Chapter Eighteen
Isobel and Maria chatted in the chic and hip rooftop bar on the twenty-second floor of the Marriott hotel in downtown San Diego, sitting under the stars and enjoying panoramic views of both the city skyline and of the Coronado Bay Bridge. Soft white leather sofas with leopard skin cushions were organised around circular gas fires from which flames ascended out of beds of sparkling blue stones and rose three feet in the air. If a baseball game had been playing in Petco Park, a few hundred feet below, the bar would have afforded a free view of the San Diego Padres in action. The place buzzed with an eclectic mix of revellers, tourists and locals, most eschewing the seats in favour of milling around—some, no doubt, enjoying a drink to finish their night out, and others to begin it. A sprinkling of grey-suited business types, many still wearing their telltale convention nametags, completed the ensemble. The ubiquitous security stood scanning, their attention on a noisy group of young men in identical yellow T-shirts celebrating a birthday.
The charity music evening had lasted less than an hour and Isobel had observed nothing further to heighten or lower her suspicions as to the nature of Lance’s relationship, if any, with Chrystal Brakeley. Yet she had been trapped in a swirl of conflicting emotions throughout the concert, hardly able to hear the music over the roaring in her head, let alone enjoy it. Memories of deception, betrayal, and her own naïveté flooded through her mind. As the lights had risen and the room began to empty she had hung back as long as she could to see Lance and Chrystal take their leave by the separate routes by which they had entered. Long enough to see Lance making the lightest of touches to the small of her back as he did so, a lingering moment of eye contact, a flutter of her fingers as she bade a queenly farewell.
As Isobel pondered the possibilities, she thought it unlikely that the seat for the most feted guest of the evening would be left to chance, nor could it have been by coincidence that the strangely dressed Lance had found himself beside her. No, the seats were the two prime positions, and they had been reserved for the last two guests to arrive, of that at least she could be confident.
Isobel had sat silently in the taxi across the bridge, letting Maria loudly marvel at the views to fill the silence. Isobel had been in her own world, more determined than ever to not call Lance. If he did not call her, then their relationship had finished before it began, and that was probably for the best. And if he did call her, she would let him trap himself in his own web of duplicity and that would be the end of it, too.
“Angelo would have liked it here,” said Maria wistfully as they sat people watching in the rooftop bar. “He always wanted to visit America.” They sat sipping drinks without speaking more, the mention of a boyfriend past perhaps taking both their minds to a different time and place.
The sound of Isobel’s phone vibrating interrupted their thoughts. She retrieved it from her bag, checked the screen, but did not answer. She had followed the same ritual many times since her friend’s arrival and Maria could contain her curiosity no longer.
“So what is going on with you and Ryan?”
“What do you mean?” asked Isobel, well aware of her friend’s piercing gaze. “Nothing particular is ‘going on’, as you put it.”
“Well, isn’t that the thing? For the last three days your phone has been beeping more often than a taxi driver’s car horn in Naples, and most of the time you haven’t picked up. So, assuming that the messages are from Ryan, it seems to me you’re avoiding him.”
“Nothing like being direct, is there?”
“And as for tonight, it’s been like pulling a lion’s tooth getting a word out of you since we left the concert. It’s just not like you.”
“If you must know, I speak to him every day, at least once a day, and I text him, too. It’s just that I don’t want to spoil our time together cooing with my boyfriend.”
“So when are you doing all this cooing? We’ve been together ever since I arrived. Are you doing it when you’re in the bathroom?”
“I have, on occasion, but we also speak last thing at night, before I turn in.”
“Hmm,” said Maria. “Whatever you say.”
“Why would I fib to you? I’ve got nothing to hide. Ryan and I have had a few bumps in the road, that’s all, and at the moment I don’t want to be rushed into a place I don’t want to be.”
“How very cryptic of you. I’m not suggesting you have told me any fibs, Isobel, but I’ve known you too long for parlour games. Can you please just tell me what you’re not telling me?”
Isobel pretended to take a long sip of her cosmopolitan before she spoke. “There’s something that I haven’t mentioned, it may be something and it may be nothing, and I’ll know more tomorrow. So I’d rather not go into it tonight, I’ve been distracted enough already and tonight I want you to have a good time.” She rubbed her friend’s arm. “We can talk more tomorrow.”
