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Lara hardly notices when he takes the stool beside her at the hotel bar. But when she hears him speak, gives the barman his order, his voice compels her to turn and stare.He is older than she had anticipated; older than his voice would have her believe. And he is certainly much older looking than the picture of Kurt Avar she has carried in her mind since a young girl. But viewing him in profile still leaves her room for doubt, eyes unconvinced. She needs to see him face to face. And then, as if on a director’s cue, he turns and gifts Lara his million-dollar smile. Yeah, it’s Kurt Avar alright, though looking his age — which must be at least sixty, she guesses. Something inside Lara deflates; actors such as Kurt Avar are meant to stay young forever. She wants to return his smile but her mouth is having none of it, frozen by some ghastly palsy. She quickly turns away and feigns interest in the screen above the bar, the latest farrago of Brexit lies.”Same again, Karl,” she hears Kurt Avar saying.The barman uncaps two bottles of Bud and places them on the bar. But Kurt does not immediately take them, instead turns again to Lara and says, “Excuse me, Miss.” He pauses until Lara turns to face him, and only when he is sure of her attention does he continue. “But I could not help but notice how stunningly pretty you are.” She had expected better and momentarily cringes. But what-the-fuck! Tonight she’ll take any compliment, no matter how cheesy. See how he scrutinises you, how his eyes lavish you with interest.”You certainly know how to get a girl’s attention,” she says while holding his gaze.”Be careful, my dear. A beautiful barfly such as yourself — some dark, handsome stranger might scoop you up and carry you away in a jar.””Fat chance of that happening.””I’ve not seen you in here before?””I don’t usually drink after work.””Oh, really?””Yes, really.” She sees his scepticism. “But tonight, I needed to unwind a little before going home.” “I know all about unwinding — had forty years of unwinding in bars.””I bet you’ve never had a day like mine.””So tell me then. How was your day?”She forces a smile. “Thank you for asking, but you really don’t need to know.””I’ll be the judge of that.””Okay, if you insist. I’ve just spent twenty minutes on the phone with that insane bitch from head office otherwise known as Mrs Wendy Grangeover. Seems my days with EasySolutions International Limited are well and truly numbered.” She holds up her tumbler of scotch and ice, “So, tonight, I’m treating myself.” She puts the rim of the glass to her lips, lifts the bottom and drains it.He turns and calls to the barman. “Another for the lady, please, Karl.” She picks up the glass Karl has set down on the bar but does not drink, instead swirls the amber liquid around the glass and listens to the ice rattle. Kurt watches her with bemused eyes, then asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?” “Lara. Lara Beechwood. And thanks for the drink, but I really shouldn’t, Mister Avar. It is Kurt Avar, isn’t it?””For my sins, yes it is, dear girl.” He offers his hand and she takes it. A shiver of pleasure runs through her veins as he holds it gently while asking, “And how old are you, Lara Beechwood? I would have said far too young to recognise a relic such as I.” “Dad’s favourite film was that Roman epic thingy you did. I had to sit through it so many times as a kid. But you narrated that Dylan Thomas poem. We did it for GCSE English Lit, and I loved that — your voice, especially.” “Ah, Under Milkwood. Some say my finest moment, the definitive rendition, though I doubt dear Richard would agree if he were still with us.” A faraway look comes into Lara’s eyes as she begins,”. . . it is the grass growing on Llaregyb Hill, dewfall, starfall, the sleep of birds in Milk Wood.” He is astonished, compelled to respond in his best Shakespearian tenor: “Listen. It is night in the chill, squat chapel, hymning in bonnet and brooch and bombazine black . . .” There is a moment of silence before Kurt surfaces from some private place. “Still on the syllabus then?” he asks as he lets her hand slip from his dry, warm palm.”How should I know? It’s six years since I left school. I’m twenty-two.” She holds up her ring finger for him to inspect. “And an unhappily married woman, to boot.” God! Did I say that out loud! “I have two babies: Carly and Joey. Now, how-the-fuck do you suppose that happened to Lara Beechwood, Mister Avar?” She takes a sip from her fresh drink.”You make it sound as life is done with you, but you’re young and so pretty. You could have the world at your feet.””That’s not how it feels to be