Guess Who I Pulled Last Night? (23 page)

The next morning Charlotte woke with a pounding head, and
her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.  She groaned as she rubbed her
temples, glad that there was no work this week.  She lay perfectly still,
trying not to move as it made her feel queasy when she did; her thoughts
returning to the previous evening.  How dare he turn up like that, all
smiles and let’s talk, the cheek of him. Bracing herself, Charlotte moved her
head slowly to look for the clock, eight o’clock, much too early to get up just
yet.  Then the full horror struck her.  Charlotte didn’t know whether
to be sick or scream, she let out a tiny gasp as she pushed herself down into
the bed, hoping against hope that it would swallow her up and take her away
from this nightmare.  Very slowly she edged her legs out of the bed and
slid herself from under the duvet and crept out of the bedroom to the bathroom.

She locked the door behind her and plonked herself down onto
the toilet seat.  “Oh God,” she cried.  “I’m naked!” Charlotte hung
her head as she continued to wail quietly. 

After about ten minutes of self-hatred, Charlotte stood up
slowly and glanced in the mirror.  If she had hoped that last night had
been a dream, the deep red mark on her neck proved otherwise.  Charlotte
wanted to scream, but decided that it would hurt her head, so moaned quietly
instead.  She picked her bathrobe from the back of the door and skulked
downstairs, gently closing the lounge door behind her.  Picking up the
telephone she dialled Bet’s number.

“This had better be good whoever you are.”  Bets spoke
through gritted teeth. Like her eyes, they didn’t tend to open before nine
o’clock when she wasn’t working.

“Bets it’s me, please don’t shout at me, but I’ve done
something terrible, the worse thing ever, and I need your help to get me out of
it.”  Charlotte glanced toward the door sure that she had heard a noise
outside it.

“Why are you whispering?” Bets asked, her eyes and teeth now
slowly opening.

“Because he’s here.”

“Who is?  What on earth is the matter, are you being
burgled?”  Bets sat up in bed, now getting worried for her friend.

“No, I’m not being burgled, but I have had my virginity
stolen. You'll never guess who I pulled last night?” Charlotte hissed, a hot
sweat creeping all over her body.

Bets laughed hysterically.  “I’ve told you before, not
having sex for nearly two years doesn’t make your hymen grow back.  Blimey
I’ve just realised what you said, you pulled someone, and had sex.  Oh my
goodness, where did you meet him. I didn’t realise you were going out last
night, are you sure you didn’t dream it?”  Bets laughed heartily.

“Shut up and I’ll tell you!” cried Charlotte,
indignantly.  “Oh God, I wish I had dreamt it.  No, Grant is
here.”  Charlotte held the receiver away from her ear.

“
What?  What do
you mean, Grant is there?  Don’t you dare tell me that you shagged that
slimy bastard again?
” Bets screamed.  “You didn't did you?” she
asked, her voice quieter now and her eyes were now fully open.  “Charlotte
please tell me why?”

“I don’t know. He just turned up. I tried to get rid of him,
but one beer led to another; which led to…well sex!”

“I knew that I should have come around when Tom told me that
you were watching Gone with the Wind,” groaned Bets.

Charlotte’s tone was now slightly breezier.  “Oh he
came around and asked you then?”

“Yes and stop changing the subject.  What are you going
to do, where is he now?”  Bets scrambled out of bed and started to try to
get dressed using one hand.

“He’s in my bed, on his old side, as if the last three years
have never happened.  Oh Bets, what am I going to do?  After all the
beer he drank, he must be totally zonked out. I can remember how hard it used
to be to wake him up.”

Bets suddenly stopped pulling on her jeans, anxious for some
gossip.  “So how did he manage it then, you know after all that booze?”

“Elizabeth, stop it, there’s a time and a place to talk
about it, but right now I need your help to get rid of him!”  Charlotte
ran a hand through her hair and pulled out a twiglet, what had they been doing
she wondered?

