The Exchange (15 page)

I’d said enough was enough, but it seems that it wasn’t. I was starting to wonder whether enough is ever enough for someone like me.

Tatiana and Alice came knocking on my door a few days after the night at the penthouse –Tatiana was ostensibly helping Alice look at flats for sale in my area. Caught off guard, I found myself unable to refuse their invitation to go out.

‘The menfolk are both working late,’ said Tatiana, ‘so we thought we’d go out for a few drinkies. Do come – it’ll be fun.’

I nodded. ‘Give me ten minutes to get ready,’ I said, flicking my head to gesture them in. I hadn’t done much in the forty-eight hours since I’d last seen them. I’d been jaded and worn out, and confused by what had happened. If trouble came looking for me, I kept thinking, it was because in some part of myself I wanted it. Yet I yearned for a life without trouble and it was the very reason I had come to London.

***

For two days I had moped around Rachel’s flat, looking at her photography books, browsing the Internet, chatting with friends in Paris via Facebook. Lisette came online and told me that her new Dance of the Seven Veils act had gone down brilliantly. She was on a real high and while we chatted I felt violent pangs for my old life and for my job, which gave some kind of meaning and structure to my life. I missed the girls, too. They were the family that I’d never had. I found myself wondering why on earth I had ever suggested this ridiculous life-swap and wished fervently that I could go back in time and never get involved in such a hare-brained scheme. Or that I could call up Rachel and tell her that the swap was over and I needed my life back.

But I hesitated after Lisette told me that she’d befriended Rachel and that the English girl had come to the club and hung out with the girls backstage before going upfront to watch.

‘She took some amazing pictures,’ she told me. ‘She’s incredibly talented. I suggested she try to sell them to one of the classy sex boutiques like Lovestore, or that she tries to get a gallery interested. There’s a real edge to her work. Honestly, Rochelle, it’s as if she saw into our souls with that camera of hers. She made us truly naked. You can really understand those tribes who fear photography because they believe it takes your very essence away. I was shocked when I saw her pictures of me.’

‘What was shocking about them? Was it while you were on stage?’

‘No. She didn’t take any then. She said she was too wrapped up in my performance. She seems quite fascinated by that whole aspect of things – by why we do it, what we get out of it apart from money, and how it actually feels to be the centre of attention in that sort of environment.’

‘And what did you tell her?’

‘Well, I tried to explain, but it’s difficult to put it into words, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t know about you but I’ve never really thought about it on a conscious level. For me, it started as a money thing and I assumed that I’d just do it for a while, until something better came along. Until real life began. But lately I’ve come to think that this is real life. And that I’m actually fine with that.’

I must have sighed, because she paused, then asked, ‘But I guess it’s not for you. Or not any more. Why did you run away, Rochelle?’

I’d never thought of it as running away – as a passive, reactionary thing. I’d framed it as a positive decision. Now that Lisette used that phrase, I thought that she was probably right. But what was I running away from?

Lisette interrupted my swirl of thoughts. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to imply …’

‘No,’ I said, ‘you’re right. I did run away. But it’s difficult to say what from.’

‘Konrad, partly?’

‘Yes, in some ways. Or maybe just from my mixed feelings about the way he leads his life. How is he? We Skype but it’s difficult to pin him down. You know what he’s like.’

‘Oh, Konrad will always be in his little bubble. Even if the money runs out, he’ll find a way to bump along on the surface of life, unharmed. When you look like an angel, it’s hard to think that life can ever let you down. I’ll tell you what, though – she wouldn’t admit it, but Rachel adores him.’

I swallowed. Of course, I knew other people – girls and boys – lusted after Konrad. How could they not? He was beautiful, rich and fun – a fatal combination. When he could be bothered to work, and in his life in general, he was surrounded by other beautiful people, all of whom wanted a piece of him. Since we’d got together – as together as we ever were – I’d had to deal with all of that. And I did deal with it.

But for some reason that I couldn’t properly understand, hearing that Rachel was falling for him upset me. The notion of swapping lives wasn’t meant to be taken so literally – surely we hadn’t needed to warn each other off our respective boyfriends?

