Naomi
Three days...three fucking days. Three days of ignored calls and one line text responses. I have no idea what I've done to deserve this, but Emily is definitely giving me the cold shoulder. If it had been anyone else, any previous budding relationship, I would have cut my losses and kicked her to the curb by now. But it's not, its her.
So I've suffered in relative silence and persevered with my pursuit of the little brunette who's captured my heart.
It was all going so well, so perfectly smoothly up to now, I suppose I should have expected the bubble to burst. It usually does for me. Apart from Annabelle, my relationships have followed a pretty familiar pattern. Initial attraction, a short period of sexual pleasure, (very short if it was a guy), then disillusion and painful breakup. But I thought this was different, she was different.
The last time I saw her, we were doing our usual strung out sloppy kissing goodbyes at my apartment door. She was going home to change before meeting her twin sister Katie so they could travel together to her sick grandma's in Bath. I mean, what could be more prosaic and nonthreatening than that?
I'd even phoned her on the Saturday night about 7 to see how things were going. She seemed at bit flustered, but I put that down to concern over her granny and the presence of her sister. I'd already had a brief acquaintance with Katie at the massage parlour and she didn't seem like the over friendly type. The sort of uber straight girl I normally avoided like the plague. They wear their straightness like a badge of honour, as if merely associating with a gay girl might infect them too. I shudder to imagine what growing up with a twin like that would have been like for Emily.
But anyway, after that brief phone call, nothing...nada. I tried Emily on Sunday morning, but just got a one line text saying she was staying over another night as her gran was a bit worse. So I left it until Monday evening before trying again. If her grandmother was that sick, I knew badgering Emily wouldn't help if the old girl really was on her last legs. I concentrated on work, just sending the odd supportive text. You know "thinking of you" stuff.
Neil, my boss, called me into his office on Tuesday morning and asked for a progress report on the underage prostitution case. I managed to flam him that I was getting close to the truth, even though it was a complete lie. Finding out about pubescent runaways blowing businessmen for cash had taken a distant back seat to exploring Emily Fitch from the moment I met her. My usual ultra professional work persona was on vacation it seemed. And Neil figured that out quickly enough. You don't get to be news editor by being gullible. So now I got to find out that he'd already assigned another investigative reporter to the story to 'assist'. And boy, didn't that sting. Specially when I found out it was that new bitch, Sasha. A year younger than me, all blonde highlights and Wonderbra with legs that went on for days. She'd left uni with a degree only slightly less prestigious than mine and had quickly charmed her way through most of the middle management. Or shagged...take your pick.
To add insult to injury, Neil now tells me that she's managed to get into a private party this fucker Max had hosted on Saturday night. Signed up for a temp agency, she'd been taken on as a waitress for the evening, serving drinks and canapes to the carefully selected guests. As I stood in Neil's office like a sullen schoolgirl just passed over for head girl, she proudly recounted the access she'd managed to get to his sordid little world. While Emily was mopping her ailing grannies brow and I was curled up on the couch with a large Shiraz, little Miss Snoopie had witnessed several underage girls performing whats referred to in the now defunct 'News of the World' as 'unnatural sexual acts' with the male and female guests. Sasha had a list of the guests and descriptions of all the participants, legal and illegal. My head buzzed with frustration. She'd made more progress in one night than I had in three weeks. But then she hadn't spent that three weeks with her head between a certain petite brunettes thighs, had she?
The final straw was when she produced an A4 envelope containing what she described as 'explosive photo evidence' of the debauchery. I didn't wait to leaf through them as she spread them across Neil's desk. It wasn't that I was squeamish about seeing the evidence, although it seemed to me to be dangerously close to looking at child porn, but my humiliation was already complete. I didn't need to hear Neil cooing in praise at her efforts, so I excused myself, telling them I had a lead of my own to chase up. I wasn't fooling anyone, as the triumphant smirk Sasha flashed me as I left proved as she followed me out.
"There are copies of these on your desk Naoms" she crowed as I fled. Right, I thought, just what I need right now. When I got to my desk I left the envelope unopened, tossing it into my drawer before grabbing my bag and growling at the pool PA to field my messages for a couple of hours. Now I had two pressing reasons to see Emily. I needed to find out why she was avoiding me, and I needed to ask her some actual journalist type questions about her place of employment too.