“You do want to get rid of him then?”  Bets asked,
concerned that the last three years of helping to mend Charlotte’s broken heart
would all be for nothing.

“Of course I do.  I’d forgotten how he grinds his teeth
during sex and how he does that funny shrug thing with his left shoulder, just
as he’s about to climax.  Please get over here quick with some
ideas.  Please Bets,” Charlotte pleaded, twisting the belt of her robe in
her hand. "He's wearing the same underpants,” she added as an
afterthought, hoping to convince Bets even more that she needed her help.

“Urgh, dirty pig!” Bets screamed.

“No, I think that they’ve been washed, it’s just that they
are wearing a little thin and are now rather see-through.  Oh God, I’m
going to be sick, please hurry.”  The line went dead.

Bets rapped quietly on the lounge window, somehow knowing
that was where Charlotte would be hiding.  Within seconds the front door
was flung open and a rather grey looking Charlotte stared solemnly at her.

“God, you look sexy. I'm surprised that he hasn’t ravaged
you again this morning,” giggled Bets, eyeing Charlotte up and down.

“If I remember rightly he wasn’t very partial to sick
breath.”  Charlotte rubbed her face, and led Bets to her sanctuary, where
she lay back on the sofa.

“What’s that!” groaned Bets, pointing to Charlotte’s neck.

“The brand of the devil.”  Charlotte pulled a cushion
over her face and groaned.

“If you were that drunk how can you be so sure that you
actually did it?  That doesn’t prove anything.”  Bets stuck a finger
out in the direction of Charlotte’s neck.  “I mean there may have been
some warming up exercises, but did he actually get on the pitch to play?” 
Bets picked up a magazine and started to flick through it, sure that this
probably wasn’t as gruesome as Charlotte seemed to think.

“Look, it may have been two years but I think I can remember
what it feels like.  As I say, it has been two years so one does feel
slightly different in certain places.”

Now convinced Bets threw down the magazine and stood up, a
determined look on her face.  “Okay, I think we should go for the jugular,
tell him straight, and tell him that he has to go and that last night was a
mistake.  You could also use this to your advantage.”

“Err, excuse me, but how is having sex with the devil going
to be to my advantage?”

“Revenge Charlotte, this is your time to get it.  You
don’t want anyone to find out about this do you?” 

Charlotte shook her head.  “No, I do not!  Ooh
that hurts, but no you’re right I don’t,” she whispered.

“Unless of course, you want Paddy O’Shea to find out, you
know to make him jealous?”  Bets asked, earnestly.

“No, he’s the last person that I want to find out,”
Charlotte answered forlornly.

“Well we have to make sure that he doesn’t tell anyone, but
how we do that I don’t know, sorry.”  Bets sat down again.

Charlotte buried her head in her hands; Bets always did
this, came up with a good idea, but then didn’t have a clue how to put it into
action.  Just at that moment they heard a thudding sound above them,
obviously the monster from the deep was rising.  Charlotte pulled her robe
closer around her and tightened the belt.

“Right, wish me luck, listen you better go to the kitchen,
he may come in here to use the telephone or something.”

Bets nodded sagely.  “Good idea, I don’t want to see
him, if I do I may just have to kill him.”

Charlotte pushed open the bedroom door, fully expecting Grant
to be getting dressed, but he wasn’t, He was still lying on the bed propped up
on pillows, reading Charlotte’s magazine.

“Hey, it says here in my horoscope that I’m going to make an
old acquaintance this week, huh. How spooky is that?”  He smiled up at
Charlotte, quite ignorant of the frosty glare on her face.

Charlotte moved over to the chair by the window and sat upon
the edge of it, pulling the robe over her knees.  She could see the newly
married couple from next door taking their dog out, laughing and joking as they
walked along together.   She wondered why she couldn’t find someone
who loved her like that.  Maybe Grant had changed, and they could have a
dog and take it for walks, but as she looked across to see him squeezing a spot
on his arm, she knew that he hadn’t changed at all.  He’d breezed in last
night without the courtesy of a telephone call, made himself at home and then
seduced her, and even that had been the same – boring; he hadn’t even brought
her a bottle of wine as a peace offering.

