The Bare Necessities (Non-Profane Edition) (5 page)

“Sex. Life is sex.
We need more of it.”

Andre looked at
the floor and looked at his uncle wiping his shirt with a tissue.
“More of it?”

“Yeah, we need
more sex. In here. Blow some cobwebs out. Someone to get the pulse
racing.”

“Right,” Andre
said with a surprised frown.

“We have a
prostitute coming to see us.”

Andre squirmed.
“Pardon?”

“A whore. A girl
who'll screw for cash,” Greg said with a glint in his eye. “A lady
of the night, y'know?”

“Yeah, I know what
a prostitute is. And I know I'm 25, but I am not comfortable with …
it. With being with a prostitute.”

His uncle scowled.
“Hey, it's just business. It's just a professional trade. We're not
here to pass judgement. It's just a business transaction, but I
think it's what we need!”

“No? Right, well,
ummm, well it sounds all very …”

“What?”

“Sordid.” Andre
sniffed and sighed. “I'm not sure I want to get involved with a …
woman like that.” His eyes narrowed and he tapped the desk. “I
don't think it's right.”

Greg snorted.
“Pah! The media are always crying out for a call girl to talk dirty
on breakfast television. After Belle and Miss S and all that
bollocks, prostitution has never been so fashionable.”

“Oh, so it's
representing a umm … well a lady like that.”

“Yes,” Greg
snapped. “What did you think?” Andre muttered incoherently, and his
uncle just snorted. “You said 'think outside the box' and those
people you tried to go for didn't end up with a signed contract.
It's something a bit different, that's all.”

“No,” Andre
muttered. “But won't that make us pimps?”

Greg shook his
head. “Nonsense. I don't get a cut of her daily activity, just her
media work. And there will be lots of that, I want to make her into
an icon.” Andre smiled as his uncle gestured with his hands and he
scratched his head. “I want more sex in our new clients. So when
you go lookin', look for sex. Right?”

“Sex?”

“Yeah, front cover
of FHM material. I want sex, nudity, whoring, filth. You got
that?”

“Right,” Andre
muttered.

“I mean it, I want
sex. The British love sex and if there is anything that will get us
clients it's filth. Pure filth. Remember that!”

* *
* * *

Claire wiped her
hands on the dirty towel she had by her side and looked over the
flowerbed. The gardener was to her right, still planting little
seedlings on a different bank of flowers as she spoke. “Sam, does
this bed need any more?”

The elderly man
stumbled to his feet and groaned as his joints creaked. “No,” he
muttered and flashed a smile to his temporary assistant. “Any more
and it'll be too crowded.”

Claire swung her
legs around her body and came to sit next to the aged man. “I'll
help you with this last bed, then,” Claire promised and picked up
her hand trowel.

She had spent all
day helping the good-natured gardener plant over a thousand
seedlings in the flowerbeds around the swimming pool and in the
garden of the five bedroom mansion. Claire had helped the
experienced man before with his “big projects” and was always keen
to earn a little money when work was offered.

Her mother – the
house manager and cleaner – walked up to her as they started on the
last flowerbed. “I've got to nip to the shops and see Beryl. You
done in two hours?”

“Yeah, Teri. We'll
be done,” Sam promised. He coughed and nursed his knees. “We'll
prob'ly be done in an hour.”

“Call me when
you're finished,” Teri demanded. “And I'll swing by. Or else I'll
come back and wait for you in the road when I've done all my
jobs!”

“OK,” Claire
muttered. “Can you get me some orange juice please? With the bits
in. I want a drinky later,” she asked. Her mother smiled, and
Claire returned to her flowerbed.

It took a further
45 minutes to plant all the flowers in the right pattern and then a
further 15 minutes to water them and pack their gardening tools
away in the small shed. Claire looked towards the house; the family
had always been particularly keen for their staff not to “linger”
and if she had finished work she was expected to leave the
premises, but her mother wouldn't be back for another hour, and
Claire swore when she realised she had left her mobile phone in the
family car.

She hovered at the
end of the garden as Sam locked his shed and thanked her for her
help. “We'll call it three-thirty,” Sam told her adding 20 minutes
to the time. “I'll get Paul to sort out the cheque when I see him
tomorrow. He'll give it to your mother.”