me.””To be sitting beside a gorgeous twenty-somethings like yourself is such a dark pleasure for a man of my years. It is if I am engaged in the most sordid of crimes. Oh, to be twenty again.””And there’s me thinking you were already dead,” Lara says, her snark quite pointed.”And the sad thing is, dear girl: too many women wish that I were.” Her hand in her bag, she extracts a phone and holds it up. “Would you mind?”Before he can answer, she slides off her stool and stands beside him. His arm goes snaking around her waist when she leans her head against his shoulder. After the virtual shutter clicks, she studies the image. Unhappy, she extends an arm and clicks again. Better.”Thanks,” she says, inching herself free of his arm’s constraint. He is reluctant to let her slip away, and so she twists to face him, breasts now pressing against his lower ribs. Their eyes lock as Lara asks coyly, “Would you mind, Mister Avar, but I’d like to take my body back to my stool now.” But he does not release her, studies her, commands her gaze to linger. “Please, Mister Avar . . .” she mock-begs, her voice flirtatious, her eyes unwavering.He laughs and withdraws his arm, his palm caressing her butt-cheek as it slides Ankara escort down and away. Beers in hand. His parting shot, “Maybe we’ll catch you later, Lara Beechwood?” “We?” she asks, her voice betraying her sudden panic from realising he is leaving her alone.”I’m with a dear friend.””A friend?””Behind you.” He watches her turn, eyes scanning faces. Her bewilderment amuses him. “There.” He leads with his eyes. “Do you see the stunning redhead?” He waits for her understanding. “Her name is Jenny,” Alone at a table, Jenny pays them no heed. She sits with her phone in hand, thumb coming and going over the screen. And then it is as if their combined attention has settled on her and shaken her. She looks up suddenly and appears startled like someone rudely roused from sleep. Seeing how they watcher her, she becomes momentarily uncertain. Kurt gives her a conspiring wink and she immediately understands. She smiles, becomes poised, radiant.To Lara, Jenny is the epitome of womanly beauty, a feminine ideal that embodies everything she had hoped one day she might become. With a platinum Bulgari snake necklace about her neck, her designer clothes, hair salon crafted, and her makeup just right, Lara thinks Jenny could be on her way to the Golden Globes to accept her award. At least, that is the movie that plays out in her mind when first she sets eyes on Jenny Backbarrow. And for a fleeting moment, the sight of this extraordinarily attractive woman causes all the wretchedness Lara harbours about her own life to well up. There is real despair now in knowing fate has withheld from her the kind of life this Jenny person must surely be living. And now Jenny’s eyes have found her, pierced her to the very core, and then all Lara’s envy and self-pity are swept away in an unanticipated instant of erotic gnosis. At that moment, those intensely knowing eyes become a binding that holds Lara fast, sending her mind soaring beyond chronology and locality. It is a eureka moment for Lara, one in which the sparks of erotic anticipation crackle and snap from synapse to synapse, surge electric-blue throughout her body.Still reeling from such an intensely erotic visual exchange, Lara turns to Kurt, an iron rod of self-control moderating the tone of her voice as she says, “Jenny is lovely. You must be a very happy man to have her as a friend, Mister Avar.””Oh, my dear girl, a man such as I can never have too much loveliness, too much happiness — don’t you agree, Lara Beechwood?” He studies her intently as he continues, “But you must understand, my dear, I am a very inclusive individual. I welcome loveliness with open arms. We both do, Jenny and I.” “I’ll try to remember that,” she says, hardly sure her response is in any way meaningful. She turns away from him and looks up at the screen, takes another sip from her glass. Her thoughts have become a hullabaloo of indecision, a riot of apprehension.”Make sure you do, dear girl, because you, Lara Beechwood, you are the essence of loveliness.” And with that parting shot he takes his drinks and returns to Jenny. She cannot trust herself, knows what she decides now is critical. To give herself refuge, she feigns interest in the news playing on the screen above the bar, telling herself to drink up and go and not look back. Go home to Alan — but why should you! Perhaps another drink? Wait and see what happens, see how they go about this. It might be fun.But she does not encourage them by turning and casting glances their way. If they want her, they will have to show how