Head On (The Head On Trilogy) (5 page)

Drake Parkin

I waited impatiently as the phone rang, before finally there was a buzz at the other end and I heard Evelyn's distinctive, trademark cough. Damn it, that woman's smoking habit had been getting worse.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Parkin," she said, sounding a little less sure of herself than usual. "I was about to call you. I spoke to Janelle, the girl I sent for you this afternoon -"

"Janelle?" I replied, as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

"She was so very apologetic for being late," Evelyn continued. "I told her she couldn't possibly expect people to wait for her, and I'm confident she's learned her lesson. You can be absolutely certain that I admonished her in the strictest terms. In fact, she was in tears, right here in my office. She got down on her knees, begging for me to let her stay with my agency. I wouldn't usually recommend a second chance for one of my girls, but Janelle is rather exceptional. As a sign of her regret for the incident, would you consider accepting a complimentary session with her?"

I paused for a moment. I'd been using Evelyn's escort service for some time now, but suddenly the prospect of getting a new girl didn't seem very enticing. All I could think about was Belle: her face; her eyes; her lips, her skin on my skin; and, above all, her willingness to follow my every order. I didn't give a damn about Janelle or about any of the other girls Evelyn could provide for me

"Do you have a girl named Belle?" I asked eventually.

"Belle?" She sounded confused. "There's no-one named Belle working for me. We have a Janelle and a Crystal, but no Belle. I could get you a Belle, though, if that's what you want. Just give me a couple of -"

"Forget it," I said, cutting the call off. Looking down at the scrap of business card that Belle had given me, I realized that something had gone very wrong this afternoon, but also - perhaps - very right. Still, the timing was lousy. Why couldn't this all have happened sooner?

Kathryn

Donna set a Mojito down on the table next to me. We were in a small bar in downtown Manhattan. Although Donna had offered to buy me a drink, I ended doing the buying, and my sudden largesse had really worked a number on her. She was determined to work out where I got the money from, and although I was absolutely determined not to let her find out the truth, I enjoyed being the one with a secret for once.

"Secret agent," she said.

I shook my head.

"Lottery."

I shook my head again.

"High-class prostitute."

I shook my head yet again. Wait, did I pause a little that time? Did she pick up on something? Did she know?

"I give up," she said, settling back in her chair. "What's your new job?"

"Like I said," I told her, "it's complicated. If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Let's just say I've landed on my feet."
Or on my back
, I thought to myself wryly.

"Fine," she said, "but you seem to have a lot of spare time and a lot of cash. Can't you let me in on the secret? Please? I wanna do what you're doing."

I smiled. To be fair, Donna would probably be absolutely fine with my new line of work, but it was something I wanted to keep very much to myself. Unfortunately, Donna's reputation as a blabbermouth meant that there was no way I was going to let my secret out. It'd be all over the city in five minutes, and it'd reach all the way to my parents on the west coast by sunset.

"Fine," she said, taking a big gulp of her drink, "but you're gonna break eventually. I know you, Kathryn. You're terrible at keeping secrets. I'll just sit back, and you'll have to tell me sooner or later."

I shook my head, and at that moment, my phone rang. I fished it out of my bag and saw that it was a private number. "Excuse me a sec," I said to Donna, getting up and walking away from the table for a moment as I answered the call. "Hello?" I said, hoping against hope that it might turn out to be Parkin.

"Is that Belle?" asked a voice on the other end. An unfamiliar male voice.

"Speaking," I said, figuring that maybe it was one of Parkin's assistants. "How can I help you?"

"Parkin gave me your number," the voice said. "He said you might be available some time today."

I paused. "Today's a bit tricky," I said eventually, shocked that my number was apparently being shared around. In my naivety, I guess I'd assumed that - at most - Parkin would keep me to himself. Instead, he was apparently recommending me to other people.

"I'll pay twenty grand," the voice said. "Parkin said you're worth it."

"Um," I muttered, glancing over at Donna and seeing the look of suspicion in her eyes. She was too far away to hear me, but she could clearly see the panic in my eyes.

"Do we have a deal or not?" the voice asked.

