within. Something rapacious.
Now Morgan placed a hand lightly on my shoulder, leaned in towards me and asked: ‘Did you choose yourself a drink?’
I pointed one out, trying to shrug off his hand. It stayed put. Suddenly I felt dizzy, as if the walls were closing in on me. I tried to focus on the bartender mixing the daiquiri that Morgan had ordered for me – on the way he blended the fresh strawberries with lemon and lime juice and fine sugar, followed by light rum, finishing it off with crushed ice. My mouth watered as I watched – the drink would be delicious and he was too. He reminded me a little of Konrad. I wished Tatiana and Morgan would fuck off.
As the bartender placed my drink before me on a coaster, our eyes met and I wondered what he was thinking about me, sitting here between this couple, quite clearly caught in some kind of trap. And in the space of that glance, I also imagined just sitting here all night, watching him work, muscles flexing as he moved around behind the bar, mixing his magic potions. I’d sit and drink as I watched, growing happier and happier, and then at the end of the shift we’d take off together. Perhaps, as an employee, he’d get us access to Whisky Mist, the hotel’s members-only nightclub, famed for its celebrity clientele. There we’d dance ourselves into a rapture before I dragged him back to my lair and fucked his brains out on Rachel’s bed.
‘… don’t you think so, Roch?’
Tatiana’s voice jerked me from my reverie. Her voice had changed from a purring caress to a shard of glass. I looked at her. She was glaring at me. I downed my drink in one and smiled brightly.
‘Is it time to move on?’ I said, looking pointedly at their own empty glasses.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Tatiana, now glaring at the bartender.
Inwardly I seethed. I resented this attitude of ownership of me that she and Morgan had assumed. For the rest of the evening, I’d insist on paying my way. That might at least help me cast off this sense of being, in some sense, their child.
We headed out of the bar, towards the lift, Tatiana leading the way. I watched her as she walked, with a dancer’s elegance. Of mid-height, she was slender but not as fragile as me. She was wearing a pale-blue linen shift dress and white leather pumps, and had a white cashmere cardigan slung over her shoulders. Her platinum-blonde hair swung loose, mane-like, down her back, in direct contrast to my severe style that evening. It wasn’t my favourite style, but you couldn’t deny that she was a very attractive woman.
As we stepped into the lift, the two of them now in front of me, I studied Morgan in turn. Like the previous night, and like Tatiana, he was smart if conservative, in a pale green-grey suit. Beside them I must look ridiculous. I wondered what kind of crowd there would be at the party, but I told myself there had to be some interesting people at a hotel launch on Park Lane. There’d be business people and bankers, of course, but there’d also be models, fashionistas, journalists, and perhaps even rock stars.
The rum had gone to my head and for a moment I thought a little ruefully of the bartender, and then by association of Konrad. Though I wanted this night for myself, no matter what it might bring, part of me wished he was here with me. We always had such a great time when we were out together, and that in part kept us together in spite of the problems with sex. People gravitated to us, formed an entourage who followed in our wake. Where separately we might be charismatic, together, it seemed, we were on fire.
We exited the hotel, turning right in the direction in which I’d come. Within a few steps, a red carpet and a barrier suggested that we’d arrived at our destination. Tatiana fished in her clutch bag for the invitations and flashed them at the doorman, who waved us through.
Inside the lobby it was all scarlet velvet armchairs and clubby leather sofas, polished dark-wood furniture and vast
Now Morgan placed a hand lightly on my shoulder, leaned in towards me and asked: ‘Did you choose yourself a drink?’
I pointed one out, trying to shrug off his hand. It stayed put. Suddenly I felt dizzy, as if the walls were closing in on me. I tried to focus on the bartender mixing the daiquiri that Morgan had ordered for me – on the way he blended the fresh strawberries with lemon and lime juice and fine sugar, followed by light rum, finishing it off with crushed ice. My mouth watered as I watched – the drink would be delicious and he was too. He reminded me a little of Konrad. I wished Tatiana and Morgan would fuck off.
As the bartender placed my drink before me on a coaster, our eyes met and I wondered what he was thinking about me, sitting here between this couple, quite clearly caught in some kind of trap. And in the space of that glance, I also imagined just sitting here all night, watching him work, muscles flexing as he moved around behind the bar, mixing his magic potions. I’d sit and drink as I watched, growing happier and happier, and then at the end of the shift we’d take off together. Perhaps, as an employee, he’d get us access to Whisky Mist, the hotel’s members-only nightclub, famed for its celebrity clientele. There we’d dance ourselves into a rapture before I dragged him back to my lair and fucked his brains out on Rachel’s bed.
‘… don’t you think so, Roch?’
Tatiana’s voice jerked me from my reverie. Her voice had changed from a purring caress to a shard of glass. I looked at her. She was glaring at me. I downed my drink in one and smiled brightly.
‘Is it time to move on?’ I said, looking pointedly at their own empty glasses.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Tatiana, now glaring at the bartender.
Inwardly I seethed. I resented this attitude of ownership of me that she and Morgan had assumed. For the rest of the evening, I’d insist on paying my way. That might at least help me cast off this sense of being, in some sense, their child.
We headed out of the bar, towards the lift, Tatiana leading the way. I watched her as she walked, with a dancer’s elegance. Of mid-height, she was slender but not as fragile as me. She was wearing a pale-blue linen shift dress and white leather pumps, and had a white cashmere cardigan slung over her shoulders. Her platinum-blonde hair swung loose, mane-like, down her back, in direct contrast to my severe style that evening. It wasn’t my favourite style, but you couldn’t deny that she was a very attractive woman.
As we stepped into the lift, the two of them now in front of me, I studied Morgan in turn. Like the previous night, and like Tatiana, he was smart if conservative, in a pale green-grey suit. Beside them I must look ridiculous. I wondered what kind of crowd there would be at the party, but I told myself there had to be some interesting people at a hotel launch on Park Lane. There’d be business people and bankers, of course, but there’d also be models, fashionistas, journalists, and perhaps even rock stars.
The rum had gone to my head and for a moment I thought a little ruefully of the bartender, and then by association of Konrad. Though I wanted this night for myself, no matter what it might bring, part of me wished he was here with me. We always had such a great time when we were out together, and that in part kept us together in spite of the problems with sex. People gravitated to us, formed an entourage who followed in our wake. Where separately we might be charismatic, together, it seemed, we were on fire.
We exited the hotel, turning right in the direction in which I’d come. Within a few steps, a red carpet and a barrier suggested that we’d arrived at our destination. Tatiana fished in her clutch bag for the invitations and flashed them at the doorman, who waved us through.
Inside the lobby it was all scarlet velvet armchairs and clubby leather sofas, polished dark-wood furniture and vast
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