Chapter 20

"Have some more, Ana. Go on!" urged Bezaffa, who with no real prompting from her guest poured some more whisky into the glass Ana had in front of her. "It's good stuff. The best! Cost me a great deal, I can tell you."

Ana focused uncertainly on the glass. This form of alcohol was much more potent than the wine she'd had when she visited Ketaba, and she'd been quite unprepared for how much more intoxicated it had already made her. But she was undeniably developing a taste for it, especially when it was diluted with this other strange substance called soda, which Bezaffa added to it to make up the volume. She took a small sip from her glass and studied her hostess, who was sitting opposite her in a white gauze dress that flowed over her voluptuous contours and did nothing to disguise the details of her body underneath. Ana smiled as she felt that curious slight burning sensation at the back of her mouth that the wine she'd shared earlier had never done.

"Aren't you glad now that you accepted my invitation?" Bezaffa said soothingly. "A pleasant meal and a pleasant drink. What could be more delightful?"

"Not many things," Ana slurred unevenly. "But why, if it's so good, does the government make it illegal?"

"President Marmeluke's government makes everything nice illegal," Bezaffa replied. "It doesn't stop them, or anyone with means, from partaking. They just don't want the ordinary person to have any part of it."

"Thass not fair, issit?" Ana slurred. "Why should there be one law for some and another for the others? Surely, everyone should be able to do the same things."

"That's very idealistic, Ana sweetheart. Money and power will always make accessible more pleasure to some than to others. I should know. I'm priced right out of the reach of most of the Brothel's clients' reach. And that's only right, you know. What joy for the privileged would there be in having access to certain things, if everyone could have them? Some things must be set aside in even the most perfect of societies."

Ana felt in no mood to argue. "I'm sure you're right."

She had at last succumbed to Bezaffa's repeatedly made invitation that she come and visit her. Now she was here, she wasn't at all sure why she'd resisted for so long. Bezaffa had indeed been the perfect hostess and her home was the most delightful place she'd ever seen. It was a sprawling building in the Honey suburbs, further out than Ketaba's flat and altogether more affluent again. Like all the homes in the avenue, Bezaffa's was surrounded by a high wall topped with a murderous fringe of broken glass, but once past the wall, the home was very splendid and clearly remarkably expensive. How could Bezaffa afford it? Even on her income as an Alpha Plus, the large car parked in the gravelled drive, the expanse of garden and the many bedroomed house must have been a strain to maintain. And once through the porched door, past the maid who was relieved of duty as soon as Ana arrived, the house was even more splendid. The rooms were massive, the fittings and furniture sumptuous, and the portraits on the wall chosen with a masterful eye for æsthetic quality. Ana stood in the hallway trembling with a sense of her own lowliness as she regarded the broad staircase leading up to the first floor and the sheer spaciousness of the house. She was intimidated by the ostentation, but also felt somewhat honoured to have been invited.

Ana leaned back in her chair and tried fixing her gaze on Bezaffa who wandered about somehow in her vision. She focused her eyes on Bezaffa's chubby round hand which rested on the table delicately holding her own glass by the stem. She examined the little dimples at the knuckles of each delicately tapered white finger rooted in the roundness of her hand. From the hand, her eyes followed the smooth contours of Bezaffa's marbled arm, dimpled again at the elbow and slightly indented by the pressure of the table beneath her forearm. She brought her eyes up further, and rested them on the fullness of Bezaffa's breasts swelling under her dress, the nipples of which were not in the smallest part obscured. They were breasts so very different from those of Binta's or Ketaba's - other than her own, the only breasts she'd observed for any length of time. Bezaffa's nipples were quite simply enormous, but perfectly proportioned on the curves of the bosom that boasted them.

Ana became uncomfortably conscious that her gaze had lingered perhaps too long on a very private feature of her hostess's body. What must Bezaffa think? She knew that ever since she had become aware of her feelings towards Binta she had viewed other women's bodies in a way she had never consciously done before. She was sure, or very nearly sure, that these ruminations didn't represent any lascivious intent. It was just that her curiosity about women's bodies had increased dramatically now that she had come to have such an intimate association with one. But she told herself vehemently that the one love in her life was Binta, and it was unthinkable, it was wrong, it was immoral, to even contemplate the love of another woman. It would wholly and unutterably break the trust cemented between her lover and her. She gazed into Bezaffa's face, above the round gracefulness of her ivory neck, and noticed with a start that her eyes were gazing at her with an expression of indulgent contemplation not at all unlike that which she'd associated with Binta as they lay together in bed.