Walking down Park Street, I rehearsed my speech. I had no idea if she was working today, but as I got nearer the parlor, I decided that even if she wasn't I could still glean something useful by volunteering for another 'massage'. At the very least it would iron out the kinks in my overstressed body. Maybe one of the other girls would be more forthcoming. I had no intention of asking for any 'extras', but it couldn't hurt to try again, could it?
As it turned out, it was all academic anyway. Just as I reached the junction of the street the parlor was in, I literally bumped into someone unexpected.
One Katie Fitch. Not on her own, but with someone I soon realised was none other than mummy dearest. Taller than the twins, with rather too much makeup and quite a broad Scottish accent, Mrs Fitch was a revelation. Just not in a good way.
Katie started to bark at me for daring to block her serene progress round the fashion shops, but stopped dead when she recognised my face. Mummy picked up the connection straight away. No flies on the older Fitch obviously.
"Friend of yours Katie?" she smiled with her crimson lips. Her eyes failed to carry on the deception of politeness.
"Friend of Emily's actually" I said, equally insincerely. Emily had told me a little about her fraught childhood and coming out traumas, so I wasn't about to be over friendly.
Her eyes narrowed briefly, before the fixed smile was back.
"Ahhh" she said slowly "So you're the young woman who's been monopolizing my youngest daughters time lately, nice to meet you at last"
Neither of us were under any illusion that it was 'nice' to meet up, but I carried on the charade. I needed to track down Emily and this was my best chance.
I noticed Katie wasn't being her normal bullish self while her mother was talking, which puzzled me a bit. I decided to take the initiative.
"Actually" I said brightly "I was hoping to see her today...is she at work this afternoon?"
Katie actually paled at that and it wasn't just me who noticed.
"No...Katie and Emily are having a little break for a few days...Naomi, isn't it?" The woman smiled icily again "They've been working very hard lately...all those demanding clients...aromatherapy, reiki..."
Katie spluttered briefly before plastering the innocent look back onto her face.
I smiled back, not wanting to let her see I was confused as hell about what was going on. Obviously mama Fitch believed her girls were strictly legit masseuses, but...
"Right... well yes, what with her granny being ill and all...how is she, by the way?" I asked.
Katie bit her lip and looked away. Her mother just looked puzzled.
"Her granny?" she said flatly "Well, seeing as how the girls grandmothers have both been dead for several years, not well at all Naomi"
I must have looked as stupid as I felt. Dead grandmothers don't need granddaughter visits, except to overgrown graves. About a hundred different emotions went through my body as I stood there. Katie was still looking away, obviously wishing a worm hole would open up and swallow her. Mama Fitch was looking at me as if I needed supervision to be out on my own. I eventually calmed myself, although it was probably only 3 seconds later I got my voice back.
"Right...I must have...err... misunderstood, err Emily...sorry about that. Nice to meet you Mrs Fitch...bye Katie" I said in a voice I hardly recognised. Emily had flat out lied to me. I had no idea where she had actually been for the past 3 days, but now it didn't matter, did it? OK, I had lied to her when I first met her. But I'd corrected it as soon as I could. This was different. Emily was keeping multiple secrets, big fucking secrets, and considering the profession her and Katie had chosen, I had no wish to find out any more. My patented 'get the fuck out of here' Campbell alarm system was clanging like a New York fire engine. I set my mouth into a firm line to stop my lip wobbling as it desperately wanted to, then spoke to a point just over Mrs Fitch's shoulder. I didn't trust myself to look into her smug face.
"Bye then..." I grated, spinning on my heel and retracing my steps back up Park Street. Fuck the investigation, fuck Emily Fitch, I had an appointment with a local wine bar and several very large glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon.
I got about 50 feet from them when I felt a sharp tug on my sleeve. I turned to give a volley to whoever had interrupted my less than dignified exit, to find a stony faced Katie Fitch glaring at me. She opened her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it.
"Save it Katie" I hissed "Whatever you and Emily really got up to Saturday night doesn't matter to me any more. She fucking lied to me...no, she's STILL lying to me. I don't need this, don't need your bullshit. Go back to your sordid little lives, I'm fucking done".
