Love. Lies. Dying. Read online

Alex frowns. And the problem with that is..?

  I don’t always want to be looked at. Or be demanded of. Or asked for another favour or another freebie or whatever it is they think they can get out of me. Sometimes I just want to go out for a quiet drink or a meal by myself, for myself, with no hassle and no fuss. So sometimes I’ll be getting the train, okay?

  Not okay, Alex sulks but she has no choice and definitely no say if she wants to keep her job, so compromise is reached in the form of a silver tube of pepper spray. Alex, of course, being Alex, wants her to carry a gun. She has a gun, she says, producing a small, silver looking weapon from her bag. Her father gave it to her and Katherine needn’t worry, it’s licensed and everything although strictly speaking it shouldn’t be in her bag but locked away, but what good is it going to be locked up in a bloody cabinet if she’s mugged? Katherine should definitely carry a gun. London isn’t safe. No where is.

  Katherine tells her she is not getting a gun. She will carry pepper spray around, and she does, when she remembers.

  Alex thinks she carries it everywhere.

  She looks at the poster for ‘ Wicked’ and smiles ruefully. Appropriate, she thinks and closes her eyes when the rush of the approaching train washes warm, fetid air over her face.

  The bar she finds herself in is very expensive and very select. She does not mind being recognized now, although the doorman is slightly startled to see her turn up on foot. Smiling, she assures him she needs the exercise and the air and allows the manager to show her to a private booth where she orders a dry martini.

  Drink in hand and ceramic bowl of peanuts by her elbow - they offered her olives, to go with the martini she supposes, but who in their right mind would eat those disgusting, oily things - Katherine settles back into the plush, red upholstery and remembers she needs the toilet.

  The manager, seeing her rise so soon after arrival, immediately deduces something is wrong and dashes over. His relief when she points towards the powder room is palpable.

  The bathroom is spacious, scrupulously clean and fragranced with the scent of citrus orange. Only one cubicle is currently occupied and Katherine slips into the one furthest from it. She pees, flushes and steps out to wash her hands, not surprised to see the occupant of the other cubicle has beaten her to it, and now stands in front of the mirror, lipstick in hand and determined expression on her face.

  Catching her eye, Katherine smiles at her and waits for the other woman to smile back or at least recognize her. She does neither. Instead she looks Katherine up and down and deliberately winds down her lipstick and places it in her bag. Then she holds Katherine’s gaze for one second, two seconds too long.

  Neither of them say a word. In studious silence, Katherine washes her hands, dries them on a paper towel and turning to the woman, examines her. She is pretty, blonde, big breasted. Her eyes are green. She’s also wearing a suit Katherine raved about in the November issue last year, so she clearly has some taste.

  The woman holds out her hand and Katherine takes it. No one else has come into the powder room. The woman leads her into a cubicle and throws across the sliding lock before pressing Katherine’s back against the door and reaching for the zip of her jeans.

  “Wait.” Katherine says and the woman hesitates. “Your name. That’s all I want. Tell me your name.”

  “Melanie.” The woman replies. “Yours?”

  “Rachel.” Katherine lies. “Now fuck me.”

  There is no hesitation now. Melanie pulls down the zip of Katherine’s jeans and snaps open the button. Wriggling them off her hips, she tugs them down until her boots stop them from going any further. Her knickers are next. Black and lacy. They slide over her thighs as easy as a whisper.

  Melanie sinks to her knees. She winces slightly at the cold, hardness of the floor and wriggles around a bit until she is comfortable. She kisses Katherine’s legs, starting at her knees and working her way up to her inner thighs. Katherine would like to spread her legs wider but her jeans are caught at the top of her boots preventing her from moving.

  “Take them off.” She suggests to Melanie. “My boots.”

  Melanie does as she is asked, tugging them from her legs and quickly doing the same with her jeans and panties. Now Katherine is naked from the waist down and she is wet. And throbbing. And wanting.

  “Lick me.” She says and buries her hands in Melanie’s blonde hair.