“Cheers,” Claire
muttered and watched as he ambled across the garden to deposit the
keys in the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her old clothes and
walked towards the garden gate.

“Boo!” A voice
cried as she ambled down the garden, looking at the new flowerbeds
and giant plants that were dotted around the back of the house; it
was beautiful, but she also knew how much it cost the family to
maintain.

Claire flinched
and saw the smiling face of the eldest child looking at her from
the other side of a bush. “You scared the life out of me,” she
moaned, and Jack held up a book.

“Just doing
revision. It's a nice spot, look.” Claire looked around the bush to
see a sheltered patch of grass, and smiled.

“Lovely,” she told
him, not quite sure what to say but the young man smiled back at
her with a cheeky expression.

“Claire, isn't
it?”

“Yes, how do you
know?”

“I have spoken to
you before, don't you remember?”

He looked a little
hurt at the suggestion that Claire might not and she licked her
lips. “Yes,” she lied. “But I didn't think you would remember my
name.” He rubbed his nose as she frantically tried to recall his
name. “You doing anything other than revision, James?”

“Jack,” he said a
little coldly and shrugged. “Mum and Dad are out, sister's gone to
the Med with her friends; thought I might take a swim.”

“Well I need to
get cleaned up and then I'm …”

“You could join me
in the pool if you want,” he offered. “I know your Mum's not back
for another hour unless you ring her. But you haven't.”

“How?”

“I can hear,” he
said in an annoyed tone. “I've heard everything that's gone on in
the garden. So, come join me in the pool.”

Claire hummed. “I
haven't got a swimming costume. Or a towel.”

“I could lend you
one,” Jack offered. “The towel I mean. And people do swim without a
costume on. I mean, they do it on the continent I've heard, so …
I'll take that look as a 'no' then.”

“No,” she told
him. “I don't think your parents would be too impressed if I
started stripping in your garden.” Jack's eyes narrowed, and he bit
his lip.

“OK. Well I just
wanted a break that's all,” he moaned. “I've been at the revision
since nine and just need to stop for an hour.” He looked at Claire
averting her eyes, and offered her an “ice-cold drink” that she
tentatively accepted. “Take a seat,” he offered, gesturing towards
the patch of grass he had made his own for the day.

Claire laughed
when he brought out a jug of fruit-laden brown liquid and two
glasses, pouring his female friend a drink that had almost as much
fruit as liquid in it. “Wow! Is this … actually what is this?”

“Pimms and
Lemonade,” Jack told her, and she coughed when she took a mouthful.
“Is there too much fruit?”

“There's too much
Pimms,” she replied, and he shrugged. “Is this all Pimms?”

“I've not made it
before, normally it's made for us. I did put the whole bottle in,
is that right? We got loads of bottles, I don't know!”

Claire took
another gulp, the cold liquid was heavenly in her dry throat, but
it was exceedingly alcoholic and she blinked as she adjusted to it.
“I guess a bit less next time,” she replied and settled herself on
the lawn next to Jack. As much as she was keen not to drink too
much, the “cocktail” that Jack had provided was moreish, and she
was thirsty.

He talked, and
Claire listened; Claire soon realised that he was in need of a
confidante and she allowed him to talk about his break-up months
previous and how that was still making him feel, as well as the
offer his father had made about him joining the family firm. He
talked passionately about his rugby, and then about his music with
Claire proudly announcing that she won a karaoke contest on her
short holiday.

“Do you want some
more?” Jack offered as he held up the empty jug, but Claire shook
her head; she was already fairly tipsy and knew that her mother
must be coming back to the house soon. “Yes?”

“No.”

“Does that pool
look more tempting now you've had a drink and a rest?”

“That pool does
look nice,” Claire admitted. “But I am not swimming naked, no
matter how hard you try and get me to take my clothes off.” He
sniffed. “But go ahead and swim, I'm not stopping you.”

Jack sighed and
took the empty glasses back to the kitchen, before returning with
two towels and a set of swimming trunks. Claire averted her eyes as
he changed behind the bush, although she appreciated his toned
torso as they walked down the garden to the thirty-foot pool to sit
by the side of the water.