But then Rachel, I reminded myself, didn’t have a boyfriend any more. And even if she’d still been with Kyle, he just wasn’t my type

Still chatting with Lisette, I flicked over to Rachel’s Facebook page and looked at her profile photo. It gave little away. I looked at her albums – there weren’t many, and most contained her work rather than pictures of herself. But there were a few self-portraits in among them. I glanced through them and then sat back in my seat, a bit more relaxed. She wasn’t Konrad’s type, I decided. She was very pretty, with a good, athletic figure, but she was too ordinary for him. At least if I was anything to go by.

My own Facebook profile couldn’t have been more different to Rachel’s. I had albums galore, most of them devoted to pictures of myself in various extravagant outfits or costumes. Some were of me either performing, or pre- or post-performing. Quite a lot were at parties, with friends or hangers-on. Some were of me and Konrad, looking a bit the worse for wear, arms flung around each other at the end of another long night on the tiles. I wondered if Rachel, over in my flat, had done the same as me – if she’d scrolled through my images and studied these photos of me and Konrad particularly closely, jealousy spawning inside her.

‘So what have you guys been up to without me?’ I said.

‘Well, they all came to my show and then afterwards we all ended up in Bar Galaxie. Actually, Rachel disappeared at some point. She said afterwards that she suddenly felt ill, but I wondered if I hadn’t upset her by dancing with Konrad. You know what it’s like.’

I laughed. Like me, Lisette loved wigging out with Konrad, and he with her. Both, like me, were big show-offs and were never happier than when everyone around them stopped to watch. Konrad and Lisette, I knew, weren’t so much flirting as
competing
. But it wouldn’t have seemed that way to Rachel, who didn’t really know them. Rachel would have taken their dirty dancing all too literally. Rachel didn’t live in our world, where it was all about being seen. She was a viewer, a voyeur.

It interested me what Lisette had said about Rachel being fascinated by our trade. Like Lisette, I hadn’t spent much time consciously thinking about dancing. It was something I’d fallen into more than sought out, but it suited me on many levels. The money was good, it was sociable, and it meant that I could party all night and sleep in the day, unless I was rehearsing. Before I did it, I hadn’t soul-searched too much about the performance aspect of it, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that I liked it – especially after I graduated from the chorus line and started doing solo acts. I loved the creativity of that – I got to devise my own costumes, which was great fun and very satisfying, and though the choreographer oversaw me, I had a lot of input into the routines.

But it wasn’t just that. I loved my body and the pleasure it afforded me, my problems with Konrad notwithstanding. I loved dressing it up, but I also loved taking my clothes off and seeing the effect my beauty had on other people. There was a seediness to it, for certain. There were times I didn’t like the look in the eyes of some of the punters – an avariciousness that made me a little afraid. But I didn’t have any real contact with them – that was left to the hostesses who waited on their tables. There was never a feeling of threat, but any guys who seemed like they might become just a little too interested I avoided looking at directly or personally provoking during my act. I knew that the tipping point could be reached in the blink of an eye.

Of course, it was a power thing, and a self-esteem thing, and in some part of myself I realised that the need to be seen and admired said something not too healthy about the state of my psyche. I’d never been to a therapist and didn’t feel the need to, but I was pretty sure that if I did, we’d spend most of the time talking about my parents. But on the other hand, wasn’t it better to be involved in life than distanced from it, as Rachel seemed to be? I wondered if Rachel’s attraction to Konrad wasn’t down to the fact that he was so different from her. Like an exotic animal in a zoo, he fascinated her but probably frightened her too.

Lisette and I finished our conversation and then I called Konrad on Skype. I’d been putting it off, on the basis that having paid for my outfit and listened to my excited ramblings about Park Lane, he would naturally ask all about my evening.

I didn’t know what I’d tell him. Of course, he knew – as a soul mate of kinds – that I was wild and got myself into plenty of scrapes. We’d never actually broached the subject of open relationships during our six months together, but for my part, I assumed that that was the deal. I never imagined I’d have someone like Konrad all to myself – or I guessed that if I did, it would only be temporary and certainly not something that I could insist on.