  “Of course.” Melanie says and runs her tongue through Katherine’s fluff. Like everything else about her, it is neatly trimmed. She used to shave it almost to extinction, but Hannah never liked that. ‘It’s there for a reason’, she’d say, ‘and it’s so feminine. You should let it grow a little. I’d love that.’ So Katherine had let it grow. A little garden for Hannah to plant her seeds of love.

  Melanie is teasing her. Her mouth planting feather light kisses on her thighs, her fluff, the very tip of the opening to her pussy. Katherine is loving it and hating it all at the same time. The teasing is making her plump and moist and incredibly turned on, and she wants to come. Hard and fast. The kind of thumping, great orgasm Angela was unable to elicit and which, in the end, she had to provide herself, but all she is getting is this infernal teasing..

  “Do it.” She says with some irritation. “I’m bloody wet enough.”

  Melanie parts her pussy with her fingers, pleased to find Katherine’s lips are swollen. Her labia have turned dark pink with pleasure and she runs a finger between them, peeling them apart. Her tongue follows. The dainty tip sliding easily into the copious moisture to glide along the slippery channel and lap, until her mouth is full of the salty tang of feminine juices. She then pushes two fingers deep into Katherine’s cunt and holds them there.

  Katherine gasps, then sighs with longing, her pelvis grinding onto Melanie’s hand as Melanie begins to fuck her with slow, even strokes. Her fingers working her cunt with a deliberation Katherine finds intensely arousing.

  Now her tongue is at her clit again and is lingering there, gently pressing against the tiny nub then retreating whilst above her Katherine moans and sighs and feels she might explode if Melanie doesn’t finish her off soon. Desperation forces her to beg Melanie to fuck her harder.

  Melanie screws her fingers into Katherine’s cunt until her body bangs against the cubicle door, but neither of them have any awareness of what is going on outside in the powder room and neither of them care. If someone comes in and hears them fucking, so what? This is a high class establishment. Discreet. They could be going for it hammer and tongs and yelling their heads off and still no one would say a thing. Discretion is everything darling. And who knows when it might be their turn to indulge in a little something?

  Melanie has slipped another finger into Katherine’s vagina and with three shoved up inside her, she is feeling nicely full. Melanie’s tongue is doing wonders too, now drilling itself into her clit and lapping along her slit, immersing Katherine in great waves of pleasure she feels sure will soon have her coming hard enough to shatter glass.

  Melanie moves position. Her other hand has been gripping her backside, holding her tight against her mouth, but now her fingers are groping towards her anus and it is obvious what she intends to do. Katherine, however, is not into anal sex and she tugs Melanie’s hair, her sharp rebuke making it clear that Melanie’s fingers are not welcome everywhere.

  Melanie merely shrugs and moves her fingers away, squeezing Katherine’s buttock in apology and increasing the speed with which she rams her fingers in and out of Katherine’s cunt. She wants her. Needs her to come and for this short space of time, this is her life’s work, to make this tall, impeccably dressed woman come like a fuckin’ train!

  Katherine is getting close. Her legs are trembling and she lets go of Melanie’s hair to splay her fingers against the door in an effort to hold herself steady. Her eyes are closed and she is holding her breath, every ounc
e of concentration centered between her legs as Melanie licks and probes and forces her fingers, sticky with cream, in and out of Katherine’s cunt.

  Katherine is coming. The build up has been good, long and intense, but now there is no holding back and she feels her orgasm start to rush to the surface, strong and fast. Her knees are trembling madly now, her pussy wetter than it has been in ages. Her juices feel like they are everywhere, on Melanie’s face, on her thighs, slipping between Melanie’s fingers and she is so, so turned on.

  Melanie thrusts and suddenly she is coming. Oh, God, she is coming!

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  Oh God..

  Melanie cleans her with wads of toilet roll. There is a lot of moisture.

  Groping for her panties and jeans, Katherine slips them on and listens at the door of the cubicle, only now wondering if anyone has witnessed her tryst in the toilet? Melanie, however, doesn’t seem bothered and she has plonked herself on the loo, happily peeing in full view and hearing of Katherine.