Jack splashed her,
and she flicked water back at him. “It's lovely and refreshing,” he
boasted, and she groaned. She swayed slightly and burped; the Pimms
and Lemonade had been strong, and she had drunk it too quickly.
“It's …” Jack dived under the water and swam along the bottom of
the pool before resurfacing. He looked at her with pleading eyes
and she groaned.

“I am not being
naked and you staying clothed,” she replied. “It would be …
improper.” Jack's eyes twinkled and he “solved the problem” by
removing his swimming trunks and throwing them at Claire. Claire
caught the wet swimwear and held them up. “You must be drunk to be
flashing a virtual stranger,” she teased and licked her lips.
“Maybe I should walk away from the pool now.” His eyes widened, and
she scratched her head.

“I’d rather you
joined me,” he begged and blew her a kiss with a cheeky grin. “I’ll
not look!”

Claire shook her
head. “I must have had too many,” she moaned. Claire pulled the top
of her T-shirt over her head and told Jack to turn around so he
couldn't see her, which he reluctantly did. Claire unclipped her
pink bra and unbuttoned her jeans when she heard a cry and spun
around to see the immaculately-dressed figure of Anne Rees-Montague
striding across her lawn. The snarling woman removed her sunglasses
and glared at the naked Jack and topless Claire.

“What are you
doing near my pool?” She thundered as Claire put her hands over her
breasts. “Get dressed, little girl,” she ordered and flicked her
hand towards the embarrassed young lady, who frantically re-attired
herself. “And you,” she spat at her son. “I think you can do a
little better than the cleaner's daughter.”

Claire's cheeks
burned. “We weren't,” she started and passed Jack his swimming
trunks. “We …”

“I know exactly
what you were doing, trying to get your claws into my son. He's too
good for you, now, scram!”

A bemused Claire
looked at the woman before running towards the front of the house;
she felt like a naughty school kid.

* *
* * *

“Andre,” the
suited gentleman said and held out his hand to shake the fingers of
the leather-clad woman. She snorted and sat back on her “seat”: a
gentleman kneeling down on all fours and she put her feet on
another. He hesitated as she took a long draw of her cigarette and
tapped her stick of tobacco into an ashtray held by another naked
man. “We spoke on the 'phone.”

“Yeah,” she
muttered and eyed the man hovering a few feet away. “Pull up a
chair.” Andre looked around the room, to see some sort of seat, and
the “Mistress of Hades” clicked her fingers. The young gentleman
put the ashtray down and knelt on all fours in front of Andre.

Andre squeaked;
this was not what he expected, and he saw the whip marks and scars
on the body of the man on the floor. “I'm fine,” he muttered.

“Suit ya self,”
she snapped and coughed. “So … what do you want?”

“I'm here to
introduce myself, and my employer to you. I work for Incredible
Talents and we are interested in representing you.”

“Representing me?”
The dominatrix snorted and dug her heels into the kneeling man by
her feet. “Why the hell do I want a bloody manager?” She blew smoke
at him and Andre shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Ahh
yeah, so I can give them half my profits to you for doing sod
all.”

“We take eight
percent, but that is negotiable and …”

She cackled and
rubbed her nose. “So what do I get?”

“Well, we are
always keen to help you break new markets. I see the great
potential for a brand here and think that your red, dripping blood
M symbol could be licensed for all sorts of merchandise.”

She grunted and
stubbed her cigarette out on the buttocks of her “seat” causing him
to yell. “Sounds flash, but … I don't do business with men,” she
warned him. “Well not like that. 'Cause what happens if you don't
deliver?” Her eyes narrowed.

“We don't get
paid.”

She clenched her
fists and took a bottle of beer from the floor. “Nah,” she cried as
she used a bottle opener attached to her leather bustier. “Nah,
'cause ya sod off havin' messed my name up. Nah. If you mess up I
want a week of you in my dungeon,” she said with a laugh.

Andre looked at
her. “Well that's not how it works” he said anxiously. “But we can
agree a number of …”

“Nah, we can't,”
she replied. “Ya mess up, I put you in my show.” He gulped, and she
smiled. “Ya saw my show?”

He nodded; the
extreme bondage and humiliation the Mistress of Hades subjected her
“assistants” to was unreal, although the mixed audience lapped up
the violent episodes, as well as the classic punk tunes her off-key
voice murdered, in her three hour “extravaganza.”