All the doubts I'd suppressed for weeks were stabbing at me mercilessly.
I started to turn back the way I was heading, but this time the tug on my arm was savage.
"No you fucking don't Blondie" Katie said, pushing herself up to her full 5'2" and staring at me aggressively. "Before you get back up on that high horse, you're going to listen. I have no idea what my sister sees in you. Personally I think you're so up yourself its amazing there's room for her fingers in there, but that's by the way. Yes, she lied to you. But its not what you think. We were working, but she didn't want to upset you by telling you that. You knew what we did for a living going in. You might be kidding yourself that you're this squeaky clean, oh so professional journo, seeking out the fucking noble truth or whatever. But we both know you dropped your knickers for my sister about ten seconds after you met her. Didn't bother you much then, did it? So stop being a cunt and let her explain...?"
I shook my head. That might all be true, but I had the distinct feeling I wouldn't like Emily's truth any more than I did her lies. It was always easier to run from what was hurting me. I was pretty fucking good at it. Why change horses now?
"Sorry Katie" I said, shaking my head "My instincts are telling me to get the fuck out of this relationship before I get really screwed over. And I always listen to my instincts. It's over."
She regarded me for a couple of seconds before nodding. I could see Fitch the Elder tapping her feet and looking at her watch a few yards down the pavement.
"Fair enough" Katie said eventually. "I said to myself I'd try. If you want to be a complete shit about it, she's well rid of you. Go back to your perfect life with your middle class friends. Just don't change your mind. If I hear you've been near her again, I'll bury the heel of these expensive Manolos in your skull...clear?"
Clear it was. I nodded stiffly and walked away. I almost made it to the corner before my eyes blurred with stinging tears.
XXX
About the time Naomi was changing her mind about the wine bar, deciding instead to go straight home to the anonymity of a solitary vodka bottle, Katie Fitch was having a rather awkward conversation with her sister. Her mother being given the slip somewhere between River Island and Top Shop...
Emily
"You said WHAT?" I screamed...balling my spare fist and staring at the phone in my hand. Katies disembodied voice echoed from the handset as she relayed her recent conversation with Naomi.
"Fuck, Em...what was I supposed to say? Mum was right there. I told the silly bitch she should talk to you, but you're the one who's been ducking her for the past few days. She's a reporter for Christ's sake...didn't you think she might get a tiny bit curious about why you've completely dropped off the radar? Sick fucking granny? That wasn't exactly story of the century, was it...what's the matter, 'dog ate your homework' out of stock this month?"
I didn't appreciate Katies attempt at gallows humour. All my hopes and dreams about my rose tinted future with Naomi presently lying crushed at my feet, as it were.
"Couldn't you just have...?" I floundered, not really having an answer myself, but not wanting to let Katie off the hook, considering it WAS all her fault in the first place.
Katie, of course, didn't see it that way. Her ex's were dead to her the minute she disposed of them. She always taunted me that lesbians lived a sort of accelerated love life. You know, meet, fuck frantically every minute you can, move in together, then breakup before the weekend is over. The fact that there was some truth in that didn't make it any easier to stomach.
"Oh God" I breathed "This is a fucking nightmare. I've got to speak to her...put her straight about..."
"About going to a party, getting shagged senseless by two complete strangers?" Katie said dryly.
"Not fucking helpful" I growled, the sick feeling in my stomach growing by the second. I knew this would all come back to bite me. Just when I thought I'd got a proper relationship...just when I was on the verge of leaving my seedy job and making a real go of something, fate fucks me in the arse again. I squealed in frustration. Why couldn't I just do things right for a change?
"I have to speak to her" I muttered, more to myself than to my sister, who was still breathing into the phone her end. I heard her tut as I said it.
"Forget her Ems" she said flatly "If she's prepared to break it off just because of a white lie...?"
"White lie?" I gasped "Even for you Katie, thats fucking impressive. I don't think lying to my girlfriend about where I'm going, getting drugged, then spending an hour being spit roasted by Mr and Mrs Businessperson of the Year in a posh hotel quite qualifies as a white lie. More like the blackest whopper of the century. I fucking cheated on her Katie...that's like, pretty fucking dark, as lies go?"
