Carousel Maidenbow - Third diary entry Friday 11th January 2013
7.30pm Annabelles bar, ground floor lounge, Central Brighton
Weight 8 stone 1
Alcohol units 30
Orgasms 2
Coffee 5
Carbs 19 (not inc alcohol)
Steps 1678 (watch obviously on the blink)
Regrets connected to boss Marianne 5
While sat at the bar, in my usual seat, legs crossed in the usual way, drinking the same cocktail I’ve drunk for the past two and a half decades. I thought “My life truly sucks”
The French Cosmopolitan cradled in our palm at least brought an ounce of joy. We listed off the ingredients as a mantra to soothe our anxiety. Cranberry juice, citrus vodka, Grand Marnier, squeeze of lime, dash of grenadine.
The bar man Sami, an Algerian guy who’d been at the club now for over a month, stood cleaning a glass to my right. He’d made an impression on me because of his terrible use of idioms. The phrases “you learn or die nasty” (live and learn) “The devil whispers words” (Speak of the devil) and my personal favourite “She ripped free my anus” (meaning our boss had torn him a new one).
He slid a pot of roasted almonds in front of me and I popped one into my mouth after every few sips. Sami kept a meagre bowl of them in the fridge, knowing my proclivity for low carb. It even had a label on it. It read ‘Caris’, misspelled as ‘Carisis nuts’ (Making it more of a statement)
Marianne had texted that she needed a favour. This typically involved me being head first in an investment banker’s crotch. So here I was, waiting and stressing.
A noise made me turn. The drama infused eyes of Christopher Chicken wild and determined. Yes we did say - Chicken. The surname dates back to the 1800s, apparently. Chicken is PA to Annabelle King, making him the most important person in any room, except for Marianne.
“Mrs K’s a cunt tonight” he wheezed and nodded to Sami, who immediately launched into preparing the boss’s cocktail. He turned to me, his thin lips pursed. “You look super stressed” he picked up an almond, studied it. “Are still menstruating at your age?”
“Yeah, but it’s really itchy. Can you check it for me?” I spread my legs as if to show him, giggling at he mocked retching. “Marianne messaged saying she needs a favour, so here I am . Her a faithful fucking dog,” chewing a nut I asked. “Have you heard anything?”
Chicken rested a comforting head against me as I sipped my drink, then said “Oh, there’s that event in the Rose Room, Berlin theme. A load of DJ equipment arrived earlier, could be that?.”
“Highfliers?” I asked
“Germans, very ritzy. A sculptor Fustenburger and a Bavarian horse breeder or some such pomp,” he yawned, stealing another nut. “Oh, and countess Aulendof and her dog. Anna hates the Aulendofs, some incident with a plastic turtle. Anyhow, she’s leaving Marianne to organise it. It’s been planned for months”
I’d have preferred him to elaborate, especially on the turtle, but in that second Sami tapped the countertop and gave a nod toward the stairs “Up your faces (Heads up) it’s the Annas” At this and not wanting to turn I snapped open a makeup mirror and tilted it until I could see them both.
The Anna’s, Statuesque as ever, descended from the top floor bar. Annabelle graced the lit staircase, stride never faltering, chin up, green eyes surveying her kingdom. She wore a white coat that trailed after her, a shimmering gown beneath, muscular legs exposed through a high slit.
Behind her, blonde hair masking her features, was the demure figure of Marianne. She held a slim vape to her lips and looked incredible in a blue velvet jacket and matching slacks. From this distance, I could still see the movement under her shirt (Marianne rarely wore a bra).
Folding the mirror, I turned back to Chicken studying his outfit. His slender figure sealed into a silvery bodysuit, fake fur adorning his shoulders. A shock of black hair shaved and swept up rockabilly style, and a pair of horn-rimmed Lennon spectacles perched on his prominent nose.
Since transitioning three years ago, he’d become quite the Lothario. Camper than Liberace in a fire island tribute of Cabaret, he was a fag hags wet dream, because Chicken liked girls.
“Chick. Liquor!” came the low rumbling voice of Annabelle and in an instant he had snatched up the glass of Old fashioned and was gone. Only the delicate whiff of amyl nitrite, hinting at his ever being there.
Marianne’s approach was more gentle, but no less cold. She poured herself onto the stool next to mine and huffed a drink order at Sami. I breathed in her scent, admiring taking her sharp profile. A dab of iris butter behind each ear filling the space between us with a powdery aroma, buttery, like soft suede.
She caught me looking. “You look stunning,” I told her.
“Thank you. I feel like a wreck” and reaching for an almond, bit into it and turned away.