Ana didn't know what to say. She looked unsteadily into Bezaffa's round blue eyes which continued to stare at her steadily but not unfriendlily, framed by long blonde hair that flowed over her shoulders and above the round orbs of cheeks dimpled like her knuckles by the broadness of a toothy grin. Bezaffa raised the back of her other hand to brush a likewise dimpled chin. She brought it to her mouth and licked off the trail of whisky that had dribbled down it unseen, staring at Ana as she did so.

"So, tell me, Ana sweetest, are you ever distressed by Binta's criminal character?"

"Criminal character?" repeated Ana.

Bezaffa smiled. "Come now, cherry, you know what I mean. Binta isn't working at the Brothel like you or me. She doesn't do what she does either for a living or as a vocation. Nor does she apparently relish what she does ... that much."

"No, she doesn't," agreed Ana, who even through the haze of the alcohol noticed Bezaffa's uncertain lingering on the last few words.

"She's in the Brothel because she's a criminal. She's broken the law, and as a criminal she has been sentenced for it. Doesn't that distress you?"

What was Bezaffa trying to ascertain? "Why should it distress me?"

Ana's hostess stood up slowly and wandered over to her hi-fi cabinet where Ana was for the first time aware that the compact disc she'd been playing had just finished. Bezaffa had kicked off her high heels, but still walked in an elegant restrained way that emphasised the wiggle of her round buttocks, and Ana noticed with a shock, that under her dress she appeared to be wearing nothing even on her lower portions. Bezaffa leaned over and sorted through the various discs she had.

"I only ask, dearest Ana, because you and Binta are such close friends. I have always thought it excellent that the administrative staff and shop floor workers of our noble concern should be close associates of each other. That, after all, is why I am so very happy that you have agreed to visit me in my humble abode. It can only be a good thing for our two enterprises to be linked by mutual respect and understanding. And Binta is such a darling, don't you think? Such an absolute sweetie! I've always enjoyed my conversations with her, although I suspect she rather dislikes my more enthusiastic attitude towards my chosen career."

She selected a disc, carefully extracted it from its casing and gently placed it in her player. She stood back, pointing a remote at it, and watched as the disc slid into the machine and started playing the soothing and harmonious strings of classical music. She turned round and faced Ana who was relieved to see now that Bezaffa had, after all, covered her crotch with what was still undeniably a very flimsy cloth.

"So, my darling Ana. Does Binta's criminal character ever trouble you? Do you mind associating so closely with criminals?"

Ana blushed. "But what Binta's done is in the past. It's behind her now. And anyway isn't what she's done no worse than what we're doing now? Drinking alcohol? That's illegal, isn't it?"

Bezaffa wandered back to the table, sat down again by her glass and the generous display of cakes in the huge cake stand. She daintily picked a chocolate éclair and put it slowly and lasciviously into her mouth. She took a huge bite out of it and chewed it speculatively.

"Yes, drinking alcohol is a crime. Indulging in it, and, worse, trading in it, attracts a very severe penalty as dearest Ferhana has found to her cost. But alcohol trafficking is not the crime for which sweetest Binta has been convicted, is it?"

"But it's surely no worse than indulging in alcohol?" pleaded Binta uncertainly.

Bezaffa swallowed the last remnants of the éclair, and smiled indulgently. "Are you saying then that sexual depravity is no worse than the occasional indulgence in wine? Are you saying that an activity which automatically implicates more than one person is better than a vice which can be indulged in solitarily?"

Ana was puzzled. What answer was she supposed to give? What was a safe response? She had no clear idea what Bezaffa's attitude towards lesbianism was. Was it as censorious as Ketaba's, however inconsistently she maintained her professed views? Or was it as indulgent as Zabba's? How free with her opinions could Ana afford to be? After all, Bezaffa was known to be fairly friendly with the Director and Khedra.