Katie huffed again. I suppose by her standards, it was a regular day at the office. Certain members of the Bristol Rovers reserve team had happy memories of my sisters ability to take on two at a time, or so the toilet walls at the Holiday Inn were rumoured to record
"Look, I got shagged by randoms too. I dunno what was in that champagne upstairs, but I think it had more to do with a pharmacy than a vineyard Ems. I only remember bits of that night, and even if I am a bit more experienced with pork swords than you, it wasn't something I'm proud of. But it's done hun. Deal with it. We're nearly there, money-wise. Another month at the milking parlor and we'll have plenty of cash...we can..."
I clicked the cancel call button while she was still trying to rationalise the cluster fuck known as my love life. I don't think Katie would ever understand, if I repeated myself for a hundred years. I'd lost something precious and no amount of persuading would put that right. I thumbed a text to Naomi, knowing it was probably hopeless.
"Sorry...I know you don't want to hear this, but its not what you think...talk to me?"
Yeah, I know, fucking cheek, right? NOW I want to talk to her... But what else was there to do? I couldn't face the idea that I would never see her again. I'd fucked up, spectacularly. But surely she'd give me the chance to explain.
Wrong.
That text, and the twenty more I sent over the next few hours, went unanswered. So did my calls and voice-mails. Dozens of them. I considered going to her apartment, but it was in a secure block, with an entryphone. If she wouldn't answer her phone, I had no doubt she would ignore me if I called there. Katie had reattached herself to my mother, or at least her debit card, so I knew I'd get no sense out of her until her obsessive search for the perfect pair of heels was satisfied. My Dad, bless him, was job hunting and conversations with my little brother James usually ended in physical violence. Mainly because all his interests were gynecological...
I couldn't stand another second in the damp caravan, so I scrubbed my tear stained face, put on a simple plain sweat shirt and jeans (Katie would have called it my lesbian work clothes) and, stuffing my phone in my back pocket, left the caravan park on foot, heading for the City centre.
A half mile walk and a short bus ride later, I was standing outside the less than impressive offices of the Bristol Post. What I was doing there, I couldn't really say. I knew it was highly unlikely Naomi would be there. Without being big headed, I knew she would be as upset as me. She was probably drowning her sorrows in some wine bar, studiously ignoring my endless calls and texts. But I had to try...something. The reason we'd met in the first place was because of her job. One thing I knew for certain from Saturday night was that her suspicions about underage girls being traded for sex by Max and his crew were spot on. At least two of the kids I saw at the hotel were school age. And I don't mean 6th form. There were always rumours about runaways and kids homes in the City. Recent stuff in the national paper about what celebrities got up to in the 70's with gullible kids was nothing new. But I had first hand knowledge. I might be wasting my time trying to win Naomi back...I think that bird had flown...but surely I could do something right?
The reception area was all wood and glass. Relic of the grand colonial Bristol past. Not many people know this nowadays, but my home town was built on one main commodity...people. It had been for decades the centre of the British slave trade until William Wilberforce finally got abolition through Parliament. At one time dozens of tall masted slave ships massed in Bristol docks, spewing their cargo of human misery onto the quays. The city built its wealth and architecture on the capture and exploitation of West Indian and African people.
Kind of ironic that this grand old building, with its faded elegance and Edwardian paneling was now involved in exposing another form of trafficking. This time it was the poor and abandoned native children of the town itself. Used and abused by rich and arrogant men. Nothing really changes, does it?
I took a deep breath and approached the desk, where an over made up teenager with the beginning of a sneer already on her face, waited for me to speak.
Five minutes after that, I was following a rather cute bottom up the wide staircase. She said her name was Sasha, and she was very interested in any information about the activities of my boss...
XXX
Across the City, Naomi Campbell was lying across her bed. Half a box of screwed up tissues littered the bedroom floor, along with a 3/4 empty litre bottle of supermarket vodka. Her panda streaked cheeks and red rimmed eyes testament to her three hour alcohol and misery jag. She slept the sleep of the utterly drunk. Alone again...naturally...
