Chapter 17: Thanks, Albert

Next morning at work I got a call to come and see Brian. As I entered his office I thought he looked worried. "No calls," he told his secretary, and closed the door firmly.

"How did it go last night?" he asked.

"Fine, I thought," I replied guardedly. "Everyone had a good time. I gave George plenty of chances to tell us all how successful he is so he should have been happy."

"Mmm," said Brian absently. "I've just got off the phone to him. We had a few bits of business we needed to sort out."

Of course I knew this was a lie. Brian had rung George for the specific and sole reason of checking up on last night.

"He mentioned his girls were there," continued Brian.

I shifted in my seat uneasily. "Yes," I replied in what I hoped was a relaxed voice. "Twins. They were charming. You know, I'd forgotten that he even had daughters."

"Apparently he wanted you to come to their birthday party on Sunday."

"Er, yes he did."

"... And you refused." He looked at me accusingly. Clearly I had let him down.

"Well, it's short notice and it would have been a bit awkward," I tried to explain.

He suddenly came over all friendly and confiding. "James, I think there's something you don't understand." Without another word he unlocked a drawer in his desk and handed me a folder marked CONFIDENTIAL in red letters. I leafed through. It was a series of company financial projections that he had somehow forgotten to mention when we were negotiating the deal with George's bank. They were grim.

"If we pull in the extra business we're hoping for from the tie-in with the bank," said Brian, "we might, only might, get through this. But if we don't, if George's people don't send business our way..." Without finishing the sentence he sat back with a hopeless expression. "So you see, James, we just can't afford to upset him.

"George told me," he continued, leaning forward again, "that his girls kept him up till after two in the morning begging him to get you to change your mind. He said you seemed to have made a huge hit with them. So James, and I'm asking you not just as your boss but also as your friend, please get back to him and say you'll go on Sunday."

When I hesitated — apart from the pressure he was putting me under, I was appalled that he had the effrontery to call himself my friend — he added, "And you'll find the company knows how to reward that kind of loyalty, James."

I had worked for the company for many years, well and conscientiously I think but without developing any particular loyalty to it. However, I did not want it to collapse for I had no relish for job-hunting at my time of life; also, I thought Brian's proffered bribe might come in handy. What would happen on Sunday I hardly dared imagine, but all my options were closed off and I promised to ring George.

George sounded delighted when I gave him the news; I imagine he was relieved that the girls would be off his back. I told Wendy, too, explaining that I had no choice.

Then Connie came to see me to report mission accomplished with Tommy. She had manufactured a furious row out of nothing last night and after they had called each other every name under the sun she had said she never wanted to see him again and stormed out. She had spent the night at Fran's. "He was really upset," she added pensively. "I hadn't realised he was so sweet on me." Then she suddenly brightened up. "You are still coming round to Fran's after work, aren't you James?" I told her I was and she grinned with delight, poor Tommy completely forgotten.

I arranged with Fran and Connie that they would leave work before me so that I should not be seen going off with them. "You can get ready," I said, meaning strip and get in the bed. So when I arrived I was surprised that Fran opened the door still fully clothed and still more surprised when she pulled away from my attempted embrace. Her worried eyes looked urgently in the direction of the front room door, and I realised there were half-packed boxes around the place.

"Gabriella's here," she whispered. "She's moving her stuff out. We've been helping but it's still not finished."

At this moment the front room door opened and Gabriella appeared, struggling with a big box of clothes. I had never met her before. Fran had talked about her, of course, saying she was tall and slender, but "slender" does not really do it for me and I had not paid much attention. But I had to admit she was a striking young woman, maybe five foot ten or eleven with lovely olive skin, big brown eyes, and long black hair. I knew from Fran that she worked for a public relations firm but she could have been a fashion model, I thought, although at the moment she was dressed sensibly for packing in a shirt and shorts. I hastily took the box from her and put it with the others. She thanked me prettily and looked quizzically at Fran.

Fran introduced us and I offered to help pack. The sooner this was done, I reasoned, the sooner I could get down to business with Fran and Connie. With similar motivation they also set to with a will. Many hands make light work and in less than half an hour all Gabriella's stuff was piled in boxes in the hallway of the flat. She rang a taxi firm to send a big car to move it.

"Fifteen minutes," she announced as she rang off. She flopped into an easy chair with a swivel base, languorously draping one long leg over the side and rocking the chair very slightly from side to side. It was another warm, muggy day and she was hot and tired, the sweat shining on her olive face and never-ending legs. Languidly she reached for a magazine and gently fanned herself. Her hair moved slightly in the breeze from the magazine. She looked gloriously sexy.

Fran and Connie looked at each other, then at me. I think they both suspected what was happening. So did I, and I wanted it. "Er, James..." Fran began nervously, but I held up a hand to silence her.

I crossed the room to an upright electric fan that stood in the corner. Gabriella, her brown eyes half-closed, looked at me from under her long eyelashes. "Here, let me," I said. I stood behind the fan, directed it at her, and turned it on at a moderate setting. I was testing a theory. I had decided that FUCK must work by causing me to give off some special scent, not noticeable at any conscious level but irresistible in its effect on its chosen victim. I still had no idea how such a scent could affect only some people and leave others untouched, but I wanted to see what effect it would have on the delicious creature before me. I reasoned that if I stood directly behind the fan, in the area from which it was drawing its air supply, she would get a full dose.

She put down the magazine and relished the flow of air from the fan. It picked up long tresses of her hair and tossed them about. It also ruffled her shirt, and she undid another button to feel the cooling effect on her chest. "Oh, that's beautiful," she murmured. I increased the power a notch. As the breeze caressed her, she slid deeper into the chair and swung it on its swivel base so that she was facing me directly. By imperceptible degrees her movements became ever more suggestive and she began to move her hands sensuously about her body. She splayed her legs wide so that the breeze would play on her glistening inner thighs and moved her hands down so they focused attention on the open crotch that she was pointing straight at me, her modesty protected only by the flimsy shorts. By now her hips were gyrating in a blatantly sexual way and a throaty moan escaped her.