Chapter 26: God's gift

"If you want a job done properly," I muttered to myself, "don't give it to Connie."

This was about half-past eleven the next morning, when I found myself in the back streets near Hanover Square, having just emerged from a meeting in a client's office. It was one of the appointments I had asked Connie to rearrange while I was on compassionate leave, and the reason for my irritation was that she had done something I had specifically warned her against, namely arranging two external meetings the same day. My second meeting was at two-thirty in a remote south-eastern suburb; the journey thither might, I guessed, take a little over an hour. Returning to the office seemed pointless; by the time I got there I should have too little time to do any worthwhile work before I had to leave again: but travelling direct to the meeting would leave me with about two hours to kill in the middle of the day. I emerged onto Regent Street still unsure what to do.

"Jim!"

I was very fond of Connie but she was not, I reflected, cut out for office work. Since I had told her to buck her ideas up no one could have faulted her time-keeping or the diligence with which she had applied herself to her duties, but her new-found zeal had merely served to expose her lack of aptitude for the job. The filing she had done, for instance, followed no known rhyme or reason and it would all have to be done again. Sooner or later management would pull the plug on her, I thought sadly, then what would she do?

"Jim! Jim!"

I made for the tube. I had decided that I might as well travel to the suburbs now; a decent lunch would be cheaper than in the West End and I might take the opportunity to look around a part of London I did not know very well. But then I became aware of running footsteps rapidly catching up behind me. Turning, I saw an attractive young black woman hurrying up, encumbered with shopping bags and looking a bit hot and bothered from the exercise, but apparently delighted to see me.

"Jim, it's me. Oh, Jim, I'm so glad to have found you!"

I was about to tell her she had the wrong man. No one calls me "Jim", which is why I had paid no attention when I first heard the name being called; the only time I had introduced myself to anyone as "Jim" was when I —

The denarius descended. "Gina!" I cried.

She threw herself into my arms and hugged me tight. "Oh, Jim honey, I thought I'd never see you again!"

I gently detached myself and pulled back from her a little. I was far from sure how I wanted to play this. I still felt embarrassed about my visit to her, which was one of the biggest mistakes I had made in my efforts to cope with FUCK. I had nothing against the girl personally, but I knew I had been lucky that our previous meeting had ended without disaster, and really I wanted nothing more than to put the whole incident behind me. Like any good Englishman unsure of himself, I fell back on small talk. "It's good to see you, too, Gina. You look fantastic."

This was not mere flattery. She was beautifully dressed in excellent and apparently expensive taste, and she had about her an air of buoyancy and bien-être that was almost magnetic.

She shot me a dazzling smile. "Well, I've got you to thank for that, hun." And she did a twirl so I could see her from all angles.

I was not sure what she meant. "I don't think I can claim any credit," I replied.

"You bet you can," she retorted. "Here, hun, let me buy you a drink."

I realised she had skilfully directed our steps into a side street where a pub was tucked away. Weakly, maybe, I allowed myself to be steered inside, but I insisted on getting the drinks. We nestled at a small table in the corner. She accepted her drink with another radiant smile and leant forward.

"Jim, honey," she said in a low but excited voice, "you are a life-saver. I just can't thank you enough."

"You mean last week?"

"Don't play dumb, honey, you know what I mean. What you did last time — I want it again, honey, I want it right now."

I felt I should have known where this was leading. I did not hold it against her — she had her living to earn — but I had no wish, and frankly I now had no need, to start spending my money on prostitutes. So I gave her what I hoped was a gracious smile and made my excuses.

"I'm sorry, Gina, it's a lovely idea but I'm really short at this time of month," I apologised, draining my drink.

She looked shocked.

"Jim, honey, I couldn't take money off you after what you've done for me! This is a freebie. They'll all be freebies for you from now on, Jim honey, you just let me know when you want me and I'll come running." She passed her card across the table.

"Er, Gina," I replied hesitantly, "all I did was fuck you."

"All I did was fuck you," she echoed, imitating my diction. "But Jim honey, it was the fuck of fucks! It was like no fuck I've ever known. Do you know it was hours before I could move off that bed?" She smiled at the recollection. "It was weird. I felt amazing, like I was floating, and I could hear everything that was going on but I couldn't move or speak. You know you frightened the bejayzus out of Gloria."

"The maid?"

She nodded. "She was going spare until I managed to tell her I was OK. Then, when it wore off a bit and I could get up, I felt really horny again. I thought of all the guys that had rung up while I was out of it; I'd heard Gloria putting them off. I wished she could ring them back so I could fuck them all. Then a guy rang up and came round. He was old and greasy but I didn't care, I wanted it so bad. And it was just mind-blowing; I came twice. I don't mean he sent me into orbit like you, Jim honey," she added, in case she had damaged my male ego, "but I'd never liked sex with clients before I saw you and now I can't get enough."

Her comment about not liking sex with clients surprised me. "You didn't like sex?"

"Not with clients, hun. Boyfriends, that's different."

"But you looked tickled to death when you first saw me at the flat."

"Pure professionalism, hun," she shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint you."

I cringed with embarrassment. "My fault for being so naïve," I assured her.

"But that's all in the past now," she resumed. "I only used to work a couple of days a week but since I saw you I've worked every day. And not working flats either. Parlours and parties all the time. I've just fucked myself stupid." In her excitement she was beginning to raise her voice and people were starting to look. I motioned her to keep it down. "I've fucked so many guys it's a wonder I can still stand," she hissed. "And I've made more lovely money than I've seen in my life. Look, hun!"

She rummaged in her bag and, with a cautious look for prying eyes, pushed a bulging purse under my nose. I undid the clasp and it burst open with the pressure from within. The purse was stuffed with an enormous roll of notes, all, so far as I could see, either fifties or twenties. "My god, Gina," I whispered, "how much have you got here?"

"Not sure; might be a couple of thou'," she replied proudly.

My eyes widened. "All earned in the last week and a bit?"

"Nah," she retorted dismissively. "This is just since Monday."

Today was Thursday. My mind boggled. Gina seemed thoroughly pleased with the effect she had generated.

"Jim honey, you are God's gift to whores and," she grinned wickedly, "I'd be letting down the whole profession if I didn't thank you properly. So you just come along with Gina, honey, no more arguments."

When she put it like that, how could I refuse? I let her grab my arm and lead me out of the pub. As soon as we hit Regent Street she hailed a cab and named a Bayswater address.

I was intrigued by what she had told me in the pub. "Gina —" I began as we drove off.

"It's Donna really, honey," she informed me.

Again I felt crushed by the realisation of my own naivety. It should have been obvious that she would not use her real name when working but the thought had never crossed my mind. All the same, I preferred "Gina", and said so.

"Right you are, hun," she replied indifferently. "Gina it is."

It suddenly struck me that she was letting go of her real name, her identity even, for the sake of my whim. I thought of telling her I liked "Donna" after all, but I was more interested in getting to the bottom of her remarks in the pub.