  Katherine pulls a disgusted face. This is a little too much intimacy for her tastes and she leaves as soon as her boots are on.

  Washing her hands at the basin, she straightens her hair and applies lipstick that hasn’t been disturbed.

  Melanie joins her moments after the toilet flushes, and makes a great show of washing her hands and licking her lips. She asks Katherine - Rachel - if everything was to her satisfaction and Katherine, very primly and properly, tells her that it was more than adequate, thank you.

  Melanie smiles. “I’m glad you liked.” She says, “now how about a proper thank you? You’re Katherine Johnson aren’t you? Editor of that magazine?”

  Katherine looks at her coldly. There’s no point in denying it, her face is as familiar as the Queen’s in London. She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and waits for the inevitable blackmail.

  Melanie is drying her hands on a paper towel. “What shall we say?” She says, looking at the ceiling as if mentally calculating. “Five hundred? No, that sounds cheap. I made you come much harder than that. How about a grand? Nice round number?”

  “How about I reach inside your throat and tear your tonsils out?”

  “What?” Melanie is stunned. This is not the reaction she was expecting. Begging; yes, an impassioned plea from Katherine not to tell anyone what they had just done, certainly, but not this. Not Katherine biting back.

  “What’s the matter?” Katherine asks, moving a step closer. “Thought I’d just give in and cough up? God, I’ve eaten better than you for breakfast.”

  Melanie blinks, recovers. Her face is hard. “Yeah?” She says, “well have you thought about the damage I could do to your reputation? What if this got out? Your precious career would go right down the toilet!”

  “Appropriate.” Katherine says, “but I don’t think so. You forget, I’m Katherine Johnson and you, my lovely little, blonde bimbo, are nobody! Who’s going to believe you? It’ll be your word against mine sweetie and I’ve been blackmailed so many times, it’s starting to get boring. Let me tell you, no one and I mean, no one will even be bothered to give you the time of day over this one let alone go to print. So go on, do your worst. I certainly won’t be losing any sleep.”

  Turning, Katherine walks out. Her hands are trembling and she is holding her breath but she doesn’t show it. As she leaves she can feel Melanie’s eyes - if that is her name- boring into her back, but she doesn’t turn around. It is only once the door swishes to a close behind her that she finally exhales and closes her eyes with relief - Christ, that was close - before gliding back to her booth and noticing her Martini has been refreshed.

  She downs it in one and surreptitiously glances around the rest of the bar. It is busy but not too full and no one is paying any attention to her. Still she watches a little longer, knowing full well that if she had heard someone having sex in the powder room, she wouldn’t have been able to resist at least one sneaky glance in their direction.

  Moments later, Melanie passes her booth. She does not look at her but heads straight for a table by the window where a well known soap actor greets her with a cheesy grin and squeezed her arse tightly before all but burying his head in her chest.

  Katherine tuts and almost feels sorry for her, but then closes the emotion off. The little cow tried to blackmail her, she doesn’t deserve her sympathy. In fact, blondie is rather lucky to have come out of it alive, considering what else she has been up to tonight.

  A waiter suddenly appears and replaces her empty glass with a full one. He will keep on doing this until Katherine tells him to stop. It’s what she loves about this place. Maximum service with minimal effort.

  Her Martini tastes stronger this time, but she isn’t bothered by it. One can never have too many Martini’s, she muses, then wonders how many Martini’s, too many is?

  Probably when I start asking myself stupid questions like this, she decides and forces herself to sip at her drink.

  Melanie is chatting to her famous actor. He listens and then his shoulders move up and down in mirth. Melanie, a salacious glint in her eye, stares pointedly at Katherine and puts her arm around his waist. The actor leans into her and then casually turns round to gaze at Katherine. Katherine is sure ‘little Miss. Blackmail’ is trying to muddy the waters and start gossip she hopes will see Katherine flounder like a fish, but Katherine is on par with the Gods in the particular ocean she swims in and instead of turning away or blushing, she waves and mouths a ‘ how are you?’ and is deeply satisfied, although not surprised, when the actor waves back.