Annabelle announced that she was going to dinner and leaving them in her wife’s capable hands. Then, grabbing Marianne’s chin, she roughly kissed her.
“Try a mint,” Marianne snarled, pushing her off and wiping at her mouth.
Annabelle sipped her Bourbon, “Jealously is ugly on someone of your age, my darling” and, with a last glance at me, offered “Carousel nice jeans” and left.
The silence after was uncomfortable. I looked at the almonds in the bowl, the sticker reading “Carisis nuts”. The paper had come off and now sat moist and bereft on the counter. ‘We could relate’.
Marianne was sipping her Aperol and looked shaky. I wanted to cheer her up, and then a random fact I’d seen on YouTube came into my head, so I told her. “Did you know that female angler fish absorb their partners?”
A smile played at the corner of her mouth and she side glanced at me, a playful frown on her face. “Is that right?”
I continued, “All that’s left is this pair of testicles sticking out from their scales. Like an odd little homage to their love” I slid an almond into my mouth and chewed it, grinning, knowing that pieces of nut now sat in the gaps of my teeth.
She laughed, as always, trying not to expose what she considered her overly large canines. “Been in this outfit all day” Then said, “Keep me company while I change”
I nodded ‘it wasn’t really a question’ and, glancing up, found Sami holding two fresh drinks. I thanked him and followed her towards the exit. As she weaved through the sea of club goers, eyes gloried in her presence and we wondered if she ever tired the adoration. She held open the exit door for me and we both passed into the echoing escape of the corridor. Once out of public view, she relaxed, her manner becoming softer.
“You nervous about tonight?”
Eyebrow raised, I asked, “Should I be?”
She nudged me reassuringly with her elbow and smirked. “Don’t be worried, silly,” her expression warm.
Swiping the office keycard, she threw her jacket on the seat. I let the door close behind me, watching as she crossed the office, undressing as she walked.
“I reckon you’ll enjoy tonight, very avant garde” She kicked off her heels, trousers unbuttoned, fell. Turning, dressed only in an open shirt and dark stockings, she urged, “Why does she do that, Anna? I mean,” she sighed, “Why does she taunt me?” She leant back on her desk.
‘I could ask you the same question,’ we mused. Smoothed my hand over the delicate velvet collar of Marianne’s discarded jacket, we hung it neatly on the wall hook.
“Maybe she acts out so you notice her, clumsily and cruel but effective,” this last part was to push a point, that she missed or pretended to.
She nodded. “She’s been with Beth. I can taste it” She frowned, not unlike a child over a complex puzzle. She was toying with the buttons on her blouse. “She fucks other woman, so I notice her?”
“It’s worked, hasn’t it?” I offered.
She made a ‘Pahhh”, sound and, taking off her shirt, walked to the big closet and commenced to sort through her clothes.
Marianne and I played this game over and over and sometimes, today, for example; I enjoyed it. This intimacy at arm’s length was my addiction. I watched her as she moved, the shadows falling over her body as she downed the alcohol and poured another. The cool air making her skin pimple and nipples harden. I loved how the muscles of her legs flexed, buttocks jiggling. She caught me watching and tried to hide a smile. I guessed she needed it, too. This dance we did, this odd relationship masked as friendship.
Marianne and I had known each other over two decades and as far as we were aware, she had remained faithful to Annabelle. In our youth we’d eyed each other hungrily, even indulged in a little heavy petting, and I’d always imagined we’d end up together. But instead she’d married Anna and rose up the social ranks and my life, in contrast, had remained the same.
She picked up a slender shirt from a hanger and waited for my agreement, pulling on cream coloured silk slacks. I had to admit I was relieved when she buttoned up her shirt.
“Tonight’s in The Rose Room’s Dungeon,” she admitted as we were tying her tie into an oxford knot.
“The Dungeon?”, we raised an eyebrow, helping her shrug on her jacket. “You’re joking, right?”
“Well, Anna calls it that. It’s not that hardcore,” she laughed, seeing my growing horror. “You should see your face. “
Marianne liked to down play the fetishisation of my body.
“I’m not into S&M Marianne,”. Although to be fair, I’d never tried it. Then, taking my drink from the desk, I gulped it. “What about Claudette? She had that goth phase?”
“Claude’s working it,” she stated, and slipped on her heels.
I sighed, hands in my jean pockets and responded with, “Fine” I mean, it’s not like I had anything better to do this evening.
“You got on what you’re wearing?”
