was my car and my job was just
forty percent gay (which is pretty good for London). I could talk
about normal things; I didn’t pick my nose in public; I could cook,
for fuck’s sake. Why did the idea of asking Nicole out terrify me?
Harper was right--what did I have to lose?

Dignity, I
suppose. The scraps of it I’d clawed back in the months since Kate
left. There was the fear that I was just getting used to being
single--being really okay with it--and if I gave that up, even just
for a few dates, it might take even longer to get it back
again.

I sat back on
my bed and replayed the moment Nicole bent over in front of me in
the park; the way her arse made a perfect heart shape above the
taper of her thighs. Thought about how she might buck against me.
My palms began to sweat with it and my cock was slippery in my
hands. The idea of controlling her like that…I had no words. Just
inappropriate noises.

I should go
after what I want, shouldn’t I? I could emerge from this hangover
as a proper alpha bastard. I always kinda suspected it was
somewhere inside me. But even if it wasn’t, I could emulate someone
like Nathan if it meant that I got from A to B. Or inside Nicole.
Hell, outside her, on top of her, underneath…any of those would do.
Delete as appropriate.

Delete…me?

Part Two

Harper and I
hatched our dastardly plan on the train the next morning.

I’m pretty sure
that most super villains have lairs for this sort of thing. We had
a cramped, sour-smelling corner of a tube carriage, and while there
were no cats to stroke, there was a Spanish guy with an alarming
amount of hair falling out of his shirt collar wedged into my left
side.

I knew three
things about Nicole; two of them through pure chance (a sign?) and
one because of Aidan. She went running on Saturday mornings in our
park, she got coffee in the local Starbucks a few hours later, and
she was almost definitely posh. I could use these, said Harper. In
fact I should, because they were all I had. The problem I faced
would be doing so without looking like a first class lemon.

We’d just
dodged a gaggle of Japanese tourists and were headed towards the
giant glass foyer of our building when we spotted them.

Kate and Rory.
My ex and Harper's ex.

“She’s dyed her
hair again,” said Harper, subdued.

“She used to
tell me she was a natural blonde, remember?” We huddled in next to
a phone box; we never walked past Kate and Rory if we could help
it. It was bad enough that we had to work with them several times a
week.

“I still can’t
believe she thought she’d get away with that. One night, you turned
up early and she hadn’t shaved her lady garden…she was terrified
you’d realise she was a brunette.”

I squinted at
Kate in the sharp sunshine. She was nodding at handsome, smarmy
Rory as they puffed on cigarettes. Picking bits of lint off his
collar. They looked like a normal couple just chatting before work;
you’d never guess that he was a girlfriend-stealing wank bucket,
and she was a best-friend’s-boyfriend-swiping slag. Not that I’m
bitter or anything.

Harper exhaled
loudly and banged her head against my shoulder three times. “God.
How long does it take to smoke one fag?”

“Maybe we
should suck it up and just walk past them?” I felt defeated for
saying it. “We’ve got to pitch against them later this week as it
is.”

“I prefer to
minimise my exposure to carcinogenic…personalities.” She gave a
mournful little moan. “Why can’t they get fired already? Weren’t we
going to plant something incriminating in her desk drawer?”

“You were too
afraid to ask around for a coke supplier. And then our pizza
arrived.”

“We need to be
more evil.”

I rubbed her
back with brisk, comforting strokes. “No, no. This is why we’re
mates and they’re…them, Harpcore. Let them be evil. We’re on the
moral high ground and it’s--”

“Pathetic, you
keep saying.” She sighed. “Come on, they’re going in. Hustle.”

Eight thirty AM
and the revoltingly modern offices of Knoll and Co were, like a
monster, aliiiiiive. Hot secretaries One and Three had phone
receivers in one hand and low-calorie cereal bars in the other
(they did have names. We just liked winding them up with
chauvinism); fridges in boardrooms were being restocked with shiny
bottles…and Mimi and her not-awkward-shaped head were loitering by
my desk. She wasn't unattractive, really. Just a bit too shy and
innocent for my liking, what with the glasses and the mid-calf
skirts. A clipboard was, fittingly, leaning against her chest--at
the same angle as her chin.

“You’ve got a
meeting with the FHM people at ten," she begins in her breathy
voice, "and Felicity says you’ve got to flog them at least two of
your spirit brands. Then the art is back for Absolut and Joanne
thinks it’s too sexy--”

“Too sexy?
What?” I grabbed the clipboard. “Those models were not naked.
They’re wearing spray-on latex. Can you tell her that, please?”

Mimi blushed
riotously and averted her eyes. Christ…all I said was latex. And
naked.

Ooh.

“Lunch is at
the Greek place near the tube station, with…smug Ian from ITV…”

“Fucking
marvellous.” I tossed my coat over the back of my chair and flicked
on my desktop. “Any good news? No? Anything free and exciting in
the post?”

“There were
some tickets actually.” She tapped her nails across the clipboard.
“Theatre, I think. You’ll have to ask Joanna because she gets
dibs.”

“Thanks. I’ll
catch you later.”

Fortunately,
Mimi took the hint (or was still embarrassed by bondage chat before
nine AM) and scuttled off. I was about to shout after her for
coffee when my Blackberry messenger went off.

AIDAN: How
vanilla r u?

RHYS: wtf?
Like ice cream?

My work email
was practically groaning at the seams. Figures requests, random CVs
(why did people send me them?), fragmented copy corrections.

AIDAN: Cock.
Hosting party tomorrow. Want to help u with ladies. U should
come.

RHYS: how can
u help me with ladies exactly? Ur the cock!

AIDAN: trust
me?

Oh, and look at
that--emails with attachments that don’t actually have attachments.
That’s fucking helpful.

RHYS: why?

