The Tied Man

‘I don’t know why you can’t keep your room as tidy as you keep this place,’ she said, like the irritated mother of a teenager.

I hated it when Blaine came here.  I liked to maintain the illusion, however pathetic, that this was my territory, a space that was mine and mine only.  I imagined row upon row of delicate seedlings shrivelling and dying in her shadow.

‘You know, you might find that tonight won’t be all bad.’  She stood behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.  ‘You might even find I’ve got a little surprise for you.’

I tensed under her embrace.  Blaine’s idea of a ‘little surprise’ usually tended to result in my inability to sit down for a week.

‘Oh, stop that, silly.  I’m sure you’ll like this one.’  Her hand crept to my balls, as natural an action for her as brushing a stray hair from her eyes.  She gave a proprietorial squeeze.  ‘And dinner jacket for tonight, please – it’s a real ‘dress to impress’ evening.’

I wasn’t allowed to see the letter, but Coyle had supplied me with some scant detail  – not enough to give me any real information, but enough to trigger those first stirrings of dread: it was a particular skill of his.  So I knew it was a couple, that they had pre-booked the dungeon, and without doubt that it wasn’t going to be fun.  It also made one thing abundantly clear.  As much as it hurt to admit it, Henry had been right. The further away Lilith was from this life, the safer she would be, both now and when she finally escaped.

I started doing the calculations in my head. If I took four temazepam as soon as I got to my room, I would be able to take another four just before I met my clients without collapsing face first into the soup.

Lilith

Somewhere beyond the horizon a storm was brewing.  Although the sky was still clear, the faint whistle that escaped from my lungs every time I exhaled warned of the building pressure.  Relief would only come once the storm broke; until then I would have to make do with my inhaler.

I stood behind the dining room door and prepared to make my entrance.  I smoothed down the skirt of the dress I always chose when I needed a boost to my courage: the teal satin Dior that I had last worn when I went head-to-head with Johnny Buckle.  Only this time, as per Blaine’s request, it was teamed with an Edwardian lace throw to hide the raw eczema that blighted my arms. 

I straightened my back and walked into the room.  The couple Blaine had hired me to entertain stood with their hostess, making the most of the sparse breeze that drifted through open patio doors.

‘And here’s my artist.’  Blaine gave her best Hollywood smile.  She had opted for red-carpet glamour for the evening, and looked warmer and softer than she deserved in a caramel silk cocktail dress.  She took my arm, patting it softly like a proud owner.  ‘Lilith Bresson, may I introduce Royce Garvey, historian and documentary-maker, and his fiancée, Selena Clarke.’

‘Miss Bresson, can I just say I am a tremendous fan of your, ah… work.’ Royce took my proffered hand and raised it to his lips. He gave it an overly-moist, noisy kiss that left me with a wet hand and nowhere to wipe it.  He straightened, and I realised he was only scant inches taller than I was.  ‘I really do feel that in this repressed society, anyone who approaches sexuality in art with the… gleeful abandon that you do should be championed.’ He smoothed his greying comb-over neatly into place and devoured me with tiny eyes, half-hidden behind eyebrows that hadn’t been pruned for decades.  ‘And may I just say you look absolutely…’ In lieu of words, he made a noise that was meant to be appreciative but would not have been out of place in an obscene phone call.

I wondered what the hell his manufactured young fiancée might think about such obvious leching so early in the proceedings, but I needn’t have worried: Selena’s own carnivorous gaze was firmly fixed on the beautiful, immaculately-groomed young man who had just made his customary entrance at the top of the stairs.

Finn, for his part, had eyes for no-one else but me.   Confusion and betrayal  scourged his features before he had chance to hide his shock, then I watched as he stepped faultlessly into the act that would carry him through the evening.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Blaine.’  He walked confidently over to our little group.  ‘Damn bow tie threatened to get the better of me.  I swear, you should be able to study for a degree in tying those things.’  Polite laughter formed the soundtrack as he kissed her on both cheeks, then turned to me with a fixed smile.  His pupils were saucer-wide already.  ‘Lilith,’ he nodded in my direction, and to me alone, his resentment was palpable.