much. Her fourth scotch. She wonders if they have left the bar, slipped away without her noticing. Fuck! You blew that one. You can’t even drive now, will have to phone Alan and get him to pick you up. Hopefully, he will have the kids tucked up in bed, stories read, night lights dimmed. It’s only a ten-minute drive. It won’t hurt for him to leave them. But he won’t come, will he! He’ll be furious you’re drinking again. He’ll tell you to get a taxi. “You have feet . . .” he’d said the last time she’d phoned him from a bar. “Fucking-well walk if you have to”.She gets out her phone but does not have the guts to call him, already knows what he will say, that she has broken the promise she made. Instead, she stares at the image on the screen in the palm of her hand, her memento of Kurt Avar. He’s too old, she tells herself. And that Jenny person may be beautiful, but she’s not so young. But you are still young, Lara. It’s the only reason they want you.She texts Alan: I need you to come for me.His reply is instantaneous: No one wants you here drunk. Best go back home to mummy and daddy. She texts again: I’m not drunk.His reply: It’s gone nine. You must be. Go to your mum’s and sleep it off. I’ll call you tomorrow. We can talk then. Get things sorted.As she reads, the weight of a hand on her shoulder startles her. His voice compels her to turn: “Lara! We’re leaving now. And were wondering, Jenny and I —””— What were you wondering, Mister Avar?” she asks, even though she knows only too well what they were wondering. “Whether you need a lift, that perhaps we could run you somewhere?” “I have my car,” she says flatly.”You’re in no state to drive.” “My husband — I mean, my father will come for me. I was about to phone him. He lives in Newtown. A five-minute drive. “Not your husband?””Tonight, Mister Avar, my husband can rot in hell!””You say your father lives in Newton? We pass that way, don’t we Jen? So it’s no trouble at all.” “No trouble at all,” Jenny confirms.”But where are my manners,” Kurt says. “Lara, this is Jenny Backbarrow, rising star of stage and screen. Jenny, say hello to Lara Beechwood, the world’s most lovely barfly.””Hi, Lara,” Jenny says. “And pay no attention to this daft sod. Comedy was never his strongest point.””But Ankara escort bayan Jenny, my dear, you forget my role as Cockus Colossus in Carry On Caesar! It left the critics speechless.” “He means, no one even mentioned his performance in any of the reviews.””See how cruel she is to me, Lara?” Kurt says.Lara looks at Jenny, and in the pause that now wells up between the three of them, she sees how the woman studies her. Those eyes! Full of wild expectancy. And it thrills her to know these two strangers desire her — this woman, especially. It is intoxicating to know fate has washed her up on their shore, a world she can never even hope to know.But you can use this, Lara.Sliding off her stool bluffing gracefulness, she stumbles when her feet make clumsy contact with the ground.”Oh, sweetheart,” Jenny says, rescuing Lara with quickly outstretched arms. It is like aikido, the deftest of katas, a subtle disarming that in an instant captures Lara and sweeps her into the safe harbour of Jenny’s left arm. The two women stand side by side like twins fused at the hip since conception, Jenny’s hand emerging just below Lara’s armpit, her fingertips pressing against the side of her breast, four claws of a sleepy kitten gently kneading. “We’ll take good care of you, Lara,” Jenny says, her voice motherly and hushed for her sickening child.”I haven’t eaten,” Lara says. “I only intended to have one drink, that’s all. I’ll be okay in a minute.” She rests her cheek against Jenny’s shoulder.”You should be all tucked up in bed,” Kurt says.”If only I were,” Lara says sleepily. “But my bed is such a cold and lonely place now.””What about hubby?” Jenny asks.”He can go fuck himself!”Lara does not see the glance the couple exchange — though she senses their blossoming certainty of her acquiescence.”Kurt’s bed is the warmest this side of anywhere,” Jenny says.”Are you kind and gentle people?” Lara asks.”The kindest,” Kurt says.”The gentlest,” Jenny adds.It is a pincer movement. A double outflanking. Kurt to her left and Jenny her right. As they hurry her through the door and out into the night, Lara asks herself if she would still be doing this if he weren’t Kurt Avar. The way she feels tonight, she just-fucking-well-might. She has become that girl: the one couples imagine magically arriving at the foot of their bed.To an onlooker, by how they handle her, the pace they set as they hurry Lara across the hotel carpark, this could be an abduction. And to Lara, that is how it