"Fine," I said. "But I can't be ready for a couple of hours."

"Four o'clock?" the voice asked.

"Sure," I replied. "Where?"

He gave me the name of a hotel and I arranged to meet him. As we ended the call, I saw I'd got a text message. It was from Parkin, telling me he'd passed my number on to a friend of his, and assuring me that this friend could be trusted. Before I could stop myself, I smiled. Somehow I'd managed to get myself into a pretty interesting line of work. It wasn't something I planned to do regularly, but I figured I could pick up some quick, easy money while I was looking for a more respectable job.

"Let me guess," Donna said as I rejoined her at the table, "you can't tell me who that was, can you?"

I smiled. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "You know your problem?" she asked.

"What?" I asked.

"You're too moral," she said.

"Here we go again," I sighed.

"It's true!" she said. "You live life by the rules. You don't take risks. You have this moral core that prevents you doing anything naughty or bad."

I smiled, looking at my drink. "I guess you're right," I said, finding it hard to keep a straight face. If only she knew...

"You'd better believe I'm right," she replied, lifting her glass. "I can read you like a book. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" I said as we clinked glasses. "To being a morally upstanding citizen!"

Part Two

The Second Client

Kathryn

"Hi," I said, smiling as I reached the front desk. "I'm here to see Mr. Archer. I have an appointment at four o'clock."

"Let me just check that," said the guy behind the desk, typing something into his computer.

While I waited, I glanced over at the window and caught a glimpse of my own reflection. It was two days since my encounter with Drake Parkin, and my phone had been ringing almost non-stop ever since. Evidently, Parkin had been passing my number out pretty freely, and it seemed that a recommendation from the great Drake Parkin carried a lot of weight in this town. I'd already had to buy a diary so I could keep track of my appointments, and I already had enough clients lined up to last me a couple of weeks. In a way, it had been a pretty exciting forty-eight hours, but now the moment of truth had arrived.

My second client.

I'd already accepted that I was now a prostitute. I mean, after what happened with Parkin, there was no denying the fact that I was willing to sleep with a guy for money. I'd tried pretending I was actually an escort, or a masseuse, or countless other false job descriptions, but I always came back to that same old word: prostitute. Still, with Parkin, there'd been a hint of a personal connection, or at least I
hoped
that was the case. Regardless of the truth, in my head I'd been able to fool myself into thinking that the session with Parkin wasn't
just
a simple transaction. Right now, however, as I stood in the reception area of a small New York law firm, I was on the verge of my second client, and I was very much aware that this was going to be my first proper job. To be honest, I wasn't sure whether or not I was ready.

"Mr. Archer will see you now," the receptionist said suddenly, with a fake smile. "Take the elevator to the second floor, and you'll find Mr. Archer's office on the left as you step out the door."

"Thanks," I replied, trying to sound breezy and confident. Turning, I headed across the foyer and over to the elevator. Maybe I was being a little paranoid, but as I waited for the doors to open, I couldn't help but feel as if the receptionist was staring straight at the back of my head. I'd tried to seem as natural as possible, as if I had every right to be going to see Mr. Archer, but I was still worried that people would know I was a prostitute. As the elevator doors slid open, I stepped inside, pressed the button for the second floor, and took a deep breath. I still felt as if I was being watched. Finally, as the doors slid shut, I look over at the reception desk, just in time to see that the receptionist and one of his colleagues were whispering to one another while keeping their eyes on me.

Damn it. They
knew
!

Taking a deep breath, I tried to regather my composure. After all, those guys were just two idiots who I'd never have to see again, so what did it matter if they knew - or at least, suspected - that I wasn't here strictly for legal advice. As the elevator chamber headed up the shaft, I looked over at the mirror and tried to work out what had given me away. I was dressed normally, and even though I was showing a little cleavage, that was hardly an uncommon thing in New York. Maybe it was the look in my eyes that screamed 'Whore!' when I walked in the door, or maybe it was something about the way I walked. Or, just maybe, this Mr. Archer guy was well known for having 'ladies of the night' come to his office in order to render certain services.