I nodded. I hadn’t known what to prepare, so had played it safe and worn gold lace, knowing that Marianne preferred it. She gave a hand gesture that declared, ‘Well, let’s see it’
I undressed quickly, pulling off jeans and shirt, and placing them on the desk next to her. I looked good in a tight gold basque, dark underwear and suspenders and seamed holdups, all ending in a pair of nose bleed high stilettos. We did an awkward turn on the spot, offering a less than sexy “Tadaaah” employing jazz hands.
She frowned, doing a ‘spin around again’ gesture with her finger.
We showing her our rear again, clenching glutes to make our arse sit nicely pert. “Concealed boning something you’re into?” We grinned.
“Stop,” she giggled, biting her lip and contemplating our outfit. Raising an index finger she added, “May I recommend one thing” crossing to the wardrobe, she took out a box, and told us to go to the mirror.
I stood there awkwardly, arms crossed. At least our tits looked amazing, a dab of gold bronzer in between our cleavage, making my girls pop. We blinked from behind our red messy hairstyle that swept each side of our oval face. ‘Were we attractive?” Imperfect teeth nipping at our full lips with sighed.
Marianne came up behind, her long hands draping a black sparkling silk scarf around our neck. The fabric a contrast to her warm breath. She knotted and settled it on our cleavage. “Do you love it?” We looked down at it, the scent of her on the silk quickened our pulse.
Touching the tiny inlaid diamonds we said. “It’s beautiful”
She settled her cheek against ours and breathed into our ear “So are you”. She squeezed our shoulders and must have felt me shudder.
I turned my head slightly to her, our lips almost touching. Her eyes dropped to my mouth, her tongue visible. ‘Kiss her!’, my mind screamed.
A sharp knock came from the door and she bid the visitor enter. Van cast an appreciative glance our way. Marianne clicked her fingers to get Vans focus.
“Sorry boss, more guests are here. You want me to take them. Are you on your way?”
Marianne answered yes, and would be right there “Oh Van, is the DJ setup?”
“Yep. There’s a real atmosphere, vodkas flowing. Beth and Violet are in position,” she smiled and left, giving me a ‘looking hot Caris’ grin.
I moved to get my jacket and turned at the click of fingers. Marianne was pointing to a floor length leather coat.
“Did you click at me?” I snapped.
“Sorry,” she answered, the facade dropping as she made to leave. She would meet me downstairs, there was no rush.
I turned away, pulling on the coat and checking my reflection. Opening my purse, I applied a deep red stain to each lip. Removing a few honey capsules we used in intimate areas, I marched out. “Tonight I’d show Marianne King what she was missing.”
Van smiled, opening the Rose Room’s outer door. “Love this look, you should definitely wear that to Lynnes birthday party”
I pulled a face. “I don’t imagine your girlfriends parents would be too happy” then grinned as she gave us a little fist bump.
She helped me off with my coat. “Theres drinks inside and snacks,” she stated, chewing a mouthful of whatever she’d helped herself to and pointed to the Rose Room door.
“Marianne said to go in!” And then as we neared the door said “hey, did I interrupt something” she pointed up “In the office before?”
I shook my head “No, why?”
She shrugged “Dunno there was just a tension, I was worried I had”
“No we were just talking” and I took out three honey capsules and, sliding my fingers into my underwear, pushed them inside.
Van chuckled. “Always be prepared” giving a salute.
“Girl scouts motto” And feeling the sweat beading our brow, I slipped on the mask and gripped the doors handle. The capsules dissolving as we walked.
Our thoughts of seducing Marianne extinguished as we entered the Rose Room. The atmosphere was potent. Pink strobes carved through the air above the heads of the gathered guests, giving it a club vibe. They called it the Rose Room, on account of the floor to ceiling floral murals. A few black velvet chaise scattered the space. It was clutter free, so that Annabelle could fit as many horny old bitches in it as possible.
“Head count - Bank account Caris,” she’d often stated
Subversive murals covered the walls, many from the Berlin Wall. Banksy’s flower thrower hung behind the DJ booth. The chubby DJ, her gold mohawk slicing the air, was playing German 80s Pop, with large breasts poking out of two holes in her rubber suit. Major Tom by Peter Schilling booming from the speakers.
We skirted a group of older women in black rubber wearing hungry expressions. They were helping themselves to minuscule artisan snacks and followed my progress with interest. Beth snarled as she passed, lead on a leash by a woman in a catsuit and bright red heels. Two woman in leather pony play outfits trotted passed us, giving little whinny’s.
“Can I get a French Cosmo please?” ‘God I needed a drink’
The young goth girl shook her head. Pointing to the bottles of Jäegermeister.
