[Author's note: Alice is married to James, a professional football player who has found himself at a loose end after retiring from the sport. After attending a charity auction in which she was outbid for her own husband, Alice and James have been blackmailed into service by Jodie and her upper-echelon friends. They have no choice but to do her bidding, letting Jodie pimp James out to clients, otherwise she will release the videos she took.]
---
HENS AND STAGS
We ate breakfast in silence, each of us ruminating over the events of the previous night. I was supposed to pick up the kids from my parents, but that was at ten, so we had time to just sit and talk. In the light of day, it all seemed like a strange fantasy, almost to the point that I wanted to ask James if we'd really gone over to Jemima's house. Had I really watched my gorgeous husband fuck another woman right in front of me? It seemed ridiculous: those kind of this didn't happen to people like us.
That was the hard part of it all, and I'm as guilty as the next person when I read about people being pressed into sex work by human traffickers, imagining them to be desperate, or gullible, easily ensnared. But Jodie had done that to us, pressing us into service with an ease that I could scarcely believe. A week ago, we had been a happily married couple with kids and a mortgage, and now here we were, sitting around the expensive breakfast island bench in our expensive home in an exclusive suburb, surrounded by well-to-do, highly educated people just like ourselves. But we were now puppets, dancing to Jodie's tune, being sold for sex. It was simply unbelievable.
James shuffled on his stool, then reached into his back pocket.
"Oh, here."
He laid a wad of cash on the pristine white surface.
"What's that?" I asked.
"About two grand."
My eyes grew wide.
"The fee for last night," James explained, "Jemima gave it to me afterwards."
We looked at the crumpled pile of notes, neither of us willing to break the silence.
"What do we do with it?" I asked, finally.
"I don't know. I thought you might know. Do we keep it?"
"No idea."
"I guess we earned it, right?"
I didn't reply, getting up to tidy away the breakfast things. James got up as well to help, and we busied ourselves while the money sat on the counter. It sat there for an hour, untouched, until my phone buzzed with a message. I read it and had to call James into the room.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Jodie pinged me. Read."
I showed him the message, watching his expression as he read it. He just nodded.
"Okay."
"Okay? James, you serious?"
"Yeah. I got the money, she takes a cut, we meet and I hand it over. Seems pretty straightforward."
I glared at him, incredulous.
"Alice, just wait, don't blow up."
"Blow up?" I spat, "I'm not at blow up. I passed that a while back and I'm way out the other side. Okay? Really?"
James seemed to ponder my response for a while, and just as I was gearing up for a proper broadside, he held up a finger. It goaded me further, but I held my tongue, giving him a chance to get his viewpoint across. It took a lot of effort.
"You remember Robbie Hester?" James began.
"The guy who punched you in the face right in the middle of the game."
"Yeah," James laughed, "Laid me flat out on the grass. Blood all over the place."
"I remember. I wanted to, uh, I dunno, I could have strangled him."
"But you know I asked for it, right?"
I frowned at him. "Where's this going?"
"Remember the game? We were way down, just before half time, and Robbie kept pulling out the moves. I couldn't beat him. I just wasn't quick enough. He had the advantage over me, and he knew it. I had to keep facing up to that smug smile, the prick. He thought he was unstoppable."
"I know. I was watching. Then he hit you."
"Yeah. I asked him if his wife knew about his girlfriend. That got him all fired up and I knew I was onto a winner. Then all I asked was if he was sure his girlfriend was over eighteen."
James folded his arms, as if he'd made his point. I shrugged.
"How is any of that relevant?" I asked, exasperated.
"They were all set to win the final, it was a lay down. Then Robbie was off the field, and what happened?"
"You won."
"Exactly."
My face screwed up, and I retorted, "But that isn't going to help us here. What the hell are you talking about? You're not making sense."
James unfolded his arms now, gathering me to him in a hug. I looked up at him.
"We're going to use the same play. Jodie, her little band of fuckers, they're holding all the cards. But, I guarantee there's a weakness. We're gonna play along with their little game, we're going to be model citizens. We're gonna find a crack, an angle they haven't covered. They'll let their guard down at some point and all we have to do is wait."
"But then what?"
"We change the flow of play, we break through," James replied, his expression becoming grave, "Then we fucking bring the rain."
His eyes lit up as he said it, and I found myself believing him. I had seen it before, in the game with five minutes left on the clock, on the wrong side of the scoreboard, the unreasoning, unwavering belief he held that the game would change. In all the years of watching James play, even if the game didn't turn around after all, and they went home empty handed, until that last whistle, I never once saw his head go down.
"Okay," I said, and smiled up at him.
He was doing the alpha male thing, the protector. I didn't believe it, but I wasn't going to tell him that. There was no point. If I thought that we were never going to get free, voicing that opinion was a waste of time. It wouldn't make the situation any better for either of us.
