Dishing the dirt
This week I was reprimanded for not sleeping with a girlfriend's sister. It's become a minefield; one that I walk through blindfold (and sometimes with other accessories). Ella was eggy when I met her for dirty martinis. Why don't the grumpy stay at home, I ask myself? There should be a law or something.
Normally vivacious, tonight she treats me to a diatribe on work, men, carnivores, skinny women and some loathsome bitch on The Apprentice before I get it in the neck for not taking advantage of her cute sibling, Sam. "But she's your sister..." I claim, correctly, but without any real point. "Oh please. The first time you met her you spanked her in a crowded pub. I think you managed to get over the fact she's family," she shot back.
I had a vague recollection that suggested this might be true. However, Ella would not have believed why I didn't follow up Sam's flirty encouragement. Not with our history…
The weekend we met was spent entirely in bed, once we had realised our conduct in public was likely to lead to arrest. We only left the bed for wine, cheese and chocolate. You couldn't get a Rizla between us for the next 30 hours. I made it to work a day late; I was exhausted, hungover and scratched up like I'd spent the night tickling a tiger. Within an hour she was on the phone. "I want you to... right now." She wasn't asking, she was demanding, in a come-to-bed-or-else voice. From my bed.
She threatened to come to my office, crawl on all fours wearing nothing but a leather basque, stocking and heels, with a whip in her mouth, if I didn't return immediately and tend to her very specific needs. She would do it too, I knew.
"It's my grandfather," I told the Senior Vice-President. A helpful colleague reminded us of his funeral last year, a lie I'd told to attend the Gold Cup. "He's been found alive!" I declared, "In Tibet!" I added for good measure, hurriedly putting on my coat, whilst grabbing the champagne intended for someone's leaving, babbling, "Oh Grandpappy, Grandpappy!!"
After a feverish cab ride it was a shock to see her dressed and made up, let alone impeccably, having only seen her glistening, but otherwise unadorned for the last two days. She took my breath away. I barely expected to get through the door with my trousers on but she surprised me, taking me by the hand to the table, where a covered dish awaited. Ella grinned and lifted the lid to reveal, in the middle of the overgrown white plate, a tiny pair of black knickers.
Her laugh and smile were concussive. We didn't get to the second course for some hours. When we did we ate like animals. Then we continued like them for some hours until we fell asleep in each other arms on the rug, in the snug. Clothes off, phones off. Nothing else and no one else mattered but her.
Last weeks confession.