As soon as the doors slid open, I stepped out into the corridor. At least there didn't seem to be anyone else around, which meant that hopefully I'd be able to avoid any more prying eyes. Taking a deep breath, I walked past a series of doors before finally reaching one with Mr. Archer's name etched into a small bronze plaque. I paused to compose myself, before realizing that there was no point delaying things. I reached out and knocked.

"Come in!" called out a female voice.

I froze. A
female
voice? All sorts of panicked fears raced through my mind before I finally opened the door and stepped inside.

"You must be Ms. Smith," the woman behind the desk said, with a suspicious look in her eyes. "Belle Smith? Mr. Archer's four o'clock?"

"Um, yeah," I muttered. "That's me."

"You can go straight in," she said sourly.

Smiling politely, I hurried past her desk and head through to the next room, which turned out to be a fairly small office with a desk at one end and, behind the desk, a middle-aged man leafing through some paperwork.

"Hi!" he said, getting up and hurrying over to shake my hand. "You must be Belle, right?"

"Yeah," I replied, unable to think about anything else apart from the fact that I was about to have sex with this guy. I glanced around the room, but the only furniture apart from the desk was a small table with two chairs facing it. I'd been kind of expecting a sofa or something.

"So," Mr. Archer said, seeming a little nervous. "I guess we should..." After a brief pause, he reached into his pocket and took out a small fold of banknotes. "A thousand dollars," he said, handing them to me. "As discussed."

"Thank you," I replied, slipping the money into my bag. Whereas Drake Parkin had been very clear and firm about what he wanted, this Archer guy seemed to be completely the opposite. In fact, he seemed to be almost completely unable to make eye contact, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach I realized that I was going to have to take control.

"So," I said eventually, "you've got me for an hour. What is it, exactly, that you want to do?"

"I don't know," he replied, glancing over at his desk. "I guess... I guess we could do it on the desk. Or maybe in my chair."

"If that's what you want."

"Yeah," he said, turning and walking to the desk. He seemed extremely nervous, and as he started clearing papers from the desk in preparation for our session, I couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for him.

"So what do you want today?" I asked, hoping to get him a little more in the mood. "You got any thoughts about how you want to do this?"

"Um, well, I don't know," he said, as he finished clearing his desk and turned to face me. "How do you normally get things started?"

"Normally?" I ask, realizing that this guy was under the impression that I had tons of experience. Figuring that maybe he needed a little visual stimulation, I started unbuttoning my blouse, eventually slipping it off and then removing my bra. With my breasts exposed, I stepped toward him, feeling slightly amused by his inability to do anything other than stare straight at my chest.

"You like them?" I asked, getting close enough for my nipples to brush against the fabric of his suit. The guy wasn't exactly attractive, but I was getting enough of a buzz simply from being naked.

He nodded.

"You want to... touch them?" I continued, surprised by my ability to get things started so easily.

Nervously, he reached up and held his hands close to my breasts for a moment. Realizing that he was having trouble actually touching them, I stepped into his grasp, feeling the warm palms of his hands against my nipples.

"Now -" I started to say, before his cellphone started to ring and he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Sorry!" he spluttered, turning and grabbing the phone. As he stared at the screen, his face seemed to drain of all its color. "Fuck, it's my wife," he said, turning to me. "I have to take this. Do you mind waiting two minutes?"

"Sure," I said, shocked at the realization that this guy was cheating on someone with me. As he answered the phone and started nervously talking to his wife, I was suddenly overcome by the thought that some poor woman had no idea her husband was using a prostitute. It had never occurred to me until that moment that I might inadvertently be helping people to cheat and lie, and I suddenly felt as if I might not be able to go through with the whole thing. I'd managed to step past the moral line of being a prostitute in the first place, but being a party to adultery was an entirely different matter.

Looking down at my discarded bra, I realized that this might be a non-starter.

Before I could do anything, however, I heard my own cellphone start to ring. Slightly annoyed at myself for not putting it on silent while I was with a client, I hurried over to my bag and rooted around for the handset. While Archer continued to talk to his wife, I took a look at my phone and saw, to my surprise, that the caller was none other than Drake Parkin. I froze for a moment, not really sure what I should do. In normal circumstances, I'd never have considered answering the phone while I was with a client. Then again, Archer was still locked in conversation with his wife, and I couldn't just ignore a call from Parkin. I'd been waiting for two days for him to get in touch, so after taking a deep breath, I answered the call.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound calm. "This is..." I paused, remembering my false name just in time. "Belle," I said. "This is Belle."