"That night, after Delilah's, when we got home, what do you remember? Do you remember anything, Alice?"
I thought long and hard, playing it back, but it was fuzzy, like I was watching an old recording of something that had happened to someone else. I recalled lying quietly on our bed, then James next to me, then movement. I nodded.
"What?" James asked.
"She was there, James, on our bed."
"Doing what?"
I grimaced, feeling sick.
"She was on top of you."
To my utter disbelief, James began to grin.
"Interesting," he replied.
"Interesting?" I fumed, "How is that just interesting? She was fucking you on our bed. On our own fucking bed, James. I was right next to you."
"Yeah."
I glared up at him, pushing back, but he didn't release me.
"She was mixing business with pleasure. That's her first mistake," he murmured, "The first little chink in her armour."
I looked into his eyes and that's when I saw it.
"What do you want to do?" I asked.
"I think we should meet up with Jodie for coffee."
I didn't respond, but I wrapped my arms around my husband, burying my face against his chest. He was right, it was a weakness. I just couldn't see how it would be enough.
---
I found myself staring into the mirror, again. It wasn't to check that I looked good, I'd already been through that, primping myself, squeezing into a little cocktail dress stitched with silver sequins. It sparkled and glittered as I moved, catching the eye. My feet were already protesting, in matching stiletto heels; I'd kept my legs bare, but I'd been to the salon for a top up of the tan. My copper hair was caught up in a French bun and my makeup was perfect. The last time I'd put this much effort in was the night James won Player of the Year, bracing myself for the player-and-wife photo opportunity after. The time before that was probably our wedding day.
James looked good too, in white shirt, dark pants, jacket. I tore myself away from the mirror and fussed with his hair.
"It's good, already," James said, with a soft smile.
"Yeah," I replied, "You look good."
"So do you. You look stunning."
I blushed a little at that, but I shifted on my high heels.
"Really, Alice. You're going to turn heads. I'm going to be the envy of everyone there."
My uncertainty must have shown, because he leaned forward to kiss me. I diverted quickly, presenting my cheek.
"Careful of the lipstick," I chided.
I felt his lips on my skin, and heard him chuckle.
"Let's go," he said, "Ready to go?"
"I guess."
I let him take my hand and lead me out of the bedroom to the front door. Outside, the cab was waiting, but he stopped on the threshold and gave me a hug.
"It's going to work out. Stick to the plan. You'll see," he told me.
"I know."
James smiled, and we climbed into the cab, travelling the rest of the way in silence, my hand in his. I envied him his steadiness: my heart was racing. Pre-match nerves, he'd called it, and told me it was a good thing. The adrenaline spike would keep me sharp. I bit back some retort. It wouldn't have helped.
The plan was simple, and I trusted James. We'd gone to coffee with Jodie and he had been almost amicable, accepting our predicament stoically, emphasising that he understood the deal and we needed to work through it. Then he'd dropped a stack of notes on the table, a grand, her fifty percent cut. Jodie had been quick, covering it over with her hand, unsettled to be seen transacting in a public place. My husband's expression hadn't cracked, but I could tell he'd noticed her reaction, filing it away for later reference. Then Jodie had mentioned a gallery opening, and that we were to attend. She didn't elaborate further, just rose from the table, her coffee unfinished, and walked away.
Now, in the back of the cab, it still gave me goosebumps, recalling it. I had the distinct impression that, behind the carefully manicured nails, the styled hair and the studied casualness of her outfits, Jodie was an awful piece of work. We were setting out to bait her, deliberately. There was danger.
The gallery was on the high street, lit up brightly with people mingling in cocktail attire. We were offered a glass of champagne each on arrival, and I hesitated for a second, flashing back to the time Jodie had offered us a drink, and what she'd spiked it with to make us do her bidding. I was resolved to stay on this glass all night, and never let it out of my sight.
We nodded to a couple of people we knew, not staying to chat because we had to locate Jodie. In the distance, I spotted Delilah, and my blood ran cold. She seemed to sense me, turning around, fixing me with a look and then raising her champagne glass fractionally. I just stared at her; she turned back to her conversation and the moment passed.
"I didn't know that she'd be here," I hissed to James.
"Who?"
"Delilah."
"Where?"
I pointed her out, and to my horror, James made a bee-line for her.
"What are you doing?" I murmured, but James didn't reply.
"Delilah," he called, "Good to see you again."
Delilah turned around at hearing her name, her expression settling almost immediately into a warm, welcoming smile. Almost. The people she had been talking to turned their attention to us.
"James," she exclaimed, "And you brought your wife too. Lovely to see you again."
"I just wanted to say how much we enjoyed the night, I didn't have the chance to talk to you properly before we left."