feels, and she wonders if there will be handcuffs and rope back at their home. It is good they support her by the arms because suddenly she succumbs to a paralysing panic. It is as if her legs have abandoned her, turned and fled. She is left suspended between the ushering couple, carried along by their urgency, their desire to get her back to their home and into their bed.Oh-God! If I die tonight, no one will know. When the police come asking, Karl will tell them Kurt Avar and the beautiful redhead bundled the missing girl away. But surely that means they wouldn’t risk it — even if they wanted to — would they? They’d be caught. But what if Karl is part of it, is joining them later. No! That will not happen. The man who holds you is Kurt Avar — his beautiful Jenny. When they reach the car, his fabulous Bentley, it’s like an arrest. They handle her just the way she has seen it done on the telly, his hand on her head urging her to duck. As they ease her through the rear passenger door, the hem of her skirt rides up, the back of her nyloned thighs sent skidding across the fragrant soft leather. But she is beyond the pretence of modesty now. There will be no tugging at the hem of her skirt for decorum’s sake. Once settled, she rests her cheek on Jenny’s shoulder and closes her eyes. The vehicle becomes a magic carpet spiriting her away from the appalling disaster of her life. When she looks again, there are no streetlights beyond the glass. All she sees is the ghost of her reflection — hardly a reflection at all. A shade on its way to the underworld. Beyond the glass, the passing countryside is inky black under an unseen, starless sky. Jenny is talking, saying something about Kurt’s new series. It will be his big comeback. A Netflix costume drama. A spectacular, she says. Shooting begins next spring. The director owes Kurt a favour. There might be a part for her too — a proper part, not just walk-on. “My agency is always on the lookout for extras,” Jenny tells Lara. “That’s how I met Kurt. It was a crowd scene, and he picked me out. I’ll give you their number later.”Lara closes her eyes again, thinks Jenny’s voice quite bewitching. But she knows this talk of an opening into the world of movies is pure bullshit. Dear God, she knows bullshit when she hears it. All she can think of now is how Jenny’s tongue will feel between her spread-eagled legs. She has never forgotten the sweet gentleness of another girl’s tongue, her one night with Becca all those years ago.But look how that turned out. This time there will be no aftermath, no regrets, no recriminations. Sod what people think. Sod everyone: poxy bosses; poxy husband; poxy life; poxy — no, not them. They’re good kids. They don’t deserve a mother like you, Lara. Shit! Is it so wrong to want to escape now and then, say fuck to everything?There is excitement in the couple’s voices, the words they exchange underwritten by blatant carnal expectancy, the spice of indecency seasoning every sentence. Their intentions towards her are delivered on a platter of innuendo and hinted promises. Lara has become the centre of their world, a magical being, the succubus they have conjured into their lives.Kurt watches Lara through the rearview, then turning his head from the road ahead and addressing Jenny. “She hasn’t passed out, Escort Ankara has she, Jen?” he asks.Jenny brushes the hair from Lara’s eyes and studies her face. “Are you still with us, Lara?” She looks up at Kurt. “I think she’s had too much to drink.””Fuck it! That’s all we need.””Lara, babe. Can you hear me?” Jenny asks, her lips closer now, her breath warm on Lara’s cheek. Lara feels the woman’s hand squeezing her knee. Just kiss me. No kiss arrives. “Just a little sleepy,” Lara finally says.”We don’t want to take advantage, sweetheart.””But I want you to. Why haven’t you taken advantage yet?” Her words are as slurred as her thoughts are inchoate.”We want to get you home, Lara, make things special for you,” Jenny tells her. Although she can hear every word they say, Lara no longer responds, is happy to know they cherish her presence, is the sole object of their desire.”She’s just sleepy,” Jenny tells Kurt. “When we get home, if we fill her with coffee she’ll be fine.”And then — will you go first, or should I?” Kurt says.”I have my new toy,” Jenny says, her voice full of anticipation and delight.”You must lick her pussy first, my dear.””You mean before I fuck her with my new toy?””Of course, you must! You need to prepare her. Etiquette demands it. After all, she is our guest.””And then, Mister Avar,” she says decidedly, “When I am certain she is well and truly prepared, only then will I fuck her.””And I shall watch.””And