Damp patches of sweat were collecting on the back of Sam’s shirt and the drag of champagne had made him feel heady. Blaming the sudden onset of nausea on a shrimp roll he’d had five minutes earlier, he pulled at his shirt collar as he fled to the bathroom.
He felt a little better in the cool, quiet warren of store cupboards and corridors. Pushing open the bathroom door, he saw a slim blonde in a tiny black Lycra dress bending over the sink, a rolled-up dollar bill in her hand.
‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up a hand. ‘Think I’ve got the wrong room.’
‘No, this is the men’s,’ said the girl, giving him a glassy smile. ‘The queue was too long in the ladies’.’
‘Well, I’ll just wait outside, then,’ began Sam, but the girl stood in his way. ‘Don’t go on my account,’ she said, holding up the note. ‘D’ya want a bump?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Sam.
‘How about we try something else, then?’ she said, running a finger down his chest.
He backed up against the wall of the small enclosed space. ‘No, I just . . . I just wanted to use the, uh . . .’
‘I know what you wanted,’ said the girl, taking Sam’s hand and putting it on her breast. ‘But I’ve got something else for you to try.’ She sank to her knees, expertly unzipping his fly and reaching inside with a firm, determined grip.
‘Hey, no!’ he said. ‘You can’t . . .’
‘Yes I can,’ murmured the girl, sliding back his boxer shorts and taking the tip of his cock into her mouth.
‘Stop it,’ said Sam, slapping his hand against the wall. Despite himself, he was getting erect.
She pulled back a fraction.
‘I didn’t think you’d play hard to get.’
Sam could feel his heart hammering, the blood banging in his ears. What if someone came in? All these influential people, he’d never live it down.
He scrambled away from her, zipping his trousers up, stumbling back to the bathroom door. He tugged at his collar, panting. His head was swimming now.
What was going on? Had he been drugged? His pulse was racing and he felt faint. He had to get away, but how? He was cornered, trapped.
‘NO!’ he yelled, pushing the girl as hard as he could. She toppled backwards, with a baffled look that twisted to anger.
‘Fuck you, you Limey fuck,’ she hissed. ‘My dress. This cost me a thousand goddamn bucks!’
‘Listen, I’ll get it cleaned, I’m sorry . . .’ he spluttered, realising the worst thing he could do was hand her money.
The girl’s spiteful laugh followed him as he bounced off the walls into the corridor.
‘Yeah, you run, you goddamn fruit,’ she yelled. Clawing at his throat, gasping for air, Sam fell into a store cupboard and crumpled to the floor. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and, squinting down, thumbed to Lauren Silver’s number.
‘Sam?’ said Lauren, her voice concerned. ‘What’s up?’
‘Lauren, thank God,’ he gasped. ‘I think I’m having a heart attack.’
‘Shit, where are you?’
‘I’m at the back of the restaurant.’
‘Find a quiet place and stay there, I’m on my way . . .’
He clutched his knees in front of his chest and forced himself to breathe. Closing his eyes, he felt the rise and fall of his chest regulate. He looked at the phone gripped between his fingers, and knew immediately what he had to do. He scrolled to another number, and when Mike McKenzie finally answered, he felt an uplifting sense of relief.
‘Meet me in London,’ he said simply. ‘I’m coming home.’
25