Pearced (12 page)

James presses a button on the desk, “Newton, two teas down here please, Danny will be here soon."

"Okay, coming up."  A disjointed voice comes from nowhere. Then I hear a voice from above, I shoot a look upwards, Newton is leaning over a balcony two stories above.  "Tharie, did you like your tea how I made it?" He calls down.

"Yes, perfect, thank you, and thanks for the horsey cup too,
I love it
." Clearly happy with the praise, suspect his work goes unnoticed around here, he disappears. James looks at his phone as it vibrates, he too is attached to the device in a profound way as I am myself.

How long to that tea?

Later in chapter five, Tuesday
:
22ndoctober2013, my new boss

The front door hisses open and Daniel walks in, all eyes look his way, his presence clearly having effect on everyone in the room, glancing at Steffi, she's watching him, staring, still has feelings for him.  Should I be worried I wonder?

Tea, I sip some gorgeous hot brown liquid,
that's nice.

Looking sexy as hell Daniel fixes his gooseberry eyes on me.  With jeans sitting oh so low on his slim hips, a deep masculine stride of confidence and grace.  Never taking his eyes off me, those smouldering beautiful grey green eyes. Like he's beginning foreplay just by looking at me my whole body starts to tremble, and I feel a little lightheaded. I sip my tea again for something to do, to calm my arousal, god I love tea. I guess the second cup is for him.

BG, half-pass to the left. Nope, not working.

Wearing black from head to toe and looking hotter than even my brain remembers, and my brain is good…
very good
.   My breath suddenly leaves my body, and it hurts across my chest. He rushes over to me, I suddenly remember my sunglasses are still on, I slide them onto my head. "Tharie, are you
OK
?" He asks in a whisper and with real concern in his voice, his hands are on my shoulders. He smells great.

"Nothing a few cups of tea won’t cure." I quip.  I catch myself staring again, but this time I’m not  embarrassed, in all likelihood this man undressed me last night, there aren’t many secrets left between us now, Wonder Woman pants included.  How wrong I am, as it will turn out. Plus, did I mention he smells great?

"Good, let’s get you introduced to everyone and get your flights booked.  You and I are going to Tokyo tomorrow. ” He carries on walking over to his desk, turns and winks playfully at me.

Shocked he could be so blatant here with people about, I check everyone’s whereabouts like a true detective, nope, I say to myself, nobody saw it.  Steffi exhales sharply, her back to me, or maybe I’m wrong.  Daniel returns me to the world by speaking again.  “There's a small exclusive and secret denim auction going
on and I have a 'key', is that OK with you?" Newton hands us both a tea, Daniel doesn’t wait a second before drinking it, his periodic table mug holds dark steaming tea the same colour as mine, but the tea bag still hovers just below the surface in my cup, I like it
very
dark.

"Yes,” I answer almost without breath, a few days away with him...., focus!! “I just have to speak to Jinni and ask her to look after the horses and cats for me. How long will we be away?" I ask looking at my phone, trying to sound relaxed.

G on the centre line, track left to C.  Bugger, my usual trick isn't working, difficult puzzles in my head, calming the noise. And dressage, its
difficult
isn't it?  Well, if you don't know, I can tell you
it is
.

I have horses and cats, and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, so I can never relax. "Back Saturday morning very early, that OK?" Phew! Yes, that'll do nicely. My phone begs my immediate attention, as it vibrates unstoppable in my pocket, I endeavour to ignore, but it’s very demanding. I drain my cup, leaving the bag in the bottom.

Attempting not to sound too relieved, it's too early to let this man know all about me, "yes, early is fine." My class doesn’t start until 1, I should have time.  Can’t let the team down, I’m in the final with both horses, riding for my South East Essex Club, it’s a big deal.  Bloody hell.  Again, a soft silent drilling in my side resumes, as everyone has other distractions I chance a quick look at the evil stalker device, I call a phone.

Deep breath, be strong, ignore.

Nope, can’t, I’m weak.

PF: “Hey babes, did you like it?” Of course, you have impeccable taste.

TC: “Wearing it now honey, it’s not suitable for riding” true story.

PF: “Depends what type of riding you mean doesn’t it?” Fell right into that one didn’t I? I’m usually much sharper that this, maybe I’ve got flu coming?

TC: “The lace is a little itchy, but happy at least it’s black” yes, very happy indeed.

PF: “Hope it works” me too, I won't attempt a sitting-trot wearing it though!

TC: “I owe you” true story.

PF: “My payment will be a blow by blow, emphasis on the blow, say you understand otherwise it’s my money I’ve wasted!” She thinks she’s funny.

TC: “Funny, really funny” I’ll take notes.

PF: “Are you being facetious?” Did you look up that spelling?

TC: “That's a long word for this early in the morning, plus, I can’t think what you mean” the opposite of the truth.

PF: “Serves me right for asking” it really does.

TC: “…and the moonbeams kiss the sea…” she knows I love that poem, it’s what my brain does when it’s noisy, quotes Shelley.

PF: “He's there isn't he? OK, 'what is all this kissing worth if thou kiss not me” something like that, yes.  And I won't be kissing
her
again if that's what she's hinting at.

TC: “Over and out poet laureate” love you.

Without Shelley, my mind wanders, I try to concentrate on the job at hand, slightly uncomfortable in my new two piece black lacy set.  Spiderman pants they certainly are
not
, but perhaps that’s a good thing, am I growing up?
Hope not
. 

I love Japan, so I’m quite excited, Japan holds lots of the keys to modern denim, their artisans working with centuries old techniques using real natural indigo dye where oxygen develops the pigment into that all-familiar blue we all love.  They achieve the most creative effects with laundry and dry hand processes, real ancient indigo dying processes, a brighter, more green-caste blue. Today indigo dye is created artificially using chemicals. The 'show' we'll be attending with offer denims that take a long time to make, hand stitched by a small isolated group of machinists with an underground following not unlike RANDom itself. To see and touch some of these denims is a dream.

