Jessie Keane - Ruthless

Maybe I’m a closet lezzer, she thought.

But it wasn’t that. She had lived her life this far nonsexually, repressing any hint of the woman she truly was. Precious was right about that. She couldn’t compete with her mother, so she’d never tried. But now… she wished she could be like that, a siren, a beauty, able to summon men to her with a single glance. She thought of Alberto, just across town.

To have that power…

Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

Oh, it would.

She looked again at the monitor, at Precious dancing, and then she glanced at her watch. Realized her time was up. Junior would be here in seconds. She took one last look at her friend, who possessed a secret that Layla wanted – so much – to share. How to be a woman. How to seduce.

With one last, enraptured glance at the monitor, she hurriedly got up from the desk and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

‘You’re a crystalline winter, same as me,’ said Precious. ‘Thought so.’

Layla’d had her colours done. This was a strange process in Harrods, where a heavily made-up lady in glasses threw swatches of multi-coloured fabric over her shoulders and subjected her to intense scrutiny.

‘No, no,’ said the woman to teal, coral, peach and mustard.

‘I like coral,’ said Layla in protest.

‘Well, don’t dear. It’s lethal with your skin tone.’

‘Beige is safe isn’t it?’ asked Layla a bit wistfully as the colours were thrown over, this one, that one, then the next…

‘Safe? We’re not interested in playing “safe”! We want to find colours that will make your looks sing. Oh yes. Here we go. Much better,’ she pronounced, as she draped Layla in brilliant fuchsia pink, deep cherry red, burgundy, turquoise, rich royal blue and vibrant, regal purple. Then she suggested lip colours, foundation, eye shadows.

Layla was relieved when they paused in Harvey Nicks’ restaurant. Now she had a little purse-sized colour swatch all of her own, and a bag full of new make-up.

‘I’m knackered,’ she told Precious, kicking off her shoes discreetly under the table.

But Precious took no notice. ‘Now we know what flatters you, we’ll plough on. I could just see you in a power suit. And a red evening dress, something cut down to the waist.’

‘You what!’

‘Well, a bit low. Maybe not that low.’

Layla’s feet throbbed. Her head was starting to ache.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this was going to be such bloody hard work?’ she asked with a groan.

‘You know what drives me absolutely nuts about him?’ Annie asked her old mate Dolly as they sat in the Ritz taking afternoon tea – and a little champagne for Dolly, after which Dolly would probably become slightly tipsy. Or pissed as a rat, depending on her mood.

This was something they did on a regular basis. Two women who had been through a lot together, who trusted and understood each other, sitting on Dior chairs under the fabulous gold cupola of the Palm Court, listening to a gifted boy playing Cole Porter on the piano, being waited on by attentive staff in brass-buttoned tailcoats and white ties. Trying to resist going overboard on the scones, chocolate cake, sandwiches and raspberry tarts – and usually failing.

Two of the Carter heavies were sitting at a nearby table, also taking tea. Annie would have seen the humour of it – two big muscular guys drinking from bone china cups, their little fingers sticking out daintily as they drank – if she hadn’t been so stressed out about Max being back in her life again.

‘Can you guess? The thing that really drives me insane?’ asked Annie.

‘Got a feeling you’re going to tell me,’ said Dolly, wolfing down a finger sandwich stuffed with smoked salmon.

‘The way he tries to boss me around. The way he always has to be in charge. Do you know how crazy that makes me?’

Dolly gave her friend a long, assessing look.

‘I’m guessing that don’t always irritate you,’ she said.

‘Meaning?’ Annie sipped her tea with a quick, angry gesture.

Dolly let out a sigh.

‘Annie. I been your mate since God was a lad, haven’t I? I was a madam, in charge of a bunch of prossies. Now I’m in charge of the dancers at the Palermo. If there’s one thing I know, it’s women. What’s more, I know you. The real problem? You’re an Alpha woman. He’s an Alpha man. You clash. Everywhere, I guess, except the bedroom, where he can boss you around just as much as he likes, and you love it. Am I right or am I right?’

Shit, she’s right, thought Annie. Max drove her crazy out of bed. The trouble was, he’d always driven her crazy in it too.

‘So what you going to do about it?’ asked Dolly. She selected a sandwich with egg-and-cress filling, bit in.

‘There’s nothing to do, is there?’ Annie turned sad eyes on her friend. ‘We’re divorced. It’s history. It’s over.’

‘Oh yeah. Eight years on. And how many men have you dated?’

‘Hey, I’ve dated. You know I have.’

‘Yeah. Grand total of two, as I recall.’

Annie pulled a face. ‘And your point is…?’

‘My point is bleedin’ obvious.’

‘No, come on. Spit it out.’

‘You won’t like it.’

‘Try me.’

‘They both looked a bit like him, didn’t they? Only they didn’t have his balls. Or his charisma.’

Annie opened her mouth. Then she thought about it and closed it with a snap.

‘And you reckon it’s over,’ said Dolly.

‘It is.’

‘Then why’s he still so eaten up with jealousy over you and Alberto? Answer me that.’

‘Because he’s an idiot,’ snapped Annie, pushing her scone aside.

‘And why’s he come running the instant you got trouble, fighting your corner?’

‘He’s not fighting my corner, Doll. He’s fighting Layla’s.’

Dolly shrugged. ‘Same difference. Yours, Layla’s, you’re his family, both of you.’

‘I’m his ex-wife, Doll. I’m nothing to him any more.’

‘Oh sure. I believe that. Would he pick up the sexual side of things if you let him?’

Annie sat back as if Dolly had struck her, her eyes widening in outrage. Dolly gave a laugh.

‘Oh, come on. This is me, remember?’

Annie shifted uncomfortably in her chair, thinking of the way he’d held her. The heat of his body, so hard against her own. It had shocked her, him doing that.

‘Yeah, I think he would. But I’m not going there.’

‘Although you’d like to…?’

‘I can’t , Doll. I can’t go through all that again. He broke my fucking heart …’ Annie’s voice trailed off. She blinked, swallowed. ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly, after a long pause, ‘I just can’t think how to convince him that there’s nothing between me and Alberto. That Alberto isn’t Constantine. That he never will be. It’s useless.’

‘This ain’t the Annie Carter I know, talking like this, like some loser. You got a problem, you find a way through it or around it.’

‘Easier said than done, in this case.’

Dolly sat sipping her tea, eyeing Annie assessingly.

‘You think you might want him back?’

‘No. No way!’ Annie shuddered at the memory of the fights, the bitterness, the accusations. Would she really want to put herself through that again?

‘Because I think you could have him. If you played your cards right.’

‘Doll, he wants to keep me in a box. And I can’t do that, I can’t live within limits that he sets.’

‘That’s not an option. He’s going to have to be made to see that.’