Buy Me, Sir

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Seriously, Dean, I’m fine.”

“For now,” he says.

I feel better for meeting Claude, as weird as that sounds. He didn’t seem to think I’d be walking into a snuff movie, and if that’s really what he has planned for me then he’s a damn good liar.

Before I left he presented me with a ream of paperwork that made the NDA I signed before cleaning Mr Henley’s house look like a love note. Why would he bother if I wasn’t going to make it out of there?

I glanced over it at best, then signed Amy’s name at the bottom. What does it really matter what it said? It’ll either be Mr Henley that wins me or it won’t. An epic win or an epic lose.

At least the twenty grand in Joe’s trust fund will go some way to softening the blow.

That’s how much I’m getting. Twenty grand for one night.

Claude asked me what my expectations were, said he could offer me a figure right there and then if I didn’t want to risk losing out at auction.

I accepted his first suggestion, before he changed his mind. I’ve never seen anything like twenty grand, I’ve no idea what that kind of cash would even look like.

But I’ll find out.

He says the client will pay me in the hotel room, assures me they will be good for it.

There are rules, of course.

I’m not to count it until I’ve left. I’m not to talk about money. I’m not to swap any personal details with the client whatsoever.

When the successful bid has been accepted I’ll be notified of the appointment. I’ll be sent the venue details, and I’ll be booked into a hotel room for the evening.

My buyer will decide how they want me dressed and an outfit will be waiting for me in the hotel room wardrobe.

I’m to be shaved as per the client’s preference. I’m to wear makeup in line with the client’s preference.

I’m to do everything in line with the client’s preference.

In the interim I’ll have to undergo a medical at a private Harley Street clinic, and although it usually takes a few months for a satisfactory screening, Claude says mine will be cleared in days, what with me being a virgin and all. My bloods should be whistle clean, he said.

Dean listens as I tell him all this, shaking his head all the while.

The only details I leave out are the buyer options Claude wanted me to agree to.

A boob job and a labiaplasty should the client require it, at their expense. Apparently there will be a bonus expenses payment for that. A bonus payment should I leave the appointment with any marks which last longer than a fortnight, too.

I said I’ll have to get back to him on the whole boob-labia stuff. I’m really not sure I want to undergo surgery for this craziness. I mean there’s Joe to consider… and work… my actual work…

What if it isn’t Mr Henley who wins the auction, and I have to leave my job for the sake of surgery that some other man thinks I need. I mean there’s the money… but… I can’t bear the thought of walking away from Mr Henley’s house…

I daren’t even think about that, so I don’t, just assure Dean again that this is all going to be fine and I’m cool with everything, really cool with everything.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he snaps. “This is all fucking crazy.”

I can’t really argue with that, so I don’t.

My auction will happen in just under a week, all being well. A Friday evening to leave the weekend clear. That’s standard practice, Claude says.

Until then I’ll wait.

Wait and dream.Chapter SixteenAlexanderIt’s great to see my boys on Sunday afternoon. They’re wearing the new shirts I sent them, full of smiles at the prospect we can share this new football craze of theirs.

I play along, pretending to the best of my abilities that I’m as excited as they are by the upcoming fixtures, and it leaves me with no uncertainty that they’re changing. Rugby is old news, and no matter how much I try to fight it, it’s only a matter of time before I become old news too.

Football, and Hampshire, their cool older step-brother and new younger sibling on the way.

And Terry. Cool dad Terry.

This is their life now, and I’m… well, I’m still the same old workaholic they knew in London.

I’m pained as I make the drive back to the city, as though the final shreds of my soul are bleeding out through the cracks. It’s been a long time coming.

My fingers feel dirty as they grip the steering wheel. The kind of grime no antibacterial gel can scrub away.

I’ve spent my entire adult life pulling the strings of those around me, as my father did. Still does.

Clients, judges, juries, boys’ club fraternity members. The women I pay to serve me. The women I don’t.