“Look Grant, I don’t know what your plans are, but I really
would like you to go now.”  She hadn’t thought that the words would come
so easily, but she wanted him out of her life for the last time.

“Yeah, whatever doll.  I’ll come back later when you’ve
tidied yourself up a bit.  Perhaps you could cook me a bit of tea before I
head home to Manchester,” he replied as he threw his legs out of the bed and
into his pants and trousers, standing to zip them up.

“I beg your pardon, tidy myself up.”  Charlotte stayed
on the chair as he bent to pick his shirt up.

“Well you do look a bit rough.”  He seemed astonished
at her tone.

“So, when you head back to Manchester are you going to let
me have your telephone number then?”  Charlotte already knew the answer,
but wanted to hear it from his mouth, almost to prove to her once more what an
absolute shit he really was.

“Well it’s a bit difficult at the moment. I'm moving flats
soon, but once I’m settled, I’ll give you a call or pop round perhaps,” he
muttered, not looking at Charlotte while he carried on getting dressed.

This was too much for Charlotte. She flew at him not caring
that by now her robe had come undone, and she was showing him everything that
he’d enjoyed the night before.

“You wanker, you haven’t changed one bit have you, you are a
big shitty toss bag!” she cried, landing a perfect right hook on his nose,
leaving his eyes watering.

“What was that for?” he asked stamping his feet, almost in
tears.

Charlotte rearranged her robe and looked at him, hands
defiantly on hips.  “That was for two timing me three years ago, for the
crap shag last night, and for still being a tosser after all these years!”

Grant’s bottom lip jutted out petulantly.  “You bitch.
You really hurt me.  You are absolutely bloody loopy no wonder I left you
the first time.”  He turned to retrieve the rest of his clothes, only
stopping momentarily to stuff his socks into his pocket.  “Any man who
gets mixed up with you wants to be careful, they’ll end up dead.”

“Oh don’t tempt me dick head, and if I hear that you have
told anyone about last night, I’ll let them in on your
little
secret.”  Charlotte wiggled her pinky at him, smiling inanely, which
scared him even more.

“Don’t worry I won’t be telling anyone, I’ve got my
reputation to think of.  Anyway, I’ve never had any complaints before, it
must be you!” he spat out at her, running past her quickly and thundering down
the stairs.

He went through the lounge to collect his coat and shoes.
Charlotte stood on the bottom stair having followed him down.  He came
back into the hall pulling on his shoes.  As he put his left foot in, he
let out a scream.

“Ugh, who has been sick in my shoe?”  He turned to
glare at a grinning Charlotte.  “You,” he shouted pointing a stubby finger
at her, “you are definitely off your trolley.”  And with that he sprinted
out of the front door.

Bets poked her head round the dining room door as Charlotte
leaned against the now closed front door.  “He’s gone then?” she asked.

Oh yes, he’s gone, gone for good this time.”

After the escapade of the previous day Bets was quite
looking forward to dressing up and going for a nice meal, even if she did have
to entertain Des.  She was, however, feeling rather anxious; afraid that
he would be an absolute idiot, or even worse boring.  Bets was also
worried about Kerry; what if she rang while Bets was out?  Then she
remembered that her land line had been diverted to her mobile, so she wouldn’t
miss her if she did call.  Bets also felt a little happier when she
realised that this evening meant that Tom owed her a favour.  She had a
bridal fair coming up soon, and the organiser wanted her to show a facial for
bridegrooms, the perfect opportunity to rope Tom in.  She had her
overnight bag packed and was finishing off her make up when Tom arrived to pick
her up.

“You look nice,” he said admiring the calf length scarlet
dress that she was wearing.  “That colour really suits you.”

