Chapter 5
Sheila spent the day going from one antique shop to another, carefully making purchases for the house she and Glen would buy. At each one, she made arrangements to have her purchases shipped home.
She went back to her hotel, bathed and went to the hotel dining room for dinner. The food was as bad as Janine said. She probably would have done better in one of the American fast food joints that had sprung up all over the city like bad mushrooms.
She left her plate halffull, and went into the bar for a nightcap. Moments after she sat down at a secluded table in the corner, she spotted a man she had seen several times during the day. He had been wearing a baggy brown tweed suit. Now, he was wearing a tux. Black dinner jacket, not white, even though it was summer. So typically English. Before she could look away, he caught her eye and smiled.
She started to ignore him, then changed her mind. He looked to be in his mid-forties, and very refined. Talking to him wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, he might offer to show her around the city. She hated to go sightseeing in a group. They always stayed too long at the things that didn't interest her, and not long enough at the things that did.
He picked up his drink and strode confidently to her table. "Hello, my name is Nigel. May I sit?" He pulled out a chair and sat down without waiting for her to reply. "You're American, aren't you? I saw you several times today."
"Yes, I'm American. My name is Sheila. Have you been following me?"
"That's a capital idea," he replied. "Actually, it was all quite by accident. I collect antiques. You have good taste. You chose some very good items, and didn't pay too much. Are you also a collector?"
"No. I'm newly married, and I was buying to furnish a new home."
He threw a nervous glance over his shoulder. "Is your husband with you?"
"You can relax," she laughed. "I'm alone. My husband is an airline pilot. He flies the Denver to Rio route."
"And he let you come alone? He is either very foolish or very trusting to let such a beautiful woman out of his sight. Never know when you'll meet someone such a I who might take advantage of you."
"He trusts me not to do anything that will embarrass him," Sheila replied with a faint smile. "I'm a flight attendant with the airline he flies for. I'm retiring at the end of the month. He arranged for me to take a trip around the world as my farewell. Would you really try to take advantage of me?"
"Of course. I cannot resist beautiful women. I am also a gentleman. If you wish, I will leave."
"Well, you haven't done anything yet," she laughed. "I didn't ignore you when you smiled because I thought you might volunteer to show me around. I hate groups, and I might wander into an undesirable part of the city on my own."
"Are American women as adventurous as I've heard?"
"I don't know what you've heard, and I can't speak for other American women. As for myself, I sometimes like to do things that would scare the hell out of other women."
Nigel lifted one eyebrow and studied Sheila for a moment. "I was on my way to a very special club. Perhaps you would like to accompany me."
She leaned back in her chair and studied him. "Is this special club some bizarre place you take unsuspecting women and abuse them? If so, forget it. That scares the hell out of me."
"I assure you it isn't," he replied. "If you do not like it, I will send you home in my car."
"Which means you have a chauffeur," she mused. "You must be loaded."
"I inherited a considerable estate," he said. "As you Americans say, old money."
"Well, a suave English playboy. I've heard about men like you." She finished her drink and set her glass down carefully. "Well, why not? You only live once, right?"
"James Bond revisited," he quipped drolly. "We English will never live him down."
"We all have our cross to bear. Give me a half-hour to change into something appropriate to accompany a suave Englishman in a tux."
"I was right. You do have good taste."
Sheila hurried upstairs to her room. Slipped into a tight black sheath dress which a mere two buttons would open, with nothing underneath. She made herself up superbly-something out the golden age of Hollywood-and went back downstairs. As she crossed the lobby, a shining black Rolls drew up outside the main door. She went to the car and leaned forward slightly to look inside, aware that she must resemble a prostitute picking up her customer.
He leaned over to the window with the nonchalant elegance. He opened the door and she got in. She was aware of a cocktail of different scents, a subtle mixture of musky sharpness of leather, strong tobacco and sandalwood essence.
"You didn't take thirty minutes," he said. "Are you excited?"
She was, but, for some reason, didn't want to tell him. "Curious," she replied.
"I called ahead. They're expecting us. They suggested that you might like to be in the first performance. I agreed."
Her heart beat faster as she thought about what that might mean. The chauffeur put the Rolls in gear and moved off smoothly like a ship in the night. Nigel smiled, teeth flashing in the shadow.
"I will take your silence as consent."
"I didn't know that I was supposed to answer," she said. "By agreeing to come with you, I agreed to whatever happens. I will not, however, allow anyone to abuse, hurt, or degrade me."
"No one will," he said. "You are not doing this under duress. You may stop anytime you wish." He turned his head and studied her profile. "Beauty is a promise of happiness."
She laughed softly. "Not always. I know some beautiful women who are real bitches."
"Shakespeare should have known you, Sheila. You might have taught him a thing or two."
She had no answer to that one. He slowly repeated her name, several times, and with different intonations.
"Sheila.. . Sheila.. . Sheila.. . "
She waited for him to ask her questions. He remained distant, detached as they traveled over a bad road. She put her head back against the leather headrest, extended her legs, and relaxed. She wished he would behave like everyone else and talk or touch her. He continued to be remote and indifferent. The silence deepened with each minute, and linked her to him in some eerie way.
They drove through a forest and stopped outside a large white house, the sort owned by old money, Nigel's kind of money. The ground floor rooms were lit and a reddish glow was visible through curtains not fully drawn.
A tall blonde Nordic goddess woman opened the door. She gave them a bright smile and ushered them into a sitting room lit by candelabra. A heady, musk incense permeated the room. Heavy hangings rustled in the wavering light. A scarlet carpet covered the floor. The walls and lacquered furniture were all an identical blood-red. The Nordic goddess lifted one of the hangings and Nigel led Sheila into a smaller room.
A score of people were engaged in hushed conversation, the men in dark tuxedos and the women in long gowns. Ice tinkled in glasses, audible above the swish of silk and the sound of stifled sighs. The blonde goddess gave them champagne. Sheila drank the chilled liquid, trying to conceal her shaking hands and quivering lips. The hostess struck a small silver triangle, and everyone followed her down a narrow passage to yet another room. Dim light reflected here and there off gilt and mirrors.
Two women were seated in blood-red armchairs. A third identical chair sat empty. A young Eurasian with sleek, gleaming black hair sat in the first chair. Sheila couldn't judge the age of Orientals, but the woman looked young. Her honey-colored skin glistened with a patina of wetness. Her nude body was relaxed and her almond-shaped eyes lent fascination to a smile that exposed her pearly white teeth. Next to her sat a statuesque blonde, nearly a twin of the hostess. Her platinum mane fell over freckled shoulders bathed in a reddish glow. Her large, pendulous tits were quivering slightly, as if someone had just tweaked her fat nipples. Her generous dark blonde bush extended to the tops of her thighs.
The hostess turned Sheila to face the small audience. She unfastened the two buttons holding her dress together. She lifted it off with light fingers and seated her in the third chair. Nigel patted her on the shoulder, gave her a reassuring smile, and sat in the chair behind her. The lights dimmed gradually to reveal three gilt-edged circular wall niches, illuminated from behind by bright, bluish spot lights.
These three niches were identical, each approximately the size of an English telephone box. Red satin cushions had been placed in front of each niche. Sheila developed goose bumps. Shadows moved at the base of the niches and three cock's protruded through holes in the walls of the niches. Their short pubic hairs shone slickly under the harsh spotlights. A shudder ran through Sheila's body as she contemplated the cocks dangling through the holes. The patiently waiting members fascinated her.