Guilty Pleasures (14 page)

“And thank
you
, Millie.” Smelly Cunt gave her a hopeful smile. “It was such a perfect evening. I was hoping you’d allow me to . . . well, it won’t measure up, but how about joining me for dinner one of these days?”

Lance glanced sharply at Millie, gauging her reaction to this overture.

“Oh, do say yes?” Mrs. Ferguson asked. “Ethelbert really
is
a nice boy.”
 

“Thank you, Joe. I’m honoured, but we
do
have a company policy . . .” Millie tactfully declined, and Lance sighed with relief. “I’m so sorry. Much as I’d like to, I just can’t accept.”

Joe took his rejection with graceful contrition and left with his fluttering gran in tow.

Serge waited until Joe and his grandmother left the building, then burst out laughing. “You lying bitch! There’s no company policy. You keep ducking the men! I just don’t get it. He’s yummy, and just imagine mapping out all those tattoos . . .” Serge sighed.

Millie fixed him with a flinty eye. “Not your business, Serge. Just like I stay out of
your
personal business, you need do the same for me. Besides, according to gossip, he has piercings on his penis
and
he still lives with that old bird.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“If you’re quite finished, we do have some
real
business to discuss.” She nodded coldly at Lance, who was busy cleaning the surface of his work station. “Serge won’t need you anymore tonight, Will; you can go home. Thank you for all your hard work. See you in the morning.”

Startled at the abrupt dismissal, Lance mumbled his good-byes and went to the locker room to change. On impulse, or perhaps professional intuition, he banged the backdoor firmly to make Millie and Serge believe he’d left. He then stealthily ducked back to the short passage between the locker room and the kitchen. From the corridor, he could hear Millie and Serge’s voices clearly as they spoke in the kitchen.
 

“Profit margins are way up. I’m frankly surprised; the worse shape the world economy is in, the more business we have!” he heard Millie say.

“Millie darling, it makes perfect sense. The very rich and eccentric don’t want to be seen spending ostentatiously in restaurants when you’ve got food riots all over the world.”

“So, instead of fulfilling fantasies, we’re just a place where they pig out in complete privacy?” she asked.

“It’s not that bad . . . we’re not whores, remember? So, what else? I’m tired. I want to go home.”
 

There was a long pause. “Serge, I don’t think Wilfred is suitable. I want to let him go.” Millie’s voice was cool and businesslike.

“What!”
 

“I just don’t think he’s what we’re looking for,” she said.
 

“Millie, was he improper with you?”

“No, no. Not at all. He’s perfectly polite and unassuming, I just . . . well, Serge, I don’t want you to, you know . . .”

“Me? Fuck you, Millie. I’ve
never
stepped out of line at work!”

“N-no, of course not,” Millie stammered. “What I mean to say . . . he
is
rather too . . .”

“It’s
yourself
you’re worried about, isn’t it, Millie? You fancy him! You fancy that boy, and you must fancy him bad, too, to want to fire the poor sod.”

“It’s not like that!” Millie said vehemently.

“It is so. Fuck, Millie . . . you owe me an apology. And you are
not
firing the best helper I’ve had since Matrilova decided to go home to Russia and make potato caviar the next gourmet craze.”

“Calm down, Serge. Maybe I could give him another chance.”

“Why don’t you give some of these poor bastards hanging around you a chance? Get a man in your bed; have a life. No one has it all, but you can come pretty close.”

“Have
you
? What about
you
, Serge?”

“I’m an old shit with a lot of miles on my arse.
You
are young and lovely. Well, youngish . . . give yourself a shot at some happiness.”

“I’m very happy. I’m quite content. I don’t need anything else.” Millie’s tone was icy.

“In that case, Millie, it won’t bother you if I keep my very attractive cook’s monkey, will it?” asked Serge.

“Not at all. Suit yourself.”

Lance closed the back door soundlessly behind him, grinning. Things were getting better and better. He disturbed her enough that she wanted to get rid of him. He was definitely getting under her skin. I w
on’t go quietly, Millie, not on your life.

A shamefaced and very disturbed Millie walked out of Guilty Pleasures, mulling over Serge’s words. She closed the door behind her with a vindictive bang and headed for home.