‘So it was a whole theme. how dull’. We pointed to the nearest bottle, grimacing as it burned our throat.
“What are you dressed as?” she snapped
“Marie Antoinette,” we replied and turning, headed for a large mural. It was of the famous kiss between Soviet President Leonid Brezhnev and German leader Erich Honecker - Entitled “Socialist Fraternal Kiss. The spray painted word ‘Faggots’ across it.
“That’s my favourite too” Marianne handed over a cocktail glass.
“Where did you get this?”, meaning the drink. She pointed to another bar.
She leant in to shout over the music, “So what your opinion?”
I gulped a mouthful of soothing cranberry and, giving the thumbs up, shouted “Alles klar” over the music. She laughed, and, knowing she needed more reassurance, added, “Don’t worry, it all looks amazing. I especially love the contrast between socialism and capitalism in this fucking room. “
Marianne suddenly looked worried “Oh god, is it offensive?”.
We explained that not to downplay her creative expression, but that the guests probably regarded the room’s decoration much like they did their husbands.
“What’s that?” Marianne frowned
“Irrelevant but necessary. Don’t worry, we’re just deeply Nihilistic. You’ve excelled yourself, Marianne.”
She relaxed and said thank you.
“We’re over dressed” she admitted, and we both glanced over the gathering of bare-breasted guests.
We indicated her shirt. “Undo your tie, and a few more buttons and you’ll fit right in,”. I pointed to the DJ added, “I’m wearing that next time.”
Her grin grew, and taking our empty glass, bade us follow her.
Marianne ordered more drinks, and settling her elbows behind her on the bar, sighed. She occasionally gave off a natural butch vibe that we wished she’d display more of.
“So where’s this Countess, Chicken mentioned?”
Marianne scrutinised the crowd and said, “Over there talking to Violet. “
Violet was over near an exit door. The Countess Aulendof was holding a long vape cigarette. Dressed in a tailored suit, white shirt unbuttoned, she ran her aged palms on Violet’s breasts and smiled. A Chihuahua squirming in her grip and baring its tiny teeth at anyone who walked past.
I caught Marianne’s eyes sweeping over my body and leant closer to her, allowing myself to fantasise that she had secretly hired me for the night. And that this was some elaborate ruse. The idea of her handcuffing me to a wall, made our knickers moist. That pipe-dream died with the arrival of the big German.
“Hallo,” came a low, heavily accented voice, and I turned to find an extremely tall raven-haired woman greeting Marianne. She took my hand limply. “Das ist also Karussell” I wasn’t sure if I should curtsy so just shouted “Hello there!” in English she said, “Excellent suggestion, Marianne, can’t believe iv’e had to wait a month to meet her” a smile gracing her strong features.
Marianne saw the change in our demeanour. “This had not been last minute, this had been organised well in advance and she’d left left it to the last minute incase of any resistance”. Obviously wanting to avoid a disagreement, she moved to engage the big German in conversation.
On any other day Marianne speaking another language would have been pantie wetting, but the client’s amused expression as she pointed at me, lessened the appeal. I could make out the odd word over the music, “Lustiges Madchen” and “Zu ficken” the last one, self explanatory. Marianne glanced over laughing and openly sharing a joke at my expense. The German left.
Marianne grabbed her drink, her hand settling near my arse “Not as bad as …” the rest of her words drowned by the booming baseline, but it was a pathetic attempt to placate me.
“Oh, do fuck off Marianne!,” we spat just as the DJ ended the track and the space fell silent for a moment. A few women at the bar giggled, and we swallowed hard, mumbling unintelligible words into our glass.
Professional as ever and eyes wide, Marianne simply nodded, and waked off.
“What does she fucking expect?” Although we really wished we hadn’t screamed it in her face.
A girl appeared at our shoulder, the slight figure of Claudette. She was on edge and twirling her hair around her finger.
“Hey Caris”. We said hi. She was dressed in a pink corset, black fishnets and cat ears. “I feel like an idiot,” she announced.
“I think that’s the general idea.”
Beth and Violet were a few feet away, both in a floor length leather dresses, diamond masks replaced by a full black gauze. Their clients were off to one side talking and the girls were fussing over the dog.
“Someone got the memo,” I offered
Claude nodded “Evidently”
Marianne approached Beth and Violet and after a brief conversation, they all moved off towards the far door. She threw me a fleeting look and walked over, to Claude she said “Ok girls, you’re up”
Blowing out our cheeks, I swallowed my drink and made my way to the door. Popping two honey capsules against our back molars as we walked in.
Next part … The Dungeon