Carousel Maidenbow - Second diary entry Sunday 6th January 2013
9.30am - Coffee shop on St James St, Central Brighton
Weight 8 stone 1
Alcohol units 0
Coffees 3
Orgasms 1 (not connected to Marianne) 0
Carbs 15
Regrets connected to boss Marianne 1
I’d just ordered a double espresso when my phone rang. Expecting it to be Marianne, but seeing that it was a video call from Annabelle, I braced myself.
“Boss” we faked a smile
She was busy talking to someone off camera and ignored me. A shrill discussion about how to clean human shit from ceiling plaster echoed from the speaker on my phone. Grimaces from the other customers in the crowded coffee shop making me wish I’d brought headphones.
Finally she turned “Damn fine performance at the Hargreaves Thursday, think you almost dislocated Very Masterson’s clit,”
I made a ‘tipping cap’ gesture
“You definitely grabbed the host’s interest too and not least because they’ll need a new sofa”
Taking our espresso, we thanked the unimpressed staff and moved to leave
“Where the hell are you?” she spat, indicating the noise
“Oh sorry, just grabbing a coffee.”
“Something came up this morning. Beths stuck in London. The trains are fucked. She had her regular at twelve at Hotel du Vin.” then not missing a beat said, “To top that, client called to say she can’t do twelve now because of a charity gig tonight. One legged cats or some shit. So I’m thinking a fly-buy at the Ivy at 10.30. You up for it?”
“You want me to fuck her in the Ivy?” I needed clarification
“Well, not on the table, Carousel, in the bloody toilets.” She turned to instruct someone to ‘perhaps use their inside voice.’ Then to me, she barked, “Can I rely on you, Caris?”
My boss loved throwing out loaded phrases like can I, rely on, count on and depend on you. Any refusal meaning you couldn’t be trusted even to make toast in the future.
“Has she got any allergies? Or kinks?”
Annabelle shook her head. “Aside from fucking women in toilets?” She shrugged. “Don’t eat peanuts or shellfish. How the hell should I know?”
Due diligence was not Anna’s strong suit
“How will she recognise me?”
“She won’t. She wants it anonymous, so take your mask and for fuck’s sake, don’t put it on until you're away from customers. Lily wore hers in the Dome, dressed in full fur. Staff thought it a PETA protest. I’ll tell Francesca to head to the ladies at 10.28am sharp, so watch out for her.”
“How will I recognise her?”
“Red Louboutins, this season,” then seeing my clueless expression, she sighed, “Here, I’m sending you a photo.”
I glanced at the image as it pinged up. Mrs Leeds in a dark bikini by a pool in some exotic country ‘Ding dong’, I thought.
“We modelled together in the 90s. She’s a bit younger than me.”
‘A bit?’ I thought
Annabelle continued “She’s got a few more lines now and her chin could do with work, but she’s fared better than most,” then added “Wear that Ted Baker floral suit you wore to The Preston-Scotts,” then catching my look said “It’ll go well with those Jimmy Choo’s,”
We gulped the espresso, giving a short nod. “Righto.”
Walking into the restaurant, I looked around for the client. I caught sight of the beguiling Mrs Francesca Leeds, sitting at the rear of the room on the leather banquette. She was silhouetted against an arched gold window mirror, her quiet dignity framed between an obscenely tall palm, and a good looking grey haired man.
Picking at a light breakfast, she sipped on a mimosa looking miserable. The man to her right was reading his newspaper over a thick pair of Tom Ford glasses.
I headed to the gigantic central onyx bar, instructing the barman that I was meeting a friend and could he fetch me a glass of water.
At exactly 10.28am the client got up, spoke a few words to the man, who I guessed was her partner, and walked off towards the bathrooms. I thanked the bar man and followed her, sucking on a peppermint.
The washroom was encircled by mirrors, a padded blush coloured seat in the centre. I watched her briefly check her reflection and enter the last cubicle. Then crossing the space, opened my purse and took out a honey flavoured lip stain.