"I know who it is," Parkin's unmistakable voice replied. "I also know that you're with Robin Archer right now. Isn't that right?"

I glanced over at Archer, who held up two fingers as if to indicate that he'd only be a couple more minutes.

"That's right," I replied. "How did you know?"

"I make it my business to keep abreast of these things," Parkin said firmly. "As you've no doubt already worked out, Robin Archer is a piece of crap."

I can't help but smile. "He seems -"

"He's an idiot," Parkin said, interrupting me. "I've known the guy for ten years, and he's only got worse. I've moved him around the company so many times, and I still haven't found a single role in which he's more than adequately competent. The man's a disappointment in every regard. Are you aware that he has a wife at home? And a kid?"

"Jesus," I muttered.

"He's talking to her on the phone right now," Parkin continued. "Don't be fooled, though. The guy's used hookers before. He still gets nervous every time, though. Like I said, the guy's a dick. I can honestly say that he's one of the most pathetic creatures I've ever encountered. I'd pity him, if I cared enough. All I want right now, however, is for him to fuck off."

"Thank you for giving him my number, then," I replied.

"You look good today," he continued. "Your tits look great."

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw nothing behind me but the door that led back out of the office. "And how would you know how I look today?" I asked, starting to feel a little worried.

"Robin Archer works for one of my subsidiary companies," Parkin replied casually. "The building you're in right now is owned by a company that's owned by another of my subsidiaries. It's as kind of complex financial arrangement, but the bottom line is, that whole place is mine. As such, I have a camera in his office. I can see you right now, Belle."

I looked back across toward Archer, who was still talking to his wife. He seemed pretty flustered, as if he was having a hard time coming up with a story to cover what he was really doing.

"You look surprised," Parkin continued, with a hint of amusement in his voice. "I've got to say, Belle, I'm a little disappointed that you seem to have underestimated me. I like to keep a very close eye on
all
my investments. Robin Archer, for example, is a weak link in the chain. I need to catch him doing something that will allow me to fire him, so I keep a very close eye on his activities. Most days, I get someone else to watch, but today I had the video feed patched exclusively through to me. No-one else can see you. Just me."

"And where's the camera?" I asked, even though I knew he probably wouldn't tell me.

"Here's the important thing," Parkin said. "When Robin Archer fucks a prostitute, he doesn't usually do much more than give her a quick poke with his cock. I want it to be different this time." He paused. "This is only your second client, I believe? Or did you squeeze another one in, if you'll pardon the phrase, over the past forty-eight hours."

"A lady never discloses
all
her secrets," I replied, even though I doubted I was fooling him.

"Look on the bookshelf," he continued. "On the left-hand side, you'll find a small earpiece. I had it placed there for you."

With Archer
still
on the phone to his wife, I stepped over to the bookcase and, sure enough, I found a small, flesh-colored earpiece waiting for me. It was kind of impressive to realize just how perfectly Parkin had planned this entire thing out.

"Put the phone down," Parkin said, "and place the earpiece in your left ear."

"I -" I started to say, but the line went dead. Putting my phone on the nearby table, I took a moment to fit the earpiece into my left ear, as instructed. Frankly, at that moment, I was feeling less like a prostitute and more like a secret agent.

"Good," Parkin said, his voice suddenly coming through the earpiece. "Don't worry, Archer doesn't have a clue. I just wanted to be able to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you're screwing him."

"I don't think -" I started to say.

"He's not paying you to think," he replied. "He's paying you to fuck him, and so am I. The difference is, I'm going to give you a few pointers, and you're going to do exactly what I say."

"Actually -"

"There's fifty thousand dollars in an envelope," he continued, ignoring my protest, "waiting for you in the mailbox back at your apartment. That's my payment for your service over the next hour. You can also keep the thousand dollars he gave you, if you like."