This story is set in 1980/81, so there was no internet, porn was on the top shelves of newsagents and not online, no mobile phones, and no social media. Advice on sexual techniques was not so easily obtainable. The past is indeed a foreign country.
There will be another instalment in this story in a different category and a different title. It is standalone but links in with "It takes two (or more) to Tango."
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Gerald was waiting until six to go next door to implement his plan to persuade his tenant Amber from an amateur good-time girl into what would be, in reality, a highly paid professional escort for his wealthier friends and clients. She might end up being the full-time paid companion or even the wife of one of them. He wouldn't force her into it, but he thought she would quickly slide further down the slippery slope she had already started along. She wouldn't be able to afford not to, thanks to her ex-boyfriend Alastair. Besides, if someone had a natural talent, they deserved to be paid the full whack for it.
Amber was a busty five-foot-four redhead with a naturally cheerful and bubbly personality who paid the rent on time and worked as a teacher at a public school ten miles away. She had become his tenant a year ago, recommended to him by Bianca, a close friend as well as the wife of a client. Amber had just come out of an eighteen-month relationship with a jealous boyfriend who had eventually beaten her up. Bianca had described her as a cross between Barbara Windsor in the Carry-On films and Felicity Kendall in The Good Life which was a combination which appealed to him. She had also indicated that she was not a believer in conventional middle-class morality. She could fake it but preferred not to.
He hadn't initially intended to make a pass at her while she was a tenant. There were risks involved in trying to add a next-door neighbour to a rota of female friends who, in return for being taken out and given a good time, would allow themselves to be taken by him in as debauched a fashion as he could persuade them to agree to and they also found enjoyable. Besides, she had a new boyfriend whom she seemed happy with. Oddly, getting to know her without any immediate intention of persuading her to have sex with him had increased her attractiveness and had made him more appealing to her.
What changed things was getting to know her boyfriend, Alastair. He knew Alastair's type. He was an ex-public schoolboy capable of being charming, but deep down, he was a selfish man who thought the world revolved around him and owed him a living. Gerald could imagine that at university, being popular and the centre of his social group had been the goal, so the sociopath within Alastair had remained latent. Now, he was focused on his career and becoming wealthy and successful in his own right. He was at the time a junior solicitor in the corporate department of one of the best firms in Birmingham but wanted to move to a large London firm.
In Birmingham, Amber's sexual attractiveness and cheerfulness and the obvious envy of his university friends and work colleagues for Alastair's luck meant that being with her boosted Alastair's ego. If one ignored the lovey-dovey piffle, the way he talked to her showed that, deep down, he didn't think that she was intelligent or good enough for him. Above all, she was too common for him and his family. She was an excellent fuck in Birmingham, but she was not good enough for London or the Cotswolds.
He had been intrigued enough by the man to have sounded out a partner in Alastair's firm who had, in a coded way, given him the message that they would be delighted if Alastair got a London job. He was a little too nakedly ambitious without the intellectual or emotional intelligence to back it up. A kiss-up, kick-down style in the office made him unpopular with secretaries and the general office staff, including those who had relationships with partners and senior assistants. Hey, that was the lack of emotional intelligence.
Gerald had arranged one Sunday in mid-October to take Alastair to the pub to discuss his career while the "little woman" cooked a late lunch. Alastair's phrase, not his. He discussed various ploys to improve Alastair's chances of being offered a job at a reputable London firm. He suggested that using Amber's address on the CV might help. Glebe Cottage, Clent, was more prestigious than Flat A, 164 Station Road, Stourbridge. He saw the man's eyes glint at the suggestion of a minor deception. Had he never heard of the eleventh and twelfth commandment- thou shalt not be found out or, Gerald's favourite, thou shalt not take the piss.
He had told Alastair that Amber was an attractive woman and that any help he provided Alastair was for her sake. He had hinted that he might be able to help Alastair find accommodation in London through his contacts there and mentioned that his clients in the Midlands often needed specialist or high-powered legal advice and would look to him for recommendations.
Alastair had not exactly offered Amber's sexual services but had talked about how much she enjoyed Gerald's company and how good in bed she was. He also explained that Amber had gotten around a bit at university, which had fuelled Donald's jealousy. This had been coupled with the hint that they saw themselves as a joint venture and that she understood how a girlfriend could help a man's career by being "charming" with his colleagues and clients. He might as well have gone wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, but my girlfriend's a whore.
Still smiling when absolute shits said things to him had made him independently wealthy by the time he was in his mid-thirties, and he could retire tomorrow if tax rates were less excessive, and he didn't enjoy playing the game so much.
Indeed, when he next visited Amber to collect the rent, she had taken care to make herself look attractive. An extra button on her blouse was undone; she had applied her perfume, and the lipstick had been reapplied. Still, he knew there must be a mismatch between what Alastair had told her and what he had hinted to Gerald.
One Monday night in late November 1980, he found a note in his letter box from Alastair asking him to join them in a local pub to celebrate some good news. He joined them and was told that Alastair had been offered a job at a prestigious firm in London. Butcher and Cann was first rate in all respects, and Gerald wondered what lies Alastair had told to get the job beyond the address. He was pretty damm certain that the man had not got a first-class degree. Gerald hid the fact from most of his clients and friends, but he had been to Oxford and had a first-class degree in History.
Alastair would be going to see his parents that weekend to celebrate the news but would not be taking Amber. Later, he caught fragments of the conversation whereby Alastair manipulated Amber into offering to lend him £500 to help with the costs of moving down there and buying new suits. Despite the fact that there was talk of the money being an investment in their joint future and that he would repay £50 each month after he got his first pay cheque, it was apparent to Gerald that the relationship would not long survive the move to London. Not unless Alastair saw an excellent reason to keep it alive.