  The look on Melanie’s face is, again, priceless. Actor boyfriend knows fashion magazine editor. Who would have thought?

  Katherine sips at her drink. Round two to her.

  She watches the bar, the clientele, the way her Martini is disappearing at an alarming rate and realises she is not in the slightest bit inebriated. She should be feeling tipsy by now. About to start relishing that slow slide into oblivion that will eventually tip her into a dreamless sleep devoid of images of Hannah.

  Except she is still stone cold sober.

  And a murderer.

  The notion slips into her mind and nestles there like a small rodent, snuggled down for the winter.

  She smiles. Not the least bit afraid of either capture or for her immortal soul.

  Instead she feels good. Revitalized. Free at last from the empty, numbing nothingness she has been wallowing in since Hannah died. She feels, and God it’s fucking wonderful!

  Just to feel alive again. Strong again. That moment when Angela’s life finally gave up and left her was.. amazing. She had control again. Purpose. It was like Angela’s life force slipped from her body into her own and made her whole again.

  But you’ve killed someone!

  The voice slips, unbidden, into her head.

  And sitting in her plush booth, Katherine frowns. Yes, she has killed, there’s no denying that, but was it really murder? Let us examine the facts. Angela’s life was so.. lame. So pointless. And what did she have? Really? When you thought about it. A grotty little job and an equally sad little flat to go home to. There was no partner in her life. No happiness. No chance of someone as plain and boring as her ever making a real go of it in the career world. She’d had so very little and therefore, in retrospect, she’d probably done her a favour, because what sort of life would she have had to look forward to otherwise?

  It wasn’t murder really, not when you examined it closely, it was a mercy killing.

  And look at the good it had done her!

  Katherine downs another martini and nibbles at the salted nuts resting in their silver salver. Chewing, she remembers her Blackberry and also the fact she hasn’t checked it since arriving at Angela’s delightful, little flat. Unhurriedly, she locates it in her handbag and switches it on. There are three messages from Alex.
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br />   Concerned.

  Worried.

  Bloody frantic.

  Katherine raises an eyebrow, tuts and touches the screen.

  The speed with which Alex answers suggests its barely had time to ring.

  There is no ‘hello.’ “ Where the hell have you been?” Alex explodes instead, her voice heavy from lack of sleep. “I’ve been going crazy here! Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

  Because I’ve been busy fucking, killing and fucking again.

  “My phone was in my bag.” Katherine tells her coldly. “And may I remind you that you work for me! Not the other way round. I am not at your beck and call.”

  Alex sighs. She knows exactly where Katherine is now. Her tone of voice tells her everything. She is in a bar somewhere, sinking Martinis and pretending that she isn’t still crumbling to dust inside.

  “I apologise.” Alex says calmly, swallowing hard and breathing away her frustration. “I was merely concerned about you. And you do have a very early start in the morning. You haven’t forgotten..”

  Katherine’s fingers are drumming on the table.“ Of course not!” She snaps back. “I have an early flight to Paris. Lunch with Rodney and Rio - ridiculous name - and then back to London for a late dinner with some designer from Coventry. My life is one long whirl of excitement.”

  The sarcasm is not lost on Alex and she sighs again. “Fine. You know what you’re doing, I’m impressed. Now tell me which bar you’re in Katherine. I’m sending the car.”

  Its full dark now, three in the morning, and London is the quietest its likely to get. Few are on the streets now, save the very drunk and the very homeless, their pitiful bodies slumped in doorways and under bridges. Their only hope crammed into a battered cap or plastic pot.

  Upright in the back of her limousine, Katherine barely notices them. They are the flotsam of humanity in her eyes. Forever changing from one pile of rags to another, always there, yet always different, adrift on the tide of human despair.

  Winding down the window, she breaths in a lungful of London’s finest, then slides the glass back into place. Now she breathes the sharp tang of new, clean leather and traces of her own perfume. Bored, she examines her hands. Her gloves, taken off in the bar, are in her handbag and her hands look pale in the moonlight. She clenches her fists then relaxes them, wondering why, after all they have done, they feel no different.