From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:

Earlier today, I apologised to Will and I got a very strange reaction from him. I’m more and more sorry I got drunk last night. I have no idea what I did and I can’t possibly ask him.
 

Then later, I had a huge row with Serge over Will, but ultimately I had to back down. I just thought it was a good idea to let Will go before Serge was tempted to indiscretion, but Serge wouldn’t hear me out. Somehow, Serge got the very mistaken impression that I have some kind of a
thing
for the boy. This is what you get for wanting to keep a friend out of harm’s way.
 

Still, I must admit I’m not as indifferent as I’d like to believe. Will really is quite attractive. I had a very disturbing dream about him last night, very erotic, very intense. I dreamt I was kissing him, biting at his mouth, devouring him.

I woke up trembling. I can’t remember when I last kissed a man, and I find myself wanting to kiss him, taste him. I watch his mouth when he talks. I’ll have to keep my distance. He’s too attractive, too easy to talk to, and I’m too vulnerable by far.

Tomorrow I will be cool, calm, and professional. I should never have told him to call me Millie. I should never have gotten drunk. I should never have hired him like that, sight unseen, in the first place.

This is why I stay away from men. I don’t even have a relationship and have already started on the regrets.

Never mind me, I’m shutting up now. I need to keep Will off my mind. I know—I’ll just shut up, take the poop scoop, and walk the bloody dog.

Chapter 10

Do not try to insert body parts: fingers, toes, or penises in nonregulation orifices without first discussing it with her. Oral sex is the easiest subject to address. Here’s a likely scenario. “Baby, I dreamt last night you were kissing me all over, and you had me completely in your power!”

Inserting fingers, toes, penises or sundry objects in anal orifices is a lot dicier. Asking a woman if they have considered the delights of hot salami clysters, or even telling someone that you feel “very Greek tonight” might not be wise.

I cannot in all honesty answer for the efficacy of any of the above suggestions.

As for ear and nostril fetishists, take my advice:

Don’t go there
.

—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate

It was close to midnight when Lance got home, incredibly hyped. He had a strategy to work on. Millie was feeling threatened by her attraction to Will. He had to back down ostensibly, while working to heighten the attraction she felt for Will. He had to become passively appealing, like a triple chocolate-crème éclair to a compulsive eater on a rigorous diet.

She’d be trapped by her own desire, without a convenient excuse to run him off on.

He walked into the kitchen and picked up a brown paper bag full of odorous odds and ends he’d bought up at an expensive naturalist store.
Yes.
He took out a large flask of malt and yeast-extract granulate, which he poured into small muslin sachets to scatter among Will’s clothes; a small bottle of sweet almond oil, and best of all, a tiny vial filled with a clear golden liquid in which floated long dark filaments: pure, true-blue vanilla essence.

He took a quick shower and threw himself onto the bed. He’d sleep for a few hours, and get some rest. Tomorrow seemed most promising.

Millie pushed Lance back against the counter and fumbled at his belt. “Get it out,” she snarled. “
Now!”
 

Lance opened his fly and found himself in her merciless grasp. Her sharp nails ran in a dangerous caress up his shaft, and grazed the top of his penis. She cupped his testicles and squeezed. Waves of pleasure shook him. “Beg for it, you bastard. Go on. Beg for it.”

“Please, God, Millie, please . . . please . . .”
 

Lance shuddered awake, gasping.
Not again.
He was like a teenager, fantasising about her, coming on his sheets
. Damn
. His laundry bill was going to mushroom.

Lance got up and got going. He took a long shower, had a quick shave, and ate his customary frugal breakfast. After dressing in a dark blue V-neck sweater and jeans, he carefully dabbed minute droplets of the vanilla essence on his wrists, behind his ears, the back of his neck, and the base of his throat—subtle but there. He imagined the devastating effect of the scent in the close confines of the van.
Get ready, Miss Millie, I’m coming for you . . .
 

At four in the morning sharp, Lance pulled up in front of Guilty Pleasures.
 

Millie opened the van door and got in. “Good morning,” she said coolly.