"Will your 'key' invitation let me in too?" Knowing very little about this closed community in Tokyo, only what I’ve heard.  The money that changes hands is high, and there's whispers of unsavoury characters making big money trading these items.

"Yes, come, I’ll show you where you'll be working."  Daniel takes my bags before I can reach for them and heads for a staircase I’ve only just noticed in the back side wall behind his desk.  Once my eyes are accustomed to the darker ambiance outside the glare of his desk light, I can see the 'hall' goes back much further than I first realised.  All the joining buildings which look so different from the outside, are really one huge space.  At the back of the
ground floor lay rows of black packed boxes sitting on a neat wooden palette.  I suspect they contain finished jeans, at least twelve boxes, which to my estimate hold six or seven jeans boxes.  Each serial numbered and stamped jean comes flat packed folded once in half.  The reverence and treatment are a symbol of the workmanship that goes into making this exclusive pair of jeans, since there is so much hand craft involved, no two pairs are ever exactly the same.    Wrapped in black tissue with the eagle and ship crest printed on in fine metallic gold, now I remember where I’ve seen the logo, and fixed with a gold seal sticker. They are placed in a wax finished black tray that slides into a lid with RANDom embossed on the top and the eagle and ship above foiled in gold. Then a ribbed gross-grain black ribbon ties the box closed in a perfectly flat, not girlie, bow.

I remember when I finally got hold of my own RANDom denim, so excited, I’d followed a trail of whispered information across London  had spoken to a few people and been sent to various locations to track down this piece.  I met an old man in a café on Portobello Road, where a vast part of my months’ salary was exchanged for one of those waxed black boxes.

But my prize wasn't a jean, I’d been after a jacket, only four ever made so the word on the street tells it.  But you know how those words often are, truth is nobody really knows how many jackets there are, and I have one.  A black raw heavy denim, rough and stiff broken twill, 32oz western style with pyramid stud decoration and the eagle and ship embroidered in black lurex on a huge square  calico label  inside, with the serial number stamped underneath: '2012:3/4 only'.

I follow Daniel up the stairs appraising him from behind, aware Steffi is watching us, and trying not to show it.  Is she going to be a problem for me? I snap away that thought as soon as it arrives, puncture it like a sharp pin to a balloon, Daniel and I are attracted to each other, neither of us will say anything, not here, not now.  But this man makes my brain quiet, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.  I take a final sweeping glance behind me and Steffi is staring at our ascending figures, eyes blazing phone to her   ear, listening, not talking.

Suddenly, I hope there's more tea coming.

A bit later in chapter five, Tuesday
:22ndoctober2013, more of my new boss

"Here's where you'll be working when you're here Tharie," and he leads me into a massive studio.  Wow!  Floor to ceiling window on the side wall obviously the back of the building, I look out amazed, the streets at the back look strangely like the streets at the front, if the TARDIS appeared now I wouldn't find it astonishing at all.  I have a gigantic cutting table desk, dark grey rubber surface, black legs.  A black painted floor and the back wall is covered in a strong galvanised metal mesh grid for hanging garments. I have two huge Mac screens on one end and a MacBookPro laptop, my set up has already been installed.  An A3 matte black Wacom graphics tablet and pen sit waiting.  My email has been installed and I’m ready to go.   A shelf of metalware finish colour charts and a small workstation. Like my own at home, with a grinder and a hand sander.

In front of my desk in the other half of the room sit two three-seater black leather sofas and a huge low reclaimed wooden coffee table, a similar design to the desk Daniel has downstairs I notice and nod smiling.  "Very nice indeed, thank you Daniel." I hope to goodness the smile is my happy one, not my 'go to hell' with a hangover version.  Daniel places my Burberry on the desk, he clearly has an affection for nice things like I do, and my laptop case on the floor leaned up against the leg of my Val Doonican style swivel chair.

He comes over to me, "I’m glad you like it Tharie, I hope you'll be happy here, if there’s anything you need just call." I have a mind to tell him exactly what I need right now, and a sofa within reach too, but hold it in. I’m so proud of myself. Then answering the silent hum of the vibrator in his phone, he nods me goodbye and a sudden change in his manner, taking a call he’d rather not be taking, he heads back downstairs.

Startled by a commotion outside my window I look out to see collared doves suddenly take flight from the rooftop opposite, scattering in all directions, I wonder what startled them?

TC: “Henry, you got arrested before me, I’m so jealous” it’s the handcuffs I think.

HC: “Knew you’d understand Sis” oh Brother.

TC: “Want to tell me about it?” It’ll be the usual story.

HC: “It was just a misunderstanding, there was this girl……..” bingo.

All his stories begin with ‘there was this girl…’

TC: “Naturally, and?” Then there’s usually a boyfriend…

HC: “Her boyfriend…took an unreasonable dislike to me” can’t think why.

TC: “Are you OK now?” Do I need to come to the police station?

HC: “Course, the Captain is a fan, gave him a demo of the new single and got released with a caution” I’m so proud.

Well, the new single
is
good.

I plug my iPhone into the Bose speaker docker sitting on a small table by the door, slide the door shut and press play. I fish two horseshoes from my cavernous bag and hang them on the door one from each of my boys.  There is a tall black vase with parallel sides filled with the sweetest smelling flowers, I don’t recognise them, like hellebores but double rows of petals in an old antique pink colour, a note on the same folded white card with the ship and eagle watermark, 'good luck today Dx'.

Where's my tea
?

I chance another glance at my phone at the missed message, telling myself it could be an emergency but secretly worried I’d miss something.  As it turns out, I could not be more wrong.