AIDAN: I WILL
GET U LAID AND U WILL BLOODY LIKE IT. SO CUM 2 MY FUCKING PARTY
OK?!

RHYS: I’m not
sleeping with u.

AIDAN: u’ll
feel better about going 4 Nicole.

Oh, Nicole.
Nicole, Papa! Nicole. I’d only thought about her arse and her
slinky shoulders about seven times this morning.

RHYS: I’ll
see. Vanilla ice cream party?

AIDAN: Vanilla
like sexually. Google.

So I did.

Erm. Well, that
wasn’t safe for work.

“Mimi!” I
croaked as she appeared in the doorway. “Can I have a coffee
please?”

“Milky, three
sugars.” She gave me a little salute. Bless her.

AIDAN: so?

RHYS: er.
Er.

AIDAN: c u
tomorrow then.

I’m going to a
sexy party with only a tactless ginger Zoolander and my own
sparkling wit for protection.

Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

****

I can’t believe
I spent forty five minutes picking out the shirt on my
back--especially since it was the first one I tried on. It was
doubly mortifying that I had help from another bloke; Aidan span me
about, prodded necklines, stroked his chin. I got the impression he
did this quite regularly and I wasn’t about to ask why.

"Stop
mithering, dude," he told me as I stared into the mirror for the
umpteenth time. "You're hot."

I didn't
dislike the guy who stared back at me, exactly; he had mussed up
hair, and murky dark eyes that looked a lot more dangerous than I
felt. Maybe I'd been so focused on work and Nicole that I'd
neglected to notice the brazen, hardened new me. What a cynical
shit I am.

Now we watched
inky evening London scroll by from the back of the cab, headed
towards a town house in Belgravia. I definitely preferred this to
the reeky tube I took to my advertising job each day.

“How come
you’re hosting something that isn’t actually at your house?” I
asked Aidan.

He glanced at
his phone, tapping absentmindedly. He wore a finely tailored black
suit and powder pink tie, which somehow defied the laws of logic in
making him seem more masculine. Chiselled bastard. “My flat’s like
a box, Rhys. I’m doing it for a mate. Playing ringmaster.”

“I’m deeply
honoured to be arriving with you, then.”

“Hey--think
yourself lucky!” He poked me in the ribs. “We hardly invite any
single men to these shindigs...and the ones we do, they have to pay
for their tickets.”

“What?” I
spluttered. God, I hope the cab driver didn’t just hear that.
“Please tell me this isn’t a swinging party, Aid.”

He squared his
shoulders. “It’s a get-together for likeminded people. Who…like
sex.”

“You can’t take
me to a swingers’ party, you plonker! I’m--” I gestured to myself,
groaning. “Me.”

“Relax, buddy.
You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. It’s all in the
name of fun. Besides.” A grin lit his pale skin. “You won’t be
single. I’ve hooked you up.”

“How have you
hooked me up, exactly?”

“It’s her first
time at one of these things and I’ve said that you’ll look after
her. So that’s what you do.”

“What do you
mean, look after her?” I said.

“I mean…
look
after her
.” He patted my leg. “For God’s sake, Rhys. Just be
confident with her. With some women, it pays to be bossy.”

I eyed him with
grating suspicion. “This had better not be a pisstake.”

“Dude. What do
you take me for?”

Best not answer
that.

The evening was
warm and a bit sticky, and I leaked sweat into my collar in a
little noose of heat. Thank God I'd opted to avoid a tie. The
townhouse was already filling with guests as we arrived, and Aidan
took me through to a huge galley kitchen with glass-fronted wine
fridges. A conservatory glistened at the far end, its transparent
ceiling licked by vines and towering trees. Out on the terrace,
candles lit the paving stones and flickered in the light air, and a
group of willowy girls in short dresses congregated with their
Champagne flutes and cigarettes.

I don’t know
what I was expecting, really. Leather sheeting? Wrinkly MILFs? An
80s glass bowl full of car keys and condom packets? Whatever had
crossed my mind, it wasn’t…this. Over and over, I reminded myself
why I was here: this was the new Rhys. Confident, attractive. New
Rhys had standards, and here, the bar was set high.

“Rhys. This is
Elijah. He’s been coming here so long, he’s practically vintage.”
Aidan nodded at a stocky twenty-something with a light shadow of
blond stubble. “Elijah, I told you about Rhys, yeah?”

He shoved
balled fists into his blue pinstripe trousers. “Indeed.”

“Right.” Aidan
clapped me soundly on the back. “I’m off upstairs to sort the music
out. The bathrooms are over by the potted ferns, Magdalena’s in
charge of the drinks on the breakfast bar. I’ll be back when your
lady arrives, okay?”

“Okay,” I
managed.

Then he bounded
off towards the staircase, apparently shouting at somebody on his
phone.

“So,” said
Elijah, “first time, eh?”

“Just…observing, mostly.”

He started
laughing. “I heard Aidan hooked you up, man.”

“Yeah, but who
knows if she’ll like me?”

He looked me up
and down, shrugging.
Crap…just put me back in the pub where the
men don’t check me out like rib-eye steak.
That wasn't normal,
was it? I didn’t care if I got laid anymore. I just wanted...

“Don’t look so
terrified,” said Elijah. “Seriously, you’ll be fine. Relax, have a
drink. Chat to a few of the girls.” He winked at the cute little
group on the terrace. “They’re all on the prowl, y’know.”

Re-he-heally?

“So…say you
pick up a girl,” I began. “You don’t start going at it in the room,
right? I mean…there are places for that sort of thing.” Because I
wasn't a fucking circus monkey, that was for sure.

He laughed
again, his eyebrows mashing together in amusement. “You do what you
want. Find a corner, go back to her place, throw some shapes on the
couch. Nobody will mind, okay? You might surprise yourself.
Magdalena!"