Breaking Joseph (27 page)

I studied the
moustache that appeared to be eating his face. “I was prostituting
myself. To my boss, among other people.”

His eyes darted
from my blank expression to the faint swell of my breasts.
“What?”

“I was whoring.
Some colleagues found out and they blackmailed me.”

“Oh.” His
eyebrows rolled upward very slowly. “O
kay
then.” He snatched
a pen and began to draw on the back of my CV: a long, wiggly line,
a smaller one above it, and a smaller dash yet in the corner of the
page.

“This,” he
pointed to the first small line, “is you. And this,” he tapped the
wiggly line, “is shit creek. That there…” Now he touched the line
at the top. “Is your paddle.”

I squinted at
him. “Nice analogy?”

“Don’t worry,”
he said, reaching over to touch my hand with a fat paw. “I might be
able to help you.”

“Really?”

He smirked at
my cleavage. “Although it will require a few…favours.”

I snatched my
hand away. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Yeah.” He
nodded as I jumped up. “I thought you might say that.”

* * * *

Clemmie rang
for the second time that evening, and if I ignored her much longer,
she’d start to get suspicious.

“Hey,” I said
with feigned enthusiasm. “What’s up, slutface?”

“Nothing much.
The usual.” Water splashed. She was in the bath again. “Stupid
James and his stupid face not moving out yet.”

“That’s crap,
Clem.”

“I know.
Anyway. We need to organize a date, missy. I want to hear all about
the generous Mr J.”

My pulse roared
in my ears–the J who was no longer mine. I’d been doing so well,
not thinking about that. Crap.

“Yeah. I’m a
bit tied up at work this week, but maybe at the weekend?”

“Sounds good to
me. I’ll text you.” She paused. “That reminds me. Weird thing
happened yesterday. I tried to mail you at work and it bounced
back.”

“Really?” I was
trying so hard to sound casual.

“Yeah, it said
your address didn’t exist.”

“That is weird.
I’ve been getting other mails. I’ll get them to look into it.”

I hated lying
to Clemmie. It made me feel dirty.

Sooner or
later, though, I’d have to tell her everything…especially after the
call I was about to make.

* * * *

William’s
office was small and not really required, but he had to register
the “business” somewhere. The trees grew lush in their shades of
green as the cab sailed into the nicer parts of London, and as the
smog lifted, the colours were infectious for it.

The car
deposited me on the steps of a grand old Edwardian building and I
buzzed up to the Ladarna Entertainment Agency. Metro Paul’s whiny
tones poured over the receiver, the door whirred, and I went
up.

“Leila.”
William stubbed out his cigarette as he stood, cocking his head to
beckon me over.

“Hey.” I smiled
nervously. “How’s married life?”

The door closed
behind us and Metro Paul scuttled off, which was no mean feat in
such skinny jeans.

“I’ll bring out
the Evian!” he called dutifully.

Will shook his
head at me and then tugged me into a great bear hug. I whimpered
before I could contain it. His sympathy mingled with my
embarrassment, and the two made for an uneasy cocktail. When he
released me, he looked older than he had before.

“I’m sorry,” he
said.

I’d told him
about the blackmail on the phone. He needed to know, and had more
of my trust than most.

“It’s okay.” I
sank into the seat by his desk. “I knew the risks I was taking when
I started, Will. You made them quite clear.”

“Doesn’t make
it any less rubbish though, does it?” His Scottish accent gave the
words rough edges. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I don’t really
have anything else
left
to do.”

“That isn’t
good enough, and you know it.”

Glasses
clattered on the silver tray as Paul laid it on the desk. He
stooped to pour water over ice and lemon, and then blotted at a
splash with a folded napkin.

“Can I get you
anything else? We’ve got some of those sandwich biscuits from Marks
and Sparks.” He clapped his hands together. “Lovely, they are.
Everybody likes jam.”

Will cringed at
me. “Not right now, Paul, thanks.”

“Okay!” he
sang, trotting back out. “But let me know. They’re lemon curd.”

“How do you put
up with him?” I asked.

“He’s the only
one conscious enough to arrive for work before midday,” Will said.
“And he’s rather decent at rimming too.”