“I know that’s why I’m wearing it; you're not the only
fashion expert you know. I'll just be a minute.”  She went back to her
bedroom to finish applying her matching red lipstick.

“Where’s Alfred?”  Tom shouted to her, looking around
for his playmate.

Bets came back into the room.  “He’s at Charlie’s, He's
having a sleep over.  Okay are you ready?”  She dropped the lipstick
into her handbag and clipped it shut, following Tom out as he picked up her
overnight bag and disappeared through the front door.

As they approached Isabel’s apartment block Bets started to
get butterflies.  She was strong and confident with people who knew her,
her friends, but with people that she didn’t know very well, Bets became quiet
and self-doubting.  The journey over had been good, with Bets and Tom
reminiscing, and talking about fashion and music.  It had been one of
those pleasant journeys that you didn’t want to end, feeling disappointed when
you arrived at your destination.

When Isabel opened the door to them, Bets suddenly felt
rather gauche.  She recognised the Karen Millen dress and Gucci shoes at
once, they were beautiful and extremely expensive and Isabel carried them off
perfectly.  She was tall and willowy, as most models, and she had an air
of confidence about her, even just opening the door.  Tom positively
drooled as he gazed at Isabel, not having seen her for two weeks he looked like
he could have taken her there and then, but looking at Isabel’s haughty
expression Bets guessed that she would scold him about messing up her chignon.

Isabel cut into Bet’s thoughts with her clipped tone. 
“Nice to see you again Bets.”  She air kissed her guest, either side of
her face.  “Come in and I’ll show you to your room.”

Bets smiled to herself. She must only be twenty-five or
twenty-six, yet spoke like some Dowager Duchess, inviting the workers in for
Christmas drinks.

“Put your bag in here, this is where you’ll be staying this
evening.  There’s tea and coffee next to the bed and a kettle, if you
would like a drink.”  Isabel showed Bets into a very stark light blue
room.  Inside were just a bed, covered in pale blue linen, and a white
bedside table.  Bets thought that there were probably more sumptuous
operating theatres.  It was like a budget, quick stopover hotel; sparse but
very clean.    

“No mini bar then?”  Bets asked, laughing at her
joke.  Isabel didn’t reciprocate but carried on talking.

“The bathroom is straight across from you, and as you’ll see
I’ve left guest towels on your bed.  Right I think that’s everything, so
if you’d like to leave your bag…no, not on the bed, perhaps on the floor would
be better.  I’ll introduce you both to Des, my cousin from London. 
I’m sure that you’ll both like him. He's a really funny guy,” she suddenly
sounded quite animated, as she showed Bets to the door with her outstretched
hand.  Even Tom, who had been waiting patiently by the door, couldn’t
resist a wry smile.

“Are you sure she’s not royalty?” Bets hissed to Tom, as she
followed them into the rather minimalist lounge.

“He won’t be a moment he’s just meditating in my room. 
I’ll get us some drinks, white wine okay?” Isabel asked.

Bets nodded distractedly as she looked for somewhere to sit,
anywhere that she wouldn’t be in danger of messing up.  There was a
two-seater sofa in white brocade, with three matching cream scatter cushions,
which Isabel had clearly spent a great deal of time arranging, then to the left
of that was a cream brocade armchair with a white scatter cushion, but on that
sat a porcelain doll; probably called Isabel thoughts Bets.  The floor was
wooden, covered with a large cream rug and at the huge picture window,
overlooking the dock, was a white roller blind; and that was it. There was
nothing else in the room, not even a T.V. Bets noted.

“Where does she keep all her crap?” she whispered to Tom.

“Isabel doesn’t do crap, there is no room in her life for
mementos,” he replied from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh right.”  Bets nodded.

She looked past Tom into the kitchen. She could just about
see that it too was very sparse, all rosewood cupboards and chrome handles, but
nothing on the work surfaces; that was probably why she had a kettle in the
guest room, Bets thought, giggling to herself. Isabel came back carrying a
little hostess tray with a glass of wine for them all.