“Okay by me, because the source of our good time might just have arrived.”
Two new arrivals were sauntering toward them, the same two fit looking young men who had made an overture in the restaurant on the night of Maria’s arrival. Isobel surveyed the approaching pair, more casually dressed than she remembered them from the restaurant bar, but both wearing brash big watches that seemed to her to be de rigueur for every male predator who came her way. “Well, what a small world we live in,” said Isobel before the new arrivals were in earshot. Maria rose to meet them, and Isobel followed her lead.
“Isobel, this is Greg,” said Maria, addressing the man closest to her.
“And I’m Rudy,” said the other, the taller of the two, leaning forward and extending his hand.
“I told Greg we were planning on coming here tonight and he asked if he could swing by and say a proper hello.”
“And I asked if I could tag along,” said Rudy, maintaining his hold on Isobel, his tanned fingers encircling her whole hand.
The four took seats around a low table and Maria continued her matchmaking efforts. “I suggested we all meet up here, have a drink first, and if we get along we might go on somewhere else. I thought I’d keep it as a surprise.”
“There’s some fun places we thought you might like,” added Rudy, directing his gaze at Isobel, as if Maria was not even there.
Isobel guessed that he was around ten years her junior; above his ears his hair was trimmed tight to his scalp, longer on the top and gelled in a prominent forelock. He was dressed in a black silk shirt that hung outside his designer denims, the top two buttons conspicuously undone.
“What sort of fun places?” asked Isobel, suspecting that “fun” might be code for something other than a carousel ride.
“Whatever you like. We can do trendy, we can do funky, you name it.”
The server arrived and Rudy ordered a round of cocktails for the group. Isobel learnt that he was an electronics engineer and worked on weapons systems for the Navy. “Top secret stuff, the sort of programmes I’m not supposed to talk about, but if we can’t trust our British allies…”
“So what sort of programmes?” she asked, careful to appear polite but keen to avoid an in-depth conversation on military technology or warfare, neither of which she had the remotest interest in.
“Smart missiles that can take out a submarine or a satellite before the bad guys know what’s hit them, that sort of thing,” said Rudy, as if he were the country’s top advanced weapons specialist.
“So you’re a kind of merchant of death?” said Isobel, her tone a touch irreverent.
“If you like,” said Rudy, not rising to the bait. “The other side are doing it, so we need to be ready.”
Isobel wondered if the “other side” might mean some illiterate camel herder who happened to carry a Kalashnikov but instead said, “Sounds fascinating.”
If Rudy detected a hint of irony, he didn’t show it.
“But what about you?” he asked, edging closer on his seat. “Maria said you were an artist.”
“Trying to be. I also work in a gallery, part time.”
“So you’ve got a green card?”
“I thought you said you were an engineer, not a policeman?”
“Hey, I’m only trying to be friendly.”
Isobel took a sip of her drink, leant back, and left Rudy to do the work. He seemed pleasant and charming enough, asking more about her than he talked about himself. As the third cosmopolitan kicked in he eased yet closer to her and began to play with her hair. He interspersed his easy conversation with compliments about her beauty and her sense of style, and how much he loved her accent. He asked if she were married and she said she had been separated for two years, not knowing why she exaggerated the time span. She did not ask about his relationship status, and in due course he volunteered it, saying he was single and unattached. While Rudy ordered another round, Maria excused herself and nodded for Isobel to follow.
“Everything okay?” asked Maria, as she took her place in front of the mirror.
“You might have let me know what you were planning,” said Isobel, rooting in her own handbag.
“I wasn’t sure they’d show up,” replied Maria, as if that were sufficient explanation. She dabbed a brush to her eyelashes. “But now we’ve come this far, how are you two getting along?”
“He’s okay. A bit flash, but okay. How about you and Greg?”
“So far so good. He’s hitting on me big time.”
“Well, you did invite him to meet us. I guess he thinks he’s on a sure thing.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” She checked her perfectly capped teeth in the mirror. “How about you?”
“I’m okay with another drink, but I’m not in the mood for a party.”
Maria turned to face Isobel, an imploring look in her eyes. “It’s our first big night out all week. I just need you to hang in with me a while. Please.”
Isobel gave her assurance with a resigned smile. She took Maria’s arm. “Come on. Or they’ll think we slipped out the back way.”