A squat woman in a bat wing muumuu was checking her hair, and eyed me with distaste. Waiting until she left, I slipped on the mask. Then, giving three little squirts of Dior behind each ear and into my cleavage, inched open the cubicle.
I found myself looking down at the tear-stained face of Mrs Leeds and pulled the door closed.
“Hello Francesca, I’m Carousel.”
She sighed “He doesn’t see me,” then sobbed “He just looks at his damn paper,”
Tearing off a sheet of toilet roll, I handed it to her. She took it, thanking me. Removing my jacket, I hung it up and unbuttoning the shirt cuffs. Began turning up the sleeves.
“You must find me pathetic,” she stared at her Louboutins “I mean look at me, it’s not even lunch time and I’m in a lavatory with a prostitute,” then with a pause said “I apologise, is prostitute offensive?”
“Not at all. I’m a prostitute and this is a toilet, albeit a nice one,” I hunkered down, settling my hands on the soft fabric of her dress. “You are strikingly beautiful. He’s a fool,”
She sighed and nodded. “I try so hard.. but women become invisible with age” Her lip quivering. “He used to be obsessed with me” We dabbed at her face with another square of tissue.
“I can see why,” and brushing blonde hair from her face, smiled. Francesca’s eyes glistened.
We decided to remove the mask. Her eyes studied our face, seeing the fine lines that hinted at our age “You're very different to Beth”. She gave a quiet laugh. She obviously had a deep fondness for my co-worker, and I quite liked that.
“I hope I’m not a disappointment,” we offered and slipped our fingers through hers. She looked at the entwined hands, with an almost childlike fascination.
She touched my face and smiled. “You could never be a disappointment,” and leaning in, she met my lips. I kissed her back, deeply, her tongue searched the recesses of our mouth. Tasting the favours of coffee, breakfast citrus and something deeper, an undertone that was peppery, made me think of Marianne.
We both rose in unison, me stroking back her hair and kissing her slender neck. I explored the olfactory blend of exotic body oils on her skin. Her scent was intoxicating.
“Let me fuck you!” I growled into her ear and suddenly felt the power dynamic shift. Her lips curled, and she said “I want you to fuck me Carousel” She whispered my name again, letting it roll around her mouth and I knew it excited her. My manner might appear refined, but I had a whore’s name. She pulled at the fabric of my shirt, her hands squeezing my breasts, inviting me in, breath catching in her throat.
Then, guiding myself behind her, lips grazing her neck, I nipped at the fleshy lobe of her ear. Nudging her legs apart, I told her I was going to make her forget her disappointing morning. She gave a contented sigh, my name again playing on her smiling lips.
I slid my hands under the Missoni dress and removed it over her head, not wishing for it to be ruined. The idea of screwing such an exquisite woman in a toilet cubicle seemed immoral, but as my fingers pushed into her warm, wet cunt, all that changed.
Pushing up her bra, I released her ample breasts. The softness of them against my arm as I held her felt delicious. She moaned as I played with her nipples, pinching them. I grinned as they blossomed and harden to tiny rocks between my wetted finger tips. I kissed her strong shoulders and squeezed the skin of her long, slender back.
“More please,” she begged and sliding my hand in between her legs, I spread her open, thumb rubbing at her clit, and forced my hand into her. My fingers thrusting deeper and deeper as she grew wetter, the moisture on the inside of her legs prickling in the room’s cold. Feeling her breathing grow harsh, we I found our rhythm. Then whispering that I wanted her to touch herself, guided her own hand down over ours and pushed it inside her.
“Oh god, I’m coming” she panted as we rubbed her wedding ring hard against her clit, ‘she’d smell that later surrounded by her rich friends and remember me’. Her cunt twitched and pulsed under my hand.
Her graceful fist forced between perfect teeth to stifle a scream, she shook on her overpriced heels. I timed it perfectly. Feeling the violent throb, I sucked my little finger and dug it into her arse. She came again, with a guttural, animalistic moan, beautiful long legs buckling.
I bore her up. Her head lolling on my shoulder in the afterglow. She was murmuring about having to attend another charity dinner with people she hated, and I kissed her forehead. Women like Francesca Leeds paid for the opportunity to be this vulnerable with someone, especially someone like me who didn’t matter. This part of the interaction was as important as the act itself.