“I’ll put Des’ there.”  She handed them a glass and
placed the tray on the floor next to the sofa.  “Please be careful.”

They each took a sip and stood silently, gazing about the
room.  Bets was amazed that Tom was so quiet and that Isabel was so aloof;
he hadn’t shut up about her all the way here, and they were lovers who hadn’t
seen each other for fourteen days and nights. She would have expected them to
be trying to rip each other’s clothes off.  Then it struck her; Tom's
black suit and aubergine shirt and tie didn’t match Isabel’s colour
scheme.  There was no way she would want them lying about the place. 
Bets smiled as she got a mental image of Isabel making Tom fold his clothes and
put them away before he was allowed to ravish her, remonstrating that she
didn’t like clutter.

“What are you smiling at?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.

“Nothing; so how did your fashion shoot go on Isabel?” 
Bets asked, turning from Tom to Isabel, her grin widening.

“Fab, Pablo our photographer was marvellous and said that I
really should think about moving to Europe, I’d get a lot more work.”

“Oh dear, I don’t think that Tom would be very happy about
that, would you mate?” Bets asked, playfully thumping him on the arm.

“I’m sure that Tom would accept that my career comes first,
and it’s not as if we are engaged or anything,” Isabel replied curtly.

Bets winced, God, she really was a cold bitch. She glanced
at Tom, but he didn’t seem unduly worried by Isabel’s comments.  Just then
Des appeared; how Bets didn’t burst out laughing she didn’t know.  To
describe him as a clown was an understatement.  He was probably only five
feet five, and he had long, curly, blond hair, a handle bar moustache and a
pointed goatee beard, he was a very miniature Billy Connolly look-a-like. 
His trousers looked as though Al Capone may have worn them; very wide, black
pinstripes, with huge turn ups at the bottom, and holding them up a pair of
bright red braces, over a crisp, white, frilled shirt.  Bets looked down
to avoid eye contact, only to be astonished by his feet, they were huge,
enormous for a man of his height, and he wore flip flops; she quickly looked
back up again.

Des air kissed Isabel and shook his hair back away from his
face.  “Awright darlin’, introduce us then,” he said.

Bets and Tom nearly spat their wine over the pristine, white
rug. His cockney accent was just like Dick Van Dyke’s in Mary Poppins –
phoney!  Isabel introduced Tom and Bets to more air kisses and then passed
Des his wine; he knocked it back in one.

“Right then, let’s go luvva duck.”  They followed him
out silently, Bets bringing up the rear with tears of laughter pricking her
eyes.

Dinner wasn't a raving success. The food was lovely, but the
company was rather lacking.  Isabel the Ice Queen suddenly thawed out, and
decided that Tom should be fed his meal from her chopsticks, totally ignoring
their dinner guests. This annoyed Bets immensely, and only served to compound
her dislike of Isabel.  The main crux of the matter was that she had tried
to use chopsticks for years, and had never managed it, trust Isabel to be an
expert!  Des had tried to rub his flip flopped foot along Bets' leg, but a
quick kick to the shin had soon put a stop to it, although unfortunately, it
hadn’t terminated the immensely boring, constant stream of drivel coming from
his mouth.  Now they were back at Isabel’s apartment, and Bets was
desperate for her bed.  She wanted morning to come, so she could escape
from the nightmare that was Des.  Unfortunately, Des didn’t agree and
insisted that they all play a game.  However, games constituted clutter,
so the only option they had was to play charades.  After an hour of
watching Des make a prat of himself, while Isabel brayed like a donkey at his
antics, Bets had had enough and made her excuses.

“Aw but it’s only one o’clock darlin’, the night is still
young.”

“Sorry Des, but us northerners can’t take the pace like you
cockneys.  Anyway, it was nice to meet you. I don’t expect that we’ll meet
up again, so all the best with your ducking and diving.  Tom what time
would you like to leave tomorrow morning?” Her last sentence was through
gritted teeth, and she gave him the ‘make it early’ look.  Luckily, Tom
recognised this look, as Charlotte had used it regularly as they were growing
up and had obviously shown Bets how to do it.