“I’ll pretend
you haven’t said that.” Lemon permeated the taste of the water in a
sharp little wave. “Where were we?”

“I was trying
to imply that this might be the last nail in your lawyerly
coffin.”

“Oh. That.
Look. If I let those girls take my photo to the partners…I’d have
been found out, one way or the other. But this way, nobody needs to
know and I’ll find a way to finish my training eventually. I’d
rather not go back to doing this but I need the money–and I’m good
at it, Will. I at least need to do something I’m good at. If I
don’t have a job, then nobody can catch me, so until then…” I
gestured to the thin air. “I’m all yours.”

He flicked open
a velvet-covered diary. “Well. If you’re sure. What kind of
hours?”

“Any. As many
jobs as I can get, at least for now.”

He nodded,
scribbling. “Still want to avoid lawyers, accountants?”

“If you can.
For what it’s worth,” I added, mournfully.

“Same
services?”

“The very
same.”

“And you’re
happy to work with Aidan, yes?”

I smiled. “If
he’ll tolerate me.”

“Oh, I’m sure
he’ll manage.” He picked up the phone. “Let’s see if we can get him
in for the photos, then.”

We had agreed
that I would redo my profile portraits for security reasons. There
wasn’t much point in changing my name, since it would affect my
chances of business and I’d still be recognizable, but new pictures
would make my identity far less obvious to those who hadn’t hired
me before. It also meant the shot Poppy and Isobel had wouldn’t go
back on the site.

With the
paperwork done, Will took me through to the little studio and
Sukie, the photographer, gave me a warm hug.

“It’s nice to
see you back, hun,” she said.

“Good to see
you, too.” Why was I suddenly so nervous? I’d done far worse than
taking my clothes off before. “Will said you had some ideas?”

“Yep. Have a
look in there.”

She pointed to
a big antique trunk and I knelt to rifle through it. It was stuffed
with masquerade masks: small, dainty and sequined, feathered and
exuberant, gilded and majestic. I could have experimented for
hours.

“What did you
bring to wear?” Sukie arranged taffeta cushions on the bed that
dominated the room.

“Not a
lot.”

“Good choice.”
She grinned. “I’m ready when you are. There’s a robe in the
bathroom.”

I brushed my
teeth, retouched my makeup, separated red ringlets with my fingers.
Shimmied out of my tank top and skirt. In the quiet of the tiled
restroom, I studied myself in the mirror and fastened the mask. I’d
chosen a startling turquoise number with tall feathered ears.
Charlotte’s grey eyes peered back, her full lips curved into a
delectable smile, and in that moment, the mitosis was savage. I
couldn’t bear for her to be a part of me. Not when she had come
between me and everything–everyone–that I loved.

I fastened the
shoes Joseph had bought me and wondered whether he would check for
me on the website, if he’d see me wearing them. Why had I brought
them with me? I had many other suitable pairs and would never wear
them to an appointment. It’d feel so desperately disloyal. Maybe I
needed to wear a piece of him, or I wanted him to see the Charlotte
he had remoulded and recast because he was probably the only one
who would be proud of her.

If he still
felt that way about me. If he still felt anything at all.

William watched
as I shed the robe and lay naked on the bed, his face soft with
approval. Sukie spread my hair over the pillows and then arranged
my limbs with her cool hands: my knees just touching, an arm thrown
over my breasts. I was meant to look wanton, sultry, sophisticated.
An expensive cocktail and all the more likely to get the client
drunk. In that pose, the shoes were suddenly perfect–all I saw was
the supple black leather, the delicate straps that Joe had admired,
and yet the scarlet soles jutted out toward the voyeur in the
roaring silence of seduction.

It used to feel
good, how easily I slipped into being Charlotte, but now it felt
forced and incredibly lonely. I kept thinking back to Joseph’s eyes
as we’d fucked last week, the ebb of his dilated pupils and the
possession he shook away, time after time. It came to claim me now,
only it smirked in the flash of a camera with each metallic
click.

“Loving the
mask, Lei-Lei,” Aidan declared.

I tugged it
back over my hair as I sat up to greet him. “You think?”

“Oh yeah.
Gorgeous drama.” He drank me in without a shred of shame. “Let me
strip off–five minutes, okay?” If he was surprised to see me back
at the agency, he didn’t show it. I was grateful for that.