The night wore on and there came a pause while Rudy checked his phone, and she could think of nothing further to say. Isobel glanced over to see that Maria and Greg were deep in conversation, their bodies leaning in to each other, touching, his hand resting on her thigh. Rudy’s eyes followed hers. “Looks like those two are getting along fine, I say we leave them to it.”
“Rudy wants to go somewhere else,” said Isobel to Maria indifferently, still unsure of her own preference of whether to end or continue the evening.
Maria pulled herself upright, raising her eyebrows in silent signal. “And you?”
Isobel shrugged. Maria looked more than happy to stay smooching, for now at least. “You’ve got your key?”
Rudy stood and Isobel leant over and gave Maria a kiss. “Don’t wake me up when you come in,” she whispered, pushing herself to her feet.
Rudy took her to a bar in Little Italy that styled itself as an English pub, and where raucous patrons spilled onto the sidewalk. The wall of party animals having a good time required them to force their way through the to get inside, Rudy guiding her path. Other than that the management paid no regard to the allowable number of customers in any defined space, and the beer came in twenty-ounce glasses, it looked very much like every other American sports bar. Waitresses in short red kilts and white shirts tied above their navel fought to work a path between the serving station and the tables, balancing trays laden with cocktails above their heads.
Isobel limited herself to one mojito, or perhaps two—things were becoming a little blurred in Isobel’s world. However many, a pirate of the Caribbean would have been hard pressed to complain at the size of the pourings.
When the crowd began to thin out, Rudy jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s drink up and move, this place is dying,” he declared. He rose to his feet while she procrastinated between leaving her drink and finishing it. “That stuff is twenty bucks a shot,” he said, and she drained her glass before moving again. He told her he liked a little club around the corner, and took her in hand to lead her there. The rush of fresh air gave Isobel a slight giddiness and she needed to steady herself by clutching his arm. “I’m not feeling my best, I’d like you to take me back now.”
“Sure, honey, but you haven’t been to San Diego unless you’ve seen the next place. It’s a fun joint, a quick look around. Unless it’s too young a crowd for you to handle?” She looked for a taxi but saw none.
Rudy seemed to read her mind. “No chance of getting a cab on the street this time of night. There’ll be taxis waiting at the back of the club when we’re ready.” He tugged her arm and she resigned herself to following him rather than be left alone on a street corner.
He led her to a complex tucked away in a side road with door security that nodded recognition at Rudy. They entered a veritable warren of a place—part restaurant, part bar, and part club. Midnight had long gone and few customers remained in the dining and drinking sections, those who wanted to continue with nocturnal entertainment having descended to the basement. “Watch your step,” he said, wrapping his arm around her, his fingers brushing her breast, “they’re not big on light down here.”
Rudy took Isobel by the hand and led her down the few steps into a dark, low-ceilinged room, the blackness broken only by flashing lights. They stood close to the entrance before venturing further. The boom of deep bass tones touched deafening levels and the vibrations reverberated through her body like shock waves against a windowpane. She squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the surroundings. In front of her she eventually made out a dense sea of bodies twisting, turning, and jumping on the dance floor, a cocktail bar where drinkers screamed for attention from manic waiters, and walls lined with alcoves where the only light that visited them came from a server’s torch. The noise that hit Isobel was now followed by a blast of heat coming up from the floor. Rudy again put his arm around her shoulder and they threaded their way through the writhing crowd and into a vacant booth. A server arrived within a few seconds of them sitting down; the server leant in close, to hear and be heard.
“Another mojito?” asked Rudy.
The lights, the music, and the cocktails disorientated Isobel. She cut the air with her palm like a blackjack player declining a card. “A water will be fine.”
“A vodka and coke, and a water for the lady.”
Isobel, blew out a breath, relieved he had not sought to push yet another drink on her.
“You having a good time?” he asked. His hand inched around the back of her neck, his fingers working the muscles of her nape and shoulders.
“Yes,” she said, not sure if she meant it, as she stretched her tight neck muscles in response to his touch. “It looks like everyone’s here to party.”
He nodded. “Live and let live, honey. As long as you’re not bothering anyone you can do pretty much whatever you like.” As if to emphasise the point, he ran the back of his fingers across the side of her face, dragging the tips of his fingers down the centre of her body, brushing her cleavage. She shivered slightly but when the movement of his hand arrived at her belly she intercepted it, and cupped his fingers in her palm. He lifted his hand as she held it and kissed her fingers.
