A Willing Subject is about the length of a short story and should pay off slowly.
*****
1
"Oh please! I'm sure Heather won't mind." Sarah pleaded, her expression affecting helplessness.
Sam couldn't remember her so animated. Blythe and always indifferent to him, she hadn't given him the time of day for years.
"There's money in it for you."
Sam was torn. As a struggling acting student about to become a struggling actor he needed an ear to the ground for the next gig. And as gigs go this one would be handy. It would be a rehearsal tonight helping Sarah and her friend Jennifer with their final presentation.
They needed a man and Sam had been singled out. His girlfriend, Heather, had got a late call a couple of days earlier for an audition in Edinburgh, which meant he would be free at least. He had been ready to spend the weekend in front of the TV or Playstation.
So there was a neat convenience to the proposition that made Sam more amenable; he'd be done before Heather returned, and could keep it secret from her, perhaps forever.
Because he knew she would never approve of it. Heather didn't like Sarah, and it was easy to see why. Heather was dedicated to her craft, while Sarah was there to pass the time and snipe at her peers. What talent she had was blighted by contempt for everyone.
Academically Sarah did just enough to get by, but it was hard to imagine a future for her in acting. It didn't seem to matter much to her. The rumour was that she was from a rich family. "Not just rich; crazy rich. Buy-and-sell our asses rich. Powerful rich.", he remembered a friend confiding to the group in the first year.
Sam had always been curious about her. He found her alluring even if he couldn't quite admit it to himself. She was a redhead with ever-changing streaks of colour in her hair, and always wore dark eye make-up with a cat-like tick.
She was kinky in a way he couldn't pin down. It was some blend of the vintage dresses she wore that cinched at her waist, and her aloof, arch demeanour. He hardly registered it, but when he saw those pointy Russian red lips in a closed smile he was totally disarmed. She knew it, even if he didn't.
But since those first months he had fallen in love with Heather and noticed Sarah less. To the point where he wasn't even sure if she had finally dropped out. Yet here she was, pleading with him on the front steps. He was taken aback by her uncharacteristic friendliness, but she was also being pushy, forcing herself into his space. The only way he could leave would be to nudge past her.
"Just the three of us, lucky you. We've got to present it next week, and we need a heavy couple of rehearsal days. This weekend we need a male voice, and we're going to have to pull an all-nighter tonight."
Hardened by a sense of duty to Heather, Sam was ready to tell Sarah no, but his resolve would be hollowed out.
"Course, there's two grand in it for you." She let it linger in the air, knowing the punch it would pack on a hard-up student in London.
This was crazy. Two thousand pounds for a weekend of reading from a sheet. It changed everything. So the rumours about her wealthy family had to be true.
The amount made Sam calculate sums in his head. It would not look good to disappear for a weekend with these two, and despite the money Heather would be upset. But Sam needed it; he could clear a couple of debts and wouldn't need to think about rent for a few weeks at least.
"Give me your details and the money will be in your account tonight. Yes or no. I need a quick answer."
Her big eyes examined him, and her freckled cheeks twitched as her lips parted in a confident smile. Sam's firm "no" melted to a compliant "yes" in his mouth, and like that it was done.
Sarah gave him the address: Suite 106, Park Hotel. She was definitely rich.
"Bring exercise stuff. There's going to be a bit of action." That naughty closed smirk curled on lips after she said this.
A weekend with Sarah and Jennifer. The gossip was that they were gay. Someone said they had seen them kissing somewhere, but as Sam thought about it they seemed like less of a couple than a duo, a sniping double-act with an endless list of in-jokes that bewildered everyone else.
He had time to go home and pack a change of clothes, uneasy with guilt, reminded himself not to speak to his friends as he marched back stiffly from the station. Fidgeting in his room he checked his account before he left. The money had already cleared. There was no way out now.
His final task was to call Heather, knowing that it would be their last contact of the day. Waiting for her to pick up he could hear his own shallow breaths in the receiver and tried to calm down. It rang through to her voice-mail, he told her he loved her and that they'd talk tomorrow.
It felt like he was stepping into a different world - the part of London sequestered by old money and oligarchs, off limits for everything but sightseeing trips when relatives were in town.
He got off at Bond Street and walked in a daze to the hotel vaunted for its luxury. It had always looked nondescript from the outside, which only inspired the curiosity of the people who passed by. He felt honoured when the concierge nodded him through and wordlessly accompanied him to the correct lift - a private one that would open out straight onto the suite.
His pulse raced as he ascended. It was the rush from going behind Heather's back, mixed with the giddiness of crashing this unfamiliar, palatial setting. The lift slowed, stopped, and the doors opened out on a hall-like living area, where Sarah and Jennifer were watching from a couch.
"You made it! There's no time to lose. We simply must get started right away."
Hot air sent him reeling as he entered. The room wasn't just warm; it was tropical, and he shed his jacket as a reflex. There was an ambiguous fragrance of spice weighing heavy, a feminine perfume that he couldn't discern, strong enough to make him dizzy.
Hair-tied back in pony tails, they were wearing matching belted pink leotards that reminded Sam of a Kate Bush video. Both a few inches shorter than Sam, they could have been doubles were it not for their hair colour and subtle differences in their body shapes. Jennifer, fuller-figured was also darker than Sarah, with a delicate, heart-shaped face and doleful, down-turned eyes that were lifted by a vacant joy when she smiled. And she smiled often.
The suite was gigantic, and its sleek decor contrasted with the baroque style of the hotel's lobby and lift. Alone in the second bedroom he got into his workout gear, flinging his stuff onto the emperor bed, eager to get started.
"OK, we'll do some warm-ups first. Come over by the window you two."