“Oh early,” he said earnestly.  “Is nine o’clock
okay?” 

Bets heaved a sigh of relief.  “Great fine, well thanks
for your hospitality Isabel, and I promise that I’ll keep my room tidy.” 
Bets smiled at Isabel, but her beautiful face didn’t crack with a response, so
Bets went into her room.

Shivering against the cold Bets slipped in between the
sheets, thankful that she had brought her bed socks with her.  She was
exhausted, but the bed wasn’t really that inviting; it was cold and hard, an
ice block floating in the middle of an ocean of coldness. The bathroom hadn’t
been much better. Everything was white and stark and Bets had committed a
heinous crime; but at least she managed to sort it without Isabel finding
out.  Bets rolled around the bed, rubbing her feet together, thinking what
a disaster the evening had been, until eventually she was warm enough to fall
asleep.

She had only been asleep for a couple of hours when she
woke, aware that someone was standing over her at the side of the bed, it was
Des, totally naked, with a fairly impressive erection.

“What do you think of this then?” he asked, pointing to his
penis, a huge grin upon his face.

“Well it’s like a dick only smaller,” Bets sighed, reaching
out to the bedside table.  She picked up the nearest object and hit his
protrusion with it.  She hadn’t thought that a small kettle would hurt so
much, but the tears running down Des’ face was testament to the fact that it
did; so that's what the kettle is for, Bets thought?  Des limped away,
literally, back to the sofa leaving Bets to continue her beauty sleep. 
Before he could stand up straight, Bets had promised not to speak about the
incident again, unless of course, Des decided to bother her once more. Des
shook his head vehemently and managed to gasp something about dropping dead
being a better option.  Once he had disappeared from the room, Bets
started to giggle hysterically.  How many people did she know who were
visited by a huge penis during the night and ended up hitting it with a kettle;
it could only happen to her.

“Oh, please make morning come quickly,” she breathed into
the cold air.

Bets slept fitfully during the night, dreaming of Des
standing over her with his erection, while Isabel rifled through her bag and
ordered her to be shot at dawn on discovery of a dirty towel.  When she
woke Bets immediately looked at her watch; it had to be time to get up. 
It said eight o’clock and she jumped out of bed and practically sprinted to the
bathroom with her overnight bag.  Breakfast was a very quiet affair;
obviously Des wasn’t talking very much, but strangely neither were Isabel and
Tom.  Once they had finished their muesli Tom indicated that it was time
to go.  He kissed Isabel on the cheek as they reached the front door.

“I’ll call you,” he said dully.

“Well bye, thanks again.”  Bets felt that she should
try to lighten the atmosphere; however, there was no response.

“So what happened?” she asked as the lift door closed behind
them.

“I haven’t seen her for two weeks, and yet she made me fold
my clothes up before she’d have sex with me, but by the time I’d finished
putting them away she’d fallen asleep!”  Tom looked dejected and rejected.

“But she looked well up for it in the restaurant,” said
Bets, envisaging Isabel’s tongue down Tom’s throat.

“Yeah well, maybe the game of charades was all too much for
her.”

The last two floors were taken in silence until the doors
slid open, and the crisp morning air hit them.

“What’s that?” Tom asked, nodding over to a Golf Cabriolet.

“Err, what?” Bets responded, lowering her head to hide the
small smile upon her lips.

“On Isabel’s car; you know I think it’s actually, you know
what,” said Tom screwing up his face.

“Urgh, fancy that, I wonder how that got there?” Bets
replied, looking up at the cloudy sky.

“Don’t know,” answered Tom shaking his head.  “But
Isabel is going to have a shock when she finds it.”

“Hmm, I’m sure she will.” Bets tried to sound
concerned.  “But I tell you what; they must have bloody big seagulls
around here.