Knowing that she had been absent from her table for approximately 15mins. I helped get her clean before attending to my hands and aided her back into her dress.
She smiled as I pulled on my jacket and passed me £800, an extra £300 folded and slotted into my cleavage, and with a faint kiss to my cheek and a “Thank you, Carousel. We’ll definitely meet again”.
I said I’d like that and wished her good luck at the charity party. Listening to her heels echoing on the tiles, now with a slight jaunt to her step, I smiled, thinking, ‘Employee of the month here I cum.’
Then, squatting for a pee that took so long I hoped I wasn’t developing a UTI, I attended to my smudged lipstick and messed hair and left. Walking out, we swapped a glance with the client, who had fallen into conversation with her husband. She turned her face away. “Ghosted” I thought.
On leaving the Lanes, it surprised me to see a video call coming through from Marianne. I hit accept and said “You checking up on the fly-buy?” Neglecting to add, ‘or maybe that your wife knows you got me those bloody shoes?’
She nodded. “Yeah, sorry about the short notice. Beth’s still stuck in Victoria. "
“Well mission accomplished, Carousel one, Mrs Leeds husband nil,” shading the sun from my eyes continued, “Hey, you ever think how severely deranged our job is?” I popped peppermint into my mouth.
“Constantly,” then in the next breath, “Oh, and keep the whole fee on this one. Call it a retention bonus. Maybe buy something nice to wear.”
She meant lingerie for the upcoming Mitchel Finch event. I’d put money on it.
“Something for Mitchell’s party next month, perhaps?”
I hid a smile, giving a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see”
There was a silence and then she said, “Anna noticed the shoes.”
I attempted to play it down. “Yes I know. Just get her a new scarf. If we’re lucky, she’d get caught in a train door,”
She smirked
“You know I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” I complained. “Bad form to eat Venezuelan Pancakes in front of the husband,”
“She took her fucking husband?”
Marianne rarely swore, and it sounded unnatural “Well, his body was present, not sure he was,” then included “She’s an, quite an exciting woman. Have you met her?”
After a short recess, she mumbled, “No I haven’t” and then “She’s exciting? What did she made you cum or something?” She’d never asked me this question. She was smiling, but it was cold and the inquiry felt loaded.
“Erm. No, no she didn’t” I suddenly felt put on the spot.
“So in what way was she exciting then?” Again she was smiling but beneath the friendly exterior, it felt challenging.
I bit my lip, feeling horribly uncomfortable and then decided to deflect with humour and said “Well she didn’t make a fuss about a finger up her bum”
She gave a gasping laugh that seemed to dissolve the tension and shyly covered her mouth. Loving this demure display, I continued, “Reckon it transported her back to the Sherborne School for Girls.”
Marianne was trying to stop herself laughing, delicate lines playing at the corners of her eyes and mouth “You didn’t?”, then plainly wanting to play along added “You realise she’s on the board of trustees for the Association of Moral Aptitude or something?”
“Well she did have lovely manners,”
Composing herself, Marianne said “Sorry I upset you the other night Caris, it wasn't intentional,”
I had reached the Brighton Dome and was just about to enter the gardens when a tall man walking three Italian greyhounds dressed in sequin bodysuits exited. “I overreacted,” I offered her, allowing the little group to pass. Then throwing her a warm smile asked, “Friends?”
She nodded. “Will you call into the club when you get a moment?” there was a pause, where I imagined she might say ‘I love you’ but she didn’t.
Strolling through the crowds, I headed for the pier, thinking that sea air might clear my head.
The scent of the Mrs Leeds on my hands and in my hair was making me melancholy for past lovers. Had Marianne’s question been born out of jealously? Or merely interest? I wondered.
A homeless guy wearing a pair of lopsided pink rabbit ears told me I looked like a twat in my flowery suit, and I thanked him, sometimes a dose of reality from one’s peers was needed to straighten you out.
Reading this for the first time. I really enjoyed it.
how the other half live