I took off the
mask to pose with him. Instead, he used wide palms to cover my eyes
in a fleshy blindfold. He was hard before he even made it to the
bed. I slid into his lap easily, sighed as his teeth caught my
bottom lip. When he and I first had our pictures taken, it had been
both erotic and awkward, but now being with Aidan was the only
thing that felt natural about the whole process–it was all I could
do to not actually fuck him, cathartic as his stiff invitation
was.

These past few
days, I’d missed skin-on-skin so deeply that I felt abstinent for
far longer, and I enjoyed this more than I should. It was like
staring into an absurd mirror of our recent night in bed together:
then, we behaved like brother and sister. Here in the studio, that
was what we were offering, and yet we were beginning to cavort like
lovers.

But I could
still get aroused for somebody other than Joseph.
I don’t think
monogamy is physical, Leila.
A relief, if nothing else.

Oh, but
mentally…I felt sick with it, and Aidan knew. His touch was so slow
and kind, and it served to make it ten times more frustrating–he
knew that too.

We stood with
Sukie, wrapped ourselves in bed sheets and discussed our photos on
her laptop. Aidan cheekily pointed out the changes that running had
made to my body–albeit for the better–and together, we chose
portraits where the lighting fell at its most evocative and the
mask seemed part of my skin.

Our couple shot
was relatively tame in comparison to our playing: he stood behind
me, his hands covering my eyes and nipples as he bit into my neck.
My own teeth played on my bottom lip, sharp against soft, white
against pink. It was the physical evidence of my shame…and it was
beautiful.

Will nudged at
the healing welt which scored my back.

“This needs to
fade before you start,” he ordered. “How old is it?”

“About a week,”
I mumbled.

“Another week,
then. It should be fine.” He leaned in. “And the usual checks
please, Leila.”

I turned back
to Aidan, who was brooding over the pictures.

“Let’s hope
Mattman never logs back on,” Aidan said under his breath. “He will,
though.”

I groaned out
loud. “Will he hate you too?”

He rolled his
tongue around his lips. “Worse. He’ll pump me for info.”

“Don’t tell him
this is what I left to do, Aid,” I pleaded.

“Then what do I
say? He’ll know that you told me the truth.”

“If he screwed
me over, he could tell Poppy and Isobel and they could make sure
everyone knows.”

He shook out
his bed sheet with a gust of cool air, folding methodically. “And
if he didn’t?”

“Then I’d trust
him…but I’ve got no way of knowing.”

“Mmm.” Aidan
frowned as he reached for his jeans. “We’ll see about that.”

Chapter 15

I awoke on
Friday morning to the tinkling of the doorbell. Assuming the
postman, I threw on pyjamas and rushed to the door, only to find
the corridor empty. No footsteps, no voice, no echo of the whizzing
lift.

His scent hit
me before I noticed the bag on the floor–I was punched in the face
by fresh lemon and spring herbs–his usual aftershave, and it had
had time to mingle with the heat of his body. He evidently meant to
be missed…but moments ago, Joseph had been here.

Back inside, I
teased open the bag and dissected the contents, praying for a
token, a note,
something.
It was just my clothes, a book, a
lipstick. My Parker pen. It didn’t seem a lot, but when I
considered that we’d seen each other for barely a fortnight, it was
a fair amount to accumulate in his space. All of it bore traces of
his scent and the dress smelled like sex, full and heady.

I was making
breakfast about half an hour later when it occurred to me that all
of the underwear was missing.

* * * *

I cleaned
everything. My hands stung with the bleach. I smashed up the empty
mirror frame and hid it under my recycling, and I boil washed bed
sheets that Joseph and I had fucked on so that I wasn’t tempted to
bury my face in them every five minutes.

His words would
not leave me. His silly banter, opinions on politics, the gasped
curses as he held me down…it all swam about in my brain.

Maybe I know
things about Matt and Poppy that you don’t.

At the time,
I’d assumed he meant little tidbits, like the embarrassing videos
kept on his phone–after all, he had socialized with Matt to the
point of hiring prostitutes and Poppy was forever in and out of his
office.