The server arrived with a bottle of premium vodka, four colas, and a bottle of water. She set down just two glasses.
“If you occupy a booth, you’re obliged to order by the bottle,” said Rudy, by way of explanation. “I’m going to need a bit of help here.” He poured two generous measures of spirit over the ice, and added an equal amount of cola. He handed her one glass, raising his own to his lips. “Salud, as they say south of the border.”
She accepted the drink and put it to her lips; it tasted cold and sweet and refreshing, and the intended sip became a generous swallow.
“Thank you,” she said. Rudy put down his own glass, beaming satisfaction. He went to top up her glass with vodka but she put her palm over it.
“I’m a bit out of practice,” she said apologetically, now conscious that she needed to measure her speech to avoid her words slurring. She poured the remaining vodka from her own glass into his. “I’ll switch to water now, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Sure, honey, no pressure, whatever way you like it.”
Silence fell between them and she steeled herself to take her leave, to thank him for a wonderful evening and say she would call him. But as she hesitated he leant across and kissed her, his hand heavy on her thigh, pressing it into the leather, anchoring her in the seat, and she could not summon the will to push him away or to rise and leave. Instead, he rose and held out his hand.
“If we’re not going to drink, at least we can shake it around,” he said. The immediate opportunity to call an end to the evening had passed. As she pulled herself to her feet, the feeling of light-headedness, which had been coming and going since the Marriott, returned. Again she held her free hand against Rudy’s upper arm for support.
“Easy, honey,” he said, taking her by the shoulders as if to steady her.
They began to move to the music, their bodies first separated but then pressed together by the revellers who filled the dance floor, dewy with sweat and alcohol. Rudy put a protective arm around her and pulled her close, and she put her arms around his waist and dropped her head onto his chest, tiredness and giddiness beginning to master her.
She closed her eyes and nestled into him, feeling safe in the darkness around her as her mind drifted away from him, to the events of the last year and her summer of sin with Jay in Tuscany. She remembered how he had awoken her slumbering sexuality and how she had responded, abandoning all her inhibitions until he possessed her without limits. Now it all seemed like an erotic dream, a headlong and reckless descent into depravity.
In her mind she relived the urgent, wanton lovemaking, and as she did so a kaleidoscope of faces turned in her head, from Jay, to Ryan, and then onto Lance. She glanced up into this new unfamiliar face and he took her hand and placed it on his chest where his shirt hung open. She brushed the hairs against her palm, hairs that were so like Jay’s, coarse and thick. She began to rake her fingers through the carpet, just the way she knew Jay liked it, her nail scratching at his nipple. Now a hand stroked her hair but whose hand she did not know, so lost had she become in her own memories and imaginations.
He pulled her head into his chest and her lips now ran where her fingers had run before, until her mouth brushed his nipple. His hand squeezed a buttock and he pulled her hips into him, and she did not resist it. As he pressed her against him the heat of his erection burnt into her belly, and want rose within. He continued to hold her body against him and his hardness grew more intense. He took her hand and glided it down between their bodies, until her fingers found the outline of his shaft, her thumb against the peak of his desire. His hand went between her legs, and his fingertips pressed into the softness of the inside of her thigh, as he dragged them up towards her wetness. Through his trousers, she kneaded his member with her fingers as his hand went higher, caressing her labia. An involuntary moan passed her lips as his fingers worked through the light cotton of her slacks.
He put his mouth to her ear. “I want to fuck you right here and now,” he whispered.
The sound of his voice, a stranger’s voice, shattered the trance and she pulled her head back, startled. She drew her fingers from him and pushed him away from her.
He pulled her back into him, his mouth pressed to her ear. “Listen, honey, don’t play hard to get with me. You’ve got too many miles on the clock for that.”
The lack of respect stung like a dying wasp. “Get your paws off me.”
He pressed his hand back in between her legs. “Your pussy can’t lie, baby, you’re fucking soaking.”
She pushed her palms hard against his chest but he held her fast. “I need the bathroom,” she said.
He dug his fingers, like claws, deep into her softness. “I know what you need, you cock-teasing bitch.”
She drew her knee backwards before driving it upward into his groin. “And I said I needed the bathroom.”