‘My mother’s room. She likes it kept this way.’
She saw photographs in heavy silver frames, at least fifteen, clustered on the dressing table. The main one was of an astonishingly beautiful woman, pale blonde hair, elegant, a classic beauty.
‘My mother.’
‘She’s stunning, very beautiful.’
‘Yes, she is — or was. She’s now made herself into a plaster cast, hardly recognizable as the same person. I don’t think she has a single feature she hasn’t attempted to freeze in time. She refused to age gracefully. And that was my father. I think the only reason it’s here is because she looks so wonderful in the same photograph. He died a long time ago.’
Lorraine picked up a smaller picture frame. ‘That’s my brother, well, a half-brother. I think I was four, he’d be about twelve, different fathers.’
They heard the sound of a car heading up the drive. He replaced the picture and, crossing to the window, drew back the drape.
‘Is that my cab?’
‘No, they’ll call from outside. It’s just the staff returning.’ He walked briskly to the door, impatient for her to follow, yet he remained the gentleman, holding the door open until she passed him, about to head down the stairs.
‘No, come into my office.’ He gripped her elbow and they walked along the landing and through another archway. ‘Go in and sit down, I’ll be right with you.’
He crossed to the banisters and looked down as the front door slammed. ‘Don’t put the alarms on, I’m waiting for a cab.’
‘Are you going out?’
Lorraine was just about to go into the office. She paused. Although she had heard a man’s voice, she had also heard the click-click of high heels.
‘I’ve got somebody here — they’re just going so stay down there.’
The click-click faded and a door below closed. Brad beckoned her into his so-called office, which was mostly windows with a vast array of books lining the walls. A modern desk was covered with a word processor and stacks of manuscripts.
‘What kind of books do you write?’
He closed the door. ‘You mean attempt to write! I haven’t done it yet.’
He frowned as footsteps could be heard on the polished wooden stairs but they carried on up to the floor above them. Then he seemed to relax, pointing to a photograph of a vintage car. ‘I have a collection.’
‘Do you keep them all here?’ Lorraine asked.
‘No, I have a garage. I bought it to house my own vehicles, then I hired a mechanic to keep them in condition, and every other day somebody with a comparable car would appear and ask if my mechanic could help them repair it or where they could get a part, so I opened up a garage, dealing only in vintage imported or American cars.’
He looked up as the footsteps passed over the ceiling from the room above. ‘Excuse me.’
He walked out and closed the door. As soon as it shut, Lorraine was at his desk, opening drawers, checking. She found stacks of notepaper with the S and A logo, envelopes, drawers full of magazines and more manuscripts. She looked over the bookcase — novels, theology, medicine, dictionaries, biography, autobiography — then opened a door into another room and saw the professionally equipped gym. She suddenly looked up as she heard low voices arguing. It was frustrating because she couldn’t hear a word they were saying. A door slammed and then there were running footsteps. Lorraine hurried to sit down as Brad returned.
‘Maybe you should call me another cab.’
He walked to the bookcase and removed a book. The entire wall fell back to reveal a large bedroom.
Brad bowed. ‘There’s even a private staircase leading out and down to the garden. If the cab hasn’t arrived by the time we get there, I’ll run you home.’
Lorraine passed him to walk into the bedroom. The king-size bed had several mirrors above it yet it didn’t feel overtly sexual. The room was too orderly, everything pale oatmeal, even the polished wooden floors. The walls were covered with photographs, mostly of blonde women.
‘My harem, as Dilly calls them.’ Lorraine moved closer and he stood directly behind her. ‘She says they were interchangeable. What do you think?’
She could feel the heat of him but she calmly looked from one girl to the next. ‘I think they’re lovely,’
He touched her shoulder, a light feather touch, and then slowly traced down her arm. He reached for her hand and drew it back slightly to feel his erection.
‘I want to fuck you.’ His voice was hardly audible.
She did not withdraw her hand but allowed him to press it against his erect cock. Her whole body seemed to catch fire, and then she laughed. ‘Billy’s painting doesn’t exaggerate, does it?’
She moved her hand, without his assistance, slowly over his erection and he moaned. She closed her eyes, she didn’t want it to happen. He pressed closer and his right hand began slowly to unbutton her blouse, pushed beneath her bra to feel her nipples. They were hard and he knew she was aroused. He bent his head to kiss her neck. His tongue licked as he pulled her blouse further open, while her legs began to spread as if out of her control.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t do this to me. I don’t want this, I have to go.’
She wanted to scream, wanted him to go on. She could feel herself start to pant as he massaged her nipples. She knew that if he reached down, put his hand between her legs, she wouldn’t be able to resist — but she had to make it stop, walk away from him. She pushed his hands off but he turned her roughly to face him and kissed her lips. It was a sweet, gentle kiss and she craved more and pressed against him. She felt her arms lifting to hold him.
‘How did you get this?’ He traced the scar on her cheek. ‘It drives me crazy, you know that? It’s so sexy, the way you tilt your head. You have beautiful eyes. I want to make love to you, Lorraine.’
She was embarrassed about her body, her scars, and hearing his husky voice, saying things she had never expected to hear from any man, let alone one as handsome as he was, made her want to weep.
‘I have to go.’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Yes. Just get away from me.’
He stepped back as she buttoned her blouse, pulled down her skirt. She had to keep talking because if he laid so much as a finger on her again, she’d be unable to say no. ‘I don’t know what you think I am but you’ve got a fucking nerve. Now just stay the hell away from me — go fuck one of your classy blonde college kids but don’t come on to me because I’d make you pay, sweetheart. You picked the wrong lady.’
He stepped away from her, his face like a boy’s in his confusion. She ran her hands through her hair and looked up to the mirrors. ‘They may get turned on by this crap with the mirrors but please don’t play out your fantasies with somebody you don’t know, and will never know. Now, did you really call me a cab or was that all part of your pussy-suckin’ game?’
‘How much do you charge?’ His face was taut with anger.
‘I choose my clients. Now how do I get out of here?’
He grabbed her wrist and she did a quick twist, released her hand and brought it up to slap his face. ‘Stay off me, rich boy.’
‘I said, how much?’
She could feel her stomach lurch, wanting him to hold her, wanting him to stop her foul mouth, wanting him to kiss her just like he had a moment ago.
‘Name your price!’
She looked for the door to get out. Shocking him hadn’t worked. He was humiliated, angry, and even more attractive.
‘I said name your price.’
She glared at him. ‘You don’t have it.’
‘Want to bet? Five hundred? You want more? Seven fifty? You don’t look like a thousand-dollar whore to me but if that’s your price...’