On the other hand, I had no evidence that he had dalliances with other people in that time, and I hadn’t played around either. We had wild times together – evenings when things always threatened to career out of control. Evenings when it felt that something dangerous was about to happen. But to date it never had. To date it had been about the dancing and the drinking, and the running around from party to party, a trail of admirers in our wake.

Konrad answered my Skype after a few rings and his face flickered into view on the screen of my laptop. His hair was mussed up and he was unshaven. I realised he was sitting up in bed, his laptop balanced on his knee. It was early afternoon, but he’d just woken up. Not that that was surprising or unusual.

‘Hey,’ he said, smiling. He looked almost childlike in his barely awake vulnerability, and I ached to reach out my hand and muss his hair up more with the palm of my hand, to inhale his bittersweet morning breath.

‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

‘Impure thoughts, I hope,’ he chuckled, reaching for the packet of cigarettes beside his bed. ‘How’s tricks?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m thinking maybe about coming home,’ I said. ‘Or I want to – but I don’t want to screw things up for Rachel. Lisette said she’s doing good – making friends and shooting some great pictures.’

It was Konrad’s turn to shrug. ‘I’m not sure about either,’ he replied. ‘Well, I mean I’m sure she has done some great pictures, but I’ve not seen them. And as for friends – well, let’s just say she’s a bit of a wallflower.’

I laughed. ‘I’d sort of worked that out.’

‘I
do
like her,’ he said quickly, ‘but I’m not sure someone as superficial as me could ever penetrate her depths.’

We both laughed this time. This was what I did like about Konrad – his self-deprecating humour and the fact that he accepted his own limitations and didn’t pretend to be anything more than a party boy. It wasn’t that he was unintelligent, but he saw no sense in spending time thinking when he could be having fun. And who was to say that he was wrong? Maybe that was where I’d gone astray and why I was here now, feeling miserable.

‘Do you miss me?’ I said, and as I did so I flinched. I hadn’t meant to say it, and now that it was out I felt ridiculous. Konrad and I simply didn’t talk to each other like that. We didn’t speak of love, or feelings, or anything remotely deep. We just got on with it.

Konrad looked uncomfortable for a moment but he was quick to save face and laugh it off. ‘I miss your gorgeous tits,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take your top off?’

I felt horny and wished I was there with him. I’d sit astride him, I thought, and as I rode him to orgasm I’d finger my clit and come at the same time. For the first time with him, I’d come, and the experience would open both of us up and for once we would talk about our emotions.

I did as he said, enjoying the feeling of being bossed about. I was wearing a translucent black silk shirt and beneath it a black balcony bra with scarlet piping. I pulled the shirt up over my head, then pulled the cups down so that my breasts sprang forth. My nipples were erect.

‘Mmmm,’ said Konrad. ‘You’re divine. I wish you were here.’

‘What would you do to me?’ I breathed.

His bathrobe had fallen open, and he was sprawled naked now. He took his cock in one fist and started moving it up and down it, towards the camera of his laptop and then away from it. His free hand was tucked behind his head as he lay there, languorously wanking and yet consciously on display for me. His magnificent torso, completely bare from waxing, shone like light oiled wood. He was a supreme human being, physically.

‘God,’ I said. ‘You are
my
god.’ And for the moment at least, I felt like the luckiest girl alive, to have this heavenly creature in front of me, watching me and being watched.

I stood up, lifting up my laptop and taking it over to a coffee table in front of a leather armchair. Positioning it on the edge of the table and adjusting the screen, I sat back in the chair, my legs in the air. Raising my bum a little, I wriggled out of my panties and tossed them in the air, towards the computer. Then I leaned back and, opening my legs, started to play with myself, slowly, almost drowsily, emulating the rhythm that Konrad had established.

For a while I didn’t look at the screen but at myself, watching my hand move me towards the delectable, almost painful throb of orgasm just as Konrad was watching me. Then I looked back at him. He was wanking hard now, sitting more upright and staring towards me, not saying a word. He was inscrutable, I thought, even in the extremes of pleasure. I would never know him, and he would never know me.