afterwards, I shall watch you when you fuck her too.””And how glorious the fucking her will be,” he says like a king from Shakespeare.Each becomes lost in their own thoughts. Then: “Is she wearing stockings or tights?” he asks.”What would you prefer?” Jenny asks.”Do you even have to ask?””Shall I check for you?””I think it only proper that you do.”Jenny’s hand moves over Lara’s knee again, quickly sliding up her inner thigh. “What a lucky boy Mister Avar is tonight,” she says.”Oh, the darling-sweet-girl.” “Does thinking of me touching her make you hard, Mister Avar?””Down there it does. I’m like granite.””She has a zip at the side of her skirt.””Where does it lead?””Shall I see?””Only if you tell me what you find in there.”Lara becomes aware of Jenny’s tinkering fingers, her skirt fastenings loosened. Then the zip is down, and a hand’s stealthy exploration begins. Lara dare not stir, holds her breath, remains possum-still as Jenny’s hand slips inside her skirt, snaking snuggly into the body of her tights, the chill of her fingers and long nails sliding the slope of her abdomen and into her panties, then downwards over her mons.”She’s ever so wet down here, Mister Avar,” Jenny says.”How wet?””We might need towels,” Jenny says. Then there is disappointment in her voice as the car begins to slow. “Oh, we’re here. It’s time to wake up, sweetheart.” She slides her hand back up over Lara’s belly, out the way it came. Once her hand is free, she raises her fingers to her lips and licks them with relish before re-fastening the zipper at the side of Lara’s skirt. The crunch of tyres on gravel brings Lara back from her twilight world, her willing self-abandon. Soon she will have to move and make decisions. But all she wants to do is to relinquish responsibility, for Kurt and Jenny to do the deciding. If only they would carry her to their bed without another word, then she would be docile and biddable, allow them whatever they desire. But she knows she must gather herself, walk and talk, play the game of seduction when all she craves is anonymous ravishment.She looks out the window and sees the house, its twin porch lights beacons of welcome. The car glides to a halt, the engine killed. There is only the gentle hum of the fan beneath the bonnet. Kurt is quickly out of the car and opening her door, taking her hand as she emerges from the luxury cocoon of the Bentley. Standing is a chore, so unsteady on her feet. But the chilled air revives her, sobers her. The rude slap of the nighttime reminds her of her situation, how no one knows where she is, and that these people are strangers. She asks Kurt, “You did promise to be nice to me, didn’t you?””No one could treat you nicer,” Jenny tells her as she comes around the car. The house is spacious and exquisitely furnished, its walls hung with fabulous modern art. But Lara does not take in her surroundings, watches Kurt and Jenny anxiously.”I could do with another drink,” she says.”I think you’ve had enough?” Kurt says.”Just a little something to smooth the edges.””You go upstairs with Jen, and I’ll bring us a little something up.”Once in the bedroom, Jenny says, “You’re a brave girl to come home with us — two strangers.” “You mean a stupid girl! Do you and Kurt make a habit of picking up drunken women?””Kurt and I have only been together for nine months, so this is kinda new for me too, you know. But you’ve dodged my question.””He’s Kurt Avar. What girl would pass on the opportunity to rub shoulders with a real-life film star?” She cannot help the snark that colours her words. But as she looks at Jenny, her tone softens, becomes rhetorical. “Besides, tonight I want to to feel something. Anything! Have you been with girls before? I bet you have?””None as pretty as you, Lara.””Cut the crap! You don’t have to lie to me to get what you want. I’m here, aren’t I?””You don’t think much of yourself, do you?””I know who I am, where I belong.””With your looks, you could find a place for yourself anywhere, Lara.””But, Jenny, I’m so much more than just my looks. I write too.” “Really!” The surprise in Jenny’s voice cuts Lara deeply. “You weren’t expecting that, were you? Someone like me who writes.””So tell me, what do you write, Lara.””Poems. And I’ve finished a play.””You will have to let us see your work. If it’s any good we could —Kurt knows someone. We’ll talk about it in the morning. And have you been with many girls, Lara?”See, she’s not interested in your writing. “Once. At Uni. A total disaster,” Lara says.”Oh, why’s that?””Neither of us knew what we were doing. Then she — the other girl, Megan, that is — got all remorseful. And then I got all remorseful. I was stupid, said cruel things.”